#this is what happens when i get wrist pain (again) that makes me unable to draw

[knifegremliin]

good news: i finally found a code on toyhouse to replace the one i've been using

bad news: it is INSANELY extensive and detailed (which is good) and it's gonna take so long to replace all the bios using the previous code (which is bad)

[yieldtotemptation]

CRASH ft. Wonyoung

wonyoung x male reader smut

11k words

When she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch.

If you were to ask her, she’d probably say the same about you.

And yet, that doesn’t stop her from calling you in the middle of the night, slurring about some shit with her manager, telling (not asking) you to come pick her up.

You’re inclined to recommend that she fuck off and find her own way home.

But of course, you don’t. (You never do).

-

“Sorry boys, my ride’s here!”

There’s a collective groan of disappointment that ripples through the crowd that’s formed up behind Wonyoung; each face falling one after another as they realise that ultimately none of them get to be the lucky suitor that takes her home.

Moths around a flame, unable to do anything but watch as she sashays through the neon haze towards your car. Hips sway with a drunken grace, a dangerously short skirt dances around her thighs, high heels strapped to her feet make her legs seem endless.

It’s a view, that’s for sure.

It probably makes the pain of rejection a little more bearable, makes them forget that they’re being abandoned on the sidewalk with all the rest of the has-beens and ‘who the fuck were you again?’

Her ‘co-workers’, technically. Some you recognise, most you don’t. But they’re all basically the same insecure douchebag in a different shade of overpriced streetwear.

You’d probably be doing the world a public service if you were to steer your car onto the pavement and run them all down.

It’s an idea you entertain a little. Doing it would really ruin her night.

That’d almost make it worth the dent it would put in your brand-new car.

Still, you can’t completely blame the gaggle of potential casualties, not really.

It’s Wonyoung.

Girls like her are the reason they invented the word ’idol’ in the first place, because calling her ’pretty’ or ’hot’ is like calling the Mona Lisa ‘a nice portrait’.

It doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Like the starlet she is, Wonyoung waits until she’s at your car to make her grand exit. A turn to her adorers and a final goodbye: a casual flick of her wrist, a sweet, flirty smile and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink that’ll have them deep in their group chats ranting about how they definitely had a moment with the Jang Wonyoung.

You just roll your eyes. You’ve seen that wink a hundred times.

You know exactly how much it’s worth.

After all, it’s your car that she’s climbing into, slamming the door behind her like it’s her name on the registration; leaving behind her new fan club with nothing but their dicks in their hands and their heads swimming with fantasies of what totally could have happened.

You’re no better though, are you? The second she slides into the passenger seat, you’re judging the shortness of her skirt, eyes greedily tracing the length of her thighs, all the way up to a hint of lace that’s destined to be ruined later.

You’re not subtle. And in that outfit, she’s not either.

“What took you so long? I swear to God I’m going to punch the next guy that asks me ‘how much of a baddie I really am’.”

No thank yous, no pleasantries, not even a look in your direction.

To think that you used to be impressed by how quickly she could drop the act: gone is the sugary sweetness that she’d fooled those simps with back at the club; the pretty, airheaded, ‘lucky Vicky’. As fake and useless as the glasses resting on the bridge of her perfectly shaped nose.

Next to you is the real Wonyoung, the one that you’ve become intimately familiar with: intimidatingly smart, unfathomably hot, and all too aware of how dangerous a woman those two traits made her.

“Why is this car black? I thought I told you to get the red?”

You glare at her. The gall on this woman.

“What are you waiting for? Drive.”

Barely a minute in and she’s setting a personal best record for time taken to piss you off; impatiently kicking off her heels, tossing them over her shoulder and into the back seat (of again: your car, not hers).

You can be just as childish: you slam your foot down, pedal to the floor, wheels screeching, and you peel off into the night. The acceleration forces Wonyoung back into her seat, scrambling for her seat belt, yelling, “What the fuck?”

Now she’s looking at you. You’re casual, offering, “Oh, sorry, did I scare the passenger princess?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, and you’re welcome,��� you grumble, slowing to a more reasonable (legal) speed as you turn onto the highway. “Remind me, when was it that I started operating a taxi service for wasted idols?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She rolls her eyes, puts her hands together, bows her head down low. Rich, coming from someone who’s never had to genuinely apologise for anything in her life. “Didn’t realise washed-up trainees had such precious schedules.”

It’s a low blow, her go-to insult for you. Nothing you’re not used to; it’s been years of this, after all.

Years of Wonyoung, the living reminder of your biggest failure, making your life her personal pet project. Years of her smugness, of her flaunting her success in your face, of her demanding more from you, demanding better.

Years of you pushing back, pushing her, and somehow always ending up in the same place, the same bed, the same tangled mess of sweat and spite.

To think it all started when you saw her across that shitty practice room and one of you (you forget who, though it was probably her) said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and it was pure hate at first sight.

“Couldn’t get literally anyone else? Don’t you have friends?” You throw the question out there, keeping your eyes on the road, and not down at her legs, crossing and uncrossing, teasing and taunting.  It’s a herculean task—she’s practically ninety percent leg anyway; so fucking easy to admire, so right wrapped around your waist.

“Trust me, I tried. None of the girls have their license, I definitely can’t call someone from the company, and the last time I tried to get a taxi the fucker recognised me and threatened to leak my address. So that leaves me with you,” Wonyoung sighs. “The last resort.”

“Wow, what an honour,” is your reply. You’re still not looking—not sneaking glances at her stomach, as she stretches in your passenger seat.

As an exercise, you pretend she doesn’t exist. Pretend that the hem of her shirt isn’t rising up, peeling back to grace you with a glimpse of her midriff, that waist, her abs tight and exerted after a night spent out on a dance floor.

It nearly works—for a second, you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed at her.

Right until Wonyoung laughs. Not that fake, high-pitched giggle that she knows you find so grating. No, this has an edge to it, a bite that she reserves just for you. “Don’t pretend like you weren’t waiting for me to call. Or were you in the middle of jerking it to my fancams again?”

There’s the memory, the one loss in territory you haven’t quite recovered from. (A reminder: be less blasé about what you choose to name your saved playlists.)

You fire back with, “Yujin’s actually, but nice try.”

“Whatever, pervert.” Your attempt at a riposte doesn’t work, it’s dismissed, leaving Wonyoung satisfied that she’s won this exchange.

As for her prize, she does what she always does—gets touchy with your property.

She busies herself, fiddling with the touchscreen on your dashboard—’What the fuck is this playlist?’ and 'Why do you listen to this group? You know all those girls are absolute bitches, right?’.

“Stop that.” You reach over to slap her wrist before she starts getting too ambitious and messes with the temperature controls again.

"Hey!” Wonyoung yelps, recoiling, and then pauses. You turn to her, see her annoyingly flawless features scrunch up in disgust as she asks, “What’s that smell?”

You curse under your breath as you realise what’s coming. Wonyoung’s frustratingly sensitive when it comes to scents; she’s got a nose like a bloodhound—and a penchant for sticking it in the parts of your life she doesn’t belong.

She’s gone as far as 'gifting’ you every perfume you’ve owned, every body wash, every shampoo, even your fucking laundry detergent.

Just another way she’s tried to take over your life.

You give your own car a whiff, if only to see if this is just another case of Wonyoung being a brat.

It doesn’t smell bad at all.

In fact, it smells sweet. Too sweet.

“Ew, seriously, what is that? Is that you?”

You’re too slow—she’s got your forearm now. For someone that looks so delicate she’s got a grip like a vice. She brings your wrist up to her nose, sniffing, making her way higher up your arm.

“Let it go, Wonyoung.”

She’s not listening at all, unbuckling her seat belt, leaning over the console, pulling herself closer to you, pushing her body against yours. Whatever little respect Wonyoung had for your personal space is gone; her nose is on your neck, her breath hot against your skin.

“It smells like…” She pauses, getting even closer, taking a deep inhale as she tries to place the fragrance. “Why do you smell like a whore?”

Her voice is low, coloured with a barely noticeable slur. You can feel it: the powder keg about to explode, Wonyoung getting ready to go from zero to a hundred. So, you deflect, “Sure you’re not smelling yourself?”

“Fuck you, I don’t use that cheap shit,” she snaps. “You fucked someone tonight, didn’t you?”

You don’t reply. It’s not like you owe her one, anyway—she’s not your girlfriend, you’re not her boyfriend, you two are…

Rivals, mortal enemies, fuck-buddies, friends-with-benefits (except without the whole friendship part).

(Take your pick, call it whatever you want, or in Wonyoung’s case: don’t call it anything at all.)

“Who—who was it this time?” Wonyoung’s fingers tighten around your arm, and there’s that spark in her eyes.

Every chance she gets, she’ll insist she gives so few fucks about your personal life, but one mention of another woman and she’s diving right in the mud, for once not hiding the fact that she may actually give a shit about you.

It’s probably why you do it.

“Who’s the slut dumb enough to spread her legs for you?”

Now it’s your turn to avoid her gaze, to pretend that having her this close isn’t doing wild things to your heartrate. You make an unforced error: “None of your business.”

“So you did fuck someone.” Her hand moves down your arm, dragging her fake acrylics across your skin until they find purchase in your thigh, digging in hard enough to make you flinch. “You fucked someone I know didn’t you. Who…” She’s reading you, trying to find the answer somewhere in the stress lines of your face. “Hyewon. Yena. Yuri. I swear if it was fucking Eunbi, I’m going to—”

“Going to what?” You challenge. You know this game. You’ve played it before—every damn time she gets like this (and you know where it leads). “Going to lie to me about your own personal survival show back there?”

Wonyoung scoffs. It’s a throaty sound that seems almost foreign coming from her—too impolite, too uncouth for the elegant, refined image she’s painstakingly cultivated. But she makes it anyway, because she’s had a few too many drinks and you’re the only one who’s around to see her like this—raw, unfiltered. “Those losers? I’m not like you, bringing home every pair of tits that strokes your ego.”

“Good to know that I’m special then,” you smirk, but she’s not smiling back.

No, she’s just looking at you, in that annoying, Wonyoung way. It’s those big, doe eyes of hers that you’ve seen do so much damage before—make men bend over backwards, light themselves on fire just to get her to look their way. “You wish.”

You push on, push her just a little bit. “Drop the act, Wony. I wasn’t your last resort—I’m the only one you even considered. You needed your daddy—isn’t that what you were calling me before?”

“I never said that.”

“Wony—”

“And if I did, I’ll never say it again,” she declares, before emphasising. “Never. Again.”

But you know her better than that. You know her lies just as well as she knows yours; it’s in the quickness of her response, the defensiveness—the vulnerability.

“I doubt that,” you say, making the most of the tiny crack in Wonyoung’s armour. “I remember you screaming it. Had you cumming like a fountain—ruined a perfectly good set of sheets, you know?”

“You’re disgusting,” she hisses, but she’s got the same memories in her head—that same night, so similar to this one (so similar to every night before).

The fighting, the fucking, the endless cycle of pushing each other’s button until one of you snaps.

“And what about you? You got here awfully quick for two in the morning,” she says. Her hand’s still on your thigh, less nails, more fingertips now, tracing patterns through the denim of your jeans. “Couldn’t bear the thought of me with someone else, could you? Lie to me—tell me that you weren’t waiting to get your hands on me again.”

Your denial dies before it even makes it past your lips—your own body turns traitor on you, provoked by her hand rising higher. There’s a smile as Wonyoung finds what she was looking for, the proof in the stretching of your jeans, the outline of your cock begging for more of her attention.

“At least this part of you is honest,” she muses, fingers dancing around your growing stiffness.

You grit your teeth, doing your best to keep the car steady, managing to grind out, “Please. It’s like you said, any decent pair of tits does it for me. Even your tiny ones get the job done.”

Her hand freezes on your thigh—you’ve hit a nerve, hit that dark part of her that’s so desperate for validation. “You think you can replace me? Find someone else to fill your sad, lonely nights?”

She’s closer now, her breath against your neck, her fingers drumming a beat right over where the head of your cock is. It’s a heady feeling, one that you hate and crave all at once.

“Was she even good?”

You know what she’s really asking: Was she better than me?

And you know the answer: How could anyone be?

But you don’t say that. You don’t need to. Instead, you reply, “It’s not a competition.”

“Everything’s a competition.”

Wonyoung’s hand relaxes, nails retreating from your thigh, leaving you flustered and fighting against the constraints of your own jeans. She settles back into her seat, having done her damage.

And for a moment, silence reigns inside your car, allowing you to actually focus on the road. Not that it really matters, you know the route to her apartment by heart—you could drive it blindfolded if need be. It’s just a welcome distraction to avoid dealing with the state she’s left you in.

The quiet survives a beat, two, and then Wonyoung’s squirming, shifting in the passenger seat.

And then she does it again.

And again.

You should keep your eyes ahead—you need to keep your eyes ahead.

You know exactly what you’re going to find if you look over at her.

That’s the problem with you and Wonyoung. You know each other too well. Your likes, your dislikes. What gets you off. What makes you mad.

What drives you fucking wild.

And yet, because you’re a sucker for punishment, you still risk a glance, and see Wonyoung, leaning back in her seat, her hand sliding up her own thigh, so casually drifting up her soft, bare skin, higher and higher.

The skirt rises, inch by torturous inch, and it’s those panties—the same set that was around her ankles the last time you had her bent over your couch, swearing she’d hate you forever. The same set that’s probably already soaked, just waiting for you to rip them off again.

You have to tell her to stop, to keep her hands to herself, to not do this to you, not now. Not while you’re trying to keep you both on the fucking road. But your mouth is dry, and all you can manage is a choked, “Wonyoung—”

Her fingers have slid past the hem of her skirt, now playing with the lace that’s the only barrier between her and open air. She’s biting into the plumpness of her bottom lip, staring at you, expecting your full attention, even now. There’s no subtlety with her, there never is, it’s one of the few things Wonyoung’s bad at.

You swallow hard, finding your voice. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making myself comfortable,” she says, a little breathy now, as her fingers slip under the lace. “You got a problem with it?”

There’s the flash of skin, a gasp as her fingers find purchase between her folds. She’s so wet that you can hear it—the slickness of her arousal, the quiet sound of fabric sliding against her skin.

You’re straining, gripping the steering wheel so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in two. Her hand’s dipping lower, her finger sliding inside herself; not deep, not yet, just teasing. Enough to make you want to pull over, to grab her and throw her on the hood of your car, to show her exactly why you’re the only she thinks about when she’s lonely and desperate.

But you don’t, despite the way your body is begging for you to do something, anything, to ease the ache in your cock.

Because if you stop, it’s over. You know how this ends—or rather, you know how she’ll want it to end. She’ll want you to apologise for even being in the proximity of another woman, she’ll want you to beg for her forgiveness so that she might bestow upon you the privilege of touching her again.

If you’re lucky, she just might let you. But only if you play her games.

So you drive faster.

You push the speed limit, weaving through the mostly empty streets.  You’re racing to a finish line, except all that’s waiting at the end of it is the taste of Wonyoung on your tongue, the feeling of her wrapped around you, the sweet victory of making her scream.

It’s hell—ignoring the sound of her pleasure, the wetness of her fingers working in and out of herself. There’s glimpses of her in the corner of your eye, she’s still watching you. She’s enjoying this, loving every second of it.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, oh-so-innocently, even though she doesn’t expect an answer—she just likes to hear her own voice. “Getting distracted? It’s a long, long way back to my place. No one can blame you if you need to give up and pull over.” 

Wonyoung’s getting bolder now, pulling her skirt up to her waist, parting her legs for you, so you can see her hand moving faster, her hips rising to meet her own touch. So you can hear her, hear the fucking sound of each stroke of her fingers inside her, punctuated each time by a wet slap of her palm against her cunt, reverberating through the car, taunting you.

“You want it, don’t you?” She throws the question out so casually, like of course it’s only natural for her to be fingering herself in your car, of course she should be doing everything in her power to make you want to drive into a fucking wall. “I can tell, you’re so desperate to touch me. Definitely going to die if you don’t fuck me soon. Maybe even right here, right now?”

Your foot slips and the car swerves a little—it’s not much, but it’s enough to let her know that you’re losing focus, that she’s winning.

“Careful,” she laughs. “You wouldn’t want to crash before we get to the fun part.”

“You can’t wait until we get back to your place?” You finally ask, the question burning in your throat.

“No. You need to be reminded that you’re-ah-mine,” comes Wonyoung’s answer. “You’re going to fuck me anyway, so why not-mmph-why not save us both the trouble and get started on my own?”

“You don’t own me, Wonyoung.”

To that, Wonyoung raises a carefully sculpted eyebrow.

It’s not even worth a proper reply. Without a word, Wonyoung reclines back into her seat and snaps open the buttons of her shirt, nonchalantly revealing the swell of her breasts, the darkened peaks of her nipples.

No bra—they’re just there. Right there, in your face—those tiny, round, perky tits that you’ve had in your hands, that you’ve had between your teeth, that you’ve covered with your cum more times than you can count.

She’s not shy about it—never has been—arching her back, pushing her breasts out even further. It’s the confidence from knowing every other idol (hell, every other woman in the world) would sell their soul to have a body like hers. So why the fuck not flaunt it?

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true,” she says, reaching up to her chest. A palm finds her tits, pinching and rolling the sensitive nubs, making them nice and red and swollen for you.

She’s moving faster now, grinding down on her own hand, teeth sinking down into her bottom lip so deep you’re surprised she hasn’t drawn blood. Her breaths are getting shorter and shorter, she’s so close, she’s so fucking turned on, she’s so hot it hurts.

Her eyes remain fixed on you; seeing you struggle only makes her hotter, spurs her to circle her clit faster. She’s drinking you in—the tightness of your jaw, the way your eyes can’t decide whether to keep on the road or on her, the way you swallow, trying (and failing) to keep it together.

The worst part of it all is this wicked smile that’s settled on her lips; thoughts of wiping it off her face with your cock flash through your mind. She’s just so fucking smug about it, so sure of herself.

And maybe she should be.

“Admit it,” Wonyoung purrs. “Admit that you need me.”

“Why would I? You’re just a convenient hole to fill.” It’s not true, of course. You’ve never believed it; none of the hundred times you’ve said it to her before—and she’s never once been fooled.

Wonyoung is back in your ear, “You’re a bad liar.”

Her hand’s returned to your thigh, teasing closer and closer to where you really want it to be. You grunt a weak, “Wonyoung, if you think that’s going to work—”

But she doesn’t listen (she never does).

She reaches for the bulge in your pants, far too quick for you to stop her from wrapping her fingers around you, from taking a hold of you and squeezing.

“See?” She whispers, thick with satisfaction, feeling you throb in her grip. “You’re already about to burst. You can’t resist me. No one can.”

You’re not backing down. You’ve got your own pride to think of, after all. “Save it for your fan club.”

Wonyoung’s never been one to take no for an answer. Her hand moves with purpose, sliding over your zipper and giving it a forceful tug. The sound rings through the car, and it’s an out of body experience; it’s all in slow motion as she pulls out your hard, aching cock.

Fuck.

“Last chance to pull over.” Wonyoung takes a hold of you, fingers curling around your cock with a firm grip that leaves no room for doubt—she’s not letting go until she gets what she wants.  “Who knows what will happen if you keep driving like this. Wouldn’t want to ruin these expensive leather seats with your cum, now would we?”

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Your funeral,” she answers, her smile widening into a full-blown grin as she starts to move, stroking you, her hand gliding up and down your shaft with familiar ease. “Or ours, I guess.”

She’s not making it easy—there’s the slow, deliberate pumps, her thumb circling the head, her fingers teasing the sensitive skin. It’s so natural for her, so goddamn good. 

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Wonyoung’s question hangs in the air, joining the sound of her fist pumping your cock, the squish of her own fingers plunging in and out of her cunt. It’s a taunting metronome, the more you try to ignore her, the tighter she squeezes, the fastest she strokes you, the louder she moans in your ear. “Are you sure you can handle me?”

“I’ve done it before and I can do it again,” you grit out. “You’re going to be the one begging for it in the end. Like always.”

She huffs, and you’ve found your mark. “Oh, really? You think you’re so much better than me? You think you can just ignore me like that?”

“Better than you? Easily,” you answer. “You’re just a pretty face and a pair of legs that can’t keep itself shut.”

That makes her stroke you harder, tighter now, firmer, she’s trying to make this hurt. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

“What gives you the impression I even think about you at all?”

“Oh, I know it keeps you up at night—thinking about me, wondering if I’m thinking about you, wondering if any other slut can make you feel the way I do,” Wonyoung’s leaning on you, chin propped up on your shoulder, a devil in your ear. “You hate it, don’t you? You hate that it’s my cunt that you can’t get out of your head, that it’s my pretty lips that you need so badly around your cock.”

"Are you sure you’re not just projecting, Wony?” You ask, glancing down to her hand between her legs, her fingers deep in her folds, her cunt dripping with juices and making a small puddle beneath her. “Look at how wet you are at just the thought of having my cock back between your pretty lips again.”

“Fuck you.” Wonyoung’s panting, short harsh breaths. There’s no conviction in her voice, no denial to be found—this dance of spite and lust has her so fucking heated. All of it—the hate, the competition, the push and pull: it’s all just foreplay. “You’re nothing to me. Nothing but a back-up plan, a toy I play with when I’m bored.”

“Now who’s a bad liar.”

“Go fuck your—”

You don’t let her finish her insult. You’re tired of the back and forth, the games, the fucking power plays. You take your hand off the steering wheel, grabbing her by the hair, wrenching her head up to meet your eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you’re—” Wonyoung’s mistake is opening her mouth in protest—you push her face down onto your cock; not giving her a chance to argue, not giving her a chance to do anything but suck you dry like the skinny little slut she is.

She chokes, hacks a cough as you plunge your cock down her throat, her nose meeting your waist, and it nearly has you emptying into her mouth then and there.

Turns out, she’s right.

You do need this. Need to feel her perfect, pouty lips on you again, her teeth grazing against your skin, her tongue giving in and worshipping you like she’s never done with anyone else.

You keep a hand wrapped up in a fistful of her hair, but you don’t even need to hold her down—she doesn’t fight you, doesn’t even make the slightest noise of protest. No, she just takes it; never mind how much her eyes water, her mouth drools.

“Fuck,” you’re moaning before you can think better of it, and just like that, you’re conceding the smallest victory to her.

And it makes her smile around your cock.

You grunt in response; buck your hips, feed her your cock, make her gag (make her regret it).

You don’t ease up, because if there’s one thing you know about Wonyoung (one thing you know about fucking Wonyoung), it’s that the most insulting thing you can do to her is to take it easy on her.

Just fuck her face and behold the sight of Wonyoung taking your cock. God, her pretty lips wrapped around you, her throat bulging at your length, her teary eyes staring up at you with a mix of defiance and something that’s eerily close to adoration.

It almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to be driving, and it takes a honk from a car behind you and a smile and a curt nod from Wonyoung to remind you of the world rushing by outside.

You pull your eyes back to the road, both hands on the steering wheel to right the car back on track, barely escaping death by deepthroat.

Wonyoung laughs around your cock, a muffled sound that sends vibrations up your shaft. You try to ignore it, but she’s already seizing the opportunity, taking full advantage of the distraction to push down on her own accord, to take you deep—to start properly sucking.

You swerve again.

Her mouth is absolute heaven, pure and simple—she’s a fucking master at this. Your cock’s been in her mouth so many times before that she could probably write an instruction manual on exactly how to make you come unglued.

Too much all at once—you’re groaning now, unable to help it. She’s not even trying that hard; just taking your cock between her lips, sliding it all the way down her throat, a few gentle licks here, a swirl of her tongue there, but it’s more than enough. It’s what keeps you coming back. No one else feels like this—no one else has mapped out your cock like she has—every inch, every vein.

It’s the rhythm that she’s got down to a science: how fast to take you, how much pressure to apply, when to break from her pace to keep you teetering on the edge.

You can feel her eyes on you, scanning you for any sign of weakness—this is precisely where she wants to be. Like this was her decision—like everything leading up to this was part of some messed up strategy to provoke you, to make sure that your cock ended up in her mouth.

You don’t get a chance to dwell on that thought, not when Wonyoung’s teeth is at the base of your cock, her cheeks hollowed out, her tongue doing these little flicks that make your toes curl.

And there’s the question in her eyes: ’is that all you got?’.

Fuck it—risk taking your hand off the steering wheel, it belongs in her silky, dark hair. Make her eyes widen, make her take you deeper, kiss the back of her throat with the tip of your cock, force these divine fucking sounds.

The noises when she gags around you, when the spit is hacked up and drooled down your cock; she’s so sloppy, so filthy.  

And she takes it, takes all of it.

Push her down before pulling her up by the hair, choke her, gag her, have her slobber all over your cock, make her feel you.

Wonyoung takes and takes and takes.

It’s fucked up how you’re treating her (how she’s letting you treat her); she’s an idol for fucks sake. But that’s the last concern you have on your mind—all you can focus on is how fucking good it feels to do this to her, to have her fighting for air around your cock, fighting to keep her eyes on you as you fill them with tears.

Wonyoung’s not giving up though—she’s timing it, timing you. When to relax her throat to take you deep. When to suction her lips. Where to dart her tongue to find that sensitive spot along your shaft.

She’s battling back, in her own way, just as determined as you are to not lose this war of wills. But in the end, you’re the one in the driver’s seat.

“Mmmph,” she’s the one moaning now, moaning around your cock. Shivering in your lap, body jerking and trembling; you can tell her fingers are still buried in her cunt, playing with herself.

She’s so fucking shameless, so fucking pretty, even like this—cheeks flushed, makeup smeared, eyes watering.

You want to kiss her, but that would mean separating her lips from your cock. You want to tell her how much you hate her, but the words won’t come out—they’re stuck in your throat, lodged between your grinding teeth.

“Wait—fuck.” You realise you’ve missed your turn, a split second too late. You jerk the steering wheel, needing both hands as you pull a sharp U-turn. The tires squeal as you try to correct your error, Wonyoung’s mouth around your dick scrambling your brains.

She pulls her lips off from your cock with a hollow ‘pop’. “I thought you could handle me?”

You try to reply—try to form a single coherent thought—but the chance slips by as Wonyoung’s back on the offense, back throating your cock so quickly that your vision swims.

A deep breath is what you need to keep it together. You’re barely thinking straight, holding onto the steering wheel for dear life, doing everything you can to keep yourself from giving up (giving in to Wonyoung’s mouth).

But it’s hard. So fucking hard.

You’ve blown far past any normal speed limit, trying to keep from spinning out with every one of her enthusiastic bobs—it’s by some divine benevolence the car hasn’t completely flipped over by now.

Wonyoung’s relentless, her mouth’s a fucking black hole, sucking you in, stealing every thought from your mind until there’s nothing rattling around your skull but the feel of her wet, warm lips on your cock, and the obscene sounds of her fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, fucking herself.

You’re almost there, and Wonyoung knows it. You can feel it in the suction of her lips, in how hard she’s working you over. It’s the sweetest kind of torture—knowing that she’s got you right where she wants you, that she’s got you on the edge and you can’t do anything about it.

You’re not going to last much longer.

Neither is she.

So you drive. You drive like your life depends on it, because maybe it does. Maybe the only thing keeping you sane is the promise of your eventual release, of filling her mouth with her cum, of pulling her onto your lap and fucking her cunt raw until she screams your name.

“Come on, you can do it,” she’s taunting you now, lathering your cock with just her tongue, dragging it along your length, licking you all the way from your balls to your head. She’s giggling as she steals the pre-cum from your tip, the fucking bitch—like she’s got all the power in the world.

You can see her apartment building in the distance, a beacon of light in the darkness.

You’re almost there.

You reach for the garage remote, mashing the button as you get closer and closer (you’re going to break it). The gate sluggishly opens, and you make a sharp turn to swerve into the dimly lit building, not bothering to slow down.

You can’t, not when Wonyoung’s balancing your cock on her tongue, her hand now squeezing at your base, stroking so fast, so erratic, determined to have you cum in her mouth as soon as fucking possible.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” she asks, expectantly. “Cover me in it, give me what I deserve—show me how much you need me.”

The car’s screeching to the closest parking space, the sound echoing through the garage, as you skid between parallel white lines.

You’re cumming before the car’s even completely stopped.

It’s explosive; a white-hot heat searing through your veins, a roar in your ears as you shower Wonyoung’s perfect face with ropes of cum. She’s still jerking you off with her hand, her mouth hovering around the head of your cock, slurping up every drop she can get.

“All mine,” she chants, greedy for it. You pulse in her hand, your cum spurting over her cheekbones, across her nose, painting over that tiny dark freckle above the corner of her mouth.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink; she’s a statue, a goddess demanding her sacrifice. Her grip is ironclad, stroking you through your orgasm, not stopping until you’re drained, until your cock is twitching in her hand and there’s nothing left but a sticky mess plastered across her big, wide grin.

You feel the last of your orgasm pulse out of you, dripping down her dainty fingers. She licks her lips, smearing your cum across her cheek with her thumb before she sits up straight, basking in her victory.

“Fuck, Wonyoung,” you manage to get out, your chest heaving, your hand finally loosening its grip on the steering wheel.

“Mm-hmm,” she nods, not looking away from you, not breaking the eye contact that’s holding you in place. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

She’s not done yet—she still has to take her victory lap.

Wonyoung pulls herself off you, giving the tip of your cock a parting kiss as she sits back in her seat. She lifts her legs up—those endless stretches of porcelain skin—one after another, slow, dramatic, placing her bare feet on the dashboard.

Her skirt rides up, and with a stretch she drags her panties up her thighs, along her calves, and off her feet; the lace is soaked with her juices, leaving a trail of stickiness as she reveals herself to you.

The panties disappear somewhere into the backseat of your car, another spoil of war, and she spreads her legs wide, so wide, making sure you have a perfect view of her gleaming cunt. You can see her clit, peeking out from between her folds, and it’s all you can do to keep your hand from reaching over and taking over.

But this is her show, isn’t it? This is all for her, all about her getting off. And she’s fucking drowning in it—fingers in her cunt again almost immediately, so wet, so hot, so shameless in your car, so confident in her ability to get what she wants from you.

Her hips rock up and down, she’s fucking herself in front of you—for you. She’s daring you to look away, challenging you to deny how fucking hot she is.

You can’t.

“I’m going to cum now.” It’s a low hush, confident. “Watch me. Don’t move. Just fucking watch me.”

Wonyoung’s eyes are crystal clear, staring deep into you with the look of a girl who’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted in life. It’s that look she gets right before she shatters, and you know she’s there—right fucking there.

Her other hand reaches up, cradling your cheek, needing some connection, needing you to be with her. It’s not enough to just simply cum, she needs you to see it, to be a part of it in some twisted way.

“Just look at you,” Wonyoung says, like she’s not the one that’s covered in your cum, that’s not bucking her hips into her hand, working herself into a frenzy, like she’s trying to tear herself apart. “You can’t keep your eyes off me, can you?”

And she’s right—you hate her, you love her, you want to fuck her, you want to strangle her—it’s all a jumble of emotions in your head.

“That’s it—keep looking at me—don’t fucking take your eyes off me—fuck—yes—I’m going to—”

The only warning you get is a strangled gasp as Wonyoung cums, feeling it through her entire body, forcing her to keel over by just the force of it, making her fall into you.

Her hand on your cheek drags down to wrap around your neck, anchoring herself to you, pulling herself closer so she can smash her mouth against yours.

She’s kissing you, really kissing you, mouth open and hungry, all teeth and tongue, sloppy and wet. She’s marking her territory now, claiming you as she cums, and fuck, you can still taste yourself on her lips—salty and bitter.

Wonyoung’s hand is still working her clit, prolonging her bliss, and then she’s climbing on top of you, straddling you, grinding down on your half-hard cock as she rides out the last of her orgasm.

Her thighs are sticky with her juices, her skirt riding up so high that you can see the bare, plump skin of her ass, and you’re fighting the urge to just push it aside and plunge your cock inside her—

But she’s not giving you that satisfaction—not yet.

Her climax dies right on top of you—her hips rolling on her fingers, her body living and dying on the last embers of pleasure.

Finally, Wonyoung stops, collapsing against your chest, and you let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of her body pressing down on you. She’s a mess, a fucking disaster, and you hold her tight, your arms around her impossibly tiny waist, your cock coming back to life between her thighs.

It’s intimate, almost kind of romantic in a way that’s entirely fucked up, considering, well everything. You’re both a mess of cum and sweat, panting against each other, intertwined together in the driver’s seat of your car, the garage lights flickering overhead like some kind of sick mood lighting.

Wonyoung laughs.

“You’re all sticky.” She leans back, taking her finger and swiping it across your cheek, coming away with a glistening strand of your own cum, a rope that must have strayed from her face and onto yours.

There’s a glint in her eyes, a dirty little idea, and before you can even react, she’s leaning in again, her tongue tracing the line of your jaw, collecting the rogue drops of you.

She rolls her hips down and over you as she does it, stirring your cock back to attention, because apparently she’s not done with you yet.

“You’re a fucking bitch, Wonyoung,” you reply, but there’s no venom behind it. You’re just stating a fact: the sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, and Wonyoung is a bitch.

It’s just the way she is.

You can feel her smirking against your neck, you can picture the look on her face—like she’s already won. It’s infuriating, really, and you’ve got to even the score.

“What are you going to do, take me upstairs and punish me?”

“No,” you say, the word sticking in your throat like it’s made of honey. “Not upstairs.”

“Here?” Wonyoung looks around your car, doing a terrible job of feigning shock (as if she doesn’t know what you’re about to do to her). Yes, she’s a horrendous actress, but it would take an Oscar worthy performance to mask the heat radiating from her thighs, her cunt dripping down onto your lap. “What makes you think I’d let you?”

“What makes you think you have a choice?”  

A press of a button has your seat sliding back, giving you just enough room to lift Wonyoung up, hoisting her above you like she’s a trophy you just won. Congratulations, here’s your Grand Prize—Wonyoung’s tight body, yours for the night (yours for every night).

She can’t do anything but be held by you, have her hips positioned, her cunt aligned with your cock—in your hands, at your mercy, under your control.

“Wait, wait—fuck—”

And then you slam into her.

“Daddy!”

That word. That filthy, devastating word is fucked out of her mouth, a gasping scream as you bury yourself deep into her.

You’d do anything to hear it again.

You don’t bother with gentleness or foreplay—this isn’t a romantic reunion after a long day apart. It’s your hands on her narrow hips; hers doing its best to brace herself on the roof of the car, the window, anywhere she can get a grip.

“Say it again,” you grunt, pulling her back down on you, so hard that she bounces back up, only to be met by another thrust.

“Fuck you,” she spits out, but she’s moaning with every thrust, tightening around you each time, her body betraying her words.

“Fuck you, who?” You’re laughing now, the sound thick and low in your throat as you watch her squirm in your grasp. “You’re going to need to be more specific than that, baby.”

“You know who,” she says, her eyes flying open, glaring at you as she catches her breath. “You always know who.”

“Then say it.”

“Fuck you, daddy.”

“That’s fucking right.”

Her legs are trembling around your waist as you drive into her, her nails digging into the threads of your shirt. She’s begging you for more—harder, faster, deeper—because that’s what she wants from you, that’s what she needs from you. It’s always been like this—no soft embraces, no tender kisses. Just more, more, more.

You wrap your hand around her throat, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to remind her who’s in charge, who’s giving it to her. You lean in, so close her eyes cross, and whisper in her ear, “This is all you’re good for, you know that?”

Wonyoung’s response is to tense her muscles, clench her cunt around you, buck her hips to slap her ass against your thighs. Another battleground in your endless fight for dominance. Fighting for control, trying to dictate the pace, to set the rhythm, to be the one doing the fucking and not the one getting fucked.

And fuck, she’s tight.

Her cunt, her waist, her body. God, it’s like she was built for this.

Designed to fit perfectly in the palm of your hand, to be filled by your cock, to have her skirt hiked up to her waist like a flag of surrender. You’ve got her right where you want her, where she’s always been, where she always will be.

“I fucking hate how good you are at this,” she gasps, the confession spilling from her lips.

You laugh, “I fucking hate you too.”

She’s kissing you again, fingers in your hair now, scraping the back of your scalp, as she rises and falls on your cock. Reflex has your hand tightening around her throat, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your thumb, making her choke out another ‘daddy’.

You’re fucking her like you hate her, like you’re trying to punish her for every sharp word and cold shoulder she’s ever thrown your way. And she’s taking it like she loves it, like she’s been waiting for this all night, all year, all her fucking life.

Wonyoung looks so fucking good, so perfect riding you like this, it’s starting to piss you off. Her hair’s framing her face in perfect waves, not a single strand out of place, even though you’ve had your hands all through it, your fingers tangled in it. Her makeup’s smudged—you can see the tracks of your cum on her cheek—but she wears it like a fucking badge of honour—and like all things, it looks good on her.

It’s like the universe took one look at her and said, ‘nah, she’s too pretty to let any of that shit ruin her.’

But you’ll try.

Keep going—keep fucking; each moan into your mouth, each push of her tongue against your own, each graze of her teeth against your skin—tells you you’re getting there.

Like you’re trying to fuck out all the spite and anger that’s been building up between you, like you can somehow purge it from your systems and just be left with the good parts.

(It’s never that simple.)

“Wonyoung—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“If I could just have your cock without the rest of you—without your stupid mouth, without that fucking look on your face—fuck yes, just like that—without all the bullshit and fighting—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

You don’t believe her, of course—you’re not just a cock to her, the same as she’s not just a pussy to you. But you let her have her fantasy, let her keep pretending she’s just using you for a good time.

“You’re such a bitch,” you murmur, making her chuckle in your ear, her teeth finding the sensitive skin of your lobe, biting down and making you hiss.

Wonyoung’s confession: “Only because it—gah—makes you fuck me harder.”

And it does—it makes you want to show her, prove yourself to her, make her feel it the next day and every day after. Fuck her until she’s nothing but a trembling, whimpering mess, until she’s begging for you to stop. Until she’s begging for you to never stop.

You’re both getting sloppier now, Wonyoung’s hips stuttering as you pound that spot deep inside her, the one that makes her see stars and scream your name, the car shaking with the force of your fucking.

It’s a badly-kept secret you’re keeping from the world outside—the car’s rocking, the lights inside are on, making no efforts to hide what the two of you are doing (doing to each other).

If anyone looks closely enough, if the security cameras in the garage get curious and zoom in, they’ll see your silhouettes; her body arching back, your hips thrusting up and into her.

They’ll see Jang Wonyoung, the princess of the industry, getting fucked in the front seat of a car like some common whore.

And she’s loving it. The danger, the thrill of being seen, the risk that anyone could walk by and hear her moan your name, her voice strained by your hand on her throat. It’s the fact that she’s letting you do this to her, that she’s letting you fuck her like this, even when she’s telling you she fucking hates it.

This moment—Wonyoung—right here, is what you live for.

You want to save it, to bottle it up and keep it with you forever. You want to remember how she feels, how she tastes, the fucking sounds she makes when she’s just about to cum. You want to replay this in your head every time you’re alone, every time you’re with someone else—because even though there might be someone else, they’ll never come fucking close to her.

And then you get an idea.

It’s a terrible idea, one that’ll surely end in disaster—like all the best ideas.

You hold down on Wonyoung’s hips, stopping her mid-thrust, and she’s whining, letting slip just how good you’re making her feel.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps, taking short, sharp inhales, replenishing all the oxygen you’ve fucked out of her.

You ignore her, reaching for the dashboard camera that’s been silently facing outside, towards the wall of the garage. It’s been switched on the entire time, waiting to record the car crash inside—you and Wonyoung tearing each other apart.

Wonyoung’s scared. “Oh no, don’t you fucking—”

But she can’t stop you. You’re already spinning it around, pointing it directly at her cum-covered face, her sweat-drenched body.

“Smile for the camera, Wony.”

Her mouth opens, but she can’t muster the words. You’re fucking her again, the camera watching everything, capturing every moan, every slight quiver of her body. It’s a side of her nobody gets to see—the side you’re most familiar with.

Wonyoung at her most honest, when she’s undeniably yours.

Just her—getting used (using you)—and fuck, there’s nothing more worthy to be captured and preserved for all eternity.

Her eyes dart to the camera, then back to you, her mind racing a mile a minute. You can see the gears turning—she’s trying to figure out how to get out of this, how to win back some ground, but she’s lost.

You’ve got her, and she knows it.

You’re fucking her, and she has no choice but to follow—whether she likes it or not.

“Fine,” she says, the admission torn from her throat as you push back into her. “But if this leaks—if you ever show this to anyone, I’ll fucking kill you.”

You just laugh. “You really think so little of me? Like anyone would believe it anyway.”

And you mean it. You’re not that stupid. But the thought of having a permanent record of this moment, of Wonyoung, begging in high definition—it has you hooked.

You can’t help but add, “But we’ll always know it’s there, won’t we? Forever.”

Wonyoung narrows her brows at you, but she doesn’t protest anymore. Instead, she does the opposite. She starts to lean into it.

She tips her head back, arching her spine so that her tits are pushed up, giving the camera a picture-perfect shot of her body, her chest, the stiffness of her nipples—everything.

Jang Wonyoung—always the performer.

A free hand runs through her hair, flinging it back over her shoulder, and she starts to roll her whole body; fucking herself on you in a way that’s so deliberate, so fucking pornographic.

“God, I fucking hate this.” Wonyoung puts it on public record, eyes never leave yours as she performs for the camera—or for you, it’s hard to tell.

“What’s that, baby?” You tease. "You hate how good this feels?”

“I hate that it’s you,” she says, the words forced out between gasps. “I hate how fucking hot you are.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

You’ll never understand it. How someone you despise so much, with every fibre of your being, can fit so perfectly around you, feel so downright incredible on top of you. It’s a cruel joke that the universe decided to play on you both.

But you play along, let her ride you like it’s her fucking birthright, lock you in some petty staring contest, keep your mind filled with nothing but the tightness of her cunt.

You’re both panting now, sweat slicking your skin, making it easier for her to slide up and down on your cock. Her small tits bounce with every movement, and you can’t help but reach out to grab one, pinch it hard, making her wince, making her gasp.

“Fuck—you should quit whatever the fuck you’re doing,” she says, trying her best to form complete sentences through the pain, the bliss. “Work for me.”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know.” Wonyoung looks down at you and you can see it on her face: the fucking slut is dead serious. “Manager, bodyguard, assistant. Whatever I can do to keep you close so you can fuck me like this whenever I want. If Yujin can have her drummer boy, it’s only fair that I get you.”

“Why the fuck would I want to spend all day waiting on you?”

She corrects you: “Spend all day inside of me.”

There’s your fantasy—mornings fucking Wonyoung in some hotel room, drinking all the juices from her pussy in the car on the way to work, having her suck your cock backstage at some concert, making her scream your name every night before going to sleep.

And then waking up and doing it all again.

There’s no hiding the smirk on your face. “Go fuck yourself, Wonyoung.”

Wonyoung mirrors your grin, that wild, cock-drunk look in her eyes. “Why would I do that when I have you?”

“No.” You’re pulling her close, holding her body tight to you, making her feel it. “You’re mine.”

That word again—'daddy’ on her lips, turning into a desperate cry as her thighs tense on either side of you, her hands locking behind your neck. She’s holding on tight, because you’re not giving her a choice, you’re not giving her anything but what she’s begging for.

You watch her face in the reflection of the car window—the way her mouth hangs open, the way her eyes flutter shut and then open again, searching for something, anything to keep her grounded.

"Fuck me like I’m yours,” Wonyoung pleads. “You own me? Then fucking treat me like you do. Treat me like I’m your fucking whore, daddy.”

It’s too much, all of it. Wonyoung: her face—those lips, her body—those fucking legs, her voice—the way she says your name, how she calls you daddy, like it’s a fucking curse. You’re so close to the edge now, so close to cumming again, cumming inside her. You can feel the beginnings of it, the tension coiling in your balls, the white creeping into your vision.

But she’s still talking—and so are you, you realise.

One of you cries out—holy shit—answered with a—so fucking good—followed by an exchange of—fuck yous—and—I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

It keeps going, this fucking, this using, this hating—whatever this is.

“I fucking hate you—”

“Hate you too—”

“Hate how good your cunt feels—”

“Hate how big your cock is—”

“Hate how perfect you are—”

“Hate how much I want your fucking cum—”

“Fucking slut—"

“Daddy—”

“I’m going to—"

"Please!"

And that’s it.

It’s over—your cock pulsing deep inside her, Wonyoung’s cunt clamping down around you, and you’re cumming—together—tightening and writhing and calling each other every name under the sun, except maybe the one that actually matters.

Wonyoung’s head falls back, losing control of her own body, the camera catching every glorious moment as she cums, her orgasm ripping through her in a scream that you feel in every inch of your body.

You kiss her—her tits, her neck, her jaw, her lips—claiming her, making sure she feels every drop of you. You hate her, you love her, you hate that you love her, you love that she needs you, you hate that you need her.

And all the while the camera keeps rolling, capturing your sweaty, heaving chests; capturing you filling her, spilling out of her, giving her the cum she so desperately pleaded for. It’s so much more intimate than any kiss, any love confession, any of that romantic shit she sings about.

But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

It’s every twitch, every shiver, every little pulse of your release flooding her. How she tenses and clenches around you, soaks you with her wetness, drowns you in her tight, drenched heat.

And she keeps calling you it—whispering it—‘daddy’—over and over again, even as she’s coming down from the high, even as she’s gasping for air, even as she’s forcing her tongue into your mouth.

Wonyoung slumps against you, your cum dripping out of her and down your cock, staining the leather of your car seats. You can feel the stickiness of it, the mess you’ve made together. It makes you want to do it all over again.

To make her say it again, to make her scream it again.

“You’re so fucking mine,” you murmur against her neck, kissing her collarbone, tasting the salt of her sweat.

Wonyoung just nods, too exhausted to argue, too satisfied to care. Her hand finds yours, weaves your fingers together, and you hold onto her, tight. It’s sickeningly sweet, and yet, despite your best efforts, the insult, the quip to break the spell doesn’t come.

Because in the end, you don’t want to kill the moment—not when it’s so perfect.

You don’t want to ruin it with talk of the real world, with the harshness of the light that’ll be waiting outside the car door.

You stay there, parked in the garage of her apartment building, the headlights dimming down to black. The air is thick with the smell of sex and sweat, the taste of it lingering on your tongues. It’s a bubble you’re both loath to burst—because once it does, once it pops, you’re just Wonyoung and some guy she fucking hates again.

“Thank you, daddy.” Wonyoung’s breathing slows, her grip on you loosens. She’s drifting off, the stress of the night and the alcohol finally claiming her.

You don’t know how long you sit there, the two of you tangled together. It’s quiet except for the occasional hum from her, a cute little sound that she’s probably unaware she makes. It’s soothing, almost sweet.

But reality has a way of crashing in, doesn’t it?

You know you can’t stay here forever. You know you’ve got to get her upstairs before someone sees, before the cameras (the dangerous ones, the ones you don’t own) spot you. Before the rest of the world catches up.

You ease her off your cock, she whines, her eyes struggling open. “Take me home,” she mumbles, still not fully coherent.

“Already am, baby,” you reply, gently untangling her body from yours.

With a bit of effort, you manage to get her into an almost presentable state—straightening her skirt, buttoning her shirt, dabbing the cum that’s pooled between her thighs. She watches you as you do it, through a hazy gaze, still recovering from being fucked into oblivion.

It’s an act. Partly at least. A way to save face—pretend that it’s only the exhaustion, that she doesn’t really need you, doesn’t really want to be taken care of like this. Doesn’t want to nuzzle her head into your shoulder, or hug you tight, or have you kiss her on the forehead and tell her that you’ve got her.

Tomorrow she’ll yell at you for it, probably call you an overbearing asshole for treating her like a delicate flower. Make fun of you for going soft, for totally falling under her spell.

(And sometime even later, in a moment when she’s all quiet and feeling vulnerable, right after you’ve fucked each other and hated each other and ended up holding each other for the millionth time, Wonyoung will say:

“You’re the only one who can keep up with me.”

You’ll know what she means right away; you’ll kiss her again and you’ll answer:

“I know.”)

Because despite the fact that when she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch, you’re also kind of in love with her.

And, if you were to ask her, she’d probably the same about you.

[echoofadream]

Your favorite patient...

Part 1

Summary: You are a hardworking doctor and you save a man's life. Wait, why is he coming back with all sorts of conditions? What do you mean he followed you home? He's begging to be your...what?

Contains: Obsessive behavior(yandere), stalking, mentions of masturbation, slight smut, dom!reader(gender is not specified), sub!male!yandere.

Imagine you work in a hospital. You're a workaholic doctor who simply loves treating people and helping them get healthier and better. You greet everyone with a smile and try to cheer up every person who comes in, despite their state. 

One day a young man is brought into the ER and you find out he had been in a horrible car accident. You don't waste any more time and treat his wounds and the next day he's already conscious and aware of everything happening around him. Yours is the first face he sees once awake.

The following days you visit him in his hospital room and ask him how he's feeling, the same honest and benevolent smile on your face. You can tell that he's exaggerating most of the time and that the pain he tells you he's experiencing is not as severe as he claims. So you do the only rational thing and discharge him.

Next week, he's back with another issue and he requests you specifically. An ear infection. It wasn't your area of expertise but you took a look and recommended him a qualified doctor. He left displeased.

One week later you saw him again. A stomach ache. It wasn't bad but he wouldn't have it. "You don't get it, doctor! It hurts!" he'd say and grab your wrist, putting it on his lower stomach. He wanted a set of tests. He was even willing to pay any sum of money! You actually ran the tests and he spent one night in the hospital. You should've paid more attention to the smile he had on his face when you came with his results. He wasn't pleased seeing a green line next to every word on the file, yet he understood the situation and left. "Thank you so much, doctor!" he said with a huge smile on his face. "I was so scared! What would I do without you?"

The following week he was in the ER again. Ibuprofen overdose. "I had a headache and didn't know what to do! Help me, doctor!" A part of you was starting to see a pattern, yet your overworked mind couldn't quite put the finger on the issue at hand. You treated him like any other patient. The same friendly smile on your face, the same soft tone of voice, the same tired eyes. You were busy saving lives everyday. This was your duty and you had to do it right. "Such a big heart you have, doctor!" the same adoration in his eyes when he says this as always. "You're amazing!" and you could've sworn you saw tiny hearts forming inside his dark pupils. You should drink less caffeine, really.

After a couple of days the man doesn't come into the ER. Yet you don't even notice his absence. You were so overworked, so tired! Poor you!

One random Thursday(a thoroughly planned day) you freeze when you step into your living room. A familiar person was sitting on your couch. You knew him from somewhere, but why was it so hard for you to remember?

"Hello, doctor!" he greets. The same smile, the same excited voice. And you recognized him. "Don't tell me you don't know who I am..." he started, a bit of disappointment making its way into his facial expression.

You were standing there, unable to move. What was your patient doing inside your house? How did he know where you lived? How did he get inside? Why did he get inside? Was he dange-

"You don't look too pleased to see me, doctor..." he says, a small frown on his face. He approaches you and you instinctively take a step back. "Don't be afraid. I'd never hurt you." his words were either as honest as they could be or he was one hell of a liar. The former sounded better. "You're good and kind and gentle. I'd never hurt you" he chuckled. That makes you make another step back.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, breathlessly.

"I'm here for you, isn't that obvious?"

It was very obvious but you were hoping he'd elaborate.

"You work so hard, doctor" he starts talking in a pitiful, saddened voice. "You work overtime almost everyday. You always come back home late. You don't even have time to cook and you always order takeaway. Then you sit in front of the TV with a glass of wine in your hand, drifting off with god knows what series in the background." He chuckles. "Well, I know actually.".

He takes another step towards you and you flinch. "I wanna make you feel good, doctor" he tells you, almost whimpering. "You work so hard...it's a pity you don't have a slave at home to take care of each and every one of your needs"

Did he just say slave?

"I've been following you ever since you saved my life, doctor. I owe you!". He puts a hand over his heart, trying to show you just how much he loves you. "I know everything you do. I know you barely have a social life, or a sleep schedule or time for yourself except for the moments when you lay on your back on the bed, your glass on the bedside table and you...touch yourself." He blushed at his own words. Meanwhile, you were going through the five stages of fear. If they didn't exist until now, well now they did.

"You don't have any time to clean this place either. I know, since I try not to cough when I lay under your bed and listen to your moans every night." A huge smile spreads across his face. "God, you're amazing..." .

Your hand goes to the pocket of your coat and, as soon as he sees you, his face darkens.

"Doctor...I told you I'm not here to hurt you" His tone held some sort of threat and that made you the more afraid. Your fingers wrap around your phone and you pull it out. He grabs your wrist, stopping you. "You're not gonna do that!" he screams. "You're gonna make me yours! You're gonna do it!".

The sound of your palm making contact with his cheek echoed in the room. He bends forward a little, covering his red cheek and whining softly. He looks at you with fear in his eyes, but you needed to be blind not to see the arousal that fear created. He drops to his knees, hands on his thighs, head lowered.

"I'm sorry, doctor!" he whines. "I shouldn't have yelled at you! Please forgive me! Please! Forgive me for being such a bad boy..." .

You look at him with a shocked expression. It was crystal clear that he was living inside his own world of make-believe in which you were the master and he was the slave. It was obvious he'd wanted it ever since he first saw you. And that he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

You smirk, all the previously felt fear having already vanished. After all, everything he said was right. You were exhausted and you needed someone to serve you. You deserved it, didn't you? Weren't you that god sent person who saved this poor boy's life? Why not give him what he wants? Why not...give yourself what you want?

"You followed me home" you start, your tone as assertive as you could make it. You could see his body shiver and that only made you keep going. "You broke into my house multiple times. You stalked me!"

A soft whimper escapes the man in front of you. He tries to lift his head, to look at you with those big pleading puppy eyes of his, to show you how very sorry he felt(not in the slightest) for doing all that. But when you snap at him he lowers his head again.

"You gave yourself medical conditions so that I could treat you! What kind of sick fuck does that?"

He moaned when he heard your degrading words, lifting his head and looking you straight in the eyes, a big smile on his face.

"I'm sick, doctor. I'm very sick..."

You laughed at his wordplay. "I think you've been a bad boy. A bad sick naughty boy. You know what bad boys get?" You smirk, waiting for his answer.

"Punishment!" he yells, his eagerness immeasurable. "They get punishment. Please, doctor..."

"Please, what?"

"Please....punish me"

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

If this goes well I'll write the second part(smut ofc).

[diazsdimples]

Tommy can remember the day he knew he was going to kill Vincent Gerrard. Or, not kill exactly, but do some serious, irreparable damage to him. He'd kind of figured this day would come, if the way he felt like ripping the old man's mustache right off his face whenever Buck came home upset was anything to go by. He just didn't think it would happen quite so soon. He's held Buck plenty of times after rough shifts, where Gerrard would make him man behind for no other reason than "I want this place clean and perfectly organized. That's what you people do, isn't it?". He's heard enough stories from Eddie, and Hen, and Chim, about the abuse they were all getting but how most of Gerrard's hellfire seemed directed towards Buck.

But nothing could prepare him for the fury he felt when that day arrived.

He'd gotten a text from Eddie, a short and simple "he needs you", and he'd been in his car in a flash. The whole drive he'd been worrying, not sure what he'd be arriving to.

When he gets there, he knows it’s bad. Hen and Chimney are locked in a furious screaming match with Gerrard, their faces all varying shades of puce, and it looks like Hen's about to punch Gerrard in the nose, based off the hand Chimney has wrapped tightly around her wrist.

He spots Eddie and Buck immediately; they're in the locker room and Eddie has his arm around Buck's shoulders. When he looks up and locks eyes with Tommy, he can see the flames of rage licking behind Eddie's eyes. Buck's got his face in his hands, and his shoulders are shaking in a way that tells Tommy that he's crying. Tommy's across the station in 3 quick strides, dropping to his knees in front of Buck and taking his face in his hands, stroking his thumbs over his cheekbones.

"What the hell happened?" he asks Eddie, because Buck's not in any shape to breathe right now, let alone talk.

Eddie doesn't reply immediately, but his jaw ticks and he looks like he's carefully picking his words. Just as he's about to speak, Buck's voice, quiet and broken, cuts through the silence.

"He made me watch."

Tommy's brow furrows in confusion, and a ball of dread settles in the pit of his stomach. Buck swallows convulsively and even Eddie looks like he might throw up. It's bad.

"Watch what?" Tommy asks carefully. He doesn't want to push it, not if Buck isn't up to speaking, but he needs to know.

Eddie speaks up first, and his voice is shaky too.

"We were called to a massive haemorrhage at the Pride Event in West Hollywood. A man and his husband had been attacked by one of those bible bashers that stand there and tell everyone they're going to hell. A bystander said they'd been arguing with him and he pulled a knife. Got the first guy in the stomach, second just above his heart. There was nothing we could do."

Buck takes a deep breath, a whine issuing from the back of his throat. Tommy puts a hand around the back of his neck and rubs soothing circles just below his hairline.

"He made me watch," Buck repeats again, a little louder this time, and Tommy's heart clenches cause he knows, he fucking knows what Buck is going to say next. "He said "ride with Wilson, Buckley. This is a good opportunity for you to increase your medic skills." He knew they weren't going to survive but he made me...." Buck trails off, unable to finish his sentence, and Tommy's vision goes red. He's never hated anyone more than he hates Gerrard right now.

That is, until Buck finishes his sentence.

"He said "you might learn something valuable," but he wasn't talking about the job."

Buck's fists are clenched so tight his knuckles are white, and there's blood under his fingernails. Eddie's got a fistful of Buck's shirt clenched tightly in his fist and he looks like he's doing all he can to not run upstairs and tear Gerrard limb from limb.

There's a ringing in Tommy's ears and everything sounds kind of muffled, like his head is underwater. He's clutching the back of Buck's neck so hard that it's got to be painful, but he can't make himself let go.

When he left the military, Tommy made a vow that he would never take another man's life. But for this - for Gerrard - for what he did to Buck, the light of Tommy's life, he might just make an exception.

[graphedpaper]

Renter Problems 2

yandere!celebrity x fem!reader

Synopsis: You're trying to find a place near your university to stay, and you've managed to find a mansion owned by a celebrity to live in. His name is Jacob, and you've known him since middle school, living in the same city as him. He's blown up as the new, hot celebrity thanks to the movie he's starred in, though, while you're just struggling to pass by. But he's been acting strange, and you're determined to .move out Details: Physical and verbal abuse, manipulation, gender neutral reader, kidnapping

Your head pounds with throbbing pressure from sudden exposure to the singular light of a fluorescent fixture overhead, unsure what happened that lead you to here.

Here, a foggy room of hard gray walls and cold gray floors, it's simplicity unnerves you, a human instinct, maybe.

Your eyes squint from the brightness and you're unable to open them.

Your mouth feels dry, your throat needs water now. You feel sick and nauseous, like almost a fever. Your right arm is sore and bruised, like you had a very bad work out.

It must be earlier in the morning, or maybe it's the afternoon...

You feel a cool, cold, but tight sensation on your wrists and realize your arms are hung up and stretched out individually to thick pipes with handcuffs and chains.

Your screams start to form, an instinctual, guttural, screech of terror that comes rushing out of your mouth with no hesitation.

"Help!" You scream, but your dry throat and dizziness restricts you from yelling loud enough.

Your heavy, tired head droops over and creates a resemblance to a crucification, only this time your raw knees press on the concrete that pushes against your slumped figure.

If not for the handcuffs holding you up, you would fall face flat and crack your forehead.

All you can do is gasp for air into your dry throat, the air stinging your channel that begged for hydration, all sense of a functioning brain and body is gone. Your arms feel numb, all blood rushing to your core. You start to yank your wrists away from the pipe in vain. The heavy metal around your wrists press and brings you another source of pain, the marks all red.

You force your neck up to look at this strange room again. Last thing you can make out before passing out was telling Jacob you were leaving.

What had happened exactly? You forced yourself to dig through your shattered memories.

He had slapped and tossed you across the living room, then he-

Your eyes droop closed. Even with the fear pounding your heart, something is still slowing your thinking. It softens your movements like walking in deep water, fluid, yet thick and weighted.

"Oh. You're up. Couldn't tell from all the screaming." A sarcastic sound hits your ears.

A clear voice calls down to you from the stairs leading up to a now open door that you had not been able to see before.

He looks so satisfied, up on the staircase, hands stuffed in his sweatpants and looking down at you. While you were kneeled on raw ground, face red and puffy from yesterday's event, his face was neat,  hair tousled gently, and smelled of aired cotton sheets, he was superior.

"What did you do- What did you do Jacob? What did you do to me?" You rasp out, no energy in your body. "Don't say that precious, I did nothing. You did this." He replies approaching you.

Your eyes widen in panic and you pull on your restraints once again. The metal shakes and rattles, making unpleasant sounds that echo throughout the deep basement. "Don't come near me! I swear, don't take another step!" You don't order, you don't ask, but beg. Beg him to stop.

You cry out screaming when he doesn't stop and calmly descends the stairs, hands still in pockets. "God, shut up! Shut your fucking mouth y/n." He snaps.

He crouches down to my level and he stares at me, like he's studying an animal he hunted down.

"If you want to get out of..."

He pauses.

"...Out of those then keep still and behave."

He hesitates to say handcuffs, like he's avoiding shattering his little dream world where we're apparently a couple. Because even he knows couples don't do this.

"Let me go please. Let me go!" You beg him, using your strength to rattle the chains connecting to your bondage.

Jacob scoffs at your behaviour. You're so pathetic, begging him to let you go. Let you go where? You'd be begging on the streets then. Better him than random strangers, right?

"Y/n stop it." He grabs your chin and pulls it upwards with his right hand. "You're acting like a fucking bitch right now." His eyes stare right into yours, it's dark. The back of your neck feels strained from the awkward angle.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-" You jump to apologize. It's obvious this is someone unlike anyone you'd meet around town. Inhuman.

A sharp kick to your side pushes you back. It leaves you unable to think, or speak. The impact was unexpected.

He laughs at your shock. "Are you ready now?" Jacob's lips pout slightly, speaking in a mocking tone.

You can only stare at a corner of this room, mouth gaping like a suffocating fish. Still, you manage to nod slightly.

What bad luck.

What horrible luck that your friend recommended you the house of a psycho.

In this moment, you curse your parents and your friends slightly.

Jacob kneels down fully to the ground and slips out a key from his back pocket of his jeans. He swiftly unlocks the segments that connect the individual handcuffs to the chains.

What a joke, of course he wouldn't take the handcuffs off like you thought, he's only separating you from the pillars-

He takes out a second key and takes his time to release your sore wrists from the 2 metal bracelets.

You remain as confused and fearful as ever. What did he have planned now?

"Jacob, why did you do this, why did you put me in these handcuffs?" You ask him, in a raspy voice. It's hoarse from the screaming.

You observe his facial expressions carefully, like a small rabbit may to a lion. He's unpredictable.

He ignores your questions and continues to work at the handcuffs.

"You know y/n, I think you don't remember how terrible of a person you were to me all throughout our teenage years. How much of a bully you were. And that hurts me."

No. No, you were never once a bully to him. But he was to you, spreading rumours, getting his friends to gang up on you. What was he on about? He was insane. You wanted to ask him what he meant, you deeply wanted to argue against this statement. But that wouldn't save you, would it?

"I'm so sorry Jacob, I'm sorry for hurting you like that in the past, but like you said, we can all change." You bite your tongue and hope for the best.

Silence fills the room up to the ceiling, and he pauses working on the last handcuff around your wrist.

"You refused to go out with me, y/n." He stared at you.

What could you say except sorry to this psycho?

"I'm so sorry Jacob." You reply.

"You thought I was a stupid idiot, huh! You thought you could just walk all over me and I would accept it?" He yells.

"Jacob, please, I'm not sure what I did to you, I'm sorry!" You cry out, terrified. Your body starts to shake reactively towards his agression.

His move star face contorts into one of an ugly monster.

"You... you don't even know? You don't even care?" He stands up with a look of angry disbelief.

"No, no, Jacob, please, please, let me out of this place and we can talk it over, okay?" You beg.

He checks his watch then glares at you.

"You're lucky I need to go and do an interview to promote the new movie."

He kneels back down, and before he unlocks the final handcuff, he puts the other set between your two wrists like how it normally would have been used, then takes off the first handcuff that was connected to the chains on the pillar and one of your hands.

He grabs onto your handcuff and drags you up behind him to the first floor. The stairs are long and high, like the architect knew a rich person would need to have somewhere to take out their sick desires.

When he opens the locked door and tosses you to the floor of the other room, you realize its the big, airy living room from last night's dinner. You look around and see no traces of yesterday's fight. Did he get a cleaner in?

Jacob locks the door behind him, and then turns around to look at you.

His facial expression changes from stressed fury to a calmer, serene face.

"Oh y/n, you're too gorgeous to act this way, why can't you just be my perfect partner, huh? Why did you have to try and leave? Weren't we building a connection? We even had a dinner date." He rambles his thoughts to you, like you're a stuffed rabbit toy.

He grabs your hand and leads you up to his bedroom. You've never been in it.

While he's approaching his bedroom door, you decide to attempt to get out of this horror.

You'll ask him to unlock your cuffs and then you'll call the police...

Jacob pushes you onto his bed.

"Y/n, stay in my room and don't have even think about leaving until I'm back from work. There's alarms."

"Jacob, please can you get me out of these handcuffs? Let me go please, I won't ever tell anyone, I wouldn't dare ruin your career, " You try.

Jacob stops moving at your audacity to beg. You're daring, he'll admit that. Begging for him to let you go? His girlfriend?

"I'm not worried about you ruining my career, you'd just be another crazy bitch out for a young man's growing success."

You're stunned by the bluntness of his words and your face finds its way into a grimace.

"Aww. Poor baby didn't like that, huh?" He asks with a sarcastic tone.

You stare at him not sure what to say.

"I'm going to go now, but you have to be a good girlfriend while I'm away." Jacob tells you.

He forces you to kiss him on the cheek in an awkward position and leaves you on his grand bed with the door locked.

You collapse and begin to sob.

Hi, this short text is part of a larger story you can find on Wattpad, @graphedpaper, if you liked this, you should check it out there.

[fruitjoos]

sweet revenge

stanford!art x stanford!tashi x reader

summary: you and art broke up months ago, yet you still can’t get over him. he moved on a lot faster than you thought he would. if you were going to be miserable, so was she.

warnings angst, slight bullying, maybe? i guess

You stood by the court, arms crossed, the early evening sun casting long shadows over the freshly mown grass. The tennis balls bounced in time with your heartbeat as you watched them, Art and Tashi on the other side of the fence, in their own little world. He leaned in close, whispering something that made her laugh, her hand lightly swatting his chest in that playful, teasing way that used to be yours. They exchanged love taps, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to you, they were searing hot brands pressed into your skin.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. You were supposed to be over this. Over him. It’s been months, months since the final, hollow “goodbye.” The final, “we’re not right for each other anymore.” Months since you swore you wouldn’t let him get to you again. But here you were, rooted in place, your chest tight with anger and pain, humiliation, longing. Why her? Why not you? Why did it seem so easy for him to move on, to laugh like that, to be happy?

Your hands balled into fists, nails digging into your palms as you turned away, unable to watch anymore. You hated the way he could still twist you up inside, the way seeing him happy with her made something bitter bloom in your chest. He was supposed to be yours, or at least the memory of him was. But watching him with Tashi only solidified one thing: it’s over. Really over. And it would never happen again. No second chances. No rewinds. You told yourself that over and over, but the mantra didn’t stick. Instead, it made your blood boil.

That’s when you started making Tashi’s life difficult. You couldn’t stop Art from moving on, but you could make sure she didn’t enjoy it. In the locker room after practice, you waited until she wasn’t looking, then scraped her expensive deodorants into the trash. You moved one of her tennis shoes to the opposite side of the locker room, making her late for warmups. You cut in front of her in line at lunch, bumping into her just enough to make her spill a drink. When she complained—oh, how you reveled in her complaints. You just ignored her, pretending you didn’t hear, didn’t care. You wanted her to feel what you felt: powerless, insignificant, alone.

But one day, Tashi went to Art. You didn’t see her that afternoon, but you heard from someone else that she’d been crying. And that, apparently, was enough to spark Art’s rage.

You didn’t expect to see him standing outside your lecture hall that day, not after all this time. His tall frame blocked the doorway, his expression dark as he waited for you to pack up. He didn’t say a word as you slung your bag over your shoulder, but when you walked toward the door, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. Hard. Hard enough to make you stop, hard enough to make your pulse skip in a way you hated to admit. The force of his grip sent a shiver up your arm, part fear, part something that still simmered just below the surface.

“Leave Tashi alone,” Art said, his voice low and sharp. His words were clipped, his anger barely restrained, and for a moment, you were stunned. Not by what he said, but by the way his touch still made your heart flutter. You hated that he still had this kind of hold over you, even after everything.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, batting your eyelashes and feigning innocence. You tried to pull your hand free, but he only tightened his grip. There was a flash of something in his eyes, something that told you he wasn’t buying it.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he snapped, his voice rising slightly. “Tashi told me everything. The stupid deodorant thing, the shoes, bumping into her—” He listed off every petty, vindictive thing you’d done in the last few weeks, and you felt a slight satisfaction that he noticed. That he cared enough to confront you about it.

But your face remained blank, a mask of boredom. You stared at him, expressionless, as though every word he said was just background noise. The little games you played with Tashi were nothing compared to the way he had gutted you, left you behind like you were just some phase in his life he was done with. You blinked slowly, taking in the storm in his eyes, feeling something close to triumph in the fact that he was this worked up.

Then, just as quickly, he delivered the final blow. “Hating her won’t make me love you again.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, winding you. For a split second, your carefully constructed walls cracked. He didn’t even realize the impact his words had, didn’t stay to watch the devastation in your eyes. Art let go of your wrist and shoved your hand away like it was nothing, like you were nothing, before turning his back on you and walking off into the distance without so much as a second glance.

You stood there, frozen, as his words echoed in your mind. Hating her won’t make me love you again. He had walked away before, but this felt different. Final. The sting of rejection, of abandonment, was overwhelming, and you realized with a sickening clarity that he had moved on. He was never coming back.

Your throat tightened as you watched him disappear down the hall, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. All of the venom you’d been spewing, all the petty revenge, suddenly felt hollow. Useless. The truth was, you didn’t hate Tashi. You hated what she represented. She was everything you weren’t, everything you used to be, when Art still looked at you the way he now looked at her. She had the life you used to have, and no amount of sabotage or cruelty was going to change that.

And now, you were left with nothing. Not even the hope of him coming back.

[moremaybank]

TOYS + OVERSTIMULATION — r.c

pairing rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings 18+, use of toys (hitachi, butt plug), unprotected sex, reader is tied up, sort of mean!rafe, overstimulation, crying, language/dirty talk

kinktober masterlist ;; rafe masterlist

⋆༺♱༻⋆

Rafe loved to have you tied up. Helpless, unable to fight back or run from all the pleasure he was gifting you. He made you cum over and over until your brain is nothing but mush, and your voice had died out from all your crying.

“You look like a fuckin’ mess, sweetheart.” 

With your tits pressed against the mattress and your knees doing the same, your entire body trembled. Rafe had tied your hands behind your back, your wrists red and starting to sting from the ropes. Your ankles were secured together as well, with the Hitachi Rafe had bought fastened to the ties. It stayed pressed right up against your clit, the vibrations unrelenting no matter how much you tried to escape the overwhelming power. By now, your head was fuzzy and you couldn’t feel the rest of your body.

Rafe noticed your hips gyrating as they tried to catch a break from the vibrator. He smacked your ass harshly, leaving you with a harsh tinge of pain. “Stop fucking moving. You can’t run from this.” 

“Daddy, c-can’t take it anymore. Please, h-help.” 

“Help? You think I’m gonna stop playing with my toy?” He kissed his teeth, shaking his head although you couldn’t see him. “I think you want even more, baby. Wanna know how I know?” 

You couldn’t muster up much more than a pathetic whine, digging your forehead into the mattress when his thick fingers pressed ever so slightly into your entrance. Your walls sucked the tips of his digits tightly, your past releases coating them. 

“‘Cause you’re still so tight. Think this pussy is beggin’ to be filled. Can’t get enough, can she?” His fingers ran up, dragging your cum to your asshole. “But ‘m gonna play with this perfect ass first. Want you to feel good everywhere.” 

Rafe kicked it up a notch, lathering your jewelled butt plug in your cum before entering it into your ass. He pushed it in tauntingly slowly, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he secured it inside you fully. The feeling was full and indescribable, flowing right to the tips of your fingers and your toes.

“This ass looks so good when it’s stuffed, baby.” 

His hand circled his shaft, giving himself a few strokes to ease the ache it felt as he watched you. It throbbed almost painfully, his tip red and beyond angry at the lack of stimulation. God, he couldn’t wait to thrust inside you, feel your pussy beg for him. 

“That pussy’s lookin’ a ‘lil empty. Can I help you out with that?” 

You shook your head with the last few remnants of energy still floating within you. “N-No, please. It’ll be t-too much. Already too much. Please—”

He quieted your hiccuping with a shh as he climbed behind you on the bed, his hand cupping over your mouth. “I told you not to bother me while I was working, didn’t I, sweetheart? And you didn’t listen. You sent me those damn pictures anyway. So now you have to take whatever I give you ‘n you’re not gonna make any more of a fuss. I’m not above leaving you tied to this damn toy all night.” 

His hand left your mouth and steadied on your hip. You couldn’t fathom the thought of his threat. You couldn’t even fathom cumming another time. “Daddy, I’m sorry. I w-won’t do it again. Please, I need a break.” 

“Stop fucking whining,” he scolded. His tip lined up with your entrance and he slammed himself inside of you roughly. He knocked the wind out of your lungs and pulled a shriek from your lips. “See what happens when you don’t listen to me?” 

He’d decided from the beginning of the evening that he wouldn’t be taking it easy on you. He couldn’t let you get away with being a brat and teasing him, touching and playing with what belonged to him — without his permission, no less. His thrusts were hard, hitting your cervix with such force that it hurt. Still, you couldn’t deny that your pussy wasn’t milking him, that it didn’t miss the stretch of him all day long. And that, combined with your full ass, drove your sanity right out the window. You bit down on the comforter, practically screaming into the thick fabric as your eyes crossed. 

Rafe’s hand slithered between your bodies, and he pressed the Hitachi harder against your burning clit, forcing the vibrations harder against you. It wasn’t long before your whimpers had transformed into full-on sobs, and you couldn’t speak. 

“Look at you. Crying for a break while you’re pussy squeezes the fuck out of me. Thought this was all too much? Fuckin’ whore.” He slapped your ass, cursing when he felt your walls constricting around his length. “You gonna cum for me, slut?” 

He smirked when you couldn’t answer, and he gave up the rest of his control, using your hole to help him reach his own release. His cock was swimming in all of your cum from your earlier highs, and your core was almost burning hot from how hard your body was being worked. It was sending him so far into another world, he honestly could’ve argued that it was heaven itself. 

Sweat dripped down his chest, and his balls drew up nice and tight. “‘M gonna fucking cum. You better cum too, or this is gonna be a long fucking night.” 

⋆༺♱༻⋆

RAFE TAG LIST (JOIN HERE): @pankowperfection @bmo-bri @hemogloban @princessbetsy123-blog @slytherhoes @dreamingwithrafe @softherveauxs @adoreyouusugar @f4ll-for-you @tell-me-when-ur-ready @bbycowboi @jjmaybankisbae @enhypens-hoe @loverofdrewstarkey @countryclubkook @earth2starkey @angelofcigs @belcalis9503 @em0-b0ysworld @koalalafications @aerangi @cantstoptheimagines @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @rafesthroatbaby @maybanksbabe @slut4drudy @jjmaybanksgun @drewstarkeysbae @hoeforstarkey24 @eventualoptimism @violetmacher @pookaaaaa5-blog @iluvteyqmm @sluttycadence @subconsciouscollapse @scarlettocean @runningfrom2am @aris-void @luversgirl @conniesanchor @redhead1180 @rcbuttercup @rafeslittlevixen

[iichfilwypj]

'you smashed my head on the sink!' | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of athena! reader   ღ warnings: spiders and a wound (literally nothing) ღ wc: 619

The bathroom was quiet, not a word exchanged between them. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t quite relaxed either.

It was... strange, we could say.

He was worried, to say the least. His green eyes were hidden beneath furrowed brows, avoiding her gaze, as he gently cleaned the small cut on her forehead. The sight of her lips tight from pain and her hands clutching his shoulders, was unbearable.

And the worst part was knowing it was his fault, that he had caused this pain in her. He wanted to hit himself, again and again.

Sitting on the edge of the sink, she fought the urge to laugh. Her teeth bit down on her lip trying to stifle the giggles, and found that clutching Percy’s shoulders, with him nestled between her legs, helped keep her composure.

Her thoughts scattered in every possible direction, desperately trying to avoid the memory of what had just happened and bursting into laughter.

The cramped bathroom was driving her crazy. There was barely any space for her makeup, so she had to take out and put away her makeup in its case every time she used it. 

Focused on her reflection in the mirror, she stretched her hand toward the bag, unable to find it. When she turned her eyes to where it was, she saw the worst thing she could have imagined: a spider. And not just any spider—a large, hairy, and leggy one, making its way toward her.

She froze in place, only able to let out a loud scream as she watched the spider freak out and dart away. From outside the bathroom, she heard banging, quick footsteps, and Percy shouting her name.

She never saw him open the bathroom door, which was behind her. 

She just felt the wood against the back and her face slamming into the sink. Hard.

Suddenly, the memory was too much for her to handle, and a laugh escaped before she could stop it. She quickly lowered her head, trying to hide the giggle with a pout. 

Percy noticed immediately. He sighed in frustration, smashing the cotton ball in the sink and giving her a pointed look. 

“This isn’t funny, I could’ve seriously hurt you!” He was serious, watching as his girlfriend laughed loudly. 

A streak of blood dripped from her forehead to her eyebrow. His face scrunched in concern, and he reached up to wipe it away; but before he could do so, she leaned back, laughing loudly as her head hit the glass.

“You slammed my face,” she teases. “against the sink!”

“Stop it!” She tried to contain her grin, but it’s useless. His frustration is kind of adorable.

Her laughter grew louder, ringing through the bathroom. Percy’s frown deepened, and he crossed his arms, clearly torn between annoyance and the fact that he couldn’t stay mad at her for long.

“For someone who's supposed to be smart, you're acting kind of dumb. You could have a concussion!" he remarked. She kept laughing, leaning forward to wrap her arms around his waist. 

Yeah, as if he was going to let her do it. 

He gently pushed her -the last thing he needed was for her to crack her head open- and tightened his grip on her wrists, pulling them away when she tried to get closer again.

“No cuddles for you tonight. Or ever.”

“What? You hitted me!”

He shrugged his shoulders, and with one final, exasperated glance, he turned to leave.

Before he stepped out, he shot her a look over his shoulder, watching her wipe the tears from her cheeks, her back against the mirror and breathing hard.

“Oh, just to remind you,” he said “we still haven’t killed that spider. Good luck!”

The last thing he caught before closing the door and keeping his hands on the knob so she couldn't open it was the look of pure terror on his girlfriend’s face as she rushed toward him.

i hate hating spiders but i am terrified of them! :)

[remembering-angels]

🔞🦇my little bat🦇 🔞

Jonathan crane x batman's daugher!reader (Christian bale's batman obvi)

My very first serious x reader thing, so be nice.

He knows who you are, what are you willing to do to keep his mouth shut?

18+ minors DNI (not a full on smut ,just a little bit)

You never wanted for nothing as the only daughter of gotham's richest man. A new prada purse? Why not 10. A new dress from the latest YSL collection? How about the store? Bruce was often busy with either fighting crime or a charity gala so when he couldn't come to a graduation party or a birthday, he always send you a nice gift to compensate. But there was one thing bruce always refused to give you ,you wanted nothing more than to have a daddy daugher fighting crime due but bruce the ever loving but strict and overprotective dad always refused. "But daaad please I want to help!" You whine to bruce one evening as he prepares to go to another mission, "no no and again no. You are too young" he said firmly but unable to hide the fear in his tone, "you keep treating me like a child!" You keep whining to bruce as he gears up in his iconic bat suit. "This is not a good life for you,you need to focus on a normal life" bruce says again looking you up and down with worry "now my word is final" he says again getting in to the batmobil and driving off in super speed. You knew he was probably out fighting scarecrow,the latest villain to terrorise Gotham. You sighed returning to your room.

unfortunately for bruce ,you inherited his stabborn genes, as the moment he was out the door you suited up as well in your own batgirl suit and ran to the darkened gotham streets. following the sound of sirens till you reached the pier ,where scarecrow crow was already smuggling his fear toxin.

"Where is your daddy little bat" he sneer ,his burlap mask hiding his features ,through the eye holes only ocean blue eyes are visible. "Where is yours?" You returned the same cocky attitude. "What are you doing here crane!" You yell at him ,"that's not for you to know ,fly along little bat" ,his condescending comments were enough to make you want to punch the villain right in the face.

Jonathan chuckled at Batgirl’s feisty attitude. It was endearing, if not a little cute. He noticed her clenched fists and knew he was getting under her skin already, just like a master puppeteer and his marionette.

“You’re so helpless without Batman and his gadgets. No strength, no fight. All you are is a scared little girl when it comes down to it, little bat." He starts to circle you ,sending shivers down your spine, knowing he is about to use the fear toxin on you, you quickly throw your (bat shaped of course) boomerang hitting him in the shoulder, he falls back in pain and grunts as he grabs your leg,pulling you down with him ,the struggle wasn't long as even as a trained bat girl ,you were still not a match for a man twice your size, he quickly grabbed your wrists pinning then above your head. "Let me go" you sneer, the sound of batman's wings was heared through the dark allyway as he looked up "ah daddy bat man is here for you little bat ,don't worry it still gives me time to do this" he lifts his hand to spray you with the fear toxin but before he could you kick him off you, causing him to grunt again to which he grabs you ,struggling to take control he grabs your mask ,he didn't mean to but it was the best thing to happen to him as it slips right off ..his eyes widen ,he saw you on the tabloids, Y/N wayne , an evil smirks rises on his face before you quickly grab the mask back and put it on. Batman was quickly behind to uperhand scarecrow.

You paced in your room nervously that night, back and forth, you could barely sleep. Bruce forgave you for sneaking out ,seeing his own stubbornness in your eyes but will he forgive you for revealing yours and his identity to his sworn enemy? Eventually the anxiety beat you ,you grabbed your bag and a simple turtle neck and skirt combo .deciding to drive to arkham asylum where jonathan was held. You weren't sure why, would you threaten him to keep his mouth shut? Or kill him? What are you gonna do?

The white walls of arkham asylum and the long corridors full of inmates didn't calm your anxiety as you reached Jonathan's cell, the guards told you it's impossible to talk to him. All he does is sit in his cell, mumbling "Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow". You swallowed a deep breath entering the arkham cell. You didn't realize how handsome your enemy was until he sat there ,no ugly mask to cover his pale well sculpted face and high cheekbones. No voice modification to hide his soft voice with a slight accent, no mask to hide his ocean blue eyes and soft lips, he could be a model if not a villain.

"Jonathan crane?" You said nervously as he looked up, the dark eyebags gave him a sinister look under the white florescent and the straight jacket made him look smaller. "Ah little bat" he said in a soft whispery tone. "Dr crane ,I came to-" ,he looked up at your with his ocean blue eyes, "to make sure I don't spill your secret?" He raises an eyebrow, you nod nervously. "And if I do?" He curves his soft lips in to a small smile, he had nothing to lose now, "please Dr crane , you have nothing to gain from that" the hint of desperation in your voice is visible, "Oh on the contrary little bat,I have a lot to gain from that, you see I can send goons to your dad's house,I can tell everyone the secret ,I can do anything with it..unless you kill me of course " he smirks ,knowing the bat family is too proud to kill their villains. "There has to be a way-" , "what to keep my mouth shut? I suppose there is" ,you turn your head at his comment, your heart beating fast "what do you want crane" ,"revenge" he looks up "but you'll do for now". "What?" ,"come to my cell every week and do exactly what I tell you or else I will open my mouth and run it to every mob boss in town" he says nonchalantly, struggling against his bonds.

You look at him confused, is that it ,just a weekly visit, that seemed easy enough, there had to be a catch , "just weekly visits?" ,"Oh of course you'll have to do what I say, like if I say kneel..you kneel, if I say -" , realising his dark intentions you stop him immediately, "no. Absolutely not. You are crazy" ,"I am crazy..with your secret, do it or I ask the Gotham press to visit me next" , you sigh heavily, sitting across from him, "how can I have your guarantee that you won't call the press anyways?" You ask. "Oh you don't, but trust me having batman's daugher as my pet would be much much more enjoyable than seeing you and your dad get killed by some mob boss" you let out a shaky breath looking down, the bastard had power over you even in a straight jacket. He looked at you as well ,your figure, your eyes, your nervous demeanor, he almost felt sorry for you. "Now I am in a straight jacket so you'll have to..you know help me feel better ", "what" ,"get on your knees and make sure I am satisfied enough to keep my mouth shut ", with a heavy sight you drop on your knees in front of jonathan ,grabbing in to his white pants as you look up, a smirk forming on his handsome features ,you start to open his pants, taking his length out ,he almost moans at the release ,as you take him in your mouth, slowly slowly circling your tounge and taking him further, he groans and moans in relief "Oh God, does batman know his daughter is such a slut " he asks mockingly, putting his head back in pleasure. The embarrassment was evident on your face as you blush. After a few more very embarrassing bobs and moans from his lips ,you pull away ,causing him to whimper ,you look up at him and then away wiping your mouth. "Good bat " he mocks as he lays back to the hospital chair, you zip him up as you stand up ,"don't wipe yourself off let him see what a slut his daughter is" his eyes gleam in amusment, you quickly grab your bag and run out of the cell. "See you next week!" He calls back in amusment.

But next week it was all over the news ,all of the inmates of arkham escaped that means so is jonathan crane, for you he was the deadliest because he had the deadliest secret ,you felt your heart sink as you entered your room to find a note on your pillow .

"Little bat

the offer still stands, meet me on the roof at 9.

Yours, JC ."

Your heart was beating like crazy as the clock struck 9. You sneaked out to the roof ,where jonathan was waiting for you, back in to his black suit and glasses, you came closer to him. "I am here crane and..I already paid for your silence just leave me alone" ,"please call me jonathan " he says sincerely, "no" you shake your head which causes his eyes to darken and his blood to boil, he quickly grabs you by your arm ,manhandling you,pinning you to himself "I thought about you every day in that cell,every day, about your lips around -" "stop you blackmailed me in to doing it" ,"n..no you wanted it" he says almost shaking with a dark obsession, "you are crazy" you say, "it didn't take you much convincing to fall to your knees for me little bat ,come on admit it" he says in your ear still gripping in to your arm,you gasp and shake as he doesn't let go "jonathan stop you are scaring me" you start to whimper, "Oh its jonathan now?" He says angrily, "what do you want?" , "be mine..be mine ,your dad only tries to show a good guy image but you are so naive ,what do you think he does to criminals hm? Beats them? Condemns them to years in that hell hole that is arkham? Is that good guy behaviour?" He keeps gripping in to you as he whispers in your ear, "and how long before he abandons you for another mission...again" your eyes widen, he was pressing on your painful memories,he was a damn good psychologist, you started remembering all the times your dad didn't come to birthdays or your high-school graduation and you start crying, "stop" you whimper but jonathan only kept pressing "I won't abandon you like him" he says ,kissing your cheek softly ,trailing down to your neck, you feel yourself getting dizzy as he trailed to your collarbone and then back up near your lips, you started seeing shadows run across your vision ,hallucinations, you close your eyes as he spins you around, capturing your lips in a kiss "Batman abandoned you and I am here to save you" he whispers in your ear darkly, if you were smart and didn't lose yourself in his soft kisses you would notice something is wrong, he laced the note he left on your table with fear toxin, causing his words to send dread and fear down your stomach, causing you to depend only on him and him alone .

"I love you and he doesn't, he never did. I am your saviour, your love" he kisses your earlobe and moves to your shirt, taking it off as he presses himself against your back, "my little bat" he whispers, the dark visions getting more dreadful, of batman leaving your side,of being all alone ,of being abandoned,you starts to cry as he holds you tightly

"I don't want to be alone"

"you arent".

[strawbrrycuteblog]

Hiiiiii,Just a quick ask.

Hybridjungwon!

kitten jungwon feels so needy during his heat cycle,and if you piss him off by the slightest he won't hesitate to get off teasing you for hours as he comes almost everywhere on your body even in you not letting you get off until the last 5 minutes before he falls asleep happily dripping naked with his own juices.

xx,I love your work and I don't see many writers who like hybrid enha so I'm grateful that you like it ,I'm not alone.xx ily <3

Feeling faint.

Pairings: hybrid!jungwon x human!reader

Warnings: mature story, jungwon calls reader slut, kinda filth?, cum play a little, messy, cussing, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) , reader annoying wonie, hard Dom jungwon ☺️ reader has pussy btw

A/n: This. Is. My. Favorite. Ask. So. Far.

jungwon had been sitting on the couch for an hour now, trying to distract himself from fucking the living shit out of you, watching many episodes of some show he didn’t every remember the name of all while you were next to him, pinching him softly but enough to piss him off, “y/n I’m not fucking joking, quit it.”

you only laughed at this, “well if I do then what am I gonna do? I’ll be bored.” you continued to pinch him then poke his cheeks, “you’re such a baby.”

His eyes narrowed as you toyed with him, his powerful hand reaching down to grab your wrist tightly before pulling it towards him, forcing you onto your lap. “Here,” you heard him say through gritted teeth, “is where you belong when you want to annoy me.” He began rubbing your hips roughly against his growing bulge, causing both of you to moan. As his excitement grew and you felt him pulsing against you, he leaned in to whisper into your ear, “I'll make sure you regret ever annoying me again. Would you like that?”

you let a moan slip but quickly thought of a bratty remark, “as if you could even make me come.”

Chuckling darkly, Jungwon eventually removed your clothing, leaving you practically naked, save for the lacy red thong you wore. He stared at you hungrily before standing up and removing his own clothes, revealing his impressive masculine form. "Watch your mouth, slut," he growled, bending over to pull off your underwear, throwing them aside roughly. With one final smirk, he sank down onto the couch, positioning you above him, his cock already throbbing against your entrance. "Try saying that to me now."

you tried to move so his cock head would go inside of your dripping heat, but he barely let you move. “wonie please..I’m sorry..”

"Apologies mean nothing right now, bloodslut," Jungwon murmured, his grip tightening around your waist as he pulled you closer, finally allowing his length to slide into you in one swift motion. You gasped at the sudden invasion, welcoming his girth inside you. "This is what happens when you annoy the wrong person," he reminded you, thrusting into you hard and fast, taking exactly what he wanted while dominating you.

The ecstasy and pain mixed within you only made you crave more, pushing back against him as much as you could, your nails digging into his chest. "Fuck!" you cried out, unable to hold back any longer.

“I’m not a bloodslut.” you remarked to defend yourself, the intrusion witching your warmth had you whole body twitching, sucking him in but he wasn’t gonna let you cum.

Jungwon's smirk remained as he slammed into you relentlessly, each thrust driving him deeper inside you. "Whatever you want to call yourself, you're mine when I claim you," he said, grasping your hips tighter to keep you in place. His other hand traveled up to tweak your sensitive nipples, knowing just how much that would irritate your body in the best way possible. Every harsh thrust of his pelvis against yours brought you closer to the edge, but he refused to let you fall over it yet. Your combined bodies sweat-soaked and tangled together created a beautiful sight as they moved in tandem, filling the room with wet, slapping sounds. "Goddamn, you're so fucking sexy when you scream my name."

“jungwon im gonna cum!” you screamed out, clenching around his member, every small vein rubbing inside of you just right.

Feeling your inner muscles tighten around him was the trigger Jungwon needed, sending him spiraling over the edge of release. With a strained groan, pounding into your womb and stretching you beautifully wide. Hearing and sensing you were about to cum, he pulled out, following him by cumming on your tummy, he didn’t even expect him to finish so fast but he knew he wasn’t done. Far from it.

you started to move before he pushed you down on the couch, “you didn’t think that was it did you?” he spoke hardly, “I’m gonna ruin you, maybe even make you cry.” he spoke again before he stucked his fingers back inside of you, scissoring them and rubbing your gummy walls until he curled his fingers and touched your g-spot, “jungwon im still sensitive!”

Despite your protests, jungwon couldn't help but revel in torturing your sensitive core. He moved his fingers in a circular pattern, driving you wild with heightened need once again. "Shut up, whore," he growled possessively before swiping his thumb across your clit, causing you to collapse further into the couch. Your body writhed beneath his skilled touch, every nerve ending shimmering with pleasure. He continued to torment you, having full control over your body as your moans filled the air. Finally, he couldn't resist any longer, plunging his fingers in deep and pumping them insistentely, making you see stars as you climaxed hard around them. Only then did he remove his fingers, leaving you spent and quivering on the couch, panting heavily. "And that was just round one," he whispered menacingly, running his hands lightly up and down your shaking legs.

“I can’t do more..” coming out of your mouth whilst looking at him, crawling from him before he grabbed your hips and pressed his body against you, “so we’re just disobeying me now?” His ears flickered “don’t think I won’t torture you all night.

And he did, for the next two hours he hand you upstairs, your hips jerking and pulling in different angles, you’re sure the sheets were soaked, you’d squirted so many times already.

“Jungwon I can’t give more..” you repeated like earlier, he only jerked off in front of your face, glazing it with the salty cum, lightly tapping it against your lips, “open.”

And you did, taking his length into your warm, welcoming mouth. Groans came from his lips, his hips pushing against your face, making your head press into the mattress.

You hallowed your cheeks, the invasion of his head in your sore throat brought tears to your eyes, gagging around him but not stopping, wanting to please him until the very end.

Jungwons body was sweaty and half covered in your juices, the other half being his own. His cum was splattered along your body, from you ankles to your knees, thighs, stomach. Anywhere he could jerk off on.

“Such a warm mouth baby..”

You couldn’t stop your self from grinding against nothing, wanting to cum so so bad knowing you probably wouldn’t get it.

You moved your hand and took a hold of hid balls, squeezing them which made him mewl, you didn’t understand how he wasn’t shooting blanks at this point, did his heat mean an endless supply of semen or something?

Cause that’s for sure what this fucking felt like.

His hips stuttered and his tail wrapped around your head, pushing you face until your nose met his hair which were trimmed but still there. “Ah! Y/n! Yes yes yes!!”

He pulled out, you stuck your tongue out, showing him you’d swallowed it and he smirked, “after all this..” he panted. “You deserve a reward don’t you think?”

You sat up, if you had a tail it would be wagging so much right now. But you didn’t know if you could handle another round, you’d probably be the one having blanks.

Jungwon took his sensitive dick in his hand again, pumping it a few times to get it hard as he hissed, it didn’t take much when he was in heat, he got hard even just smelling your pillow. He took the tip, aligning it with the warm hole he already wanted to ruin.

He plunged deep into you, gasps eliciting from both parties as he looked at you, your eyes were nearly closing, he realized you were about to faint on him, the pleasure being too much as you were both exceedingly over stimulated, “hey, open those pretty eyes for me baby.”

He took your chin between his thumb and index finger, hitting against your g-spot, his cock going over it again and again, you opened your eyes.

“That’s it, look at me yeah?”

You nodded, trying to not faint, high pitched whines drawing out of your throat, you squeaked as he sped up, you pulled him close and he tried to keep his dominant look up, but losing it while he saw how helpless you looked, he always loved how desperate you got to having an orgasm. He pulled almost all the way out before slapping back in and making you cum, your mouth agape, back arched, stopped breathing for a second as you seemed to be in a sub space.

He only collapsed on top of you, both covered in sweat and juices, his cum seeping out of whatever side it could escape from, he pulled the blanket over y’all as you’d finally passed out. Both weak and almost shaky. Eventually over the next few minutes you both fell asleep.

[rfaromance]

kissing Saeyoung's hands!!!

"It doesn't even hurt!"

"Please don't fuss over this!"

"I'm telling you, honey butter, I'm fine!"

Saeyoung's protests fell on deaf ears as you dragged him to the bathroom, where the lighting was better. You didn't care what he had to say; the cut on his hand looked nasty, and you weren't going to risk letting anything happen to your lover.

"Look, it's not even bleeding anymore!"

You snorted as you pushed him against the countertop. "Sit," you ordered, and with a grumble Saeyoung obediently plopped himself on the counter. "It is still bleeding!" you wailed in dismay, as you held his hand up to the light.

"So you can hear me."

"Saeyoung Choi!"

Hastily you dug out first aid supplies from the cabinet. As you searched for bandages and ointments, you could spot a dark hoodie shuffling out of the corner of your eye. "Don't even think about leaving," you snapped. "You are getting patched up here and now!"

The shuffling stopped.

Heaving a huge sigh, you returned to Saeyoung with supplies in tow. Carefully you reached past him to turn on the faucet, soaking and soaping a washcloth. You then turned back to Saeyoung and gently grabbed his injured hand. He didn't resist you this time, but rather tutted dramatically as you began to dab at the wound.

"Saeyoung... how in the world did you manage this?"

"One of my babies is in her rebellious teen phase."

"You mean there could be OIL in here, and you weren't going to let me clean it?" The horror and exasperation in your voice were powerful enough to make him wince.

"It's really not a big deal," he began, but you firmly squeezed his hand to shut him up.

After you'd wiped off the dry blood, you were able to see his injury clearly for the first time. A gash on the side of his hand, running from the bottom of his pinky finger to the top of his wrist. "This is the length of your palm," you fretted.

"Couldn't even tell."

His tone was different, somehow. He'd stopped arguing but also was acting less blasé. Now he just sounded... tired. Resigned. Hollow.

"It really doesn't hurt?" you asked softly. Carefully you put the washcloth in the sink, and you reached out to get the antibiotic ointment. "It didn't even sting when I washed it?"

"Not even a tickle."

You didn't want to believe him, but as you spread the ointment over his injury, he didn't flinch once. You gave his palm an experimental squeeze, wondering if he'd react. "Shoot!"

The pressure had opened the cut once again.

"I felt that," Saeyoung commented as you grabbed the washcloth again to dab at the edges of the wound. "It just... felt no different than picking up a shoe or opening a doorknob."

You reapplied the antibiotic that you had wiped off, furrowing your brow as thoughts raced around in circles in your head. Had his fingers always been this calloused? Had his knuckles always been covered with this many old, faded scars? Had his fingers, thin as they are, always been this muscular? Your own hands suddenly felt so feeble, so flimsy, as you began winding gauze around his hand, over and over.

"I can't afford to feel too much pain," was all he offered in explanation. "Not the way I've lived.

"Hands like mine don't deserve tender care from someone like you."

Having just put on the last stretch of bandages, you looked up at him with sorrow in your eyes. Much to your dismay, he was looking up at the ceiling, perhaps unable to meet your gaze.

You didn't know the full extent of the things that he had done to keep himself and Saeran alive; you didn't particularly care. All that mattered was that you knew he undertook those actions and made those choices in the name of love. He was a good person.

He had stopped trying to push you away, so why did he have to talk as if he was still damning himself? Did he plan to live the remainder of his life joyfully, but then spend his afterlife in flames? You didn't quite know or understand his feelings on that matter.

But you did know you loved him, and that he deserved every reminder you could give him.

"Your hands can't feel anything anymore?" you murmured, the lilt in your voice clearly prompting him for an answer.

"If only."

The detached, distant expression on Saeyoung's face immediately melted away, replaced by one of awe, caution, fear, and wonder, as your lips began to peck at each and every one of his knuckles. Then his fingertips. Then his (bandaged) palm. You even nudged the injured side of his hand with your nose, gently so as not to aggravate the wound. "Nothing at all?"

His tearful golden eyes met yours directly as he whispered, "Maybe there's something after all."

[marthawrites]

A Lady’s Thrill

Aemond Targaryen x wife reader

word count: 3.5k+

About: a stressed Aemond returns late and his lady wife helps him de-stress.

Includes: explicit sexual content! (m and f receiving oral, fingering, overstimulation, praise, some degradation, p in v) also some comfort fluff ♥

Note: hello lovely reader! get comfy and enjoy my longest (and perhaps filthiest?) fic to date. please, enjoy! have an idea? I’m open to requests!

-

Such was the hour that you were beginning to lose hope in seeing your husband tonight. Aemond had been gone all day, leaving early in the morning with little more than a goodbye kiss. Stress had been high as of late; everyone seemed to be under its weight. Sunset was hours ago and you'd still yet to see him. While not completely out of his character to be gone overnight -- sometimes multiples at a time -- tonight looked as if it would be just that. Your eyelids grew heavier by the moment.

Quiet minutes passed and you were beginning to drift to sleep when a crash through the door jolted you awake. The relaxing atmosphere of yours and Aemond's bedchamber immediately shifted and you might as well have ran into a wall. “W-wha?” You sat up in bed and blinked, unable to make words on your sleepy tongue.

“If he wasn't my brother I'd maul him,” Aemond seethed, jaw tense and fluttering with unspoken words. He slammed the door closed  behind him and instantly ripped his eyepatch off, carelessly throwing it somewhere. He paced long strides and his footfalls were heavier than his normal gait. “And mother just lets him.” Despite all the love he had for Alicent he still spat the words. Instead of hitting or kicking something like another man might, the young prince held his arms tightly behind his back. Posture square and straight. Cold fury colored his face and for a moment you thought he might actually spit fire.

“My love,” you said, hardly above a whisper. “Please. Sit and relax a moment, yes?” You stepped out of bed, nightgown fluttering around your ankles as you moved with precision around the room.

Inaudible high valyrian grumbled from his chest. “It's a grand joke to him. All of it. How can mother let it happen too? Why does no one stand up to him?” If the situation were any lighter he might have scoffed beneath his breath. The chair he habitually sat in was in front of the hearth, at an angle, to have a view of the bed, study table, and door. Its cushioned seat let out a breath beneath his weight while his arms instantly draped atop the thick rests.

You appeared by his good side, goblet and pitcher in hand. “Here,” you offered the goblet. “Drink. It'll help.” You filled it about halfway, knowing he didn't like to drink much this late.

“Thank you, my darling. I don't mean to come in like this, but--,”

“--do not apologize,” you cut him off. “I cannot imagine the stress you're constantly under. Not even mentioning your chronic pain. If half of what you say about Aegon is true and I were his sibling? I'd have killed him a long time ago.” You kissed the top of his head, carefully unlacing the tie that held his hair back. It fell free around your wrists.

That brought an amused chuff from his nose. “Murder is much worse than mauling.”

“And I would live with those consequences.”

He drank before kissing the top of your hand, lips leaving behind the barest trace of wine.

“You are free and safe within these walls, husband,” you said softly, sincerely. You held a brush and began to gently pull it down and through his lovely hair. It reflected the warm firelight exquisitely, shimmering and flowing in all of its Targaryen glory. You cherished tending to it when time allowed, and he always loved it when you did. He drank again and you continued to quietly brush, only the crackling hearth sounds filling the room. 

You'd filled his cup two more times, letting him unwind from the day. Slowly, like falling asleep, the tension in his shoulders eased.

“I barge in here and wake you up, yet you still wine and attend me. You are much too sweet, my dear. I appreciate you, and this, very much,” Aemond said with meaning. You'd been in a bit of a trance, and it seemed he might have been too.

“Anything for my prince,” you reply, voice low and warm like the embers in the hearth. It was then, and only then, that you put aside the brush and stepped from behind Aemond. “You smell like salt, and dragon, and smoke,” you said, eyes admiring him as you now stood in front of him. “I know there are only few things that would make you carry such a trio and I dare not ask. At least not tonight,” you offered a soft smile, the expression twinkling in your eyes. You traced a finger beneath his scarred eye, tucking a stray bit of hair behind his ear, and trailed the same digit across the span of his shoulder. “Let me assist you in taking these off.”

Whether the darkened expression in his eye was from the low light or what your words implied, you couldn't tell. Leaning forward he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you to his lap. Your knees bent into the cushion by his thighs, effortlessly straddling over him, and he bunched your nightgown high around your thighs to make sitting easier. “Be my guest, my lady.”

A thrill danced up and down your spine. You'd been married for less than a year. Yet, still, you could see yourself becoming an excited maiden in countless years down the road; such was the power Aemond had over you. The space between your mouths closed, and you tried not to be too eager in deepening the affection.

“Mm,” he hummed, satisfied, long fingers disappearing into the hair behind your ears. “My sweet wife,” he whispered against your mouth, nose tipping under yours so he could bite over your bottom lip.

You smiled, giddiness washing over you at his words. “I missed you today.” Your hands pushed up his front until you felt the top clasp of his tunic, fingers making quick work at undoing it. Pushing it open revealed the warmth of his neck and collar, fair skin glowing in the firelight. 

“Se nyke ao,” 'and I, you.' His hands traced down your arms and over your thighs, pushing back up your front to begin untying the laces of your sleepwear.

You kissed along his jaw, down the column of his throat, and over his collarbones. The second clasp of his tunic popped open beneath your touch, and soon, the third. His breath came faster as you kissed and nibbled his chest. You made no move to fully push his clothes off, instead leaving them open wide, secured to his body by his shoulders. Your mouth crashed to his again and you couldn’t help yourself as your hands squeezed between your bodies to begin fumbling with his belt. “Let me make you forget all of that. If only for tonight,” you declared as you began to slowly slide off his lap and between his legs.

A near silent hiss sounded from Aemond as you knelt before him. It was rare he let you please him in such a manner -- the young prince preferring to be the one in control of your pleasure -- it thrilled you even more that he made no move to guide you to the bed instead. Leaning back on your heels you took his boot off, tossing it and the sock somewhere to the side, repeating the same thing to his other. Heat pooled between your thighs as you leaned forward and unlaced his pants with practiced fingers.

He watched you from above, hungry eye not missing a single detail of your motions. A low sound came from him as you pulled him free -- mostly hard and quickly hardening -- hips lifting as you made to pull his trousers full off. His hands gripped against the armrest, knuckles taut beneath the skin.

“My lovely prince,” you said reverently before taking him in your hand, slowly wrapping your mouth around his tip. The sensation which filled you was unlike anything you expected. The sharp inhale of his breath sent tingles all up and down your spine, webbing out to your most sensitive places. Beneath your mouth, you began to pump along his length with slow, easy movements. You took more of him in, then, pulling back with a wet 'pop' before doing it over.

Aemond's hand extended to your face, tracing the back of it over the sweep of your cheekbone. With upturned eyes you watched as he bit over his bottom lip. As soon as you released him with a second pop he traced the outline of your lips, thumb slowly pushing into your parted mouth. “So pretty on your knees,” he said lowly, eye hooded. He opened his legs wider, giving you all the room you might need.

You smiled with fluttering lashes, licking along any part of his length your hand wasn't covering. You continued to pump those slow lazy pumps, kissing his cock with hot, open mouthed kisses. You relished the feel of his solidness, his heat, his scent, beneath you; all intensifying as you continued. You held him firmly at his base and took him into your mouth again. Tongue slid along his underside as you dipped your head further and further down, as far as you could go, sucking all around him as you pulled up, gasping.

"Good girl," he purred, shifting his hips to line up with your mouth. "Your mouth feels so good. Keep that up, darling." That same hand as before moved to rest atop your head. He made no move to force anything, simply rested it there, fingers pushing through your tresses.

You desperately wanted friction between your thighs. More so than that you wanted to hear more of those delicious praises from your husband. You engulfed him. He hit the back of your throat and you gagged. He groaned. Briefly keeping your spot there, you hollowed your cheeks around him and sucked, pulling up to push forward again. And again. And again. Lewd sounds began building and they only seemed to egg both of you on more. One of your hands cupped and gently rolled his balls, feeling a new wave of rippling tension flow through him.

"Oh fuck, my girl. There, just like that... shit, you feel so good," he rasped as you bobbed. His hand tightened in your hair, head falling back as he let you continue at your own pace.

Despite the ache growing in your jaw, you obeyed. You bobbed, and rolled, and sucked, and slurped, feeling him grow utterly rigid with your fervor. He began to pulse harder. That could only mean one thing and a new thrill danced through you.

Both his hands went to your head and immediately knotted into your strands. He guided your head up and down at his pace now. Your gagging and choking didn't stop him, and if anything it only made him want to savor every second until his release. "Gonna come soon, darling. Is that what you want? My seed all over your pretty tongue?"

He paused to let you breathe. Your eyes upturned, his down cast; fire and lightening clashing. With gasping breaths and desperate eyes, you nodded.

"Good girl. Good fucking girl," he growled, rolling his hips into you as he shoved your head down for the final time. He wasn't going to let you free again until he was spent and you knew it. Your nose pushed into the flat of his groin, your throat wholly lodged. "Swallow. I want to taste myself on your tongue."

Even if you didn't want to you had little choice in the matter. But you did. You wanted it horribly. You throbbed unbearably between your thighs, arousal no doubt pooling in your under clothes. Your hands gripped onto his thighs, fingers splayed wide as you pushed up his slim hips and lean abdomen, scratching down the same trail and ending in a firm grasp around his calves. He exploded, and the sounds that poured from your husband's mouth sent ecstasy thrilling down your spine.

Just as you were swallowing, his grip moved from your hair to your upper arms and he pulled you up, not bothering to wipe the mess that was your mouth before he crashed into it. He kissed you deeply, needing it as much as you, and tasted the salt of his body. He moaned and all the air escaped the room. "Why are you still dressed?" He asked, not letting you answer before removing your nightgown without care. "Lay on the bed. Now."

You were a trembling mess still trying to catch your breath and you did not need to be told twice. Standing on shaky legs you made your way to the bed and laid flat. You lifted your head to see him and vibrated at the sight: Aemond Targaryen stood in an otherworldly smooth motion, cock already half hard again, long hair spilling down his front as he walked to you in deliberate strides. Had you any pressure on any part of your body you'd have bowed with climax right then and there.

Immediately he pulled you to the edge of the bed, startling you. The hold on your thighs as he spread them apart was barely controlled, fingertips denting into the soft flesh. He sighed, reveling at the sight. "Look at this beautiful cunt. My darling wife, you're soaked and glistening from sucking my cock. No better, and thrice as wet, as the most eager whore."

A blush of excitement, embarrassment, and horror bloomed in your face as you looked down at him, his eye blown huge while the sapphire glinted dark as dragonglass in the low light. "Was fun," you whispered, smiling, wiggling your hips in an attempt to press closer to him.

"Don't move and don't touch yourself. I want to look at what's mine. ñuhon. 'mine' I want to savor this absolute perfection."

"Aemond...," you whine, sounding pitiful even to your own ears. "Not fair."

He spread you open gently, utterly feasting on the sight. A breath trembled from his lungs, posture shifting to that of a predator. "I don't think I've ever seen you this wet. You must have loved choking on my cock." He mocked, watching as your body reacted his words: throbbing and clenching around nothing. "Oh, you did? My filthy girl."

Your hands found his, and with trembling fingertips you held onto his wrists as he still held you open. "Please, Aemond. This is torture," you mumbled in the same tone as before; pitiful and aching for any sensation he might give you.

He loved hearing that. "My sweet wife, begging so prettily." He leaned forward and kissed you where he held you open, knowing once he started he wouldn't be able to stop. You clenched and dripped beneath his kiss, pathetically desperate for what he was beginning. You moaned and he laughed. "So fucking wet. What is it this lovely cunt wants?"

Words nearly failed you. Your blush prickled your scalp and pebbled your breasts. "Anything."

"Mayhap more kisses?" He asked as he kissed your swollen outer lips, and further out to that soft, gentle space in the very inside of your thighs. He dared kiss the top of your mound too, chin ghosting over your exposed clit.

"Yes," your word shuddered out while your hands fisted in the bedsheets. Blood roared so loud, so hotly behind your ears, you had to close your eyes to ground yourself.

"Or perhaps it's my tongue you want?" At his question he licked over all those same spots he'd kissed a moment ago, watching your face all the while. The barest pressure is all he gave, and even that was enough to make your back arch up off the bed, squirming. You squeezed into the sheets tighter.

"Oh," he started, leaning back from your saturated core. "Maybe it's not my tongue you want, then." He grinned. Mischievous. It shone more in his eye than his mouth, lips barely smirking even as those little dimples betrayed his restraint.

Gasping and looking down at him you made an inaudible sound of protest. Your legs flexed in an attempt to slide further down the bed, chasing him.

"Words. I want to hear your words." He spoke calm, patient, even as every fiber in him blazed.

Somehow you mustered up all the courage you had, practically mewling, "yes, I want your tongue! Please..."

He hummed in satisfaction. "There. Not so difficult, hm?" He rewarded you with a slow lick up your slit, ending with a torturous kiss to your swollen, throbbing bud. "You've been so good tonight. Do you think you deserve more?" Repeating the same action as before, his sweet, wet kisses built a coil of tension in your core.

"I-I think so," you manage to say, voice higher than you intended, lilting with your growing bliss.

He chuckled in his throat, low and barely audible. "I don't think you've been good enough. You've yet to give yourself to me. Yet to come undone. Laying like a good little wife, but not purring like my sweet little kitten. Will you scratch me bloody when you come?"

You half sobbed, lust overtaking everything else.

Unable to resist any longer, he leisurely licked and kissed your cunt like he would your mouth; sinking, trailing, and flicking, wholly devouring.

That's all it took for your body to curl in the most divine wave of pleasure, pulling his hair as he pushed you to, and through, orgasm.

The release of your bliss didn't hinder nor slow him and he effortlessly slipped a finger into you. He found that spot in your fluttering walls and locked to it. He ate your clit, the fullness of his month's attention there, and his own senses nearly blissed out at your quivering walls.

"Ae-Aemond... it's too much," you beg helplessly, trying to push him away with hands and thighs alike. Every part of your being was aflame, embers practically emitting from your pores. He didn’t waver. Soon, a second wave of tension built in those low muscles of your belly.

"Let go, sweet wife," he said as a second finger joined the first. Gently, so, so, gently, he sucked your bud and angled his digits just right, just there where he knew you liked it, pushing you over the edge again. Your hips and thighs shuddered beneath him, his name ringing out from your mouth, fingers once more fisting in his hair. He pulled back and watched as you rode the wave of pleasure, chin glistening. "There's my good girl," he crooned, slowly and agonizingly twirling his digits around between your walls. "You love having your cunt played with like this, don't you?"

"Mm-- Gods, Aemond it's too much... please, I need a break..," you begged yet again, body betraying you as you continued to grind against his hand.

"That's what you said before and now look at my face. Coated in your slick. You're lying and will pay for it. This one is for me. Your punishment for lying to your prince." He shoved a third finger into you and mercilessly pumped them in and out, savoring your cries as he delicately fluttered his tongue over your clit. He didn't stop until the sheets beneath your ass were soaked and you were screaming into your own arm to muffle the cries of blinding ecstasy.

He barely gave you time to catch your breath before he pounced, trapping you on the mattress between his arms. Looming above you, his white hair spilled over his shoulders to shield both of your faces, so close that you could see your reflection in his eye and sapphire. Without warning he slid into the absolute mess of your core, lean hips driving forward until your bodies meshed into a single being.

Exhausted and spinning from euphoria, your body contracted and squeezed all around him “Look at you. So heavenly beneath me. My proper wife in court, and my filthy cockdrunk whore in private. You're so lovely this wanton. Just as a wife should always be for her husband.”

Keeping your eyes open and straight was an impossibility: they crossed and shut, the wet sounds of your cunt humiliatingly obscene as he railed in, and out, repeating. Over, and over, and over. Sweat covered the entirety of your skin and your brain could only focus on where your bodies connected; your world so small, only Aemond. Only the half coherent praises he continued to give you as he fucked you to delirium. You were putty after four orgasms, fingers numb as you scratched his back; angry red welts oozing with pebbles of blood.

That pushed him over the edge, cock flexing with powerful pulses as he emptied into you, filling all of your deepest parts with his seed. Finally he slowed, finally he allowed both of you to catch your breaths. Finally, he slipped from your overstimulated quim and cupped your face between his hands. “Good girl. You did so well tonight,” he whispered, kissing your eyelids and cheeks with a thousand delectable kisses.

Once you untangled from each other he was beyond gentle. He produced a washcloth from somewhere and cleaned you up with the utmost reverence. He kissed you anywhere he could reach, featherlight and heartbreakingly soft, caressing you with the utmost admiration. “Kirimvose. Avy jorrāelan.” ‘thank you. I love you.’

You held each other into slumber and neither of you stirred until morning time.

-

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider a follow and reblog as I have plans to create and share more writings.

as said above, I am open to requests and idea shares too! and one last thing before you go: here is my masterlist if you’d like to see what else I’ve created!

[justanotherarmyfangirl]

Taped! (2/3)

For their viewing pleasure, they make sure you know you’re theirs.

Warning: 18+ smut, dubcon/noncon, let me say it again, noncon or very dubious consent, if that’s not you’re thing stop reading now! reader manipulation, yandere, voyeur, rough sex, fingering, somnophilia, revenge porn?, hidden camera, restraints, praise kink

You pull against your restraints, hands tied behind you, pressed tight against your back and Hoseok's soft sheets. Hoseok's kisses are suffocatingly persistent, like he's trying to swallow you whole, tongue exploring as far down your throat as he can reach. You can't push him away, he's made sure of that, his tie looped tight around your wrists. He's in a good mood, a playful mood, enthusiastic in the way he devours your cries after winning four music awards at tonight's ceremony. But to him you're the real prize, so soft and warm, so addicting to smell and taste.

"What are you doing?" You ask breathlessly when he pulls away and grabs his phone, starting a video. "Why are you videoing this?" your naked chest heaves, your ceremony dress pushed down to reveal your tits to him. Hoseok pushes the rest of the expensive fabric over your hips, showing off the thin lace of your thong. You squirm uncomfortably, eyeing the camera lens worriedly.

"It's just for me, I would never show anyone else this, this is only mine to see," he reassures you.

"I know that, but what if you get hacked?" you ask worriedly, thinking of how both your careers would be destroyed by such a thing.

"That won't happen," he says confidently.

"Famous last words," you huff, still squirming as you're unable to cover yourself, your hands tied tightly by Hoseok.

"Don't be like that, Baby, c'mon, be good for me." Hoseok aims the camera lower as he reaches for the hem of your panties and presses two digits against your hole, slowly filling you up.

You bite your tongue, quieting yourself, still uncomfortable with the idea of being filmed. "Hobi, please," you pant. "You shouldn't film this. What if-"

He silences you with a kiss and another finger deep inside your cunt. You whine against his lips. His hand reaches out and places the camera to his right as he continues to kiss you sweetly, ravaging your insides with his fingers fervently, so the sound of your slick can be heard on camera as you shake against him.

Hoseok works you up skillfully, until your mind goes blank with pleasure and you completely forget the leering presence of his camera as you shiver and pulse around his fingers.

The pressure becomes too much as he continues his ministrations. "No more, no more," you cry, convulsing in a mixture of pleasure and pain under him, unable to pull your arms out of his restraints.

"One more, one more time for me, you're doing so well, baby."

You shiver from head to toe as his thumb works over your clit again, sending jolts of pleasure running throughout your body.

You turn you head and notice his phone again, and jolt for another reason. You turn your head quickly away in embarrassment.

But Hoseok grabs your jaw tightly, shoving your head back towards his camera, holding your face down against his bed as he thumb presses harder onto your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Tears stream down your face as you close your eyes in shame. You can't find your voice, forgetting the right words to tell him you want him to stop, forgetting how to do anything but succumb to his unforgiving digits deep inside you.

You groan, limbs locking one more time as you release, and your body quickly stiffens and goes limp.

Hoseok looks at you surprised, fingers slowing down but not stopping as he taps your cheek softly. "Baby?" He tests you by circling your clit again, watching intently as you stay still. "Oh."

Did you really pass out from coming? How cute, Hoseok chuckles softly, pushing your leg open wide and turning you on your side.

Now he can do whatever he wants with you.

He releases his stiff cock from the confines of his pants. This video is going to be his best one yet, trophy worthy. And if you ever try to leave him, this will be the one he uploads first.

You finish towel drying yourself and pull out a large night shirt, changing quickly. You use the lotions and essences on your nightstand, going through your usual nightly routine, and turn every light off but the lamp on your bedside, jumping on your covers as you start to scroll through your phone.

What should you watch tonight? Anal? BDSM? Hentai? No...

Maybe...

You type in, "Korean Boyfriend."

You're too horny to feel shame at the moment, even if there was a good reason for such a particular search.

You couldn't get your friend out of your thoughts, and as you scroll through the multiple videos in your search, you know there's a certain one, amateur looking, that looks exactly like him.

It only shows the bottom half of the user's face, and the sexiest body you've ever seen as the young man strokes his leaking cock for you, but the resemblance is uncanny. He even has the same mole under his lip like Jungkook, your new friend.

You were too shy to ever tell him your achingly strong feelings for him, so this you can settle for for now, imagining his muscular taunt body over you, his fingers stroking your soaking cunt instead.

-

Jungkook groans.

-

You stop, lean over and fumble around, looking through your bedside table, until you find the pink vibrator you were searching for and settle back down against your covers, spreading your legs wide open.

You turn the vibrator on and press it against your clit, starting the video again, intently watching the man on your screen fall apart while you allow yourself to imagine his cock stuffing you full instead.

How nice it must taste, how good it would feel to gag on it. Fuck, fuck, you want him so badly. You want Jungkook inside you, fucking you, cuming all over you. Fuck...

-

Jungkook grips the tip of his cock and whines for you.

-

You imagine his tongue sucking up your puffy clit instead, his mouth all over you, lapping up your slick. Fuck, he's so hot, just as muscular as the man you're watching, he would wreck you, fuck you so hard and deep you'd be sore for days.

You let your mouth open as you whine in pleasure, you bet his cock would taste amazing, smell just as good as the rest of him. Just imagining how nice it would taste to have his cock down your throat has you pulsing.

-

Jungkook pumps his cock steadily, faster, so close to release.

He's so close. And you're so close.

-

-

-

Jeon Jungkook scrolls through his phone as he pours himself a bowl of cereal. He can't find a clean spoon, so he washes one quickly, filling his bowl with milk before setting the bowl down on his coffee table.

He takes a large spoonful and opens the newest app on his phone and-

"Oh fuck!" Jungkook chokes on his cereal, dropping the spoon on his pants. "Ahh fuck," he wipes the dripping milk off his chin and shirt, sitting up at attention.

You're there, as clear as day, clearer than Jungkook was anticipating.

He's thankful he paid extra for the HD version. He holds the screen right to his eyes.

This was the live feed.

At this moment, you were half naked, spread open, toying yourself to climax in front of Jungkook's very eyes.

See, because the last time you had hung out, Jungkook had strategically placed his cameras all over your bedroom, hopeful to record something exactly like this.

The wide shot is perfect, in direct line with your pussy. Jungkook is already stiffening at the very sight of you.

He sloppily tries to eat the rest of his cereal as he watches you, transfixed in the way you writhe on camera. He wants more of you, fuck, it's not fair, he wants to feel how wet you are.

"Dammit," for the second time tonight Jungkook drops milk and cereal on his clothes, losing himself in thoughts of you momentarily before the cold liquid brings him back to his lonely present.

Well, at least he has a reason to remove the offending material now. He pulls off his sweatpants, lying down and freeing his hard cock from the confines of his boxers.

He watches you wide eyed, dick hard and throbbing as he edges himself to release.

Fuck, you look so delectable, cute and whiny. He was always curious about how you'd look falling apart, and his curiosity got the best of him, and thank god for that, now he could watch you as many times as he wanted, and oh god, there would be more opportunities just like this one, fuck...

And now that he had a live feed straight into your bedroom, he'd know when you were out, and he could pay your bedroom a visit. Maybe even come over while you're doing the deed, and be able to see the effects up close and personal if you decided to open the door for him.

The possibilities now were endless. Whatever qualms he had before about invading your privacy were all out the window. It was your fault anyways, you couldn't pick up on his advances, or you wouldn't, whatever it was, it made him-

-

"Oh, Jungkook."

You arch your back and spread your legs wider as your vibrator sends you closer to release.

-

What?

What?!

Jungkook's cock twitches in his palm as your quiet whimpers filter through his phone's speakers. He clicks to a closer camera. You said his name?

He had to have imagined that, sometimes his imagination did make Jungkook think and experience things that were not-

Wait. No fucking way. Why can't he zoom in?! Did he just see-

He switches to the closest camera, situated in between the panels of your headboard.

Jungkook stares at the reflection of your phone and laughs to himself.

What are the odds? Jungkook is already twisting the revelation into a his own dark fantasy. It's fate, you really are meant to be.

He's sure you won't mind if he uploads this to his account next...

---

1 | 2 | 3 (Upcoming) which member’s version was your fav so far?

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, sadism/emotional torture, death threats, talk of death, degradation, Adamverse again (i am literally obsessed with his emo ass no joke)

You don’t know exactly what you did wrong. Maybe it’s because the dinner was just slightly less crispy than he likes, maybe it took you just one second too long to return his kiss - or maybe he just felt like torturing you - sometimes he got into these weird, sadistic moods, and you could never tell exactly where you had messed up. And you wish you did - oh how you wish he would tell you straight up, so you would be able to avoid the pain in future; alas that would never happen. Why would he let you in on the secret, why would he make the rules known if he has so much fun with you once you inevitably break them? He doesn’t need a reason to hurt you, because he already owns you, but sometimes he likes to have one; just so you’d blame yourself a bit more - just so you’d ask yourself what you could do better next time.

All you know now is that he’s mad, red - hot fury plastered all over his thin pale face. His expression, already deadly and hostile, at this moment looks simply demonic. All you know now is that he’s gripping your wrist and sinking his sharp nails as deep into your prickled skin as possible while dragging you somewhere unknown. Somewhere deep within the forest. 

You take in the smell of cold, fresh rain as your naked feet splash into the soaking grass, leaving a muddy trail behind. The forest feels alive - living and breathing into the early winter, the earthy scent of wet wood and linden heavy in the air. It’s breathtakingly beautiful, all this green scenery, even the icy air filling your lungs and the silent song of the sparrows left to die in the cold. You’re trying to appreciate this short moment of peace and quiet, of finally feeling the earth beneath you for the first time in what feels like years, but you just can’t ignore the biting, freezing chill that wraps around your body like a coat woven by Death herself. 

You’re wearing nothing but a flimsy white nightgown that sticks to your body, pretty and way too long it drags against the damp soil, sullying the beautiful lace. It’s almost funny, you think. The delicate fabric seems red under the soft moonlight - like blood, and it makes you feel like some fucked up fairytail metaphor of a princess, a trembling virgin waiting to be deflowered by the beast. But this can’t be further from the truth - there is nothing left for him to take.

Adam stops suddenly, making you trip and swing towards him - but instead of catching you, he pushes you to the side.

“Watch your step.” He hisses through gritted teeth, once again reaching to grab your hand. “We’re almost there. If you don’t want me to leave you to the wolves, you better keep up.” He adds, resuming his quick step ahead. Somewhere in your rational mind you know he’s just trying to scare you into walking faster - there is no way there are wolves this far up north, and even if there were, he would never let them hurt you. Would he?

“Alright. We’ve arrived.” The man stops after a while, letting go of you. You turn to look at him, eyes full of confusion. You’re in the middle of nowhere. There is nothing here aside from a few bushes and a big hole covered in dry leaves. “What is–”

“This will be your grave.” He interrupts you before you can even question him, gesturing to the wide open pit as he shoves you closer to the edge - so close you’re staring at the pitch black void that awaits you at the other side. You freeze in your place, unable to move an inch, cold sweat running down your back. 

You’ve pictured this night countless times before - the night when you finally die. Somehow you imagined it would be different; a lot less romantic. You thought your heart would stop due to the constant stress and paranoia, or Adam would squeeze your throat just a bit too tight - your face would get just a touch too purple and you’d kick the bucket. He’d force his length down your throat and you’d choke on your own vomit, or he would simply beat you up so badly you wouldn’t wake up the next morning. You never thought your end would be so picturesque - wearing a beautiful, sensual robe under the moonlight, slowly bleeding out as the sun rises over your cold, unmoving form. He’d probably kiss your dead lips and hold your hand too. 

No. You can’t let this happen. You don’t want this to happen. He doesn’t get to decide whether your death is pretty, ugly or fucking gruesome, whether your guts stick out for the world to see. You can’t let yourself die beautifully. You can’t let him see himself as some romantic gothic hero from the old books. He has to be the grim reaper, he has to realize he’s nothing more than a sadistic, lonely creep with vengeance and a sick fascination for blood that just happened to be yours.

“Are you going to kill me?” You whisper, voice as smooth as you can force it to be. You can’t let him know you’re scared. His eyes, so far sharp and calculated, suddenly narrow with a crazed glint - and he takes a step towards you, wrapping his hands around your waist. You can feel his weight resting against your body, a clear signal that one wrong move and you will both slip down the drain. “Maybe I will.” Adam leans in just slightly to whisper in your ear, chuckling at the way your shoulders stiffen completely - fists clenched to remain balanced. “Maybe I won’t.” His hot breath hits the freezing skin of your neck, but instead of another human’s warmth, all you feel is ice - cold fear. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“You fucking asshole–” You hiss inaudibly, small angry tears forming in your eyes. You can swear you’re not angry - or at least you shouldn’t be. One can only be angry when their expectations are being met - you should know better than anyone what the man is capable of. Yet somewhere far inside you still find the courage, the patience to feel rage, to feel cheated; tricked. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? It’s my fucking life on–” Your sentence gets cut off by the deep guttural sobs tearing off from deep within your lungs. If you weren’t a second away from falling into your literal grave, you’d be beating at his chest right now with all the energy you have left - which isn’t a lot, but you’d give it your damn best.

“Shh, baby, it’s alright.” Your captor wraps his arms around you, breathing in your sweetness mixed in with the rain and the light earthy scent of the forest. For a second he can imagine laying you on the wet soil, not even shoving you down like usual, just gently pushing your body deeper and deeper into the mud until all that’s left unburied is your lips. “You always say you want to die, don’t you? I mean, you obviously seem to think that being with me is a fate worse than death.” He slaps on a big taunting smile, and you can’t decide if it makes you scared or furious. “So what’s different now?”

You inhale slowly.

“You-you–!” You feel your cheeks heat up with ire as your whole body prepares to attack the very source of all these complicated feelings, when… Nothing. Your fists can’t reach him, nor can your poisonous words break his heart for the second time. You’ve slipped into the world of the dead, somewhere far away. It’s darker than the winter night and more quiet than you had anticipated Hell would be - the only thing you hear is your own shallow heartbeat.

“Look at what you did, you stupid girl.” Someone pulls you back into the human realm, forcing you to open your eyes. “You’re fucking pathetic, you know that?” The voice sneers with the same old malice you can recognise even with your hands covering your ringing ears - so you must still be alive. Or maybe people are right, and Hell is on here on earth. “Scared of life, yet terrified of death.” Adam keeps mocking you, stepping closer to the pit so he can see exactly how pitiful you look, squirming in the dirt. “Also fucking clumsy at that. You know, I was just teasing you, but you really went and got yourself into that filthy hole. Just how useless can you be.”

You gulp, your dry throat straining against your tonsils. You’re alive - and you’ve made a fool of yourself just like always. Sometimes you wonder if you only exist to entertain Adam, if the whole reason for your being is one big excuse for him to hurt you until whatever is haunting him goes away. Yet it never does, and you’re not sure which of you is more pitiful.

“P-please…” You whimper weakly. You’re not sure what you’re even begging him for - to stop talking, to go away or to help you get out of this black, bottomless pit. You’re so cold, so wet - you just want to go home, although… Maybe your home doesn’t exist anymore.

“I can’t hear you, sweetheart. Speak louder.” The man coos, his shadow towering over you in a cruel reminder that even in death he’d still follow, somehow. “Do you need a hand? You’d have to be more convincing than that if you want me to help you, baby. Why should I waste my time saving a woman who doesn’t even love me?”

Your stomach turns, you’ve been here before. It’s a trap question - whatever you say, it’d still be the wrong answer, because with Adam there are no right answers. There is only suffering and dread over and over again until you’re both old and decaying in your own filth somewhere in the basement of his late mother’s cottage, surrounded by rats just waiting to feast on your flesh once your hearts finally stop. And even then you’d know no peace - he’d probably find you in Hell. You’ve been sharing his pain for too long, whether you like it or not, whether you love him or not, you can’t deny your souls are tied, glued together with blood and bile and sweat and tears.

“Please stop playing around, Adam. Just get me out of here, okay?” You make your voice small and whiny, just the way he likes it to be when you plead with him. Part of you is fighting against the survival instinct to snap into pure submission - to promise him anything and everything, because you will, and then what? He’d take you home, he’d be sugary sweet for the next two days, approximately, before you inevitably fuck up again. It’s all pointless. This love of his is nothing more than an exercise of nihilism - you’re just unsure why he feels the need to drag you along.

“You’re just hopeless without me, aren’t you?” He says rather softly, recognising the clear retaliation in your tone. Then he jumps down the pit, landing on his two feet like a panther - like he had rehearsed for this moment alone. It goes as usual. He stretches his hand towards you. You take a quick look at him. You reach in, just barely hanging on. Fingers hovering under his clenched fist. Shivering. He kisses your wrist. Standing up slowly. You’re dizzy. He wipes the mud off your face. Headache. Your chest tightens. 

And he gets to hold your hand and carry you away as the sun approaches, bright and blinding under the clouds just like a bloody fucking fairytale. 

[sumeruin]

tag, you’re it!!

pairing: yandere! dottore x afab test subject! reader

tw: written by a minor!!!, dddne, heavy noncon, wound fucking, gore, biting, mentions of vomiting but it doesn’t actually happen, biting, lots of blood, blood drinking, kidnapping, drugging, use of weapons, stalking, pet names, dehumanization, i think that’s it, but if i missed anything please let me know!!

a/n: i honestly can’t defend myself on this one um. enjoy <3

minor writing smut, dni if uncomfortable!!

you don’t think your heart has ever beat so fast. you can feel it racing beneath your skin as you run barefoot through the forest, blood rushing through your veins as you hold a hand over your mouth to muffle your desperate, horrified sobs. behind you, you can hear the man that’s been chasing you for the better part of an hour. his heavy footsteps, his terrifying laugh, his sickeningly mocking remarks as he spots the footprints you leave in the mud, unable to cover them up with him right behind you. the wind cools the tears on your face, and it feels like the archons are mocking you. you internally curse them for not granting you a vision, a way to get out of this horrible situation.

your legs burn, and your pace involuntarily gets slower as you sob helplessly, his voice filling your ears, condescending and horrible. “what’s the matter, little rabbit? i can hear you crying.” your legs give out, and you collapse on the muddy floor, your sobs increasing in their urgency as his footsteps get closer and closer. you squeeze your eyes shut, curling your body against the tree you fell against as he finally reaches you. you haven’t gotten a good look at him yet, and you hope you never do. you don’t want to put a face to the voice that’s been tormenting you all night.

you flinch when he reaches a hand out and strokes your cheek, shockingly gentle compared to what you had expected, and he lets out a condescending chuckle and yanks your jaw up to meet his eyes, growling out his words as he speaks. it seems he’s dropped the faux kindness from earlier. “look at me. look at me.” when you obediently open your eyes, sniffling and letting out pained sobs every few seconds, he grins, baring his unnaturally sharp teeth from below his mask and nodding as he appraises you. you feel like a piece of meat, and you’re sure that’s his intent. to dehumanize you, make you feel less than.

he nods to himself, then speaks again. “good. you’ll make a fine specimen, i’m sure.”

you stare up at him in fear, doe eyes widened as you try to flinch away from his iron grip. he doesn’t let you, you didn’t expect him to, though your struggling does seem to please him. you find yourself only more terrified at that fact. your voice is quiet, weak, and he only grins more at the sound. “what… what do you want from me?”

he doesn’t respond, only gives you another horribly wrong looking smile before, almost inhumanly fast, pulling out a syringe and sticking it in your neck. the last thing you remember before everything goes black is how painless it was. like he’s had practice.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

when you wake up, the first thing you notice is the apparent lack of foliage around you, instead replaced with sinister looking metal structures and cages that are stained with something that looks horrifyingly like blood. the second thing you notice is how securely restrained you are. there’s tight, thick straps around your wrists, elbows, knees, ankles, neck, and waist, all of which have locks on them, presumably so you can’t escape.

your mind wanders back to the man in the forest, and what he injected you with. how quickly it worked and left a gap in your memory. as you think more about it, you consequently get more scared. you’re suddenly pulled out of your thoughts by a loud, horrible beeping noise, which you come to realize is the heart rate monitor you’ve been hooked up to. you try to take deep breaths to lower it before the man comes in and realizes you’re awake, but you fail. of course you fail.

his footsteps fill the room, and the beeping gets faster as your heart rate increases more with the terror he inspires in you. he smiles at you again, and his voice rings out, terrible and anxiety inducing. “i see you’re awake. tell me, what’s gotten you so worked up, hm? is my laboratory scary? do you not enjoy your accommodations?”

he leans in closer to you, and you feel tears starts to pool in your eyes as your body fills with dread. the man seems amused by this, cooing softly at you and pinching your cheek in a way that’s somehow more dehumanizing than anything else he’s done so far. “please… please let me go,” you’re painfully aware of how pathetic you sound as you speak, but you hope he’ll take pity on you instead. realize you aren’t meant for whatever he has planned and release you, though you know deep down that you aren’t that lucky.

he laughs, then shakes his head no before speaking again. he talks too much, you think. “i’m afraid i can’t do that, little rabbit. though, i suppose some introductions are in order. i am il dottore, the second of the featuring harbingers, and your new master. i’ve had my eye on you for some time, dear. you… intrigue me. i have never seen someone quite as pretty as you are. so, you see, i just had to have you. you understand, i’m sure,” his voice gets on your nerves, though you know it’s best to be compliant when dealing with lunatics, so you simply nod your head as best you can with your restraints as he continues.

“good. you must be wondering what i plan to do with you, correct?” you nod again. “i have many ideas, i can’t say i’ve ever felt this way before, especially about someone as insignificant as you, so there’s quite a few things i’d like to try. of course, i will bathe you, then examine you more thoroughly than i managed in the forest. after i’ve collected your baseline vital statistics, and you have been thoroughly examined and cleaned, i will take you. for my research, of course. i believe it would be beneficial to encourage in coitus with you, as it might help me to better understand the origin of these feelings.”

you’re sure he can see the alarm on your face at how casually he mentions violating you in such a personal way, for he gives you a pat on the head that you think is meant to be comforting. it has the opposite effect, it only makes you more concerned. you shake your head no and give him a desperate, pleading look, your eyes filling with tears at the thought. “please, no! anything but that, i swear i won’t ever try to leave, just… please, don’t!”

his eyes light up, and you finally realize he’s removed his mask. you had been too caught up in your panicked fear to really pay attention to him, but as you examine him, his heavily scarred face, his blood red eyes, his aquiline nose. he’s… undeniably attractive, your brain supplies. you immediately try to push those thoughts away, he just said he was planning on raping you, for archon’s sake, you cannot find him attractive. he clearly picks up on your inner struggle, judging from the amused smile he wears and the way he leans in closer to you, softly caressing your cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“i suppose if you’re that against me taking you vaginally, i could find another way to have you. though i can’t promise it will be as pleasant. it is quite hard to give the recipient pleasure in other orifices,” his cologne fills your nostrils as he leans in so close to you, your lips just barely touching. he smells like roses and leather, with just a hint of blood and bleach along with other chemical smells you can’t quite place. you hate yourself for thinking it, but it’s not an entirely unpleasant scent. in fact, you think you’d quite enjoy it on anyone else.

he hums, nosing against your throat and leaving a bite where your neck meets your shoulder. it’s painful, and you have to bite your tongue to resist crying out as the tears that had been building finally start to fall. you can’t hold back the choked sob that escapes when you feel the copious amount of blood that falls from the wound, sure to leave a scar. an inescapable, undeniable, permanent reminder of what he’s done to you and what he plans to do to you.

he ignores your distress, only whispering half hearted coos as he licks up all the blood from your fresh bite mark and groans softly at the taste. the realization that he’s getting pleasure from this makes bile start to rise up your throat. “shh, shh… you taste divine. perhaps that’s why i’m so enchanted with you. you’ve put a spell on me.”

dottore softly laps up the blood that pours from your wound, and you hate yourself a little more for thinking the feeling is somewhat pleasant. his tongue is soothing on your wound, his saliva is unnaturally cold, and surprisingly doesn’t make the cuts sting. you don’t know if it’s the blood loss or the paralyzing fear you’re feeling, but you can’t bring yourself to push him away.

he pulls his mouth away from your wound and wipes the last few beads of blood away from it with his thumb. he examines the way the ruby red liquid reflects the light and contrasts the back leather of his glove as it sits on his finger, and then he brings his thumb to your lips, his tone leaving no room for argument as he commands you. “open.”

you reluctantly obey, looking at him tiredly as the blood loss starts to hit you more and more, your vision slowly starting to become fuzzy at the edges, painting everything in a sort of giddy haze as the pain mixes with the pleasant feelings his sweet words and scent invoke in you. he gives you a smile, patting your head once again as he slides his thumb, still carrying your blood, into your open mouth. “good… good pet,” his hand strokes your forehead comfortingly, and the lights suddenly seem all too bright, your eyebrows furrowing weakly as you try to turn your head away from them.

“shh… just sleep, little rabbit. i’ll take good care of you. when you wake, i’ll be ready for the last part of my plans.”

you don’t have time to really think about what he means by that before the fuzzy edges of your vision fade completely to black, your consciousness quickly ebbing away.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

you’re passing out far too often for your liking, you decide as you come to. this time, you’ve been restrained on a soft bed in what looks like the private chambers of some very wealthy individual. it takes a moment for everything to come back to you, but the dull, throbbing pain in your shoulder quickly helps you remember.

you examine your surroundings once more, taking note of the black and dark blue color scheme of the room, along with the silver accents and luxurious feel of, what you assume is, dottore’s sheets. as you try to move to assess how secure your bindings are this time, you come to a horrifying realization. you aren’t wearing your knee length, cotton chemise anymore, and there isn’t a trace of any mud on your skin. someone has bathed and changed your clothes, into a much more revealing, practically see through babydoll dress.

you realize something even more horrific as you examine your body more closely. someone has also shaved you completely bare.

your attention is snapped to the door as dottore enters, holding a briefcase that gives you a horrible feeling. “good, you’re awake. i was almost worried i had injured you fatally.” he sets the briefcase down on the bed, not giving you a moment to speak, and pulls out a terrifyingly sharp dagger, turning to you with a small smile.

“now, since you seemed so distraught over me having vaginal intercourse with you, i’ve decided on an alternative,” he doesn’t elaborate further, only approaching you and inspecting your body as he marks out various places, mostly on your upper thigh or abdomen. you feel horribly exposed, wearing nothing but a sheer, short babydoll, but there’s nothing you can do about it. you have no idea what he plans to do, but you’re sure it will be torturous.

he finally settles on a spot, a fatty area just above your belly button on the left side, and he walks over to that side of the bed with the blade. he marks out a relatively large circle with a pen, and you realize what he means to do.

your struggles are reignited, and you start to sob as he places the pen back in his breast pocket and gently shushes you. “calm down. it will only be worse for you if you struggle, dear.”

your sobs grow louder as he makes the first incision, you start thrashing around in your bindings and trying desperately to get away from his blade. you give him a pleading look as he continues to carve a horrifyingly deep hole into your skin, and your voice is weak, breaking with every word from the excruciating pain of getting carved into without any sort of numbing solution. “p-please, can- can’t, ‘s- ‘s hurting me, st-stop-!”

he completely ignores you, grabbing a bottle of antiseptic from his bag and spraying it on the large wound. your pain is only increased, and you realize why you’re retrained so tightly. he finally looks back at your tear covered face, and gives you a smile as he pets your hair. “there, the hard part is over. now it’s time to continue the experiment.”

you sob, shaking your head no as you cry out from the pain, watching in horror as he undoes his pants just enough to pull his cock out. he positions it at the hole he’s created for himself, and, without any sort of warning, thrusts himself deep inside. you cry out, choking on your sobs and gagging from the all encompassing pain as bile starts to rise up in your throat once again.

he gives a deep moan as he starts to move, completely uncaring of your protests and the agony you’re in as he chases his own pleasure inside of you. his fingers curl around the other side of your torso, and he pulls you into each of his thrusts, only increasing your pain. “you truly are fantastic…”

you think you’re going to be sick.

how dare he enjoy this? how dare he violate you in such a way and have the gall to moan about it? if you had the strength, you think you might kill him.

you dissociate for most of the experience, something your eternally grateful for. you don’t want to remember any of it. the feeling of his thrusts into your limp body starting to falter and his cock twitching inside your, now more of a gash, really, remind you of the very real threat that he’ll cum inside of your large wound.

before you get a chance to plead with him not to, though, you feel the burning, hot liquid fill the space nothing should ever touch. it hurts, almost more than the actual fucking did, and you think you pass out from the feeling.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

when you come to for the third time, you’ve been bandaged and stitched up and dottore holds you in his arms, tucked snugly against his side while he writes notes, presumably about the torture he’s just put you through. he smiles down at you, petting your hair once again before he stands up, leaving you tied to the bed. “i wished to make sure you would wake up. now i must get back to my work.” he pauses in the doorway as he leaves. “you were wonderful, and my hypothesis was incorrect. having intercourse with you did not cure me. in fact, it only made me more taken with you. …i have decided to keep you, in light of this revelation.”

with that, he swiftly walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. you cry softly to yourself, and then feel a sudden weight on your lap. as you look down, you feel bitterness fill you at the sight.

there, sitting perfectly on your lap, taunting you, is a shiny, anemo vision.

[lost-in-fandoms]

Inspired by this post. This is most probably a part 1, but I make no promises. (I already wrote something for it here but I am considering this a different universe)

cw: slight dub-con of the heat variety (Max is in heat and not fully coherent even if he does explicitly ask for Daniel's help), implied sexual content

Keening

"It's okay, Max, it's okay." Daniel shushes Max softly, pressing a kiss to his red and sweaty cheek, feeling the heat come off it. Max's heart is beating so hard Daniel can feel it under his palm, resting on Max's back.

He feels his own blood rushing into his ears as he tries to comfort him, tries to keep him from going too into deep before they reach the hotel. He can see the wary glances the driver is sending their way, but he tries his best to ignore them.

"It hurts," Max whispers, whining against Daniel's neck, desperately trying to grind against him. Daniel can feel him where he's so wet it's soaking through his jeans, can smell his sweet heat scent. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. It wasn't supposed to happen at all.

"I know, baby," he says, keeping his voice just as low, pet name slipping out as he scents him, hoping to give him some sort of relief. "I am so sorry, we're almost there."

He should have know, should have at least asked, when Max had been off all weekend. Or someone should have. Daniel has no idea when Max's heats are normally scheduled for, doesn't know who he usually spends them with, and now Max is way too out of it to be a reliable source of information.

What a mess.

He tries to take a hand off Max to call Christian again, but he has barely started to move before Max is whining again, shaking in his lap, tears and spit mixing on Daniel's collar.

By the time he manages to pay the poor driver, get them both into the miraculously empty elevator and into his room, Daniel is panting and Max is full on crying, eyes glazed over and hands shaking. Daniel has never seen him like this. He is terrifyingly aware of how not equipped he is to deal with this.

Sure, Max is an omega, Daniel knows how to help an omega in heat, but they never...Max has never agreed to any of this.

Christian's phone goes to voicemail again.

"Alpha..." Max's hands are tangled in Daniel's shirt as he pushes forward, grinding against Daniel's thigh.

"Max, you're not..." Daniel tries to take a deep breath, tries to hold him still without hurting him, even as every single one of his instincts scream at him to help Max. "I am not taking advantage of you."

"You are not! I want, please!" Max's voice is high and desperate and he's shaking so hard Daniel is the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground. Daniel's heart hurts.

"I can't."

He tries to scent him again, tries to hold him close to his body while ignoring the way his dick tries to say it surely can do something about it, but Max has other ideas, one of his hands sneaking between them and grabbing at him.

Daniel gasps, unable to stop his hips from canting forward, grinding against Max, feeling him go even more boneless, before regaining control.

"No, Max," he tries to be as firm as possible, grabbing Max's wrist and moving his hand away, but Max wriggles away, forcing Daniel to shift to be able to keep them both upright.

And then Max is keening, pained and upset, the sound petering into a broken sob.

"Why won't you help me?"

His tears are falling on Daniel's skin, his smell, sweet with heat, sour with despair, is filling his nose. Daniel's hands clutch at Max's waist, pushing him towards the bed, as the last sliver of his control vanishes into nothing.