#and now i'm old and dusty

[dustykneed]

Hello! Random whipper snipper! Share a WIP of your work!

ooh, with pleasure. six the musical araleyn fanart? in the year 2k24? more likely than you think xDD

i realize this looks finished, but technically i'm still deciding whether to add a background or not lol. still, for the sake of sharing a proper WIP, here's a line or two from an araleyn brainworm WIP that i started reworking yesterday (mild tw for religious guilt and period-typical internalized homophobia from aragon's pov):

She remembers sharing her bed with Anne at Henry's behest, remembers the nights of tossing and turning and trying not to think about Anne asleep next to her-- remembers waking up to dark hair spilling across her pillow and the press of blood-warm bosoms against her own, softer than sin, as hot as the Devil, remembers lying still as death, mouthing prayers into the heat of Anne's neck like an act of penance.

[melokuu]

I trained all my life to stay calm in terrible situations and it's the only thing that keeps me from launching teeth out at their necks. HOW can people be so dumb yet so self-righteous at the same time, this is maddening !

[ace-detectiv3]

This beat is fire not going to lie (<- Listening to classical music )

[pocket-size-cthulhu]

The good news is that just as physical libraries scratch the "hoarding little goblin"/"shopping" itch, for me Libby is scratching the online shopping itch. It even comes with the delivery notifications high 😌

[lifeatthebottomofthesea]

I missed the last half hour of SD cause I went to get drinks with a friend. I apparently made the right choice???

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

i watched My Neighbor Totoro for the first time, here's my chronological viewing experience:

woo-hoo! dusty old japanese house with japanese architectural details aplenty

these kids got some ENERGY my goodness

family dynamic's adorable. peak quality dad humor

kids: our house is haunted. parents: that's so cool!

hell yeah, wrinkled old lady rep. we need more friendly old women with potato faces and warts like storybook witches. the backbone of society, these ladies

Plot Summary: Small Child Bothers Local Wildlife

sacred tree sacred tree sacred tree

Introducing Totoro! nobody said this fucker's got TEETH???

Uh-Oh! Inadequate Parental Supervision Detected

(you misplaced your four year old! you're not supposed to do that)

4-year-old: i met a magic forest spirit. dad: oh shit fr?

4-year-old: *angrily hugs sister* missed u bitch

this small child has a smile like a toad. like a really really cute toad. like the cutest toad in all existence. i love her she's perfection please just let this child be happy

rice paddies are so pretty....so back breaking....rice is such a prissy crop

*my crush is stranded in a rainstorm* takethisumbrellait'syoursnowBYE *runs away in panic im so good at flirting*

Giant Chinchilla Learns To Hold Umbrella, Is Fucking Delighted By Experience

take this, it will help you on your quest! *hands u trail mix wrapped in a leaf*

LO-FI HIP HOP STUDY LIST!

crouching down to peer at dirt--A++ top notch foundational childhood experience

mom has a big ass forehead

honey! the chinchillas are performing Rituals in the backyard again

help yeah let's jack and the bean stalk this shit

huh so we're all just climbing aboard the giant chinchilla's tiddies now ok

class trip!

the pure adrenaline of Vegetable Gardening

no! the small child is crying! she is bawling her eyes out. no no no. i can't cope with this. emotionally i cannot cope 🥺🥺🥺

i've only had Mei one hour but if anything happens to her i will raze this earth and everyone on it

please someone make this small child smile again

oh no the tall child is crying too

i can't take this. my heart can't take this.

i need a drink

small child running determined to deliver magic veggies to the hospital. this kid is my hero

she is also unsupervised. so, so unsupervised

babe you are FOUR

godDAMMIT ghibli, you cannot give me watercolor sunsets while a small child is missing. u are killing me. my heart is giving out. this is me, experiencing heart failure.

Totoro to the rescue!

no wait CATBUS to the rescue!

i admit i initially thought the cat was a creep. alice in wonderland prejudiced me. i have revised my notions of smiling cats

i've decided the cat is a metaphor for the magic of a robust public transport system

MEI'S OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and so is mom. she's a lovely lady im sorry for what i said about her forehead. it's a noble forehead.

happy ending YES bitch!!!!!!

ok. ok ok ok. that was magical.

(as a first-time adult viewer i was worried i wouldn't be able to Access the Magic. but i could and i did and it was incredible. that was culture. that was ART. joy distilled into animated form. holy rites of childhood. i understand now. how glorious, this world we grow out of. how full of marvels. i'm going outside to smell grass and sun and get dirt under my fingernails. miraculous.)

[sinnershavesoulstoo]

I bitch and complain here all the time, but this is from an actual desktop - so it's like Ramble Bitching 2.0. Fast typin', fast thinkin', I don't know what is going to come out of these finger tips today. Because I have a lot of weird energy.

I'm tired and I know that I say I'm tired all the time, but I'm just. Exhausted. I know that nothing happens unless you make it happen, but I try to make it happen all the time and I always come up short.

I don't want to be the person who always talks about how it's not fair, but it's not fair?

I'm not even thirty yet and I feel like my life is already over because I can't afford to live. I live with my mother and my cat. I live in a 30+ year old trailer that is falling apart. We have two bathrooms, but one of them has a rotten floor and we haven't used it since 2016, at least. The other bathroom is through my mom's room, so any time I need to use the toilet or shower I have to go through her room. From where the floor is rotting, the floor in the adjacent room (the computer room) is also starting to rot.

There's a hole in the ceiling in the living room. We don't have actual curtains in any of the rooms except for my mothers room and the living room. I have tapestries hanging off of a rod in my room and this room has nothing. The bedrooms are all half painted because I can't reach the top bits because I'm too short and nobody will lend us a ladder. Underneath our house is a hellscape. There is stuff under there from when my dad lived here and it's all rotten and messed up and if you didn't know where it had come from, or that it was already there - you'd think someone was living under there. And to make it worse, we have a lock on the outside, so it looks like we're trapping someone under there. Which isn't true.

Our pipes are bad. We have plumbing problems all the time. Most recently, the pipe in the well cracked. Now we have dirt in our water, so I can't drink my tap water. I have to buy bottled. Which is dumb because I shouldn't have to buy water if I have water.

We can't wash laundry and take a shower on the same day because our pipes can't handle it. The sink in the kitchen is leaking and I hate doing dishes because they're not mine and I shouldn't have to do them all the time, but mother complains that she's not doing them for the same reason. I use one bowl, one frying pan, one plate, one mixing bowl, and disposable 'silverware'. That's not all that's in the sink? There are a ton of other things that I wouldn't even use. So I don't know why she thinks that it's my problem.

I have my medical billing and coding certificate and I should be able to get a job with that but I'm not even sure I want to because I've been doing webinars for it and I don't know what the fuck is going on. I guess I'm just trying to keep it updated in case something comes along and they're super nice and understanding and want to help me learn.

I have two friends in this world. The guy at work and Meggy. And I feel weird and guilty messaging GAW and Meggy has shit going on and I don't want to bother her. And partially, selfishly, I don't want to text her because I know I'll be roped into her relationship drama and I don't want to be.

It's like everything I do and nothing I do matters all at the same time.

I don't want to feel like I have nothing to live for at this age. I should have at least made more mistakes to get me here, I should have done something to make me feel this bad. But...unfortunately, this is just how it is now. I don't know what it means to be happy anymore? Like. Do I? I smile, I laugh, but it feels superficial. It feels like I'm just doing it because I know what it is, not because I actually feel it.

I want to be better and I want to feel better and I want to do better. Everything happens in its own time, sure. But I'm tired of waiting, but I can't do anything but wait.

And related, unrelated. One of the most annoying things. I don't have a car because I'm poor and have nobody to help me learn how to buy one. There are so many people with so many different opinions on what I should buy and when I should buy. It gets on my nerves when people don't take into account that I don't have enough money for a down payment right now and that I don't want a huge payment - but they're telling me I need to buy a car and I need to buy it now. Because, unless you want to buy me a car - butt out of my life. I hate that so much. Everyone at work knows that my mother drives me to work because I don't have a car. And every single person has an opinion on that.

"You should buy a car", "Don't get a new car", "You're almost 30? Shouldn't you be driving by now?", "You need your independence", "Your mom is going to die one day and what will you do then? The bus doesn't come out this far."

I know all of this. I literally know all of this. I hear it all the time so even if I didn't, you're not the first person to say something to me about it. I wasn't raised with a silver spoon in my mouth. I was raised fighting for my life. Kind of. We've been poor my entire life. I remember going to the flea market to sell stuff because we weren't making it on what jobs my parents had. I remember not having food some days. I remember never being popular or fitting in because I looked poor. I remember once I got my first job and having to help my mom with the bills because she was barely able to pay them before. I remember buying my own cellphone, my own clothes, my own everything. I support myself mostly. But I can't support myself on my own.

Although broken down and trashy, I live in a house that's fully paid off. Which, my grandad paid for, or we wouldn't have it. I can't afford a house in this economy. I can't afford much at all in this economy. The world is a scary place and I have to do it by myself.

For a long time I thought if I could just hold on, someone would see me and like me and want to be nice and good and I could move forward and move in with them and marry them and escape this life. But. I can't. There was Jacob. And he fully believed we were going to be a super long term thing. But...I just wasn't feeling it. I was resentful a lot in the last bit of our relationship. I didn't want to have sex with him and he made me feel guilty about it, so I just did because it was easier that dealing with him pouting. I told him a few times that I just didn't want to anymore and it wasn't really doing anything for me. He never used lube, so it always hurt and always burned. He barely knew how to use a condom and sometimes it would snap because of how forceful he was about putting it on, but he'd still want to. He wasn't physically aggressive about it? But manipulative about it?

Then I thought that Dusty was a good guy. LOL A huge joke on me. I don't even know what the fuck was going on with me at that point in my life. I've blocked most of it out because I don't know if I wanted any of it to happen and it makes me feel weird and self conscious. I went out to dinner with him and I thought that's what might happen, but once we got there I didn't want it anymore. He didn't ask me? He just did. And the entire ride home just felt. Dirty. And thinking back on it. He was just a little fucker. Because I'm remembering this time, after that happened, Jacob and I were 'mending our relationship' (AKA I felt too bad about breaking up with him so I just let him believe nothing was wrong...) and Jacob had gone on break and said he'd be outside, but I needed to get someone to cover me for me to go, and Dusty came up front and I don't remember what happened exactly, but I think he asked me where Jacob was. And he went outside to 'talk' to Jacob. Once I finally got someone to take my position, I was so keyed up and worried about what they were talking about. I went outside and they hadn't really been talking about anything. And I remember Dusty specifically said, "Oh yeah, your girlfriend is a piece of work." And he like...made it a point to remind everyone I was dating Jacob. And Jacob was confused about what happened. And then at the end of the year (this happened in November) I do a memory jar and one of the things I had written was 'fucked dusty' and Jacob saw it. I know he did because he questioned me and I lied my way out of it. I said that's just really bad cursive and it says 'fucking dusty' because of some story I made up about how he was funny. I don't know. And then I was having Dusty come over when I was still dating Jacob under the guise of friendship. Again, you guys have to remember I live with my mother. He would bring me dinner a lot of the time and we would hang out in my room and he would finger me. I sucked him off a couple of times, but it was mostly him doing stuff to me. And him and Jacob became really good friends during all of this. Meanwhile, he's fucking around with the girlfriend and another girl at work. Then he eventually...well. I don't know. He slept with the other girl at work and compared me to her a lot. And I'm not trying to be mean - but she was bigger than I was and that messed me up a lot. Because I have body dysphoria and I'm not actually sure what I look like, but I don't know if I'm fat or not? I wasn't fat at the time. I weighed 140 pounds and didn't wear a bra because my boobs were so small and my stomach wasn't past them if that gives you an idea of how big I was. But when he compared me to her it broke me a little more than it should have. And maybe that was his goal? To break me all the way down? I don't know. He was 19 at the time. I don't know if he would have been that type of person. He always bragging about how smart he was and how he was homeschooled and how his IQ was super high. So maybe he was? Any who - back to what I was saying. He slept with this girl and her super religious family found out about it and then he got roped into proposing to her. I saw the ring. I saw them at work. She eventually told her family that isn't how she wanted to live and she liked someone else and Dusty was just a mistake. So then she ended up getting married to the other guy and has 2 or 3 kids now. But after this entire thing...I don't remember what happened.

I quit? I think I quit my job. Because I was going to school when COVID was first a thing and had to stop going to in person classes - and Dusty would come all the way to my college to eat lunch with me on his hour lunch break. And Jacob would pick me up and I would just pray they wouldn't see each other in the parking lot.

And none of this makes me a bad person, but am I a bad person for missing Dusty more than Jacob?

I dated him for two years and the entire two years I told him we had nothing in common and I constantly questioned why he even liked me. He never had a real answer. I did whatever I did with Dusty for like 6 months. My time line could be off. I'm going to look back through my other blog and see if I can get a better definitive timeline.

On January 9, 2018 - I had been dating Jacob for 3 months. So I started dating him October 7, 2017. I know we dated when I changed jobs because he came there once and it was weird. And I got that job.....in 2019? In June? July? And COVID really started hitting in December here and that's about when we stopped going to classes and did virtual because I remember it happening right before Christmas break. So. When was I doing shit with Dusty? 2018? I deleted all of my messages with him because Jacob was nosey and looked through my phone all the time and I was afraid he'd find them, even though he was in my phone as DJ. Which is a weird thought I hadn't had in a while. And as I'm thinking about it I check my phone to see if it's still in there and it is. I should call him. No. I'm not that dumb. It's been 5 years lol what the fuck was that thought even about right there. It's 4am that's what that thought was. I wish I had kept all of our texts. We truly were friends. We talked on the phone a lot and I cried a lot. I remember when I had broken up with Jacob one time, it was really ugly. He was at my house and I told him and he made it really weird. And he was like, 'Just one more kiss before I leave' and he made me kiss him while he was sobbing on my couch. And he eventually left. It was just fucking weird. And I was so upset about the entire thing. The breaking up, the weirdness, the thought of having to deal with him at work, and him telling people how mean I was to him by breaking up with him - and then Dusty called me. I told him Jacob was coming over and he knew what time he normally left. So he called me to check on me. And I was putting stuff that Jacob had given me in a box and I was crying so hard I couldn't breathe. And Dusty asked me what I was doing. I told him I wasn't doing anything. And he said, "I know what you're doing. Just stop. Take a breath. And talk to me." And I did. And it helped. And we talked all night. Jacob usually left around 10:30 and I had to work the next day and I don't remember going to bed, but I did and I fell asleep on the phone and when I woke up he was still there. He brought me breakfast that day. Off the clock. He just dropped it off for me and left.

As Teenage Dirtbag starts playing.

I'm older than he is by the way. Both of them. Jacob was 2 years younger than me and Dusty...was? 18/19. And I was. 23/24? At the time. I've always felt weird about that as well. How did I let someone who was 6 years younger than me make me feel so bad and manipulate me into weird shit.

What's he like now? He's 23/24 now. Crazy. Is he still a dirtbag? Is he a normal adult? He has no reason to remember me or anything that happened, but does he? If he saw me out in public, would he recognize me? I really do look like that other girl now. I've gained a lot of weight since I worked with him.

lol I was just talking to GAW about how some times I just really feel like I want to cry but I can't because I'm always doing something that needs non-tear filled eyes. Who knew that it would take me admitting that I miss Dusty and I miss him more than Jacob that would make this happen. I mean, literally. It's been half a decade. I guess I have the pleasure of knowing that next year it'll be the seven years that it takes for a body's cells to fully regenerate. But until then, I guess I'm stuck holding onto every last cell that remembers him.

I should just let laying dogs lie. I decided to look back through some old posts and now I'm sad. I reread about the time I was in the freezer and got groped and how E responded to me. And now I miss her. Most of the time I don't even think about her anymore. But deep down, I miss her a lot. We were friends for nearly 10 years. This year would have been ten. And I think we just grew apart. But that doesn't make it easier.

What is my problem? I am? Something. I'm not running people off, they're just leaving in their due time.

I've made myself more sad because I looked up all of my posts with any similar tags to the ones I would have used and there were some. My favorite (most detrimental) was the one where I quoted Dusty saying, "I'd take you home and keep you forever if I could" - he said this when I was crying one day. And I thought it was sweet.

I want to get off of the Dusty train now. So one last lil blep. How do I get over this? He wasn't nice or good in the end, but I remember him for the good he did. And it makes me sad, but I don't want to associate the good parts with the bad parts, but maybe that's the problem. I need to see both and then I'll be over it?

Why do you guys think I don't like myself?

I complain here all the time, you'd assume you would have some opinions on it. I need to work on my confidence and I do really need to get a car. I'm working on it. A lot of tarot readings I've been getting lately have been mentioning getting a car in March and big changes happening in March. But? I don't know what it could be alluding to. Because I'm not going to have that kind of money by then.

I've been looking into the 'I am' method of manifesting. I forget what it's called. But I watched a video about this man saying he wished he were somewhere else and a friend of his told him to say 'I am there' - and eventually he ended up there.

I need to love myself and I need to get over myself. I am enough and I am good and I am lovable. I am.

It's 5am now and I've honestly been coming and going on this post since after 10pm. I've had to take a few cry breaks and a pizza break. So I'm going to go to bed because I have a lot of shit to do today and I think I should get some sleep.

This is about the length of an extremely concise novella. If any of you read all of this - cool. Thanks. I love you.

[athenalvss]

Batkids finding out that batmom was a model, a famous one

FASHION FASHION ( bruce wayne!)

summary: Your kids are bored and discover your secret past, and a somewhat strange secret from their father.

pairing: Bruce wayne x fem! model reader

note: the characters don't really stick to the personality they have, but I liked how it turned out so, sorry I'm not sorry

open request - dc masterlist

It all started as a harmless search.

The kids were bored. A night with no missions, no emergencies, no chaos. Just the rain pounding against the windows of Wayne Manor and an awkward silence that none of them wanted to fill with real questions. So when Dick suggested going up to the attic, they all agreed with childish enthusiasm.

"Alfred said not to go up," Tim muttered, holding the flashlight.

“Alfred says that about everything funny,” Jason replied, already perched on some crates.

"What are you looking for, exactly?" Damian asked, arms crossed. "Dirt?"

"Something interesting," Dick replied, with a mischievous smile as he opened a dusty old trunk. "And probably some of Bruce's dark secrets."

The others gravitated toward it like magnets. The boxes had no labels, but were sealed with a leather strap cracked by age. Tim carefully opened one, as if it were a fragile relic, and inside they found… papers, envelopes, folders, and something even more striking: old magazines.

"What the...?" Steph muttered, taking one of them.

It was a Vogue Paris cover. The issue featured a striking young woman with familiar eyes, shining with a power that pierced the page. She wore a dark dress, her hair pulled back, and her expression was one of absolute elegance.

Damian silently flipped through an album until he stopped on a particular page. His eyebrows furrowed. "What is this?" causing everyone to stop what they were doing.

It was from a different box. More personal, there were letters, printed articles, old photos. The most striking one was one of Bruce and Batman's wedding, both young, you younger than him, but he looked at you almost dazzled. And beneath the photo was a note in Alfred's handwriting: "You always had a soft spot for her, even before you met her. It was only a matter of time."

Everyone fell silent. Even Jason, who muttered, "What the hell?"

Tim cleared his throat, smoothing out the crumpled paper before beginning to read. The page had yellowed edges, as if it had been stored away for years. The title at the top was from an old celebrity magazine, one of those tabloids Bruce would now despise but had clearly, once upon a time, collected.

—“The tastes of Gotham’s heir: who is the model stealing young Wayne’s attention?” Tim read aloud.

The boys looked at each other, confused.

"Model?" Damian asked. "Who are they talking about?"

Tim looked down. His eyes widened at a photo. It was Batmom, young, walking down a runway in a scarlet evening gown, elegant, unstoppable. Beside her, another photo of Bruce, even younger, smiling as he got out of a car, with that rich boy smile that bore no resemblance to the man they knew now.

—“Sources claim that the Wayne heir has a fixation with the model of the moment. He's been seen on more than one occasion with magazines where she appears on the cover, and some insiders claim he has a photo of her in his office. Obsession or admiration? Time will tell if Gotham's most eligible bachelor will dare to approach the icon who has him fascinated.”

Jason let out an incredulous laugh. “Mom was Bruce’s celebrity crush!?”

"For God's sake, Mom was a model" Dick said, still surprised.

And there it was: a photo of Batmom walking the red carpet at Cannes. And another of Bruce, maybe twentyfour years old, leaving the company with a fashion magazine folded under his arm, and the magazine showed a close up of the cover showing your face.

“Oh. My. God,” Steph said.

—This is like... when someone marries their celebrity crush... Only he did it —said Tim

“Bruce was in love with Mom… before he met her,” Dick said, as if that reshaped his entire family history.

"That's cute…" Steph murmured as she looked through all the magazines.

"He seems more like a freak to me" Jason added, though he seemed secretly impressed.

Just then, the sound of soft, steady footsteps interrupted the silence. Alfred appeared in the attic entrance, his calm, unmistakable demeanor.

And as if fate had known it, Alfred's firm footsteps were heard ascending the attic stairs. "I knew curiosity would win" he said, without raising his voice too much. "Although I expected it to be a few years ago, all detectives were quite slow to see..."

"So you knew? That Mom was Bruce's teenage fantasy?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow, picking up a magazine from the floor with two fingers as if it were a crystal goblet. "I prefer the term 'admiration.' Although... yes, I knew it. I knew it from the first day he walked in with a copy of Harper's Bazaar under his arm, feigning interest in an article about Swiss watches."

"That's beyond pathetic," Damian said, a little disappointed in his father.

Then Bruce's firm, heavy footsteps were heard on the wood of the staircase.

Everyone froze.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low but firm, seeing the chaos of magazines, clippings, and letters.

"So you had an obsession with Mom?" Tim shot back, not missing a beat.

"A whole collection of magazines?" Steph continued, holding one up. "Bruce, this is teen crush level."

"How did we not know this before?" Dick looked somewhere between fascinated and disappointed in himself.

Damian, still in his sour tone, crossed his arms. "I thought you were pathetic in other ways. This is new."

Bruce sighed, closing his eyes for a second. "Why were you rummaging through private things?"

"We were bored. It's Dick's fault," Jason said quickly.

"Alfred knew it," Steph accused, pointing to the butler, who had just calmly brought up a tray of teacups as if it were all part of the service.

Alfred didn't even flinch. "Of course I knew. Master Bruce had a poster of her hidden away. I discovered it once when I went to get the laundry."

"Alfred!" Bruce growled in disbelief.

"im sorry master Bruce"

"A poster?" Jason asked, raising his eyebrows with a mischievous grin. "I don't want to know what you were doing with that."

"Jason!" several people shouted at the same time, between laughs and groans.

"It was a different time" Bruce tried to defend himself, though he knew it was useless. "i didn't do anything. I had it because i admired her work. End of story."

"Sure, sure," Tim murmured. "The art. The talent. The... four foot ten legs."

"TIM!" they all shouted at once.

"So Mom was your celebrity crush?" Tim said, amused. "And you married her? That's legendary."

"It wasn't exactly like that," Bruce began, but broke off when your silhouette appeared in the doorway.

"What are you doing with my magazines?" you asked, a mixture of amusement and resignation.

The kids turned around as if they had been caught stealing.

“Investigating your hidden past” Jason said, waving a magazine like it was classified evidence.

"Confirming theories," Tim added, still holding a photo. "Like, Dad was completely in love with you before he even met you."

"And that he had a hidden poster," Damian added, his voice dry. "Disgusting."

"I didn't want to know that, by the way," Steph continued, raising a hand. "But now it's etched in my mind forever."

Bruce put a hand to his forehead, muttering something unintelligible.

"And you found this, Alfred?" you asked with a smile, looking at the butler, who was still holding an untouched cup of tea.

"I was just providing some historical context," Alfred replied, unperturbed. "And perhaps I remembered certain... details."

Bruce looked at you with a silent intensity. The same as always. As if he still couldn't believe that that woman from the magazines was standing in front of him, every day, in a bathrobe, drinking coffee and scolding her children for not setting the table.

"Come on. I'll show you something better than magazine clippings."

You led them downstairs to the main room. You opened a small, decorative-looking wooden box. From it, you took out an old flash drive. "I thought this would get lost over time," you said, plugging it into the TV.

You led them into the living room. You connected an old external hard drive to the TV screen. You didn't explain anything. You just pressed "play."

And there you were.

A young you. Walking down a runway in Milan. The camera followed you as if you were the only person in the world. Fashion shows, interviews, covers. The music, the flashes, the unstoppable aura. A version of you your kids had never seen.

Not as a mother, not as Bruce Wayne's wife. But as yourself. Strong, brilliant, and unforgettable.

[omgfangirlland]

I'm going to need all of you to hear me out on what I'm about to spew, but I have yandere!batfam brain rot, and I just came across Yan!girldad!nolan grayson.

HEAR ME OUT!

Putting a page break here cuz idk how long this will be-

So- the usual neglected batsis that as a youngster craved the attention of her fam, but after being brushed away, after being ignored, after being straight up forgotten about, says fuck it, y'all aren't worth my love, I'll use the Wayne money to do as I please.

So she does. She uses the monthly allowance that is on auto pay straight to her card to do arts, to paint her heart away, to draw and play video games, to fund and pay off anything from homeless shelters to medical bills, trying to make a dent into the Wayne fortune both in selfish and non-selfish ways. She's basically a petty tween.

But then she wakes up with powers. She thinks she's a meta- batman doesn't like metas, that's what she thinks, she doesn't know Bruce doesn't want metas in Gotham due to Gotham being ground zero for meta trafficking. Boom, panic.

I think she has powers like flying, super strength, and like immediate healing if not "iron skin" like Superman. So she wakes because she hits the ceiling due to flying while asleep. She panics, falls, maybe breaks something, nobody comes to check on her-

Now, she always has toyed with the idea of leaving, but this? THIS? Breaking point, she packs necessities and the Wayne card and says bye-bye Gotham, good morning... Chicago? NYC? Idk, whichever place Omni man lives in ig.

The batfam, of course, doesn't notice. In this universe, I think even Alfred won't have been paying that much attention to batsis, man's too busy. So what if one day he does his rounds, cleaning, opens a door he hasn't been in a while.

The room is dusty. Dusty beyond hell, and one singular photo of batsis at like a kindergarten graduation makes him drop everything, including his heart. Old man goes feral, absolutely crazy, because where the fuck is this kid, this little baby, that he went and picked up because Bruce couldn't be bothered.

The batfam goes crazy too. In the mean time-

Batsis is, surprisingly, living her best life. Initially, she planned on getting an under the table job- clean a bar, babysit, be the errand girl of some shady drag dealer, etc. But Nolan sees her while she tries to get her powers under control, shakily flying, accidentally blowing to pieces a tree as she leans against it.

Omni-man as he lurks in the shadows: Debbie would love a daughter. I would love a daughter.

Batsis would call it kidnapping, Nolan calls it adopting without extra steps. Debbie takes one look at this shaken kid and immediately goes mama mode while reprimanding Nolan about taking a kid off the streets and not warning her so she could prepare better.

Mark? It takes about 2 hours before he realizes that they can be training buddies and that they have similar taste in some things. That's his baby sister. No arguments, just baby sis. Batsis? Much like a hungry, cold cat, she accepts her fate. It does feel nice to finally have some attention on her.

So she trains with Nolan and Mark, gets great, becomes a reluctant superhero, deliberately ignores Nolan's rants about her becoming such a great warrior, his little girl on the way of becoming the greatest conquror. Gothamite batsis just shrugs it off as just a Thursday.

Back with the batfam, pure chaos. Everyone is in shambles. How could they forget about a whole kid? Their siblings, Bruce's youngest daughter. Guilt is slowly turning into madness, and madness is slowly turning into a need to prove they can be better, that they weren't deliberately overlooking an innocent child because of personal pettiness, they were just distracted but now they'll right their wrongs.

Bonus p1:

Superman finally meeting batsis: What do you mean you're Bruce's kid? 😃 What do you mean you're a meta and instead of coming to uncle Clark you go and get adopted by murderous Omni-man? 🙂 What do you mean you kinda approve of him killing his enemies? 🫠

Batsis just wants Joker to die.

Bonus pt2:

Dick: What do you mean she's calling that other Grayson boy big brother? 😀

Damien: What do you mean I have another sibling? What do you mean she's calling that purple alien bastard her little brother?! I blame you, father.

Bonus pt3:

John Constantine: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU GAVE ONE OF BATMAN'S KIDS IMMORTALITY AND MAGICAL POWERS?

The deity/entity batsis has been depicting in her paintings for years: *shrugs* I was bored, my little priestess was sad, she's not anymore 🤷

That's the plot twist, batsis is actually magical, but her powers work the way they do because that's the only way she knows how to fight with them. Magic isn't on her thought as a possibility, even if she was into the occult.

Cue John drinking for 3 days straight before having the courage(or will) to go to the Bat.

[eraserbread]

growing old with kento pls🥺🥺

check out more of my wife guy!nanami ✧ ୨୧ - part 2

→ f!reader, fluff, sfw

for your twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, kento got you a cat, a kitten, to be exact -- golden, like him, hazel eyes like him. he's your baby, taking over that space in your home that your daughter's move back to tokyo brought out.

just like he always wanted, kento retired early in malaysia, and tokyo's where your daughter chose to stay. school in the city was far more riveting than stewing away in a beachside cottage. and alone for the first time again in nineteen years, you had love to celebrate.

so, he hands you that little purring kitten as soon as you stumble out of bed, smiling at the gentle coos you're giving. looking at you in the rising sun reminds him of how you'd dote over your young daughter twenty years ago. he's always loved you, but seeing your motherhood bloom and grow out of you made him obsessed.

"awh, kento." you're pouting, holding the kitten to your heart. you're in a shorter nightgown, cut above the knees he leans down and closes his hands over. for a fifty-year-old man, that mobility has never gotten lost. in fact, you think he looks the best he's ever have -- greyed roots, shaved stubble, fine lines. so familiar.

"happy twenty-fifth." he replies, kissing over your knee. "been with you longer than I've been alone, now. our marriage's brain is finally fully developed."

"you're such a dad." you scoff, lovingly. "it's a boy? I'm gonna name him kento."

"don't. that's not a very creative name." he stands with a grunt, leaning towards to kiss your lips. little kitty purring between your chests, he lingers.

the only thing you got him for twenty-five years together was his steaming bowl of char kway teow he's hunching over as you head through a night market. you were supposed to be sharing, but you'll let him have it. you can taste the umami on his lips when he kisses you, and that's enough.

the nights gone on in street food carbs, and drowned-out music. scooters whiz past you in the dusty streets, and kento keeps his arm strong around your shoulders, staking that lifelong claim in physicality.

always, you end up by the beach, lying out on plush lounge chairs. you're resting on his chest, heartbeat backing the rush of the waves and the pulse of the fire-dancers in front of you, lighting up the sand. you haven't touched alcohol all night, neither has he, but his sound has you nodding off. you trail your settled-in hands across his homey chest, pressing the tips of your nails into his clothed flesh.

you can feel him shiver, then whisper, "tickles."

then, for that thirty-eighth anniversary, your husband, grey and in his sixties, wakes you up with kisses to the neck. windows open, an early-morning sea breeze rushing through the bedroom, you stir to life and savor the touch.

"i have loved you for forty years. can you believe it?" he mutters, keeping his lips pressed to your skin. "and I still want you like it's the first."

you're smiling into the sheets, still so susceptible to his charms in your older years. he knows you inside and out, upside and down. at this point in life, he is you.

at the foot of the bed, poor old little yuji, your thirteen-year-old ginger cat purrs in sleep. kento's rustling makes him flick an ear, but the old boy is far too comfortable to move.

for year thirty-eight, you made him his favorite breakfast and served it to him as he sits on the balcony with a book in his lap. kento's come to wear glasses, thin-framed ones that hang on the edge of his nose as he grumbles at words.

it's all he lives for now, western poetry, wife handling, and cleaning up after a rowdy cat. every night like clockwork, he calls his daughter in tokyo -- sometimes she doesn't answer, but most of the time she does. for hours, or just as long as she allows, she goes on and on about her life, the woman she's seeing, the home she's buying, and the job she's loving.

kento listens with every ounce of his soul just like he listens to his words, and you, and the sound of the warm langkawi breeze as it hits his face.

out here in the seclusion, there aren't any curses -- no angst. all that matters is the life he's hand-picked, thoughtful to the core.

and that night, his final gift is a sweater you sewed for him, and you. sandy hands, warm cheeks -- you present your naked body to him in the night, letting the full moon guide him right to where he knows to touch.

age is just experience. it's been thirty-eight years of memorizing each other's bodies - intimacy is like oxygen. he reaches for the canyon between your thighs on your secluded, beachside balcony, swallowing the sound of his name like he has for a lifetime.

like clockwork, every single time this starts, he whispers between your lips, "I love you."

and you whisper back, "i love you, too."

[ozarkthedog]

𝐊𝐍𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏

summary: joel fingers you for the first time in his truck.

warnings: 18+ mdni. joel miller x afab!reader. no physical descriptors of reader. fingering (pussy and ass). heavy ass play. Joel being a fucking menace. no beta. w.c: 823

author's note: had this thot for the last few days and had to write it out before i went insane but now i'm taking you all with meeee

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Joel's two knuckles deep in your cunt while an old country tune quietly floats from the radio into his dimly lit truck that's parked on the side of a dusty road. He languidly fucks his thick digits between your sopping folds, each thrust making your breath hitch more than the last. 

He's taking it slow, figuring out what spots make your cunt spasm and quiver for the very first time. It's a mess of limbs in the front seat; your skirt is rucked up your hips, legs bent at the knee, and he's holding you against his side, cradling your head in the crook of his arm.

"Righ' 'ere?" he grits, swallowing hard as you clamp around his fingers. 

You grab at his worn button-up, tightly fisting the material with a needy whine as a wave of pleasure burns deep, and he doubles his efforts with a twist of his wrist. "That's it. Come on, pretty girl, there you go."

Joel curls his fingers, seeking the fleshy spot behind your clit that makes you see stars and forces you to the edge listening with perverted delight to your frantic cries.

He leaves his fingers in your obscenely wet pussy just a bit longer, enjoying the feeling of your cunt convulsing from the aftershocks. He teases his soaked fingers along your slit when he withdraws them, toying with your folds and puffy, hairy outer lips before moving south.

A gasp catches in your throat as he cautiously circles your rosebud.

"Ever been touched 'ere?" Bright moonlight casts off his dark coffee-colored eyes as he searches your face for discomfort.

All you can muster is a broken "No," and he hums a deep rumble. It sounds like the beginning of a summer storm, and the ominous tone sets a blazing fire in your belly.

"s'ok if I keep goin'?" he asks, timidly looking down at you through his lashes. He shifts his hips, grinding his cock against your outer thigh. You mewl upon feeling his hard, throbbing length through his jeans.

You dumbly nod, and a sly grin tugs at the corner of his lips. 

Your mouth drops open, panting, as he slowly presses one thick digit into your ass. He curses at your tightness but keeps moving until his knuckles graze the soft globes of your cheeks. "S'fuckin' tight lil' ass you got there, sweetheart." He croons, nudging his nose along your jaw and tipping your head back before branding you with a searing kiss.

You moan wantonly as he licks into your mouth and starts slowly fucking you. "Tell me how it feels." He husks, breaking the kiss.

His lips latch onto your neck, sucking and nipping his way down to your clavicle as your mind searches for anything remotely resembling words.

A mess of mumbled moans and broken curses stumble from your lips into the small truck cabin. Your hips move on their own, wanting his finger deeper and faster, but he never breaks his steady stride. He chuckles against your skin. "This sweet rose wants more, huh? First time bein' touched, and she's already gettin' greedy."

He leans back, pinning his eyes on where he's stretching you open, and groans at the filthy sight of his syrupy, thick fingers stretching your small, shiny hole. He meets your wild doe eyes with a wolfish grin before pursing his lips and spitting.

The shock of his warm spittle landing on the rim of your sensitive hole makes your insides violently churn, and a yearning, brazen moan spills from your lips.

"Gotta make sure it's nice n' wet," he says while lining up a second finger, still piercing your gaze. "Don't wanna hurt 'er."  

He watches your face twist from the pressure as he slowly glides two sizeable fingers into your snug hole. "S'ok, you can take it," he calmly encourages, kissing the pinched skin between your brows. 

He raises his thumb up and over your pusling, weepy core, and plants the heavy pad on your clit. He suffocates the tiny button, earning himself a full-on quiver and high-pitched wail from your defenseless, blissed-out body. 

"Thatta girl. Feels good, don't it?" he grunts, thrusting his fingers deeper.

A solid buzz blossoms in your veins under his wicked touch. The dual action he's doling out with his insanely massive hand makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. So overcome with the depraved rapture, you can't help but give in to the delirium.  

"Can feel you loosenin' up. S'good girl," he coos, smiling down at you even though your eyes are crossed dumb from the sheer euphoria racing through your veins. 

"Pretty soon, she'll be stretched around my cock." he informs, hissing when he feels you tighten at his words. Your mouth falls open with a silent wail, and your spine bends like a bow ready to strike as he purrs sinfully in your ear. "Tha's righ'. Gonna make this sweet rose take every fuckin' inch."  

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

->reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated!<-

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[writingbluerose]

one more draconic feature | malleus draconia x reader

summary : you've invited Malleus to hang around by your dorm to enjoy each other's companies. Who would've known it ended with you exploring something else instead

warnings : SUGGESTIVE!! like some kissing shit but it's on another level lol ( as well as I can write it lol, I... can't write these stuff too well, but practice makes perfect ^^ )

a / n : this one is based on another comic I saw and also it could be read as another version to this drabble I made some time ago! Enjoy :3

The sun was already up and proud in the sky, giving the birds a chance to sing merrily from their place on top of the branches outside. It was around the end of February, the events at VDC were still a bit fresh but you had resumed your everyday life as always.

Today though, it was a particularly nice and peaceful day. In the now quiet Ramshackle dorm lounge ( after Grim has decided to go into your room to take a "very well deserved nap" ) a figure was sitting relaxed, in their element, on one of the old couches. And that figure was none other than Malleus Draconia. He had been invited by you to spend time together as the VDC had taken most of your time, becoming busier and busier by the day. And come on now, who was he to deny such a request from his beloved? Besides, he's told you many times, the books you've found sitting all dusty and forgotten in this dorm were some of the best pieces of literature he's ever read in his stay at this school, so for him it was a double win.

After some time of waiting, Malleus' ears picked up the faintest sound of footsteps coming in his direction, and then- “Hey there Hornton!” At the sound of your voice, Malleus chuckled and closed his book with a thud “Even now still calling me by the same endearing nickname. You're one of a kind my dear” You gave him a huffed laugh before coming to rest next to him “I didn't interrupt your reading again did I?” Your eyes met his in a quick exchange before he slowly shook his head in reassurance, “No of course not, don't worry about it. I must admit that even I sometimes am not aware of my surroundings, especially when I'm doing something I really am engrossed in” His hand rested on your head before giving you a pat and returning to his book once again. Both of you sat there in silence and after what seemed like an eternity Malleus had noticed you started fidgeting with your fingers, your leg slowly bouncing. A habit of yours he had picked up in the early days you've met, indicating that you were either nervous about something or itching to do something you were not supposed to. The fae's eyes followed your movements a little more before asking : “What is it you're itching to do hm? Are you looking to touch my horns again?” If you could look past the book, you'd be able to see his big smirk hidden behind the hard cover. “No! No! It's not that it's just...mmh — your eyes trailed to the floor, your leg not stopping its bouncing — I was just thinking about your horns. You told me long ago that your horns are a big part of who you are, it kinda represents your family right?” “Indeed so. Our horns are also a very sensible spot, it is the source of our magic, a vital point. Should they break... — his eyes narrowed — well you wouldn't want to know what would happen would you now?” You shook your head at his words before staring at him for a little while “You have other features right? As in, other features akin to a dragon's... I mean you have the eyes, the tail, I wonder if your tongue also looks like one...— ah but nevermind me!” Your mumbling abruptly came to an end after taking a look at Malleus and his shocked expression. What went through that little adorable head of yours hm? Malleus thought. “Well anyway! You know that does remind me of that one story I listened to one of Professor's Trein class...” Quickly loosing yourself in your explanations you failed to notice how Malleus was still looking at you with now a more mischievous expression, his smirk growing into a grin behind his book.

Closing it, not too hard so you wouldn't get startled, his arm slowly started to move towards your chin to grab it, which you failed to notice, still speaking, face red as beet. “Are you truly that curious?” His fingers grabbed your chin ( a bit too hard you would've liked to say ) and forcefully turned your face to his for you to be met with a sight that many people would consider the moment they're about to go to the after life ;

You heard a low growl and an almost mute hissss... as Malleus' mouth opened, revealing his white, long and sharp fangs as his tongue slithered out, long, forked at the tip and flickering through the air, his drool sticking to it and coming down his chin, eyes gleaming down at you like a snake who just caught a delicious prey. You gulped down before leaving a tiny shriek, your form trembling in his hold.

He closed his mouth, tongue licking his lips as his hand came to clean off the drool on his chin. The prince smiled down at you, “Well, did I satisfy your curiosity now, my love?” The tone in his voice left you knowing that he wanted to do much more, but after all, a predator usually waits for its prey's most vulnerable moment. “I-I uhh...uhmmm” He let out a loud snort “So? Is this enough to intimidate you? I'd be hard to believe after all these overblots you've faced” That damn teasing bastard. You signed, stopped, and inhaled again before saying : “Y-you looked... pretty... neat” Voice cracking, not being able to get his expression out of your mind, refusing to look your boyfriend in the eye.

One, two minutes passed before Malleus let out a thunderous laugh, amused and enjoying your reactions to the fullest. “My and here I thought I had frightened you! I must admit, teasing you has become one of my favorite activities to do!” You let out a loud 'HAH!' as if offended, though you both knew there was no venom behind the gesture“You didn't think I was done, do you?” “Wh-h-hey! Malleus!!” The fae prince's hands came to grab your waist pulling you into his lap, his eyes and movements giving an open space to a, new, primal feeling. His fingers found your shirt, unbuttoning it so he'd be given a clear view to your shoulders ; A moment passed before you felt his tongue slowly licking from the shoulder and stopping right under your chin. And he bit down, hard, making you let out a high pitched moan in pleasure. His mouth didn't leave your shoulder yet, and when he felt the first drop of blood coming out, his pupils dilated as he started sucking and licking until he left a deep mark “I haven't even done half the things I wish to do” So he said

His lips quickly found yours, kissing rough and passionate, forked tongue licking your lips asking for entrance. You hadn't dared to tease him or refuse his request, you know better than to do so at this moment. So when you parted his lips welcoming him in your warmth, Malleus let out a groan making you moan into the kiss in return. Grabbing him by his shoulders to steady yourself, his forked tongue hadn't missed a spot. It was so long and fuck did it feel so good it hasn't even been a full minute until you felt drool dropping down at the corners of your mouth.

Without realizing it, your hands went upper and upper until they found the base of his horns. You grabbed at it so hard that Malleus down right growled. So deep it could've come down as a threat for others, but when his hands grabbed your wrists keeping them in place for a split second, before going down to grip your waist, you understood his message : 'Don't you dare take your hands off' so you didn't. In fact, you gripped harder, fingers rising once again on the form of his horns, that's when Malleus parted his lips and moaned, husky and low.

His fingers went lower and lower on your tights, he didn't continue to kiss you right away, instead he came closer, panting in each other's mouths, needy and desperate for more. “Mal... we can't, we can't do this...” Your hands came down to hold his face and the fae closed his eyes at the contact, “Beloved, you cannot lie and tell me you don't wish for this as much as I do. Or do you truly not?” Avoiding his gaze, you inhaled a sharp breath. Of course you wanted to. “I- I do Malleus, fuck, of course I do” “Then please allow me” He lifted you up and positioned you on your back on the couch undoing the buttons of your shirt just a bit more, so he could get a peak at your chest.

He kissed you on your lips, then traveled down to your neck, kissing slowly and softly down to your chest, fingers gripping and pressing at your skin leaving more tiny love bites in his wake, ears picking up the faintest of whimpers and tiny moans. Smirking, he continued to press kisses down to your chest, moaning at the same time with you when your hands came to rest on his horns again. His eyes found yours, pupils dilated and face flushed, and for the first time you had spotted a new glint to them. One that only presented a raw feeling of lust and need. When he spoke, his voice sounded more excited then he intended to let on : “I hope you're ready my love, for I won't hold back in the slightest”

Oh goodness, you were in it for now that's for sure

© writingbluerose 2025

[lay-z]

You're the reincarnation of Peitho, the Greek goddess of temptation.

cw: 18+ | sex; cheating; angst; hurt/comfort; fluff; open end

No one could’ve expected this mission to turn out the way that it has after the endless briefings, preparations, and provided intel—but things turned sideways rather quickly and much more dangerous than anticipated—which led to tensions rising within the team.

Now, forced to fall back to a safe house somewhere in the wilderness of Verdansk, TF-141 is waiting for backup, tending to both fatigue and damage as they take turns on sentry duty.

While Ghost and Soap are keeping their eyes out for hostiles outside, patrolling the perimeter, Gaz is sleeping on the couch in the living room, and Captain Price is cleaning his rifle methodically at a wobbly desk in one of the dusty bedrooms upstairs.

At the sound of a timid knock against the bedroom doorframe, his eyes flit up and narrow.

“Come in.” He calls, his eyes lingering for a moment longer on his rifle before shifting over to the younger woman in the doorway.

By the way he hesitated, you can tell that he knew it’s you.

You have noticed that things have become even more tense between you and the Captain since he had that incredibly close call that surely would’ve ended in a rather complicated KIA report if Gaz hadn’t reacted the way he did and pulled him to cover fast enough just a handful of hours ago.

And now everyone is pretending that didn’t happen, which only infuriates you more.

“Captain,” you greet him tersely before clearing your dry throat.

There’s another pause as he patiently waits for you to continue while you’re momentarily distracted by the uncharacteristic slight slump of his broad shoulders and an unfamiliar kind of softness peeking through the usual sternness in his steel blue eyes.

“I just... just wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re okay, sir.”

He gives a soft scoff, setting down the rifle for a moment before he gives you a lazy smirk. “I'm fine, Sergeant,” he pauses for another moment, his smirk wavers into a grimace as he reaches back to rub his shoulder, “just a bit sore.”

Observing his tight grimace as he barely manages to tend to his injuries, you take an involuntary step into the bedroom; ignoring the thought that you’re intruding and clearly crossing those blurry lines you two have been dancing around for months on end now.

Still, the door falls shut after you give it the weakest push, and then your footsteps are nearly silenced by the thin carpet on the floor despite your heavy boots as you approach the queen-sized bed.

“You’re clearly hurt.” The statement is laced with obvious worry that goes beyond a simple superior/subordinate relationship, but you could care less in this moment.

You almost lost him today.

His smirk fades away and he gives a small sigh as he realizes that he can’t just ignore you—or the elephant in the room. John takes a seat on the edge of the bed and reaches for his shoulder to gingerly touch a particularly sore spot.

“Fine. I’m sore as hell, but that’s all.” He murmurs with a wince of pain, pulling his hand back as he tries to dismiss how bad it actually is.

“We've got painkillers for that, y’know.” The sharp remark earns you another gruff huff and you notice how he tries to straighten his shoulders once you take a seat next to him on the bed. Sitting down on one leg, you turn sideways to get a better view on his form.

“Let me at least check if there are any major cuts or scratches that need to be cleaned, okay?”

John sighs once again, clearly exasperated, but he doesn’t protest further, aware that it’s futile. “If you must.” He grumbles, reluctantly giving in, and then he reaches up to take the hem of his shirt; his fingers briefly brushing your knee for a moment as he tries to pull it over his head.

His body is lean and toned from years of military service; a fair amount of scars peeking through dark, coarse body hair along with the faded ink of old geometrical tattoos that look like coordinates. The large muscles of his arms flex as he pulls his shirt off, revealing an ornament of bruises and scratches littered on his buff torso.

“Yes, I must.”

As soon as he rids himself of his sweaty olive green undershirt, you suck in a small hiss as soon as you see the level of bruising on his right shoulder and flank.

“Nasty bruise you got there, sir,” you remark empathically, fingers already itching to touch before you eventually reach out to skim them over the deep bluish–purple marks.

You click your tongue in chide as he flinches away, and you grab a gentle hold on his flexing biceps to keep him steady as you check his skin for other wounds, and you must admit that you almost get lost in the feeling of his warm skin beneath your fingertips. You trace the curve of his back, feel each bump of his vertebrae, the raised skin of marks and old tattoo ink, the way his muscles twitch and quiver, goose bumps breaking out wherever you touch.

There is an imperceptible hitch to his breath, but he doesn’t stop your gentle ministrations.

“Looks mean, but you’re gonna live, John.” You announce casually when he eventually clears his throat as if to snap you out of your sudden trance.

The feeling of your fingertips on his skin is almost addictive—too goddamn pleasant. John can’t help but shiver when your touch grazes over his old and new bruises as well as the sensitive areas of his skin. He tries to focus on anything other than you, but it’s getting more and more difficult, and he lets out a soft laugh at your faux casual tone, trying to mask the fact that he’d really like to have you touch him further.

“Thanks for that enlightening analysis, princess.” The pet name slips out by accident and it rolls off his tongue too damn easy.

You swat at his biceps, purposely avoiding his bruised skin. “Is that the proper way to talk to your amateur nurse, Cap?”

He gives a low laugh at your playful smack, his smirk returning as he lets you inspect his bruises and wounds.

“Well, to be honest, I’m not sure if nurses should get so handsy.” He teases you in return, his smirk growing as he tries to ignore how good it feels to have your hands on him.

“Pfff.” You snort. “I can show you handsy, sir. This is nothing. I was just worried.”

He chuckles again, his dark beard twitching with the motion of his face. “Such thoughtful concern over your superior, hm?” He quips, his eyes trailing over to the closed bedroom door before returning back to you. “Ghost and Soap have guard duty until later in the night. Gaz is gettin' some rest downstairs. We’re basically alone.”

He cringes internally at his own assessment; sounding like a right numpty, though you don’t seem to mind.

“Mhm,” you hum absentmindedly, taking one last look at his back before glancing at him–only to find him already gazing at you, causing your heart to thump harder and your cheeks to warm. “What?”

John doesn’t respond right away, his blue eyes taking a long, lingering moment to drink you in. He takes in just how soft you look in the dim lighting of the bedroom, even still clad in your dirty fatigues. How your thigh is pressed against his the way you’re sitting, and just how perfect your hands look roaming over his bare skin.

He finally takes a deep breath and exhales slowly as he tears his eyes away from you to check out the door again before looking back once more, eventually answering in a soft murmur: “Nothin’.”

Meanwhile, your mind is racing: He’s my captain. He's taken, fucking married. He’s not mine. Not mine. Not mine to take. Not mine to want.

And yet, you almost find yourself pleading as you utter his name pathetically: “John–”

He eyes flicker immediately as you say his name like that—all needy and desperate. He swallows thickly as his heavy gaze lingers on you, taking in your flushed cheeks, parted lips, and how your lashes flutter.

John responds in kind; your name a gravelly murmur on his lips, just as quietly with the same hint of need in his voice.

He shouldn’t. You’re his subordinate and you’re too young. And he’s bloody married.

But he’s a weak man at heart, after all, and his blood is starting to rush and simmer while that familiar tingle starts low in his gut, causing his cock to stir in his cargo pants.

He nearly lost his life today—which wasn’t the first time, but the realization that he’s getting slow is clawing at his shoulders like a heavy burden since it happened.

John takes a deep breath, his bare chest rising and falling as his gaze flickers between your flushed cheeks and soft-looking lips. “You shouldn’t... You shouldn’t look at me that way. You’re my subordinate. I’m married–” He pauses, as if struggling to put his thoughts into words, before he continues: “I’m older than you. I’m your captain.” His voice is barely above a whisper–his way of warning you, of holding back, of convincing himself that this is a bad idea.

Your jaw clenches as his words sink in, settling deep and heavy in your gut and causing your own shoulders to slouch, my chest to ache, your stomach to drop. He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t make the situation better.

Heaving a shaky and long sigh, you glance at the dusty carpet briefly, trying to sort your jumbled thoughts and feelings before closing your eyes.

You’re tired. So fucking tired to pretend that you don’t want him, of having him pretend he doesn’t want you.

Letting your head loll forward, you rest your forehead against his naked upper arm; discreetly breathing in his scent before murmuring: “Then send me away, John. Give me the order and I’ll leave through that door.”

The feeling of your forehead on his bare shoulder makes him shiver, his fingers curling into himself as he tries to fight against the urge to reach out to touch you, to take what he’s been craving for months.. John can feel how exhausted you are—emotionally, physically, and mentally, and it mirrors how he’s feeling. He hates that he’s partly the reason for it, but he doesn’t dare to do anything to change it.

So he just sits there, listening to your words and trying to resist the impulse to wrap his arms around you in comfort.

“You should leave.” His voice is rough, though the usual command in his tone replaced by uncertainty.

You let out a snort, but it’s lacking any humour. This is unfair. Life is fucking unfair.

He smells musky; like three day old sweat, dirt, and stale cigar smoke, and you want to lick his throat, to finally have a taste while you rake your fingers through his thick chest hair.

“That’s not an order, sir,” you sigh, “that’s a bloody suggestion.”

John grits his teeth, his jaw clenches tight. He can’t deny that you have a point—he knows that his attempt at shutting this down is pretty pathetic. He knows it, but he’s not willing to admit it.

“You’re pushing it, Sergeant.” He warns you then, his tone more commanding now as he tries to keep himself from pulling you into his lap and doing something that he’ll most likely regret come morning.

“Get out.”

It’s a right stab to your heart as much as your ego, even though you know he’s doing the only right thing.

And of course, you will leave, hobbling away like a kicked puppy, and you will lick your wounds in some corner far away from him—and you might even finally let Soap lap at your neglected cunt like he’s been half-jokingly asking for until you forget your goddamn feelings for John Price.

Leaning back at once, you straighten up, clearing your throat before getting up from the bed, rolling my sore shoulders—sore from your rifles kickback and weight, sore from keeping your composure since watching your Captain nearly die today.

Perhaps somewhere in your silly, illogical mind, you thought it would change things between you. In a perfect alternate universe, John Price would’ve realized that there’s more to life than duty and survival—and he would be yours.

“Yes, sir. Have a good night, sir.”

John watches you go, his eyes following your every move as you roll your shoulders and clear your throat, slipping back into your role as obedient soldier, his sweet little Sergeant. He’s relieved that you’re finally leaving, he really is—or he desperately tries to make himself believe it.

Yet, there’s a feeling in his chest that says something entirely different. He can’t quite put a name to it, but it’s there none the less.

And it hurts.

“Good night... Sergeant.” He responds, his voice rough and uncharacteristically quiet as he continues to watch you, fighting the urge to call out for you to come back and stay.

And you don’t dare to turn around again before the bedroom door softly clicks shut behind you, leaving you standing by yourself in the semi-dark, narrow hallway of the safe house while your heart is racing, and your throat tightens as you swallow down a myriad of emotions before exhaling a shuddering breath. What the hell were you thinking? Throwing yourself at him like that?

That gruesome pressure returns in your chest and your eyes sting with tears as you lean against the door briefly, desperately trying to get a grip on yourself.

Distraction. Your spine straightens. You’re in desperate need of a distraction before you do something really stupid.

The sound of your footsteps slowly fading away brings an almost eerie feeling to the quiet night.

John remains seated on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands now as he tries to sort through his conflicting thoughts and emotions and will away the chub in his trousers. He’s more than aware that it was inappropriate for him to allow you so close to him, but he can’t deny the powerful urges he felt when you were touching him.

The sound of your sigh as your forehead rested against his bare skin haunts him; the memory of your touch on his shoulders now burned into his mind.

He never questioned it before, how the touch of Annette has never left him as breathless and discombobulated as yours, but perhaps it’s just the near death experience from today that has left his mind, body, and soul in such a bloody frenzy.

You find Soap downstairs, sitting on the tattered couch where Gaz is supposed to be; his head leaned back against the backrest, his canteen clutched tightly as it rests on his thigh.

Picking up on his light snoring, you approach slowly, careful not to startle him.

“Psst, Johnny?” you whisper, nudging the tip of his booth with yours, “Johnny? Aren’t you supposed to be on bloody watch with Lt.?”

Soap’s eyes shoot open at the sound of your voice. He’s a light sleeper as it is, but this mission has made him even more restless, and he rubs a hand over his face, scratching at the stubble at his scarred chin as he glances up at you, his bleary blue eyes narrowing as he tries to figure out what you’re doing here.

“Gaz’s takin’ my shift. What d’ye want?” He rasps out, his deep voice rough with sleep.

“Yeah, he’s a nice lad, innit,” you remark quietly, pondering for a moment as you take in his dishevelled state.

There are black grease smudges on his face, a purple bruise adorning his cheekbone, dark Mohawk looking like a hen’s nest, his tac vest half unclasped, woodland fatigues in disarray. He looks like a proper mess, though you’re not faring any better.

“You look like hell, Tav,” you whisper, mouth curling with a suppressed smile. He snorts, lifting his free hand to flip you off haphazardly. You huff in amusement, shuffling on your feet as you glance back at the stairs that lead to the first floor, and then back at Soap.

“I know you’re tired, but uhm–” Your stomach flutters and you stuff your hands into your pockets to keep them from fidgeting nervously. “Fancy a shag?”

Soap’s thick eyebrows shoot up at your blunt question, his tired expression shifting into one of curiosity and surprise. “A shag, eh?” He chuckles roughly, his lips curling into a wolfish smirk while his previously tired eyes start sparkling with bright glee.

“Cannae say I was expectin’ tha’ one now.” He straightens slightly, sitting up to get a better look at you and you almost shiver under his suddenly molten gaze as he looks you up and down agonizingly slow, before nodding his head in response.

“Aye, ‘m down.”

Exhaling a sigh of relief, some tension finally leaves your battered body.

“Brilliant,” you mutter with a step towards him; taking his canteen, you drink a long swig of the chilled water as if preparing for a marathon, before screwing it shut and holding out your free hand to him invitingly.

“C’mon, then. Don’t want the others to fuckin’ walk in on us.” You try to quip casually, though deep down, it’s a valid fear of yours.

Soap chuckles, and of course he notices your skittish nervousness, though how could he ever decline your offer—especially after a fucked up op like this one.

“Fair point.” He stands up from the couch, his body towering over you as he gives your hand a tender squeeze before he follows you towards the stairs obediently, his hand remaining securely in yours.

The sound of muffled moans and gasps fills the air, mixing with the creaking of the old bedframe and the wet slapping of skin on skin.

Soap has been sitting propped up against the worn out headboard; rough hands tightly gripping around your thighs as you ride his painfully hard dick at a tortuous slow pace, his grunts and curses blending with your soft mewls and whimpers while you roll your hips all sensual in a way Soap never dared to imagine.

He’s always fantasized about you ravishing him like a starved wildcat; scratching and biting as you tell him to fuck you harder—though he doesn’t mind the opposite. Not at all.

However, this is slowly turning into proper torture as you keep edging him—intentionally or unintentionally, he can’t tell; his brain is filled with cotton, his muscles bunched tightly with restraint to keep himself from bouncing you on his cock or fucking up into you with wild abandon. He watches how his cock disappears inside you; your essence creaming around the base of his shaft and matting his pubes as it runs down his sac.

The smell of your combined arousal is heady in the air; stuffing the small bedroom with pheromones and the scent of sex—intoxicatingly so.

Gripping your flesh tighter, his blunt fingernails dig into your soft skin as he growls out a command. “Faster. Fuck, baby–” He licks his dry lips, drinks in the bonnie flush on your cheeks, the hazy look in your eyes, and his chest puffs out. Steamin’ Jesus, you like it. “Go on, ride me faster, princess.”

Your lashes flutter shut, and you almost want to protest at the nickname, a meek attempt to keep yourself from catching anything too emotionally serious, but then Soap’s hand cups your jaw, pulling you back into the here and now with him.

“Look’it me, baby,” he murmurs deeply, his darkened eyes staring up at you in the low, gloomy lighting—a deep shade of indigo the way his pupils are blown.

And you don’t fight it. You let him guide your face down to meet his gaze, your breath hitching in your chest as you meet owlishly big eyes, seeing the raw adoration behind a faint glimmer of something feral and animalistic—like you’re something special and worth looking at, worth wanting, while his reverent touch sends wave after wave of violent shiver down your arched spine.

Then, with his cockhead nudging your cervix and his shaft stretching your sopping walls deliciously, you notice how gorgeous Johnny MacTavish is—especially like this. All debauched and fucked out because of your doing. Fucking hell, no, he’s gorgeous all the time if you’re truly honest with yourself.

A louder, more pathetic moan slips past your lips as your head lolls back when you finally pick up your pace at his encouragement. You’re properly impaled on his fat cock; feeling him in your guts as you ride him mercilessly, hands braced on his broad shoulders while his fingers dig into the fat of your ass. Your tits bounce with each grind, sore muscles clenching with exertion as you pant against his sweaty skin.

“Yeah, fuck... just like that, princess.” Soap murmurs, eyes rolling back as you start bouncing on his throbbing prick with wild abandon. “F-Fuck, so bonnie, baby. Feels s’fuckin’ good, fuckin’ perfect–ngh–” And he grits his teeth, nostrils flaring with sharper breaths, as he feels that familiar pressure in his balls, those electric tingles at the base of his spine.

He doesn’t know what you did, but he’s going to come sooner than he planned to. He forces his eyes to open as you moan his name; the sound causing his cock to twitch inside your tight channel.

And, fuck—

The sight of you is a goddamn fever dream; your body moving on top of him so perfectly, the pretty flush on your cheeks, the way your lips are parted, kiss-swollen because of him, your brows furrowed in pleasure. He can still taste your cunt on his tongue from when he’d sucked your essence off his fingers during foreplay.

You’re a bloody vision—a beautiful, sinful vision.

He tightens his grip on your ass cheeks, breath stuttering at the obscenely wet sound when his cock disappears inside your dripping hole, skins sticky with precum and your slick. His fingers dig deeper into your flesh as he pulls you closer with each movement, bucking his hips to meet your body halfway, to bury himself deeper inside you—desperate to leave his mark, to burn this moment into your memory.

Soon enough, you can feel yourself at the precipice of your own orgasm as you roll your hips more frantically; fucking yourself stupid and using his body while he’s taking what he needs just as desperately in return. He plays with your bouncing tits, slips one hand between your thighs to rub his thumb over your slick, swollen clit, leans in to drag his tongue from the valley between my breasts up the column of your throat before wrapping his bulky arms around your waist and pulling you close enough to capture your lips in a bruising kiss.

“M’gonna come,” you mewl hotly against his lips, legs trembling and nails digging into his meaty muscles as he grins back wolfishly. “Please–”

His lips are messy against yours as he captures your mouth in a fierce kiss, his tongue delving deep as he swallows your moans, licking into your mouth and lapping at your silky tongue like an eager dog, greeting his owner with a wagging tail.

Soap is losing control—control he was trying so hard to keep even before you proposed this.

His fingers slide up your body; from your ass to your hips to your waist, roaming over your sensitive skin with greed. He’s about to tip over the edge, all it take is another fluttering squeeze of your cunt as desire and adrenaline rushes through his veins. In this pleasurable frenzy, he growls out a command: “Cum f’me, princess.”

And you do—you come apart on top of him, your walls clenching and rippling rhythmically around his rock hard cock in a vice grip, and a guttural moan is torn from deep within his chest as he follows your lead and lets go.

His legs jerk, his toes curl against the mattress, and his abs flex under coarse body hair as he spills his load into the condom.

For a moment, neither of you finds the strength nor mental capacity to say anything as you heavily against one another for support. The room quiets at once; silence only broken by your panting breaths as you twitch and writhe with glorious aftershocks.

Then, Soap leans his head back against the headboard, a dull thud followed by a boyish chuckle as he keeps holding you close, your face buried against his shoulder, your quaking body pressed flushed to his. His other hand pets your hair soothingly—a stark contrast to the harsh command he had whispered into your ear moments ago.

“Good girl.” Soap smirks triumphantly as he feels how you relax against him, your muscles gradually easing and melting in his embrace.

His hand continues his gentle ministrations, his touch so gentle as he holds you close, your head resting on his shoulder as your lips skim along his collarbone, causing his flushed skin to pebble with gooseflesh.

“Ye feel better now, princess?” he asks, his voice soft and almost tender, a subtle hint of his Scottish brogue lingering in his words.

You nod slowly. “Better,” you repeat softly, vulnerable, the word coming out slurred.  Pressing a kiss to his collarbone, you pull back with a lazy smile while his cock softens inside you, giving the occasional last twitch whenever you move and squeeze around him.

“Saved me lots of trouble tonight, you could say.”

“Ye’re welcome.” Soap murmurs in response and his arms tighten around your naked body, unwilling to let go just yet. He’s knows what you mean.

He could feel it right from the start, knows about the strange thing between you and the Captain, knows that this was just to take the edge off—a simple distraction, though a welcome one. He can’t quite help it, though—the protective, possessive side of his nature is suddenly rearing it’s ugly head.

It’s no secret that he’s wanted this, wanted you, basically since you joined the bloody task force. And he’d tried, God, he’d tried to shoot his shot with you multiple times now—and it’s the only one he keeps missing despite his sniper skills.

“Don’t fall in love,” he mutters under his breath before cupping the nape of your neck, pulling you even closer before he buries his face into your neck, breathing you in deeply.

Quirking an eyebrow, you let out a sharp snort, though your stomach flutters at his quip.

“I feel like that should be my line, Tav.” Soap is an emotional man—as tough and quick-tempered as he is playful and caring. A right sap that one, if you’re close enough to him.

Soap sighs, shoulders sagging. He wasn’t talking to you.

You drag your bottom lip through your teeth in thought, carding your fingers through his mussed Mohawk. “We’re good, yeah?” you ask, voice genuine, before you pull back slightly to meet his eyes.

They’re nearly shining in the dimmed light—bright and so beautifully blue again now that the cloud of lust has vanished.

Soap hums, his gaze momentarily flickering to your face as you ruffle his short hair with the tips of your fingers. He’s still breathing deep and heavy, his chest rising and falling beneath you in a steady rhythm, and he doesn’t answer your question verbally—instead, he simply grabs your chin with his free hand, angling your face towards his as he leans in for another kiss.

It’s sensual, passionate, and so very... intimate. Perhaps too intimate for the words he forces out next: “Aye, no strings attached, princess.”

The aftercare drags on longer than it should. You know that and he does, too—yet neither of you can help it nor cares.

Eventually, Soap lifts you off his lap carefully, and he sucks in a sharp breath when his overstimulated cock slips out of your abused cunt. He’s quick to grab his shaft at the base, keeping the full condom in place; smacking his lips at the sight at the sight of it—a waste of a perfectly good load.

Meanwhile, you roll over onto the mattress like dead weight, letting out a soft groan and feeling deliciously boneless.

Soap chuckles quietly at the endearing sight of your relaxed body and dopey expression.

His own body is still thrumming with a strange sense of energy, though he’s also feeling rather limp, sated. He rolls the used condom off of his softening cock, knotting it and reaching over to toss it into the open rubbish bin next to the bed before flops down beside you onto the old mattress, inhaling deeply as he stretches out his large frame, sore joints cracking and popping.

“Mmmh, ye’re one hell’uva woman, ye know,” he mumbles, his deep voice even rougher as he reaches out to pull you close with ease, tucking you in and holding you snuggly to his side while his calloused hand starts stroking up and down your back.

“Perhaps Cap should’ve more near death experiences–” He snorts.

Even in his exhaustion, he doesn’t miss how soft and right you feel pressed up against his large, muscular body, your head resting against his bare chest while his heart thuds strong and steady. He could get used to this. He wants to get used to this.

“–if it means ye’re gonna come crawlin’ into m’arms each time.”

Please consider leaving a like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed this and voted. Thanks! :)

[kiraavi]

banana cream pie

Summary: Joel is heading home after another long haul when he pulls into the travel center for the night. He's been struggling with his attraction to the waitress that works at the diner there, and is tempted to avoid you completely. The promise of coffee and an opportunity to stretch his legs, however, lures him in on a night you just so happen to be working the graveyard shift. CW: smut, pwp, unprotected piv, creampie + related innuendos that may or may not be cringe but I had to commit to the bit, oral f!receiving, a metric fuck ton of dirty talk, implied but unspecified age gap, (Joel is in his 50s, reader's age can really be anywhere from 20s-30s), rough and tough fuckin' with trucker Joel (he's lowkey a bit of a perv), exhibition, dumbification, hairpulling, overstimulation, wee bit of pussy pronoun usage. [No outbreak AU] Note: the demons took over... and I'm gonna be honest, this is 100% pure smut, no additives. It's got the cheesy porno plot and everything. I've been picking away at it for a week, and it's the longest smut I've written thus far!! As always, this was written with my beloved, game Joel (Goel), in mind. Also, reader is written to be plus size/chubby cause I felt like it! Comments, reblogs, and likes are all so incredibly appreciated! I'm always overjoyed to receive feedback. It means a lot to know that people have taken the time to stop by and read my fics. Lot's of love to y'all and happy reading! Word Count: 5.1k Ao3 Link: read here!

For a moment, Joel thinks about retreating into his bunk and winding down for the night, but his eyes dart back to the diner. The welcoming light that pours from the large windows, and the flickering neon open sign. Goddamn does a warm cup of coffee, and the opportunity to stretch his legs after a long drive sound good right about now.

His eyes dart back to the beat up blue hatchback parked around the side. He recognizes it, or rather, he recognizes who it belongs to. He feels like a teenager—you make him feel entirely out of his depth, and he’s not sure why. There’s nothing between you.

You’ve never been anything but friendly and accommodating toward him. You know exactly how he likes his coffee and make for good conversation. The problem lies in what you don’t know—in the moments between a sip of coffee in the diner, and before he passes out in his bunk. The secret between his fist and his cock when all he can think about is you—you in that fucking dress, you with that gorgeous smile, you who treats him with genuine interest. He’s pathetic. As mindless as a moth to a flame. As dumb as a fool to his execution.

When he finally finishes stewing in his guilt, staring blankly at the blinking amber lights of his dashboard, he musters up the courage to leave the comfort of the cab of his truck. He makes the walk across the parking lot a quick one—beneath the light drizzle of rain drops prickling his skin. He forgot his jacket in his truck, but he knows if he returns to his rig now he won’t be able to convince himself to venture back out.

Joel shoulders open the door with a huff as cool air rushes inside with him. The door falls shut and warmth envelops him in its place. He dares a glimpse at his reflection in the smudged glass and cards a hand through his unkempt hair. Turning, he surveys his surroundings for the first time, tamping his boots on the door mat. 

Booths are nestled along one wall, their red pleather upholstery spiderwebbed with fissures that reveal the foam cushioning beneath. Chips and scratches litter the table tops, the varnish worn around the edges where elbows have often come to rest. The checkerboard floor is weathered all the way down the aisle, certain tiles marking the well trodden path. The walls are covered in all sorts of dusty relics; old license plates from various states, road maps, and flags. Posters peel away from the wall at their corners and photographs have yellowed with the years.

He’s certain that this place hasn’t been renovated since its opening. It’s dingy, and unremarkable, and most things here have been wasting away for decades. The diner itself isn’t why he keeps coming back, though. He could just as well head over to the convenience store next door for a quick meal and a drink.

His eyes land on you. You’re standing behind the counter that runs the length of the room, chrome stools with red tops line the other side. You wipe down the surface with a damp rag. The radio crackles, crooning some tune that you’re too busy humming to notice his entrance.

It’s late and the place is empty—as desolated and deserted as the parking lot outside—a far cry from the bustling morning rush on those days when he’s barely able to get a word in while you rush around, topping up coffees or balancing trays of food. But now, you’re lost in your own world, and Joel finds himself hanging onto every second that you’re unaware of his presence because the view is a bit like art; a painting that he wouldn’t mind having hung in his home, or permanently etched into his mind’s eye.

You’re entirely unlike everything else in this tacky, run down diner. You are bright. You radiate warmth. You are something to be admired, cherished, and held dearly, or placed upon some pedestal. And he thinks that he might’ve spent an eternity memorizing every facet of you—every line that makes up your face, every contour that shapes your body—if you didn’t look up just then.

The smile that lights up your face is nothing short of a privilege to witness. He has half a mind to throw a glance behind him because it certainly can’t be for him—he can’t be the reason for something so beautiful. He doesn’t warrant that kind of look, but he’s the only one here and he doesn’t want to make himself look stupid, so he gives a curt nod.

Clearing his throat, he takes a stilted step towards one of the tables before settling into the booth. He watches as you disappear into the kitchen, and return with a coffee pot and mug in your hands. Dutifully, you set the mug in front of him and pour him a cup. The steam curls up into the air and one of his hands wraps around the ceramic mug, feeling its warmth. He glances back at you. You’re still standing there and you look a little antsy. He gets the feeling that he might be your only customer for the night.

“Workin’ the graveyard shift, huh?” He asks, lifting the mug to his lips and taking a sip. He pulls a bit of a face and sets it back down. The coffee is just okay, always has been, but the coffee isn’t why he keeps coming back. Again, his eyes flit to you.

“Yeah, I needed the extra shift,” you say as you set the coffee pot onto the table before sitting down across from him. He feels your knee brush his beneath the table and his jaw clenches. “And you? Heading home or heading out?”

You lean forward, bracing your elbows on the table and resting your chin in your hands, as if preparing yourself to cling to each word he has to say. The angle provides him the perfect vantage point. His eyes naturally snag on the pillowy tops of your breasts and the hidden valley between them. His fist knocks the table as he leans back against the seat, shifting uncomfortably. They look about ready to spill out of that dress with the first two buttons undone. Fuck, had it been unbuttoned when he’d first walked in? Surely.

“Home. Gotta week ‘fore I’m on the road again,” he grumbles, lifting his gaze away from where they definitely shouldn’t be. It means a week before he has a chance at seeing you again. For some reason that thought stirs an ugly feeling within him, twisting and unfolding in the pit of his stomach. The silence stretches between you, and neither of you reach to fill the void. He notices your nails are painted a baby blue to match your dress. Cute. 

The quiet becomes too much and he decides to put an end to it. “What’s the pie of the day this time?” It’s a question that he’s made the habit of asking, but he’s never made the habit of ordering a slice. A little routine between the two of you, and one that instantly has a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You hum as you think it over, making an effort to recall it, and the moment you do, your eyes light up. “It’s banana cream pie.” “Ah? S’it any good?”

“Oh, um, I’ve never tried it before,” you say and your leg jolts against his, your bare skin grazing the denim of his jeans. “Does my opinion matter? Unless you’re actually planning on ordering it this time?”

There’s something about you then—that glint in your eyes, the subtle curve of your smile, the teasing lilt of your voice. You’re adorable. He wants you all to himself. But he can’t have what’s out of reach. He’s struggling to keep up this act around you. The facade that he’s normal about you because he’s anything but normal about you. There’s nothing normal about his feelings for you at all. He is a beast that wants to swallow you whole and you are too naive to see it. Right? He blinks, eyes catching on the low dip of your top again, and then he feels your leg rub up against his once more. The touch feels almost purposeful, but he tries to convince himself otherwise. His imagination, his desire must be conjuring things—gleaning want where there is none. His throat goes dry and he swallows hard. 

“Nah,” his eyes lower to his coffee, still full, but he stands anyway, and you’re standing up with him, looking confused. “I should get goin’, it’s been a long day.”

“Really? Stay and finish your coffee at least, Joel,” you say, stepping closer. He locks up, muscles going rigid. It’s both a curse and a blessing to have shared his name with you last time. The way it floats from your lips, something wispy and reluctant, and in that dulcet tone. It’s euphonic. It does things to him—terrible, awful, thrilling things. 

He swivels around and you’re mere inches from him, peering up at him all doe eyed. He doesn’t have the bandwidth to deal with this right now, but you look up at him like that—like a lost puppy trailing after him, and he knows deep down that he never really stood a chance. Not when it comes to you. It’s just been a matter of time—of how long he can manage to convince himself of his own lies and turn the other cheek.

”Did… Did I do something that bothered you?” Your voice wavers. It makes him feel like an ass for ever making you question yourself because there’s not a single thing you’ve done to upset him. The only upsetting thing is the way he feels about you, the way want and desire roil in his gut the moment he so much as sees you, or remembers the fact that you exist. It’s purely impulsive and frustrating, and the most blissful feeling. He never wants to feel this way again and he never wants to stop feeling it simultaneously. Two opposing outlooks at an impasse within him.

“No- No ‘course not,” he says, waving his hand dismissively but you still look so unsure, and his hand lands on your shoulder in what’s supposed to be a comforting gesture. His thumb rubs a gentle circle there because he can’t stop himself. “Like I told you, just been a long day.”

You blink, your lip wobbling as you search for your next words. “Oh… it’s just that I was really enjoying your company.”

The last thread of his restraint pulls taut, the flame of tension between you whittling it away, and singeing one tiny, miniscule fibre at a time. You look upon him like he’s something worth a dime—someone of value who merits praise and admiration, but he isn’t. He’s sure that he isn’t anything more than a dumb, pathetic bastard too far ahead of himself to turn back now.

He knows that he’d be a fool to mistake your kindness for interest but, hell, if the way you bat your lashes at him, and worry your bottom lip between your teeth, and sway your hips with every approach isn’t interest, he’s not too sure what is. 

So the thread snaps, giving way to that searing fire and he surges forward, all but stumbling into you. His lips are on yours, clashing with yours—hot and heavy as he licks into your mouth. His breath is hot and laboured, fanning over your face.

You shake in his hold, your hands hovering and unsure of what to do. He pulls away and takes in the sight of you. Flushed and warm with those glossy, wide eyes staring at him in surprise. But you shouldn’t be shocked. You’ve seen this coming, haven’t you?

“You’re just a little fuckin’ tease, ain’t you?” He asks, and you have the audacity to look bewildered, lips parted in a soft exhale. You are good at this innocent act, he’ll give you that. “Knew what you were doin’ the whole damn time, I bet.”

“Yeah, bet you like havin’ that kinda control over a man like me, huh?” He questions, taking a step forward and into you, crowding you against the table. You’re stunned and locked into place, hands falling to grasp the lip of the table. You make no move to push him away. And that’s the confirmation he needs. He’s right. He knows he’s right and it only emboldens him. “Well, are you gonna say somethin’ or just stand there lookin’ pretty?”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. He’s sapped the air right out of your lungs.

“Bullshit, you’ve had me dreamin’ ‘bout this cunt for weeks now,” he scoffs, spinning you around and pressing a hand firm to your back, bending you over the table's edge. He’s got you pinned there.

“Joel…!” You squeak, gasping out.

“Fuck… been achin’ to taste it,” he says as he sinks to his knees behind you, and flips the back of your skirt up. His hands skim up your legs, lingering on the plush of your thighs in gentle up and down motions before grabbing a hold of them and prying them apart. His fingers graze your cotton panties—they’re that same baby blue, he notes. He clicks his tongue when his fingers come away damp. “Yeah, you’ve been drippin’ since I walked through that damn door, haven’t you?”

Your reply comes out as a weak, wavering sound—somewhere between a whimper and a mewl. Not very talkative, huh? There’s none of that denial anymore. No, he’s worked you into submission in a few measly seconds. But this is what you’d wanted. It’s what you’ve been getting at—been wanting some grizzled, old man like him to fuck you until there isn’t a single thought left floating around in that pretty little head of yours. Blissful oblivion.

“You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you, sweet girl?” He asks, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, and dragging the flimsy fabric down your legs. He smacks the side of your thigh when you don’t reply.

“Mhm!” You hum, not so subtly pushing your hips back toward him. Eager little thing. But he’s not one to make things quick. He won’t give you what you want just ‘cause. He’ll relish in it—in the things he can do to you not only with his touch, but the things he can do to you with the absence of it.

“Gotta use your words f’me…” he coos, his thumb pressing into the tender skin where your thigh meets your most intimate place, parting your lips gently. He exhales sharply at the sight—pink and glistening just for him. Precious. “C’mon, be a good girl.”

“Please-! I need you,”  you keen above him, and he can hear the unadulterated desperation dripping from your words. It feeds into him and into his ego—into the beast you’ve created of him.

“Need what? Oughta be specific. ‘M no mind reader,” he murmurs, moving his hand to slide two fingers along your slit as he asks his next question. “D’you need my fingers?”

“My mouth?” Next, Joel leans in close to press a kiss to your inner thigh, just shy of your pulsing heat. He feels your legs quiver at the daring proximity—so achingly close to where you need him and, yet somehow, incredibly far. “Or does this greedy cunt need somethin’ more…?”

He is rock hard in his jeans, uncomfortably so. His erection pushes against his zipper but he ignores it, keeping his sole focus on you—the object of his desire, already weak and warbling from a few infinitesimal touches.

“Uh huh- please, anything…!” You beg so pretty, and how can he deny that? He has you in the palm of his hand, your muddled mind incapable of making a simple decision. You’ve relinquished control and deferred all choice to him. He relishes in it and he takes the responsibility in stride. 

“Poor thing can’t even make a decision for herself,” he says as he draws nearer to lay a kiss over your dripping folds. He flicks his tongue out and his thumbs part you at your seam. You squirm and a moan falls from you. He can’t see your face right now, but Christ, does he wish he could. He’ll just have to settle for his imagination which is something he’s not entirely unfamiliar with.

“That’s okay. You don’t gotta think too hard when I’m here, just have to sit there and take what I give you, right?” He pulls back to whisper, the bridge of his nose ghosting over the sensitive skin. “Just gotta stand there bein’ good and dumb for me…”

Joel doesn’t bother waiting for a response before returning his mouth between your legs. He marks a trail of kisses all the way back to your cunt. And when he tastes you again, he lets out a languid groan, tongue flattening over your clit. He laps and suckles at it, siphoning shuddering moans from your lips. Your hips jolt and he moves higher, prodding at your entrance, flicking his tongue there.

He doesn’t belong here. Nothing he’s ever done renders him deserving of this blessing, but he’ll earn it. You whimper above him—tiny, bitten-off whines tumbling from you over and over as he licks into you, laving over your clit again and again. The sounds are downright obscene, filling the empty room as he feasts on you like it’s his final meal and he’s to die tonight—his last will and testament. His fingers dimple the flesh of your thighs, wrenching you open wider and nudging your entrance again.

You’re close. He can tell in the way your legs begin to tremble and your knees threaten to buckle. His hands lower to brace you, a silent gesture, as if to say ‘I’ve got you.’ And he does. He’s not letting you go until you’ve reached that peak and then some. He returns all his attention to your clit, swirling his tongue and suckling—working you up, up, up and coaxing you over that crest.

“Oh…! Nghh, Joel-!” You wail. Your orgasm is a wavering, jittering thing. He can feel your muscles convulsing against his tongue. He grunts and works you through it, drinking up every last drop. 

It’s too easy to push you down and wind you up. Your body is pliant, willing, and accepting of everything he gives you. Even as it spasms and jerks, a weak sound of protest falling from your lips as he refuses to let up.

This moment, right here in this empty diner, is limbo—a space between two destinations in which time ceases to exist. He can’t get enough of you. He never will. He’s addicted, so he continues to take and take from you. The pleasure he imparts unto you is his own, his cock twitching in his pants.

Joel mouths at your pussy. He does not stop to breathe. He smothers himself in your wet, messy folds, teasing and licking—pushing and pulling. Raising you up and bringing you back down each time he diverts his attention to another sensitive place.

You are a mess. A heap of shaking limbs, sinful sounds, and babbled words—garbled and disjointed pleas. He doesn’t think you realize your own contradictions. A quiet ‘I can’t-’, a stuttered ‘no more’, followed by a ‘please don’t stop!’

He won’t. He will not stop until he’s torn another orgasm from you. He knows that you’re capable—you’ll give him what he wants and comply with his whims because you’re his good girl. You will give him another whether or not it’s dredged from you weeping and tremoring.

And you do. Your body coils like a spring, his hands move to your hips, tugging you closer against his face. One more pass of his tongue and your body unravels, unwinding and releasing all that tension.

“Oh God! Ah- Joel… fuck!” you cry out. When he pulls away, his face is slick with your arousal, droplets clinging to the scruff of his beard. He stands up behind you, his hands coasting up your sides as he does. You’ve gone limp, still folded over the table.

Shucking off his belt, Joel pushes his pants down alongside his boxers, freeing his painfully erect cock. It’s flushed and leaking, aching to be inside you already. He shuffles behind you, guiding his cock between your legs and dragging it over your seam, and slipping it between your pussy lips.

“You let any man have his way with you?” he questions, tapping the bulbous tip against your clit before sliding it back and notching it against your entrance. “D’you spend weeks practically beggin’ for it? Temptin’ any bastard that happens to pass through?”

“No! No, just you, only you.” you say, breath hitching and eyes watering.

“No? Just me? That’s damn right.” He grins and begins to sink inside, drawing a ragged moan from the both of you. Your pussy hugs his cock as it cleaves you open. “This cunt belongs to me.”

He starts off slow, bringing his hands to rest on your waist as he eases in and out of you, feeling your warm, tight walls clutch and flutter around his shaft, seeming to cling and suck him back in each time he pulls out.

“Fuck yes, baby…” he croons, eyes fluttering shut as he begins to set a faster pace. The mug and coffee pot rattle with each thrust that jolts your body against the table. The mug inches closer and closer to the edge. His hips meet your ass, bottoming out with each drive forward. Opening his eyes, his gaze lands on the window in front of you. The two of you look out onto the empty parking lot.

“Would you look at that, darlin’…” he remarks, giving your hip a squeeze to grab your attention and direct it forward. “Anyone could walk on past and see you gettin’ railed… you like that don’t you, though?”

There’s truth to his words. The looming threat doesn’t take away from it. No, your cunt contracts around his shaft, dragging him deeper at the acknowledgement of such an indecent thing. You enjoy the risk—you both delight in it.

To be caught now would be so easy. You’ve been put on display, vulnerable and exposed, beneath the glaring lights reflecting off the glass. Rivulets of rain water slip down the wide, open pane. All it would take is one lone traveler pulling into the parking lot, or the convenience store cashiers switching shifts, and a singular glance in the diner’s direction. 

Just like that, and they would know that you’ve let this man defile you at your place of work. They’d know what a dirty girl you are. But it’s not off-putting in that way that it should be. It’s exhilarating.

“Mhm, you get off on it, filthy girl,” he teases, rolling his hips into you. You’re a wordless, mindless jumble of nothingness beneath him. Completely and utterly drunk on his cock, and unable to string together a single thought, let alone form a coherent sentence. You speak only in helpless mewls and keening moans. His focus is trained on your dazed, dumb expression in the reflection. You look fucking divine.

“Well, go on, look.” He reaches for your hair, tugging it and forcing you to face your mirror image. “Watch me fuck you.”

Joel knows he shouldn’t be so rough with you. You’re fragile and teetering, but he wants you to witness the sight—to face the image of what you’ve been taunting him with for weeks. You’re a work of art. He wants you to know that and remember the reflection in the glass in case this is the last time he bears the privilege of having you in such a manner. 

“Joel, please!” you whine over the wet plap, plap, plap of his thrusts, your hands grappling with the flat table top. He’s not sure what you’re pleading for and he thinks that you might not even know yourself.

He hums, rubbing his hand up along your spine and then back down to the knot of your apron. He tugs it loose, and pulls you upright and against him, tossing the apron aside. Sliding his hands around you he undoes the rest of the buttons of your dress in quick succession until your breasts spill out. 

“My beautiful, fuckin’ perfect girl,” he whispers, leaning in to press a kiss to the side of your neck and then another one as his hands cup your tits, kneading them and feeling the way you shudder against him. 

Joel tips your head back, running his fingers along your jaw in a tender caress. They curl there as he thumbs your bottom lip, prodding and encouraging you to open up before tucking two thick digits inside. Obediently, your mouth closes around them as though it’s a habitual act. He smooths them over your tongue, unable to stifle the strained noise that escapes him.

The silky heat engulfs them and you practically purr, dissolving further into his arms. Drool pools at the corner of your mouth, and he pulls his fingers from your mouth with a schlick. His hand then slithers down your body and slips between your legs.

He feels the way you’re stretched wide around his girth, wedged open in a way he’s certain you haven’t been before. He continues to rock up into you as he seeks out your swollen clit, fingertips circling the bud in small, vigorous circles. His head drops to your shoulder, feeling that tight, delicious clamp of your pussy. Quiet utterances and muttered curses stashed under his breath flitter over your ear.

“So good… you feel so fuckin’ good, baby…” He drawls, fighting to keep his eyes from clenching shut because he wants to savour this moment and you. Blissed out and empty-headed, taking each inch of him. He adores you—everything about you. Every curve, and dip, and extra bit of plushness.

“You’re so damn perfect,” he moans, his thrusts turning sloppy. If he had the time to dedicate to worshiping every aspect of you he would. He’d spend hours working you through orgasm after orgasm, but you haven’t got the time, and he can feel himself inching closer and closer to his own.

“Shit, I’m close-!” he mumbles, folding you over the table again and following suit. His chest is pressed to your back, and his cock sinks deeper somehow, hips bumping yours against the lip of the table. You slap a hand over your mouth in an effort to suppress your moans.

His arm winds around you, curling beneath your stomach. His hand, large and roughened, fans over the plumpness there—so often hidden by the flared skirt of your dress. He squeezes gently. Groaning, he saws his cock in and out, feeling the unhurried, slick glide as the crown passes over that delicate and sensitive spot inside you. He feels you tense beneath him, another one of your sweet sounds is muffled against your knuckles. His free hand grabs yours and shoves it flat to the table.

“None’a that, darlin’. Lemme hear every damn sound,” he grunts, pressing his palm firmer against your stomach. “Ya feel that? Feel me right fuckin’ here?”

“Yes! Yes, feel you so deep, mmph…!”

“Where do you want it?” he asks, feeling that pressure brim and ache. “Tell me or are you too dumb and drunk on my cock to make up your mind?”

You babble beneath him—a jumbled mess of pleas and yesses, but no definitive answer to the question he has posed. He’s right. You’ve been reduced to a brainless, insatiable, needy thing. Hopelessly keening for more and more even when your body can’t take it.

“It’s alright, baby… I’ll just have to give you a taste of that cream pie you said you’d never tried,” he murmurs, continuing the staggering rhythm of his thrusts.

“Inside’s where ya need it, filling up this greedy cunt, hm?” His voice is hushed, dropping low and husky. The words are like a secret for your ears only. He feels you tense beneath him, a strangled cry is pulled from the depths of you as your walls convulse around his cock. He moans at that sensation. It’s addictive. It’s incredible. You’re writhing and unfurling for him—fracturing into pieces atop quaking legs. “Uh huh, can feel her sucking me in. She’s begging for it, ain’t she?”

“Please, give it to me…” And that’s all the permission he ever needs—that breathless, resigned request.

It’s uncontrollable. The pressure erupts as he bottoms out one last time, nestling deep. His cock swells and twitches, balls drawing tight as relief finally sweeps over him. His hips involuntarily jerk as the first jet spurts inside of you. He sucks in air through his teeth, suddenly feeling deprived of oxygen as his head spins and his mind goes blank. His pelvis spasms, grinding into you. His eyes fall shut and a groan tumbles past his lips. He stays there, shooting warm rope after rope, until he has nothing left to give and then a few moments longer.

When Joel peels himself from you, he slides himself free. Instantly, his eyes catch on your cunt and the way your entrance contracts around nothing. His spend oozes out in what can only be described as an obscene display. 

You lay there panting until you find the will power to stand up and face him. Your legs wobble and you lurch, but he’s there to catch you, propping you up against him. “Easy now,” he mutters, bringing a hand up to brush back a stray hair. 

“Right, sorry,” you say with a giggle, hands braced on his shoulders as you look up at him. You’re damn near delirious. He’s the one who’s brought you to such a state. His stomach churns. His eyes dart between yours and your lips then out the window to his rig in the parking lot. It doesn’t feel right to up and leave, so he makes the decision that he won’t. Not yet.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” he murmurs, cupping your face and tilting your chin. You smile up at him. It’s set in stone. He’s set in stone. There’s no pulling him from this moment anytime soon.

“I could go for another cup of coffee,” he says, glancing at the abandoned mug settled right near the edge of the table, its contents now sitting cold, “and I think I’d like to try a slice of that banana cream pie too.”

[thighsa]

Hi. I wanted to know if you are working on that Izone Minju idea with old men?

That ask sounded hot, so I wanna know to look forward to it or not.

Request :

SILENCED BY AGE

Kim Minju X Grandpa's Friends

Warning : Non Con Smut (please don't read if you don't like it, thanks!)

CHAPTER 1

Kim Minju, a fresh-faced 23-year-old, stepped off the crowded bus with a gentle sigh, the chilly air of the early spring evening kissing her cheeks as she made her way down the quiet street. She had been a member of the world-renowned K-Pop group, Iz*one, but now, her days were filled with a different kind of spotlight: the solitary glow of a single bulb in a dusty nursing home room. Her grandpa's health had been failing for some time now, and with no one else to turn to, she had taken on the role of his primary caregiver.

The nursing home loomed before her, a stark contrast to the glitz and glamour she had once known. The scent of antiseptic and the distant chuckles of the elderly filled her nose as she pushed through the heavy doors. The receptionist, a plump middle-aged woman with a kind smile, nodded in recognition. "Ah, Miss Kim, you're here to see your grandpa again. He's in a good mood tonight."

Minju nodded and made her way down the dimly lit corridor, her heels clicking against the linoleum floor. She pushed open the door to room 306, revealing her grandpa, Mr. Kim, in a wheelchair by the window, staring out into the darkness. He turned to her, his eyes brightening. "Ah, my little Minju," he croaked, reaching out a trembling hand. "You came."

Her heart swelled with love as she took his hand and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Of course, Grandpa. I'll always be here for you." She began to unpack the small bag of goodies she had brought him, his favorites from their weekly market trips before his health declined. The room was small and simple, with a single bed and a few personal items scattered about, a sad reflection of the vibrant life he once led.

As the weeks passed, Minju grew closer to the other residents of the nursing home, their grandpa-like charm and gentle teasing a comforting balm to her lonely soul. Most of them are widowers, each with stories of love and loss that stretched back decades. They seemed so innocent, so harmless, their flirtatious comments and innuendos slipping past her like whispers in the wind. But there was something in their eyes that made her feel... different. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

One evening, as she sat with her grandpa watching the news, Mr. Park, a sprightly octogenarian with a twinkle in his eye, sidled over to her. "Miss Kim," he began, his voice low and conspiratorial. "You're so pretty, so young. You must have a boyfriend, yes?" His friends chuckled quietly from their chairs nearby, their eyes glinting with mischief.

Minju blushed, shaking her head. "No, Mr. Park. I'm busy with my career." The grandpas feigned disappointment, their eyes never leaving her as she continued to care for her grandpa, their gazes lingering on her curves and the way she moved. It was innocent at first, but soon she noticed the way their glances grew more brazen, their smiles more knowing.

The fateful evening came when Minju's grandpa complained of the cold. She excused herself to the storage room to grab a fresh comforter. The room was a maze of shelves, filled with linens and supplies, and she had to navigate through it carefully. As she pulled out the requested item, she heard the squeak of the door opening.

Mr. Lee, one of the more talkative grandpas, shuffled in, his eyes twinkling with something more than innocent curiosity. "Ah, Miss Kim," he began, his voice a raspy purr. "Alone at last." He leaned heavily on his cane, the room suddenly feeling much smaller. "You know, I've noticed how much you care for your grandpa, how you've given up so much for him. It's quite admirable."

Minju's stomach lurched as she took a step back, her hands gripping the comforter tightly. "Mr. Lee, I'm sure my grandpa would love to see you, but he's a bit tired right now."

Mr. Lee's smile grew wider, his teeth gleaming in the soft light. "Nonsense, I just want a little hug from such a lovely young lady like yourself." His eyes swept over her body, and Minju's heart began to race. Something about his tone sent a shiver down her spine. She felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch, and she knew she needed to get out of this situation quickly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lee," she began, taking a step backward, only to feel the cold metal of the shelving unit against her spine. "But I really should get back to Grandpa."

Mr. Lee's smile morphed into something predatory. "Ah, come now, Miss Kim. Just one little hug, that's all I ask." His voice was a gravelly whisper, his hand reaching out to her.

Minju's heart hammered in her chest, the room spinning as she tried to find a way out. But she was trapped, the towering shelves of supplies blocking her escape. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "Mr. Lee, please, I don't think this is appropriate."

But Mr. Lee's hand was already on the door, the click of the lock echoing through the small space. "Oh, don't worry, my dear," he said, his voice thick with a lust that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks. "Your grandpa's sleeping soundly, and the nurses are busy with their rounds."

He took another step closer, and Minju felt the heat of his breath against her neck. His hand reached out, landing firmly on her ass, squeezing it as if it were a piece of fruit he was testing for ripeness. She gasped, her eyes going wide with shock and fear. His other hand followed suit, cupping her breast through her sweater, his thumb flicking against her nipple. She tried to push him away, but his grip was surprisingly strong for a man his age.

"Mr. Lee, please," she pleaded, her voice shaking, but he was deaf to her protests. His hand moved up to her neck, gently caressing the soft skin as his thumb traced the line of her jaw. His eyes bore into hers, dark with desire.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his breath hot and ragged against her ear. His other hand continued to roam, sliding down her waist to squeeze her ass again, his thumb pressing against the fabric of her skirt, hinting at the flesh beneath. "So... young and firm."

Panic surged through Minju as she realized the extent of his intentions. She tried to push him away, her heart racing as she felt his hands moving over her body with a possessiveness that made her skin crawl. "Please, Mr. Lee," she whispered, her voice strained. "We can't do this."

But Mr. Lee was not to be deterred. He leaned in closer, his breath reeking of minty toothpaste and something darker, something that made her stomach churn. "You're just like your late mother," he murmured, his hand sliding up her thigh. "So sweet, so innocent." His voice grew gruffer, hungrier.

With a sudden burst of strength, Minju pushed him away, the comforter slipping from her grasp. She stumbled backward, her head colliding with the cold, hard wall. Stars danced before her eyes, and she felt herself slipping, the room spinning out of control.

Mr. Lee took advantage of her daze, his hands grabbing her shoulders and slamming her back against the shelves. The force was enough to knock the wind out of her, and she felt her legs give way. She slumped to the floor, her vision going dark. The last thing she heard was the rustling of fabric as he dropped to his knees beside her, his breathing heavy and ragged.

When Minju came to, the world was a haze of pain and confusion. Her head throbbed, and her body felt cold and exposed. She looked down to find her clothes torn to shreds, her pale skin stark in the dim light. Her panties were gone, replaced by a piece of fabric lodged in her mouth, gagging her. Panic surged through her as she struggled against her binds, her wrists and ankles tied tight with strips of her own clothing.

Mr. Lee loomed over her, his phone held out at an odd angle. The sickening realization dawned on her: he was recording her. His gnarled fingers traced the line of her body, his eyes feasting on her like a starving man. She tried to scream, but the fabric muffled her cries, turning them into pathetic whimpers that only seemed to excite him further.

He leaned down, his tongue snaking out to lick the salty tears from her cheek. The sensation was so foreign, so disgusting, that she nearly vomited. His hands roamed further, one sliding down her chest to pinch her nipple, the other reaching up to hold her face still as he clenched his teeth around the tender peak. Minju's eyes rolled back in her head as she gagged on the fabric, her body writhing in a futile attempt to escape his touch.

With a grunt, Mr. Lee pulled away, his eyes alight with a depraved hunger. He slid two of his thick, wrinkled fingers down her trembling thighs, pushing them into the warm, untouched folds of her virgin pussy. The intrusion was sudden, painful, and Minju's body tensed, her eyes wide with horror. He moved them roughly, as if she were nothing more than a toy to be played with and discarded. She had never felt anything so violating, so wrong, and the pain was like a living thing, twisting and coiling inside her.

Her thoughts raced as she searched for a way out of this nightmare. She had to get away, had to tell someone, but the gag in her mouth muffled her screams, and her body was useless against the weight of his own. His breath was hot and foul against her neck as he whispered sweet nothings, his voice a parody of tenderness. She felt his erection pressing against her leg, and she knew what was coming next.

With a grin that sent a shiver of revulsion through her, Mr. Lee unzipped his pants, freeing his swollen cock. It was a sight she never thought she would see, and it filled her with a mix of terror and disgust. He stroked it slowly, the veins pulsing as he took in the sight of her vulnerable form. His hand moved to her face, the fabric of the gag sticky with her tears and saliva.

"Look at me, Minju," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "Look at what you're doing to me." He forced her chin up, his hand pressing against her cheek, and she couldn't help but stare at his twisted expression of pleasure. The phone in his other hand held steady, capturing every second of her degradation.

With a grunt, Mr. Lee positioned his cock between her trembling legs. She could feel the warmth and wetness of her own arousal, despite the fear that held her captive. Her body was betraying her, responding to his touch despite her mind's desperate screams of no. He leaned in, his weight pressing her into the cold floor as he lined himself up with her entrance. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the pain that was about to come.

The moment he entered her, it was like a hot knife sliding through butter. She bit down hard on the gag, muffling her scream as her body stretched to accommodate his thickness. The pain was unlike anything she had ever experienced, stealing her breath away in a fiery rush. His grip on her face tightened, his eyes never leaving hers as he pushed in deeper, filling her completely.

Minju's eyes watered as she felt him inside her, her mind racing with the horror of what was happening. She had never been with anyone before, had never even been kissed in the way she had read about in romance novels. And now, her first time was being stolen from her by this monster of a man who had once been her grandpa's friend.

Mr. Lee's hips began to thrust, each movement a brutal invasion that made her feel like she was being torn apart. She could hear the wet slap of his flesh against hers, the sound echoing through the small room like a taunt. His grip on her face didn't waver, his thumb pressing into her cheek as he held her in place, forcing her to watch the perverted show he was putting on for his own sick amusement.

Her virginity was lost in a flash, the pain so intense it was almost unbearable. She tried to clench her legs together, but his weight was too much. All she could do was lay there, sobbing and trembling as he took from her what she had been saving for someone she truly loved. His eyes never left hers, the hunger in them growing with each thrust. He was a man possessed, driven by a lust that had been festering for years, waiting for this moment to claim her innocence.

Mr. Lee's strokes grew more vigorous, his breaths turning into grunts of pleasure. Minju felt a wave of nausea wash over her as she felt his cock pulse inside her, releasing a warm, sticky flood that filled her up. The feeling was alien, disgusting, and she felt her body convulse around him. The fabric in her mouth was wet with drool now, and she could taste the bitterness of her own fear.

He pulled out, the sudden absence of him inside her leaving her feeling empty and violated. He stood up, his pants still open, his cock still hard and gleaming with her innocence. He looked down at her, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "Now, Miss Kim," he said, his voice cold and hard. "If you ever tell anyone about this, I'll make sure that video goes viral. You'll be known as the nursing home whore." He chuckled, the sound sending chills down her spine.

Minju's eyes widened in terror as she took in the reality of his threat. The video, the proof of her defilement, was in his hands. Her career, her reputation, her very identity as a virgin, all of it could be shattered with a single click. She nodded, her eyes pleading as she struggled against her binds. He took his phone and tucked it into his pocket, the smug look on his face telling her that he had won.

Mr. Lee bent down, his grip on her jaw tight as he pulled the fabric from her mouth. The taste of her own fear and saliva made her want to retch, but she held it back, her eyes never leaving his. "Now, my little cumdump," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "You're going to clean me up, and then we'll pretend like this never happened." He held his cock out to her, the last remnants of his release still glistening on the tip.

Minju felt a fresh wave of humiliation wash over her as she nodded, her voice a hoarse whisper. She took the shaking hand he offered and allowed him to pull her to her knees. The floor was cold and unforgiving, but she knew she had no choice. She leaned forward, her trembling hands supporting her as she took him into her mouth. The taste was bitter, the smell of his arousal filling her nose. She closed her eyes, focusing on the warmth of his flesh as she licked and sucked, trying to erase the evidence of what he had done to her.

Mr. Lee's eyes rolled back in his head, a low groan escaping his lips as she worked her mouth around his cock. He had taken her innocence so easily, and now he was taking her dignity as well. Her eyes remained closed, tears streaming down her face as she cleaned him, her mind racing with the reality of what had just transpired. How could she ever face her grandpa again? How could she go back to her life, knowing what these men had done to her?

After a few moments, Mr. Lee pulled away, his cock clean and glistening. He tucked it back into his pants with a self-satisfied smile. "Good girl," he murmured, patting her head like a pet. "Now, remember, not a word." With that, he turned and left the storage room, the door creaking shut behind him.

Minju remained on the floor for what felt like an eternity, her body trembling with shock and disgust. She managed to untie the makeshift binds, her trembling hands clumsy with fear.

The clock on the wall ticked away the moments, each second a painful reminder of the horror she had just endured. She knew she had to compose herself, had to act as if nothing had happened. But as she stumbled back to her grandpa's room, the weight of her violation felt like it was crushing her from the inside out.

Mr. Kim slept peacefully, oblivious to the monster that had just claimed her innocence. Minju took a shaky breath, willing herself to push the memories aside. She had to be strong for her grandpa; she couldn't let him see the fear in her eyes, the pain that was now a permanent part of her.

As she settled him into bed, Mr. Kim's eyes fluttered open. "Is everything okay, Minju?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"Yes, Grandpa," she lied, her voice wavering. "Just making sure you're comfortable."

Minju's hands trembled as she tucked the blankets around Mr. Kim, avoiding his gaze. She couldn't tell him what had happened, not now, not ever. She kissed his forehead and whispered a goodnight before retreating to the chair beside his bed. The darkness of the room seemed to swallow her whole, the shadows playing tricks on her mind as she replayed the horrific events of the evening.

Exhaustion eventually took hold, and she slipped into a fitful sleep, plagued by nightmares of Mr. Lee's leering face and the pain of his touch. The hours passed slowly, each tick of the clock a painful reminder of the silent prison she now found herself in.

CHAPTER 2

In the deepest part of the night, Minju was jolted awake by the sound of a gentle knock on her grandpa's door. She sat up, her heart racing, as one of the nurse's voice called out to her softly. "Miss Kim, Mr. Lee wants to see you in his room."

Her stomach churned with dread. She knew what he wanted, and the thought of facing him again made her skin crawl. But she had no choice. The video was his leash, and she was his unwilling pet. She slid out of bed, careful not to wake her grandpa, and wrapped a robe around herself. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come.

Mr. Lee's room was down the hall, and she walked there with leaden feet. The corridor was silent, the only sound her own racing heart. When she reached his door, she paused, her hand hovering over the handle. Another knock, more insistent this time. "Miss Kim, don't keep an old man waiting."

Minju took a deep breath and turned the knob, the room inside dimly lit by a single bedside lamp. The curtains were drawn, and the air was thick with the scent of his cologne, which now made her stomach twist. She stepped inside, and before she could even fully close the door, Mr. Lee's hand was on her, his grip firm on her wrist as he spun her around. His eyes glinted with excitement as he looked her over, his hand sliding down to cup her ass.

"Ah, Miss Kim," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear as he squeezed her cheek roughly. "You're even more beautiful when you're scared." He leaned in closer, his teeth grazing her neck as his other hand began to roam, his fingers sliding under her robe to trace the sensitive skin of her back. She could feel his erection pressing against her stomach, a cruel reminder of what was to come.

"Now, now," he said, his voice a low purr. "Let's not waste any more time. I've been thinking about this all night." He released her and took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to unbutton his pajama top. His chest was covered in a thin layer of silver hair, his skin wrinkled and spotted with age. "Undress me, my dear," he ordered, his voice thick with lust.

Minju's hand trembled as she reached out to obey, the weight of his gaze heavy on her. She helped him shed his top, revealing a stomach that hung over his pajama bottoms. His skin was soft and cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the hardness of his erection that pressed against the fabric. She forced herself to look away, focusing on the task at hand.

Mr. Lee handed her a small bottle of oil that he had been hiding under his pillow. She uncapped it, the scent of something musky and overpowering filling the air. He patted the edge of the bed, and she swallowed hard, her legs wobbling as she sat beside him. He lay down, his eyes never leaving hers as she took a deep, shaky breath and began to massage the oil into his back. Her hands moved in slow, deliberate circles, her thoughts racing as she tried to find a way out of this nightmare.

"Oh, you do massage so much better than the nurses here," he groaned, his voice a gruff growl that made her skin crawl. "They're all so rough and uncaring. But you, my dear, you have the gentle touch of an angel." His words were a mockery of the situation, a twisted game that only served to deepen her humiliation. She continued to work the oil into his skin, her stomach turning as she felt his muscles tense beneath her trembling fingers.

"I want you to stop massaging me with your hand," he said, his voice dropping to a commanding whisper. "Undress and use your breast to massage my back, body to body." Minju's heart skipped a beat. The very idea of using her naked body to service this vile old man was repulsive, but she knew better than to argue. With trembling hands, she undid the tie of her robe, letting it fall open to reveal her bare skin.

Her modest breasts were heaving with fear and revulsion, but she knew he was watching every move, his eyes devouring her. She swallowed hard, trying to compose herself as she straddled him, her legs shaking as she settled her weight onto his thighs. The feel of his skin against hers was like a brand, searing her with a sense of wrongness that she couldn't ignore. She leaned forward, her breasts pressing into the oily expanse of his back as she began to move them in slow, deliberate circles. The friction was strange, the sensation of her nipples against his flesh making her want to scream.

Mr. Lee's hand slithered around her, reaching for the bottle of oil. He poured a generous amount onto her chest, his gnarled fingers smearing it across her skin as he chuckled to himself. "Looks like you need a little help," he said, his voice thick with lust. She felt his hand close around her breast, guiding it against his back as he took the bell nipple clamp from the bedside table. Her heart raced as he held it up, the cold metal glinting in the dim light.

"This will make things more... interesting," he murmured, a wicked smile playing on his lips. With surprising deftness, he attached the clamp to her nipple, twisting it tight until she gasped in pain. The sensation was sharp, a bolt of agony that shot through her body. "Now," he said, his voice gruff with excitement. "Massage me with your clamped nipple."

Minju bit her lip, the pain making her eyes water as she began to move her chest against his back again. The metal pinched and pulled at her sensitive flesh with every stroke, the sound of the bell chiming with every movement she made. It was a twisted symphony of pain and pleasure, and she hated herself for the way her body responded, her nipples growing harder despite the torment.

The sound of the bell woke up Mr. Park and Mr. Cho from their nearby rooms. They had been lying in bed, listening to the TV, when the faint ringing caught their attention. Curiosity piqued, they both shuffled out into the hallway, the sound growing clearer with every step. They followed it like it was a siren's call, until they found themselves standing outside Mr. Lee's door, their hearts racing with anticipation.

Mr. Park's hand hovered over the doorknob, his breathing shallow and quick. He glanced at Mr. Cho, who gave a nod of encouragement. Slowly, Mr. Park turned the knob and pushed the door open, the hinges squeaking like a confession. The sight that greeted them was not what they had expected. Minju was straddling Mr. Lee, her robe open, her breasts bouncing with the movement as the metal clamp chimed with each press against his back. The room was thick with the scent of oil and lust, and their eyes widened with excitement at the sight of the young, vulnerable girl being used so wantonly by the man they had known as a harmless old neighbor.

Mr. Cho's gaze fell to the clamp, his eyes lighting up with perverse interest. "Looks like she's been a good girl," he whispered, his voice hoarse with excitement. Mr. Park nodded, licking his lips as he took in the scene. They had always had their suspicions about Mr. Lee's intentions, but to see it playing out in such an explicit manner was beyond their wildest imaginations. They watched in silence, their own desires growing with every twitch of Minju's body, every whimper she couldn't hold back.

Mr. Lee's eyes flicked to the doorway, and he saw his audience. His grin grew wider, his eyes glinting with a malicious joy as he beckoned them closer. "Gentlemen," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I see you've come to join the party." Minju's eyes grew wide with horror, realizing she was not the only one who knew about her degradation. The fear of being watched by these men she had once considered harmless was almost as overwhelming as the pain in her chest.

Mr. Park stepped into the room, his eyes never leaving Minju's breasts. "We wouldn't want to miss this, would we?" He said, his voice a low, hungry growl. Mr. Cho followed, his own gaze lingering on the sight of Minju's exposed flesh. Mr. Lee chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. "Good, good," he murmured. "The more the merrier."

"Miss Kim," Mr. Lee said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I want you to keep doing what you're doing, but I think it's time to introduce you to some new friends." He gestured to the two men standing in the doorway, their lust palpable in the air. "Mr. Park and Mr. Cho here have been wanting to meet you for quite some time."

With trembling hands, Mr. Park reached out to close the door behind them, the click of the lock echoing through the room like a gunshot. Mr. Cho followed suit, drawing the curtains and ensuring no prying eyes could peer in from the outside. The room was now a cocoon of darkness, the only light coming from the bedside lamp that cast eerie shadows across their leering faces.

Minju's eyes darted between the two new intruders, her mind racing with fear. Mr. Lee's hand slithered down to her waist, his grip firm as he whispered, "Don't worry, my dear. They're just here to make sure you don't get lonely." His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt a cold sweat break out across her skin.

Mr. Park took a tentative step forward, his eyes locked on the clamped nipples that stood out against her pale flesh. "Can I?" he asked, his voice shaking with excitement. Mr. Lee nodded, a predatory smile spreading across his face. "Go ahead. She's all yours to play with."

Minju felt Mr. Park's hand on her shoulder, his grip surprisingly gentle as he took over her massaging duties. She couldn't hold back the tears anymore, the reality of her situation too much to bear. She was nothing more than a toy for these depraved old men, their lustful gazes stripping away the last vestiges of her dignity.

Mr. Cho shuffled closer, his eyes gleaming as he reached out to caress her thigh, his trembling fingers leaving a trail of oil in their wake. "So soft," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. "So perfect." The words were like a knife in her soul, a painful reminder that she was no longer in control of her own body.

Minju's tears fell in silent streams, her eyes never leaving Mr. Lee's as she felt Mr. Park's hand move down her back, his grip tightening on the clamp. He tugged it gently, and she couldn't help but moan, the pain morphing into a strange, twisted pleasure that made her feel even more ashamed. She felt Mr. Cho's hand move up her leg, his thumb brushing against the wetness between her thighs. "Ah," he said, his voice thick with lust. "Look at how ready she is for us."

With surprising strength, Mr. Cho reached around and ripped her panties from her body, the fabric tearing away with a sound that seemed to echo in the stillness of the night. He tossed the ruined garment aside, his eyes never leaving hers as he took the bottle of oil from the bedside table. She felt the cool liquid cascade over her, running down her back and pooling in the small of her back, making her skin glisten. His hand followed the trail, his palm cupping her ass and squeezing it roughly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as if he was trying to mold it to his will.

Mr. Lee's voice was like a whip crack, ordering her to remove the robe that barely clung to her. Minju's trembling hands obeyed, the fabric pooling around her wrists before sliding off, leaving her completely exposed to their hungry gazes. She felt a fresh wave of humiliation as the two men took in the sight of her, their eyes raking over her body like it was a feast laid out before them.

Mr. Lee's hand remained firm on her waist as he guided her back into the position she had just vacated, her breasts now oiled and slick from the massage. "Miss Kim," he instructed, his voice low and dangerous. "You're going to continue massaging me with your tits, just like before. Don't stop, no matter what happens."

Minju's eyes remained locked on his, filled with a mix of fear and defiance as she felt Mr. Cho's hands on her hips. His breath was hot on her neck as he whispered, "Mr. Lee, you haven't used this hole yet, have you?" His grip tightened, and she felt something thick and hard pressing against her unprepared anus, the tip of his erection probing the tight ring of muscle. Panic surged through her, but she knew better than to resist. She took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded, her body trembling as Mr. Cho's oiled hand reached around to caress her clit, his other hand guiding his cock into position.

Mr. Park stepped closer, his own excitement palpable as he unzipped his pants. His cock sprang free, standing proud and erect in the soft light of the lamp. He took her right hand, which was still shaking from the trauma of her recent assault, and wrapped it around his shaft. His skin was hot and slick with precum, and she felt him shiver as she tentatively began to stroke him, her movements clumsy and forced. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a harsh contrast to the gentle stroking of her hand. "You're going to make me feel so good."

Her eyes remained on Mr. Lee's, her silent plea for mercy lost in the sea of his depravity. He simply chuckled, his eyes never leaving hers as he watched Mr. Cho's cock disappear into her tight anus. She felt the head of Mr. Cho's cock breach her, the pain unlike anything she had ever felt before. It was as if she was being torn apart from the inside, her body no longer her own.

With a brutal thrust, Mr. Cho rammed his dick into her virgin ass, the sound of her scream echoing off the walls of the small room. She threw her head back, the pain so intense it was almost unbearable. She could feel him stretching her, filling her with his disgusting lust, and she wanted to die. But she couldn't. She had to keep going, had to keep up the facade for the sake of her grandpa.

Her hand continued to stroke Mr. Park's cock, her movements jerky and awkward as she tried to focus on anything but the agony in her ass. She felt Mr. Cho's hand move to her clit, his fingers moving with a speed that seemed inhuman. He began to rub her clit with a fervor that matched the tempo of his thrusts, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure and pain through her body.

Minju's screams grew louder, her body convulsing as she was pushed to the brink of sanity. She could feel Mr. Cho's balls slapping against her ass with each thrust, the pressure building in her stomach, her mind a whirlwind of despair. The pain was so intense it was almost unbearable, and yet, there was something... more. Something dark and twisted that made her body respond despite her mind's screams for it to stop.

Mr. Cho's grunts grew louder, his grip on her hips tightening as he plunged into her with an almost animalistic fervor. Each thrust was deeper, faster, his cock stretching her to the point she thought she might break. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving with the effort to stay upright. The clamp on her nipple was forgotten, the pain lost in the overwhelming sensation of being filled so completely.

Minju felt her body start to shake, her muscles straining against the relentless onslaught. Mr. Cho's cock was thick and unforgiving, pushing into her with a force that left her struggling to breathe. Her eyes watered, and she bit her lip hard to keep from screaming, the pain in her ass a constant reminder of her degradation. Yet, amidst the horror, she felt her own arousal building, a traitorous response that made her hate herself even more.

Suddenly, Mr. Park leaned in, his eyes gleaming with a perverse excitement. His hand reached for the bell nipple clamp, and without warning, he gave it a firm pull, drawing her nipple outwards and elongating it to an almost painful length. The sensation was strange, a mix of agony and a dark, twisted pleasure that sent a jolt straight to her core. She gasped, her eyes flying to Mr. Lee's, who watched with a detached amusement, his hand still firmly on her waist, guiding her movements.

Mr. Cho's thrusts grew more erratic, his breaths coming in pants as he fucked her hard and fast. His hand never stopped working her clit, the relentless pressure building into a crescendo of pain and pleasure that had her entire body trembling. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, a rhythmic beat that matched the pounding of her heart in her ears. The pain in her ass was a living, breathing entity, consuming her, making her aware of every inch of his cock as it plunged in and out of her.

Mr. Park took advantage of her distraction, leaning in to whisper in her ear, his breath hot and rank. "You like that, don't you?" His words were almost a taunt, and she could feel his cock pulsing in her hand, his excitement palpable. He gave the bell clamp another sharp tug, and she felt her nipple stretch even further, the metal digging into her tender flesh. The pain was exquisite, a white-hot line of agony that traveled straight to her clit, making her hips buck involuntarily.

Mr. Cho took the cue, his own excitement reaching a fever pitch. He pulled almost all the way out, the head of his cock teasing the entrance to her ass before slamming back in, making her body jolt. She could feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming erratic as he neared his climax. Her hand on Mr. Park's cock moved faster, driven by the need to distract herself from the pain, to find some semblance of control in this twisted game.

Mr. Park stepped back, his eyes still locked on hers as he bent down and picked up the shreds of fabric that were once her panties. He held them up with a twisted smile, the flimsy material seemingly innocuous in his grip. With a deft twirl of his wrist, he wrapped the fabric around her right nipple, the oil from her massage making it stick to her skin. He tugged it tight, the fabric biting into her sensitive flesh. The clamp was already a torment, but the addition of the fabric was like a brand new level of hell.

Mr. Cho took a deep breath, his cock still buried in her ass, his eyes glazed with lust as he watched Mr. Park's cruel play. "I think she's enjoying it," he said, his voice strained with his own pleasure. Mr. Lee chuckled, his hand moving to her other breast, giving it a rough squeeze. "Look at her, begging for more."

Minju felt the fabric of her panties tighten around her right nipple, Mr. Park's grip growing stronger with every twist of the makeshift rope. The pain was unbearable, a sharp, burning sensation that seemed to pulse in time with Mr. Cho's thrusts. She could feel her orgasm approaching, a dark, twisted parody of pleasure that she knew would only serve to further humiliate her. She wanted to scream, to beg for them to stop, but she knew that would only make things worse.

Mr. Park leaned closer, his breath hot and moist on her neck. "Look how much you're enjoying this," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "Look how wet you are." His hand moved down her body, his thumb sliding through the slickness of her pussy before pressing against her clit, adding to the torment. The fabric of her panties grew tauter, the pressure on her nipple increasing with every twist. The clamp's bell chimed a mournful tune with every jerk of her body, a soundtrack to her degradation.

Minju's eyes watered, her teeth digging into her lower lip as she tried to hold back the scream that was building in her chest. She couldn't believe the depth of pain and humiliation she was enduring, her body being used and abused by these old men. The fabric around her nipple grew tighter, the pain blossoming into a white-hot agony that was almost unbearable. She felt like she was being torn apart, her body a plaything in their twisted game.

Mr. Cho's grunts grew more insistent, his thrusts becoming faster and harder. She could feel his cock swelling inside her anus, his orgasm imminent. The thought of him filling her up with his cum was too much, and she couldn't hold back any longer. Her body convulsed, her pussy clenching around Mr. Park's invading thumb as she came, the pleasure ripping through her like a tornado of despair.

Mr. Cho roared as he climaxed, his cock pumping rope after rope of cum into her tight, unprepared hole. The sensation was indescribable, a mix of pain and violation that made her want to scream. The pressure built until she felt like she was going to burst, the warm, sticky fluid filling her up and stretching her to her limits. When he finally pulled out, she couldn't help but whimper as she felt the emptiness, the blood and cum dripping from her gaping anus painting a gruesome picture of her degradation.

Mr. Park watched with a perverse fascination, his own climax building as he saw the evidence of their depravity spilling from her body. He stepped closer, his cock in her hand now slick with precum and her own arousal. His eyes never left hers as he brought himself closer, the head of his cock nudging at her bruised and swollen pussy. "My turn," he said, his voice a low growl.

CHAPTER 3

Mr. Lee nodded in agreement, his own desire clear in his eyes as he positioned himself on the bed. He beckoned her closer, his cock standing proudly erect, a symbol of the power he wielded over her. Minju felt her legs give out, but the two men were quick to support her, their grip on her firm and unyielding as they guided her to the bed. They sat cross-legged, facing each other, a macabre reflection of a scene from a twisted fairy tale.

Mr. Park took his place opposite Mr. Lee, his cock jutting out like an accusation, eager to claim its share of her pussy. She trembled as she felt the head of Mr. Park's cock nuzzle against her slick entrance, the anticipation of the pain to come making her stomach churn. Mr. Lee leaned in, his breath hot in her ear. "Now, Miss Kim," he murmured, his voice a serpent's hiss. "You're going to show us what a good girl you can be."

With a cruel twist of his wrist, Mr. Lee yanked the rope tied to her nipple, the clamp biting deeper into her sensitive flesh. The pain was like a bolt of lightning, making her cry out, her body arching as she was forced onto Mr. Park's cock. It filled her, stretching her pussy to the brink of pain. Mr. Park's eyes never left hers, his own desire mingling with the satisfaction of watching her struggle.

"Now, Mr. Cho," Mr. Lee said, his voice thick with lust as he gestured to her quivering body. "Why don't you get ready for the main event?" He smirked, the gleam in his eye leaving no doubt about what was to come. Mr. Cho nodded eagerly, his hand already moving to his cock, stroking it to full hardness once more.

Mr. Lee turned his attention to Minju, who was sobbing quietly, her eyes darting between the two men as if searching for an escape that didn't exist. "Miss Kim," he said, his voice a mockery of tenderness. "You're going to be our little sandwich now. And remember, no matter how much it hurts, you don't get to come until we say so."

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she felt Mr. Park's cock pressing against her still-sore pussy, Mr. Cho eagerly watching from the side. With a sadistic smile, Mr. Lee nodded to Mr. Park, and with a single, brutal thrust, he filled her, the two dicks stretching her beyond anything she had ever imagined. She couldn't hold back a scream, her body arching back as she took them both, their grips on her hips keeping her in place.

The pain was unbearable, a fiery agony that seemed to consume her entire being as she was forced to accommodate the two thick, old-man cocks. Mr. Park's dick slammed into her pussy, the friction sending waves of pain crashing through her body, while Mr. Lee's cock invaded her ass, the head of it pushing against the bruised, sensitive flesh. Her eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to adjust to the intrusion, her mind reeling with the horror of her situation.

Mr. Lee reached up to wipe her tears away, his touch surprisingly gentle given the brutality of the act. "Look at me," he ordered, his voice a soft growl. Minju's eyes flew open, meeting his, and she felt a strange mix of fear and resentment. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "You're going to take us both, Miss Kim. And you're going to do it like a good girl."

Mr. Park took the cue, his grip on her hips tightening as he began to move his cock in and out of her pussy, the movement rough and unyielding. "Come on, baby," he coaxed, his voice a sick parody of sweetness.

Minju felt a fresh wave of humiliation wash over her, but she knew she had no choice. With a shaky exhale, she began to rock her hips, trying to find some semblance of rhythm amidst the pain. The two men watched her intently, their eyes feasting on her struggling body as if it were the most erotic thing they had ever seen. The fabric of her panties around her right nipple grew tauter with each movement, the bell chiming a twisted lullaby of despair.

Mr. Park's cock slammed into her with each thrust, the sensation of being split apart by two men at once an agony she never knew existed. Yet, she couldn't deny the way her body responded, the depraved pleasure that seemed to coil around the pain, wrapping itself tightly around her very soul. She bit her lip, trying to keep the moans at bay, but they slipped out, low and guttural, filling the room with the sound of her degradation.

Mr. Cho's hand was back on her clit, his fingers moving with a precision that was almost terrifying. He watched her face with a twisted glee, his eyes never leaving hers as he pushed her closer to the edge. "If you want this all to end," he panted, his voice a harsh echo of Mr. Park's earlier words. "Start moving your hips and show us your horny facial expressions. I want to hear your lewd moans also."

Minju felt a hot blush creep up her neck, her cheeks flaming with shame. But she knew better than to argue. With trembling legs, she began to rock her hips, her movements jerky and forced at first, but gradually growing smoother as the pain gave way to something else. Something darker, something that made her stomach clench with a perverse excitement she had never felt before.

Mr. Cho's fingers worked her clit with a brutal efficiency, drawing out sounds she had never made, sounds that seemed to fuel the old men's desire. She moaned, the sound a strange mix of pain and pleasure, a symphony of degradation that filled the small room. Mr. Park's thrusts grew more insistent, his cock driving into her with a force that made her vision swim. She felt Mr. Lee's grip on her ass tighten, his own need to dominate her apparent in every movement of his hips.

Her face contorted into a mask of lust, her eyes glazed over as she twerked her hips, grinding down onto their cocks. "Oh, yes," she moaned, the words torn from her throat. "Fuck me harder, please!" The words were foreign, a betrayal of everything she had ever known, but they slipped from her lips as if they belonged there.

Mr. Park grinned, his grip tightening on her hips as he began to match her rhythm. "Look at you," he panted. "So eager for more." He thrust harder, the sound of their bodies slapping together filling the air.

Mr. Cho leaned in, his eyes glinting with malicious pleasure as he whispered, "Say it again. Tell us how much you want it." His thumb pressed harder on her clit, and she couldn't hold back the moan that escaped her lips. "Yes," she gasped, her hips moving of their own accord. "Fuck me harder. Please."

The grandpas watched her transformation with a mix of awe and glee, their own arousal spiking at the sight of her submission. Mr. Park's thrusts grew more powerful, his cock plunging into her soaked pussy with an almost savage need. "Look at her," he said to Mr. Cho. "Our little slut is loving it."

Minju's moans grew louder, her hips moving in a frenzied dance as she took the three cocks in one time, her body betraying her with every twitch and jerk. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, but the only one that seemed to matter was the desperate need for release. She was theirs now, their toy to use and abuse as they saw fit.

Her pussy clenched around Mr. Park's cock, the sensation of fullness overwhelming as she felt Mr. Lee's cock hit her g-spot with each thrust. The pain in her ass had transformed into a burning need, a hunger that consumed her. She could feel Mr. Cho's cock thicken, his excitement palpable as he watched her degrade herself before their eyes. "Oh, yes," she murmured, her voice thick with lust. "More, please, I need more."

Mr. Park's thrusts grew erratic, his eyes glazed with desire as he watched her body take them both. "Look at you," he grunted, his voice strained. "Such a good girl for your grandpas." The sound of their bodies slapping together grew louder, a testament to their depraved passion.

Minju's moans grew louder, her voice a symphony of pain and pleasure as she was filled beyond capacity. "Oh, grandpa," she whimpered, her hips bucking wildly. "It's too much, please..." But even as she begged for mercy, her body betrayed her, her pussy clenching around Mr. Park's thick cock, urging him deeper.

"Good girl," Mr. Cho murmured, his thumb pressing down on her clit with a merciless precision. "Take it all for us, take it all."

Minju's body was a canvas of pain and pleasure, her moans now a constant backdrop to their depraved symphony. She had become a masochist's dream, a living, breathing embodiment of innocence corrupted. "Daddy, yes," she whispered, her voice barely a breath as she ground her hips down onto their cocks, the word slipping from her lips as if it were the sweetest of endearments. The grandpas' eyes lit up with a twisted delight, their grips on her body tightening in response.

Mr. Park's cock pounded into her with a ferocity that made her vision swim, her pussy clenching around him like a vice as she took them both in her pussy. "Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own climax. Minju's eyes rolled back in her head, her moans growing louder as she felt the pressure building within her.

Mr. Lee took the opportunity to lean in and whisper in her ear, his breath hot and heavy. "Call me daddy," he demanded, his voice thick with desire. She whimpered, her eyes flying open to meet his, the word a strange, dark thrill on her tongue. "Daddy," she gasped, her hips bucking as Mr. Cho's thumb worked her clit into a frenzy. The grandpas' eyes lit up, their grips tightening on her body as she gave in to their depraved whims.

With a sadistic grin, Mr. Park took his hand and slapped her face, the sound echoing in the small room. Instead of pain, she felt a jolt of pleasure, the sting on her cheek sending a bolt of electricity straight to her core. It was as if her body had been rewired, pain now a conduit for pleasure. She moaned, the word "daddy" slipping from her lips like a prayer.

Mr. Cho's hand left her clit, instead reaching out to slap her left breast, the nipple clamp chiming with the impact. The pain was intense, but instead of screaming, she gasped, her back arching as the pain transformed into something exquisite. The men watched her with a mix of astonishment and excitement, their eyes gleaming as they realized the depths of her newfound masochism.

Mr. Park took his turn, his hand landing on her cheek with a resounding crack, the sting spreading like wildfire across her face. But instead of recoiling, she leaned into it, her body craving the pain as it melded with the pleasure from their brutal fucking. The grandpas' eyes widened, and they shared a knowing look, their grips on her tightening as they grew more eager to push her boundaries.

Mr. Cho took his cue, his cock joining Mr. Park's in a relentless rhythm that had Minju's pussy stretched to the limit. The sensation of being filled by both men was almost too much, a delirious mix of pain and pleasure that had her writhing in their grasp. Mr. Lee, not to be outdone, began to move his own cock faster, the sound of his hips slapping against her ass cheek a gruesome counterpoint to the chiming of the nipple clamp.

Her cries grew more desperate, her body a playground for their depraved desires. Mr. Park leaned in, his teeth grazing her neck as he whispered, "You're going to take us both, baby. You're going to be our little cum dumpster." The words were like a knife in her soul, but she found herself pushing back onto their cocks, eager for the release she knew was just out of reach.

Mr. Cho's grip on her hips tightened, his eyes never leaving hers as he felt his orgasm approaching. He slammed into her one last time, his cock buried to the hilt before letting go with a roar. His hot seed filled her pussy, mixing with Mr. Park's as they both came inside her, their combined cum overflowing and spilling down her thighs. The sensation of being filled by two men at once was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that seemed to reach down to her very core.

Mr. Park pulled out with a wet pop, his cock glistening with the evidence of their shared violation. He and Mr. Cho stepped aside, allowing Mr. Lee to take his place. The older man's eyes were feverish with lust as they lay down on the bed, Mr. Lee's cock still buried in her ass. "Finish her" Mr. Cho said with a grin, his own cock still hard, the head gleaming with Minju's juices.

Minju's body was a wreck, trembling and sobbing, but she felt Mr. Lee's cock begin to move within her, his strokes rapid and merciless. He gripped her bruised breast tightly, his thumb flicking the nipple clamp with a sadistic glee that sent shockwaves of pain through her. Each twist of the clamp coincided with a thrust into her ass, creating a symphony of agony that she could no longer ignore. Her eyes were wide with fear and confusion, her mind a jumble of emotions she couldn't begin to process.

Mr. Cho and Mr. Park stepped back, their own climaxes subsiding as they watched Mr. Lee claim her one last time. They stroked their own cocks, not yet fully spent, eager to see the culmination of their twisted games. The room was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the air charged with the electricity of their depraved desires. Minju's cries grew louder as Mr. Lee picked up his pace, the sound of his hips slapping against her ass a sickening reminder of her degradation.

Summoning every ounce of her will, Minju began to moan, the sounds forced and unnatural. She knew that the quicker she could make Mr. Lee cum, the sooner this would all be over. Her eyes locked onto his, she threw her head back, arching her spine and pushing her hips back to meet his thrusts. It was a performance, a desperate bid to appease the monster inside the man she had once looked up to.

"Yes," Mr. Lee grunted, his eyes glazing over with pleasure. "Just like that. You're such a good girl for your grandpa." Each word was a knife twisting in her stomach, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. The only thing that mattered now was escape, and if playing their twisted game meant she could leave this room with some shred of dignity, she would do it.

Minju's moans grew louder, each one a desperate cry for relief. "Daddy," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Please, I need it." It was as if speaking the words gave them power, a dark incantation that bound her to their will. She felt Mr. Lee's cock swell within her, his grip on her hips tightening as he drove himself deeper, harder.

Her eyes squeezed shut, she clenched her anus tighter than ever before, feeling the pressure building. "Oh, yes," she moaned, the words torn from her as Mr. Lee's cock slammed into her over and over. "More, daddy, more." Her body was a battleground, a war between the pain and the strange, perverse pleasure that seemed to be fighting for dominance.

Mr. Lee grunted, his pace increasing as he felt her tighten around him. "That's it," he said, his voice strained with his own need. "You're doing so good for me." Her anus was a vice around him, her muscles contracting with each of his thrusts as if trying to milk every last drop of cum from his balls.

Minju's moans grew more frantic as she felt his cock swell even further, the pressure within her building to unbearable heights. "Oh, daddy," she whispered, her voice a mix of pain and desperation. "Please, please." Her body was a symphony of sensations, the pain and pleasure intertwining until she couldn't tell one from the other.

Her eyes squeezed shut, she focused on the feeling of Mr. Lee's cock inside her, the way it stretched and filled her so completely. She clenched her anus tightly, feeling his length throb with every thrust. "Yes, yes," she moaned, her voice a desperate plea. "It's too much, please, I need it." Her body was no longer her own, a mere receptacle for their lust.

Mr. Lee's breath grew ragged as he watched her face, his eyes narrowed with concentration. "Look at me," he snarled, his grip on her hips unyielding. "Look at your grandpa as he fucks you." The humiliation of his words brought a fresh wave of pain, but she complied, her eyes locking onto his.

Her anus clenched around him, tighter than she had ever thought possible, the sensation pushing him to the brink of release. "Fuck," he grunted, his hips jerking as he drove into her. She felt him swell, the head of his cock pressing against her inner walls, demanding release. Her own body responded, a strange mix of pain and pleasure that made her moan once more.

Minju opened her eyes, her pupils dilated with lust. She had never felt so used, so degraded, and yet she was desperate for more. She leaned into Mr. Lee's touch, her face a mask of wanton need. "Daddy," she whimpered, her voice a breathless plea. "Please, let me have it."

Mr. Lee's eyes narrowed with excitement as he watched her transformation. She was no longer the shy, innocent girl who had walked into this room. She was theirs, a plaything for their twisted games. He thrust into her one last time, his cock pulsing with the force of his climax. She felt his hot seed fill her, the sensation sending her over the edge. Her own orgasm ripped through her, her body convulsing around his cock as she screamed his name.

Minju's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and anger as she felt the warmth of their cum inside her. She turned her body around, her eyes blazing with a fiery determination. Straddling Mr. Lee, she positioned his cock at the entrance of her pussy, her eyes never leaving his. "You're the one who started all of this," she hissed, her voice low and filled with rage. "Turning me into a slut." With a vindictive smile, she sank down onto him, her pussy enveloping his length.

Mr. Lee's eyes widened in surprise as she began to ride him with a frenzy that matched the intensity of their earlier encounters. Her hips moved with a wild abandon, each bounce sending a fresh wave of pleasure-pain through her bruised body. The grandpas watched, their expressions a mix of shock and arousal as she took control.

Her breasts bounced with every downward thrust, the clamps pulling at her nipples, sending jolts of pain-laced pleasure to her already overstimulated brain. Yet, she didn't stop. Instead, she leaned forward, her hands pressing down on Mr. Lee's chest as she bobbed up and down, taking his cock deep inside her. Her moans were no longer forced; they were genuine, raw expressions of the carnality that had been unlocked within her.

Mr. Cho and Mr. Park watched, their own cocks hardening once again as they took in the sight of their young, once-innocent plaything now eagerly fucking their ringleader. They could see the fire in Minju's eyes, the fierce determination to take what was hers by force. It was a sight that both terrified and thrilled them, a testament to the depths of her depravity and their own twisted power.

Minju felt her orgasm building, a crescendo of pain and pleasure that threatened to consume her. Her pussy tightened around Mr. Lee's cock as she rode him, her body moving almost of its own accord. The clamps on her nipples jangled with each thrust, the pain sending bolts of electricity straight to her clit. She threw her head back, her hair a wild mess, her breasts bouncing with every movement.

With a scream that was equal parts rage and ecstasy, she came, her squirt spraying across the room like a fountain. The warm fluid coated Mr. Lee's chest and stomach, the scent of her arousal thick in the air. Her body trembled, the force of her climax stealing her breath. But she didn't stop. Instead, she moved faster, her hips a blur as she ground down on him, her eyes never leaving his.

Mr. Cho and Mr. Park watched with rapt attention, their own cocks hardening again at the sight. They reached for their phones, eager to capture the moment for their own twisted memories. The flashes of light bathed the room in a strobe effect, highlighting the sweat on their bodies and the raw desire etched on their faces. They snapped photo after photo, eager to immortalize Minju in her moment of ultimate degradation.

Her orgasm subsiding, Minju felt a sudden weakness in her legs, but Mr. Lee's iron grip kept her in place, his cock still deep inside her. "Look at you," he taunted, his voice thick with his own arousal. "Our little cum dumpster." The humiliation of his words, combined with the cold reality of their situation, brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes.

Mr. Cho and Mr. Park circled the bed like vultures, their phones held high, eager to capture her debasement. The flashes of their cameras pierced the dim light, painting the room in a stark, clinical white that only served to highlight the stark contrast of the scene unfolding before them. Minju's body was a canvas of sweat and semen, her dignity shattered into a million pieces.

Her hips slowed, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she felt Mr. Lee's cock pulse within her. His grip on her waist tightened, his eyes never leaving hers as she squirted again, the force of her orgasm making her vision swim. The feeling of her own wetness coating her thighs and the sound of her juices mixing with their cum was a symphony of degradation, and she knew that she had reached her breaking point.

With a final, desperate push, Minju felt her body give out. Her legs buckled, and she collapsed onto Mr. Lee, her breaths coming in short, erratic bursts. The world went dark around her as she fainted, her last conscious thought a silent scream of despair.

THE END

[winxanity-ii]

FATHER, FORGIVE ME

ship: father charlie x fem!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 ( oral sex/f. receiving; overstimulation; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery ) word count: 4.1k a/n: ahhh….I just want to say I'm so thrilled with all the love and support for the mini Devotion series! It means the world to me to see you guys enjoying it as much as I do. And a huge thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday! I got drunk asf, and here's the rough draft I made while tipsy, lolol. Hope you all enjoy~ 😈✨..

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You wouldn't say you were a bad person.

Selfish? Maybe. Impulsive? Absolutely. But "bad" seemed a bit of a stretch.

It's just that, when you saw something you wanted, you didn't hesitate to take it—and, honestly, you had no regrets. Not until now, at least.

Sitting here, surrounded by the smell of old hymn books and dusty incense, listening to some wrinkly old man in a white robe drone on about salvation.

The whole thing was your mother's doing. She had this recurring phase, like clockwork, where she'd get bitten by the "Bible bug."

For a few weeks every year, she was the most devoted Catholic you'd ever seen. She'd call, text, guilt-trip—anything to get her kids back on the straight and narrow, even if just for a Sunday morning.

For the last seven years, you'd managed to dodge it. Moved out at eighteen and never looked back, leaving the duty of church attendance to your three other siblings.

Usually, someone would take one for the team and tag along with Mom until her enthusiasm fizzled out again. But this time, it seemed your luck had run dry—your sister had finally roped you in, and here you were, seven-year streak shattered.

You sighed deeply, eyes half-lidded as they flicked across the stained glass windows—all those saints staring down at you in judgment.

You couldn't help but think of all the things you could be doing right now. Sleeping, for one. Your bed sounded like heaven compared to the hard pew beneath you.

Or brunch with your friends—mimosas and laughter, not these monotone chants and the faint smell of mothballs.

Hell, you could've called Kevin over and gotten dicked down instead of dealing with this—

Your thoughts screeched to a halt, slamming against an unexpected sight.

The old priest, the one whose croaky voice was practically white noise at this point, stepped away from the pulpit. In his place was someone else—someone younger, someone whose presence commanded attention.

A man, tall, dark hair neatly combed back, with a crisp black cassock that hugged his broad shoulders just right. He moved with a sense of ease, like he belonged up there.

And damn, was he handsome. Handsome enough to pull your focus completely, which was a feat in itself given the circumstances.

Your eyes tracked him as he approached the podium, his voice replacing the rasping chant of the old priest. It was smooth, warm, resonant. Nothing like the man you remembered from years ago.

He spoke about community, faith, redemption—but all you could think was how someone like him ended up in a place like this.

You found yourself leaning forward, just slightly, as if drawn in by some invisible force. Your irritation melted away, replaced by a strange curiosity.

Maybe… maybe this wouldn't be the worst way to spend a Sunday after all.

The priest stood quietly at the altar, his figure framed by the soft light filtering through the stained glass windows. A faint scar traced its way down the right side of his forehead, a mark that spoke of some unknown hardship or past misadventure.

He was youthful but with the stillness of someone who’d seen enough to understand patience and humility.

With each breath, the man seemed grounded in his presence, shoulders relaxed but broad, the fabric of his robe resting comfortably against his chest.

His appearance was almost angelic, yet the subtle scar and the weight in his eyes hinted at something more complex beneath the surface—a man of God, perhaps, but one who had walked through fire to find his faith.

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow in appreciation as you stared at the handsome man up there. You leaned over a bit to your mother, eyes never straying from his figure. "Ma, who's that? Is he new?" you whispered to your mother.

She looked up from her phone, Candy Crush flashing on her screen. You silenced the snort that wanted to come out. Looked like she might retire from church early this year, you thought to yourself, seeing her early signs of disengaging.

She glanced up at the front, giving a quick look before going back to her game. "That's Father Charlie Mayhew. He was brought in about two or three years ago, I think," she murmured absently, barely paying attention.

Father Charlie.

You watched as he spoke, his voice strong yet gentle, his eyes sweeping over the congregation with a genuine warmth. He wasn't like the old priest—this one seemed to genuinely care, as if each word held weight.

You wondered if that scar came from something dramatic, some story worth knowing. Your gaze lingered, taking in the slope of his shoulders, the way his lips moved with each word. Something about him felt... magnetic.

You found yourself sitting up straighter when the two of you made eye contact—he blinked, his words stumbling just slightly, a brief hitch in his otherwise smooth delivery. "I, uh... I apologize," he stuttered, looking off to the side, the tips of his ears turning pink.

You caught the way his eyes shifted nervously, almost as if he was trying to regain his footing. It was subtle, but you could see it—the way he tried to pull himself back together, to get through the rest of the sermon without any more disruptions.

He cleared his throat to continue, "As I was saying... uh, the importance of faith in our lives cannot be overstated. We must always strive to, um, to do what is right, even when it's difficult..." His voice trailed off slightly, but he managed to steady himself, his eyes avoiding yours as he focused on the rest of the congregation.

It made something stir in you, a mix of curiosity and amusement.

You bit down gently on your lower glossed lip, eyes trailing over his form, taking in every subtle detail. The way his hands gripped the edge of the podium, the faint flush creeping up his neck—it was all so telling.

He seemed innocent, reactive.

You smiled to yourself, letting your gaze linger as he continued, noting the way he seemed to avoid looking in your direction now, as if afraid that another glance might trip him up again.

Maybe you should pay a visit to Father Charlie—see if you could break that serene composure of his.

You could already imagine it—the way he might tense up under your touch, the way his voice might crack if you whispered something just a bit too forward.

The thought alone made your heart race, anticipation bubbling up inside you, like something in you just knew—he'd be fun to unravel.

You leaned back in your seat, a slow, satisfied smile playing on your lips. Oh, this was going to be fun.

The sermon ended with a quiet murmur of 'Amen' from the congregation, followed by the gentle shuffle of people rising from the pews.

You glanced around, watching as people slowly made their way to the exits, some stopping to chat while others lingered near the back of the church.

The old priest was nowhere to be seen, but Father Charlie remained, standing at the front as he spoke softly to a small group of parishioners.

Your mother, of course, made a beeline for him. You heard her voice carrying over the hushed conversations, gushing about how moving today’s sermon was.

You rolled your eyes, unable to help yourself, and slowly rose to your feet, making your way over with an almost lazy stride.

As you approached, you could see your mother perk up, her eyes lighting up as she turned to you. "Oh, there she is! Father Charlie, this is my youngest, ____." She gestured towards you, her hand lightly resting on your arm to pull you closer. "You've met my other children over the years."

You could see the change in Father Charlie almost instantly. His posture shifted, his back straightening just a little more, his eyes rounding as they landed on you. He seemed almost like an eager puppy, his gaze bright and attentive.

He quickly pulled his eyes away, turning back to your mother with a polite smile as he nodded. "Yes, I remember," he said, his voice a touch softer. Then he turned to you, his eyes meeting yours as he gave you a gentle smile. "It's nice to finally meet you. I don't think I've seen you here before... ?"

Your mother gave a sort of laughing scoff, waving him off as she caught his attention again. She chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, Father, the day she willingly comes to church without an incentive is the day the devil is welcomed back into Heaven's gates."

You kept your eyes on Father Charlie, a small smile tugging at your lips as you tilted your head slightly. "Maybe I just hadn't found a good enough reason to come before," you said, your gaze locked on his, your voice light but carrying a hint of something more.

His eyes widened just a little, and you watched as a faint blush spread across his cheeks, his lips parting slightly as he blinked, clearly caught off guard.

Before he could say anything, your mother’s name was called from behind. It was one of her church friends, and in an instant, she was off, waving a quick goodbye and leaving you standing there in front of Father Charlie.

You didn't waste a second, taking a daring step forward, your eyes fixed on him. "So..." you said, letting your gaze roam over him before meeting his eyes again. "You seem awfully young to be running a church like this. I have to say, I'm impressed."

He looked bashful, glancing down for a moment before looking back up at you. "Oh, well, thank you. I just... I do my best," he said, his voice soft, the pink on his cheeks deepening.

You smiled, tilting your head just slightly. "Do you do one-on-one sessions, like other churches do?" you asked, your voice carrying a hint of mischief.

He blinked, clearly confused for a moment, before his eyes widened in realization. "Oh, you mean confessionals?" He nodded quickly, his expression shifting back to something more serious. "Yes, I do. In fact, I was planning on doing confessionals later today, after the services. Not many people take me up on it, but I think it's important to always offer the option."

"Oh, really?" you said, letting your voice drop just a bit, your head tilting to the side as you watched him. You let a small smile curve your lips, your gaze never leaving his. "Well, you wouldn't mind if I came to see you and... confessed, would you, Father?"

He stuttered, his blush deepening as he quickly nodded. "N-No, of course not. You're more than welcome to come by, anytime," he said, his voice a bit shaky.

You smirked, giving him a nod. "Perfect," you said, your voice smooth, before turning on your heel and walking away, back towards where your mother was waiting.

You could feel his gaze on you the entire time, the weight of his eyes almost burning into your back. And you loved it.

This really was going to be fun.

The church grew quieter as the service officially ended, people slowly trickling out while you lingered, waiting for your moment.

Eventually, you made your way to the confessional booth, the small wooden space feeling cramped as you settled in. The air was close, the scent of polished wood and incense hanging heavy.

You could hear Father Charlie shuffling on the other side, the sound of the door closing behind him, the rustle of fabric as he got seated.

You took a breath, letting the silence stretch for a moment before you began. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned..." you said, your voice soft, but there was an edge to it that you couldn't quite hide.

There was a pause before you heard him clear his throat, his voice coming through the small screen that separated you. "The Lord is always ready to forgive. Please, tell me your sins, my child."

You sighed, leaning back slightly, your fingers brushing against the hem of your dress. "I fear I desire a man that is just out of my reach," you said, your voice carrying a hint of frustration. "It's wrong for me to want him... but I can't seem to help myself."

There was a moment of silence, and you could almost picture the look on his face—concerned, earnest, wanting to help. His voice was gentle as he responded. "Desire can be difficult to control, but it is not inherently sinful. It is what we choose to do with that desire that matters. You must pray for guidance, ask for strength... and remember that God understands our struggles."

You hummed softly, your eyes half-lidded as you listened to him, but your mind was drifting. His voice was soothing, and you found yourself imagining what it would be like if things were different.

If there wasn't a screen between you.

If you could reach out, touch him, feel that innocence melt away under your fingers.

Your hand trailed down your side, your fingers brushing over your thigh as you let out a soft sigh.

His voice cut through your thoughts, sounding a bit uncertain. "Sister ____... are you alright? Do you hear me?"

You smiled to yourself, your mind made up. You leaned closer to the screen, your voice dropping to a near whisper. "Father," you began, your tone coy, "I must confess... I find it difficult to focus when you're speaking. You have such a... soothing voice."

His breath caught audibly, and you could almost hear the way he was struggling to gather himself. "W-What do you mean, sister?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly, laced with confusion.

"It makes me think... sinful thoughts."

You could hear the slight hitch in his breath, the rustle of fabric as he shifted. "S-sister," he stammered, clearly taken aback. "This... this is not appropriate."

You ignored his protest, your voice growing softer, more intimate. "You know, Father, I've always heard that confession is good for the soul. And right now... I think there's only one thing that could truly absolve me of these desires." You let the words hang in the air, knowing exactly what you were implying.

"Sister, this... this isn't..." His voice was shaky now, the uncertainty clear. "I don't think—"

"Come get me, Father," you whispered, your tone daring, challenging him. "You wouldn't leave me like this, would you?"

There was silence for a long moment, and then you heard it—the slow shuffling as he moved. The sound of his door opening, the soft creak of the confessional booth as he stepped out.

You pushed your own door open, stepping out into the dimly lit church. Father Charlie was standing there, his head downcast, his face flushed a deep red. He looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came out, his eyes flickering up to meet yours before darting away again.

You took a step towards him, your movements slow, deliberate—like a predator closing in on its prey. His breath hitched as you approached, his shoulders tensing. He cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sister, I... this isn't right. We shouldn't—"

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the front of his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. You let your hand slide down, your voice a low purr. "Father," you purred, your eyes locking onto his, "I want you to take me somewhere... push me to a higher calling, yeah?"

His eyes widened, the pupils dilating as he stared at you, his lips parting in shock. For a moment, he seemed frozen, and then, almost as if the word was pulled from him, he whispered, "Okay..."

His hand was trembling slightly as he reached for yours, and you let him lead you out of the main church area, his eyes flicking nervously around to make sure no one was watching. He led you down a dim hallway, stopping at a small door that opened into a cramped janitor's closet.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you were on him.

You pushed him back against the wall, your lips crashing against his. He gasped, and you took advantage, licking into his mouth, tasting the hint of mint on his tongue as a low groan rumbled from your throat. His hands hesitated for a moment before resting on your waist, his touch light, unsure.

You deepened the kiss, feeling the way he shivered beneath your touch, your hands pushing up under his cassock, fingers skimming over the hard lines of his abdomen. His muscles tensed under your fingertips, a shudder running through him as he let out a shaky breath.

You pulled back, just enough to see his face in the low light, and he chased your lips, leaning forward as if he couldn't stand the sudden loss of contact.

You let out a dark chuckle, your hands coming up to cup his flushed cheeks, squeezing gently. His face was a deep shade of red, his eyes half-lidded, his breath coming in short, uneven pants. He looked almost dazed, completely overwhelmed, and it only made your smile widen.

Your thumb grazed over his plump bottom lip, pressing gently before dipping just inside his mouth. His eyes fluttered, his tongue flicking out hesitantly to brush against your thumb before retreating. You let out a soft sigh, a hint of a teasing smile tugging at your lips. "Oh?" you murmured, raising an eyebrow, your gaze fixed on him.

Charlie swallowed hard, his eyes locked onto yours, his breathing ragged. You stepped closer, rising onto your tiptoes, your lips just barely grazing his as you spoke. "You did so well during the sermon, Father," you whispered, your voice low and dripping with suggestion. "It makes me wonder... what could such a blessed mouth do somewhere else?"

His breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly, but he didn’t pull away. You gripped his shoulder, your fingers digging in just enough to make him shiver, and tugged him downwards. "On your knees," you said, your tone commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

Slowly, almost as if in a trance, Charlie sank to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. His gaze was filled with a mix of confusion, desire, and something almost like reverence, and it sent a thrill through you.

You watched as he knelt before you, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the part of him that knew this was wrong, that wanted to resist—but the desire was stronger, and he couldn't bring himself to stop.

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair, your touch surprisingly gentle. "That's it," you murmured, your voice softening just a fraction. "Such a good Father... doing exactly what you're told."

You took a step back, your eyes never leaving his as you moved to the nearest wall, leaning against it comfortably.

With slow, deliberate movements, your hands reached down, unzipping your mini skirt and letting it slide down your legs, pooling around your ankles. You made a show of it, your fingers tracing along your thighs, sliding over your hips, and letting out a soft sigh as you watched him.

Charlie's eyes widened, his gaze following every movement, his lips parted, his breath catching in his throat. The flush on his face deepened, his eyes locked onto you with something like awe, mingled with pure, unfiltered desire.

You smirked, lifting one hand and curling your fingers in a come-hither motion. He hesitated only for a moment before slowly beginning to crawl towards you, his eyes never breaking away from yours.

The sight sent a thrill through you, a shiver of excitement running up your spine. He reached you, his hands carefully coming up to rest on your legs, his touch light, almost reverent.

His fingers traced along your calves, moving upwards with a hesitant slowness that made you release a shaky sigh, your back arching slightly as his touch grew bolder.

His hands were trembling as they reached your hips, his fingers brushing against the edge of your underwear. He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking up to meet yours as if silently asking for permission.

You gave a small nod, and he let out a shaky breath, his fingers hooking into the waistband and slowly slipping your underwear down, his eyes fixed on you the entire time.

Once they were off, he shifted closer, his breath ghosting over your bare skin. He surprised you by gently lifting one of your legs, settling it over his shoulder as he pulled you closer, his face inches away from your most intimate parts.

He let out a deep, almost pornographic groan as he leaned in, taking a slow, deep breath, as if breathing you in. The sound sent a jolt through you, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Charlie looked up at you one more time, his eyes searching, as if asking for final permission.

You smiled, your fingers sliding through his hair before giving a gentle but firm scratch along his scalp, your silent approval. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh before leaning in.

At first, his movements were hesitant, his tongue slipping out to give an experimental swipe. He was sloppy, uncoordinated, his lack of experience clear, but there was a determination in the way he moved, as if desperate to please.

You let out a soft hum, the sound encouraging him, and he grew a little more confident, his tongue pressing more firmly. He licked a long stripe up, his tongue swirling at the top, and you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

"That's it, Father," you murmured, your voice a soft purr. "You're doing such a good job."

The praise seemed to light something in him, a low groan vibrating against you as he pushed in closer. The sound made you gasp, your back arching slightly as the vibrations sent a rush of pleasure through you, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He grew bolder, his tongue delving deeper, slipping inside you as he began to eat you out like a man starved. He was messy, the wet sounds filling the small space, his lips and tongue moving with increasing fervor, as if the more he tasted, the more he craved.

He bullied his tongue into you, his nose brushing against you as he lost himself in the act, his hands gripping your hips tightly, holding you against him as he worked.

You bit down on your lower lip, trying to keep quiet, but the soft, wet sounds filled the small space, making it impossible to ignore.

Your hand moved up, your teeth sinking into the back of it as you stifled a moan, your thighs trembling as he continued. His tongue moved with determination, pressing deeper, swirling before retreating, then focusing on your most sensitive spot.

When his lips closed around your clit, giving a particularly hard suck, your vision blurred, and stars burst behind your eyelids. Your back arched, your body pressing against his face as the waves of pleasure rolled over you, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Your thighs shook as you slowly came down, your body relaxing slightly against the wall. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers still tangled in his hair, tugging gently. You gave Charlie a small shove, pushing him back just enough.

He hesitated, his tongue giving one last languid lick, followed by a reluctant suck before he finally pulled away, his lips glistening, his breath coming in low, heavy pants. His bottom face was a mess, his eyes half-lidded, dazed as he looked up at you.

You leaned down, your fingers cupping the bottom of his face, your thumb brushing over his flushed cheek as you gave him a swift peck on the corner of his lips. He blinked, his eyes widening slightly, a blush deepening across his face.

Straightening up, you reached down, picking up your discarded thong, folding it neatly before slipping it into the pocket of his cassock. He stared at you, his lips parted, his breathing still uneven.

"Thank you, Father~" you purred, your voice dripping with satisfaction. You watched as his blush deepened even more, his eyes darting away from yours. "You know," you continued, your tone teasing, "I might just have to come back for confession more often."

He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours, a mix of confusion and something darker swirling in them. You smiled, giving him a wink before turning on your heel, striding out of the closet, leaving him kneeling there, his breath still shaky, his face still flushed.

As you walked away, a satisfied smile playing on your lips, you couldn't help but think that maybe church wasn't going to be so bad after all.

A/N: hehehe, dont mind me, just wanted to see charlie's and y/n relationship in reversal...