#its just a constant shooting star in my chest | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

masterofd1saster · 6 months

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CJ current events 30nov23

Maybe her parents freed Brittany?

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I don’t think Spears is being dishonest here. But I suspect Jamie and Lynne’s scrutiny of their daughter had more to do with their concern about her mental state than with her moral fiber. An irrational person is impossible to reason with. Attempts to do so can come across as antagonistic and hostile, when in reality it is just frustration and fear. I know this firsthand. Five years before Spears’ very public meltdown, I had my own spiral with amphetamines. Depressed and anxious, I binged on speed and became psychotic. I had to be hospitalized four times over the course of a year, my worried-sick family calling the shots. Between trips to the psych ward, I’d rapidly cycle from indignant to remorseful to euphoric. My frustrated mother felt helpless. In one telling section of the book, Spears writes of a night shortly after she got out of the hospital and began dating a paparazzo, Adnan Ghalib. They tore all over town with the press in constant pursuit. She describes a day they were driving near a cliff, when suddenly she “decided to pull a 360.” They nearly careered over the edge. “I felt so alive,” Spears writes. Ah, the euphoria of psychosis. Spears writes that if she had just been left alone, she knows she would have come out the other side, eventually. But reading her book, it’s clear there were times when she was a danger to herself and to others. And she writes more than once that she wondered if her family were actually “trying to kill” her. As imperfect as they are—and Spears’ book gives numerous examples of their errors—I don’t think they were ever homicidal, nor do I think it was rational for Spears to fear that they were. The French philosopher Michel Foucault, whom I hold responsible for the postmodern hellscape we find ourselves in, theorized that the state’s efforts to improve the health of its populations are not inspired by benevolence but rather by a desire to keep the workers working. To Foucault, even reason itself was ultimately about power; the state, he contended, justifies its own conception of reality by removing from society whomever it deems insane. “Reason,” he once said, “is what gives itself the right and the means to set aside madness.” Spears fans, and anyone else whose life perspective hinges upon tidy narratives about money-grubbing white men and the innocent women they exploit, will take the pop star at every outrageous word. Their belief systems require it. Otherwise, they’d have to acknowledge the gray area of this murky spectacle and consider the possibility that perhaps they’d gotten it all wrong. That perhaps Spears isn’t a victim of state overreach but instead a success story of state intervention. That maybe her family really does care about her well-being. At the end of the day, objective reality exists. People living in delusion cannot safely coexist with rational members of society. Sometimes family, friends, and yes, even the state need to step in. I shudder to think where I’d be if I’d refused rehabilitation and remained a stubborn, misunderstood victim. Nothing about the process was fun, but it did restore me to sanity. All of this is not to say that the conservatorship needed to last for as long as it did, nor in the manner that it did. Aspects of the legal arrangement were downright Orwellian. “I became a robot,” she writes. “I had been so infantilized that I was losing pieces of what made me feel like myself.” Talk about dehumanizing.***

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not self defense when you ambush the victim

The suspect in last week’s fatal shooting near the El Paso County courthouse in downtown Colorado Springs had been waiting outside for 20 minutes before he approached his victim and fired at least six times into his chest and head, according to witness accounts in an arrest affidavit. A witness reported they heard the suspect say “I told you I was going to get you” before shooting William Winters again, according to the affidavit. Winters, 28, was carrying a baby in a car seat when he was shot Thursday, Colorado Springs police said in the affidavit. Williams died at the scene, and the baby sustained some redness and bruising from being dropped, according to the affidavit. The suspect, Shaquille Brown, 19, is charged with first-degree murder in the killing. Police responded to the courthouse at 270 S. Tejon St. just after 10 a.m. Thursday to reports of a shooting and arrested Brown. Brown told detectives Winters assaulted him at a downtown Colorado Springs bar, Blondies, in April, and he said he shot Winters because Winters had since sent him threats by text and social media, according to the arrest affidavit. But Brown could not produce evidence of the threats, according to the affidavit.*** https://www.denverpost.com/2023/11/20/courthouse-shooting-el-paso-county-shaquille-brown-william-winters/

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Fly Eagles, fly!

PHILADELPHIA (CBS) -- A shooting in North Philadelphia has left two men dead and five others injured on Tuesday night, police said. The shooting happened in the area of 6th Street and Allegheny Avenue at around 8:30 p.m., according to police. Police said they found four men suffering from gunshot wounds nearby at the 3200 block of Fairhill Street. They were all taken to Temple University Hospital, where two of them were pronounced dead, police said. Another three shooting victims, all men, walked into separate hospitals. One man walked into Temple Hospital, another went to Episcopal Hospital and another man went to Jefferson Einstein Hospital, authorities said. The conditions of the other five men are unknown at this time. Police said they recovered at least five guns and drugs from the scene and at least 70 shots were fired. "This is a block that has had some narcotic activity," Interim Philadelphia Police Commissioner John Stanford said. "This isn't a block that we aren't familiar with. With that being said, I would say it's probably something connected to a narcotics trade but I'm not going to say that with 100% certainty." *** https://www.cbsnews.com/philadelphia/news/philadelphia-shooting-6th-street-allegheny-avenue-crime/

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***California's homeless crisis has exploded to something beyond an offensive eyesore to what the medieval would consider apocalyptic. Cases of typhus, tuberculosis, and the bubonic plague have emerged from the mini-metropolis of Skid Row, and homeless people are involved in some 15% of the city's violent crime despite comprising about 1% of the population. But the most devastating implication of the homeless crisis is the fire and brimstone brought to the city that is still fundamentally a desert. The overwhelming majority of the near-billion-dollar budget of the Los Angeles Fire Department is spent on homeless-related fires. LAFD estimated that four in five fires downtown and more than half citywide are caused by the homeless. Even the accidental fires emerging from homeless camps have wrought as much destruction as the cases of arson: Recall that the devastating Skirball fire of 2017 was caused by an illegal cooking fire at an encampment. And the "root cause," to borrow a phrase from a famous Californian, is only worsening in scope. California, which already contains about a third of the nation's homeless people, has seen its own homeless population increase by about 10% in the last year alone. While both Newsom and Bass have laudably enacted a series of zoning reforms to allow housing supply to meet the dire demand impelling the entire homeless crisis, the camps are evidence that they have not gone far enough.*** https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/opinion/los-angeles-freeway-fire-homeless-crisis-arson-emergency

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Edison Medicine

They don't always work.

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Please learn America - https://www.reddit.com/r/maybemaybemaybe/comments/182fz5t/maybe_maybe_maybe/ especially the last 5 sec

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Occam's Razor - when you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras

Plenty of crazy people driving way too fast.

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Political violence in US

(November 21, 2023 / JNS) Calla Mairead Walsh, 19, who is part of the boycott Israel movement in Boston and the antisemitic “Mapping Project,” was among three activists arrested on Tuesday in Merrimack, N.H. Walsh, 22-year-old Sophie Marika Ross and 27-year-old Bridget Irene Shergalis allegedly vandalized a building belonging to Israeli defense company Elbit Systems. They face riot, sabotage, criminal mischief, criminal trespass and disorderly conduct charges. After protesters, who had been blocking the road, dispersed and allowed police officers to pass, the officers found that anti-Israel activists had spray-painted the building red, smashed windows and put a lock on a door to the main lobby. Police arrested the three, who had gotten on the building roof, where smoke had been seen. Police reportedly found an “incendiary device” on one of the suspects, which was the sort of apparatus that matched the smoke coming off the roof. The roof was also reportedly vandalized, with windows broken and damage to the ventilation system.*** The New York Sun identified the 27-year-old Shergalis as the child Disney star.***

Kids of privilege.

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What a wonderful human to run a public school system

A senior Pentagon official was reportedly among the more than two dozen people arrested during a recent two-day human trafficking sting in Coweta County.

Stephen Francis Hovanic, 64, of Sharpsburg was arrested for pandering on Nov. 16.

Hovanic is reportedly a senior official with the Department of Defense Education Activity Americas division, which oversees elementary education for military families.

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DA out of control

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Good column on Free Speech v. Violence

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George Floyd case

Former officer Derek Chauvin's conviction and sentence were affirmed this summer. State v. Chauvin, 989 N.W.2d 1 (Minn. Ct. App. 2023). The Supreme Court refused to review his case on Nov. 20, 2023.

Case No. 23-416. The only issue he petitioned for review was jury prejudice.

He didn't have a good week -

Former Minneapolis Police officer Derek Chauvin was reportedly stabbed in prison by another inmate on Friday, resulting in serious injury.*** The Bureau of Prisons confirmed that an inmate was assaulted at Federal Correctional Institution, Tucson — a medium-security prison — at 12:30 p.m. on Friday. Responding employees at the prison “contained the incident and performed ‘life-saving measures'” before the inmate was transferred to a local hospital for further treatment and evaluation, the Associated Press reported Friday. The bureau did not name the inmate in the incident, but a source told the AP that Chauvin was the victim in the attack, adding that he was stabbed during the assault.*** https://www.dailywire.com/news/derek-chauvin-stabbed-in-prison-life-saving-measures-administered-report

*** after tues

BB -

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DC, of course

Car-related crimes have risen this year in Washington, D.C., with motor vehicle thefts rising by 93% compared to 2022, according to the Metropolitan Police Department. There have been at least 6,317 cars stolen in 2023 as of Monday, and at least 905 of those incidents are considered carjacking, which is a violent crime. Carjackings have doubled since last year, which saw more than 400 reported in November 2022. Carjacking is stealing a car by force, including when a driver or passenger is inside the car.*** https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/news/crime/car-thefts-risen-93-percent-washington-dc-2023

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Why aren't they in jail?

A little-known surveillance program tracks more than a trillion domestic phone records within the United States each year, according to a letter WIRED obtained that was sent by US senator Ron Wyden to the Department of Justice (DOJ) on Sunday, challenging the program’s legality. According to the letter, a surveillance program now known as Data Analytical Services (DAS) has for more than a decade allowed federal, state, and local law enforcement agencies to mine the details of Americans’ calls, analyzing the phone records of countless people who are not suspected of any crime, including victims. Using a technique known as chain analysis, the program targets not only those in direct phone contact with a criminal suspect but anyone with whom those individuals have been in contact as well. The DAS program, formerly known as Hemisphere, is run in coordination with the telecom giant AT&T, which captures and conducts analysis of US call records for law enforcement agencies, from local police and sheriffs’ departments to US customs offices and postal inspectors across the country, according to a White House memo reviewed by WIRED. Records show that the White House has provided more than $6 million to the program, which allows the targeting of the records of any calls that use AT&T’s infrastructure—a maze of routers and switches that crisscross the United States.*** https://www.wired.com/story/hemisphere-das-white-house-surveillance-trillions-us-call-records/

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47 USC §1004. Systems security and integrity A telecommunications carrier shall ensure that any interception of communications or access to call-identifying information effected within its switching premises can be activated only in accordance with a court order or other lawful authorization and with the affirmative intervention of an individual officer or employee of the carrier acting in accordance with regulations prescribed by the Commission. ( Pub. L. 103–414, title I, §105, Oct. 25, 1994, 108 Stat. 4283 .)

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She could have Casey Anthony babysit for her!

And why is she ever getting out?

Notorious South Carolina inmate Susan Smith reportedly told one of several suitors that she would make a "good stepmom" as her first parole hearing approaches in her life sentence for drowning her two boys. Smith, 52, also told her admirer on the recorded jailhouse phone call from Leath Correctional Institution last month that she "could see [herself] around kids," per transcripts obtained by The Messenger. "You'd be great, babe," responded the suitor, one of more than half a dozen corresponding with Smith, the outlet reported. Per South Carolina Department of Corrections records, Smith began her 29-year sentence on Nov. 4, 1994, after she was convicted on two counts of murder in the deaths of sons Michael Daniel Smith, 3, and Alexander Tyler Smith, 14 months. Initially, then-22-year-old Smith told investigators that a Black man had carjacked her while the two boys were still inside the car. ***

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Don't put that in your mouth; you don't know where it's been.

An Indiana ex-convict, who is prohibited from carrying a firearm, had a handgun hidden in his rectum when he was booked into jail and underwent a body scan and strip search. Christopher Boyd, 32, was a passenger riding in a vehicle that police pulled over in the city of Evansville on Monday at about 2 a.m. for an obscured license plate. The driver and a second passenger were released without charges after they were searched by police. But when officers patted down Boyd, they discovered "a small bag with multiple pills" in his right sock, according to a police report obtained by The Smoking Gun. Boyd claimed the pills were Percocets that he had received from his "Aunt Trish" to help with the pain from having a "bullet lodged in his spine."*** https://www.foxnews.com/us/indiana-man-found-handgun-hidden-his-rectum-after-being-taken-custody

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Who better to advise on sex education?

The Godley, Texas, school district removed a woman appointed to assist with deciding things like age-appropriate material for sex education after learning she was a convicted prostitute. FOX 4 Dallas-Forth Worth reported that the woman, identified as Ashley Ketcherside, also advertises online as an escort, with one site listing one of her personas as active last month.*** https://www.foxnews.com/us/texas-school-removes-convicted-prostitute-multiple-positions-including-oversight-sex-ed

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Good IJ news

One of IJ’s core beliefs is that the government can’t rely on irrational concerns to stop people from working—and irrational concerns include irrelevant criminal records. So, since 2018, IJ has been leading a campaign to ensure that people who have served their time can get back on their feet. Late this summer, our successes continued at a record clip. In less than three weeks, our “Fresh Start” practice scored three wins. The first victory was for Ifrah Yassin, a young woman aspiring to work at a group home for people with disabilities. Under Minnesota law, people with certain criminal records are banned from providing this kind of care. The thing is, Ifrah doesn’t have one of those records. She was arrested for robbery in 2013, but she hadn’t done anything wrong and was promptly released. She wasn’t even charged, let alone convicted. Even so, nearly a decade after the incident, the state decided that Ifrah had committed a robbery. This decision—made entirely outside the criminal justice system and based on evidence the state didn’t share—was all it took to earn a lifetime ban. Fortunately, IJ stepped in with a strongly worded letter (what we like to call a “nastygram”). The state quickly rescinded the lifelong ban it had so casually issued, and Ifrah is now free to get to work.*** https://ij.org/ll/three-weeks-three-wins-for-second-chances

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***Noah Petersen lives in Newton, Iowa. Noah, just like Sylvia, became concerned with an issue affecting his community. After the local police mistreated a resident, Noah wanted to voice those concerns. So he went to his city council. In small towns and big cities alike, city council meetings are the primary place where citizens can speak their minds to elected officials. Watch the case video! He spoke during the meeting’s public comment period, calmly reading from a prepared statement that criticized the mayor and the police chief. But rather than listen, the mayor interrupted him—and the police chief arrested and handcuffed Noah and took him to jail. The city then charged Noah for allegedly “disrupting a lawful assembly.” But respectfully voicing concerns in the appropriate forum isn’t “disruptive.” Everyone knows the real reason he was charged: Like Sylvia, he was being punished for daring to speak out against those in power. IJ and Noah have now filed a lawsuit to hold the mayor and police chief responsible for their retaliation. *** https://ij.org/ll/ijs-newest-first-amendment-retaliation-case

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Most beautiful lawyer case ever - Disciplinary Counsel v. Blakeslee, Slip Opinion No. 2023-Ohio-4202 (Nov. 29, 2023).

Per Curiam. {¶ 1} Respondent, Jack Allen Blakeslee, of Caldwell, Ohio, Attorney Registration No. 0001005, was admitted to the practice of law in Ohio in 1976. In a November 2022 complaint, relator, disciplinary counsel, charged Blakeslee with professional misconduct for throwing a feces-filled Pringles can into the parking lot of a victim-advocacy center involved in a capital-murder case in which Blakeslee was representing the defendant. Blakeslee waived a probable-cause determination and, in his answer, admitted many of relator’s factual allegations and the single alleged rule violation.*** we adopt the board’s finding of misconduct but suspend Blakeslee from the practice of law for one year with six months stayed on the condition that he engage in no further misconduct.***

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That's a cold shot baby, yeah, that's a drag.

https://www.gocomics.com/peanuts/2023/11/30

Steve Ray Vaughan FWIW.

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Carson, E.A. (Nov. 2023). Prisoners in 2022. BJS. is available at https://bjs.ojp.gov/document/p22st.pdf.

First increase in a decade.

The U.S. prison population was 1,230,100 at yearend 2022, a 2% increase from yearend 2021 (1,205,100). The number of females in state or federal prison increased almost 5% from yearend 2021 (83,700) to yearend 2022 (87,800).

0 notes

astrobot · 1 year

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Writing shitty, unedited short stories is fun, actually

Smashed against a wall with a fist to his chest wasn't exactly how Hiro was expecting to spend this night.

It was supposed to be an easy mission. There was a beast raging down town, and Valentine told him and Lana to take care of it. Unfortunately, downtown happens to be the only place the media really cares about in their shitstain of a city.

Caring enough to send in their finest, at least.

Star Storm was small, but god was she buff. She had him pinned with just one arm over his chest, inching dangerously to his throat. Her white cape bellowed behind her, pushed by what Hiro could only assume was some anime force beyond comprehension. That, or being a modern day demi-god had a side effect of expelling your strength in a constant ambience.

She hadn't said a word since she flung him around the decrepit building like a well-worn chew toy. She was staring at him with an intensity he almost didn't think possible, a thousand emotions pulling her face an expression of extreme grief, anger... And fear.

It was subtle but it was there. The shine in her eye, the warble in her painted lips, the small shake in her unbreakable stance. He probably wouldn't have even noticed if she wasn't so confusingly familiar to him. Her face was like a childhood dream, a hazy memory you just can't place. He knows her; actually knows her. He knows the monster in front of him, and whatever he does know about her makes the thought of calling her a monster surge bile into his throat.

They stayed like that for what felt like minutes. Two strangers who knew each other like a nostalgic smell; two enemies on either side of a battle. Two teenagers way out of their depth.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Shoot a meteor through my skull and be done with it. " his own voice surprised himself, but he was never one to be patient. That took Star Storm by surprise, her eyes widening in an achingly familiar look. Her eyes got wetter, she looked down at his feet; galaxy coloured hair covering most of her face.

"... I don't want to hurt you. " her voice was so small, considering the mortal weapon behind it.

Hiro raised a brow, "That didn't seem to matter much a few weeks ago," a venom crept its way into his voice. She flinched like she'd been hit. Good. Make her feel half of what she put him through; and ignore the part of his brain screaming at him to stop being cruel to her.

She didn't say anything for a moment, until she said softly, fainter than a whisper, "it was an accident."

"An accident that left my arm unusable"

She didn't respond; didn't even move. It was like she didn't hear him. Her grip softened, which Hiro took as an opportunity. He reached for the Gleam nestled in his chest, and surged its energy up towards his hand. In a flick of his wrist, writhing pink vines sprouted from cracked concrete, twisting and growing with a mind of its own. Star Storm looked up at the sudden noise, but Hiro willed his magic towards her; and the vines obeyed. His creations surged and wrapped around her torso, pinning her arms close to her side; limply dangling her in its grip. Hiro caught himself before he fell to the floor, lacking the support her arm against his chest gave him.

Hiro stood to admire his catch, his adrenaline starting to pump as he prepared for a fight...

But she wouldn't move.

She wouldn't look at him. She stayed that way, dangling in the vines grip as they coiled tighter and tighter. Her breathing was getting laboured as they constricted her more. A voice in his subconscious was howling at him to stop them, to order his energy back.

His left arm trembled like it had been for the past few weeks.

His right hand clenched purposefully.

His constructs followed his command, tightening further, thorns growing larger and sharper. Blood trickled down Star Storm's legs and hands, but still she didn't move.

Rage bubbled in his chest. He could feel his Gleam twittering inside him. He knew she could get out of his grip, he'd seen it a thousand times before. Star Storm was a monster. She was horrific on the battlefield, practically invincible. She'd never lost a fight, and he knows damn well that she's never fought at her full strength before.

So why the hell wouldn't she move?

He growled, "Well? Do something!" he eventually shouted. She didn't budge, but he managed to catch her eye under her straightened hair. They were glassy, distant, and still sickeningly familiar. Thorns dug into her, sharper and sharper still, blood started pooling on the ground. His Gleam churned with energy, twirling and anxious to be free; to let out more power. To end the fight.

The bubbling inside him, the pumping in his veins, the sparks at his finger tips. A twitch of his hand and he could rid himself of the monster. He could finally put a dent in Stormco, destroy the company the same way it was destroying the city. The blood went from drips to streams, Star Storm hadn't moved an inch.

He looked up at her once more. She met his eyes.

She was crying, he realized.

He relaxed his hand. His Gleam growled in protest, the energy frizzing out in dissatisfaction. The vines retracted.

Star Storm fell to the floor in a heap, pinpricks dotting her skin from where the thorns protruded in them.

She looked pretty pathetic sitting there on her knees, her own blood staining her white uniform. Hiro bent down to her level. She finally looked up at him, star speckled eyes staring off behind him. He gently placed a gloved hand under her chin, and lifted her to face him fully.

They stayed like that for awhile, Star Storm still bleeding; his left arm still trembling.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" It was her who broke the silence this time, her voice was hoarse and thick with unshed tears. He was taken aback.

"What do you mean? "

"Shoot a vine through my chest? Tie them around my neck? Collapse the building on my arm?" Her voice broke, "I know you want too. I know I deserve it. "

Hiro faltered, the tips of his gloves were now stained with trickling tears. He pulled his hand back from her face like he'd been burned.

"I- I don't-" he stumbled.

"I'd be angry if it happened to me too, ya' know. You didn't deserve it. Leo told me that it wasn't my fault- but it was," there was a growl to her voice, and she continued before he could process what she'd said, "It absolutely was! I knew how bad my Gleam was! I know how much it wants out- I know how much it claws at my chest and lungs, begging to be let out. It's so, so much stronger than me... " She let out a wet laugh. "Mr. Zephyr says I'm gonna be a Grand Huntress in a few years- can you imagine? I can't even pass my fucking algebra course and he's already getting designers for stained glass in churches." She holds her sides in a mock hug, a sob wracks her chest.

Hiro stares dumbfounded. There's so much to unpack in what she said, but his mind lingers on one word.

"... Leo...? "

It couldn't be. It wasn't a super uncommon name. She couldn't be speaking of the same boy he knew; the one with wild ginger hair, the one who was all hiss and no bite, the one who loved a girl who Hiro can't quite picture at the moment, despite being her best friend...

The one who was way too smart for his own good.

A weak, pained laughter bubbled out of Star Storm, taking Hiro by surprise.

"He figured this whole thing out so quickly. I'm still not sure how he did it- I know your name but the transformation still makes your memory feel like fog. He's just smart like that," a lovestruck tinge still managed to punctuate the end of her words.

"Figured what out- you mean... Our identities..? " His heat started racing. Lana promised him that the transformation would hide his identity- that nobody would be able to tell it was him, no matter how well they knew him.

"Uh yeah," She laughed again, (Was she always so giggly?) "That's kinda what I just said dummy." Her voice was sweet, the same tone an old friend would use for a lighthearted jab.

The exact same tone a friend uses for her teasing.

His heart dropped to his stomach at the confirmation. Suddenly the corset that once felt so freeing was much more constricting; pinning his waist into an hourglass he'll never have. The skirt that bellowed out, that was once the most euphoric thing he'd ever put on, now felt like a silly costume- like a six year old's princess gown. Like a boy trying to be something he'll never be. A boy he'll never stop being.

Star Storm looked none the wiser to his internal battle, and merely sighed.

"I'm sorry, Hiro. "

And that was all he needed. A sudden clarity swept through his brain, the thick haze over his memories wiped away like it never existed. Star Storm knew him by name- and he knew her by her own.

Of course he fucking knew her. It seemed so obvious now- like a slap in the face. She was barely even disguised for Christ's sake.

The girl in front of him was a monster in a bloody uniform. She was destined to be a Grand Huntress, she practically was already. She was a modern demi-god, a girl possessing more power than his entire team of vigilantes combined and doubled. She was a celebrity, Stormco's poster child, and a monster.

And her name is Ramona de Luna.

The girl in front of him is the sweetest person he's ever met. She was willing to deal with him at his lowest, when his Gleam was still crawling at his skin and eyes- but his fear of rejection kept it closed off- she helped. She picked out a pink scarf, and told him he looked pretty in it. He twirled around in a skirt that night, blossom pink scarf trailing behind, and he felt whole for the first time ever.

She was a girl with her head in the clouds, an eye for fashion, and a love of everything and everyone. She was strong, sure, but she was sweeter than thick chocolate drizzled on stardust; and he couldn't ever imagine how he hated her only a few seconds earlier.

He sank to he's knees next to her.

They sat like that for a moment in silence.

"Well? Wait are you waiting for? Do something." Ramona filled the silence.

Hiro complied by surging forward and wrapping his arms around her. Sobs he didn't know he was holding came out, and he squeezed her tighter. His Gleam gurgled in his chest, and he realized belatedly that small, pink flowers were blooming over Ramona's wounds, and closing them tight with small vines. He let out a wet chuckle.

Once his Gleam had made quick work of the wounds, Hiro let out a sigh. The surging magic that'd been thrumming through his veins dissipated; along with his hero outfit. The magic blew off like dandelion puffs, only to be pulled back into the charm he kept on his beanie. He was back in his normal, comfy, emo clothes now. Ramona sighed too, and he felt the electric surge or her magic fizzle out into her earring. Her hair was curly again, and her outfit was as cute as always.

They stayed together in each other's arms for awhile.

"... Hiro?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. So am I."

0 notes

xtruss · 1 year

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Governing after four years of divisive rule will be a profound challenge. “The Weight on My Back is Greater,” Lula said. Photograph by Tommaso Protti

A Reporter at Large: After Bolsonaro, Can Lula Remake Brazil?

Following a prison term, a fraught election, and a near-coup, the third-time President takes charge of a fractured country.

— By Jon Lee Anderson | January 23, 2023 | January 30, 2023 Issue

All around the immense city of São Paulo, posters on telephone poles display a Pop-art image of the newly elected President of Brazil, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva—Lula, as he is universally known. His head is crowned by dark curls, his face adorned with a red star, a symbol of his Workers’ Party. It is a vision of Lula in his early days: the left-wing idealist, the charismatic strike leader, the prophet of an imaginary future in which Brazil would become a center of social justice where no one went hungry, the rain forest was protected, and the enmity between races and classes dissolved. It is an old cliché that Brazil is the country of the future—a future that will never arrive. It is also true that the colossus of Latin America has not fulfilled many of its people’s hopes.

For generations of Brazilians, Lula is the country’s most familiar public figure. He served two previous terms as President, from 2003 to 2010. In 2018, he was imprisoned on charges of money laundering and corruption. Lula denied any wrongdoing, insisting that he was the victim of a political revenge scheme. His candidacy represented an almost unprecedented comeback.

After a long career of constant crisis, of triumph and embattlement, Lula looks his age. He is seventy-seven, short and sturdy, with a rooster’s erect posture and puffed-out chest. His hands are tough, like a boxer’s, but his skin is pale, and his curly hair has gone thin and white. When I saw him last November, a few days after he won the Presidential election, he entered the living room of a hotel suite in São Paulo surrounded by a phalanx of aides and security guards. He was dressed in a politician’s gray suit jacket and slacks, which he seemed to wish he could trade for his customary guayabera and jeans.

Lula looked not just exhausted but also unwell. In 2011, barely a year after he broke a half-century smoking habit, he had received a diagnosis of throat cancer and undergone chemotherapy. Doctors urged him to take special care of his throat, but of course he had ignored them during the campaign, and often when he spoke now his voice was reduced to a gravelly, theatrical growl. During his victory announcement, he seemed to strain to produce an impassioned whisper.

Lula’s campaign speeches suggested that he was engaged in an existential conflict. His opponent was Jair Bolsonaro, the incumbent, a right-wing populist who had become known as “the Trump of the tropics,” and as one of the hemisphere’s most controversial leaders. Like Trump, he had come to power by appealing to voters who were outraged by abortion rights, gay marriage, and sex education in primary schools. Throughout his career, his rhetoric was often hateful. He once dismissed a female legislator by saying that she was “not worth raping, she is very ugly.” On the subject of homosexuality, he said, “If your child starts to become like that, a little gay, you beat him and change his behavior.” In office, he allowed corporations to hack away at the rain forest virtually unimpeded, and police to shoot suspects without restraint. Responding to the covid-19 pandemic, he was neglectful and often cruel, telling his citizens, “Everyone has to die one day. We have to stop being a country of sissies.” Brazil has had nearly seven hundred thousand reported deaths, second only to the United States.

Lula, in his campaign, had talked in almost messianic terms about his desire to “rescue” Brazil. He had also begun to speak about God, his age, how he felt lucky to have endured his adversities. On the night he finally won, he said, “They tried to bury me alive, but I survived. Here I am.”

When I’d last seen Lula, in December, 2019, he had appeared vigorous and relatively youthful. Now, despite his campaign rhetoric, he seemed a little overwhelmed by the prospects he faced in his mission to save Brazil. Sinking into a chair and exhaling heavily, he said that he’d been on the telephone all morning with world leaders who’d called to congratulate him. When I asked what political initiatives he had planned, he spoke almost by rote, as if still on the campaign trail. But when I said that, outside Brazil, many people expected him to rescue not just his country but the global environment, by reversing the deforestation of the Amazon, his eyes widened almost fearfully, and he exclaimed, “Yes, I know!” Reaching over to grab my knee, he leaned in and began speaking intently of reshaping the country. “People are very optimistic about our governance,” he said. “People are expecting something to change, and it will change.” This was the Lula from the Pop-art poster, the leftist crusader who had enthralled Brazilians since his first appearance on the national stage, forty years earlier. But now the country around him was different, divided sharply between those who loved him and those who despised him.

On New Year’s Day, Lula was inaugurated in the capital, Brasília, a sprawling city carved from the forest in the late nineteen-fifties. In a speech from the Planalto Palace, a modernist building that contains the Presidential offices, he made an attempt at conciliation. “There are not two Brazils,” he said. “It is of no interest to anyone to live in a family where discord reigns. It is time to bring families back together, to remake the ties broken by the criminal spread of hate.”

A week later, Bolsonaro supporters swarmed the capital, arriving on more than a hundred buses from around the country to overturn what they insisted was a stolen election. Shouting, “Overthrow the thieves!” and “We will die for Brazil!,” they invaded the Presidential offices, the Supreme Court, and the legislature, setting fires and smashing whatever they found.

At Lula’s order, Brazilian authorities moved swiftly to turn back the siege, arresting more than fifteen hundred protesters and promising an inquiry into the origins of the violence. Lula also orchestrated a display of unity: dozens of government leaders, including some loyal to Bolsonaro, walked arm in arm across the vast plaza that connects the Planalto Palace with the Supreme Court. It was an effective gesture—a reminder of the street protests that had helped establish his reputation decades before. But Lula seems conscious that making the country function after four years of authoritarian rule will be a profoundly larger challenge. “My responsibility is much greater now,” he told me. “The weight on my back is greater.”

Last October 1st, the day before voting began in the Presidential election, Lula stood in the back of a pickup truck as it rolled along Rua Augusta, a narrow street in São Paulo known for its bars, sex shops, and raucous night life. Crowds had gathered along the sidewalks and on apartment balconies, and more clogged the street around his truck. Brazilian elections have two rounds, but any candidate who wins a simple majority in the first round can clinch the Presidency. Lula, who is at his best in a throng of supporters, was hoping to inspire voters to put him in office without delay.

Electoral rules forbid candidates to speak to voters on the last day of the campaign, so Lula waved silently and blew kisses. The crowd was noisy, though: music was pounding from speakers on his vehicle, and people in the streets were dancing. Suddenly, Lula began jumping around the truck, like a kid in a mosh pit. At his encouragement, his campaign ally Fernando Haddad, two decades his junior and a head taller, began jumping, too. As they bounced, more or less in time to the music, onlookers cheered them on. Video of the spectacle soon spread on social media.

It was a moment of buoyancy in a contentious campaign, one that had divided voters over questions about what kind of a country Brazil is and what kind it should be. Lula’s followers tended to be younger, more multiracial, and lower-income, with a considerable L.G.B.T.Q. contingent; Bolsonaro’s skewed older, whiter, and wealthier. As Lula’s rowdy cavalcade made its way down Rua Augusta, a Bolsonaro procession traversed a nearby avenue, accompanied by squads of hard-faced men on motorcycles.

Most polls suggested that Lula would win by a comfortable margin. But it was uncertain whether Bolsonaro would honor the results of the election if he lost. Like Donald Trump, with whom he had established a close rapport, Bolsonaro had long questioned the security of Brazil’s electronic voting machines—even though they had affirmed his victory in the previous election. In 2021, he told a group of loyalists that he saw only three possible scenarios for himself in the election: victory, arrest, or death. He appeared to be prepping his supporters, the bolsonaristas, to reject any result that favored Lula. He had also hinted repeatedly that the armed forces, where he had a great deal of support, would back him in a contested election. His minister of security, a hard-line former general, made threatening remarks about the possibility of military intervention.

In the United States, Trump’s allies helped amplify Bolsonaro’s arguments. On Fox News, Tucker Carlson warned that Lula would be a puppet of the Chinese President, Xi Jinping. “Allowing Brazil to be a colony of China would be a significant blow to us and potentially a very serious military threat,” he said. “The Biden Administration appears to be in favor of it. One person who is emphatically not in favor of it is the President of Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro.” (Days before, Carlson had conducted a fawning interview with Bolsonaro, suggesting that he was a better leader than the Ukrainian President, Volodymyr Zelensky, and posing with him for pictures afterward wearing an Indigenous feather headdress.) The former Trump official Steve Bannon stoked fears that Lula intended to cheat his way to power: “Bolsonaro will win unless it’s stolen by, guess what, the machines.”

With concerns growing, the Biden Administration quietly deployed visiting emissaries, including Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin, to warn Bolsonaro, his senior officials, and the military not to interfere in the election. As a U.S. official familiar with the outreach told me, “We made a concerted policy to let them know where the lines were for us. The outcome of the election was their business, but what we cared about was that the process be respected. We think they listened.”

Brazil’s Supreme Electoral Court also joined the effort. Its head justice, Alexandre de Moraes, moved quickly to engage the armed forces, inviting them to participate in an election-transparency commission. To defuse Bolsonaro’s claims, he also arranged for the military to inspect a number of voting machines on Election Day. The proposal drew criticism from advocates of electoral independence, but the armed forces agreed. Whatever else might happen, it seemed, they were unlikely to launch a coup.

The concerns about the stability of the government were not frivolous. Democracy has tenuous roots in Brazil. From 1964 to 1985, the country was ruled by a military dictatorship, whose officers harshly oppressed labor unionists, clergy, academics, and the country’s tiny contingent of Marxist guerrillas. Nearly five hundred people were killed, and thousands were imprisoned and tortured—including Dilma Rousseff, Lula’s successor as President, who was captured when, as a young woman, she was an urban guerrilla.

Some of Brazil’s neighbors suffered far worse. In Argentina, between nine thousand and thirty thousand people were tortured, murdered, and “disappeared” by the military. But, while Argentina reckoned with the regime’s atrocities in a series of trials, Brazil left its military untouched, passing a law in 1979 to provide amnesty for abuses. As an institution, it has expressed no remorse.

The relatively unexamined legacy of Brazil’s dictatorship, in which the hard-right military attacked both leftist protesters and democrats, still informs the country’s politics. Bolsonaro, a former Army captain, was an eager participant in the dictatorship, and during a twenty-seven-year stint in parliament often called for a return to military rule. In one famous outburst, he said that the military had not gone far enough—that, if only it had killed thirty thousand more people, Brazil’s problems with leftists would have been solved. In 2016, when Brazil’s Congress impeached Rousseff, Bolsonaro cast his vote in the name of a notorious military colonel who had commanded the unit that tortured her.

Lula, on the other hand, is Brazil’s archetypal leftist. He was born poor, the sixth of seven children. His parents worked as farmers in famine-stricken Pernambuco, a state in the northeastern part of the country. When Lula was a young child, his father set off for São Paulo, in pursuit of a more stable livelihood, and found work as a day laborer. By the time the rest of the family could join him, when Lula was seven, he had found another woman and started a new family. For four years, they all lived together until Lula’s mother could find another place—a cramped room behind a bar.

Lula did not learn to read until he was about nine, and he quit school soon afterward. He worked as a street vender, a shoeshine boy, a warehouse laborer, and, eventually, a machine operator in a screw factory. At nineteen, he damaged the little finger on his left hand in an accident with a mechanical press. He couldn’t get medical treatment until the next day. To his dismay, the doctor performed a full amputation. In time, his opponents came to deride him as Nine-Finger.

He soon got involved in trade-union politics, organizing protests outside factories and displaying a gift for oratory. He was imprisoned for leading an illegal strike but emerged after a month, and by the waning years of the dictatorship had become a prominent labor leader in São Paulo. In 1980, as the armed forces prepared to relinquish power, he founded the left-wing Partido dos Trabalhadores, the Workers’ Party, known as the P.T. He soon began running for political office, and, over the years, whether winning elections or losing them, he has become the undisputed leader of the Brazilian left. “There’s no one else of his stature in the hemisphere,” a Western official who has met with him several times said. “He’s the boss.”

As the returns came in for the first round of voting, Lula’s campaign team gathered in a São Paulo hotel. In a briefing room, scores of journalists, hangers-on, and politicians crowded around a huge television screen, watching as the tally tipped toward one candidate, then the other. The sound in the room tracked the results: agitated silence when Lula was trailing, laughter and cries of “Lula-la!,” a refrain from an old campaign song, when he took the lead.

By early morning, Lula had 48.4 per cent of the votes—five points ahead of Bolsonaro, but short of what he needed to win the Presidency in the first round. Moreover, Bolsonaro had attracted many more voters than pollsters had predicted. Lula’s team was realizing not only that a second round was going to be necessary but that, even if their candidate won, Brazil had become a vastly different country from the one he had presided over twelve years earlier.

Lula left office in 2010 with a historic eighty-eight-per-cent approval rating. The economy had boomed during his tenure, thanks in large measure to surging commodities prices, a significant oil discovery off the coast, and the explosive growth of China, a major buyer of Brazilian exports. In 2010, the rate of economic growth was 7.5 per cent, the highest in decades. Brazil belonged to a group of fast-growing nations known as the brics—Brazil, Russia, India, China, and South Africa. But, since then, the economy has slumped, and Brazil, once the world’s fifth-largest economy, is now its ninth.

Bolsonaro worked to make Brazil friendlier to business, but many of his supporters were more energized by his prosecution of a culture war. He had won the Presidency in 2018 with the backing of the powerful consortium known as the three B’s: beef, Bibles, and bullets, signifying agribusiness, the evangelical church, and the arms lobby. In public appearances, his characteristic gesture was shooting make-believe pistols. He enjoyed widespread support among law-enforcement groups, especially the military police, which have a reputation for indiscriminate force and for involvement in organized crime.

In office, he expanded police departments and gave them wide leeway in dealing with criminals. In 2020 and 2021, police in Brazil killed more than six thousand people a year—six times the total in the United States. Bolsonaro also loosened gun laws, arguing that citizens needed to defend themselves against criminals and left-wing land invaders. Registered gun ownership grew sixfold while he was in office; gun shops and shooting ranges flourished.

It is illegal in Brazil to make racist remarks, but Bolsonaro regularly found ways to insult his country’s nonwhite inhabitants, saying that members of Afro-Brazilian communities were “not even good enough to breed” and that the Indigenous were “increasingly becoming human beings just like us.” Refugees were “the scum of the earth.” Violence against these communities, and against L.G.B.T.Q. people, surged during his tenure.

Soon after Lula took office, Bolsonaro supporters stormed the federal district of Brasília, calling for military intervention. Photograph by Antonio Cascio / Reuters / Redux

As Bolsonaro’s popularity grew, Brazilian politicians on the right began proclaiming their adherence to bolsonarismo. In the recent elections, candidates sympathetic to his ideas had done unexpectedly well, taking a majority of Senate and gubernatorial seats. One of those who won legislative posts was Eduardo Pazuello, an Army general who for a time ran Bolsonaro’s calamitous response to the pandemic. Another was Ricardo Salles, Bolsonaro’s first environment minister, who left office while under investigation for conspiring to traffic Amazonian hardwoods. (He denies the allegations.)

In São Paulo state, Brazil’s largest electoral constituency, the returns were mixed. The capital swung to Lula. Smaller cities and the countryside went to Bolsonaro, as they had in many other places where ranching and agribusiness drive the economy. In the campaign press room, Lula professed confidence: “We’ll have to fight on, but we’ll win.” His protégé Guilherme Boulos put it more starkly. Running against Bolsonaro, he said, was “a war between democracy and barbarism.”

Lula began running for President as soon as he was able. He launched his first campaign in 1989, just a year after a new constitution, adopted as Brazil returned to democracy, made it legal for leftist parties to run for office. He lost narrowly to Fernando Collor de Mello, a sharply dressed young proponent of free-market ideas. Collor de Mello resigned two years later, brought down by a corruption scandal. (He was later acquitted.)

Lula ran again in 1994 and 1998, and lost both times to Fernando Henrique Cardoso, a left-wing scholar who had once marched alongside him in street protests. As President, Cardoso moved toward the center, supporting the privatization of several major government-owned corporations. Lula remained a committed leftist, assailing the “neoliberal” reforms that swept the region, with American encouragement. While Cardoso became friendly with Bill Clinton and Tony Blair, Lula was more philosophically aligned with Fidel Castro and Hugo Chávez.

But when Lula finally won the Presidency, in 2002, he showed a surprising pragmatism, along with a political survivor’s wiliness. He weathered a scandal involving a scheme to buy legislators’ votes, which became known as mensalão, or “the big monthly payment.” Though several of his closest deputies were implicated, he was not charged. In the same years, he launched a cash-transfer program, known as Bolsa Família, that lifted some thirty million Brazilians out of extreme poverty, and initiated an ambitious program to bring electricity to neglected areas of the countryside. During his tenure, the illegal destruction of the Amazon rain forest decreased dramatically, as he implemented programs to police the region and designated several million acres as conservation areas and as reserves for the Indigenous.

Lula’s personal warmth is probably his greatest political asset, and, unlike other Latin American leftists of his generation, he showed an exceptional ability to work both sides of the political aisle. Despite his opposition to the Iraq War, he cultivated a genial relationship with George W. Bush. When Barack Obama shook hands with Lula for the first time, at a G-20 summit in 2009, he told officials there, “I love this guy. He’s the most popular politician on Earth.” (In fact, the two didn’t get along that well; Lula told me that he had a better rapport with Bush, who, notwithstanding their differences, was a guy you could have a barbecue with. Obama, for his part, wrote in his memoirs that Lula was “impressive” but “reportedly had the scruples of a Tammany Hall boss.”)

At times in last year’s campaign, though, Lula seemed to have lost his easy dexterity. At a television studio in Rio, I watched him take part in the last of three Presidential debates. Bolsonaro’s insistent theme was that if Lula won back the Presidency Brazil would become like Venezuela—a byword for failed left-wing politics. Bolsonaro strutted grimly around the studio, calling his opponent “a thief, a traitor to the fatherland, and an ex-prisoner.” Lula sputtered outraged denials and shouted back that Bolsonaro was “shameless, repulsive,” and unfit to hold the Presidency. Few of Lula’s loyalists were happy about his performance. While Bolsonaro was characteristically vulgar, Lula had reacted badly to his attacks, and failed to express any new ideas or policy initiatives.

Bolsonaro’s accusations—he called Lula a “national embarrassment”—are complicated by the fact that corruption has been endemic in Brazil for much of its modern history. The government owns large sectors of the economy, and many legislators expect to be compensated for their coöperation. “Parliament is either subservient or rebellious,” José Eduardo Cardozo, a lawyer and a prominent Brazilian politician, told me. “And, when it is subservient, it is because it participates in the government—it has the money. If it’s not participating, it wants the government out.”

Lula, in his two terms, managed to cultivate the legislature while avoiding the consequences of the mensalão vote-buying scandal. His successor, Dilma Rousseff, lacked his nimbleness. “She was not a woman who liked to talk to parliamentarians,” Cardozo, who also served as Rousseff’s minister of justice, told me. “She was a cadre who thinks about politics, but who does not perform politics.”

Rousseff was Brazil’s first female President, and a formidable figure. After her early stint as a Marxist guerrilla, she had spent three years in prison, before going on to serve as Lula’s minister of energy and his chief of staff. When she became President, though, the economy was beginning to stagnate, and in her second term a crash in commodities prices meant that Brazil had less money coming in. Street protests became commonplace. So did maneuvering by her political opponents to unseat her. Even her Vice-President, Michel Temer, supported calls for her impeachment, ostensibly for manipulating the country’s budget.

One irony of those years is that Lula and Rousseff strengthened the judiciary, which made corruption more visible in their own government. Under Rousseff, the federal police began a series of investigations known as Lava Jato, or Car Wash. For several years, a team led by a judge named Sergio Moro operated out of Curitiba, in the conservative south of Brazil. It investigated corruption across Latin America, bringing down powerful C.E.O.s, government officials, and even several foreign Presidents for their involvement in money laundering and bribery.

Many of the schemes were linked to Brazil’s state oil firm, Petrobras, and to the construction giant Odebrecht, both of which had thrived during Lula’s tenure. Moro accused Lula of being the mastermind of an international conspiracy, and a years-long investigation began. In the end, the charges were narrow: Moro alleged that Lula was illicitly promised a beachside apartment, and that friends had effectively bought a ranch for his use, where Odebrecht made renovations at the request of Lula’s wife.

In a dramatic televised hearing, Moro coolly interrogated Lula, who angrily denied the charges and demanded proof of the allegations against him. Lula’s supporters have persistently argued that there is little evidence tying him to the properties. But, not long after the hearings, Moro released recordings that his agents had made of phone conversations between Rousseff and Lula, in which she said that she was sending him papers that would secure him a ministerial post. Rousseff said that the post was routine; Moro claimed that she was trying to protect Lula from arrest. A few months later, the legislature forced Rousseff out, and Temer took her place.

Political corruption did not diminish in Brazil. Eduardo Cunha, who had led the congressional campaign against Rousseff, was found guilty of accepting forty million dollars in bribes. Temer himself was implicated, but the same Congress that had voted to impeach Rousseff opted to leave him in office, for the sake of what the presiding judge called the “stability of the electoral system.”

As the 2018 Presidential election approached, Lula remained the most popular politician in the country, with what one poll said was a fifteen-point lead over his closest competitor. But he was increasingly embroiled in criminal investigations. A few months before the voting, police burst into Lula’s house to search for evidence; Marisa Letícia Casa, his wife of four decades, died of a stroke shortly afterward. Lula was convicted of corruption, sentenced to thirteen years in prison, and placed in a federal-police facility in Curitiba.

A contingent of supporters camped outside the fence near Lula’s cell, greeting him every morning with calls of “Good day, Lula.” But Moro’s investigation insured that he was barred from public office, instantly making Jair Bolsonaro the Presidential front-runner. In the election, Bolsonaro secured a narrow victory over Lula’s stand-in, the former São Paulo mayor Fernando Haddad. Soon after being elected, he made Moro his minister of justice.

Among the loyalists who visited Lula in prison was his friend Emidio de Souza—a genial, burly man in his early sixties, who has served for years as a state legislator for the P.T. When Lula was arrested, it was de Souza who negotiated his surrender, persuading the police to abide by two conditions: “no haircut, no handcuffs.” He also arranged for Lula to be picked up discreetly, out of sight of a television crew circling in a helicopter nearby, in the hope of avoiding public humiliation.

Still, the arrest affected Lula profoundly. “He expected to be in prison for a week, maybe, or ten days,” de Souza told me in São Paulo. “But his extended imprisonment showed him that the world was going to move against him.” He passed the time by working through an earnest undergrad’s reading list: a history of slavery in Brazil, a treatise on how oil has led to wars, a biography of Nelson Mandela. He continued to follow party politics, de Souza said: “He wasn’t allowed the Internet, but he received daily written reports, news clippings, sometimes analyses of the political situation in the country. He also recorded the P.T. meetings on a flash drive, and then watched them on TV.”

From prison, Lula looked on as Bolsonaro began to generate his own corruption scandals. Though he had campaigned as a reformer, he and his family members were accused of a series of offenses, all of which they deny. Prosecutors allege that two of his sons embezzled public funds, and that an aide involved in one of the schemes funnelled money into an account owned by Bolsonaro’s wife. The family was eventually found to have bought at least fifty-one properties, largely in cash. (Bolsonaro gave a bluff response: “What’s wrong with buying houses in cash?”) To cultivate political allies, Bolsonaro’s administration maintained a “secret budget,” which gave the legislature access to some three billion dollars—a fifth of all discretionary spending—which could be apportioned without oversight.

In June, 2019, the Intercept published leaks of phone messages between Moro and the prosecutors who had tried Lula, which revealed significant ethical lapses. Moro illicitly discussed tactics with the prosecutors; the lead prosecutor expressed doubts that Lula had actually owned the apartment at the center of the case. In other leaks, the Lava Jato investigators admitted that they hoped to bring down Lula and the P.T. The United Nations Human Rights Council subsequently found that the investigation had violated due process.

In November, 2019, Lula was released, after five hundred and eighty days in prison. De Souza told me that Lula insisted he could rebuild his image, saying, “I’m not going to go down in history as a guy who stole.” In his first speech after being released, he called himself “the victim of the greatest legal lie ever told in five hundred years of history.”

I saw Lula a few weeks later, in a hotel overlooking Rio’s Copacabana beach. He was seventy-four—one year shy of the age at which the Catholic Church would no longer allow him to be a bishop, he joked. He said he’d been working out and felt fitter than he had in years. He had also fallen in love, with Rosângela (Janja) da Silva, a sociologist and a Workers’ Party member twenty-one years his junior; her daily letters had sustained him in prison, he said. He was still legally barred from politics, but he made it clear that he would return as soon as his prohibition was lifted. “If I were a candidate in 2022, I would surely win,” he said. “Because there is a faithful relationship between the Brazilian people and me.”

When Lula won the second round of voting, on October 30th, the crowds in São Paulo were ecstatic. From a two-story soundstage above Avenida Paulista, the city’s main thoroughfare, Lula waved and blew kisses, as his supporters danced and sang and waved flags bearing images of his face. His voice cracked with exhaustion and emotion as he declared, “Brazil is back!”

For many Brazilians I spoke with, though, the main reason for celebrating Lula’s victory was not that it would return the P.T. to power but that it would prevent another four years of Bolsonaro. João Moreira Salles, a documentary filmmaker, the founder of the magazine Piauí, and an astute political observer, told me, “That he could win in these conditions is nothing short of stunning. But we might remember the election as the most admirable part of Lula III. Winning was indeed epic. Governing might be a lot less rewarding.”

Lula’s team was uneasy. He had won by just over two million votes, making this the closest election in Brazil’s history. Bolsonaro had not conceded, and his supporters insisted that the election had been rigged. Along with a large contingent of bolsonarista truckers, they swarmed onto highways to block traffic and, in some cases, to erect burning barricades, halting commerce across the country.

For days, Bolsonaro remained out of sight and issued no public statements. Finally, he made an appearance at the Planalto Palace, apparently under pressure from allies. In a brief, stiff ceremony, he suggested that his supporters had every right to express their anger, but should not block the roads: “Our methods should not be those of the left, which have always been bad for the populace.” As soon as Bolsonaro was finished, he turned and walked off, while his chief of staff remained to say that officials from the current administration would be meeting with Lula’s team to begin handing over power.

There was going to be a transition, it seemed. But, within days, the mobs that had occupied the country’s highways had moved to new positions outside military garrisons. There, they set up camps and demanded an intervention to stop Lula—the thief, the Communist—from taking away their country.

Outside the main gates of the Southeast Military Command, a sprawling Army headquarters in São Paulo, several hundred bolsonaristas held a daily vigil. Men and women draped in Brazilian flags or wearing the national colors of yellow and green stood chanting, “S.O.S., armed forces!” Some held fists in the air. Several knelt to pray, their eyes closed and their arms outstretched in the fashion of Pentecostalism, which has a large following in Brazil. Some had their faces contorted in expressions of pain; others looked to Heaven, beseechingly.

Men strode in front of the chanting crowd, urging them on. When I approached several women to ask why they were there, demonstrators nearby became hostile, screaming at them, “No talking!” With rising hostility, the crowd began to yell, “Go away, dirty press!,” until I backed off.

As I left, I passed a clothesline strung between trees, which was hung with soccer jerseys, many of which were emblazoned with a 10—the number of Neymar, Brazil’s soccer star, who had recently declared that he was a bolsonarista. Alongside them was a green-and-yellow banner that read, in English, “Our flag will never be red. Out Communism.”

All over the country, crowds had gathered to protest and to pray for an intervention. In the U.S., Tucker Carlson broadcast their claims of fraud on his show. On November 2nd, he said, “According to official tallies, a convicted criminal and avowed socialist called Lula da Silva beat the incumbent President of Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro, by a narrow margin this weekend. And yet millions of Brazilians—millions—don’t believe that’s what actually happened. . . . There are questions about whether all the ballots had been counted. Why so many were thrown out. Millions. And whether election laws were violated in the process. So we can’t render judgment on those questions, but if you care about democracy, if you think the process is essential, then you would look into those allegations.”

Steve Bannon echoed Carlson. Just days after he was convicted of refusing to testify before Congress about his role in the January 6th insurrection, he went on social media to claim that Brazil’s election “was stolen in broad daylight.” He called Lula “a Criminal Atheistic Marxist” and the pro-Bolsonaro demonstrators “freedom fighters.”

Brazil’s military had largely remained quiet throughout the monthlong electoral process. A week after the second round of voting, it still had not produced the results of its inspection of voting machines. In São Paulo, Lula admitted to feeling fretful about the delay. “This report should have been delivered before the elections,” he said.

His concerns extended beyond the silence of the military. When I told him about the protesters outside the Army garrison, he turned grim. “I think we need to find out who is financing and who is feeding them, because this is not spontaneous,” he said. The day before, he’d had a discouraging talk with the governor of Pará state, in the Amazon. “When police went and tried to unblock the roads, demonstrators shot up their car,” he said. “The entire country is like this. And Bolsonaro has locked himself inside his house. We are not used to this kind of thing here. Since the return of democracy, elections have always been respected.”

Lula mentioned reports that pro-Bolsonaro police around the country had interfered with his voters on Election Day, and had assisted bolsonaristas who blocked the highways. Lula said that he wasn’t worried about being kept out of office: “It may be difficult, but, you see, the law exists to give guarantees to society.” The problem was instability, and Bolsonaro’s seeming willingness to deploy the police to keep Lula out of office. “This election was atypical,” he said, “because it was the candidacy of a candidate against the state—an absurd thing.”

Like many others, Lula likened what was happening in Brazil to the Trump phenomenon in the U.S. January 6th had established a destabilizing precedent all over the world. “Whatever disagreements you may have with the United States, it still represents the face of democracy on planet Earth,” he said. “When the most important country fails to exercise democracy, you are giving an endorsement to all the crazies in the world.”

In speeches, Lula often raises the need to address hunger in Brazil, describing it as an unassailable moral imperative. He talked at length about hunger when we met in 2019, and with increasing emotion in his campaign appearances last year. In our interview after his recent victory, it came up when I questioned him about Ukraine. A few months earlier, he’d made acerbic remarks about Volodymyr Zelensky, and had seemed to suggest, as Vladimir Putin had, that the United States was partly responsible for the conflict. Apparently eager to set the issue aside, Lula told me that he intended to talk with Zelensky and Putin, and with Biden as well, but that all he cared about was “world peace.” Soon enough, he returned to the issue of hunger. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t betray these people,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “I’ll have to fight with the markets sometimes, but people have to be able to eat again. I don’t want anything much, but people have to have hope again, and a full belly, with morning coffee and lunch and dinner.”

Lula remains an earnest believer in the leftist project in Latin America. But, as Cardozo, Rousseff’s minister of justice, told me, “Lula is not a man who theorizes about politics like Lenin or Trotsky. He is a pragmatist, a trade unionist.” He added, “He is also a political genius and a charismatic man. Inside the P.T., everyone below Lula fights against one another, but not against him. That’s how he conserves his power.”

Lula’s team is mostly made up of fairly doctrinaire leftists, but he has brought in some ideological diversity, in an effort to reassure the business lobby and other conservative interests. His Vice-President is Geraldo Alckmin, a center-right physician who once ran against him for President. His minister of planning and budget is Simone Tebet, who leans to the right on the economy. But Cardozo suggested that he’d need to go further to cultivate people who disagreed with him. “The extreme right is going to be strong and make permanent efforts to destabilize things. To keep the P.T. in its place and the extreme right in its place, he will need a broad alliance,” he said. “You can’t put out a fire with alcohol.”

A couple of days after I met Lula in São Paulo, he travelled to Brasília, hoping to widen his network of allies. Even as he had retaken the Presidency, Bolsonaro’s party had won ninety-nine seats in Congress, forming the largest bloc in the lower house; in the upper house, it secured fourteen of eighty-one seats. For Lula to run the country, he would have to make a deal with the Centrão, a shape-shifting coalition of right-of-center parties that have come to wield extraordinary power in the capital. The Centrão has few ideological allegiances; its members’ main imperative seems to be exchanging their votes for lucrative concessions for their constituencies, and for themselves.

But the Centrão was increasingly aligned with the hard right. It had voted out Rousseff in 2016 and then protected her successor, Temer. It had also effectively partnered with Bolsonaro when he joined one of its parties, the Partido Liberal, to run in last year’s election. Brazilian politicians change parties often. Bolsonaro has belonged to nine. The leader of the lower house of Congress, Arthur Lira, has belonged to five. Lira was a main beneficiary of Bolsonaro’s “secret budget,” and the person Lula most needed to cultivate on this trip. Judging by their encounter, Lira was eager to make a deal; he came out of Congress to greet Lula warmly.

But Valdemar Costa Neto, the president of the Liberal Party, had decided to stick with Bolsonaro. A canny, amiable man in his seventies, Costa Neto was a former Lula ally; in 2012, he was convicted on money-laundering charges related to the mensalão scheme, and spent two and a half years in detention before he was pardoned. “I had to rebuild the Party when I got out, because my image was destroyed,” he told me. The Liberal Party had traditionally leaned to the center, but he had shifted it right, and eventually the affiliation with Bolsonaro had paid off. “Now we have ninety-nine congressmen,” he said, scribbling figures on a scrap of paper to demonstrate how much funding they were bringing in. He explained brightly, “We have to make room for the extreme right now.”

Costa Neto said that he had nothing against the new President. Smiling, he told me that Lula had recently asked if he would back his coalition, but he’d shown him the math and Lula had understood. But, he added, Bolsonaro didn’t approve of him talking to Lula: “Bolsonaro’s not like you or me. He’s not normal.”

Costa Neto said that he thought Lula had won the election fairly. He recalled telling Bolsonaro to accept the results, relax, take a break, become the honorary president of the Liberal Party, and rebuild for the next elections. But Bolsonaro truly believed he had won, he said—he was wounded and “really depressed.” Costa Neto threw up his hands in exasperation. At Bolsonaro’s insistence, he had hired a company to investigate his claims of voting-machine fraud, and, Costa Neto said, it had come back with “troubling data.” He explained vaguely that the issue had to do with voting machines that had inexplicably identical serial numbers. In a few days, he said, he was going to hold a press conference on the matter.

He confessed to feeling anxious, because the claim of fraud would surely bring “three times as many people onto the streets as those already camped out in front of the Army bases.” But Bolsonaro was an important ally, and Costa Neto had promised to advance his cause. A few days later, he held his press conference. The claim was quickly rejected by Brazil’s electoral tribunal; the military had already assessed its sample of voting machines and declared Lula the legitimate winner. Still, the report generated a flurry of headlines—enough to feed the bolsonaristas’ conviction that there had been a conspiracy.

On the afternoon of January 8th, Bolsonaro supporters poured into the federal district of Brasília, overrunning the complex that houses the three branches of government—the Three Powers, as they are known. In the plaza, protesters gathered to confront soldiers protecting the buildings. Others prayed, or yelled slogans: “Brazil was whored out by those nasty, corrupt people!” Rioters forced their way in, shattering windows and setting fires. The district police, led by a former Bolsonaro official, offered little resistance, and sometimes provided aid.

Marina Dias, a Brazilian journalist, was near the Ministry of Defense when she saw an older woman dressed in a camouflage shirt, of a kind that bolsonaristas wear in tribute to the armed forces. The woman said that she had been camped out at the military headquarters in Brasília for two months. She had joined the protest on the eighth to urge Bolsonaro to hide; she explained that Alexandre de Moraes, the head of the Supreme Electoral Court, was conspiring to have him killed.

Dias, like other observers, was confused by the timing of the riots. Why wait until a week after the inauguration? When she asked the woman if she was inspired by the January 6th insurrection in the U.S., another protester yelled, “Don’t answer her! She’s a journalist, a leftist!” Sensing a threat, Dias walked away, but she was surrounded by bolsonaristas, and someone tripped her. “I fell to the street, where people kicked me and punched me,” she told me. “Two men tried to protect me, saying, ‘You will kill her and ruin our movement.’ ” But women were scratching her, pulling her hair, grabbing for her phone. Someone snatched her glasses, broke them, and yelled, “We have to kill her!”

Finally, a military officer forced his way through the crowd and pulled her away. As the officer escorted her off, “people yelled that I was a whore, and someone threw a bottle of water at me,” she told me. “It was clear they felt like there would be no punishment.”

On the day of the insurrection, Lula and Janja were visiting the city of Araraquara, in São Paulo state, five hundred miles away. But they were able to monitor the situation, an aide told me. One of Lula’s bodyguards entered the Planalto Palace, recorded the rampage, and shared it with the President in real time. No one noticed the bodyguard, the aide said, because “they were all filming themselves, too.”

Outside the President’s offices, on the third floor, the rioters wrecked furniture and destroyed art: a seventeenth-century French clock, a painting by Emiliano Di Cavalcanti, an ancient Chinese vase. The vandals broke nearly everything they encountered, but they were stopped at a glass door outside Lula’s private office by his personal security team—a group of longtime loyalists, which includes a former federal police officer who oversaw Lula’s imprisonment and then went to work for him after he was freed.

From São Paulo, Lula and his team worked to assert control, starting by organizing the dismissal of the Bolsonaro official who led the district police and replacing him with a loyalist. As they scrambled, Lula received a phone call from his minister of defense and the chief of staff of the armed forces. They proposed that he sign a “law-and-order assurance”—a directive that would effectively hand them power to reëstablish control. Lula refused, fearing that it was the first step in a coup. Instead, he ordered military police to retake the buildings of the Three Powers. The Supreme Court and the Planalto Palace were quickly secured, and then officers turned their focus on Congress, deploying horses, water cannons, and pepper spray to clear the building and the roof. As helicopters dropped tear gas, protesters ran, coughing and struggling for air. By about seven o’clock that evening, the building had been cleared.

Despite the ferocity of the violence, many Brazilians believed that it was less an attempted coup than an act of political theatre. People took selfies and FaceTimed friends. One rioter, streaming video as he entered Congress, asked viewers to subscribe to his YouTube channel. Venders sold spectators grilled chicken and cotton candy. “On the surface, 1/8 was a resounding failure,” João Moreira Salles said. “The mob ransacked empty buildings and didn’t even try to occupy them. It was more of a simulacrum of a coup, a spectacle—a coup for the Instagram age.”

The lawlessness of the attack had demonstrated Bolsonaro’s hold on his loyalists, but it had also damaged him politically. “It means the end of Bolsonaro as a democratically viable candidate,” Moreira Salles argued. Soon after the elections, Bolsonaro had fled to Florida, and reportedly was staying near Orlando, as the guest of the Brazilian mixed-martial-arts fighter José Aldo. After four turbulent years as President, he suddenly didn’t seem to have much to do. He looked for a church to join. One afternoon, he was spotted sitting alone at a KFC, eating fried chicken out of a box. Admirers reported, with astonishment, that they had been able to drop by his house for a chat. “He’s completely isolated, and his influence is reduced to the fringe of Brazil’s extreme right,” Moreira Salles said. “Flying to Disney when the going gets tough is not exactly conducive to becoming the next strongman.”

The Biden Administration has said that it would take seriously a request to extradite Bolsonaro, but Lula has not yet submitted one. Even from Orlando, though, Bolsonaro can have an effect on Brazilian politics. Like many of his supporters, he is a skilled provocateur. During his Presidency, his opponents faced such vicious attacks online that Brazilians spoke about a clandestine “office of hate,” run by Bolsonaro’s allies. The P.T. is less adroit on social media. (Its leaders are largely older; one told me that sixty is considered young.) Members of Lula’s administration told me that the solution was greater regulation of the media, particularly on the Internet. “You can allow total freedom, but you cannot allow evil, hatred, the encouragement of lies to gain space,” Lula said.

In Moreira Salles’s view, people who were radicalized online were unlikely to succeed in toppling the government. “The danger is of an endless repetition of smaller January 8ths around the country,” he said. “Roads blocked, refineries occupied, that sort of thing. If they can’t seize power, then the next best thing is to make the current Presidency utterly chaotic.”

Still, the threat of political violence remains real; in December, police stopped a bomb plot against Lula. People close to him are particularly concerned about the military, and perplexed by its reluctance to quell the violence on January 8th. It has bases near the Three Powers buildings, and its troops secured the compound during a demonstration in 2017—but this time, despite repeated requests in the preceding days to step up security, it had intervened late, and seemingly halfheartedly. At least fifteen members of the military and the security forces are linked to the insurrection, including a retired senior officer of the Navy and a retired general of the Army reserves.

On Paulista Avenue, in São Paulo, a raucous crowd celebrated Lula's victory in the Presidential election. Photograph by Larissa Zaidan for The New Yorker

When Bolsonaro was President, he handed over large swaths of the government to the armed forces, appointing more than six thousand military personnel to the civilian bureaucracy. To assert control, Lula knows that he will have to purge some officers and cultivate many others. It will be delicate, unpopular work. “The armed forces didn’t join Bolsonaro’s efforts to remain in power, otherwise he would still be in Brasília,” Moreira Salles said. “But they are not coming forward to condemn the events of January 8th. Lula has to decipher this silence and bring the military to his side. It’s going to be one of his hardest tasks. History shows that the armed forces in Latin America are not guarantors of democracy.”

Some of the politicians who benefitted from Bolsonaro’s rise are figuring out how to keep up their momentum without him. Sergio Moro, the judge who put Lula in jail, was for a time a kind of folk hero for right-wing Brazil. In the recent election, he launched a campaign for President before dropping out to support Bolsonaro, whom he coached through the debates. He also ran for the Senate, and won a seat, representing his home state of Paraná, in southern Brazil.

I met him in his office in Curitiba, the state capital, in a modern tower that stood above a downtown of tidy lawns, churches, and steak houses. A neatly groomed man with a deacon’s seriousness, he was imperturbable as we talked about his role in the political combat of the past few years.

When I asked why he had agreed to serve as Bolsonaro’s justice minister, Moro said that he had hoped to do some good for the country: “Who wouldn’t try that?” Before 2018, he said, he’d known almost nothing about Bolsonaro. When I noted that Bolsonaro was already famous for offensive behavior, Moro fidgeted. “I heard from a lot of people who said, ‘I’m relieved that you’re joining the government, because you will be the voice of moderation.’ And I never endorsed any kind of attacks, verbal attacks of the President against women or anything like that,” he said.

Moro pointed out that he had quit his post after a year and a half, after Bolsonaro forestalled a police investigation into one of his sons’ activities. When I asked if he believed that Bolsonaro was guilty of the offenses he had been accused of, he nodded. Then why had he rejoined him during the debates with Lula? “I have never recanted what I said in the past,” he said. “The past is the past. But, if you have a second round with two options, you need to make a choice.” But why imprison one politician you regard as corrupt and aid another? “Well, we are talking about different levels of corruption. And you need to consider other issues. I don’t believe in the economic thoughts of the Workers’ Party.”

Moro did not deny that Lula had won the election, yet he spoke sympathetically about the people who questioned his legitimacy. “I am against any kind of violence or any kind of coup,” he said. “But there are a lot of people unsatisfied with the return of Lula, because there’s this perception that the corruption scandals were not solved in a proper way. So these people believe that Lula should never have been a candidate.” Even before January 8th, he acknowledged that the protesters had “committed some mistakes.” But, he said, “I believe Brazilian democracy should give these people an answer and understand them, and not treat all of them as kind of villains. They are not. They have families—they have children.”

People close to Lula were grappling with the same essential concern: How could they bring Bolsonaro voters over to their side? Lula’s protégé Guilherme Boulos is a forty-year-old activist and politician. We met for breakfast in a buffet-style “kilo” restaurant, where customers pay according to the weight of the food piled on their plates. He lamented, “Before, the opposition was, if you will, civilized. We have a real problem in the countryside.”

As the founder of the Homeless Workers’ Movement, Boulos spent years organizing takeovers of disused buildings to provide shelter for Brazilians in need. He won a legislative seat in the recent elections, and will work closely with Lula. When I asked about the bolsonaristas, he said, “We have to learn to talk to those people.” But he suggested, in the tones of a New Yorker talking about Texans, that Brazil’s rural areas were effectively a different country. “It’s a mostly right-wing culture, which revolves around the idea that one’s properties must be protected from left-wing land invasions,” he said. “Its economic program is neoliberal, and it is socially moralistic. Therein lies our problem: the left hasn’t attended to this sector, and it really has to, if it wants to defeat bolsonarismo.”

Lula, he said, “has an extraordinary capacity to govern and to articulate points in common with different sectors.” But the past four years had made bridging the differences much more difficult: “Bolsonaro didn’t govern—he set out the guideposts for an ideological battle, and he almost beat us by nearly winning reëlection!”

Boulos estimated that bolsonarista extremists represented ten to twelve per cent of the Brazilian population: “These are the people who don’t believe in the pandemic, who defend the use of torture, and who believe that the Earth is flat.” The key, he said, was to improve their economic opportunities. “There are those who say Brazil has increasingly become a polarized country. I’d argue that it’s always been polarized. Think of it: this country is the third-largest food producer in the world, while thirty million of its citizens go hungry, and one per cent of the population owns most of the resources. Of course there’s going to be polarization!” He reminded me that when Lula left office the electorate had overwhelmingly supported him—“because their lives were better!” Now, though, there was less money flowing; the economy was in a downturn, and the country was still recovering from the pandemic. “Lula’s margin of maneuverability will be reduced,” he said.

In the weeks after Lula won the election, he often seemed as if he hoped to simply return the country to the time before Bolsonaro took over—when the Amazon was less imperilled, the economy was thriving, and Brazil was in a cohort of fast-ascending countries. “It was the best moment of social rise of the poor people in Latin America,” he told me in São Paulo, adding, “Let’s recover the brics!”

Four days after the January 8th insurrection, his administration released its economic plan, which called for restoring the Bolsa Família, increasing aid to the poor, rolling back privatization, and increasing taxes on gasoline. According to Brian Winter, the editor of Americas Quarterly and a longtime analyst of Brazilian politics, “The announcements basically got a C-plus from the markets—nobody too excited, nobody too upset.” But Winter was not optimistic that Lula’s government would be able to spend its way out of a decade-long slump.

Recovering the Amazon will be harder still. During Bolsonaro��s term, as ranchers and miners cleared land, fires consumed an area of rain forest estimated to be the size of Belgium. The region is rife with anti-government sentiment, and Lula and his allies are effectively asking residents not to take advantage of the valuable resources around them. One rancher I spoke with said, “How can you live on top of a treasure chest and not be able to do anything with it?”

Lula’s environment minister is Marina Silva, who served for five years during his first tenure but resigned in frustration over his desire to balance conservation with development. Now Lula had called her back, promising a zero-tolerance policy on deforestation. Silva, a rubber tapper’s daughter of Black Brazilian descent, is an evangelical Christian, a soft-spoken, long-haired woman in her sixties. At her office in Brasília, she told me that she hoped to expand sustainable agriculture while halting illegal deforestation. She acknowledged that there would still be violations of environmental laws, and that the process would take time. “We won’t be able to do this in four years—that would be utopian,” she said. “The problem during Bolsonaro was that the transgressors had total impunity. With Lula, at least, the expectation of impunity will end.”

Lula and his aides are conscious that the world will judge them less by the details of ordinary governance than by their handling of monumental crises: the collapse of the environment and the near-collapse of democracy. Simone Tebet, his planning minister, told me, “President Lula’s big problem is not just economic. He can solve the problem of inflation, the problem of unemployment, reduce social inequality, reduce the percentage of poor people in Brazil. But, if you don’t work on political pacification and unity, in four years’ time bolsonarismo will come back with force.” At seventy-seven, Lula had only one term left, and a great deal to do, Tebet reasoned. “He wants to clean the soul of Brazil,” she said. “He wants to halt injustice. I have no doubt that he will assemble a team for this. What worries me is whether he will have the strength, ability, discernment to understand that his main role is not just these four years. It is building bridges so that we can, in 2026 and 2030, have democratic governments in Brazil.” ♦

— Published in the print edition of the January 30, 2023, Issue of The New Yorker, with the headline “Lula’s Restoration.”

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omg-imagine · 2 years

Text

—on a cold winter’s day

summary: waking up alone in bed, john briefly reflects back to a time before you came along. when you later show up with hot chocolate, however, he is reminded of how much his life has changed for the better.

words: 1.4k

warnings: fluff, mention of pregnancy

a/n: is this real? am i really posting a new fic?? that being said please be *veeery* kind as this is literally my first piece of writing after a long hiatus. comments are always appreciated + much needed to motivate me to write more sksksk.

Dawn comes slow and steady.

Gently as it always does.

But this time, it ushers in a wintery chill to the air.

John notices it from the moment he wakes, his sleep-ladened eyes opening bit by bit as he yawns the remnants of his exhaustion away. It was too quiet, at first. Too still. Even when he’s burrowed under thick and heavy blankets, he could tell that something is amiss.

Something more than the mere frigid air lingering around him.

It was you. Or at least, the lack of you.

A hand runs across the other side of the bed, and John lets out a hefty sigh.

There had been a time when the space beside him was empty— a distant time when it used to be just as cold and bare.

Before there was you, morning would bring upon a new day, and yet to John, it would never feel any different. For far too long, it had been a constant. He’d wake from a dreamless slumber only to be greeted by a suffocating silence.

He can still remember those nights— those late, lonesome nights— when the wind howling outside his window and the ticking clock on the wall would brim the silent air. Burdened with the dark, harrowing voices in his mind, John would ponder for hours, staring at the blank ceiling above as he pictured a world where he wasn’t so alone.

Where the house he occupied wasn’t so quiet.

And the bed he laid in wasn’t so cold.

John imagined— no, yearned, for someone to fill the void inside him. Someone to hold him deep into the night, keeping the nightmares at bay.

Someone that allowed him to love and be loved in return.

It felt as if a lifetime had passed since those nights. The sun and moon had risen and fallen countless times, the days seamlessly bleeding onto the next. With his hair graying and the wrinkles around his eyes deepening, John swore that he would wait ever so patiently for his chance at a happy ending.

And when the stars finally aligned, when the universe decided to grant him his one wish, you came into John’s life.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

Standing in the doorway suddenly was you, his beautiful wife and the utter love of his life. The sweetness of your voice is enough to rouse him from his musings and draw him back to the present. A delicate warmth helplessly spreads through his chest as he sits up, feeling much more awake now than minutes before.

In your hands are two steaming ceramic mugs with a cursive embellishment of Mr. displayed on the front of one and Mrs. on the other. It was a matching pair that you had bought at a local thrift store shortly after your first year of marriage. A cheesy, impulsive purchase, but John thought it was perfect, like everything else you do.

“Sorry I didn’t wake you up earlier. You seemed like you needed all the rest that you could get.”

The moment your eyes reach John’s, the chill in the air dissipates, a radiant bliss now enveloping him when you shoot a tender smile his way.

The sight of your smile is as sweet and warm and inviting as the beverage you poured for him without a second thought, simply because you love him. It was a smile that has never failed to make him feel floatless, always leaving his insides gleefully fluttering as if he’s higher than on cloud nine.

That gentle smile of yours calms him with its innocence and comfort. It reminds John of something kind. Something hopeful. Like when he’s at his lowest point, haunted by the ghosts of his former self, it would be your smile that beacons a light out onto a sea of darkness. A light that shines so bright that he forgets his tormented past, even if only for a little while.

Warm, comforting, sweet, and kind. All things that John had once never really known of. All things that he believed he could never have— could never deserve until he met you.

How he was able to have a woman that loves him as wholeheartedly as you do, John would never fathom. But he would never question it either. He’d thank his lucky stars every night for letting a man like him, a man who’d experience more pain and suffering than one could take, share the rest of forever with you.

“John?” you softly call, the edge of the bed dipping as you come to sit beside him. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” he assures, scooting closer to you. “I was just wondering where you went. You usually sleep in on Saturdays.”

“Well, the little one was craving hot chocolate at 7 in the morning, so I had to get up and make it myself,” you reply before handing him the spare drink you’d brought along. “Made you one, too.”

John’s heart couldn’t help but flutter at the mention of the little one. The day you found out that the two of you were expecting, he had been over the moon. He still is, and with each passing day, week, and month, the excitement in him brews immensely.

And as he waited patiently for your bundle of joy to arrive, just as he waited patiently for you, John realized then that all those lonesome nights years ago were worth it, knowing it would lead him to this moment right here.

“Thanks, dear,” is his response to you before leaning down, now face to face with your growing bump. “And you, little guy, already have a pretty big sweet tooth, huh?”

“Oh, hush now. It’s a good thing he wants hot chocolate; it was freezing here, especially with you hogging all the blankets.”

A laugh escapes John as he playfully shakes his head. “Hey, you’re more than welcome to steal them back. I don’t want my two darlings getting cold at night.”

“I can’t believe it’s winter again, but at least this means it won’t be long now until we meet you, bud,” you add before taking a sip from your ceramic mug. “Mmm… John, you need to try this. I think I finally perfected my mix.”

That you were right. As John drinks, he savors each drop of it, capturing the accomplished grin painting itself over your lips. He thinks of how adorable you look before his eyes. How heavenly you are this early in the morning despite what you might say otherwise.

“Delicious,” John immediately compliments right after. Once you were both finished, he set the empty mugs down on the nearby nightstand, the ceramic clicking against the wedding band on his finger. “What do we have planned today?”

Almost instinctively, you crawl closer to John until the two of you are cuddled against the tufted headboard, a vast ocean of soft threaded sheets surrounding you. “Hmm, let’s see. We still need to pick up paint samples for the nursery and look at the furniture we want to get. Oh, we’re also running low on cocoa powder, so if I or you or the baby are craving more hot chocolate, we won’t have enough.”

Then there was a pause. John furrows his brow as you chuckle under your breath beats later. “What’s funny?”

“Well, we can do all of that or stay in bed for another hour or two,” you suggest, snuggling deeper into his side. “I’m too comfortable here to do anything else. And I bet you are too.”

You gaze up at John with twinkling eyes, and his breath hitches at the way you look at him. Behind those adoring eyes is a future that awaits him. One that is full of hope and love, security and peace.

His happy ending, he would say.

You, your child, this home, and everything else in between is the happy ending John had always dreamed of, all he could ever hope for. And as he soaks in every second he spends building this wonderful life with you, he wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world.

“Let’s stay here for now,” John whispers delicately, his lips pressing a soft kiss into your hair.

Let’s stay here forever.

A serene silence washes over, and this time, John isn’t afraid of it. He welcomes it, embraces it, anticipating the many, many more cups of hot chocolate you’ll share with him and the little one on cold winter days similar to this.

As the wintry chill continues to seize all, he’s reminded that those days when his house sat quiet and empty are long over.

And his bed will never be cold and bare again.

#john wick x reader #john wick imagine #john wick x you #john wick fanfic #keanu reeves x reader

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whorefordazai · 3 years

Note

oh nice, your requests are open again, I really enjoy these! uhhh how about some sleepy cuddle (separate) hcs for Chuuya, Gin (I think that’s they’re name), Fyodor, and Dazai with their significant other? I love cuddles and I think sleepy cuddles are just 👌👌👌👌🥺🥺

sleepy cuddles

ft. chuuya | dazai | gin | fyodor x gn! reader

genre: fluff, comfort

warnings: none

Chuuya

very clingy when he’s cuddling you.

he’ll be the big spoon 80% of the time. he likes having his arms around your waist, back pressed against his chest, and hips pressed on him. if he gets comfortable in that position, and you attempt to move around—give up 😊 cuz he’ll definitely firmly hold you back and mutter a soft “you’re not getting up yet.”

he loooves burying his face in your neck when he’s the big spoon. he’ll press soft kisses on the back of your neck. expect him saying a lot of “mhm, you smell good. did you use my body wash?” or “I could kiss you here for the rest of my life.”

If he sees you tense up or blush, he’ll hug you tighter and chuckle onto your skin.

yes, chuuya can be forward and not a little blush boy sometimes too 🙄

he really enjoys it when you play with his hair. I mean like, he literally melts under your touch.

he’ll sit between your legs, with his back leaned against your chest and be like “play with my hair ( ･_･)♡”

as you start to weave your fingers through his red locks, he’ll be two seconds away from falling asleep cuz he can’t hold his head up anymore. so his head will fall to the crook of your neck...and for a few seconds it’ll be quiet with just him snoozing on your chest.

he looks so innocent and peaceful with his bangs curling around his face and the soft snores coming from his mouth. his chest will slowly rise and fall and he’ll subconsciously squeeze your hand in his sleep like a new born baby *cries*

but he’ll suddenly shoot his head up, all disoriented like “NOT SLEEPING. I WAS NOT SLEEPING🧍‍♂️”

when he sees you just staring at him blinking in surprise—he’ll just grumble, roll his eyes, grab your face to place a huge kiss on your lips and then basically dive back into your arms, trapping you under him ♿️♿️♿️

Dazai

he’s on top of you. that’s it. that’s the headcannon.

dazai isn’t really clingy per say, when you both are cuddling before bed—it’s more like lazy cuddles. his limbs will be tangled with yours under the sheet, his arm lazily wrapped around your waist.

one of his legs will be wrapped over your body, keeping you closer to him. but this man does not sleep LMAO so instead, he plays footsie with you.

“dazai.”

“yes?”

“that tickles ಠ_ಠ”

“but I just wanted to play footsie with my cutesy little honey bunny 😔💔”

he’s using cringy pet names to woo you ☺️

he kinda doesn’t stop talking 😗—it’s not constant chatter, it’s more like he mumbles a few sentences in your ear every ten minutes.

“I think I left the kitchen light on.”

“I ran out of bandages.”

“I borrowed the rest of your bubble bath soap. and by borrowed, I mean I used half the bottle.”

“you’re so cute I could sacrifice you to satan.”

he likes feeling safe in your arms, so he’ll be the little spoon more than the big spoon. he only sleeps for a few hours, so he’ll just pull you close to him and lay his head on your chest, wrapping his arms around your waist. that way, he can hear your heartbeat.

don’t be fooled—once you guys are in deep sleep, the positions you’re in change drastically. either he’s sprawled out like a starfish and stealing the blanket to his side, or you’re head in on his stomach, being suffocated with his arm.

somehow, you both make it out alive to see the daylight. good job soldier 👊

if he’s laying on your chest and facing you, he’ll put both his hands on your cheeks and literally attack you with kisses. “Dazai” you’d manage to say between his lips on yours.

“Hm?”

“I might faint from oxygen deprivation if you keep this up.”

“REALLY?? what a wonderful way to die! kissing until we both run out of oxygen! let us do more of that then 👹!!”

careful, you just ignited a new hunger in him.

he actually loves laying on your stomach with his head on your chest and arms circled around your waist. definitely while you play with his hair. he considers it his prize for the day.

his face will be rested in the crook of your neck, and soon he’ll fall asleep from the comfort of your fingers running through his hair. aAA 😖 just imagine Dazai’s peaceful face and his soft breaths against your skin while he snoozes away 😶

Gin

little spoon on a good day <3

she’ll either lay in bed with you or rest her head on your chest with her arms circled around your waist. similar to dazai, one of her legs will be between yours with her chest pressed against your back.

she’s an assassin, but she lefts off her guard when she’s with you—so once she falls asleep, expect her to be in various weird positions.

ah, the classic patrick the star, and then we have falling off the bed 😎

I think you’ll often wake up during ungodly hours of the night and see half her body falling off the bed with her ass in the air.

don’t make a big deal about it—just get used to it 🥲

simply just carefully yank her back into your arms, and you’ll see her snuggle up closer to your chest (completely unbothered by the fact that she almost suffocated herself with her own arm)

of course she’ll let you be the little spoon. that includes her just softly rubbing soft circles on your back while holding you in her arms.

Fyodor

this man is extremely touch deprived and sleep deprived.

he actually just enjoys being the big spoon—pulling you close to his chest while the both of you are facing each other. one arm wrapped around your waist while the other softly caresses your back.

he especially likes keeping his face near your hair just because he enjoys the smell of your shampoo.

does the hat stay on while he sleeps? possibly sometimes, yes 🙂 so please take it off him once he falls asleep. or else his hair will get matted and have knots that he’ll refuse to brush in the morning.

he likes to be sneaky and lightly grope you, but that’s only because he wants to see a reaction that’ll feed his ego 💃

fyodor likes having your head rested on his chest. he doesn’t fall asleep that quickly, so when you’re the one to be snoozing off first—he’ll just enjoy the peaceful silence and the sight of you clinging onto him.

tag list: @uwu-monster101 @14th-century-homosexual-spirit @dai-tsukki-desu @i4gumi @cross-crye @starglow-xx @ranposlover @bsdwhore @arimakii @malewifegirlboss @shadyteacup @smadhuman @knjksj0301 @neighborhoodfriendlysimp @rirk-ke @mushroomplantasia @luftdum @pickleisrandom @3-am-depression @its-chuuya-bitch @elliesbakeryshop @ultimately-hopeism @ijustwantfreenetflix @the-wholesome-ranpo

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ghostofscarley · 2 years

Text

Those Brown Eyes

Adrian Pucey x Reader

Inspired by 'Those Brown Eyes' - Beetlebug

for the sake of this fic (though i have seen this a lot, idk whether others believe adrian has different coloured eyes) adrian has brown eyes

a/n- this fic is for my hufflepuff boos as (although im a ravenclaw) slytherpuff relationships are just one of my favourites.. also how do y'all play uno bc like, the rules that my family and i play with are what others are usually against.. like for us, its good to have a power card as a last card (like one that just changes colours) bc it doesnt matter what the previous card is (unless its a pick up) but others say you cant finish with it.. yet my family and i have been..

your eyes have a way of making me go blind

those eyes of his easily became something that y/n could indulge in. the warmth and noticeable love that shined from his orbs became her favourite thing to wake up to. the morning light that spewed through the blinds that were left slightly ajar reflect off of his eyes and within them she saw a kaleidoscope of wonder, the light illuminating a pool of honey, speckled with stars

"you know, you've ruined stargazing for me," with a huff and a slight pout resting on her lips, "they'd never begin to compare to the one's that rest in your eyes."

adrian could only chuckle as he tried to pull y/n in even closer, resting her head on his chest, tucking her into the side of his neck

"that just sounds like a 'you' problem," his morning voice came out husky and rough, full of sleep, deep, "you know, you're so cute when you pout like that."

"i knew introducing you to muggle sayings was a bad idea, how dare you," the words came out muffled as she spoke into his neck, leaving small, fluttering kisses that tickled him as he let out small hums and giggles, "you couldn't just stick to your weird wizard sayings."

"nah," he spoke into the crown of her head, "they don't bother you as much, so it's not as funny."

your smile does a thing that just melts my mind

as he craned his neck ever so slightly to gaze into her eyes, the inkling of a faint smile began to grow into a loving grin as he saw them, the sweetness of it almost melting her insides

adrian's smile, to y/n, was warmer than the warmest of days, more loving than that of a loving mother, sweeter than the sweetest of deserts; it was absolutely blinding to the naked eye but a sight to behold

"take a picture," adrian smirked, his eyes slitted slightly, still drowsy, "it'll last longer."

"i can't with you," she slapped his chest ever so lightly as she tucked herself into him, "you literally suck. genuinely."

"and you swallow babe," he wheezed, "that's how things work around here."

"you perv!" y/n began to pull away though adrian was quick to tighten his hold around her, "just can't get enough, can you?"

adrian could only chuckle as he began to shake his head

"never with you."

it feels like i'm abseiling in another world

and someone's dropped the line

and i feel myself drifting away

if someone were to ask y/n how she felt when it came to adrian, what do you think the answer would be?

well, what's your happy place? do you have one?

when it came to adrian, there was no denying that she felt as if she were on cloud 9; she was, without a doubt, in a constant state of utter euphoria

she had found her place; he was her happy place

and it was the most wonderful feeling

whilst he was a constant thought in her mind, leaving blissful memories, that left her feeling as if she were floating off into another world, he was also able to ground her and bring her back to him again

your pride is so high yet

you still act so shy

hogwarts 1991

"pucey shoots the quaffle past wood into the left hoop, scoring another ten points for slytherin," the boisterous gryffindor, lee jordan, commentates as he followed along with the match, "the snitch has been spotted as both potter and higgs race in order to secure the win for their corresponding house."

the crowd raised to slightly as they all tried to catch the last few moments of the match with the slytherin's and gryffindor’s at the edge of their seats, hoping for the win

"he's done it!" lee jordan announces as you can hear cheers from one side of the audience, whilst the other erupted into groans, "higgs has caught the snitch. slytherin house has won the game."

as a hufflepuff, y/n was quite neutral with the match and applauded for the winning team, whilst still congratulating the opposing team for their effort

"isn't that your boyfriend's team, y/n?" cedric diggory, friend and house mate, teased as he turned to his friend, whom adorned reddened cheeks, "what kind of cheering is that? blow him a kiss at the very least."

y/n gasped, turning to cedric as she slapped his arm

"adrian isn't my boyfriend," she exclaimed, huffing as she turned to look back at the field, or rather, a certain slytherin who was still mounted on his broom, whooping and hollering in victory, "we're just seat mates. he's just a friend."

"i never said a name, y/l/n," diggory, with that smirk of his, followed my line of sight, landing on the slytherin in question, "oh look, he's coming this way."

and with that, cedric began to get up as y/n turned to look up at her friend

"ced, don't be ridic-" though she was cut off as a gust of wind came from out of nowhere and she turned to the new presence, "adrian! aha. you're here. what're you doing here?"

the girl was clearly flustered and adrian was enjoying it just a little too much

"i'm a chaser on the slytherin quidditch team," he chuckled, stating the obvious, "i kinda have to be here. what are you doing here?"

was it possible for her cheeks to redden even more?

if it was then they did

"i- i'm allowed to enjoy a game of quidditch, am i not?" had she not stuttered, she would've felt a bit more confident about her response, "need to know what my house is up against right?"

"right, well i was wondering," he paused to make direct eye contact, thinking out his next words, "being, you know, a winner and all, i was wondering if you wanted to go on a date. with me. during the next hogsmeade trip. maybe"

his confidence dwindled and.. was that a blush

was the 3rd year chaser of the slytherin team, stone-face, adrian pucey blushing

"um, yeah," she could only look down at her fists that were slightly clenched out of nerve, "yeah, that sounds nice."

"yeah?" he asked, suddenly shy, the light tint of pink spreading down his neck

"yeah." she looked at him, giving a slight nod and a small smile

"yean, no," his smile brightened and widened as he looked down at her, beginning to mount his broom to return it, "that's really cool. um, i'll see you for that date then."

"adrian, we have a few classes before the next trip."

"right, no you're right, i will see you then."

and with that he took off

you're a sore loser but let me win all the time

"ah would you look at that," with his chest puffed, and his grin gleeful, mischief lurking beneath his irises, as he placed a 'pick up 4' card on the table that rested between them, "read 'em and weep."

y/n could only huff and pout, albeit a bit exaggerated, as she reached to pick up an extra 4 cards to add to her (at this point) overflowing deck

"first of all, this isn't poker," she began as she started to sort her new cards into the colour coded system she had, "second, that's just rude."

"wow, love i'm wounded," he smirked as he looked up at y/n who was still deciding on which card to play, "how ever will i continue to live, knowing that you think i'm rude."

placing a red 3, y/n looked up to adrian, waiting for his turn, in which he had placed a 'skip' card and then a green 5

with her eyes quite visibly lighting up, y/n placed a green, yellow and red 5 before turning to adrian again

he had placed 2 'pick up 2's smiling mischievously, only for y/n to place another 'pick up 2'

and the smile was wiped off his face, and instead placed on hers as she cheered

picking up the extra 6 cards, he turned as he heard 'uno' to see that she had placed a 'pick up 4' card and held one card left, his jaw dropping, as he returned to the decreasing pile

having placed a colour changing card, she was able to place her final card, winning the game

"you- i- what?" he was flabbergasted, pouting in his loss, though the warmth in his chest said otherwise as he watched his girl cheer in victory, "i think you cheated and therefore i want a rematch."

"or you can accept that i'm just better and we play mario kart instead so i can kick your ass again."

"you're on."

so when someone asks why i love you so

i know my reason why

why the stars now reside in my eyes

what did y/n love about adrian?

well if you were to ask her, her list would be endless

so let's start here

the two had met during their first charms lesson, befriending each other quickly, to the surprise of others. i mean, how many times do you see a slytherin and hufflepuff interacting positively, let alone hanging out and enjoying it

the girl was was the epitome of sunshine and friendliness whilst the boy was the epitome of politeness and manners, and so their dynamics fit well

as second year approached, the two found themselves befriending others, and hung out less and less, though they vowed to remain close friends

then came third year and the match between gryffindor and slytherin, slytherin's win, and y/n and adrian's first date

during the hogsmeade trip, the pair had gone to the three broomsticks, reacquainting themselves with each other after the year apart. it was crazy just how much you could forget about someone when you spend less and less time with them

through that, upon entering honey dukes, adrian had purchased y/n's favourite treat, handing it to her as he dropped her off to the hufflepuff common room, leaving a departing kiss on her forehead before heading off

1995

"you know i love you right?" she asked as he held her, stargazing from atop the astromy tower, one last time, "like, i'm utterly in love with you, it's not even funny."

"of course it wouldn't be funny, love," adrian chuckled, in disbelief, "why would loving someone be funny?"

"it's.. a saying." she sighed as she turned away from him, leaning on the railing

"well i do know that you love me," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin atop her head, "but i know that i love you more."

"you think?" she whispered back

"i know." and with a final kiss to her temple, they gazed out as night fell over hogwarts, for the last time

you make me feel like i'm alright

i could stay tucked in your arms all day and fall asleep in them at night

and as long as the world goes around the sun to its steady demise

her grounding. her happy place. her best friend and other half. her comfort

all the worries she held never mattered when he was around

the warmth of his arms as they enclose around her were all too enticing, inviting to rest in his arms until the world meet its end

"we don't have anything too important to do today right?" y/n inquired, voice muffled, "i dont want to move. i could stay here all day if you'd let me."

"well, you know," adrian chuckled as he could smell the light scent of her shampoo, "auror training. not too important."

"nah, we can stay here," she then turned to stare into his eyes, a small pout etching onto her face, "please can we stay here?"

"yeah we can stay here." pecking her nose and the apple of her cheek

i'll be with you

by your side, it's true

and you'll smile back at me

2001

the salty breeze of the small beach hit y/n's face softly, the white dress she wore gently dancing with the wind, smile gracing her face as she lovingly gazed at adrian, whom stood across from her

"do you, y/n y/m/n y/l/n, take adrian pucey, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day onward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death do you part?"

"i do."

slipping her hand into his, grazing it slightly, she brought up her other hand to wipe the tear that had begun to cascade down adrian’s cheek

"and do you, adrian edmund pucey, take y/n y/l/n, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day onward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish until death do you part?"

"i do."

"as we gather here, family and friends, we watch on as their love story progresses onto the next chapter. a chapter that started once the words 'i do' were spoken. you will cherish this bond as it only belongs to you. start each day with gratitude and compassion and unconditional love will follow. believe in each other; support each other's dreams. with each passing year, you will grow closer together, draw strength together and two shall become one. you will be blessed with the greatest happiness of all. to love and to be loved. by the power invested in me, i now announce you, husband and wife. you may kiss your bride."

cheers erupted, tears fell, smiles widened and eye brightened

"from this day forward, i announce the newly wedded, mr and mrs pucey."

with hands held high, interlaced and intertwined, they gazed into each others eyes, for the first time as a married couple

and y/n gazed into adrian’s brown eyes. the ones she always knew

with those brown eyes the ones

i always knew

was it noticeable that i struggled with the last part.. i definitely didn't take it from an image i found online..

ANYWAY

finally done so.. im ready to hit the sack after a long day of school and finally finishing this fic

MY LOVES

@lilyswh0re @loverssfevers @limerenze

#Spotify #adrian pucey #adrian pucey x reader #adrian-pucey #adrian pucey fluff #y/n #adrian x yn #adrian pucey x y/n

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huenjin · 3 years

Text

superior.

pairing: chan x reader x changbin

word count: 1.795 words

genre: smut

tw: nsfw content — threesome, dom!chan, dom!changbin, daddy kink, masturbation (m), penetration, nipple play, choking, face fucking, spanking, humiliation, breast slapping, pain kink, spit roast, cum feeding (amongst a few more)

note: this is the first time i'm writing a threesome so please send me positive reviews and critics on how i can improve, if i must. thank you x happy reading!

"fuck."

there is something about hearing you swear that gets chan so hard and has his dick twitch in his hold. he wraps his fingers around his big cock, pumping it as he watches changbin hover over you naked. there is something so arousing about his innocent girlfriend agreeing to his desire to bring his best friend into the bedroom with you. there is something carnal about how you look so small and fragile under changbin's predatory gaze.

there is something about you and chan loves it.

"what a filthy word leaving your innocent lips," changbin chuckles before he bends down to take your nipples in between his teeth lightly. your body arches the minute his tongue licks over it, your core brushing against his hard length. "chan was right. you're so fucking sensitive. has he not fucked you right ever?"

chan holds his dick a little tighter, grunting as he bites his teeth, "shut the fuck up, bin." there is still something arousing about all this that makes him leak profusely, lubricating his length so well that his hand moves over his big cock that easily.

"binnie," you moan, hand finding its way to his hair as you pull at it, grinding against his fat cock so much that you're leaking and staining the bed sheets. your voice is so small and chan's dick twitches again. your voice breaks and tears roll down from sexual frustration from all that teasing, "b-binnie, please stop teasing. we've been at this for minutes now. daddy, please, please, please tell him to fuck me. i want your cock, binnie. i want your cock."

"fuck, fuck," he lifts himself up, eyes wide as he stares down at you. changbin holds his cock in his hand, pumping it slightly at the sight of you crying for his cock, desperately begging to have it in you and changbin knows this should be wrong — fuck, you are attractive but the fact that you are still his best friend's girlfriend changes the fact that his heart shouldn't skip a beat for you. however, when you are here lying naked, pussy embarrassingly wet all because of him, begging him for his big fat cock to fill you up, how could he stop the adrenaline from rushing into his bloodstream, or his heart from beating quicker?

and in one swift motion, changbin thrusts his cock into you, your lips spreading apart and a choked gasp leaving your lips as your grip on the sheets.

"fuck, you're so tight," changbin grunts. "so pretty crying for my cock. i'll fuck you so well, princess."

you are too caught up in the feeling of changbin's girth filling you up that you don't realise that your boyfriend has made his way to the side of the bed. his finger grips your chin as he roughly shifts your face to look at him.

"is he fucking you well, angel?"

"yes, yes, daddy. binnie's cock fills me so well." chan raises an eyebrow, before kissing you. he bites your lower lip to illicit a moan from you, seizing the opportunity to slip his tongue in and deepen the kiss. his hand moves to your right breast, catching your nipple between your thumb finger and forefinger. he rolls it, pinching it slightly and the pain shoots all the way down, making you slicker and moan into chan's mouth. changbin's cock pushes in and out of your sopping core, squelching noises resonating in the room.

chan pulls back, a scoff leaving his lips as he sees your face contort into that of pleasure. his hand fondles your breasts before letting go of it. a soft whine leaves your lips and in a second, his hand comes down upon your breast, slapping it hard enough for impressions to appear. you gasp, tears rolling down as you move your hips to changbin's cock, squeezing down on his length as the pleasure the pain brings forth in you.

"fuck, princess," changbin holds your other breast with his hand as he thrusts further into you, hitting your spot so hard that your vision blurs. you can feel the knot tighten in your stomach and you know you're close. "you're going to kill me."

"you're a slut. my baby girl is such a slut for cock. was daddy's cock not enough for you that you need another man to stuff you full? are you that greedy?" chan slaps your breast again. you're awfully sensitive and the fact that both the men provided your breasts full attention to your erogenous spot has you feeling dizzy.

"she's a cockslut. look at how you're squeezing me, princess," changbin's lips curve up. his hand leaves your breast to trail upwards. his fingers wrap around your neck, digging into the flesh and hindering your breathing. your swollen lips part to take in more air and chan kisses the side before holding his cock in his hand again and rubbing the precum all over your lips.

"if you're such a slut for cocks, i think you can take me too, right?"

changbin lets go of your throat, only after rubbing the area slightly. he pulls out of you, hand on his cock instantly pumping it to the sight of you — face fucked out, pussy glistening in both his and your arousal — and turns to look at chan. your boyfriend climbs on top of the bed, cock erect.

"on your four, slut."

you scramble to do the same, ass facing changbin and he groans, hand gripping his cock so hard at the sight of your ass shaking as you crawl towards chan.

you kiss desperately, and chan can taste his cum by your lips. your lips suck onto his lower ones, tongue not pushing past his lips but still playing around the edge, little licks interspersed with moans and the gentlest of bites to his lower lip, such good pain, all while never breaking it. changbin, on the other hand, sucks onto your ass, leaving hickeys all over them as he stains them purplish-red, teeth marks prominent. he lifts his hand, swishing it to hit your ass, cheek shaking on impact and changbin moans as he repeats. you're insatiable and how he wishes for a minute that this minute could last.

"you can take my cock in your mouth, right?"

chan's cock is heavy and warm on your tongue. you've taken him in so many times and every single one of them reminds you how thick it is, it only amplifies when he fucks your mouth. your cheeks hollow as you take him as far as you can till chan takes over, holding your hair in his hand and clenching at it tightly, lifting your head slightly for you to look up at him.

changbin spanks you exactly at that minute. you move forward on impact, choking on chan's cock as he thrusts further into your mouth. the other male pushes your cheeks apart before bending down and licking a stripe. you moan at the sensation and stimulation that is sent down your spine from it. you've been teased for so long that you just want to break down and orgasm, shuddering in their holds as you come undone. in a blink of the eye, your tongue is pressed flat against chan's cock as you stare up at the man in ecstasy. changbin enters into you from behind right then, shoving his dick past your wet lips and filling you up so well, the position helping him to reach spots easily.

your head is fuzzy. it's all too much. chan shoving his dick past your mouth and changbin shoving his into your wet pussy. your jaw begins to ache from the constant task of fitting his fat girth into your mouth, but the feeling of him sliding against your tastebuds and battering the back of your throat makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. chan's grip on your hair is stronger to position your face and yet you release another moan, the vibrations rolling against his cock. changbin slaps your ass every single time he pulls out only to thrust back in harder and at a quicker pace.

chan grips harder, thrusts harder and changbin's rougher and your brain cannot concentrate with all the endorphins and oxytocin streaming into your blood stream. changbin takes the liberty to rub your clit, stimulating you further as he flicks it before circling around the engorged bud. chan shoves his dick occasionally down your throat, emitting gags that vibrate off his cock. his other hand grips at your breast holding it in his hand and chan can't help but think how it fits in his hand like it was made for him to hold.

and everything is all too much for you to take. your brain spirals down and releases. you come undone as changbin holds your hips firmly still shoving his dick in you, helping you ride out your orgasm. white rush under your eyes and stars closing in on your vision. and like chan just knows how and when you'd come, like your other half; your perfect other half, he comes undone simultaneously in your mouth, slimy white aftermath filling your mouth as you swallow a lot and spill a lot more. he removes himself from his mouth and cradles your face. chan takes his come in his forefinger, swiping it clean before shoving his finger into your mouth and ordering, "suck it clean."

you do that, wrapping your tongue over it and taking it in, licking it completely. chan strokes the side of your face, whispering how good you are. it is bizzare how different the moment is as changbin almost takes you to a point of overstimulation as he chases after his own orgasm. you moan, groan changbin's name as chan bends forward to kiss you, tasting himself on your lips.

"binnie, too much," you let go of chan's lips, mumbling against his corners. "can't take mo— fuck, fuck, right there." you are weeping, tears spilling onto the sheets and chan kisses you again.

and when changbin knows he is close, he pulls out from you, hand moving furiously against his length to push him past the borders and he does, grunting your name laced with moans as he spills all over your ass, white strings of cum shooting all the way to your back.

changbin pants, chest heaving and you fall down onto the bed, head shifting to the right to look back at him, mumbling, "thank you," and then turn to look at chan who has the biggest grin on his face as he pinches your chin to make you look up at him.

"what in the world, i wonder, made you think that we were done with you, angel?"

#chan smut #changbin smut #stray kids smut #3racha smut #skz smut #kpop smut #bang chan smut #seo changbin smut #chan x reader x changbin #chan x reader #changbin x reader #writings.rue

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writerpeach · 3 years

Text

Expensive - Part Deux

Twice Mina x Male Reader

smut, oral, anal, richgirl!mina

4941 words

masterlist

“Here you are, ma’am. Please enjoy your meal.”

Myoui Mina thanked the waiter while flashing her signature gummy smile, reaching for the newly opened bottle of ketchup placed in front of her. She shook the bottle a few times, drawing a smiley face on her over-easy eggs and cutely giggling to herself before taking a bite.

“Delicious,” Mina said, taking a strip of bacon elegantly eating it. She took a sip of strawberry milk, using a napkin to wipe her mouth afterwards. Even in such a quaint and simple diner, Mina stayed prim and proper to the very end. It was quite the juxtaposition, the blonde Japanese girl being dressed to the nines in a restaurant where sweat pants and a t-shirt was the unspoken dress code.

Mina had traveled the world, dined in several countries and expensive Michelin star restaurants, sampling various cuisines in several different continents but there was a time where a girl just needed bacon and eggs to start the day, especially when you were lucky enough to be accompanying her to breakfast.

Your plates had been cleaned off, your stomachs filled and appetites satisfied. The only thing left was what Mina had planned for the day, and you were willing and able to obey whatever needs she needed fulfilled.

“Where to?” you asked, finishing your own glass of cold milk as Mina took her black card from the waiter, replacing it with a crisp one hundred dollar bill and signing the receipt with the prettiest signature. Mina never allowed you to pick up the check when you were in her presence, insisting on you never spending a dime. You stopped arguing after the first few times she had done this, it was one of the few things you learned she wasn’t going to budge from and you weren’t going to complain about a free meal.

“You’ll be accompanying me to several places this morning, I have to prepare for a gala this weekend and need new outfits.”

“Sounds fun.”

“You’ll be trying on clothes too, I can’t have you looking like a slob next to me.”

✦✦

The way your back was pressed against the inside of the dressing room door meant you were doing anything but trying on clothes.

“We’ll be out until midnight at the earliest, so there won’t be anytime to play with you later,” Mina said with one hand pumping your leaking cock. Several potential outfits were hung out on the wall, but Mina had taken your pants and boxers off down to your knees as soon as the door had shut.

“Look at me when I’m jerking you off.”

Mina’s tone was cold as the small hand slowly stroked your cock. Her free hand had cupped the side of your face and demanded your attention as she squeezed every bit of pleasure out with her delicate slow strokes.

“I could make you cum in ten seconds if I wanted to,” Mina said, squeezing your throbbing shaft harder with every pump of her slender fingers and running a thumb over your swollen tip.

Your breath hitched at her touch as she gave your balls a firm squeeze, running a finger alongside your shaft from base to tip and rubbing the underside of your leaking cockhead.

“Let’s make it interesting. If you can make it to thirty seconds you can fuck me against that mirror.”

“Ready?” Mina asked, her ice cold gaze staring into your soul as she bit her lip and gave one long stroke from base to tip, making sure to twirl her hand around every inch of your shaft. You took a deep breath and nodded nervously.

The painfully slow pace she had been using up until now dramatically changed as Mina gripped your cock harshly, picking up speed with every stroke.

“Twenty six...twenty five…”

“You already know how loud I get in the bedroom. You’ll have to cover my mouth to keep me from moaning your name while this nice dick is inside me,” Mina said, keeping her eyes tightly focused on your own as you moaned.

“Seventeen...sixteen…”

“You’re doing well. Do you want to fuck me that badly? Do you want to fill my tight little pussy with this throbbing cock?”

It was bad enough you were forced to look into Mina’s lustful bedroom eyes while she jerked you off in the dressing room, counting down with that sweet voice dripping with honey whispering in your ear at the same time.

“Nine...eight...six…”

“Almost there. I can’t wait for you to make me cum on this cock.”

You gritted your teeth and dug your toes into your shoes, trying to desperately find any sort of outlet for the pleasure shooting through your veins. Mina blew hot air into your ear after every five numbers. You couldn’t make it much longer, trying to think of anything but the sexually charged Japanese woman stroking your shaft.

“Bet you’re just dying for me to walk out of here with your hot cum dripping down my thighs...”

Mina went for the killing blow as she furiously pumped your cock, using her other hand to play with and massage your full swollen balls.

“Four...three...two…”

The end was in sight in more ways than one. You tried everything in your power to hold back, but as soon as Mina’s luscious lips said the word, you grunted and erupted uncontrollably, thick spurts of milky white semen firing out of your cock and coating her fingers and the unfortunate dressing room’s tile floor underneath.

“That’s too bad, I really wanted to be fucked before tonight.”

Your body trembled as those few final moments of climax subsided, the disappointed look in Mina’s eyes as she jerked you off past the point of sensitivity. She gave your depleted shaft a few more rough squeezes before licking her fingers clean.

“I like the black shirt, try that one on first. Get dressed and I’ll see you outside.”

✦✦

Mina had an affinity for handcuffs.

The cold steel wrapped around each of your wrists matched the cold atmosphere in the room as each of your arms were spread wide as an eagle and secured to the headboard of her canopy bed. The expensive silk sheets against your naked body were the only comfort you felt as Mina’s cold hands were caressing your bare chest.

“Do you like being Minari’s little fucktoy?” she asked, cocking her head to the side and demanding an answer which was rather difficult to give as she had stuffed her wet panties in your mouth.

You answered the only way you could and frantically nodded your head, knowing Mina hating repeating herself. You were rewarded with a slap to the face as she relentlessly rode your cock, her ice cold gaze staring daggers into your eyes.

“Good answer.”

There was little you could do in that moment as Mina took you in and out of her slippery tight hole, using you for her own selfish pleasure which was arousing in its own way. Perhaps had your dressing room romp got the way she wanted it you would be in a different situation,

Spending a night with Mina was never the same twice in a row. There was always some changing aspect of it, something she had changed to keep you on your toes. At times it was a quick blowjob before you finished inside her, sometimes it was hours of her edging and torturing your cock as she devilishly cackled the entire time. You hated to admit it but you loved the unknown mixture of fear and anticipation.

You didn’t mind the position you were in, limbs splayed out on Mina’s bed as she worked out her frustrations and took her second orgasm of the night. The naked blonde had straddled your waist, riding your cock for what seemed like eternity, each pop of her wide hips bringing you closer to orgasm.

You weren’t sure what was louder, the constant moans and gasps that escaped Mina’s sinful lips or the creaking of her luxurious bed, both competing in a stalemate.

Mina spent several movements grinding away her orgasm as her wetness drenched your shaft, taking every last second of pleasure from your body as her pretty eyes stayed half-lidded.

“Are you not going to cum as well?” Mina asked, and you found yourself unsure at how you had lasted this long as the tightness pulsating around your cock continued.

“I-I was waiting for you to be satisfied,” you said, not trying to convey the obvious fact that you were wrapped around Mina’s little finger.

“Well, that’s sweet but you’ve done your job for tonight. You were a perfectly capable toy for me to use tonight. Now I expect you to cum, I don’t have all night.”

It wasn’t as if you had several options as you were merciless at her whims, unable to do so much as lay a hand on her pristine naked body as much you wanted.

“Hurry up and cum inside me.”

Mina’s words weren’t so much of a request, but that of a demand, as if she grew tired of using you and wanted to move on. She was quick to urge you past that point of no return, the slap of her plump ass bouncing on your crotch as the tightness in your abdomen grew harder to control.

The look in Mina’s eyes was enough to drive you over the edge. The way she rode you mercilessly drove you insane, you couldn’t last another second if you wanted to. The bed squeaked in protest and you swore it was liable to collapse at any second as her tight small body slammed down on your cock, filling up her warm little hole was too much to handle.

“F-fuck, Mina, I’m gonna cum,” you moaned out, sending a desperate sense of relief inside the woman you were buried inside. Mina’s eyes beckoned you to give in to her body, not that you had much of a choice. With one more intense slam against your cock Mina sent you past your limits, causing your throbbing cock to fill her dripping slick walls with thick hot cum, causing endless grunting as her cunt milked every last drop out.

It felt like you had blacked out from the sharp pleasure, every muscle in your body on fire as your climax ran its course through your trembling body as Mina carefully watched. Once you had nothing left to give, your balls fully drained at her hand she gradually ceased her movements and left you gasping for air as your shaft rested inside her.

Mina didn’t say another word as she gingerly lifted her body off of your cock, releasing you from deep inside her with a loud plop as your thick load began dripping down her thighs and down your crotch. She quickly reached for the key to your handcuffs off her bedside table and unlocked them, the relieving click music to your ears.

"You have five minutes to rest, then you are to join me in the shower."

✦✦

It wasn’t often Mina was caught in anything other than expensive designer brands, colorful long flowing dresses that accentuated every curve of her body, or form-fitting pant suits that were tight in all the right places.

After a late afternoon business call Mina had neglected putting clothes back on after her scalding hot shower, getting out in a cashmere robe and slippers as she took a seat on the couch, tablet in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other.

“Try some,” Mina said, gesturing to a half-full black bottle resting upon the kitchen table. You retrieved your own glass before joining her back on the couch, giving the glass a swirl as you watched the dark colored liquid splash around in your glass before indulging.

“What do you think?” she asked, scrolling through her tablet, catching up on various events and aspects of her day.

“It’s good. I’ve never really had wine except out of a box in college, but this is really good.”

“That’s a shame, I’ll have to catch you up. It’s one of the finest bottles from my parent’s vineyard.”

“Your parents have a vineyard?”

“They have several. One of my responsibilities is to check in to make sure everything is running smoothly from time to time.”

Every time Mina opened up just a little you felt grateful, feeling just that bit of closeness that existed.

“Do you know what the best way to drink wine is?” Mina asked, putting her tablet down on the glass coffee table in front of her.

“Can’t say that I do.”

Mina paused, downing the leftover wine in her clear glass before carefully placing it away and taking a seat on your lap, letting you feel the softness of her bare thighs. Her small hands grabbed each side of your face, planting a deep kiss on your lips and spitting wine from her mouth to yours.

“The best way to drink wine is off the body of a naked woman,” Mina said, loosening her robe and giving you a peek of her bare chest as you swallowed the wine she had deposited into your mouth.

“Well, clearly you’re the wine expert, but I think I’ll need a demonstration.”

“I’ll be happy to give you one,” Mina said, dismounting your lap as you carefully laid her on her back with one hand, the other keeping your glass upright. She untied the belt of her robe completely, opening it up to expose her perky tits and killer set of abs that complemented such a perfect body.

Mina didn’t linger for a second, taking your glass from your hand and aiming it at her naked torso, tipping it over as dark wine stained her pale skin, the contrasting colors so gorgeous to gander at.

You admired her beauty for a moment before planting a kiss on her tight abdomen and gathering the wine on your tongue, drinking it all up and licking every inch of her sexy midriff.

“You’re right, this is the best way. It tastes even better,” you said, continuing to run your lips and tongue over the surface of Mina’s body, licking in in between her cleavage as she idly watched. Mina had been licked clean at your own accord, the delicious taste of wine lingering on your lips as you kissed her breasts and sucked on her nipples.

“I’ll give you something else to taste,” Mina said, the look on her face as devilish as possible as she pushed your body off hers, causing you to fall flat onto the couch. Moving rather quickly Mina divested her robe from her body, letting you take in the view of her beautiful naked body.

That moment didn’t last long, Mina now fully nude was delicious candy for your eyes but you only got to sample it as you felt her thick supple thighs locking around your head, using you as her seat cushion as she took a seat on your face. It was so abrupt that you barely had any time to react as you were smothered with the warm flesh of her wet heat, the slickness of her cunt introducing itself to your lips.

“You know what to do, don’t you?” Mina said, the cuteness of her tone contrasted with her sinister expression, and you didn’t dare keep her waiting as you darted your tongue and licked her pink slit several times. Mina gasped and began rolling her hips, gyrating her body and riding your face.

Mina’s taste was unforgettable, and this close you were quite literally breathing in her scent as you ate her pussy out, being suffocated with dripping pink flesh as you explored her folds with your tongue.

“I know you can do better than that,” Mina said as she put more of her weight down on you, smearing your lips and chin with her essence. You made sure not a single inch of her delicious pussy went without a swipe of your tongue as you took her swollen clit into your mouth and devoured Mina.

“There you go, eat that fucking pussy,” Mina demanded, grabbing the back of your head as she moaned and dug her nails into the back of your skull, aching to feel your tongue deeper than it was already. Her aggressiveness always caught you by surprise no matter how many times you had seen it, not that you minded for a second as your head was buried in between her luscious thighs.

Mina’s taste was so intoxicating, so satisfying to your palette more than any of the fancy restaurants that she had taken you that you could have done this all day long until the muscles in your jaw gave out.

“Almost there, don’t you dare fucking stop,” Mina moaned out as her thighs squeezed your head, pulling roughly at your hair with her fingers tangled in strands of it. You were powerless to do anything else, pinned to her couch and being a toy and you wanted nothing more.

There wasn’t anything quite like when Mina achieved climax, moaning in a mixture of Japanese and English and practically slurring every word that escaped her lips while her thighs vibrated around your head, hips bucking wildly out of control.

When Mina came was the highest her voice rose, the usual quiet demeanor of her was replaced by such filthy words filth would make a sailor blush. Screams and lustful moans filled the air as her honey dripped into your lips and you lapped up every drop eagerly.

Mina had finished the vigorous use of your face to climax all over, and you lamented the loss of her thighs squeezing your head, but if the look in her eye was anything to go by she wasn’t done with you.

“Good job. You’re proving to be quite useful.”

✦✦

(2:02 a.m.) My place. Now.

It didn’t matter that you had just brushed your teeth, put on your comfiest pair of pajamas and slipped under the covers. When Mina demanded her 2 a.m. booty call you answered, not even bothering to change as you entered the black sports car sent by her personal driver.

Mina answered the doorbell naked, without even so much as a hello you were brought into the familiar bedroom. Within seconds clothes formed a crumpled discarded pile. Build-up wasn’t a word used much in Mina’s vocabulary as she took you into her warm wet mouth for just a dozen or so strokes, if only to make sure you were rock hard and nothing else.

You quickly found yourself inches away from Mina’s naked body, her long legs spread wide in a familiar position that you couldn’t wait to dive into. Your throbbing shaft ached to feel the warmth of her body, but she had other plans as you felt something being jammed into your leg.

“My pussy is off-limits tonight,” she said, leaving you unsure to her reasons but you certainly weren’t ever going to complain about anal with Mina and welcomed the change of pace. She aided in lubing up your cock, using a freshly opened bottle and guided you towards her tight puckered hole.

Mina demanded your full attention, this time not bent over ready to be taken but kept on her back, wanting you to see her as you penetrated her back entrance. It was regrettable missing the view of her bent of beautiful ass, not that this position was lacking in anything while having the benefit of granting full vision of her Mina’s features.

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

You wouldn’t dare as you pushed your cock into the tight opening of her asshole, earning a loud gasp from her lips as you penetrated her. It was a feeling that never got old, the intense tightness that surrounded you as your tip disappeared into her warm hole was breathtaking.

“I want you deep,” Mina said, clearly no stranger to anal as she was able to relax her muscles to allow your shaft to sink deeper into her tight asshole. It didn’t take much, just a few smooth strokes until you filled her ass to the hilt.

“Fuck, you’re so big,” Mina moaned out, letting herself get used to the motions as she instinctively rubbed her clit on one hand as you fucked her ass, keeping her knees up and her feet flat on the sheets as her toes curled with pleasure.

You found a rhythm to fuck Mina with right away, watching the pure unadulterated bliss in her eyes as you slid in and out of her puckered hole, feeling the tight clench of it as you stretched her out little by little.

“So fucking tight. You like how that cock feels in your ass?”

“I do, but I’ll like it better when you stop talking and pound me.”

You got the hint and upped your pace, driving your shaft repeatedly into the overwhelming tightness of Mina. She freely moaned in response, the look in her lustful eyes always demanding more and you readily obliged, moving your hips even faster until you were pistoning into her gripping hole.

“Just like that, show me what that cock can do.”

Placing your hands on Mina’s soft creamy thighs, you gave into everything she desired and more as you fucked her deep as possible, giving perfectly smooth strokes into her ass without pause.

You had a hard time finding what to focus on, the tight little hole that was filled to the brim with cock, or Mina’s pretty face now contorted with pleasure and moaning with delight. The sensations around your body drove you insane, the intense tightness and heat surrounding your cock set your senses ablaze.

Mina had an equal sense of pleasure if the moans escaping her throat were anything to go by, and in no time you were absolutely drilling into her asshole, trying to force your shaft as deep into her body as it would go.

You loved every second of it, the way her tight hole squeezed the life out of your cock, it was a moment you wanted to last forever. The look of ecstasy in Mina’s eyes as you were balls deep in her ass, you wanted time to stop for eternity so you could spend every bit of it fucking her.

Sadly, your body had other plans for you, as it often did. The intensity of your thrusts picked up, and you felt that familiar feeling in your abdomen that you wanted to go away, trying to focus on how amazing Mina made your cock feel.

“Mina, I-I’m close.”

“Don’t even think about pulling out.”

You couldn’t, even if for some reason you wanted to it would be impossible to remove yourself from the tightness you felt yourself buried in. You kept Mina’s perfect features in your view, watching the deep satisfaction as you drove yourself towards orgasm. The end was near and you wanted to savor the last few moments, pumping harshly into her tight ass repeatedly.

“Give me it...give me all your cum in my ass...fill me,” Mina demanded, staring at you as sweat dripped down your brow. It wouldn’t be much longer, just a few more thrusts inside her was all you could take as you used what little remaining you had left.

With one more satisfying thrust you buried yourself to the hilt, filling Mina’s ass as you throbbed inside her, flooding her hole up with your abundant creamy load and grunting with every shot fired.

Your climax lasted what felt like forever as your balls were emptied into Mina, her tight cavern milking you dry until you were able to slowly withdraw from her gaping hole as a stream of thick semen leaked out that was the evidence of your combined pleasure.

“I expected more,” Mina said, taking a finger to her rawly used hole and taking a sample of your cum, licking it clean.

You held back on giving any reaction, unable to do much but try and catch your breath as you watched the mess you had left inside Mina.

“Clean yourself up, my driver will be here in ten minutes.”

✦✦

One of the many benefits being Mina’s companion was getting to visit countries you had only dreamed of, seeing them only in movies. Your passport went from being blank to having pages filled with dozens of stamps from places that some you hadn’t even heard of before and experiencing the comfort of first class.

You had seen so many different places yet it never got old, seeing a new place, full of new culture to learn. It had become tradition that with every new place came a new hotel suite, staying in rooms you swore were bigger than some apartments you’d lived in and you never got used to it.

It also became tradition that Mina loved breaking in hotel rooms by being fucked in them. The thrill of being in a different country with a different language and a different timezone was only second fiddle to knowing the sheets were going to be stained with your combined bodily fluids. Mina always left large bills as compensation for cleaning staff.

Between business meetings and visiting important tourist destinations, Mina still had time to fit in being fucked daily, this time outside of the balcony, giving anyone who looked outside their window a free show for all to see.

Mina was always busy which was par for the course during business trips, but her schedule had been packed to the brim the entire morning. The free time let you roam foreign streets on the lookout by yourself without any blonde eye candy on your arm, a rare instance where you felt naked not having her by your side.

The nighttime view was remarkable, the curtains drawn on the balcony window revealed one of the most gorgeous skylines you had ever seen in your life. It failed in comparison to the view of Mina on her knees with her soft lips wrapped around your throbbing shaft.

“F-fuck, Mina,” you kept moaning out loud, keeping a hand resting on the cold glass window as she loud slobbered on your cock. It wasn’t often that Mina treated you to a blowjob without anything in return, maybe she felt apologetic for being gone all day, maybe she just had an insatiable urge to shove your cock down the back of her throat.

You had to forcibly pry your attention away from the magic Mina was working on your shaft, not wanting to finish in her mouth right away. Looking up you saw the outside view, noticing the night sky filled with beautiful bright stars, tall lit up buildings with neon that could be seen miles away and a gorgeous full moon made up the perfect backdrop of the city.

It was all impossible to focus on.

The only thing that caught your attention was the blonde bobbing her head rapidly, keeping her eyes glued on you as she sucked you off and covered your shaft in her warm saliva. Mina was no slouch when it came to her oral skills, and it was up to her whether she wanted you to last thirty seconds or ten minutes.

It always caught you off guard, the contrasting nature of Mina in the bedroom and outside of it. She was always so elegant, so prim, so proper - and yet here she was so goddamn loud as she gave the sloppiest blowjob without a care in the world, throwing her former inhibitions away.

“Your balls must be so full, I do feel bad I didn’t have time to drain you earlier,” Mina said, letting her eyes do the rest of the talking as she pleasured your cock, holding on to your thighs firmly as her mouth and tongue went wild. You could only take so much from her, the look in her eyes almost taunting you to try and last any longer.

Mina knew all your weaknesses and focused on hitting them all at once, going for the killing blow. Soft lips swallowing every inch of your cock, her wet tongue wildly playing around all while keeping a seductive look on her features, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Mina, I-I’m gonna fucking cum,” you moaned out, trying desperately to hold out for just a few moments longer.

“About time, let it all out. I expect you to cover me,” Mina said, removing your cock from the warmth of her mouth and aiming it towards her stunningly beautiful face. The air in the room became harder to take in as you took deeper breaths, watching Mina furiously stroking your cock and encouraging your release.

Your climax didn’t wait for you, the shared anticipation at its peak as you erupted and painted Mina’s face in thick white streaks, splashing her forehead, cheeks and those talented lips, groaning audibly with every spurt released. Mina didn’t stop until she was satisfied you were emptied, sucking the sensitive tip of your cock as your generous load began slowly dripping down her face.

It took the leftover strength you had to not collapse to the floor, the satisfied look of Mina’s gorgeous face now stained with hot semen was an unforgettable sight.

“You made quite a mess,” she said, flicking against your sensitive head and cleaning your cock with her tongue to make sure not a drop was wasted.

“I’m not done with you so you better have some saved up for me later. I’m going to have a very fun night with you.”

#twice smut #mina smut #twice #mina #reader insert #male reader #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction

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buckyegans · 3 years

Text

“This is unfair!” You exclaimed, holding the loaded Nerf gun to your chest. This game was getting…intense to say the least. At this point, it had been normal for the Wayne children to preoccupy themselves on off-days with fairly immature activities. For example, a few weeks ago it was hide and seek (Damian won) then assassin (Damian won, again!). Now, it was Duke’s bright idea to purchase far too many Nerf guns while Bruce was away at a confrence for the day. Alfred? He was probably hiding away due to all the ruckus occuring in the once neat and tidy rooms of Wayne Manor. The game had been a steady chaotic climb from the moment Dick had declared the start: there was scrambling and running, the constant click of plastic as you all sprinted to hide and ready.

Alfred hated to admit that this was, in all honesty, a good training exercise. It had been all game at first—then, as Jason would say, shit got real. You realised that when you ducked behind the sofa to hide from Jason himself, who was silent despite the click of his guns. There was no outs of this game—if you got hit? Suck it up. Out of ammo? Find some more. It was do or die in this moment—and you? You needed to find a way to get to the staircase without Jason either seeing you or hitting you. In mention of a real scenario like this—there was only room for a handful of risks. Treating the little metal darts like lead bullets—you needed to make it safe and get into the clear.

“Why is it unfair?” Jason yelled.

“I don’t know—you’re like, a killshot!” You exclaimed as if it were the obvious (it was), stuffing darts into your Nerf gun. You knew from where you sat, Jason was in the heap of cushions and pillows. “Okay, and? Roy Harper taught you how to shoot—I don’t wanna hear it from you, dude!” Jason yelled back. You huffed, composing yourself and turned to look around the corner of the couch to assess the situation. Jason was looking down at his gun, reloading it. Just as you had guessed, your brother was stomach down on the cushions, socked feet hanging in the air as if he weren’t shooting at you. Jason looked up, locking eyes with you.

A grin flashed on his face and he aimed at you. You were quick to duck, scrambling back to your base at the couch. He snickered loudly. You looked around you for something—you were resourceful, everyone in the family knew that. So, you needed to use your resources. You looked to the kitchen before looking at the dining room table just some ways away from you. A ceramic bowl had tipped over earlier, its contents spilled onto the floor when Damian had used all his force to shove Dick out of his way when the game had started. Dick didn’t fall, but had lost his balance on the slick wood floor. Aha! You smiled widely, looking at the apple just out of arms reach. It’s not like you’d never thrown an apple at one of your siblings heads—because you had. So, why not once more for the sake of your hypothetical safety?

You stretched your arm and reached for it, fingertips barely touching the fruit. Jason was still firing over your head occasionally. Just as you grasped the apple, the staircase to your left filled with noise. There was half-assed yelling, and the familiar cackle from Steph. “How dare you point that feeble weapon at me, Timothy!” Stephanie yelled, accompanied by the sound of dragging. You and Jason both perked up, watching as Steph drug Tim on a cushion towards the staircase landing. There was more cushioning at the end of the plush stairs due to Dick setting a few ground safety rules. Tim held onto the cushion he was on loosely—looking a little bored. Steph stopped dragging him once she stood at the top of the stairs. “Look at me! I want to watch as you fall!” She yelled.

Tim looked up slowly. Steph’s foot met the edge of the cushion. “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father—prepare to die!” Stephanie yelled, quoting the Princess Bride before shoving the cushion down the stairs. It had been an anticlimactic fall—well, more so a slide down the stairs. But, it gave you the chance to launch the apple towards Jason. It missed his head, hitting his shoulder. You stood with the Nerf bow in hand—eyes wide in a maniac sort of state. “GRENADE!” You yelled.

Stephanie came barreling into the room, making explosions sounds and shooting at Jason as she followed after you. You ditched your previous plan of the staircase due to Tim laying there—probably planning to sleep there until the game’s end, instead you opted to dip into the storage closet. You held your weapon close to yourself as you reached for the light. Once your fingers met it, switching it on, you jumped in surprise at the figure opposite of you. Sitting atop the shelves, knees close to his chest, Dick sat with his gun aimed at you.

“Funny seeing you here. Cass, lock the door.”

Cass slipped from underneath the shelves beside you and locked the door behind you. “Duke, reveal yourself.” Dick ordered after the door was locked. Out of the shadows of the room, Duke stepped into the dim light. “You got away from Jaybird, huh? You must have guts.” Dick said, dropping down from the shelf. You looked at him suspiciously. “I used my resources. Steph caused a scene so I threw a grenade at him.” You informed to your oldest brother. Dick dropped the act for a moment.

“A grenade?”

“An apple.”

“Oh. Anyways, I think you would be a good ally to my team.”

You pursed your lips. “What’s in it for me, Grayson?” You questioned.

Dick thought for a moment. “The bounty on Jason’s head is yours.”

This had turned from training to Star Wars very quickly. “Deal.” You said, holding your hand out. Dick shook it. “Let’s go take him out.” You said.

#batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #batfamily drabbles #batfamily #e writes #dc comics #dc drabble #jason todd drabble #dick grayson drabble #duke thomas #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #alfred pennyworth #tim drake #bruce wayne

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stargazingthenightaway · 3 years

Text

See Something You Like? Part 3

Pairing: Rebels Rex x Reader

Word Count: 4.4K

Warning: NSFW 18+ Sexual tension, yearning, dirty thoughts, praise kink, size kink, Dom!Rex, slight predator/prey vibes

A/N: What. The. Fuck! This turned into a monster chapter! Buckle up people things are starting to heat up! Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list.

Those words ring in your ears as you stare at Rex, his gold eyes pinning you in place, grip still gentle on your chin. He’s standing so close that you can feel the heat from his body, ghosting over you skin. You’re surprised that you chest is not touching his already, and it probably would be if you could remember how to breathe. He’d taken it away the moment his thumb started to caress along your jaw, adding trails of heat with each pass, branding your skin with his touch.

You know you can easily break out of his hold, but you don’t know if you’ll be able to have this, have him, all to yourself again, so you keep still, enjoying the sensation of his touch on your face. The calluses on his hand feel warm, made from years spent fighting and honing his skills to perfection. Skills he expertly used to outmaneuver and put you in a place under his power, his control and secretly that idea excites you. Rex is the one calling the shots, and you wonder if that was his intent all along. You break from Rex’s gaze, turning your head to survey the results from the match.

The targets are at a standstill, waiting for the simulation to be reset for the next person. At the centre of each is a perfectly placed shot, the edges marked with blaster residue and lightly smoking. The wispy tendrils curl into the air, taunting you as a reminder that your meagre shots were no match for Rex’s precision.

Beaten. Destroyed. Absolutely annihilated.

That’s how you’d describe your side of the outcome of this farce of a challenge. All in the hopes of preventing your wanton thoughts from being spoken aloud. Using an imaginary wager to try and play your emotions off. A false bet now made true. It must have been childs play for Rex to see through your flimsy ruse, and use that to his advantage. Going against someone like Rex, who has years more experience than you, hoping to win? What a fool’s wish. Now, you’re at his mercy.

There’s pressure on your chin as Rex turns your face back towards him, relaxed in his perusal of your form. “Now, what to do with you?” He leans back, placing his hands on his hips and giving you a very slow once over, admiring the view in front of him. There’s a steady beating against your ribs, the same beat that causes Rex’s eyes to linger at the pulse point at your throat, before finally lifting them to your face “So many possibilities.”

You watch his lips say one thing but hear his voice say another, and it makes you want. Oh, does it make you want, so many things. Things that you would only tell the most depraved part of yourself, before locking it up and throwing away the key. Things that make you toss and turn and cry for release. Things that you want to give to Rex, just so he can call you his good girl. Sadly, those thoughts are only fantasy, no matter how much Rex may flirt with you, or that you may burn for his touch, that’s all your thoughts will be. Fantasy. Bringing yourself back to reality is harder than you’d like it to be, but you do it anyway, shoving the words out of your mouth with a shaky smile on your face.

“We could always narrow those possibilities down to a couple.” You think for a moment before you have an idea. It might not be what you want, but you’ll still get to be near Rex for the foreseeable future. “What about this, I could finish your reports for a certain amount of time or polish your armour.”

Rex tilts his head like he’s contemplating the idea, reaching for his chin. You can hear the slight scratch of his beard as he moves his hand over the whiskers. It sends a delightful shudder through you as you imagine the beard burn he’d leave behind after spending some time between your thighs, a constant reminder of what he’d done every time you go to move. The throb between your legs continues to grow, fully on board with that idea. Curse your weak self-control!

Rex shakes his head and your heart droops. “Heh, while that sounds like a good idea, that’s something I’d give one of the shinies to do. Keep them occupied and out of my way. But you?” He suddenly leans forward, making sure there was no space between the two of you. “I’d rather keep you in my sights.” He shakes his head again, a lazy grin curving on his lips, “no I have something different in mind for you mesh'la.”

Mesmerized, you wait for him to continue, and as the silence grows you realize he’s waiting for you to ask, make you voice the question out loud. Ask him what he wants. With you.

There’s calm expectancy in his gaze as you finally voice the question you both need to hear to move on from this emotional limbo.

“What do you want?”

Rex is eyeing you like a nexu thats caught its prey as he braces his forearms by your head, caging you in, before leaning his head next to your ear, whispering those words that make your stomach clench with need.

“I want you.”

Any response you had shuts down in surprise. Someone could barge in at this very moment, crying out that the Empire was gone and you wouldn’t care. The world around you ceases to exist, focused only on the man in front of you. Of all the things Rex could ask for, never would you have imagined he’d want you, and to state it so boldly makes your knees weak. I want you. His words echo in your head I want you. I want you. I want YOU. Your mind is in a whirlwind as you try to collect your thoughts, unsure of how to move, if you can move, your body with this revelation.

As you drift in stunned silence, Rex takes in your appearance and is enchanted by what he sees. From your bright, wide eyes locked on him, to your rosy cheeks that have made a lovely flush down your chest. Stars it’s a sight, and your mouth. Parted in a slight ‘o’ from surprise, your lips are just begging to be kissed. All plush and perfect, tempting Rex to take a nibble, take a taste. He wonders what sounds he can get you to make just for him. Soon. Yes, he very much likes what he sees and wonders just how debauched you’ll look after he’s thoroughly taken you apart, ruined you for anyone else so that he will be the only one who can satisfy your cravings.

His cock twitches in his pants, thinking of how you hastened to obey his command to get into the shooting position, the ‘sir’ that fell from your lips sending a burning need through his veins to hear you say it again as he spread you wide, licking up your juices. As you were bouncing on his cock, begging him to go faster. Taking you from behind as you wanted more, please sir, more! All these enticing possibilities at his fingertips, and who was he to squander such an opportunity.

Turning his head towards you, he breathes you in, noticing how you shiver beneath him, already reacting to his presence. Rex can see your dazed expression, thoughts somewhere else, and decides he wants your attention back on him where it belongs.

“Your mind’s straying again mesh’la.” He says, lips lingering by your cheek. “Time to come back to me.”

Instead of a jolt to awareness, your awakening is more like a haze slowly lifting, Rex’s voice leading you back to the present. His voice is like that first cup of caf in the morning, dark, warm and knows how to get you going. His beard tickles your skin as you answer. “It does seem to do that.” You chuckle weakly, “It’s becoming a bad habit.” A bad habit that brings him close enough for you to ride his thigh you think to yourself.

“Hmm, then I’ll just have to be the one to break you of it before it becomes a problem.” One of Rex’s hands move from the wall and finds a new home on you hip, slowly dragging the fabric of your shirt up, exposing the sensitive skin beneath. He doesn’t bother to hide his glee when he hears the quiet squeak you utter, smirk forming on his lips that he knows you can feel.

“This bad habit of yours only seems to happen when I’m around. Am I really that bad that you’d need to think of something else?”

How could he think that! You blurt out an answer in your haste to reassure him that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. “No! No, it’s not somethi-”

His smirk turns predatory and you realize you’ve walked into a trap.

“Ah, then someone.” The hand at your hip flexes “Do I make you wish someone else was here? Is that who your minds goes to?”

Rex’s voice deepens to a growl, challenging the idea that there could be someone other than him to have your attention, your affection. He can’t help the possessive feeling that claws at his chest that screams Mine! when he sees you, wanting to place you on his lap for all the base to see that you are his, not some jumped up pilot who can’t tell the difference between their dick and a gear stick.

He sounds jealous you think to yourself and Maker does that thought get you wet. As if he has anything to worry about.

Rex continues, his voice causing trembles to ripple through your body, that you know he can feel. “There was that pilot who was talking with you the other day…”

“It’s not him.” You don’t even hesitate to give your answer, wanting to dispel that idea before it ruins anything.

His hand relaxes, thumbs lazily circling on your skin. The feeling causes your eyes to flutter and lean into him “Then it is someone. Who is it then that has you so enraptured cyare?”

The growl has turned into a soothing rumble, helping you ease even further into his touch. The patterns Rex has been drawing slowly changing course, moving from your hip up to your waist, making his way up your torso. You keen when his fingers graze the underside of your breast, not going any further, just teasing you with his touch. Back and forth, back and forth. There is no way that he doesn’t know what his touch is doing to you, that your panties are coated in your juices, that you’re ready to just say ‘fuck it’ and drop to your knees to suck his dick. Anything to get him to stop pawing your and do something.

As if he senses your turmoil, Rex turns his head so that he’s facing you, so close that his lips ghost over yours. "Who consumes your thoughts to the point of forgetfulness?”

Maybe it’s your turn to surprise him and turn the tables in your favour. With a lazy smile you place your hands on his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath and look up at him with your best tooka eyes.

“Don’t you know Sir? It’s you.”

You’ve barely finished uttering those words before Rex pushes his body against yours, until there is no space between the two of you. The hand not on your side whips behind your head, gripping your hair and pulling your head back so your neck is bared. Your hands flutter by your sides, unsure of where to put them as you stare wide-eyed up at him

“Say that again” he growls.

You swallow hard and his eyes track your throat’s movement before looking back up. “It’s you.”

He shakes his head “You’re missing something there cyare”

Oh. You grin wickedly, so that’s how it’s going to be. “It’s you, Sir.”

The growl that comes from his chest makes the deepest part of you clench in need, and you want to hear that sound again as he’s over you, fucking you into his bunk. Your hips start to grind up against Rex when he suddenly pins them against the wall with his own, stopping your ministrations. You whine in frustration and he nips your jaw in retaliation.

“Tell me right now if this is not something you want cyare, and I’ll stop.”

Why would you want him to stop you think to yourself, when you finally get to have him exactly how you’ve dreamed. You voice your thoughts out loud “I thought our bet was you could do anything to me, anywhere you wanted?” Dread sinks low in your belly, does he not really want this and is using you as an out?

He quickly puts that fear to rest. “Only with your consent. I won’t take anything that is not given freely or willingly. So I’ll ask again, is this something you want?”

A flush warms your chest and it’s not from the arousal Rex inspires in you. This perfect being in front of you would stop everything at once, no matter how excited he may feel, if you said you were uncomfortable. This is what sets him apart from everyone else. While they may taketaketake without any thought to you, he puts your comfort as his priority, giving you the chance to say no and respect it.

You want to give Rex everything he deserves, which is why there is no hesitation when you reply. “I want this. I want you.”

Rex looks at you, searching for something that would indicate that you aren’t telling him the truth and finds only honesty. He’s suddenly surging forward, lips devouring yours in a bruising kiss. Stars, you just submit to him, opening your mouth with a whimper so that he can taste you. He savours the feeling of your tongue against his, warm and wet, with the sweet tang of the muja fruit you’d had earlier in the mess hall. He had watched you, unnoticed, taking each juicy bite in contentment, licking away the droplets that clung to your lip. You’d been a vision and he’d had to leave before he snuck in a taste of his own. He didn’t want to scare you off with a meagre kiss in the mess hall before he could claim you properly.

This kiss though, with all the burning touches and wanton looks, all the buildup between the two of you has led to this moment being taken out on your mouth. There’s no finesse, no gentle touch, just pure want. Rex alternates between kissing you senseless and nipping your lips, revelling in the sounds that come out of your mouth.

He uses the grip on your hair to angle your head into a deeper kiss, and it sends a rush of desire through you, knowing that he’s the one controlling your pleasure.

Rex starts kissing down your neck, paying particular attention to a spot just under your jaw and the moan you give him lets him know exactly how much you enjoy it. You’ve grasped his shirt between your hands, needing something to hold on to as he traces your neck with his tongue, while your hips have started grinding up against him, legs spread wide to fit around his hips, but it’s still not enough.

Rex can see you struggle and decides to show you a little mercy. He slots one of his thighs between your legs, barely pressing against your core, looking down at your flushed form. “Come on mesh’la, ride my thigh.” You don’t need another invitation and start rubbing against him, undulating your hips as close as you can. Rex goes back to marking up your throat, nipping the place where your neck and shoulder meet.

While he’s content to let you find the friction you need, you realize something is wrong. Rex had ordered you to ride his thigh, but had kept it just far away that you’d only get a whisper of a touch against your core. You whimper in impatience and try to pull him closer, but he won’t budge. “Rex,” you implore him “in order to ride your thigh I need something to ride!” He bites down on your shoulder and you cry out in surprise.

“Don’t be a brat” he growls

You whine, high and desperate, hoping that Rex will understand what you need and give it to you. You’ve already been so good for him, why can’t he see that.

By the dark chuckle exhaled upon your skin he does, though he doesn’t speed up his ministrations, in fact he slows down. The pleasure you feel starts to trickle away and you feel like crying you’re so frustrated. You’d do anything at this point just to get off.

“Such a needy girl” he tsks "but doesn’t know how to ask nicely”

Ask. He wants you to ask him to let you cum on his thigh. Ask that he press closer so he can feel how wet he’s made you. The thought makes you dizzy with want.

“Rex, I need to cum on your thigh.”

“Still being a brat.” He makes a mock disappointed sound and moves his leg away. Nonono! This is the opposite of what you wanted. He continues before you can object, “Good girls don’t make demands, they ask nicely.”

Force take you now. Your panties are so wet it’s like the oceans of Kamino, you don’t think you’ll be able to salvage them after this. Biting your lip, you can feel how swollen it’s become after Rex’s kisses and you can only image how dark they’ve become, evidence of his desire for you. Your neck is covered with his marks and you wonder where else he could put that talented mouth to use. That thought spurs you on. “Please sir, please let me ride your thigh, I need to cum so bad.”

He hums, “No.”

You make a sound of distress, “But I asked nicely! Please Sir! Don’t leave me like this!” You sob out, heart clenching.

The hand that had been tracing patterns on your side reaches up and cradles the side of your face. You nuzzle into his palm, pleas falling from your lips in hopes to sway him, saying how you want to be his good girl, that only he can make you cum, pleasepleaseplease!

Rex waits until you’ve finished “No, you won’t cum on my thigh. You’re going to cum with my fingers stuffed deep in that pretty pussy of yours.” He kisses you until your whimpering in his arms “Understood?”

Kark it all! Rex was being a kriffing tease and you doubt he’d let up anytime soon

You nod eagerly “Yes! Please Sir! I want to cum on your fingers, please!”

He chuckles, “There’s my good girl” before sliding his hand down the front of your pants. His fingers are thick as they push your panties to the side and slide through your folds, collecting the slick gathered there. He pulls his fingers out and you can see your juices glistening on the first two digits, already dripping down.

“Already so wet for me mesh’la.” Rex says in awe, “and I’ve barely even touched you.” Swiftly he moves his hand back down to your core and before you know it, his first finger is already knuckle deep inside you. Your eyes roll back as you moan and Rex curses. “Kriff cyar’ika, I just slid right in.”

He slowly pulls his finger out before pushing back in, keeping his eyes on your face, looking for any twitch of discomfort, but all you feel is satisfaction. Finally, you’re getting exactly what you need.

Rex has removed the hand from your hair and braced his arm back on the wall above your head, giving him better leverage to fuck you with his hand. You start to pant as you feel your pleasure building up again, a slow burn that consumes you from the inside out.

When Rex adds a second finger you can feel a delicious burn as he stretches you out, picking up speed as he steadily thrusts his fingers, the room filling up with the mixed sounds of your moans and wet sounds of your arousal. Rex pumps his fingers faster, desperate to hear more “Keep making those beautiful noises cyar’ika! Show me how much you want me!” “I always want you, only you” you whine out, hips rolling with each thrust “I didn’t think that you’d want me.”

Rex drinks in your look of ecstasy, how he’s the one causing you to lose your inhibitions. “I want you, I have for a while. Didn’t think you’d felt the same until we sparred, when I had you under me, seeing those big eyes staring back, full of want.” He twists his fingers and finds that spot that makes you arch your back, pressing your chest against him, hands scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders. Your mouth drops open in a silent moan. “Knew then I’d give you everything I could just to keep those pretty little eyes on me.”

Your eyes snap back to his face, tears starting to blur your vision. Maker, you were so close! If Rex continued talking like he was, you’d be over the edge in no time, you’re already teetering with how close you are.

He continues as if he can’t hear your gasps and moans. “What would’ve happened” he murmurs, “if we hadn’t been interrupted. Would you have let me taste you cyare, spread those pretty legs nice and wide for me? I’m not a small man, it would be a tight fit, but you’d make it work, wouldn’t you?” He rolls his hips so you know exactly how big he is elsewhere, the motion pressing his fingers in deeper.

“I like that you’re big.” Stars, was that voice yours?

Rex makes a pleased noise. “What sounds would you have made for me, as I tasted you? Would you have let me fuck you on the mat, where anyone could have walked in? Let everyone hear how easily my cock would slide in, how wet I made you, that I was the only one who could make you feel that good.” He adds a third finger and you howl, uncaring if anyone hears you, too consumed with Rex and how he was playing your body like a fine-tuned blaster.

By now you’ve drenched his hand, all the way down to his wrist, soaking his fingerless gloves. You bet if he took his hand away he’d be dripping onto the floor. The squelching sounds fill the room as Rex thrusts even faster, and he groans low in your ear. There is a moment of gleeful satisfaction that you’re not the only one affected, before a hard thrust sends another gush of slick over his hand.

He curses again “Kriff, I could take you here right now and you’d let me. Soaking my dick, getting me all nice and wet while I fuck you against the wall.”

By now you’re a babbling mess, the only words you’re able to say are please!, and more!, and yes Sir! The coil in your belly is wound tight, ready to snap. Knees trembling, you clench down hard on his fingers, looking for that last little bit to carry you over the edge. Through the haze you can hear a chirping noise but don’t pay it any attention, too focused on how full you feel, Rex’s fingers filling you up.

Unfortunately, Rex does pay attention to the chirping noise, as it’s coming from the vambrace on the hand currently three-knuckles deep within you. An in-coming message.

“Just ignore it!” You plead with him, feeling too strung out to think logically.

Rex just shakes his head “You know I can’t do that mesh’la.” He sounds gruff as he answers, so you know he’s as unhappy as you about the interruption.

You burrow your wail of despair against his chest, muffling your sounds so he can answer his com. From the sounds of it, it seems like he’s needed to give an in-person debrief on the latest training session with the new recruits.

Oh all the times for command to call, and it would have to be when Rex is knuckle deep inside you and your orgasm is about to take you to hyperspace. All for an update about the shinies! Can’t they just read his report like everyone else! Kriff! The sound of the com is deafening and Rex pulls himself away, though he does so very slowly.

He starts making himself look presentable, smoothing out his shirt and arranging himself so his hard on is not so noticeable. You stare at him, wide-eyed, and you must be too finger-fucked frustrated because you blurt out “You’re going to leave me here? Without letting me cum?”

“Yes.” He turns a stern look towards you “and you’re not going to touch yourself when you get back to your bunk.”

Your jaw drops in shock and Rex smirks at you “I told you that you’d cum on my fingers, and that’s what I’m going to do after my meeting. So no getting yourself off.”

You know you’re pouting, but you can’t help it. “And then what? You come back, get me to cum, and then leave? I thought-”

Rex cuts you off “Thought what mesh’la?”

You look away, feeling embarrassed. “I thought that I was your good girl” you whisper.

A fond look crosses over Rex’s face “Oh cyar’ika, you are my good girl.” He steps closer, causing you to raise your eyes back to his face, “and because you’re my good girl you’re not going to touch yourself until I can take care of you.” He presses his forehead against yours, letting you see the sincerity in his eyes. “ Believe me cyare, once with you will never be enough.”

With that he steps back, keeping eye contact with you. With a mischievous look, Rex brings his hand that is covered in your slick up to his mouth, and sucks on the first two digits. His groan of satisfaction gets your legs trembling and your core clenching all over again.You continue to watch him as he cleans up the evidence of your arousal until nothing remains. Nothing except a damp glove.

When he’s finished he takes his fingers out with a slick pop, a feral smile on his face. His parting words lingering well after he’s gone.

“I’m only just getting started.”

To be continued.

Tag list: @samrubio @justanotherstarwarswhore @bvcketfvcker @grumpymuffinmama @justanothersadperson93 @fat-zygerrian

#I forgot the tags #slksdjfslkjs #Too excited to post this monster #First fic #Yay me #Getting some spicy times 👀#Rex getting reader all 💦#Captain Rex #Rex #Oldman Rex #Rebel!Rex #Rex x reader #Rebel Rex x reader

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aizawaorkuroo · 3 years

Text

A Burnt Offering

Ship: Dabi x f!reader

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: Your long lost childhood friend sends you letters. And then everything falls apart. Or perhaps together? Otherwise known as “Dabi wants you. And Dabi gets what he wants.”

Warnings: dubcon, non-consensual voyeurism, stalking, manipulation, spitting, dacryphilia, size kink, overstimulation, creampie, cock warming, unprotected sex

A/N: Spoilers for ch. 290 kinda!!! Don’t think too hard about how they’re childhood friends. Not going to be canon compliant cause i make the rules uwu,, also this is a little darker than what I’ve written in the past, (but still pretty soft all things considered) so please read the warnings!!!

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“Dreamed of peach trees. Dreamed, again, of drowning. Dreamed of highways becoming rivers. Dreamed of me, my long hair in flames, my body no longer a body, but a burnt offering, strange smoke rising up to meet him” - Nicola Maye Goldberg

The first letter you received was a little out of the ordinary, but nothing special. It had been left under your doormat, sticking out ever so slightly. You had brushed it off, assuming they had gotten the address wrong, or meant to send it to the person who lived in your apartment before you.

The right thing would’ve been to leave it there, or throw it away. But curiosity is a fickle beast, choosing to rear its head at strange times.

You furrow your brows, eyes scanning the words hastily scratched onto the paper. It felt familiar, but nothing truly stuck with you. You couldn’t think too hard about it, now when you had so much to get done.

It was a random occurrence, one that slipped your mind as you went about your day, the letter sitting on your kitchen counter.

hey,

we haven’t talked in a while. i miss you i guess. i swear to god i sometimes still feel your hand in mine and sometimes i think of your smile. maybe I’ll see you soon.

It’s left unsigned, and you can’t help but to feel bad that it got sent to you. But there’s no return address, nothing to hint at where it’s supposed to go. So it sits on your counter, slipping out of your mind in the following weeks.

The second letter sends a small shiver down your spine.

“you will be alone always and then you will die.” i can’t remember who told me that, but it rings around my head. there are days where it feels like it’s true, like time will catch up with me and I’ll be gone. but it’s not true. because I used to have you. but I’ll have you again.

Your eyes gloss over the words, a small frown slipping onto your face. Something melancholic sinks into you, making a home in your chest.

“You will be alone always and then you will die,” you whisper to yourself, fingers grazing over the sloppy letters. You feel guilty that the writer’s thoughts are stuck with you instead of this person they so desperately miss.

Yet there’s something unyielding about the last line, something so definite. Curiosity fills you, and you can’t help but to want to get the letter to where it’s supposed to be. But like the first letter, there’s no return address, no signature, nothing outside of the longing in the letter.

So it sits on the counter with the first, the weight of the words lingering in your chest until it too is forgotten.

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You’re sitting on a hill, watching as the stars plummet down. Someone’s sitting next to you, but when you turn to face him, he stays blurry as if he exists on the edges of reality, unable to be fully perceived.

You watch as a rainbow of flames overtake him and recede, further obscuring him. But the flames continue to cycle in and out, a constant ebb and flow. You know who he is.

He flickers, you cannot touch him. You place your hand on the flames. Nothing burns. When you look up again, the hill is gone. You're sitting in inky darkness, watching as the stars continue to fall all around you. And the boy is gone too. In his place is something of shadow and smoke, two gleaming blue eyes tearing into you. You freeze, unable to do anything but stare.

It stalks towards you slowly, grinning to show rows of sharp teeth. You know what it wants, you can feel the need across the space in between you too. And so close your eyes and tilt your neck, offering yourself up. And you don’t scream when it takes the first bite.

“I’m always on your side.”

You wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding. You’re awake now, but you feel like the stars are still falling around you and him - right.

Touya.

His name blossoms in your head, memories of laughter and secrets told underneath the shade of a cherry blossom tree. Your head's pounding, and you run to the bathroom, splashing water on your face. That night, the last night you had seen him, when you watched the stars streak across the sky.

“I’m always on your side.”

A promise that withered into something shallow after he disappeared.

You blink at your reflection, fists curled into themselves so tightly it hurts. You wish Touya could hold your hand now.

You don’t go back to sleep.

_________________________________

The third letter makes you frown a little. Three makes a pattern.

Really wish you would say something back. Has it been that long? Guess that’s to be expected.

You scan the page, melancholic thoughts lingering until you read the last line. Your eyes widen, heart leaping in your throat, as you read it over and over again. Your hands are shaking, mind cloudy, breath short.

Really, say something back y/n.

Your name, clear as day. They know your name. You’re the recipient. You blink blankly as a line from the previous letter pops into your brain. I’ll have you again.

The letter sits untouched on the counter for days before you finally build up the courage to tentatively write back. Who is this?

As you shakily write, it dawns on you how stupid this is. You should be going to the police, or getting a security system. But you can’t help but wonder who it is, and the fickle beast inside of you rears its head.

You tentatively place the response under the doormat, and scurry back inside, as if the action would burn you. The next morning the note is gone.

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It takes a few days for you to get a response. When you get home from work, you’re tempted to walk right past it, pretending to not see it. You could just let it slip from your mind, go on with your life as if nothing has changed. But nothing can ever be simple, and with shaking hands, you steal the letter before locking yourself inside.

I can imagine how scared you must be. I bet you’d look so cute. Part of me wants to make you guess. But I’d rather speed this up. It’s me. Y’know. Touya.

“Touya,” you whisper. It’s heavy on your lips. “Touya.” Your throat is raw. “Touya, Touya, Touya.” Your chest burns. Tufts of red hair, memories of childhood and shooting stars.

Brain pulsing in overdrive, you try to reconcile what you know to be true and what is being told to you.

1. Touya was your best friend.

This one is a fact. You remembered holding his hand, running around the estate. He would be battered, bruises and burns littering his skin. Right. His father. You shiver thinking about the man.

2. Touya disappeared as a child.

Another fact. You remember his mom’s tear-stained face as she turned you away, and when you were back home, safe in bed, you cried so hard you thought you’d never stop shaking.

3. Touya is still alive.

The first in your list that is debatable. No one’s seen him for years. It’s fully possible something horrible could have happened to him. But there’s no evidence he’s dead. If you can reason that Touya is still alive, then it’s possible…

4. Touya is sending you letters.

The most difficult conclusion of all. If Touya is alive, it could be possible he’s sending you letters. But there’s no way to guarantee it is him. It could be some stranger, some pervert pretending to be your sweet redhead from childhood. You would have to test him.

Your response is careful, calculated as you try to navigate your emotions. Your hands shake as you write the final line, a question.

What was the last thing we did?

A small frown slips onto your face. It’s kind of a lame question, and yet it’s the best you can do. But it’s a baseline, a place to start.

His response comes almost immediately.

We watched a meteor shower. Go ahead. Dig deeper.

You chew on your lip while thinking. “Touya” is off to a good start, but there’s still no guarantee. So you push farther

Where did we hide the bowl I accidentally broke?

C’mon, it was a vase, not a bowl. We buried it along the fenceline. Good try.

You smile at the memory, the way you had cried over the broken porcelain, embarrassment coursing through you. Touya had helped you hide the evidence, telling you no one would find out.

What did you promise me?

I’m always on your side.

You inhale sharply, eyes glued to his messy scrawl. That’s it. It has to be him. You’ve never told that to anyone before. You squeeze your eyes shut, but you can see stars falling all around you. You feel a little light headed.

How did you find me?

Pure chance. I missed you, y/n. Does your face scrunch up when you get mad still? It was so fucking cute.

Shut the fuck up, Touya.

You don’t know how he’s done it, but Touya has inserted himself back into your life, whisking you off your feet with his stupid jokes and laid back attitude. And everyone in a while he’ll say something, that has you burying your face into your pillow, face warm and stomach in knots.

I’m going to hold you, and never let you go.

Would you let me kiss you? Would you let me sink my teeth into you? I bet you would.

I’d kiss you until you melt.

That one in particular made your chest burn, full of something warm and sappy. You read it over and over again, until the words are branded in your brain.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table at 2 am when you realize, you would. You would let him kiss you, let him sweep you off your feet. It occurs to you that you don’t know what he looks like anymore, but his words reach into you, stirring everything around to the point that you’re completely enamored anyways.

A sharp knock draws you from your thoughts. You narrow your eyes, glancing at the clock. Hesitantly, you approach your front door. You hover right in front of it, debating on whether or not to open it again. There’s a chance that no one’s even there anymore.

A second forceful knock makes your stomach flip. Taking a deep breath, you crack the door open.

Your eyes widen, and you're deafened by the blood pumping through you. Patchwork skin, pitch-black hair; you feel yourself begin to panic.

Dabi. You recognized him from the Fukuoka fight that was on TV. You slam the door shut before he has a chance to say anything.

“No, no, no. Don’t do this to me y/n.” His voice is muffled by the door, but the separation doesn’t hide the way his voice barely cracks. You feel sick, brain cloudy as the room spins around you.

“How do you know my name?” you choke out, stomach growing nauseous.

“I thought we already did this… but you can’t recognize me either.” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, wracking your brain for what he could be talking about.

“After all those letters.”

Oh.

Your stomach drops, and your heart does with it. Dabi is Touya. Touya is Dabi. You tremble against the door, flashes of red hair and childhood innocence ghosting through your mind. You should’ve paid more attention to how he found you.

“Open the door.” Touya’s voice- no Dabi’s voice? You shake your head at the confusion, finding it difficult to reconcile the two versions of him you know. Regardless, his voice is even now, something sharp lingering beneath the soft surface.

You shut your eyes, letting your head rest against the door; it’s all too much for you. You can practically feel the tears stinging the back of your eyes. Maybe he’ll go away, maybe you don’t have to have a breakdown in the middle of the night.

“Open up for me, Y/N.”

You blink your eyes open, something cold slipping down your spine. He’s not going away. He could burn the door down if he wanted to. You know what he does now, and you feel so fucking stupid. The fact that he’s asking is an unexpected kindness. Summoning all the willpower you have, you open the door, hand grasping the handle to avoid shaking.

Dabi’s head tilts to the side as his eyes meet yours, and a sharp grin pulls at his lips.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” Your eyes dip to the floor, and you stumble to the side, closing the door as he brushes past you.

You awkwardly stand in front of him, fingers messing with the hem of your shirt as you try to control your breathing. Your stomachs in your throat as Dabi circles you. He is not the boy you knew. There’s an edge to him, a coldness radiating off of him that rolls into you.

“Now you can’t even look at me,” he sneers. Your gaze tilts up to meet him, trembling his words. Your heart lurches as you take in his appearance again. The puckered flesh, the staples, the jet black hair. It’s all too much.

But his eyes.

His eyes are the same, the same vivid blue that haunts your dreams. It hurts looking at him now, but it also hurts remembering what he was.

Hesitantly, you reach out to cup his face. He tenses under your touch, eyes flashing in warning. You swallow past the lump in your throat, forcing out a small “hi.” Your voice cracks under the weight of emotions, but his eyes soften, and he ever so gently tilts his head into your hand. And that’s enough.

A steady stream of tears leak from your eyes; you’re not completely sure why you’re crying, the emotions too jumbled, too complex to pinpoint a specific reason. Your thumb brushes over the marred skin under his eyes, and you feel sick. Like everything that’s wrong with the world has reared its ugly head in your apartment. But it hasn’t. It’s Touya.

“Awww. Baby girl’s crying for me, huh?” he teases, making you narrow your eyes. He moves quickly, pulling you against him before you can step away. “Still the same crybaby from before.” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to ignore the way your head’s spinning.

“What else am I supposed to do?” you bite back, letting your head rest against him. “I missed you.” He scoffs at that, hands sliding down to grip your waist.

Your breath stutters, and you squirm in his hold, unsure what to think. His grip tightens, making you wince. You pull your head back to look up at him, trying to keep your breathing even. Touya leans in close, eyes glued to you.

“Glad you missed me,” he mutters, and the borderline painful grip switches to something softer as he massages your flesh. “I missed you too, Y/N.” His voice rumbles through you softly, making your stomach flip. His tongue darts out of his mouth to flash across your cheek, licking the salty trail your tears left behind.

“Touya, what the fuck?”

You jerk away from him, sputtering as he throws his head back in laughter. Your skin feels too hot, and you struggle to put together a thought. You wiggle out of his grasp, wiping your face, and glaring at him.

“C’mon. Don’t be like that,” he laughs, obviously not taking this seriously. But you just shake your head, trying to squash all of your feelings.

“What do you want?” Your voice bends under the stress, and you face screws up, trying to stop the pathetic flow of tears.

“To see you,” he murmurs, eyes softer than before. The feelings behind the phrase are normally enough to make you giggle and your eyes turn into hearts.

But this is Touya, or Dabi, or some bizarre amalgamation of the two. And you know what he’s done now. You know the price he’s paid. He is not the same.

“That’s not an answer. You shouldn’t be here,” you bite at him. All traces of warmth leave Dabi’s face, and your stomach drops. Something cold and sharp glints in his eyes, threatening to cut you if you get too close. You take a tiny step back, but he simply follows.

“Don’t be like this, Y/N.” His voice is tense, a warning of who he is now, what he’s done, what he could do to you. He cocks his head to the side, eyes trailing over you, gauging your reaction. He’s not the same. You know he’s not the same. His patchwork skin is proof of that enough.

It’s not fair. Echoes of childish giggles and burning blue eyes dance across your thoughts. But what he had done to all those people…You shut your eyes, crossing your arms as if you could hold yourself together.

“Well, what am I supposed to think? You were gone, for so long. And then you sent those fucking letters, and all I could think of was seeing you again. But you’re…” you trail off, but the unsaid hangs heavy in the air.

“Broken,” he hisses out, cold eyes narrowed at you as he gestures to his body. You glare right back at him, tears still flowing.

“It has nothing to do with that,” you manage to force out. “I just- I just don't know who you are.” Dabi’s face twists up into something bitter and forceful, a hurricane that’ll sweep you into something dangerous, you just know it. He is not the same.

“I wrote you those letters, Y/N. I’m still me.” But you don’t know who that is. Not anymore. He abruptly steps forward, forcing you against the wall, eyes wide in panic. He’s too close to your face, too warm, too overwhelming.

You missed him so much, and it hurts. It hurts to see what happened, how he had to put himself back together, a dull mosaic that’s missing pieces. He reaches out to brush his thumb over your cheekbone.

“I’m always on your side.”

If it had been anyone else but Touya, you would’ve scoffed and kicked them out. But he knows you. He knows how you think, he knows what’ll make you respond.

After all, he’s been watching you, making sure he knows how to say that’ll make you bend to his will. Touya wants you, his sweet best friend, to be his forever. So he knows what to say.

And something in you finally gives in, and you wrap arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He slips his arms around your waist, holding you flush against him.

Your knees wobble, legs failing you as you melt to the ground. Touya follows you down, arms circling around you tighter as he smiles into your hair.

Fuck the league. Fuck his family. Fuck a normal life. Fuck, the whole world can burn down. He doesn’t give a fuck. But maybe, just maybe if there’s anyone out there listening, just let him have this. Just this once.

“That’s my baby girl,” he murmurs against you, pulling you into his lap. He kicks out his legs behind you, bending his knees to force snug against him. If he were a better man, he’d be content with this, having you on his side.

But Touya is not a good man. He’s greedy for more, and all he can think about is the heat radiating from your cunt.

His hands splay out against your back, gently rubbing you as you sniffle against him. But he can’t help it when his hands start to travel further down. You sound so cute and desperate, it ignites something within him. He squeezes the flesh of your ass, making you freeze against him. You lean away, lips trembling as your eyebrows draw together.

“Touya, what are you doing?” You sound pathetic to your own ears, and you hate it. But you’re not given any time to dwell on it when he leans forward, lips a few mere centimeters from yours. He rocks you gently against him, watching the conflict in your eyes.

“Hey,” he murmurs, leaning to peck the corner of your lips. “I’m always on your side. Let me make you feel good.”

You stay stiff against him, hands slowly tangling into his hair as he litters the side of your neck with sloppy kisses. One of his hands pushing its way down your little shorts making you gasp. You can feel his erection growing beneath you, and you bite your lip, trying to make a decision to stop him or not.

“Touya,” you ask, “are you sure?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” You’re not 100% sure if this is the right decision, but he feels so good against you. And he’s handsome, scars and all. The intense warmth from earlier slipping into something more comforting, enveloping you as you rock against his hand ever so slightly.

So you don’t stop him. He would never hurt you, right? And it's been a while since you’ve gotten laid. Touya’s made sure of that. So you let him continue his exploration, melting against him as he gently rubs at your clit.

Touya watches your face, memorizing the expressions you make as he slips a finger into your hot cunt. To be clear, he’s seen your face when you’ve creamed around your little fingers on your own, unaware that he was stroking his cock outside your window. But you look so much better, happier even, when it’s his fingers you’re grinding into.

He nips at your neck, before pulling his fingers out of your shorts. He pushes you off of his lap, rolling his eyes at the way you pout.

“Calm down, baby girl. Wanna taste you.”

“Wait!” you warn. Touya freezes, eyes flicking up to yours, taking you in curiously. “Let’s go to the bedroom,” you stutter out, nervous at the look in his eyes. You can’t help but to feel embarrassed, laying on the floor of your apartment sputtering with your childhood best friend turned villain nestled against the apex of your thighs. Anything that can restore an ember of normalcy to the situation would make you feel better at this point.

Touya rests his head against your thigh, warmth returned to his eyes. He smiles at you a little too widely, too sharply. He resembles a predator, something stalking alone at night. Something you shouldn’t have let inside. He’s going to eat you alive. And maybe you’re okay with it.

“Alright, little girl. Lead the way.”

An awkward, hot tension surrounds you as you scrabble off the floor, grabbing his hand as you pull him towards the bedroom. Your thumb brushes over the staples, heart twisting at the feeling.

But the melancholic sting is forgotten once he’s leaving sharp little bites on your thighs, your clothes and his jacket tossed to a forgotten corner of your bedroom. His breath is hot against your exposed skin, goosebumps following his path to your hot cunt.

You’re nervous, still unsure of your current predicament. But Touya pinches your thigh, bringing your attention back to him as he watches as your thighs tense around him. His eyes meet yours, confident and sure of his place between your legs, and all of your uncertainty vanishes, consumed by the want and desire that fills you.

His eyes meet yours, clear and sharp, and he brings his hands to your pussy, thumbs pulling your folds open. His gaze drops, focused on your cunt, watching the way you clench around nothing. You squirm, embarrassed at the intensity of his stare.

“So wet already,” he mumbles, before his tongue swipes along your slit. You let out a small gasp, slamming your hand to your mouth in a lame attempt to gag yourself. Touya narrows his eyes, as he laps away, tongue flicking up to tease your clit, circling it but never touching the sensitive bud. You whine into your hand, trying to keep your hips still as he takes his time.

“Drop that hand.” The rumble of his voice travels through you, making you shiver. “Drop it, and I’ll touch this cute little clit.” Looking at him nervously, your hand falls tentatively, hovering above his hair, unsure if it’s okay to ground yourself there. Touya rolls his eyes, before pushing your hand down.

His tongue swipes at your clit making your hips jolt. He lets out a snort before repeating the action. Your grip in his hair is light, not wanting to hurt him; but your self-control goes out the door the second his lips make a seal around your clit.

He sucks at the throbbing bud, eyes lighting up at the way you buck against him, moaning loudly. Your fingers tangle into his hair, keeping him snug against your cunt. He slips a finger into your sopping hole, practically melting at how warm and wet it is. He needs to be inside you. Soon.

“Touya,” you moan, rocking in an attempt to increase the friction. He curls his finger inside of you, mouth still focused on your engorged bud. Your grip in his hair tightens, the pleasure that’s been simmering building rapidly.

“Gonna cum!” you squeal in warning. He doesn’t slow down, eyes trained on your face as your jaw drops, a choked noise clawing out of your throat. You tense around him, muscles quivering at the intensity of your orgasm. You whine and buck against him, and he lets you ride at your orgasm.

When his ministrations borderline into pain, you weakly push his head away, trying to catch your breath. He lets you pull away, eyes glimmering cruelly.

“That was fast.”

You whine in response, moving your hands to cover your face. Touya hisses, surging forward to yank your hands above your head. You wince as he squeezes, eyes narrowing on your face.

“Don’t hide what’s mine.” His lips pull back into a lazy grin as his eyes trail over your body, landing on your glistening cunt. “Gonna fuck you so good,” he mutters, mostly to himself. You blink stupidly at him when he lets you go, processing the fact that he’s kicked off his pants and taking his cock out.

Your eyes widen when you see the shiny piercings that gleam on his cock. It excites you, making your cunt clench around nothing. And yet your stomach drops when you finally realize that he’s bigger than you thought he would be. You bite your lip, trying to tame the swarm of nerves that take over the excitement.

“Touya, I think I need-” he cuts you off with a sloppy kiss. Your hips cant when you feel the head of his cock sliding along the lips of your pussy, his piercings tapping at your clit nicely. You’re not sure if you’re ready for him, and it simultaneously excites and terrifies you. But he leans on you, keeping you still with his body weight.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Open up for me,” he murmurs. And then next thing you know his lips are on yours, but you can’t help but to let out a cry against him when he thrusts his cock into you, bottoming out. He’s red hot inside of you, and tears prickle the corners of your eyes, leaking out as your nails dig into his back.

“So warm,” he murmurs, before pulling his hips back and thrusting into you. You cry out at the harsh stretch, tears falling down your cheeks as his piercings pull at your walls. He seems to like that though, and he brings a hand up to your cheek, thumb stroking the salty liquid. “You’re pretty when you cry.” He punctuates the sentence with a particularly harsh thrust, sending more tears down your face. “Attagirl,” he coos, looking absolutely enamored with your blubbering face.

“Touya, please,” you whine, not exactly sure what you’re asking for. But Touya seems to know, a sharp grin spreading wide on his face.

“Awww, does my baby girl wanna feel good too?” You nod, face twisted as you babble away.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll take good care of you.” He kisses you again messily, before slipping a hand in between your bodies to play with your exhausted clit. He massages the swollen bud, sighing as you start to gush around him. “Is that better?” You nod and whine, hands twisting in his hair to hold him against you.

Touya can’t help but chuckle, and he presses another kiss into your neck before sucking on the skin there. His thrusts are gentler now, appreciating the snug warmth that surrounds his cock. If he could stay buried in the heat of your cunt forever, he would.

He’s drawn from his thoughts when you tug at his shirt, wanting it gone. He stills against you, tensing. You look up at him with a pout, eyes begging him to take it off.

“Please,” you whine. “I wanna feel you.” His mouth opens, and you can already hear the annoying quip that lies on the tip of his tongue, so you push forward, hands tangled into his shirt. “I wanna feel all of you.” He pauses, head tilting to the side as you watch the gears turn behind his eyes.

“Please.” Your voice is soft, as you try to avoid squirming around his dick. Something seems to click in his mind because he draws back, pulling his shirt off. Your eyes wander across the expanse of stapled skin, the puckered burns, making your heart squeeze. But there’s nothing you can say, nothing you can change. So you reach out to him, beckoning him into your arms.

He falls forward, barely supporting himself, letting his body cover yours. You wrap your arms and legs around him holding him close as he begins to lightly thrust again.

“You feel so good,” you cry out panting against his face. Touya angles his head to face you, eyes boring into yours as his breaths mix with yours. It’s too hot, too much, but you can’t move away, overwhelmed by the sensations and entranced by his eyes.

Touya’s hips increase in pace, rutting violently against yours, the sharp sting of his skin against yours making you whine. Each thrust into you, steals your breath away, your hands digging into his back.

“Ever since I found you again, I needed to have you, needed you back. I wasn’t going to let myself lose you again,” he growls. You whimper as you gush around him, finding that you want him to stay buried in your pussy forever.

“Stick out your tongue,” he barks out. His eyes flash, and you do as he says, all while letting out little gasps as he thrusts into you. He hovers above you, a cruel grin spread out on his face. You watch as he spits onto your tongue, a shudder going down your spine. He reaches out to grip your open jaw harshly.

“Swallow.” When he lets go you do exactly that, cunt squeezing tightly. “Oh you like that?” he laughs as you nod. He hums before kissing you sloppily.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re gonna do what I say from now on. I’ll make you feel so fucking good.”

You should be alarmed by the promise of obedience, but you feel too good to care right now.

“Mine, mine, mine.”

It crosses your mind to tell him that you don’t belong to him, but all you can do is nod and hold him closer.

“Wanted to be inside this pussy the moment I saw you. You’re never gonna want another cock than mine.” At this point, all you can do is whine and nod, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Nothing’s gonna hurt you again, baby girl. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll take care of you.” Your nails scratch down his back, making him hiss, as your hips rut against him.

“Touya,” you cry out, tears leaking from your eyes so sweetly. “Gonna cum again.” He nods, lips brushing against yours.

“Wanna feel you cream around me, baby girl.” You nod blankly, drunk on the feeling of his cock pounding into you, piercings pulling so nicely at your gummy walls.

Propping himself up with one arm, he slips his hand in between your bodies, fingers playing with your clit again. It’s enough to send you over the edge, and you cry out, writing against him as your pussy gushes around his cock, squeezing him tightly.

He chokes against you, and your pulsating cunt launches him into his own orgasm. Touya’s hips jerk against you as his cum paints the inside of your cunt. He collapses against you as you twitch in a post-orgasmic haze. He nips at your neck, alternating the sharp stings with sweet kisses.

“You did so good, baby. So good to me. I’ll take care of you. I promise,” he murmurs against your skin, making you shiver. You’re still panting, sweeping your hands over his back, before they land in his hair, gently scratching at his scalp. He shuts his eyes, enjoying the sensations and the warmth, letting himself get lost in you, if only for a little bit.

But when he pushes himself off of you, pulling his hips away, you whine. Your legs lock around him, keeping him lodged inside you. He barks out a laugh before flopping down on his side, pulling you against him.

“I’ll stay right here. Don’t worry.”

“Touya…” you murmur, gently. He sends you a questioning gaze, waiting. You lean forward, pressing your lips against his, trying to convey the complexity of what you’re feeling. He responds aggressively, as if you might disappear. But it makes you melt. Maybe he was right about that.

When you draw back, his thumb strokes at leftover tears on your cheek.

“It’s okay, You’re mine now.” It’s not exactly what you wanted to hear, but it’s all you get from him because he pulls you tight against him, eyes shutting in exhaustion.

You curl up against him, feeling his breathing even out. His cock feels heavy inside of you, and something cold sits in your stomach.

You shouldn’t have done that. He’s not okay. You really shouldn’t have done that. But you would deal with that in the morning.

For now, Touya is yours, and you’ll enjoy the warmth of his skin and the way the stars fall when you shut your eyes.✨

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