#there's *lots* of ways people can be harmed in kink

[not-poignant]

As a corollary to an ask you received about a week ago, regarding the concept of a 'disaster sub' - do you think there's any such thing as a 'disaster dom', in the sense of someone who subsumes their dominant nature to the detriment of themselves and/or the people around them? I've been toying with the idea, but it's hard to envision how it'd look; after all, it's a lot more difficult to enact harm upon someone from the position of (relative) submission I'd imagine such a person would assume.

There would absolutely be disaster!doms, I think, though I personally have mostly zero interest in writing them.

There are actually a lot of reasons someone might end up domming while suppressing their submissive nature as a character (or a person), and that includes things like:

You've hurt someone before and can't reconcile that with the fact that you're human. So you decide to submit as 'penance' or something similar, in order to stay in the scene, but never really enjoy yourself, which is not great for you or your partners.

You're ashamed about liking hurting people, or the degree to which you like it, and think submission is less 'evil' overall. You think the vulnerability in submitting is safer and less toxic than an assumed inherent toxicity in the vulnerability of hurting someone in a contained space.

And like 'ashamed of liking hurting people' could be compounded if you say, have a traumatic background and know others capable of hurting people just because, without consent. Or could be compounded by having encounters with these people while submitting, and becoming more entrenched in a dangerous mindset.

And then there's just the fact that like, while it's got nothing to do with hurting others and therefore there's nothing 'disaster' about it, a lot of folks just don't realise they're tops or doms (or switches) until they go into the scene as subs and bottoms and find out.

As for enacting harm, it's not likely to be physical damage but there are definitely ways forcing yourself to be submissive when you don't really enjoy it can harm other people, such as:

Sets relationships off from a place of miscommunication and lying if the partner doesn't know, which is a bad foundation for any relationship.

If a submissive isn't transparent/authentic about how they feel in a scene, sadists / doms / tops can push them in dangerous ways not realising how close they are to triggers, limits, or simply assuming that the sub really really enjoys something they hate, which damages any interpersonal relationship, because the trust will continue to disintegrate and honestly, it's a pretty profound betrayal from the sub's side (there's literally lists of 'submissive red flags' and this is actually one of them).

If you believe sadism for example is inherently evil, or that there's something wrong with wanting to dom people, while seeking out those people, you're automatically starting from a place of dehumanisation. I think we can agree that's harmful.

If you're punishing yourself in a scene without your partner's knowledge, you are violating their consent, and betraying them. (It's also a form of disrespect re: controlling and manipulating the scene without the other's knowledge).

Tbh, some of these scenarios can happen even if the sub is naturally submissive, and they do ruin relationships. I've explored the last point to a limited degree in like... Eversion, where Hank calls 'red' on Connor because Connor is trying to take control of a scene by forcing a punishment, which makes Hank withdraw formal punishments for good. It's also been explored in Game Theory, where Augus admits he's tired of being used/weaponised re: Gwyn's guilt, and I think it even happens in The Ice Plague re: Eran and Mosk.

It doesn't have to be physical harm to destroy a relationship. But frankly, any sub or bottom who isn't willing to communicate authentically can certainly put themselves in positions of receiving physical harm, and imho, that's a terrible thing to do a partner who is there in good faith.

But yeah, there's lots of ways this could play out, anon! Again, this comes down to human psychology. You start in places around shame, embarrassment, or trauma, and then the toxicity tends to naturally unfold from there. If you go back to the drawing board re: what motivates folks to do things that might be manipulative, harmful, or hurtful, and nix out 'because I simply want to be an asshat' - what you often have behind that is deep seated self-esteem issues, shame, guilt, a sense of maybe grief or anger etc. And folks who lie because of feeling ashamed, are just naturally going to be hurting others in situations like this.

[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)

───────────────

There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[thebibliosphere]

Speaking of therapy, I say, as though we're old friends, and you're not a stranger trapped in this metaphorical elevator with me and you can hear the suspension wires starting to fray.

I've been doing a lot of work recently that's focused on imposter syndrome and the feeling that no matter how well or how much I do, I'm not good enough. That I'm somehow tricking everyone into thinking my work is actually good.

Some days it's a minor niggle in my head that I can gentle and soothe with logic and affirmations. Or smother, depending on the mood. Other times it's loud and all-consuming and the mental anguish it causes me is so real I can feel it twitching in my muscles. This desperate fight-or-flight instinct with nowhere to go and nothing to fight but myself.

Anyway, because I'm several types of Mentally Unwell™, I was switching between workshop sheets ahead of next week. Filling in different forms. (Trying to get a good grade in therapy) And I got my "recognize your harmful ADHD coping mechanisms" worksheet mixed in with the "you're not actually lying to people, you just feel like you are because your brain is full of weasels" worksheet, and seeing them side by side made something go topsy turvy in my head, and I just had to sit and breathe for a couple of minutes until the urge to scream passed. Because it clicked, it all suddenly clicked.

The reason the imposter syndrome workshops and therapy sessions aren't sticking was because I do routinely trick people into thinking I'm someone I'm not.

Because I'm masking my ADHD for their convenience.

I've always known there was something wrong with me. My neurotypical peers made it abundantly clear I didn't fit in or was failing in some way I couldn't see nor remedy, no matter how hard I tried.

So I compressed myself into a workaholic box of hyper-competence in the hopes they'd stop noticing the flaws and exploit like me instead. And then subsequently lived with the daily fear that if they looked too close, they'd realize I'm a monumental fuck up with enough personal baggage to block the Suez Canal.

If you ever need someone to burn themselves to ashes for your comfort and convenience, I'm your gal.

Or I used to. Until I had a bit of a breakdown, and the rubber band holding my brain together snapped and pinged off into the stratosphere, never to be seen again.

Unfortunately, the trauma of living like that didn't also fuck off and instead left a gaping maw where my personality ought to be, so now I get to deal with that aftermath.

And it's that aftermath that's affecting the imposter syndrome shit. Because yes, I am hyper-competent and good at what I do-- but it doesn't feel real because that is how I mask.

And the truly frustrating thing is I am good at what I do. I am not pretending. I worked hard to be good at this. It just feels like I'm dicking around because 90% of my personality turns out to be trauma masquerading as humor in a trenchcoat, and having people genuinely like something weird I'm doing is so foreign my brain has decided it's just another form of masking.

I'm pretending to be a good author so people will think I'm a good author, and my brain thinks we are in Danger of being found out. We are in Danger, and writing is Dangerous because then people will know I'm Weird and not whatever palatable version I've presented myself as for their NT sensibilities.

Like the neurotic vampire with a raging praise kink wasn't an obvious giveaway.

Anyway. I got nothing else. Thanks for listening.

I'm going to go be very normal in another room and not stare into the abyss of my own soul for a bit.

[fight-nights-at-freddys]

I think it's genuinely concerning how sex-negative we, as a society, are becoming. (This post brought to you by a few tweets I saw)

Does no one else think it's genuinely worrying how if you even find a fictional character attractive, you're called a gooner, or a degenerate, or some other pejorative to indicate that being sexual in any way is gross and nasty and yucky? Why does art suddenly lack artistic value because it's sexual in nature? Why are we so obsessed with associating a core feature of the human condition with shame and guilt?

Even more concerning is that it isn't just some niche little group of people on the internet, it's rampant. Every nook and cranny of the internet has these people, ready and raring to call you names if you dare speak anything slightly not-safe-for-work.

Like the people on twitter openly calling trans women degenerates and freaks for having an incest/rape kink (I've seen this one A LOT), because how can you claim to be an ally, or lgbt-friendly, or a feminist, but get mad at a woman expressing her sexuality? Why does sexuality gross you out to the point you feel the need to demean people over it?

And where does it end? Are we going to start calling women who dress a little too revealing 'sluts' again? Are we going to ban sex scenes in movies? Start preaching abstinence, say sex outside of marriage is bad, that lust is immoral, and being gay is a sin?

I'm sure that a large part of the problem is that these people are generally children, and still in the "sex is gross" phase, but I know that's not the case with all of them. I'm just worried for the future, because all the people saying these things are just reinventing conservatism under the guise of progressivism, and are (intentionally or unintentionally, I'm not sure) causing more harm than good.

I know we talk about puritanism and stuff all the time, but in my opinion, it's gotten to a point even the actual puritans didn't get to.

[berfgrimm]

what’s your fantasy? | choi su-bong (thanos)

pairing: choi su-bong (thanos) x f!reader

warnings: successful!thanos au, smut, unprotected sex, oral, cheating, spanking, biting, choking, fingering, manhandling, lots of vaping, pain kink, mask kink (ghostface), name calling, voyeurism-ish (kink?), cocky!thanos, sex tape, lots of dirty talk, some moments of fluff. if I missed any, i can only apologize.

note: halloween is here seven months early! i got carried away again — this is 11.4k words. i just really like thanos and ghostface. and maybe the boyfriend is very loosely based on a real person, maybe he isn’t. mind your business. also if there are any typos i’m sorry, but i read over it like 100 times before posting, please just enjoy.

———————

You’d known Su-bong before Thanos. You met through mutual friends and immediately hit it off due to your similar interests. You became inseparable until he started spending more time with his entourage, and the Thanos persona began to form. For a while, you thought that the two of you would have made a good couple until Su-bong’s ego grew worse.

You met your current boyfriend, Shota, on a business trip to Tokyo. He helped you find your hotel when you were lost, in exchange for your phone number. He was kind and funny, so you didn’t see the harm in giving him your number. Six months into the long-distance relationship, you’ve grown to care for him, even though your opposing schedules keep you apart most days.

When you started dating Shota, there was a distinct change in the way Su-bong acted towards you. He was even cockier than you thought possible, flaunting his wealth and good fortune at every opportunity. Shota didn’t like him, and suggested that you spend less time with him, but you assured your boyfriend that Su-bong was just growing into his fame and needed friends to keep him grounded.

After Su-bong’s album went platinum, he bought a secluded, oversized home on the Han River. He’d always fantasized about having a beautiful home with more space than he knew what to do with. Having grown up watching his favorite West Coast rappers throw lavish house parties in their million dollar mansions, the ink was barely dry on the house deed before he started planning his first celebration: a Halloween party.

He hired a party planner to decorate and invite influencers that he’s never met before, all in the interest of growing his brand. You struggled with the decision to attend the party or not, knowing that you likely wouldn’t know most of the people, but Halloween was your favorite holiday and you wanted to dress up with your boyfriend.

Standing near the fireplace of Su-bong’s living room, watching a group of a hundred strangers dancing, was not the way you expected the party to go. Shota had an event in Japan that ran late and had not yet arrived, which left you as a sexy Little Red Riding Hood without a Big Bad Wolf. You were cold and a little embarrassed, hoping that Shota would show up soon.

Su-bong stands with a friend at the top of the steps by his kitchen. His Ghostface mask is pulled back from his face, resting on top of his head so he can hit his vape. You watch him nod as his friend speaks, but his eyes are scanning the room. You assume he’s in search of a woman to annoy for the night, so you look away, glancing down at your phone to check the time. 9:30. It’s still early, but your boyfriend should be here by now.

You look back towards Su-bong to get a better view of his costume. Beyond the mask, he’s not the traditional Ghostface, but more relaxed. A hoodie, jeans, gloves, and boots — all black. He didn’t ordinarily dress in muted colors, but loved to be more vibrant, that way people would pay attention to him. With this costume, he almost blends in, if not for the strands of purple hair peeking from under the hood.

When Su-bong locks eyes with you suddenly, it’s as though he felt you staring. You try to give him a friendly smile, as you normally would, but you find it harder to do. Something about seeing him dressed this way stokes the fire within you that you thought had long been snuffed out.

Su-bong smirks slowly, taking another hit from his vape before he adjusts the mask over his face again. He pulls his hood up, tilting his head to the side as he still watches you from across the room. When he carefully takes the three steps down to the living room, you break your gaze from him. Your heart pounds in your chest, your mind racing with the former attraction you had for him.

It wasn’t something you’d felt since you started dating Shota. Mostly, you had to force yourself to stop thinking of Su-bong in that way, but also you really cared for Shota. Tonight, however, with Su-bong dressed like Ghostface, you feel a sheen of sweat beginning to form.

Why the fuck do you like how he’s dressed?

You suddenly feel hot, and need some fresh air so you maneuver around the crowd to slip out the door to the garden. You cross to the railing, leaning against it to stare out at the river in the darkness. You’re able to take a few deep breaths and let the cool breeze blow across your heated skin, calming your nerves.

“Well, you look good enough to eat.” The voice is muffled by a mask, and briefly you’re confused as to who might be standing behind you, until they speak again. “Out here all alone in the night, you must be waiting for your Big Bad Wolf.”

“Fuck off, Su-bong.” You cock your arm back to elbow him in the stomach, causing him to let out a grunt that he quickly turns into a laugh. He steps past you so he can lean against the railing in front of you now, undoubtedly smirking behind his Ghostface mask.

“Did you leave your little boyfriend in Japan tonight?” he asks, looking around as if he really expects to locate him nearby.

“Little? He’s bigger than you.”

“Not where it counts.”

“Don’t you have someone else you can bother?”

“This is more fun,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders when he turns his head back to you. “It’s so easy to get under your skin.” You sigh and roll your eyes, leaning your elbow against the railing.

“I’m surprised you let everyone wear their shoes in your new house,” you say, attempting to change the subject to something more normal.

“I hired cleaners to come tomorrow,” he says, with a small laugh, and you drop your gaze to the ground. “You can’t even look at me right now. It’s the mask, isn’t it?” You turn back to him, staring straight at his masked face with a shrug.

“I’m looking at you, Su-bong,” you say, blandly, although he’s right — you find it difficult to look at him without your mind creeping into uncharted territory. Su-bong tugs the mask off of his face, settling it on top of his head, the smirk on his face almost too smug.

“I saw you staring before,” he says, hitting his vape. “Is the difference that I’m standing so close to you right now?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” he quirks his eyebrows, amused. “So, this doesn’t bother you?” He takes a couple of steps towards you, slow and deliberate, until there’s only about a foot between your bodies.

“Su-bong,” you say, pressing your hand to his chest to push him away, but you find yourself not trying too hard to stop him.

“I’ve never seen you wear something this short before,” he continues, ignoring you as his fingers begin to play with the hem of your skirt. “Did Little Red Riding Hood wear fishnets and a corset in the story? I don’t remember anything about her being a slut.”

Your mouth feels dry, your breath hard to catch as Su-bong speaks. You always called him a mouthpiece because he was never stuck on what to say in any given situation, but you’d never experienced this. Your instinct as someone who has a boyfriend is to tell him you’re not interested, but the nagging urges that have for him seemingly resurfaced are complicating things. You wonder how he manages to be tuned in to what your turn-ons are.

Without your protests, Su-bong’s fingers start to toy with the tulle under your skirt, creeping closer and closer to touching your thighs. Even with gloves on, the sensation of Su-bong’s hands on you makes you tense with anticipation. Your phone suddenly vibrating in your hand snaps you out of your trance quickly, and you look down at the screen to see your boyfriend’s name.

“Uh-oh, Shooter’s calling,” Su-bong teases. You slap his hand away from your skirt, your face flushing in both arousal and embarrassment. You take a few steps away from Su-bong so he won’t be able to listen to your phone call.

“Hey, babe,” you answer the call, keeping your voice low. “Where are you? Did you get lost?”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, his voice tired. “I’m still at Haneda. My…flight was delayed.”

“Oh,” you say, dropping your shoulders.

“I’m not sure how much longer it will be. I guess I should have taken the train, like you suggested.” You don’t reply, your disappointment getting the better of you. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know you had the costumes ready, and you were really excited.”

“It’s okay,” you mutter.

You feel yourself getting annoyed at how his tone of voice sounds disinterested. You’d like to blame it on how tired he likely is from work, but you know he doesn’t care for Su-bong either, and would come up with anything to avoid seeing him. Sometimes, you’d like to agree that Su-bong can be a bit too much, but you were ready to put that aside for the sake of Halloween.

“I’m sure you’ll have more fun without me there,” Shota presses. “I’m tired, and wouldn’t be good company.”

“What am I without my Big Bad Wolf?”

It feels childish for you to guilt trip him like this, especially since it isn’t his fault that his flight is delayed. Still, you’re upset after you had been so excited for the weeks leading up to the party. And you hope that having Shota with you would calm the reawakened feelings for Su-bong.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Shota says, and his detached tone finally pushes you from disappointed to pissed off.

“Great,” you reply, flatly. “I’ll see later, I guess.”

You quickly hang up the call before he has the opportunity to say anything else. You clench your phone in your hand, willing it to break to get out your frustration, but you hear the crackling of Su-bong’s vape behind you, bringing you to your senses for a moment.

“He’s not coming?” You’d swear there was a brief flash of your old friend in the way he speaks, but it’s quickly overshadowed by Su-bong walking up behind you and leaning in towards your ear. “I know what will take your mind off of it,” he whispers. “Dancing. You used to love dancing…I bet Shooter doesn’t know the way you and I used to dance together.”

You picture the times you and Su-bong would hang out at clubs, drinking and dancing the night away. You were both fond of slow jams on nights where the drinks were plenty, and you would grind against Su-bong without a second thought. There were nights where you would feel him getting hard, and you were sure if he asked you to go home with him, you wouldn’t hesitate, but neither of you ever made the jump.

“C’mon, baby,” Su-bong smiles. “For old time’s sake.”

“Dancing sounds great,” you grit, turning abruptly to reenter the house, not waiting for Su-bong.

You shove through the crowd that fills the living room finding a spot where you can begin to sway on your own to the music. Su-bong slinks towards you, watching the way your body moves as if he’s fighting the urge to pounce on you. Your gaze finds him, inviting him closer towards you — he smirks and pulls the mask over his face. Su-bong creeps closer, catching you by your waist so he can keep your bodies close together as you both move to the music. You press your hands to his chest softly, trying to mostly avoid looking at Su-bong, though you‘re certain he’s locked onto you behind the eyes of the mask.

“I know you’re pissed at Shooter,” he says suddenly, his grip loose on your hips, but firm enough to keep you against him. “I know a way that we could really make him jealous. We could sneak up to my room and take a few pictures. I’ve got a king size bed.”

“It matches your king size attitude,” you retort, and you know it sounds stupid, but you have to say something so he doesn’t know the impact he’s beginning to have on you.

“A lot about me is king size, señorita,” Su-bong answers. “If you’d rather something more public, the sofa is right there and I’m sure the influencers would love a livestream opportunity. A little slut like you, ready to do anything to keep me happy, you’ll go viral in seconds.”

“You’re just full of ideas tonight,” you mutter, hoping he doesn’t notice the effect his words are having on you.

“You don’t remember that you told me all of this?” he smirks. “I’ve got a great memory.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been telling me for years about all the shit you’re into,” he says, pulling you by your hips so you’re snug against him. “How you love a man to be dominant, how you like being called names…how much you love Ghostface.” He laughs at the last part, lifting the mask from his face so you can see his eyes. “That’s only a few, but I remember everything you told me,” he smirks. “And I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to give you what you want.”

“Why?” you ask. “That’s uncharacteristically considerate of you.” Su-bong laughs, hitting his vape.

“I like a woman who isn’t afraid to get nasty for me.”

“Good to know it’s purely selfish.”

“Oh, do you need me to be more generous?” Su-bong asks, pulling his mask over his face again. “Do you need me to tell you how fucking hot you look tonight? And how I want to drag you up to my bedroom to fuck you until you’re screaming my name?”

“I have a boyfriend,” you say, maybe trying to convince yourself more than Su-bong.

“Shooter’s boring. I bet he doesn’t spank you. Remember when you told me how wet that gets you?”

The memories begin to flow into your mind again. You remember several nights with Su-bong where conversations drifted to sex. You always felt comfortable about the things you were into, and you didn’t mind sharing with your friend. Maybe there was a part of you that hoped one day he would take you in the ways you described, but he never did.

“You told me one time that you get turned on by being touched in public,” Su-bong interrupts your thoughts, his hand delving between your thighs.

“Su-bong,” you mutter, finding yourself trembling in anticipation, waiting to feel the material of his glove rubbing against you.

“Were you hoping to get fucked tonight? Is that why you wore this skirt and fucking thigh high stockings? And poor Shooter isn’t here to see it.” Su-bong slips two fingers past the side of your panties, touching your slick skin. “Or feel it,” he continues, dragging his gloved fingers through your folds, brushing over your clit. “Or…taste it.”

Su-bong begins to breathe a little harder, muffled against the mask. He bumps his head against yours, nuzzling so he can lean closer to your ear.

“I’ll bet you’d look really pretty in my bed…face down, ass up…dripping down your thighs and onto my designer sheets.”

“Jesus Christ,” you snap back to your senses and shove Su-bong away from you.

You can’t bring yourself to say anything else, knowing your voice won’t be strong enough to sound assertive. The first thing that comes to your mind is putting as much distance between yourself and Su-bong as you can before your self-restraint disappears entirely. Dropping your gaze to the ground, you shove through the crowd and make your way towards the bathroom.

Much to your annoyance, the small bathroom near the kitchen is occupied, so you quickly storm up the steps in hopes that one of the guest bathrooms is available. As you walk, you get the sense that you’re being watched, so you quicken your pace, slipping into the bathroom and slamming the door shut to engage the lock.

“Calm down,” you mutter quietly, stepping in front of the mirror to look at your reflection. “He’s just trying to fuck with your head. He’s an asshole.” You straighten out the tulle of your skirt and turn the taps on to splash some cool water on your face.

You should leave. That’s the best option at this point. Su-bong has worn down your resolve and you’re one dirty word away from falling into his bed. There’s no way you could do that to Shota because you care for him too much. Even with your current frustration towards him, he’s still your boyfriend and you’re not looking to cheat on him with one of your friends. That solves it: you’re going home.

When you open the door to exit the bathroom, your heart leaps into your throat at the sight of Ghostface bracing his hands on either side of the doorway. He tilts his head to the side, making it obvious that he’s sizing you up. You know that it’s Su-bong, but the sight excites you more than it rightfully should.

You shouldn’t play along; you should stick with your plan and just go home. But Shota never wants to play games like this. It took weeks of begging to get him to agree to the Big Bad Wolf costume, and he still managed to wiggle out of the obligation. Sometimes you wished he would like to have a little more fun. Sometimes you wish he was more like Su-bong.

You quickly try to close the bathroom door, but Su-bong shoves it open, forcing his way into the room with you. He locks the door, and spins back towards you, hoisting you up onto the counter. The way he cocks his head to the side, the empty black eyes of the mask hiding him from your view, it makes your stomach twist in an array of emotions — excitement and anticipation at the forefront, followed closely by embarrassment for how much this turns you on.

“Why’d you run away from me?” Su-bong’s voice, though muffled by the mask, is deep and dangerous. “Are you scared of me, baby?”

“No.” You try to sound firm and confident but even with one word, your voice falls short. You’re sure Su-bong smirks behind his mask.

“Then what is it? Is there something you’re hiding from me instead?”

You’re too caught up in the moment to notice that Su-bong removed his gloves until you feel his hands on your knees, spreading your thighs apart. As he slots between your legs, you look down at his hands, nails adorned with black polish, creeping under your skirt. When he touches your lacy panties, finding them soaked through, he shakes his head, tsking at you.

“Are you that fucking easy?” Su-bong asks, leaning closer towards you to press his masked face directly against your cheek. Your face heats up and tears sting at your eyes, finding yourself overwhelmed with arousal and a little bit of guilt. “You really do get off on this mask thing, don’t you? What is it? Does being afraid turn you on?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, truly unsure of what you enjoy about this. He keeps his head against yours as his fingers twist the fabric of your panties so he can rip them.

“These will just slow us down, baby,” he breathes, as the lace tears in his grasp. You whine, your thighs tightening around his waist in pure instinct — with him pressed against you, the bulge in his jeans is obvious, pressing to your wetness with enough friction to make your body ache.

“Su-bong,” you whine, your voice so needy, and you’re sure that Su-bong grins in delight behind his mask. He pries your thighs away from his hips and gets on his knees on the floor, pushing the tulle of your skirt away so he can finish ripping your panties from you.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, angling his head towards you, eyes still hidden behind his mask. You don’t realize how hard your breaths are coming out at first, but then you can hear them, echoing in the confined space of the bathroom.

You shake your head, so slight it could have looked like a twitch, but Su-bong accepts this as the confirmation he was waiting for. His head moves closer between your thighs until you feel the curved edge of the mask’s nose drag over your clit. Your body lurches in surprise, already so on edge from just talking, and Su-bong chuckles between your legs.

“Easy, baby. Don’t get too excited.”

Su-bong’s hands splay across your inner thighs so he can part your fold with his thumbs. You hear him hum softly, almost an appreciative sound, something that comes deep from his chest. He brushes his thumb over your clit, looking up at you to watch your reaction — your hips edge forward, silently begging for more.

Suddenly, your phone buzzes on the counter at your side. Against the marble countertops, the sound is much louder, echoing through the small room.

“I’ll bet that’s Shooter,” Su-bong mutters, his finger now circling around your entrance. “He feels bad for leaving you all by yourself, Little Red. Out here, where anybody could just…eat you up.”

Su-bong pulls the mask to the top of his head again, and trails the tip of his tongue over your clit, so softly that he’s barely there. At the same time, he pushes his finger into you, to the first knuckle. You let out a groan, knocking your head back against the mirror, and Su-bong chuckles, amused by how twisted up you are from so little touching.

Your phone buzzes. It feels like it’s louder this time, or maybe it’s the way your head is reeling, you can’t be sure. Su-bong teases your clit with his tongue again, applying the same amount of pressure, quick and ghostlike. You moan louder, spreading your legs.

“Goddamn,” you groan while Su-bong pushes his finger a little deeper into you.

There’s a knock at the door, and someone says your name. Your eyes go wide when you realize it’s Shota. Su-bong laughs quietly, not stopping himself from fingering you slowly. You clamp your hand over your mouth to silence the moan that threatens at your throat, hoping that maybe Shota will leave. The doorknob rattles, and you feel the panic set in.

“Hey, babe, are you okay? Namgyu said he saw you come up here, and he thought you weren’t feeling well.” You shoot a glare at Su-bong to curse his friend for sending your boyfriend after you, but Su-bong only smirks, eyes on you as he leans in to tongue you again. “Babe?” Shota’s voice comes again and now your phone buzzing for a third time against the countertop definitely gives you away.

“Fuck,” you breathe against your hand, finally shoving Su-bong away by his shoulders, so he quietly tumbles to sit on the floor. He covers his mouth to laugh silently, while you attempt to straighten out your skirt. “Yeah, Shooter, I’m here,” you call out, watching Su-bong hit his vape. ”Gimme just a second.”

You gesture to the shower, directing Su-bong to hide so you can open the door, but he doesn’t move. You give him a pleading look, hoping that he won’t do anything stupid. Finally, he rolls his eyes and pulls his mask down again as he stands and climbs into the shower, out of view. You spare one more glance at your reflection, making sure you look presentable before you open the door to face your boyfriend.

“I thought you were stuck in Tokyo,” you say, flatly.

“I was trying to surprise you,” Shota says, his tone unconvincing, like he practiced what he wanted to say.

“Yeah, great surprise.” You push past Shota, pulling the door shut as you make your way down the hall. You want to find somewhere out of view of the bathroom to allow Su-bong the opportunity to sneak out without being seen by Shota, so you descend the steps and head to the kitchen.

“Babe,” Shota calls out, trying to be heard over the noise of the party, but you pretend you don’t hear him, grabbing a water from the fridge. “I’m sorry,” Shota says, once he reaches you.

“If you didn’t want to come to the party, Shota, you could have just said it.”

“Okay, I didn’t want to come,” he says. “You’re right. But I did show up. I’m here now.” You take a sip of your water, staring at Shota as you wait for him to continue. “I don’t like Thanos,” he groans. “He’s an asshole. I don’t know why you’re friends with him. I didn’t feel like coming all the way out here for his party.”

“It wasn’t for his party; it was for me.”

“I didn’t think of it—”

“So, you lied to me instead,” you respond. “Were you at my apartment, pretending you were still at the airport?” Shota glances around for a moment, as if he doesn’t want to tell you the truth even if you already figured it out. “You showed up now…without the costume—”

“I don’t like costumes,” he interrupts, shrugging his shoulders.

“I’d be less pissed off if you would have told me the truth,” you say, looking towards the partygoers to find Su-bong talking to a girl you’ve never seen before

“You’re right,” Shota says. “I shouldn’t have lied about it.”

Shota continues to talk but you’re too focused on Su-bong and this random girl. Why would he be flirting with some stranger when his head was just between your thighs? No, of course you know why he’s doing this — his ego. He needs to be the one in control of every situation.

You watch the way Su-bong leans in towards the girl, whispering something in her ear. As he speaks, she giggles and Su-bong’s eyes immediately find yours, like he could feel you staring. His gaze is devious, and you feel enveloped by it, stuck and you can’t look away; it’s like he’s daring you to do something. The girl keeps talking to Su-bong, just like Shota still talks to you but you are locked in with Su-bong, neither of you really listening to your conversations.

Su-bong takes a hit off of his vape, finally breaking eye contact with you so he can talk to the girl again, making her laugh immediately. You clench your jaw, wondering what he could have said that was so funny.

“Are you even listening to me?” Shota’s voice catches your attention again, and you sigh, looking back at him.

“Yeah, I heard you, Shota,” you lie. “Look…maybe you should go back to my place and sleep. You’ve been busy this week…you need to get some rest.”

You give him the opportunity to tell you to come with him. Maybe that’s what you need to make you snap out of this stupid trance that Su-bong has you in. But when Shota nods his head, running his hand through his hair, you know he won’t.

“Okay,” he says. “You’re probably right. Some rest could help. And I have that event in Hyōgo this weekend…” His tone almost sounds relieved.

“Then go,” you shrug. “I’ll see you later.”

Shota nods, leaning in to give you a kiss on the cheek before he turns away, taking his leave. On any other occasions, the simple kiss would be sweet, a tender sign of affection that he would frequently show you. But today, it stokes the flames already flickering inside of you.

“Uh-oh, trouble in paradise.” Su-bong managed to sneak up on you as you were watching Shota leave, and he now leans against the counter beside you. “I guess he wasn’t in Tokyo, huh?” You turn towards him, watching him take a long hit off of his vape, his expression more pleased than you think you’ve ever seen him. You find your gaze wandering to his mouth, watching the vapor billow from his lips. “What, do you want to kiss me or something?” He says it almost cruelly, like he’s mocking you for having the urge, but it’s all part of the game.

“No, but I’d like to slap you,” you retort.

“Mmm, I’d like that,” Su-bong chuckles, slipping behind you again. “What would it take to get you to choke me?” He reaches one hand past you to press against the edge of the countertop so he can block you against him. “What about you, baby?” he mumbles, his voice now muffled, as he likely pulled his mask over his face again. “Do you like to be choked, too?”

Before you can reply, you feel Su-bong’s hand pushing past the tulle of your skirt from behind, so you press your hands to the counter and widen your stance to give him access to you. He chuckles under the mask, pleased with how you’re reacting to him. As his middle finger pushes into your wetness, you sigh, your eyelids feeling heavy already from something so simple.

“Is this what you want?” Su-bong asks, teasing the pad of his finger over your clit, his body pressing against you. “For me to finger you in my kitchen while people watch?” Your eyes flutter open long enough to see some of the partygoers have caught on to your antics, whispering back and forth in amusement. Su-bong slips his finger inside of you, as deep as he can at this angle.

It does excite you: people watching you while you get touched by Su-bong in a Ghostface costume. You let your mind race with the thoughts of him bending you over the counter and fucking you in front of them, people pulling out their phones to record you. It overwhelms you — Shota would never touch you like this because he didn’t enjoy any public affection beyond a kiss.

“I can tell you like it,” Su-bong whispers. “You’re clenching around my finger like no one has ever touched you before. You’re so tight right now, I don’t know if you’re going to be able to handle what I’m going to do to you.”

“Fuck, Su-bong, please,” you gasp, dropping your gaze to the counter, unable to take the stares any longer. He pumps his finger into you a few times, agonizingly slow, deliberately teasing you.

“Please what? Tell me what you’re begging me for.”

“I fucking…” you gasp. “I need you to fuck me.”

“You need it, hm?” His tone is mocking, and you’d be embarrassed if you weren’t aching for him. “Jesus, I barely even touched you and you’re already this desperate. Go wait in my bedroom. I’ll be up there eventually.”

‘Eventually’ should have pissed you off. It should have reminded you that you have a boyfriend who wouldn’t talk to you like that. You should have shoved him away from you and slapped him like any respectable woman would. But this was part of the game — and you like it.

Walking proves to be more of a challenge than you anticipated. You’re unsteady on your feet, your platform heels complicating things further as you very carefully ascend the stairs towards Su-bong’s bedroom. You don’t dare look over your shoulder to see who is still watching — by now, the whole party knows Su-bong has you exactly where he wants you.

When you finally reach Su-bong's bedroom, you note the flooring is carpet, so you slip your heels off to set them in the hallway before you enter. You make your way towards his bed, and sit on the edge, unsure of what to do with yourself while you wait. To keep your hands occupied, even for a moment, you untie the ribbon of the sheer hood you wore over your hair, dropping it to the bed beside you.

The music from the party below is muffled, only the bass thumping through the floor, making the silence of the room feel much louder. The room smells like his cologne and laundry soap, with a small hint of the watermelon flavored vape he’d grown fond of lately. Your hands fiddle with the duvet beneath you, fingers stroking the fabric as your mind races.

You haven’t had any alcohol but you feel drunk from the way Su-bong spoke to you, the way he touched you. It boggles your mind that he paid so much attention to all of your kinks during the course of your friendship, a far more thoughtful decision than you thought he was capable of. You think of the times when you would tell Shota the things you wanted to do, and how uncomfortable he would appear. He is a more reserved person who never seems to do anything he feels is too kinky — asking him to pull your hair was too much for him. You would never pressure him, but you also always had a nagging desire in the back of your mind to have someone to give you everything you’re looking for. Though you never expected that person to be Su-bong.

“Dreaming about me?” Your attention falls to Su-bong who leans against the doorway of his bedroom, puffing on his vape with your heels clutched in his other hand. “I found these,” he says, walking into the room and closing the door behind him. “I don’t remember telling you to take them off.”

Su-bong still stands several feet away from you, so you cross to him to take your shoes and slip them back onto your feet. He nods towards his bed and you take the hint, listening to him take the steps to follow directly behind you. Just as you reach the bed, his hands grasp your hips from behind to stop you, and urge you to bend at the waist. You set your hands against the mattress to keep your balance, feeling your ass press against Su-bong.

“I’ve thought about this for a long time,” Su-bong mutters. “Getting you exactly where I want you. Having you ready to do whatever I tell you to do. Thanos’ little slut.” You clench involuntarily, and you’re happy that he can’t feel it yet — it would be too embarrassing for him to know how much you liked what he said.

You feel a loss of contact as Su-bong takes a step back, lowering to his knees behind you. He removes his gloves and mask entirely, tossing them onto the bed beside you so he can bunch the tulle of your skirt around your waist. His hands rub over your ass, thumbs briefly spreading you open to see your hole; of course your body reacts, clenching in anticipation.

“Is that where you want me?” Su-bong laughs, teasing his thumb over you. “I don’t think you’re prepared for that, not tonight. Maybe if you’re good enough, I’ll get you some toys so we can get you ready to take me. How does that sound?” His voice is almost too calm, like he’s unaffected by what he’s promising you. When his hand comes down hard on your ass, you yelp, your fingers clenching the duvet and your knees buckling. “Answer me,” he commands. “Does that sound good?”

“Yes, it sounds really fucking good,” you breathe, nodding your head quickly.

“Good,” he responds, one hand slipping between your thighs so he can rub along your slit. “I can’t believe your stupid fucking boyfriend saw you dressed like this and left you here. If you were mine, strutting around in a dress this short…” He spanks you again, this time harder than before, and he strokes your clit at the same time. Your body trembles and you let out a needy whine, feeling yourself growing wetter at the contact. “…dripping like this,” he continues, teasing his finger around your entrance. “Fuck, that’s so hot. Does your boyfriend know how to get you this wet? I bet he doesn’t; he seems boring.”

Su-bong doesn’t wait for an answer before he slips two fingers inside you, pumping slowly and shallowly. You groan in your throat, your head dropping and your eyes closing, his slender fingers stretching your walls that have been aching for him all night.

Su-bong surprises you by leaving a bite on the back of your thigh, making you drop down to your elbows with a moan. You rest your knee on the edge of the bed now, hoping it will support you as your arms grow tired, but this also gives Su-bong more access to you, which he greedily accepts with a growl.

“Fuck, you taste like candy,” he mutters, pressing open mouth kisses against you, licking up what he can. “Perfect for Halloween.”

When Su-bong angles his head so he’s able to press his mouth to your clit, he begins sucking on it, sloppy and wet, practically moaning against you while still thrusting his fingers into you. You whine, much needier than you expect, rocking your hips against his face, desperately needing more friction. Su-bong’s free hand strokes up the back of your calf, tracing the fishnet material, until he reaches the back of your thigh. He squeezes hard and then gives another sharp slap to your ass, causing you to buck against his face.

“Su-bong,” you whine, listening to him laugh against you. “Please.”

“Mmm,” he hums, pulling back so he can leave another bite, this time on your inner thigh. “Are you begging me?”

“Yes, please.”

With another spank to your ass, making you feel how tender it’s become, Su-bong stands, checking to see that your gaze is on him from over your shoulder. He raises the front of his hoodie enough to access his belt, slowly pulling the leather from the buckle until it’s open. His fingers press to the button, flicking it open and then dragging down the zipper, agonizingly slow.

“Is this what you’re begging me for?” Su-bong asks, nodding his head downwards.

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Come over here and get it.”

You move from the bed to the floor, resting your knees in front of him. You keep your eyes on him, giving as innocent a look as you can muster, while you slide your hand into his boxers to wrap your fingers around him.

“Fuck,” you mumble, when you slip him from his clothes.

You clench thinking about what he’ll feel like inside of you, his size much larger than what you’re used to. Of course, he smirks at your reaction, so self-satisfied that it almost makes you roll your eyes. You notice Su-bong slips his phone from his pocket, prepared to toss it onto the bed beside his mask and gloves, but he pauses, as if he’s thinking of something. A devious smirk begins to spread across his lips as he lifts his gaze to meet yours.

“Can I?”

It takes you a moment to understand what he’s suggesting, but your stomach twists into knots when you realize; he wants to record you. All you can do is nod, beginning to slowly stroke your hand over him — you don’t know if you could even form a clear sentence with how turned on you are. In response to your approval, Su-bong grins, snatching up his mask and slipping it over his face again.

When you chance a look at him, you watch him pull the hood over his head as well, his breaths heavy. Giving him an innocent look from underneath your eyelashes, you find him peering down at you from behind his mask, aiming the camera towards you. You can hear his breath muffled against the mask, steady but every so often a little shaky.

You take him into your mouth slowly, bobbing your head over him so that he’s halfway into your mouth with your hand stroking the rest of him. You feel a little shy on camera, like you forgot how to properly give head, but Su-bong softly presses his hand to the back of your head to urge you on.

“Can you take it deeper for me?” he asks, and you relax your jaw preparing to take more of him into your mouth. “I love how eager you are to please me, baby.”

The sentence would have been sweet if it wasn’t in the tone that Su-bong liked to use — that Thanos voice. It’s smug and egotistical, like he needs his inflated sense of self to be the first thing people notice about him; he’s proud of his ego and the way people feed into it. Right now, you’re more than happy to give him what he wants.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you gag but fight through it, keeping him still. Su-bong groans when he feels you struggling around him, the way you try to keep him even though he’s too big, it makes his cock twitch against your tongue. You pull back quicker than you would have liked, letting out a gasp but still taking care to stroke over him.

“It’s okay,” Su-bong says, wiping the tear from your eye with his thumb. “You’ve never had to suck a dick this big, have you, señorita?” You shake your head slowly, licking the head of his cock and swirling your tongue around to catch some of the precum that leaked out.

“I like how you taste,” you admit, your free hand slipping between your thighs to rub your clit. You take him back into your mouth bobbing your head over him faster, stroking to the base of his shaft.

“Are you touching yourself?” Su-bong asks, trying to angle the camera to get your whole body in the frame. “Did I tell you that you could do that?”

You whimper around him, your eyebrows furrowing because fuck, the deep, raspy tone of his voice shoots straight between your thighs. You’re sure if you could see his face, he would be smirking at you, knowing that he has you exactly where he wants you. After a few more bobs of your head, you take him deeper again, working over him faster and moaning quietly around him.

“Fuck, that feel so good” he grits, letting out a shuddered breath. “I’ll have to train you how to deepthroat and you’ll—Jesus, you’ll be perfect.” He sets his hand on the back of your head and guides you backwards so he drops from your mouth. “Take everything off except your stockings and heels,” he commands, stepping back with his camera still aimed towards you.

Standing to your feet, you decide to put on a show for him and his camera; you unfasten the button of your skirt and let it drop to pool around your feet. When you begin to unfasten the hooks at the front of your corset, Su-bong takes a step closer to you to get a better view with his camera. His free hand slowly strokes over himself, his breath heavy in the mask. When you drop the rest of your clothing to the floor, he gets one last look at you through the phone’s camera before he stops recording and tosses it to the bed.

“Lay on your back,” he directs. “Spread your legs. Let me see how wet your pussy is now that you got a taste of Thanos.” You hurry towards the bed, far more eager than you would normally like to be and you swear you can hear Su-bong laugh behind you. “Hungry little slut,” he mutters, entirely too amused.

You settle into the bed, dropping back onto your elbows so you can still watch him, spreading your legs like you were told to do. Su-bong slowly strokes over his erection for a moment before he tucks himself back into his boxers, to your disappointment.

“Now, don’t look so sad,” Su-bong mumbles, moving closer to the bed. “I’m not even close to being done with you yet.” He slides the mask off of his face and drops it to the bed, taking a hit of his vape again. “On your back,” he says, more firmly. “Keep your eyes up.”

You find it an odd request but when you rest onto your back, you notice the oversized mirror on the ceiling above his bed. At any other time, you would roll your eyes and mock him for how ridiculous it seems. But you’re entranced, as through the reflection, you see Su-bong crawling onto the bed, pushing your legs even further apart to give him space.

“Have you always gotten wet for me?” Su-bong asks, kissing up your inner thigh.

“Mhm,” you hum, still watching him through the mirror, your hands fisting the duvet beneath you as he gets closer to where you need him most. “When we’d dance, I’d feel you getting hard…” You say it in hopes that you could bring him down to your level a bit, however, Su-bong has no shame, and he chuckles against your thigh, leaving a bite much harder than you expect.

“Yeah, because I knew you would have fucked me at the club if I asked you,” he mutters, his tongue teasing over your clit. You moan softly, pressing one hand to the back of his head and urging him to continue — of course he lets out an amused breath of a laugh, but obliges.

Su-bong doesn’t waste time going slow; he begins to suck on your clit immediately, his fingers joining his mouth between your legs but circling your slick entrance. You nudge your hips against his face, begging him to get on with it, because you’re desperate to get off. Su-bong eases two fingers inside of you, thrusting at a steady pace but now beginning to tongue your clit, panting against you.

“Fuck, Thanos.”

You don’t mean to say it. Truth be told, you don’t even realize that you said it until Su-bong growls against you and hooks his free arm under your thigh to pin you against his face. He sucks on your clit again, his fingers thrusting faster, pushing you faster to your orgasm. You thread your fingers through his hair to give you some leverage to work your hips against.

“I’m gonna come, Thanos,” you moan, testing his nickname again in hopes that he can go even faster.

“Mhm,” he hums against you, giving you what you need.

The sloppy sound of his fingers pumping and his mouth sucking becomes the only thing you can focus on, chasing your orgasm. You claw at the back of his hoodie with your free hand, watching through the mirror so you can see yourself losing control. When his fingers curl inside of you, pumping harder, hitting that spot that’s been neglected for so long, you let out a broken moan, needy and cheap enough that you’d blush if you heard it from outside. Su-bong’s grip on your thigh begins to hurt, and you know he’ll leave bruises but the pain only gives you the push you need to reach your climax.

Your thighs tighten around his head, and you feel him moan hard against you in response, still working you through your climax. You arch from the bed, pressing yourself against him more firmly to feel every bit of your orgasm. The way Su-bong’s fingers thrust into you still, fast and hard, make your legs quake along with the motions. Each time you make contact, you become more aware of how sore you’re going to be already.

You feel him in every inch of your body, shockwaves rolling all the way through to your limbs. With Su-bong working you at the same pace, you feel yourself hurtling towards another climax that you’re not ready for. Everything begins to feel like it’s blurring and you’re worried you could pass out from overstimulation, the intensity of your first orgasm much greater than you expected. Your hands press to his shoulders, the bottoms of your heels dig into his sides, trying to push him away as you find your words.

“F-fuck, wait,” you stutter out, tears beginning to form in your eyes. Su-bong slows to a stop and lifts his gaze to meet yours, a brief flash of concern in his eyes. “I’m okay,” you pant, covering your face with your hands. “Just gimme a second.”

“That wasn’t even my best work. You must have really needed that.”

You’d laugh if you could because he’s not wrong. Shota rarely takes care of your needs; you blame it on a number of factors, like his busy schedule, your distance from one another, and how exhausted he gets from work. You don’t think he does it on purpose, but no, you can’t keep thinking about Shota when Su-bong rolls onto his back and rests his head on your thigh, watching you through the mirror as he takes another hit from his vape.

Something hits you at this moment: you haven’t kissed him yet. You wonder if it’s intentional, and maybe it’s too intimate for what you’re doing, too tender. But you watch his mouth on his vape, the way he licks his lips after he exhales the vapor…and you want to know what it feels like to be kissed by him.

“What is it?” Su-bong asks, staring at you through the mirror. “Had enough?”

“Just thinking.”

“Ah, you think too much,” he waves his hand dismissively. “You could afford to spend some time feeling instead. Get out of your head every once and a while.”

You stare at him for another moment before shoving him off of you and crawling on top of him, straddling his waist. His expression is overjoyed and diabolical at the same time, so you knock his vape from his hand so it clatters to the floor. When his eyebrows crease and his lips part, presumably to complain, you grab handfuls of his hoodie and plant a hard kiss on his lips. He groans, his hands setting on your hips so he can dig his fingers into your skin.

“I could tell you wanted to kiss me,” he mutters against your lips. “You can’t get enough of me, can you?”

You break from the kiss completely, pressing your hands flat against his chest and grinding yourself against his cock through his jeans. He pulls in a sharp breath, then lands a quick slap on your ass while his other hand is still holding your hip.

Your hand slips between your bodies, working his cock free from his boxers again. You guide it along your slit, making sure he’s covered with your juices before finally you ease him inside of you. The moan you let out was pathetic, but he stretches you more than you expect, a distinct pain radiating through your walls.

Su-bong doesn’t say anything apart from a muttered swear once you’ve settled onto him completely, but when his eyes meet yours, you can tell he’s checking in to make sure you’re okay. You give him a small nod, and start to rock yourself on his lap, slow enough to get used to the pain. Su-bong nods, biting his lip as he lets out a satisfied groan.

Desperate to get your hands on him, you drag the zipper of his hoodie down, and he takes the hint, sitting up to remove it the rest of the way. Once his hoodie is on the floor, one of your hands gently grasps his throat, watching for his reaction. His tongue slips from his mouth, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth with a nod of his head. Your grip tightens on him,watching the way his eyes slip closed while you still ride him slowly.

“Fuck,” he grinds out, holding your thighs firmly, adding to the litany of marks he’s left on you already. “Harder.”

“Of course you like getting choked,” you tease, tightening your grip on his throat. You lean over him, planting a quick kiss on his lips, before whispering in his ear, “Are you going to choke me, too?”

Su-bong lets out a strangled grunt, and you release your grip on him, letting him pull in a few breaths. He thrusts up, plowing himself deeper inside of you so that you let out a yelp against his neck. You claim his neck with your mouth, sucking and kissing to leave your mark on him, Su-bong murmurs your name in a tone that makes your walls clench around his cock, riding him faster now.

“Why don’t you get on your hands and knees for me?” he asks, nudging your head softly with his to get your attention.

“No, I want to be on top.”

You’re testing the waters. You want to see if he likes a brat — well, maybe not completely bratty, but a little defiant. Both of Su-bong’s arms wrap around your waist, holding your body flush against his so you can’t move. You lift your head from his neck, and peer into his eyes to find them darkened, albeit a little amused.

“Who’s in charge?” he asks, quietly. You don’t answer immediately, so he spanks you hard enough to make you whine and clench around him again. “Answer me,” he asks, his voice raspier now, more insistent.

“You are,” you reply, licking your lips, unable to hide your excitement at the way he speaks to you. A smirk spreads across his lips and he kisses you, hard and rough, like he wants to claim his property. When he breaks from the kiss, you risk giving an extra bite to his bottom lip, a move that earns a growl from Su-bong.

“Get on your knees.”

You finally do as you're told, hurrying off of him so you can rest on your hands and knees facing the head of the bed. He settles onto his knees behind you, hand rubbing soothingly over your backside for a moment. You rest onto your forearms, arching your back to press yourself against him, trying to entice him to continue.

Su-bong chuckles at your eagerness, pressing his hand against your lower back as he guides himself back into you. He lets out a raspy groan, burying inside of you to the hilt and remaining still for a moment. You can hear that he’s fumbling with something so you glance over your shoulder to see him slipping his mask back onto his face.

“I’m so glad Shooter left you here for me,” he laughs, gently rocking his hips against you. “I’m going to make you mine now.”

Su-bong reaches past you to prop his phone against the pillows, pressing record when he’s sure that you’re both in the frame. He sits upright again, grabbing your hip with one hand while the other holds the hem of his shirt out of the way so he’s able to watch between your bodies as he fucks into you. You watch him through the screen of the phone, and you can’t fight the climax that starts to build inside of you at the sight of him in his Ghostface mask.

“That boyfriend of yours…he can’t do it like this, can he?”

“No,” you whine, your eyes slipping closed.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” Su-bong says, spanking you hard enough to make you moan. Your eyes flutter open so you can see him on the phone screen again. “Does your little boyfriend fuck you this good?”

“He can’t fuck me like you can,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Fuck, you’re so big.” You let out a staggered groan, your eyes slipping closed so you can focus on pushing yourself back against his thrusts.

“Yeah? You’re not used to something this big, are you?”

“No, no one has ever fucked me this deep, or stretched me like this. You’re gonna make me come, baby; please, don’t stop.”

“C’mere,” Su-bong mumbles, grabbing your shoulder so he can pull you towards him, pressing his chest against your back. “Are you going to come for me?” he whispers, his voice muffled, but the heat of his breath resonating from behind the mask’s rubber edges. “Is your pussy leaking down your thighs because this is the best you’ve ever had?”

“Mhm,” you whine, grabbing one of his hands to drag it towards your throat.

“Dirty little slut,” he chuckles, wrapping his slender fingers around your throat and squeezing just enough to make it difficult for you to pull in a breath.

“Choke me,” you beg, as Su-bong continues to thrust against you.

Su-bong grips you more firmly, cutting off your oxygen and you instinctively try to take a breath, but find yourself unable to. He fucks you harder, hitting you at a different angle with your bodies pressed together like this. You reach over your shoulder, pushing his mask off of his face, letting it fall to the floor. You scrape your nails over his scalp before threading your fingers through his hair, listening to him let out a growl.

“You should see how sexy you look,” he whispers. “You’ve got a boyfriend but you’re riding my dick like you fucking own it. What would people think if they saw how fucking nasty you’re acting for me?” You dig your nails into his forearm, and he takes the hint, loosening his grip so you can pull in a breath. “Good girl,” he soothes, wrapping his arms around your body to hold you still while he trusts.

“Fuck, choke me again.”

“You want to come with my hand on your throat?”

“Mhm, please,” you beg, nodding furiously.

Su-bong places his hand on your throat again, squeezing immediately so you’re unable to breathe. Your jaw is slack, eyes closed, your hips trying to circle against Su-bong’s hard thrusts. He presses a kiss to your shoulder before he bites down to muffle his moan.

“Your pussy is so fucking tight, baby,” he mutters against your skin. “I’ve never had pussy this good in my life.”

You would moan if you had the air, but Su-bong’s fingers dig into your throat hard enough to cut your breathing off entirely. The sensations become overwhelming: Su-bong panting and moaning against your shoulder, the bed creaking softly beneath you, the bass rumbling from the floor below, your inability to breathe — it pushes you headfirst into your second climax of the night.

Su-bong releases his grip on your throat, allowing you to pull in a shuddered breath that quickly turns into a ragged moan. Your moans are strangled and desperate, your body quivering against Su-bong’s, fingernails dragging along the length of his arm and digging in.

“Fuck,” he hisses, still thrusting as you struggle to pull away from him, far too overstimulated. Su-bong laughs breathlessly, letting you go so that you drop back onto your stomach, with him pressed against your back. “Jesus,” he mutters, kissing along your shoulder. “You almost made me come.”

“Wouldn’t make us even,” you rasp.

“Oh, yeah?” Su-bong chuckles, grabbing his phone to stop the recording.

“Mhm,” you hum, nudging him off of you. He rolls onto his back with a grunt, his hand giving a lazy stroke over his length. “What’s wrong?” you ask, rolling onto your side and watching him carefully. “Are you too tired now?”

“You need Thanos to give you another one, señorita?” he grins, licking your slick from his fingers. You roll closer to him, taking hold of his wrist and pulling his hand towards you so you can finish cleaning his hand.

“I want you to ruin me for anyone else,” you mutter. “I want you to make it where I can’t think of you without my pussy getting wet.” Su-bong stares at you for a moment, mesmerized. You wonder if you’ve gone too far but he leans towards you and kisses you deeply, his hand resting underneath your chin to keep you in place.

“On your back,” he mumbles against your lips. “I’ll give you what you want, my girl.”

You roll onto your back, spreading your legs, inviting him over. The grin on Su-bong’s face is clear as he kneels between your thighs, tugging his shirt over his head and throwing it to the ground before pushing himself back inside of you. He presses his hands to your inner thighs, pinning your legs down to the spread wide open for him. Su-bong presses his weight against your thighs to brace himself as he fucks into you, a steady pace, but hitting deep inside of you with each thrust. Your moans become needier, cheap, decorum long thrown out the window — it’s only you and Su-bong, and his thrusts grow faster.

“You were made to have me inside you,” he mumbles, rolling his head back as his thrusts get sloppier. “I can’t wait…to see you covered in me.”

“You’re gonna come all over me?” you whine, clenching at the thought and Su-bong’s hips stutter in response. “Fuck, I’m gonna come again,” you groan, exhausted feeling the tightening in your worn out muscles. “Oh, my God, Su-bong, don’t stop!”

Your words start to jumble, your mind going blank as another climax hits your drained body. This time, it makes you tremble down to your feet, your knees pulling in around his waist of their own accord. You moan out his name, your hands clawing at his back in desperation, operating entirely on instinct.

It only takes a few more strokes of his hips before Su-bong pulls out of you as he jerks his hand quickly over his length, groaning your name over and over mixed with mutters of praise for you. As he comes, he drops his head back and lets out a loud moan into the air, echoing off the walls of his room. He finishes on your stomach and chest, panting and growling as he does.

“Fuck,” he breathes, feeling blindly at his side for his phone.

Su-bong aims the camera at you, trailing his fingers through his cum, gathering just enough to coat his fingers. He brings his hand between your thighs, pushing his fingers inside of your tender entrance. You whimper, needy and almost pleading with him because you won’t be able to handle another orgasm. Su-bong laughs breathlessly, recording as he gives two shallow pumps of his fingers before removing them altogether.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, and you do as you’re told. You stick your tongue out to allow him to slip his fingers into your mouth, aiming the camera at your face to film your response. You suck his fingers clean, looking beyond the phone this time, and instead into Su-bong’s face.

When he retracts his hand, he stops filming you, tossing the phone onto the bed beside you. He struggles for a moment to maneuver off of the side of the bed, nearly stumbling to the floor on his shaky legs.

“Jesus,” Su-bong breathes out, rubbing his hand over his face as he finally climbs from the bed and heads towards his bathroom. You lay splayed out on the bed, eyes closed, trying to catch your breath, completely fucked out.

You’re sure it was the best sex you’ve ever had. It was everything you’ve never gotten from partners in the past, especially Shota.

Oh, fuck — what are you going to tell Shota?

“You okay?” Su-bong’s voice pulls you back to reality, and you open your eyes to see him standing in the doorway of his bathroom, fastening his belt. He smiles, softer than he had all night, and you see shades of your friend again.

“Yeah,” you rasp, returning the smile.

“I turned the shower on,” Su-bong says, gesturing behind him into the bathroom then pointing across the room to a door. “There are shirts and boxers in the closet — you can wear whatever you want.”

“Where are you going?” You embarrass yourself with the way it sounds: needy and soft. After what the two of you just did, it feels out of place. Su-bong laughs, picking his vape from the floor and taking a hit as he walks closer to the bed.

“Why, you gonna miss me?”

“Not at all,” you quip, as Su-bong gently lifts your legs one at a time to slip your shoes from your feet, letting them clatter to the floor.

“Well,” Su-bong hums, his eyes scanning over your body. “I think Shooter is going to suspect something when he sees what I did to you.”

You don’t bother to look, knowing that you’re likely littered with bruises, bites all over your inner thighs, and your ass red with Su-bong’s hand print. You instead keep your eyes on Su-bong, noticing the mark you left on his neck; it makes you grin knowing that he let the Thanos facade slip just a bit for you.

“You can stay in here tonight,” he says, picking his shirt off of the floor and tugging it over his head. “I’ll clear the party out and come back in a little while.”

“What, are you going to come back to cuddle or something?” You say it to mock him gently in the way that he does to you, keeping in line with how most of your conversations go. But there’s a part of you that wants him to be soft to you — needs to feel him holding you. Su-bong smirks, pulling a lollipop from his pocket and slowly peeling the wrapper off.

“Is that what you want me to do?” he asks, still managing to make his voice sound cocky even while talking about something gentle. “Hold you and kiss you like I’m your boyfriend or something?”

“I guess it would be okay,” you reply, a faint smile on your lips. Su-bong slips the lollipop in his mouth, nodding his head.

“Then don’t worry about putting any clothes on when you get out of the shower,” he says, walking towards the bed. “I’d rather you sleep naked.”

He places one knee on the bed so he can lean over you, pressing his hands to the mattress on either side of your body. For a moment, he doesn’t do anything, simply stares into your eyes — his gaze is softer than you expect but he still hides some mischief behind the gentleness.

Su-bong pulls the lollipop from his mouth and licks his lips, dripping his head down to kiss you. It’s not soft like you’d expect after the way he was looking at you, but it isn’t rough either. He kisses you like he may not have another chance, deep and passionate so you can taste yourself on his tongue, mixing with the sweet raspberry flavor of the lollipop.

You feel like you could stay there forever, like this is where you belong: kissing Su-bong after he fulfilled almost every single desire you’ve ever had. Your body still trembles softly from the intensity of your interaction with him, goosebumps breaking out over your body. But your mind flashes to Shota, at your apartment wondering where you are. You feel shame start to wash over you, your thoughts beginning to push away the aftershocks of your multiple orgasms.

“Mmm,” he hums, breaking from the kiss to lock eyes with you again. “I can feel that you’re thinking too much.”

“What am I supposed to tell Shooter?”

“Whatever you want,” Su-bong replies, with a shrug. “Here, this will give you something to play with while I’m gone.”

Su-bong holds the sucker between his teeth by the stick, bracing himself above you with his hands against the mattress. He leans down enough for the candy to be just an inch from your lips so you lock eyes with him as you stick your tongue out and lick the sweet. The expression in his eyes is elated, like it won’t take much for him to be ready for round two. Though the thought of fucking Su-bong for the rest of the night makes your heart leap into your throat, your body is far too exhausted to do anything else tonight. You take the sucker into your mouth and Su-bong releases the stick from between his teeth.

“Just break up with him,” Su-bong says, standing from the bed and picking up his hoodie to pull it on again. “It’s never going to get better than where it is right now.” He spares one more glance towards you, a self-satisfied smirk spreading across his lips. “But us?” he says, gesturing between himself and you. “We haven’t even scratched the surface, my girl.”

[drdemonprince]

What do people do about dom guilt/shame after engaging with “hard” kinks? I just tried knife play for the first time last night and I had a really good time toying with my sub and just seeing this other side of him that really wants to get cut up. I’m worried I crossed some kind of invisible line and I’m evil now even though we both liked it.

We’re both inexperienced with engaging with “hard” kinks and we have some mutual friends and I’m unsure what they’d think of me if they knew. So that adds to the stress a little. At the same time though, I love that he trusted me enough to ask for that and the look he got in his eyes was incredible.

aftercare! Doms need aftercare! especially after doing darker or more serious scenes. One Dom that I know has his subs message him the day after a particularly intense scene to check in and reassure him that he is not a bad person, that they actively wanted everything that he did, and that they are doing well (or if they are struggling in some way, he wants them to tell him so that they can work through it and he can offer support). so much of the focus gets put on the needs of the sub in these matters, and on protecting the sub from harm, but it is equally important to make sure that the Dom is given space to self-regulate, reassurance, comfort, or whatever it else it is that they need to process this stuff.

you'll come to know a lot better with the more practice that you have. some people are really fired up energetically after a big Dommy see and what they really need is to eat a meal and take a walk and cool down a bit. other people like the conventional cuddling while watching a movie and eating sweet snacks form of aftercare that comes most readily to people's minds. but psychologically the impact of being a Dom is quite different from that of submitting, and so you may need things like seeing your sub exercise agency, having somebody else take care of you and making decisions, a lot of detailed feedback on how the scene went from the subs perspective, everybody to switch out of role and to act relatively normal and jokey, or some combination of these things.

for now, continue talking it through with your partner, ask them for support and care, and maybe journal a little bit on how you're feeling in the days after a scene. It is completely normal to experience a drop and to feel tired, disgusted, ashamed, we're like you're a bad person, and you can learn to anticipate this and work with it to minimize how much it bothers you and prevent a lot of larger meltdowns from occurring. but the only way we figure this stuff out is from learning! feeling a little bit bad or even a lot bad it's not a sign that you've screwed up here. it's just data. and so it's all very worthwhile to get.

[r1pp4r]

since yall loved königs so much, heres some simon “ghost” riley nsfw headcannons!!

WARNINGS: MDNI!! this is just completely nsfw :))

——————————————————————————————

* okay- simon 100% is a thigh lover and i mean ANYTHING to do with your thighs. especially if he fucks your thighs ugh, especially with your back to his chest and your sitting on his lap 🧍‍♂️

* riding. he looooves the way your body is pressed up against him, and the way you move your hips. it’s so intoxicating to him, he’s obsessed. he loves feeling you bite into his neck and shoulder, or your kisses against his jaw. he also loves the way he can grab ur thighs, and thats why he also loves the mating press or your legs on his waist, but like,, pressed to ur chest

* i don’t think simon has a lot of kinks. like not ones that physically harm you. it honestly depends on your preference :) but like idk. for me he’d have some kinks, but nothing with sadism or masochism like at all. but he loooooves to make you feel overwhelmed. i think he’d be into light bondage sometimes but not a lot. he likes to make sure you know you’re safe.

* playing off that, simon is someone BIG on hearing you verbally consent. a nod or a kiss won’t do. he needs to verbally hear you say what you need, or want. that ties into the fact he does absolutely love to hear you beg for him.

* simon is a stone top. at least imo, only bc of his SA. which that can happen, and he feels the need to have some kind of control over the situation and not you entirely. but sometimes he’ll let you praise him, and he’ll beg for you. he lets his guard down and submits to you in a sense.

* SAFEWORD. EVEN THO ITS NOT BDSM HE HAS A SAFEWORD. for him. not just for you-

* simon adore cockwarming. he loves feeling your little cunt on his shaft, where he just has you against him. he lets you grind into him barely, just getting enough friction to have soft, almost inaudible whimpers. especially when he’s doing paperwork.

* simon doesn’t ask you to give him head a lot bc he feels like it’s a task bc of his size. but you always insist and he swears its the best thing because your mouth was made for him. (sometimes he’ll fuck your mouth if he’s feelin silly n goofy :p)

* MARKINGGGG!!! he loves leaving sweet hickeys all over your neck, softly massaging your clit while sucking soft bruises onto your skin <333

* he takes his time a lot. and i mean a lot of time. he doesn’t like quickies (i agree) sessions can last sometimes 3-5 hours because he has so much stamina. like good lord.

* but he also takes his time bc he wants to show you how well knows your body. good lord does he know it. he knows exactly how to make you sing, and he’s hit spots you couldn’t have imagined.

* yes, simon is BIG but he knows how to use it. people who don’t know how to use their dick and its big, it hurts. but simon knows his angles, how deep he can go, etc.

* simon has a huge breeding kink, and i mean it’s horrid. he fills you up every single time. multiple times. he loves the thought of fucking a kid into you, and loving a kid into you. but he knows your both not ready for it yet, but it still drives the both of you crazy, the thought of you plump w his kid

[badkitty3000]

Breaking The Rules

Five x Plus Size Female Reader, Words: 8,159, One-shot

Warnings: Smut, slight Daddy kink

So I received a very lovely request from someone I won't name, but they asked for something very specific:

"There aren't that many Five x plus size reader fics, And I think that should be changed"

I immediately jumped on this idea, because yes, this does need to change. Body representation is very important. I fully admit that I normally write Five with petite women, and that's usually because he's not a huge guy himself, so I tend to make them smaller. That's kind of the standard formula I suppose: bigger guy, smaller girl? But it doesn't have to always be that way. Everyone should be represented in a positive way.

Anyway, I have tried my best to fulfill this request and hopefully I do it justice. 😽❤️☂️

You had just been transferred from Records to Case Management. It was a pretty big promotion, but you had worked hard for it and deserved it. You were excited to be out of the stuffy records room and into the main population of employees since you were by nature a very social person. At one point you had thought about training for an agent position, but decided against it. Even though that’s really what you dreamed of doing. Instead, you figured vying for an executive position would be the best route, but that would take a few more years in the machine.

Part of your job was taking the data that you put together and assigning a particular agent to the case. You were good at solving puzzles, which is why you were put in this department to begin with, but you were also very good at reading people. You loved getting to know new people and their personalities, and what made them tick. People in general were fascinating to you, and the Commission had plenty of personalities.

As usual, you had no problem fitting in with your new coworkers. You had some sort of energy or charisma that drew others in. Maybe it was your infectious laugh, or your inappropriate sense of humor. Or just that way that you had of putting everyone around you at ease. Whatever it was, it was a source of pride for you. You liked being the one people gravitated to.

There was one person that did not seem as smitten with you as everyone else, and that was Number Five Hargreeves. You knew of him, of course. Everyone did. He was a legend among legends and there was a reason for that. You hadn’t been there the first time around, when he was fresh out of the Apocalypse, but when he came back years later as a younger version of himself, it was all anyone could talk about.

Five had a reputation for being aloof and if you caught him on the wrong day, he’d cut you down with some biting insult that was just as powerful as any physical harm he could do. He was smart, agile, and brutally honest. He was also hot as hell.

There seemed to be no end to the line of women that would purposefully parade past him on a daily basis. You couldn’t blame them, though. You’d caught yourself staring a few times, as you watched him read over a file with that serious expression of his, before he nodded a curt thank you and disappeared in a flash of blue. But you weren’t really that interested in him and you knew for a fact that he didn’t date inside the office. You admired that about him, actually, because neither did you.

Just because he wasn’t sleeping around the Commission, however, didn’t mean he wasn’t getting some action elsewhere. When you work for an organization that can see anything and everyone across all timelines and at any point in time…well, rumors are bound to start spreading. And you had heard a lot of them.

As with all rumors, it was hard to determine how much of it was true, but you could at least believe what you heard about his usual taste in women. Petite, thin, perky boobs, a flat stomach, and a small, tight ass. The guys at the switchboard loved to give descriptions of Five’s latest conquests, and they all sounded about the same. But hey, good for him, everyone has a type.

So, even if you were somehow interested in him from a romantic standpoint, you wouldn’t have made the cut anyway. You didn’t fit that stereotypical mold of those other women with your wide hips, slightly bigger breasts and butt, and a stomach that had never been flat. You doubted his usual dates had stretch marks on their thighs and hips, or even a small amount of cellulite on their ass. Not that you cared. Everyone’s bodies were different, after all.

Being a bigger sized woman didn’t bother you. You were confident in your body and made no apologies about it. Just because you couldn’t fit into the size negative two jeans that were constantly shoved in your face on every clothing store mannequin, didn’t mean you weren’t going to wear what you wanted. Short skirts, tight blouses that hugged your chest, or low cut, strappy dresses. If you liked it and it fit, who the fuck cared what anyone else thought? You liked yourself and your body, and if someone else didn’t, then that was their problem.

You liked sex, too, and you had no problems in that department either. You’d had many boyfriends, and a few one-night stands. Currently, you were unattached, but that was ok. There would be another man along at some point and you weren’t going to settle for someone you didn’t like. In the meantime, you’d ogle the eye candy at work.

It was a typical day when you had your first real interaction with Five. Sitting in the breakroom with your lunch, laughing loudly with your coworkers, the room suddenly became very quiet. You looked over to see Five strolling casually in, heading for the coffee station. He didn’t speak to anyone, or really even look in their direction, but there were nervous glances all around. One by one, your friends quietly made some excuse and got up to leave. Eventually, it was just you left at the table.

“Aren’t you going to flee in terror with the rest of them?”

You looked up, surprised to see that he was actually talking to you. You pointed to your salad in front of you. “I’m still eating. And you don’t really scare me, sorry.”

Five looked thoughtful for a second and you saw the glimmer of a smile before he took another sip of coffee.

“Nice work on the Edinburgh case, by the way.”

You nodded. “Thanks. I didn’t think you even knew who I was.”

Five shrugged. “I pay attention. Especially when I see real talent.”

You frowned. “So, you’re stalking me, is that what you’re telling me?”

Five almost choked on his coffee. “What? No! Why would you…”

“I’m kidding!” you laughed. “I’m just messing with you. Thank you, though. I appreciate the compliment.”

“Oh,” Five said, clearly uncomfortable. “You’re welcome.” Then he cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll leave you to finish your meal.”

“You don’t have to go, you know,” you said as he headed for the door. He stopped and looked back at you and you gestured to one of the empty seats. “It’s ok to relax sometimes. Maybe be social? And I don’t bite…at least not without prior consent,” you added with a wink.

Five stood there for a few seconds in thought, and you figured he was conjuring up some perfectly crafted insult for you. Instead, you saw his mouth twitch up at the corner and he gestured to you with his coffee cup.

“Well, that is very good to know. Consent is always important.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away.

A few days later you were standing with your friends in the hallway at the end of the workday, talking about the upcoming Commission pickleball tournament you were all playing in. One of your best players had been injured on a job and now you were down a body. As you were discussing options, you saw Five walking in your direction.

“Hey, Hargreeves!” you yelled. “You up for some pickleball?”

Five stopped in his tracks and actually looked around, as if there could be another Hargreeves standing right behind him. Then he looked back at you, thoroughly confused.

“What the hell are you doing?” whispered one of your friends.

“What?” you replied. “The guy’s like a hundred years old, he probably fucking loves pickleball.” You turned back to Five. “We need another player, you game?”

Still rooted to the spot, Five shook his head slowly. “Thanks for the invite. But I’ll have to decline.”

There was an audible sigh of relief from the rest of your group. You rolled your eyes. “Come on! It’ll be fun. You know what fun is, don’t you?”

Five narrowed his eyes, but you could see there was no bite to it. “Yes, I know what fun is.”

“Well, I promise this will be all sorts of fun.” You gave him a big smile. “And as a bonus, you’ll get to watch me run around in a short skirt.”

Your friend next to you slapped you on the arm. “What is wrong with you?” they hissed.

Five actually smiled for a second, you were sure of it. “Tempting, but again, I have to decline.” Then he continued on his way down the hall.

Over the next few weeks, you made it your personal mission to try and get Five to loosen up. Whether you personally delivered case files to him just as an excuse to talk to him, or purposefully followed him into the breakroom, you wouldn’t leave him alone until you got him to at least smile at something you said. After a while, you noticed he was much more relaxed around you. Eventually, you and he were officially friends, much to the amazement of everyone else around you. He even started seeking you out on his downtime.

“Hey there, handsome,” you joked as Five strode up to your desk one day. “Something I can do for you, or did you just miss me?”

“You know, I could report you to human resources for sexual harassment,” he said as he perched on the edge of your desk, folding his arms across his chest with a smile. He had a standard manilla file folder in one hand.

“It’s only harassment if you don’t like it,” you replied, pointing a pen at him.

“I’m not sure that’s accurate.”

“Sure it is,” you said as you jabbed him in the arm with the pen, laughing when he frowned and rubbed at the area. “But seriously, did you need something?”

“Maybe. I just wanted to run this by you.” He slapped the case file on your desk.

“What is it?”

“A case I was assigned to. I read it over though, and I don’t think it’s right. I wanted your opinion.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Me? The legendary Mr. Five wants my lowly opinion?”

“Just shut up and read the fucking file.”

With a laugh, you opened it and started reading. He watched you, rather intently you noticed, while you read. You frowned and shook your head, pointing at a paragraph. “Right here, this isn’t true. The clockmaker didn’t take a carriage to work that day. He walked.”

Five nodded. “That makes this whole case pointless, then. I’d be targeting the wrong person.”

“Shit, you’re right.” You looked up at him. “Good catch.”

“It looked off somehow, but I couldn’t figure it out. I knew you would, though.”

Normally you’d say something snarky to bust his balls, but he was being truly sincere and his compliment meant a lot to you. “Thanks, Five.”

He shrugged and grabbed the file off your desk. “Alright, see you later.”

As he turned around to leave, you couldn’t help yourself. “Hey, Five?”

He stopped and turned. “Yeah?”

“I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you walk away.”

Five shook his head while you cackled at your own joke. “Can’t even make it ten seconds without treating me like a piece of meat. You’re hopeless.”

The following day, you were in the breakroom getting some coffee when you overheard a conversation by some of your coworkers.

“…yeah, I heard it’s not good. Took a shot right to the chest.”

“I heard it was a head shot; that he’s barely alive.”

“No way, I don’t believe it. Not him.”

You turned toward the group, coffee cup in hand. “Who are you talking about?”

“You haven’t heard? Your buddy was shot up pretty bad today.”

You frowned, lowering your cup. “Who, Five?”

“Yeah. I only heard bits and pieces so far, but it doesn’t sound great. They brought him directly to the infirmary when he came back. There was a trail of blood in the hall and everything.”

“What?” you cried, slamming your cup on the counter. “That can’t be.”

Your friend shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I heard.”

“Shit,” you hissed, before running out of the room.

You didn’t slow down the entire way to the infirmary, dodging people in the halls, and almost knocking a few of them over in the process. How could Five be hurt? And why was just the thought making you sick to your stomach?

You burst into the infirmary just in time to see several nurses scurrying away, and a very angry and bloodied Five sitting up in one of the hospital beds.

“God damnit, if you touch me one more time, I swear to god, I will strangle you with my IV line!”

“Oh my god, Five!” Without even thinking about it, you rushed up to him and threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly to you. “Holy shit, I thought you were dead!”

His body stiffened at first, but then he relaxed and put his arms around you in return. You heard him laugh and you pulled away.

“I bet you’d like that. Then you’d finally be able to molest me without me fighting back.”

You realized a few tears had slipped down your cheek and you hurriedly wiped them away. You gave him a half-smile. “You wish.” Then you looked him over, noticing the blood on his head and the IV in his arm. “Are you ok? What happened?”

He sighed. “Nothing, just a minor mishap. I’m fine.” He spoke louder and in the general direction of the nursing staff. “But these jack-holes won’t let me leave!”

You huffed out a laugh. “I can see you’re fine by your usual lovely attitude. You should hear the rumors going around about you, though. Pretty impressive.”

“Good. I need to keep up appearances.”

When you sat down on the side of the bed, you took one of his hands in yours and squeezed it. “I’m glad you’re ok, really. I got really scared there for a minute.”

Five smiled shyly at you and gave you a squeeze back. “I’m glad someone here was worried about me.”

You tilted your head to the side and brushed a stray piece of hair off his forehead and tried to wipe away a smudge of blood. “I doubt I’m the only one.”

“I think you are,” he said, looking you directly in the eyes.

You averted your eyes for a moment. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Maybe just one thing.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

He grinned. “Go on a date with me.”

You weren’t sure you heard him correctly. “Did they check you for a concussion because I thought you just asked me out on a date.”

“I did. And no, I am not concussed.”

“Five…” you started, blinking in confusion. “I don’t understand. Do you mean like a date date?”

He huffed and rolled his eyes. “Jesus. Yes, like a date date. Why is this so hard to believe?”

“Uh, well…because we’re friends. Also, I’m not really your type.”

His eyebrows creased together. “You’re not? You’re funny, smart, and sexy. Not to mention you flirt with me every chance you get. What’s not to like?”

“I do not flirt with you.” You smiled when you saw his incredulous expression. “Ok, yeah, I do. But that was just having fun and trying to make you laugh. I didn’t think you’d be into me.”

“Why not?”

“Ok, how do I put this? I have heard all about your little conquests and I know you have a running theme. Skinny, tiny, Barbie dolls that probably have never eaten a sandwich before. And not that there’s anything wrong with that. Everyone has a type and that’s ok. Hell, normally I prefer blond guys, but…”

“Normally?” he cut in.

You blushed. “Well, I do make some exceptions for certain grouchy, dark-haired men.”

Five nodded with a smile. “So then go out with me. I promise the only type I have is the type that I happen to be attracted to. And don’t believe everything you hear around here. Remember,” he pointed to the small abrasion on his head, “I was almost dead a couple of minutes ago.”

Hesitating, you shook your head. “I don’t date anyone from work.”

“Good. Me either,” he said, still grinning.

You laughed. “Alright, then, you wore me down. It’s a date. But only if you promise to stay here for at least another hour without verbally or physically abusing these poor health care workers. It’s not their fault you’re an asshole.”

“Fine, I’ll stay, but only because I want to go out with you.” He raised his voice so the rest of the room could hear. “Not because I need to be treated like a child who fell off their tricycle!”

The next Saturday, you and Five went on your date. When he saw your outfit, he was speechless for a few seconds. He was used to seeing you in your work clothes, which was always the same boring gray pants suit, but now he got to see you in your preferred style. A form-fitting, teal blue dress that stopped halfway down your thighs and had a keyhole neckline to show off a bit of cleavage. You paired it with some gold jewelry and black, strappy heels. You laughed at his face when he saw you.

“You look…” he stammered. “That dress…just wow.”

“Thank you.” You looked him up and down, liking the way his tailored pants fit his lean body just right and his casual button-down shirt that was rolled up at the sleeves accentuated his sculpted chest. You had never really noticed how strong he looked. “You look really good, too. Much better than the stuffy suits.”

“Agreed,” he said distractedly as he continued to stare at your chest.

“Excuse me, but my eyes are up here,” you joked, pointing to your face.

He looked up briefly, then back down at your body. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll get to your eyes in a minute.”

“Wow, I had no idea you were such a pervert.”

He looked up at you with a devious smile. “Oh, yeah, huge pervert. I’m surprised you never picked up on that.” He laughed along with you and then offered his arm for you to loop yours through. “Shall we?”

At dinner, the conversation came easily. It was nice to be able to chat without having to cut it short due to work. Your stories were much duller than his, obviously, but he still seemed genuinely interested in anything you had to say. You made him laugh with your sarcastic comments and you loved knowing you were just about the only one that could crack that veneer of his. Over dessert, you finally worked up enough nerve to ask him what you really wanted to know.

“So, how come you’ve only dated thin girls before?”

Five looked surprised and he shook his head. “I haven’t only dated thin girls.”

You cocked your head to the side and raised your eyebrows. “Really?”

He coughed, embarrassed. “Ok, fine, that’s true. But it wasn’t a conscious decision. Like I said, I’m attracted to who I’m attracted to.” He paused. “But…”

“But what?”

“But what I am most attracted to is confidence. I like a woman that is sure of herself and assertive. A woman that knows what she wants.” He looked guilty for a second. “Usually, at least in my experience, those are the women that happen to fit into the societal standards of beauty. I hadn’t really thought about it until now, though. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, it’s not a bad thing. I was just curious.” You hesitated, not sure you wanted to keep pressing him for information. “What was it that attracted you to me, then?”

He looked surprised again and then he laughed. “Are you kidding? I’ve never met anyone as confident and self-assured as you. Plus, you’re funny and easy to be around. And almost as smart as I am.”

“As modest as always.”

“I’m just kidding,” he said with a smile. “You’re incredibly smart, obviously. I wouldn’t waste my time with someone who wasn’t. And…” He reached across the table and placed his hand on top of yours, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. You felt a warm, tingling sensation ripple through your body. “You are also incredibly sexy with your shameless flirting.”

“Well, I’m glad you noticed,” you said, taking your finger and brushing it over his. “And just in case you didn’t know, you are also incredibly sexy.”

“I did not know that.”

“Oh yeah. I made a lot of enemies once word got out that I was going on a date with you. Lots of jealous women back at headquarters right now.”

“Is that so? Can I get a list of those women, just in case this date goes bad?”

Taking your foot, you dragged it up his calf, all while looking him in the eye with one eyebrow raised suggestively. “I don’t think it’s going to go bad, do you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t now.” You saw him swallow hard and shift in his seat. “How about we get the check?”

When you got back to your place, you were almost falling through the door as you struggled to get inside while aggressively making out. Neither of you had even made it out of the car before you started groping one another, so that by the time you had made it home, you were both on fire.

“You know,” you mumbled between frantic kisses as Five slammed the door closed behind him with his foot. “I don’t usually put out on the first date.”

“Me either,” he said as he grabbed you around the waist to pull you in closer, kissing you along your jaw.

“Ok, I lied. Yes, I do,” you exhaled breathily as your hands wound into his hair and he moved his mouth to your neck.

“Good, because I lied too,” he said, stopping to look at you with a sly grin.

After letting out a short laugh, you were back on his mouth again, breathing hard through your nose and pressing your body against his. You could feel his arousal building as he pushed his groin into your hip. Your hands fumbled as you started to unbutton his shirt.

“Fuck, you are so hot,” he breathed against your neck. “I want you out of this dress.”

As you finished undoing the last button and pulling his shirt out of his pants, you nodded. “Yeah, good idea.” When you reached down to pull at the strap of your shoe, he put a hand on yours to stop you. When you looked up, he shook his head.

“I said the dress. The shoes stay on.”

Well, if you hadn’t been wet before, you were now. The tone of his voice and the seriousness of his face only added to the hotness factor and at that point you would have followed almost any demand he made of you. Leaving the shoes on, you pulled the dress over your head while he watched. Even though you hadn’t really been anticipating your date progressing this far, you had still prepared with a pair of satin panties and lace bra that matched the same jewel tone as the dress you dropped onto the floor.

Five didn’t say anything, just eyed you up and massaged the back of his neck. Then he let out a long, shaky exhale.

“Are you ok?” you asked, suddenly a little concerned he might not be liking what he saw.

Five nodded, his gaze not leaving your breasts. “Yeah, just give me a second. I’m trying not to come in my pants.”

Your astonished laugh was quickly cut off when you found yourself pinned against the wall on the other side of the room, the fluttery sensation of one of Five’s spatial jumps lingering in your stomach. Your squeak of surprise was swallowed by his mouth on yours, as he pushed hard against you, his hands on your tits.

When he flicked his tongue across your bottom lip, you moaned and closed your eyes, jerking your hips into him. Your hands found their way to his hard chest and muscular arms, feeling them tighten and relax with each movement. He let you tug his shirt the rest of the way off and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he pressed his face into the side of your neck and lifted one of your legs up to his waist. His hard cock was grinding into you as you drew in a ragged breath. When you felt his lips against your skin and his warm breath as he brushed his mouth over your neck, you let out a loud whine.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Let Daddy hear you,” he groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh and holding you tightly to him.

“Woah…Daddy?” you breathed out.

Five nodded, moving to the other side of your neck. “Is that ok?”

“Fuck yes, Daddy,” you moaned, running your hands greedily down his back.

You felt him smile against you and his kisses turned into small nips that he trailed down your neck and onto your shoulder.

“I want you. I can’t wait,” he said, his voice husky with desire.

“The bedroom is in there,” you said, pointing to the room just on the other side of the wall.

Five let your leg down and you pulled him by the hand into your bedroom, falling onto the bed and propping yourself on your elbows as Five stood there staring again.

“Well, come on, Daddy,” you teased. “I thought you couldn’t wait.”

A slow smile spread across Five’s face as he immediately started to undress the rest of the way, until he was crawling over you, completely naked. He rubbed his cock against your inner thigh, making a quiet growling noise in his throat before looking you in the eye.

“As much as I love this little bra and panty combination you’ve got going on here, I’m going to need those to go, too.”

When you nodded eagerly, he reached behind you and expertly unhooked your bra, tossing it off the bed before immediately moving farther south and ripping your underwear off. Once you were completely nude, Five sat back to take you all in. You assumed he liked what he saw, because it was only another second before he was covering you with his own body, attacking your full breasts with frantic sucking kisses.

“Damnit, honey, these tits…fuck,” he moaned as he buried his face in your cleavage.

“I take it that you’re pleased?” you giggled, threading your fingers through his hair.

He lifted his head, holding himself over you while he shoved your legs further apart with his knees. Then he lowered himself to kiss you tenderly, caressing your face with one hand. You let out a soft sigh.

“I’m more than pleased. You’re beautiful.”

He leaned in to kiss you again, this time using his free hand to travel down your chest and abdomen, and along your inner thighs. His long fingers met the soft, wet area between them, and he slowly ran them up through your pillowy folds, making you even wetter.

“Five…” you moaned as you rocked your hips up to match his strokes.

“What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me,” he asked, only slightly condescending as he continued to watch your face for your reactions.

Five entered you with two fingers, pressing in slowly and then backing out again before repeating it in a slow rhythm. You chased his hand with desperate thrusts of your hips, biting your bottom lip to try to contain some of the noises that threatened to escape your lips.

“Fuck me, please,” you whined, throwing your head back.

He gave a quiet chuckle and you felt his hand move away from you. Then he was positioning himself between your legs and lowering himself so that you could feel his dick rubbing against your slit.

“God, I swear I’ve never been this hard in my life. I’m going to fuck you like you want, gorgeous. Daddy’s going to take care of you.”

“Oh, shit,” you gasped when you felt him enter you, just slow enough not to be jarring, but not drawing it out, either.

When he was fully inside, you angled your hips so he was at just the right spot.

“How’s that?” he whispered as he slowly pumped into you.

“That’s good…” You grabbed at his shoulders and back. “Keep going.”

Five continued his slow and lazy thrusts while holding himself over you so he could look down at your face and body. His hair fell forward over his eye and he made quiet groaning noises that were punctuated with soft kisses.

“You feel so damn good,” he moaned.

“Five?”

“What do you need, darling?”

“I need you to really fuck me. Hard.”

He looked down at you, momentarily stopping his movements. Then he laughed quietly and you smiled back. “Well, I did say I’d fuck you like you wanted, didn’t I?”

When he pulled out, you let out a soft sigh and watched as he crawled back off the bed, his dick still hard and wet from being inside of you.

“Wha--?” you started to ask, right before he yanked your legs sideways, so that you were laying across the width of the bed.

Five positioned himself between your legs, holding them up under your knees and settling them on either side of his waist while he lined himself up and slammed into you again.

“Is this what you wanted?” he snarled, continuing to thrust into you hard and fast.

“Yes!” you cried, clutching at the sheets beneath you.

Every time he pounded into you, you got to feel the intensity of his strength as your entire body moved back and forth, your tits bouncing enticingly in front of him. He gave your voluptuous ass a hard slap that made you cry out again. You instinctively covered your mouth with your arm.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Five warned through clenched teeth. “Uncover your mouth. I want to hear you scream.”

Everything he was doing and saying was driving you quickly over the edge, and you did scream for him, just like he wanted. You couldn’t even help yourself.

“Yes…please…keep going…harder, please! I need more!”

You were begging and pleading while he railed into you as hard as he possibly could, thrusting his thick cock deep inside of you while slamming his pubic bone right into your clit every single time. All while completely supporting your lower body, angling it up and off the bed so he could fuck you relentlessly and perfectly.

Soon, you felt your muscles start to twitch and your head fell back, your mouth wide open as you repeatedly asked him to fuck you harder. When you finally hit that wall, you completely lost yourself, screaming his name while bucking and thrashing wildly against him.

Your orgasm was still coming in waves when Five released himself inside of you, his head tipped back and jaw set, growling obscenities while his muscles contracted and he dug his fingers harder into your thighs.

When the intensity had passed, Five let go of your legs, setting them gently down, and he leaned over the top of you, his hands on either side of your head. He kissed you tenderly, still trying to catch his breath.

“Fuck, that was good,” he said with a heavy exhale.

You nodded, laying a hand on his cheek. “So damn good.”

After another minute, you both moved so that you were lying longways on the bed again. Five held you against his chest while he kissed your forehead and traced his fingers down your arms and back.

“I’m not sure why we haven’t been doing that all along,” he joked.

“Because you needed to get to know me and my sparkling personality first.”

Five rolled his eyes. “Sparkling? I don’t know, that seems a bit much.”

When you giggled, he pulled you close to him. Your lips pulled to the side in thought and after a few seconds you decided to just put it out there.

“Are you sure you’re ok with my body? I mean, I am, but I just want to make sure you are, too. Because if this is going to continue, and I really hope it does, then I need to know you’re going to be ok with my size and not try to change me after a while. I’ve dated men in the past that said they were ok with it, but then a month or so later, they’re encouraging me to go to the gym or making comments about my diet. They all got kicked to the curb, because I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life. I am who I am and I love my body. I just want to make sure you do, too.”

Five was quiet for a moment, then he held your chin in his hand. “Look at me,” he said quietly, while tilting you face up. “I’m sorry if I ever gave you the impression that body type or looks matter to me, because it doesn’t. I just had the most mind-blowing sex I have ever had, and I wouldn’t change one single thing about you. You’re perfect.”

“Wow,” you said with a smile. “Five Hargreeves just called me perfect. Wait until I spread this rumor down at headquarters.”

“I’m serious,” he said. “You believe me, don’t you?”

You nodded. “I believe you. And thank you.” You gave him a soft kiss and smiled. “So, does this mean I can keep sexually harassing you at work?”

“I hereby give you permission to harass me as much as you want on a daily basis. I will welcome it.”

After that first date, you and Five couldn’t get enough of one another. It was like just being in the same building with him set your body on fire. You would find yourself staring off, lost in a daydream about what his mouth felt like and then someone would clear their throat or say your name, and you’d realize they had been talking to you without you noticing.

Obviously, everyone knew that something was going between you two. You hadn’t exactly spread the word, but you also hadn’t denied it. You didn’t really care what anyone thought, anyway. The only problem was, there was a strict policy of no relationships between case managers and field agents in place. This was done to protect the agents, and to avoid any favoritism with assignments. A few casual flings here and there were overlooked, but serious relationships were usually squashed. Not that you would describe what you had as serious. Yet, anyway.

You did love spending time with one another, even without the sex. You even made Five join you at lunch with your usual group, much to the shock of your friends. It was awkward at first, but when Five cracked a very dry and cutting joke about someone in upper management, the table went silent for a second before bursting into laughter. He looked at you in surprise, like he couldn’t believe he was having this type of positive social interaction. You just smiled and shrugged, mouthing “I told you so”.

Despite the fact that you spent a lot of time together outside of work, that didn’t stop either of you from taking advantage of your proximity at the Commission. You had lost count of the number of times you two had stolen away somewhere in the building for a quickie during the day. With Five’s status plus his convenient teleportation powers, you could hide anywhere you could think of that would give you at least a few minutes of privacy.

You would be sitting there, attempting to work on a case, when Five would come strolling in. Just the sight of him striding into the room, all confident and sexy with that tiny smirk on his face, made you want to jump on top of him. He would approach you with some made up problem he had and ask you to go with him so you could help straighten it out. It was pretty apparent what was going on, and your coworkers would exchange glances around you, but you didn’t care.

Once you were safely down the hallway, Five would grab you and blink you into some abandoned storage room where you were immediately attacked. You had told him to stop being so aggressive while at work, because the hickeys he was leaving on your neck were clearly visible. But that didn’t stop him from shoving you against a table or a wall, all while kissing you fervently and telling you how much he wanted you in that deep, growling voice of his.

Dropping to his knees to eat you out while kneading the flesh of your ass. Spinning you around to bend you over a table before fingering you and then fucking you from behind. Biting and sucking at your tits and stomach, leaving marks that would be hidden by your clothes, but were still a reminder of who you belonged to. All of it was expertly done, as only Five could do, and you couldn’t get enough.

The servicing wasn’t a one-way street, though. You liked to flip the tables sometimes and push him against the wall, sliding slowly down his body until you were kneeling in front of him, hands already clawing at his belt and zipper while you called him Daddy. When you would take all of him into your mouth, he would hiss through his teeth and groan loudly, his hand resting in your hair while he praised you for being good for him. He wanted you to look at him while you sucked him off, and tell you to finger yourself while you did it. You’d be choking on his dick, a hand shoved into your panties, and both of you moaning until you came; all while the throngs of Commission employees were passing by right outside the door.

It was quickly becoming apparent that your relationship was evolving into something more. You were starting to spend more nights together, sleeping in one another’s beds, curled up together and waking up happy in the morning, just to be near each other. Five loved cuddling up with you, pulling your soft body close against his, and nuzzling into your neck or hair. He told you how happy you made him and thanked you for pulling him out of his shell. He’d idly stroke your arms and thighs while you would lie together in the dark, just talking quietly. In the morning, he’d trace patterns over the white, jagged lines that criss crossed your abdomen and hips, reminding you how beautiful you were as the sunlight spilled across your bed.

Your feelings for Five were starting to seep into your everyday routines and the work you normally prided yourself on. You found yourself worrying about every assignment he went on, even though you knew he was a professional and could handle it.

After a while, the cases you started assigning him got easier and easier, whereas before you would have given him the most difficult and dangerous ones. He finally called you out on it when he received a total rookie assignment while another agent that was not nearly as skilled received a much more complicated one.

He sat on the corner of your desk, a smug grin on his face, as he dropped the file in front of you.

“What the hell is this?” he asked you, still smiling.

You glanced down at the file, then back at him. “What do you mean?”

He tapped the file with his finger. “This garbage. It’s a case for a newbie. Hell, you could probably hand this to any random person off the street and they could do it. So what’s going on?”

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest and frowning. “Maybe I thought you just needed a break, that’s all.”

He studied your face and shook his head. “No, that’s not it. Every case I get from you these days is getting simpler and simpler. I just haven’t said anything until now. Are you losing faith in my abilities, is that it?”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “Of course not! It’s just, you know…” Your voice trailed off and your eyes flitted away from his.

“No, I don’t know. Tell me.”

With a heavy sigh, you dropped your hands onto the desk in front of you, looking up at him. “Fine. I’m scared to give you anything complicated because I’m afraid something will happen to you. And I don’t really want my boyfriend being gunned down or stabbed or beaten all to shit, ok? Especially not in another timeline where you might not even be able to come back.”

Five took a second to absorb that information, then he looked down with a smile. “You really worry about me?”

“Yes, I worry about you. Is that so bad? You might not be as amazing as you think you are. You’re not infallible, you know.”

Five made a face like he hadn’t actually considered that before, which was mildly infuriating, and then he looked at you with that gentle smile of his that you knew he saved only for you. He leaned in and gave you a quick but tender kiss full on the mouth, even though you were still in a roomful of people that could see. When he pulled away, you felt your face flush, but not from embarrassment.

“Thank you,” he whispered earnestly.

Then he flashed you that arrogant smirk again, the dimple on his cheek deepening, before snatching a much thicker file off your desk, and blinking away without another word.

It was only a matter of time, you supposed, before Corporate caught wind of your relationship. Especially when you were making erratic decisions with your cases lately. Both you and Five received a notice from senior management requesting a meeting. You were a mess of anxiety and nerves when the time came. Your career was important to you, and it was not in your nature to just throw that away for some man. But Five wasn’t just any man, was he? If you were going to have to choose between your job and your relationship with him, you had no idea what you were going to do.

Sitting in front of the executive’s desk, your leg bounced up and down with nerves as you waited for Five to join you. When he arrived, he had the absolute audacity to look calm and unbothered as he sat down in the chair next to you. He greeted the manager and then turned to give you a wink and a small smile. You really had no idea how he could be this nonchalant. Maybe he didn’t care if you had to end things.

“As I’m sure you know, the reason you two have been called here today is –”

Five cut your manager off mid sentence. “Yes, we are fully aware. According to section 64, subsection D of the Commission Code of Conduct, we are prohibited from being in a romantic relationship with one another.”

The executive paused. “Well, yes, that’s correct. And so –”

“And so you have to inform us that we either have to end our relationship or resign from our positions.”

There was another moment of perplexed silence from across the desk. “Uh, yes…”

“But that is only because of the current departments we work for, due to conflicting interests, correct?” Five continued.

“That is correct, yes. But—”

“So, if we move to the same department, that shouldn’t be an issue?”

“Well…yes…I suppose…”

You looked at Five, completely confused. “Five, what are you doing? You don’t want to work in case management. I know you don’t.”

He nodded. “You’re right. But you can train to become a field agent.”

Your mouth hung open. “What?”

“You’ve only mentioned that you were interested in being out in the field about 50 times, so why not? They can always use more agents,” he turned to the manager, “Isn’t that right?”

The man cleared his throat. “Oh. Well, yes, that’s true.”

Five nodded again, as if that explained everything. “Alright then, so move her to my department. She has the determination and skill. And you have my official recommendation, which as you know, holds a lot of weight around here.”

There was another look of bewilderment in your direction. “Yes, Mr. Hargreeves, that’s true. I suppose we could do that—”

Five stood up with a smile. “Great! It’s all settled then.” He turned to you, still sitting in your chair and trying to make sense of all of this.

What he had said was true. You had told Five many times that you wished you could have his job. But you figured that was outside of your skill set. Five didn’t seem to agree. He knew you were highly intelligent, strong, and had the right personality. You just needed the proper training.

He reached out a hand to pull you up. “Is this all ok with you, darling? Do you have anything to add?”

You shook your head slowly. “Uh, no…I mean, yes…I mean, yes I’m ok with it and I don’t have anything else to add.”

“Great!” Five turned to the manager. “Just send me the paperwork we need to fill out and we can call it good.”

The manager shook each of your hands and it appeared that the meeting was over before it began. Five guided you towards the door with a hand on your back. You looked over your shoulder, still unsure of what exactly just happened, but you let him push you outside into the hall.

“What the fuck, Five?” you demanded, hands on your hips. “You want to tell me what is happening right now?”

“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? They weren’t going to let us keep dating if we were working in our current departments, so one of us had to move. And I know this is what you really wanted.”

You thought for a moment. “So…you didn’t think of breaking up with me just to keep things the same?”

His mouth dropped open and then he snapped it shut again, his brows furrowing and creating deep creases between his eyes. “No. Of course not.” He took a few steps closer to you and took your face gently into his hands, gazing into your eyes. “I love you.”

You drew in a sharp breath. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeated, this time with a smile.

You answered him, your own grin spreading slowly across your face. “Say that again.”

Five laughed, leaning down to kiss you and you hugged him around his waist. “I love you,” he said again after breaking away.

“I love you too, Five. I don’t know if I realized it until just now, but I do. I love you so much.”

Five nodded. “Well, that’s a relief. Because I would have looked like a giant asshole if I did all that and you shot me down.”

Laughing, you reached up for another kiss that quickly turned very heated. When you pulled away, Five was breathing hard and he tugged your body harder against his.

“There’s an empty room down the hallway over there,” he said suggestively.

You shook your head. “Sorry, honey, but we have to get to work. I have a lot of training to start on.”

“I think you forget who your new boss is,” he said in that serious tone of his.

Five pulled you in tightly again, kissing you hard on the mouth and flattened you against the wall. His hand roamed down to your chest and he gave your breast a small squeeze while pressing his knee in between your legs. When he heard you moan softly into his mouth, he backed away with a grin.

“You know, I can report you to HR for sexual harassment,” you said with a crooked smile, even though you were having a hard time controlling your heart rate.

“It’s not harassment if you like it,” he shot back before giving you a loud smack on the ass.

Then he turned around and walked away, leaving you flustered and hot; but also with that amazing feeling in the pit of your stomach from knowing you had found the perfect person to love and that loved you just as much in return.

[h4untedgrl]

Be An Angel For Me | s.mg

-♡ genre/au: non idol au, ceo!mingi x innocent!fem fiancee reader, dom!mingi x sub!reader

-♡ warnings: kinda mean mingi, punishment lol, spanking, mingi has a sir kink, pet names (angel, honey)

"Wow Mingi your fiancée is beautiful, how come you dont bring her around often?" Mingi winces on the inside at the compliment towards you, his blood starting to boil. "She's such a catch boss! I need to find a girl like her." A fake laugh leaves Mingi's lips as he clenches his jaw.

"Yeah that's my angel for you."

Mingi's work event drags for him, the constant comments about your looks, how your hair sways, the way your eyes close you smile, your pretty doe eyes but the way his subordinates would wrap their arm around your shoulders really sent him over the edge. Oh how he wished he never brought you. "Min honey...? Are you okay?" You whisper in his ear, you noticed him observing your every move from across the room just minutes before.

"Yeah angel, I'm okay." His voice cold, lowering his gaze to look at you. "Five minutes and we're out of here." You nod your head giving him a sweet smile. You've always been an obedient girl, never questioning Mingi. However you were quite naive not noticing the flirtatious comments Mingi's subordinates were throwing at you. Mingi knows you didn't mean any harm, he knows you didn't mean to play along with their comments. But that doesn't change the fact that he is livid.

"Alright guys, we're heading out. I hope you all enjoyed yourself! See you all in the morning, get home safe!" He announced to the room, giving a bow as you wrapped your arm around his and proceed to leave the venue. He looks down at you coldly. "You sure that you're okay Min..? You look upset." Your voice laced with concern. "We can talk later." His sentence short, but once again you didn't question it.

Mingi opens the passenger side door for you, you enter swiftly "Thank you honey." He nods as he closes the door and enters the drivers side. He puts the keys into the ignition. "They piss me off so much." Mingi whispers to himself as he pulls out of the parking lot. "Why you say that hm?" He simply looks at you, you nod knowing not to press the issue. He continues to white-knuckle the steering wheel on the way home.

It was such a silent drive home, you can't help but give glances towards Mingi hoping he would warm up but still kept his cold demeanor. As you finally reach your shared condo Mingi finally speaks. "Once we get inside I expect you to have your dress off, wait for me on the bed." You nod your head "Yes, sir." He gets out the car, opening the door for you. You exit the car, grabbing the keys from your purse and head into your condo.

You open the door entering your room as you quickly slip off your dress leaving you in your bra and panties. You get onto the edge of the bed sitting on your knees when you hear the front door open again. You hear the locking of the door as Mingi's footsteps get closer to the to the bedroom. He sighs, running his hair through his fingers as he sits on the bed next to you before pulling you over his lap.

"Be an angel for me, okay" Mingi runs his calloused hands along your ass giving it a tight squeeze. "You're going to count, if you fuck up we're starting again...got it?" "Yes, sir" He hums at your response. Laying down the first spank on your right cheek, "One" you hiss at the pain. He rubs your cheek before spanking you again "Two" He chuckles at your counting. "Shouldn't let you leave the house anymore." Another smack comes down "Three" you gasp at the progressively harder hits.

"I hate the way people look at you, with lust in their eyes...yet you allow it" SMACK. "Four" He admires the hand prints on your ass for a second. "Do I not give you enough attention angel?" SMACK. "You give me enough attention sir, five" You whimper out, the stinging on your ass sends a wave of heat over your body. "Then you need to stop acting like a whore angel, gotta stop letting people touch you" SMACK. "S-six"

"Just four more, can you handle that angel?" Mingi rubs your red asscheeks, "Yes, I can handle it" He suddenly stops soothing your ass, "Yes, what angel... Do I have to punish you more?" Your breath hitches "Yes, sir I'm sorry." "There you go angel." SMACK. "F-Fuck seven sir." Without giving you a chance to think. SMACK. "Oh my god! Eight!" He traces the red hand prints on your ass, an attempt to soothe the pain. "You're so good for me angel, just two more I promise." You can't help but to whine, he was so rough with you yet so gentle with his words.

Mingi smirks to himself as he lays down another smack, "N-nine~" You slur as you flinch your back arching slightly. Mingi's hand comes down one last time, "Ten sir!" Your lip quivers as you look at Mingi. He swiftly turns you around, making you sit in his lap "C'mere angel, gonna run a bath for you." His gaze softens as he looks at your face. "You did so good for me, I'm very proud of you."

-♡ taglist: @vampzity @scarfac3 @dvrktvnnel @dollywoo @planetjaeyun @yyaurii @cypher-03

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ DEVOTION… PT.1 ]

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxx

[ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SLIGHT AGE GAP ] + [ ARRANGED MARRIAGE ] + [ BREEDING KINK ] - ( there’s a lot to unpack in this one, I know, but you’ll enjoy it.. also pls kindly lmk the artist for the fanart I used so I can tag them thx! )

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxx

Alastor Hartifelt was a fantastic husband.

No one could deny that.

Especially not his darling wife of one year and counting.

You, his sole companion during childhood, dawning from a rich family that occupied an estate near his family’s plot of farming land, and exceptionally infatuated with him early into your friendship.

From the very first time you met him out in the sprawling green meadows of Louisiana’s swamped countryside you found comfort in each other even amidst being ignored or teased by other children.

Their shared hatred and resentment towards you and the older boy cultivated an odd but strong bond between you two, and soon your strife to fit in seemed less appealing than being his truest friend.

Alastor immediately became protective of you, finding your shy nature welcoming like his own mothers, but also irritated by those who wished you harm for the simple fact that your family was better off than their own.

If anyone dared to pick a fight, tease, or berate you Alastor was right there to come to your aid. You’d tell him time and time again that fighting for you wasn’t worth it, that seeing him hurt wounded you more than their words, but for some baffling reason he’d never head your pleas.

Why?…

In retrospect Alastor wasn’t sure of the reason himself but he was certain it had something to do with the way you returned the favor by protecting him in your own subtle ways.

Your arms remained wide open when he needed an embrace, voice full of tender understanding when the two of you held quiet conversations late into the evening, and generally being his safe place when the rest of the world refused to be.

You were his darling from the very beginning…

His everything…

Yet, Alastor wouldn’t dare say it aloud..,

The two of you couldn’t be more different to those who observed your relationship from the outside. Alastor held an air of confidence wherever he went, suave, and well mannered. He could be cunning when provoked, dangerously charming to get his way, and refreshingly decisive under any amount of pressure.

A man every woman in New Orleans wanted, craved even, but it was well known the famous radio host had you at his side.

You, the city’s undisputed princess, daughter of a wealthy businessman, but regarded as the furthest thing from a ‘spoiled brat’. It was expected for those in higher circles to have sour and condescending attitudes but you proved to be different. Soft spoken, interested in the arts more than being out on the town, and some might’ve considered you ‘sheltered’ in terms of upbringing.

The contrast between Alastor and yourself brought about many whispered rumors and questions.

“How’d a sweet little thing like her end up with him?”

“Doesn’t he want someone better suited? Whats so special about her?”

“I hear, he married her for the fathers money. Don’t blame him for it either…she’s a real peach…”

“A little young for him don’t you think? She’s a lovely broad though…”

You’d heard it all. Every sort of rumor or piece of gossip people had to offer you’d picked up on rather quickly and at first it bothered you, but overtime seeing Alastor act indifferent to the scandalous comments made you less weary of them.

He’d never entertain the scrutiny, choosing to remind you his decision to marry wasn’t fueled by any ill will and as his wife you’d never need to worry about him caring for you.

Alastor’s always had, even when he’d left New Orleans to build his career he still thought of you from time to time, but that’s all he’d ever done.

Cared for you…

Love seemed to allude his spectrum of emotions and vocabulary. Yes, he shows you affection, buying expensive gifts, making sure you never lifted a finger for anything other than cleaning or cooking when needed, and proudly showing you off on his arm at parties and social events he attended.

Yes, he strived to hide his murderous tendencies, taking extra lengths to shield you from his ‘hunting’ escapades by planning them weeks before, and then going as far as discreetly cleaning his bloody clothes and weapons the night he returns while you slept soundly in your shared bed.

Alastor took great care in showing you he cared but defining his love for you was never addressed.

Not even on your wedding day.

It was as if he’d scripted his vows to say nothing of the emotion and even avoided saying “I love you” back when you’d accidentally let it slip out during your own speech for him.

You hadn’t pressed the issue at all, knowing Alastor struggled with concepts of intimacy and devotion since childhood, but the lmawing teeth of doubt pricked your skin harder with each passing day of your marriage.

Had you made a mistake agreeing to marry him?

Was he seeing someone else?

Someone knowledgeable of the world, maybe more experienced in life than you were, or more attentive?

Was she prettier?

Were you not his kind of woman?

Where did he go so late at night, at random times of the month, with a leather bag in his hand and a wide smile on his face?…

Had Alastor been seeing another woman for a whole year and you were just too oblivious or infatuated to notice?

Did he even like you anymore? Could he ever love you…?

Were you not enough for him?

Thoughts plagued your mind constantly, causing you to be quieter than usual, and less receptive to Alsstors lingering presence.

Your back was to him, giving a good veiw of your small frame as you cooked in the large kitchen. The familiar sight brought a smile to Alastor’s face. You were so focused, hair tied back by a white silk bow, and a sheer floor length robe to match.

He’d bough both for you only a week prior, claiming he couldn’t just let the items sit in the display window when you’d been staring at with such bright stars in your eyes, but in truth Alastor had imagined you wearing it just as you were now and couldn’t resist buying it on the spot.

Your husband remained silent as he watched you waltz around the kitchen, chocolate brown eyes peering over the top of his glasses as he did, but his smile faltering seeing the distress in your delicate features.

You weren’t the type to frown often, always emitting warmth and sweetness, so the rare appearance of anguish in your expression perplexed Alastor.

What had upset his darling wife?

Who would he have to kill?….

Asking what was troubling you would surely give him answers to both questions.

He stepped forward, coming from round the corner to enter the kitchen fully before striding over to stand by your side as you began to mix what he assumed was dessert in a bowl.

Albeit, he was probably right knowing you had a vicious sweet tooth.

“Strawberry cake I presume?” Alastor finally speaks, making his presence known with a cheeky remark, and you nearly jump out of your skin hearing his silky voice resonate around the room.

Your head snaps up to look at him, eyes wide with slight surprise, but they quickly soften as he smiles. A blush creeps onto your cheeks as he steps closer, initiating his usual habit of brushing a stray strand of hair from your face before kissing your temple gently, and only pulling away when you squeak out a greeting back to him.

“H-hi Al…you’re home a bit earlier than I expected…” you swallow thickly, staring at him adoringly for a moment before lowering your gaze as tinges of guilt build in you. “I’m sorry dinner isn’t quite ready yet…” you whisper, feeling shameful, and more agitated with yourself than before. Alastor had and would never berate you, unlike most men of the time he saw no benefit in treating his wife like a slave, and made an effort to remind you not everything had to be perfect.

“It’ s alright, darling. You needn’t rush yourself,” his voice is low, simmering with reassurance as he lifts your chin with his thumb and pointer finger. You smile nervously as your eyes meet his again, his touch firm and electrifying all at once, and your tummy doing several flips when he smiles back at you.

Alastor studies your face, attempting to pinpoint the source of your masked sadness, “You seem…troubled, sweetheart. Is there something wrong?” His genuine question brings a shock to your heart, tongue going numb as you race to think of a believable reason for your dampened mood, “I…I just had a little mishap with this cake batter is all!..”

You step away from him, turning to face the semi clean counter with a false air of cheeriness surrounding you. The fear of sounding needy and demanding while telling Alastor the truth keeps you from being honest with him outright.

Fake it.

I shouldn’t worry him with my insecurities or doubts…

It might push him further away…

The whisk in your hand spins in tight circles as you focus on mixing the overdone batter, beginning to thicken itself more than necessary as you kept going, using the task as a distraction from Alastor’s keen observance.

Something was wrong.

He was sure of it now.

His eyes narrowed behind the circular glasses, hands finding your waist as he came to stand behind you, allowing his chest to press against your back, and his head lowering to tuck into the crook of your neck.

A shiver racked your body as he exhaled a long, steady breath onto your skin. Your hands faltered, flurried movements becoming lax as you froze in his embrace, “When’d you start lying to me, ma chère…” Alastor mumbled into your ear. Every nerve in your body was on alert, shocked that he’d went much further than his usual bounds of physical affection, but pleasantly delighted he’d given it to you.

“M’ not lying,..”you try to uphold your lie through rising pants, tempted to moan quietly feeling his lips graze behind your ear, neck, and bare shoulder while your robe shifted lower. You weren’t certain if Alastor was inching it down by his own accord or your subtle squirming against him was to blame.

The ending result was the same either way. Your upper body gradually becoming exposed to his leering gaze and the cool air. Alastor hummed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest and flooding your mind repeatedly as he placed chaste kisses on your neck.

“I wish I could believe you, darling…” he chuckled lowly, hands inching towards the lace ribbon keeping your gown tied shut, and with one gentle tug he rendered the fabric useless. “Al..” you whined in slight surprise as he snatched the ribbon off, letting it unravel into a small pile on the tile floor before sliding his cold hands up the expanse of your heated torso.

Nothing.

You were wearing absolutely nothing underneath the thin robe and Alastor audibly groaned when he realized it.

Had you planned on this?

Were you just waiting for him to venture further with you?

All this time he’d watched you frolic and pace around your shared home, wondering what was hidden under you seemingly modest clothing….just to find you wore nothing at all…

Oh, what a rare occurrence it was for him to be such a blind fool.

Your hands flew to grasp Alastor’s wrists as he held you tighter, kneading your soft flesh lovingly, and taking his time to admire every dip and curve you had to offer him.

“Al…please..” you begged, visibly shuddering as he nipped at your neck and played with your breasts. “I won’t go any further until I hear the truth from that pretty mouth of yours, sweetheart…”

Damn it….you cursed yourself, slowly losing the will to think as his lips found the most sensitive area on your neck, bruising it with his tongue teeth until you whimpered and rushed out a jumbled explanation for your heavy mood.

“I…Imscaredyoudomtlovseme…th-that you d-don’t want me- Ahm…” you soft voice reached a new octave as your husband slid his free hand between your thighs to cup your mound, gingerly kicking your legs apart with a nudge of his foot against your own, and you tensed all over as he did so.

Fuck, he could definitely feel how desperate you were now, essentially a mess already without Alastor doing much of anything, and embarrassingly unable to control your arousal.

“Love, hm? That’s what’s troubling your precious mind?…” Alastor mulls over your confession, able to maintain his composure despite heat rushing straight through him to the head of his cock as he slid two fingers into your dripping cunt. You jolted from the sudden intrusion, head lulling back to rest on his shoulder as he pumped them in and out of you at a leisurely pace, curling his deft digits fowvard every so often to make you shiver.

His thumb found your clit, pressing defined circles into it as he began to ease your worries, “Love, ma chère, isn’t what I feel for you..” Alastor lets out a soft laugh, trying to calm his own mind before clarifying his vague statement all while pushing you near the edge of your first high.

“No….I feel much more than love for you, my dear. Devotion is a better term…obsession at times…” he admits the darker side of his affection through heavy breaths, cock twitching in his dress pants when you mewl in understanding. Your warm cunt suffocates his fingers for a moment, walls fluttering as the knot in your core threatens to undo itself, causing Alastor to sharply exhale from the inviting fluctuations.

Your lips parted to warm him of your impending orgasm but only a strained moan tumbled off your tongue. Alastor needed no other sign to tell if you were close, inwardly prideful he could make you come with ease.

“Go on, come undone for me , darling,” he insists in a hushed groan, his fingers stretching your walls in a fluid rhythm to drag your climax out, and you could’ve tumbled to the floor from the sheer intensity of the knot inside you snapping on his command.

Thankfully his taller frame kept you securely trapped between him and the counter that you soon found yourself sitting on the edge of after Alastor slipped his hand away from your throbbing cunt.

You watched with a dazed eyes as the older man licked a stripe of your cum off his fingers, brown eyes sliding shut as he let out a satisfied grunt before staring at your willing form perched on the counters edge.

The sight drew a his hidden hunger closer to the surface, toying with his self control as he took it in, and urging him to act on a primal instinct he’d only ever describe as “intense affection”.

Was that a flash of red in his eyes just now?

No , it couldn’t be…

You weren’t left much time to decipher the hungry glint in his eyes before Alastor reclaimed his position near you. His slender waist slotted perfectly between your thighs, the robe now draped off your back, and your hair gradually falling loose from its simple updo as his hands traced your sides.

“Love, sweet girl, is for lonesome fools…” Alastor pressed his forehead to yours, letting you chase his lips for one heated kiss after the next, and only denying you another to whisper against your soft and slightly swollen lips.

“Neither of us are alone or fools, correct?” He huffs as you nod slowly, bringing your hands up to undo his tie, and then proceeding to expertly unbutton his vest and dress shirt.

The general charm that Alastor maintained completely dissolved into pining under your gentle fingertips, an almost desperate shot of adrenaline consuming him as you peppered kisses along his jaw and neck.

If what he said was truly how he felt about you…it was enough to stamp out your doubts, allowing the adoring side of you he’d grown familiar with to resurface, “No…we aren’t,” you respond with a small smile.

He tips your chin up, placing a deep kiss on your lips as he shrugs his shirt and vest off, setting his glasses to the side as well before reaching for the leather belt on his waist.

You paid his actions no mind, busy with fighting his tongue for dominance, but admitted defeat quite fast as his wandered your mouth in expert fashion.

Your soft hands passed over his chest, moving up to tangle in his soft curls, gently tugging the strands to earn a groan from him. Alastor pulled back, a single line of spit connecting you two as he did so, and his hair falling in front of his eyes as he stared down into your tear glossed gaze, “You’re mine, ma chère. Til death and beyond…”

You nod, halfway coherent, but mustering the will to answer him with a content smile.

“Til death…” you repeat the phrase, mind reeling further from logical thinking as Alastor hummed hearing your dazed response, head nestled in your neck once more before he trailed open mouthed kisses down the expanse of your trembling frame. He brought himself as close as possible to you, smiling on your skin as you gasp quietly feeling his clothed erection press flush against your bare stomach, leaning further back in his hold embrace him better. You feared making a mess of the counter but as Alastor trailed his lips down your body and kneeled between your legs he gave one swift snap of his fingers to eliminate the obstacle entirely.

What?….How in the world did he do that?…

Your curiosity would’ve prompted you to ask him about the absurd occurrence if it weren’t for the anticipation rushing your blood as he came face to face with your cunt. “Alastor?…” you squeaked his name softly, attempting to close your legs when he sighed out a warm breath on your glistening folds, but he held them open using one hand with ease. The other resting steady on your waist, guiding you to lay back onto the cold marble countertop, and lingering there as you obeyed his wordless command.

“Good girl…” he praised, tone deepening as you whined quietly, the sound morphing into a loud moan as he lazily flicked his tongue over your slit once…twice…and a third time.

“More…” you pant in the midst of moaning, head craning to the side while your back arched and the urge to scream built in your chest as Alastor obliged your request with vigorous intent. He hummed melodically as your taste seeped onto his tongue, walls ever so sensitive as he explored them tirelessly, and a smirk playing on his lips as you writhed in pleasure.

Your face was soon flushed completely, eyes watering as they rolled slightly with each pass of his tongue over your cunt, and your small hands returning to tug at his soft brown hair. Another coil spiraled in your stomach hearing him groan in response, seeming to enjoy how roughly you pulled his hair, and his gaze drifting up for a split second to get a good view of your satiated state.

Seven hells….she looks even lovelier like this…

Alastor unconsciously drags you closer to his face, not caring at all when you lock your legs around his head and cry out from the borderline bruising hold he has on you now. “Oh god!…” you yelp, throwing him a bewildered glance before tossing your head back as he lapped at your clit like he’d starve to death without it, and the relentless attention to your bundle of nerves was the last thing you could comprehend before the knot unwinded itself.

Your vision blurred over, everything starting to spin as your cum gushed into his mouth, and the tears you were fighting to hide slid freely down your face as he downed every single drop your body offered.

It was all too much, the hunger in his eyes, his hold on you, and your high that never seemed to subside even as he broke away from your cunt with a satisfied smile on his face.

It was all too much at once….

Your head buzzed with euphoric afterthoughts, incoherency daring to cloud your senses entirely, but the sound of Alastor’s voice near your ear successfully halted the sensations long enough for you to comprehend what he was saying.

“You taste divine, ma chère…” his musing flusters you, a light shade of pink coating your cheeks as he dips his head to steal a kiss from you, “Al…” you sigh into his mouth, biting back a keen smile, and wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him near.

He chuckles hearing the unsteady tremor in your tone, adding onto his compliment after capturing your parted lips in another deep kiss, “I presume you’ll feel just as wonderful with me inside you, sweetheart…”

His assumption proved true. So much so that the moment his cock passed through your slippery folds a heavy groan of your name was the first and only thing he could manage to say. “Y/n….mon amor…” Alastor held you underneath him, not daring to move without completely relishing in the way your cunt wrapped around him first, and your broken moans dizzying the last bit of self control he was clinging onto.

You tried not to seem overwhelmed, with your legs wrapped around his waist, and your hands cupping his face to keep him as close as possible while your body adjusted to his size. With furrowed brows and a soft smile you praised your husbands well endowed length as he finally drew his hips back, leaving nothing but the head his cock resting in you.

“You��feel…s’good….” You whisper, breathless as he slams back in, swallowing your pleased cries with one tender kiss after the next. He tasted like you, hints of bourbon lingering on his tongue from the drink he’d poured himself before leaving the station, but your essence more prominent than ever.

All that he was, all that he did, and would ever do revolved around you.

His darling wife…

His one and only….

It showed through the sweet phrases he muttered against your lips as he took his time to please you, pace slow and deliberate, but the execution precise and cutthroat.

You weren’t sure when you’d raised your voice, crying out louder as he abused your sweetest spot continuously, and only going silent when a inaudible scream begged to leap from your chest while his cock bullied into cervix. Stars collected in your vision, hands clawing at Alastor’s back as you tried to hang onto reality for dear life, but failing miserably when he sped up his thrusts.

A subtle laugh passed his lips, eyes glinting with greedy lust as your head flew back, exposing all the love bites he’d left on your delicate skin, and the sight caused his cock to twitch inside you.

“F-fuck….Al!” Your eyes watered once more, sliding shut as a familiar pressure built in your core, rapidly gaining density the longer Alastor fucked into you.

He groaned at the sound of you shouting his name in such a twisted mix of ecstasy and anguish. Your soft voice becoming tainted with an edge he’d never imagined it could have. “Close already, my dear?..” he teased you, smile as smug as ever as he stood up straight, hands gripping either side of your hips, and his gaze lowering to where you two connected.

“Look…at…that…” he mused, suddenly slowing his thrusts to a painfully harsh pace, fixated on the way your cunt continuously creamed on his length. Alastor bit his tongue to keep from growling at the view, barely registering your whines and pleads for him to go faster.

“Al…Alastor…please..m’ begging you…please…” you felt your thighs shake as he continued his lazy strokes, clearly wanting to drag the ordeal out for his personal entertainment, and his lack of sympathy for your plight in that moment edged you even closer to cumming.

He knew it too…

That infamous grin on his face as he watched you resort to quiet sobs and desperate moans was a sure sign of the fact…

Alastor knew you needed him, loved him, lived for him..

“Please what, mon chere?” He bit his lip, unhooking your legs from around his waist to push them to your chest, giving his cock a new angle to stretch your cunt with.

You felt like passing out then, all strength evaporating from your body as he reached places inside you that surely didn’t exist before. His taunting didn’t make your dazed state any better, “Please, ruin you? Please, love you?… Let me hear you loud and clear, darling..”

Before you could register the words they flew from you mouth in a hushed flurry of need.

“Please…love me…fuck me like you love me…use me…I don’t care anymore…”

Alastor immediately rewarded your answer, wasting no time as his hips snapped into yours feverishly, flooding the kitchen with the sound of skin against skin.

“Lovely…” he cooed, voice thick with tension as he stared down at your overstimulated form, and within seconds of the praise slipping off his tongue you came undone. He followed shortly after, not caring to ask where you wanted his release, and you made no protest as the warm white liquid spilled inside you.

All you could do was stare, mouth falling open as he fucked his cum deeper, “It’s high time you became a mother, mon chere. You’d like that wouldn’t you?..” Alastor rambled, hardly coherent as his high coursed through him, but his statement crystal clear to you.

“Yes…” you whimper in response, walls clenching his cock as the thought of carrying his child sprung into your mind. “I’d love it…Al.”

His heart nearly stops as a genuine closed eye smile graces your face, a light blush painting your cheeks as he kisses them gently while gingerly slipping his softened cock out of your leaking heat. Alastor then lets your legs fall, lifting you to sit up straight on the counter again before wrapping his arms around your waist.

You hang onto him for balance, feeling entirely small in his grasp, and finding comfort in the embrace as exhaustion trickles in.

Alastor breathed in your sweet scent, beginning to pull your robe back on your tired form before reaching for his dress shirt. He was careful not to stir you away from his chest as he shrugged the clothing back on

“I’d love you and our child more than anything…” he nonchalantly mumbles, kissing the top of your head, and chuckling when your tied eyes go wide with undeniable hope.

“More than anything?…”

“Anything, my dear…” he repeats himself with a soft smile, bringing a hand up to push fallen strands of hair from your face.

That was when it occurred to you…

Alastor Hartiflet could love…

He’d always been able to….

And he loved you enough to share it with another…

How surreal….

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxx

This entire 1st part was brought to you by the Great Gatsby movie soundtrack…❤️ you’re welcome… ;)

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Actually it MIGHT BE 12 inches if we are being honest… ❤️ credits to creator.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Hi, guys! Let's talk about fandom etiquette!

👨‍🏫👨‍🏫👨‍🏫

I know a lot of you are young and perhaps have not been part of fandom spaces since the dawn of time (circa fanfiction.net) so let's talk about some dos and don'ts with fandom, so we can keep this a happy place! Please read this and reblog to get this out to people who genuinely may not know!

📕DON'T: Write reviews of fics on Tumblr, Tiktok, or other social media. Fic writers are creating these things for FREE, and did not ask you to review. This often leads to negative discourse and can even cause fic writers to take down their fics. 📗DO: Leave kudos and ONLY POSITIVE comments. Talk about only positive things on social media. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all!

Edited to add: YES, EVEN CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISCISM. If the author didn't ask for it, don't give it. Some may appreciate it, but others won't. At the very least, ask permission first.

📕DON'T: Post fic ideas or headcanons on AO3. AO3 is for posting actual fanfiction or fanart and nothing else. (What I mean by this is, I've seen posts on ao3 like "Just posting an idea that someone should write, here it is!" and that's not what ao3 is for). Edited to add: You can also post original works and nonfiction works based on fandom on ao3! 📗DO: Post headcanons and ideas on Tumblr, Tiktok, etc!

Edited to change: Okay, so I feel like there's some arguments over like...what qualifies as metafic versus something that shouldn't be on AO3? So from my understanding (correct me if I'm wrong), people DEFINITELY should not be posting just a title with no work attached, which I have seen a lot lately, nor should they be posting to search for someone else's fic. However, it seems like lists, and similar metafic are okay, as well as original content, and nonfiction.

📕DON'T: Repost entire fanfictions without permission or sell bound fanfiction. Again, this causes writers to take their fics down, and can actually cause issues with fandom because it can cause allegations of copyright infringement. 📗DO: Recommend fics you like to others by talking them up and posting links! Ask permission before you translate!

📕DON'T: Send hate to authors for writing a fic in a way you don't like or not updating enough. Again, authors are doing this for free and sending hate causes serious mental harm to authors because they are people! If you don't like it, don't read it! 📗DO: Send love to authors in forms that they are comfortable with!

📕DON'T: Shame others for their ships/fics/kinks. Fandom is supposed to be a supportive space! Judging people is taking away that safe space! 📗DO: Use the block button! Block or filter out things or people you don't like!

📕DON'T: Use AI to create art or fics. This is detrimental to the creators who work hard to create their work! 📗DO: Try making your own art or fics! Practice makes perfect!

These are just a few of the things that I've seen happening more lately, but keep in mind that if you don't like something, you don't have to interact with it and fanart and fanfiction creators are people who are doing this for free. Please make sure to respect the hard work people put in, or fandom can't exist!

(Feel free to discuss/add things as long as you're being respectful!)

[zarnzarn]

i see all these comments talking about this after the new episode, but. i would like to state for the record that stolitz isn't. toxic.

first off, the concept of a toxic and a healthy relationship are such... vague terms. when you're online, drenched in language and tight moral boundaries, trying to put a nuanced story like helluva boss's into boxes is easy to attempt and impossible to do.

a toxic relationship is one where one or both parties is maliciously affecting the other. I'm talking fetid, nasty, rude interactions where there is more hurt than love. they're unhappy more often than not when they're with their partner, there's no respect or give from the other side.

stolitz is nothing like that.

Stolas actively cares about Blitz and actually has no fear or hesitation in ADMITTING IT OUT LOUD TO OZZIE. he has been calling, texting, commenting, laughing and finding ways to spend time with Blitz. he's throwing everything he has to the wind, finding the courage to move forward with the divorce, putting everything he has into trying to keep him. he's been alone in a palace since he was born, on medication, with such less people dear to him that he remembered the circus boy who spent a day with him DECADES ago- so when blitz comes into his life and brings back in laughter and color and sex, he's holding on with everything he's got.

and blitz does care!!! he cares a LOT, the whole series we see him falling in love with stolas through SHOW NOT TELL (his expressions, his choices, his fear, his lashing out) and utterly unable to process that stolas cares about him too when talking to fizz; almost a desperate kind of denial-

cause yknow. the first time he tried to confess something to someone he really liked, he accidentally killed half the people he knew and ruined the lives of the rest?

thats gonna leave just a teensy impact on the will to express your emotions in the future, methinks.

even before that, he clearly felt like on some level that he was unworthy and he's said twice that he despises himself for the accident even though it wasn't actually his fault. being self aware doesn't stop the emotions from emotioning.

he keeps insisting its only sex so urgently to anyone who doesn't ask because he can't even imagine it being anything else. he's both disappointed and relieved when he repeats that stolas sees him as a novelty, because what else can it be?

(there's a whole other spiel of how brave both Stolas and Blitz have to be to say it out loud even when asmodeus can't afford to, considering how publically and completely beaten down both were at the club.)

(there's also another whole spiel about how frustrating it has been for ME to see all these comments over time with such bad takes based on like,, 20 min worth of info of a show that takes months to release an ep. like godDAMN have some patience?? let the story UNFOLD MAYBE? IT WAS ALWAYS GOING TO HAVE AN EXPLANATION WHY WOULD YOU CRITICIZE THINGS THAT ARENT EVEN FINISHED ESPECIALLY AN INDIE ANIMATION- i digress)

mind you, this has NOTHING to do with abuse. an abusive relationship is one where one is actively harming the other with full awareness. Stella is an abuser and their marriage is abusive.

and stolitz isn't that; it isn't even unhealthy or toxic. it's a consensual, transactional fuckbuddy relationship that slid into something more for both of them.

but!!!!! one of the main reasons for the problems that everyone looks over is-

they're in a BDSM relationship.

I can't possibly delve into dynamics without making this a 10k research paper BUT even though we've gotten only hints and costumes and dialogue- they're very clearly and undeniably in a BDSM contract. Behind the scenes of this crazy show is a whole different story, of these two delving into the most hardcore kinks out there- knifeplay, painplay, bondage.

if you've gotten into the community, if you've read a couple dozen particularly good fics by authors who know what they're talking about, hell; even if your only experience is fifty shades or 365 or whatever- you gotta know that BDSM scenes are crazy fucking emotionally heavy. there's so much that has gone down between them during their full moons that helluva can't get into!!

but you know how in so many of these popular medias and fics, the dom in the relationship is also like,, the billionaire/mafia heir/prince, etc, the one with financial and physical power? this isnt that. it has been very clearly stated that stolas is subbing, blitz is domming.

now take a moment and think about how much that fucks up the dynamics.

in stolas' eyes, blitz is a confident, dangerous individual who's an old friend and cherished memory of his, who he's trusted wholly with his safety during sex and he's lucky to have; and he has been in an abusive arranged marriage for the past eighteen Years, he's probably not going to be pushing his luck with his dom that much in the first place. plus, blitz is never cowed by him during their conversations- think back to the first phone call right after he stole the book, completely unafraid.

and for blitz, it's someone trusting him again- but it's also a royal- a blue blood who's nearly untouchable and so much more powerful- who couldn't possibly like a piece of shit like him, apart from the sex he gets out of it. he only flirts once he gets some sort of cue from Stolas; he's desperately trying to view this as only a Goetia trying to get his rocks off, despite all the evidence to the contrary, because anything else is unfathomable to him, no matter how clearly Stolas shows it, because of the ptsd.

both of them thinks the other has the power. both of them aren't expecting the other to keep shut if something's bothering them.

and there's so much conflicting messages from the other too!

stolas calls him a plaything when trying to intimidate the humans; stolas cups his face gently and asks if he's alright

blitz asks him on a date and tells him to get better soon; blitz yells that it's only sex and doesn't reply to his messages

ya see?

bring it to fizzozzie for a second now; even though they do look all good on surface, you can still see fizz's trauma and doubt in all their interactions, they're still forced to keep the relationship secret. do you see his face when Ozzie says in hyperbole that he's never leaving the house again, or when someone accuses him of being a pampered house pet or when he got sexualized in the 7th ep? whatever happened in the interim between the accident with mammon, it fucked him UP. even though oz seems to be well aware of this when he tells him not to apologise and in their general interactions, fizz still visibly has trouble separating plaything/commodity from healthy relationship.

shout the fuck out to Ozzie btw, man knows whats UP. rooting for these two so much omg.

i forgot where I was going with this point, I'll edit it when i remember. but yeah! lovely fucking relationship, but damn what angst filled issues.

anyway, to sum up- stolitz is not a toxic relationship. the relationship is stuck sludging through misunderstandings and careless microaggressions and trauma responses, but it's not unhealthy or toxic because of the simple reason that most of the current hurt comes from... a misunderstanding. stolas didn't realise blitz would need reassurance about what they were and blitz didn't see stolas as someone who could get hurt.

unecessarily calling it toxic, even online, is more impactful than people think too. almost all spindlehorse ARE on all social medias; so MANY YouTube animators i know have found jobs there; they see your words, especially since a lot don't tag posts with "anti hb" correctly to keep them out of the main tag. there are Very few queer medias made BY queer people that haven't gone through heavy corporate revisions- helluva boss is practically a historical landmark in its success. it's very very very fucking easy to forget that not ten years ago some of the only queer videos on YouTube were butter lover (one kiss at the end post credits), dirty paws and welcome to hell (subtext).

the amount of "critical talk" helluva boss gets for what it is is very unprecedented. it's a beautiful show. can't wait for the next episode.

[fatliberation]

If its ok to ask; how do you feel about fat kinks? I havent seen any fat acceptance blogs talk abt it. /genq

I know it's a sore spot for a lot of fat liberationists (and yes, I'm quite familiar with why so please do not take to my inbox), I think people are scared to talk about it. personally, I think it is crucial that people with fat kinks are able to access fat liberation spaces so long as they leave the kink at the door. I say this not only because the majority of them are fat people, but because that community is steeped in a deep shame and feeling of brokenness for taking delight in fatness and/or weight gain, which perpetuates rampant fatphobia. and fat liberation is what will heal those wounds. I don't understand it when fat activists tell kinksters/fetishists/feedists, whatever you want to call them to stay out of the fat liberation movement. because what is the alternative? do you want them against the movement? that doesn't make sense at all. I think people are so uncomfortable, disgusted, or afraid of this community they don't understand, that they just wish they wouldn't exist. they aren't going away. kink is akin to sexuality, to identity, to queerness. I think what people really mean when they say feedists should stay out of fat lib is, "kink should stay within spaces designated for kink." we aren't talking about kink when it comes to who can belong in a movement, we are talking about people. it is wrong to equate every person who has a kink or a fetish to a predator. it causes very real harm to those people, because they internalize that message that their kink makes them a bad person who is inherently worthless, who has to hide. if feedists aren't welcome in fat liberation, they aren't welcome anywhere.

I think that people who love fat people, love feeding people, love their own fat bodies, who see their fattest selves as their most satisfying selves, would be natural allies to this movement once they find their way to it and feel safe and accepted here. I want to make it absolutely clear that ANYONE is welcome on this blog as long as they aren't harassing or harming anyone. so many of my followers and biggest supporters are kink blogs. some of my closest friends and fat liberationist allies are feedists. I know feedists who are way more educated and passionate about fat lib and body politics than most people I've met. I don’t wish for anyone to feel alienated on my blog - especially fellow fat folks and fellow fat allies. we are 100% FAT POSITIVE AND SEX POSITIVE on this blog, babey‼️

In fact I feel really glad when I see fat kink/feedism blogs engaging with my content bc it means that person is putting the work in to understand systemic fatphobia, how to be an ally to fat people (if they aren't fat themselves), but also healing their community through education and acceptance. and HOT TAKE, BUT: when it does happen?? when feedists aren't shrouded in internalized fatphobia, shame, and isolation, and instead start embracing this innate, powerful appreciation for fatness, it's literally so fucking beautiful? and so very queer?

choosing to gain weight on purpose as an act of self creation. because it feels Right for you. gaining weight to affirm the relationship you have with your body. getting fatter because you feel so much of your identity (even gender presentation!) is attached to your fat body. feeling sexiest when you're fat. someone else worshipping that about you. giving unlimited permission to nourish yourself and/or others - and taking carnal delight in it. releasing food rules and food guilt through centering pleasure. food and fatness as an erotic and sensory experience. finding feedist partners who also have this ingrained love of fatness that can't be replicated, partners who are willing and eager to support and adore your fat body, NOT merely tolerate it. reclaiming tropes used against you through kink, and turning a loving gaze inward. saying "fuck you" to the system and choosing to take up more space in a world that consistently tries to shrink you. never denying yourself pleasure even though everyone is telling you you don't deserve it. feedism is such an interesting facet of the endless spectrum of human sexuality and I think that once people in that community find liberation and heal their relationship to the kink, it can be one of the most radical forms of self acceptance and exercising complete bodily autonomy.

I already know that a love letter to feedism coming from a fat lib blog is gonna piss people off. I'm going to lose a lot of followers, I'm going to get a lot of hate. but. kink in general is SO demonized and SO misunderstood and as liberationists we should also be open to sexual liberation. so much of this discomfort around feedism comes from a lack of education and understanding about kink in general. feedism doesn't = fatphobia in the same way that bdsm doesn't = misogyny or abuse. quite the contrary, if practiced ethically, with informed consent. every community has assholes. especially when those communities are small, ostracized, and so young that there are next to zero resources for self acceptance, safety, education, and accountability. in fact, the assholes are the ones that you're going to SEE because every respectful person is staying away and out of your business. if you've been harassed by someone with a fat kink, that is so shitty and I'm sorry that happened to you. I know it happens a lot. try to remember that what you experienced was abuse, not kink.

what consenting individuals choose to do with their bodies is entirely their business and there is nothing wrong with kink. (and I will not stand for sex-negative, puritan bullshit in my inbox, thank you very much.)

reminder: fat pleasure is fat liberation.

[heechwe]

midnight faith | 𝐩𝐣𝐬

୨୧ pairing: park jongseong (jay) x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 2.5K ୨୧ genre: fluff, semi-angst, smut ୨୧ tags: werewolf!jay, established relationship, pet names (darling, sweetheart, etc.), biting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, knotting, creampie, cock stuffing, breeding kink ୨୧ synopsis: You know his history and where he comes from, both being huge factors that affect your current relationship, but all you care about is your future together. ➸ banner created by @hobeemin ♡

The grass surrounding the blanket underneath your back prickles your ankles. Jay sits crisscrossed next to you, observing the way the sunlight peers through the forest trees and paints your skin. His breath goes in and out in uneven increments, and you open one eye to look at your boyfriend. You’ve had your eyes closed for the past ten minutes, focusing on Jay and all he had to tell you about his history, pre-werewolf and all. The boy is practically shaking at the fact you haven’t responded to any of it, but with a smirk, you reply, “So it really isn’t just caused by a bite?”

Both of you laugh, the sound reverberating around your patch of grass. In relief, Jay sinks to a resting position on his stomach beside you and props his chin on your chest. “Yeah, that’s not exactly how that story goes. Well, at least for me it didn’t.”

You run your fingers through his hair. “So it was a genetic thing?”

He nods. “My parents thought maybe it would skip a generation since my grandfather didn’t inherit it from his father. Sadly for them, I came home after some party scared as all hell, wondering why the fuck I had claws and this desire to run on all fours.” 

You giggle as Jay takes one of your hands into his and kisses your knuckles. “After a while, I learned how to control the shift, but I shut myself away from everyone, especially my parents. Because of them, it was this huge rush to understand myself, my abilities, and my family’s history. The one thing I couldn’t get over then was that it wasn’t a choice. It was always something I was born with.

“But, it’s all in the past now.” Jay sighs and presses his cheek to your stomach.

“Well, parts of it are. But, Seongie, it still gets to you and affects how you are around people. Sometimes, you act like everyone’s fragile when you’re around, like you won’t be able to control your impulses or actions, so you don’t let yourself truly be yourself. Including me.”

He looks back up to you, recognizing the truth in your words. “I try not to,” he whispers, moving so your faces are at eye level, his lips an inch away. “I just don’t want to hurt anyone, especially not you.” Pain flashes over his features, too strong for him to ignore. “I don’t fear a lot of things, but the possibility I could harm you scares the fuck out of me.”

The vulnerability Jay can often hide so well is written all over him. His hands shake and his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth, but it only takes the well of tears in his eyes to strike a knife through your chest. Your boyfriend may be a supernatural creature, but it wouldn’t take a genius to see the guy’s immense capacity for kindness. The way his eyes widened in fear when he shook your father’s hand when they first met, the whispers of a lullaby he sang to your sister’s newborn daughter when you had to babysit her, and his adorable fascination with tiny animals prove all of his fears will never become a reality. “Baby, you don’t have a harmful bone in your body. You may have impulses as a wolf, but there’s no way you would hurt someone on purpose.” The wind brushes through the trees as you speak, barely covering the tremble in your voice. “And you would never hurt me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you wouldn’t be so scared if you didn’t love me, and I love you enough to know all the fear is in your head. You just have to trust yourself.” 

You brush your mouth against him, and the sound of the wind in the brush and the heat of the sun ebbs away. Your reassurance and touch ease his worries until it’s only you and Jay, nestled against a soft blanket away from the world and lost in each other with the soft collide of each other’s lips and tongues.

Jay grunts and backs away from you, a heady expression flashing across his eyes.

Breathless, you reach for his hand. “Is that what you meant by hurting me?”

He nods, saying your name while trying to slow down the fast pace of his heartbeat. “I love you, and I never want to hurt you, but what if I didn’t mean to? I mean, I can’t even kiss you without feeling like I’m losing control. How could I make love to you?”

You shake your head and reach for him, his body and yours coming into contact instantly.

“Because we trust each other, and we use that trust to know and respect our limits. If you’re scared, we stop. If I don’t like something, I'll tell you.” You smile, nipping at his lips with a quick peck. “Besides, I wouldn’t mind losing control with you. I feel that way with you a lot of the time anyway.”

Jay chuckles and kisses you, rendering you breathless. “God, what am I gonna do with you?” 

It sounds more like a statement than a question when it leaves his lips, but you grin regardless. “A lot of things, I hope. Right now, I just want you to kiss me some more.”

And as Jay lies you down onto the blanket with his mouth attached to yours and quickly trailing down your neck, you listen to the sound of his breath and the trickles of the river, forgetting his fears the longer he holds you in his arms.

The moonlight bathes your bedroom in blue shadows, the color of Jay’s brown eyes more hypnotic than ever before. His bare chest quietly heaves up and down, unsure of where to start first. Shaky hands hold your waist against him, too scared to venture further than where they are at in the current moment.

Standing in front of him now, underwear-clad and more sure of him than he is in himself, you kiss him to quell his fears. You hope the act is as reassuring as it feels. “I trust you,” you promise him.

He nods, his lips turning at the corners despite what anxieties still linger in his body. You kiss him harder, dissipating what is left of his resolve. He wraps his arms tighter around you, nails digging into the small of your back when you press your tongue inside of his mouth.

Jay takes his lips from yours, his breath ragged. “If anything is too much,” he says, “you have to tell me.”

“Cross my heart,” you tease, but sincerity is still present in your tone.

Suddenly, he lifts you up and wraps your legs around his waist, the act knocking the wind out of your lungs. Half a dozen kisses meet the column of your throat before Jay bites down on the skin. He sucks and licks at the pieces he’s bitten, marking you for himself as he lays you down gently onto the bed.

You can barely think straight as he rips the material of your bra off of you in a quick motion, the sounds of the seams ripping apart hitting your ears. He inhales a shaky breath, mesmerized by the swell of your breasts under the cover of nightfall.

“You’re so breathtaking, you know that?” Jay phrases it more as a statement than a question. You blush and try to hide your face with your hands, but he takes your palms in his instead. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

Your heart clenches. “Neither do you.” You sit up to take his face in your hands, kissing both of his cheeks before once again meeting your mouth with his.

A low rumble emits from his throat, the groan shooting to the space between your legs. You moan into his mouth, taking one of his hands and pressing it to the cotton covering your clit.

“I want you this much because I trust you, Seongie.”

He mumbles out a curse. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not going to. Please,” you say, dipping his hand inside your underwear to feel the pooing wetness. “I need you to touch me.”

Without warning, his eyes glow a bright hazel in the darkness of your bedroom. The hunger he’s tried so long to suppress seems to come over him in a wave. His hands press you back down into the mattress and his face comes into contact with your underwear. You can feel his breath against your center, and you want more than anything for him to bury his mouth there and leave you a mess in the sheets.

“Jongseong,” you call out, “please.”

He smirks and takes his hands to the corners of your underwear to yank them down. Not violently, but with a serious edge that takes you back. Where was the shy boy that you began the night with?

“Use your words, pet,” Jay demands with a growl.

“Put your mouth on me, please.”

“That’s better.” The cool temperature of your room on your body is replaced by Jay’s tongue, the man you love licking lavishly between your folds. You’re unsure how he’s never done this before when he knows exactly how to make you buck your hips into his awaiting mouth. He’s already so perfectly in tune with your body, knowing when to take time away from your pussy to swirl his tongue around your clit. 

Moans and gasps leave you in quick succession. Your hand buries itself in his hair, and he continues to growl and groan into your center to make you shake even harder.

“I know you’re close, my love. Don’t hold back on me now.” He takes a second to kiss the insides of your thighs before diving back into your pussy. With a long swipe of his mouth from your perineal to your clit, you cry out as your orgasm washes over you.

You take your hand from Jay’s hair when you come down, wiping the sweat off of your forehead with a laugh. “That was–”

Jay smirks and bites his bottom lip. “I’m not done with you yet, pet.” He presses your lips against his, the taste of you filling your mouth when he slips his tongue inside. “Flip over for me.”

You do as he commands as he takes both his jeans and briefs off quickly. By the time he pushes your hips back against him, his cock brushes against your entrance and the wetness from your previous release.

“Fuck,” he whispers, letting himself be coated in your arousal before moving any further. He loves the feeling of your body wiggling against his for any kind of friction, your legs spent and weakened from the pleasure you just received. But he’s going to love it even more when he feels you wrapped around him fully. “Ready, my love?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

Sliding inside of you is so easy with your earlier slick, causing garbled moans to leave both of your mouths at the same time. Jay chastises himself for waiting this long to be intimate with you knowing now how exquisite it feels to have your walls pulsing around him, welcoming his body like he was always meant to be there. Around you, inside of you, calling him yours.

He begins a slow rhythm, thrusting in and out at a comfortable pace, He laces his fingers with yours, wondering how he was so lucky to find someone so understanding, so beautiful, so patient. Anyone else would not have been so stubborn to cut through the many walls he put up, but he’s grateful to have found you who was willing to do the work so effortlessly.

These thoughts make any sense of uncertainty dissipate completely. And in doing so, his control loosens and desire heightens to an unfathomable degree as he watches your body ease up and down his cock.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jay curses, his length swelling to the point he cannot think about anything but your pulsing walls around him. His body is locked to yours, this cock cinched to the point he knows it’s too late to slow down or stop. He had only ever heard of this prior with his brothers and friends who also shared his genetic disposition. But now, knowing it isn’t just a myth and he has no control until he fully releases inside of you, he has never been more turned on in his life.

Knowing he’ll fall apart inside of you, make you as swollen as he feels, is enough for him to come then and there. But Jay knows depriving you of a second orgasm when you’re this close would be cruel. And he’s anything but a cruel person.

He pounds harder into you and wraps an arm around you to find your clit with his fingers, rubbing the bud tenderly. It’s an insatiable mixture of heady and delicate; so intimate you wish you could kiss him while he thrusts deeply from behind you.

“Seongie, I’m so close.”

“Me too, my love. I could stay here all night,” he grunts his beautiful, filthy words into the space between you, the sounds accompanied by the meeting of your bodies. “You want that too, don’t you? Want to be filled up with nothing but my cum, belonging to nobody but me, huh?”

“Y-yes, more than anything,” you confess, loving the intimacy of his explicitness.

“So dirty for me. So perfect.” He kisses the center of your back as he continues to plow mercilessly into you.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna–” You have no time to finish your sentence as the second release floods your senses, the feeling in your body as bright as the moonlight and heavy as the sweat coating both of your bodies.

You barely have time to recover as Jay also comes a few seconds after, bottoming out as he releases. He refuses to let any of his cum go to waste, continuing to thrust inside of you in spite of your sensitivity. You mumble about it being too much and for him to pull out soon, but he’s focused on making sure none of him spills out.

When he’s satisfied, he releases you and lets you fall onto the comforter of your bed, spent and exhausted.

You giggle as he places kisses all over your sweaty face. “Jay, please.”

“What? I can’t kiss you now?” He asks, burying his face in your neck.

“You can when I’m not gross.”

“I think you’ve never looked more beautiful.” He grabs your palm and kisses each finger individually.

“Stop it,” you say, bashful. Jay knows you know it’s true, though. How could he not think so, completely in love and satisfied with your body filled with nothing but him?

He wraps the both of you in your blankets, his chest against your back. He’s never felt closer to you than in this moment, and he could not ask for more.

Well, besides another round in the morning.

“I love you,” he says before falling asleep nestled close to you.

“I love you too, babe,” you respond, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat and the glow of the moonlight as your eyelids close.

@mini-mews @jayparked @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kvanity-main @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[star-suh]

The Nastiest

Johnny Suh x Male Reader

cw: mafia au, reader is a sick pervert, dom top johnny, toxic relationship, enemies to fuck-enemies, knife play, “marking”, blowjob, pain kink(?), breeding, degradation, hair pulling, cum as lube, fingering, choking, dacryphilia.

an: this is in the same universe as this jaehyun mafia fic.

—

the city is dominated by many mafias but only two of them are the best of the best they're the most dangerous and respected by the other gangsters wannabes. in one of them there's a very skilled sick fuck pervert boy, he fucks anyone who passes in front of him… well except for one person, johnny suh.

he is part of the other mafia, a direct rival of the mafia yn belongs to, one thing about him is that he despises yn a lot. he has tried to kill him so many times but in the end he regrets it, arguing that “he does not deserves to be shot by one of his bullets”.

one day johnny was walking down the street when he heard whimpers in a dark alley, as if someone was getting beat up. yes, he was in the mafia but he is still a good person looking out for everyone's well-being, except yn's tho.

“hey what are you two doing” johnny pulled out a gun and pointed it at them, gesturing for them to leave, and they did. he turns around seeing how both guys were running and just when he was going to ask the other person if he was okay, the cold metal of a gun is placed right behind his head. "son of a bitch i was having fun", that voice... that familiar and disgusting voice… "it was you… if i had known, i would have let them kill you" johnny says it without any emotion on his face, hell, yn didn't even deserve his anger. "you say that but i know that deep down you want to do it" a twisted smile making its way onto his face, "you're right" in one smooth move johnny manages to take the gun from yn and hits him with his knee in the stomach leaving him lying on the ground trying to catch air "if you want me to kill you that bad, i’lll do it then” johnny points the gun at yn but sees that it still had the safety on, realizing that yn was only using it to threaten him and not to cause him any harm, but nevertheless he takes it off and is about to pull the trigger.

"wait" yn yells and proceeds to laugh and spit out some blood "didn't you say before that i don't deserve to be killed by one of your bullets?" to which johnny replies "the gun is not mine"; “before you kill me i have one last wish" yn crawls to where johnny is and then kneels, resting his face on top of johnny's bulge, acting as if he were a cat, rubbing his face on the crotch, feeling the heat of johnny's huge cock "i know you get hard in these situations, you're a fucking pervert you know" yn murmurs, "give me some of this and then you can kill me, i would die happily" johnny was disgusted, not because of how yn was acting but because of what he said, although he wished it wasn't true, it is, yn he knew him very well. “shut the fuck up bitch, last time i checked you're the pervert, a sick fuck who gets off on beating and killing people” johnny pushes yn to the ground again, “it’s unbelievable how you're on the verge of being killed but you still manage to think about cocks drilling into your used loose hole, the fuck is wrong with you”.

yn stands up, he turns around to leave but instead he throws himself at johnny and fight to take the gun from him, during the fight the gun falls a few centimeters away from them, yn tried to grab it but johnny was way stronger than him, the taller throws him against a wall, then pushes him against it and pulls out a knife putting it in his throat. “i'm so sick of that goddamn grin on your fucking face i'll have to cut it off”. when johnny made eye contact with yn he saw his red face and hooded eyes “you're face is like the one of a bitch in heat… wait… what the fuh...” johnny looks down watching his bulge rubbing against yn's ass, he then looks towards yn's watching how he was hard already, johnny laughs “that look on your face… i'm starting to think this is why you always want to fight with me.. because i'm the only one who knows how to treat you the way you like it, sick bastard”.

"fine… if you want me to destroy that used hole that bad, i’ll do it, maybe this way you can leave me alone” johnny finally gives in, despite everything he said before, he knew deep down he also wanted to fuck yn, it’s not a secret for everyone that yn is hot but his freaky personality is what makes everyone go away from him, but guess he has finally found someone who matches it.

“go rougher��� yn pleads in a soft voice.

the taller one pulls out some zip ties to tie yn's wrist behind his back, “this is your last chance kinky bitch, just say this was all a joke and run”. yn didn't say anything. “on your knees. now”.

johnny pull out his big dick “suck it like the good slut you are” yn hesitated “what? why are you acting shy now?” johnny grabs it and put it to rest on top of yn’s face “open up, it's not gonna suck itself”.

little moans escaped johnny's mouth, yn knows how to use his mouth after all, “i wonder how many dicks have you sucked to know how to do it properly.. fuck.. you're so disgusting” yn was about to stop to talk back but johnny didn't let him and started to mouthfuck him “your throat is such a good fleshlight” he forces yn to deepthroat him, causing a bulge to form there. johnny grunts, pulling the other's hair so he can go deeper. “ooh hahaha your little friend here seems to like this, you're like a pain slut” johnny uses his foot to massage yn's bulge “do you jerk off after every fight we had?” johnny mocks loving how he can say anything without yn talking back at him, “this is a good use for your mouth” he murmurs.

sloppy wet noises coming from yn's mouth filled the dark alley. “look at you gagging on my cock, who would've thought that my neat would be enough to have you under my power”. yn just nods, all he wanted was finally becoming real, the johnny fucking suh is emptying his balls down his throat, something that might be considered a privilege knowing that johnny was known to be someone who doesn't have sex a lot and with anyone that crosses his path, despite having a lot of people lined behind him.

johnny pulls out and came on yn's face, grunting obscenities, “this is so humiliating for you, the cocky bastard yn covered in cum like a useless alley whore” he says in between pants, “maybe if i leave you here someone would find you and have some fun too, bet you would like that”.

“shut your ass up and fu-” a slap interrupts yn, “alley whores don't demand shit, they just accept what they're given, you deserve a punishment”.

johnny uses his knife to make a small cut on yn's cheek “it fucking hurts” yn whimpers. “that's the point dumb bitch, this way you would be reminded who owns you everytime you see yourself in the mirror”. yn was impressed to say the less, he knew johnny was freaky but not that freaky.

a wet spot formed in yn's black pants he tried to hide it but johnny noticed it, “did you just came just for me face fucking you? you're pathetic”...

“get up, i'm not done with you”; “i can't i feel weak, asshole” yn replies, “you're such a loser” johnny blurted out.

johnny pushed yn against the wall again, unzip his pants under and pulled it out along with his underwear, then scooped all the cum in his face to use it as lube, he smeared it in his dick and yn's hole, fingering it a little before putting all his dick inside “i'm gonna fuck you so hard you're not gonna be able to sit for the next week”. he put the tip first and then rammed himself inside, all at once, drawing a loud moan out of yn's mouth. “... fucking tight” johnny keeps pounding, his left hand leaving marks on yn's hip while the other was on his neck choking him. yn was starting to being loud, he was not being able to bear with johnny's powerful thrusts “shut up or i'll slam your head against the wall”; “n-no… no” yn manage to say, “what was that? i thought you were a tough guy ynnie?” the top once again mocks him. the feeling was so unbearable for yn that tears formed in his eyes and started to roll down his face, seeing this makes johnny so horny that he licked them from the other's face, then cupped the bottom's head with his right hand and turn him so they can make eye contact “you're being such a good sex toy, you're not that useless after all” then he kissed him.

right when johnny kissed him yn came hands free, “every time you touch yourself i want you to remember how i fucked you in an alley next to a dumpster like the piece of shit you are” johnny pounds faster “remember who beat you and broke you, now you would think twice after picking a fucking fight with me, you hear me?” after this johnny came inside, his moans were like the ones of a beast, damn he hasn't emptied his balls inside someone for ages. he pulled out and yn just slid down the wall, too weak to stand up.

“you look fucked up and disgusting, the freaky, tough guy ynnie just got obliterated by some cock" he laughs "… imagine if everyone knows about this… stay away from me and keep my name out of your filthy mouth” johnny got ready to go and leave yn there but he saw his face, that was still bleeding for the cut with some traces of seeat and cum, he looked so vulnerable a part he has never seen on him but he goes anyway.

yn was lost, he just got what he wanted but he was too tired to even celebrate it so he just smiled weakly and then fell asleep…

yn woke up in an unfamiliar room, it was a hotel room he got up and went to the bathroom, in the mirror there he saw he was already clean and the cut on his cheek was bandaged already he also took time to appreciate johnny’s marks scattered all over his body, smiling like a psycho when touching every single one of them. but yn doesn't remember how he ended up in a hotel room until he sees a card on the nightstand near the bed that reads *you owe me the money i wasted paying for your hotel room, bitch* it was from johnny. yn saves the card in his pocket murmuring a little “asshole” while leaving the room.

[drdemonprince]

The word “vanilla” comes up a lot in your writing and it’s always with negative connotations.

I fully accept that my own reactions to it are my responsibility alone and no one is making me feel a certain way. But I do wonder if there are ways to have conversations around sexuality that don’t elevate one kind of sex over another in a demeaning way that make vanilla sex almost a running joke.

As someone with pretty severe sexual trauma history for me even having enjoyable vanilla sex is pushing boundaries. To actually be able to initiate, seek out and enjoy sex of any kind has been challenging.

The increased use and acceptance of vanilla as a derogatory term is unfortunate I think as it invalidates the experiences of many sa survivors and makes it feel like sex is only valid if it’s kinky.

In saying that having lots of friends in the kink/fet scene I know they’ve fought really hard to not have their sexual preferences demonized.

So I do understand.

I just wish my preferences weren’t always made out to be boring and dull, and thereby made me boring and dull.

This seems especially prevalent in queer spaces.

I think one of the biggest problems in how people conceive of diverse sexualities is by attempting to place all sex acts upon a single spectrum from "extremely kinky" to "tame." Under this framework, activities like PIV and oral are viewed as neutral precursors to the more racier and extreme forms of sex that a person must "work themselves up" to -- and this obscures that those supposedly neutral sexual activities can be both incredibly exciting to some, and downright disturbing and traumatizing to others.

I am also harmed by this and have written about it on this blog quite a lot.

Like you, I am harmed by the presumption that PIV, fingering, and oral are neutral sexual acts that are lower on the intensity spectrum than things like being slapped or choked. I find receiving oral to be far more intense, triggering, dysphoric, and disturbing than anything in the rape play/primal/dub con/intoxication/hypnosis realm that I enjoy -- because I like and want those things, and I do not want oral.

My problem with oral isn't that it's "boring." It's that it is fucking traumatic for me.

I also find completely un-kinky sex in general to be profoundly alienating and triggering in most instances.

I am harmed by the idea that PIV and oral are more benign, neutral forms of sex, just as you are.

I need language to articulate that the sex acts that most people view as the default are in fact alienating and disturbing to me *as a sexual assault survivor*. In fact, the most common form of sexual assault that I have experienced has been people forcing non-kinky sex on me that they assumed I had to be game for, since I liked the stuff on the more "intense" side of their imagined spectrum.

The cishet, nonkinky world has already created terminology for the views around sex that create these problems, and that's "vanilla." And so I use "no vanilla" to broadcast that I want absolutely nothing to do with anyone who holds that worldview.

I don't think expressing my boundaries (which people repeatedly and forcefully attempt to trample over in all sexual spaces, including kinky ones!) is me derogating people who do not share my kinks. I don't think I'm hurting anyone by rejecting the dominant viewpoint of society. And for what it's worth, I will reiterate again, I don't think people are boring for liking non-kinky sex.

I think that we all benefit from unpacking our assumptions surrounding what sex is or can be, and for many sexual assault survivors it is immensely healing to take pre-written societal expectations surrounding sex off the table.

It's not inherently kinky to reimagine what sexual pleasure might look like, I suppose, but anyone who is doing that kind of deep reflective and interpersonal work is already taking steps to liberate themselves from the cishet power structure that gave us the notion of obligatory "vanilla" sex.

I think that instead of feeling like the term "vanilla" is a thing that you have to defend, you might be better served by simply defending your own right to define your sexuality in whatever ways you choose.

People who are having weird hypnosis fantasy sex are not sneering at you for enjoying what you enjoy. We want you to be free and at ease in your body. What we're sneering at, when we criticize "vanilla," are the dictates that a person must have sex in a certain way, that some forms of sex are more neutral than others, and that we OWE sexual partners certain activities and sexual responses.

"Vanilla" sexual values and assumptions are the enemy of all sexual assault survivors. You don't have to be interested in any remotely freaky shit in order to benefit from us all collectively destroying the notion that certain forms of sex are the default that we owe to people. We ALL benefit from being able to reject the sex acts we do not like as loudly and proudly as we want.