#tongue in the game like it’s buffet

[choiwonder]

mark u dont have to lie if u wanna have sex in a kitchen just say so nobody is judging 🤷‍♀️

[we-survive-endlessly]

Love that Mark keeps writing songs with lyrics that he would have trouble explaining in an interview. Very on brand.

[captain-hawks]

“you’re so goddamn predictable,” atsumu barks out a laugh as he looks down at the tray of misshapen onigiri. 

osamu scowls at his twin, whipping his bicep with a rag before lifting his hat to run a hand through his hair, sighing as he glances down at his—admittedly—shoddy work. 

atsumu jumps and lets out an undignified yelp as he grins, “ain’t seen ya make a rice ball that sloppy since you got absolutely wasted and decided to make ‘em at three in the morning back at uni.”

“fuck off, ya unemployed freeloader,” osamu grunts, menacingly clapping a pair of metal tongs in his brother’s direction just as he grabs one and stuffs it into his mouth without asking. 

“just admit you’re a pathetic simp who can’t even focus on shapin’ rice when a pretty girl is in the restaurant,” his brother says around a mouthful of rice, gesturing through the serving hatch toward where you’re currently facing away from them on a stool at the window. 

osamu exhales noisily in annoyance, turning to wash his hands at the sink before stealing another glance over at you. his heart thuds insistently in his chest as you absentmindedly smile at the sight of someone with several excited dogs walking past on the street outside, the late afternoon sun bathing you in a soft, golden glow. 

“i even have to do free labor for your distracted ass,” atsumu calls out from where he’s now stepped out of the kitchen to ring up a customer, if only to rub it in his face even more. 

“s’not free labor when ya treat this place like an open buffet,” osamu grumbles when he walks out a few moments later, hip checking the blonde as he comes to stand beside him. “can ya even count?”

“the register does it for me,” atsumu smugly tells him, handing the customer their change and sticking out his tongue at his brother. “but the real math question here is, do you even know how to ask a girl for her number?”

osamu doesn’t bother to correct his brother on his completely illogical connection between the points. instead, he looks up as you stand from your seat, mouth curving upward as he mirrors the shy wave you offer to him on your way out. 

“it’s a real burden to be the sole twin blessed with all the game,” atsumu sighs wistfully, watching you leave. “bet she likes blondes better.”

osamu could tell him that you’ve been coming to onigiri miya for the past week on your lunch break, and none-too-subtly flirting across the counter in between customers—thank you very much. 

“kiss my ass,” he says instead, delighting in the frown of defeat that crosses his brother’s face as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the carefully folded piece of paper you’d insistently handed him after he waved off your money when you tried to pay earlier. 

“hope ya didn’t serve her one of those ugly ass ones back there,” atsumu grins. 

osamu punches him in the shoulder and shoves him aside as the bell above the front door jingles and another customer approaches. 

[natalievoncatte]

Lena tipped back the last of her scotch and savored it, letting the smooth, piquant insistence of it roll across her tongue and sting between her teeth. She’d poured herself three fingers of a thirty year old single malt from the Macallan and had tasted it every drop, letting it stay a while. Indeed she’d indulged so slowly that she was barely buzzed.

A distant memory struck her. The sting of heavy smoke in her mouth, acrid and unpleasant but as rich and complex in flavor as her single malts. The effect was ruined by her idiotic decision to breath it in rather than allow a brief visitation in her mouth before being set free into the night air. She had been thirteen and Lex had given her a puff on a cigar he’d stolen from their father’s humidor while he and Lillian were away.

“This is a Dominican,” he’d told her. “I’ll give you a Cuban when you have enough experience to appreciate it.”

She turned the glass in her hand before setting it in the sink. She thought of Lex almost every day- not the raving, incoherent loon who’d tied her to the chair or the bitter shell of a man he was when she fired five bullets into his chest, but the boy he was, about to go off to college, full of adolescent bravado that matched his genius. She thought of the man he might have been if he hadn’t let his base jealousy consume him, if he’d had enough empathy to follow a better path. Her path.

It was a hard one to walk, but-

There was a tap at her balcony door and she nearly jumped out of her skin, wheeling.

It was Kara.

Lena motioned for her to open the door and she did, stepping inside.

“Can you ever use the inside door like a normal person?”

Kara shrugged. “I went for a fly to clear my head and I ended up here.”

Lena sighed. “I was just heading to bed, darling. It’s late. Too late to watch cartoons on my couch.”

“Will you fly with me?”

Lena quirked a brow. “You know it’s not any fun for me. I really do hate flying.”

“I know but, I was just… would you?”

Lena looked at her. Kara looked back, her eyes soft, expression hopeful and fearful, inviting. It made Lena fight the urges that dogged her. She felt a need to stride across the distance between them and tuck away a few wind-tossed locks of Kara’s hair, cup a warm hand to her cool cheek, soothe the pain that always seemed to hide in her eyes, like the reflection of something dark in the gloss of a family photo.

“Okay.”

She got her jacket first to protect herself against the night chill, then wondered how to do this. She was used to Kara flying her, but it was usually after being caught from a fall or scooped from danger and whisked to safety. Casually flying hadn’t really been their thing.

She settled on looping her arms about Kara’s neck.

She hesitated. “Lena, are you sure? Your heart is beating pretty fast.”

“You won’t drop me?”

“Never.”

Lena nodded and Kara swept her arms under Lena, one arm under her knees, the other curled around her waist. Of course it was effortless- for Kara, raising a cement mixer over her head was effortless. She stepped up to the railing of the balcony and paused when Lena tensed.

Lena closed her eyes as Kara stepped into empty air. She realized that she didn’t know how Kryptonians fly; she suspected Kara didn’t know either. It just happened.

Lena kept her eyes shut. Kara flew, holding her gently but firmly. If not for the wind buffeting her, Lena wouldn’t have known she was hundreds of feet in the air.

Finally she felt the soft impact of Kara’s boots on the ground and opened her eyes as Kara lowered her to her feet.

“Where are we?”

Lena looked around. They were in a baseball diamond, probably for little league games, in a small park.

“The suburbs. No one bothers me at night if I stop here. It’s a good place to think.”

Kara walked over to the bleachers and sat down. She looked so forlorn, so terribly sad, and Lena quickly sat beside her.

Kara didn’t speak. She saw the slight tremor of Lena’s restrained shiver, and without a word unclasped her cape and swept it around Lena.

“Thanks,” said Lena. “This makes a good blanket.”

Kara smiled. “That is a blanket. Kal… Clark’s birth parents, my aunt and uncle, sent it with him to Earth. Martha made it part of his first suit. The one she made.”

Lena stared at her for a moment. She rarely spoke of her cousin, and when she did, it had an odd, detached tone to it. A kind of resentment. She sounded fond now, and familiar. Lena knew who he was, of course; once she knew who Kara was, deducing who her cousin was turned out to be a simple thing. Yet Kara had never dropped his name so casually in conversation. It was intimate. Familiar.

“Speaking of Clark,” said Kara. “He sent me a message today. He’s staying on Argo with Lois and their child. He’s not coming home.”

Kara caught herself, eyes wide. Lena waited, holding a tense breath.

“Kara, what is it?”

“I can’t remember when I started thinking of Earth as home,” said Kara. “Just like I can’t remember when I started thinking in English instead of translating my thoughts.”

Lena poked an arm out of the cape to rest a hand on Kara’s shoulder.

“You’re thinking about joining them.”

Kara looked down. “I almost did before, but I was needed here. I don’t feel needed so much anymore. There’s so many more heroes now- Bruce has a whole team he’s built, and there’s Diana now and of course Barry and Oliver and… they can handle a lot of it. I don’t even put the suit on every day anymore.”

Lena felt a terrible, frigid chill. Colder than the night, colder than death. She looked at Kara, really looked at her, lit by lamplight, a golden beauty in the dark. She was so hauntingly, achingly beautiful. Lena could still remember the feeling when she saw Kara for the first time in her office, how her face must have betrayed her. My God, who is this?

“Are you thinking about going?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure. I don’t know what to do. My people need every Kryptonian to come home and rebuild our culture and way of life. I have a sacred duty.”

Lena met her gaze levelly, feeling undone by it. Kara’s eyes were soft, full of an aching, unasked question.

“You keep talking about being needed, about duty,” Lena said. “The whole time I’ve known you it’s been about oaths and obligations and responsibilities. What do you want, Kara? What is your heart’s desire? Whatever it is, if you ask me, you deserve it. Whatever debt you think you owe the universe, you’ve paid it back in full with interest and gratuities.”

Kara looked away. “I know what I want, but I’m scared to ask for it.”

“I’ve never known you to be scared of anything.”

“I’m scared of being hurt. I’m scared of hurting someone else. What if I’m wrong? I’ve always been wrong about this one thing. I don’t want to lose you by asking the wrong question.”

Me? Lena thought. Why would…

Lena’s heart raced anew. The shock felt like she’d spilled cold water from her heart, racing down her limbs. She felt as heavy as stone and as light as a feather, and the flutter in her belly made her regret the scotch.

“I don’t want to go,” Kara sighed. “This is my home now. Krypton… Krypton is gone and it probably should be. I hope Clark can show the survivors a better way. There were a lot of things my people did wrong.”

“Kara, you can’t go. Okay? You can’t. You are needed here. I need you.”

Kara turned abruptly, eyes wide.

“Why did you wait so long?” Lena whispered.

“After everything I did, I… I was as afraid. I hurt you so much, caused you so much pain. Why would you…”

“Because you get so excited when you land on Park Place,” said Lena. “Because you sing to yourself when no one is looking. Because you’re bored to tears watching documentaries with me but you do it anyway. Because you always flex your muscles when you pop a cork from a bottle. Because you save me and cherish me and treat me like a queen, and you always have. Yes, Kara, you hurt me, but no one is perfect. I’m just as guilty.”

“What do you want, Lena? What’s your hearts desire?”

“I think you already know that and you’re just too scared to admit it.”

Kara swallowed, hard.

“Stay with me. Choose me,” said Lena.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I seriously thought you’d never ask,” said Lena.

Kara tilted in close. Sitting on the old faded wood of the bleachers with a blanket around her, she felt so young. She hadn’t been this giddy about a kiss since middle school. No; she’s never been this giddy ever, not a day in her life. Kara’s lips touched hers and despite the chasteness of it, she let out a soft moan.

Kara took it as an invitation and the kiss deepened, and she slipped under the blanket so they were both wrapped in it and her arms found Lena’s waist. When she tucked her head under Kara’s chin and pressed into her arms, she felt so safe, so sheltered. It was perfect, like finally finding home, and they were still there when the sun found them and Kara carried her into the morning sky.

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 22

Prompt: Intercrural (Thighs) Pairing: exboyfriend!Yunho x fem!reader   WC: 1.4k Summary: It’s not cheating. He swears it’s not cheating. Neither of you are cheating. And he’s an expert. This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Yunho or any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this. I feel the need especially with “rougher” prompts like this to put the disclaimer - fanfic should NOT ever be used as a guide to relationships or sex. ESPECIALLY SEX. Again, it’s fiction. Stuff gets glossed over for the sake of a good story. Please PLEASE please again, not fact, not a guide, just a fantasy. Additional TW/CW below the cut.

TW/CW: DUBIOUS CONSENT (reader doesn’t say yes but also doesn’t say no). Cheating, bodily fluids, dry humping, wet humping, gets real close to “just the tip” territory. no penetration. cumming in underwear. reader is called “princess” and “babe”. yunho is kinda a shitty person in this.

Once a cheater always a cheater.

 Yunho finds you in the kitchen. It’s an old habit. An old habit he’s willing to exploit. Scrubbing away at the pile of dishes you don’t even look up, the rushing faucet and din from the living room covering his footsteps. The second you were overwhelmed you’d retreat here, a safe place to hide while your boyfriend entertained the guests. Mostly his guests. Not your guests, Yunho makes the careful distinction to himself. You’d even do this at your friend houses if you needed.  “Princess,” he whispers low in your ear.  Silverware clatters against the metal basin as you drop it, spinning, back flat to the tile. A team scores in the background, whoops and hollers covering the lesser chaos in the sink.  “Yunho, you can’t be here, with me, like that.” You lean back and away, nearly toppling into the running water.

 “He hasn’t complimented you enough tonight, Princess,” Yunho’s hushed tone is silky smooth, leaving a trail of goosebumps down your arms. “Not enough for me, anyway. Has he even said anything tonight after all the time you spent getting his little party ready? I know he didn’t do it. He’s not the finger food type, more of a pizza and beer kind of man.”  “No-” you stutter and sigh. The excuses fight over themselves on your tongue, unwilling to be the first to be lamely bleated out from your fumbling lips.  “Someone should say it then.”  You turn your back to him to hide your expression. Yunho knew you too well. You couldn’t look him in the eyes when he pulled this sort of thing. This toxic messy game he liked to play, that you indulged in masochistically. As if your relationship had ever been anything but messy. That’s how you knew the second he started on his promises if you looked him in the eyes it would be all over for you.

 Two long arms wrap around your middle, large hands holding your hips ever so slightly. Your back is buffeted by a fuzzy sweater and wide shoulders. “You can’t do that here!” Your hushed exclamation protests too hard to be real. You were never a good actress.  “Only here?”  “Yunho! I’m-if people see they might think-”  “That you’re cheating? But I’m just helping you with the dishes,” you can almost hear the cheeky grin in his tone as he grinds into the cleft of your ass. “Come on Princess, you know how much I love helping.”  The fabric of your skirt starts hitching higher and higher, exposing the tops of your gartered thigh high stockings. The bulge in his pants bumps against you, still as large as you remember.  A zip, a singular telltale zip. Another cheer from the living room.  “Are you going to fuck me?” You ask half hoping, half dreading.  “That’d be cheating, Princess. As you said you’re spoken for again, for now.” His length brushes against the ridges of your lace panties, the tug of fabric tingling your clit. “And you wouldn’t want to cheat would you? You’re a good girl.”  “You would.”  The puff of air that escapes his nostrils tickles the back of your ear. You squirm. “You’re right. I would.” Yunho replies. Goosebumps cover your arms, it’s wrong. It’s so wrong. You bite the insides of your cheeks as you feel him slip between the soft tops of your inner thighs. The tip of his cock pokes out of the other side of your thighs, cool air contrasting with the heat of your body. Your thighs grow more slick as the leaking precum smears between them, lubricating each drag.

 The water still runs into the sink, thundering louder than your heart.  “I can’t,” you whisper meakly, more to yourself than to him. Knees knocking into eachother the tops of your thighs press into the cupboard doors. Your cunt throbs shamelessly in your panties, slowly soaking through the fabric. The slight bunching of the lace pulling up into your slit only serves to frustrate you.  Yunho curls over you, hot breath fanning over your collarbone as his chin rests on your shoulder. “You really think he’ll care about this matching set you’ve put on? Will he even look at you long enough to notice it? No. I bet he fucks you blindly without a single fucking thought in that empty skull of his.” The snear in his voice is unmistakable. Long fingers pull your panties down just enough to wrap around him, holding him close to your slit as he continues to grind against you. Finally he’s close enough to brush against your clit occasionally with a well angled thrust. “Bet he wouldn’t even notice if your panties were full of cum already.”  “Yuyu,” voice airy and distant, you push your ass back into him. It’s to push him away, you try to rationalize, It’s to give yourself some space. It’s definitely not to encourage him. It’s not to better angle yourself to align with him. “I’m not a cheater.”  Another cheer from the living room goes unnoticed by the both of you.  “Not if it doesn’t go in, Princess.” Yunho chuckles low in his throat. “And you wouldn’t want to ruin that good girl image would you? Not with a guy like me. No matter how much your princess parts might ache for it.”  His mock sympathy has you biting back moans. Knuckles white as you grip the edge of the sink harder, slipping on the metal. Large hands holding you in place as he uses you, sandwiched between your puffy slick heat and the cool damp lace of your underwear. The ridges and veins of his shaft tease your oversensitive pussy. He’s right, it’s been too long since someone else made you cum. Burning need courses in your blood, boiling your insides.

 The tip catches dangerously on your entrance, both of you gasping as he threatens to breach that tiny caveat he’d established. Part of you wishes he would. You want him to press forward, bully his cock that much farther in. Fill you like he used to. Damn the consequences, damn you.  His knowing chuckle, warm breath fanning over your ear, jolts you from your wild fantasy. Yunho knows. He knows he never really could leave you. Hips circling with yours, you’re on the precipice of something neither of you can take back. Or maybe it was already too late. Your heart thuds and head spins. For a second you consider doing it yourself as he leaks a steady stream of precum into your eager walls. Your hips even test it, backing slightly farther against him, the tense ring of muscle flexing just enough to prevent a larger mistake than you were already making.  “I wonder if you still feel like me or if he’s managed to take that from me too.”  You half expect him to end with a long smooth thrust into your walls, stretching you around him while the water in the sink runs cold. Instead he slips down again, hands squeezing your thighs tighter as he chases his high. Its just enough stimulation to tease you, have you hot from more than just the steamy water. The cover of dishes long forgotten you brace yourself on the sink. Hell would be cooler than this. His pace accelerates as his fingers find your clit through the soaked fabric of your underwear. Sticking to you he circles and circles as your thighs clench.   “Can you feel what you do to me princess? Take some responsibility.”  “Fuck you.”   Your breath catches on the last word, cumming quietly as he presses both of your hips into the side of the counter. Shame floods your face as you feel his teeth graze the skin of your neck. It’s not enough to leave a mark but enough to leave a mental impression. An invisible white hot brand burned into the nape of your neck.   Yunho mouths wet open kisses in the same spot as hot sticky cum spills into your underwear, coating the outside of your sex and leaking into the inside of your skirt. Panting, his breath catches with each refractory twitch of his cock. The insides of your thighs clean him as he pulls from you, tucking back into his pants as if nothing had happened.  “BABE! HUN? BEER ME.”  “I gotchu bro,” Yunho yells back, nonchalantly popping the cap off a bottle on the counter. You can barely look him in the face as he turns to leave the kitchen with a wink.

Good god i like writing yunho as actual trash. i feel like the hotter and nicer the guy is as an idol the more i just want to write the polar opposite for them.

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass 8 pt 3

masterpost

“I have a high degree of confidence that the tools are collected from this neighborhood. I have compiled a list of buildings where a workshop might conceivably operate.”

Cass nodded, engaging the locks on her batcycle. Damibat started pulling up the cover and handed it to her to snap into place. “Thank you,” she said, belated. Cass ran her tongue over the backside of her teeth. “Engineering power?”

“No conspicuous consumption,” Damibat reported. Professional for sure. “In light of the unknown power source for the tools themself, my leading theory is that the mechanic uses this unknown material for their workshop.”

She nodded. Made sense. Fit together, puzzle pieces that click together. The hunters both clicked through the belt mechanisms for grapples and then they soared together. Air blew into Black Bat’s face, buffeting her into an embrace. They cut through the air silently, Black Bat a second behind the case lead, Robin. 

His leads were:

Former car shop. Abandoned 4 months.

Basement floor of apartment building owned by mob affiliate.

Store front, shut down after cashier-owner murdered, gun crime.

In the right neighborhood, Black Bat started to feel a certainty. This was the right place. The mechanic was here. Something in her heart told her. It thudded, warm and reassuring, a reminder that she was breathing oxygen and pumping blood. Everything was well. Nothing was ghostly.

One by one, the Bats Black and Small crept in through windows and around blocks, looking for clues. 

Former car shop: Genuinely deserted! Black Bat felt proud of Gotham. It was nice that no one was creeping and crawling. Well. She was creeping and Robin was crawling, but that was different.

Basement floor: occupied, by many rats and still water. Biohazard. Black Bat put her breathing filter on and resigned herself to writing a report and request for cleanup. Very dangerous. Possible Legionnaire’s disease and others. Yuck.

Store front: Gotham fail. In use as a marijuana growing facility. Big sigh.  Do better, friends.

“Hardly a real crime,” Robin scoffed. He snapped his cape behind him and pulled out his grapple, angry with himself. Must have been wrong. Incompetent. I don’t like me when I fail. “Wasted time.”

Cass frowned, hesitating to follow. “No…” she said. The certainty hadn’t left her. Something in her hunting instinct knew. There was at least one trail to follow. She could sense it nearby.

Robin snapped to look at her. He didn’t say anything, but she knew what he was thinking: That’s unusual. Why is she uncertain? What does she perceive?

She cracked a faint smile behind her mouth mask. “Follow,” Cass requested. Robin, sweet and disciplined Robin, switched roles seamlessly. He followed her and she followed a sense that she hadn’t noticed before today.

They went over one block, and then up, up, up. A low income apartment building. Windows were dirty on the outside, smog and birdshit. The residents didn’t care to enjoy the view outside: there were curtains, UV blocking film, and taped up posters. She came to the ledge outside a 7th floor apartment and paused, frowning. 

“Here?” Robin breathed it so quietly that only their shared headsets picked it up. 

Cass nodded. 

The window was obscured. Unfortunate. Cass wiped at filth forlornly, but there was a poster taped on it. There was a small peeking spot to sneak a look through, about two centimeters wide. Black Bat spidered her way across the window to line her face up to look into the apartment.

It was dim, lit by a green glow from a big screen, probably. Video game? Black Bat spied the back of a sofa and a shadow cast by legs hanging over the edge. Someone was sleeping there. Hmm.

She turned her face expectantly to Robin. He was typing into the wrist computer. “Leased by a young woman,” he reported sotto voice. His eyebrows went up. “A civil engineering student at Gotham U. No other residents on the lease.” He tilted to show her a pale young woman with a narrow face and brown hair. Flat color: dyed? Suspicious or fashion choice?

Cass squinted back inside at the sleeping person. Must be Jacqueline. Criminal mechanic was female? Neat. Go girls, go! Go to jail in this case, but still. Neat.

“Shall we enter?” Robin was clearly ready to go.

Black Bat shook her head. “Daylight,” she said practically. Pass to the Signal. It’s only fair. Optimal time to sneak and creep is when school is in session; apartment empty. Nighttime is better for confrontation. “Docks now?”

Comms clicked. “I was waiting for you to ask,” Oracle said, smug, good timing, I have everything under control. “I have what might be Lex Luthor moving something across the bay tonight. Interested in taking a look at what he wants to sneak out of Gotham?”

Hell yeah.

[strawberryforks]

focus // finnick odair x reader

summary: it’s the 65th hunger games and district 4’s tributes are best friends. what’s unfortunate is that everyone knows there can only be one winner…

warnings: violence, suicide, underaged drinking (which i do not condone), no happy ending

word count: 2099

author’s note: this is my first fic and as i’m new to writing for “reader” or “y/n” the format may be different on others! but hopefully this is angsty enough <3 ALSO, REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!

sitting on the train, in a booth, beside your best friend finnick you were the furthest thing from present. you paid more attention the the blur of trees and buildings than him and your mentor, mags. your cheek was pressed against the glass and your hot breath was causing it to steam up.

was dragging your finger overtop it and making various smiley-faces more interesting than whatever finnick and mags were discussing? well, yes. still you couldn’t delude yourself into thinking it was the best use of your time. just like you couldn’t be surprised when finnick’s elbow found purchase in your side. it wouldn’t bruise but it didn’t feel nice. “focus,” he scolded. “you have to listen to what mags is saying. she’s been through this already. she won. she can help us.”

finnick, with his hopefulness, blonde hair, blue eyes and fourteen years worth of boyish charm was perfect. sometimes too perfect because you would catch yourself staring. eyes stuck and cheeks turned redder than a tomato whenever he caught you. embarassing, really, because it’s common sense. you just don’t look at your best friend like that.

“sure. sorry mags. i’ll pay attention.” the victor nodded and continued her explanation—told you and finnick that your best bet would be getting away from the cornucopia as soon as possible. you nodded and though you did your best to listen, you just hoped finnick had, because wherever he went, you would follow.

—

“what are you doing?”

you were doing something you shouldn’t have–but caught, the sounds that spilled from your lips weren’t hurried explanations. you just giggled. “uhm,” you held one hand out in front of your face like a shield and sat the cup of bubbling liquid down on the dresser.

drinking. you were drinking. you moved in front of the dresser hiding the evidence with your body. finnick stepped forward quickly, crossing the room and making it to you in no time at all. he was frowning, he saw the drinks and he wasn’t happy which you didn’t understand because you were overflowing with the stuff. everything was greater than it had been, you were smiling, laughing at things that weren’t funny, and felt a bit like you were floating. “that’s not allowed—where did you even get that?”

“there was a buffet table and,” you burped, “they had drinks. y’wanna try?”

he didn’t. finnick shook his head–didn’t understand why you weren’t taking this seriously. usually he loved your attitude and outlook on things, ‘whatever happens, happens’ was usually said on your adventures but this wasn’t that. this was serious. now was not the time. he just wanted you to focus. “we’re almost at the capital. you can’t do this again, you understand?”

you bite your tongue so your inner monologue doesn’t get out. because yeah, you wouldn’t ever get to do this again (drink, legally or not). you wouldn’t get to do much of anything ever again. your days were numbered. in your last ones you would smile and wave, play pretend with your best friend at your side.

finnick was quite possibly the best and worst person to be in this situation with. on one hand, you’d be with someone you loved in your last moments, on the other… there was no world in which you won this.

finnick swapped your drink with a tall glass of water. sat by you while you sipped at it and helped you to bed. morning came and he was still there. your eyes cracked open, narrowed by bright light and confusion. “you’re good now, yeah?” he asked.

your head hurt but you nodded it anyways. there were purple bags below his eyes. “did you sleep?” you asked despite the answer being obvious.

“someone had to make sure you didn’t choke on your vomit and i didn’t want to tell mags.” lest you disappoint another person. is what he was nice enough to omit.

you weren’t fast enough with thanking him and he left you alone with the myriad of thoughts you just wanted to ignore.

—

“i know what you’re doing.” it was mags.

you turned around to face her—had just finished being interviewed by a loser in an extravagant suit, and felt like a loser, dressed in a blue frilly dress. you kind of looked like a loser too, one late for tea time.

“i don’t know what you mean.”

mags sighed and shook her head lightly. “it’s honourable but he’ll hate you for it.”

you shrug. you don’t care, your mind is more than made up, and has been since you heard his name called alongside your own. “if he’s alive to hate i’m okay with that. you know there can only be one winner.”

mags knew more than most. “i won’t tell him. don’t worry.”

“Tell him,” you made her promise, “that i’m sorry. you know, tributes are vicious but the capitol is worse. keep an eye on him for me please?”

“of course.”

—

then you trained.

“come help,” he called. finnick was practising tying knots, all which he was excellent at. “sure,” you said, allowing him to interrupt your people-watching. you were worried about the careers but figured that together you and finnick could handle them. they were adults but… most of the others were. it was fine, would be fine.

“think you should try something else? you’re pretty good at this.”

finnick laughed and you tucked the sound away in your mind. “thanks, but you? You’re not.” He gestured to the mess of rope on your end before scooting closer. his hands overtop yours, he moved them and showed you the right way to do what you had been failing at. “and there’s no way you’re telling me to train something else. have you even picked up a weapon?”

you shrugged. “i’ve just been watching. i know how to shoot a bow and use knives, i get either of those and i’ll be just fine. a few days of preparation with either won’t change much. i've used them since i could walk, y’know?”

“i just want us to be prepared.” he said.

you smiled and stood, you held his hands and pulled him up with you. “the arena’s usually have tridents, right? you’re great with those.”

and he was. you didn’t care about impressing the judges but finnick did so effortlessly.

“we’ll stick together in the arena, right?” you blurted once the two of you were alone and resting.

“until the end,” he said with a sad smile.

then, almost out of nowhere, his smile brightened. “sleepover?”

that was something you did a lot. Sleepovers under the stars, in your bed, on your father’s boat. it was your thing and somehow the idea of one last sleepover was enough to make everything okay, even just for a little while.

you crawled into the big bed the capitol provided, finnick at your side. you pulled up a blanket at the same time he pulled you into him. he held tight. so tight, for a second you forgot to breath. it meant so much. so, so much. your back was pressed against his chest and his arms were around you–hours later, you were grateful he was such a heavy sleeper. finnick was warm and safe. he was home. you were thankful he was a heavy sleeper because otherwise the way you shook as wet trailed down your cheeks would’ve woke him.

–

finnick’s knots came in handy. you stuck to higher ground, perching in trees and climbing cliffs, and managed to booby trap most of the area around us. after tributes were caught in a net finnick made, you would take turns finishing them off. you, who’d been preparing to kill since your name was called, went first.

a teen who killed without issue was concerning but so was a civilization that made their people fight to the death for glory and entertainment so what could you do?

you killed the first one with an arrow—having got both the weapons you wanted, and finnick took the second, ending a thirty year old man who had more muscles than brains with a trident that had been gifted to him by a sponsor.

two days later and you both were still kicking. In the final four.

you knew what had to be done. your plan only solidified when the other two–also allied, found you. the fight was fast. finnick went up against the remaining tribute from district ten and you fought against the tribute from district two

you were uncomfortable with the distance between the two of you. you both had stuck together like glue the entire time and now fighting and separated? you hated it. if something– “shit,” the man swung the axe and you barely threw yourself out of the way in time. you list some hair and some skin off your shoulder but nothing you really needed. the axe buried itself in the ground behind you and before your opponent could yank it back you struck. you buried a dagger in his stomach and twisted it. his hands found your throat and black dotted your vision but you kept slicing and he went limp.

you rolled the man off of you and immediately ran to help finnick.

another minute and his opponent was dead. you was down a dagger but one was enough. you smiled so wide my cheeks hurt and flung yourself into finnick’s arms. he hugged you hesitantly at first–like he was wary of you. like he expected you to bury a dagger into his back. you would never. besides, your last one was… occupied. “we did it, finn. we did it.”

“only one of us can win…”

you pulled back. both of your hands–both shaky, both covered in blood, cupped his cheeks. “i know, i know. it’s okay. you did… you did great.”

“what? y/n what are you–what do you mean?”

your legs picked that moment to give out. you dropped, knees slamming into the rock. still, you wore that lazy smile. you were losing blood quick and lots of it. you saw the drone that recorded everything begin to inch closer, zooming in as terror finally flooded finnick’s face. he fell to his knees beside you. “no, no, no, no.” his hands pressed on either side of the dagger you had yet to pull out. “what did you do?” his voice broke and his eyes glistened with moisture. you wanted to wipe them away. it was okay. it would be okay. you made sure of it.

“i helped you win...” you assured.

finnick pushed harder on your stomach and you sobbed. he pulled his shirt and pressed it around the blade. pushed again. “finnick. finn, no,” you told him—pleaded with him. you moved your hands… wanted to move his but was too weak. “you didn’t–this isn’t helping. ” he shook his head and more tears fell. “why? you can’t leave me. friends forever, remember? what about that?”

“you-you’ll be okay.”

“not after this. not without you.” agony, finnick was in agony. an ugly sound tore it’s way out of his chest. you couldn’t leave him, not like this.

“c’mere,” you begged. he did, how could he argue with you now? the damage, the irreversible damage, had been done. you pulled his head closer to yours as he choked on more tears. the capitol had taken many things from both of you—and you decided that they could have your life, your future, your finn (you hated that most, but at least he would get to live. get to have his shot at happiness) but they couldn’t have your last words. those… well, they were only for him. “i love you finn. focus… on that.”

“no. no! focus on me, on my eyes—dammit, don’t close yours. no, no, no.”

then your eyes closed again for the last time. he called your name over an over like a prayer, one that went unanswered. but you tried, you swear you did… you just couldn’t get them open again. not as finnick sobbed, not as he stood up and faced the drone. “help her!” he cried, “help her dammit!”

“kill me instead, take me instead. i’ll die, i will! just bring her back, help her! you can’t—you can’t do this!” he begged and when that didn’t work he screamed at the cameras, cursing the capital until the footage stopped being streamed.

when your heart stopped, he refused to let go. clinging to your corpse, to his best friend, he hugged you for the last time.

finnick had won, but he didn’t feel like a winner.

[jarofstyles]

FICTOBER DAY 11- Smile

FICTOBER Prompts/Masterlist

Patreon

1.3k

Warnings- incubus/succubus, smut, threesome mention/ sex w other people mention, mmf/ffm mention, demons, blood, halloween etc

“It’s never a good thing when you smile like that…” Y/N whispered as she tugged her partner’s arm towards her, eyes narrowed in humorous speculation as she watched his smirk grow. The club was dark and foggy from that god awful fog machine the hired DJ had brought, the scents mixing in the room making her want to plug her nose. 

Halloween made it much easier for them to be their authentic selves. Harry and Y/N often had to hide their eyes, curtain them with human presenting ones when they went out to search for trouble. Tonight, Halloween night, had to be the best of the year. Mischief and sex, costumes galore, sin city personified. Their black eyes were assumed contacts, Y/N’s sharp black nails dragging over the front of Harry’s chest. A short black skirt barely covered her thighs and a lacy black corset top was doing little to hide her swirls of black markings down her neck and back. Harry’s were slightly more hidden, but his form always got attention. It’s what made them so good at what they did. 

Succubus and Incubus. 

“It’s a good thing you love to be bad, isn’t it my love?”

Y/N chuckled, trailing her fingers up his bare skin and catching his jaw, nails digging into the skin as she turned it back towards him. “What’s the point of wearing a shirt if you’re barely going to button it, hm?” She squeezed his face, her own saucy smile rising on her lips. “Who’s caught your eye, darling? Someone pretty that we can feed on?” Her eyes met his, reading that he had done exactly that. 

When they normally went on the prowl, they’d take their time- but it was like a buffet tonight. People ready and willing, eyeing both of them up. They were made for pure sexual attraction, humans being drawn to them like a magic spell as their energy infiltrated a space. To be chosen by both of them? The human would have stories for days. Being in a threesome with two of the best looking people they’d ever seen, bragging rights for days. They wouldn’t miss the blood that either of them took, nor would they mind their sexual energy being feasted on. For humans, it was a magical experience. No loss, no hurt, only one of the most pleasurable and euphoric experiences of their lives. The haze would follow them for days and they’d feel their touches for weeks on end, but it wasn’t harmful. Wistful, perhaps.

 The only drawback? No one would ever compare. 

They’d search the world for a human who’s cock was able to press right into that spot like Harry’s had, someone’s tongue that swirled around their most sensitive bit the way Y/N’s did, desperate for a taste of either of them, but they wouldn’t. Not unless they came about another of their kind. 

Their routine varied, as Harry claimed that ‘Variety is the spice of the afterlife’. Sometimes her chose, sometimes she did. It wasn’t like there was a lack of interested participants who approached them either. But Halloween was a night that all sorts of guidelines were lifted, and their rule for only having one encounter a day was lifted. With the ability to keep the spread of diseases, they didn’t have to wait to leave from one club to another, working on their third now. The high was lifting them up, their first two playmates safely tucked in cabs to get back home and surely sleeping off the exhaustion they had given them. 

“Show me, H. I chose last time, so it’s your turn now.” She watched his eyes flutter shut as she dragged her nails back down his throat to rest at his chest, a subtle growl leaving his throat. He loved pain, loved her nails, and his one and only soul mate. The sex with others was fun and games, a way to provide energy, but his real lifeforce was loving his sweet goddess. No one would ever compare to her, to the way she made him feel both inside and out of the bedroom. 

There was a difference between fucking for fun and for their needs, versus the love they made to one another. Their lovemaking varied between soft, soppy morning sex to bloody, rough, primal sex. There was no doubting what they preferred, and it was always each other. His arm wrapped around her waist, swinging her swiftly in front of him as he dipped his face to press cheek to cheek. “The one in the little devil costume.” He murmured, brushing his cock against her ass. “We did an angel earlier, but I’d like to see what the little devil has in store. Bet it’ll be a lot of fun, don’t you think?” He brushed his lips against her cheek, pecking it lightly. “Messy girl. Still have a bit of blood on you.” Swiftly, his tongue licked against the corner of her lips and hummed before tightening his grip on her. “We’re only halfway through the night. Already getting messy for me?” He clicked his tongue at her, feeling her eye roll despite knowing her arousal was at the top. 

“It’s the one day we can be. I can get blood all over my outfit and no one will blink an eye, think m’just a sexy creature.” She laughed, turning in his strong arms to peer up at him. “You know how much I love a mess, but you’re worse than me, aren’t you?” Her thumb was gentle now, brushing his bottom lip. It was still swollen and some of her lipstick stained them a cherry red, enhancing his pale skin even more. His clean shaven jaw was sharp as a tack and his white teeth tried to nip at the pad of her thumb playfully, but she was too quick. Her man was too handsome for his own good. “Mm… I know you love to bury your tongue in holes, any of them, and get all wet.” She had seen it firsthand just 30 minutes ago, the woman writhing under them as Y/N sat pretty on her face and watched Harry lose himself in the taste of their new friend.  “I can still smell that girl on you. She was a fun one, wasn’t she? Had to revoke those wings as soon as you touched her.” She purred, wrapping an arm over his neck. “And you love when they choke on your cock. The other boy I chose did such a nice job taking you into his throat, hm? Amazed him a little with how much you can cum… All over his face, and his ass too.  So don’t tease when you’re just as bad as me.” Her voice floated to him, making him groan. His cock was against her tummy this time, perpetually hard and her words only made it worse. “And if you want to take care of the hard time you’re currently having, throbbing against me, you better go pick up our playmate and bring them back to me.” Her hand slipped rom his neck, dow between them and cupping his erection. 

His cock was her favorite and alway would be. Perfectly thick and curved, she’d never met a person who didn’t like it, but to her it was perfection. Her prized possession. Having a soulbond with someone who pressed right where she needed, that filled her up to the brim and fucked her good enough to have her growling was all she needed.  Leaning up, her lips pressed against his own with a soft ‘pop’ as she pulled away, not getting too carried away yet. “Go on, pretty boy. Since you know how much I love to be bad… get us a slice of our trouble for the night. We’ve got so many more friends to meet.”

[popjunkie42]

The Thief and the Rake: Chapter 9

Read on AO3

Chapter 9: We Can't Make Any Promises

The morning after, Feyre takes a calm and relaxing breakfast in the gardens.

Thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher for the beta read!

Snippet below the cut!

Feyre told herself to be calm.

The collection of early risers, herself included only because of Nesta’s insistence she not be left alone, had gathered for breakfast in the gardens. The heat had broken last night and retreated back to a mild spring morning. The smell of fresh grass and blossoming flowers filled the space in between the lavish buffet set out before them.

Families and couples mingled and wandered, with small tables set out in clusters. Segregating everyone into small parties of six or ten. Meaning choosing one’s social group, and dodging subtle (and not so subtle) rejections was the social game of the morning.

She had never quite been so thankful for the Grand Duke, who, spotting them across the lawn, gave an easy smile and waved them over to his empty spot at the edge of the gathering.

Feyre spent every moment scanning the crowd.

Would he come to her?

Would he stay far, far away?

Feyre sipped her tea, scalding her tongue, to stop her spinning thoughts.

Not a single thought had been free of him since she had slipped out the window last night. She thought of him as she reluctantly bathed him from her skin before settling to bed. And when she woke, it was to the memory of his dark eyes as he watched her face as he worked his fingers in her.

She wondered if he had lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, a mess like she was.

All she could feel was his lips on her skin. The hot breath against her ear, the deep rumble of his voice in his chest.

The breathless, reverent way he had whispered her name against her neck.

Feyre.

“Feyre are you cold? Should we go back to the room to fetch your shawl?”

Jolting back into the moment, Feyre took a minute to smile at Elain and scan the crowd again for dark hair and violet eyes. “No, Elain, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You look a bit -”

“I’m just a little tired from all the festivities. Maybe I’ll take some more tea.”

She stood abruptly and ignored Nesta and Elain’s stares as she walked through the growing throngs of breakfast goers.

Surely, they could all see it on her. God, it was all over her face, and her body. Though she had checked her throat multiple times that morning for bites or marks and found nothing, she couldn’t understand how the searing feeling of him against her skin wasn’t plain for all to see.

Ridiculous. She was being ridiculous.

He was a rake, known far and wide for his proclivities. He was probably courting a Grand Duchess. She might not even be the only woman he was sleeping with at this party.

Whatever this burgeoning…obsession was, she had to get it under control.

Even if last night had been - well, it had been –

Feyre paused on the way to tea to hide behind a tree at the edge of the crowd and bury her head in her hands.

She was not a virgin, although she worked hard to hide that fact from her father and sisters. They could never, ever know. Even if she puzzled at the shame of it.

Left mostly on her own from age eight, she had learned plenty about the conjugal act from her best teacher: nature in the wild and on the farms in the run down village. She had learned even more from the old widows and the one boisterous tavern wench who deigned to speak to her when she came to town to trade.

But when she and the local farmer’s son Isaac had tumbled into his father’s barn, it felt anything but sinful or unnatural.

Still, it had been nothing like last night. Nothing like the Viscount and his clever hands and the pleasure he pulled from her like a virtuoso with his chosen instrument.

“Are you in need of an escort, Miss Feyre?”

Feyre’s heart stopped as she turned to the voice behind her that she had been dreaming of all morning and all night.

The Viscount Sterling stood behind her, as regal as ever in black and linen. Her eyes scanned over his familiar form - the silky hair that had been beneath her fingers, the high cheekbones, the golden skin, those piercing eyes. The plush lips that had been all over her.

His mouth downturned into a small frown.

He was magnificent, not that she would ever admit that to him. Beautiful and refined in a way she hadn’t known possible.

And last night, he had been hers.

A fleeting connection, she was sure. One she needed to start getting over now.

“I - I was just on my way for tea,” she said, trying not to blush.

“Allow me, then.” He offered his arm.

They walked back into the sunlight of early morning, across the grass and into the crowd of breakfast-goers, some chatting merrily and others still recovering from the late hour of the ball.

He kept his voice low, as they were surrounded by fine folk mingling and eating and no doubt gossiping already at their conversation. “Is your father here this morning?”

“No. He was feeling ill and is still in our rooms.”

The frown continued to deepen on his face. “The three of you are often alone.”

“Are we alone if there are three sisters? We’re fine, Nesta is determined to keep us out of trouble.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible when it comes to you”

Feet stopped short and they looked at each other, the truth trembling between them.

The frown deepened. “Miss Feyre, I feel that I need to apologize.”

Feyre’s heart froze in her chest. It was a mistake, a defeated voice whispered inside her mind. He regrets it. He regrets you.

Part of her couldn’t believe him - about to shatter her to pieces here in the middle of breakfast with all of London society to witness.

Breathe, just breathe. Her mind was already harried by her sleepless night, and the frenzy he’d worked her into. So much so that she barely noticed how unruffled he was - tongue-tied, his eyes darting around nervously. He removed his hat, running a gloved hand through his hair, a lock of it falling onto his forehead as he dropped his gaze to the ground.

“I should have had more control last night. I was angry and…jealous, and I let things get out of hand.” Brows furrowed, she tried to parse through his words while steeling herself. “If I was truly a gentleman as I claimed, I would go to your father immediately and ask for your hand. But I’m afraid I’ve fallen quite short of that title, and I am not in a position to marry you, Feyre.”

“Marry me?”

A delirious giggle escaped from her lips before she could clamp her hand over her mouth. Oh, this was going terribly. Something manic inside her was about to escape. A few breakfasting couples glanced their way, curious.

The Viscount took her by the elbow, lips pursed, and gently guided her to an unoccupied spot by the garden hedges.

“That’s not usually the reaction one expects at a marriage proposal.”

Feyre huffed. “Was that a proposal? Forgive me, lord, it sounded like a threat, instead of a question requiring an answer.”

“Don’t you think we should marry after last night?”

A picture flickered before her eyes. Cold, half-empty mansions, social calls and boring afternoons indoors, endless balls and dinners and curtseys and heavy jewelry around her neck like a noose.

And the Viscount…yes he was handsome, and had money enough beyond the Archeron’s dreams, but his arrogance, his pride, his strange reliance on the Duchess…not to mention she would be Viscountess, locked in a manor her entire life, not just a reluctant guest but a host to endless dinner parties. Meant to birth heirs and embroider sweet scenes on little pillows. No more charcoal-stained fingers or the smell of canvas.

No. Absolutely not.

She ground her teeth. “Maybe if you actually ask me, then you’ll find your answer.”

“Feyre –”

She was angry, and humiliated, the feelings swirling together and growing inside her. “What do you want, my lord? You say you should marry me, but you cannot? Do you want me to talk you into it? To shed a tear? Are you here looking for absolution?”

He dragged a hand through his hair again. “I - I don’t know.”

Feyre clenched her fists open and closed, scrambling for her thoughts. He seemed reticent enough - was this an act he had perfected with all the ladies he lay with - too cowardly for outright rejection, instead some concocted story about his mysterious inability to marry?

“Do you want to marry me, Rhysand?” His eyes shot up to her at the use of his name. Mouth parted open, gaping like a fish.

She supposed that was answer enough.

“Feyre, you know what we did. You know the expectations…”

“No one knows what happened last night but the two of us.”

“And God.”

She bit her tongue, to stop from rolling her eyes. “And it should stay that way, Rhysand. Unless you can’t keep your mouth shut. I promise you that I can.”

He looked annoyed again, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“I didn’t want to take advantage of you. I don’t want to…make things difficult for you.”

Far, far too late for that.

Feyre felt the sting of his rejection. He had his fun, maybe after too much wine himself, and now he regretted it all, would cast her off with a sad-eyed apology. Already she began to worry about finding a new salary, she’d have to make some new connections, risk making deals on the ballroom floor again…

And find some way to rid her mind of all these memories.

Lost in her silence, he kept going “I’m sorry -”

“Please, stop. I’m not asking for your apology. You didn’t…deflower me, if that’s your concern, sir. And I certainly knew your reputation before I joined you in that sitting room. I assure you, I did not go into that room with you looking for a husband. So do not feel any sense of obligation on my behalf.”

Something had gone cold in his eyes. “So you’re saying it was my reputation that threw you into my arms?” Feyre clenched her fist in frustration. She remembered being dragged, but if he wanted to split hairs –

“I’m saying I went into that room and got exactly what I wanted from you.”

“And what was that?”

“A distraction, I suppose.”

The Viscount blinked once. Rolled his neck and then placed his tophat back on his head.

“I see. Then forgive my error. I appear to have nothing to concern myself with here.”

She huffed. Something fragile crumbling in her chest. Unable to stop the pour of her anger out of her. “That’s right. If you’re apologizing then consider it accepted. If you regret it then don’t worry, we can never speak of it again. Now please excuse me, I need to get back to my sisters.”

Feyre stormed off the best she could across the soft lawn of grass, trying to outrun her embarrassment.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

[euphoricfilter]

For the Drabble game! “They smiled at each other, lost in their own world.” with Yoongi!! Smut and Fluff for the tags but if you think the other tags fit better the others look fun too!! Thank you💜💜I love your workkkk!!! 💜💜💜

in the silence of the studio:

pairing: producer! yoongi x f. reader

genre: fluff || smut || established relationship || non-idol au

summary: no one ever seems to bring up why you and yoongi always disappear during the company’s release parties.

word count: 1.1k

tags/ warnings: fluff, smut in the forms of: fingering, studio sex, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid), a singular slap to her pussy, creampie, cum play, implied cockwarming

notes: prompt from the drabble game <3 i've never written such short smut before.. :')

drabble masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

They smiled at each other, lost in their own world; sea of people long forgotten as Yoongi’s arm slips around your waist, your hand falling onto his shoulder as your bodies sway, hearts in sync. Music far from slow, some fast-paced disco beat of a song he’d heard playing on the radio. Something easy to drown out when he’s got you all dolled up in front of him.

The prettiest little dress he’s bought for you, probably an anniversary, glittery eyes that shone in flickering spotlights and pretty pink lips that he finds himself leaning forward to kiss each time you open your mouth to say something.

Neither you, nor Yoongi had ever been very fond of the listening parties that his company hosted. Your boyfriend merely showing up out of politeness while you stay to show your support of his career. It was no secret that his parents had been sceptical of his dream, and that’s why you made it a point to make sure that no matter which road he decided to wander in this life, you’d always walk beside him.

No one ever seemed to notice how the two of you would slink out of the room after greeting as many familiar faces as you could find, how neither of you stayed long enough to hear the thank yous for coming, or the buffet to be laid out pretty like a feast on a table in the far corner. Hard to wait for the celebrated artist to make their speech when hands get impatient, teasing in places they shouldn’t with so many witnesses. Beady eyes that could easily fall in your direction, greeted by the sight of rose dusted cheeks and kiss swollen lips.

The lights often become a blur of colours, vibrance reflected in glassy eyes, low base vibrating down your spine as hands grope bare skin, and nails rake stark red marks under thin shirts or naked thighs. Where doors are swung open and lips mould together as the elevator makes its ascent to the top floor of the company. Hallway empty except the two of you.

Neither of you seem to have any shame, honey like moans dripping off your tongue when Yoongi’s hands slip up your skirt, teasing lacy underwear as your fingers tangle into his hair. His tongue laving over your neck, teeth nipping at sweet spots and kissing over red skin; something a little primal purring in his chest at the fact everyone knows you’re with him.

His to claim, his to mark.

Both of you fumble with the password to his studio, distracted by the pleasure that thrums through your bodies as your hand slips down the waist of his slacks, and Yoongi’s fingers brush over your panty covered clit.

You bounce when you fall back onto the couch, skirt of your dress hiked up around your waist as Yoongi unzips his pants, hands desperate to hold onto your skin; grab your hips, or the meat of your thighs, perhaps sink his teeth into your plush skin.  

You kick your panties off as he shucks his own clothes somewhere on the studio floor.

“God, you’re so pretty, you know that?” he murmurs, lips pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, working his way over your stomach.

“You do tell me quite often” you whisper, fingers skimming over his happy trail, your boyfriend’s body lurching forward when delicate fingers wrap around his cock, pearly bead of pre-cum slipping down his length as his arms cage your head.

“Fucking tease”

“Sorry” you giggle, balancing on one your elbows, pressing a sweet kiss to his jaw as you continue to languidly stroke his length.

Your thighs clamp shut as his fingers tease over your wet folds, thumb running your arousal over your clit.

Your mouth falls open into a silent moan as he slips his index finger past your walls, a pitiful dribble of slick following his sudden intrusion.

Your hips buck upwards in time with his thrusts as Yoongi’s hips kick forward into your loose fist.

“Another” you whine, free hand tangling into his hair, rough as you bring him down for a wet kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, sodden mixture of your saliva coating your chins shiny.

A second finger slips into you, and Yoongi groans as you clamp around him, unrelenting as he thrusts knuckle-deep inside of you; ever the tease as he brushes over that little patch inside of you that has your thighs shaking.

“Fuck me, Yoongs, please”

“Yeah?” he curls his fingers, and you whine when he pulls them out of you, your own hand pulling away from his cock.

You hear the wet slap before you feel it, stinging pleasure making your thighs twitch; thick pleasure causing another wave of arousal to dribble out of your pussy when Yoongi places a mean slap over your clit.

“Please” you beg, hips rutting upwards in search for any sort of relief.

“My pretty thing” he croons, hand wrapping around the base of his cock as he lines himself up with your entrance, “I love you”

“I love you too” you look up at him through your lashes, wet with unshed tears that he kisses away—gentle as he presses the head of his cock into you.

Unashamed, you let out a breathy moan, Yoongi grunting as his hips rock forward; his hands pulling your ankles over his shoulders, your knees knocking your tits as he bends forwards, hips jerking enough that he bottoms out inside of you.

“Move please” your hands hold the backs of your knees, cunt squeezing his length.

With the walls of his studio soundproofed, neither of you have any shame as he starts to rut into you, harmony of moans filling the silence of the studio.

“Play with yourself for me, baby”

Your hands slip between sweat slicked bodies, fingers dipping into the creamy essence that clings onto Yoongi’s cock each time he pulls out of you, slicking your clit up before you’re drawing tight circles.

“Gonna cum” you warn Yoongi, hips rutting upwards to meet his own.

“Cum with me, pretty”

You feel the peak of your high, hiccup of a moan swallowed by Yoongi’s lips as you tip over the edge, cunt clenching sporadically around his cock as it twitches between your walls, thick wave of his seed coating your insides creamy.

“So good” he grunts, softening cock pulled out to the tip before he’s pushing back into you, concoction of your orgasms clinging onto his length.

You whine in bordering oversensitivity as he thrusts back into you, making sure his cum stays snug between your walls, as far into you as possible.

The air is punched from your lungs when Yoongi falls over your chest, chin hooked over your shoulder.

“I love you so much, you know that?” he tells you.

“I know. You like to remind me” you run a hand through his hair, damp with sweat, “I love you too, you know?”

He huffs a laugh, “I know” and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your cheeks as he presses a featherlight kiss to your bare shoulder.

💫 thank you for reading! and feedback is always encouraged

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

[choiwonder]

mark is such a liar that song is not abt cooking eggs why does he do this

[nb-octopus-writes]

once you're in the hive, the other bees assume you're supposed to be there

[masterpost]

Chapter 9: Come for the Bike, Stay for the Game Night

wordcount: 3.5K

~~~~~

An indeterminable amount of time later, after they’ve watched multiple episodes, Lemony Snicket’s expository monologue is once more interrupted by the theater door slamming open.

“I come bearing booze and board games!” Remus announces at roughly the volume of an explosion, or perhaps a fire truck’s siren. “Turn off the television and come socialize.”

“C’mon, Remus, we’re at a good part,” Roman complains without looking in his direction.

“It’ll still be there tomorrow,” Remus says, coming into the room. He doesn’t turn the lights up or anything though, just heads toward them. “Your favoritest twinsie, however, might not be, and the alcohol certainly won’t.”

“Mleh,” Roman says, sticking his tongue out at said twin.

“Also, if you aren’t there to stop me, I’m going to eat all of whatever dessert Patton made and not leave you any!” Remus announces cheerfully. He takes Roman’s right armrest and folds it up into the back of the seat so that there’s nothing separating them when Remus plops down beside him and stretches out across Roman’s lap.

“Rude,” Roman complains, drawing the word out in a playful manner. “Mean to me, specifically.” He pats Remus on the head, then begins to run his fingers through his hair. Remus goes boneless and gives off the impression that if he could, he’d be purring. Loud, obnoxious, chainsaw purrs.

“You’re a menace,” Roman tells him affectionately. Remus hums and doesn’t move.

He continues to not move for the rest of the episode, other than to become an even more boneless puddle under Roman’s absent scritching. Well. And once to grab Roman’s hand and bring it back to his scalp when Roman makes the mistake of trying to gesture excitedly at the screen with it while commenting on the characters’ antics.

When the episode concludes, Roman gives Remus a couple of pats. “Well, shall we go up and see everyone else, or have you trapped me here forever?” he asks.

Remus answers with an indistinct mumble that doesn’t sound like he wants to get up. Roman chuckles and continues to stroke his hair for a few moments longer, then puts his hand on Remus’s shoulder and rolls him off his lap.

Remus lands on the floor with a thump. “Oww,” he whines, sitting up. He sounds more petulant than injured, though, and considering that Remus is quite capable of being an immovable deadweight when he wants to be, Virgil doesn’t think he’s probably actually very upset about being dumped on the floor, or he wouldn’t have let it happen. Still, he pouts up at Roman. “Rude,” he complains.

Roman appears to be of the same opinion as Virgil, because he just stands up and stretches, popping in multiple places. “Okay, let’s go upstairs then,” he says.

Virgil gets up too, which draws Remus’s gaze. “Oh hey!” he says with a grin. “I didn’t see you there, Tickle-Me-Emo. You been here since the party?”

“No, I went home,” Virgil says, shrugging. He folds himself into his hoodie a bit more. “A couple times, actually.”

Remus’s grin widens. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

Virgil shrugs again. “What can I say? They keep enticing me back.”

“Patton’s seducing him with food,” Roman jokes to Remus, who nods seriously.

“It’s like a fairy hill in here,” he says. “One bite of Patton’s magically delicious cooking, and you’re stuck forever.”

“That’s how he got me,” Roman agrees, and starts to herd them toward the door.

“You might have warned me,” Virgil says.

“You were already elbow-deep in the buffet when I first saw you,” Roman answers, though Virgil had been speaking to Remus, considering that Remus was the one who had brought him to the party in the first place.

Remus slings his arm around Virgil. “Aw, it’s not so bad, being kidnapped by the fae,” he says. “They’ll keep feeding you, and sure, they throw more parties than you personally enjoy, but at least they won’t make you dance till your feet fall off for their own amusement, so there’s that.”

“Thanks, Remus, that’s very comforting,” Virgil says dryly. 

Remus gives him a squeeze. “Anytime!”

Upstairs, they find not only Janus, Logan, and Patton, but also Remy, who brightens when he sees them.

“Hey babes,” he greets enthusiastically. “Here you are, I missed you, it's been ages.”

“You saw me yesterday,” Virgil reminds him.

“That was a whole day ago,” Remy says, “and we barely got to chat, so it hardly counts.”

“I am not responsible for your terrible timing,” Virgil informs him. Remy had shown up during one of their busiest times, of course they hadn't been able to exchange more than a few words.

“You guys didn't peek, did you?” Remus says, brushing past them in the direction of the kitchen.

“No, Remus, your mysterious parcel has remained undisturbed,” Janus responds dryly, with just a bit of sarcasm on the mysterious. Remus is already gone, and doesn't respond.

“Oh,” Logan says abruptly, and gestures between Janus and Virgil. “I almost forgot, are the two of you acquainted?”

Virgil exchanges a glance with his best friend's husband, whose lips twitch minutely. “We've met, yes,” Janus answers coolly. “How are you, Virgil? Staying out of trouble? I don't believe I've seen you since the party.”

“I'm good,” Virgil says with a thumbs-up. “You?”

Janus inclines his head. “I am doing well, thank you.”

Remus returns then, carrying a large unmarked paper bag. He sets it on the table with a heavy glass-sounding thunk, and shimmies his shoulders excitedly. “Show and tell time!”

“Considering that you announced the contents of that bag the moment you walked in the door, I fail to see the purpose of this procedure,” Logan says as Remus reaches into the bag and extracts another, considerably smaller, paper bag, which he puts down with another glassy thunk.

“The purpose is that you don't know the specifics,” Remus says, pulling a second small bag out. He sets it beside the first one. “Also, I enjoy being dramatic as fuck, and this is as good an opportunity as any.”

“Very well,” Logan says, amused. “Proceed.”

“I will,” Remus says, and continues his self-appointed task. There are five bags in all, of varying sizes, and he lines them up in no particular order. “Okay! Who wants to go first? Logie?”

“Sure,” says Logan. “Why not.” He takes the center bag and opens it, drawing out the square glass bottle it contains. “Vodka,” he announces, setting it back on the table.

“Ooh,” Patton says. “I think we have pineapple juice in the pantry. We should get it and mix them, that's real good.”

“Me next!” Roman says eagerly, and grabs one of the taller bags before anyone can stop him. “Oh, it's a funky shape!” He pulls the bottle out and examines it delightedly. “It's all twisty, I love that.”

“Yeah!” Remus says, wiggling more energetically. “Isn't it just a gorgeous bottle!?”

“Yeah!!”

“What’s in it?” Logan asks.

“Hm?” Roman says, and turns the bottle to find the label. “Oh, it’s whiskey,” he says, and resumes his admiration of the spiral-shaped bottle.

Logan sighs. “I assume that you will be wanting to keep it as decoration.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Roman agrees.

“Only if I don't manage to take it home first,” Remus says. “Remy, you wanna go next?”

Remy considers the remaining bags, then selects the one which is square in shape all the way up, rather than folding in around its contents. This, it turns out, is because its contents are inside a cardboard display box.

“Is that a giant chocolate truffle?” Virgil asks, leaning in. The bottle is round, and wrapped in gold foil.

“Looks like,” Remy says. He tilts the box back to read the label. “Chocolate cream. So, yes.”

“It also comes with its own cup!” Remus adds. “Very fancy!” Indeed, in the top half of the box is a spherical cup nearly the size of the bottle. Remy starts unpackaging it.

“Can I pick next?” Patton asks, and actually waits for their nods before he takes one of the remaining two bags and opens it. This alcohol is much darker than the others, almost black. “Kuh…” Patton reads. “Kahlúa?”

“Coffee liqueur!” Remus says. “It's made of coffee, or maybe meant to go in coffee, I'm not sure. Got it cause we were gonna pick up Remy next, and he likes coffee, so I thought he might like this.”

“Aw, I'm touched,” Remy says. “I do enjoy the occasional spiked coffee.”

“Okay, one bag left!” Remus says. “Who wants to open it?”

“Would you like to?” Janus offers to Virgil. “I’ve already seen it.”

Remus gasps dramatically. “You peeked!? Janus, you promised.”

Janus raises one eyebrow. “I watched you pick it out,” he says, and slides the bag across the table to Virgil. “In fact, I believe you used my card to pay for it.”

The final alcohol is a red wine with a stylized picture of raspberries on the label. Reading the word directly underneath them, Virgil thinks he knows why this bottle in particular caught Remus's eye. “Loganberry wine,” he says.

Logan leans forward. “Color me intrigued,” he says, and extends his hand in a silent request. Virgil passes him the bottle.

Remus bounces, grinning widely. “I’m gonna get the cups,” he announces, spinning on his heel and dashing back into the kitchen. Patton gets up and follows him at a more reasonable pace.

Remus rushes back in with a double handful of glassware, plonks them hastily onto the table, and whirls around again. In the doorway, he nearly collides with Patton, who is returning with the pineapple juice and a jug of milk. “Oops!” Remus says. He grabs Patton by the hips, and spins them both around to trade places. Patton giggles a little, stumbling a bit as he’s spun, but doesn’t fall or drop anything.

“Would you like help,” Janus offers, already getting up to assist.

After multiple trips back and forth, what they have on the table is this: the spherical cup that had come with the chocolate liqueur, five goblets of various shapes and sizes, one of which is made of green glass and decorated with the raised images of curling grape vines, several shot glasses of the larger variety, one of those triangular martini glasses, a large mug that Virgil’s pretty sure is intended for drinking beer from, a plastic cup with a cartoon butterfly on the side and a sillystraw, two short, squat cups, and a tall narrow vessel that Virgil isn’t convinced isn’t actually a vase.

For drinks, they have the alcohol Remus had brought, the pineapple juice, milk, a bottle of sparkling cider, orange juice, and cans of sprite, ginger ale, and dr. pepper. Also, a jar of maraschino cherries. Patton has also located both cocktail swords and tiny umbrella toothpicks, and is busily opening up several of the latter and placing them around the rim of the beer mug. Logan, meanwhile, retrieves a package of crackers and a stack of small plates, and begins to portion them out.

“Ooh, cheese too,” Roman says, and goes to get it. He brings back a whole block, along with a knife and a cutting board, and starts to cut it up. Once he has a decently sized pile of cheese slices, he takes two of the crackers and makes a sandwich, which he devours cheerfully and messily.

Virgil’s not sure how to extricate himself from what is clearly rapidly approaching Getting Drunk Together. It’s one thing to only serve himself from the Non-Spiked punch bowl and avoid the other one, but if they actually pour him a glass, how does he politely turn it down? He does not have a good social script for this. Maybe he should just leave? Leaving before they open the alcohol would probably work. Though of course then he has to find an opening to tell them he's going to go home now, and hope they don't get offended by him spurning the social intoxication.

“Did you clear out the whole cabinet, Remus?” Remy asks, eyeing the eclectic collection of drinkware, which Remus is now shuffling around into a very particular configuration that Virgil doesn't see the underlying logic to.

“No, there’s some left,” Remus says distractedly. “Why, I forget your favorite shape?”

Remy hums thoughtfully. “Weeell,” he drawls, “I might like a coffee cup. Also, coffee.”

Remus squints at him. “Didn’t we get you some on the way over?”

Remy shrugs. “Oh, that’s long gone. I finished it while you were downstairs.”

“I’ll start some brewing,” Patton offers.

Remy smiles at him. “Thanks, babes, I’d appreciate that,” he says, and as Patton circles around him to get to the kitchen, Remy gives him a quick pat on the butt.

“Scamp,” Patton says, and ruffles Remy’s hair.

“In front of my salad?” Roman gasps. Remy sticks his tongue out at him playfully, and Patton giggles, vanishing into the kitchen.

“Before we begin drinking, is anyone intending to drive home tonight, or have any other reason to wish to remain sober?” Logan asks. Oh thank God. Virgil raises his hand. Logan nods seriously at him. “Noted,” he says, and doesn’t even ask for more details. “The cider is non-alcoholic, as of course are the juice and soda.”

“Ooh, we can make you a mocktail!” Remus chimes in. He appears to be satisfied with his arrangement of the glasses, at least for now. “Do you want a Virgin Mary? It’s like a Bloody Mary, but instead of vodka we use ginger ale. I will need tomato juice, worcestershire sauce, olives–”

Virgil cuts him off firmly. “No thank you, Remus.” He does not want to drink the weirdest tomato soup, even if it is a widely recognized beverage. 

“Okay,” Remus says with a nonchalant shrug. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

Virgil is not going to change his mind. Even without the alcohol, that sounds gross. Who even likes drinking tomato juice, anyway? And worcestershire sauce!? No. No thank you, no.

“How bout a Shirley Temple?” Roman suggests, reaching across the table to grab the maraschino cherries. He pops the lid off and reaches into the jar with two fingers to fish around for a cherry.

“Hey, no,” scolds Patton, which startles Virgil because he hadn't seen him come back from the kitchen. “Have you washed your hands? No? Then fingers out of the jar.” 

Roman pouts, but retracts his fingers. “Well then how else am I supposed to get one out?” he asks.

“You could use a spoon, or perhaps one of the toothpicks.” Patton hands him one of the swords. “Here.”

“If you intend to make a shirley temple, you may wish to use a spoon anyway,” Logan says, as Roman impales a cherry on his tiny plastic sword. “We do not currently have grenadine, so you will need to make the version where you substitute cherry juice.”

“Fair enough,” Roman says, and pops the cherry into his mouth. With the hilt of the sword sticking out from between his lips, he wanders off in the direction of the kitchen, presumably to fetch a spoon.

“What's in a shirley temple?” Virgil asks, because it seems that Roman is pretty intent on making him one, and if he needs to stop him it'd be better to do it before ingredients are actually getting mixed.

“It is mostly soda,” Logan tells him. “Traditionally ginger ale or ginger beer, though you can substitute either sprite or seven-up—or could, except that we do not have the latter. Then grenadine, here substituted with cherry juice, and garnished also with a maraschino cherry.”

That doesn't sound too bad. A little weird, maybe, but he's willing to do the experiment. “Okay,” Virgil says.

Roman returns with a spoon and makes Virgil the sprite-and-cherry-juice variation of a shirley temple in the martini glass. “Here you go!” he says cheerfully, sliding it over to Virgil.

Virgil eyes it suspiciously for a few moments, then takes a cautious sip. Yeah, okay, not bad. “Thanks,” he says, and Roman beams.

“You're welcome!” he says, and pours the rest of the can of sprite into one of the goblets to make himself a matching drink. “So, Remus, you mentioned board games?”

Remus perks up. “Yeah!” he says, and rushes off. He returns with a game box, which he slams down onto the table hard enough to make the glassware rattle. “Look what we found!”

Patton leans in to look. “Parcheesi?”

“Six-player parcheesi!” Remus corrects. “You know, since we can never all fit around a normal ’cheesy board.” He glances over at Virgil, then Remy, and adds, “Unfortunately we still can't all play, since there's seven of us now. So, oops, we're gonna need to find an even bigger game board for next time.”

“I was not aware there existed six-player parcheesi,” Logan says. “How does it differ from the typical four-player setup?”

“It's a hexagon,” Remus says, opening the box. He takes the board out and unfolds it for them to see. “Also, gay.”

By which he clearly means the fact that the six colors the game makers used for the six players are the colors of the rainbow, though they're not in rainbow order.

“Dibs on red,” Roman says quickly.

The pieces are currently separated into little baggies, and Remus digs through the pile for the red ones. “Here you go, little red foxes,” he says, tossing them to Roman.

“Ooh, they're animals?” Patton asks.

“Yep! I bet I know which one you want,” Remus says, and passes him the orange packet. “Oh, or wait, blue is frogs. Do you want orange cats or blue frogs?”

“Oh!” Patton says, brow furrowing. “Oh, that's a hard choice.” Remus passes him blue as well, and Patton takes one of each color out, deliberating between them.

“I'm surprised the frogs aren't green,” Logan says.

“Nope, green is turtles,” Remus says, tossing them over and almost hitting Logan in the face. “And bananacondas for you, dear,” he adds, handing Janus a packet of coiled yellow snakes.

“I think the frogs are cuter,” Patton decides finally.

“Can I have the cats, then?” Remy asks, and Patton passes them to him.

“Then that leaves Virgil with the purple octopussies,” Remus says. He tries to hand them to Virgil, who doesn't take them.

“Wait, what about you, don't you want to play?” Virgil asks.

Remus grins. “Oh, don't you worry, I have an idea,” he says, pressing the octopods into Virgil's hand. “Patton, I am going to raid your craft supplies.”

“Oh! Okay,” Patton says, sounding surprised, and Remus runs off with no further explanation. “Don't make a mess!” Patton calls after him.

“I have never played parcheesi before,” Virgil admits.

“I believe that is your cue for nerdy exposition,” Roman says without looking up from where he is lining his foxes up in front of him, and Logan nods and adjusts his glasses.

“The objective is to move all your pawns from their starting location—” He places one finger on the purple diamond in one corner of the board— “to here.” With his other hand, he points to the purple segment of the hexagon at the center of the board. “To do so, you progress along this outer path based on your dice rolls.”

Logan continues to explain the rules, about movement and blockades and knocking other pawns back and rolling doubles and special cases. It's kind of a lot, but Virgil thinks he can probably manage a game if they're willing to re-explain things as they come up. Especially the special cases. There seem to be a lot of those.

“And of course, whoever gets all six of their pawns to Home first wins,” Logan concludes just as Remus returns.

“Ta-da!” Remus announces, dumping a colorful handful of fancy buttons onto the board.

There's a pause. Then, Logan says, “Explain.”

Remus grins. “I will be playing as the Nest Parasite,” he says, and begins to rearrange his buttons. There are six of them, one in each color of the rainbow, and Remus slides them each over to the corresponding starting diamond. “I'm on a team with everyone, but also no-one.” He shrugs a little. “Basically, it's like I get to control one of each of your pieces. If we're the same color, we can team up for blockades, but I owe no allegiance to anyone, and I'll absolutely take you out with my other pieces if I get a chance.”

“Any chance to sow chaos,” Virgil surmises, and Remus grins and wiggles.

“That sounds like an acceptable adjustment to the rules,” Logan says. “Any objections?”

No-one appears to have any, so Logan says, “Alright. Let's get the board set up and roll to see who goes first.”

[stuffing-seattle]

Bunni’s Stuffing pt. 1

Bunni was nervous, and he saw this as she squirmed in the passenger seat. “What is it, baby?” He asked her. She pouted because she didn’t know exactly how to put it into words. She was nervous, but the good kind of nervous. Excited nervous, the way you get when you are in line for a roller coaster. “I asked you a question.” He said, a color of sharp discipline in his voice. “I don’t know where you are taking me, Daddy.” This was. A half-truth. She knew what she had done, and was sure they were on the way for him to deliver punishment. “Do you remember Daddy’s lunch in the fridge?”

“No.” She fibbed. He scoffed. “I bet you are it too fast to remember.” He scolded, eyeing her swollen tummy peaking out from her character-themed tank top. Bunni blushed and tried to pull the top further down to hide her belly, but it was no use. Even on an empty tummy, her naval now sat exposed by the shirt, and the rabbit that had once adjourned the chest looked more like a panda bear, due to the stretching. “Whether you remember or not,” Daddy’s words cut into her thoughts like a knife. “I had to go to work with no lunch yesterday. That must mean I’m not feeding you enough, so I wanted to make sure you got your fill.” There was a sadistic edge to his voice, and Bunni gulped as they pulled into the parking lot of the towns cheapest all-you-can-eat buffet.

As they stepped out of the car, he got to drink in her full figure. When they had first met she was a petite little thing. Rail-thin and no tits or ass to speak of. Bunni was a glutton for punishment though, and always found excuse after excuse to act up. Her Daddy, of course had to discipline her, and his constant discipline was apparent for the whole world to see now. Her Daddy’s dominance sat around her waist in a a beach ball sized slab of fat. Her thighs had pudged up and her tits and ass had simply exploded from the results of her bad behavior. This was evidenced by her ass cheeks comfortably hanging halfway out of her many-sized too small shorts, and the fact that her tits looked like a popped can of Pillsbury grands in virtually any top shelf wore.he had to restrain himself from bending her over in that parking lot and putting a baby in her right then and there. *Patience* He told himself. *That part comes later*

She could feel the stares of the other patrons as they entered the buffet. White hot shame rushed to her cheeks as she knew they were all thinking what a pig she was. An equally white hot sensation travelled from her over-plump belly and in between her thighs. God she couldn’t wait for her punishment. “Sit down.” Daddy commanded. She obeyed. “Now, you are going to sit here and eat every single plate I bring you. Hear me? Every. Single. One.” Bunni smirked at him, trying not to betray the fact that she was absolutely sopping wet under the table just at his words. “And what if I don’t?” She asked smugly. He didn’t answer. He only left to collect plates. Fuck. He didn’t take the bait. She knew that meant he was serious and not here to play games.

Daddy was not gone long, but even so, Bunni’s belly began to gurgle and groan. She laid a hand on her belly and tried to shush it. Just then, Daddy returned. He had a plate of every cut of fried chicken, three slices of pizza, and a half rack of ribs. “I heard your greedy belly gurgling from across the restaurant.” He teased. “This should be a good start.” She gulped at the word *start* but dutifully dug in to begin her meal.

She tore through the chicken like an animal, and finished off the pizzas in short order. It was only by the time reached the ribs that she began to slow down. Already her mouth was covered in grease, and the ghosts of fullness were beginning to press at her belly, though it still did not show through all her extra padding. “You need a bib little girl.” Daddy said to her. She stuck her tongue out at him. “Not too full to be sassy, I see. Well then I’m off for round two. I expect those ribs to be finished off by the time I get back.”

“Finish those ribs before I get back.” She mocked. She saw a twinge of annoyance in Daddy’s eyes, but still he said nothing and left to other more food. As soon as he was gone she dropped the act and rubbed her full tummy. He was going to absolutely destroy her later, and she just hoped she was able to cash the check that her smart ass kept writing.

Either way she got back to work and went at the ribs. Daddy had not gotten her any utensils, almost certainly as another small punishment. So he gnawed at the ribs, getting barbecue sauce and chunks of meat all over her mouth and dripping onto her ample chest. She had just taken her last bite when Daddy returned with her second round of food. This time a mountain of mashed potatoes, a roll of sushi, and two hamburgers with fries. As if reading her mind, he also brought with him two tall glasses of soda. “This is it?” She smiled weakly. “Not by a long shot baby girl. Now dig in.”

She tried not to let on how much that comment both shook her and made her legs quiver. Instead she drowned her feelings in the closest glass of soda. In less than ten seconds, she had guzzled down the drink. Lost for a moment in the ecstasy of the stuffing, and basking in her bloated belly, she forgot where she was for a moment. *BWWWOOOORRRRPPP* Bunni opened her eyes in horror as she realized that the whole restaurant had gone silent and everyone was looking at her with quizzical expressions. She apologized meekly, and Daddy smirked at her.

“You really want this whole restaurant to know how much of a hopeless pig you are, don’t you?” He said. She blushed even harder and the fire forming in her belly was getting harder to ignore. “Why don’t you go get my next course and make yourself useful?” She snapped in a bratty tone. “Hope your eyes aren’t bigger than your stomach he said ominously, as he sauntered off to find more food. Finally she was alone with her food. She tucked in and lost herself to the pleasure and pain of stuffing her gut. Was this the mashed potatoes? The sushi? She was eating too fast to taste and it tasted too good to care. Before Daddy returned she had crammed every last bite of food into her overgrown tummy and polished off her soda to boot. She reclined back in her chair and groaned, this time managing to stifle a second burp. Her belly groaned and burbled audibly. It was as tight as a drum and she couldn’t even put a hand on it to soothe it without it sending a painful quiver through her midsection. Fuck, she had over done it so bad. And she had asked for another helping, what was she thinking? She was done for. As these thoughts swirled through her almost comatose mind, Daddy returned.

When he returned it was with two large slices of cake and a small mountain of ice cream. Bunni whimpered audibly at the thought of having to stuff it all inside her. She might really blow up. “You’ve been such a good girl for me, I thought you could use dessert.” Daddy said. Bunni still sat slumped in the booth and weakly opened her mouth, but all she could muster was a sick “Ooorrrp”. Daddy could see that she was slipping into a food coma, and for a moment wondered if he had gone too far. He had one way to check. “I’m very proud of you, baby girl, you’ve been doing so so good. Can you finish all of this for Daddy?” Jesus he knew how to push her buttons. The praise managed to short circuit her brain, and the pain in her belly seemed to melt away. She sat up as straight as her belly would allow, and began to dig in. Daddy could see that it was taking all her concentration to keep the food down, so he just watched, enraptured by her gluttony. She finished off the ice cream and the first slice of cake. But once the time came for the final slice, it seemed as if Bunni’s hands were filled with lead. She couldn’t even bring herself to pick them up. She moaned which transformed into a burp halfway through.

“I can’t do it, Daddy.” She whined, tears welling up in her eyes. “You have to.” Daddy said gently. “You’ve been misbehaving too much lately, and it wouldn’t exactly be a punishment if it was pleasant would it.”

“Please my tummy’s gonna *uuuurrrp* pop.” She begged. Daddy was unwavering. “You have to finish baby girl. That was the deal. But I’ll help you finish this last piece.” He picked up the last slice of cake and held it in front of her mouth. Bunni clamped it tightly shut. “Open.” Daddy commanded. Bunni shook her head even as her cheeks ballooned out from another burp trying to force its way out. “Open or I’ll make you open.” He repeated. Once again, Bunni shook her head. “Fine.” Said Daddy. “But I tried to warn you.”

Daddy took his free hand and layed it on top of Bunni’s massively swollen tummy. Usually, it looked like a wad of raw pizza dough hanging around her waist, rather formless and blob like, but still sticking out. At this point though, it looked and felt as if she had swallowed a bowling ball. She could be mistaken for being 8 months pregnant from the stretch marks that were already starting to form near her back. She was so tightly packed with food, that the skin around her naval was beginning to turn pink even through her dark skin from all the pressure. This belly was a bomb just waiting to blow. So Daddy did what he had to do.

He placed his hand over her belly button, and gave it a jiggle. So many feelings washed over Bunni at the same moment. The disturbance of her belly caused a massive air bubble to come loose and travel up her throat. The feeling of Daddy’s hand on her bare skin after all this teasing with the food and his words felt like bolts of lightening traveling directly from her belly to her pussy. The monstrous burp that erupted from her caused her a sort of sexy embarrassment that she was only half-conscious of due to her almost comatose state. As soon as the burp was done, Daddy shoved the last piece of cake fully into her mouth, and the way it felt expanding in her throat felt like a cock. As it traveled down she could physically feel the cake stretch and warp her tummy, finding any last available space left. Each swallow that landed in her gut she could trace where it was coming to lie in her horribly overpacked tummy.

All of these feeling combined were simply too much for her little food-impaired brain to handle and she had one of the largest orgasms of her life. There were several earth shattering contractions of her cunt. The first one soaked her panties. The second one soaked her shorts. The third one left her dripping and drooling into the tile floor below them. It was a good thing she had cake shoved down her throat or she would have let out an ear piercing scream.

Daddy saw Bunni quivering and shaking and was at first afraid she was having a seizure, until he heard the splashing on the floor, and smelled the unmistakable smell of her cum. He looked under the table at the small puddle forming below her and looked back at her in awe.

She was beautiful. Her mouth and tits were absolutely smeared in food. It looked as if she had been hit with a water gun of icecream and sauces. Her belly was taut and red, and visibly quivered under the excessive pressure it was holding. Even to Daddy, across the table, it audibly gurgled and groaned in an angry way. Bunni’s pants were ruined. Somewhere in the mayhem her button had popped off, and her belly had surged forward, pushing the zipper down. On top of that, her pants were soaked and she looked like she had pissed herself.

“Are you ok?” Daddy whispered, legitimately concerned. Bunni was slumped in the back of the booth, eyes glazed over, looking at nothing in particularly, and her mouth hanging limply open. All she could muster was a tiny “Burrrrrrrp,” that sounded like air being let out of a tire. “We gotta get you out of here, baby girl.” Said Daddy.

He stood up and put one of Bunni’s arms around his shoulder. He hefted her to her feet, and the jostling elicited a roar from her belly, and a barrage of burps from Bunni. Luckily they had been there so long that they were the only two left in the place other than the employees, who were doing all they could to give the noisy couple a wide berth. Daddy helped Bunni waddle her way to the car, her one free hand trying in vain to rub and soothe her churning belly. Once Daddy had her strapped in he said, “You did so good today baby, I’m proud of you.” He gave her stuffed gut a small pat. “BRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!” Bunni moaned after the explosive release of gas Daddy had dislodged barreled out of her throat. “I just hope you are ready for the rest of your punishment at home.”

Bunni looked at him, horrified. “What?” Said Daddy. “You didn’t think I’d let you off that easy did you? After all the back talk you gave me today? And basically shouting out to the whole restaurant what a slutty pig you are?” Daddy scoffed. “No one came to the buffet today to see a whale beach themselves, but they got a show anyway.” Bunni could only rub her poor overworked tummy and try to keep everything where it was. She hoped her next punishment wouldn’t be too severe.

[baxteravenue]

Can You Shoot & Score?

PART ONE.

Summary: You don't listen to Jack Harlow but because your friend is seeing his best friend you find yourself at his concert and at the center of his attention.

A/N: This is a three parter, so stay tuned!

“You’re coming,” Your roommate practically begs, “Y/N please for me! I literally never ask you to go anywhere and I’m literally on my knees.”

“I don’t even listen to him, besides that one song.” You shake your head, “And I don’t know if I can be the best wing woman.”

Jack Harlow is in town and for the past few months on and off your roommate has been messaging with his best friend or photographer… you’re not really sure but you do remember his name because of how random it was. Urban.

“I will literally play Animal Crossing with you for an entire month, please! Just the show and the club after and you will get me to fully dive into the game you’ve been wanting me to play for the longest.”

“Way to make me sound boring.” You stick out your tongue.

“So?”

It’s silent for a bit before you eventually melt, “Fine. But I’m wearing what I want to wear.” 

Nina, your roomie practically jumps up and down in a fit of glee. “Yay and fine! You could literally wear a trash bag and still look hot.”

So that’s how you ended up being escorted from the box office all the way to the backstage area, backstage passes plastered on both you and Nina. 

It’s awkward at first when you walk into a room crowded with girls wearing full on club outfits, you slowly begin to feel self conscious with your choice of clothing. Your trusty pair of Levi’s and a random black mesh tank. You slowly lean into Nina, “Did not know we were going to a Fashion Nova runway show.”

Nina giggles, “You look beautiful.”

You recognize Urban first, Nina had shown you his instagram first. He completely disregards all the girls lingering and walks up to Nina with a huge smile on his face and a cherry wrapped joint behind his ear. 

He hugs her tightly and you smile, you can’t hear what he says but she smiles and he gives her the blunt. 

“This is Y/N, Y/N this is Urban.” Urban smiles, and for a second you see his eyes dart behind you wiggling his eyebrows a bit before snapping back.

“S’nice to meet you, did you need anything? We got some drinks over there and some chicken sandwiches and oh shit do you smoke? I got Neens her favorite but I completely forgot to ask if you had any preferences.”

You melt at Urban’s nickname for Nina and shake your head, “Thank you but no. I don’t smoke, I get paranoid and I’m not a big fan of alcohol.”

“Respect.” Urban nods, “What about a chicken sandwich?”

“Sure.” You shrug. 

Urban leads you over to a whole buffet, constantly looking over your shoulder. “Help yourself to anything,” Glance, “Literally anything.” Glance, “Give me a second I’ll be right back.” 

Urban leaves and you look down, giggling at the Jack Harlowified wraps of the KFC chicken sandwiches. 

“It’s funny huh?” An unfamiliar voice says from beside you. 

You look up and then back at the wrapper and then back up, “They kinda did you dirty, you look like the unabomber.” You immediately cover your mouth with your hand, “I didn’t”

“Holy shit.” He laughs, “Okay, wow.”

“I didn’t mean to actually say that out loud.” You can feel your cheeks getting red.

“It’s fine,” He smiles looking back down at the rapper before laughing, “Shit you’re kinda right.” 

You shake your head, “M’sorry I’m just gonna eat my chicken sandwich in the corner and stay quiet.”

“Wait no!” Jack says a little too eagerly for his liking, “Nah it’s cool… What's your name again?”

“I never said it, It’s Y/N.” 

“Y/N…” Jack tests the name on his lips, “I like that name. It’s a nice name.”

“Thanks, I like the name Jack too. It reminds me of how obsessed I was with Jack Skellington from The Nightmare Before Christmas, so much that I had my parents buy me this onesie costume and I wore it almost every day for the entire month of April which is like an insanely random month to develop a hyperfixation on that and sometimes I ask myself like why not October or like even December? But then again I did watch Stand By Me over and over again from November to…” You immediately stop realizing how many words are coming out of your mouth, “Sorry.”

Jack has the cheesiest smile, loving every single word that’s coming out of your mouth. “No please continue, I was just going to say how I watched Save The Last Dance secretly every night for two months straight, I swore I was gonna pop out at my seventh grade winter formal like no other.”

You throw your head back in a fit of laughter, “I kid you not I used to stand in front of the T.V. and try and mimic every single one of Moose’s dance scenes from Step Up.”

“And how did that go? Can you move like him?” 

You snort laughing, “Oh hell no. I have no rhythm. I was doomed from the start and I think if I remember correctly I dislocated a bone.”

Jack can’t stop laughing with you and neither can you. Everyone sees how deep the two of you are in conversation, laughs coming out every few seconds. Urban, all of Jack’s friends, and Nina are smiling watching from a distance. Meanwhile every other girl who had hope of a shot frowns with disappointment and jealousy.

You’re telling Jack about how you used to play basketball in high school when his eyes light up. 

“Wait for reals, you used to play? You can shoot?” Jack has an up to no good look on his face.

“It’s been a while but I think so, I’m not the tallest but I have a good arm.” You shrug.

Jack nods, “Alright… alright. You’re gonna be watching from the side stage or were you gonna be in the crowd?”

You look over at Nina who’s staring at you already along with everyone else. You give her a confused look before turning back to Jack, “Uhm it’s honestly up to Nina, I came with her so…”

He nods as someone tells him he’s on in five.

“I hope you enjoy the show.” Jack gives you a wink, “And I really hope you can shoot.”

You don’t know what he means but before you can even ask you both are being dragged in different directions. Jack to his spot on stage and you to side stage to watch with Nina and Urban.

You’ve never really listened to his music but you find yourself enjoying the music. You laugh as he interacts with the crowd.

“We even got a basket up here and… a ball! Who thinks they can make it?”

The arena immediately roars in cheers, Jack laughs looking at all the raised hands. “Alright. Alright. There's no way y'all can all make it. Hmmm, you!” He points at a girl right at the front, “You think you can? Alright c’mon.  And you my boy in the middle you got it? Alright let's go. And mmm alright you look like you got the spirit you come up too!”

It’s sad to see all of the fans miss, but regardless they look happy that they were even up there getting to be near Jack.

You giggle as he nicely kicks the fans off joking about their lack of baskets before looking around, “You know I think I have another person who said they can shoot… Y/N, you wanna give it a try?”

Your eyes widen as the light moves to you, Jack pulling at your arm. “C’mon I need one person to make it. Everyone Y/N said she’s got it like that!”

The crowd cheers.

You shake your head, “What? No!”

“C’mon Y/N don’t make us go out sad!” Jack pouts at you, before turning back to the crowd, “Unless she doesn’t got it like that then I get it. She doesn't want to embarrass herself.”

“Embarrass myself?” Suddenly you don’t care that you’re stepping on a huge stage in front of almost 16,000 people. You grab the ball from Jack’s arms, “No one’s gonna embarrass themselves.” 

“Oooh she got the ball! Let’s see if she makes it?” Jack taunts you to the crowd. 

Oh you were gonna make it, best believe that. Suddenly you were back in your high school prime ready to make a free throw and within second it swishes into the basket graceful as fuck and you cant help but let out a small scream jumping up and down. You were never great with pressure, but it was nice to know you still had it.

You feel your feet lift off the floor as Jack picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder screaming. “Let’s goooooo!”

You cannot stop laughing as he runs all over the stage, before gently placing you down at the side of the stage. “Man everyone give it up for Y/N! She redeemed yall!” Jack tucks the mic behind him, “You’re too fucking good, I think I’m obsessed with you.”

He doesn’t even give you time to respond before he’s running back to the center of the stage getting into the next song.

Your mouth is open slightly in shock and a bit of confusion. 

“Oh, he likes you bad girl.” Nina smirks.

[heartfullofleeches]

Who's the best at giving head out of your ocs?

Liu. I'm not even just being a simp anymore. Ok I am, but A their tongue is highly sensitive B there's two of them and they're really long. There's also that thing about them being able to split open their cheeks thinking about sticking it in from the side makes me absolutely weak

Orion has the most skill but he's using his hand mouth so that's kinda cheating

C.C and Baron go at it like starving man at a buffet. C.C has more game than his big brother and piercings. The aphrodisiac in his spit can be transferred through this type of contact as well

Calliope has zero idea what to do when she actually gets down there, but she will use all the skills she learn from watching videos for "research" and not let you up until cum at least twice on her tongue. Hopefully that's before she passes out as she begs you to choke her with your thighs

The crown of best head giver out of our strictly human yans is Spencer. For the cows it's Peach. Cafe Hybrid.... Honey

Host is also has multiple tongue. As many as you desire.

As with their dicks, D.kay can change their tongue to your liking. I miss D.kay. Lemon and Lime are also good but who cares about them

[cuffmeinblack]

Azkaban. A fortress to hold the foulest of wizardkind, meant to keep us safe from their wrath. Yet for all we know of Azkaban, there is much more that remains hidden—a deep well of corruption rooted in government to hide the true horrors of the prison and its nightmarish keepers. Garreth Weasley is the first prisoner to walk free from its walls in centuries. As he tries to pick up his life from where he left off, he soon realises that his imprisonment has reshaped the man he once was. Battered and broken, he draws on the strength of a friend to right the wrongs he's suffered. In matters of justice and those of the heart, will truth finally out?

Garreth Weasley x f!OC (Adanna Egwe)

Tags: explicit | friends to lovers | dark themes | trauma

Prologue

Garreth took a tentative step towards his salvation, one foot in front of the other on quaking legs. They shook with fear, both inflicted and for what awaited him outside the towering stone walls. Malnourishment had set in months ago, withering his muscles and the spritely step he once held. Gone was the layer of healthy fat from years of Hogwarts’ delicious fare, and long had faded the glow of his skin, leaving only a palid complexion and freckles that looked more grey than golden. He didn't know this, of course—Azkaban didn't have mirrors, or bathrooms for that matter, only buckets and hard walls and harder floors—but he felt it in his bones and the way the woman now looked at him.

The first person to see him after the long nine months was not his mother, father or various siblings—it was a Ministry worker, unnamed and uncaring. The stout woman looked at him blandly without so much as a sympathetic nod, her lip curling faintly in what looked like disgust. Didn't she know? He was innocent! Garreth supposed she might not be privy to the details, assumed he'd been released on some technicality. A murderer walking free deserved no sympathy, no kindness. She kept her distance and waved him forward, the blazing white of her deer patronus keeping the foul creatures that had tormented him at bay. The cloaked figures of his nightmares lashed out, displeased to be losing their sustenance, only to be buffeted away by the powerful magic. The closer he walked towards her, the lighter he felt. A heavy blanket of despair was gradually peeled away and memories seeped through the edges. Smiles, laughter, a kiss, the smell of apple pie and the freshness of Spring. And then the air shimmered as he entered the deer's embrace, emotions he thought long buried flooded back in one great tidal wave that almost knocked him flat on his back. He remembered hope, once a constant companion that had been suffocated within a few weeks of entering the great fortress behind him.

“Steady, now.” The woman watched him stumble but made no attempt to help him. Garreth thought she moved to offer a steadying hand, instead it plunged into her pocket. He stood within arm's length of her now, could see every line of her face and the hint of warmth in her eyes that she didn't offer to Garreth. He felt suddenly self-conscious—a rarity for him—as he became more aware of his unwashed hair and filthy nails. He must have smelled vile. So distracted with his own dismal appearance, he almost missed her hand hovering between them. Atop her palm, a square of chocolate sat. He could smell the rich aroma permeating the damp and salty sea air, and he salivated. “Take it. It will take the edge off.” She jerked her head towards the dementors still straining against the patronus’ shield. “The portkey leaves in thirty seconds.”

Garreth took the chocolate and shoved it in his mouth with little decorum, savouring the rich cocoa as it melted on his tongue and coated his mouth. He'd not tasted anything so delectable, though he knew it was likely the cheapest the Ministry could source. A far cry from the gruel that had barely kept him alive. The woman bent to pick up what Garreth assumed was his ticket out of this hellhole—a small gold pocketwatch of which the hands twitched back and forth with no progress. The time read one o’clock or thereabouts, yet judging by the stormy grey sky and waning light, Garreth put it closer to six. He was pretty sure it was now Autumn, though there were no trees with their copper hued leaves to confirm his suspicions. All he saw now was grey rock, grey sky and turbulent waves, all desaturated as if the dementors were not only capable of sucking the happiness from the landscape but the colour too.

“Ten seconds.”

Garreth placed his hand over the pocketwatch and the woman clasped him firmly, the cold metal warming between their palms. She herself was warm, her skin soft against his own calloused and clammy fingers. With a jolt, Garreth realised that this was the first human contact he'd had since entering the prison all that time ago. The last had been his mother desperately reaching for him as he was dragged by chains from the courtroom deep below the Ministry. She'd stroked his cheek and told him not to worry before he slipped into darkness, her tear-streaked face etched into memory.

“Five, four, three, two…”

On one, Garreth felt a pull behind his navel and he lurched forward with dizzying speed into the abyss, only to emerge and fall promptly to his knees. His bones hit cobblestones strewn with leaves and he doubled over, retching and gasping for air. Whilst his head swam, he heard voices, cries and screams. He thought this was a cruel trick, that he'd been taunted with the promise of freedom only to be deposited back in Azkaban for some sick amusement. They grew louder as the black spots cleared in his vision and he realised that they weren't cries of pain and hopeless wails—these were shouts of excitement, relief. They called his name and he managed to peer up into the sunset to find familiar faces crowding him. He was home at last, surrounded by countless copper manes and freckled grins, and two figures that hung back, different from the rest. Natty, he recognised by her flawless dark complexion and glittering smile, and the woman next to her by the way his heart leapt at the sight of her. She was here. She'd not forgotten.

He was barely aware of anything the woman from the Ministry was saying as hands pulled him inside the cottage and Charlotte—his dear little sister—was babbling on about such nonsense that Garreth couldn't help but laugh. The sound was strange to him and his voice was weak, so weak. His vocal chords seemed to struggle and creak like something old and long-abandoned, groaning back to life. “You're all here…,” he managed to say before a wave of exhaustion crashed into him.

“Give him some room. Charlotte, Hector, enough. He needs to rest. Oh welcome home, Garreth…”

Mum. She wrapped him up in his arms and he felt ten years old again. Here he was finally safe and loved, though almost inexplicably as if he didn't deserve it. His brother clutched an arm and helped him up the stairs that creaked less noticeably under his newly lithe form. More chocolate found its way into his hand, this square much silkier with chunks of honeycomb that stuck to his teeth. As soon as his head hit the pillow—his pillow—he drifted off to sleep and had his first nightmare-free slumber in months. He didn't dream at all, only surrendered to the sweet silence and infinite dark.