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#they must be some really good drugs
b0chelly · 2 years
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Me: oh no is this innocuous behavior I am displaying at the appropriate time to a situation where it makes sense a Symptom???
Also me: oh these Textbook Symptoms? I don’t see them, this is absolutely 100% normal I am a Human Being it’s all good no worries
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rafeandonlyrafe · 1 month
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dealer
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words: 2.5k
warnings: 18+ only!, smut, female receiving oral, mentions of p in v sex, kind of shy/anxious!reader, dealer!rafe, no drug taking is actually done but mentions of weed and coke
“tina, i love you, i really do, but im not buying weed for you.” 
“its not buying! ill give you the money, just go pick it up from my dealer for me.” tina hands you a wad of cash, forcing it into your grip.
“what if i get caught with it?” you question, nerves already flooding your system. you aren't a complete straight edge, you're willing to drink occasionally and you've been to a couple parties before, but illegal drugs are way out of your comfort zone.
“relax, it's just weed! it's not like im having you buy coke from him or something.” tina laughs, and you wonder how this wild child became your best friend. 
“he sells coke?” you squeal.
“listen, babe.” tina places her hands on your shoulders. “you need to live a little. get out of your comfort zone. im not saying you need to take drugs, but you can at least go and pick some up for me.”
“fine.” you sigh, pocketing the cash.
“great!” seeing tinas wide smile, gracing her gorgeous face, is the only reason why you actually agreed to this. “he already knows im sending you to pick it up. he says it has to be today and ive got work.”
“you knew id agree?” you question. 
“of course.” tina shrugs. “you're my best friend.”
“alright, alright. good point.”
--
your eyes are wide as you approach the imposing house. you hesitate on the front porch, but ultimately force your hand to raise and knock on the door.
it opens a few moments later, and you’re not sure why you're surprised at the sight of the dealer. he’s put together and handsome, whereas you expected him to look disheveled and strung out, but you suppose that's more of the user than the seller.
“y/n?” he questions, looking you up and down. you hesitate to respond, your name sounding so smooth and silky coming from him. “picking up for tina?” “oh!” you nod quickly. “yes, yeah. sorry.”
the dealer smiles at you, clearly amused by your nerves. “i’m rafe. come in.”
you follow rafe into the house, shutting the door behind you. he leads you into the living room, gesturing for you to sit on the couch. you slide onto the soft material, not sure if this is normal or not, you’ve never bought any sort of drugs before.
“can i get you something to drink?” rafe asks.
“uh-” you clear your throat, looking around the living room to avoid making eye contact. “water is fine.”
rafe nods, leaving you alone in the spacious room before returning with two glasses of water, one with ice and one without.
“didn’t know if you wanted ice or not, take whichever.” rafe sets them both in front of you on the coffee table, and you reach for the one without ice, taking a polite sip. you’re too nervous to really drink it, but want to be courteous. you’re not sure if rafe is dangerous, he doesn’t really look it, but he must be by nature of being a drug dealer.
“let me grab you tinas weed.” rafe says, exiting the room again to return a moment later, with a baggie of weed in his hand. he sets it on the table, taking a seat on the arm chair across from the couch, facing you.
“tina gave me $50.” you say, pulling the cash out of your pocket and setting it on the table next to the weed. “is that good?”
“yes its good.” rafe laughs, not even bothering to grab the cash off the table and count it.
“i-i don’t smoke.” you say, unsure why you felt the need to make the confession. “or do any drugs. so i don’t really… know anything.”
“would you like me to teach you?” rafe asks, making your eyes widen as you shake your head no.
“i just wanted to explain why i’m so nervous.” you say, hands wringing together on your lap, wanting to escape the house.
“its cute.” rafe simply says with a shrug.
“whats cute?” you hum, confused.
“how nervous you are. you’re adorable.” rafe explains, making you blush and stare at the floor, muttering a quiet thank you.
“i should go now.” you say, needing to get out of under his intense gaze.
“let me walk you to the door.” rafe says, standing. you grab the bag off the table, putting it into your back pocket, regretting not bringing some sort of purse or bag to carry it in.
you stand up, tracing your steps through the complex house back to the front door. “thank you.” you say when rafe opens the door for you.
“no problem, y/n.” rafe practically purs your name out. “tell tina to call me when she gets home from work.”
“did i do something wrong?” you question, suddenly worried until rafe lets out a soft laugh. 
“not at all, baby.” you want to jump at the pet name, but simply nod and head out the door, not glancing back even though you can feel rafes intense eyes on you.
--
“rafe wants you to come to the party this weekend.” tina says.
“no.” you shake your head. “no way.” “come on.” tina flops onto your bed, batting her eyelashes at you. “he said he’d give me my weed for free if i get you to come.” “tina, no! he’s… he’s too intense.” “oh my god.” tinas jaw drops open. “did he flirt with you?” “i… i think so? he called me cute and-” you can’t even finish your sentence as tina screeches. “oh my god!! y/n you have to date him, he’s like the biggest catch on the island!”
“he is a drug dealer, tina! i’ve never even smoked weed and he fucking sells coke.” you whisper the last bit.
“he doesn’t like his girls to do drugs anyways.” tina shrugs. “it’s been like a year since he dated anyone though, and i’ve genuinely heard he’s a really good boyfriend. you remember lily? she was so sad they had to break up, said she only did because her family was moving to california.”
“how good of a boyfriend can a drug dealer be?” you question, not sure how it would be to be mixed up in that world, even if rafe was clearly small time, selling only to his peers on the island.
“think about it.” tina says. “he has a ton of cash, can buy you whatever you want, can get me free weed.” “what if i don’t want to fuel your addiction?” you question, but a smile plays on your lips. tina only smokes every once in a while, and she is by no means addicted, otherwise you wouldn’t agree to have bought the drug for her.
“please come to the party.” tina says, completely switching the subject. “for me.” she pouts, causing you to groan and lean your head back against the pillow while tina thanks you, knowing that means you’ve conceded to her.
--
“y/n.” the voice that you would recognize anywhere purrs into your ear. you whip around, coming face to face with rafe. “i’m glad you could make it.”
“i came because tina asked me to.” you say honestly. 
“ill make sure to get her her weed for free then.” rafe says with a nod, keeping true to his word.
“why did you want me to come?” you question.
“is it not obvious?” rafe raises his eyebrows. “i like you.”
“oh.” you blush, dropping your gaze down. “um… thanks. i like you too.” you know it's in a different way than rafe was implying, but honestly don't know what to say in response.
“yeah?” he questions, a smile playing on his face, completely ignore the guy who you assume must be his friend as he walks by and slaps rafe on the shoulder in greeting. “you like me the same way i like you?”
“it depends i guess…” you're truly trying to flirt back at this point, hoping your nerves don't give your voice a quiver. “how do you like me?”
“well.” rafe smirks, his eyes slowly sinking down your front, looking over your party outfit, a tight dress that tina insisted that you wear, borrowed of course out of her closet. “i want to get to know you better. take you out on a date. show you a good time. kiss you.” rafe leans in, teasingly close until you're able to feel his breath over your mouth. “and if you'd let me, take you up to my room. show you a good time.”
“oh.” you blush, cheeks surely flaring red. you have to clench your thighs together slightly, and it certainly doesn't go unnoticed by rafe. “i guess you could take me out on a date.”
“perfect.” he smiles, another grin that makes you want to melt into a puddle on the floor. he glances towards the door as a new man walks in, looking out of place compared to everyone else, his long black hair tied up in a ponytail. “ive got to go work for a bit, doll. enjoy my party with your friends, ill find you before the night is over.” he leans in, head turning at the last minute to press a delicate kiss to your cheek. 
rafe walks away and greets the man, his demeanor instantly changing from flirty and sultry to smiling and friendly as he claps hands with the new man, who you hear rafe call him barry.
“holy shit, holy shit!” tina runs up to you. you didn't even realize she was watching the entire interaction, so caught up in rafe.
“he wants to take me on a date!” you whisper-scream to tina, well aware that rafe is only on the other side of the room.
“you said yes, right?”
“girl, of course!” --
“hello beautiful.” rafe smiles as you open up the door. you’re glad that your parents are gone for the weekend. they never really care who you’re dating, having developed a lot of trust in you, but you didn’t even want to introduce them to rafe.
“hey rafe.” you smile back, accepting the kiss onto your cheek when he leans forward.
“got us a nice reservation at the country club.” rafe says, hand coming to the small of your back as he leads you towards his truck. he helps you climb in, not wanting you to fall in your heels.
“im really excited.” you admit after rafe rounds the hood and gets into the drivers seat, smoothly backing out of your long driveway.
“not nervous?” rafe questions, calling back to your meeting.
“im not buying drugs from you, so i think im okay.” you giggle, although you do have a bit of anxiety building, but only in the form of slight butterflies in your stomach.
“i like that you’re not a part of that scene.” rafe says, reaching over and looping your fingers together, resting your joined hands on the center console.
“you probably have a lot of girls try to date you to get stuff for free.” you assume.
“yeah.” he admits with a sigh. “don't get me wrong, i get it comes with what i do, but its frustrating to never know if someone is seriously into me.” you’re surprised by rafes confession, seemingly overly intimate and vulnerable for someone with his persona. you lean across the seats as he stops at a red light, pressing your lips to his cheek.
rafe smiles at you, squeezing your hand in appreciation. “can’t wait to kiss you when i drop you off back home.”
“talking about kissing me and haven’t even taken me on the actual date yet?” you say with a laugh.
“baby, i could take about eating you out or taking you from behind or kissing you. all of them are going to happen very soon.” your cheeks turn red as you swallow, suddenly turning silent as rafe pulls into the country club.
you’re not surprised how rafe is recepted as he leads you inside, the wait staff not even having to ask his name, already calling him mr. cameron before leading you towards the reserved table.
“this is really nice.” you admit with a whisper. you’ve never been inside of the country club before. you had heard that they have a pool, golf course, a bar restaurant area and then the fancier restaurant that you’re currently in, but you never had any reason to join.
“only the best for you, gorgeous.” rafe says with a smooth grin.
the dinner goes by just as smooth as his smile. its a set menu by the chef, but you found everything to be delicious, and feel perfectly filled by the end of it, not too stuffed but not hungry for more. you also feel like you know rafe much better, the conversation easily flowing.
its no surprise when rafe drives you back home that his hand lands on your thigh, even managing to creep underneath your skirt and touch your bare skin without you hollering and pushing his hand away like you would with any other guy.
“about that kiss…” rafe says when he gets you back home, standing on your doorstep.
“kiss and then what else were you talking about?” you hum, already knowing you’ve got a wet sport formed on your underwear just from his hand on your leg. “eating me out and taking me from behind?” “are you saying i can do all of those things tonight?” rafe smirks. he didn’t expect to get in your bed after one date, thinking he’d have to work a whole lot harder to convince you, but you are far too needy to deny him entry.
“i certainly won’t tell you no.” you smile, the grin quickly wiped off your face when rafe leans in, one hand on your cheek and the other moving to your waist, pulling you in tight to his body as his lips devour yours, mouth hot and wet against yours.
you fist a hand in his shirt, needing some sort of stabilization as you kiss for all your neighbors to see, moaning into his mouth when his hand moves lower to grip your ass, feeling the plump flesh under the fabric of your skirt.
you pull away from the kiss only to take a step backwards into the house, rafe quickly following you in. you practically race up to your room, trying not to seem too desperate.
the illusion is broken when rafe finally gets between your legs, having slowly undressed you and pressed kisses all over your body, showing special attention to your chest but ignoring your pussy until he was also naked, now laid between your spread thighs.
“such a pretty pussy for me baby.” rafe coos. “all mine now, understood?” “yeah, yeah.” you nod. “all yours.” you think to yourself that you will have to thank tina for begging you to pick up her drugs that day, and all the convincing shes done since as rafe leans forward, tongue swiping through your folds.
you let out a moan, hand reaching down to grip rafes hair as he moves upward, sucking your clit into his mouth.
yeah, you’ll definitely have to thank tina.
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cherienymphe · 3 months
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Teenage Dirtbag IV (JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron)
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Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, mentions of blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics
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➥ series masterlist
summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.
Your rescue just comes with a price.
🎄 ༺𝓜𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂༻༺𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼༻🎄
~
“Oh! Well, aren’t those pretty?”
Your mother’s voice pulled your attention away from the flowers in front of you, throwing her a small smile as she neared you to admire them. You gave her the card when she eyed it, and you watched her smile grow, a fond chuckle escaping her.
“That’s sweet,” she praised. “Is Rafe coming by later?”
It seemed like such a silly question because you and Rafe saw each other almost every day, and your mother knew it.
“Yeah,” you sighed, sitting at the island and fingering a red petal. “He’s doing something for Ward, but he’s coming straight over when he’s done.”
She hummed, and you heard her fussing around in the drawers looking for something. Your gaze was glued to a rose, noting that Rafe got you red this time—your favorite—and you swallowed. It was always the same. Rafe would hurt you so bad that he felt compelled to make it up to you, the flowers would be delivered to your doorstep, your parents would gush, and you’d forgive him with a smile…and then the cycle would repeat.
You plucked a petal, rolling and squashing it between your fingers.
“It’s about time he starts getting prepped on all the family business, isn’t it?”
You glanced up as she took out a pan, her gaze briefly meeting yours.
“Yeah, I guess so. Ward has been asking him to do more things lately, and I know it’s usually work related, so…” you shrugged. “Only a matter of time.”
She seemed satisfied with that answer.
“Good,” she firmly said with a nod. “He can’t provide for you on daddy’s money forever.”
She chuckled to herself, but you could only swallow down bile.
“Rafe is upstanding and all of those things we want for you, but he needs to learn to make money on his own. We’ll never give him our blessing otherwise.”
Again, you said nothing, only looking at the stains on your fingers. Your entire volatile future being mapped out for you should’ve scared you beyond reason, and it sometimes it did, but in this moment, you only felt a numbness that was all too familiar. It all just felt so inevitable, so you didn’t see any sense in fighting it. With a sigh, you stood.
“I’m going to take these up to my room.”
“Put them on the table by your window, so they can get good sunlight,” she threw over her shoulder.
After doing what your mother advised, you turned to your mirror, intently staring at the face in the reflection. The fading bruise on your cheek was nowhere to be found under your makeup, and you were relieved that the same could be said for your neck. A deep inhale had your stomach aching only a tad, and you told yourself that Epsom salt baths could only do so much.
You rolled your eyes, lips pursing at the thought of JJ Maybank.
Naturally, you knew that this wasn’t really his fault. If Rafe were a normal boyfriend, you wouldn’t be covering up bruises with makeup and long-sleeved shirts in the house you’d rather not wear. You knew that Rafe didn’t actually need a reason and that no one could push him to do anything he didn’t want to do. Rafe was never the kind of guy to do anything he didn’t want to do. However, with all of that being said…
You really didn’t like JJ Maybank.
Some part of you knew that Rafe must have provoked him. You knew your boyfriend well, so you knew that without a doubt, but none of that changed the fact that you still had ugly discoloration from where Rafe had pushed you into his dresser. None of that changed the fact that JJ was the catalyst. Yeah, you probably shouldn’t have talked to him anyway, but you’d only been trying to be nice.
Trying to do the right thing.
You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of the doorbell, and knowing that Rafe never rang it, you didn’t give it much thought. At least until you heard your mother calling your name moments later, and you were forced to descend the stairs in confusion. That confusion wasn’t eased in the slightest when you came face to face with Sarah.
She looked sheepish while your mother only smiled.
“Sarah’s here for you. I offered her something to eat, but she’s insistent that she isn’t staying long,” your mother said, briefly touching the other girl’s arm. “You tell Rose to call me. I have a bone to pick with her.”
They both chuckled—obvious that your mother was teasing—and you watched her disappear into the kitchen before resting your gaze on the blonde before you.
“I’m going to get something to eat at The Wreck. You want to come with me?”
You swallowed a sigh, glancing away and folding your arms over your chest. You didn’t know where this desire for a budding friendship came from, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. You and Sarah had only ever been friendly, and considering the company she kept, you’d had no desire for anything more. Being friends with Sarah just felt like a recipe for disaster.
“Sarah…”
She spoke up before you could, huffing and stepping towards you.
“I think Rafe treats you like shit,” she admitted, making sure her voice didn’t carry. “I know you love him and see something in him the rest of us don’t, but everything about you just seems wrapped up in him and…he seems very happy to keep things that way.”
You pressed your lips together, eyeing her.
“I don’t like it, and considering I don’t have much say, I figure the best I can do is be your friend. It’ll just make me feel better to know you have someone other than Rafe.”
Her lips turned up as she said his name, crossing her own arms over her chest.
“I’ve thought this for a while, by the way, and I just…” she shifted her feet, shrugging. “I don’t know. I just can’t take it anymore.”
With a sigh, you dropped your arms, and you knew that Sarah could tell what you were going to say.
“Come on! It’s lunch at The Wreck. We won’t be going all the way to Charlotte—Rafe will know where you are. He’s caught up with our dad, anyway, and they’re probably not going to be done until this evening,” she practically pleaded.
It was tempting, you had to admit, even if it did make you feel a little pathetic.
“I don’t know. I’d have to call Rafe and-.”
“You’d have to call Rafe, are you serious?” she scoffed before reaching for her own phone, and you reached for her. “I’m calling him.”
Your eyes widened.
“Sarah…”
Rafe’s tone could be heard even through the phone when he answered, and you felt your heart race.
“I wanna go to lunch with your girlfriend, and since you’re so uptight about knowing where she is at all times and who she’s with…”
The other girl trailed off as he spoke.
“Rafe, you’re stuck with dad for most of the day! I want to go eat, and I want her to come with me… Yes, just me,” she threw you a look at that to which you only looked away. “God, you’re so crazy, you literally treat her like a damn puppy.”
She shoved the phone at you, and understanding what was happening, you sighed.
“Hey,” you softly said once her phone was to your ear. “She just showed up here, Rafe and…”
“She said it’s going to be the two of you.”
You could tell by his tone that he wasn’t thrilled, right now, but you also knew it wasn’t just from Sarah and her antics. Rafe felt cornered. It wouldn’t look good for him to forbid you from going, and if he convinced you to give Sarah some piss poor excuse, she’d likely just ignore it. There wasn’t much you and Rafe agreed on, but you did admit that Sarah Cameron often got her way.
You heard Rafe mutter under his breath, and you didn’t doubt he was cursing Sarah’s name.
“I don’t see why she’s hellbent on butting into your life all of a sudden…”
His tone didn’t make you enthusiastic, and when your eyes met Sarah’s, they looked hopeful. You didn’t really understand why Sarah was taking so much interest in befriending you. You heard her reasoning, of course, but this was new territory, and you didn’t know how to handle it. However, you decided that it didn’t matter. Your boyfriend’s sister wanted to have lunch with you, and if it would satisfy her then so be it.
Pulling your lip between your teeth, you told Rafe something you knew he’d like to hear.
“While I have you, I wanted to thank you for the flowers.”
You heard him exhale, and you didn’t need to be with him to know the look on his face. It was the look he often wore whenever he brought you flowers—a mix of smugness and triumph with that small smirk dancing along his lips. Rafe cared about being seen as the perfect boyfriend, but he also cared about your complicity just as much. If he could placate you after a really bad fight, then he could prevent the rare backlash.
The last time you’d threatened to leave Rafe after one of the worser fights was half a year ago. The bouquet he’d given you then hadn’t meant all that much to you when you threw them on the floor. It hadn’t ended the way you wanted to but instead in tears and Rafe convincing you that you were just upset and needed to cool down. He liked to avoid that if he could.
“I wasn’t expecting red, and I was just really happy to see that. It made me feel a lot better,” you told him.
Rafe was silent for a few moments before sighing, albeit with an annoyed lilt. Your gaze met Sarah’s again just as he spoke.
“Just for a little bit. Not too long because I could finish up early with my dad, so…”
“No, yeah, we won’t be long,” you assured him. “It’s just going to be me and Sarah.”
“Yeah, that’s what she said. Let’s hope it stays that way,” he told you.
His tone was clipped, and although he didn’t say it, you knew that there was a silent addition to that statement.
For your sake.
With a nod and a soft goodbye, you gave Sarah her phone back. Her face was expectant, and when you told her you needed to get your jacket, she beamed.
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Sarah had a pout on her face as she played with one of her fries, shaking her head.
“I just don’t get it,” she mumbled. “What do you see in him?”
The drive to The Wreck was far from long and had mostly been filled with awkward small talk. You couldn’t recall a time you’d ever been alone with Sarah for this long, let alone long enough to have several conversations. It was such an odd thought considering you’d been dating Rafe for two years. The more the minutes went by though, the easier the conversation seemed to flow.
However, you now found yourself in the middle of lunch and on a topic you felt was inevitable, to be honest.
Sarah’s gaze was questioning, and you struggled to come up with an acceptable answer. You couldn’t very well tell her that her brother was actually an abusive rapist who terrified you beyond belief. You couldn’t tell her that he’d threatened to kill you on several occasions. It wasn’t possible to tell her that, in truth, you saw nothing worthwhile in Rafe, and you’d merely accepted your future with him.
Instead, you managed to think back to the very beginning of your relationship when you actually loved him.
“He knows what he wants, and I like that…”
It was a trait you’d admired in him once, feeling flattered by how boldly he’d asked you out. Those were the days when you looked forward to seeing Rafe and whatever gift he had for you and whatever date he had planned. That was a time when you’d literally fall asleep on the phone with him, and these days you would be relieved if you could go several hours without even hearing his voice.
“He’s also very generous, and he looks out for me, and he loves being around me. He’s just…so happy when we’re together.”
Everything that came out of your mouth was no longer applicable to your boyfriend, but at one point in time it had been. Without realizing it, your face fell, and you picked at your food. Sarah had a thoughtful look on her face as she mulled over your words before taking a sip of her lemonade.
“Looks out for you,” she repeated. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
You threw her a look, and she merely shrugged, throwing her hands up.
“I’m just saying! He treats you like he doesn’t want anybody to come near you,” she said, disgusted. “His own sister wants to hang out with you, and you needed to call him for that? That doesn’t sound crazy to you?”
The frown on her face was deep, and you only shrugged.
“You know what he’s like Sarah. You know how…paranoid he can get.”
“Yeah, paranoid that you might actually prefer being in someone else’s company instead,” she scoffed.
You merely sent her a small smile, thinking that she had no idea of the half of it. Before the conversation could continue, two familiar faces walked into the restaurant, and you felt your heart sink. Sarah seemed excited to see her friends, of course, while you, on the other hand, only had an aching desire to leave.
When your eyes met a slowly increasingly familiar blue pair, you couldn’t stop your frown.
You glanced away, and when Pope greeted you, you only sent him a smile in return. Telling yourself that you had the worst luck, you leaned over to reach for your purse. Sarah was talking to the two of them, but when she heard the sound of your keys, the conversation paused.
“I think I should go,” you answered the silent question on her face.
You hated the way it fell.
“We haven’t even been here an hour. Do…?” she trailed off glancing at Pope and JJ. “I know that it’s supposed to be just the two of us, but Rafe won’t know.”
“Sarah,” your tone said it all, and she stood up with you when you went to pay for your food.
“Stay,” she practically begged. “Rafe isn’t here to be his normal asshole self, and you know I won’t tell.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” you mumbled, craning your neck for either Mr. or Mrs. Carrera.
By the sound of her sigh, you had a feeling she’d witnessed JJ’s conversation with Rafe that day in their house.
“JJ didn’t mean much by that. He was just stooping to Rafe’s level, wanted to piss him off.”
“Well, you can tell him it worked,” you said, throwing her a tight smile.
Her brows drew together, and she ran her eyes over you, concerned.
“What, was Rafe mad at you for that?”
“What do you think, Sarah?” you slowly wondered, fully facing her.
You could see on her face that she hadn’t considered that possibility, and her shoulders sagged.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I’m sure JJ wouldn’t have said anything if he’d known it was going to come back on you. I’ll talk to him, just please stay.”
You touched your forehead, glancing over her shoulder and quickly looking away when your eyes met the man in question’s.
“They’re your friends, not mine. I really should go…”
She perked up.
“Well, they don’t have to just be my friends-.”
“No, Sarah. I can’t be friends with them-.”
“Why, because of Rafe?” she incredulously wondered. “Do you hear how crazy that sounds?”
You ignored her when the familiar woman came from the back, quickly paying for your meals. When you were done, you only gave Sarah an even look, grabbing your purse.
“You know what your brother is like. Pope can take you home, right?”
You could see on her face that she wanted to argue this some more, a deep frown on her face, but you witnessed the decision to save it for another time. You weren’t stupid enough to think she was going to let this go. She eyed you.
“We’re probably going to John B.’s later, so yeah. I can leave with them.”
Preferring to ignore her mood, you smiled and thanked her for the invite. You said goodbye to Pope and JJ on your way out, thinking of just how shitty your luck was. You’d never put it past Rafe to drop in on you, and you didn’t want to imagine how things would be if he witnessed you having lunch with anyone other than Sarah…but especially Pope and JJ. You were just at your car when you heard hurried footsteps behind you, and you tensed at the sound of your name.
Unfortunately, the face matched the voice when you turned around.
JJ wasn’t close to you, but he was close enough to where you leaned against your car in an effort to put space between you. If he noticed, he said nothing, and you watched him run his hand through his blond locks. You didn’t know what he wanted and considering the last result of a conversation with him, you warily eyed him.
“Look, Sarah told me that Rafe was mad at you about what I said,” he sounded apologetic. “I didn’t know that.”
“Why? You knew it would piss him off. That’s why you said it.”
He frowned, glancing away.
“Yeah, but I didn’t think…”
“At the very best you knew it would cause conflict between us. Again…that’s why you said it,” you told him.
JJ stared at you, and you watched him blink, tilting his head.
“Do you ever wonder why you have a boyfriend who loses his shit anytime you even so much as look at another man?”
You scoffed.
“Don’t try to turn this around-!”
“I mean, it’s the truth. You felt bad, you apologized, and call me crazy, but I don’t think that’s something he should get mad at you for,” he casually said with a shrug.
“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t get paid to think.”
You watched his brows raise in shock at your words, a budding smile on his lips. JJ crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing you from head to toe, and you felt something twist in your gut at his perusal.
“Are you always this feisty or is that privilege just reserved for me?”
Rolling your eyes, you turned to open your door when he spoke again.
“Look, I’m sorry, alright? I mean that…”
You hesitated, your gaze focused on your window. You stared at his reflection in it.
“I won’t say anything next time. Ever again, actually.”
With a resigned sigh, you accepted his apology, opening your door.
“There won’t be a next time,” you told him, glancing at him as you slid inside. “We’re not friends, JJ, and we’ll never be. Stop talking to me, I mean it.”
Your words held conviction, but you felt like JJ didn’t take them seriously. He only eyed you, slowly nodding as you closed your door. Resisting the urge to glance at him again, you drove off, only feeling relief the closer you got to your house.
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It was the middle of the night when you found yourself in the Camerons’ kitchen, getting something to drink because sleep was evading you. You knew that you couldn’t be gone for long, no telling when Rafe would notice the lack of body heat next to him. The rest of the house was asleep, and Sarah was with John B.
…and so that was why you were startled by the front door opening.
You could tell they were trying to be quiet, but hushed tones and the shuffle of feet was loud to anyone who was awake—you. Blinking, and filled with a mix of curiosity and concern, you made your way to the kitchen entrance. It was dark, but not dark enough to make the three figures hard to make out. When you turned on the light, Sarah actually jumped in shock.
You could tell that she hadn’t expected anyone to be up, but even as she approached you, it wasn’t her nor John B. you were focused on. The blond with them looked almost unrecognizable to you, and you sharply inhaled at the sight of him. He was barely able to stand—no matter how much he tried to—and you could only pull your eyes away when Sarah whispered your name.
“I’m just here to use our first aid kit,” she told you, trying to explain. “John B. doesn’t have shit at his house, and Kie’s parents are so anal about JJ—any of her friends besides me, really.”
Once you gathered your thoughts, you blinked at her, shaking your head.
“It’s your house, Sarah. You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you assured her.
“I know, but I’d just really rather not wake anyone up…and it’s also not something I feel like explaining to anyone.”
She glanced over her shoulder, giving John B. a nod, and you watched him pull JJ towards the downstairs guest bathroom. Your lips parted, and you looked at Sarah again.
“Is he going to be okay?”
Sarah pressed her lips together, and when she rolled her eyes, you could see the irritation and anger on her features.
“He always is,” she snidely replied.
At your concerned and questioning look, her face fell some.
“It’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before,” she finally admitted. “His dad…”
Sarah trailed off with a shrug, and you swallowed.
“Oh,” was all you said, your heart sinking. “I’d heard things, but…I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“I just don’t get why he doesn’t go live with John B. or something,” she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just because Luke is family…”
She sneered the man’s name, and you felt your frown deepen.
“It’s probably not that simple.”
At the look she gave you, you hurried to continue.
“I just mean it’s probably not that black and white for JJ. No one likes staying anywhere that’s bad for them, but maybe there’s a sense of loyalty he can’t shake yet,” you explained. “If he left his house for good, he just might end up feeling guilty.”
Sarah thought that over, eyeing you in the process.
“Maybe. That doesn’t make it any easier to witness this time and time again,” she sighed.
You didn’t say anything to that, unsure of what to say. When she left to join John B. in assisting their friend, you weren’t keen on retreating to Rafe’s bedroom just yet. You weren’t some professional psychologist, but you didn’t need to be to know why the sight of JJ and the confirmation of his volatile home life affected you so much.
The sight of his bloody and bruised face was unfortunately reminiscent for you.
Your feet made the decision for you, grabbing another glass of water before rummaging in your purse for some painkillers. Sarah was in the hall when you walked around the corner, and she straightened at the sight of you. The bathroom door was cracked, but John B.’s voice carried as he talked to JJ.
“Here, give him these.”
She took the pills and water with a small smile, thanking you. The moment was interrupted by JJ’s tone.
“I can stand just fine,” he sighed. “Just give me a minute…”
John B.’s protest was clear, but you surmised that JJ waved him off, getting his way when the door swung open. The brunette was briefly thrown by the sight of you before acknowledging you, making his way outside. The sound of your name in the air got JJ’s attention, and you wondered just how out of it he’d been to only just now realize you were up.
“Here. Y/N brought these for you,” Sarah told him, voice stern as she demanded he take them.
Getting the hint that he wanted a moment to himself, Sarah took a step back.
“Make sure he takes those,” she told you before going to join her boyfriend.
Truthfully, Rafe was the last thing on your mind as you looked at JJ. Now that his face was clean, he didn’t look as bad, but the bruising and cut on his lip still made you frown. You and he were so far from friends, so standing in the hallway while he leaned one hand on the sink started to feel awkward. You were just about to remind him of the pills and leave when he spoke.
“It’s the middle of the night.”
The observation wasn’t the most astute, and you frowned in confusion. When he swung his head to face you, straightening with difficulty, you didn’t miss the way his blue eyes ran along your face.
“It’s the middle of the night,” he repeated. “…and your face is caked in makeup. Is that one of Rafe’s conditions? Remain perfect at all times?”
You pressed your lips together as he popped the painkillers, swallowing them down with the entire glass of water. You couldn’t very well tell him that you’d spent fifteen minutes covering the bruises on your cheek and neck before coming down on the off chance that you ran into a Cameron that wasn’t Rafe.
“I forgot to wash my face,” was your simple answer.
Your tone was light, unconvincing, and you could tell that JJ didn’t believe you. You didn’t know how, but something about the glint in his eye told you so.
“I’m sorry,” you finally said. “About your dad.”
The blond moved to lean against the doorjamb, staring at you.
“Don’t be. I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t be,” you argued.
“Yeah, well, we’re both used to a lot of things we shouldn’t be,” he said, making you bristle. “I should’ve known better. After all…I know what he’s like.”
You didn’t appreciate having your own words thrown back in your face, doubly so because JJ didn’t realize just how much it messed with you. It was funny. When you told him that about Rafe, it made sense to you. That was how you maneuvered around Rafe and so you just wanted JJ to learn to maneuver around him the same way if he wanted to avoid his temper.
Now, however, hearing him repeat that about his own father just made you feel…nauseated.
“That’s not an excuse-.”
“Isn’t it?” JJ wondered, moving closer.
He held your gaze, and the look in his eyes had you biting the inside of your cheek. You couldn’t stop your frown, nostrils flaring at the words he silently threw at you. He didn’t say them, but he didn’t need to.
“That’s different,” you argued.
JJ frowned, head tilted in confusion.
“How so? My dad’s an asshole, Rafe’s an asshole,” he drawled. “Now, Rafe may not be a physically abusive asshole, but walking on tippy toes around him just to navigate his shitty personality isn’t exactly healthy.”
You stumbled back when JJ took another step towards you, lips parting when he cut you off.
“You can’t even have lunch with his sister without the fear of some guy that isn’t Rafe crashing the date…because you know he would just fly off the handle.”
You swallowed down your anger and annoyance at how right he was, glancing away with a huff.
“You don’t know anything about my relationship.”
“I know enough,” he fired back with a smirk.
When your back grazed the wall, it was then that you realized just how close he was. The bruising on his face looked so much scarier this close, and your eyes traced the blood on his lip. Your heartbeat was uneven at his close proximity, and you pressed yourself further into the wall. JJ’s eyes flitted between your own, and when you swallowed, they zeroed in on the action, gaze lingering on your throat.
“I know that if I kissed you, right now…” you sharply inhaled at that. “You wouldn’t tell Rafe…and not because you don’t want to hurt him…”
You slapped his hand way when it reached for your chin.
“…but because you’re fucking terrified of him.”
You furiously blinked, struggling to respond to that.
“You’re an asshole,” was all you could muster up with a frown, voice trembling.
JJ only softly chuckled to himself, nodding.
“Assholes are your type, so that doesn’t sting the same coming from you.”
Pushing your way out from in between him and the wall, you stomped away. You refused to look at him when he thanked you for the drugs, fighting to ignore the goosebumps along your arms underneath Rafe’s shirt.
1K notes · View notes
suguruplsr · 4 months
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Pride and feelings aside…
Summary ✰ A mini story, in which, you happen to catch feelings for your fuck-buddy, Gojo Satoru, who just so happens to have a girlfriend you didn't know about until... however, someone's there to pick you up when you're falling. Geto Suguru.
,, gojo satoru x fem! reader x geto suguru , depictions of sexual/suggestive themes + scenes w/ alcohol usage , drug usage (not misused) , angst w/ no comfort.
wc: 3.1k
based on the song, 77 degrees, by Mariah the Scientist
+ full masterlist of “Seventy-seven degrees…”
tagging: @r0ckst4rjk @unmatchxd @chugao @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @fvsm4x @ivyshiyo @shadowfoxey @aliyalala @sexeyess @magalimachete @tokenblckgirl @melancholysanatomy @nekkobi @eumorele @polarbvnny @msmarklee1213 @mellow-mewow @qmsvpx @miauna @mwtsxri @ba-ks @slammynics
Dividers @/enchanthings
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“satoru, fuck— right there!” honestly, there’s nothing like a late friday night, tipsy and high off a few edibles, and getting some good dick from your trusty friend, Gojo Satoru. as your hands travel along his broad shoulders, sheened with sweat under the moonlight, you realize why people fight to have this man. “yea sweetie? right here— ohhh look at you. f-fuckin’ squeezin’ me so tight.” his form that towered over you pulls away, looking down at you with a slimy grin and throwing your legs over his shoulders while you squirm. “sorry baby. you ain’t cummin’ yet. wanna play with this pussy for as long as i can, before i go~”
you don’t know when it started, you were always just friends with him. hanging out with him and the rest of your little group consisting of shoko, suguru, kento, and haibara. young adults who party over the weekends and work boring jobs during the week while considering their future. kento and shoko already chose to start college, while satoru and suguru are planning on doing something together. best friends stuff. sometimes you wonder if they really just like each other and wanna live happily ever after.
you and haibara just so happened to apply at the same famous cafe downtown. so you’ve been working as a waitress with him as a server for the past few months.
but back to your.. relationship? nah, more like situationship. well, you wish you could call it that, maybe you don’t. that reminds you too much of him. but, you and satoru are just fuck buddies who got drunk together one day five months ago. him coming over to your new house with four good bottles of soju, which were mainly for you considering he couldn’t hold his liquor. but of course, little words of how pretty you’ve always been in his eyes spewed out, and.. in the heat of the moment,, you ended up kissing him.
and that was that.
there’s nights where you can taste the soju that was on his lips that day, thinking of him as your hands trail down to the straps of your panties. but nowadays, you don’t have to play with your clit and contemplate calling the pinned contact in your messages. cringy enough, a little, “u up?” text is enough for satoru to eagerly drive to your house before you can even think of sliding a finger in.
you look up at satoru as he teases your pussy, tip pulling in and out as he emits tiny murmurs out of you. he’s so handsome like this, and any other day. cerulean eyes focused on the gap of your hole, tongue sticking out a bit and his chest muscles flexing every time he’s pushed in just a slight bit more than the tip. then as usual, he fills you up to the hilt, both of you whining as he steals away your breath with a sloppy kiss. telling you how well you’re doing for him.
you almost wish you could experience this every night.
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“turn a bit f’me sweetheart~” satoru coos. he was on your couch, legs crossed with a sweet smile on his face. he had taken you out shopping, saying that a girl like you deserves to be spoiled. having daddy’s money must be nice. rather than letting him go into the dressing rooms with you, risking him sneaking in and possibly getting you two in trouble, you decided to make him let you shop on your own, and promised him a show later. and later was now.
you turned to give him a tiny twirl, showing off the pink frilly dress. you hear him make a sound of amazement, “it’s that pretty?” “no.. well— yeah, but fuck. it’s you.” satoru groans, gesturing for you to come closer. you giggle, taking your place on his lap as his hands immediately move along your exposed thighs. “mm, yeah?” you purr, bringing a hand to his throat and encasing your fingers around it while your thumb tilts his chin up to you. you love watching how he visibly folds, adjusting you in his lap with a bite of his lip.
“for sure hun. you make me wanna rip it off you, maybe even fuck you in it. so beautiful.” he hums, hand breaching the area of your heat. his fingers pull the strings of your matching lace, making you pinch his neck when he snaps it. you could feel your blood rush around your body, flustered from his pure awe. “this one feels new..” and you huff, cute eyes looking up at him with ridicule. “you can’t even see it!” but satoru only gives you that charming smile, glasses tilting with the move of his head. “but i will later, yea?” and you roll your eyes, not bothering to hide your smile as he kisses the corner of your mouth. “yea..”
you part with a kiss placed on his jaw, strutting away to try on the dozen other outfits you bought. all for him to see. you did purposely buy a few that you knew he’d like, like a few summer dresses. and of course, white lingerie underneath to top it off. you just love the attention he gives you, giving you the feeling as if you’re on top of the world. you wish you knew how to make it stay like that.
the night ended like always, your arms around his neck while he thrusted inside you with low murmurs and grunts that circled around the room. but you couldn’t help but notice his phone went off more than usual.
not any of your business though.
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it’s nothing like going to a nice bar during a random hot summer night in late june, hanging out with your friends as a little catch up and drinking together. until everyone’s swallowing in their own thoughts and wandering about the place while you sit and watch.
“you two are close.” suguru hums, taking a sip of his beer while you watch satoru talk to another girl, all happy and comfortable, maybe an old ‘friend’, from the way she casually places a kiss below his jaw. your spot. you don’t know why the bubbling feeling in your chest wasn’t quelled with three cans of beer, but keeping your eyes on the white haired man and his interactions didn’t help in the slightest.
with a disappointing sigh, you turn to suguru, who gave you his signature smile, head tilted on his palm and giving you a look that would’ve made you shy away. in the past at least. “obvious?”
“for sure.”
“fuck.” you groan turning around on the barstool, facing the bar and stealing one of shoko’s shots, making her scoff with a, “what the hell?”. to which you smile sheepishly in return, the taste of vodka blooming on your lips while you’re already sliding your purse to her so she can fish out some money for her next drink.
“reminded me of us. you’re so damn selfish.”
suguru quips lowly, dark eyes studying the way your eyes narrow, glancing over to him before looking at the dark brown wood of the bar table. “yea? well i clearly haven’t lost that trait, messing with you two…” you shrug, making him chuckle. “i’d say you have a type, well.. if you weren’t going for someone as mediocre as satoru. no offense sweetheart, but don’t get your hopes up. especially when he’s attached to her.” suguru gives you a pat on the back, letting the warmth of his hand linger before walking away.
you don’t even care to ponder over his last sentence, you're sure it’ll come to you later in life. you just wish you had said something in return, wanting to prove that handsome idiot wrong. but the way satoru comes back to you with marks of that woman’s lipstick shining on his neck proves you wrong. you really shouldn’t get your hopes up, but perhaps you wish this was some romantic story where he’s just trying to make you jealous.
and not you falling down an empty rabbit hole.
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“you clearly had fun.” you point out, gesturing to the fresh hickies laying along satoru’s neck. they weren’t yours, considering you haven’t seen him much lately. after maybe a week of texting and a few nudes, he had finally come over. talking about the restaurant he took his ‘friend’ to.
a look of.. guilt? takes over his expression, turning his head away on the other side of your pillow and humming. “yeah i guess.. nothing special though. not like you.” and you roll your eyes, smiling though, as you slap his bare chest, climbing on top of him and dragging your palm around his chest. “oh really? why should i believe that? if we were really special you’d..” you pause when you see his brows furrow, as if he’s expecting your next words.
touchy subject huh? you two must not be as close you thought you were.
but the look of disbelief in his eyes makes you throw it all away in your little wishing well. a well full of things satoru makes your heart wish for. you try to brush it off, giving a sigh and leaning down to kiss him. “you really think we’re special?”
“you’re definitely special.”
it takes all your might to bite down the feeling in your throat as he flips you over. your heart probably exaggerated all those gestures, those rare soft moments, everything, that made you feel like you were on top of the world. like you were his world. you feel sick, but you’ll take what you can get.
so you try to devour all of him, taking every touch with all you can. you don’t have the strength to remind yourself that, this, you two, aren’t anything special. he’s doing this for his benefit so why not do the same. even if your wants differentiate from his.
it doesn’t hurt to dream.
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you focus on the feelings of satoru’s lips on yours, both of your hands trying to undo each other's clothing, but you can feel the vibrations of his phone in his back pocket. “toru~ put it up.” you whine, pushy him away slightly and giving a look when he tries to chase your lips. “fine.” he sighs, pulling out said object and quickly taking a look at the notifications as he heads to your dresser.
you aren’t oblivious, and you aren’t stupid. you can see the way he smiles, genuinely even, standing still to respond to what you think is a message.
it could be anyone, you remind yourself.
you make an exaggerated sound from your spot on your bed, making him put away the device, and looking over to you. a bothered look flashes over his eyes before he lifts his shirt up. “sorry to keep ya waiting sweets.” satoru grins, moving closer and placing a hand on your neck while you move closer to the pair of gray sweats in front of you.
“s’okay. jus’ wanna suck on y’r cock.” you sigh, emitting a laugh from him while you get to work pulling down the pants.
you couldn’t let him fuck you that night with how uncomfortable you felt. the look— no, glare. he gave you, even if it was only a split second, felt like you were intruding on something when it was the other way around. like a look of distaste.
when you told him you were too tired for anything extra, he placed a kiss on your cheek, immediately tidying himself up before heading out. the satoru you knew would never do that, unless he made sure you were feeling okay and begging to have a taste of you, maybe even staying the night.
fuck, you feel so dry you might just have to call him. for old times sake. you hate how troubled you are by your unrequited love.
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satoru barely comes over now, and if he does, it’s for a quickie. which, of course, is the point of your “relationship”. but satoru had never made it feel like that's all it was. like there was a possibility for more than you two just digging in each other's pants.
but now, either he doesn’t respond or he’s busy. normal adult stuff, you get it. you shouldn’t be crying as you sip your glass of whine, sitting lonely at your dining table after satoru told you he’d be here.
something came up.
is what he told you. you even responded in that same minute, getting nothing in response while you wallow in your shame and disappointment. it shouldn’t hurt but it really fucking does. you wish you didn’t ruin the friendship. you wish so badly.
you’re probably just every other enjoyment in life for him, something he’ll use when he wants and throws away when he wants.
how fucked up of a situation could this be?
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“i think we should stop seeing each other. if you know what i mean.” it’s 10 pm when satoru shows up at your door, unexpectedly and catching you off guard. it’s your second pity party after three weeks of no communication with him. three weeks since you had accepted you caught feelings for the daring heart throb of japan.
“oh yeah— totally. not like we really were.” you shrug, fighting back the feeling of bile in your throat. the expression on satoru’s face lets you know you hit the spot, making his nod awkwardly and wave. “i guess ill go now.”
you close the door shut, maybe slammed, grabbing your cold bottle of water on the table in your living room as you travel through your house to your bathroom. why did you have to see his face, why did you have to see the way he dressed up so nicely, probably coming back from a date with that ‘friend’.
you know.
you remember every single detail of his face, it wasn’t hard to notice the smudge of red lipstick on his lips.
you put the tablet flat on your tongue, swallowing it and taking a big gulp of water all in one go. the sick feeling throughout your body slowly dissipates as you stand over the sink, looking at the running water in trance.
what a fool you are, huh? falling for someone who was meant to only make you feel good. that’s just a recipe for disaster.
you don’t know how long you stayed in there, gripping your counter as tears slowly slipped down your face while you fell to your knees.
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today was a hectic day, business was bustling and there were lots of people coming in the cafe for the fall themed items. like pumpkin spice latte, hot chocolate, pumpkin pie, etc. the aroma flowing through the place was even better, you’ll have to ask your boss what she may have sprayed before opening. but maybe it’s just the food.
however, seeing a few families or couples smile, the joyful mood flowing around as the hot summer slowly ended, groups of teens coming in to hang out before school starts back up. all of it felt nice. like a nice view of what your life could be if you weren’t some depressed woman who had nothing to show.
you sigh, grabbing your notepad and walking out from the back of the cafe. you just needed a tiny mental breather, too overstimulated with the many people. you never know how to explain it, like claustrophobia without literally experiencing it.
but you just leave it to your mind and senses just feeling overwhelmed. you’ll have time to take your daily pill later.
as you head to a ready table, your mind halts while your body strays to the table. the tufts of white hair, and blue eyes that locked onto you made the peace in your body waver. why was he here? maybe he came to check up on you? not like he doesn’t know where you work.
oh how wrong you are.
“how may i take your order?” your voice breaks, coughing a bit and playing it off as a minor issue when the woman in front of satoru gives you a look of concern, so sweet, and you feel like you recognize her. “hey y/n. i know you’re busy right now so i’ll introduce you to her later, im not sure if you two had met before, hehe. but we’ll have…” your smile is forced, the grip on your pen only getting stronger as you recognize the pet names he calls her, names he used to give you.
but with how casually he says them, maybe she was first.
the satoru you knew doesn’t even introduce or take out girls unless he’s dating them. which means this is clearly a new sight for you.
you don’t remember anything after they left, too caught up in your whirlwind of heartbreak and confusion to focus on anything other than getting through your shift. which led to you now, crying in your car right after work. you just needed to let it out.
better than crying on your way home and risking an accident.
satoru seemed happy with her, he really did. a tension between them that you never had with him. the woman was even sweet enough to tip you big simply for being her boyfriend’s friend. you don’t have the courage to dislike her, not when you were shamelessly looking over at her boyfriend with eyes full of want and desperation.
but of course he didn’t notice.
if only you didn’t fuck up the friendship, maybe you were just in a different light to him, compared to her. maybe you would’ve had the chance to showcase all of you to him, rather than the rough intimacy within the confines of your bedroom. fuck, you’re stupid.
how the hell are you supposed to show you love someone when you two are just having sex to cure your sexual needs. that’s like begging for a disaster to happen.
hearing a knock on the passenger side of your tinted window, you quickly shuffle to put the yellow bottle of pills in your armrest box. you take a look at yourself in the mirror, taking note of your puffy red eyes.
you hope it’s some stranger who doesn’t care about your wellbeing.
wiping your face, you roll down the window, greeted with the sight of a nihilistic smile and dark gold eyes that scan your form with a scoff. “unlock the door princess. not gonna let you get all sappy over some pretty boy who's missin’ out on someone like you.”
1K notes · View notes
peachypinkygloss · 6 months
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dior girl ✰ park jimin
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Park Jimin is one of a kind. When he wants something, he gets it, no matter how hard it can be. He's not scared to get his hands dirty. If he had any morals, maybe he'd consider his obsession with you getting out of hands. But this man has absolutely no morals.
୨୧ pairing: designer!jimin x model/fem!reader
୨୧ genre: strangers to lovers, age gap (21 & 38), smut, slight angst
୨୧ word count: 8.1k
୨୧ warnings: unrealistic depiction of the fashion industry, alcohol consumption & mention of drugs use, manipulation & corruption, jimin isn't a good person (especially not to oc lol <3), violent sexual thoughts, jimin's a sadist (my fav headcannon :D), heavy dom/sub dynamics, hard dom!jimin, unprotected vaginal & anal sex, anal play (use of a buttplug), my new headcannon: jimin likes giving anal, dacryphilia, praising & degradation, oral sex (m), face fucking, aftercare ig because yes jimin's a sadist but he still has a heart.
a.n.: yup so idk if you guys were expecting that... but i did say none of the characters were ethical lmfao so 🤷🏻‍♀️ i really, really hope you like the first part, i've worked hard on it even though it's not super long. so please, reblog and tell me what you thought about it! <3 as always, don't like, don't read.
[dior girl moodboard] ["older" masterlist]
His studio is his sanctuary. It's the only place in the world he can spend hours in without even noticing the moon setting or the sun rising. In his studio it feels like the time doesn't exist or that it's just a futile detail that doesn't have much importance.
When he's creating a piece, nothing around him matters. The only things he's willing to give attention to are the placements of the needles on the fabric, the little lines that form the pattern of the clothing, and the way his scissors cut through the satin material of the dress he's designing.
He's thought about this design for so long and he finally got the opportunity to make it. He's thought about the colours of the dress and also of the seam, about the length of the hem and the sleeves, how deep the neckline should be and if lace would be suitable.
He doesn't even recall how many sketches he's made of the dress. At some point it was consuming his entire mind, this dress the only design he could draw and think of.
Now that he's finally creating it, he has the feeling that it's going to be the best piece he's ever made. He already sees everyone talking about it, saying how much of a genius Park Jimin is. It's going to be the design of the year — of the century.
He still misses something, though, and it might be the most important part of the design. He needs a model, the perfect body to wear his piece and present it to the fashion world.
It can't be anybody, it must be someone who's confident, who always has their head up and who radiates elegance and sports a unique beauty.
Jimin still hasn't found this person. He constantly searches for them, but never finds them or when he thinks that he has, he discovers flaws he cannot unseen.
All the Dior models are great, but not enough. They don't spark anything in Jimin when he watches them strode down the catwalk. He's checked upon the apprentices and the newer models the company has hired, but he saw no one extraordinary.
Until today.
He hears steps against the wooden floor of his studio, entering the place without knocking. "Ah, there he is!" A manly voice exclaims, Jimin immediately recognizes it as his friend's, Sungwoon. "I have someone to introduce you."
Jimin raises his gaze up from his working table and looks at Sungwoon who's accompanied by a beautiful, young woman. He's then suddenly interested, contrary to usual where he doesn't really care about the many girls Sungwoon brings, claiming each one as the new phenomenon of the fashion industry.
When Jimin turns around, he eyes you up and down, barely glimpsing in Sungwoon's way. It's all it takes, one simple glance and he knows you're the one he needs — the one he wants and has to ruin.
Sungwoon introduces you both and when your name is pronounced by the man, sounding so charming and delicate, he's certain you're the model he had been waiting for since a long time.
You seem shy, arms locked behind your back, but you stand up straight and have a polite smile drawn on your face.
"I thought maybe you'd like to get to know each other, right?" Sungwoon raises his eyebrows in Jimin's direction. "Everyone's fond of her," he smiles and pats your back, encouraging you to speak up.
"Thanks," you smile back at Sungwoon before glancing back at Jimin who still hasn't looked away from you. "I've been a big fan of your work since I was a little kid, Mr. Park. You've inspired me to become a model."
The way you say his name has his cock twitching in his pants, filthy thoughts of him spanking your butt while you cry his name invading his mind.
He can sense your vulnerability, your willingness to submit. Who would he be to deny you that? Him, who is so eager to dominate the ones he's attracted to, to break but also repair them.
He knows it when someone's fragile, hiding their weaknesses under fake confidence. He doesn't know you, but he recognizes the pattern almost instantly. What can be broken can also be repaired and you're asking him to break you.
"I'm glad to hear that," Jimin says politely, a slight smile tugging on his lips. He's not the type to smile — stretch the corner of his mouth upward to imitate the person in front of him, he finds it useless. But for you, he'll do it, just so you trust him because you're so desperate to give yourself to the opposite sex.
"Park, you were wondering who'd be part of the fall show this year," Sungwoon begins, looking at you like you're the most irradiant ruby in the world. "Well, you have her in front of you." You giggle softly at the man's words, nodding your head at him and then looking at Jimin as if waiting for some praises.
Jimin faintly smiles, seeing your eyes glimmering and he curses himself for not finding you first. You'd have been his by now, his to praise, to kiss, to fuck, to destroy. But he swears, if he happens to break you, he'll gratefully keep you safe close to him.
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T H E N
"Careful," Jimin softly says as he catches you up from falling on the floor. You let out a high pitched laugh, as if all of this is a big joke, and push him back with a hand on his chest.
"I'm fine," you answer, shrugging him off with a flip of your hand. You stagger from left to right, leaning against the wall when you almost fall a second time. You laugh it off again, halting your steps.
Jimin looks at you with a cringe expression, eyeing the people behind, sporting worried looks on their faces.
You all went out after the show; models, designers, directors, stylists... everyone. It wasn't your plan to get drunk, Jimin knows that because you're not supposed to drink alcohol since you're on a very strict diet. A glass from time to time isn't so bad, but your consumption clearly surpassed just one glass tonight.
It's not really your fault, though. Technically yes, since you're the one who swallowed all of the glasses of wine, but you had a little help.
A little help from Jimin himself.
When you weren't looking, he poured more alcohol in your glass and to his satisfaction you've noticed nothing and gulped everything. Sure, you got a bit suspicious, wondering how you had only drank so little when you remembered swallowing more than that.
But Jimin assured you it was only your first glass, so you drank, and drank, and drank... Until you were more than tipsy.
You've received nasty looks from your colleagues, especially the other models who weren't drinking a single drop of wine, and yet, still weren't awarded with the status of the 'face of Dior'. How ironic that the drunkest girl in the room was the face of Dior and the little protégée of Mr. Park.
Years and years of training, countless sleepless nights, meals that are as nutritious as birds seed... All of the efforts in the world to have your biggest dream stolen by a model who is in the industry for less than six months.
Their rage is understandable, but Jimin couldn't care less. In fact, everything is going as planned and he can't fuck things up now. No, because if he does, all of the things he has done until now will be completely irrelevant.
"I'll... I'll bring her to our room, you can go out without us," Jimin announces, watching you sit down on the floor in the middle of the corridor.
"Will she be okay?" A stylist asks.
"Of course. I'll take care of her."
He waits for everyone to be gone before he gets you up from the floor and leads you both to your hotel room. When you're in the room, he sits you down on the bed.
You don't say anything as he takes off his jacket and loosens his tie. He crouches down in front of you to remove your heels and he does the same with his shoes, leaving them at the entry.
When he comes back, he sees you quietly crying, the features of your face contorting into a sad expression. You've slightly sobered up, harshly coming back to reality, realizing how much you've embarrassed yourself tonight.
"What did I do?" You ask, looking up at him with teary eyes. "I fucked up, didn't I?"
Jimin sits down beside you, lifting your head up with his index under your chin and his thumb over it. "There's nothing that can't be repaired," he states in a soft voice, so low it sounds like a sweet whisper — a secret, a confession only you can hear. "Right?"
You sniff, wiping your tears away. You nod your head in agreement, slightly reassured, hoping Jimin will fix your mistakes. Your foolish mistakes, done by the carefree of a twenty-one year old.
"Shh, baby, shh," he softly murmurs, cradling your head in his hands and gently laying your face against his chest. You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him tighter and tighter til suffocation.
He strokes your hair delicately, placing a sweet and warm kiss on the top of your head.
Someone as vulnerable as you contains a lot of emotions. He has to deal with them, which doesn't bother him at all. He wants you the way you are; sad and pitiful.
"Everything's going to be fine," he promises, but it's not entirely the truth. Not everything will be fine, though it'll be in the end, he thinks — he hopes.
You eventually pull away from his embrace, just enough to look at him. It seems like you're searching for something or maybe waiting for something, your eyes desperately staring at Jimin as if his simple presence will make all of your problems fly away.
You throw yourself at him and kiss him on the lips, fingers pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck. He reciprocates it, knowing you like your kisses sloppy and messy, wanting Jimin everywhere on you to remind you that he's always there.
You bring him closer, crumpling the material of his white shirt between your fists, moaning and whining as your teeth clash together at how roughly you kiss each other.
Jimin breaks your exchange first, both catching your breaths. His eyes observe you quietly as you look at him like you're still waiting for something.
"Did you do what I told you to?" He questions you, referring to your conversation of a few days when you came to his studio to try on his dress.
You were a bit stressed out, putting on the clothing like you were scared you'd rip it. He still remembers the way the satin was sliding up your body, hugging your waist and ass perfectly. He was baffled at how incredibly well it suited you as if he had made it exactly for you.
And maybe it was made for you, after all.
Because when he saw his creation on you, he knew you had to wear it for the runway. It has to be you, he'll accept no one else.
Jimin will make you walk the runway wearing his dress — the last time you'll ever step on the catwalk. After that, he'll keep you away from the rest of the world. He'll refuse anyone to see you because you're going to be his.
His forever.
"Yes," you nod your head, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth.
"Tell me what you did," Jimin softly demands, holding your chin in his hand, mouths inches away from each other.
You're too shy to say it out loud and that's why he wants you to tell him. Also to be sure you did everything correctly, but mainly because he wants to see you embarrassed.
"I prepared myself for you..." You begin, holding eye contact even though you feel your face heating up just thinking about all the things you've done per his request. "I... I used lube both on me and... the toy," you continue in a shy tone, so low Jimin wouldn't hear you if he wasn't so close.
"Where on you, sweetheart?" He interrupts, wanting each detail, each little thing you normally wouldn't have done if it wasn't for him. And all while thinking of him.
You swallow, "On my ass, Jimin," you answer in a whisper. "I stretched it out for you, using the toy like you told me," you finally admit.
"Good girl," Jimin purrs. "Let me see it then."
You proceed to strip off of your dress, now used to be nude in front of him, and slide your panties down your thighs, discarding them away on the floor.
You get back up on the mattress and position yourself on all fours close to the edge of the bed. Jimin stands up and goes behind you to have a closer look at your ass.
His veiny hands pull your cheeks apart, revealing your rim to his insatiable, sadistic eyes. You glance over your shoulder, curious of what he has in mind and what he has prepared for you.
You softly gasp when he spits and lets the globe of spit drip down between your asscheeks, rolling over your puckered hole. You clench around nothing, relieved to have his attention, to finally feel his hands on you instead of the usual touch of yours.
He sees that your ass is a bit looser than the last time he saw it, but it still clearly needs more preparation to welcome his girthy cock — though it's not like he cares that much if you're prepped enough or not.
He passes his thumb over your tight muscle, circling it and smearing his saliva over it. He wants to fuck it so bad, destroy it and do unbelievably violent things to you. Should he tonight? Should he show you his dark and evil side?
He's choked you before — smacked your ass hard til you felt your skin stings, overstimulated you to the point your orgasms were just spasms passing through your body, fucked your throat while you were drooling all over yourself, and tied your legs and wrists together to restrict your movements.
So fucking your ass can't be that bad, but the thing is Jimin wants it to be bad. He then wonders what would happen if the line is ever crossed. Would you endure it, would you defend yourself? Would you shut the fuck up and take it like you're asked to?
But you trust him so much — with all your pathetic being — and he thinks you'd let him cross any lines he desires to. He probably already has crossed multiple lines, and being the poor, sad girl that you are, you said nothing.
You truly are extraordinary.
He gives a slight slap to one of your asscheeks, groping both of them after, feeling how soft and tender your flesh is. "You did good, sweetheart," he comments in a honeyed voice that has you mewling, sounding so smooth and sweet. "How about we play with it a little?"
He lifts up a brow at you and you nod sheepishly, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. "Yes..."
"Great," he says in a low tone, running his hands one last time over your ass before going to take something from his suitcase.
"What is it?" You question, your curious eyes landing on the small object he's holding.
Jimin brings the object to you, something made of metal, the end having the shape of a cone and a pink gem placed on the top. "A gift for my princess," he replies, opening the bottle of lube he brought as well.
He applies some lube around your tight hole and on the butt plug, and carefully pushes the head of the toy in your ass. You gasp softly, feeling it slowly stretch you out, sinking in gradually as Jimin holds your cheeks apart.
"Mmh, feels good, Sir," you moan, arching your back and pushing your butt closer to Jimin.
When the plug is all the way in, the pink gem peeking out between your two globes of flesh, he smacks your other cheek, making it jiggle from the harsh hit.
"Is that so, dirty girl?" He wonders, gripping your hips and colliding his hips with your butt, sensing his big bulge pulsing under his pants. "You like it when your little ass gets stretched out?"
"I like everything you do to me," you say with a content sigh, pussy clenching around nothing as your ass gets used to the small butt plug.
Jimin genuinely thinks he can't find better than you. You were so shy in the beginning, looking like a lost puppy wherever you went. You just needed someone bigger and older to show you the way — though you were too dumb, and still are, to realize he was leading you to the wrong path.
It's not like you seem to mind, anyway.
After all, you both got what you wanted; you, male attention, someone to rely on and be protected by, and him, a woman to break and keep with him forever.
He lets go of your hips to unbuckle his belt, pulling the leather material out of the gold loop with the luxury Dior logo on it. He lets the two ends of the belt hang off, not bothering to remove it completely, and tucks the fly of his pants down.
He finally frees his cock from the confines of his boxers, springing up and slapping against his stomach, the bit of pre-cum escaping from his tip dampening his shirt.
"You're so good to me, princess," he praises as he wraps a hand around the base of his engorged cock, aching and begging to be nestled in your cute little pussy.
His head pushes at your entrance, never fully entering, only teasing your hole and stimulating all of your sensitive nerves. He watches how his cock stretches your cunt, your walls expending to receive his bulbous tip and then closing down when he pulls out.
"Sir, please, want more," you beg him, pushing your ass on him to have his dick back in you. You let out a little whimper when Jimin holds your hips in place, stopping you from wiggling your butt side to side against his thick cock.
He hums and slaps your ass harshly, your skin stinging after. "Want my cock in your needy little pussy, baby? Is that what you're crying for?" He asks, teasing even more by swiping the head of his penis between your pussy lips, a string of your arousal sticking to his angry tip.
"Yes," you say back quickly and desperately, arching your back, literally presenting yourself to Jimin. "Been so good, don't I deserve it, Sir?" You softly murmur, still looking over your shoulder to see his gaze fixated on your quivering pussy, cock head sliding up and down over your sex.
"You do..." He responds distractedly, licking his plump lips, his fingers touching the pink gem peeking out from your ass. You're always so good and obedient for him, he even wonders if you ever did something that genuinely pissed him off before.
When he really sinks in, his head passing the barrier of your sweet pussy, he groans deeply, feeling your walls deliciously enveloping his hard cock tightly.
You moan in unison as he bottoms out in you, his balls touching your wet and warm pussy. He bends his back over yours, running his hand up your spine, feeling all the little bumps of it until he reaches your head and shoves it against the mattress.
You whine when he starts pounding into you, his girth stretching you out so well, leaving you panting and moaning loudly. His other hand holds your hip against his dick, fingers digging into your skin, leaving permanent marks on your body — as well as on your mind and your soul.
He already sets a hard and rapid pace — fucking is never soft or loving with Jimin, it's violent, long, and agonizing. It's a way to be himself, the real and dark version of himself he hides in public and releases when he gets intimate with you.
You surprisingly got accustomed to it, embracing it as if it was your destiny, the reason for your existence; to be his personal slut, the little toy he likes to play rough with. And you've accepted it, like you had no other choice but to be fucked into oblivion by Jimin whenever he feels like it.
"You like that, baby? Huh?" He growls, as if you're the disgusting one for liking the way he treats you, ravished and delighted to have his girthy cock sliding against your velvety walls. "You like it when I fuck you hard like this?" He repeats and grips your hair, pushing your head against the bed covers with more strength.
You babble out something, voice caught in your throat, too out of breath to formulate a simple sentence. You then only nod, your cheek squished against the mattress, Jimin's hand still pushing down on your head.
His mouth hangs open to let out heavy breaths and his eyes are focused on your face, watching the little translucent pearls fall on your face and on the covers. Your pussy swallows all of his girth, clenching so tightly it has him groaning and saying profanities under his breath.
It's sick how it makes his cock so fucking hard, leaking so much pre-cum in you and twitching avidly by seeing you struggle to breathe. You crumple the bed sheets between your little fists, doing everything in your power to keep your ass up for Jimin and not slump down on the bed from the hard thrusts he's inflicting on you.
He snaps his hips against your ass and the entirety of his length is covered in your wetness, a white ring made of your cream circling the base of his cock.
His hand holding your head descends to your neck, enclosing it with his fingers, the coldness of his silver rings contrasting with the hotness of your sweaty skin. He squeezes a little, just a bit so you know who's in control, so you never forget Jimin controls you — that he controls your life and thoughts.
With a grip on your hair, he brings your torso up, arched back against his chest. The material of his shirt sticks to your skin, coated in a thin layer of sweat. He continues to pound into you, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy rapidly, as he holds you by the throat, lewdly licking a long stripe along the side of your face.
You shudder in desire, hair standing up on your delicate arms. "You're my little whore, aren't you, baby?" His mouth is right beside your ear as he whispers dirty things to you, his lips touching your hair, damp at the nape of your neck. "So fucking compliant... You want to please me so bad like the slut that you are," he mouths the words against your hair, cock pulsing hard in your cunt.
His free hand that doesn't have a hold around your throat slides down your body, passing over your belly and reaching your puffy clit. The sharp zipper of his pants graces the flesh just under your ass, irritating your skin and making it itchy.
You clench around him when his digits find your sensitive bud, circling it sensually and slowly, the complete opposite of his hip thrusts.
"Yes, want to please you, Jimin," you gasp, bucking your hips at the feeling of his rough fingertips on your pussy. He grunts when you address him by his name, loving how it sounds on your tongue, so sweet and timid.
He remembers the first time you moaned his name; you were sprawled across his expensive leather couch, blindfolded and hands attached together with his black tie. Intense for your first time with him, but it was also the last time he's ever been that gentle with you.
It was when his cold fingertips graced the skin of your stomach that you let out a squeak followed by his name, said in the quietest moan. He had then stopped his movements and looked at your face, an expression of distress painted over your features.
He had realized how frail and weak you actually were, needing your most important sense to be at ease. That's why he had blindfolded you, to show you how dependent you are of him, how impossible it is for you to live without him to guide you.
He pushes your jaw to the side so your lips can meet his in a feverish kiss, wet tongues mingling together, drool dripping down from the corners of your mouth. He continues to ram his cock in your now soppy and messy pussy, the sound of skin against skin resonating in the hotel room.
He traps your bottom lip between his teeth, making you whimper and close your walls around his girth once again. Your little hands grip the material of his trousers, keeping him close and holding on to something because the hard cadence of his hip thrusts push you forward, breasts bouncing up on your chest.
"Fuck," he curses and he suddenly stops, steadying his hips against your butt. You let out a whiny moan as Jimin lets go of your face and hips.
You're sad to have your pleasure ripped away from you so hastily, but you don't have the time to complain, Jimin slipping out of your cunt and pushing you down violently on the mattress.
You turn around on your back to see him unbuttoning his dress shirt and throwing it on the floor, revealing to you his beautiful chest and defined abs. He gets rid of his pants and socks after, finally removing his boxers, the only things remaining on him being his rings and the watch crowning his right wrist.
His cock glistens in your juices, more pre-cum leaking from his swollen tip and twitching avidly against his stomach. Even though him fucking you while being all dressed and you completely bare is a way to humiliate and degrade you, he also likes to be naked sometimes.
He loves skin to skin contact, how your bodies stick together because of all the sweat coating you. It's addicting, it's rougher and it creates more friction — more pain.
He doesn't mind being naked too because he knows how to dominate you either way. He doesn't find it embarrassing, on the contrary, it makes him scarier and hungrier. While you shiver without your clothes on, curled up on yourself, Jimin is imposing, his cock thick and girthy enough to split you in half.
He crawls back to you, hovering over you like a predator had caught his prey, boring his eyes into yours. You look at him in awe, always waiting patiently. You feel his cock against your thigh, thick and veiny, your hole pathetically quivering — missing his size stretching out your pussy.
He sneaks a hand between your legs and reaches the little pink gem, ready to get it out. "Take a deep breath sweetheart," Jimin instructs and you inhale deeply.
He doesn't waste a second, pulling out the butt plug out of your ass. You scrunch your eyes shut at the pain, exhaling when it's done. He carefully sets it on the nightstand, coming back to you after.
He bends your legs over your stomach and looks at your ass, just begging him to fuck it, shining with lube and arousal that leaks from your pussy. His erect cock is just so close to it and Jimin could slide right in with one movement of his hips.
He lets go of one of your legs to grip his engorged erection, a little gasp escaping your lips when he presses the head of his cock at your tight hole, threatening to sink in.
"Sir," you sigh, not sure if you're ready for that. It always burns no matter how good you prepped before and he knows that. That's why he's so tempted, that he's staring so obsessively at your rim.
Will it hurt you? Will you grip his biceps in an attempt to dissuade him? He wants to see those tears falling from your eyes again, he wants to lick them and tastes your pain. He feels more blood rush to his penis at the mere thought of hurting you.
Give him all of your pain, he'll fucking take it whole and cherish it. He wants it — he needs it. Accuse him for having a sick and twisted mind, accuse him for everything you've ever been hurt by because he'll gladly take the blame.
"I know you can take it," he says in a low tone, glancing up at your face as he applies just a bit more pressure to your ass hole. "Can you, baby?" Jimin asks, waiting for you to admit how much you want it, how badly you want him to destroy you.
"Yes..." You whisper back, a long shiver running up your spine as his eyes pierce through you.
"Yes, what? Tell me, sweetheart," he demands, and it's as if he doesn't care about your response whatsoever because the next thing he does makes you yelp in pain.
His tip has entered you, the burning sensation forcing you to scrunch your eyes shut, your instinct thinking it'll protect you.
"Yes, I- I can..." you stutter and as expected, you dig your nails in the flesh of his biceps — only fair to hurt him in return. "I can take your cock in my ass..."
You take a sharp breath, eyes slowly opening, all watery and painful. Jimin groans at that, stuffing more of himself in your hole. "Good girl," he praises, voice raspy, ending with a deep grunt.
He stretches you out completely, his dick in no comparison to the toys you've used to prepare yourself. You open your mouth as he pushes himself in gradually, tears streaming down your face when you blink.
The tears roll down the side of your face and Jimin can't help but be turned on, leaning in to kiss your face and collect some of your tears, tasting the saltiness of them on his tongue.
"Jimin...!" You look at him with the saddest and most hurtful gaze, tears rolling down your face. "It burns," you add in a quiet voice, now scratching his back, leaving long red trails on his skin.
"I know, baby, I know," he softly murmurs in your ear, a husky moan leaving his mouth when he's completely nestled in you, balls touching your ass. "You're so tight, fuck," he sucks air through his teeth, not moving until he estimates he's waited long enough.
He gives warm and wet kisses to your neck, descending to your collarbones and groping your breasts, slowly starting to move his hips. You lock your legs behind his back, wanting him as close to you as possible despite the pain he's inflicting on you.
He loves knowing it hurts you because it makes it more pleasurable to him somehow. The pain will go away soon anyway, that's why he doesn't bother to stop or slow down. You have to get used to the feeling first.
He wouldn't go too far to hurt you. The choking, the hair pulling, the smacks... He keeps it for the bedroom, but he won't lie that there's a part of him that wants to ruin your life, ruin everything you've accomplished so far just so he can see those sad eyes of yours and hear you ask him for help out of desperation.
It's not even sexual, he just wants to break you, that's all he desires. Though your life is something he wants to destroy, it's more of a way to have you dependant on him after. If your career is no longer successful, your solution is Jimin because he's the only person in your life capable of taking care of you both emotionally and physically.
His teeth chew on the tender skin of your neck while his hand travels all over your body, many veins popping out along his strong arm. The cool sensation of his rings on your stomach makes you shiver, his finger gently circling your clit to make the pain more bearable.
His cock slides in your hole back and forth, your ass slowly but surely taking the size of girth. Many curses leave Jimin's mouth, your ass probably the best he's ever fucked. You feel so good around him, you're tight, but you loosen easily, making it so, so pleasurable for him.
His hand that was roaming over your body comes to close around your throat and he turns his head to your side, lips brushing over your temple. "Yeah, just like that, baby," he mutters under his breath, his nose pressing down on your hair as he murmurs the words to you. "Just like that..."
A choked moan is all you can respond, eyes rolling back in your skull as Jimin splits your ass open, fucking his thick cock into you. His hot breath hits the side of your face, his chest heaving rapidly while you claw at his back, white scratches appearing on his skin.
He sweetly kisses your temple as he pounds into you, not tightening his hand around your throat, just holding you in place — always letting you know that he is always in control.
Your tits slightly bounce up and down on your chest, little whines coming out of you each time Jimin bottoms out. It starts feeling good for you — really good — and you think that this pleasure is totally worth a bit of pain at the beginning.
You grip the hair at the nape of his neck and bring him in for a kiss. He accepts it, kissing you back as if he wants to possess your whole mouth, biting and licking your lips. You moan into his mouth, twisting his hair between your fist and sinking your nails into the flesh of his back.
He backs away from you a little, his plump lips glistening in both of your saliva, and places his two palms on your boobs. He feels your perky nipples under his hands, just loving how plushy your breasts are, fitting perfectly in his palms.
He keeps thrusting in you as he gropes your tits and you bring your hands over his, looking into each other's eyes. He lowly groans, holding eye-contact with you.
You feel his veins under your palms, your pussy clenching around nothing but air while you run your hands all over his arms. You enjoy the sensations of his pulsing veins under your small fingers as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, staring into Jimin's dark eyes.
"Jimin..." You moan his name, throwing your head back and closing your eyes, just enjoying the feeling of his hard cock entering and exiting your tight hole. Jimin takes the opportunity to smooch your neck again as you expose it to him, his full lips delicately pressing down on your throat. "I love it," you sigh pleasantly.
He hums, the sound coming deep from his throat. He wants to hurt you, yes, but he likes it even more when you love the pain. He just knew you were exactly like him when he first saw you. He had the feeling that you needed someone like him, someone that'd push you to your limits and make you discover a new type of pleasure.
And he was right because there's not one time where you told him to stop.
"My dirty girl," he purrs in response, bringing his lips up to your jaw. He slowly rolls your nipples between his fingertips, pinching and pulling on them. "You're stupid, but so, so good for me, baby," he groans in your ear, gritting his teeth as he feels his balls tightening.
He slowly halts his hips movements, letting out heavy breaths as he eventually pulls out of you. You gasp when he does so, already missing his cock stretching out your ass.
You're both trying to catch your breaths, Jimin raising himself up from you and getting out of the bed. His erection stands tall against his stomach, bouncing up as he walks to the front of the bed.
You watch him getting away until he orders you to follow him. "Come here," he says softly and you don't make him wait. "On your knees," Jimin commands when you're facing him, sinking down to your knees after.
He places a hand behind your head and the other around the base of his dick, guiding the head of his cock toward your lips as he pushes down on your head.
"Here, baby," he instructs in a low voice. "Take it in your mouth." You part your lips to welcome Jimin's length, his bulbous tip shining in pre-cum and your juices under the light of the hotel room.
He immediately moans when he enters the warmth of your mouth, his heavy cock sliding on your wet tongue. He doesn't let you have much control, pushing his dick in your mouth until your nose touches his pubic hair.
You relax your jaw for Jimin, allowing him to stuff your mouth full of his cock. He looks down at you, watching the way your lips wrap around him tightly, your eyes starting to water. He still holds the back of your head with one hand, guiding you over his stiff erection and you moan obscenely around Jimin, drool dripping down on your chin.
He begins to fuck your mouth, forcing you to take the whole thing each time he bottoms out. He moves his hips back and forth, obsessed with the way his girth appears and reappears between your lips as he uses your mouth as he pleases.
"Shit," he hisses when you hollow your cheeks, making it more pleasurable for him. "You're a fucking cockslut, aren't you, baby?" He says breathily, his eyes not once leaving his cock penetrating your mouth over and over again.
You whine around him, surely agreeing with what he said. It sends deliciously vibrations through his entire body, the sounds of your moans and hearing you gag around him is so arousing to him. He wants to hear more so he literally uses your mouth like a toy, snapping his hips against you, his balls slapping your chin.
He lets out a deep moan, your cheeks now damp and eyelashes all wet because of your tears, eyes stinging as Jimin fucks your throat like a mad man.
"Stroke your clit," he manages to say between two heavy breaths. "You can get off by yourself, right? I know you're soaking wet just by letting me use that pretty mouth of yours," he mocks you, but he knows he's right. Whatever he does, your cunt is always dripping wet.
You whimper again, doing what he told you to and sneaking a hand between your thighs to play with your pussy. You part your legs wider as you circle your clit with your finger, Jimin's hooded eyes lazily watching you playing with yourself.
Your right hand is laying on his thigh while the other is operating between your legs, pleasuring yourself to the sounds of Jimin's moans and the feeling of his stiff cock weighing down on your tongue.
You do your best to breathe through your nose, swallowing around his length and flattening your tongue underneath him. Your juices drip down your inner thighs, your finger flickering over your sensitive bud smoothly because of your arousal.
The whole room is smelling like sex, an odour that Jimin can't ignore, loving it so much. Your lips glide so easily over his hard cock, completely covered in your spit and still some of your wetness, tasting yourself on him.
"Ah, fuck," he curses, his head rolling back on his shoulders, eyes still strained down on you. He feels the familiar burning sensation at the pit of his stomach, indicating he's really close to his orgasm. He stops thrusting in you. "Go on the bed, baby."
You're taken aback, but you follow his order, pulling him out of your mouth and laying your back down on the mattress close to the edge. You beautifully moan when Jimin penetrates your pussy a second time, bending your legs over your stomach.
"Oh, god," you cry softly, being pounded onto the bed by him right away, tits moving up and down on your chest.
His hands are positioned on each side of your shoulders, snapping his hips against yours so harshly you feel your skin stinging. You keep doing circle motions on your clit, now faster and impatient to reach your high.
You let out a high-pitched moan when Jimin suddenly steadies his hips over yours, dropping down to his elbows as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. "Holy fuck," he grunts, gripping the bed sheets tightly in fists beside your head as his cock twitches in your pussy.
"Yes, yes," you quietly exclaim, your clitoral orgasm passing through you, making you arch your back and buck your hips.
Your hole clenches repeatedly around him and he finally comes undone into you, shooting long, thick ropes of cum deep into you. He empties himself in your wet cunt, cumming just after you.
When he slips out of you, more spurts out of his tip, landing on your pussy, covering it in his creamy cum. You moan at the warm sensation, always loving how it feels both in and on you. Some of his seeds dribble out of you, dripping down to your ass.
He stays above you for some time, catching his breath and looking at the mess he made on you. He stares up at your face, seeing how fucked up you look, hair in a nest and eyes reddened.
Later, Jimin is in the shower, washing his hair and his body, passing a soft cloth soaked in soap over his chest. He lets the water fall over his head, wetting his black locks. He stays maybe a bit longer than normally, staring at the tiled wall.
He thinks about you, about all the things he's planned. He revised everything in his head, imagining you walk on the podium wearing his design, people looking at his piece with admiration in their eyes.
He thinks about all of that that will go down for you after the show, getting fired, losing your career and your fans. Many articles talking about your excessive use of alcohol and drugs, saying how tired and sad you look beside Jimin.
You won't last long, you're too weak anyway. A downfall like this is unconquerable, nobody recovers from that, and surely not a model who will be thrown out of the industry as soon as you turn twenty-five.
Jimin knows the industry, he's been in it for years now. He's aware of how cruel it is, how difficult and harsh it can be on fragile little girls like you.
But that's why he's here, to take care of you once nobody will want you anymore. That's the goal, after all; you to be finally his — solely and completely his.
"Jimin?"
Your voice reaches him, turning his head in your direction, seeing you hesitantly entering the shower with him. He opens his arms, inviting you to come closer and you do, hugging him and laying your head down on his wet chest.
"I love you, sweetheart," he softly murmurs against your hair. "I'll never leave you, you know that, right?"
You nod your head, looking up at him and meeting his gaze. "I love you, too."
๑♡՞
A F T E R
The runway went incredibly well. Celebrities and journalists were all gathered for the fall show, totally amazed by every design and the models that were wearing them.
But there was one specific piece that everyone was willing to say was the best.
Jimin was satisfied to see that his name stood out among everyone else's, being called more times than Dior itself. He predicted it; it was the creation that every guest remembered, the dress that the fans were only talking about.
He'd take all the credit, he was the one who imagined it and then sewed it after all, but he has to admit that you had contributed to the fame a lot.
Being the beloved face of Dior only made people talk more about it and that was what Jimin needed.
But everything has an end, doesn't it?
When Jimin comes back to his apartment, the place is silent except for the TV playing, as he thought it would be. You're looking through the window, watching the city living at night while it's raining. You're sitting on the sofa, not even acknowledging his presence as he enters, getting rid of his shoes.
You're not much of a talker since you've been fired from Dior a few days ago just after the fall show. He understands your wish of remaining silent, needing a bit of space to process everything that has happened the past weeks in your small head.
It was going to happen soon enough anyway. You've been to your photoshoots completely drunk, sometimes just going in with a hangover, but of course it didn't help your case at all.
Jimin was guilty for letting you drink alcohol so soon in the morning. No need to deny it, he was even the one for dropping you off at work like that. Well, he had to do it if he wanted people to notice how far you've fallen.
He doesn't feel bad, though. Your career wasn't going to last with Jimin's sabotage or not. He did you a favour, you should be thankful.
You can't handle being a model. If you could, none of that would have happened. You wouldn't have gained weight, you would have been suspicious of the amount of calories Jimin was feeding you. The bottle of wine wouldn't have been so tempting and smoking weed wouldn't have ever occurred to you as a good idea.
Some people can, others can't and you're one of them. You shouldn't be ashamed of it, sometimes things just don't work out like we would have wanted them to.
"Did you see the article they wrote about me?" You ask, already knowing he's walking up to you without looking. "You surely did, I bet that's all they're talking about..."
He sits down beside you and you eventually turn around, facing him. You care so much about what others think of you. It must be so tiring having such a low self-esteem. He can only imagine it; seeing you look through the window like a sad puppy, your life finally making sense when Jimin comes home.
"I did, but nothing of that matters to me," he answers, the most honest he's ever been. And even if he had to lie, it's not like you wouldn't have believed him. You always trust whatever he says.
You don't reply, your head still filled with many thoughts.
"Hey, come here," he softly tells you, patting his thigh. You straddle his lap, setting your hands on his shoulders. He cups your chin, forcing you to look at him as you keep avoiding his gaze. "Whatever they say, whatever their name is, nothing will ever be more important than you."
Because who is he if he lets some article affect the way he sees you? He's known you since the beginning of your career and he stayed til the end of it.
He knows you better than everyone else. He was with you during your highs and lows and he'll still be there for the next ones. There's nothing in the world that could make him leave you. After everything he's done to have you, there's no way he'll go away.
How cowardly of him if he does. He can't leave when he's promised he'd heal you — close all of your past wounds and create other ones.
He may be selfish, but there's one thing that he isn't and it's a fucking liar. He sticks to his words, and when he says he'll never leave you, that means he'll never, never abandon you — he'll never leave your side, not even once. He can't risk it.
๑♡՞
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inkykeiji · 4 months
Text
you can always take more than nothing
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character: bonten!mikey x fem!reader
genre: smut
notes: here’s my halloween piece, only half a month late! still, i hope you can enjoy it! as always, please heed the warnings and stay safe! | title cred: alice in wonderland
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, public sex/exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, size difference, biting/marking, blood, minimal prep, rough sex, teasing, begging, dacryphilia, humiliation, a lil bit of degradation, drugs, toxic relationship
words: 8.6k
synopsis:
Those few remaining scraps of decency you’d both been clinging to have been devoured by Mikey’s growing selfishness, no longer caring about what others might see or think or say—it’s not like anyone’s dumb enough to do anything about it anyway; it’s not like anyone has enough of a death-wish to try. He’s the motherfucking Boss. And the Boss gets what he wants, where he wants, when he wants, always. 
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The music is loud, so loud the walls seem to be breathing with it, bleeding with it, flashes of neon pouring over the frosted mosaics of glass and marble. 
A party, thinly veiled as a corporate event. 
There are people everywhere, scattered across every surface, crystal glasses filled with expensive liqour and cocktail concoctions glittering in their palms. You barely know any of them. 
They’re all supposed business partners, allies and associates, ‘friends’ of your Daddy. Not that it matters all that much to you; they aren’t allowed to say a word to you anyway. 
Your eyes scan the expanse of the club, on the hunt for a familiar face. Takeomi is in the corner, obnoxiously blowing smoke into some of the higher end girls’ faces. He’s really taking his role of The Caterpillar earnestly. 
Good. You told him it suited him.
At your request (AKA at Mikey’s demand), the top members of Bonten have dressed up as Alice in Wonderland characters, donning an impressive group costume. You’ve been taking the whole thing pretty seriously—beginning your extensive planning in August, drafting up designs and taking everyone’s precise measurements to have each outfit custom made to their exact frames—which means the rest of Bonten has been taking the whole thing pretty seriously, too. 
Not that any of them mind. 
What Mikey’s little angel wants, Mikey’s little angel gets. It’s standard protocol, really; you’re merely an extension of the Boss and thus must be treated as an extension of the Boss, and Mikey’s best men have no issues complying. 
Sighing, you rest your chin in your palms, sombreness souring your features. An ache, dull and dense, settles in the pit of your chest. It’s a desolate sort of longing, a gentle but constant gnawing that cannot be sated by anyone or anything other than it’s creator, something that weights your lungs and heavies your heart and stalls your breath, a vital part missing.
You miss Mikey.
You miss Mikey, but you know this ‘event’ really does have some sort of business significance; that, while it’s mostly an excuse to get drunk and high on Halloween night, it also serves as the grounds for some sort of meeting or negotiation or proposition—you can never be sure which, with Bonten. 
You aren’t allowed to know. You’re lucky to be here at all.
But you miss Mikey.
You shouldn’t be selfish. You know you shouldn’t be selfish; he’s already stretched so thin between so many obligations and obituaries, and you shouldn’t add to that strain. You won’t add to that strain. You’ll sit here, pretty and perfect like his precious little princess should be, and you’ll wait, patiently, until Daddy has a moment to spare you. 
He always finds a moment to spare, no matter how many duties and commitments he has. He always finds a space for you in his day, even if he has to carve it out with his bare hands.
So you mustn’t be greedy. You will be good. For him, you’ll do anything, no matter how difficult. 
“No frowning, miss Alice,” Sanzu chastises through a stretched grin, wide and carved into his cheeks—a smile so sharp, so sinister it puts the true Cheshire Cat to disgrace. 
He swims into your vision, teeth glinting with teals and fuchsias, an intricately wrapped box in his palms. Tugging on the ribbon a little, he unboxes it to reveal a wealth of small confections, individually wrapped in colourful foils.  
“Look, your favourite kitty brought you some chocolate.”
That brightens your mood a little—a sugar fiend, just like your Daddy is—and your mouth drops open expectantly, cute tongue unfurling in invitation. 
Sanzu rolls his eyes but places a truffle on your tongue anyway, pressing it down on the slick muscle and forcing your lips to close around his first knuckle to suck the treat free from him, laughing at the way your face twists.
Pervert. 
His nails taste like blood—not that you’ve come to expect any less—but the rusty copper is quickly eradicated by sugar, a content little hum vibrating around the melting chocolate.
“Good, huh?” Sanzu asks around his own chocolate, shuffling a gold box of expensive Italian truffles in his palm as he picks through them, confections jumping perilously with the motion, shimmering wrappers catching in the flashing neon strobes. “They’re imported.”
“Where’d you get those?” you ask through strings of caramel and cocoa, welding to your molars. 
“A little Halloween treat courtesy of Mikey,” he says dutifully, jostling the box in emphasis. “And an apology, for taking longer than expected.” 
Warmth blooms in your chest, swelling with your heart and stretching your ribs. The last few remnants of displeasure fade from your face, giving way to a small smile.
How very Mikey of him, to send his second in command armed with artisan chocolates and a short, sweet explanation; something he knew would make you smile, something he knew would alleviate some of your impatience, a reassurance that he misses you too, that he’ll be back soon, that he’s thinking of you. 
“There’s our pretty girl,” Sanzu teases, but his own grin has softened a little, the glint in his eyes dulled to a twinkle. “No more pouting, ‘kay? Your trusty Cheshire Cat will be by your side until your Hatter returns.”
Ah. A polite way of saying that you’re stuck with him until Mikey’s finished his work, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
That takes longer than either of you expect, though, Sanzu’s plan of entertaining you by leading you, hand-in-hand, around the club to assess each Bonten member’s costume not nearly as lengthy as he had anticipated. 
Because it only takes a mere twenty minutes or so to examine all of them, with you near instantaneously deciding that the Haitanis have won the make-believe costume contest you and Sanzu had been holding between yourselves. 
Sanzu had agreed—everyone looks impeccable in their custom-made costumes, tailored specifically to them at your behest, but no one had any hope of eclipsing the Haitanis in their form-fitted pinstriped suits, each stitch and thread molded flawlessly to their frames, perfectly pressed collars embroidered with Dee and Dum in shimmery purple thread, powder blue bowties immaculately symmetrical around their tattooed necks. 
Now you’re back at the bar, Sanzu’s shaky fingers sifting through the box of truffles as he searches for something, anything, to distract him from the way the blood in his veins is beginning to dry up, the way his capillaries are withering, brittle and thirsty, the way his skin is beginning to itch.
Because he can’t do a goddamn thing about it. Not yet, anyway.
No narcotics when he’s chaperoning you; that’s a hard rule. That’s a rule that’s been sewn into the tissues of his brain so tightly it’s interwoven with his synapses. That’s an execution rule; a one time only rule—breaking that rule will get him fucking killed. 
But you’re both starting to become a little bit restless. 
“Come on,” you’re begging, word dragged across your tongue in a petulant whine. “Just one more chocolate?”
“I said no,” Sanzu snaps, eyes hard. “Mikey said three. Mikey’s the Boss. Whatever Mikey says goes; Mikey’s girl, Mikey’s rules!” 
“You’re no fun,” you huff, forehead scrunching with a pout. 
“Yeah, and that’s why he sticks me with you,” Sanzu says, though he sounds almost proud, as if it’s an honour to babysit you, a title of high esteem. “Because I can resist your tricks.”
“My charms,” you correct.
“Whatever,” he waves a hand. “It’s all semantics. Point is, I know how to say no to you, unlike a few certain someones.” 
Unimpressed ice blue eyes sweep across the venue, hovering pointedly on the faces of his colleagues—Kakucho, the Dormouse; Kokonoi, the White Rabbit; Rindou, Tweedle-Dum.
Your eyes follow his, and you smirk to yourself. Kakucho is the easiest out of those three; Kokonoi sometimes deceives you, allowing you to do as you please only to tattle to Mikey later, and Rindou always demands some sort of payment, claiming it’s only fair that you give him something he wants in return. 
Turning back, you’re about to respond, something bratty and bitter simmering on your tongue, when a pair of hands and a smooth voice cuts you off. 
You’d know that touch, that tone, anywhere.
“Pray, tell me, Miss Alice,” Mikey murmurs in your ear as he slinks up behind you, palms curling around your hips and pulling you back toward his chest. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”
“Because it can produce a few notes,” you answer dutifully, head tipping back against his shoulder to glance at him through the corner of your eye. “Though they are very flat.”
“Correct,” he responds. “My, what a smart little girl you are.”
It’s soaked in condescension, compliment drawled out through a supercilious smirk, breath wafting across your face sweltering and saccharine. 
“Do I get a reward, Mister Hatter?” you ask, sweeter than sugarcane, batting eyelashes framing hopeful, dewy eyes. 
A hum vibrates on his tongue, onyx gaze apathetic and appraising as it glides across your features slowly, thoroughly, pulling each of your thoughts apart and putting them back together again. 
Your head rolls to the side, over his protruding collarbone, to stare at him more resolutely. And God, it’s the way you’re looking up at him, eyes glazed with dedication, with devoutness, like you want to fucking devour him. 
Like you want him to devour you. 
Hips pushing back, you rub your ass into his cock in inconspicuous little motions, lashes fluttering a little, back arched in a perfect curve and tits on full display. 
From this angle, there’s no way he can’t see right down your dress; there’s no way he can’t see the red lace of your bra straining against supple skin as your chest rises and falls with gentle breaths, no way he doesn’t notice the very tips of your nipples, cheekily peeking out from beneath the delicate material with each swell of your breasts. 
Bony fingers flex on your waist, and he huffs out a smirk.
His ebony pupils are enormous, blown wide and gaping, gnawing away at the whites of his eyes. 
He’s high. 
It’s evident in the milky film of artificial ecstasy lacquering his gaze, doped up and hazy, but it does nothing to dilute the potent love he has for you, melting his stare to something soft and sticky, pouring past his lashes.
He’s feeling good tonight.
“I think I know what my little girl wants,” one hand flattens against your stomach, holding you flush to his body as the other slides up your ribs to cup your breast, filling his palm with it and kneading, slow and deliberate, simply enjoying the feeling of you. “And it is very naughty of her.”
“Oh, really?”
“Mm,” he hums, head drooping to nose along the curve of your neck. “Really.”
His lips brush along your skin as he speaks, his voice barely more than a gentle vibration along the column of your throat, and you whimper a little, fingers curling around his wrist and pressing him closer.
“A-And what’s that?”
“Aw, can’t you guess?” he tuts his tongue. “And I thought you were smart. Must’ve been mistaken. Where’s my smart little girl gone now?”
Grip firm on your waist, his hips rut forward, hard cock prodding at you through the layers of tulle. A discontented little sound vibrates in your throat as you squirm a little—and oh, he knows what you’re whining about, greedy girl, knows that you can barely feel his cock through the thick petticoat, knows you want more—and he presses his hips further forward, grinding harder into your ass.
“Daddy—Da-Daddy, it’s—” 
“What?” he shoves again, stronger this time, teeth nipping at the skin below your ear. “Hm?”
“Your cock is hard,” you nearly whine, pushing back against him in a pitiful little wiggle, desperate for more friction. 
“And who’s fault is that, huh?” 
The hand massaging your breast gives a final squeeze before his fingers find your nipple, pinching it through the material of your dress and bra, then rubbing the heel of his thumb over it in hard, rhythmic motions. 
“Is your pussy wet?” he huffs the question into your ear, his hot breath procuring shivers. “I bet it is, naughty girl. Daddy wants to feel it.”
“Please, please,” your hips buck a little, punctuating your pleads, chest pressing into his touch.
“Please? Please what?”
“Touch me, Daddy, touch me, touch me.”
Slender hands slip beneath the puffy layers of lace, calloused fingertips rough as they skim up your smooth thighs, outlining the silk ruffles of the bloomers he bought you specifically for this costume. 
Your hips twitch slightly, legs spreading instinctively as his fingers trail along the scrunched hem to the apex of your thighs, pressing two into the rapidly dampening material. Pensively, they caress your slit through the material, prodding your hole just a little before rubbing two slow, hard circles into your clit.
“Christ,” he breathes out, curse splintering at the end. “You’re so fucking wet baby, and I’ve barely done anything yet.”
His palm flattens against you, all four fingers dipping into your core nearly to the first knuckle and then curling, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit, and your pelvis cants reflexively, almost as if you’re attempting to draw his fingertips further in. 
“How are you this wet already, huh?” he keens, voice straining beneath his own desire. “Been thinking naughty thoughts?”
“Jus’want your cock,” you slur out honestly, hips gyrating in pathetic little circles, an embarrassing attempt to follow his touch. 
“Oh, yeah? That’s all it takes, eh?” he rolls your clit between his thumb and his forefinger, nonchalantly toying with it as he mulls. “Just my cock?” 
“Uh-huh,” you nod blearily. “Uh-huh, uh-huh.”
“Cute,” Mikey spits, the compliment sheathed in venom, “how utterly stupid just the thought of my cock makes you.” 
His fingers clamp down on the swollen nub and tug, your whole body jolting with the pain, a yelp hitching in your chest. 
The arm wrapped around your waist tightens in response, holding you close, holding you still as he humps away at you, sloppy and uneven.
“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, fingers tweaking your clit in rhythmic motions, sparks of pleasure chased by shocks of pain. “You’re so fucking easy for your Daddy, aren’t you? So quick to get soaked for him, so quick to get ready for him, such a good little slut for him, yeah?” 
His voice is gravelly, letters wispy around the edges despite fact that he’s nearly shouting over music. Another rush of heat surges between your thighs, and he laughs, dark and dangerous. 
Your clit throbs in his touch, the silk of your panties drenched all the way through, aiding his fingers in their slippery motions—several small, fast S gestures, followed by a few firm strokes of your slit, fingertips gliding over your folds with ease. You’re so soaked, whole cunt now outlined by the shimmery material, molding to your folds and enabling him to feel every dip, every bump, every crevice, another chuckle dripping from his lips as your little hole clenches around nothing.
“Daddy,” you whimper, thighs squeezing together tightly as you attempt to fuck his fingers. “Daddy, I—I can’t—I need—” 
“Shh,” he hushes you, lips caressing the curve of your ear. “I know, baby. Daddy knows what you need.” 
A palm wraps around your wrist as Mikey mutters something about going somewhere a little more private, pulling you along behind him and leading you toward those purple velvet VIP couches, empty and roped off in a darkened corner. 
“What are we—” you begin as Mikey collapses heavily on the couch, knees spread wide open, hips shifting up slightly as he forces his feet even further apart, getting comfortable. 
C’mere, his lips mime, voice drowning in heavy bass, his chin jutting in the general direction of his straining cock, yearning against pin-striped pants. 
Strong hands curl around your hips and yank you backward, the abrupt motion punching a sound of surprise from your chest as you tumble into his lap, spine pressed tight to his sternum. 
The hinges of his jaw hook over your shoulder, a crude way of keeping you from squirming as he manhandles you into straddling his thighs, hard cock pressing into your core. 
“Holy fuck,” he pants out, the curse damp against your skin. “You’re so wet I can feel you leaking through my pants.”
“Daddy,” you say, and although it’s meant to be a warning, it comes out as a whine, stringy and petulant.  
Because it already feels so good, and he’s already so hard, and you just can’t help but rock your hips back, slow and firm, whimpering a bit as the head of his cock glides over your clit, teasing as the slick, swollen little nub jumps beneath the dull pressure. 
He laughs a little, nothing more than a deep, dark rumbling within his ribs, reverberating against your back.
“You’re so fucking nasty, baby,” he chides lowly, though you can hear the self-satisfied smirk sewn into his voice, tinged with sadism, as he rolls his hips up twice, grinding his cock into your drenched core. “You’re so fucking needy, baby, trying to get yourself off in the middle of this crowded club.”
You are, you are, another little sound escaping your lips as you rut back against him, already beginning to speed up, rubbing the head of his cock over your clit in quick little strokes.
“It’s really precious, y’know, how pathetically eager you are for me,” he murmurs, notes of fondness negating the sting the insult should bring, words gone melty and sweet. “But you gotta stop humping Daddy for a moment, so he can get his cock out and give you what you really want.” 
A disgruntled little whine sounds in your throat, motions stuttering a little as you attempt to stop moving. But it all feels so incredible, greedily unable to quell your hips completely as they rotate in messy little circles, tummy starting to ripple with each graze of his blunt head against your clit.
“Hey,” he warns, sharp and stern, a palm colliding with your bare thigh and leaving a burning handprint seared in its wake, the impact of the slap loud enough to draw a few pairs of eyes. “Don’t get bratty with me, or you won’t get anything at all, you understand?”
Your head’s nodding before the words are even finished leaving his lips—yes, Daddy, of course, Daddy, brats don’t deserve to be filled by Daddy’s cock—desperate to be good for him, to be the best for him.
Because you know he isn’t fucking around; Mikey’s threats are never empty threats, each and every word plucked from his brain with superlative care, heavy and infused with meaning.
It’s terrifying and tantilizing, how easily and instantly he can switch from one mode to the other: from playful to imposing, from Daddy to Leader, a pleasant shiver skittering up your spine, your hole clenching and pulsing as your stomach plummets, gut weighted with a tingling pressure.
It’s a bit of a task, freeing his cock and manoeuvring yourself as you try to inconspicuously sink down on it, but you both manage, your fluffy petticoat of crinoline and tulle providing a decent amount of privacy. 
A hiss slips through the gaps of your gritted teeth as it begins to tear you in two, cute little hole stinging as it strains around his cock, struggling to accommodate his girth, delicate skin splitting itself open for him. 
“That’s it, that’s it,” he breathes lowly, voice vibrating against your ear. “There you go, good girl.” 
An airy little moan spills from your lips as he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snug to your cervix, and you melt back into him, skull knocking against his shoulder, eyes slipped shut. 
“Feel better, princess?”
“Yes, Daddy,” you mumble out dreamily. “S’good, S’right.”
“It feels right, huh?” he chuckles a little, thumbs rubbing fond circles into your hips, his hands all the way up your skirt, slipped beneath the frills and fluff, forearms buried in your dress. “You like it when Daddy fills you up?”
“Uh-huh,” you nod. “Stretches me out real good, makes me feel all stuffed ‘n full.” 
Whole, complete, one. Like everything feels as it’s supposed to again.
And it hurts, because it always hurts, because he’s too thick and you’re never prepped enough, never patient enough, core split open on his cock and little hole aching as it attempts to adjust to him, but it’s so fucking perfect, too. Your cunt spasms around him, hips twitching a little in desperation—like you’re trying to suck him in further, like you’re trying to bury him deeper—and he groans, fingers flexing as he holds you still, nails gorging on your flesh.
“Eager, are we?” 
“S’not my fault,” you mewl, back arching a little as you attempt to push your hips back, squirming a bit in his strong grip. “Need you, Daddy.”
“Is that so?”
Grasp tightening, his hips thrust up, grinding the head of his cock into your cervix in slow, hard motions—back and forth, back and forth, inspiring a dull pang throbbing in your gut. 
Gasping sharply, your hips jerk back in response, automatic and instinctual, pulling a hoarse groan from his chest. 
His clutch turns to near bone crushing, a fractured little cry sticking in your throat, and he forces you to hold still for a moment, muscles in his thighs gone rigid and stiff as his hips press up further and tug you down, frozen, revelling in the way your cunt pulses around him, as if it’s whining for him.
“M-Mikey,” you echo its sentiments, his name a sulky plead on your tongue, brows knit together and lips jutted in a pout. 
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
“You know,” you huff out, wriggling a little in his palms, feebly trying to fuck yourself on him.
“Tell me anyway,” he demands.  
Scalding embarrassment pricks your cheeks and you whimper, fidgeting in his grasp again, head shaking in defiance.
“Come on,” he chides, but there are notes of amusement infusing his tone. “Daddy can’t give you what you want if you don’t ask for it.” 
Sharp teeth sink into your shoulder suddenly, your half-formed response strangled by a gasp, Mikey’s jaw tensing as he burrows his teeth further into your flesh, piercing through tissues and snapping capillaries until copper explodes in his mouth. 
He holds it for a moment, all thirty-two of his teeth latched in your skin, ensuring he leaves a full, detailed outline of his mouth etched into you—a signature of sorts—before his tongue flattens against the wound, dragging over it in a single wide lick and sealing it with blood-tinged saliva. A gentle exhale wafts over the bite, cool against the searing pain, and you shudder, chills erupting across your flesh.
“You’re a big girl,” he coaxes over your whimpering, the encouragement steeped in condescension. “I know you can do it. Use your big girl words and tell Daddy what you want.”
Your eyes squeeze shut against the burn of humiliation, lids crinkling at the corners, the softest hiccup catching in your throat, and you feel his cock twitch inside of you. 
“I—I wanna ride your cock, Daddy,” you push the stubborn words from your tongue, trembling and breathy.
“Yeah?” he asks, bloodied tongue tracing along the shell of your ear. “How bad?”
“So bad,” you bleat out, striving to bounce on his cock under the firm restraint of his hands, dewdrops of annoyance clinging to your lashes, glittering in the beams of magenta and teal as you blink rapidly.
“Hm,” he muses to himself, nonchalant as he readjusts his grip, hands constringing, completely halting your pathetic little movements. “It doesn’t seem like you want it all that badly.”
“Daddy,” the word leaves your lips in a whine, scrunched and petulant through your pout, body thrashing beneath his strong grip. “Come on—” 
“Are you sure you wanna be such a naughty little whore in front of all of these people?”
Your body stops its writhing, his words like a slap to the face.
It’s a bit of a shock, to hear it spoken aloud so bluntly, cut and dry and honest, and it sends a torrent of sparks fizzing through your chest to collect dense and tight in your tummy. 
Shame and revulsion sets your skin aflame, the cinders in your gut flaring in response, an intoxicating combination. 
“Yes—”
“Huh? What was that?” he shouts theatrically in your ear. “I couldn’t really hear you over the music.”
“Y-Yes,” you repeat, trying to steady your hiccuping voice, to be stern and resolute, even as tears begin to stream down your cheeks.
“Really?” he breathes, and he sounds astonished, he sounds appalled. “You’re so fucking sleazy, baby. I wonder what all these people would think, if they knew how truly filthy my little girl is...”
“Manjirou,” you weep out his birth name, whole face saturated in frustration.
“Oh-ho-ho,” he chuckles out the word, and it’s vicious. “Graduated to using my full name, now, have you?” he licks at the steadily oozing bite, mopping up more blood with his tongue. “Christ, you do really want it.” 
“I do!” you cry out, struggling against his grasp again, hips bucking in wild, erratic motions. “I do, I do, please, let me ride your cock, please.” 
“What if I made you sit, still and straight like the good little girl I know you want to be, on my hard cock for the rest of the night? Do you think you’d be able to handle it?”
You know he won’t, know he’d never be able to, because he’s just as addicted to you as you are to him, just as desperate, just as eager, just as needy; because even as he holds you motionless, he can’t quite halt the delicate jerk of his hips, rolling up into your core; because you know he wants this just as badly as you do, gets off on the depravity just as much as you do.
Even so, the mere thought of being teased like this, of being forced to hold such a degrading position, is still enough to inspire a rush of agitated tears to flood your eyes, vision gone bleary with despairing desire and rendering the club a bleary haze of glowing neons. 
“No, Daddy, no, I—I just want to ride you, please, Daddy, I c-can’t—” 
You’re nearly wailing now, head thrown back dramatically as your neck twists into an uncomfortable knot, anguished as you try to bury your face in his throat, looking for solace. Your chest stutters as you stammer out half-finished pleads, gone garbled with spit, and Mikey smiles.
You’re starting to cause a scene. 
It’s exactly what he wanted.
“Okay, baby, okay, okay,” he’s pacifying as he feels hot tears soak into his neck, a choked sob catching painfully in your chest. “Daddy’s here, Daddy’s gonna make it all better.”  
And finally, finally his grasp loosens, stiff fingers gone lax, massaging lopsided circles into the rapidly developing bruises left in the shape of their prints. 
“Go ahead, angel,” he urges, nuzzling into the junction of your shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss to the congealing bite. “Ride Daddy’s cock.” 
Then he’s slumping back, settling into the couch cushions and spreading his thighs a little wider, pressing the soles of his boots into the waxed floor for stability and leverage. 
His hands stay on your waist, a gentle guidance, but he allows you to set the pace—a rare occurrence—patient as your hips work up a steady rhythm of quick, shallow gyrations, each swivel dragging his cock against your favourite spot.
And God, you’re so cute when you use his cock to make yourself feel good. It’s a shame that he can’t see your face in this position, can’t see the way your lashes flutter and frame the rolling whites of your eyes or the way your features scrunch so delicately; a shame he can’t hear your gorgeous noises, all your sweet little gasps and pitiful little whines consumed by the blaring music. 
But he can see how your back is bowing, spine forced into a near perfect arc by your building pleasure, bending just a hint more with each brush of his cock; he can feel your palms clutching his knees, nails digging little crescents into his shins and using them for support as your movements accelerate, as you fuck yourself harder, faster, better.
And he lets you have your fun for a little, lays back all languid and lazy and watches through lidded eyes as you play with yourself and use his cock like it’s your favourite toy—because, well, it is—but eventually it just isn’t enough and you need Daddy’s help. 
Just like he knew it wouldn’t be. Just like you always do.
Not that he minds one bit.
Yes, it isn’t enough, because it never is, because you can never manage anything more than teasing yourself when left entirely to your own devices, spritzing kerosene on the dull smouldering in the pit of your stomach as the head of his cock brushes up against that engorged spot inside of you, not nearly hard enough or fast enough to have you anywhere close to creaming on him, merely enough to have your clit throbbing, swollen and neglected. 
He knows you’re beginning to get restless when your hips turn sloppy, tempo starting to falter as your motions stutter, and then you’re looking over your shoulder at him with a beseeching pout, glazed eyes begging him to do something!
So he does. 
He’s straightening up in a split second, hands around your waist tightening as he yanks you back toward his chest, chin hooking over your clavicle again and grinding the sharp bone into your skin.
“Poor thing,” he murmurs against your jaw, mocking and mean. “Can’t even get herself off without her Daddy’s help.” 
“I can’t, I can’t,” you wail over the roar of EDM, head shaking in accentuation. “Need you, need you to do it for me.”
“Of course you do, angel,” he says, as if it’s obvious, as if it’s common knowledge. “But that’s okay—Daddy will make it feel good.” 
That’s the only warning you’re given before his hips are ramming up, rapid and rough and downright ruthless, the abrupt motion slamming a high-pitched yelp from your throat, so pure and genuine and full of lust that it rises above the music, breaks through the heavy bass beat, gathering a handful of glances from a few nearby party-goers. 
So much for being inconspicuous. 
You should’ve known that that just isn’t Mikey’s style. 
They lose interest just as quickly as they gained it, though, going back to their drinks and their drugs, unconcerned. What the Boss does at his own club is none of their business, even if it is on display for the whole venue to see. 
Still, it’s enough for Mikey.   
“Everyone can see you, you know,” voracious black eyes scan the balcony space. “Everyone can see you being such a good little whore for your Daddy.” 
The thought of being watched, of being caught, inspires a whole flock of butterflies to flit around in your tummy, another surge of heat gushing between your thighs, and Mikey laughs. Oh, he felt that. 
Because he’s right; if anyone dared to look a little closer, a little longer, cared to paid a smidge of more attention to the two of you, hidden on one of the velvet couches wedged in the corner of the VIP section with your hips rocking and Mikey’s hands buried in the lace and tulle of your skirt, they’d know exactly what the two of you are doing.
But it doesn’t matter; you don’t care. Neither does he. Why should either of you?
“Do you—Do you think they like it?” you question, and Christ, it’s so precious, that pathetic hope ringing high and clear in your voice. “Do you think they like watching me bounce on their Boss’s cock?”
“Fuck,” the curse fragments in his throat, sharp and pitchy, and he coughs on the shards. “I know they do, sweetheart.”
“Do you think they’re g-gonna go home and touch themselves to the thought of me—of us?”
“Aw,” Mikey coos out in a chuckle, breathless and condescending. “It’s cute that you think they aren’t already jerking off to you on a regular basis.”
Of course they are, you silly little stupid thing; how could they not be? With all the sweet, short little dresses he buys you to prance and twirl around in—the ones with the sweetheart necklines that dip just a hint too low, teasing the swell of your breasts with each of your gentle inhales; the ones with the rippling hems that end just a touch too high, swishing and swaying and flashing with each of your movements, riding up and fanning out to gift them with teasing little glimpses of the lace and satin underneath. 
“You think I don’t know what my—ah, Christ—what my men think of you? How my men think of you?” He tongues a little at the bite, using his front teeth to scrape off a few half-formed scabs, blood rushing to pool in their place. “You think I don’t see the way they look at you?” 
A whine stammers in your throat, your back arching a little more as your cunt quivers around his cock, that drove of butterflies sending your stomach swooping, the organ tensing, tying itself into thick knots pulled tight and taut with each plunge of his cock. 
Mikey laughs again, the sound nothing more than a deep, dense vibration rumbling within his ribs, seeping into your back and sending tingles up your spine. 
“Would you like to see the way they look at you?” 
“H-Huh?” 
Oh, how adorably fucked out you already are, mind gone dumb and numb to everything but him, but his voice and his touch and his steadily driving cock; oh, how adorably easy it is to make you this fucking idiotic. 
“Look over there,” he presses his cheek into yours, forcing your head to turn and follow his gaze. 
Across the club, Rindou sits with an elbow resting on the edge of the bar, a glass dangling from his fingertips. His eyes are cavernous, carnivorous, a smirk smearing across his face as your stare meets his, heavy lids framing a leering look. 
Using a shoulder, he nudges his brother’s stomach, jutting his chin toward you and his Boss in indication when Ran looks down in question, redirecting his attention. 
Now they’re both watching you, with doped up violet eyes and identical sleazy smiles, toothless and worming.
It makes you want to scrub and scratch at your skin, their gazes painting you in a thick coat of grime, body soiled by their lust and left feeling dirty, feeling gross, a strong shiver crawling across your flesh.
Your head jerks reflexively, desperate to hide from their lechery, skull knocking against Mikey’s hard enough to send thorns of pain searing through your temple. 
A yelp cracks in your throat, and Mikey snorts, seemingly unfazed. 
“Aw,” Mikey tuts in false admonishment. “Don’t get shy now. Look at them. Look at them while you ride my cock.”
“M-Mikey—” your eyes shut tightly, a pitiful attempt to escape their invasive eyes, head shaking in little judders.
“C’mon,” he goads, forcing you to face their stare. “You want them all to see, right? How good my little girl is? How pretty my little girl is?”
Peeking through your lashes, you squint at the Haitanis, features teetering on the verge of a wince, as if you’re expecting them to physically strike you. 
They’re still looking at you, wide and unblinking, speaking out of the side of their mouths in laughs and murmurs to one another. 
Dressed in matching pin-striped suits and thick suspenders, Rindou has discarded his jacket, shirtsleeves rolled haphazardly up his forearms to his elbows, first few buttons of his shirt popped undone, revealing a defined collarbone. 
Predictably, Ran is still the perfect picture of poise and elegance, not a single hair out of place, suit jacket square on his shoulders and flawlessly tailored to his body, each stitch outlining his edges.
Tweedledum and Tweedledee respectively, and just as treacherous.
Whatever it is they’re saying to each other, they’re clearly enjoying themselves, amusement playing in glassy irises as Ran rests a hand around Rindou’s neck, slim fingers pressing into plush muscle. His younger brother instantly relaxes into his touch, mollifying back against his stomach and hooking an arm around his thigh, hugging it to his ribs. 
And it’s the way they’re looking at you, as if they’re peeling the clothes from your body and the skin from your bones and peering into the depths of your soul to dance with your demons and devour your secrets; as if they’re singeing your expression into their minds, the sight of your features saturated in perturbation and pleasure branded into the tissues of their brains, carved into the walls of their skulls, ensuring they’ll never forget.
Everything feels overexposed as they pry you apart bit by bit, heady mix of hedonism and humiliation hazing over your brain.
Mikey’s hips slow to a drag, thighs tensing and soles of his boots skidding across marble as he expertly angles his hips and presses up, rubbing the head of his cock over your g-spot in slow, controlled motions—back and forth, back and forth, over and over and over again. 
And the moan that claws at your throat is almost obnoxious, is definitely embarrassing, which means Mikey needs to fuck at least three more from your chest, grunting a little with the effort as his cockhead jabs against that plush spot, hard and precise.
A whine that sounds suspiciously like his title, tangled in spit and weighted with shame, spills from your lips, and you nestle your face against his own even as your hips jolt, desperate for comfort, desperate for cover.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” he nuzzles your damp cheek. “I know you do. I can feel it.”
It’s true, he can—you’re sure he can, with the way your straining little hole keeps pulsing around his length, another stream of heat cascading down his shaft, viscous and wet and so, so much, to pool in the folds of his balls, to stain the waistband of his pants and the velvet of the couch.
But you know he likes it just as much as you do. 
Because you’re both so fucking naughty, so fucking nasty, but the depravity just works to heighten it all, makes it that much better, amplifying every touch and brush and tease and fondle and making it all feel so fucking good, even as Mikey’s pace eases into something unhurried, his thrusts turned languid but powerful.
So you join in, you rise to his challenge, a sick little game the two of you play, a sick little game you force others to participate in—because you’re fucking untouchable.
“Do you think their cocks are hard, Daddy?” you ask, the question dripping with syrup as you roll your hips backwards, slow and purposeful, returning the Haitanis’ smouldering stare through fanned lashes, unblinking and tenacious. 
“Ah, f-fuck,” Mikey’s cock jolts, rhythm stammering for a moment before he regains his composure. “Yeah, baby, I bet they’re wishing they were me right now.”
You bet they are, too, mouths stopped moving and gazes gleaming with want, lips parted with uneven exhales pushed from their heaving chests, entirely enchanted by your movements.
It’s the most affected and authentic you’ve ever seen them before, and it sends a thrill of power shooting through your body, blood left fizzing in its wake. 
One of them reaches into their pocket, groping around blindly for their phone, not daring to spare a second of their attention away from you, and Mikey snarls, nose scrunched in disgust and lip curled in a sneer, baring gritted teeth.
Because that’s too much, that’s crossing a line, and Mikey swiftly redirects your face, effectively hiding your expression from the Haitanis’ hungry eyes. 
Mikey’s always liked to show off. Mikey’s never liked to share.
He swaps shoulders quickly, the defined hinges of his jaw clasped firmly over your collarbone, and smushes his face flush to yours again, skin clammy with sweat. 
“And look over there,” he steers your gaze toward the other side of the club, where Kokonoi sits with a smattering of men surrounding a tall cocktail table, littered with crystal glasses and white lines. 
The men around the table are laughing about something, sloshing liquor and cutting powder into thick, fat stripes, but Kokonoi isn’t paying attention to any of it. 
No. Kokonoi is looking at you. 
His eyes snap away when they meet your own, head whipping forward with such speed and such force it’s a marvel he doesn’t instantly give himself whiplash. A deep laugh rumbles in Mikey’s throat in response, something dark, something decadent. 
“He’s gonna go home and touch himself to you, too,” he says. “He might not even make it before he goes home; might end up jerking his cock in a bathroom stall or the front seat of his car.” 
“How can you tell?” 
“Well, look at him,” Mikey snorts. “He’s so hard he’s about to burst outta his pants.”
Following the line of Kokonoi’s body, your gaze travels downward, to the straining lump in his white pants. His hips shift a little uncomfortably as his thighs tense, hands curled into fists on his knees as he steadily trains his stare forward at the wall opposite of him, throat bobbing with a thick swallow.
Mikey’s right—Koko’s about to burst.
The thought of Koko rushing to his car to collapse in the driver’s seat, head tipped back against the headrest and hand shoved down his pants as his palm rubs frantically at his hard cock, or hastening to the washroom to lock himself in a stall, forehead pressed tightly to the rickety door and panting out stuttered, half-stifled whimpers hotly against his upper lip as he hurriedly relieves the problem you’ve created, is almost too much to bear, stomach clenching in time with the throbbing of your cunt, a torrid pressure building and burning in your gut. 
The sudden acceleration of Mikey’s thrusts snaps you out of that tangle of thoughts, effectively drawing every ounce of your attention back to him.
A mewl pries past your lips, sharp and high and cracking at the end, whole spine arching as Mikey resumes his assault on your favourite spot, cockhead driving hard and fast against plush flesh. 
“They can look all they want, but you’re mine.” His fingers tighten, his grasp rigid and unbreakable, the words nothing more than a snarl spit in your ear, wet and harsh. “I won’t fuckin’ share.” 
“Never, never, never,” you babble in time with the bouncing on his lap, head nodding in sloppy motions with each repetition of the word. 
“Never,” he growls, teeth sinking into the flesh of your shoulder sloppily, excess spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth as he breaks the skin for the second time tonight and sucks hard, drawing blood from the string of tiny wounds.
It has another cry escaping your throat, whole face crinkling in a sordid mixture of pleasure and pain, head instinctually thrown back against your Daddy, automatically giving him more room to work. Drops of watered down blood drool down your back and Mikey takes a moment to admire them, mesmerised by the way they shimmer in the strobing lights of the club, before he licks at them with the tip of his tongue, leaving crude strokes of fresh spit in their wake.
Those few remaining scraps of decency you’d both been clinging to have been devoured by Mikey’s growing selfishness, no longer caring about what others might see or think or say—it’s not like anyone’s dumb enough to do anything about it anyway; it’s not like anyone has enough of a death-wish to try.
He’s the motherfucking Boss.
And the Boss gets what he wants, where he wants, when he wants, always. 
He’s really fucking you now, vicious and vigorous, your entire body juddering in his lap as his hips piston up, cockhead pounding against that sensitive mound of tissue buried deep within you. 
Each thrust shoves another shattered sound from your tongue, splintered moans of his name and his title pouring past your lips in a jagged stream. 
The knot your stomach has twisted itself into strains under the building pressure, growing heavier and heavier with each jackhammer into you, stretched taut and stiff and ready to snap. 
It’s all so much, the ogling eyes and the ramming of his cock and the tightening in your belly, every muscle in your body coiled and aching for the ecstasy that comes with release. Your breath mangles with the mewls shoved from your lips with every slam up, sticking to your throat and you cough, wheezing past the splinters.  It’s all too much, and—!
“M’gonna, m’gonna cum, Daddy!” you gasp, tears dotting the corners of your eyes, sparkling in spidery lashes.  
“Yeah, baby?” he breathes, voice dropping to a ragged rasp. “You gonna cream all over Daddy’s cock? Huh? Make a mess on my cock surrounded by all of Daddy’s closest and most esteemed colleagues?” 
“Yes, yes, yes,” you nearly sob out, palms curling over his wrists, nails clawing at the delicate skin, desperate for an anchor. 
“My dirty fucking girl,” he hisses out, sharp breath stinging your cheek. “Such a good—Ah—good little slut for me, aren’t you?” 
You can no longer respond, rendered stupid from the ardor, potent pleasure corroding your brain and gnawing through your synapses. It’s downright intoxicating, it’s fucking insatiable, it’s simultaneously immense and insufficient, way too much yet not nearly enough, because you need more, you need more, unintelligible pleads shattering on your tongue.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, baby, gush all over Daddy, make a pretty mess on his lap for him. Show everyone in this Goddamn club how gorgeous you look cumming for me.” 
And so you do, ever your Daddy’s best girl, body eager to obey its owner as your cunt convulses around him, copious amounts of slick cascading down his shaft to drench his thighs, sticky and sharp and so fucking sick as he continues to bounce you in his lap. 
The spasming of your cute little hole draws the sweetest whine from the back of his throat, panted out against the curve of your ear, and another bout of warmth rushes to the apex of your thighs, earning you a shuddered little curse, the exhale sweltering against your sweaty skin.
You sound so pretty right before you cum, Daddy. 
Three more pumps of his hips and he’s following, thrusts stuttering as he fucks up messily into you, cock throbbing almost violently and stuffing you to the brim with thick, hot cum. Strong hands hold you firmly in place, cockhead pressed flush to your cervix as he spills himself into you, as he forces you to take every fucking ounce of what he’s giving you. 
And you love it, you love it, you love it, you’re telling him, sentiments pouring from your mouth in a jumbled stream, singular and continuous until your lungs run out of air, voice cutting off with a squeak. 
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Mikey’s murmuring into your skin in response, lips leaving smears of sugary saliva just below your earlobe. 
He allows you to sit on him for a moment, chest heaving against your back with ragged breaths, sweaty forehead pressed tightly to your shoulder. Tilting your head, your rest your cheek on the back of his skull, eyes slipping shut as your own heart begins to calm, cunt still pulsating irregularly around his shaft, almost as if it’s attempting to squeeze a few more drops out of him, his cock acting as a crude plug, keeping most of his cum buried inside of you.
Finally, his head lifts, pressing a tender kiss to the blood-encrusted bite glittering on your shoulder. 
“Go get cleaned up in the washroom,” he mutters gently, pressing another string of kisses along your jaw. “Don’t wipe away any of Daddy’s cum; let it soak into your panties real nice and good, let them get really wet, and then snap a few pictures and send them to me. Can you do that for me, angel?” 
“Yes, Daddy,” you slur out, nodding in loose, liquid movements. 
“Good,” he pats your thigh twice. “Now, go.” 
A small noise of affirmation sounds in your throat, head still nodding as Mikey helps you stand between his spread thighs, hands on your waist keeping you upright while you wobble on unsteady legs. 
And the noise that you make as his cum and your slick surges out of you—something caught somewhere between a mewl and a whine, turned on and disappointed simultaneously—is the cutest thing he’s ever heard, a muted coo slipping from his own lips as your hands wrap around his, using them to further stable yourself. 
He holds you for a moment or two longer, making sure you’re sturdy and your knees won’t suddenly give out, before giving you one final squeeze and releasing you, smirking a little as he watches you teeter away on rickety feet. 
Initially, his plan was to have you capture a few naughty photos for him—pretty little things to stash away in his phone for later use, during the nights he’s forced to spend away from you, sitting in expensive cars or laying in lush hotel beds—and force you to wear the gluey, cum-drenched undies for the remainder of the party. 
But then his phone is buzzing, and he’s unlocking it to find your cunt perfectly outlined by thin silk as it sticks to your folds, little clit and hole contoured and accentuated by the slick, shining fabric, soiled by a large, irregular patch of wetness, and oh, there’s no way he’ll be able to wait until you arrive home to fuck you again. 
No, he needs to fuck you now, a sudden burst of adrenaline buzzing through his veins, little sparks and minuscule explosions that have him up and moving in under a second, cock already beginning to fill with life again.
Sheer, potent power permeates the atmosphere around him, trembling off his body in sharp bolts; dense, heavy, cracking with electricity. 
The way the crowd instantly parts for him is awe-inspiring, their gleaming eyes full of terror and worship, hastily tripping over their own toes and ankles to move from his path as he strides toward the washroom, desperate to not be stung by his brilliance, desperate to get as close to the currents as possible without being scathed. 
You’re just exiting the restroom by the time he reaches you, breath punched from your lungs as he backs you into a tiled corner, trapped between the cold wall and his scorching form, his hands splayed wide on either side of your shoulders.
“We gotta go,” he’s nearly panting out as he shoves his forehead against yours, eyes closed and noses nudging, straining cock grinding unceremoniously into your hip. “We gotta go, now.”  
And, well, Daddy always gets what Daddy wants. 
1K notes · View notes
gremlingottoosilly · 4 months
Text
The only thing you want to do is... [Price x fem!Reader]
Price broke his hand on the last mission. Fortunately for him, his caretaker is just as adorable as she is eager to help him in every way.
CW and tags: Legal age gap, power imbalance, daddy kink, pervert!Price, obsessive!Price, coercion into sex, handjob (m!receiving)
Word count: 3246
This work on AO3
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You’re such a sunshine, it hurts. 
John Price never considered himself to be a good man. He did what he had to do to protect his country, to ensure that big bad terrorists are kept at bay, and foreign militaries are ending up where they belong – somewhere in the ditch, with reports stating KIA an anonymous bullet drugged out of their skulls. 
His job was just that – a job, something that had to be done because he knew that someone else, someone worse, would gladly take his place in case of retirement. The captain can be considered a fucking angel compared to some people he is working with – no one would ever dare call him evil when people like Graves still exist out there, hunting for innocents. 
But you’re so fucking sweet to him, he simply can’t handle it. 
When his arm got injured, and he was forced to get on leave for at least a month – he tried to argue for something less, but Lasswell silently pointed out that he hadn’t had a break in the past five years, and she would kick him out of his own Task Force if he’d continue to refuse – he got assigned a caretaker by Kate recommendation. 
John was fully expecting some old lady, probably a retired officer or field medic. Maybe some burly man with too much time on his hands and the ability to give really nice massages under flights of bullets. Perhaps, worst case scenario, he would be assigned an actual; nurse that wouldn’t buy any of his shit – that amount of whiskey he drinks is prescribed by his therapist, smoking cigars in the apartment is a nice form of relaxation, and he actually doesn’t need help and can go in service back again less than in two weeks. 
But, the Captain got wee ol’ you, all nice and warm, and adorable, and too fucking young to have anything to do with his apartment. 
You’re nice, warm, fresh out of college, where you got some recommendations about rehabilitating veterans back into normal lives. Probably was writing a Thesis about something as dumb as “Healing PTSD through flower crowns and little touches”. You chirp your way into his heart and refuse to go out – just like Kate promised to him, you really didn’t allow him to do anything on his own. 
God, it was infuriating – how much he wanted to simply grab your shoulders and kiss you. Or kick you out and find someone else to take care of him, someone boring, someone of appropriate age. Without dumb, bright eyes and cute smiles, without enthusiasm, that can only be seen in unpaid interns and college graduates who still believe that the world is fair and nice. 
You cook his dinners and clean up his apartment – as small as it is, never having a family or any other reason to make it even slightly bigger – and you do this with such a wide smile on your face it actually makes Price question basically everything he knows about young ladies doing charity work. You must be paid triple because you fold his underwear in neat little cubes and refuse to accept his help. Always chirped something about his hand like he can’t kill a man with his teeth only. 
— I can fold my own pants, love. 
He presses his body against the doorframe of the small bathroom – looks at your ass so shamelessly bent over the washing machine. You’re folding his dried clothes, and he can only pray that you aren’t slowly resenting him for being such a disgusting old man. He knew he looked good for his age, 37 years in this world molded him into something that many young women would consider hot – even though his beard is unkept and his hair grew a bit longer since he couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it, and his dominant hand is broken. 
— We don’t want to sprain your hand even more, right? — Everythin’ is alright with my bloody hand…
— Lady Lasswell said I shouldn’t listen to you like this, sir. Sorry. 
— Little minx. 
— Me or Lady Lasswell? 
John looks at you, so eager and cheerful, and he just wants to…he can’t, of course, he stops himself before he even forms the thought because it’s dirty and you don’t deserve this, and your shy smile as you laugh softly and push the last of the laundry in the neat pile on the washing machine. 
You look too eager to please, and he has an idea – the one he will never act upon. Maybe will entertain himself later, stroking himself in some abandoned base deep in the snowy tundra, trying to remember your warmth as if a sinner like him can even comprehend your light. 
God, you got him so bad, he starts thinking about good ol’ Jesus again. You really are a side to behold, aren’t ya. 
He looks at you again – you’re so easy to please. You cook for him, the smell of home cooking that he almost forgot, all the ingredients you invited yourself to buy when he left his card for you. You didn’t think it was weird, not a single mischievous bone in your body – if anything, he was casually prompting you to go and buy yourself something nice, something as compensation for all the trouble you endured for him. 
Instead, you went out of your way to cook for him, to make him tea like he wanted it – without sugar, but with a small amount of milk poured into a cup that is probably the most expensive thing in this whole place except for his weapons. 
The problem is – John Price doesn’t really like it when people are taking care of him. Not because he is shy or insecure, god forbid, but because he knows that if a pretty young thing like you is going to show him kindness, he will take a fucking mile and make you run from him as fast as you can. He has desires, he has needs, something that pretty good girls like you should know nothing about. 
You’re so eager to please that you’ll probably jerk him off if he were to whine about his arm being broken and his inability to get himself off because of it. Which, in turn, gives him an…idea. 
Price was never a good person – he isn’t the worst guy either. He sees your reactions, that adorable heat of your face when he brushes his knuckles over your cheek in an affectionate manner. How you are biting your lips every time you have to fold his underwear, when you cook for him, and he presses his body against yours, rocking his hips just gently enough to not make his arousal obvious. John knows you like him in more ways than just one – he doubts that such a lovegirl like you would ever agree to take care of a grumpy military man like him. 
He wonders where your father is – probably out of the picture if his precious daughter is almost crying from a desire to please a guy like him. He wonders if you have a boyfriend or if you’re seeing someone else – if you’re a virgin or you already had a series of disappointing sessions with blokes that have no idea how to behave with an angel like you. 
Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be taking care of a SAS captain – did your superiors forget to tell you just how girl-hungry men like him are? That he didn’t even bother to find a wife, and the loneliness of a single life will make him fucking explode if a girl as pretty as you were in the vicinity of that perverted old dog. You must be stupid – or so insanely naive, it’s not even funny. 
He licks his lips, staring at you again. He is certainly isn’t a good guy – not the worst either, but it’s up for debate. He wants to hold you close and say all of those pretty good things he knows you want to hear. He also wants to push you as close to him as possible and just fuck that pretty girl until you’re begging for him to make you his wife. He’d always laugh at the thought of other military commanders and higher rank soldiers having sugar babies – especially the mercs and their fucking inability to keep a girl who isn’t tied to their paychecks. But now…he might just pay for your adorable pout and eagerness. 
Might make a call to that one masked arsehole and ask how the hell he keeps his questionably young wife around without breaking her legs. Visibly, at least. 
— Sir? Planet calls for Captain Price. 
You giggle when you are waving your hand around him. Shit – looks like he zoned out for a hot minute, leaving you free to stare at his face, the fantom red spreading across his skin as if he is actually embarrassed to be caught like this. He isn’t, of course, he is stronger than some girl trying to get a rise out of him. He thinks he is stronger, at least. 
You wave your hand in front of his face again, and the insects are kicking in – captain grabs your hand, not even caring that his supposed helplessness stems from the fact his dominant hand is still broken. He has no problems keeping you in place with just his left hand – and you almost look scared when you understand that you literally can’t move. 
Your innocent smile turns into a pathetic whimper when he squeezes you even more. Bruises, no doubt, are starting to form already – well, it should be your fault. Good girls are usually smarter than teasing an old dog like him, even if you’re trying to play innocence. He knows what you are. 
His future special girl that is. A wife, if he plays his cards right…and the captain was always good at poker. 
— Shite, love. Sorry. 
His smile mirrors yours – an innocent display like he didn’t almost break your wrist in his hold. He is still squeezing your hand, but not he slowly presses his lips against your knuckles – thin, dry lips gently caressing your skin in a gesture that you should never accept from a guy who kills people as a job. Who saves people, too – but a good guy with a gun is barely an upgrade from a bad one. 
He kisses your fingers and finds heaven in the feeling of your soft skin against his lips. You are certainly embarrassed, and this is exactly what he wants – an old pervert trying to get in the pants of a cute girl who just wants to take care of him without any strings attached. He just has to make this whale thing complicated, isn’t he? 
— It’s okay, sir. Just thought I lost you for a second. 
— Not a chance. 
Your smile looks a tad bit mischievous – that is, or he is simply hallucinating from painkillers he is forced to drink every morning because you refuse to let him feel pain even though he is used to it. You are acting like he is a soft doll made out of pink ribbons and soft plushes, not a seasoned soldier with his own thoughts and ideas about what he can do about your desire to please him. He might just use your eagerness – his cock has been pitching for too long without female attention, and he usually doesn’t indulge in shitty one-night stands in some sketchy pubs, but he can make an exception for now. For you. 
You smile awkwardly, still trying to get your hand out of his grasp. Little minx, teasing him like he can’t just push you on this exact washing machine and fuck you like a slut you are. Poor girl, you probably don’t even know what kind of thoughts he has in his head – even though your eyes tell him something your lips cannot articulate. 
John acts on his instincts, and they usually don’t deceive him. 
— If you want to help so badly, I can think of another way. 
— Is that so, sir? You’re going to get him in so much shit with Lasswell, he doesn’t even know how he is going to get out of it after fucking her best little protege. Would have to marry you – like it’s not his end goal, like he doesn’t want to make your care for him a tad bit more permanent. He has done so many good things for humanity, why can’t he be a bit selfish and get himself a little something to make this place feel more like home? 
He thinks of a pretty thing like you, heavy with his kids, cooking something nice and hearty in his house – not this crappy apartment, of course, he’d buy you something in the countryside, away from terrorists and public squares, with good schools and greenery all around. 
You lick your lips and tilt your head to the side. He is daydreaming again. 
— If you want to make me relax so badly, love, there is something I need help with…
Beating around the bush like this isn’t in his character – but he knows that you’re a good girl, maybe way too good and proper. He can’t just shove his dick in your hand, it would be too unpolite. 
He has to prepare you, it’s a slow sniper mission where he needs to approach you as gently and quietly as possible – he still holds your hand in his, a phantom of his lips tucked away on the softness of your skin. 
Then he places his hand on his growing erection – as awkwardly as he can operate with only using his left arm as a helper. 
Price might not be the master of espionage, but he also didn’t get his rank for not being able to do cover missions under pressuring circumstances and lie in the faces of people who trust him. Not be the best person, of course, but he gives you a choice. You have all the power now – even with his weapons safely stashed in his bedroom, he knows he won’t ever try to force you. He won’t have to. 
— Help your captain, eh? 
You’re embarrassed, shy, scared even – your hands are trembling, fingers tracing the outline of his cock with morbid curiosity he never thought he’d find this adorable. You don’t stop and don’t try to fight him – like a little animal, nervous and terrified somewhat, you’re slowly indulging yourself in something that you actually shouldn’t. 
He lets go of your hand and allows you to continue on your own – like a good girl, you only nod and slowly duck your palm in his boxers. He’d say that the way he is rock-solid just from looking at your ass and pouting on your face is weak, but he can afford to be a bit pathetic after so many weeks without the ability to jerk off. With your watchful gaze, he just couldn’t find it in his heart – or the only remaining working hand – to do something to help with his raging crush on this adorable social worker who comes to help him. 
John is many things – a war hero, war criminal, the captain, and the butcher of many who may deem his actions irredeemable. He made peace with not being the poster good guy and often dirtying his hands just to keep the world clean – and he knows that, in the end, he deserves a pretty young thing to jerk him off while he kisses your hairline and whispers sweet nothing with that beautiful accent of his. 
— This is not very… appropriate, sir.
— Bullocks, love. You’re helpin’, that’s why you’re here. 
 You’re nervous when your hand, squeezing his shaft firmly, goes up and down on his cock. You’re trying to find the rhythm in his quiet grunts and little moans, not having too much experience with pleasuring men who you like this much. It’s fear of disappointing him that makes you go wild, that approving gaze of his every time you press your soft fingers against the head of his cock and squeeze a little. 
He is throbbing in your palm, pre-cum leaking on the small of your fingers – naturally, you lick it as slowly as possible, not breaking the eye contact. 
Price moans. 
— Bloody hell, luv…so good for daddy. 
The name makes your ears burn, the desire growing in your stomach – you fight the urge to drop on your knees and take him fully in your mouth. This isn’t what he wants, you think, so you just continue to squeeze him more, making sure he is satisfied with every little movement your hand makes. You lick your lips and continue, feeble attempts at containing the rhythm with shaky fingers. 
— I just wanted to help you with your life, not…this. 
He chuckles, unharmed hand presses on the small of your back to fix you in place. You lick your lips, understanding that he is not going to let you go this easily – you don’t want to behave like this, of course, it’s against the terms of your contract and your agreement to help him without feelings attached, but he moans so deeply for you, hips are buckling to fuck the firmness of your hand like he is ready to use your moist, prepared pussy. 
God, what are you even thinking about? 
You don’t know if you should be doing this, but the captain is not letting you go – and you can’t even do anything against his wishes, can you? 
— We really shouldn’t be doing this. 
— Quiet. I’ll help you out after my hand is healed, eh? — This isn’t what I’m talking about, sir. 
— Now, let’s not use that here. I’m sir in the field, not here. 
He is manipulating you as hard as he can – he can feel the tension in your eyes and the way you’re squeezing his cock, and he wants nothing more but to simply push you harder, make you fall apart in his hold like a precious porcelain vase. You’re sensitive and shy, just perfect for a bastard like him – his only regret is that the dumb cast on his right hand won’t really allow him to relax to have sex with you properly. 
He will pay you back later – on your back, on your knees, on your tummy, moaning his name as he plunges his seed deep into you. It was about time he’d settle down with a pretty wife of his own – he can afford you, certainly. 
— I can’t call you daddy, it’s embarrassing…
Your shy words are what send him over the edge. John Price was never a good guy to begin with, but your little pleas are enough to make him cum – and it’s certainly one of the biggest sins he has ever committed. Cute girl like you shouldn’t be so embarrassed about jerking him off, but here you are. 
Your hands are covered in cum as he continues to release his seed, only sad because he wasn’t able to breed you properly – that’s the agenda for the time when he finally is freed from this dumb cast. Might just ask Lasswell for extended leave. 
— You’ll just have to get used to this, love. Not letting you go after this. 
You can only whimper when he kisses you – possessive and tender at the same time. A silent promise of making you his dumb little wife. 
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beanytuesday · 4 months
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Hey, I love your art -- I was wondering if you ever posted your illustration for Kafka's "A Hunger Artist" on here? It's really evocative and gorgeously framed, and I find myself thinking of it frequently!!
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Thank you for the kind words. A Hunger Artist by Franz Kafka is one of my favorite short stories of all time, and it’s a very quick read. You can read it right here:
https://www.kafka-online.info/a-hunger-artist.html
Go ahead, I’ll wait here.
I’d like to take us opportunity to talk a little bit about the story, if I may.
Although there are a couple different interpretations of the story's meaning, it unambiguously read to me as an allegory for the plight of the creative, likely drawing from Kafka’s own experience. The ‘starving artist’ comparison is obvious, but there’s much more to it than that. In a departure from most other depictions in media, the plight of the artist is not depicted as something noble or redemptive, but as a sort of self-destructive madness. The hunger artist dies alone and in obscurity, his impact on the world ultimately being completely marginal and insubstantial. When questioned about why he chose a life like this, he reveals that he doesn’t even enjoy fasting, he simply couldn’t find any food he liked. That is to say, a true creative does not select this kind of self destructive lifestyle because they enjoy it; rather, it is because they cannot possibly bear to do anything else. Kafka himself, It should be mentioned, supposedly despised pretty much every job he ever had.
As some of you may know, I developed severe tendinitis a couple months ago. Mentally, September was probably the worst months of my entire life. I reflected on this story a lot –I had wrought my own self destruction, and for what? A couple of bucks? A few comics that i’ll become embarrassed of in a year’s time anyway? Unsure about my prospects for recovery, I became incredibly depressed.
But having been starved of the ability to write or draw, I had a genuine epiphany. Standing at the corner of Boston liquors in Allston, I resolved that I would muster the strength to endure this, regardless of how long it took, because what awaited me at the end was nothing short of the greatest prize a person could ask for: That very thing derided by Kafka –the life of an artist.
There is no greater pleasure than making art. I mean that genuinely, I mean that literally. No, it isn’t noble, no, it isn’t redemptive, but in a totally hedonistic and self-serving way it is simply the greatest thing that life can offer, ambrosia in the mouth, better than sex, better than drugs, better than anything that money can buy, and I feel pity for anyone unable to experience it. I am not being hyperbolic, I am not being metaphorical. I am stating this in the plainest of terms, having lived a life without it for the last couple of months.
So although my personal relationship to the story has changed in the past couple months, Kafka was right about one thing; nothing else tastes good, at least not by comparison. We must imagine the hunger artist happy.
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luxaofhesperides · 2 months
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Can I please have meet cute/weird with mistaken villain! Danny (but really just a engineer and or chem student) and the one being put on investigation cause Danny is a day villain(not really)! Duke
Technically, Danny Fenton is innocent. Technically. 
Duke wants to give him the benefit of the doubt, especially since he’s having so much trouble finding solid evidence that Danny is stealing from a wide variety of people, but he’s been burned before by trying to see people as better than they were. It doesn’t change the fact that Oracle’s cameras keep spotting Danny right before a building on the street is broken into and something stolen. He’s always just walking down the sidewalk; no one has spotted him entering or exiting a building, but he’s around far too often to be unconnected to these burglaries. 
It doesn’t help that strange, petty crimes have been on the rise since Danny first arrived in Gotham. 
So.
Danny Fenton is technically innocent.
Duke is trying to prove that he’s not. 
Maybe I’m looking too closely, he thinks, going over Danny’s sparse file in the Hatch. Maybe Danny’s only one person in a bigger operation.
He could just be the lookout, the runner, the information gatherer who marks which buildings to hit. He may even be the scapegoat, the sacrificial lamb; Danny has no support in Gotham, no family, no job. There would be no one to help him if he got arrested or injured in a fight. He’s a freshman college student from Illinois who should be unprepared for life in Gotham but is somehow managing to survive like a native. 
There’s a lot about Danny that doesn’t add up. 
Duke has seen plenty of different people since he first went out as the Signal. He’s tried to be kind and give people the benefit of the doubt, but it leads to his loved ones being put in danger. Some people are truly evil, some working on a malicious agenda, some are misguided in their beliefs, and some are desperate people who see no other way to move forward.
He’s not sure yet which on Danny is, but he’s hoping Danny is just desperate and needs a little help to get out of a life of crime.
Which leads to the next problem: Duke has no idea what Danny is steal, or why. He hits both rich and poor folks, civilians and members of the mob, and once, notably, stole something right out of Cobblepot’s office. Allegedly, at least, since no one saw him enter or exit the office, not even the security cameras. 
But added to the whispers going around about a new group in Gotham snatching people up from the streets, and some strange green substances found in warehouses often raided by police for the frequent drug labs that pop up in them… 
It doesn’t look good for Danny. Especially when a few of the items he stole were found where people either vanished or where that green substance has been found.
A week of analysis in the Batcave and they still don’t know what it is. 
Both Damian and Jason suspected Lazarus water, but the composition was completely different. By the look of the molecular structure, it shouldn’t have been in a liquid form at all. 
All these findings lead back to one person who may have answers: Danny Fenton.
According to Tim, who’s already broken into Danny’s dorm room and checked over all the labs he has classes in, Danny has some concerning items in his possession. Various inventions and little metal knick-knacks put together by a practiced hand. He was also the one to find all the information that went into Danny’s file when it was first being made: social media posts, school report cards, news articles about his parents… everything. 
And then he had an emergency mission to take with the Titans that swept him out of Gotham leaving Duke to tackle this investigation on his own. 
He doesn’t have Tim’s natural skill in stalking and invading privacy. He hates breaking into people’s spaces and following them around, but needs must and he has to force himself to work through the discomfort. 
It’s a good thing he did, too. Danny’s leaving his dorm after his last afternoon class, hood up to hide his face and something held in the front pocket of his hoodie. He ducks around people on the sidewalk easily, almost as if he’s gliding through the crowd instead of walking. 
Duke follows from above, bending the light around him to hide him from sight. 
He walks for some time, weaving through alleys and streets as if he’s been in Gotham his whole life, leaving behind the university campus to head towards Otisberg. There’s something strange about the way Danny walks, as if he’s moving around people who aren’t there, guided by something Duke can’t hear. Even using his meta abilities doesn’t do much beyond show him where Danny’s going to be in the next few seconds. 
He continues to follow Danny on the rooftops, walking along the edge to keep him in sight. 
Then Danny stops behind an apartment building and tilts his head back to look up at it. He tilts his head to the side, then nods and looks around the empty alley. Duke crouches down, keeping his eyes on Danny in the hopes of catching him in the act—
Danny disappears.
Duke curses under his breath and jumps down from the roof, putting more strength into his abilities as soon as his feet touch the ground. 
The space where Danny was has a faint outline, oddly enough. He’s never seen that before. From it is a semi-transparent trail, smoke-like and a pale green leading into the building. It goes straight into a wall, as if Danny walked through it.
He can’t go in and search the entire apartment, but he can grapple up and take a look into the hallways to see where Danny’s heading. If he was looking up, then that’s where he should be heading. 
It doesn’t take any effort to scale the building. There are ledges and windowsills and plenty of handholds for him to propel himself off of, and paired with his powers, Duke is able to find the correct floor in just under two minutes. 
The green smoke slowly dances through the air of the ninth floor, on the east side of the building. If he’s been counting the rooms correctly, then the target of tonight’s burglary has to be apartment 924. 
The curtains are drawn on the window he makes his way over to, and his abilities don’t show him anything helpful for the immediate future. He hates going in blind, especially to a civilian’s home, but capturing Danny takes priority. Duke picks the lock and slides the window up slowly, making sure it stays quiet, then slips into an empty bedroom. 
He makes his way out into the hallway on silent feet, keeping a wary eye on the thin smoke strands of green, curling along the walls. The rest of the apartment is empty as well, pale sunlight slanting across the floor through the blinds. 
Everything is still and silent. Danny’s nowhere to be found. 
Did he miss Danny leaving, somehow? Was this a misdirect to get him out of the way while Danny stole from another location? Did he know Duke was following him?
But no, his ears pick up on the faint sound of clothes rustling. 
Cautiously, Duke turns towards the front door, where the door to the coat closet is open. He focuses on what’s going to happen in the next twenty seconds and sees Danny panic, then disappear from sight again, but a transparent outline of his body is visible just enough to show him where he runs to. Best not to spook him; Duke pulls at the light around him and bends it to hide him from sight.
Then he moves along the wall, getting around the open door without bumping into anyone or anything. 
A figure in front of the coats, shoving them to the side roughly, flickers in and out of view, almost like a reflection in water, distorted by ripples on the surface. 
Danny pops back into visibility suddenly, scowling at the coats. “Are you sure it’s in here?” he asks the empty air. 
There is no answer, but Danny acts like there is. He rolls his eyes and says, “It’s a favor. That I’m doing for you. I can literally stop right now and you wouldn’t be able to stop me.” He shoves aside another heavy winter coat, then sighs. “Why don’t you look for it, and then tell me where it is.”
He steps back and bumps into Duke.
Danny whirls around, eyes wide, and blast of green light has Duke crashing back into the wall, trying to blink spots out of his eyes. 
“Wait!” he yells, grabbing for Danny before he can run off. “I just wanna talk!”
“Standing right behind me like a serial killer does not make you look like someone who wants to talk!” Danny yells back, slipping through his hands like mist. 
“I just have a few questions!”
“Well, I have a question: why?!”
“Will you hold still, we’re being too loud!”
Danny escapes to the other side of the apartment, next to a window looking fully prepared to fling himself out of it. But he does stop yelling, so Duke is counting it as a success.
“Why is the Signal coming after me?” Danny asks, glaring at him suspiciously.
“Dude,” Duke says, “You’ve been seen outside of every single building that’s had a burglary since you first arrived in Gotham. All the Bats are after you, they just sent me because I’m the only one active during the day.”
“All the Bats?” Danny repeats, losing what little color he had in his face.
He looks legitimately scared, pale enough to be concerning, and Duke drops his guard and tries to relax the tension in the apartment. “I’m not gonna turn you into the cops or anything. I just had questions and you seem like the most likely person to have answers. That’s it.”
Danny still looks wary, ready to run at a moment’s notice, but he doesn’t leave when Duke approached casually, leaning his weight against the couch. 
“So,” he begins, “What’s the deal with all the thievery? It’s rarely something super rare or expensive.”
There’s a long few minutes where Danny doesn’t answer, looking anywhere but at Duke. Then he twitches a bit and glares off to the side, and says, “I taking items that are contaminated with ectoplasm to help ghosts move through the veil and leave Gotham.”
That tells him nothing! That just gives Duke more questions! But at least it’s an answer, the first one any of them have got.
“I think you’re gonna have to explain a little more.”
“Ghosts are real, alright?”
“Yes.”
Danny stops. Squints at him. “What do you mean, ‘yes’?”
“Ghosts are real,” Duke repeats, “There are a few who help heroes or are heroes themselves, but that’s more on the magic side of things so I’m not super familiar with it.”
“Magic,” Danny says slowly. “Sure, alright. Um. Yes, ghosts are real. And there are a ton in Gotham who need help moving on, but they’re too weak to get past the veil. Something about Gotham has made the veil super strong, so they need a little boost to get through. Additional ectoplasm bonded helps with that.”
“And that’s why you’re stealing random things?”
“The ghosts I help can kind of sense ectoplasm-infused things, but they need me to grab them since they can’t hold anything without a physical body.”
Duke nods slowly. “Okay, that’s starting to answer some things. We have found those objects in the last places missing people were seen. Any idea what’s going on with that?”
“Yeah, those people were already dead.”
The way Danny says the most concerning answers as if they’re nothing is really throwing Duke off his game. He was expecting to be calm and serious to keep Danny from freaking out too much and look like a legitimate hero. But as soon as Danny started talking, all his nerves fell away and Duke is left grasping for composure. 
“They were…”
“They were ghosts, yeah. And they needed to get through the veil. But they were also able to possess their own bodies and didn’t realize they were dead until I had to break the news to them, which is why it looks like living people just up and disappeared.”
“Okay… What about the green stuff we’ve been finding?”
“Ectoplasm.” Danny holds up a hand and a neon green light surrounds it. Except it looks more solid than light, as if it can be touched, and it moves on its own like fire around Danny’s fingers. “It’s what ghosts are made of.”
Oh. If Danny has ectoplasm, does that mean…
“Are you dead?” Duke asks, heart dropping. 
Instead of looking upset about the question, or even disturbed by it, Danny just shrugs and waves his hand back and forth. “A little.”
“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Duke says, trying to resist the urge to rub his temples. It’s a habit he didn’t mean to pick up from Batman, and it would just look silly with his helmet in the way. “You’re just doing all this to help ghosts?”
“Yeah. Basically. They asked for help man, of course I was going to help them.”
Danny’s a good person. He’s just a good person to ghosts. But this is good news either way, and he can let the others know that Danny isn’t the next Catwoman and is entirely unconnected from any drug production. Everything that made him look like a criminal is just the fault of ghosts. 
“Speaking of,” Danny continues, “Looks like they found what they need, so I’m going to grab that real quick.” He pushes off of the wall and heads for the closet again, moving past Duke without any fear. Duke follows, keeping a few feet of distance between them so Danny doesn’t feel trapped, and watches as he shoves aside the coats again and pulls a shoebox out of the depths of the closet. From it, he takes a single intricate lace headband and holds it up.
It looks normal, if a little old, but when Danny sends ectoplasm through it, the lace lights up and holds the glow. 
He pulls some strange contraption out of his pocket and holds it up to the headband. It makes a few beeps, then Danny mutters, “7.4 millisieverts. That’s enough to get you through the veil.”
Another concern Duke can let go of: Danny’s not creating weapons like his parents have, he’s just measuring ectoplasm through his own inventions. 
Maybe he could talk to Bruce or Tim about getting Danny an internship at the R&D lab in Wayne Enterprises? That way they could keep a closer eye on him while seeing what he can create in some of the best laboratories in the country.
Well, it might take having them meet Danny before they trust him enough for that, but Duke is sure he can make it happen. 
“I better go see this through, then,” Danny says, shoving the contraption back into his hoodie pocket. He gives Duke a small awkward wave, then pops out of visibility. “I’ll see you around, I guess?” he disembodied voice hedges, and Duke smiles.
“I’m sure I’ll be able to find you again.”
“Cool. I gonna go now!” 
He doesn’t see any sign that Danny’s left, but he gets a feeling that he’s alone now, the apartment suddenly emptier than it was before. 
As strange and concerning as Danny and all his bizarre actions were, Duke is glad he was able to finally talk to him and get some answers. Knowing how Gotham pulls people him in, it’s only a matter of time before the other Bats are exposed to Danny’s kind of strange. He’s already looking forward to it. 
For now, though, he has a file to update in the Hatch; POTENTIAL THREAT will be removed and replaced with GHOST HELPER. 
If anyone goes snooping into his files and gets confused, then that’s their problem. Duke’s explained enough. And Danny can take care of the rest, once they go through the effort of tracking him down. Duke's done his part, he's ready for the rest of them to step up to his level.
He can’t wait to see what other kind of trouble Danny can get it into.
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kakujis · 5 months
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☆ 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒...
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“...AND SHE'S FALLING ASLEEP, AS SHE'S WALKING WITH STRANGERS.”
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synopsis: satoru’s had his eye on you for a while, who other than his best friend, suguru, to help him get you home?
warnings: dark content/ageless + minors DNI. afab!fem reader, modern au, naive/shy! reader, non curse! au. yandere!satoru. drugging, dubcon, voyeurism(sort of), non-consensual picture taking/recording, dacryphilia, fingering, p*ssy slapping, creamp*e, restraints, possessive behavior, blackmail, degradation, praise, pet names (baby, princess, angel, good girl), drooling, your friends are really shitty, suguru calls u a slut like one time. suguru is mean, satoru is less mean kind of, he's probs ooc at times. that should be it, if i forgot anything pls lmk.
ft + wc: mainly gojo x reader, lil bit of suguru x reader. around 5.8k.
network: @enchantedforest-network
a/n: well. this was a doozy lol. i started it back in mid september and it's taken me around a month to get here which is actually pretty fast for me! this was supposed to be part of my first mini kinktober but u can see with the pace i'm writing at... well LOL. anyways, big thank you to wallaby for actually getting me out of the rut to write this, koca the loml for helping me w satoru's dialogue (dirty talk)!! @sxgars for the banner, and nie, the other loml, for proofreading!
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the embers burn under the twilight sky, as gojo satoru’s laugh bounces amongst the crowd. with feet buried in the sand, hands stuck in your hoodie, you stare at the bonfire. every so often, someone’ll throw another log in to keep it burning, the wood crackling like fireworks. it’s an interesting set of sounds, sights, and smells.  
your eyes flicker throughout the people surrounding you, some chatting away, some speaking only through makeout sessions, some are probably even arguing. none of them are your friends, not even acquaintances. you’re not sure why you agreed to come out tonight, coaxed by your own friends, who swore up and down they wouldn’t leave you alone this time, but ditched you when they found their hook up for the night. 
meanwhile, on the other side of the bonfire is gojo, handsome with snowy hair and blue eyes hidden behind his staple sunglasses, but loud and boisterous as he jokes with his friends, a small semi circle of individuals surrounding him. must be nice, you think before sighing and taking another sip of your watered down alcoholic drink, looking away when a voice calls out to you making you jump a little. 
“you alright?” he asks, squatting down to reach your eye level as you sit. when you look back, it’s geto suguru right in front of you, his own drink in hand, illuminated by the fiery light of the bonfire and the pale moonlight, the colors clashing against his skin. 
“i’m fine,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady, but you’re already ready to back away. you’ve always thought geto was handsome, tall, with dark hair and dark eyes, and an aura you just couldn’t read. perhaps it was the infatuation that kept you here on this sandy beach, even when your friends were long gone, eyes always finding him whenever one of you passed by each other at parties like this. “you?” 
“it’s alright,” he shrugs, pulling out a cigarette from his shirt pocket and leaning back, using the bonfire to light it up. you watch as he brings it back to his lips and takes a long drag, cheeks hollowing as he inhales, before making sure to blow away from you. “much better when there’s a pretty girl around.”  
you heat up, looking at your toes, peeking through the sand. “.. thank you,” you reply, struggling to look at him as he takes a seat next to you on your towel. “you’re not so bad yourself. you’re geto suguru, right?” 
“why, thank you,” he says, scooting closer to you, “and i am. what’s your name?” 
you give him your name, heart pounding away at the close proximity. beyond the scent of smoke, he smells woodsy, sort of like incense. you wonder if you smell similarly, your vanilla perfume mixing in with the bonfire fumes. 
“pretty name,” he says before he repeats it back, the syllables rolling off his tongue easily and straight into your stomach, “you staying out much longer?”
he makes you dizzy, and somewhat anxious, you were never planning - at least in this lifetime - on ever meeting him, let alone actually speaking to him. you’re not used to this, more comfortable with people watching than interacting.
you shake your head, “nah, i was gonna head home soon,” you glance out toward the ocean swells, waves crashing against the beach before they recede back into the tide. “my friends are already gone, so there’s not much else for me to do.”
“aw, really? that’s a shame,” he replies and you peek back, his mouth pressed into a hard line, his  thumb tapping against his cheek, before he nods, brightening up. “need someone to walk you home?” 
you pause, “um… no, it’s okay, i-”
“you’re gonna walk home this late at night?” he asks, cutting you off with an eyebrow raised, “by yourself?” 
you glance over at the darkened road, the dim lights of the city sprinkled far off in the distance. it’s foreboding and who knows what lurks in the dark? besides, wouldn’t it be better to walk home with someone? the warm amber light from the fire plays on his face as you glance back at him. 
“i don’t bite,” he continues, giving a reassuring smile as his hands come up playfully, “i swear.”  
“… okay,” you give in, nodding, “sure.” you make a move to get up, but he stops you. 
“wait,” he starts, bringing his drink up closer towards you. “let’s have a toast.”
you giggle, the tension easing out of you, before holding yours up as well, “a toast to what?” 
he smiles back, “to new friendship.” he tips his cup to yours, but doesn’t take into account how much stronger his clink would be compared to yours. the rest of your sticky drink crashes down onto you, spilling and seeping through your clothes, while suguru’s quick to mutter out, “oh shit, sorry!” 
you shake your head, “don’t worry! it’s fine!” but suguru isn’t hearing it, his cigarette dangling haphazardly from his mouth as his brow is scrunched in concentration while he tries his best to wipe at the mess with his hands. embarrassingly, your core flutters at his touch, especially when his fingers swipe across your thighs. 
“let me clean you up,” he says, half mumbled from the cig, handing his drink over to you, before unzipping his jacket. “don’t have any napkins on me, sorry.” 
your nerves continue to fire off, getting the best of you and the words of ‘really! it’s fine!’ die off your tongue. you glance around, looking for something, anything, to take your mind off of geto’s sweater dragging across your exposed skin, especially when he dips down in between your thighs dangerously close to your heat, to dab at the liquid that’s dripping off your body. 
gojo’s laugh booms again, causing you to glance over at him and you welcome the distraction. you catch his eye and he gives you an excited little wave, catching you off guard. you wonder if he can see just how flustered you are, but still, you raise your own hand back and he grins wider, before breaking eye contact as someone else calls for his attention. 
in an effort to calm your nerves, the recent memory of gojo’s affable bright smile definitely not helping, you take a big swig of suguru’s drink, forgetting it’s not even yours. his drink is stronger, thanks to the lack of melted ice, burning as it slides down your throat which makes you cough up some, scrunching your nose as some liquid runs down the side of your mouth. 
but geto uses a thumb to catch it, smirking at the way you blink up at him bewildered, “all clean.” 
you take a breath to steady yourself before speaking, “um, could you…  take me home?” you push his hands away, wanting nothing more than to hide under the safety of your covers. at this rate, you might pass out, the night’s been a bit too eventful for your taste. 
he nods, getting up and dusting himself before reaching out with an outstretched hand. you take it without hesitation, tensing when he starts to brush the sand off your shorts. you let him do that for a few moments, breathing hitching when his hand gets concerningly close to the bare skin of the back of your thighs, heart thrumming in your chest and pounding in your ears.
“just making sure,” he says, before he throws his cigarette into the pit, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. “lead the way, princess.” he grins as he steps off to the side to make room and give a small courtesy bow which makes you laugh. 
he makes eye contact with satoru and gives a small wave before leaving with you, catching you each time you stumble in the sand, marked by shoe and foot prints from excited partygoers. he lets you know that he’s got you each time while you mutter out various ‘sorry’s!’ meanwhile, gojo peers over his friends, eyes honing in on your forms before he says a quick goodbye to them and runs off. 
as the two of you are finally on solid land, you hear a “wait a minute!” and glance back. jogging towards you is none other than gojo satoru and suddenly you feel like throwing up. you’re not too good at meeting a new person, let alone two. 
“hi!” he says as he huffs, hands placed on his knees. 
“are you actually winded from that?” geto laughs, a pretty little tune that plays on your ear. 
“i drank so much, dude. give me a break.” gojo responds. 
you’re even more uncomfortable as the two of them joke around, stuffing your hands into your pockets as you stare at the ground. satoru shifts so he’s in your view, bending sideways, pretty snowy hair falling down his face. 
“anyways… hey.” he says again but softer this time, twinkly eyes on yours as the corners of his lips upturn. “i’m satoru.” 
“hi,” you say, giving a small wave, before you state your name. “nice to meet you.” 
nervously, you glance back up at geto, who smiles reassuringly back at you. with your heart definitely beating a mile a minute, you back away. “it’s this way.” you say, jutting your thumb behind you, and the two friends nod. 
“we’ll follow you,” geto says, nudging gojo to stand up straight, who in turn, elbows him back. “go ahead.” 
you nod, trudging forward, listening to their continued talk behind you. it’s just their voices, the sea breeze, and the sound of shoes on pavement as you walk. you look back towards them, taking a moment to eye them, you drink in their tall, built forms, the matching dark outfits, sweaters and all, and for a bit, you decide to trust them. you trust the easy going smiles, the laid-back banter, and the way that satoru smiles each time he looks at you does a lot to ease the tension in your body. 
it’s not too long into your walk, maybe only 30 minutes since you took the last of your drink, before you start to feel… strange. there’s a heaviness that starts to settle in your limbs, your mind going foggy. you reach out, grabbing onto one of their sleeves, who’s sleeve? you’re not sure, but you grasp it trying to dig your nails into the cotton fabric, as your knees buckle from your own weight. 
“hey? are you okay?” a voice asks, bouncing around your brain as the scenery starts to spin. you must’ve grabbed suguru’s sleeve, as you try to focus on the inky strands of hair that fall past his shoulders. you reach out with your other arm, trying to grab onto something as you continue to fall, a ring starting to settle in your ears. 
“geto?” you call, as you feel another large hand on your lower back, trying to keep you steady. “i think, i need… to go home.” but you don’t hear a reply as the void takes over you, swallowing you up, as you fall completely unconscious into the arms of geto suguru. 
the two of them are quiet, the easy-going atmosphere suddenly gone. you’re thrown over geto’s arm haphazardly, limbs limp, as they stare down at you. gojo speaks first.
“that was quick,” he says, bending down to brush your hair away from your face. “how much did you give her?” he trails his finger down your cheek, poking the skin, before tracing the outline of your lips. he has half a mind to kiss you, but decides against it, wanting his first with you to be when you’re awake.
“the usual,” geto responds and if you were awake, you’d see he feels a little colder, eyes almost vacant. “you wanna carry her? you like her more don’t you?” 
“i don’t just like her,” gojo responds, before he’s lifting you out of geto’s arms. “i’m gonna make her my girlfriend and depending on how well things go, i’ll marry her soon.. ish.” he cradles you gently, carrying you in his arms, princess-style like as he watches you with mirth filled eyes. 
geto rolls his eyes, “oh yeah, i’m sure she’s gonna wanna date you after this.” 
gojo snorts, glaring daggers at his best friend, “she’s not gonna have a choice.” 
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maybe if you weren’t so naive, you wouldn’t have ended up like this. you blink awake, body still heavy from whatever drug was, or perhaps is, still coursing through your veins. the lull of sleep continues to beckon you over, the weight of your eyelids aiding in it’s cause, but you try to stay awake. something feels wrong. 
you decide to start with your legs, wiggling them around when you realize you’re in a bed rubbing your legs against the silken sheets. you focus upwards, wanting to move your arms to prop yourself up, until you realize: you can’t.
the rope around your wrists is tight, coiled up and keeping you locked in place. even as you try your best to wriggle out of them, you’re doing nothing but giving yourself rope burns as panic starts to settle within your bones.the room you’re in looks normal enough, a desk off to the side, jacket hanging on the door, but there’s something sinister in how normal it looks. and you wonder just whose bedroom is this? 
“oh, hey, you’re up.” you hear as the bed dips under the newly added weight. it’s gojo, peering down at you. he’s taken off his top and jacket, leaving only his pants, and if you weren’t terrified, you’d probably appreciate the sight. you can see his eyes clearly now, his sunglasses sitting atop his nightstand and as beautiful as they are, you can’t be lost in them for long. 
“gojo?” you try, voice barely louder than a whisper. 
“call me satoru.” he responds, a pretty smile gracing his features. 
“where..” 
“are you?” another voice chimes in, a voice that’s sweet, almost mockingly so. you glance towards the direction it’s coming from to see suguru, head leaning against his open palm. he smiles when the two of you make eye contact, the same disarming smile he gave you a few hours ago. “heyo~”
you’re still disoriented, glancing back between the two of them as you try your best to slide out of the binds. 
“hey, hey,” satoru starts, placing a hand over your wrists, “you’re gonna hurt yourself, baby.” his warmth isn’t comforting, it’s terrifying and the way that pet name falls off his tongue so easily freaks you out further. just where the fuck are you?
you can feel your tears welling up, nevermind the fact that your consciousness is still foggy. you’re exposed - vulnerable - with two men you’ve only met recently. there’s goosebumps on your skin, clad in nothing but your panties as you try to curl in on yourself, but gojo won’t let you. instead, he wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer, your head resting on his thigh. 
“gojo,” you plead, starting to sniffle, “i wanna go home…” 
“satoru.” he reminds you gently, before his hand starts to trail up and down your side, trying his best to comfort you. “i’ll take you home later, okay?” 
you shake your head, tears starting to fall, little droplets stain his pants, “why not now-”
“told you,” suguru drawls, interrupting you while his expression remains uninterested, “she’s scared out of her mind.” 
“thanks suguru, great input.” satoru deadpans, shooting him a glare before his focus is back on you. “i can’t take you home yet, but i will. i promise.” and those words shoot straight to your stomach. it’s so eerily similar to earlier, when geto promised he’d take you home and that he was safe. 
“my friends…” you mumble, “are gonna notice i’m missing.” it’s a pathetic attempt of a threat, your friends are already long gone and home for the night, but there’s the hope that when morning comes and your “i’m home” text doesn’t show up, they’re bound to notice, right? 
“hm? which ones? the ones that left you or the ones that let us take you here? oh wait, those are the same ones.” suguru taunts, snickering as the pit in your stomach grows by the moment, “it’s really funny what people will do for money.” 
you furrow your brow, heart shattering at the confession, because there’s no way your friends would sell you out. but the shit-eating grin that won’t leave suguru’s face, almost as if it’s etched in stone, silently confirms your worst fears. “i don’t…” - understand is the word that should be said, but it escapes you like the sand between your fingers on that fucking beach that you never should’ve been at in the first place. 
“okay, so, don’t freak out.” gojo starts, before muttering, “well i guess you already are, huh.” on the brightside, the drug suguru gave you is strong enough that the disorientation nestled so deeply within you is able to keep your screaming at bay. 
satoru’s focus, unlike yours, is almost too sharp. he’s been chasing after you for a while, but finally having you in his headlights is driving him insane. the tips of his fingers continue tracing up your arm til they find the depressions in your neck, that he has half a mind to wrap around to see what you’d look like with his hand as a necklace. but that can wait, he’ll be soft with you for the first time. 
“the important thing is that you’re here with me. you came out to have fun right? have fun with me and i’ll take you home.” he winks, his easy-going front still on full force as he tries to calm you down, but you flinch when he gets a little too close to your lips. 
in your mind you know, there’s always a catch. “what do you want from me?” you ask, voice featherlight, but everyone in the room knows what it is he wants. 
“i think you know,” suguru chimes and if you could curse him out, you probably would. “why else would we bring you here?” 
“hmm,” gojo hums, his thumb gliding across the top of your cheek to swipe at some of your tears. “you know, you’ve been coming around to our little get togethers for a while, but this is probably our first real conversation.”
gojo’s always liked you. when he first saw you, he thought you were cute. doe-eyed and clumsily searching for an open spot to sit while you did your best to hold onto your friend’s shirt, you caught his eye. cuter still were the pretty laughs that came from you, sometimes even snorting when something particularly funny was said. 
there was a minor issue though: you’d never look at him, no matter how much he bounced off the walls, even when he’d head over and say ‘hi’ to your friends, you scampered away much more interested in your hands situated in your lap. and maybe that was the charm, you were prey he wanted to catch. 
it wasn’t long til he noticed your quick, continued glances at suguru and how you only did it when you were sure he wouldn’t notice you. he was sulky at first, irritated that his best friend seemed to take his spotlight, but who is geto suguru if not gojo satoru’s closest and greatest friend? and with enough prying, geto got the information out of him and simply laughed. gojo was a little hesitant when geto suggested a plan, something they haven’t done in a while. 
“i dunno, i thought we decided we were over that.” satoru pouted that day as he stared off, focused on the others at the park. 
“you got any bright ideas, lover boy?” suguru retorted, leaning back on the park bench, hands in his pockets. 
“nah.” he shrugged, elbows on his knees and bent forward. and so they ended up here again, except, in gojo’s bedroom for once. 
“you know your friends were pretty easy to convince,” satoru grimaces, his thumb swiping at your tears. “you should really get some new ones.” 
you’re unsure if you’re more mortified than flattered that satoru feels so strongly for you. but there are no words that spring up in your mind, there’s nothing you can possibly say. 
“listen, the goal here, princess,” suguru starts putting emphasis on the pet name as he gestures between you and gojo. “is that satoru fucks you, you’re his girl, and you guys get to live happily ever after.” 
“...and if i refuse?” you counter, but your voice is still barely above a whisper as tears continue to fall down your face. 
“dunno if you wanna do that.” satoru sighs, before he catches the phone that suguru throws over. he opens it up, before turning it towards you revealing the photos they took of you earlier, tied up and exposed. “i mean you do look really cute in these, but i’d rather they stay in our circle for now.” 
the weight of that word is heavy, because there is no universe in which you’re allowed to say no. you’ve fallen deep into their sticky web with no chance of climbing out, the only thing left is for their fangs to sink into you. the images they’ve taken burn into your mind and you steel yourself to find your resolve. 
there’s a few pros when you think about it. gojo’s handsome, a little funny, and seems to actually like you. you’re not entirely sure if it outweighs the con of fucking drugging and then kidnapping you, but what can you do with the cards you’ve been dealt? geto is whole nother can of worms you don’t feel like delving into. 
“fine.” you sniffle and gojo perks up, lips curling up into a smile. “… i’ll do whatever you want.”  
“told you she’d say yes.” he singsongs as the other rolls his eyes. “that settles it, you’re officially apart of the gojo clan!” neither you, nor suguru, have the heart to tell him that you didn’t actually agree to marriage. 
“well then!” suguru claps, making you jolt. “let’s get started, yeah?” he shifts from his spot, moving til he’s back up against the headrest. “let’s get you a little more comfortable,” he says, pulling you up til your back is flush against his clothed chest. “that’s better.” 
you don’t have time to worry about just how fast things are going when satoru slots himself between your legs, heart racing in fear mixed with anticipation when he pushes your panties to the side as his fingers flutter around your clit. 
meanwhile, suguru is pulling your thighs back, locked beneath his elbows. as much as you want to close your legs, you can’t. suguru’s too strong for you. 
“you don’t need these, right?” gojo mutters, hands gripping one side of your underwear, but there’s no reason to answer as he rips them clean apart, chucking them onto the floor. 
it’s silent for a moment as satoru watches the rise and fall of your chest, quickened in your panicked state, before his eyes meet yours. he grins, “man, you’re so fucking cute, you know?” 
you heat up under his gaze, and you try to look away, but he simply leans in, so close your noses almost touch as he stares deeply into you before looking down at your lips. your breath hitches again as his lips ghost over yours and you shut your eyes when he asks, “can i?” 
it’s an odd first kiss with your hands tied up and his best friend in the same bed as you in a tangled mess of limbs but he’s surprisingly soft. you’re falling, so deeply into the kiss that you don’t notice the way suguru pulls your knees up more so he can get better access to your chest. 
you squeak when you feel a pinch on your nipple, suguru seemingly getting bored and deciding to pass the time playing with you. your squeals soon turn to moans as he rolls the nub between his fingers and satoru uses the opportunity to slip his tongue in, spit mixing with yours as your mouths mesh together. 
his fingers find their way downward again, lightly trailing up and down your folds with feather light touches, making you twitch each time he brushes against your clit. you jolt when he sinks a finger in, encouraged by the wetness of your hole, pushing back against geto in an attempt to squirm away, but you can’t, sandwiched between two men who can do whatever they want, however they want.  
gojo’s good, adding in another thick finger to your slick heat and sliding in your gummy walls. it’s different from when you do it, your digits are slender and smaller than his. you keel, moaning and thighs trembling, but gojo’s lips stay firmly on yours as does geto’s hand which continues to pinch and palm at your breast, sending ripples of hot pleasure through you. 
“you gonna cum on his fingers, pretty?” geto murmurs, voice low as he nips at your ear. 
satoru continues to pump away, fingers curling into your sweet spot and dotting your vision in stars of white. he picks up the pace when you mewl louder, the sound rushing straight to his dick as your slick rolls down his hand. you press further into suguru, whimpering and thighs tensing before you cum messily on satoru’s fingers, bucking and kicking as much as he allows you. 
“that’s it,” suguru drawls, his hot breath on your ear, “good fuckin’ job.” he says it like he’s the one inside you, churning up your insides. 
satoru pulls away, a small trail of saliva connecting the two of you that he laps up with his tongue. he slightly groans at your pretty spit slicked lips, before he’s taking out his aching cock. he’s big. big enough to make you whimper as he rubs your juices over his cockhead, precum already beaded on his tip, before running it through your sensitive folds. he’s slow, wanting to enjoy his first time with you, as he lines up to your still twitching entrance. 
“fuck,” he hisses as he sinks inch by inch into your dripping pussy. the stretch drives you insane even with the prep beforehand and he stills when he bottoms out, hips flush with yours. “sucked me all in, huh?” 
suguru and satoru move like they’re sync’d, somehow knowing what the other wants to do. suguru’s hands are replaced as satoru pushes your knees back up against your chest as your head lolls backward onto suguru’s shoulder, mouth agape.
“ah, ah,” suguru tuts, cupping your cheeks with one hand before forcing you to look back at the other. “let him see your pretty face.” 
“s-sorry,” you manage to say before satoru starts moving, your breath getting caught in your throat as you mewl out, “oh, fuck.” 
a breathless smile falls on satoru’s face, as he watches yours contort in pleasure with each slow drag of his cock within your tight walls that seem to swallow him up with each thrust. your embarrassment is long gone, replaced with a fervent need as satoru fucks every single thought out of your brain. 
“satoru,” you whimper and he digs his nails harder into your thighs, to not blow his load right then and there, but the way you plead his name as you stare up at him with needy, glass-blown eyes almost sends him over the edge. “satoru.” 
“yeah?” he coos, leaning in and tilting his head, as he slows the pace down, “what do you want from me, baby?” 
“use your words,” suguru says, pressing hot kisses to your cheek, reminding you that he’s still there. “c’mon, i know you’ve still got some in that pretty little head of yours.” you can feel his erection pressing against your back, as his hand snakes down to your clit to rub slow, sticky circles on your sensitive nub. “or are you too dumb on satoru’s cock, hm?”
gojo laughs, spurred on by geto’s continued teasing, “aww man i think she is. wanna be my lil cocksleeve? get fucked stupid everyday?” 
he laughs harder when your eyes roll back, cunt clenching at his words, the first time you’ve been talked down to like this. meanwhile, suguru switches to hook a finger into your mouth, digging his nail into the wet, warm cavern of your cheek, hot breath puffing onto his hand. when your eyes flutter up at him, he snickers, “you good?”
you feel a tap on your cheek and shift your blurry focus back on the one inside you, buried up to the hilt while his hips still slightly grind into you. his blue eyes burn through you and in moments like this, you truly can’t read him. “answer me.” 
through the haze you nod, but it’s not a good enough answer in suguru’s book. “you can do better than that.” he chastises bringing his hand down onto your puffy clit, slapping hard enough to make you squeal and bite down on the digit keeping your mouth open.
tears prick your widened eyes as he does it again, “that’s for biting me, brat.” he hisses, and you find your words again, stumbling out ‘sorry! ‘m sorry!’ as drool runs down your chin and his hand. but suguru is fucking mean, swatting down at your puffy pussy, each hit just as hard; a stark contrast to the sneer on his features while he hooks in yet another finger to pull your cheek further out. 
although the nicer of the two, satoru can’t help but be enamored with everything you do, especially if you’re screaming and crying trapped between the arms of his best friend. his cock twitches in your cunt, “well fuck, aren’t you pretty when you’re cryin’ on me?” he groans, pulling back out just to slam his hips back into yours at a brutal pace making you squeal louder.
you’re incredibly overwhelmed, glancing back between the two of them as the tears start to leak down your face again, chest heaving. you hate that it feels so fucking good to be used like this, having absolutely no control. still, you fight against your restraints once more, trying to raise your hands just enough to push against satoru’s abs to slow down, but it’s all moot, he won’t stop until he’s satisfied.
“shh,” suguru soothes, starting to play with your clit again, trying to ease the sting. “sorry for getting carried away, you’re just so fun to ruin.” his hand once again moving to cup under your chin, smearing drool and tears across your skin and  tilting you so that his tongue is able to press against your cheek, licking a stripe to taste the saltiness of your tears as his chest vibrates with a low groan. he can’t wait til it’s his turn to get his hands on you. 
“suguru - oh fuck - ‘m sorry, fuck, ‘m really sorry,” you blubber between moans, still whining and writhing, he raises an eyebrow at you with a hungry grin, liking the way you call his name. 
but satoru’s the one who answers, breathless and groaning, “it’s okay princess, shit, don’t worry about it. just focus on me, alright?” 
you’re pliant and close to your high, easily shifting back to satoru, watching him through muddied vision and mumbling out, “mkay, satoru.” 
the sweat rolls down the side of his brow and he’s so close to letting go, but satoru’s a bit of a romantic, thinking it’d be best for you to cum at the same time. still, the way you call his name has him glaring up at suguru, letting him know what he wants. 
his friend nods in acknowledgment as the speed of his fingers quickens, expertly working over your clit. “c’mon,” suguru taunts, already caught on to how much you like it when they’re mean, “be a good little slut and cum on satoru’s cock, yeah?” 
his words run straight to your core, as you babble out “mhms,” body tensing and jerking as your orgasm is finally coaxed out of you.
“fuck,” satoru hisses, groaning out, “good fucking girl.” as he unleashes his load deep into you. 
you hiccup and whine a few more times before you go limp in suguru’s hold, falling asleep. 
“shit, i think she passed out again.” suguru mumbles before he undoes your bindings, uncharacteristically kind as he rubs his palms over your tired and sore wrists. carefully, he slips out from underneath you, letting you fall back onto the bed. “you overdid it, satoru.” 
gojo’s unresponsive, chest heaving as he stays within you, so geto takes it upon himself to do the finishing touches. he reaches over, grabbing his phone and unlocking the camera app. 
pressing the red button, he captures the scene. you’re effectively passed out at this point, arms sprawled at your sides and head lolled back. this is always his favorite part, even more so than the actual fucking. there’s just something so fun about recording the aftermath, messy and dirty and oh so wet. 
satoru swoops down into view, throwing a wink and a smile, before reaching out for the phone. suguru obliges, tossing it over to let gojo capture what he sees. 
“you stayin’ over?” gojo asks, paneling down the expanse of your skin, littered in sweat, cum, and marks. he makes sure to record when he pulls out, as slowly as he can, to show off your swollen hole leaking out his seed.
“yeah, i’ll knock out on the couch.” geto replies, grimacing as he notices the wet patch of cum and fluids on his pants. he swipes a clean pair of gojo’s hanging on the back of his computer chair before heading out. he stops at the door with a quick turnaround to ask, “let me play with her sometime?” 
“of course,” his friend responds, kneeling down between your legs, spreading open your folds to further watch his sticky cum drip from your abused hole. “i owe you big time. let me know if you need any help yeah?”
gojo’s like a kid in a candy shop, delving his fingers in between your hole and your folds to catch some of the sticky substance dripping to the floor before bringing it up to the camera with a whistle. 
suguru shrugs, hungry eyes scanning back to your sleeping form before his lips curl up into a smirk. “nah, don’t think i’ll need to.” 
and satoru’s the same, just as insatiable as his friend, tossing his phone to the floor before he’s crawling up over you again, nose burying into your dizzying scent. fuck, he should’ve asked if you were cool with somno. well, maybe it’d be alright. it’s not the worst thing he’s done tonight. 
2K notes · View notes
pucksandpower · 6 months
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Under the Influence
Charles Leclerc x Reader
Summary: Charles Leclerc knows three things (1) wisdom teeth have nothing to do with being wise (2) his face looks like a chipmunk and (3) he really really really loves his girlfriend
Warnings: mention of minor medical procedure
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You wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing on the nightstand. Bleary eyed, you reach for it and squint at the screen. 37 missed calls and too many texts to count, all from Charles.
It’s the big day — your boyfriend is finally getting his wisdom teeth removed this morning. You had wanted to go with him to the oral surgeon but Charles insisted he would be fine on his own.
Clearly, that was not the case.
The phone starts vibrating again and you swipe to answer. Before you can even say hello, Charles’ slurred voice comes through the speaker. “Ma choupinette! I misssss you!” He draws out the last word for several seconds. You stifle a laugh at how loopy he sounds from the painkillers.
“Hi, my love. How are you feeling?” You ask gently.
You hear some shuffling on his end of the line.
“I feel ... so good! I can’t feel my face though. Is it still there?” More shuffling noises. “Yep, still here! Wow, my cheeks are soooo big and fluffy now!” He descends into a fit of giggles.
You grin and shake your head. Your poor Charles is definitely still under the influence of the drugs. “I’m glad you’re not in any pain. Are you home already?”
“Yep! Safe and sound in my bed. But it’s so lonely without you here. You should come over and cuddle me!” His words come out muffled, no doubt because his mouth is still numb.
You glance at the clock — it’s still relatively early in the morning. “I would love to but I have a few things to take care of first. I’ll come by this afternoon to check on you though, okay?”
Charles lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Fiiiiiine. Hey, did you know you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole world? And you’re so nice too! I’m the luckiest ...” He trails off into incomprehensible mumbling.
You have to press your hand to your mouth to hold in your laughter. Anesthetized Charles is even more adorable than regular Charles. “Thank you, my love. You’re very kind. Now get some rest, I’ll see you soon.”
“Okayyyy, bye bye gorgeous!” Charles singsongs before hanging up. Still chuckling, you set your phone down to start getting ready for the day. Your productivity is short lived however, as your phone immediately starts buzzing again.
Charles is calling you back.
With a mix of amusement and exasperation, you answer the call. Before you can ask what’s wrong, Charles’ cheerful voice exclaims, “I forgot to tell you I love you!”
You can’t help but laugh out loud this time. “I love you too, Charles.”
“Yay!” He cheers. In the background, you hear a woman’s voice telling Charles to stay in bed and get some rest. It must be his mother looking after him. Thank goodness for her help today.
You talk Charles into hanging up and leaving you be for now. As entertaining as loopy Charles is, you do need to run some errands. You eventually make it out the door and head into town. While perusing the aisles of the grocery store, your phone buzzes again. Expecting it to be Charles, you don’t even look at the screen before answering with an amused, “Yes, my love?”
Instead of your boyfriend’s sleepy voice, you hear numerous screams and squeals on the other end. Before you can ask what’s happening, the chaos turns into a bunch of people chanting “Say it again! Say it again! Say it again!”
Your stomach drops. You pull the phone away to look at the screen. Sure enough, Charles is broadcasting on Instagram Live and waving at an alarmingly large crowd of fans gathered below his apartment. Dreading what you’re about to witness, you bring the phone back to your ear. The chanting continues until Charles finally obliges.
“Y/N Y/L/N, I love you sooooo much! You’re the bestest, most bootiful, charming girl in the whole universe and I love you more than racing!” His confession is met with deafening squeals from his adoring devotees. You stand frozen in the cheese aisle, one hand clutching your grocery basket, cheeks flaming red. This is not exactly how you hoped your relationship would go public.
Charles is still slurring sluggishly into the phone, rambling on about how perfect and wonderful you are. You try to get a word in edgewise to stop him but his fans keep egging him on.
“Charles, honey, maybe you should get off Live and rest ...” you attempt feebly.
He gasps dramatically. “Wait, are you my girlfriend? Y/N? Is that you?”
You sigh, resigned to your fate. “Yes Charles, it’s me.”
The screams somehow increase in volume at this admission. Charles laughs with delight. “Guys, this is my girlfriend! Isn’t she the coolest? I’m the luckiest guy ever!”
Despite your embarrassment, you can’t help but melt a little at his ear-to-ear grin and heart eyes on the screen. He looks utterly smitten, even in his disoriented, post-op state. His fans seem to be eating it up too, flooding the comments with things like “My life won’t be complete until someone looks at me the way that Charles looks at Y/N” and “Charles is boyfriend of the year!”
You spend the next 15 minutes gently trying to persuade Charles to end the livestream and rest to no avail. He is having far too much fun gushing about you and interacting with his followers. You field a few questions from curious fans, keeping your answers light to avoid revealing too much. It’s clear they are enthralled by this lovestruck version of the normally private Ferrari driver.
Finally, after Charles has told the story of your first date no less than five times, his mother comes to your rescue. She appears on camera and tenderly tells Charles the “show” is over and he needs to sleep. He pouts adorably but allows her to tuck him back into bed and take away his phone. Just before the Live ends, he blows a loopy kiss to the camera and says “Love you, mon chouchou!” The fans go wild in the chat before the feed cuts out.
You slump against your shopping cart in relief. Your phone is already flooded with texts from friends and family who saw the Instagram fiasco. You shoot off some quick reassurances that you’re both fine and it was just the medication talking. Bagging the rest of your abandoned groceries, you check out as fast as possible. There’s somewhere you need to be right now.
Twenty minutes later you’re knocking on the door of Charles’ apartment. His mother opens it with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry about earlier dear, the anesthesia made him a bit out of it as I’m sure you noticed.”
Charles perks up when you enter his bedroom. “You came!” He mumbles happily, making grabby hands at you. You settle onto the bed next to him and he immediately nuzzles into you like an affectionate kitten. His mother slips out to give you two some privacy.
You run your fingers soothingly through his hair. “How are you feeling now, my love?”
“Mmm ... sleepy. And really happy you’re here." He smiles dopily up at you. “Did I do something silly earlier? I don’t really remember.”
You debate downplaying it but figure he’ll find out eventually when the internet explodes. “You may have repeatedly declared your undying love for me on an Instagram Live ...” you say sheepishly.
Charles’ eyes go wide. “No way, really? Wow ...” He blinks slowly, processing this new information. A sly grin spreads across his swollen face. “Well it’s true. I meant every word.”
You kiss his forehead tenderly. “I know you did. Now get some more rest, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Charles looks up at you adoringly. “I love you,” he says.
“I love you more,” you boop him on the nose.
He giggles. “No way. I love you more-er.”
“Impossible. I love you most,” you insist.
“Nuh-uh,” Charles protests. “I love you most-est.”
You laugh at his stubborn persistence. “Alright, you win. Now close your eyes.”
Charles snuggles impossibly closer into your side and soon his breathing evens out as he drifts back to sleep. You brush a few curls off his forehead and whisper “I love you most-est-est.”
You make sure the blankets are wrapped securely around him and shake your head affectionately at your adorable, clueless boyfriend. Today certainly didn’t go as expected but you wouldn’t trade your Charles for anything in the world.
2K notes · View notes
coffeeshades · 1 year
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credits to the gif maker!
LOVE IS COMPLICATED
summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who are obliviously in love.
pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.
word count: 4.4k
warnings: angst..? cussing, age gap, smut, mentions of drugs and alcohol. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!
a/n: enjoy and please let me know if you'd like a part two! i'm already writing it lol but i'd like to know anyways <3
here’s part two!
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You’d always been good friends, taking to each other without much of a second thought after Oscar had introduced you two just in passing a few years ago—eight years ago, to be exact—at some party at his house.
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New York, New York
September 4th, 2015
You were outside in the backyard, dressed far more casually than the occasion called for. It was a chilly night, and the music was blasting from inside the house.
You were tired from all the traveling, touring, and filming. You loved your job and were extremely grateful that things were working in your favor, but boy, did it leave you drained. You hadn't spent time with Oscar, or really any of your friends, in quite some time, so you thought a night out wouldn't hurt after working too much.
So there you were, enjoying the chill night air, when a familiar voice reached your ears.
“There you are!" Oscar said cheerfully, "I've been looking for you for like 20 minutes; I thought you left!" he continued, in a very dramatic manner, you must add.
You couldn't help but smile at his theatrics as you welcomed him with a hug. "Oh, I could never leave a party of yours without saying goodbye. You know I'm better than that." you speak softly, suddenly noticing another person behind him.
"I wanted to introduce you to my friend, Pedro,” he says this as he turns to face Pedro. "He's a fan," Oscar says in a singsong manner.
Pedro is standing there with his cheeks flushed and a smile forming on his lips. Although part of you wanted to be cocky about it and torture him a little, you bit your tongue, not wanting to make this worse for him.
Of course you knew who Pedro was. And not because he was in two of the most famous TV shows at the moment; it was because Oscar and Sarah wouldn't shut up about him. In every conversation you had over the phone with either of them, Pedro's name always found a way to come up. It seemed that no matter how hard they tried, they could not hide their enthusiasm for him.
So to say you were interested in meeting him was an understatement. You wanted to see what all the fuss was about.
Before you could properly introduce yourself, Oscar's name was called from inside the house. "Alright, I'll leave you two to it." he says, "Please be nice to each other!" he yells as he walks back inside. You shake your head in amusement.
"You are more beautiful in person," Pedro says in his very captivating, deep voice, catching you by surprise.
Now you are the one with the flushed cheeks.
“I thought you were shorter," you say back, daringly. Although it was an honest comment, it was also a way to deflect attention from the fact that he just called you beautiful.
Pedro laughs loudly, as if you had just told him the funniest joke ever.
"I am not trying to be mean or rude; I really thought you were like 5'3." you continued, putting your hands inside the pockets of your jacket.
"So you know who I am?" he asks, a smirk forming on his lips.
"Yeah, I like to enjoy good television in my free time." you tell him, focusing on his face.
He was more beautiful in person, too. To your relief, he was dressed similarly to you. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, tucked into dark jeans that fit him in all the right places. His hair was a bit tousled, and his mustache looked like it had been recently groomed. He must be filming Narcos, you thought. You also noticed his kind brown eyes. He had a warmth and friendliness about him that was immediately apparent.
"Also, our friends don't seem to know how to shut up about you. You are quite the talk of the town lately."
Your words made him smile. He doesn’t say anything but narrows his eyes, and you can practically hear his thoughts clamoring around in his head. "Alright, back to me being short, " you rolled your eyes as he continued with his speech, "Contrary to popular belief, I'm actually 5'11." He takes a seat on one of the small couches that have been set up in the backyard, prompting you to follow suit and take a seat as well.
"Like I said, I didn't mean it in a bad wa—" he cuts you off before you finish your sentence. "Ah, don't worry about it. Plus, if you still think that's short, I'll make up for my height with my other great qualities."
You let out a small laugh, relieved that he didn't take offense to your remark. Again. You look at him and reply, "Oh, I can't wait to see these other great qualities."
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The transition from acquaintances to close enough to hang out alone without friends was just as easy, and you quickly became an unlikely pair of sorts.
You did everything you could together. From having movie marathons whenever you both happened to be in the same city to visiting different coffee shops and ordering the same thing every time—you anything that involved caramel and him four shots of black coffee over ice—it felt as if you had known each other your whole lives.
You were inseparable, and it felt effortless, like a piece of a puzzle that had been missing for so long finally fitting just right.
Given that you were in a serious, long-term relationship when you met, the tabloids didn't dig too much. All of the articles referred to you as friends, which saved you from having awkward conversations or even thinking too deeply about the whole thing.
There was also the age thing. Pedro was older than you, so everyone just assumed you'd never go there. Your boyfriend at the time never questioned your friendship with Pedro, either.
However, you now wish he had. It would've implied he was concerned, which you now know he wasn't. He was busy with other things. You don't exactly remember when things started to fall apart between the two of you. But you do remember how it felt when you found out he was cheating. It felt like a gut punch. The fact that the whole world also knew it didn't make it any better, either. You felt completely betrayed and exposed, not just by your boyfriend but by the whole world that seemed to be privy to your pain.
As any rational person would, you succumbed to work. If you were working, you wouldn't really have time to deal with all the viscerally painful emotions that have flooded your body ever since everything went to shit. You kept filming, and you kept making music. Endless hours spent at the piano provided you with incomparable peace and tranquility. Who knew a life-altering breakup was what you needed to write the best music of your career? At least something good had to come out of this disaster.
Of course your friends and family helped you navigate this process as well. However, one person stands out above the rest: Pedro.
It's like he made it his life mission to put you back together. He'd call just to check up on you, tell you random stuff about his day just to keep your mind off things, ask what book you were currently invested in, or simply say he missed you because months had passed and you couldn't see each other because of work.
"What time is it over there?" he asks, his voice was hoarse, as if he had just woken up.
"1:30 AM," you reply, glancing at your phone, "we're still shooting some stuff."
He groans into the phone, "I fucking hate it when filming drags on for too long."
"Yeah, tell me about it." you say this as you were stretching your back. You had been filming since the afternoon; it was currently past midnight, and production was still going. To say you were exhausted was an understatement. "Alright, I'll text you later. My break's sadly over."
"Yeah, sure. Good luck, princesa."
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In other circumstances, you two happened to be in the same place at the same time. The parties were the best part of awards season. The entire purpose of the parties was to campaign for whatever projects were gaining traction, but for you, it meant spending time with friends you hadn't seen in a long time and having fun.
That explains why, four cosmos down, you were dancing and laughing in the middle of the dance floor with some of your friends. Or maybe it was five cosmos down. Truth be told, you stopped counting after the second one. You weren't the type to get wasted, but your goal for the night was to have fun, and alcohol definitely helped with that.
You start to get a little tired from all the dancing, so you head to the nearest couch. Sitting next to Sarah, she opens her arms to embrace you. "My little dirty dancer!" she says loudly, making everyone around you laugh. "Oh shut up, can't a girl have some harmless fun?" you say, a smirk on your face. You glance around the room at the grinning faces and shrug.
"It's karaoke time!" Jen, your friend and hostess for the evening, announced cheerfully, "Who wants to go first?"
"Oh, fuck me," Pedro groans, dragging his hand down his face. "I hate karaoke. I hate it. I don't want to sing karaoke, and I don’t want to listen to people sing karaoke."
He's sitting across from you with a beer in his hand and looking a little more drunk than you were. You chuckle as you watch him slump against the back of the chair during his karaoke rant.
This was no secret; after the first few weeks, when you began to hang out more frequently, he made sure to let you know this very important piece of information. That's why you took pleasure in doing it solely to irritate him.
"I will go first." You say this while looking him in the eyes. He rolls his eyes and sighs, knowing that you understand exactly why he's been so adamant about it.
"Why do you like to torture me, kid?"
"I can't help it; you're fun to mess with, Pedrito."
Even though he hated karaoke, you knew you were the only person he enjoyed listening to. You could tell by the way his eyes lit up whenever you hit the right note, the way he'd shake his head and chuckle when you made a mistake, and the smile that crept onto his face when you'd finished the song. Despite this, he would never admit to enjoying it.
You were busy listening to some of your friends talk about how you didn't completely butcher your rendition of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" when hands landed on your waist from behind and you felt a hot breath on your neck. "That was terrible, mi amor."
Spinning around to face him as he straightens up, you spot his beautiful brown eyes. "When will you admit how much you enjoy my karaoke performances?" you try to pretend you're mad, but you can't help the corners of your mouth turning up in a smirk.
Pedro chuckles, his body vibrating against yours. He leans down, his lips barely brushing yours, his breath ghosting across your skin. "Never," he says, almost in a whisper.
Your body is buzzing from the proximity. No, it's the alcohol. Without a doubt, the alcohol. You're unbothered by the proximity. The same way you're unbothered by the way he's smiling down at you.
"You're insufferable," you say, keeping the conversation moving so you don't have time to spiral.
He brings his beer to his lips, smirking as he sips. "If by insufferable you mean utterly charming, then you are right."
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Just like he made it his mission to put you back together after your life fell apart, sometimes it was your turn to put him back together, too. No matter how hard he tried to bottle up his feelings, you were always the one who could get through to him, able to make him smile or make him think with just a few simple words.
Pedro was no longer a mystery to you. He's a contradiction in motion. He withdraws into the distance that comes with fame, but he also wants to connect. Despite having a tendency to be open, he tends to hold a lot of himself back. He cares so much and yet he's also uncomfortable caring so much.
You were both in London for different reasons but were staying in the same hotel. One night, you decide to stop by his room before leaving for an event. You knock three times before he opens the door.
"Have you been crying?" you ask him, immediately concerned.
He is initially hesitant to respond, but eventually caves. "Well, yeah."
"What happened?"
"It's kind of pathetic, really."
"Then let's be pathetic together. Tell me." you respond as you push your way into the room.
"Prince died," he says, his voice hoarse from the crying.
"Pedro..." you say quietly, not really knowing what to say.
"I know, I know. It's stupid."
"Of course not." you quickly reply, "There's no shame in crying, I know how much you love him." you take a deep breath and approach him, offering him your hand. "C'mere, let's sit down."
You started lowering yourself to the floor, and he followed. "You don't have to do this...you look like you've probably got somewhere else to be."
"I've got nowhere else to be."
The two of you just sat there, not saying a word. You held him while he cried, his head on your shoulder as you ran your hand through his hair. If you could go and bring Prince back from the dead just so he wouldn't hurt like this, you would do it in a heartbeat. But you knew that was impossible, so all you could do was sit there and comfort him.
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"You two should date."
"Are you out of your fucking mind, Sarah?"
"What!" she laughs. "You're basically dating already."
Since you hadn't seen each other in a while, Sarah had extended an invitation for you to have breakfast at her house. She had questioned you about your love life after discussing a number of other topics, and when you replied that you were still single, she made that absolutely ridiculous remark.
"What does that even mean?"
"It means," she says, almost giggling, "that you two are doing the things that couples do, like going on dates and spending time together."
"We don't go on dates," you quickly reply, "and I don't like him like that."
She rolls her eyes, unconvinced, and asks, "Why?"
"Because..." you trail off, "Because he's Pedro... and I am me."  Even though you were aware that what you were saying made no sense, you refrained from going into detail.
"You really don't see it, do you?"
"There's nothing to see, Sarah."
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It was difficult to pinpoint the exact moment you first realized that occasionally, completely unprompted, your thoughts would turn to Pedro.
This was similar to how you two became friends without ever consciously choosing to do so. The mere thought of his loud, booming laugh and the way he beams at you when you crack a joke would make the corner of your mouth twitch into a small smile. Eventually, you understood that those thoughts of Pedro and the slight thrill they gave you were very different from friendship.
Yet you decided not to go there. You both enjoyed your friendship, and he never said or did anything to make you believe he felt otherwise. Or that was just a bunch of bullshit you came up with to not deal with it anyway.
You were friends, close friends, and you didn't want to jeopardize the best friendship you'd ever had by listening to that little voice in your head that occasionally whispered, "What if...?"
It wasn't until one night that everything changed. You're still unsure if it was for better or worse.
You were changing into far more comfortable clothes than you'd been wearing all day. It was finally Friday, something you were very grateful for since work had been nothing but tedious lately. You had the weekend off; it seemed like an eternity since you had been free for a couple of days.
As you slipped on your favorite and very worn-out t-shirt, your phone rang. "Ugh, what now?" you whined. You were suddenly regretting your words as you picked up the phone; his throaty voice filled your ears, and you felt instantly better. It was almost embarrassing.
"I heard you had a shitty week," he says, "I am coming over."
"How'd you know that?"
"The more important question here is why have you been in New York for days and didn't tell me? I'm actually hurt, love."  
"I know, I'm sorry, it's just been a little rough."
The guilt immediately washes over you. You knew that you should have called or even sent him a quick text, but your mind was only focused on getting through the week. It was like you were on autopilot.
"I will be there in 20 minutes." he replies, hanging up.
Without anything better to do, you decide to wash some dishes that have been sitting in the sink since last night while you wait for Pedro to arrive. You quickly finish that and then decide to pass the remaining time by reading a book you started a couple of weeks ago. You flip through the book's pages, trying to recall where you left off because the earmarked corner you'd marked seemed to have disappeared.
Before you can find the page, your cellphone screen lights up again, catching your attention out of the corner of your eye, and though it feels silly and childish, you can feel the way your heart leaps and your chest tightens just a fraction when you read the notification and see Pedro's name. "I'm here."
You rush to the door, flinging it open with a gust of energy, and you find him standing there, one hand in the pocket of his jacket and the other holding a bag, a crooked smile on his lips. "I brought wine and takeout from that place you love down on 54th." It had been months since you'd last seen him, and it was like no time had passed at all. He steps inside, closing the door behind him, and you take the bag, allowing your eyes to meet his with a smile. Fuck.
As you set everything on the kitchen counter, you both decide to eat right away. The warm, inviting scent of the food spread throughout the kitchen, and it was as if all your worries and tiredness had disappeared. The conversation flowed perfectly as you both devoured the delicious food, and you were grateful for the moment of peace.
After finishing your meal, he helps you collect everything and clean up the kitchen.
"You’ll get wrinkles if you keep working that hard, mama," he tells you as he throws something in the trash can, and you can hear the smile in his voice.
"Don't call me that," you giggle, a little tipsy from the wine. "It makes me feel—" you stop yourself before you finish the sentence. Fuck.
"It makes you feel what?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.
Well, it makes you feel embarrassed, as if you have let your guard down and revealed too much of your innermost thoughts. And it gives you butterflies. But you don't tell him that. "Nothing," you say, "it's just funny."
You knew you didn't have it in you to keep your thoughts, body, and face under control, especially when he was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded, looking like he just stepped out of a movie. You were feeling exposed and vulnerable, as if your thoughts were written all over your face, so you did what you do best: you changed the subject.
"Remember that one time we got high on edibles to go see The Incredibles 2?" you blurt, hoping he would forget what just came out of your mouth. He looked at you for a moment, as if he were considering your question, before bursting out in laughter.
"How could I forget?" he says. "It's one of our finest moments."
"Would you like to repeat the occasion?"
"Don't threaten me with a good time, baby."
You go to one of the kitchen drawers and pull out the box of cookies. "I can't believe you're offering me drugs." Pedro says in a dramatic tone.
"Oh shut up, do I need to remind you whose idea it was last time?" you roll your eyes, grabbing two cookies and throwing one at him.
"Should we honor last time and watch a movie?" he says as he takes a bite of the cookie.
To be entirely honest, you should have known that things were about to go off the rails the very moment the man at the other end of the couch, in that impossibly confident and seductive voice, asked you to come closer. "You're miles away from me, princesa."
If you had been wise, you would have politely declined. If you had any sense of self-preservation when it came to Pedro, you would have declined his offer and avoided thinking about him fucking you into this very couch. But you weren't wise, which is why your legs are thrown over his lap and his fingers are drawing circles in your thighs. Pedro’s gaze feels like a caress, and his voice is thick, "You look like you're thinking too hard."
"What?" you ask, dumbfounded.
"I said you looked like you were thinking too hard." he replies, "What's running through that pretty head of yours?"
Your teeth are tugging at your bottom lip in a way that Pedro seems to find distracting because he nearly slips up and breaks the carefully maintained eye contact, his gaze darting down just a fraction of an inch. You don't know where the courage came from, but you lean in on your elbows, lifting yourself from the laying position you were in, closing the gap even further until it's impossibly small.
You can tell you know what you've been doing when you pause with only a breath of space between your mouth and his, worrying at your lip with the intention of getting him to break first, like you’re challenging him to decide where this goes next. "What do you think I'm thinking about?" you finally reply, your gaze not wavering for a second. Pedro's hesitation is just a second before his mouth parts, leaning in just enough to touch your forehead and close his eyes.
"I think you're thinking about all the wrong things we could be doing right now instead of watching this boring movie."
"I think you're correct."
His lips curl into a smile, pulling away only slightly to look you in the eye, his voice barely above a whisper, "Can I kiss you?"  
And that's when it happens. You lean in, your lips slamming into his so quickly that your thumb gets caught in the middle. He nips at it, biting down a little harder than he wanted to, but you don't mind and simply move it out of the way, sliding it away from his mouth and resting it across his cheekbone. You straddle his lap, and as his hands find their way to your waist and his lips move ever so hungrily against yours, you feel a fire inside.
Everything is happening so fast, and the room is spinning around you. You're not sure if you're feeling this way because of the drugs or because of Pedro. You can feel the pressure of his hands against your skin and a warmth radiating through you; all you know is that you don't want it to end. As you begin to grind against his hard on, he moves his hands to your ass and grips it tightly.
"You like that, hm?" he rasps, between kisses. You moan in agreement, and one of his free hands travels up your body to the nape of your neck and squeezes it tightly. You gasp at the sensation and move your body to match his movements, pushing yourself closer against him.
It's rough and messy. You're both desperate, as if you've been waiting your entire lives to do this. Pedro's hands covered your entire body, and his mouth kissed your neck and mouth roughly, as if trying to make up for the years of anticipation.
"Fuck, P," you moan; he wasn't giving you even a second to breathe.
"Tell me what you need, princesa."
"I need you to touch me."
"Your wish is my command."
Pedro moved quickly, his fingers caressing and teasing your body as he worshipped you with each touch until he finally reached your shorts.
He slides his hand down your panties and groans. "I haven't even touched you properly, and you're already wet, baby." His fingers pressed down softly as he moved around your clit, rubbing and massaging it until you felt yourself close to the edge. He manages to get his free hand under your shirt, and he massages your breasts, pinching your nipples softly as you moan in pleasure.
"Are you gonna come for me, princesa, hm?"
"Y-yeah..." you gasp, not even ashamed of how quickly your orgasm was approaching, "I can't... hold it..."
He took that as a sign to go faster and harder, and as he continued to draw circles on your clit, a wave of pleasure swept through your body, culminating in a moan that signaled your impending climax.
"Fuck!" you screamed as you came suddenly, body trembling and hips bucking once more. Pedro let out a groan at the sight and sounds you were making. You're both gasping for air, one of his hands on one side of your face, your foreheads touching.
And that's when it happens. Instant regret.
Oh my god.
Oh no.
Oh fuck.
What have you done?
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kungfubarbie101 · 8 months
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Phone Call- König
nsfw/smut, fem!reader, short image, masturbation, dirty talk, male orgasm
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You and König have been on the phone only 5 minutes, he had called you to let you know he was finally finished with his mission and he would be home tomorrow night. Suddenly König was being extra quiet which wasn’t really like him since he’s was quite talkative with you over the phone and in person, but that’s until you heard a low groan come from the other line, making you stop in the middle of your sentence and listen closer.
“König?” You say to him, hearing nothing but muffle movement as if he was losing connection. “König?” You said a little louder into the phone, only hearing nothing on the other line.
“Yes dear?” His thick german accent rung through the phone. König was listen intensely to your voice, his hand working up the shaft of his dick. “Are you okay? You stopped talking…” You asked him softly, only hearing a small pleasurable sigh.
“I’m f-fine…..J-just keep talking…” He told you, waiting to hear your voice once again, fucking the palm of hand in sexual frustration, he was choking his words out. You furrow your eyebrows as he told you to continue, you wanted to hear how his mission was but-
“(Your name)……please continue….” His voice caught you off guard as he sounded desperate for you to talk to him more, wanting to hear your sweet words linger out your mouth. “Oh? Why?” You asked him, still not quite knowing what he was doing on the other line.
“Fuck (your name),” He let out, almost in a irritated tone, “Just be a good girl and continue talking for me”.
Your eyes had widened, finally understanding what he was doing, biting your bottom lip as you grinned. “Does it feel good honey?” Your voice sweet and seductive as you spoke, making König stroke himself faster, “Yes..” His voices sounded raspy and shaky, it made your stomach tingle, your thighs squeezed, rubbing together, giving some friction against yourself.
“Darling~” He let out, a shaky groan escaping him, “Tell me how you want me to touch you right now” He muttered, almost embarrassed to say it. You let out a soft chuckle before speaking, “I want you to hold my waist tightly as your bury your cock into my pussy, staring into my eyes deeply as you do…” You tell him, you could feel yourself getting wet through your panties just thinking about it. König let out another audible groan, a soft whimper leading out.
“Fuckin hell….I want you so bad (your name)” You could hear his breath quicken before you continued, “ I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk anymore, rub my clit with your rough thumb as you whisper praises and degrading things into my ear, only making me beg for more”. König’s eyes closed, his dick rutting up against the palm of his hand, only imagining that it was your plush pussy clenching around it. Ohhh the thoughts he was thinking about.
König let a pleasurable moan, pre-cum started to leak out of his tip. His pace had quickened faster by the second when you spoke to him, your voice being a addictive drug in which he was getting high. His legs trembled softly, his hips bucking sloppily upwards, a wave of pleasure washed over him, a louder moan coming from the phone indicated he had finally finished.
His cum leaking from his tip, running down his hand, coding his fingers. All you could do was listen to him, imagining how pretty he must have looked when he came. You where turned on by the fact he reached his climax, just from hearing your voice. “Did you cum baby?” You ask him, hearing a low ‘mhm’ from the other line. You smiled, “Good boy…” You tell him, praising him lightly, wanting to be there to give him tender kisses.
“Thank you, schatz. Now, let me get all cleaned up, I want to hear the rest of your day princess…”
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pinkie-pop · 4 months
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"Do Paimons Dream of Floating Sheep?"
Mondstadt: Part I Part II Part III Part IV
Based on this
Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Paimon!Reader, Yandere Genshin Impact, Aether, Albedo, Eula, Diluc, Kaeya, Lisa, Venti
Word count: 2.2k
Synopsis: Being dragged into the world of your favorite video game is hardly your idea of a relaxing Saturday, and being dragged into the world of your favorite game, taking over the role of mascot even less so. Unfortunately, it seems fate has no interest in what you consider to be a normal day, and it will do anything to replace your idea of normal entirely.
Includes: Acrophobia, implied drugging of a drink (Not Reader's),
Note: This work is distinct from the previous two installments in that it does not follow a chronological timeline. Instead, it contains a collection of short stories and interactions.
“Ah, hello there [Name],” Kaeya says, catching you on one of the rare moments you’re alone. “I was just about to get some Sticky Honey Roast, do you want to join? My treat.” He must know it’s your favorite—one of the few things you have in common with the original Paimon—with the way he always seems to use it as an excuse to spend more time with you. 
“Um, is that really okay? Aren’t you like, on duty?” Kaeya smiles, pressing a finger to his lips.
“It’ll be our little secret,” he says. You try to smile at him as you think of ways to decline, but a betrayal from your stomach seals your fate. Your blue-haired companion chuckles at the loud grumble from your stomach and beckons you to follow him. ”Sounds like you’re in agreement. Then, let’s head down to Good Hunter,” he says, placing a hand on the small of your back as the two of you walk. It's a little uncomfortable, but you don’t say anything. 
Kaeya is difficult to navigate, so you usually avoid him. You think he’s noticed, but he’s yet to say anything about it. Instead, the two of you engage in a silent tug-of-war, with him always trying to pull you in closer and you always trying to break away.
Well, at least the food’s free.
The two of you make your way down to Good Hunter, where you engage in awkward small talk as Kaeya stares you down uncomfortably. You’re about halfway through making some vague remark about the weather when Kaeya lets out something like a contented sigh, stopping you in your tracks.
“This is nice,” says Kaeya, resting his chin on his hand and looking at you with a gaze resembling something like tenderness. “They run me ragged at the Knights of Favonious—seeing you is like a breath of fresh air. I’d better be careful, otherwise I might get swept up in your gaze and forget everything else.” 
“Run you ragged? Is Jean really that hard on you?” You say, pointedly ignoring his flirtatious remarks.
“Oh, absolutely,” he says. “Why just the other day, I–” Kaeya pauses, as if sensing something. Slowly, he turns around. 
“Go on,” says Jean, standing right behind him. “What happened next, Captain?” She enunciates the title with purpose, clearly angry but still smiling. Kaeya swallows, and gets an earful from Jean. You finish your meal in peace.
•~•~•~•~•~•
“Just a little further–!” You say, oustretching your hand and teetering over the edge of the ladder, desperately trying not to look down. Lisa had asked you to help her with some menial tasks at the library. Right now, you're reshelving books as Lisa holds the ladder steady. You could have forgone the ladder and flown up to the shelves yourself, but after last time…you shudder. No, it’s much easier to use the ladder instead, although, really, you’d rather not be up here at all. Lisa had practically begged you to go up, citing her bad back as to why she couldn’t do it herself. “Ah, got it!” you say, smiling victoriously. You grin down at Lisa, only to realize just how high up you are. 
Like waves crashing against the sand, the floor below you shifts and swirls as you fight to stay afloat. It is a meaningless fight, you know, for you are already falling. Time seems to slow down as you plummet to the floor. Logically, you know your fall should only take but a few seconds, but to you, it seems to stretch out for an eternity. 
Your life flashes before your eyes. You see your family smiling at you from beyond a white light, you reach towards it, but there’s nothing there. You could save yourself by flying, but you’ve already vowed to never take to the skies again, and so down you fall. Falling is not all that dissimilar to flying, you see. It’s merely a matter of perspective.
Surely you must be close to the ground by now? It feels as though you’ve been plummeting down for ages. 
You keep falling. Then, you stop.
Lisa catches you, her face mere cetemeters from yours. “I take it this means you’ve fallen for me?” She teases as your face heats up. You try to tell her to put you down, to ask about her back, but the words don’t come out. Instead, you lay there in her arms, gaping at her as if she had just grown three heads. Finally, she puts you down. You aren’t sure how long she kept you there, but you have a feeling it was longer than it needed to be. 
The two of you finish shelving the books in silence, Lisa smiling the whole time.
•~•~•~•~•~•
“Hey, Aether?” Your companion looks up at you in curiosity. You take a breath. ”If…we’re travelers, then, does that mean we don’t have a place to call home? What happens when our journey ends?” You look down, running a finger across the crescent scar on your hand—a nervous habit you picked up after coming to this world.
You had been thinking about this for a while. Ever since you fell into the lake three weeks ago. You have a home, but it's not here. 
“Home, huh..?” Aether seems to be pondering over your question sincerely. No matter how silly or inconsequential your thoughts were, he always took you seriously. You liked that about him. “Home is wherever the three of us are,” he says at last. You chuckle awkwardly, unsure of what to say. It was sweet of him to say that, but he’s only known you for a few months. 
You open your mouth to speak, but Aether cuts you off before you get the chance to. “I mean it, you know. Even if you don’t believe it. I don’t care how long we’ve known each other. You found me when I was at my lowest, when I was lost and missing the only family I’d ever known. You picked me back up and taught me about this world, even though it was foreign to you, too. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.” Your face grows hot as you turn away. 
You aren’t an idiot. You’ve noticed the way he looks at you. Like you’re the only thing in the whole world. But…perhaps because you didn’t want to hurt him, you always ignored the signs, no matter how obvious they may be.
You aren’t sure if you can ignore this one, though.
“I can’t stay.” How can you say that? You can’t. You have a home, but Aether isn’t a part of it. One day you’ll tell him.
Just not today.
•~•~•~•~•~•
“Position your feet like this, then…” Eula stands behind you, her front nearly touching your back as she guides your arms into the proper positions. She’s close, nearly too close, and you can feel her hot breath on the nape of your neck as she instructs you. It’s hard to focus, but you do your best to follow her instructions. “Good. Now, from the top.” You do as she says and get back into starting position. Your feet start a shoulder widths apart, your hands above you, good, you’re starting off stopping. Next, move your hands like this and your feet like so.
Keep going, now. You’ve almost done it. Move slowly, don’t rush. Remember to breathe. You hold your current pose for three beats then slowly, carefully, move on to the next position. You drag the tip of your foot across the floor in a circular motion, then join it with your other one. You’re almost done now. It’s time for the finale. 
Careful now, it’s the final stretch. Almost there, almost there—
You trip.
Internally cursing at your mistake, you hardly notice the way Eula’s arms swiftly wrap around you, keeping you from harm.
“You did well,” she says, walking towards the gramophone and taking out the record. She readies the song to play again, then steps back towards you. You never noticed it before, but even the way she walks is as elegant as a dance. You suppose that’s one perk of nobility.
“Thank you…”
“Now, let’s try again, shall we? Don’t worry, I’ll spot you. Just focus on dancing.” 
•~•~•~•~•~•
Aether fell asleep.
It was still early, but the day was not particularly kind to him. You suppose it’s natural for him to be a bit tired. Still, to fall asleep in the middle of a bar was…
Diluc’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. 
“If Aether’s too tired to walk back, there’s a spare room here that you can use. I doubt you’ll be able to carry him,” he says, wiping a glass. He’s been wiping the same glass for several minutes now…almost as if he were waiting for something...Or maybe he just switched them out when you weren’t looking. The glasses all look the same, after all.“Of course, if you’re worried about the comfort of such a room, I can always carry him back to my manor. You can stay in one of the spare rooms, too. I’ll let the maids know not to disturb the two of you.”
“Thank you,” you say. “But that shouldn’t be necessary. Aether’s a pretty light sleeper, I’m sure I can wake him, no problem.”
“Are you sure?” Diluc glances over at you. “He looks pretty out of it.” You try jostling him, only for there to be no response. You continue trying on and off for the rest of the night. It is only until the tavern is minutes away from closing that you finally accept Diluc’s offer. You hadn’t wanted to burden him, but he was right. You couldn’t carry him all by yourself. You follow Diluc back to his manor. He seems uncharacteristically pleased.
•~•~•~•~•~•
Dragonspine is cold. 
You knew that, of course, but you had no ideea just how cold it really was. The game’s sheer cold gave you an idea, sure, but it left out just how biting the wind could be. A simple frost filter overlaid on top of gameplay could to nothing to convey just how freezing the place really was. Even now, bundled up in three layers of coat and standing next to a fire, the cold still found its way to creep past your defences, starting at your skin and seeping down into your bone.
You are cold. Freezing, even. To an almost literal degree. You think that if you were to start crying now, your tears woud freeze before they even left your eyes. Perhaps your eyelids would freeze shut, and perhaps you would never be able to open them again. It’s so cold that you wonder if you’ll ever feel warmth again. You wonder if such a thing is even possible.
You know these musings are silly, but alas, you cannot help them. It is far too cold to be thinking of anything else.
“Come here,” Albedo says, beckoning you over. You do so without thinking, though the chill makes you want to stay put. Albedo wraps a blanket around the two of you, then pulls you into his chest. You relax into him immediately, the warmth from his body overtaking you, fighting valiantly against the frigid air. For once, it seems to actually have a chance. 
You snuggle in closer and Albedo wraps an arm around you, bringing you somehow closer than before as he rubs small circles into your back. It’s soothing. You sigh happily, too focused on the temperature to notice the possessive way he’s looking at you, too preoccupied to wonder why he doesn’t turn on the heater you saw hours ago.
You didn’t know it was possible for people to be this warm. Perhaps it is because Albedo is not a person at all. Albedo holds you as if you are his only lifeline, and, for a second, you find yourself wondering if he’s cold as well. Right, Albedo doesn’t get cold. He can’t.
So then, why is he holding you so tightly…?
•~•~•~•~•~•
There’s something almost hypnotic about his voice, or perhaps its about the way he strums his lyre. Is it because he’s a god? Or perhaps it’s simply a millenia of experience at play. Perhaps it is both. Perhaps neither. You don’t dwell on it. You’d miss the performance if you did, and what a shame that would be.
The two of you sit together, alone in the dead of night with only each other for company. You sat at the foot of the large statue in the middle of the city as he serenaded you. Perhaps it was a little egotistical of him, to sing for you under a statue of himself, but you are far too preoccupied in song to care.
The moon’s milky glow illuminates his face in a way that is almost ethereal. At times, you have found yourself wondering if Venti was truly a god fit of the title. It is only now, in times like this, that the truth of his divinity is realized. Words fall like honey from his lips as he sings, his nimble fingers plucking at the strings with precision and expertise. His skill is unmatched—not just in Mondstadt, but in the whole of Teyvat. Of this, you are certain.
The song comes to its end, and so too does your rendezvous. 
•~•~•~•~•~•
You close the Archive. 
“So that’s what the future has in store for me, huh?”
Taglist: @shadowkitty-me @probablynoposts @kissyhalik @persephone-kore-law @neverending-animelove @crxscnt @teravolting @resident-cryptid @esthelily @shellofthewall @dilucragnidvr @altheq0 @wegottastayfocus @jellothefool @c0l1fl0r @francisnyx @imma-just-chill @fantasyhopperhea @iamapotatoe @utahimechan @undecidingfate @saltystudentdefender @vee-love @ayameei @shadowkitty-me @fantasyhopperhea @c4xcocoa
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kausstar · 1 month
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i know if i am haunting you, you must be haunting me !
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☆ 𝓡AFE 𝓒AMERON x f! reader│nsfw content│wc: 2.1k lı|lı|l haunted — beyoncé.
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normally, rafe has no problem getting over exs. didn’t matter if he had to drown himself in lines or take shot after shot, he would get over it. but you were intoxicating. smelled better than any drug he’d sniffed, tasted better than any liquor that he swallowed, looked prettier than any girl he could fucking lay his eyes on.
fic tags porn w plot. black reader in mind but anyone can read, mwah! swearing. threatening (some rando guy). obsessive! rafe (makes him like 10 times yummier). talks of doing drugs. lots of kissing. the sloppy, nasty, needy shit. pussy eating. praise kink. light choking. manhandling. over stimulation.
𝓴aus. wanted to write something that screamed the definition of passionate sex n’ i am needy for some him soooo here we are. haven’t written anything like this in a while so forgive me if it’s bad :((
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“damn.” rafe ran his fingers throw his hair, fingers pulling at his roots making him wince at the tug. his eyes were foggy as he looked around the living room filled with people he didn’t want to see. none of them were you. he knew you were here, you and sarah were still friends regardless of the break up but he just couldn’t find the balls to get off this fucking couch.
he came to forget everything that had happened these last couple weeks with his dad and the argument he had with you but no matter how many lines of cocaine he did, his mind just wouldn’t let up. truly, he wasn’t having a good time.
he blamed himself for the argument that ruined your relationship and it was really getting to him— more than he expected. he was so stressed with his dad’s bullshit he couldn’t see you. how good you were to him. how patient you were with him. how important you were to him. the things he would do to keep you his were…unhealthy, to say the least, and for him to completely forget that made him sick.
in irritation, he bites the inside of his mouth and stands from the couch, throwing down the $20 bill he’d been sniffing coke through. he moves his way around the couch’s and chairs in the living room, eyes searching for either you or someone who he knew who would know where to find you. “hey, rafe!” “rafe!” “yo, rafe,” was all his heard walking through the crowd but he hadn’t heard that voice— your voice.
he spotted someone, someone he wasn’t particularly fond of, but he knew you. rafe isn’t hesitant to grab topper’s shoulder and turn him to face him. topper’s face is filled with confusion and irritation until he realizes who it is. before topper can speak, rafe does.
“where is she?” topper’s eyes squint with confusion. he’d known what happened between him and you so he already knew who rafe was asking for. he shakes his head at rafe. “i don’t know. come on, rafe. she’s not-” rafe quickly removes his hand from topper’s shoulder and throws his hand up at him. “shut the fuck up. if you don’t know then just- just shut the fuck up,” he says before stumbling back into the crowd, not caring to wait on topper’s reply.
he decides to walk towards the back yard pool area, you always liked to be a bathing suit. you always looked pretty in the ones he picked out too. he groaned at the thought of you in one without his arm wrapped around your waist, kissing her lips. as soon as he’s about to start walking a little faster towards the back of the house, he spots you, some guys hands sliding down your sides in the bathing suit he bought.
he moves through the crowd, not caring for anyone in his way or the groans and cursing he hears from irritated people. once he makes it to you and he’s in your line of sight, he sees nothing but worry flash over your face. he doesn’t study it for too long though, too focused on the unwanted energy standing behind you. “touch her like that again and i’ll gut you,” his voice is steady for the first time that night. the guy is quick to raise his hands and move away from the two of you.
rafe doesn’t look away until he’s out of his line of sight. “don’t worry about that. what’s wrong, rafe?” your voice and the light pull from your hands on his face redirecting him to look at you. oh, that pretty face he missed. he’s almost dazed at the looks of you. he forgets for a second your question and you go to ask again but he opens his mouth.
“wanna apologize,” his sentence is breathy, his hand trailing up your throat to your face. your soft skin never feeling so nice underneath his hands. you shake your head, “it’s fine. i know you were stressed-” this time, he shakes his. “yeah, yeah. but you didn’t deserve that. wanna make it up to you.” before you can reply, his lips are on yours, his hand holding your face making sure you don’t pull away from him.
the kiss is soft but sloppy and needy. his tongue playing recklessly with yours. you moan into the kiss, head slightly going foggy. “rafe… baby,” you plead into the kiss, trying to get him to stop just for a bit but your pleads aren’t enough. it isn’t until you pull at the wrist of the hand that held your face that he pulled away. with the both of you breathless, he grins down at you, thumb running over your spit covered lips.
“let’s go upstairs,” you lightly smile back, thumbs rubbing the side burns of his messy hair. he nods before you pull his hand from your face and guide him through the crowd to the stairs. he follows behind you, hungry eyes watching your every move. upstairs, you walk to his room and once you’re inside he shuts the door behind the two of you. he’s quick to pull you into him, lips greedily latching onto yours.
his kisses are breathless leaving your lungs haunted. but no matter how hard it gets to breath, you kiss him deeper and tug the hair at the nip of his neck to pull him closer. he doesn’t miss the hunger in your kiss and begins to slowly back you up towards the bed until you’re at the foot of it. he wastes no time to remove his shirt, breaking the kiss to do so but he doesn’t let your lips be apart long, connecting back with you after the shirt is thrown elsewhere.
you aren’t shy about pulling at the waist of this black shorts and he chuckles into the kiss at the gesture. he goes for the buttons on them before stripping from them entirely. “get on the bed, baby,” he whispers onto your lips, giving you a quick peck before pulling away completely. you do as your asked and he follows suit right behind you. he meets you on the bed with a passionate kiss that leads down to your neck. the kisses are open mouthed and sloppy, so sloppy it leaves you with cold ones.
“lift,” he says, asking you to lift your upper half so he can take off your top. you sit yourself up, allowing him to untie it and pull the top from your chest. your breast now exposed to the cold air and before you can whine about being cold, his warm mouth is wrapped your left nipple making you gasp. “rafe,” you whine out, hand on the back of his head as you feel his tongue swirl around your nipple.
he sucks on it lightly- even gives it a good ‘pop’ before going to the other. you lightly moan as he runs his tongue over the other, sucking on it lightly soon after. he then replaces it with kisses, kisses that soon trail down your stomach stopping right above your bikini bottoms. he runs his finger up and down your folds through them, making the wet spot, in the thin fabric, bigger.
“i make you this wet, huh?” he asks, fat grin on his face. he doesn’t expect an answer, just wants to hear that pathetic whine that you always let out when he teases you about soaking your panties. you give him exactly what he wants too, letting out a little whine that makes his dick leak pre-cum.
he doesn’t tease you any longer— mostly because he needs a taste of you before he cums in his pants just from the needy look your giving him. after pulling them off, he hooks his arms under your legs and dips his tongue inside, tasting you on his tongue. he hums at how sweet you taste and swirls his tongue around your clit. your clit hardens under the stimulant of his tongue and your legs open wider, giving him more access to you.
moans escape your mouth as his tongue travels down to your dripping hole. he dips the tip inside, fucking your pussy with his tongue. the lower half of his face soaked as he continues to push his face into your wet pussy. his nose brushing your clit every now and then making your eyes roll into the back of your head. “hmmp… m’ gonna cum, baby,” you pant as this tight feeling continues to build in the small of stomach. “cum,” he demands, words muffled by your pussy.
again, you do as asked and your orgasm rushes over you. you cum all over his mouth and face, eyes watering from his intense it was. rafe doesn’t care too much about that though. he removes his tongue from inside you but continues to lap profusely at your pussy. your folds, clit, inner lips… everything. so much, it has you whining and trying to get out of his grasp but he won’t let that happen of course.
“come on, baby. just wanna clean you up,” he claims, before pulling you towards his mouth by your hips. without much of a choose, you allow him to run his tongue over your sensitive areas until he felt it was enough, which felt like eternity. but when he finally lets up, he comes up to kiss you and allows you to taste yourself on his tongue. “please, fuck me,” you whimper into the kiss.
he pulls away, grinning lightly down at you. “you’re so pretty when you beg,” he says before taking down your boxers, exposing his leaking dick. his tip a pretty shade of pink, almost your favorite shade. he runs just the tip through your folds, his pre-cum mixing with your cum. the tip of his dick ever so slightly getting snagged on your clit making you moan.
it doesn’t take him long to line himself up with you and slide himself into your warm, sticky walls. he lets out a delicious sounding groan as he did so- your own sound of pleasure following shortly behind his. his hips slowly inch towards the back of your thighs as he pushes each inch of his dick inside of you. you moan out as he pumps you full, arms wrapped around his back.
he can feel your pussy squeeze and clench for him, pulling him in just like the way your eyes beg him to kiss you. he does as both of you ask, kissing your lips deeply as he draws his hips back and forth just the way he knows you like it. deep and fast. he moves one of his hands from the bed sheets to your face and as his lips moves his hands do too.
while he’s kissing your lips, his hand stays resting on your jaw but when he’s kissing your neck, his hand are wrapped around it lightly, just enough to feel your pussy become wetter at his touch. soon, he pulls away from your neck and switches his attention back to your lips but he doesn’t kiss you just let. “i’ll give you anything. anything you want,” he promises, lips ghosting over yours, your breath brushing over each others face.
you could only let out a whine in response to his words, brain too foggy. the room is filled with sloppy sounds of the two of you meeting. the squelching sounds of your pussy taking every thrust he gives you makes his dick leak inside of you. that, with you panting underneath him, the smell and taste of you consuming his senses. he’s damn near close to cuming in you. “god,” he moans, “think i’m gonna cum, baby.”
his hand loosens from your throat and you stutter out a reply. “m-me too,” you call out, holding onto him tighter. his pace stays constant, he doesn’t let it slow or stutter until the last minute until he’s emptying himself inside of you. you cum first, holding onto him tightly as your pussy clenches and squeezes around him, almost motivating him to spill himself inside. shortly behind, he cums with a groan, eyes closed, hips slowed.
after minutes of catching your breath, he brings you into a lovely and longing kiss before snapping his hips into you so you take all of him. your moan into the kiss is cut short because of his reckless movements. “i missed you,” you whisper, breathless, against his lips. “i missed you to death,” he lightly laugh almost as if he doesn’t believe how true it is as he pulls away from you. you lightly laugh at him.
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𝓮𝓷𝓭   2024 kausstar.
ignore the ending… please. thirsts are still open 4 him. mwah!
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chaoticace2005 · 1 month
Text
Reasons the Mothman should die, collectively written by the residents of the Hazbin Hotel:
Coding for Characters: Vaggie, Charlie, Pentious, Alastor, Niffty, Husk, pretty much everyone
TW: References to abuse
He’s holding back Angel’s progress. (Vaggie, is killing really necessary?) (I am concerned about going after a Vee)
I’m hungry (ALASTOR!)
Ms. Angel gets nervous when on the phone with him.
His coat is tacky.
He’s a bug! And bugs must be DESTROYED!
So Angel stops feeling like he has to be so damn fake. This is getting on my fucking nerves.
HE LICKED CHARLIE!!! (Vaggie, wait it’s okay.)
Color scheme sucks. Purple AND red?!
He makes Angel sad, NOBODY should make Angel sad.
Those obnoxious glasses just make him look stupid.
He’s a manipulative, abusive prick.
ANGEL DIDN'T KNOW BOUNDARIES WERE A THING?!?!?!?!?!? (Honestly that explains a lot.)
NOBODY deserves to be in an abusive relationship.
Too many arms. Nobody needs that many. (...Angel has that many?) (Well maybe he shouldn't.)
Ms. Angel keeps coming home all messy!!
He’s ruining hearts for everyone. Me and Angel already have enough. At least those are on our bodies, what’s his excuse?
Hearts should not even be ASSOCIATED with Valentino, THIS IS NOT LOVE.
I can do without all the sexual depravity. While I am in Hell this is NOT one of the reasons.
If I have to hear that ringtone one more damn time-
The Eggies found some of his films. They should never be exposed to such horrors. Now I have to explain what “a sex” is.
Makes picture shows that are a disgrace to the idea of “entertainment.”
He’s making a bad name for Uncle Ozzie. This is NOT “lust.”
So we don’t have to listen to another one of Angel’s pornos. (Agreed, it’s quite horrifying!!)
So Ms. Angel isn’t tired when she gets home and can save the kinky stuff for then :) (Niff, really?)
So the kid stops coming home with bruises and cuts that I fix up at 3 am. (Husk, what the fuck?)
Because what the FUCK Valentino?
He keeps forcing Angel to do drugs. (HE WHAT?! Like crack??) (That but also I’m pretty sure whatever comes out of him is an aphrodisiac.)
I want to use his antenna as a backscratcher
Has that whole red color thing going on. Only I am allowed to wear red :) (Al, your text isn’t even red.) (My what?)
What is up with his red spit and smoke? Seriously disgusting.
The red stuff from him may be what allows Velvette to create her “Love Potions” which funds Vax’s stupid endeavors (Do you mean Vox?) (Who?)
FOR MY COLLECTION :D (…yeah okay.)
Really is making a bad name for Overlords. And not in the fun way.
Angel’s shown trauma signs of abuse in our meetings. Im pretty sure it’s Valentino.
Make a doll out of his fur so I have a main villain for roach puppet shows!!!
His only purpose is to keep Veks occupied but considering Vixen’s inane attempts to catch my attention it isn’t working.
So Angel can have his soul and he and Husk can run off into the sunset together like in a fanfiction!!! (Ah, yes that would be nice.) (WE WHAT?!) (Oh Husker, denial doesn’t suit you.)
So Angel can get a good boyfriend THAT’S NOT ME to stop these bullshit allegations.
So Angel can admit his feelings to Husker because our cat surely isn’t going to be the first to do it. (ALASTOR I SWEAR TO GOD!)
Who knows how many other people he’s abusing.
Seems to give Vicks confidence. He has enough of that as is. It much more fun to destroy him.
He makes Angel sad which makes Cherri sad!
HE HIT ANGEL!!!
Called my dear Rosie an "old hag" NOBODY CALLS ROSIE AN OLD HAG.
Angel is a good friend and deserves so much better.
I’ve forgotten what moths taste like.
He keeps trying to get Angel to move out :(
Told the kid he had to lose weight. What the actual FUCK. (Ill kill him.)
He’s annoying and looks quite stupid. How has this not been added yet?!
He’s making a bad name for Spanish speakers everywhere. (Yeah it’s embarrassing.) (Wait… what?)
He’s making a bad name for pansexuals everywhere.
He’s making a bad name for wing-holders everywhere. (HE HAS FUCKING WINGS?!) (Oh, yeah, I didn’t tell you?)
Too tall. This is ridiculous.
Won’t admit he’s blind so he’s become even more of a public safety hazard.
If I get one more transmission of him and Box commiting lascivious acts someone will be eaten. I don’t care who. What the purpose of these are I don’t know. Advertisement? (I think it’s to make you jealous boss.) (Ha! Jealous of what? Mediocre sex with a pathetic excuse for a businessman with a TV as a head?)
Because Angel deserves fucking better.
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