#my sin ml

[sweetestofchaos]

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝖥𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗒𝗍𝖺𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗒 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖩𝗂𝗇𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝗎𝗍. 𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝖭𝖲𝖥𝖶. 𝖡𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽. 𝖬𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁. 𝖬𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗌. 𝖠𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍. 𝖬𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖠𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗅!𝖩𝗂𝗇𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖡𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄!𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

Pʀᴏʟᴏɢ Tᴏᴜᴄʜ ᴏғ Sɪɴ ⁽ᴺᔆᶠᵂ⁾ Wʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ Wᴏʀʟᴅ Fᴀʟʟs Dᴏᴡɴ Nɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ Tʜᴇ Eɴᴅ

#soc jinyoung #my sin ml #my sin #park jinyoung #got7 jinyoung #kpop ambw #angel/demon au #got7 angst #got7 fluff #black reader

[wield-the-mighty-pen]

The bolter is about Marinette Dupain Cheng confirmed

#This song is just so marinette season 5 coded #this is my favorite TTPD track rn #I also love guilty as sin? #and so many others #but those are my top two #it's so catchy and achingly beautiful #TTPD #the tortured poets department #taylor swift #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #mlb #miraculous #ml

[miraculouscataclyyysm]

My boy how Iv missed you!

#new ep trailer hell yes! #my favourite blue haired boy Iv missed you sooo #feel liek forever sins Iv seen him in an ep #luka couffaine #miraculous ladybug #ml #miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #ml s5 spoilers

[crizztelcb]

i love the idea of adrien getting out of the model life and not live by the media standers but i also love adrien that wears makeup because he wants and he loves it, like all make up! like those videos on youtube with those big lashes and bright eyeshadow like yesss go boy!

#i hate wearing make up and i hate how media makes it a sin to not wear it but i also see it as a form of art and liberation! #like either if you see him as queer or cis and het it still a beautiful form of liberation in my eyes for him #give cat boy bright green make up! #oh wait i can do it! >:3 #adrien agreste #chat noir #miraculous #crizztel rambling #mlb #miraculous ladybug #ml headcanons

[haechansdoll]

my little doll - ml x reader

Pairing : Boxer!Lee Mark x f!Reader

Description : Humans have hormones, you understand that much. But does that explain why you can't stop the filthy daydreams that fill your head whenever you see a specific redhead? Does it excuse you for getting turned on by him simply breathing in your direction? And to make matters worse, he is off-limits, if your father found out you were messing with his prized boxer? You would be chained to a tower and your red-haired crush would be used as mincemeat.

Warnings : Bloody Nose, Perversion, Dom/Sub, Power Play, Panties, Caught Having Sex, Overstimulation

Wordcount : 20k

Hormones.

You dearly hate them, you hate how your chest does somersaults at the mere sight of him, or the fact you have to cross your legs when his voice tickles your ear, let alone the mocking sensation of arousal that forever plagues your core at the sweet little pet names he sure loves giving you. From the crimson red hair that falls over his shoulders, typically pulled back with a loose-fitting clip, a matching pair of eyes that have this undeniable sultry and charming glint to them, or the scars from broken bones or other mishaps he has yet to give you a story about that stick to his powerful arms and mesmerizing torso.

If anyone were to find out about the things that run through your head, the lewd imagery, the erotic scenarios... you would never be able to show your face again. It's normal to have less-than-pure thoughts, right? You're no less human than the next person, everyone has desires and fantasies!

But does that excuse the fact you've desperately been waiting for any chance you can get to go and relieve yourself? That the more you stare at him, the more you think about how good he may be in bed? His muscles flexing with each thrust, imagining the length and girth of his cock, would his voice be gruff or husky?

The recollection of your inner desires has you aching, it is humiliating, to say the least. Especially when the man who is the center of these very thoughts just so happens to be standing behind you, one hand on your shoulder, the other guiding your wrist. The close proximity has you feeling sick, between his voice right beside your ear and his hands on your arm.

To be honest, aren't you sick? Pretty sick in the head to be lewding Mark without his knowledge, what would he think of you if he were to learn of these sinful scenarios you let consume you? You simply cannot help it, any woman in your position would probably be the same, right? Thinking of all the things those hands can do, how his rough fingertips would feel between your legs, his tongue against your...

It isn't like anyone knows either, after all, it would spread like a wildfire if anyone were to find out about your less than an innocent crush. In your opinion, you do quite a good job at masking it, not too clingy to him but also not completely avoiding him. After all, he is your father's "student" if you could say that, often training under the watchful gaze of your dad.

Sometimes it still feels like just the other day when you two first interacted, him introducing himself, saying how he works under your dad. You heard of him from your father often boasting about this guy he is training. You figure it would be another older guy, rough around the edges, not good enough to be eye candy. You couldn't have been any more wrong, completely in shock to learn that this "guy" was not only a lot younger than you expected but looked like those Greek statues.

You can never quite focus when he speaks to you, eyes wandering ever so discreetly, ears deafening when you catch sight of a bead of sweat dripping down his neck, how the lump in his throat bobs while he talks or drinks water. 

Even now, as you throw another punch per his instruction, your focus is entirely elsewhere. Not on the way he tells you to twist your wrist when launching your fist from your body, but rather how good it feels when he speaks right next to your shoulder, each word making your eardrums vibrate. If only he knew that you weren't very focused on his self-defense lesson, but rather how good it would feel to have those big hands wrapped around your neck or your thigh... anywhere is fine by you.

Most nights you find yourself fantasizing about Mark…Mark, all the filthy scenarios possible flooding your already corrupted mind the whole time you feel yourself up. Gripping your sheets and pretending it's his hair, breathing into your pillow to try and mask the sounds of pleasure you just can't keep in. You feel awful every time you finish, though. Hastily fixing yourself and going to shower, hoping the water will wash away sin.

Alas, you know that any level you go to repent would never erase the tainted marks of lust from your body. You're trapped in this, like a stalkerish fan swooning over her celebrity crush. Again, thanking whomever it concerns that mind-reading is not a thing.

A hand comes down onto the top of your head, drawing you from your deeper workings, "That time was really good," Mark praised with a grin, fingers dripping from your skin, much to your dismay, "Try it again without me guiding you, put your all into it!" If you had any less self-control, a moan would have passed your lips from his perfect voice, each word rolling off his tongue like honey from a spoon. 

Times like now you wish you had a deeper relationship than what is now accessed, that way you could just grab at his arms and give him the prettiest bats of your lashes all for the sake of begging him to take you somewhere private. That's all you want right now, to feel his soft lips on yours, to taste his tongue that probably will feel minty from the gum he is currently chewing. The simple privilege of being able to kiss him would surely kill you.

You throw another punch and really start to feel that ache in your shoulder, but Mark calls it a "good burn", something you remember even your father saying back when you were little. Your eyes glance to the clock hung on the wall, usually, you are hoping time will fly by, but right now? You hope it goes painfully slow, who knows when the next time will be when you have him so close with his hands all over you.

"I think you've mastered how to punch someone, I'm a little scared by how quick you are..." The playfulness in his voice does more than make you smile, it also contributes to the arousal that continues to soak into your panties, which you can probably assume are ruined at this point, "Let's practice a kick for if you're being restrained by two people." 

The last thing you expect is to feel him come up from behind and wrap his arms around your torso, restraining your arms and keeping you firmly pressed to his solid front. You would have cum right there if it wasn't for how focused you were on the veins in his arms or his flushed knuckles, "So if someone comes from behind, they'll most likely grab you in a way to trap your arms." His voice vibrates in his chest, which in turn vibrates against your back. 

Mark gives you a bit of a squeeze, a soft gasp fluttering from your lips not because of the restriction on your lungs but rather how if you arch your back just enough... you would probably feel the one thing you daydream about. The one thing you imagine fucking you every night when you touched yourself. 

"It'll be hard to elbow them, and depending on how tall they are you may not be able to head-butt them... so you can take one of your legs and then jab your heel into the arch of their foot, the point is to fracture or break those bones because then it'll either make them immobile or they won't be able to run after you when you get away." You nod your head along to his words, "Or, some people say to put as much as you can to lean forward because attackers expect you to thrash in their arms or try to hit them."

Mark lightly nudges you as a means to lean forward, you almost think not to, afraid of the hormones that are already driving you up the wall. But you do it anyway, leaning forward, despite the fact he is pressed into every inch of your backside, "Take both of your hands and grab at one of my legs, whichever you think is easier, and then you're gonna pull as hard as you can to try and knock me off."

You almost feel bad, but you assume that since he is giving you this lesson, he expects to get roughed up a little. So despite your inner conflict not to, you lean forward as much as it takes to grab the leg closest to you, that being his right leg, and firmly gripping his calf and pulling his leg towards you. You're almost surprised by how easy it was, one second he is holding onto you, his breath wafting against the back of your neck, and now he is flat on his back.

"That caught me off guard," He says in disbelief, without your knowledge his crimson eyes watch how you slowly stand up straight after successfully breaking free of his grasp, "I shouldn't underestimate you considering how intense your father is with training." He notices your panties peeking through the fabric of your yoga leggings, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip, and staring until the red fabric is no longer peaking through.

"When I was little he taught me some basic things," You turn around to offer him a hand, which he gratefully takes, "But I don't think the moves I learned when I was little will be much assistance now." You help him up with a smile, for a moment you forget the tension that had previously been eating you, "Thank you for helping me, you make it more fun than it should be."

The crimson-haired boxer offers you one of his signature smiles, flashing those pearly white teeth you always think of dragging your tongue over, "You're adorable," His fingers playfully give your cheeks a pinch just to see you pout, "Let's do one more move before you gotta close up, I think you have it in you to give it a try." Who are you to argue? After all, it means more time to ogle over him, to feel his hands, to dream up filthy scenarios that have your pussy throbbing.

What you don't expect is to feel one of his hands fall on the dip of your waist to stabilize you, the other coming down to hook under your knee and slowly lift your leg, "You're pretty flexible, I expected that... naturally everyone's legs are stronger than their arms. So sometimes if you see an opening, go for a nice high kick right into either their chin or nose." So that's why he is holding you like this.

His words, just for a moment, blur as you look at his hands on your body. The position is oddly provocative, it is easy to just picture you both nude, his cock driving in and out of you just like this. His hands holding your soft thighs wide open for him, one leg hooked over his arm as those very fingers tease your clit, his other hand snaking up your front to tweak your nipples and torturously squeeze your tits.

It's disgusting, filthy that all he is doing is holding you like this to guide you and you're imagining him fucking you just like this. It's horribly wrong, sickening - but oh, it would probably feel so good like this. His tip would rub against that sweet stop your fingers can barely reach, his breath against the very shoulder he would mark with hickeys...

"There we go," His voice sounds so close it nearly makes you flinch, "Okay, you want to aim with your heel and not the tip of your shoe because it can strain your ankle or even hurt the arch of your foot. So lock your leg as you swing it up and pretend like you're jabbing someone with your heel." You wish his cock was jabbing your insides, but nonetheless, you strike your heel into the air effortlessly.

Mark whistles at the power in your leg, what he would give to see you beat the shit out of someone. He is sure you could probably even take him out if you tried, which is another reason he hopes he never gets on your bad side. The first reason being that your dad would kill him.

"Maybe I should start practicing with you," He muses when you smoothly bring your leg back down, "I bet you'd be able to break me down, especially with a kick like that." What you would give to simply watch him train with your father, you've seen it a handful of times. How he drives his fists into the punching bag, or the muscles in his thighs stiffening when he tries to knock his sparring partner down. He always leaves you drooling, hoping to feel those very hands wrapped around your throat or to ride his thighs while he teases you for being such a slut. 

As much as you would love to spend the time with him, you know you wouldn't be able to handle all the touching, to see him sweating and his muscles showing through his less-than-covering tank top. Sometimes he even goes shirtless, which is ten times worse and even more hormone-inducing. If only there was a way to confidently tell him, "I've wanted to have sex with you since I first saw you, so please do whatever you want with me."

"I think you'd probably break me..." The words weren't meant to come out sounding so sexual, leaving a pinkish blush on his cheeks and at the tip of his ears, "But we can always practice like this whenever you want." You miss how he shuffles in place, trying to knock your first sentence from his head. Break you? He knows what you meant... but even he has some not-so-innocent thoughts.

With it being time to close, regulars gradually leave the gym, bidding you a farewell per usual, the machines slowly becoming empty. Though the only person who patiently remains, discreetly watching passing figures as they leave the building, is the redhead you have been eyeing all day. It is rather exciting, watching the final person pack up their things and leave, finally granting you the privacy you've desired all day.

You begin the process of locking up the gym, working the locks on the alternate entrance, as well as pulling the drop-down fence that cages the windows. You two often leave through the back door, so you always lock up the front earlier than you both intend to depart. Whenever he stays a little later than usual, he often waits for you to close and you will leave together. 

Being so focused on closing the main entrances and front of the gym, you don't notice the figure approaching you from behind, not until a shadow casts over you and you notice the lighting change. Not until a hand falls onto your shoulder, to which you peer behind you to see Markall packed up, "Did you bring a sweater? It's supposed to be cold out."

"I didn't, but it's fine because my car is right there." He knows it is, but he also knows that you tend to park quite a bit away from the apartment you share with your father because it didn't have a parking garage, "I'll be fine! Worst case scenario I catch a cold and can't come to work tomorrow." That's when you remember an important detail about tomorrow, one that you've been looking forward to all week.

"You have a match tomorrow, right?" Comes your voice amid his needless thinking, "Dad is making the plans, he's been running around all day... I think he may be more excited than you." You try to change the subject, knowing he will be persistent regarding you taking his sweater.

"Yeah, and that's another reason you should take my hoodie... that way you don't get sick and you can be there to cheer me on." His words make you feel so warm and fuzzy inside, is he really that worried? Does he really want you there to see him? It's too much, you may just pass out knowing he wants you to cheer for him in the crowd!

You heard rumors of professionals possibly attending, managers of some sort. It all sounds a little too good to be true, but knowing your father he is always pulling strings. To locals, it's considered a big deal because of the chance to gamble bets, entertainment... The matches are memorable. Mark likes the attention, to hear people chant his name and praise him, that adrenaline he gets when he is so close to winning. It is a drug, an addiction he just cannot shake. He needs support.

Finally, you take the hoodie from his hand, pulling the thick fabric over your head and covering yourself, "Thank you, Mark." He is so sweet, it makes you feel guilty for letting these thoughts ravage your brain. For allowing yourself to lewd him constantly, he has been nothing but respectful with you and all you can think about is how fucking good it would feel to sit on his face right now.

"Are you gonna be there to give me some good luck?" His words catch you off guard, give him some good luck? you never really see him before his matches, usually, only after will you congratulate him and offer to take him out for something to eat, per request from your father. It is a tradition to celebrate after a successful fight. Most of the night you will ogle over him, how good he looks with a slightly swollen lip, or how you would kill to lick the little bit of blood sticking to the fresh wound on his brow.

What could you possibly do to give him good luck? You will have to think of something, you can't disappoint him, "Since tomorrow is a big deal, I guess I have to make sure you have as much luck as possible, right?" Your words bring a grin to his face, you've always been so kind yet carefree. He likes that a lot about you, how you don't take everything so seriously, and never feels like he has to walk on eggshells around you. 

Whatever it may be, he likes getting some sort of recognition from you before he fights, you leave this positive and sweet taste in his chest. He finds that he tries harder with you around, whether it be to impress you or earn plenty of praises and compliments when the match is over. He doesn't care what you come up with, so long as it's from you.

Mark Remembers that you're off the clock and should get home before it's too dark, "A-Anway," He clears his throat and adjusts his gym bag over his shoulder, "Let's get out of here, I think we both could use a shower..." Despite his words, he is eyeing how exhausted you look, sweaty and your eyes a little swollen from overworking yourself. It reminds him of the time you went on a run with him, an innocent invitation he gave you since he never really sees you outside of the gym.

To his surprise, you weren't at all a bad runner, but unfortunately, your stamina does not nearly match his and he can still remember how cute you looked, tripping over your feet and waving your hand for him to slow down. The sweat that stuck to your face, neck, chest... how you were shivering all the while scraping to regain some oxygen in your lungs. Your fingers holding onto his arm, leaning into him with your eyes closed. 

You had looked so pretty that day, but all he could think about was whether or not you'd look the same if he were to have sex with you. Would the sweet bead up the same? Would your eyes get heavy once it was over? Would you pant and cling to him like now, doing your best to keep up and not collapse from exhaustion? That was the first time he ever thought of you other than as a friend, and ever since it feels like the daydreams have gotten a little worse.

Not nearly as explicit as yours, though.

God, you want to fuck him so bad. You want to ride him until your thighs burn, to feel his teeth marking your skin with every push of his hips, to open your mouth just so he can spit in it... reminding you that you're nothing but a perverted, disgusting, awful whore. That's exactly what you are. A brainless, hormonal...

Right, you're supposed to be leaving. With a final adjustment to the sweater he had kindly given you, you lead the way to the back door of the gym. You wish you didn't have to depart so soon, just before he had his hands all over you! Touching your legs, holding your waist... can't you turn back time just enough to go through that all over again? Even if it's just him guiding you to a proper punch. 

What you would give to feel those hands on your tits, or cupping the apex of your thighs. Would it feel different from when you touch yourself? Probably. His fingers are bigger, thicker, rough... you can only imagine the way they would curl to rub that special spot inside of your walls. You bet he would be able to make you squirt, you can only imagine it... if only.

"Make sure you sleep early," He chimes from beside you, "That way I can see you early before I have to go prepare for tomorrow night." It is bizarre how insistent he is on seeing you before the fight, did you do something different to yourself? Deep down, you're praying he may just have a little crush on you, but you doubt it. He could like anyone, he would never choose you... right?

Nonetheless, you don't let your selfish thinking distract you from the handsome man beside you. What doe sit matter whether he likes you or not? At least he talks with you. But every human has selfish desires, yours just happens to be wanting the crimson-haired boxer beside you to be yours, "I wouldn't miss a chance to see you," The words come out faster than you could bite your tongue, but with the cat out of the bag you roll with it, "Maybe I could bring you something to eat?"

The suggestions noticeably brighten him, the two of you coming out of the back door which you begin to lock for the night, "That would be nice, remember those grape leaves you had made that one time? I'd kill for those..." Neither of you misses how his voice noticeably quiets, as if he only wants you to hear that, for the huskiness in his tone to catch your ears. 

To say it doesn't cause a million and one butterflies to waltz in from your stomach into your chest, would be a lie. It would be a lie to deny how the most minuscule quirks he has always leave you in a state of your own temporary bliss. You wish you could hear him whisper over and over, to come up behind you like in those cliche romance films from the 60s. For his arms to encase your midsection, lips meeting the shell of your ear, telling you how his day is better now that he is home with you.

Oh, what you would give to live out a shitty romance film from however many decades ago with Mark. To be that mindless trophy wife even if for a day, to forget all responsibility and for him safely coming home to you to be your only worry. To spend your hours cooking and cleaning, making yourself look your prettiest if it means letting him use you to destress.

You just want to make him happy, is that so wrong? Maybe.

"I'll be sure to make you some," You say back, eyes falling from his to instead look at your sneakers, "W-Well, I'll see you early tomorrow... I'll be sure to bring your sweater back." You miss the subtle smile due to your eyes being elsewhere, a smile that lasts until you look back up to him, "Drive home safe, I can't wait to see the fight tomorrow."

The two of you bid your farewell, Mark keeping his eye on you up until you safely enter the comfort of your car, and only then does he get into his own. You always miss those gentlemanly gestures he does, how he never leaves until he sees you're safely in your car, always keeping an eye out for you whenever you go off to the bathroom. He gets so worried over you being just a minute too long, and part of him excuses it for a "need to protect" urge in him.

But a very small part of him has already learned to accept he may or may not have feelings for you, whether they are romantic or platonic, he cannot pinpoint; especially because he hasn't even fully accepted the fact he has potential feelings for you. 

Regardless, you drive away, unaware of how he waited for you to leave first. The entire ride home, all you could focus on was the cologne that stuck to the hoodie he let you borrow. How the masculine odor filled not only your nose but the car. It felt mocking like the hoodie knew how down bad you are forMark, but you try not to let it get to you. You try not to imagine how it would feel to bury your face into his shoulder and smell the cologne stuck to his skin.

That familiar heat floods between your legs, reminding you of how awful you are. Even with him gone, you can't stop the dirty thoughts. Maybe you just need to get laid? Maybe it's less that you like him, and just you being horny and deprived of intimacy. 

You know that isn't the case, but it's nice to pretend it is.

What would his favorite position be? Would he prefer you on top? Bent over? If you had to decide, you'd want to be able to see his face, to watch how good you can make him feel. No amount of brainstorming could probably compare to how sexy he would look engulfed in pleasure, nor how he would sound. You take him for someone who tries to hold back their moans, not wanting you to know you're being good for him.

"Oh, god..." You whisper under your breath as you continue to drive, knuckles bulging from gripping the steering wheel so hard, not to mention the ache in your lower back from how far you've arched yourself to try and ignore the throbbing in your clit. It's ridiculous, here you are driving home on an empty street, your apartment building isn't even that far away...

And yet you find yourself pulled over on the side of the road.

The entire time, you mentally scold yourself, eyes frantically looking about all the while you sick back into your seat. Your nose is buried into the collar of the sweater, the familiar scent comforting you while your hand moves under the waistband of your leggings and then under your soaked panties. Were you really this wet? Usually, you would be riddled with shame, but now? You can only thank yourself, knowing it will make it all the easier for your fingers to snake themselves inside of you.

You know that your fingers will never compare to the real thing, and most of the time you don't even get much pleasure from them being inside of you, but that minor sense of fullness somehow is just relaxing. Between your index and middle fingers being knuckle deep inside of your pulsating entrance, your walls clenching around what little space your fingers take up, and your palm grinding into your clit.

"M-Mark..." His name is always falling from your tongue, every time you find yourself viciously rubbing your clit in desperation, or grinding into the soft fabric of your pillow. Whatever you may be doing to pleasure yourself, his name is the only thing that you manage to utter during the entire process. Praising him for making you feel so good and whimpering how it's too much for you. 

If only he could see you now, curled up in your car and humping at your hand, panting and whining for the only man you've thought about for however long you've known him. If only he were here, to witness how filthy you are, that you're anything but sugar and honey - you're not sweet at all, you're just a needy nymphomaniac. 

You spread your thighs just a little more, fingers dipping in and out of your entrance only to then come out and give your neglected clit circular rubs before seeping back inside of your pussy, "I wanna cum,Mark~" Imagining it is his fingers pumping in and out of you, that it's his palm that continues to grind into your poor clit.

With the fabric of his sweater pressed firmly to your nose, it helps to muffle your pathetic sounds; strings of his name and pleas floating within the air of your car. the only other noise being the wet squelching sound of your fingers inside of you. It all feels so lewd, to be touching yourself like this in your car. If anyone were to find out, surely you would be not only shunned, but you'd never hear the end of it.

But god his hands felt so good on your thighs and waist when he was training you earlier, they were so warm, so big... his palms rough when they dragged over the skin of your arms. You wish he would've gone just a little higher

"F-Fuck... ah~ fuck me,Mark-" You squeak when your fingers nudge at your walls a little too roughly, further hiding your face in his sweater as it gradually becomes harder to contain your whimpers. The thought of him praising you, calling you his good girl, and saying you take it so well - would he pepper your teary face with kisses? Slow down to make sure he doesn't completely ruin you?

Your insides feel hot, tortuously hot. Every grind of your clit into your palm gradually brings you closer to the anticipated climax. Are you catching a fever? You know it is just your body readying itself for the oncoming bliss, the buildup in your stomach that feels like electricity, "I-I'm cumming," You breathe out a strained whine, "F-Fuck, I'm cumming... I'm cumming~!" You lose your voice as your fingers focus on your clit, rubbing back and forth against the poor nerve.

"M-Mark~ fuck, fuck, fuck- nngh~!" It all happens so quick, the squirting of your climax soaking into your panties and leggings, tainting the skin of your hand and pruning fingers, luckily not too much getting on the seat of your car. But it isn't the mess, it's the pulse you feel in your clit, a neverending throb that has your walls clenching and unclenching. 

You must look wrecked, between how you've managed to bizarrely sink into your seat, your leggings and panties slightly pulled down and your fingers covered in a mess of your cum and slick. You feel ridiculous more than you look it, having just touched yourself in your car to the thought of someone who most likely sees you as nothing but a friend. 

Once again you feel like you're taking a walk of shame; pulling your panties and leggings back up despite the uncomfortable and icky sensation of how wet the fabric is, adjusting yourself in your seat, and looking around for any ongoing or incoming cars. Only when you deem it safe, pulling out of the spot you had parked to continue your trek home, all in silence as a means to reflect on yet again letting your lust get the best of you.

All you can do is hope that when you get home and take a nice warm shower and make those grape leaves poor Mark asked for, that it will somehow erase this awful encounter with yourself from your head. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day. Though, you doubt it will take eight hours of sleep to cure you of the hormonal devil on your shoulder.

To make matters worse, the familiar chime of your phone interrupts your mental meditation on what just happened. Though, it isn't your phone that makes things worse, but rather the fact that the very name you see in the notifications bar is the one person you were hoping to get out of your head. You almost think not to answer, let alone look at it, but you could never do that to him.

Upon opening the message, you nearly cry with guilt - how can he be so sweet? Why do you have to be so awful?

Remember that time we went for a run? I forgot I took this pic of u when we finished... after u started to vomit because u pushed urself 2 much. U looked cute tho (:

Scrolling up you hold back the urge to get on your knees before some religious statue and beg for forgiveness. There he is smiling at the camera, holding it high enough to catch himself but also you in the back, to your surprise you don't look awful. Sure, you may be on the verge of death from running so much, and even sweatier than him, but the sunset somehow brought it all together.

And did he just say you looked cute?

You bite back the urge to squeal and get into a car accident, but mostly not to verbally freak out. Does he really think you're cute? Really? You almost don't want to believe it, why would he think you're cute? You don't dwell on it too much, happily accepting the compliment and rereading the message over and over again until another one comes through.

We should do it again, I had fun <3 see u 2morrow, don't forget the grape leaves!

Why does he have to be so perfect? It's always the nice guys who are barely out of your reach. Not that you deserve Mark, someone as obsessive as you doesn't deserve that sort of happiness - not when you focus more on wanting to have sex with him every day, rather than building up the courage to just ask him out.

Maybe tomorrow you will try.

The following morning comes all too quickly, but you give yourself credit for having not had a wet dream - something that shamefully occurs often - and waking up to the sound of your early set alarm without trouble. You're never usually up at this time, but keeping your promise to the crimson-haired man you think about more than you do yourself is your top priority. It would be awful to say you will be there with breakfast, only to diss him.

And surely he would end up not liking you at all, he has mentioned being prejudice against people who do not stay true to their words. 

You like to think that you got ready so quickly, so haphazardly due to your stress over possibly being late... but you know it's because of how excited you are to see Mark and the fact he told you he wanted to see you before he would have to go and prepare for his fight.

Before you leave, you make sure to grab his sweater which you left neatly folded at your desk. When you got home after your shower, the first thing you did was throw it in the wash and put it as far away from you as possible - that damned sweater, you should have never accepted it because look what it made you do! Nonetheless, you are grateful he thought of you and your health and that is the reason you washed it, to cleanse it of any and all evidence of the sin you committed in your car last night. It is still humiliating that you allowed yourself to lose that self-control, but at least you're not in denial. 

If your father were to have seen you with that hoodie, you are almost certain he would have recognized it and interrogated you. Luckily, that didn't happen, because if it had you aren't sure you would be able to explain without the flooding images of last night filling your head and driving you up the wall.

But none of that is your concern, not when you have to make it to the gym in time for him, you're certain he should be there at this time, as well as your father who is preparing the back building where all boxing training, practice, and matches go on. Your only hope is neither of you bumps into your old man, but with how analytical he is, he practically smells when and where he needs to stick his nose into business that isn't his.

As you pull your car into the lot of the gym, noticing the familiar vehicles that belong to both the man you are excited to see, but also the one you hope you don't bump into, the butterflies begin to catch up. He wanted to see you, even to now you still replay those very words, asking you to come by earlier so he could see you before he had to go and prepare himself for the night.

The nerves are beginning to start, you never quite got over that feeling that you were stepping into unfamiliar territory. You've known Mark for quite some time by now, can't you just get over it and walk in there? It isn't even him that you're fearful of, more so the eyes that may follow you the moment you step into the gym. What will others think? You're never so early, and walking up to the redhead with a bento box? You can only imagine the rumors this will start.

Yet, you suck it up. Your father didn't raise you to run away from things, worst-case scenario is he can't talk right now and you end up looking like a fool. You doubt it, but there are a hundred and one possibilities you are anything but prepared for. But isn't that what makes it exciting? The unknown.

Not really, you hate the unknown. The entire walk to the front door of the gym, as well as entering it to see not many people you are familiar with there, which isn't surprising since you work from the afternoon until it gets dark. Nowhere in sight do you see the redhead you have been waiting to see since you last saw him yesterday evening, and you aren't even sure where he could be.

Part of you worries you may be too late, but you figure if he were to be anywhere he must be in the back building. The only issue is you would have to possibly come face-to-face with your father, not only to hand back Mark's sweater but also breakfast you prepared for him. You almost think to just bail, claim there is a ridiculous amount of traffic and you're still on the road, but he isn't stupid.

And you're also not gonna hurt his feelings.

You carry yourself towards the back doors of the building to find the separate structure where all the boxers practice and train, it is rather run down in comparison to the main gym, but it makes sense since most of the fights that go on here go on without the knowledge of authority. You aren't even sure if your father has a proper permit for this building, but he's gotten away with it before, and you're sure you've seen local officers in their casual attire attending the matches.

But all of that is beside the point, not when you enter the building and come face to face with chaos. Between people moving chairs and tables around, cleaners mopping at the floor, boxers gathered to the far end of the building where you see your father. Unfortunately, there is noMark-

Before the figure behind you can even speak, this weird tingle down your spine alerted you to an approaching figure, which you quickly look back only to be met with long red hair and a bare, sweat-tainted torso. Had he always been so tall? So big? You have no clue where to even look, your eyes jumping from his chest to his shoulder, raking over his long hair, and finally locking with the familiar crimson eyes you are used to. You feel silly for staring at him, but you just can't help it.

"You made it," Comes his voice, a grin plastered onto his face at the sight of you holding his sweater and the bento box, "I see you brought me some gifts, is this what I think it is?" The tip of his finger points at the box of grape leaves, to which you hold them out for him to take, your words trapped in your throat at the sight of him completely shirtless in front of you. 

Mark opens the box and whistles at the plentiful amount of grape leaves you had prepared for him, "You spoil me~" He hums while bringing one to his lips, taking it all in his mouth in one bite. Your eyes lock on a droplet of oil that is stuck to the corner of his mouth, how his jaw looks when he chews, the bob of his adam's apple whenever he swallows. You can only imagine how much better he would look swallowing your cum, if only he was there last night to catch your juices in his mouth when you made yourself cum like that.

"How is everything coming along?" You finally find your voice, even if to just ask a question, from what you can tell most of the necessary tasks are just about done - which would leave Mark with an hour or so to get ready for the match later this afternoon - and most are just focusing on creating space to accommodate the customers coming to watch.

Nights like this your father makes the most money, charging for entry and snacks. You call him a shark for how he robs these people with his ridiculous fees, but what business is it to you? If it's what the people want, you're sure they would pay any amount just to watch some men beat each up other up. You weren't a fan of boxing until you first seen Mark, only ever wasting your time to see him in the ring.

When he swallows his third grape leaf, much to your shock, his eyes scan the room with an unsure shrug, "I'd say it looks fine, I've been trying to help out but your father refuses... keeps saying I should just go and warm up in the gym." You would figure as much, your father has favorites and those favorites tend to get the better end of the stick. 

You smile seeing how happy he is with the bento box you prepared for him, nothing makes you happier than when someone enjoys your cooking. Especially the person you like, a lot. It feels good to just be able to look at him and feel nothing but that giddy crush feeling bubbling inside of you, without the added turn-off of your anything but pure imagery that infests your less than perfect brain.

"There aren't too many people in the gym... maybe it will do you some good to stretch or something before you gotta get ready." Mark knows you're right, and he doesn't particularly enjoy doing absolutely nothing when everyone around him is up to some sort of agenda, "I don't plan on going anywhere now that I'm here, it wouldn't make sense... did you need help with anything in particular."

Of course, part of you is hoping to hear something like 'yeah, can you suck my dick?' but you know that won't happen. It is quite humiliating to even think that, how nice his thighs would feel in your palms, his cock shoved balls deep in your throat, tearing up and choking from the size. You bet he tastes just as good as he looks, and he looks like he tastes really good.

Mark closes the bento box, "Actually, yeah..." The three fingers the were covered in the thick oil that the grape leaves are cast in are one by one popped into his mouth, and oh is a sight to admire. His tongue dragging over the single-digit before dragging it out from his mouth with a light pop, "You mind wrapping my hands for me? I never do it tight enough." 

You've seen him struggle plenty of times with that hair of his, thick and down to his lower back. You aren't sure how he manages to take care of it, after all, it always looks so silky and voluminous. The women in those shampoo commercials could never compare, you're sure if Mark ever got into doing commercials he would have shelves empty within the first two seconds of the ad. 

Who wouldn't want to sit there and stare at him? His voice shaking every bone in your body, the way his muscles flex with the slightest movement, his pretty white teeth, not to mention thick lashes, and the way they frame his sharp eyes. Anyone would be happy to hear him talk, let alone drag their eyes over every dip and curve of his powerhouse of a body.

Before you are quiet for too long you come back to your senses, "Of course!" It comes out rather too enthusiastic, but Mark either doesn't notice or care. Especially not when you walk past him in that pretty little skirt of yours, you look so delicious clutching his sweater to your chest, your hips swaying in the most hypnotizing way. God forbid anyone, let alone your father catches his eyes checking you out from behind.

He follows you like a lost puppy, drooling over your legs and how soft they must be, how your thighs would feel amazing to just lay his head down on them. He's always found you attractive, and your sweet personality makes it ten times better. Whenever you wear those yoga leggings, he finds himself staring too long at you, watching you walk until you disappear somewhere.

What he would give to see you in cute little stockings, holding that skirt of yours up for him to admire the adorable panties you have on. Would you be into that? Letting him stare down at you, memorize every inch of your body, rub you through your panties, and push your shirt up and over your soft tits. The things he would do to you if you gave him the chance, and today he hopes he can coax you into paying more attention to him.

The two of you enter the gym, seeing that only a few other regulars have joined the same faces from when you came. The only sound being of the equipment and the cheesy music playing through the loudspeakers. Onlookers glance for a moment, watching the two of you as you both settle at one of the benches. You know they only look because they're interested in Mark and what he could possibly be doing with you. But who cares? You get to have an excuse to hold his hand!

"Did you sleep well?" He asks while fishing into the pocket of his shorts to pull out the hand wraps, "To be honest, I was a little worried about you since it was so cold... that's why I texted you, to make sure you were okay." Every word leaves you more and more in a state of speechlessness, he truly did care. All night that's all you could wonder if he genuinely cared and it turns out he did.

You contain your excitement, not wanting it to show how happy that made you, "Really?" You squeak out, "I-I was fine... your sweater kept me warm." You hide the flustered look by focusing down at the gauze in your hands, unwrapping the elastic material, "I made sure to wash it before I brought it back, I was pretty sweaty last night."

He finds you adorable, how your pretty hands hesitantly grab one of his and hold it in your lap. Your skin is so soft, so warm, he has to hold himself back from just squeezing or dragging his palm over the exposed skin. You're so careful with how you bring the gauze over his knuckles and between his thumb and index finger, making sure it is neither too tight nor too loose.

"Too bad, you always smell really good..." He watches your expression with a smirk, not missing how you tense up, "You never answered my question about whether or not you slept..." He loses his train of words as he watches your fingers trace over his knuckles. You're gentle, treating his hand like it's the most fragile thing you ever held, between the way you've fastened the gauze just right and are now just adjusting the wrap to better cover his abused knuckles.

The only thing on your mind is whether he takes proper care of his hands or not, does he make sure to clean them up and put ice? To massage all the kinks and knots out? You worry too much for him, not that he could ever tell. The tips of your fingers trace what scars aren't being covered, admiring how much he has probably been through to get this far. You've seen the way he trains, hours without a break, and always pushing himself, that's how stars are made.

Would it be so bad...? You feel conflicted, despite your hand already gradually bringing his closer to you, has anyone ever made sure he took care of himself? You try to do so, but sometimes your selfishness gets in the way. Is there anyone he lives with that pampers him? What you would give to be that person; rubbing his aching shoulders, kissing the bruises and cuts he has, washing his hair and back for him...

"y/n-" Your name leaves his mouth with a stutter, crimson eyes caught on your lips pressing delicate kisses to his knuckles. Your lips are soft, shimmering slightly from the lip-balm you have on, not to mention the warmth of your breath wafting against his hand. He doesn't protest, more so in awe at how pretty you look, how you don't even seem to be aware of what you're doing.

To say he hasn't pictured this exact scenario a hundred times or more, you wrapping his hands before a match, kissing each finger with one of your beautiful smiles. All he can do now is soak in this mini victory, a dream come true if you will. Your eyes peering through your lashes when your lips pull away from his hand, the cutest look of shame flashing on your pretty face, "Sorry, it just looks like it hurts..."

Mark stays silent as you hold his wrapped hand, reminiscing on how your lips felt on him, wondering if they would feel even better elsewhere. He doesn't respond right away, placing his unwrapped hand in your lap with a smile, "I liked it..." He says while you start to wrap his other hand, "Y-You should do it more often." 

You never expected him to say something like that, not that you expected him to be upset with you. To be honest, you weren't entirely sure what you were expecting his response to being when you pulled away. Part of you thought the atmosphere would grow awkward, unwanted even. Yet, here you are repeating the process with his other hand, the entire time you can't keep yourself from glancing up, only for your eyes to lock with his and his lips to curl into a smug smirk.

Just as you had with his other hand, you sheepishly bring the newly wrapped knuckles to your lips. Of course, this time you aren't as confident, but he finds it just as pleasurable. Your pretty eyes locked with his, kissing at the scarred flesh and trying to sit still. He can tell you're embarrassed simply by your body language, which you shouldn't be, he likes this show you're putting on for him.

Only when you finish, lowering his hand from your face and sitting up straight on the bench opposite to him, does Mark get a good look at your face. You would look good with a swollen bottom lip, irritated from his teeth nipping and tugging at it, and he wouldn't mind giving your cheek a playful bite, too. He realizes he doesn't quite want you to move away just yet, the simple act of you wrapping his hands already leaving him craving more of your attention.

"Could you help me with my hair, too?" You are only a little surprised by the question, especially since you've seen him put up his hair - despite it looking rather rough around the edges and a bit too low - and be perfectly fine with it. But you wouldn't turn down the opportunity to be close with him for a little longer. Did he ask that because he wants the same thing? You want to believe it.

Mark hands you the tie around his wrist, watching you come to a stand and circle around to stand behind him. His hair looks shiny, like layers of red silk on his head, "You have nice hair," You shyly state, putting the tie around your wrist as you start to gather his long and thick hair in your hands, "I bet you'd look nice with a half-up half-down style, but keeping it all up is probably for the best so it doesn't obstruct your vision, right?"

He wanted to answer you, but your voice sends such a chill through his spine, your warm breath hitting the back of his neck as you work to make sure not a single hair has fallen astray. Your fingers are like heaven, rubbing against his scalp, combing through the heavy bundle of red hair, "The last time I wore my hair down for a fight," He holds his tongue when you lean forward, the softness of your tummy pressing into him as you lean over his body to make sure you gather the hair in front, "I-It kept getting the way and stuck on things..."

You hum softly, not even really aware that the fact you're practically laying over his back to pull back the loose strands have him swelling in his briefs. Fuck, he would do anything to fill you up right here, let everyone watch him do it too. Pretty little y/n get her pussy stuffed for being a teasing little whore, panties around your ankle, barely fitting him inside of you. 

"You'll do great tonight," You say loud enough for only him to hear, "And um... maybe after we can go out for dinner?" Mark almost laughs at the predicament, it seems you beat him to it, "I-I mean, only if you're up for it, I just know this place with really good western dishes and I wanted-"

"Would you believe me if I said I was gonna ask you the same question after the match?" Your heart lodges in your throat, he is serious... right? Of course, why else would he say that? But it feels too good to be true! Would he really ask you out for dinner? It feels like everything is just falling together with the more the day goes by; wanting to see you before the match, wanting to ask you out for dinner, kissing his knuckles, touching his hair... it feels too perfect.

Technically it is because it seems your fifteen minutes of heaven is up when the familiar face of your father approaches you both, your fingers fall from the red hair you had been playing with, "I've been looking everywhere for you, kid... and you've been here the whole time!" His hands go up in the air, urgingMark to stand up, "Turns out we are actually behind schedule, the guys who came for the match are here an hour early so we gotta get you changed and ready to go in thirty minutes. Understood?"

PoorMark looks like a deer caught in headlights, "H-Huh? I thought the matches weren't until later...?" Even you are a tad confused by the situation, the matches are always held later in the day, wouldn't it be inconvenient to start now when there aren't even any customers?

But it turns out everything happens for a reason, "That was the impression I was under, but it turns out the new kid I hired to put up posters and shit put in the wrong damn time. So not only are people expecting a match in the next thirty minutes, but I haven't even finished getting the beer and shit out." Your father seems to be off the walls, between the anger in his tone and the way his brows are knitted close together, you don't think now is the time to upset him.

"You, go get changed and ready." Your father pushes Mark in the direction to the dressing rooms, "And you," He smiles while taking your face in his palms, "If I see that redhead getting too friendly with you I will kick his ass, now go and get yourself something to eat from the back you look half-awake." That's your father for you, even protective when the nice guys are around.

Alas, you do not argue, now is probably not the best time to tell him you wanted to go to dinner with Mark later tonight. You follow his orders to go and help with the food and beverages, you're sure he wouldn't want you working, but you figured with all the stress of the times being wrong you could help even just a little bit.

This is the most chaotic you have seen the gym, people coming with nowhere to go just yet, workers running around with chairs and tables and mops, carrying cases of whiskey and soda and things alike. If you weren't used to such disorder, for sure you would have cracked under the pressure of everything. Working a gym that also happens to have a "secret" boxing system in itself is just a mess.

Deep down, you feel bad for everyone and seeing the boxers rush in and out half-dressed in their uniforms and still trying to help, but at the same time, the fact that everything has been pushed earlier simply means you not only get to go out with Mark sooner but most likely stay out with him longer. You only hope that the stress of this mishap and the fight doesn't ruin those chances and he forgets, or even worse, just doesn't want to go out anymore.

As usual, you know that is just your overactive imagination and the pessimistic side of you, always questioning your worth and whether or not an opportunity is real or not. A lot of nights you spend laughing at yourself, how silly you were for holding so much doubt and worry over nothing; now is one of those moments.

When you should be focusing on helping to carry this case of water to the back building, you're wondering how Mark is coming along. He looked a little under pressure the last time you saw him, what if he might need help? Probably not...

But he did say he needed a little good luck before the match.

Maybe visiting him will somehow ease his nerves, despite him being a big guy with a lot of confidence, you are sure even men like him can be on edge for something like a boxing match. It's like football in high school minus being in high school and the football, right? Before game adrenaline, eyeing up the enemy, mentally and physically preparing yourself for the fight of your life. Everyone wants to win.

The only difference is that you know Markwill come out on top, you've never had as much faith in anyone as you do with him... which is why your feed deters from the back door to the second building in favor of finding which room Mark may be holed up in. Every dressing room has a name on it, and there are only five being used tonight because most of the boxers being trainees.

Your father is a big perfectionist, and if he doesn't have one hundred percent faith in you, then there is no way he will have you representing him. You learned that a lot growing up, but you think that's one of the reasons you crave perfection over minuscule things like how the gym equipment is set up, and where the towels and waters out, how things are accessible. They do say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

As you make your way down the hall of vacant and occupied doors, your eyes finally catch sight of the familiar name done in the familiar striking handwriting you have seen thousand times over. Mark has this little within quirk that you can easily identify, always sharpening his letters and irregular capitalization. You've always liked coming to work to see his name on the sign-in sheet, always so bold and pop from the rest of the list of names. 

For a moment you almost hesitate to knock on his door, but it is either now or never that you speak to him. You bring your knuckles to the door, knocking three times before stepping back and waiting. You don't hear anything on the other side of the door, could he have already left? It is a possibility, out of everyone his costume has always been the most... let's just say revealing. Mark is meant to be the eye-catcher, he is young, has bold red hair, is big and intimidating all the while looking soft.

All the boxers have their teams, and Mark's just so happens to be a nice, scary piece of eye candy. Not that you mind at all, more for you to look at! But when the door doesn't open, you come to the conclusion he isn't there, turning on your heel to head back out and see if anyone needs help. You're disappointed to say the truth, having wanted to talk with him for a second before the match, but not everything can just fall into place.

You get about ten feet from the door before you hear the sound of a door handle turning and the squeak of its opening, "y/n?" The familiar voice stops you in place, you had thought the door belonged to someone else but turning to look into the crimson eyes of the person you had been hoping to see, "Hey, what's up?" He is only a little shocked to see you there, to be truthful he was hoping it was you on the other end of the door when he hurried to get to it.

But you standing there, he almost didn't believe it for a second, not until you scurried your pretty little self back the way you came to meet him at his door, "N-No! I just thought you could use a little help, you looked distressed when you had to rush out of there before." Your words sink in for a moment, you were worried. He finds it rather cute, you worrying your head over him and wanting to be a good helper.

"Is that so...?" He hums, smiling when you slowly crack under his gaze, "Can you help me get this shitty top on? Your father forgot to order a bigger size so we are trying to compromise." You're a little flustered to help him with his costume of all things, you'll be alone in a room with him and his uniform barely covers anything. Between the fact, his entire torso is revealed aside from the signature black arm sleeves, and you'll be dangerously close to him? You are melting and you aren't even entirely in his room yet.

No matter what, you refuse to turn him down, not now. You look both ways down the hall before quietly entering his room, the door shutting behind you both, "I'll be sure to order a resizing for you," You say and examine the rest of what should be a part of the top of his costume, "He must have gotten you mixed up with the new guy, but that's okay people aren't here to judge you for what you're wearing!"

Mark sits down for you, letting you adjust the arm sleeves on his arm, due to the collar and shoulder pieces not fitting him, they won't have anything to be held up with, "I find it kinda funny how big your dad is about image and impression, considering he has men beating on each other for like four hours straight." Your fingers feel hot against his skin, apply a makeshift tape to the inside of the hem of the sleeves so that it has a better grip on his biceps.

"I was thinking... maybe instead of staying for everything to finish, we could just go out as soon as my match is over?" Your heart leaps at the suggestion, you're starting to think that he can read your thoughts, that the entire time you were freaking out over that dinner date not working he heard it all and was now making sure you could rest assured. Again, once again your imagination going over the top, but it doesn't kill a girl to dream!

With nothing more to modify regarding his costume - which you realized he never needed help with it to start and he was giving an excuse for you to stick around - you circle to look him in the face, "I would like that, I don't really... I kinda only go to these matches to watch you." He knew that but you don't know that he knows, so he pretends he is shocked, "A-And because the matches are earlier than they were supposed to, maybe we have time before or after dinner to do something else?"

His mind wandered, he won't deny it, what could pretty y/n possibly have in mind for before or after dinner? He'd love for it to be you bouncing in his lap with your tits spilling out that top of yours, you'd probably love that, wouldn't you? Mark can just imagine how good you would look, squealing and gasping, doing your best to take his big cock, even crying a little because you don't wanna mess up and not be good enough for him.

Fuck, you look so tantalizing standing there, your fingers messing with one another in front of you as you wait for a response, "What did you have in mind?" Mark wants to know what sort of ideas you have brewing in your head. Here is he wanting to fuck you whenever he gets the chance, and poor you have no clue. Part of him wouldn't be surprised if you have fantasies of your own, it's always the one who acts all sweet and sugary that ends up being sour and spicy.

"I-I'm not sure... but we could figure it out later, right?" He is a little disappointed you didn't have anything specific you wanted to do, but he figured as much since everything is so last minute. Nonetheless, he can't wait to see what happens later, he knows you'll make it work just like you always do.

The silence that falls for a few brief seconds doesn't last long when a knock comes at the door, to which you look over in horror. You don't need someone walking in and seeing you here, especially if that is your father. But Mark has it under control, going over to the door and peeking out. You can't see who it is, but you can hear their conversation from start to finish.

"You're on in five, so get that uniform finished and get out there, 'kay?" You figured it was your father with how strict he is when it comes to time, "Also, have you seen y/n?" You freeze up at the mention of your name, you'll be dead if he so much as smells you in this room, which is the reason you sink further into the corner and as far away from the door as possible.

"I haven't, but I'll be done in a minute, don't worry." Less is more with your father, and thankfully you can hear the sound of him going on with whatever it was he was doing before checking on Mark. The door clicks shut and only then do you let out the breath you had been holding, "Shit, that was close..."

If only he knew how badly your heart was racing, and you wish you could say it was out of fear, but all you feel is hot, that adrenaline of your father finding his sweet little girl in the room of one of his scary boxers. What would he think? Sure he would tie you up in the tallest tower, but he would for sure hasMark's head on a pike in the gym. You almost miss that he is beginning to gather his things and ready himself to go out to the ring.

You still haven't given him any sort of good luck; no pep talk, no awkward friendship bracelet, no bouquet of cheap flowers. Why were you even here then? You wonder if he is disappointed, he did specifically say 'are you going to give me some good luck?' yesterday and here you show up empty-handed. But the last thing you want is to leave him with no sort of confirmation that you wish him the best.

Before he can leave, you are quick to make a move, "Mark-" You stop him with a grab to his wrist, crimson orbs look over broad shoulders to meet your own, "You said you needed good luck before the game..." What are you doing? You have nothing to give or show...

Markwaits in suspense, he had entirely forgotten the very words he said yesterday. He didn't mean it he was just teasing you a little like he always does. But the fact you remembered? He is flattered, albeit confused because he doesn't see anything in your hands and you don't have a bag or pockets on you... his head wanders, maybe a kiss? He would be more than just happy with that, through the roof even!

But as he watches you, tense where you stand and caught in some sort of conflict, the last thing he expects is to see you bend forward. He isn't quite sure what it is you're doing at first, but then your hands shimmy up and under your skirt.

What makes it even more of a smack to his face is when he sees something pink and lacy being slipped down your legs. Maybe it was how dumbfounded he was, but until you slipped your pretty legs out from the fabric and hold it out for him, does he realize that little pink lace is your panties, "A-A good luck charm for Red Riot from his... from his number one fan."

The two of you stand there for what seems like forever, did you kill him? He looks almost dead where he stands, his eyes wide, and locked on the bundle of fabric in your hand. You almost worry you did too much, "Kick some ass." You quickly take his hand and shove your panties in them, hurrying out the room with the most flustered yet satisfied grin on your face. You did it, sure it may have been a bit much, but your feelings are out there and the ball is in his field. Now it's his job to decide whether he accepts it or not.

You hurry out to the back building, knowing your father is most likely being driven up the wall by not knowing where you are. You concoct an excuse in your head, you were just in the bathroom because something you ate didn't sit right. He would believe that, right? He's always doting after you like you're still his little princess dressing up and walking around in sequins and glitter.

The building is a lot more crowded than you expected, but it is easy to find your father after shimmying through the crowd, "Where the hell were you, y/n? I was asking everyone and running around like crazy, I thought some psycho had-" You stop him with a gentle pat to his back, oh if only daddy knew what exactly it was you were doing, "Whatever, it doesn't matter, right? You're here, and you better be making sure you leeches don't go over and try to steal snacks."

Almost directly after, your father is surfing through the crowd to try and sell gym merch, memberships, popcorn, and peanuts. He has always been a businessman at heart, and you are anything but shocked to see him with his bag of random foods and trinkets to sell to customers.

The chaos doesn't last long, the familiar ring of the bell that calls attention to the crowd has the room quieting. You are familiar with the process of hyping up the crowd, when you were little and watching boxing matches on television with your father, you would imitate the spokesperson to make him laugh. You always wanted to do something like that, have all eyes on you as you do nothing but talk.

But you grew out of it inevitably, though it doesn't mean watching someone else do it makes it any less enjoyable, "Anyway, let me stop boring you all with meaningless conversation... let me welcome the man representing this very ring, Red Riot!" Everything else was a blur, Mark happily coming out, but if anyone could tell something was off it was you. The way his eyes wolfishly searched the crowds, as if he is expecting something or someone to be there...

Only after the spokesperson finishes introducing the redhead to the crowd of wild and returning fans, does he return to that strange behavior of looking around, he doesn't even pay attention to his opponent who is trying to antagonize and rile him up. What you least expect is for him to walk straight across the ring to where you are and lean down so you can get a good look at his face, "You're crazy," He whispers with one of the scariest smiles you've ever seen, "I think I figured out what we could do before dinner, you better be in that dressing room when this is over."

If anything could describe the things you felt right then, it would be both fear and excitement. Especially when he shamelessly reaches through the ring, knowing your father is completely distracted and grabs you by the collar of your shirt, and pulls you forward. You trip over your own feet, holding down your skirt when you remember you gave your panties to the crimson-haired man that has you in the palm of his hand.

Mark presses the sweetest kiss to your cheek, and if it weren't for the fact you both were in public, you would have grabbed his face and smashed your lips right onto his. But you take what you can get and flash him your prettiest smile before he has to let you go and return his attention to the man he is supposed to fight.

Everything feels surreal, your fingers constantly reaching up to touch the exact spot his soft lips had found your skin. God, if you were to die you would be totally fine with it after having that kiss, the match feels like a blur. Usually, you are ready to cheer him on, but now? All you can manage to do is watch and wait for it to be over, and with the way, the fight is going? You're certain the poor guy he is against is going to fall any second. 

Mark dodges the third punch the guy has thrown, you're starting to think he is growing desperate and exhausted. Why else is he just throwing random and uncoordinated punches? You've seen it a thousand times before, they always start going wild when they are tired and desperate. And you know Mark well, he isn't a fan of a sloppy opponent. This is why, although you flinched, you're also not surprised by the force he puts into his punch to humble the man in front of him. You hate how messy things can get, the sweat on them, blood... it's like watching two wild bears claw at one another's throats.

"Ouch! Looks like you're gonna pass out there, buddy... thinking of calling it quits and handing the win to Red?" You wish he would say yes, that he would just give up and let Mark have it for the night. You can barely find it in you to worry over some boxing match when he demanded you to meet him in his room. All of these scenarios are burning through your head, and even if it isn't what you want, you would be more than happy with another kiss.

Between the punches and swings, the blood you just noticed was dripping from Mark's nose and onto the lips he had kissed you with, it is all so overwhelming in addition to your hormones going crazy. You have never wished for a boxing match withMark to be over so badly, and it isn't even that you don't want to see him fight! You just want to see him elsewhere, specifically in private... specifically where he is undressed.

But when you see the man get Mark in a headlock, your heart drops for a second, he has this, right? You know he does, but you hate how long it's taking him to get out of that. You always get nervous for him when he takes a few seconds too long to take the advantage back, "Oh, do we have a possible turn around?" You can't stand him being stuck like that.

The only thing you know that could possibly give him the energy he needs to get out of that headlock is someone cheering for him. And sure the whole room is cheering from him, but he specifically told you, 'hearing you cheer is different from hearing everyone else, so use your voice!'

With all you have, you take a deep breath and cup your mouth to amplify your voice, "You got this,Mark!" And if anyone can pick your name from the crowd, it is him. It's like watching someone suddenly going through a drug boost, the way his arms coming up and tug himself free of the grasp around his head, all you can do is continue to cheer for him until he finally lands a good enough punch stun the guy. Red eyes find you in the crowd, and although he looks scary with the swollen lip and blood from his nose, you still get butterflies when he gives you that charming smile and a wink.

"Never mind, Red Riot has once again held his ground! Don't forget to place your bets in the back on who will win and possibly receive a free gym membership for two months!" It feels like you have been standing there for a million years, the snack table isn't even at the top of your priority list right now, you couldn't care less if they stole everything including the table!

The fight is already in the hands of the very man you have been cheering for this whole time, you didn't doubt it for a second. It is only a matter of either that man tapping out or Mark knocking him out and you don't care which it is. You are on the tips of your toes with how things are looking, Mark has insane stamina but you can tell he is getting a little fed up and tired, "Knock him out, Mark!" 

He lands a punch to the abdomen, the man curling over to armor his stomach, which anyone knows is the worst thing you can do. Right then and there, you knew it was over, especially when right after Mark knocks him directly in the nose and the guy goes falling back. He may not be unconscious, but his body language, the wooziness to his movements... you know he is finished.

"Aaaand~" Everyone counts down from three, "We have checkmate! But are we surprised with who is the winner? No!" You don't even listen to what the man has to say, not when the referee climbs the ring to hold Red Riot's fist in the air, a formal symbol that he has taken this week's fight. 

And when he looks right at you with that goofy smile of his, you can't help but to practically jumping in place with your biggest smile, blowing him a kiss. Of course, you didn't forget his demand for you to meet him in the dressing room. The moment you see him climbing out of the ring, you are high tailing out of that building. Could your father be calling for you? Maybe. Do you care? Absolutely not.

Not when you are holding down your skirt and running double-time right out of that humid building to get to where you need to be. Every muscle in your body is aching, every nerve aflame. If you could describe what it was you were feeling, it's like teetering over the edge right before you cum. To feel everything in your body working, like a thousand electric shocks straight to your core. 

You're so focused on getting down that hallway and into that room, your ears are deaf to the oncoming footsteps rapidly approaching behind you, "Gotcha!" A scream catches in your throat when you recognize the arms that wrap around your midsection and pick you up, no one else wears black arm sleeves like this, "C'mere." His hand grips your jaw, forcing you to look back at him just so his lips could finally meet yours.

And you should be disgusted by the blood from his nose rubbing off on your upper lip, or how you can taste the iron on your tongue. But you have waited so long to kiss him like this, even if it wasn't you imagined a hundred times over, it feels better than you could ever concoct in your imaginative brain. His lips are not at all chapped, they are soft and plush and perfectly mold with yours. 

Only when his tongue playfully swipes at your bottom teeth do the two of you break apart for air, eyes locked together in a moment of silence. You've never felt like this, as if you have a million and one little feathers moving around all inside of you, "I don't what I'm gonna do to you first." His voice is like a growl against your nape, the vibrations deep and rumbling into your sensitive skin.

He doesn't let you go yet, his arms remain tight around your torso as he carries you in front of him the rest of the way to the room with your toes barely touching the ground, "What are you going to- ah~!" Your eyes tear up when he sinks his teeth into your neck, slamming the door behind him with his heel, "M-Mark... mm~" He doesn't let up on your neck, sucking at the already darkening bite mark he has created. If someone were to tell you that you would be in this situation, with Mark Markholding you snug against his front and forcing you to bend over the vanity in his dressing room, you wouldn't believe them.

"Fuck, I was so close to grabbing you and dragging you right back in here when you gave me these," He digs your panties from his pocket, "You thought that was cute, huh? Tugging these off right in front of me like that?" You know he isn't expecting an answer, but you can't expect but to give him the smuggest nod you can while looking at him in the mirror, "You think you're so cute, don't you?"

The way he speaks with you, it's almost on the dot with every fantasy you have had. To feel like the perfect bittersweet brat just for him, if this is the reaction you will get then you plan to push his buttons more often. Every word that leaves him has you further hooked on his line and you will do anything just for him to keep whispering those things in your ear, for him to grab your face and make you meet his eyes.

"I wanna kiss again..." You give him your sweetest pout, doing your best to peer over your shoulder and trying to reach behind you to bring him closer, but he is having none of your little needinesses. Your hands are gathered easily in one of his big palms, pinned in front of you at the desk, "Mark, please~" 

He gives you a shake of his head, his free hand coming up to grab your chin and keep you still for him, "Nuh-uh, look at you..." His thumb swipes at your upper lip, "Got blood all over you, babe..." You felt it and tasted it the moment you kissed him, but you couldn't care less, your tongue dragging over your upper lip to clean it up. And you didn't miss the wolfish look in his eyes, watching your tongue drag over that blood and smear it even more.

Before your tongue can retract back into your mouth, he is quick to lean forward and press his lips to yours so his tongue can pry its way into your mouth. You don't fight it either, this is exactly what you had wanted and you are getting it. His tongue tastes like mint and a hint of iron from his busted bottom lip, but it is all good to you, if you could you would dance your tongue with his until you were on the brink of asphyxiation.

But you know that isn't possible, not when he is already pulling away from the kiss in favor of leaving a trail of them down your tender neck. It tickles, but you take it like you're supposed to, only somewhat flinching when he finds the bruise he had already left. It feels like needles, burning under the playful tracing of his tongue over the bite marks in your flesh. 

"Jerk..." You're silenced with a sharp spank, and you should be whining over it, but you've wanted this time and time again. You have no room to complain that it left your poor ass burning, not when it has you craving another. He likes your little resistance, how you give him something to dance around. As much as he enjoys the idea of you being his submissive little lamb, this little game you have going on is all the more interesting.

Without warning the bottom of your skirt is tugged up, your bare and wet pussy coming right into view, "Look at you, walking around with nothing under this... I bet you enjoyed that, look at how wet you are." Mark's hand is so hot on your ass, tugging it to pull your pussy nice and open for him to look at. You look so soft, so sweet, if he could he would take a nice bite out of you right now.

"Fuck, you think you can fit it?" You try to answer, you really do, but you can't stop focusing on his hand mocking you. The way it slowly circles your ass, the pad of his thumb barely grazing at your slit, "You want it, don't you?" You nod slowly while watching him through the mirror, how his abdominal muscles flex with every movement of his body, the sweat that sticks to his skin, not to mention the evident strain in his pants.

Everything feels hot, from the tip of your nose down to your toes, it's like you've been engulfed in hellfire... in a good way. Everything he does to you feels good, even if it's just locking eyes with you in the mirror, or readjusting your hips to take in every dip, curve, and roll on your pretty self. It doesn't matter what he does, and you know that the reason he has you so worked up is simply that it is him.

You are aware that the two of you are strapped for time, being here and like this is as unconventional as it can get. You know you can't be too loud, and you both can't take as long as you want, but you plan to make the most of it. If anything, you still have time to possibly exchange that dinner date for something else and you're sureMark wouldn't mind that, not with how you can feel his breath down your spine.

As much as you dreamed of your first encounter with him to be romantic, the moment you slipped off your panties and put them in his hand drew the line between a romantic night out and the potential that night you both won't be able to keep your hands to yourselves, "You're gonna watch me fuck you," He points at the mirror for you to look, not that you haven't been staring at yourselves through it this whole time, "I want you to see the slutty faces you make."

For a moment, you actually believed that he would finally fuck you, as foolish as that is, but rather than pulling off his own pants he is guiding you to sit on the vanity desk with your front showing in the mirror. The awkward position forces your pretty thighs open, giving you a look at just how ruined your pretty little cunny is, how your slick sticks to it and dribbles just a little onto the vanity you are sat on.

No words are exchanged between the both of you, his eyes are locked on your changing expression while yours are locked on his wandering hands. His fingers snake their way from your waist, gradually moving upward and under your shirt. His palms are rough and calloused, still wrapped in the gauze you had done prior to the fight, pulling at the sensitive skin of your torso. The fabric has the hairs on your neck standing up and when his large hands grope your tits through your bra you feel a familiar electric shock goes straight to your core.

"What're you making that face for?" You hadn't realized the way your face scrunched up in response to his hands, and the cocky smirk on his face only makes you all the more embarrassed, "Are you sensitive here...?" To test his intuition, his fingers push under your bra to feel at your bare tits, grinning at how soft they are and the way they fit so nicely in his palms.

You hate how it makes you feel, how every swipe of his thumb over your nipple has your hips bucking just a little, "M-Mark... mm- ah!" You're caught off guard by the mean pinch he gives your pert nipples, giving the sensitive buds an observant twist, watching your every reaction and every little twitch of those soft thighs. You look perfect, completely at his mercy and leaning back into him as his hands do what they please under your shirt, "Hah... y-you don't have to be so harsh..."

"No?" You shake your head in response, a cute little pout pulling at your bottom lip, "But I like how you react and look," One of his hands pull from beneath your shirt in favor of hiking up the bottom of your skirt to reveal your swollen and dripping pussy, "You seem to like it, too... making a mess all over yourself." He isn't wrong, you love it. You love the burn of your nipples with every painful twist, how your tits feel sore from his tight squeezes.

But simply touching them aren't enough for him, he wants to see them. You're already a pretty little thing, he doesn't doubt for a second your tits will only add to the list of things he likes about it. As well as to the list of things that turn him on, you being at the very top of that list.

You peer over your shoulder expectantly, eyes flicking from his down to his lips, you give him the only hint he needs to lean forward and slot his lips with yours. His tongue tastes just as good in your mouth as it did before, dancing teasingly and brush under your tongue. It's a wet, icky feeling but also one you wouldn't want to share with anyone but him. And with you so distracted by his tongue dancing with yours and tracing over your teeth, it gives him the perfect chance to do as he pleases.

One hand is swift with guiding your shirt up and over your tits, and it doesn't take much effort for his two fingers to get the clasp behind your back to snap open. The only obstacle being the straps that prevent him from completely taking the article of clothing off, but you're already on it, all without breaking the kiss you are sharing with him. While you work your arms out of the straps but also keeping your shirt on just in case you two have to make a run for it, Mark focuses his attention on your spread legs.

Opening just one of his eyes allows him to see the arousal that sticks to your cunny shimmers against the light of the room, all he has done was kiss you and play with your tits... you're a perverted girl, getting this wet over nothing, he bets you were thinking things that would leave even him a little shocked. Maybe later he will make it his mission to drag those fantasies out of you.

With the way you're situated on the vanity, feet planted on the desk as to give him the best view of your entire body in the mirror, it is easy for you to spread your legs impossibly wider for his hand that continues to slowly travel down your navel. The kiss breaks, only for you to little his jaw and neck with kisses, stopping right under his ear to begin sucking your own hickey into the sensitive skin.

Nothing could have prepared you for when his fingers finally met your throbbing clit, dragging over the neglected nerve, barely applying pressure with how he circles your clit and smears your arousal over your pussy, "You're a messy little thing, aren't you?" A pathetic hum of agreement passes your lips at his question, one you know he didn't expect you to answer. But he doesn't pay too much attention to that, not when he is dragging his fingers down between your folds to spread you open, "Fuck, you're so tight..."

Mark prods his middle finger at your not-yet-prepped entrance, watching how your walls suck his finger inside in desperation for some sort of relief. All this teasing and beating around the bush has your poor insides churning from the suspense. It's only one finger, but just as you expected that one finger feels a million times better than your two fingers. He knows how to curl them, to rub at the spongy patches inside of you, "Mm~! I-It feels good there..."

"Where?" He coos at your relaxed expression, "Here?" His finger rudely jabs at the spot he knows is making every muscle in your body go lax, to which you flash him a less than pleasant glare, "I'm just playing with you." His index finger is careful with how it slowly eases itself inside, pushing in with your middle fingers and getting you used to the stretch. It feels good, no discomfort in the slightest, and you can assume it's because of the way he continues to mess with that single spot that had your knees buckling.

His fingers push in as far as they can go just to mess with your walls, grinding and curling at the sensitive patches of nerves, only to remove both fingers entirely just to give your poor clit a few wet pats, "Ngh-Markiii, stop teasing it hurts..." He knows it does, he can see it in your twisted expression with every tap your clit receives, how you go from relaxing in his arms to flinching at the abuse.

But he can't help himself, not with how adorable you look bucking into his hand when he circles your clit, or your thighs twitching at the intrusion of his fingers. You look stunning, grabbing at his wrist when he is too rough, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. If it means seeing you continue to make such soft noises and to continue to breathe out his name like that, he'll keep doing what he has to do.

"If you don't want me teasing you, what do you want?" Oh, he can tell you weren't ready for that. It reads entirely in your flustered expression, and his fingers continuing to pump inside of you aren't doing anything to help... especially with the lewd squelching sounds your cunny just can't seem to stop making. It's humiliating, to say the least, how your pussy sucks his fingers inside desperately, the eroticism of watching his fingers disappear inside of you.

"M-Mark...: You don't even want to say all the things you want him to do to you, how do you tell him you've always wanted this? That night and night again you have touched yourself to the thought of him doing just about everything to you, from bouncing you in his lap, riding his face, bending you over, and having his way with you. You don't know where to start.

Mark can read it in your eyes that you have your words lodged in your throat, "If you don't tell me, this is all you're gonna get," He emphasizes his words with the pats of his fingers against your clit, "So be a good girl and speak up." You know he won't let you go until you give him exactly what he wants, the words are right on the tip of your tongue!

Your breath gets caught in your throat when his fingers slip out from your cunny, only to begin rubbing your clit back and forth, "I-I..." You squeak as he only seems to be rougher with you, purposely making you trip over your own words, "Mark~ fuck, fuck fuck-" Your fingers dig into his wrist, "I-I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna-" A strangled breath gets caught in your throat when he quickly pulls his fingers from your clit, "W-Wait, I was close,Mark!"

"Answer me and I'll let you cum." 

His lips on your throat make it all the more difficult, but without the added pressure of his fingers abusing your poor cunny, you finally muster up the words to tell him, "I want you..." He gives you that look, the one that shows he expects more, "I want you inside me-"

"What do you want inside?" He coos, fingers brushing under your chin to bring your focus to him, "My fingers?" You shake your head with a subtle smile, "Hm... this?" He sticks out his tongue at you, only to earn himself another shake of your head. He feigns ignorance, pretending he has no idea what you could be possibly talking about. 

Your sneaky fingers reach behind you, Mark didn't even notice because of how absorbed he was with your cute tits, cupping at the bulge in his pants, "This..." He didn't expect you to be so bold, not after how stubborn you were just being, but he likes the playful squeeze you give him, "Does that answer your question?" Your snooty little comment earns a sharp pinch to your clit.

"Yeah, it does," Through the mirror you can see him undoing the belt that holds up his pants, watching the cargo material fall around his thighs and revealing just how strained his aroused cock is against his briefs, "C'mon, get down and bend over the desk." You didn't expect him to be so quick to give you what you want, but deep down you think he still has something up his sleeve.

Without arguing, you climb down from the vanity as you were told, watching Mark in the mirror as you lean forward and put your weight on the desk. As much as you were watching him, he was also watching you. His eyes dragging down the curve of your back to your soaked pussy peaking from under the hem of your shirt, he has imagined this very scenario time and time again, and here you are right in front of him.

Somehow the real thing requires so much more thought than if it were only in his head, knowing whether you're okay, making sure you're not uncomfortable. No longer is it all just him and his dirty thoughts, he has to worry about your feelings too. And he is fine with that, but he never expected himself to feel like he has two tons on his shoulders by simply looking at you. It's one thing for you to be in his head bent over, but for you to be bent over actually in front of him? Well, let's just say his nerves aren't cooperating.

Maybe you noticed this, enough that briefly stand up from your previous position to meet his gaze, "I'm kinda nervous..." If he knows it isn't just him that's a little fearful of the unknown, there is a possibility it could bring back his confidence, "We can start slow and find our flow, right? that's how it's supposed to be." You're right, and he knows you are, maybe it was the thought that you had these high expectations that were making him nervous.

Little does he realize, as much as you want to be pretty enough and good enough for him, he wants to be just the same for you. But seeing the way you look at him, no sort of judgment or expectancy behind your eyes, giving him your signature smile, helps to melt all of that frustration and uncertainty away. You've always been good at doing that.

He isn't sure what came over him to cup your cheeks like that and pull you into a kiss, and sure the two of you knocked teeth from how urgent the kiss was at first, but the passion behind the kiss seemed to cast every sliver of doubt and second-guessing aside. All of your focus is on him, and his focus is on you in that very moment. 

The electricity that surges through you with every push of your lips against his, tugging at his lip only for him to bite back and do the same to you. It's like you two found a middle ground, the kiss connecting you both in a way nothing else could, blindly guiding you two in the position you both need to feel comfortable. Somehow you finding yourself seated on the vanity desk and his hips between your spread thighs.

You break the kiss, lungs burning from holding your breath for as long as you could, eyes falling down between your spread legs, "Ah..." Your breath catches at the sight of him beginning to push inside, you didn't get a well enough look at how big he is, but the feeling alone is a little unnerving. You aren't even sure how much is in, but it feels like more than you truly think it is.

"Don't pay attention to that," His voice is hushed, grabbing your attention and making you pick your head back up, "Does it hurt?" To be honest, it doesn't, it's more like this full stretch that is only slightly discomforting. Something you weren't prepared for but believe you can handle. You shake your head, not wanting him to think he is doing something wrong, which he isn't.

His hair looks so soft, albeit messy because of the fight, but nonetheless still silky and you can't keep your fingers from combing into it, "I want another kiss," Your fingers tug the tie from his hair and watch the red locks fall to lay over his broad shoulders, "Unless you're too nervous to kiss me, hm?" 

Your challenge ignites a fire within his chest, you sure know what things to say and when to get him riled up. And what you just said about him being too nervous? Oh, he isn't having it. Mark doesn't even need to speak for you to see the "game on" look in his eyes, and it doesn't make you any more shocked when his hand finds your throat and uses it to pull you forward.

The air is knocked from your lungs at the jerk of your body forward to meet him halfway, but you don't complain for a second, not when he gives you the confidence you had thought disappeared. It feels good to have that authoritative role back in him, for him to be taking back control with how he wants you and what he wants to do to you. Through the sloppy kiss that he has you locked in, you can feel your body being laid back on the vanity.

To your surprise, you have enough room to properly lay back, and with that Mark takes advantage of it. The desk perfectly supports your weight, allowing him the chance to grab your right leg and hoist it over his shoulder to create a more open angle for him to have you in. Immediately you can tell the difference in the feeling with this position, it pushes deeper at your walls rather than just rubbing past those spongy patches.

"Ngh... fuck, th-there it..." You can't form the right words to tell him how good it feels, even with the slow and controlled pace he has set for you, "Mark, I can take more. Please." You don't even try to hide the need in your tone, how it comes out as almost a whine rather than a polite little request. And he doesn't mind the demand, if you need more he is going to give it to you. After all, you're used to being daddy's little princess.

"You really think you can take more?" You nod your head, your hum of affirmation coming out as a moan, "Yeah? I don't think you can." His words contradict his actions, his back arching forward as he picks up the pace. No longer is the room echoing with nothing but moans and the obnoxiously wet sounds of your overwhelmed cunny, but the added volume of skin slapping skin makes what you both are doing here all the riskier. 

His cock is ruthless, no matter the pace he uses you can feel every vein and the slight curve of his member, it feels too much even if he isn't giving you enough. The size itself is a problem, and he likes to use that to tease you; you're too small, you can't take it... it doesn't matter. If he finds a way to make you feel little and weak in comparison to him? He goes for it.

And you don't mind, you like the dominance, how he keeps you pinned down with one hand on your throat and the other pinning your left thigh down. You feel completely at his mercy where you lay, unable to do anything but take it, "Mark, fuck, fuck-" 

"Shh," He warns you, "Don't forget where we are." And you haven't, the whole time you two have been doing this all you could do was worry over someone walking in or by or something, "Don't need your father finding out his little girl is getting her sloppy pussy stretched open... and it'll make it worse if he finds out I'm the one doing it." You know that, but you're a big girl, you don't need your father's permission to get laid!

Unfortunately, you keep that attitude too. Why should you have to keep quiet? You're having fun, that's no one's business but yours and Mark's. "B-But... but I like it-" You gasp when your right leg is brought down from your shoulder in favor of both knees being pinned to your shoulders, "Ah- too much, too much, too much~!" 

Mark, as much as he loves your sexy moans and cutesy whimpers, he doesn't love the idea of either of you getting caught like this, and what better way to fix the noise problem than shoving the panties you kindly give him right in your mouth? And it's only better that the pink of your panties looks nice hanging from your glossy lips. 

"That's what you get, babe..." He pants out each word and adds salt to the wound by flashing a cocky grin, "Bad girls who can't keep quiet when they're told get dirty panties in their mouth." If only he knew the things he was doing to you, the strikes to your core his cock cause, how his intimidating dominance over you has your insides turning, "But you don't need your voice to make you feel good, right? Look at you..."

It's ironic that he asks you to take a look at yourself, a mirror is just behind you and you can't see yourself from this angle. Luckily for you, your redhead is one step ahead to make sure you can really see how slutty you look right now with those panties shoved in your mouth. Mark takes your hips, wordlessly guiding you to turn around onto your stomach and plant your feet back on the ground.

You are forced to look yourself in the eyes, to see the little tears pricking the corners of your eyes, look at your swollen lips and your panties, and to make it all the more humiliating, Mark is standing right behind you. He is staring right at you, making sure you know he is there and watching you, and if that doesn't make you nervous... you aren't sure what does.

A hand comes down to grip your chin, fixing your head to look straight at the mirror and more specifically yourself, "Don't look away from that mirror, understood?" His voice is at least two octaves lower than before, rumbling in the pit of his chest and vibrating against your back. It shakes your core, but in the best way possible, tingles running up your spine and back down.

It isn't long before the warmth and fullness of his cock is sinking back inside of your gummy walls, making itself comfortable deep inside of you to the point his tip kisses gently at your cervix, "It's all the way in, y/n..." He whispers into your ear, "You ready? You think you can take all of it?" The only right answer is to nod your head, humming desperately and letting him know you're ready, you want it. And who is he to deny that? His pretty girl wants her cunny stretched, why shouldn't he give in and let her have it just how she wants? 

Unlike before he doesn't let you prepare yourself, oh no, the pace went from zero all the way to one hundred in exactly one second. It was like being plowed into, the force of his hips bouncing you off and into the desk. And if you looked horrible and worn out before, you looked twice as bad now. Your sparkly eyes rolling back to make way for the oncoming flow of tears, your entire body trembling with his thrusts.

"Mmph~! Nngh-" Even through the panties he can hear you, muffled and incoherent but still like music to his ears. You take him so well, struggling maybe, but you don't complain for a second about him being too big... and it probably is because your panties are down your throat. But if you really did need him to stop, he is sure you would find another way.

"Feels good, right?" He can't tell if you're nodding or that's just your head moving in sync with his forceful jerks, "Having this little pussy nice and filled... bet you couldn't wait for this the entire match, right?" If you were able to answer, you would be screaming yes from the hills! But instead, you can only stare him in the eyes through the mirror, tears and all, and he can see just how drunk you are on his cock. A pretty whore for him to fuck.

If he had known you were such a perverted slut, so needy to have a dick train you, he would have grabbed you by your cheeky yoga leggings and made you ride his dick while he did bench presses. And seeing you like this? You would have done it without question.

"You're getting all tense, y/n..." His eyes trail down to watch himself disappearing inside of you, and the ripple of your ass smacking his hips, "You gonna cum? This pretty cunt gonna make a mess for me?" You're more than just close to cumming, it's like a fire in the pits of your core, and every pass of his member inside of you has your thighs jumping and twitching, "Yeah, that's it, babe."

Oh, you wish he wouldn't call you that, the things it does to you... and the overwhelming pleasure of his tip plunging into your poor cervix? You feel like you're on the verge of passing out, "Don't look away," He keeps your head straight and makes you look straight ahead at yourself, "Watch yourself cum." You aren't even sure if you have it in you to hold it in long enough to properly look at yourself, let alone the energy to keep your head up.

Your eyes are locked on the mirror, your breath fogging it up with the forceful pants your lungs push out. If you were wearing makeup, you're sure it would be leaving streaks down your cheeks from the tears. They aren't tears of pain, not even close, but rather ones of overstimulation. You aren't sure how much longer you can last, but you don't have time to dwell over it, not when you watch the hand not pinning your waist to the vanity snakes down between your legs.

If the panties weren't in your mouth, you would be protesting and begging him not to. You aren't sure you could handle it! His cock is already tearing your poor cunny in half, his fingers will surely break you. But you can only watch in fear, and anxiously wait for his fingers to meet your throbbing pearl between your legs.

"Mmph~! Mm-" Your nails dig into the desk and back arches to try and get away from his fingers, but Mark doesn't give up, "Mm! Mmm~!" He knows you're protesting, he knows it's too much for your sensitive little cunny. But he wants to see you come undone, to see more of your pretty tears and those sparkly eyes roll back in absolute bliss. And with the vicious pace his fingers inflict on your burning clit, you aren't far from that edge.

"That's it, babe... that's it, I wanna taste this pussy when finish. I bet you taste so sweet, just as sweet as you look right now..." And he isn't lying, you've never looked as stunning as you do right now. No angel could compare to you, nothing. The sweat coating your skin and your juices tainting the apex of your thighs, "I got you, baby-"

He doesn't have the chance to finish his pep talk before he feels you come undone beneath him, your squeals and whimpers completely muffled by your stuffed mouth. Your poor nerves going off of the wall, thighs jumping and nails digging at the wood of the vanity, and your pussy squirting all over his cock and onto your thighs. You're embarrassed by the mess, but to Mark? It is the biggest ego stroker he could have encountered... he got you to squirt.

"Fuck, good girl, good fucking girl..." Mark slows the thrusts, as much as he wants to cum he can see how worn out you are, "Take a deep breath, princess. Just like that," You try your best to do as he asks, but it's so difficult with how quick your climax comes and the panties being in your mouth. You put all of your weight on the vanity, fingers clawing at it as if it could help ease the electricity shooting through every inch of you.

Mark sees you and he thinks he may have been too rough, "Shh, c'mere." The panties are taken from your mouth, saliva soaked into the thin fabric and sticking to your chin, "You okay?" Fingers, although rough and calloused, gently brush over your cheek to gather your tears, he worries he may have forgotten himself somewhere and been too hard on you. 

And your expression, weak and twisted, for a moment makes him feel horrible. What had he done? This was his first time having sex with you, something he has wanted for so long, and he just screwed it up. His eyes watched your every move, lips opening to say something and hesitating for a minute, you were probably pissed at him.

"Y-You..." Little tears prick at your eyes and he panics, "You didn't even cum inside of me, was I not doing enough?" For a moment, silence befalls the both of you other than your pathetic little sniffles. Were you really... that worried over him finishing? Is that really what has you on the verge of crying? If he could, he would eat you up right where you stand in front of him, you're too cute.

Two hands cup your swollen cheeks and bring your face close, "You want me to cum inside of you? That's what you worked up?" You nod your head all while leaning into his hands, "You're so cute, but I think you need to take a break, babe. You're shaking." He can tell you're teetering right at the edge of too much, he fears if he does anymore he may actually hurt you.

"But I want..." He shakes his head and kisses the tip of your nose, "Then... Then I'll suck it off." You won't let up so easily, he just gave you the best climax of your life, and if he thinks you'll let him walk out of this room with blue balls he is more than just wrong. 

Mark wants to argue, he knows you should clean yourself up and you both should get out of here. He isn't even sure what time it is or how long it has been, the fights could very well be over and neither of you has any clue. But what harm can you getting on your knees do? Maybe give you a sore throat, but he is sure with how loud you were, muffled or not, you are already on the train to a strained voice.

"Make it quick, I still wanna take you to dinner." Even after all of this, somehow taking you to dinner may just be the highlight of the night. Sex is great, but for Mark Markit is the intimate, quiet moments that mean the world to him. All those times you would open early or stay late with him, he cherished those memories. Unlike him, you could not care less about dinner or memorable moments or anything, you're far more focused on what his cum might taste like. You've thought of it a million times, and finally, you will be able to know. 

You ease yourself onto your knees in front of him, Mark fixing his pants out of your way and leaning back against the desk as he watches you make yourself comfortable. If he thought you looked beautiful lying underneath him with your knees by your ears, he isn't sure what to call you on your knees. Your gorgeous eyes looking at him through those lashes of yours, tongue dragging out and over your lips.

"Don't hurt yourself, pretty girl... I saw you struggling before when I started picking up the pace." You don't like being talked down to, but you know that's just him trying to get you worked up and you won't let him have that satisfaction. 

All of your weight is put onto your knees as you lean forward, the tip of your warm tongue licking your own cum from his cock, "Be nice to me or I'll use my teeth." He can't argue with that, and he knows you will do it. Your tongue drags over the veins, tracing them carefully, breath hot and fanning over his ready-to-burst member. If he had it his way, he would grab your pretty face and fuck this squishy mouth of yours, but he already pushed it and he wants you to go at your pace now.

"Fuck, that's good... tap it on your tongue for me," You stick out your tongue and do as he says, "Shiiiit, you look so hot right now." You know you do, if anyone could see the hearts in Mark's eyes, it's you... and those hearts are practically jumping out while he watches you rubbing your tongue over his messy dick, doing everything but putting it in your mouth, "C'mon, y/n... please."

"You want me to put it in my mouth?" You feign innocence while looking up at him, giving him puppy eyes and suckling at his tip. Mark nods breathlessly, even so much as adding an extra, needy please to really show you how much he wants it. He was so kind to give you exactly what you want, it would mean not to do the same for him!

Making yourself comfortable, you open your mouth wide enough to fit his tip inside, tasting that sweetness of your juices on your tongue. Is this what heaven feels like? For him to be guiding your mouth on his dick, cooing words of praise every time you successfully ease the tip in your throat without hurting yourself or choking too much.

The two of you see, hear, and know nothing but each other at this moment. Eyes locked together and no sound other than him breathing shakily and the rare pass of your name on his tongue, mixed in with the disgusting wet sounds of your throat stretching over him. You two wouldn't have been able to pick up on the footsteps coming down the hall, or the call of two very familiar names who just so happen to be missing at the same time.

And neither of you would have been prepared for the door to open, let alone, for the one person both of you feared catching you to be standing in the doorway in shock, horror... and Mark locked eyes for just a second, a second that allowed to see the seven layers of hell in your father's eyes, before the door slammed shut and feet moved down the hall faster than you could pull off of Mark's cock. 

"I... I think we should get out of here before he comes back."

#nct dream #kpop smut #nct #nct haechan #haechan hard hours #nct imagines #kpop #haechan #nct dream smut #nct smut #mark lee smut #mark lee #mark smut #mark lee hard hours #nct dream masterlist #nct masterlist #nct 127 #czennie

[yeondollie]

ᴍʏ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴜʀʏ ౨ৎ ᯓ★

beomgyu x fem! reader ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

. . warnings ; ANGST .ᐟ, heartbreak, based on the film '20th century girl', usage of the nicknames (my love, baby, my pretty girl), very very tropey, beomgyu does NOT die like the film, not a good ending, mentions of sunghoon from enhypen and chaewon from le sserafim, just so so sad :( my heart hurts ♡

. . words ; 1.4k

a/n ; hi bbys !! i just rewatched 20th century girl and i was BAWLING :< i kept thinking of beomgyu with the "i will wait for you" trope ughhh so so sad :(( anyways enjoy ml ౨ৎ

. . part two ౨ৎ

"will you wait for me? can do you that for me my pretty girl?" beomgyus holding you close to him, your tears falling on his sweatshirt. he was leaving, to you it was for forever but it was just to study abroad in paris for a year.

"please dont cry, i'll be back for you. i promise you, pinky promise me?" he stuck out his pinky finger, waiting for your to intertwine with him. hot tears ran down your face as you pulled away from his chest and tied your pinky with his. "y-you really p-promise beomgyu?"

"yes angel," his head rested on yours. "you'll be back in my arms again in no time, okay?" he tried to push out a smile.

this one stung.

you nodded silently, your voice was too strained to answer him back. the final call to get on that stupid train was announced. he pulled away, cupping your face in his warm hands. "see you my love, i love you more than anything." and before you could answer back he was on that train, waving goodbye to you.

your tears were falling so hard, it was getting difficult to breathe. you waved goodbye back, seeing that dumb train door close allowing it to take off. as soon as that door closed, beomgyu broke out in tears trying to cover his sounds as to not disturb his other passengers. "f-fuck.." he mumbled feeling his own tears drop to his sweatshirt, paired with the stains of yours.

it had been a year. a year without beomgyu, a year with no contact. you tried texting him, nothing went through. you tried calling him, nothing went through. you even tried email, nothing absolutely radio silence. wasn't he supposed to come back already? why? why weren't you in his arms again like he promised?

you grabbed your pillow, screaming and letting out all your emotions. how stupid were you to think he would actually stay in contact? "you stupid.. stupid boy." your words were muffled in your pillow yet you didn't feel anger, only sadness and only tears of pain could come out of your eyes.

all your friend told you to move on, even setting you up with a guy. 'park sunghoon' was his name and yes he was handsome but.. every touch, you just thought of beomgyu. you thought of the way he would play with your hair, the way he would hold you in his arms, the way he would look into your eyes.

maybe sunghoon was good for you, maybe he would provide you the comfort you were truly needing but beomgyu was the only man on your mind. you couldn't bare the thought of being held by a man other than beomgyu.

the days he would fix your skirt when it was too high, when he would wipe the extra lipgloss on your lips, the way he would speak to you so softly. it was all too much, you missed him so much it hurt your heart.

yet today was the day you were to hang out with sunghoon, maybe try something new. you two were going to a local festival to watch some fireworks, maybe get a bit to eat. maybe this was the turn around for you, to see if sunghoon could help you out of your helpless state.

you were all prettied up. hair up in a bow, dress on, and some pretty sneakers your friend had gifted you. sunghoon, standing in front of you, had your favorite flowers in his hands and a pretty smile on his face. he looked so starstruck to see you like this. "i-i.. you look so pretty.. these are for you! i-i know you.. i mean i remembered you told me you liked them.. so i-i got them."

you took the flower sin your hands and smiled, maybe this was gonna turn around. "you're so sweet. thank you hoon." you give him and big hug, feeling that love surround you like it once did a year ago. "the place isn't super far away so i'd thought we could walk."

the walk was fun, he was a big question asker and luckily for him you were a big talker. he liked it, he liked to listen and to ask. until the two of you arrived, you just talked his ears off.

you were really starting to feel your mood switch. maybe he was bringing out a better you, a you that could actually love again.

when you two got there, to your surprise, he had already set up some blankets and some snacks. "hoon.. y-you didn't need to do this." you chuckle and you could feel his shaky hand wrap around your waist. "i-i know but.. you know you're really special to me" you could almost feel the tears start to dwell in your eyes.

sunghoon sat beside you on the blanket he had set, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. "you see that star? it shines really bright huh? its really pretty.. like you." sunghoon adds, prompting you to lay your head on his shoulder. "s-stop.." you giggle. he ruffles your hair a bit and laughs himself. "hey! its true.." he adds.

after a while of snacking and laughing with sunghoon you had to use the restroom to freshen up. "hoon i'll be back, stay here okay?" he nods and you turn around, trying to find directions to the bathroom.

you spot a man drinking something and prompted that he looked nice enough, maybe he would have some directions. "hey excuse me, do yo-" you couldn't mutter another word as he turned around.

choi beomgyu?

to make matters worse, there was a girl around his arm. is this why he hasn't been taking to you? as much as you wanted to explode on him, you just wanted to get back to sunghoon to not have him worry. "d-do.. you know where t-the restrooms are?" you ask, your voice clearly shaky.

"r-right.. over there," he gulps and you turn around to leave. "but wait!" his shoulder forces you to face him once again. "_____?" his voice just sends tears to rush down your face immediately.

"s-stop dont.. dont cry." his hands were now on your shoulders. he knew he messed up. truth is, he could message you. you were just blocked. he could call you, he had just blocked you. he read your emails, he just didn't respond. why? he had met a women, chaewon, back in paris where he had been studying and forgot all about his promise to you.

"d-dont touch me." you brush him off and turn back around to walk towards the bathroom. he's taken aback from your words, dont touch you? but thats all he wanted to do at the moment, all we wanted was to have your love again.

"baby plea-" he was cut off from your harsh words. "dont you dare call me that."

he could tell how much pain he had put you through and god he felt horrible but no, you couldn't forgive him. not in a million years. for a whole year you had thought something happened to him, his phone got lost, his number had changed. all these delusion lies to shun you from the truth.

"you didn't keep your promise." you say, voice low. he cupped your face like he did on that fateful day but his look, his look changed. he didn't look at you with love in his eyes, he looked at you with this guilty look. he knew he had messed up.

you pulled away from him, unable to stomach the fact he was cheating on you while here you were; thinking he was in danger. "are you.. here with somebody?" he gulps as he asked this, god he hoped the answer was no.

"yea." he could feel the liquid rising in his throat, he was sick. "really? y-you.. you're here with somebody?" you nod, not wanting anything else to do with this conversation.

"i really h-have to go, h-he's waiting for me." you look anywhere but beomgyus eyes and turn away to leave once more but he insists. "_____ can i tell you something?" you nod your head, still avoiding eye contact while he bends down to whisper something in your ear.

"i still love you, please dont do this."

#txt scenarios #txt x reader #txt fanfic #txt angst #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #beomgyu txt #beomgyu angst #beomgyu x reader #yeonjun #soobin #hueningkai #kang taehyun #angst #kpop #yeondolliesworks

[wmarximoff]

DFTR! How would WANDA react to R Carving her Initial into her skin? I feel like Wanda would go Feral and Desperate for it like realising that R is finally warming up and just being as equally obsessed with her as Wanda is with her?

cut me up | w. maximoff

summary: Wanda finds out that it wasn't just your initial that ended up carved into her skin.

warnings (18+): serial killer!reader, stalker!wanda, graphic depiction of injury, strap-on sex (Wanda receiving), heavy degradation, slight breeding kink at the end, face slapping, daddy kink, choking, toxic relationship, bottom!Wanda, top!reader.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 3k

A/N: this is so twisted and sick and sinful i'm genuinely ashamed omg

|main masterlist| |series masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

“Okay, stay still.”

The beam of pale alabaster skin glistening beneath the digits of your industrious fingers, soft to the touch and tender in temperature, was glimpsed through the thin strap of the warm red lacy lingerie that Wanda draped around her torso; the pair of breasts shyly tucked into the microfiber bra, the piece that hugged the mounds and made them look just as inviting to knead and squeeze in between your palms.

Long strands of ebony dark hair brushed her sharp collarbone beneath her skin, and with your right knuckles gently tucked into the palm of your hand you swept that lock behind Wanda's shoulder, moving your elbow joint, revealing in that region a piece of porous gauze screwed tightly to the skin by strips of tape in a well-made bandage. A pair of emerald eyes blinked at you from behind long, thick lashes.

Both you and Wanda were snuggled into the center of the bed in your bedroom, your legs crossed inside your thighs, your ankles draped over the pearly vanilla-cream satin sheets. Her dark miniskirt left the tops of her thighs exposed to your watchful gaze, and it would take very little effort to find a red lace there between her skin that matched the bra worn by Wanda.

Next to your right thigh, there was a small white plastic square suitcase, the lid open and tilted to the side, revealing, inside that box, a handful of the most varied items related to immediate first aid in the face of a possible daily injury – inside there was 10 ml saline ampoules, a package containing disposable nitrile gloves, one or another long rectangular box containing plastic tubes of ointment, and small and variegated silver cards containing several polychromatic pill tablets.

“Don’t move.”

“But I wanna see–” Wanda whimpered.

“No,” you asserted sharply, your eyes raking the height of her pale collarbone, “I told you not to move.”

With the expert fingertips of an avid med student you peeled the tape off Wanda's skin, and a detachment sound could be heard. A nervous caesura was then revealed, inflecting the skin of the region in shades of reddish pink, about three centimeters long. Your irises gleamed in identification with the mark carved with a knife's edge into the velvety flesh just below the collarbone that protruded hard beneath Wanda's epidermis.

“Well look at this. I did a great job with this one,” you hissed in a delightful whisper, a gleeful shiver that almost made you nibble the skin of your lower lip with your incisors.

“Does it look pretty?” Wanda asked, her gaze trying to search for the mark beneath the hanging gauze soaked in a thin layer of dried pus.

“Oh it does look pretty, dear. It's healing very, very well,” and then the phantom touch of your index finger traced the regular cut marks on Wanda's skin, as lingering in your actions as you'd allow yourself to be, only to sip the benefit of that moment to the last possible drop, “For sure this will leave a very nice scar.”

“Of course it will be pretty,” she smiled then, in a slow and jovial way, rapture traced by the purest and most genuine love glistening in the jadish green of her irises turned towards you, “It's the mark you left on me, Y/n. The mark of your love.”

“Yeah,” you smiled back at her, “You're right, I think. You look beautiful with my brand on you, so everyone knows you have an owner. Though I would really like to see you on a leash...”

It was that symbol the first letter of your own name, ingrained in open, red flesh for all eternity in your girlfriend's existence, like branded cattle—a reminder to her of who she belonged to (nothing Wanda really needed, though), while a warning to the other prying eyes that might someday come to look at her with glances of concupiscence. If something belonged to you and only to you would be exposed, then it was only right for you to point out to other possible admirers of your girlfriend's beauty the fact that that body was already someone's possession. Your possession.

“You're mine, right Wanda? Mine. Only mine. Mine to have,” you whispered, your gaze never leaving the outline of the letter etched into her skin, “And mine to do with what I want to do. I own you.”

Wanda smiled so that her upper teeth sank against the length of her pink lower lip, leaning with her spine to run the tips of her nails along the line of your neck. Slowly she slid her pale, bare thighs, which rubbed and bumped with impatience, over your own knees, then settled herself snugly on top of your lap; her crossed legs with her heels brushing the hem of the shorts you were wearing. And you were able to take advantage of the position to brazenly stare down the length of Wanda's breasts squeezed so appetizingly in that lacy red bra.

“Oh, I'm surely yours,” she mussed, smiling against the pulp of your lips, her hooded emerald eyes staring into your pupils from behind lashes mottled in a lustful sheen, “Completely yours, daddy. My soul. My body,” and then, she moved closer to the shell of your ear, breathing warm air against your skin, “My pussy. All of this is yours.”

“Good,” your steady hands, slow and studious, ran over the girl's silhouette brushing the tops of your thighs, “Because you'd be in serious trouble if it weren't mine. Now hold still,” you deferred two light taps with your fingertips against her left knee as a pair of hands touched the bottom of your shirt, “We need to change your bandage.”

“No, we can do that later,” she moaned against your left earlobe, the tip of her nose tucked between your strands of hair, her fingers encased in a handful of silver rings fidgeting with the hem of your white cotton shirt, “Let me play with you Y/n, please? C’mon, I wanna feel you inside me.”

“Wanda,” your right fingers, steady from wielding tennis rackets to hit green balls (or raising and lowering axe-handles), screwed into the outline of her thin, gnarled wrist, catching it in midair before for her to complete the action of lifting the fabric hem, “Your bandage. Now.”

“Baby,” she pouted like an upset child, “It's been so long since you let me see your body. I wanna see you! You don't even let me shower with you lately! I like to see your body, Y/n. You are so beautiful. So, so beautiful baby...”

And she started to move that wrist one more time, but your grip was even more pressurized on her skin, holding her in place.

“It's nothing you haven't seen before,” you grumbled grudgingly into your girlfriend's face, “And I never let you shower with me, every time you just walk into the shower without even asking first.”

“But now you lock the door.”

“Because you aren’t exactly known for respecting boundaries, are you now Wanda?” your irises dipped into Wanda's emerald gaze, who pressed her lips together in a slightly limp line, yet without untying her hard gaze from yours, “Now stop being an annoying fucking brat and let me change your damn bandage. C’mon, now.”

But she looked at you in silence, a contemplative silence. She just looked at you, as if something in her was processing a command, as if something inside her was reprogramming itself to externalize a thought that had germinated deep inside the walls of her skull, emerging into explosive abstractions that pressed something icy into the pit of her chest. Her jawbone twitched into a sharp edge.

And then the well-shaped dark brows creased between them a crack of furrowed skin, and Wanda's chin turned at a half-broken left angle as she tilted her head vaguely to the side, the emerald color inside her irises eclipsed by that haze of opaque darkness that could always be pointed out the moment her mind began to conspire with itself, overgrown fears that so tormented her twisted spirit. Her hands hardened into a firm grip over the cotton of your shirt, pressing the fabric stiff between her rings.

"You're hiding something from me," was a shrewd, guarded statement, said in a low, lugubrious tone of voice, not in the form of a dubious question, “There's something about you that you don't want me to see.”

“Wanda,” a warning tone was employed in your hard voice, your eyes hooded like an angry dog's before her, like the terrifying thunder harbingers of a cataclysmic storm, “Don't you even fucking dare to start. I'm not in the mood to put up with your childish tantrums right now, so stop being so annoying and just do what I’ve told you to.”

“You're fucking hiding something from me,” she reiterated just as pointedly, disregarding everything about his scolding admonition, “I know you are. I know everything about you. I can see right through you, Y/n. And unlike the others around you I know when you lie, because you do it all the fucking time—”

A sharp slap crackled hot against the skin of her left cheek, jerking her chin away, causing such violence to ruffle the strands of her dark hair, which all swung to cover her face in one swinging motion. From the side, through slits of long hair, Wanda's green irises flickered in a dark glow toward you.

“So it's true,” she hissed in an icy voice, “You're hiding something from me, I fucking knew—”

The words were constricted in Wanda's throat as your right hand screwed your fingers in an upright violence against the pale skin of her jugular, squeezing the oxygen into her pharynx as you jerked your wrist up, “Ungrateful fucking bitch.”

A sudden dry choking sound crashed through her partially parted lips, and then your vigorous forearm slammed her back against the length of the mattress in an uncomfortable thud, the insides of her thighs hooked to the sides of your hips, your nose almost touching hers over the top due to how close you forced your faces to be. Your fingers were still solidly squeezing the soft flesh of your girlfriend's neck like it was a thread you meant to snap soon – the weight of your body pressing hard against her ribs.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Huh, who do you think you are to talk to me like that, you fucking slut?!” you spat in front of her sharp cheekbone, pressing the back of her head against the mattress.

“I can just squeeze the life out of you if I want to now, do you hear me you ungrateful brat? I owe you Wanda, your life is mine, everything about you is mine. And I do whatever the fuck I want with what's mine, and you don't complain! Ever! You don't question me! Do you fucking understand me?!”

But a mischievous smirk appeared between her lips, the insides of her thighs pressing tight against your hip bones.

“Harder...” Wanda moaned looking at you from under hooded eyelids, hooking her left fingers on the length of your forearm from that hand that was squeezing the outline of her neck, “Squeeze harder daddy...”

You looked at her for a second (dark hair splayed across the sheets, tight pink mouth glistened with a thin layer of saliva, red bra and so tempting). How she seemed to want to beg so much for something only you could give her. She didn't scream in fear or terror. She just moaned and asked for more.

Something about her passive submission urged you to stop and reason like a functioning human and not an untamed, primal animal. It urged you to breathe, to breathe in her crimson scent, to think about her, really think about her – how different she was, how it was just transiently pleasant to ruin other girls who came and went and left behind only the emptiness that would just grow and burst in you; and then there was Wanda, beautiful and sycophantic and soft, just a little pestilent. How she truly satisfied you, with immeasurable delight, a creature as twisted as you could be.

How she knew how to keep up, ever so willing to submit to your most sadistic disturbances, attend to your needs, satiate your desire without giving up on doing so at any time. How she pushed your buttons and urged you to do more and just be worse. You didn't need to mold her because her defect came from the cradle, something had gone wrong with her long before you did – just as your evil was also paramount. Sick, obsessive and ill. And then, you blinked once at the emerald desire bubbling within the darkness of her eyes. And an incredulous smile spread across your face.

“You really are so beautiful… and so fucking sick in the head,” and then, again bending down in front of her, bringing your face closer to her hot face, you placed a warm little kiss on the tip of Wanda's nose that scrunched up involuntarily in the face of your action like a curious little bunny, “It makes me want to fuck that madness of yours out of you, you crazy bitch.”

Your hand was still squeezing the skin of her throat as fingers hooked into the nape of your neck, nails cut short, coated in a peeling black, digging in poignantly as they pierced your skin there just below your hairline.

“So fuck me, Y/n,” Wanda mussed, her mouth throbbing dangerously close to yours, breathing in the hot air that wafted from your nostrils, “Fucking ruin me daddy.”

Something bristled inside you in need and hunger. And you looked at Wanda's grim face down at you – you just wanted to feel her close, all to yourself, dismantled in your needy grip. It scorched you with will and greed sharpened by your veins, and your hands just wanted to rip her apart completely, leave her in ruins, destroy and tear everything inside of her. And then you had been compelled, in an act permeated between needy demand and execrable eagerness, to postpone the detachment that compromised your lips and Wanda's, thrusting your tongue firmly through the velvety commission of her mouth with a taste of passion and her madness.

Through a set of rosy lips on the part of the girl below you a tongue was broken, and that tongue laced itself with yours tenaciously, needy and passionately. It was bestial and shameless. It was carnal. It was animalistic. She bit your bottom lip until the metallic blood she had dissolved from inside your mouth drained from it. The taut palms of your hands pressed her swollen breasts hard into her red bra as you both let go for air; but you didn't want oxygen, you wanted her. And she wanted you. She craved for you.

You saw, beneath dark, voluminous lashes, two dark spots of green immersed in wild labor, overflowing with liquid pleasure. Desire bubbled in your guts invaded and screeched by Wanda's red color that, like the most noxious of plagues, infected your bloodstream, hypnotized you according to the erotic whims of the demanding and sinful libido of that girl lying beneath you.

“C’mon daddy,” Wanda whimpered performatively, “Wanna see you.”

The silence was momentary and fleeting because unimportance soon took possession of you. All right, you thought, fuck it. You dropped back to your knees in the mattress and, perhaps using a purposeful and provocative delay to rouse the sensitive dark-haired girl below you, you crossed your arms as you gripped the hem of your garment and pulled the shirt over your head, then unbuttoning the clasp of your own bra, exposing, to Wanda's in-need-to-touch glow, your mesmerizing, alluring figure—a dangerous bandage attached to the side of your left breast, just above your ribs.

Your hunger raced up your spine like an electric shock, driving you to want more, to want her all to yourself. Wanda wanted you, and you wanted Wanda. With your fingertips you removed the gauze stuck to your own skin.

“Is... Is that…?” Wanda's gaze strayed to the side of your breast, where a large W was etched into annoyingly reddened, jittery skin, a healing self-inferred scar like the one that marred her own skin. Her index finger lightly brushed in admiration the silhouette of that three-pointed letter forever embedded in you.

“I’m yours,” you stated, firm in your words, “As much as you are mine. Never forget that.”

“You're mine,” Wanda repeated, full of feeling in those inflated words that made her mouth tingle, “You… you're mine. Only mine. My everything. You are everything I need in my life.”

She was the one who reached for the scarlet silicone strap-on from the dresser drawer next to the bed and buckled it just above your pelvic bone. Panting hungrily against the bristly skin of her ivory neck, teeth scraping the battered, reddened skin, you shoved yourself against the inside of Wanda's wet, hot cunt, who immediately felt a comforting sensation in her belly, you biting a small, barely audible “Mine” out of your nose as you sank deeper and deeper into her womb.

Wanda moaned during penetration, “F-fuck daddy!” she suddenly screamed when you, without even giving her time to get used to the sensation, constantly moving inside her, touched a specific spongy spot within her velvety walls.

“Take it,” you groaned, “Take my cock, you slut. Take my cum. Take my bones. Take my blood. My meat,” and then, you growled like a ravish dog, “I'm gonna mark you in a way that not even your dead fucking body will forget how I feel inside your worthless hole.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck– daddy!” Her black-painted fingernails raked the length of your back to your tailbone, leaving in their wake a hotly pleasurable sensation, “You're mine! You are fucking mine! Please tell me again!”

“I'm yours!” you scolded against her ear, “I'm yours! Yours!"

“A-again!”

“I'm yours,” you gasped, “And you're mine. Mine and no one else's. I'd gouge out the eyes of the motherfucker who even dared look at what's mine.”

And Wanda smiled against your shoulder just at the thought of you hurting someone for her. That certainly wasn't the first time she wished you could come inside her.

#wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda reader #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x y/n #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x female reader #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #spooktober #bottom!wanda maximoff x you #(don't fear) the reaper!au

[randomfoggytiger]

Collector's Edition: Bill Scully, MSR, and Pain (Part II)

And here we have part two to the distinct madness of Bill caught up in MSR whompfic observations-- Season 7 AUs and onward~.

Loose chronological order below~

Alelou's (Alt. Tumblr, Xanadu) Beyond Conception

AU-- Bill and Tara offer their embryos to Scully if she (and Mulder) wants to give parenthood a shot. 

@numinousmysteries/numinous_mysteries's Legacy (Ao3)

AU-- There is no baby, only Mulder and Scully growing closer after the IVF failure during a tenuous Colonization, a happy family, and her mother’s decline. 

MD1016/md1016's (Alt. Tumblr) Sins of the Father (FFN)

AU-- Post Sein und Zeit Bill and his family push Mulder for answers after Scully, withdrawn and unwell, won't explain herself. 

@kyouryokusenshi/Kyouryokusenshi/Kyouryoku Senshi/Char Chaffin's (Annex) Deliverance from Evil (Annex)

AU-- Colonization, but with Bill, Tara, Skinner, twins, and a surprise villainous visit from Krycek.

Chiefchopstix's Let's Settle This Like Men

AU-- S7 Bill and Mulder fight and are taken to the ER after Scully announces her pregnancy to the family.

T. Griffen's Faith

AU-- Post Requiem Bill supports his sister after she reveals her illness is actually a miraculous pregnancy.

ML/ML_is_me’s (Ao3, Gossamer, DW, Invidiosa) Absentee Father

Post Without Bill's rampage is checkmated by Maggie's good sense. Every baby, after all, needs a father.

jeri's (mulderscreek) "O Brother . . .

Post TINH Bill wants to think God will exempt Mulder for his sister's sake.

Dryad's (Ao3) Country of the Crepescule - Do You Like Our Owl?

Post Three Words Bill tries to patch things up with Scully: flubbing their dinner together, caring for a sick Mulder overnight, and meeting her new partner over breakfast the next morning.

Paige Caldwell's Regrets and Resolutions

AU-- Bill's attitude tore his life apart; but, like he and his sister and Mulder, learns to make do and move forward (and even helps freshly returned Mulder scrounge together an outfit for the baby's birth.)

Suzanne Feld/WildwingSuz's Going Solo (Ao3)

AU-- Post Existence Bill empathizes with newly single dad Mulder.

Girlie_girl7's Man to Man Talk 07

AU-- S9 Bill starts being nice after Mulder holds down the sick kid fort.

@mollybecameanengineer/Sareki's Is This It?

AU-- After S9 Mulder, Scully, and William escape CSM's compound with the help of their friends, Bill backs off from his tirade and begins to connect with his oft-hated, sort of brother-in-law.

@drbedeliadumaurier/heartsfilthylesson's fanfic prompt scully has bruises/isolated systems - Chapter 1

Post IWTB Maggie and Bill drag Scully into an intervention after seeing the bruises on her skin.

@suitablyaggrieved/ScullyLovesQueequeg's Holiday Apologies

Post IWTB Bill buries the hatchet after observing a drooping Mulder.

@contrivedcoincidences6/Spooky66/geektime66's For Worse

Post IWTB Bill fights then accepts Scully's decision to stand by her depressed partner. 

@wtfmulder/@momdadimpoppunk’s (Ao3) iclet; if only in my dreams

Pre-Revival Bill gives his sister some much-needed perspective after her separation from Mulder.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

#txf #fic #Collector's Edition #Part II #Bill Scully MSR and Pain #xfiles #x-files #the x files #xf fanfic #numinousmysteries #Spooky66 #contrivedcoincidences6 #MD1016 #heartsfilthylesson #drbedeliadumaurier #mollybecameanengineer #Sareki #Chiefchopstix #T. Griffen #ML #ML_is_me #Dryad #Paige Caldwell #suitablyaggrieved #Kyouryokusenshi #Char Chaffin #WildwingSuz #Suzanne Feld #jeri #Girlie_girl7

[technicolouredmonochrome]

lately i've been thinking about a league of noblemen as i finish watching mysterious lotus casebook, and i would like to argue that these are basically the same shows in different colours:

perpetually sick main male lead meets young upstart lead who has grand ideals of the world and is obsessed with becoming a detective. ML has been villainised by most of society but retains a small but loyal following. there is an established boyfriend whom ML has known for years and is great at fighting that shows up occasionally to help them out of complicated plot situations. there is a case of the week. they share custody of an animal at some point. cooking food / pouring tea is their main way of showing affection to each other.

young upstart's identity is slowly revealed and is linked to ML in some way because the world is just that small and fate just loves to mess with people. ML is constantly in danger every episode. a ton of blood is spat everywhere. people are loyal to a fault to both ML and young upstart. our protagonists mostly end up in some weird polycule by the end of the series.

there is an idol that young upstart looks up to whose reputation changes in their eyes by the end of the show: in that they realise that their hero is just human when it comes down to it. by the end of the series, instead of pursuing truth at all cost young upstart learns from ML that kindness and empathy for past wrongs is beyond their need for justice.

there are themes about decisions and repercussions. about generational trauma. the sins of the past still lingering in resentful hearts years into the future. a lesson about acceptance, and choices, and found family, about the ties that bind us, and choosing to be better than what the world has given and taken away.

that at the end of the day, legacy is written by the ones left behind, who know you and love you, and who will spend the rest of their life honouring your memory; so always choose to live with love. because devotion is a choice, not an expectation. and the inherent kindness of a single stranger can mean more than the adoration of an entire world.

(also, one's basically a show for dog people and the other is for cat people. that's the only difference i can think of. thank you for coming to my ted talk.)

#mysterious lotus casebook #a league of nobleman #or is it #a league of noblemen #i just have a lot of feels about devotion being a choice #not an expectation #also zhang ping and fang duobing #would be besties if they ever met #change my mind

[maxzinn]

CALLING ALL WRIOTHESLEY WRITERS!!!

Sooo HEAR ME OUT CUZ I HAVE AN IDEA!!!

I stumbled upon a very heartfelt song from BTS titled “Your Eyes Tell” and it’s so painfully beautiful and it seemed to resonate in my heart despite me not understanding the language that I can’t help but look up the english lyrics on youtube so I can read while listening!

This is the song btw!!

I came to know that the song is an OST from a Japanese melodrama movie called “Your Eyes Can Tell”. SO SPOILER ALERT!!!

It’s about an ex-convict boxer (Male Lead) who met a blind girl, she went blind because she and her family got into a car accident and the one responsible for the accident was the Male Lead but she didn’t know. ML cared for her till the end and took responsibility for his sins, he paid for her treatment and recovery and left her when she recovered from her blindness due to guilt. But he gave her a puppy!

Years later, the puppy is now an adult dog and the dog recognized ML so the dog pounces at him which leads to the fateful reunion of FL and ML! I WANT A HAPPY ENDING BTW

Sooo can someone write a fic inspired by the movie? It just reminded me of Wriothesley well, he’s an ex-convict and a boxer and I love the song so much skjdjdjshdh I hope it’s no trouble! Anyone can partake in writing this! I just want my imagination to be fulfilled 😭

#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #genshin impact #wriothesley angst #wriothesley fluff #duke of meropide #SoundCloud

[dangermousie]

He is SO bad at flirting, it's genuinely hilarious.

But their chemistry is ridiculous! Also, ZBB is a stunning-looking man, and so I'd totally slate this ML for a "one night stand and then lose their number" territory. (Though with this one, you'd probably have to enter witness protection.)

See, when you are not full-on unhinged murder psycho, she hates you a bit less. Perhaps work on it?

Btw, I found SML boring the first time around, but he's EXCRUCIATING to watch on rewatch. In real life, he's undoubtedly a better choice because between him and ML he's the only one not likely to commit 7 felonies before breakfast or be voted "most likely to keep a skulls of his enemies collection" in the ancient times yearbook BUT! I get why GSL was sweet on him, I do, but as a viewer he bores me so much! (He was just as irritating in Novoland, I agree with you, @renewedmotionforjudgment) These people are fictional so sins like murder don't do anything bad to me. But wasting my time on your boring arc is very much a real sin.

#cdrama #the king's woman #dilraba dilmurat #zhang bin bin

[adhdo5]

SO I'M OPENING TRADITIONAL COMMS

Purchase today, at your whim, a 5.5"x8.5" watercolor or a classic Pencil Doodle On Graph Paper for a relatively small amount of US dollars

I WILL DRAW: your OC. Your TTRPG or Balding Gate or Minecraft Roleplay character. Your favorite guy from your shows as long as she won't get me killed. Robots to some extent. Minecraft guys. Creatures. Aliens. Furries/anthros. Gore/body horror. Love and endearment. Possibly more -- just ask!

I will send you any pictures that you request of the image, and if you buy a painting and feel like sending me your address+the shipping cost I'll mail the physical copy to you if you really wish

10% discount if you commission a StarCraft character, an SCP character, c!Ranboo, or c!Technoblade. sina toki pona tawa mi la sina kin li ken pana ala e mani pi mute sama a! (sona sama pi toki pona li lon anpa)

TERMS & CONDITIONS (BOTH)

up to two characters, waist up only

proship shit, gore of minors, etc fuck off; no real people you don't know; no NSFW/fetish, sorry; reserve the right to refuse service for other discomfort

no resellage, no crypto/NFT/web3, keep my name ~roughly in vicinity, please negotiate any AI/ML use

MI WILE PANA ESUN E SITELEN PI LIPU LON A

tenpo lon la sina ken kama jo a e sitelen ni kepeken mani pi suli mute ala! sina ken esun e sitelen pi kule mute e sitelen pi kule ala kin. sitelen kule li lon lipu pi suli 5.5"x8.5"

mi ken sitelen e jan musi mute! sina musi toki la mi ken sitelen e jan musi sina! mi ken sitelen e jan soweli, e jan ilo, e jan monsuta; mi ken sitelen e olin; mi ken sitelen e pakala sijelo. kulupu esun o pakala ala e mi; wile sina o pakala ala e wile mi ni; ni tu li lon la mi ken sitelen e jan musi ale!

mi pini e sitelen ni la mi pana e sitelen ale pi wile sina kepeken ilo; sina wile jo e sitelen kule lon la o pana e sona pi ma sina e mani tawa ni

LAWA MI: mi wile ala sitelen ni: jan lili li kama pakala. kin, sina wile e sitelen pi jan lon la, ona o sona e ni: mi sitelen e ona. kin, mi wile ala sitelen e unpa. mi wile ala sitelen tan ijo ante la mi ken toki e ni li ken esun ala. o awen e sona pi nimi mi. o pana esun sin ala. o kepeken ala tawa nasin mani ike. sina wile pana e sitelen tawa ilo la o toki tawa mi lon open

#toki pona under the cut #commissions #traditional commissions

[dearspiritss]

“I’d Die for You.”

Mountain x Male Reader

Notes: You’d do anything for him, even if it meant leaving your whole life behind just to be with him. (3270 wc)

Warnings: Mentions of death, some vague gore if you could call it that?, blood mentions, nothing too saucy :)

read below the cut ml <3

The ministry was always a nice place to be in. Yeah, it was sometimes chaotic with all the ghouls running around, but it had its peaceful places. Like the library, your favorite place. It smelled of old books and pinewood, so comforting to your constantly racing mind. You’d grown up there, being a son of sin, but not just any son of sin. You were the priest's oldest son, meaning you had the most responsibility out of all. You were put in charge of almost everything -scheduling tours, guiding new siblings of sin, and shit ton of paperwork- your father pushing you as far as he could to make sure you’d be a good fit for the next priest. If you were being honest, you didn’t want the role at all. 

You found the job to be extremely boring. You despised the thought of sitting around in a cold office, doing nothing all day. You admired the ghoul’s lifestyle, you wished you could do what they did. They were free and got to have fun, while you were stuck in your boring and stressful lifestyle. The ghouls made sure you felt appreciated through it all though, you being the main reason they got to do what they did best. Sneaking you out of your room at night, being extremely careful not to be caught. They’d drag you to the ghouls wing, sitting you down on one of the many couches in the common room. They’d do whatever you wanted to. Want to watch a movie and relax? They’d have a list of movies and plenty of blankets ready. They adored you, but one particular ghoul always stuck out to you.

Mountain. He’d sneak into the library, going to your normal spot to check in on you. He knew that you were constantly stressed out, so he’d always find a way to make you feel better. Offering to help with the workload everyone dropped onto you, or to get you something to snack on while you worked. He took care of you. If you denied everything he offered, he’d sit with you until you were done. It didn’t matter if it was in the middle of the night, he would be right by your side. If he sensed you getting worked up or frustrated, he’d reassure you while rubbing your shoulders. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear, voice like honey soothing you almost instantly. 

You found yourself with a crush on the towering ghoul, getting goosebumps from everything he did. His low silvery voice bounced around in your head like a record on repeat. The gentle touch of his calloused palms sending shivers down your spine. The way he slowly blinked while watching you work, putting you in a trance. His beautiful long brown hair, loosely pulled into a knot made you stare. The ghoul had you wrapped around his finger without even trying, and he loved it. He loved the way you’d react when he lightly teased you. He found humans very interesting, and you were his test subject. 

“You’re still working, Love?” The sudden voice pulled you out of the book you had your nose stuck in. You looked up, spotting Mountain holding what you assumed to be a cup of tea. You nodded, rubbing your tired eyes. “I have to finish this stupid book before sunrise. My father is supposed to be testing me on it tomorrow and I can’t fail.” He hummed, making his way to sit in the chair beside you. “Why do you put up with all of this,” he spoke, a hand gesturing to the open book in front of you. You scoffed and leaned back into your chair. “It’s the only way I stay sheltered. If my father gets mad.. Well you know what’ll happen.” He gave a quiet “yep” before bringing his mug up to his lips.

“Did you need anything? I mean it’s like, three in the morning Mount.” His lips curled up into a small smile. “I came to check on you, and hopefully spend some time with you. You’ve been cooped up in here for a week now, we haven’t been able to get to you at all.” The small smile he wore slowly turned into a frown. You sighed, closing the book and pushing it aside. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been so caught up with everything for you guy’s next tour, it’s just taken up the little free time I've had.” He placed a hand on the side of your face, making you look at him. “There’s no need to apologize, we know you’re busy. We just wish we could help you out..”

You nodded, somewhat understanding what he said. “As soon as I’m done with this, I’ll find a way to spend time with you all..” You trailed off, a wave of exhaustion flooding over you resulting in a yawn. “How long has it been since the last time you slept, Love?” His voice was coated with worry. You thought to yourself for a moment. “I’ve been here since nine, but I woke up around five yesterday.” His eyes widened. “This won’t do, you need to sleep.” You shook your head, worried thoughts flooding your mind. “No, no. I need to finish this. I have a few pages left of this book and then I have to find the booth for the upcoming tour- I can’t Mountain.” He frowned, sitting down his tea. “Well then, I’ll help you. I can find the booth while you finish your book.”

He pulled away, taking out his phone. “Mountain- no- I won’t let you do my work. It’s not your job. I can’t, you can’t.” He shushed you. “And why not? You deserve to rest. Just tell me what to do.” You groaned, unable to deny his convincing tone. “Fine. You know the website, just tell me if you find a nice one in the price range.” You picked up your book as he flashed a fang filled smile in your direction. 

A few minutes passed and you finally finished, closing the book and putting it aside. You looked over to the ghoul beside you, his eyes fixated on his phone screen. You smiled slightly and leaned into his side. “Any luck so far?” He looked down at you and nodded. “Yeah! I found a really nice booth that would be perfect. I’m talking to the owner right now to see if it's open.” He tucked his phone away into his pocket, wrapping an arm around you. “You’ve done a lot for us, and we're so lucky to have you, but if you don’t get enough sleep we won’t have an amazing manager anymore.” Your face flushed from the sudden praise. You quickly pushed that aside and sighed. “You’re right. I guess I could rest while we’re waiting for an answer..”

You stood, grabbing the book to put it away. You felt a hand around your wrist, almost making you fall backwards. You regained your ground and turned to Mountain who was now standing. “If you thought you were gonna sleep by yourself, you’re sadly mistaken.” You tilted your head in confusion. Before you could speak, he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder. “W-Wait, Mountain!” You tried to intervene, but he wasn’t having any of it. He ignored your pleads and quickly made his way out of the library.

When he opened the door, you realized where he was taking you. “Mount, I’m not allowed in here!” He continued walking without saying a word. When you reached the ghouls wing common room, you spotted a familiar fire ghoul. “Mountain? What are you doing?” Dew’s voice came from one of the couches. “Bed time.” Was the only thing he said, not stopping his long strides down the hall. Before you knew it, you were already in his room. He gently sat you down on his bed before crawling in to lay next to you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him. He pulled up the thick blanket that sat on his bed, making sure the two of you were covered. You felt his tail slither around your ankle, securing you in his tight hold.

You relaxed in his arms, realizing you weren’t getting out of the situation no matter what. He nuzzled his nose into your hair, deeply inhaling your scent. You sighed in relief, your mind finally clear after hours of constant worries. That's when you heard it. Those three little words that made you weak slipped out from between his lips. You sat up, looking him in the eyes. “What did you say?” He smiled and placed his hands on the sides of your face, cupping your cheeks gently. “I love you.” Your breath hitched, becoming shaky. “Don’t joke around, Mountain.” His eyes softened. “I’m not joking. I would never joke about something like that, Love.” You shook your head, pulling away.

“You can’t, we can’t. It’s strictly forbidden.” He pulled you back towards him, his hands firm on your waist. “We can figure it out, my love. I’ll figure it out, you don’t need to worry about anything. For now, you just need to sleep.” He pulled you back down, your head resting on his chest. A soft purr rose from his chest, luring you into a deep sleep.

The feeling of fingers threading through your hair woke you from your sleep. You slowly opened your eyes to see Mountain looking at his phone, a smile etched onto his lips. He looked down at you, eyes lighting up. “Good morning, my love. Did you sleep well?” You nodded sitting up, rubbing your eyes. “The booth owner replied-” He was cut off by a gasp escaping your lips. “Shit- I still have to get the fee’s together and call the buses-” He shushed you, shaking his head. “Relax, I took care of it. I submitted the total fees and called the tour buses. The date is set a week from now.” 

You just stared at him in disbelief. He laughed, putting his phone aside. Your face flushed a deep red as he opened up his arms. You accepted his embrace, wrapping your arms around his torso. “I wish I could come with you guys, but with the rules of the ministry it’s impossible.” He nodded, placing his hand on your head. “I know, but you’re the next priest. They need you here.” You scoffed, arms tightening around him. “The only thing they need me for is to do their work. Hell, I don’t even want to be a priest. I’ve always wanted to be in a band, kind’ve like you guys.” 

“I wish you could join us as well, I wish there was a way around this.” An idea popped into your head, not a good one, but it could work. “I have an idea that you, or really anyone, won’t like.” His head tilted to the side, obviously curious. “The only way I could escape the grip of the ministry, and my father, would be to die and be summoned back as a ghoul. It’s horrible, I know, but it would work. Just think about it.” His eyes widened in shock. “My love, dying and becoming a ghoul is a very painful process. Trust me, it's something you don’t want to ever experience.” 

He stopped, taking in a deep breath. “If you went through with this, you’d be giving up everything you know as a human. Everything will be different. The way you see and feel the world will change. Are you sure this is something you’d leave everything behind for?” You nodded, looking him in the eyes. “There’s nothing left for me as a human except stress and work. As a ghoul, I’d have everything. Freedom, the band, and you. I’d have you, Mountain. I’d die for you.” His face flushed as he nodded, giving you a small smile. “If that is what you wish, then I will help you as much as I possibly can.”

He leaned back into the pillows on his bed, gently stroking your head. “So how are you planning on doing this, dear?” You gave him a not so innocent smile. “I have to talk to Papa before anything is set in place. If he agrees, then we’ll be set. You’ll have to do some pretty convincing acting though.” He hummed, fully interested now. “Just know, I should be gone the night before you guys return from tour so that gives me about two weeks to do it. The clergy will send a message about what happened to me, but for now I’m going to keep that to myself. I don’t need you worrying about me while you’re on tour.” You reached a hand up to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. 

“I’m always worried about you. There’s never a second when I’m not, love.” Blood rushed to your face, your cheeks turning bright red. You removed your hand from his face and covered your own. He opened his eyes and noticed this. He ran a teasing hand up your back, making you shiver. “I’ve got to say, you’re very easy to fluster. It’s quite cute.” You dug your head into his side, hiding the embarrassing look plastered across your face. He laughed and pulled you closer, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “You need to get going, don’t you have a test?” You quickly sat up, nodding. He escorted you out of the ghouls wing, stopping at the door.

“I’ll meet you in the library later, until then love.” He leaned down, placing a kiss on your cheek. He gave you a small smile before shutting the door. When he turned around he found all of the ghouls staring at him. “When were you gonna tell us the two of you were dating?” He shook his head, dismissing the multi ghouls' words. “Swiss- were not dating.. Yet.” A collection of laughs rose from a few ghouls, making Mountain's cheeks flush a bit. “Come on, tell us everything.” Cirrus invited him over, which he gladly accepted.

Over the next week the two of you met in the library, discussing the plan further every day. A day before they left for the week-long tour, you discussed everything with Copia. He was very against it at first, but after hearing the full plan he eventually agreed. He always knew about your dreams and was happy to help. It was the fifth day of their tour, the day you’d see your demise. You sent one final text as a human to Mountain, a simple “I love you.” You put your valuable belongings in his dresser drawer, ready for when you returned. You smiled to yourself as you walked to your fathers office, prepared on what you were about to do.

You knocked twice, hearing a stern and toneless voice inviting you in. You smiled, seeing your father staring daggers into you from his desk. “What do you need, child.” You were grinning from ear to ear. “I’m not a child. Dear Lucifer, I bet you don't even know my age.” His brows snapped together. “What did you just say to me?” You took a few steps forward, now standing in front of his desk. “You heard me.” He stood up, his chair flying backwards. He swiftly made his way in front of you, towering over you. “How dare you come in here and disrespect me, your father and priest.” You laughed in his face, pissing him off more.

“You're not my father, far from it actually. You’re just a filthy old man who knows nothing about me.” You stepped forward. “I bet you didn’t know that I wanted to be in a band. I bet you don’t know that I can play guitar perfectly. I bet you didn’t know that I don’t want to be a fucking priest like you.” He slammed a fist down onto his desk. “You’ve been around those nasty ghouls! No wonder you’ve been slacking! They’re making you filthy. You stay away from those dirty little-” Before he could say another word, your body moved on its own. A red hand mark formed on his face from the harsh slap you planted on it.

He grabbed the dagger he kept on his desk, and in one quick movement you’d done it. It pierced straight through your heart, making you fall to the ground. You sharply inhaled, the pain was overwhelming your senses. You looked up at him, a smile still on your face. The doors of the office swung open, two siblings of sin barging in. They gasped at the sight before them. Your father towering over your limp body, blood spilling across the floor. You looked at the ground, saying your final words. “See you in hell, father.” You took one last breath, death washing over you.

Mountain looked back at Copia, unsure. “I know you’re scared to see it, but we have to do this to make it look real.” He nodded, bracing himself. He swung open the doors to the office and saw two siblings of sin leaned over your lifeless body. He ran up to you, falling to his knees. His stomach dropped seeing the blood that was spilled everywhere. Tears formed in his eyes as he placed a hand over your cold face. “Dear Satanas..” He looked up the sister of sin who stood in front of him. “Who did this?” Anger and grief flowed through his breaking voice. The Sister backed away, scared. Copia rushed in, grabbing onto the ghouls arms. 

“I apologize dear sister for my ghouls behavior, I will be taking him back to the ghouls wing.” She nodded, shooing him away. Copia dragged the ghoul out of the room, closing the door behind them. He released Mountain, huffing. “That was a good performance, now we need to-” He turned back to see the ghoul wiping his eyes. “Oh dear.. Mountain, you must remember this. We’re bringing him back, you’re going to see him very soon.” The tall ghoul nodded, standing up. “We must go now, your ghoul is waiting for us.” Copia gave him a reassuring pat on the back and led him down to the summoning chamber.

The pentacle was already drawn on the cold ground of the chamber with candles surrounding it. Copia quickly lit the candles and started the ritual. Mountain anxiously waited, watching the ground as if his life depended on it. The pentacle lit up, fire shooting up from the circle. A hole opened up from the ground, a hand reaching out grabbing the edge. Mountain sped to the opening and locked onto the hand. He pulled the ghoul up and out of the portal. “Papa! He’s out!” He stopped chanting, the portal quickly closing. The fire from the ghouls' bubbling skin burned him, but he didn’t care. He held the trembling ghoul in his arms, running his hand gently through his hair. “You’re home, my love.” 

You opened your eyes, gasping. Your whole body felt as though it was on fire, and it was. The feeling of familiar arms around you and that soothing honey like voice brought you back fully. “Mountain?..” You looked up to see him with glossy eyes. “You’re back, you’re safe.” You quickly wrapped your arms around him, smiling weakly into his shoulder. “I told you I’d die for you, didn’t I?”

#mountain ghoul #mountain x male reader #ghost the band #ghost band #i have problems #dewdrop ghoul #swiss ghoul #cirrus ghoulette #sodo ghoul #nameless ghouls #aether ghoul #phantom ghoul #aurora ghoulette #rain ghoul #sunshine ghoulette

[solradguy]

Mr. Badguy I have a question as a guilty gear lore baby. I have been told sol/ky is problematic and I do not know why I fear. Could you please explain

Oh boy. I'm probably not the best person to ask about what ships are and aren't problematic because I honestly... just don't have the energy to care about it that much, it's like infinitely easier to block/blacklist and then move on. I don't know how people have the free time to get as worked up about it as they do.

Anyway. So, Ky's age before Missing Link (the earliest in the timeline of the games' stories) is generally the biggest problem. He was 20 in ML and a teenager through the Crusades. I think he was probably at least 18 near the end of the Crusades right before Sol left but that's pushing it. Anything with Ky and Order Sol's bad weird. I won't argue that at all, Ky was a kid and Sol was very much an adult, on top of the physical and mental power imbalance between them. Not good. Luckily, I really only see HOS/Ky stuff from the really early fandom (<2006) and IIRC their ages were still pretty vague back then so I'm just gonna chalk it up to no one knowing, especially in the EN fandom where it was a lot harder to find/get official information.

Between Missing Link to like late GGX/early GGXX I don't see what the problem with shipping them then is; they were both adults at that point and there wasn't even the power dynamic between them that there was during their Holy Order days. This, I think, really just comes down to personal reasons for not liking it. Which is fair.

After GGXX it gets... complicated.... Ky marries Sol's daughter but it's vague on when exactly Sol pieced it together that he even had a kid and that it was Dizzy, of all people. Ky definitely did not know she was Sol's kid until at least like partway through Xrd, when they both kind of put the pieces together and had a crisis over it. So shipping them after this point, between the timelines of Overture through Strive, you've got the issue of Sol now being Ky's father-in-law.

But the canon never straight up says Dizzy is Sol's kid (it is VERY HEAVILY implied though) and Sol and Ky both end up being dads together for Sin...?? It's like ASW is playing gay chicken with whether or not Sol and Ky are still shippable from an ethical standpoint lol Whatever that saying is about having a cake and eating it too, etc.

I saw the email for this ask this morning and I presented the Sol/Ky situation to my mom as if they were real people (she doesn't know anything about GG) and she was like, "That's a hell of a love triangle but I guess if the guy (Ky) and the daughter (Dizzy) got divorced and the daughter is alright with it, and it's consensual between the men, then it's weird but it's not as bad as some other relationships I've seen."

That's kind of how I feel about it too...? It's messy as fuck lmfao But I guess if there's a way to like write it so that Dizzy doesn't end up needing lifetime therapy then like... go for it....? I guess....???

I don't ship Sol/Ky because I think their dynamic is WAAAYYYY more interesting keeping them as rivals-turned-friends, and I like Dizzy too much; there's too big a chance of her ending up getting completely devastated by it. But as far as "problematic" Guilty Gear ships go, Sol/Ky's in the like... "People are wasting time arguing about this?" tier, imo. It being Thee biggest GG ship throughout the series' entire history is something to be considered, too. It's unavoidable, even the official art contributes sometimes. I often wonder why they decided to make it weird by throwing Dizzy into the mix because I know that, from digging through old forum archives, that change made a lot of people furious hahah

Disclaimer because the reading comprehension on this website is abysmal: I DON'T SHIP SOL/KY. IT'S FUNNY AS A JOKE BECAUSE IT'S AWKWARD BUT I DON'T SHIP IT IN SERIOUS CONTEXTS BECAUSE IT'S JUST NOT THAT GREAT A SHIP AND THE FATHER-IN-LAW THING MAKES ME A LITTLE UNCOMFORTABLE.

#asks #Sighing as I yet again walk into the lion's den posting something like this

[jennagrinsoverml]

Hey Jenna! Thank you for your help with finding fics to read! I'd like to know your opinion about smut fics. The ML fandom seems to be divided, a part of the fandom is strongly against any smut. Is it really inappropriate to write and read smut?

Anon, I was so entertained to get this ask.

Not only am I very much in favour of smut fics, I even write them myself!

But you are correct that the fandom is divided on this in a way I haven't really seen in any of my previous fandoms. For most of my extremely lengthy time in fandom, I've found smut to be much more prevalent. I got my start in Buffy fandom when I was 14 years old and when I discovered "NC-17" fics (as we called them then), well, I didn't have much interest in reading anything else.

Now, some people are going to read that I was a 14 year old reading explicit depictions of sex and they're going to clutch their pearls.

I think that's ridiculous.

I think that written fiction is a wonderful and SAFE way for people (even, no ESPECIALLY minors) to explore things that they're interested in or curious about before actually engaging with those things. And, especially in the case of sex, I certainly think it's a lot better than many of the alternatives like porn or trying things before you're ready. A lot of people will engage in sexual acts before people think they're old enough to read about those same acts and I think that's ridiculous.

I'm now old and married with kids of my own and I have absolutely no regrets or qualms about my early foray into smutty fic. Honestly, I don't even regret my TERRIBLE attempts at writing my own then because they were learning experiences.

I think that this fandom generally being a lot younger is part of the lack of smutty content, and that's okay. I'm certainly not suggesting that fans who are not interested in or not comfortable with that kind of content should seek it out. That's part of why I always make sure to put the M and E rated fics at the end of my rec lists under a warning. (But I only state minors should "beware" and not that they can't read them because I'm not actually against minors reading smut if they want to and can handle it.)

But I do want to push back against this idea that sex is somehow different than any of the other things that humans can do with our bodies, this idea that there's any kind of value or morality attached to it. I know this fandom likes to use "sin" to refer to smut, but I specifically don't do that because I think it's harmful. Some of the people using it may be joking or tongue in cheek, but I think these ideas can hurt people, make them feel guilty about their natural desires or the consensual behaviour they engage in.

People touching each other's bodies to make each other feel good isn't inappropriate, as long as everyone's consenting. People reading about this or writing about it isn't inappropriate either.

It's just sex.

Anyway, you didn't ask for recs, but I'm going to throw some on here anyway (jumping my rec list queue to boot!) because the smut writers in this fandom are amazing and I appreciate them so, so much! Frankly, I wish there was more 😘

ALL OF THE FOLLOWING FICS ARE RATED E!!!!

Let Yourself Be Happy by @kasienda

Kwamiswap ladrien with an amazing identity reveal. I'm reccing this first because of @kasienda's focus on sex positivity, the fact that she eschewed fandom tradition and wrote them 17 because--and clearly a lot of people aren't ready to accept this--but teenagers have sex. And because she wrote it in response to the kind of purity culture BS that had people actually sending her anons telling her to kill herself.

Something Sweet by @ghostlyhamburger

A game of truth or dare leads to a lot more for adrinette. Honestly, choosing just one of @ghostlyhamburger's fics was so hard. With 120 explicit fics, 63 for the love square alone, @ghostlyhamburger is single handedly feeding the smutty side of ML fandom.

your lips are meant to be kissed by @zimtlein

PRPR that starts with a forehead kiss. The sexual tension in this one just bout killed me and then OMG does @zimtlein deliver at the end!!

@devillustrator | nsfw art blog | will draw for €€€ by @isadorator

2-part series ladrien with the hottest identity reveal I've ever read and I've recced this fic so many times and I will rec it so many more times because it doesn't have nearly enough kudos for how amazing it is!!! Y'all are sleeping on this one. (Read it for Adrien letting his dorky Chat side out and punning during sex if for no other reason.)

Charmed, I'm Sure by @chatonne-rousse

Ladynoir FWB that doesn't shy away from sharing those benefits with us. Also there's an identity reveal and it's fantastic.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #ml fic rec #ml love square #adrinette #ladynoir #ladrien #adrienette #sex positive #e rated fics #on smut #my thoughts #ml fic recs #jennarecsml

[chatonnoir]

What are your thoughts on ML smut fics and people writing and reading them? Is smut appropriate if characters are aged up, for example?

Writing and reading smut of ML is great and everyone who wants to do it should do it and have fun with it and this is a hard pill for some people to swallow but they don’t even need to be randomly aged up to 18 for it lmao

Slapping on "they're 18" doesn't actually do anything and y'all need to realize that teens can and do have sex at 17 or 16 or 15 or 14 and that's perfectly normal and okay as long as they’re well-informed and safe and not doing it out of any external pressure but just because they themselves want to. I have SO many stories from high school that are just peoples’ hookup stories. I knew people who were sending nudes in our first year of high school. I knew people who hooked up AT school. I absolutely knew people who were having sex in our first year of high school (note that this is the same age as Adrien & Marinette, their 3rd year of French middle school = first year of American high school). Guess what? I have friends who had sex at /13/! And guess what! This wasn't some terrible traumatizing thing! This was just two closeted gay teenage boys naturally exploring their attraction by hooking up in the very unsexy setting of our middle school bathroom. For them it's now just a funny story whenever we're being nostalgic about the awkwardness of middle & high school because they didn't know a goddamn thing about What to do (health class didn’t exactly give them a How To guide for that), so the consensus was that it was awkward and bad. And this further shows you how teens are more inclined to be sneaking around having bad or risky sexual experiences due to lack of knowledge if you force them to suppress and feel ashamed about these very natural human experiences & feelings.

The important thing is that they know how to be safe and how to treat their partner and how they should be treated so they can have their boundaries respected. There's a reason kids literally start getting sex ed from age 10 - because they're about to (or might even have already) start puberty and soon are going to start being horny as hell (sadly packaged with also being greasy and pimply and awkward and insecure) and need to understand what all of that means and know how to be safe before they inevitably start having urges and possibly wanting to act on said urges. It's also very normal to not want to have sex yet as a teen because everyone grows and develops differently and people have different sexualities and levels of libido and no one should feel like they have to do it in order to be seen as cool or mature -- but your experience also isn't universal and just because you didn't care for sex or want to explore your sexuality in your teens doesn't change the fact that plenty of other people did. You can't decide for everyone else that just because your teenage experience didn't involve horny teen shenanigans or because you were raised to be deeply religious that All Sex Bad And Impure And Sin And Teens Thinking About Sex Or Desiring Each Other Is Abnormal And No One Should Even Know Sex Exists Until They're 25.

I'm honestly so glad I was already an adult and had already had my fun exploring and figuring out my sexuality through smut fics of highschooler characters while I myself was the same age before a large part of the younger gen Zs collectively decided to turn fandom in to catholic school. I was living with abusive controlling religious parents, and I was trying to become comfortable with myself as a hormonal teen who was suddenly having thirsty thoughts about not only boys (while having "no dating no boys no premarital kissing ever you can't even hang out with male friends" hanging over my head and never being allowed to go out) but also girls (knowing full well that wasn't something my parents would ever be okay with) and was trying to come to terms with being lgbt, all while trapped in an environment like that. Sneaking around my parents trying to date wasn't exactly something I had the mental fortitude for at 14, especially not when they were abusive and I'd already had that fear instilled in me knowing that the consequences would be a lot worse than being grounded (and I didn't have superpowers to help me escape out the window and go frolic with my beautiful and strong superhero girlfriend 😔). And on top of all that, how was I supposed to become comfortable with and own my attraction to girls when heteronormativity was all I knew and when all I had were (what I thought to be) straight friends and I had no idea how they'd react if they knew? What were my other options if I couldn't explore any of this in real life yet? Highly fetishized hardcore graphic lesbian porn made for the straight male gaze on the oh so welcoming and safe-looking teen-friendly website that rhymes with Corn Tub?

No. I explored the attraction I couldn't explore in real life through steamy f/f fics of sports anime girls lmao. Female characters who were 14-17, the same age as I was, living the same kind of experiences as me! These fics were written by adult wlw in these fandoms, so they were depicting realistic, non male-gazey attraction between teenage sapphics that was relatable to me! And I found a safe haven to explore my sexuality through fandom on tumblr & through fanfics. When I was in my first year of high school I had just discovered and started reading smut fics, and I soon after had the funniest experience when an old lady teacher of mine literally told the class that she literally never read for fun as a kid.... until she discovered her mother's hidden smut novels, and then she was hooked. Needless to say I loved this woman lmao and hearing her proudly admit that out loud was a comfort when I had just kind of started doing the same thing in secret. In fact, I was reading WAY more smut between ages 14-17 than I do now because back then I was a closeted hormonal teen, and now as an exhausted but more hormonally stable adult I just crave the comfort of “what if blorbo 1 fell asleep on blorbo 2 .... and they were both secretly pining 😳”

I actually had this ask sitting in my inbox for like a month and a half until I saw this post talking about and reccing smut fics, and then read @kasienda​ ‘s fic which was recommended in that post and was heavily focused on sex positivity and realism and I was hit with a wave of “yes!!!!!!!!! you’re both so right!!!!!!!!!!” and was finally compelled to answer this ask. The fic even made the characters 17, rather than following the arbitrary requirement to age them up to 18, as a protest and to once again remind people that teenagers can and do have sex. (Side note: the other subversion I really loved was where, instead of following the usual fanfic trope where Plagg is like “ugh gross the hormonal teen humans are doing their weird mating rituals again” and either interrupts them or just groans and complains about them making out, this fic had Plagg be like “I hate watching these miserable teens be miserable about this complicated secret identity pining nonsense so how about I just make things easy and straightforward and get them in a room together so they just hook up already!!!!!!” because the former trope gets annoying to me sometimes and I honestly found this take on Plagg so refreshing and endearing and believable lmaoo)

tl;dr: I think @jennagrinsoverml​ put it really succinctly in her fic rec post: “I think that written fiction is a wonderful and SAFE way for people (even, no ESPECIALLY minors) to explore things that they're interested in or curious about before actually engaging with those things. And, especially in the case of sex, I certainly think it's a lot better than many of the alternatives like porn or trying things before you're ready. A lot of people will engage in sexual acts before people think they're old enough to read about those same acts and I think that's ridiculous.“

#answers #long post #Instead of coming for people writing smut about cartoon teens based on their own experiences and in a way that lets teens safely explore #their own sexualities the claude frollo wannabes in the fandom should focus that attention on the #pathetic grownass 25+ year old men who go after real life 13-19 year old girls because being with young inexperienced girls makes them #feel oh so manly and in control and women their own age have wisened up too much for their comfort & are able to recognize their inadequacy