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cayleeuhithinknott · 3 days ago

Text

✿ — goodnight n go . . . chratt sturn

in which . . . no-strings fun turns complicated when you realize you might actually love both of them…and you’re terrified to admit it.

warnings . . . smut , threesome (f!reader x matt x chris, no incest, strictly platonic brothers) , dom!matt, dom!chris , sub!reader , eiffel tower , unprotected p in v , oral (m receiving) , degradation , praise , orgasm control , semi-rough sex , begging , light choking , slight angst , reader overthinks everything after , polyamory themes/poly confusion , lots of teasing + dirty talk , dacryphilia , not proofread , emotionally tense but still hot! buckle up

𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑹 𝙒𝙍𝙄𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙈𝘼𝙍𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙉 𝙁𝙄𝘾 #12

you don’t know how this became your life.

matt’s mouth is on your neck, chris’s hands are on your waist, and you’re pressed back against the wall of your bedroom like gravity doesn’t exist anymore. it’s dizzying—the way they move together without even looking at each other, like muscle memory, like this isn’t the first time.

because it’s not.

you told yourself the first time was a fluke. a one-time thing. an accident born from too much alcohol and not enough self-control. but that was weeks ago. and now here you are again—half-giggling, half-melting, fully unraveling between them.

chris’s thumb drags along the edge of your lower lip like he owns it. like he’s daring you to bite down. matt’s breath is hot against your ear, low and deliberate when he says, “she’s already shaking.”

you hate how right he is.

“not even five minutes in,” chris hums, grinning against your jaw, his tone all smug and lazy like he isn’t seconds from losing it too. “knew you missed us.”

you let out a shaky breath, trying to stay composed, but your hands are already clutching matt’s hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

the teasing starts small—soft grazes of lips, lazy drags of fingers along your thighs, small nips at your neck and collarbone that leave you breathless. they both take their time, pushing you right to the edge of begging for more without giving you the satisfaction.

matt’s fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, glancing up at you with that slow-burning look he always gives you right before he ruins you. “gonna let us take care of you, baby?”

you nod before you can stop yourself.

matt tugs the fabric over your head with a practiced ease, and chris’s hands are already moving lower, tracing your hips, steady and sure.

there’s a stretch of moments where everything feels like too much and not enough at the same time—lips on your skin, teeth dragging over sensitive spots, hands gripping places that make your breath catch in your throat. you’re gasping before you even realize it, heart pounding, head tipping back against the wall.

“bed,” matt says, voice low and final.

you don’t argue.

you barely make it to the mattress before matt’s got you under him, mouth back on yours, kissing you like he’s starving. like he’s making up for lost time. his knee pushes between your thighs, pinning you there. you arch into him instinctively, chasing more friction, more heat, more of anything.

chris’s weight dips the mattress behind you. his hand curls around your neck—not tight, just enough to tilt your head back and expose your throat. “needy little thing tonight, huh?” he murmurs, dragging open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

your reply comes out as a whimper. both of them catch it. both of them grin.

matt breaks the kiss long enough to pull your shorts down slow, fingers grazing your thighs as he goes. “been thinkin’ about this all day,” he whispers, and there’s something in his tone—something dark and heavy and full of promise—that makes your stomach flip.

chris doesn’t wait. his hands roam everywhere—your stomach, your hips, the inside of your thighs—like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

the two of them trade places seamlessly—matt’s lips find your neck while chris’s hands slip under the band of your panties, coaxing soft sounds from you until you’re half-crying and fully losing track of who’s where.

“she’s shaking,” matt says again, voice low, close to your ear.

“always does,” chris replies, grinning against your skin.

you’re too far gone to answer. your nails dig into the sheets, hips arching up toward any touch, any pressure, any relief. they both know what you need—but neither of them’s giving it easy.

“say it,” chris murmurs. “say you want us.”

matt nips at your shoulder. “c’mon, baby. we’re right here.”

your voice breaks when you finally gasp it out, and that’s all they need.

their hands move fast after that—clothes tugged away until all 3 of you are bare, more skin on skin, more kisses that leave you dizzy. the air in your room feels thick—humid with sweat and want and something you don’t have a name for.

matt moves behind you. chris stays in front. both of them crowding you, pressing into you from both sides, making it impossible to think about anything but this.

this heat. this ache. this feeling of being completely, helplessly wanted.

“ready to take us, sweetheart?” and as matt’s hands settle on your hips, his voice low and steady against your ear, you know exactly where this night’s headed.

right into another round of something you’re not ready to name.

but want anyway.

you feel matt’s hard, bare cock pressing into your folds from behind. he runs his hand up and down your naked spine before finding place on your hip.

you lift your head and your eyes are met with chris’s stiff cock, heavy in his hand as he smirks down at you menacingly. god, what have you gotten yourself into again?

matt lines himself up with your drooling hole, gripping your hips a little tighter for stability. “think she can handle both of us again?” chris asks matt. obviously rhetorical. because you all knew you were going to no matter the answer.

“guess we’re ‘boutta find out. breathe, baby.” are matt’s last, husky words before he pushes himself into you, hissing at the way you stretch around him, sucking him in.

“fu—“

you’re shut up by chris shoving his cock past your lips, filling your mouth with his length until his tip hits your throat, making you gag. well, no more talking for you.

one of your hands fly up to chris’s thigh, trying to stabilize yourself as they start filling you from both ends euphorically.

matt picks up his pace, cock dragging against your walls as he fucks into you harder and faster. “god, you’re tight…like you were made for me…always take me so fuckin’ good.” he growls deeply.

you can’t help but moan at that, causing chris to groan at the vibrations coursing through his length. he’d been sitting still in your mouth, enjoying the warmth, but now he’s decided to really start fucking your throat.

and he does not want to go easy on you.

“look at you. messy little slut…can’t get enough, can you?” chris grins down at you, hand tangling in your hair to steady your head. his tip hits the back of your throat with a brutal force, causing you to let out a choked whine. the sound alone has matt hammering into you harder, the squelching sound filling the room.

your walls involuntarily clamp down on matt, squeezing him like a vice. he grunts, “god, she likes when we ruin her…don’t you, baby? both of us at the same time? fuckin’ desperate for it.”

the tears that have been dotting your lash line finally spill over, running down your cheeks and mingling with the dripping drool on your chin as you choke on a sob around chris’s cock. his hand tightens in your hair, slamming into your mouth with force.

chris chuckles darkly as he stares down at your wrecked state. “thought you said you could handle it…now look at you. fuckin’ crying and drooling on me,” he runs his thumb over your spit-slicked bottom lip, holding his cock still in your mouth, letting his tip rest against the back of your throat.

once he hears you gag, he laughs lowly and starts his thrusting again. you hollow your cheeks around his length, making chris hiss, followed by a soft grunt that has your pussy clenching. matt groans at the feeling from behind you.

“shit—she’s squeezing me like crazy…body knows who she fuckin’ belongs to.” matt grits his teeth, pounding into you harder. with each of matt’s thrust, your body is jolted forward, angling chris’s cock deeper down into your throat.

chris drags his gaze up and down your body, taking advantage of the angle, driving his cock deeper. he groans as he feels your throat constrict around him. “yeah? bet she’ll cum just from this…pathetic little thing.” he replies to matt, his tone cocky and eyes dark.

you love being sandwiched between them, you really do. held down, filled up, touched everywhere at once. it feels so good it almost tricks you into thinking this is enough. like maybe the heat and hands and bodies will drown out everything else. but deep down, you know it won’t. you know the second it’s over, when the quiet sets in and your mind catches up…you won’t feel the same. not when the thoughts take over.

you’re snapped out of your thoughts as the head of matt’s cock kisses the sweet spot inside you, making you squeeze your eyes shut, whining on chris’s length.

“doin’ so good for us, baby…lettin’ us fuck you like this—lettin’ us make you ours.” matt praises, his tone contrasting with the brutality of his thrusts. god, it felt so good. all of it.

chris wraps his free hand around your throat, constricting your air access even further. you make a sound, somewhere between a choked gasp and a gagged whine. “god, you’re perfect when you’re gagging on me…should’ve gotten you like this sooner.” he smirks.

your glossy eyes trail up his body, landing on his face. chris almost cums on the spot at the sight. your dazed, teary eyes gazing up at him, drool dripping from your mouth onto your chin and down onto the bed.

the sound that leaves chris’s pink, parted lips has you dangerously close to the orgasm of your life. your velvety walls clamp down on matt’s cock mid-thrust, sending him groaning, hands tightening on your hips with a bruising pressure. “she’s—shit—she’s close.” he grunts, alerting chris of your nearing orgasm.

chris fists your hair a little harder, pulling your mouth off of his cock, tapping it on your cheek and dragging the slick across your skin. “you wanna cum?”

you nod frantically.

“beg for it.”

fuck. they both knew you had a hard time with that. your pussy spasms around matt, and you’re trying to hold back the orgasm. “c’mon baby…hold it. be good for us and do what chris said.” his thrusts grow sharper, your face contorting in pleasure.

you struggle to hold it, whining desperately. tears flow down your flushed cheeks more frequently now, the pressure in your lower tummy becoming unbearable.

chris laughs at you. laughs. he slaps his cock on your cheek. “pathetic…can’t even hold it, can you? fallin’ apart.” he taunts. matt leans over you, his chest pressing to your sweaty back, the brutal pounding of his hips never stuttering. he nips at your shoulder, causing you to whimper.

“say you need it, baby. say it.” matt grunts, breath hot in your ear as he drills into you. “please—please, i n-need it…need to cum…please—” you desperately choke out, body trembling with need. god, you’re so, so close.

“god…finally fuckin’ begging now? knew you’d break.” chris grins darkly, shoving his cock back into your mouth, making you choke. matt chuckles at the sound, leaning back up and slamming into you.

you’re not sure how you’ve lasted this long. you never have before. your body’s trembling, burning, stuck right on the edge for what feels like forever. it’s almost painful now, but the sickeningly sweet kind of pain that curls in your stomach and fogs your brain. every nerve feels raw, every drag of their hands and thrust of their hips making it worse. better? unbearable.

matt’s hips stutter, his pace faltering as he tries to continue pounding you. he almost whimpers as he feels his balls start to draw tight. “fuck—baby—so close…wanna cum with you…just a little more…” he groans, his fingers bruisingly digging into the plush flesh of your hips.

meanwhile, chris is breathless. drilling his cock down your throat, lost in the feeling of your warm mouth around his length. “fuckin’ perfect—fuck, she’s perfect.” he grunts, hand tightening in your hair, starting to fall apart along with you.

matt’s length twitches inside you, his head tipping back. “god—gonna fill you up—can’t hold it—” he borderline whines, his voice rough and shaking. and he keeps his word. just like that, you feel warmth spilling inside you, painting your velvety walls a warm white. matt rests inside you. the feeling has your pussy spasming around his emptying cock, a choked sob vibrating against chris’s length in your mouth.

you tip over the edge finally. body seizing, back arching, vision going white at the corners. it hits hard, all consuming, like your body’s been waiting hours for permission. every muscle tightens, then breaks apart all at once, leaving you gasping, shaking, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure rolls through you in waves.

it’s messy and loud and a little too much—but you don’t care. not when they’re both still touching you, still moving, still dragging you through it.

chris whimpers, pulling himself out of your mouth and stroking himself a few times. “fuuuck…gonna cum all over that pretty face, baby,” he groans, his eyes trained on your fucked-out face. before you can do so much as take a breath, he says, “tongue out.”

you stick your tongue out, feeling matt’s hands rubbing over your ass. chris jerks his cock a few more times before his cum is spurting out onto your tongue and into your mouth. “fuck, fuck—yeah—take it. good fucking girl…” he grits out, his voice low and filthy as he finishes.

matt finally pulls out of you from behind, chris mirroring his action and pulling away from your mouth. for a second, none of you move. just catching your breath, skin flushed, bodies trembling with leftover adrenaline.

it’s matt who moves first, pressing a shaky kiss to your shoulder before slipping out of bed. “c’mon,” he says, voice rough and low but gentle. “shower time. we made a fuckin’ mess.”

you’re too boneless to argue, letting both of them help you up. chris mutters something about how wrecked you look, but his touch stays careful when he steadies your hips, guiding you toward the bathroom.

the water’s already hot by the time you step in, soothing as it hits your skin. matt gets in behind you, chris joining on the other side, the small shower barely fitting all three of you—but none of you seem to mind. matt’s hands find your waist, steady and protective, while chris works the shampoo through your hair, fingers surprisingly gentle for someone who spent the last hour absolutely ruining you.

they clean you up like it’s second nature. soaping your skin, rinsing you off, helping you lean back against matt’s chest when your legs wobble. chris presses a kiss to your wet temple when he thinks you won’t notice, and matt rests his chin on your shoulder, holding you like you’re something fragile.

you don’t say much. none of you do. just the sound of water, soft breathing, and the occasional sleepy murmur of reassurance.

when you’re dry and out of the shower, matt disappears into his closet for a second before coming back with one of chris’s oversized t-shirts (which matt stole) and a clean pair of matt’s boxers. “here,” he says, tugging the shirt over your head and helping you step into the boxers like you’re incapable of doing it yourself. “s’not negotiable. you’re wearing this.”

chris smirks from where he’s pulling on his own sweatpants and dragging a hoodie over his head. “she looks better in our clothes anyway,” he teases, voice lazy and fond.

“shut up,” matt says, but there’s no heat behind it.

the three of you crawl into his bed, still warm and rumpled from earlier. matt pulls you into his chest, holding you tight with one arm curled under your ribs, the other draped over your waist. chris takes his usual spot behind you, one arm slung over you, long fingers tracing lazy circles against your hip like he’s fighting sleep but losing fast.

“you good?” matt mumbles against your hair.

“yeah,” you whisper back, even though you’re not sure it’s true.

“good,” chris adds from behind you, already half asleep, words slurring.

the room goes quiet. their breathing evens out, soft and steady on either side of you.

and just like that…they’re both gone.

fast asleep.

and you’re left wide awake—staring at the ceiling, heart racing, stuck with every feeling you’ve been trying to outrun.

you stay perfectly still. like moving will make it worse. like breathing too hard will wake them up or drag you deeper into this mess.

their arms stay heavy around you—matt’s wrapped tight across your middle, chris’s slung lazy over your waist—but their faces…god. they look so peaceful. soft and content like this is the most natural thing in the world.

like this is just…what you do.

your throat tightens.

you don’t know when it started—this thing that crept in slow and stayed too long. at first it was just fun. reckless. stupid hookups after late nights out, tangled limbs and whispered filth and slipping out before sunrise like none of it mattered. you were good at pretending it didn’t.

but now?

now you’re lying between them in matt’s bed, wearing their clothes, feeling their heartbeats steady against your skin…and you’re scared shitless.

your mind spirals before you can stop it.

what does this even mean?

what would it look like—really look like—if you stayed? if you admitted it? could this even work? two brothers. both of them. with you.

would people talk? would nick care? he probably would. you love nick, but god, he would definitely have something to say if he knew.

and what if…what if matt and chris don’t even feel the same?

sure, they want you. they’ve always made that clear. but want isn’t the same as love. you’ve never asked for more, and they’ve never offered it.

what if this is still just sex for them?

what if you’re the only idiot laying here? wondering what it would feel like to wake up like this on purpose? to kiss them both good morning? to belong to them—not just for a night but for real?

the thought makes your chest ache.

you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your face into matt’s t-shirt like you can hide from yourself.

you’re already in too deep.

and as much as you tell yourself you can pull back whenever you want…you know that’s a lie.

because here you are—curled up between them, drowning in feelings you swore you’d never catch.

right on the edge of something terrifying and irreversible.

usually, you’d just say goodnight and go. slip out before morning. pretend none of it mattered.

but tonight?

tonight you’re stuck wide awake, overthinking everything, wondering what it would feel like to stay.

wondering if maybe next time…you won’t go at all.

author’s note . . . i’m not sure how to feel about this

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hauntedbyjoel · 1 day ago

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Hate Turned Hungry

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Sophomore year was... fine.

Not great. Not terrible. Just fine.

You got the grades you needed to keep your scholarship. Showed up to class. Went out enough that no one could accuse you of being boring, but not so much that you had to fake sick texts to your professors the next morning. You did what you were supposed to.

But somewhere along the way, you got tired. Tired of group projects, of roommates who left hair in the sink, of cafeteria coffee and lecture halls that smelled like damp carpet. You missed real food. Your own bed. Quiet.

So when your last exam ended, you packed your shit, dumped half your closet in a suitcase, and texted your dad your flight info without asking if it was a good time.

You didn't expect balloons or anything. But you also didn't expect the first thing out of your dad's mouth to be, "Joel’s gonna be around a lot this summer.”

That made you pause. “Joel?”

“Miller. Helping me finish the patio. Said he’s got time off between contracts, so he’ll be in and out pretty regular.”

Your dad either didn’t hear you or didn’t care. He was already deep in a monologue about gravel and retaining walls when you followed him into the kitchen.

And there he was.

Joel fucking Miller.

Leaning against the counter, arms crossed, bottle of beer in hand, face set in that same unimpressed expression you remembered from years ago. You hadn’t seen him in a while. Not since before graduation. He’d always been around when you were younger. Fixing things that didn’t need fixing. Offering to “help out” when no one asked. The kind of man who’d show up uninvited to your birthday party and then spend it bitching about how loud the music was.

You used to think he was fucking annoying and not in a fun way. In a gruff, overly serious, who-invited-this-guy kind of way. He was always in your space. Always talking to your dad like you weren’t there. Always looking at you like he could see through whatever attitude you threw out that day.

But now?

Now he looked like the kind of man your friends would lie about sleeping with.

And now he’s here. In your goddamn kitchen. Older, broader, tan from working outside, the sleeves of his worn shirt hugging his biceps like it was intentional. He’d grown out a bit of a beard. Just enough stubble to ruin your life.

You blinked at him. Actually blinked. Like a cartoon character rebooting. Your hand was still on your suitcase handle.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just nodded once, slow and unreadable, eyes dragging down your frame like he was assessing you. Not in a creepy way. Just…in a Joel way. Like he was still deciding if you were a pain in the ass.

“Joel,” you said, flat and unimpressed.

“Hey there, princess.”

Your spine straightened. That nickname used to piss you off, because when you were younger, he’d say it with that patronizing tone, like he thought you were spoiled. Entitled. A brat who didn’t know how to lift anything heavier than a lip gloss.

It used to make your blood boil.

Now it was doing something else entirely. Something lower. Hotter. Like your body hadn’t gotten the memo that it was supposed to hate him.

You scowled anyway, crossing your arms. “Don’t call me that.”

He raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip from his beer. “Still got that attitude, huh?”

You crossed your arms, jaw tight. “Still hanging around like a stray dog?”

That almost got a smile. Just a flicker at the corner of his mouth, quickly buried behind the bottle.

“Been a while,” he said, unbothered. “You back for the summer?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Right. School’s up in New York, yeah?”

You gave a short nod, not offering more. But he waited. So you sighed. “It’s fine. Crowded. Expensive. Kind of bullshit.”

His eyes narrow, not unkind, but knowing. Like he already expected you to say that.

“Sounds about right,” he said. “City’ll chew you up if you let it.”

You shrugged, unwilling to agree. “Better than rotting in suburbia.”

Joel huffed — maybe a laugh, maybe not. He looked at you again, with that unreadable stare.

“Well,” he said, tipping the bottle toward you. “Welcome back.”

And then he turned to your dad, asking something about the new drill he’d lent him, and just like that, you were dismissed.

Not in a rude way. Not even deliberately. But your part in the conversation was over. Joel had acknowledged your presence, spoken, and then moved on like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t the hottest man you’d seen in real life in probably two years. Like he didn’t just activate something feral in the pit of your stomach without even trying.

You stood there for another second, dizzy, your suitcase still clenched in your hand.

Because what the fuck.

Joel hadn’t always looked like that. You knew he hadn’t.

Now he looked like the kind of man who didn’t even know how hot he was. Stronger. Broader. Like he’d aged in slow motion and soaked up every good part of it. His beard was short, a little patchy, but it made his jaw look sharp. His eyes were deep-set and serious, even when he smiled. And his voice had weight to it now.

You couldn’t stop watching him.

Every little movement drew your attention — the way his fingers drummed once against the side of his beer bottle, the flex of his arm when he leaned onto the counter, the way he tilted his head slightly when your dad spoke, like he was actually listening.

You’d known him your whole life, and suddenly it was like your brain had rewritten him overnight.

You forced yourself to walk your suitcase to your room. Forced your legs to move. Forced your eyes not to look back over your shoulder and drink in one last glance at him.

But even after you shut the door behind you and collapsed on your bed, shoes still on, backpack half-zipped and slipping off your shoulder, your mind was stuck in the kitchen.

You stood there for a beat too long, heart hammering, skin hot. You couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t think. Something low in your stomach was pulsing like an alarm bell, and your legs felt weirdly light, like they might give out if you didn’t sit the fuck down.

You made it to your room somehow. Kicked the door shut, dropped your bag to the floor, and sat on the edge of your bed like a girl who’d just seen God.

Because what the actual fuck.

He was not supposed to look like that.

Not Joel. Not your dad’s know-it-all friend with the truck and the permanent scowl. He wasn’t supposed to look like he belonged in a whiskey commercial. He wasn’t supposed to have forearms like that or a voice that made your stomach do weird, traitorous flips. He wasn’t supposed to look at you — steady, unreadable — like he already knew what you were about, and then turn around like you weren’t even worth a second thought.

But it mattered.

Your hands were shaking.

Not visibly, not enough to panic about — just enough that you noticed when you touched your face. Just enough that you wanted to lie down and scream into your pillow like a deranged high schooler with a forbidden crush.

You were so fucking gone already.

You laid back, stared at the ceiling, let the heat of the house sink into your skin. Your heart hadn’t slowed down. You didn’t want it to. Every second that passed made you want to run downstairs and see him again, just to confirm that your brain hadn’t exaggerated it. That he really looked like that. That he really sounded like that.

You could still hear his voice in your head. Still feel it in your spine.

Your phone was face-down on the bed next to you. You didn’t need advice. You didn’t even think they’d understand. But you opened your college group chat anyway, because holding it in felt unbearable.

you: my dad’s friend is gonna be here all summer you: he’s hot. like really hot. you: i’m gonna fuck him or die trying

You didn’t even wait for the replies. Just turned your phone over again like it was something shameful. Like saying it out loud made it real.

But it didn’t help. Nothing helped.

You could still see the way his shirt clung to his shoulders, how his fingers curled around the neck of the bottle, and that brief moment before he really looked at you—like he wasn’t sure what to do with what he saw.

Your thighs pressed together. You didn’t even notice at first. It just happened, automatically. You only realized when you exhaled and the tension was still there, low and tight and coiled like it had nowhere else to go.

You were in so much trouble.

So you did what any emotionally stable adult would do: climbed into bed in the middle of the day and burrowed under the covers like that would fix something. The sheets were still warm from earlier, the pillow too soft to be comforting, and even though your brain wouldn’t shut up, your eyes eventually did.

You don’t even remember falling asleep. One second you were staring at the ceiling, the next—

You woke up too hot. Disoriented. Mouth dry, hair stuck to the side of your face.

The fan was still going in the corner, buzzing like it had been doing something important. Your shirt clung to your back with sweat. Your phone buzzed once and went quiet — probably some bullshit screen time notification telling you you’d rotted your brain 43% more this week. No shit.

You sat up slowly, wiped your hand down your face, and squinted at the digital clock across the room. Late afternoon. The kind of hour that made everything feel heavy. Sunlight leaking through the blinds in slanted lines, painting the room in that weird in-between light that didn’t feel like day or night.

Then, downstairs something thudded.

You froze.

A second later came the sound of metal scraping on concrete. Then another thud—low and heavy, like something being shifted. A toolbox, maybe? The noise was familiar, but distant, like a half-remembered thought. Probably your dad. Doing too much again, for no real reason.

You pulled your hair into a loose knot, padded barefoot down the stairs, still heavy with sleep and vague irritation.

But when you stepped into the kitchen and glanced out the back window, it wasn’t your dad.

Joel was in the yard, bent over a stack of lumber, arms flexing beneath his T-shirt. Moving slow. Focused. Like nothing in the world existed except whatever he was trying to fix.

You watched him for a moment, letting it settle.

When you finally opened the sliding door and stepped outside, he didn’t look up right away. But when he did, his expression didn’t change. No surprise. No hesitation. Just steady eyes that met yours without blinking.

“Didn’t know you were still here,” you said.

Joel straightened with a soft grunt. “Didn’t know you were sleepin’.”

“I wasn’t,” you lied. “I was just—”

“Your mom’s at some class thing. Dad ran out to get more plywood.”

He said it like it meant nothing. Like it wasn’t the most dangerous sentence you’d ever heard.

You crossed your arms loosely, feigning casual. “So what, you got left behind?”

“Somebody’s gotta keep it movin’.”

You nodded slowly. “And that somebody’s you.”

He didn’t respond. Just looked at you for a beat too long, then turned back to his tools.

You should’ve gone back inside. But you didn’t.

You hovered for a beat, then said, “Hot out,” not because it was, but because it was the first excuse your brain offered to keep him looking at you.

“Sure is.”

“You always this sweaty before noon?”

He let out a breath — not quite a laugh. “Try movin’ bricks around and stayin’ pretty.”

You tilted your head, smirking. “I’m naturally pretty. You’re just old.”

That got his attention. His mouth twitched. Barely.

“That mouth of yours really hasn’t changed,” he said, brow raised.

“Neither has your attitude,” you shot back.

He didn’t answer. Just turned back to the bolts he was working on.

You stayed there. Watching. Simmering. Wanting something he wasn’t giving. And when he didn’t say anything else, you stepped back inside before you said something stupid.

But the damage was already done.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

It’d been a few days since you last spoke to him.

Not that you were waiting around for it. You had better things to do. Lists to make. Jobs to apply for. Endless tabs open on your laptop, none of which explained why you still froze every time you heard heavy footsteps downstairs — boots on the floor, a drawer opening — like your body was waiting for something your brain hadn’t agreed to.

Joel was back again. Of course he was.

Fixing something. Always fixing something. Same slow footsteps. Same way he moved through the house like it was his, like he didn’t need permission to open cabinets or track dirt across the tile. You used to roll your eyes at it. All of it. The sighing and muttering, the way he smelled like sawdust and sweat. It used to drive you crazy — just not like this.

Now it was something else entirely.

You were lying on your stomach in bed, pretending to scroll, when you heard him. Tools shifting. A soft grunt. The unmistakable sound of that goddamn wrench he always brought inside like it was a part of him.

You sat up. Peeled your shirt off where it stuck to your back. Told yourself you were just thirsty.

That was it.

Your feet moved on their own. Down the hall, down the stairs. Loose shorts slung low, tank top clinging from the heat. The air was quiet and thick, and Joel was crouched in front of the kitchen sink, one arm braced on the cabinet frame.

You wandered over to the fridge and opened it without hurry. Bent down slowly, casually, letting your shirt ride up as you reached for a water bottle on the bottom shelf. You stayed there a moment too long, pretending to search, fully aware of the way your body looked from behind.

Then straightened. Cracked the cap. Took a sip. Let it trickle down your throat as you leaned back against the counter.

Still no acknowledgment. Typical.

You didn’t say a word. Just took another sip and turned to leave. And as you walked away, you caught it. His eyes were on you. Low. Heavy. Hungry.

It only lasted a second. Maybe not even that long. But it landed like a jolt, pulsing through your whole body like static under skin.

You bit the inside of your cheek and kept walking. Didn’t look back, didn’t smile.

But your pulse was hammering, and your whole body buzzed with it — the confirmation, the tension, the undeniable truth of that glance.

He saw you and he liked what he saw. And now you knew.

The water bottle is still cool in your hand by the time you get upstairs, but you don’t drink it. Just stand there with your back against the closed door, staring across your bedroom like you’ve forgotten what you came in for.

You don’t even sit down before stripping off your clothes. It’s not some grand plan. Not at first. But by the time you’ve pulled on your black bikini — the tie-side one you debated even packing — it starts to feel like a mission. Like strategy.

Because if he’s gonna look, you’re gonna give him something to look at.

You catch yourself smiling in the mirror as you adjust the top. Not the sweet kind of smile either — the kind that could get you in trouble. That could ruin a man like him if he wasn’t careful.

Downstairs is still quiet when you come back through. The fridge hums. There’s a soft creak from outside — the deck, maybe — but no voices. No parents. You grab your towel, a random book, and the bottle of sunscreen from the hall drawer, then make your way to the backyard like you’re not plotting anything at all.

The deck boards are warm beneath your feet, the heat still clinging to them from earlier. You spread the towel out slowly, stretching a little more than necessary as you settle onto the lounge chair and lay back. The sun’s high, your skin already starting to prickle beneath it, and you can hear the steady rhythm of movement from somewhere behind the fence.

Joel’s still here. Still working. Still close enough to hear you if you needed something.

You wait five minutes. Maybe ten.

And then—soft, almost sweet— “Joel?”

There’s a pause. A clunk. Then the unmistakable sound of boots on concrete.

He rounds the corner wiping his hands with a rag, forearms smudged with sweat and sawdust, eyes hidden beneath the brim of his cap. He slows when he sees you but doesn’t stop. Just lets his gaze drag over the scene for a beat longer than it needs to.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you say, casual. “Can you help me with something real quick?”

You hold up the sunscreen, twisting the bottle lazily between your fingers. He doesn’t take it. Just looks at it. Then at you.

“You don’t have someone else for that?”

“Do you see anyone else around?” You raise a brow. “It’s just my back. I can’t reach it.”

He exhales slowly through his nose. “You’re a grown woman. I think you can manage.”

“Wow,” you say, smiling, “don’t be such a fucking prude.”

Joel stares at you, expression flat and unreadable. For a moment, you think he’s going to walk away. Maybe you pushed it too far. But then he steps closer. Gives a small nod, like he’s made some kind of decision. Like he’s choosing to stay.

“Turn around.”

You do, almost too fast, heart racing, stomach flipping. Your hair falls over one shoulder as you settle forward on your elbows, the backs of your thighs already warming under the sun.

He comes up behind you, and for a moment you brace yourself for something detached. Something quick, routine, maybe even indifferent. But the second his hands find your skin, that thought disappears completely.

His hands are rough. Calloused. Hot.

You suck in a breath.

It isn’t the chill of the lotion that gets to you. It’s the contrast. His hands are rough and steady, moving over your skin with a kind of focus that makes your breath catch. The pressure is slow and deliberate, like he’s taking his time on purpose.

Your back is burning, and the sun has nothing to do with it.

“You’re gonna burn in five minutes flat,” Joel mutters, spreading the lotion over your shoulders.

“Yeah?” Your voice is steadier than it should be. “Then hurry up.”

You swear you feel his hand hesitate — just for a second. A flicker. Then it’s back, smoothing the lotion down the slope of your back, skimming the sides of your ribs like he’s being careful not to slip.

Which only makes it worse.

He’s trying not to enjoy it. That’s what undoes you. Not the touch itself, but the restraint. The tension of it. The way his fingers dig just a little too hard, like he’s mad at himself for doing this in the first place.

He lets out a quiet breath. “You've changed. And somehow... not at all”

There it is. A spark. Not a full crack in the dam, but a hairline fracture — something just close enough to flirting that it hits your nerves like a live wire.

You grin into your forearm. “That a bad thing?”

"Not sure yet," he huffs.

A moment later, his hands leave your skin. You hear the soft clink of the sunscreen bottle hitting the deck, followed by the faint creak of him stepping back.

You wait. Just long enough to give yourself an excuse. Then you turn.

He’s still there.

He hasn’t moved. Hasn’t walked away. He’s just standing there, watching you.

The sun is behind him now, throwing sharp shadows across his face. You aren’t sure what you expected. Maybe an awkward glance to the side. Maybe a quiet goodbye.

But he doesn’t move. His eyes stay on yours.

And for one quiet, startling moment, neither of you says a word.

You blink. Swallow. “Thanks,” you say, quieter than you meant to.

Joel nods once. Barely. Then he grabs the toolbox off the table and walks back inside of the house without another word.

You stand there longer than you mean to.

Eventually, you grab your phone.

You tell your friends that you think you might actually lose your mind this summer. Say something vague about sunscreen and how his hands were rough—too rough to be accidental, right?

They blow up instantly.

Someone sends a voice memo screaming. Another says you need to film it next time. Someone else asks if he’s divorced, and a fourth says she wants you to “do it for the team.”

You laugh. Kind of. But it’s not enough to shake the feeling crawling up your spine.

You tell them you’re spiraling. That you’re thinking about things you probably shouldn’t be thinking about. That you might actually lose it if he looks at you like that again.

You put your phone on the table and stand up, making your way to the house. The sliding door gives with a soft clatter, and cool air greets your skin as you step inside. The shift in light makes you blink, eyes adjusting to the dimmer space.

The house feels cooler, the air still and quiet. Your footsteps sound louder than they should on the hardwood, each one echoing softly as you move forward.

The house is quiet when you walk in.

No keys in the dish. No car in the driveway. Your mom’s probably at yoga or barre or wherever she disappears to for hours at a time. Your dad? Maybe Lowe’s. Maybe Home Depot. Probably dragging Joel along to pick out something unnecessary.

You don’t know why it matters. You just know you’re alone.

You fill a glass of water in the kitchen. Take a few long sips. Keep expecting to hear boots on the porch or the murmur of conversation through the wall.

But the silence holds.

You go upstairs. You peel your bikini off piece by piece. You lie back on your bed.

And then you really spiral.

You think about the way he looked at you—not like he meant to, but like he couldn’t help it. Like he noticed you. Finally. Like maybe he wasn’t just being polite. Like maybe his hands lingered just a little longer than they needed to.

You close your eyes.

One minute, you’re still damp from the pool. The next, you’re soaked for a completely different reason.

You lie back on your bed, one leg still damp where the towel missed a spot. Your skin’s flushed—not from the sun, but from the memory.

From the way his fingers felt against your spine. How he touched you like he was trying not to touch you. Like restraint was stitched into every motion, pulling tight at the seams.

But in your head?

He doesn't stop.

You replay the whole thing in your head. Same pool, same sunscreen, same quiet pull between you. But this time, when his hand drifts to the small of your back, it doesn’t keep moving. It hesitates. Fingers settling just above the curve of your ass, slow and careful, like he’s thinking about what it would mean to go further.

“Shouldn’t let me touch you like this.”

But he wouldn’t stop.

He would trace the edge of your bikini bottom with one finger. Not slipping beneath the fabric, just following the line. Just enough to make your hips twitch beneath his hand. Just enough to make you shift, trying to play it cool.

His other hand would rest at your jaw, guiding your face toward his. Not forceful, just enough to make sure you’re looking at him.

You picture it now: Joel kneeling beside the you, one hand trailing lower, the other guiding your eyes to his. “Tell me to stop,” he’d say.

And you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

Because this was your fucking mission, wasn’t it?

Something twists inside you, not painful, just sharp — like your nerves are waking up all at once.

“You wanna act grown?” A shake of the head. A quiet scoff. “Show me.”

But there’s no voice now. No rough fingers. Just your own fingers and the quiet whir of a ceiling fan overhead.

The room is too still. Too quiet. Too not Joel.

You open your eyes and let out a sharp breath. Your chest rises with the effort it takes to come back to yourself. For a second, you almost expect to hear him. His voice low and close, saying things he has never said. But all you hear is the soft creak of the house settling around you.

Your fingers pause.

Reality floods in. You’re alone. He never touched you like that. He never said a word. None of it happened.

But it felt so real. Still does.

So you let your eyes drift shut again, desperate to recapture it.

He’d lean closer, his voice barely a breath now, hot against your ear. “Thought you wanted this.”

You’d nod without hesitation, barely holding yourself together. You’d say whatever he wanted to hear if it meant his hand would keep moving, sliding lower with that same steady pressure. His fingers would trace the waistband, slow and deliberate, before slipping beneath the fabric.

Careful at first. Just enough to find how wet you already are. Just enough to show you he knew exactly what you needed, and exactly how ready you were for it.

Your hips arch into your own touch at the thought, mouth falling open. You bite back a sound as your fingers circle just right, matching the rhythm you know he’d set.

“Knew it,” he’d mutter. “So fuckin’ wet for me already.”

You lose yourself in it then.

His mouth on your throat. His hand between your legs. His body heavy and warm and everywhere. Not careful anymore. Not restrained.

He’d groan when your thighs shake, press his forehead to your shoulder, and hold you there like he’d earned it.

“That’s it,” he’d whisper. “Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You come hard—quiet, fast, and messy. Thighs shaking under your own hand.

And even when it fades, you don’t move.

You lie in bed for a while, replaying every second of that almost-moment until it’s not just fantasy anymore—it’s fuel. It’s fire under your ribs. It’s proof that Joel wants you, too. He looked at you. He touched you. He didn’t pull away like some concerned father-figure. He just stood there, watching your body react to him like it was the first time he really saw you.

And next time you’re gonna push harder. Be bolder. Give him even less of a reason to walk away.

Because this summer? You’re not leaving empty-handed.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The next day, your mom tells you about dinner around noon, already buzzing about the menu, tossing out options like she’s hosting a wedding reception.

“Joel’s coming over tonight. Your dad asked him to stay after they work on the fence—so be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” you say, too quickly.

She gives you a look but lets it go.

You hide the way your stomach flips at the mention of Joel’s name. At the idea of him in your kitchen, in your house. Sitting at the table like it’s normal. Like it’s fine.

You’d taken your time getting ready.

Shaved everything, deep-conditioned, spent half an hour standing in front of your closet like it was a gallery wall. Eventually, you picked a sundress that wasn’t too short but still skimmed your thighs when you sat down. Soft straps, bare shoulders. One of those easy, flirty fabrics that made you feel pretty without trying too hard. You’d gone light on makeup—just enough to make you feel pretty without looking like you were trying too hard.

By the time dinner’s close, your nerves are barely containable. You keep imagining his eyes on you again. Wondering what he thought when he was touching you. Wondering if he went home and touched himself thinking about it. Or if he’s been trying not to think about it at all.

You’re still wondering when you hear his voice outside—deep and low, that familiar Southern drawl drifting in from the backyard like it belongs here. Like he does. Laughing with your dad about something stupid—plywood or screws or whatever men like them talk about with sunburnt necks and half-empty coolers beside them.

You glance out the window when they head in. Joel cleaned up—hair damp, a fresh change of clothes. He’s shaved. Or trimmed. Either way, it’s intentional. It’s for something.

He walks in, and his eyes go to you immediately.

Just for a second.

Not long enough to scare anyone—but long enough to confirm it wasn’t your imagination. Long enough to say, I see you.

You tilt your head, all innocent-like. “Hey,” you say, casual, like you don’t care he’s here. Like you didn’t spend an hour getting ready just in case he looked at you like that again.

Joel nods. His gaze flicks down and back up. Bare shoulders. That dress. He sees it.

“You’re gonna get cold in that,” he says, voice even but his eyes linger. “Kitchen’s freezing.”

You smile. “Guess I’ll have to borrow a jacket.”

His jaw ticks. “Not mine.”

That gets your attention. You go quiet, studying the way he moves — the grip he's got on the fridge handle, the way he avoids your eyes now, like looking again might be a mistake.

“You don’t like the dress?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He grabs a beer from the fridge but doesn’t open it. Just stands there, turning it slowly between his hands. The glass is slick with condensation, catching the light as it moves. His eyes stay on the counter, steady and distant, like he’s trying not to think too hard.

You ease forward a little. Not enough to draw attention, but just enough to close the space between you. Close enough that he can feel the change in the air. You know he notices, even if he won’t look at you.

“Would’ve picked something else if I knew you’d be shy,” you say lightly, fingers trailing the edge of the island.

Joel finally lifts his gaze. The look he gives you is steady and sharp, and it settles over your skin like static.

And when you crossed your arms — mostly out of irritation — your chest shifted with the motion. The neckline of your dress dipped lower, the fabric pulling just enough to press your breasts together. The curve of them lifted, pushed up by your own arms, framed perfectly between the soft straps and the shape of the dress.

It wasn’t intentional. But it wasn’t subtle, either.

They sat there, high and obvious, the kind of distraction that would be hard to look past. And the best part was, you knew it. You could feel the air brushing over the bare skin at the top of your chest. Could feel the way his gaze dragged, even if he tried to look away.

“Stop.”

One word. Firm. Not loud—but you hear everything behind it.

You blink. “Stop what?”

His eyes flick down again, quick and unthinking, like his body’s moving before his brain can stop it. That’s when you notice the change. His stance tightens. He shifts his weight, angles his body slightly away, like distance might steady him. One hand curls at his side, flexing once, like he needs somewhere to put that tension.

He’s hard.

You see it, clear as day, and your breath catches before you can even think of what to say. But he moves first.

He turns without a word, muttering something under his breath about needing to wash up, and walks out of the room. No glance back. No chance for a response. Just his footsteps down the hall, fading until he’s gone.

And you’re still standing there, legs locked like your body’s trying to hold onto something that already slipped through your fingers. There’s a tight, aching pull low in your belly, and nothing you do makes it ease up.

He was hard.

You did that. Just by standing there. Just by existing in that dress, in that room, looking at him the way you did.

You can’t catch your breath.

You’re supposed to join your parents in the next room, sit at the table like nothing’s happened, like you’re not losing your mind in real time. Like you didn’t just pull that reaction out of him with a sundress and a smile.

You glance toward the hallway, even though he’s long gone now.

Replay it all in your head. That flick of his gaze. That shift in his stance. The heat in his eyes before he remembered who he was—who you were—and shut it down.

God, he looked like he hated himself for it.

And why shouldn’t he? You’re too young. You’re his friend’s daughter. You’re a guest in your own damn house and still had the nerve to stand there hoping he’d look.

And he did.

He fucking did.

You take a step back, trying to reset. Trying to cool off. But it’s pointless. Your skin is flushed, buzzing in places that have no business reacting like this. You swear you can still feel the way he looked at you, like it clung to your body and soaked straight through.

You plant your hands on the counter.

But the need doesn’t fade. It settles low and steady, pulsing with purpose. Your body already knows what it wants, and now there’s no point pretending otherwise. Every second you stand there, it sharpens — not out of confusion, but hunger.

You want him to come back.

You want him to say something. Do something.

You want him to admit it.

Instead, you hear the bathroom door shut at the end of the hall. Running water. Silence.

He’s not coming back right now.

And that’s maybe the worst part of it—how badly you want him to. How desperate you feel. How completely wrecked you are over something that lasted less than thirty seconds.

So yeah. You freak out.

And then you sit down like nothing happened.

You join your parents at the table, heart pounding and hands way too still in your lap. You nod along as your mom talks about garlic bread and marinated chicken like you’re not still replaying the moment Joel adjusted himself in the kitchen.

He comes back a minute later. Calm. Composed. Like his dick wasn’t just hard under those jeans.

Like you didn’t fucking notice.

He settles in across from you, casual as ever, resting one forearm on the table while your dad passes him another beer. There’s a streak of sawdust still clinging to his wrist. A tiny scrape near his knuckle.

It shouldn’t make you feel anything.

But it does.

“Almost done with everything,” Joel says, cracking the bottle open like it’s nothing. “Just a few more odds and ends.”

Your dad nods. “Yeah—can’t believe how much we’ve knocked out. Seriously, man, I feel bad. You didn’t need to do all the extra stuff.”

Joel shrugs. “I don’t mind. I like stayin’ busy.”

The conversation eventually drifts.

Your mom asks Joel about work—some job on the north side that had him tied up for weeks. He talks about new permits, someone underquoting a kitchen reno, and how this heat makes everyone meaner than usual.

You play with the edge of your napkin. Pretend to listen.

Your dad complains about the neighbor’s lawn. Your mom brings up a new Thai place downtown. Joel doesn’t say much after that—just sips his beer and keeps his attention anywhere but you.

It starts to feel like the moment in the kitchen didn’t happen at all.

And then—

“Hey, remember that girl in high school?” your dad says suddenly, half-laughing, mid-sip. “The one who used to leave notes on your truck? What was her name—Kelsey?”

Your whole body locks up.

Joel chuckles. Quiet. A breath through his nose. Doesn’t really answer.

Your dad grins, nudging Joel’s arm like he’s setting him up. “Man, she was relentless. Thought you hung the moon. She’d bake all that stuff and just happen to show up whenever you had a shift. I swear, she timed her schedule around yours.”

You blink and set your fork down with a soft clink against the plate. Something tight pulls in your chest.

This isn’t just jealousy anymore. It’s heavier than that.

You’re the one who’s been orbiting him. The one flirting too much, pushing too far. And if this is how he sees it — if you’re just another girl who doesn’t know where the line is, if he’s only letting you hang around for the attention, for the ego boost — then you don’t know whether you want to cry or disappear.

You feel it rising, that hot, unbearable flush behind your eyes. A part of you wants to throw your fork across the table. Another part wants to crawl under it and vanish completely.

Instead, you take a breath and swallow it down.

You barely register the rest of dinner.

There’s some mention of your dad’s back hurting. Your mom brings out dessert even though no one asked for it. Joel laughs at something she says about needing to bottle her salad dressing and sell it at the farmers market. You smile automatically, keep your eyes down, and chew on the inside of your cheek until it stings.

Joel doesn’t even look at you again.

Not when your mom gets up to clear the table. Not when she sighs and says she’ll start the dishes. And not when Joel, fucking saint Joel, follows with a quiet offer to help.

"I can help with that," he says, like he means it.

Your heart seizes.

“Oh!” your mom says, delighted. “You don’t have to, but that’s so sweet. She can help you!”

You blink. “Wait, what—?”

“Come on,” your dad says, already standing. “He fixes half the house, least you can do is help him load the dishwasher.”

Your mom shoots you a smile. “Be nice.”

You force a smile that feels like it might crack your skull in half. “Always.”

The kitchen clears out. Your parents wander off, plates in hand, like they didn’t just throw you into a minefield. And now it’s just you and Joel. Standing beside a counter full of dishes. Avoiding eye contact like it’s a goddamn war tactic.

You grab a plate. Set it in the sink. Joel runs the water.

For a second, neither of you say anything.

Then, quiet—barely above the hum of the faucet—he mutters, “You’ve got a real sharp mouth on you tonight.”

You glance at him. “Don’t act like you didn’t earn it.”

His jaw flexes. He scrubs at a plate harder than necessary. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you should go ask Kelsey.”

Joel freezes. Just for a beat. Then looks at you—really looks at you—for the first time since the kitchen.

There’s a flicker in his eyes. Something dangerous. Something alive.

“You jealous over a girl who baked me brownies twenty years ago?”

You stare at him. “I’m not jealous.”

He laughs once. Low. Dry. “Sure you’re not.”

You snatch a fork off the counter a little too hard. “Maybe I just don’t like being grouped with every other girl who’s ever thrown herself at you.”

That lands. You see it in the way his shoulders tense. The way his grip tightens on the edge of the sink.

And then—quiet again, but colder this time: “You think this is the same?”

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t know what this is.

But you know it’s not nothing.

Joel turns to face you fully, arms crossed now, jaw locked tight.

“You’ve been struttin’ around like it’s your goddamn mission to drive me insane.”

You scoff. “I’m not doing anything you’re not letting happen.”

His eyes narrow. “You think batting your lashes and prancing around in that little dress makes you grown?”

“I am grown.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You feel the snap in your chest, all sharp edges and rising heat.

“You can pretend all you want,” you bite out, “but I saw the way you looked at me.”

Joel shakes his head, laughing once—but there’s no humor in it.

“You don’t get it.”

“Oh, I get it,” you fire back. “I walk in the room and you can’t even look at me without getting hard.”

He stills.

You know you’ve hit it now. That buried nerve he’s been trying to cover with silence and sarcasm and distance.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he mutters.

“I think I do.”

You move closer, closing the space between you until the air shifts. He doesn’t back away. Doesn’t speak. Just watches as you stop in front of him, close enough to be heard without raising your voice.

“You like it,” you whisper. “Even if you wish you didn’t.”

He exhales hard through his nose, like he’s counting to ten.

“You keep this up,” he says, voice low and strained, “and you’re gonna find out exactly how grown you really are.”

And then he walks out of the kitchen.

Leaving you standing there, heart pounding, whole body burning with equal parts rage and want.

You clean up in a daze. Not that anyone notices. Your parents are too busy arguing about whether the grill should be cleaned now or in the morning, and Joel—well, Joel’s long gone.

Didn’t say goodbye. Just left.

You lie on your bed later, legs still smooth from your shower, body too warm under the sheets.

Your phone is dark. Group chat silent.

You’re alone with it now—this thing in your chest that’s turned into obsession. It’s not a crush anymore. It’s not innocent.

You want him to look at you like that again. Want to push until he snaps. Want to know what it feels like to ruin him.

He wants me. I know he does. He’s just being a coward about it.

You wonder what would happen if you just walked into his house. No excuses. No fake questions about drills or light bulbs or fence measurements. Just showed up in that stupid sundress and asked for what you wanted.

Would he push you away again?

Would he kiss you this time?

You stare at the ceiling and plot your next move.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

When you woke up you were already thinking about Joel.

Not in a cute, butterflies-and-daydreams kind of way—but in the desperate, need-to-do-something-about-it way. It’s like there’s a pressure building behind your ribs, all that unresolved tension simmering with nowhere to go.

You replay the kitchen. The look. The way his hand twitched by his side like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

You’d worn that dress for a reason. And he’d seen it. You know he had.

But he still wouldn’t touch you.

Still wouldn’t speak unless he had to.

Which means it’s up to you now.

You spend the whole morning plotting—half-thinking, half-fantasizing. Wondering what might happen if you caught him alone. If you pushed a little harder. If you gave him less room to pretend like he didn’t want it.

You’re still lost in your own head when your dad starts cursing under the sink.

You peek in to see him struggling with some stripped bolt, red-faced and muttering under his breath. Then he tosses the wrench on the floor and groans.

And that’s when he says it—without even looking up:

“Go ask Joel if he’s got a socket wrench that’ll fit this.”

The plan clicks into place before you even have time to second-guess it.

Phone in hand, you check your reflection in the hallway mirror. A quick glance is enough. No need to change. The top hugs just right, and your shorts are already flirting with the edge of decency. It’ll do.

Outside, the grass is warm underfoot as you step off the porch and start across the yard, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

Like your heart isn’t pounding.

Like you didn’t rehearse six different versions of this exact scenario in your head last night.

Joel’s truck is in the driveway. Curtains open. Front door shut.

You knock.

No answer.

You knock again, a little harder this time, and step back just as the door creaks open.

He’s there. Barefoot. Coffee in hand. That same gray tee from yesterday hanging low over his hips. He smells like sawdust and lemon cleaner and him, and your mouth goes a little dry.

He leans against the frame, lazy and quiet.

“Need something?” he asks, voice scratchy like he hadn’t expected company.

You nod, keeping your voice light. “Socket wrench. Dad stripped the one under the sink.”

Joel breathes out through his nose, glancing off behind him. “Of course he did.”

He gives a small shake of his head, something between a sigh and a smirk, then pulls the door open a little wider.

"Come on in."

You step inside, doing your best to ignore the way his arm grazes yours. The entryway feels smaller than it should, the air a little warmer with both of you standing there. A quick glance around confirms what you already expected — everything is tidy, quiet, a little too put-together. You turn to face him, trying to keep your expression neutral.

He shuts the door and you follow him into the kitchen, floor cool under your bare feet. Joel moves ahead of you without a word, setting his mug down on the counter with a dull thunk. His hand brushes over a drawer handle, and for a second, that’s all he does—just stands there, back to you, knuckles tense.

He hasn’t looked at you.

Not once since you walked in.

You lean against the other side of the kitchen island, arms folded loosely under your chest, letting the silence stretch.

“So…” you say, like it’s nothing. Like your pulse isn't already skipping. “Busy day?”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. He opens the drawer and pulls out a wrench, holding it by the head like it might break in his hand.

“Yeah,” he mutters, still not looking. “Been runnin’ around all damn day.”

Another pause. He finally sets the wrench on the counter, slides it across the granite toward you—but doesn’t step back. Doesn’t give you space.

His eyes flick up. Land on yours.

And stay there.

“Here.”

You could just take it. Say thank you. Leave like a normal person. Instead, you step around the island. Close the gap.

You stop in front of him and tilt your head, fingers grazing the cool metal behind you—but not picking it up. Not yet.

“You always this quiet when you’ve got company?” you ask.

Joel’s jaw shifts. “Not when they’re invited.”

It should sting. Should be enough to make you back off. But the way he says it, low and steady like his patience is already wearing thin, only adds to the heat building deep in your stomach.

You move in closer, just a little.

He doesn’t step back, doesn’t shift, but his eyes track the movement. They drift downward for a beat before meeting yours again.

When you speak, your voice comes out quieter, softer than before.

“So uninvited guests don’t count?”

His breath ticks in his throat. He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move.

So you keep going.

“‘Cause it kinda feels like you’re letting me stay.”

Joel doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t touch you. Just stands there, breathing slow, looking down at you like he’s doing the fucking math.

His voice is calm, almost careful, like he’s choosing every word.

“You really think this is a good idea?”

You blink up at him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

You can feel it in the air between you — the tension, the effort it takes for him to stay still. It stretches tight, like his restraint has a weight all its own.

He doesn’t move.

So you do.

Your hand lifts, slow and careful, as if testing the moment. Your fingertips skim the edge of his shirt where it rests low on his stomach, soft cotton stretched over firm muscle.

His throat works with a swallow.

His hands stay at his sides, but his fingers shift slightly, curling once before going still again. He doesn’t stop you when you step in closer, when your other hand rises to settle gently against his chest.

Your voice is barely a whisper.

“So what now?”

His jaw ticks. “You should take the wrench.”

You lean up—closer.

“But I don’t want the wrench.”

Joel’s breath stutters. His hands twitch again, and for a second—just a second—it feels like the tension might snap. Like he might finally grab you, slam you back against the counter and say all the things he’s been trying not to.

But he doesn’t.

He leans down instead until his mouth is by your ear.

“You have no idea what you’re getting into," he says, voice rough and sharp.

Your breath catches. Then you smile.

“Sure I do.”

His eyes drop to your mouth, then return to yours. For a long moment, he just watches you.

No warning. No retreat.

Something in his expression shifts. He’s not looking at you like a kid anymore. There’s hesitation, maybe even guilt, but underneath it is something else. Want. Recognition. Trouble he knows better than to touch.

And still, he stays frozen, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do next.

So you close the distance until you’re close enough to feel the heat coming off him.

You step into his space, hand trailing lightly up his arm. His skin is warm and rough under your fingertips—sun-worn and calloused, like it’s never been soft. You feel him stiffen. Not pulling away. Just holding still. Waiting.

“Thought you said this was a bad idea,” you murmur.

“I did.”

He says it like it still is.

And then he grabs your face.

Not gentle—possessive. Like he’s finally giving in, like he’s pissed it took him this long. His palm cups your cheek, thumb along your jaw, and before you can speak—

He kisses you.

It’s not sweet. It’s not slow. It’s the kind of kiss that says he’s tired of pretending. Heated, chaotic, and full of everything he wouldn’t say out loud.

Like he’s punishing himself with it.

Your lips part on instinct, and his tongue slides past, rough and claiming. His other hand clamps around your waist, yanking you in until there’s nothing left between you but heat.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely pulling back. His breath hits your mouth. “You don’t make shit easy, you know that?”

You blink up at him, dazed.

His hand’s still at your jaw. Still holding you there.

“I’ve been trying to be good,” he grits out. “Tryin’ to ignore the way you look at me, the way you walk around like—”

He cuts himself off with a breath. Shakes his head like he’s disgusted—with himself, with you, with all of it.

But he doesn’t stop touching you.

Doesn’t step back.

His hand slides down your side, rough palm dragging over the curve of your waist. You feel it like a brand. Like confirmation.

“You want this?” he asks—low, serious now.

You nod.

“Say it.”

“I want you.”

It’s the softest thing you’ve said all day. And somehow it makes everything snap.

Joel’s grip tightens. Not enough to hurt, but enough to say you’ve crossed a line.

"Just this once," he mutters, breath hot against your cheek, "so you finally shut the fuck up."

You barely have time to react before he’s got you turned around, chest hitting the nearest wall. His hand slides down your back, flat and heavy, pressing you into the drywall like he owns you. You gasp, heat blooming across your skin. This is what you wanted. What you teased him for.

“You think you can talk all that shit and not get put in your place?” he growls, mouth at your ear.

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. Your cheek scrapes the wall.

“That’s what I thought,” he says. His knee nudges between your thighs, forcing your stance wider.

You whimper. It’s the only sound you can manage.

He drags one hand up the back of your thigh, slow and deliberate. The fabric of your shorts rides up, and he palms your ass—squeezing hard enough to make your knees buckle.

"This what you needed? Someone to handle you?"

He laughs when your breath stutters.

"Say it. You wanted this."

You nod. Frantic.

"Nah," he says, voice cold. "Use that smart little mouth of yours."

You swallow. Try again. "I wanted it. I want you."

"Yeah?"

He grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs your head back just enough so you can hear him clearer.

"Then take what you asked for."

He presses his hips into yours—just enough friction to make you cry out.

And still he waits, drawing it out with maddening patience. He watches you shift under the weight of it, says nothing, does nothing, just stands there and lets you unravel. Every second that passes feels deliberate, like he’s letting you beg without ever needing to hear the words.

You grind back against him without thinking, desperate for any kind of relief, but Joel doesn’t move. Doesn’t let up. His grip stays iron-tight in your hair, his hips a wall of heat behind you—there, but just out of reach.

“So fuckin’ needy,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Didn’t even touch you yet.”

Your thighs tremble. You nod again, breath catching in your throat, but it’s not enough.

“Say it,” he says, voice like gravel. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to touch me.”

“Where?”

You hesitate for half a second and he yanks your hair a little harder.

“Everywhere,” you gasp. “Please, Joel—”

His name breaks something in him. You hear it in the way his breath hitches, in the way his palm slides down your stomach and under the waistband of your shorts like he owns the space.

“You beg real pretty,” he murmurs. “Bet you come even prettier.”

You whimper when his fingers find you—already soaked, already shaking—and he groans low in his throat.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “All this for me?”

You nod helplessly, chest heaving.

He pulls his hand away and you almost cry.

But he spins you around instead—rough but careful, like you’re something he’s still deciding whether to ruin or revere—and lifts you onto the nearby counter. His hand wraps around your throat as he leans in close, eyes locked on yours.

“Open your mouth,” he says.

You do.

And he spits. Slow. Dirty. Right on your tongue.

Your breath stutters. Your whole body flinches—but you don’t close your mouth. You swallow. You hold his stare.

“So you do know how to behave after all,” he mutters.

His praise is dark and low and mean. A reward and a warning all at once.

Then his hands find you again, tugging your shorts down and guiding your legs apart with quiet purpose. He moves between them without hesitation, like he belongs there, like he never even questioned it.

One hand trails down the back of your thigh, steady and warm. His touch lingers, slow and certain, like he’s learning every inch by feel alone, like there’s no need to rush a single thing.

But he doesn’t do anything else. Just breathes against you. Lets the weight of his body settle over yours until you're trembling.

“You were so mouthy all week,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers up the inside of your thigh, maddeningly close. “All that talk. All that fuckin’ attitude. Where’d it go, huh?”

You grind back against him—desperate, shameless—but his hand comes down hard across your ass.

“Don’t start.”

You flinch. Moan. His palm stays there, heavy and unmoved.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he says, voice low and dangerous, “but you’re gonna earn it.”

Then he moves—slides his hand between your legs, just barely grazing you through your panties. His fingers stroke softly, deliberately avoiding pressure. You gasp, frustrated.

“You like teasing me” he growls. “That it? You like walkin’ around like that? Smiling like you don’t know what you’re doing?”

You can’t answer. Not when he’s doing that. Not when your whole body’s pulsing.

He laughs.

“You’re not so tough now, are you?”

Then he pulls his hand back entirely. Steps away like he’s done.

Just to make you whimper.

He steps back just enough to let you turn, air sharp in your lungs. His hand finds your hair again—fingers tight at the roots, pulling until your scalp tingles and your knees hit the floor.

It’s cold against your skin. You blink up at him, lips parted, heart hammering like it’s trying to break through your chest.

"Go on," he says, thumb dragging across your cheek. “You wanted to act grown, didn’t you? Let’s see what that mouth is really good for.”

You reach for his belt with trembling hands. You’re soaked already, thighs pressed together as you undo the buckle, slowly—dragging it out because you want to. Because he’s watching you, jaw tight and arms crossed like he doesn’t care. But he does. You can see it. The tension in his knuckles. The way his hips twitch forward when your fingers brush his zipper.

“You sure about this?” he asks, low and almost too calm. There’s something dangerous in it. Not hesitation—warning.

You nod. Whisper, “Please.”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose. “You don’t get to beg yet.”

His hand returns to your jaw, grip firmer this time, his fingers pressing in just enough to make your breath hitch. His zipper is already undone, and the shape of him is impossible to miss. Thick, heavy, straining against the fabric like he’s been holding back for too long.

“You want it?” he asks.

You try to answer, but he taps your cheek—mocking.

"Use your words."

“Yes,” you whisper. “I want it.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Bet you do.”

He pulls himself free, thick and flushed, already slick at the tip. The weight of him settles against your lips, warm and heavy, but he doesn’t push forward. Not yet. He just holds there, waiting, letting you feel it, letting the moment stretch.

You freeze.

Not out of fear, not even nerves—just the sheer weight of it, heavy against your mouth, the heat of him pulsing with every breath. Your lips part automatically, but he still doesn’t push. Just lets it sit there. Daring you.

It’s bigger than you expected.

You’ve imagined this. More times than you’ll ever admit, in the quiet, in the dark, when no one could see how badly you wanted it. But now that it’s real—right here in front of you, thick and slick and so fucking pretty—your brain stalls.

Your mouth waters before you can stop it. Saliva slips past your bottom lip, and the heat that floods your cheeks has nothing to do with embarrassment. It’s need, sharp and overwhelming, and you hate how badly you want to taste him.

“Open up,” he says, voice rough. “Nice and wide.”

You part your lips, but it’s not fast enough. Not wide enough. He tuts.

“Didn’t say half-ass it,” he growls. “Open.”

You stretch your jaw. Embarrassingly fast. You want to make him proud. Want him to see what you’ll do for him.

And then—he presses in.

Slow. Heavy.

The stretch burns. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make your throat tighten around him. Your jaw aches almost instantly. You blink hard, focus narrowing, breath steady through your nose as you fight to stay in control.

Joel groans low in his chest. His voice is rough, heavy with approval.

"That’s it. Fuckin’ knew this mouth was good for something."

Your hands grip the denim at his hips, fingers curling tight, nails pressing in. He pushes deeper, slow and deliberate, just far enough to make your eyes sting.

And still, he holds back. Watching you. Letting you struggle with the weight of him, your tongue flattened and lips stretched obscenely wide.

You gag around him, just barely, throat tightening as your eyes blur.

Joel watches you choke a little and smirks. Not cruel, but proud. Amused. Like this is exactly what he expected.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek even as he rocks a little deeper. “All that talk… and now you’re quiet as can be.”

You whine low in your throat. Can’t help it. He’s thick and hot on your tongue, the weight of him dizzying, like it’s short-circuiting your brain. Every time he presses in, your thighs squeeze together—aching, dripping.

“Didn’t expect you to take it this well,” he mutters. “Might’ve started this sooner if I knew you’d behave.”

You moan. Or try to. It comes out garbled, desperate. Your jaw’s already sore and he’s not even all the way in yet.

His hand fists in your hair, tugging you off with a wet pop.

You gasp. Drool clings to your lip.

“Breathe,” Joel says. “Don’t want this to end just yet.”

You blink up at him, glazed, ruined, eager. He sees all of it and he grins.

Then he shoves back in, slower this time, groaning as your lips stretch tight around him again.

“Fuck, that’s better,” he pants. “Yeah. Just like that. Fuckin’—look at you.”

You do. Eyes glassy, chest heaving, spit dripping down your chin.

He grabs your face with one hand, holding you in place as he thrusts into your mouth. The rhythm is slow, controlled, each stroke dragging across your tongue before slipping back in, the tip catching on your lip just to make you feel it.

"You gonna come like this?" he growls. "Just from having your mouth full?"

You whimper, unable to answer. Your thighs are soaked, your core pulsing with every shallow grind against nothing. The friction from your shorts only makes it worse. You’re clenching around empty air, nerves lit up from the inside out, every part of you buzzing.

Joel chuckles, low and mean. “Course you would. Filthy fuckin’ girl.”

He pulls back one last time, leaving your lips parted and your breath caught somewhere in your throat. Your jaw throbs. Your chest feels tight, like you’ve been holding everything in for too long.

And then—

“Stand up,” he says. His voice is low. Final. “Take those fuckin’ shorts off.”

Your breath catches.

For a second, everything inside you short-circuits, like your brain’s still struggling to process what’s happening. Your throat’s raw. Jaw aching. Knees pressed into the floor, burning slightly from the pressure. You can still feel the echo of his grip in your hair, the stretch of your mouth, the way he didn’t let you come.

You should be spent. Used. Done.

But you’re not.

You blink, chest heaving. And somewhere in the mess of arousal and adrenaline, something steadies. A strange kind of clarity. Not logical—this isn’t that. It’s instinctive. Deep. Like your body recognizing what this moment could be.

He's standing above you now, waiting. Watching. His breathing’s heavier than before, chest rising under the thin cotton of his shirt. And he hasn’t touched you since.

You’re still on your knees, but your eyes flick up to his face. You hold his gaze, just long enough to test the air between you. Your thighs squeeze together, heartbeat climbing. You feel wild. Wired. Like you’re dancing the edge of a cliff with no idea what happens if you fall.

And then, slowly, you shift your weight to your heels and stand.

You want to see what happens if you play with fire a little more.

So you take a step back. Not away from him—just enough to put space between your bodies, just enough to give yourself room to perform.

He doesn’t move.

His arms hang loosely at his sides, but the tension in his body is impossible to miss. It sits just beneath the surface, tight and coiled, like a wire ready to snap. His jaw shifts. His eyes drop to your chest, then return to your face. Still watching. Still holding back.

You let your fingertips skim the hem of your shirt.

Just a light touch. Barely there. The fabric gathers slowly beneath your palms as you start to lift, inch by inch, revealing skin that tingles under the weight of his stare. Your stomach. The curve of your ribs. The soft lower edge of your bra.

He doesn’t say a word.

Doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t help you.

So you keep going.

You raise your arms, twist at the wrists, and tug the shirt over your head in one smooth motion. It falls behind you, forgotten on the floor. You’re bare from the waist up now, save for the thin lace of your bra. It’s nothing. It’s everything.

The air touches your skin. So does his stare.

It makes you bolder.

You reach behind your back, unclasping slowly, making sure he sees every movement. One strap slips from your shoulder. Then the other. When the lace falls to the floor, you don’t cover yourself. You stay exactly where you are, letting him take it all in.

You want him to ache for it.

You want him to lose control.

But when he still doesn’t move, doesn’t respond the way you thought he would, something tightens in your chest. You shift slightly, the silence starting to press in, your heart knocking unevenly in your ribs.

That’s when you catch it.

The slight curl of his fingers. The sharp set of his jaw.

Your lips part. You exhale, head swimming from the power. From the anticipation.

You curl your thumbs in the waistband of your shorts.

“You said take them off,” you murmur, almost taunting now. “Didn’t say I had to rush.”

You slide them down slowly, letting the fabric skim your thighs, your knees, your ankles. You step out of them with care. Stand up fully—completely bare. Hot. Slick. Waiting.

Joel doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to.

The look on his face says enough.

It says: You just made the biggest mistake of your life.

It says: You’re not in control anymore.

Then—he moves.

Two steps forward, and you’re backing up instinctively, spine hitting the wall. He follows, slow and deliberate, like he’s reeling you in just to show you how easy it is.

“Thought you were real cute,” he says, voice low. “Givin’ me a little show like that.”

His hand comes up, thumb brushing the bottom of your lip—not gentle. Not sweet. Just a warning.

“You wanna play, baby? That it?”

You swallow hard, breath catching when his other hand drops to your hip. Gripping. Anchoring.

“You think that little smirk makes you untouchable?” he mutters. “Think battin’ your lashes is gonna make me soft?”

He leans in—just enough for his mouth to skim your cheek.

“When,” he snarls, “are you gonna learn your fuckin’ lesson?”

His face is right in yours now, breath hot, chest rising hard. One hand pins your wrists above your head. The other drags down the front of your body, unforgiving, firm—claiming.

“You think this is a game? That you can look at me like that, put on a little show, and win?”

You’re gasping now, hips squirming, thighs rubbing together for friction. But he’s not giving you any.

“You want control?” he growls, voice gravel against your ear. “Then take it.”

He steps back, only slightly. Just enough to release your wrists. Just enough to test you, to see if you’ll move.

You don’t.

You couldn’t, even if you wanted to.

"Yeah," he mutters, voice low as he watches you breathe through it, eyes dark and steady. "That’s what I thought."

His fingers close around your wrists again. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make a point. To remind you who’s in control.

You’re caged between his arms, back flush to the wall, body thrumming with tension. He’s so close you can feel every breath he takes, the heat of him pouring into your skin like gasoline on an open flame.

He lets go of your wrists, just for a second—but your hands don’t move. Can’t move.

Because you're frozen. Dripping. Buzzing with the sharp edge of humiliation and thrill.

“Coulda been different,” Joel says. His hand drags slowly down your arm, over your waist, thumb brushing under the curve of your breast. “Could’ve had you nice. Sweet. Could’ve made you feel real good.”

He dips his head, nose brushing your neck. You shiver.

“But that’s not what you wanted, is it?”

He bites—not hard, but sharp enough to make you gasp. Your hips buck forward, instinctive, useless. His thigh presses between yours, pinning you down, and your breath stutters.

“You had to push.” His voice is darker now, all grit and fire. “Had to act like a fuckin’ brat.”

He presses into you with a single slow grind, firm and deliberate, and it’s enough to make your knees go weak. Your breath catches, balance slipping for a second as heat rushes through you.

Joel catches you by the jaw. Tilts your face to his.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” he growls.

His voice is low. Controlled. Dangerous.

And before you can answer, before you can even breathe, Joel’s grabbing you by the waist and lifting you like you weigh nothing.

You yelp, legs wrapping instinctively around his middle. He doesn’t say a word as he hauls you through the hallway, one hand locked under your ass, the other braced against your spine, holding you so tight you can feel his heartbeat hammering through his chest.

“Put on a show?” he mutters, jaw flexing as he kicks a door open. “Let’s see how you like being the one watchin’.”

Your back hits the wall just inside the room—his bedroom. You recognize the mirror before anything else. Tall. Wide. Angled slightly toward the bed.

He doesn’t let you down. Just drags his mouth along your jaw, breath hot and ragged, before finally tossing you onto the mattress.

You bounce once. Gasp. And then—freeze.

Because he’s turning the mirror. Adjusting it. Lining it up perfectly.

“You wanted my attention,” Joel says, voice hard. “You’ve got all of it now.”

Then he’s on you again. Gripping your ankles. Dragging you to the edge of the bed.

“Eyes on yourself, baby,” he growls, climbing up after you. “Watch what you fuckin’ asked for.”

You try to blink, to breathe, but your eyes are glued to the mirror. To the image of yourself spread wide across Joel’s sheets, hair messy, chest rising in quick, shallow gasps. Your thighs tremble as he settles between them—broad shoulders parting you with ease, hands rough on your skin.

“Pretty thing,” he murmurs, dragging his palm up your inner thigh. “All that and now you’re quiet again.”

He watches your face as his fingers slide through your folds—slow, deliberate, soaking in how slick you already are for him.

“Told me you wanted it,” he says, not bothering to look down. “So show me.”

You moan when he sinks two fingers inside without warning, curling them deep. Your hips lift off the bed, but his free hand presses to your stomach, pinning you still.

“Uh-uh,” he warns. “You stay right there.”

You nod, breathless, whimpering when his thumb finds your clit and starts to circle.

“That’s it,” he mutters, watching the mirror. “Look at yourself. Watch me ruin you.”

You want to close your eyes, to give into the feeling—but you can’t. Not when he’s making you watch like this. Not when he’s so fucking good at this.

You whimper under his grip, trembling, thighs slick and clenched. Your body’s aching for release, every nerve ending on fire. But Joel? He’s calm. Cruel, even.

“You think you deserve to come?” he mutters, voice thick with amusement. “After all that?”

Your hips twitch, chasing any friction you can get.

A slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face. “Then you gotta earn it.”

You blink up at him, breath caught. “What?”

Joel leans in, mouth barely brushing the inside of your thigh. “You heard me,” he says, warm breath ghosting over your skin. “You don’t get to act like that and expect me to just hand it over.”

You’re squirming now. Desperate. Embarrassingly wet.

“Say it,” he says. “You gotta beg for it.”

Your jaw tightens. You try to hold back at first. But then he leans in and presses a single kiss against your skin, hot and open-mouthed, landing too low to satisfy and too perfect to ignore.

And you break.

“…Please,” you whisper.

“That ain’t beggin’, baby. That’s whining.” He palms your thighs, pushing them apart until you’re spread wide for him. “Try again.”

You whimper, cheeks burning with humiliation, but it doesn’t stop you. You can’t think about anything else. Not the way you're trembling. Not how desperate you sound. Just his mouth, his hands, and the unbearable promise of relief that’s almost close enough to touch.

“Please, Joel. Please eat me out. I need it—I need your mouth, I’ll do anything—”

“Anything?” he smirks, leaning in, lips brushing your inner thigh. “You don’t even know what that means.”

But he doesn’t make you wait any longer.

He licks you slowly at first, long, flat strokes that make your back arch. Then he seals his mouth around your clit, tongue flicking just enough to tease.

A moan slips out, loud and broken, as your hand flies to his hair. But he growls and knocks it away, firm and unbothered, like he’s not finished with you yet.

“Don’t fucking touch,” he mutters. “You come when I say you can.”

And then he dives in.

It’s overwhelming. Wet, hot, messy in a way that makes your toes curl. His tongue moves with purpose, fucking into you like he’s starving for it, like he needs to prove something. Two fingers press in deep, curling just right, grinding against that spot that makes your legs shake. His mouth stays locked on your clit, sucking hard enough to make your vision blur.

Your entire body tenses. The release builds fast, tight, pulsing at the edge—but it won’t break. He’s holding you there. Keeping you on the brink. Doing it on purpose.

“Joel—please—” you sob. “I’m trying—I can’t—please—”

He doesn’t let up. Doesn’t soften.

“You can,” he mutters, voice thick against you. “You want it? Say you fuckin’ deserve it.”

Your thighs are shaking. Everything’s clenching. You’re unraveling.

“I deserve it,” you choke out. “I—I need it, please, I need to come—please—”

Joel groans low against your cunt. You feel it ripple through you—rough, pleased, dark.

“Yeah,” he mutters, breath hot. “That’s more like it.”

And then—he gives it to you.

His mouth locks onto your clit, tongue working fast, merciless. His fingers grind into you deep, relentless, curling like they know exactly where to break you.

The pressure climbs quickly, sharp and all-consuming, until it makes your head spin. Every sound fills your ears—the slick pull of his tongue, the ragged edge of his breathing, the low hum of focus in his throat. It’s all too much, and somehow still not enough.

“You wanna come?” he growls. “Then fuckin’ take it.”

You do. It hits hard.

The orgasm tears through you, sharp and blinding, your body jerking with the force of it. Your thighs clamp around his head, your spine arches, and you swear you scream his name, though it barely sounds like a word. He holds you there, tongue unrelenting, working you through every wave without giving you a second to breathe.

When you finally go still, wrecked and soaking, Joel pulls back. His lips are wet. His eyes are heavy.

He doesn’t try to soothe you. He doesn’t speak softly or let you come down gently.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and says, calm and clear, “Get on your hands and knees.”

The words barely register. Your mind is still ringing. Your legs are shaking. But then his hand lands on your hip, not rough, not gentle, just firm. And he flips you over like it’s nothing. Like he already knows you’ll do exactly what he says.

“Hands and knees,” he repeats. “Face the mirror.”

You obey. You can’t do anything else. You crawl forward, dragging yourself up until you’re kneeling on all fours, arms braced against the headboard, your reflection staring back at you—flushed, glassy-eyed, lips parted.

Joel settles behind you, his presence a sudden rush of heat against your back. You feel him next. The thick weight of his cock drags through your folds, slow and deliberate, teasing your entrance with every pass.

He doesn’t push in right away. Just grinds against your slit, slow and heavy, like he has all the time in the world.

“You feel that?” he mutters, dragging the tip over your clit. “That’s what you wanted, huh?”

You nod frantically, pushing back against him—but he grips your hips, holding you still.

“Nuh-uh,” he says. “You don’t get to rush now. You’re gonna feel every fuckin’ inch.”

Then comes the pressure.

Just the tip, nudging at your entrance, pressing in with slow, careful force. It isn’t enough. Not yet. The stretch teases, shallow and incomplete, leaving your body straining for more.

“Say it,” he grunts. “You gotta tell me how much you need it”

You swallow hard, eyes locked on the mirror. You see it—the way your mouth falls open, the tremble in your arms, the raw anticipation in your stare.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please, Joel. I need it—I need you inside me. I can’t—fuck—I need it.”

He pushes in slowly, stretching you already. He doesn’t move. Just stays there, buried shallow, like he wants you to feel how big he is — how much more he’s holding back.

You gasp, hands scrabbling at the headboard. He’s hot, thick, already stretching you wide.

“That all you got?” he mutters, leaning forward. His chest brushes your back, breath hot against your neck. “You’re gonna beg for every inch, and I’m gonna take my time giving it to you.”

“Please,” you whimper. “More—please, fuck, I want all of it—”

Another inch.

Your jaw drops.

He groans low, voice right in your ear. “Tight fuckin’ pussy. So desperate to be full.”

He drags it out, inch by inch, shallow thrusts that barely go deeper, just enough to make you crazy. You’re panting. Shaking. Dripping.

“You wanted to play games?” he growls. “This what you wanted? To make me lose my fuckin’ mind?”

And then—finally—he bottoms out. Deep and brutal, burying himself all the way. You cry out, the stretch overwhelming.

“Fuck—so deep—” you choke out.

“That’s right,” Joel grits. “Take it.”

Your eyes flutter closed from the sensation, but the second they do, he stops moving.

“Eyes. On. The mirror.”

You blink fast, heart hammering, and force yourself to look up again. To see your own wrecked face. The flushed skin, the fucked-out mouth, the way your body’s split open around him.

Joel pulls out slowly, nearly all the way, and slams back in.

You scream.

“That’s it,” he growls. “You look at what you fuckin’ did. Every time you glance away—I stop.”

He pulls out again, painfully slow, letting you feel the absence, the ache. You keep your eyes locked on the mirror like your life depends on it.

“Good,” he mutters, dragging the head of his cock over your soaked entrance, teasing.

Then he starts to move.

Not fast. Not punishing. Just deep—grinding in inch by inch, each thrust deliberate, each stroke angled to make your body sing. The pressure builds again, slow and relentless, curling up your spine like heat from a flame.

Your arms shake from the effort of holding yourself up. Your knees slip against the sheets. Still, you can’t look away. The mirror keeps you locked in place, your eyes fixed on the way his hips move against yours, on the way your body takes him in so easily. Open. Desperate. Soaked.

He leans in, chest heavy against your back, voice rough in your ear.

“Feels different when you have to watch, huh?”

You whimper.

“Look at how wet you are,” he snarls. “Messy fuckin’ girl. This what you wanted? To get split open like this?”

You nod frantically, moaning as his pace finally picks up—each thrust harder, meaner.

Your thighs shake.

Your moans get louder.

“Gonna come again?” he pants, biting down just behind your ear. “You better ask real nice this time.”

You don’t trust your voice.

You can barely form a thought, let alone a sentence, through the haze crawling up your spine. Your whole body feels wired and wild, trembling under the weight of him. Every inch of him stretches you to the brink, every thrust a shock to your system.

It’s not just the way he moves inside you that undoes you. It’s the way he makes you look at it. Makes you see every inch of it.

The mirror catches every detail. Skin glowing with sweat, mouth slack, pupils blown wide. Your body moves without thought, lost to rhythm and heat, and the expression on your face makes it impossible to pretend this is anything but need.

You should feel shame. Maybe you do.

But God, it’s hot.

Your eyes lift to his in the mirror, drawn to the way he watches you. Dark, steady, completely focused. His hand stays firm on your hip, possessive and unmoving, like he knows exactly what’s his. Maybe he does.

You can’t keep it in any longer.

"I… I wanna come," you whisper, voice catching. "Please, Joel. I need it."

He doesn’t answer right away. Just grits out, "Yeah? Then tell me why."

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to breathe, trying to think.

And then he stops. Still buried deep, but motionless. Holding you there. Waiting.

“No,” you gasp. “No, no, I’m sorry—” Your eyes snap open. Lock on the mirror. “I’m watching—I’m watching, I swear—”

He waits. Still inside you. Still in control.

And you realize this is what he wants. Not just your body, but your surrender. The whole of you.

So you give it.

“Please let me come,” you whisper, voice wrecked. “Because I’m yours. Because no one else—no one else can do this to me. I want you, I need you—I need you to let me come.”

Joel’s hand comes up to your throat. Not squeezing, just resting there, heavy and sure. His mouth curves at the corner, equal parts approval and warning.

"That’s more like it."

He draws back slightly, just enough to drive forward again with force that knocks the breath from your lungs. His rhythm shifts—harder, faster, relentless. The bed groans beneath you. Your vision starts to blur. And in the mirror, your reflection begins to break apart, piece by piece.

"You don’t come until I say so," he growls, breath ragged. "And when you do, you remember who gave it to you."

You're close. Too close.

Your body’s screaming. Your brain’s melting.

Your vision goes white.

It doesn’t build slowly. There’s nothing gentle about it. Release crashes through you all at once, explosive and overwhelming, like something tearing loose deep in your core. Your body goes rigid, then shakes, then gives out completely.

The sound that leaves your mouth is raw and unfiltered. Loud. Desperate. Barely even a word. It’s too much and somehow not enough, and the pleasure is so sharp it robs you of breath.

Joel doesn’t stop.

He fucks you through it, one hand on your hip, the other still braced around your throat, keeping you exactly where he wants you as your orgasm tears through you. Your mouth drops open. Your nails dig into the headboard just to keep from floating away.

He watches the whole thing in the mirror.

“Look at you,” he growls, breath ragged. “So fuckin’ pretty when you come for me.”

You collapse forward, gasping, arms trembling from the effort of holding yourself up. Every nerve in your body is still sparking. Still twitching.

But Joel’s not done.

He slides out, and the emptiness hits you hard. A sob catches in your throat, raw and involuntary. Your body clenches around nothing, still aching, still desperate for more.

His voice cuts through the haze.

"Turn around," he says, low and steady. "I’m not finished with you."

You don’t hesitate.

You don’t resist when he flips you onto your back. His grip is firm, unyielding, moving you like you weigh nothing at all. The sheets burn against your skin, and your chest rises too quickly, breath catching in your throat.

Joel moves between your legs, eyes locked on you with something wild and hungry in his expression. He wraps a hand around his cock, still slick and swollen, stroking once, twice before lining himself up again.

“You gonna stay with me this time?” he mutters. “Or you gonna fall apart again?”

You don’t even have time to answer.

Because then he’s inside again. Deep. All at once.

And this time, it’s for him.

He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t speak. Just drives into you with a force that borders on desperate, like he’s trying to bury something deeper than just his cock.

You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Your body’s a live wire, strung tight and sparking with every thrust. He’s not just fucking you—he’s claiming you. Dragging every sound, every tremble, every filthy reaction out of you like it’s his right.

“You feel that?” he mutters, voice rough in your ear. “That’s me. Inside you. Where I belong.”

Your breath hitches. That heat coils low in your stomach again, impossible and reckless.

“I could stay here,” he rasps. “Just like this. Fill you up every fuckin’ night until you’re ruined for anyone else.”

You whimper. He grabs your hips tighter, pace brutal.

“Bet you’d let me, too.”

His words unravel you. Not because they’re dirty—but because they don’t sound like dirty talk. They sound like promises. Like threats. Like he’s not going to let you go.

And you don’t know what that does to you—only that your whole body clenches around him in response.

Joel groans—louder this time, wrecked—and his rhythm starts to falter. Rougher. Needier. He’s right there.

“Say you want it,” he grits. “Say you want me to come inside.”

You choke on a breath. “I want it—I want you—”

His hands tighten like a vice. One hooks around your waist, the other tangles in your hair, pulling your head back as he fucks up into you, savage and possessive.

“You’re gonna take it,” he growls. “Gonna let me fill you up.”

And then—he breaks.

He slams in one final time, cock pulsing, spilling hot inside you with a sound that’s more like a growl than a moan. His body shakes, muscles locked, sweat dripping down his back.

You collapse forward, boneless and dazed.

Joel stays there, chest to your back, his breath heavy and uneven.

But it doesn’t feel finished.

Because after a long moment, he leans in, mouth against your ear, and says—

“You’ll think about this tomorrow. In the shower. In your bed. Every time you try to forget.”

He pauses. Breathes deep.

“And it still won’t be enough.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

You’re on your side now, face buried in the pillow, skin flushed and damp. Your body twitches with the last of it, nerves raw and oversensitive.

Joel hasn’t moved much. Just enough to slip out slowly, deliberately, like he wants you to feel it later. Like that’s part of the point.

You half expect him to say something. A joke. A warning. Maybe even a sneer.

But he stays quiet.

Instead, he reaches for the blanket and pulls it up over your spine. Not careful, not soft. Just efficient. Like it’s a reflex. Like leaving you uncovered would be too dangerous.

The bed shifts beside you.

His hand lands on the back of your thigh, heavy and warm, his thumb dragging once across your skin. It’s not intentional. Not careful. But it catches in your throat anyway.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rough with gravel and breath.

You nod against the pillow. Your mouth’s too dry to answer out loud.

He makes a small sound, barely more than a breath, and leans back. For a moment, you think he’s going to leave.

But the mattress moves again. He lies down beside you, shoulder brushing yours, one arm tucked behind his head.

He doesn’t hold you. Doesn’t reach for more.

He just stays.

You keep your eyes closed. Your pulse is still loud in your ears. You don’t know what this is, or what comes next.

But for now, it’s enough.

305 notes · View notes

satsugacafe · 3 days ago

Text

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞

➳❥ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Kyoraku Shunsui, Aizen Sosuke, Kurosaki Ichigo, Shuhei Hisagi

➳❥ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: Can you do aizen, hisagi, ichigo and kyoraku when their s/o is having an attitude? (feel free to make it spicy yk 😏)

➳❥ 𝐀/𝐍: I really and truly, truly and really loved this request a lot because I enjoy a good brat taming episode 🤭. Clearly it’s my thing.

➳❥ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ content, fem!reader, brat taming, rough sex as punishment, spanking, orgasm denial, edging, fingering, oral (female receiving), so much attitude from you

➳❥ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: You’ve been running your mouth and parading about, believing you were unstoppable. Until your lover decided that they had enough.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Kyoraku Shunsui

There was a firm press of his hand against your lower back, forcing you into a deep, sinful arch that had you completely at his mercy. The sharp curve of your body only made the angle more devastating as he thrust into you with an unrelenting pace. The slap of his hips against your ass echoed through the office, each collision sending jolts of pleasure and frustration racing through you.

“You’ve got quite the attitude today, haven’t you?” he drawled, but there was an edge to it that made it clear you had pushed him too far. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your skin, holding you in place as he drove into you harder and faster, leaving you breathless. “Rolling your eyes at me, ignoring orders... Did you really think I’d just let it slide?”

A gasp tore from your throat as he angled his thrusts, hitting that spot that had your knees trembling and your fingers clawing at the desk. But you weren’t the type to give in so easily—not when you’d come this far. “Maybe if your orders weren’t so boring,” you shot back, defiantly.

“Still got that smart mouth on you, huh?” His hand slid up your back and curled around the nape of your neck while he leaned forward, his broad chest brushing against your arched spine. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve got plenty of time to teach you some respect.”

Lifting himself off you, his cock dragging almost completely out of you before slamming back in with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. Luckily, the hand on your neck kept you in place, though it didn’t stop the overwhelming stretch of him, the way he filled you so completely and utterly, was enough to make your attempts waver, but you weren’t going to let him see that.

“Is that all you’ve got?” you managed to gasp out. “I thought the Captain-Commander was supposed to be impressive.”

The sound of a sharp slap of his palm against your ass rung out immediately, the sting blooming across your skin and sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Careful,” he warned. “You’re playing a dangerous game, petal.”

His comment just tempted you to smirk, glancing over your shoulder despite the precarious position you were in. “Maybe I like living dangerously.”

Straightened his back, his hand left your neck to trail down your spine before gripping your hips once more. Without warning, he pulled out entirely, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. A whimper of protest escaped your lips before you could stop it, but he only chuckled, his large hands spreading your ass cheeks to admire the mess he’d made of you.

“Look at you,” he mocked. “Already dripping all over me, and you still have the nerve to talk back? Tch. I spoil you far too much.”

All you could do was bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reply, even as your body betrayed you. The heat pooling in your core was unbearable, and the ache of emptiness had you grinding back against him instinctively, silently begging for him to fill you again.

Yeah, but Kyoraku wasn’t about to make it that easy for you. “Oh no,” he mocked sweetly. “You’re going to learn your lesson tonight, sweetheart.”

“Still feeling mouthy?” he asked, deceptively casual as he continued his torturous rhythm. “Or are you finally starting to realize who’s in charge here?”

Your pride warred with your desire, but the throbbing need between your legs was quickly winning. “Y-you’re such an ass,” you managed to choke out, trembling with frustration and arousal.

A low, rumbling laugh echoed past his lips that sent shivers down your spine. “You’re adorable when you’re desperate,” he mused. “But I’m not letting you cum until you’re crying for it. So go on, sweetheart. Keep being a brat. Let’s see how long you can last.”

Resuming his relentless teasing, his cock brushed against your clit with every shallow thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you without giving you the release you so desperately craved. You were determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break, but with every passing moment, your resolve was crumbling. And Kyoraku? He was loving every second of it.

“Look at you,” Kyoraku murmured again, his fingers dragging deliberately across the curve of your ass as he pulled back to watch your slick folds clench on nothing. “You’re trembling already. All that sass, and here you are, dripping down your thighs because you want me so bad.”

His words were laced with amusement, but there was a firm dominance in his tone that made your chest tighten with equal parts arousal and frustration. You wanted to snap back, to fire some witty retort that would wipe that smug grin off his face—but the slow burn of his teasing and the ache in your core were making it hard to think, let alone form words.

Still, you couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. Not yet. “Maybe if you were better at your job, I wouldn’t be so bored,” you shot back, shakier than you would’ve liked.

That earned you another sharp slap to your ass, the sting blooming hot across your skin and drawing a strangled moan from your lips. “Tsk, tsk,” Kyoraku chided, his voice dripping with mock disappointment. “Still running that mouth, huh? I guess I’ll just have to fuck the attitude out of you.”

Before you could respond, he snapped into you again—hard, deep, and without warning. Your body arched instinctively, a gasp tearing from your throat as the sudden intrusion sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through you. Kyoraku didn’t give you a moment to adjust, didn’t give you the chance to catch your breath. His pace was brutal, each thrust deep and punishing, leaving you gasping and clinging to the desk beneath you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your breathy moans and the occasional low groan from Kyoraku. His cock was hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every thrust—but just as the tension coiled tight in your belly, just as you could feel yourself on the brink of release, he pulled out again, leaving you empty and aching.

A frustrated whine escaped your lips before you could stop it, he chuckled darkly. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Thought I was going to let you cum after all that attitude?”

You turned your head to glare at him over your shoulder, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the flush on your cheeks and the way your body was trembling. “You’re such a bastard,” you hissed, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

Clearly amused by your defiance, he smirked. “And you’re adorable when you’re desperate,” he shot back, leaning down to brush his lips against your ear. “But I told you, didn’t I? You don’t get to cum until you beg for it. Until you’re crying for it. Until you’re a pretty little mess for me.”

The sensation was maddening, a cruel tease that had your body trembling and your mind spiraling, but he didn’t let up. His hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you in place as he continued his slow, torturous rhythm, drawing out every ounce of frustration and need from you.

Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, your body writhing and arching beneath him as you teetered on the edge of release, only for him to pull back just before you could tumble over. The cycle repeated again and again, until tears of frustration blurred your vision and your breaths came in ragged, desperate gasps.

Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you broke. “Please,” you whimpered, barely above a whisper.

“What was that?” he purred. “You’ll have to speak up, sweetheart. I couldn’t quite hear you.”

Tears of frustration slipped down your cheeks, and your pride crumbled under the weight of your need. “Please,” you begged, your voice louder this time. “Please, let me cum. I need it. I—”

Before you could finish, Kyoraku slammed into you again, hard and deep, and the sudden intensity of it ripped a cry of pleasure from your throat. “That’s more like it,” he murmured, satisfied as he resumed his relentless pace. “Good girl.”

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Aizen Sosuke

The room was quiet—eerily so—but thick with tension, the kind that had been building over the last several hours, perhaps days. You were bent over his lap, completely bare from the waist down, your thighs trembling from a mixture of anticipation and defiance still burning hot in your chest. The cool night's air fluttering in from the window kissed your skin while his large, warm palm rested on the swell of your ass, heavy and unrelenting.

The silence was unnerving. He’d given you the chance to fix your attitude, and he had been patient. Endlessly so. Though, you found it daring to push and provok with your sharp tongue, rolls your eyes when you thought he wasn't looking, disobedient in front of others—so smug, so sassy, so deliberately testing his limits. And now, he had decided you would learn.

“Spread your legs.”

Ah. There it was. The too calm voice. It was never raised, never flustered. That was part of the punishment: Aizen never had to yell. Even with your stomach pressed to his thigh, your hands pinned behind your back and held effortlessly by a kido, the sheer power of his voice made your cunt throb.

You tried to resist for a heartbeat longer—just to be difficult—but he didn’t give you time. His hand moved to cup your inner thigh, forcing your legs apart with no room for negotiation. Your pussy was now fully exposed, dripping, soaked, your arousal a traitor to your pride, to which Aizen stared down without a hint of indulgence in his eyes.

“Humorous,” he murmured, almost to himself.

There was sharp slicing sound of the air splitting, but the crack of his hand impacting with your ass.

Your body jolted from the force, and a sharp gasp escaped your lips. Your thighs were aching against the instinct to close, however, before you could consider making a move, his palm came down again—then again—one firm strike after another, alternating cheeks, the heat building fast. The rhythm was maddening: deliberate, controlled, perfectly spaced to give just enough time for the sting to settle before starting again.

“I was unaware of such ways taught within 5th Division.” Another slap, this time lower, catching the underside of your ass and making your clit jump. “When one is displeased, rolling of the eyes or throwing a tantrum are now considered suitable responses?” A squeeze now, his fingers digging into the tender flesh he’d just struck.

“I didn’t—” you tried breathlessly, but he cut you off by delivering a single, hard smack right across both cheeks. You yelped, hips jerking.

“Shh. Permission to speak was not granted. Though it appears I must discipline you all over again. Hmm?” His voice was soft but still dripping with intentions enough to slit you open.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair and pull your head up, just slightly, he hummed. “I do not tolerate disobedience lightly. Even from those close to me. You are no exception, for your demeanour reflects me.”

Your scalp burned from the hold, but it only made the tension coil tighter inside your belly. You could feel your slick dripping, slipping down your inner thighs.

His fingers—long, elegant, merciless—slid between your folds, gathering the mess with a slow swipe. You trembled when he parted your lips with those same fingers and rubbed lazy, slow circles over your clit. But just as your hips began to rock, seeking more pressure, he stopped.

“Not until I say so.”

Before you knew it, two fingers plunged inside your pussy without warning, forcing you to cry out. His fingers were thick, which he curled expertly, finding your spot with maddening ease, and then rubbing the area torturously.

Your hips instinctively bucked, seeking more, but Aizen kept his arm firm around your waist, keeping you exactly where he wanted you—bent over his lap, unable to do anything but take what he gave and endure what he denied. He steady dragging of his fingers in and out of you with practiced patience, watching the way your pussy clung to him, trying to suck him back in each time he pulled away, gave him a warm sense of power. Dominance.

“How greedy,” he muttered, his breath brushing your lower back as he leaned forward. “All that defiance, and now you tremble for me. Beneath me.”

A third finger slipped in.

“Sosuke—” you choked on a moan, back arching hard, heels kicking at the air as your pussy stretched around the new intrusion. The pleasure was too much, too sharp, and still—still—he didn’t let up. His fingers pumped into you, curling, twisting and dragging against your walls with an almost surgical precision. You were panting and gasping now, drooling from the corner of your mouth as the orgasm built, threatened—

But there were lessons to be taught…effectively.

Purposefully and wickedly dragging his fingers out sluggishly, your pussy cried out in protest, walls fluttering around nothing, aching, fighting to suck his digits back in. You whined, grinding your hips into the air, desperate for friction.

“Is there something you wish to say?” he sweetly asked, casually wiping your slick off on your inner thigh. “Hmm?”

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Please…”

There was a faint clicked of his tongue once, unimpressed.

“Unacceptable.”

You bit your lip, stubbornness curling through you like a last defence. That defence crumbled instantly when he slapped your pussy. A single flat slap right to your folds. The wet impact echoed, and your body jolted hard, a whine catching in your throat. Then another slap, and another. Firm, smacking your swollen, aching pussy until you were gasping again.

“I am waiting.”

“I’m—” you moaned. “I’m sorry.”

His hand paused.

“I didn’t quite hear that. Sounded…pathetic.”

You swallowed hard, face flushed, ass stinging, pussy dripping.

“I’m sorry…for being disobedient. I shouldn’t have disrespected you before the division.”

He hummed with approval. “Manageable.”

Just as the word left his lips, his fingers returned to your cunt, two this time, pushing in deep and curling. You whimpered at the relief of being touched again almost overwhelming. The pleasure returned rapidly, coiling tighter with each stroke, knuckles brushing your outer lips as he fucked you on his fingers again. And just as the peak neared—

He stopped. Again.

A strangled sound escaped you, half sob, half moan.

“No,” you gasped, trying to rock back. “Please—”

“Ah-ah.” He pulled away entirely, adjusting your body up onto his lap properly so that you were now straddling his thigh, flushed and desperate, thighs trembling from the cruel edge he had you balancing on.

Typically, there was an unreadable expression as he looked down at you. The way his thigh was pressed to your bare pussy, your wetness already coating him, you could feel the heat and the strength in his leg.

“You’ll make yourself come now.”

Your eyes widened.

“What?!”

“Prove your obedience.” He gripped your hips and pressed you down harder against his thigh. “Use my thigh, and show me how sorry you are.”

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Kurosaki Ichigo

The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet, obscene noises of Ichigo’s cock pounding into you without mercy. His grip was iron-tight on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you back onto his length with each vicious thrust, stretching you open and forcing you to take every last inch. The argument was still hot between you two, sizzling in the air like a live wire, but neither of you were backing down—not even now, not even with the way he was absolutely wrecking your pussy.

“Spoilt,” Ichigo snarled against the shell of your ear, his breath ragged, filled with frustration as he drove his cock deeper inside you. “You’re a real brat, you know that?” His pace was relentless, punishing, every thrust making you gasp and arch under him, your body already trembling from how rough he was being. His cock throbbed inside your tight heat, his thick length stretching you in ways that had your mind spinning, but you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

“Is this the best you can do?” you taunted breathlessly, teasing even as your body trembled beneath him, even as your legs felt like jelly from the way he was fucking you. “I thought you were supposed to be mad.”

In an instant, he pulled you back against him with each thrust, forcing you to take his cock as deep as possible, his pace brutal, unforgiving. The wet slap of your bodies echoed in the room, a filthy contrast to the sharp gasps and moans spilling from your lips. He was merciless, giving you no reprieve from the way his hips were snapping forward with a punishing rhythm, as if he was trying to fuck the argument out of you, trying to make you see things his way without words.

But you weren’t about to make it easy for him.

“Is that all you’ve got, Ichigo?” you managed to bite out between gasps, twisting your head to shoot him a smirk over your shoulder. The fire in his amber eyes only grew—the corner of his mouth lifted in a humorless grin.

“Oh, you’ve got a lot of nerve,” he growled. His fingers only dug deeper into your skin as he angled your hips higher, your ass arching even further into him. “You think you can act like a brat all day and still run your mouth while I’m teaching you a lesson?”

His grip on your hips was bruising as he slammed into you from behind, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the dimly lit room. His thrusts were relentless, each one sending a shockwave of pleasure and pain through your body. Your face was pressed into the mattress, muffling your moans, but not your sharp tongue.

Before you could respond with another quip, he pulled out almost completely, leaving you clenching around nothing, only to slam back in to the hilt. The force of it pushed your body forward on the bed, a strangled cry escaping your lips despite your best efforts to stay composed. Ichigo leaned over you, his chest brushing against your back, his breath hot against your ear as he spoke.

“What was that, huh? Not so quick with the comebacks now, are you?” His voice was dripping with mockery, and the way he rolled his hips into you sent a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. He was hitting every spot inside you with devastating precision, and he knew it.

There was nothing else to do but bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of begging or apologizing. Instead, you pushed back against him, grinding your hips to meet his thrusts, a defiant smirk tugging at your lips. “I’ve had better,” you challenge all whimpery.

Freezing for a split second, his grip on your hips tightening impossibly further. “Better?” he growled dangerously. “Oh, I’ll show you better.”

Before you could process his words, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so that your back arched further, exposing the curve of your neck. The new angle allowed him to drive even deeper into you, his cock hitting a spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids. A strangled moan escaped you before you could stop it, and Ichigo chuckled darkly.

“That’s what I thought,” he muttered. “You can’t even keep that smart mouth of yours shut now, can you? Maybe I should stuff it with something to keep you quiet.”

You turned your head as best you could, a teasing glint in your eyes despite the way your body was trembling beneath him. “Big talk, Kurosaki. Maybe if you weren’t so busy running your mouth, you’d actually—”

Whatever witty remark you had planned was cut off by a sharp slap to your ass, the sting of it making you gasp. Ichigo didn’t give you a moment to recover before his hand came down again, harder this time, the sound of the impact reverberating through the room.

“You just don’t learn, do you?” he growled, his tone equal parts frustration and amusement. His free hand slid down your spine, tracing the curve of your back before settling on your ass, kneading the reddened flesh as he continued to pound into you without mercy.

Your nails dug into the sheets as you tried to maintain some semblance of composure, but the overwhelming pleasure mixed with the sharp sting of his punishment was making it increasingly difficult. Still, you couldn’t resist pushing him further.

“Is that supposed to hurt?” you taunted, your voice was obviously wavering slightly but still defiant. “You’re going to have to try harder if you want me to take you seriously.”

The audacity of you.

“Oh, I’ll make you take me seriously,” he promised with a rough growl that sent shivers down your spine.

He shifted his angle again, driving into you with even more force, each thrust leaving you breathless. His hand slid from your ass to the back of your neck, pressing you firmly into the mattress to keep you in place as he picked up the pace. The dominance in his movements left no room for argument, and yet, you still couldn’t help yourself.

“Come on…do better?” you managed to gasp out, though your voice was weaker now, your body trembling under his relentless assault.

“You just don’t quit, do you?” Ichigo muttered, his grip on your neck tightening slightly, enough to hold you down but not hurt you. His other hand slid between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and circling it with ruthless precision. Your body jolted at the sudden onslaught of pleasure, a strangled moan ripping from your throat despite your best efforts to stay silent.

“Still got something to say?” he asked, his voice dripping with mockery as his fingers worked you mercilessly. You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg or cry out, but your resolve was quickly crumbling.

Ichigo leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “I’m going to make you come so hard you forget your own name,” he promised darkly, sending a shiver down your spine. “And when you do, you’re going to admit that you’re mine, that you love it when I put you in your place.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your body arching into his touch despite yourself. You wanted to fight back, to keep up the bratty defiance that had gotten you into this situation in the first place, but the way he was playing your body like a finely tuned instrument was making it impossible.

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Shuhei Hisagi

The moment the door slammed shut behind you, his grip closed around your wrist, barely granting you time to gasp before his mouth was on yours. The sheer impact of it stole the breath from your lungs. There was no hesitation in the way he kissed you, no careful build-up—just the press of his body, hard and strong against yours, and the sudden crush of lips that had lost all restraint.

You knew he had snapped, and felt it in the urgency of his movements, in the hand that had tangled into your hair and yanked just enough to tip your head back. His other arm had slid around your waist, pulling you into him until there was no space left between your bodies. Every inch of his frustration—the kind he’d held back for days—was now channelled into that kiss.

Of course you been pushing him, taunting him, showing off, pretending you didn’t need him. You sweet lieutenant had warned you not to charge into that Hollow ambush alone. But you, with all your stubborn pride and sharp tongue, had refused to back down, and it nearly cost you your life. Had he not arrived when he did…

As if reading your thoughts, his grip tightened, as if to remind you that he had, in fact, saved you. And now here you were: alive, shaken, bandaged, and pressed into the wall of your room by a man who looked like he was barely holding himself together.

Deepening the kiss with a growl from his chest, his lips slid down, catching your bottom lip between his teeth before moving along your jaw, trailing open-mouthed kisses toward your ear. “You don’t get it, do you?” he hissed, sounding like he was hanging by a thread. “You think you’re strong enough to take on anything alone. But you’re not.” He bit down lightly at the base of your jaw, making your knees buckle. “You could’ve died.”

You moaned, partly from the heat that was blooming under your skin and partly from the tension that had coiled between your thighs. Gingerly, he caught you before you slipped, thigh wedging between your legs as he pushed you harder into the wall, letting you feel every firm muscle along his body.

“I didn’t ask you to come,” you snapped, still trying to cling to the last vestiges of your pride.

His eyes blazed as he pulled back to look at you, face flushed, jaw clenched. “You didn’t have to. I’m your lieutenant. I’m responsible for you—”

“You’re not responsible for me—”

“Like hell I am,” he growled, catching your chin between his fingers, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’re in my squad. You think I enjoy watching you put yourself in danger just to prove something?”

His fingers slid from your chin to your throat, just enough pressure to hold you still, to make you feel how much strength he had. “What am I to do with you?” he murmured against your lips. “Always mouthing off. Always testing me. Maybe it’s time I finally do something about it.”

Without a moment to lose, his hand dropped to your hip, fingers curling into your obi, and tugging hard until the knot came undone. You let out an inaudible inhale as the fabric parted, the loosened robes of your kosode slipping off your shoulders. Impatiently, he pushed them aside with a grunt, revealing your skin beneath, his eyes immediately dropping to your chest.

“Look at you,” he rasped, cupping one of your breasts, thumb brushing over your already hardening nipple. “You fight like a ‘know-it-all’, but this?” He rolled it slowly between his fingers, smirking when you whimpered. “This is the only part of you that listens.”

Ultimately, you arched into his touch, mouth parting in a soft cry. The heat between your thighs was festering into something unbearable, near painful. His other hand had slid under your thigh to lift your leg and hook it around his hip, letting you feel how hard he was already, straining against the fabric of his hakama. The thick ridge of his cock pressed flush against your core, as he ground into you with a sluggish thrust that made you whimper.

“You don’t listen to words,” he muttered into your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “So maybe I’ll fuck the attitude out of you until obedience is all that remains.”

This side to him was new. Something that made you wetter and had you biting your lower lip as your pussy ached.

Before you could respond, you were dragged across the room and thrown onto the futon. Following after, he dropped to his knees between your legs, grabbed your thighs and yanked you to the edge, easily prying your hakama down your legs and smirking as your legs fell open with ease. You were soaked through your underwear, and the sight of it made him smirk.

He didn't bother pulling them off gently—tore the delicate material off with a sharp tug, baring your pussy to the warm air. His thumb dropped to your slit, spreading your slick up to your clit, then pressing down hard, eliciting a high-pitched gasp from you.

“Always so damn wet when you’re mouthing off,” he commented, rubbing slow, firm circles over your clit. “Like you want me to lose control.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. You did. You always had.

Without warning, he leaned in and licked a bold stripe up your pussy, groaning when he tasted you. Already knowing the aim of the goal, he wasted no time pushed his face into your pussy and focusing his lips around your clit to have you trembling. He was meticulous yet sinful with the rapid pace of his tongue, only to slow down and give firm sucks.

You were writhing now, hands buried in his hair, hips rocking against his mouth as he devoured you, while his grip on your thighs kept you pinned down as his tongue fucked into you again and again. The echoes of the obscenely slick sounds emitting from his mouth hungrily working against your cunt were loud. Paired with your desperate whimpers and his chuckling with each passing second when he realises how much you were shaking for him—you were at the edge.

“Shuuhei—fuck—fuck, please—” you gasped, feeling every nerve in your body on fire.

He merely pulled back, mouth shiny with your slick. “Yeah? Begging now?” That was his cue to slip two fingers into you, curling them inside your pussy, hitting that soft spot that made you jolt and cry out. “You weren’t begging earlier when you were talking back, were you?”

His fingers moved harder and deeper, the wet squelch of it filling the room. “You’re going to come on my fingers,” he commanded, “and then you're going to let me fuck that attitude right out of you.”

The sheer intensity of everything had you cumming within a matter if minutes with a ragged cry, thighs trembling, and pussy clenching tight around his fingers. But he didn’t give you time to recover. He was on a roll, already standing and moving to untying his shihakusho, letting it fall to the floor.

There he proudly stood with his cock all thick, long, and flushed with need—already dripping at the tip. Two pumps were all he gave it, groaning under his breath before lining it up with your still-quivering entrance.

“You going to sass me again after this?” he demanded with an underlying tone of a challenge.

Never one to back down, you looked up at him, panting, lips parted. “Maybe.”

Giving you a charming, boyish smile, he rubbed his tip against your clit. “We’ll see about that after I have you begging for me to stop.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @stygianoir @spellboundsuguru @cookielovesbook-akie @kennys-partner @sovl-society @villainsrtasty @foxycrafterofgreenwood @carnationdoe @darthwhorecrux

©satsugacafé 2025: no permission to repost, plagiarise, copy or translate my work onto any other platform or this one.

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my-beloveds · 3 days ago

Text

Betty x Reader Headcanons ~ sfw & nsfw

SFW:

Betty hates mornings and is a late riser, but she loves when she wakes up before you—especially when the sun lights up the room and your face and she gets to watch it happen. Quiet sunrises while she holds you in her arms and listens to you breathe are some of her most cherished moments with you, funny enough. She loves intimacy—and she’s been fantasizing about being able to wake up in your arms for so long.

She gets so flustered and lowkey turned on whenever you go out of your way to take care of her. At first she’s not very good at letting you do so—she feels guilty for it. With your insistence though, eventually she warms up to the idea of being taken care of too & not just the other way around. She tends to giggle when you shower her in affection, in little kisses all over her face, and in your attempts to cheer her up (she's an absolute goner for you).

Cleaning and replacing the sheets and pillowcases more often and making your bed regularly makes her heart flutter and soar—concrete proof of you caring for her.

She's been there when you cry and sob into her pillows and hug them, if only to have something give you comfort. Betty’s been there for all your low points, all your nightmares, your depressive bouts laying in bed, all your lonely nights without other humans. She’s seen you at your most vulnerable, at your worst, and still welcomes you with open arms.

Now that you have the dateviators, Betty craves to give you the comfort she wished she could have given you all those times. She puts a lot of effort into doing so when you’re having a rough time, and is very attentive.

When you’re not doing well, she'll hold you and card her fingers through your hair. Presses kisses to the crown of your head. If you like silence when you’re overwhelmed, she’ll stay silent and keep a vigilant watch over you as you rest. Otherwise, she’ll hum or talk about everything and nothing as you lay with her (she’s such a good cuddler!!!), trying to distract your mind.

Sometimes she puts on a bath for you (with epsom salts and bubbles if you have them) and lights candles in the bathroom so she can keep the bright overhead lights off. Betty likes to slowly, reverently, wash your hair and body for you. (Continued below)

NSFW: ⬇️

Betty likes to slowly, reverently, wash your hair and body for you. She takes immense pleasure in such an intimate act, but keeps it to herself unless you show interest—trading soft, unhurried kisses at most until you gasp and she takes the chance to carefully lick at your bottom lip; asking permission to continue.

You open your mouth a little more and she licks into you, tasting your tongue. She gives a breathy little moan and her hand makes its way to the back of your neck, keeping you close.

Just the way she likes <3

(...That last part is prolly gonna be continued in a fic.)

While Betty loves the fact that you take care of the sheets and make your bed more often... she also likes when you get them dirty and disheveled. Dripping onto her bed sheets when you touch yourself, dampening them with your sweat, drooling onto her pillows—or better yet, grinding down on a pillow and covering it with your slick—grasping the sheets and blankets out of pleasure, digging your heels into the mattress, arching your back into her, making her bedframe shake with your movements, hearing the lovely sounds you make on top of her.

When you touch yourself on top of her, she touches herself too, and whispers in your ear everything she craves to do with you, whispers her worship and praise of how good you look, how sweet you sound to her. How much she wants to taste you on her tongue, and not just on her fabric. Without the dateviators, you hear her whispers as the rustling of your sheets, the creak of the mattress and bedframe. Remember, she’s been there for it all.

She's an absolute freak in the sheets. Open to trying most things once except for a few hard nos. She’s into BDSM as well; she’s a switch. Seeing as comfort is literally her thing, when she doms she's very good at aftercare and takes it very seriously (like any good dom). Unlike Sofia, though, Betty is a soft dom. She’s much more affectionate and keeps her voice soft most of the time. Betty loves to praise you. Being able to share all her thoughts she has about you is a dream come true for her. That doesn’t mean she won’t get rough with you sometimes, though. And she definitely likes it when you’re rough with her.

She likes to discuss fantasies and scenes with you while you both lie in bed—those hours where you talk about anything and everything on your mind. Often when you’re both up late unable to sleep. Her voice soothes your tired mind, yet also tends to make heat coil and simmer between your legs sometimes for hours while you talk. Waiting to be taken care of. At least, before you and Betty are together. Afterwards, well, such conversations often eventually devolve into sex.

She has quite the insatiable appetite (I headcanon her as hypersexual, despite also being really down for nonsexual acts and intimacy!)

Kinks and likes: choking kink and breathplay, possessive/owning kink, praise kink, voyeurism, exhibitionism, power dynamics/power imbalance, bondage, cuckolding, blindfolds, overstimulation, impact play, role play, edging, teasing, sensation play, possibly light knifeplay, hunter/prey, …breeding kink?, claiming/marking, consensual somnophilia, worship kink (worshipping player), light degradation and humiliation, voice kink.

#betty i need you carnally #betty date everything #betty the bed #date everything betty #date everything #betty headcanons #headcanons #character headcanons #betty #date everything game #date everything women #betty x reader #betty the bed x reader #betty x player #betty the bed x player

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secretlysamcro · 2 days ago

Note

We have seen the reader and Jax fuck the first time in the alley but how about when they met the first time at her place like the small shift of just doing it somewhere in the moment of desire vs now planning it and letting him in more? xx

You look around your apartment. This isn’t the diner, it’s not the underground parking lot, not the alley and it sure as fuck isn’t the back of the van. This is yours. All yours. Your scent in the air, your things on the walls, it’s all fucking yours. And Jax coming here, for the first time since this little arrangement started? It makes it different. More intimate. More real. You begin pacing your living room, trying to keep your cool. Two glasses sit on the coffee table, a margarita for you and Jameson for him. You messaged earlier to ask his poison, keeping it casual like this wasn’t a huge fucking deal.

But it is.

Vanilla floats soft in the air from your favourite candle. It’s cozy, low lit and warm. You keep checking the time 10:37PM. He said he’d come to you some time after nine, when he’s done with whatever club shit he’s been dealing with. Told Tara he wouldn’t be back til morning, which means you’ve got a few hours. Hours with him, in your bed. In the light, no shadows or hidden spaces. The sound of the intercom snaps you out of your thoughts. Smoothing your hands down your bare thighs, you pad softly to the door, buzzing him in without a word. Minutes later, he’s there, broad shoulders framing your doorway.

“Hey” he says, almost cautiously “I parked out front, that’s alright yeah?”

You nod, stepping back to let him in “yeah, that’s cool”

He hesitates for a second, then steps inside. You close the door behind him, watching as he takes in your place, filling your space. His eyes scan the room, a small tug pulling at the corners of his lips. You catch the bruising on his knuckles and the faint shadow on his jaw.

“Rough night?” You ask, gesturing to the side of his face.

He sits down on the sofa, downing the Jameson in one clean swig, no hesitation and no offer needed. “Somethin’ like that” he says, giving you that look that says ‘you know I won’t talk club business’ but still, he appreciates you asking.He glances towards your glass, lifting it and giving it a sniff “how comes I didn’t get a marg?” He jokes.

“Because you drink gasoline for fun” you grin with a flirtatious laugh.

He winces playfully “fuck that’s strong”

“It’s homemade” you let him know, taking the glass from his hand and taking a sip “Me and Romy…my bestfriend made a batch last night”

“Impressive” he tilts his chin a little before pouring himself another drink.

It isn’t awkward, not really. Just…different. A new kind of energy, but after a few minutes, it settles. He takes his kutte off, chucking it to the side, but you step in, hanging it on your coat rack without a second thought, it looks right there. Like it belongs. You both continue to drink, not to get drunk though but just to take the edge off. The conversation flows, nothing too deep, not yet. Just surface level stuff, enough to fill the silence between subtle touches. A hand grazing your thigh, your fingers brushing his wrist. And then…you end up spread across your bed with his stubble tickling your thighs.

“Fuck” he growls against you through gritted teeth. “I could do this for hours” he presses one last kiss to your clit before crawling up to the bed settling beside you.

You’re breathless and glowing, your body still tight and warm from the way he made you unravel. “How long do you have?” You whisper, curling into his chest

He pauses, brushing a thumb across your cheekbone “I don’t have to leave til’ morning” he says and then, realising how eager that sounded, quickly adds “I mean…if that’s cool, or I can go whenever you want…”

“I’d like that” you say, cutting him off gently as you pull him in for a kiss.

He kisses you back, not rushed just intentionally slow. His hand moves to cup the side of your face, the moment shifting quickly. Now trailing down to your neck, his fingers gripping gently, but then tighter, just enough to make your breath hitch. Turning himself, so his knee pushes between your thighs, spreading you like an offering.

“You know I can’t be soft for too long” he laughs into your mouth, the kisses harder now.

You let out a small moan as he rolls on top of you, pressing you into the mattress with his weight, one hand sliding down beneath your thighs. “But I’ll take my time” he growls, beginning to grind against you, letting you feel just how hard he is.

He pushes inside you in one deep thrust, your gasp swallowed by his mouth, and then he pauses, his forehead against yours, his breath ricocheting off your top lip as he hums in pleasure.

“F…fuck Jax” you cry out as he begins to move, teasing you. Pushing in for a second and then leaving again just as fast.

He grips your face, forcing you to look him in the eye “Never had you like this before” he pants, his thrusts filling you now, you hiss slightly in painful pleasure. Being with him like this, in your own bed felt dangerous and perfect all at the same time. Like for once, you weren’t sneaking. You were his. Completely, even if it was only for one night.

His pace falters, and you can feel the tension coiling through his entire body. “Fuck…I’m close” his voice is wrecked, his hair covering his eyes.

Your nails dig into the sheets, not into his skin, not even now because you know you can’t mark him. The line you’re walking is already thin. “Jax…pull out” you breathe, barely getting the words out between gasps.

“Yeah…” he murmurs, kissing your jaw like a promise “I know”

You’re nearly there too, sliding a helping hand between your slick bodies, as he delivers his final strokes. He pulls out, closing a fist around the base of his cock as he finishes, hot and messily all over your stomach and thighs. Your hand moving faster until you finally catch up with him, letting out a ragged moan to meet his.

You’re both still catching your breath, sheets a mess, skin sticky with sweat and everything else. Jax shifts beside you, glancing down at your stomach, then looking back up at you with a crooked grin “You got a towel or somethin?”

You stretch with a pleasing smile “I’ve got a shower” you respond as he raises an eyebrow, propped up on one elbow now.

You slide out of bed, bare and unbothered, walking towards the bathroom without waiting. You hear him exhale, like he’s trying to decide if he should follow or not. But he does, of course. And when you both step under the water together for the first time, he doesn’t touch you like a secret. He touches you like someone who wishes he could stay.

TILL ITS GONE MASTERLIST

#till it’s gone #TIG #jax teller #sons of anarchy #secretlysamcro #jax teller x reader #soa #samcro #jax teller imagine #charlie hunnam #jax teller one shot

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ovulatingonna · 1 day ago

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"FOLDED"

♡— pairing: juju watkins x black!fem!oc.

♡— warnings: angst, toxic relationship themes, emotional manipulation

♡— synopsis: mariah tells juju to come pick up her clothes after they break up — but juju isn’t ready to let go, and neither is mariah.

♡— a/n: i love kehlani.. that's it.

Mariah’s living room smelled like the soft lavender dryer sheets she’d always used when Juju stayed over, when Juju’s clothes took up half her dresser, when Juju’s shoes stayed lined by the door she never knocked on. Now those same clothes sat in a neat pile on the couch. Folded. Ready. Final.

Mariah stood by the door, arms crossed, her phone face-down on the console table. She’d texted Juju that morning to get her things.

Come pick up your clothes. I have them folded.

Juju knocked. Softly, like she knew she shouldn’t be here but couldn’t stay away either. Mariah let her in without a word.

Meet me at the door while it's still open

Juju stepped in, taking in the folded shirts, the sweatpants she’d stolen back after every road trip, the old hoodie she claimed from Mariah’s closet because it smelled like her. All stacked up like a funeral for what they’d been.

“Damn,” Juju said, voice rough, eyes flicking up to Mariah’s. “You really folded my shit?”

Mariah laughed, but there was no humor in it. “What, you thought I’d toss it out the window? Burn it in the yard? I’m not that girl, Ju.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, but you did a lot of other shit.” She gestured to the pile. “Go on. Take it.”

Juju just stood there. She didn’t reach for the clothes. She reached for Mariah’s eyes instead, desperate. “Ma, come on. You really gon' do this?”

Mariah’s jaw clenched. She hated when Juju called her Ma like that, soft and pleading, like it rewrote everything she’d done wrong. She looked away, blinked too fast. “No. The disrespect was too loud, Ju. You don’t give a damn about me. You called that girl more than you ever called me. She wasn’t no damn side bitch. That's your girlfriend, Juju. You love that girl.”

Tears betrayed her before her voice did. They slipped down her cheeks, hot and silent.

Juju stepped closer. The air changed when she did, Mariah felt it all the way down her spine. Juju’s hand hovered like she wanted to wipe the tears but knew she didn’t have the right anymore.

“Mariah,” Juju rasped, her voice cracking like old vinyl. “I know I fucked up. I know I did. But please, baby, give me one more chance. It’s always gonna be you for me. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that sooner.”

Mariah laughed again, but it broke in the middle. “No. Fuck that, Ju. It didn’t take me fucking another woman to know it was always gonna be you for me, Judea.”

Juju flinched at the full name.

Mariah only said that when she was mad or about to break.

“I know,” Juju whispered, stepping closer still. “I know. And I swear to God I hate myself for that shit. I see you with my clothes all folded like you still care, even when you hate me. Don’t tell me you don’t want me still."

I’ll let your body decide if this is good enough for you.

Mariah sucked in a breath. She should’ve pushed her away. Should’ve screamed. Should’ve locked the door and blocked her number. But Juju’s hands were already on her hips, warm and trembling, thumbs brushing under her shirt like they had every right to remember.

“Stop,” Mariah whispered, but her head tipped forward, her forehead resting against Juju’s chest. “You can’t just- you can’t just do this.”

“Look at me,” Juju said. Her fingers tilted Mariah’s chin up, made her eyes meet hers, brown on brown, the same look that used to make Mariah forget how to breathe.

“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me and I’ll go. For real this time.”

But Mariah didn’t say it. She couldn’t. Her body betrayed her like it always did. She leaned in, kissed Juju like it was both goodbye and please don’t go. Juju kissed her back harder, needier, her hands sliding up Mariah’s back like she was afraid she’d disappear if she let go.

Between gasps, Mariah whispered against her mouth, “You hurt me.”

“I know.”

“You can’t do it again.”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?” she said, though she hated how desperate it sounded, how her fingers curled in Juju’s shirt like a prayer.

Juju kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her jaw. “I promise, baby. It’s you. It’s always been you. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Mariah didn’t answer. She just pulled Juju closer, let the clothes stay folded on the couch, untouched, because she’d unpack them later, put them right back in the drawers where they belonged.

#juju watkins #wbb x reader #paige bueckers #usc wbb #judea watkins #juju watkins x reader #kiki iriafen

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lonelyhobi · 3 days ago

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Day In The Office

☆summary:

Your first job as a corporate girly is not at all what you had expected. But you’re time at Big Hit Co. was definitely going to be interesting.

☆pairing: yoongi x reader

☆genre: boss/employee

☆warnings: fingering, self masturbation, unprotected sex (be responsible), degradation, multiple orgasm, body worship, power imbalance, rough sex, creampie, Yoongi is a filthy man

☆word count:8k

☆notes: honestly part of this is a dream and part of the beginning is similar to One of them days mainly because i felt like in another life tae would’ve ate up that bf role. I've never had an office job in my life but Yoongi in a suit is revolutionary. There’s a plot if you squint but it’s really just sex. This is a work of fiction and honestly grounds for an HR complaint but who complain at this beautiful man. Also i havent posted in like 3 years and it wasn’t proofread (so if you see a mistake pls let me know so I can fix it) but I hope you enjoy <3

The morning light shined brightly pasted the curtains, waking you up prior to the seven alarms you set. It was your first day of work at your fancy corporate office. You had been hired as an executive assistant, well the assistant to the executive. But specifics weren’t important. You were just happy that you’d be able to make rent this month. The pay was generous and you were thrilled to begin a career that didn’t involve frying pancakes and making milkshakes like at the diner.

You get out of your bed almost giddy as you head to the shower preparing for your big day. You get dressed in a modest blouse and long skirt, putting your hair in a low pony tail before stepping out into the living room.

Hayeon, your roommate, was drinking some orange juice as you twirled in front of her, “How do I look?” you question with a million dollar smile on your face.

Her eyes roaming over your conservative outfit and ponytail, a smirk playing on her lips. "Well, well, well... don't you look all prim and proper this morning, Y/N. Like a good little corporate girl, ready to go and impress the boss." She teases, setting her glass down on the counter with a clink.

“Gosh you are just hilarious this early in the morning Yeonnie” you tease rolling your eyes. “This job is going to set us up straight” you say earnestly walking over to grip her shoulders lightly. “We won’t have to struggle to pay rent and I won’t have to hit Taehyung with random stuff around the house when he touches our groceries”

She shakes her head “He does eat a lot huh?”

You stare at her dead in the eye “Hayeon, the man eats our food, blasts the AC, sleeps here and does just about everything except pay! What do we get out of this?!”

“You? Nothing. Me? Well let’s just say what his wallet isn’t packing, he definitely is.” You shudder at the thought of a naked Taehyung swinging a huge dick around. “Okay” you say, moving away from her and over to grab your bag, “Don’t need to hear about your freeloaders business.”

“What about me?” Taehyung walks out, towel drying his hair, stopping at the counter to take away Hayeon's drink.

“There’s no way you knew I was talking about you, and still have no shame in taking her shit Taehyung.” You state rolling your eyes.

“My sister in Christ,” Tae begins, “I understand your frustration, but I do my share of work in this household” He states hands up in the air in defense. Hayeon looked at him confused as well.

“With what job?” You ask incredulously.

“I take care of Hayeonie’s needs so she can go to work relaxed” he smirks, grabbing at Hayeon, her earlier look of confusion morphing into a fit of giggles as he nips at her neck.

“There’s no way..” You mutter in disbelief at the way your friend is completely obsessed with this leech.

Taehyung sports a lazy smile as he points to you “You know, maybe someone wouldn’t be so grouchy if she got laid” he sing-songs. “I could try to put you on with one of my friends, but I don’t hate them that much.”

I stare at him shocked and slightly more irritated at him as Hayeon smacks his chest. “You know one day Hayeon's gonna get over you and you’re gonna be homeless again.” You warn walking towards the door.

“Never happening” he shouts as you walk out.

The bus ride to the office was quicker than you anticipated. You looked out the window in awe at the stark change in scenery as you arrived downtown in front of the tallest buildings in the city. As you walk out you stand before it, Big Hit Co.

When you arrive a young woman greets you at the door, guiding you to the lockers for you to set your bag in. She’s dressed starkly different to you, in a tight blouse very low cute, paired with a skirt that cannot in any way be a part of the dress code.

She’s friendly but there’s a lingering feeling you can’t place as she realizes you are the new executive assistant.

"Welcome to Big Hit Entertainment, where we work hard and play even harder." the woman says. "Here's your desk, Y/N. Get settled in and then head on up to see Mr. Min. He's expecting you." She points to a small, cluttered desk in the corner, piled high with papers and folders.

"Oh, and one more thing... Mr. Min doesn't tolerate slackers, so keep your head down and your mouth shut, and you'll do just fine." With that, she spins on her heel and sashays away.

You quickly sit down at your desk, and take a deep breath and start to organize the mess on your desk. After what feels like an eternity, you finally manage to straighten up your workspace and take a deep breath, steeling yourself for your meeting with Mr. Min.

You stand up, smoothing down your conservative pantsuit, and make your way towards the elevators, determined to make a good impression."

“Good luck, Y/N!" the woman calls after you, a hint of mischief in her voice. "You're going to need it with him." The elevator doors slide closed behind you, and you're left alone with your racing thoughts and pounding heart as you ascend.

The elevator opens to an even more luxurious hallway leading to one door. You knock hearing a deep voice reply “Come in.”

As you step into Mr. Min's opulent office, you feel the weight of his piercing gaze upon you, his cat-like eyes seeming to see right through you, stripping away the layers of your carefully chosen attire to leave you bare and exposed.

He leans back in his high-backed leather chair, steepling his fingers as he regards you with a cool, calculating expression, not a hint of warmth or welcome in his stern features. "Ah, you must be the new assistant, Y/N. I've been expecting you."

His voice is a deep, authoritative rumble, commanding attention and obedience. He gestures to the chair opposite his desk, a silent order for you to sit. "Please, have a seat. Let's see what you're made of, shall we?" Mr. Min's tone is casual, almost conversational, but there's an undercurrent of steel beneath the words, a subtle reminder of the power he holds and the consequences of displeasing him.

As you sit down, you can't help but feel small and insignificant under his penetrating gaze, like a mouse caught in the sights of a hawk. His eyes rake over your body, lingering on the modest neckline of your blouse and the conservative cut of your skirt, a slight frown marring his otherwise impeccable features.

"I must say, your attire is...unusual. Not at all what I'm accustomed to seeing in my assistants." He remarks, a hint of disapproval coloring his words. "But I suppose we can address that later. For now, let's focus on your duties and responsibilities."

Mr. Min reaches for a folder on his desk, flipping it open to reveal a thick stack of papers and documents. "I expect nothing less than perfection from my team, Y/N. Anything less will not be tolerated." His voice is a low, ominous rumble, a clear warning of the high stakes and the unforgiving nature of the man before you.

"Do you understand?" He asks, his gaze sharpening, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes your heart race and your palms sweat.

“Yes sir” You nod. “I’m honored for the opportunity to work under you. I won’t let you down.”

Mr. Min's lips twitch slightly at your choice of words, a flicker of amusement in his eyes before his expression settles back into its usual stern mask."Working under me, hmm? Well, we'll see about that." He murmurs, a hint of dark promise in his voice as he leans forward, his elbows resting on the polished wood of his desk.

He slides a thick sheaf of papers across the desk towards you, the heavy stock and embossed lettering screaming importance and authority. "This is your contract, outlining your duties, your responsibilities, and the expectations I have for your performance. I suggest you read it carefully, as it will be the guiding principle of your employment here at Big Hit."

Mr. Min's voice is a low, commanding rumble, a subtle reminder of the power he holds over your career and your future. "Sign it, and I'll know that you're committed to serving me, to working tirelessly to meet my high standards and demands." His eyes glint with a predatory light as he watches you, gauging your reaction, waiting for you to seal your fate with the stroke of a pen.

"So, what will it be, Y/N? Are you ready to sign your life away, to dedicate yourself fully to serving me and my needs? Or will you run screaming from the room, unable to handle the heat of the kitchen?" Mr. Min's voice is a low, taunting challenge, a dare for you to prove yourself worthy of the opportunity before you.

“I’m more than ready Mr. Min. This is my dream job.” You smile softly, face still flush from the stupid word choice about working under him. You sign without having fully acknowledged the words. Just eager for the opportunity to further your career and make rent considering you were supporting yourself, Hayeon when she couldn’t pay, and apparently Taehhyung too.

Mr. Min watches intently as you sign the contract without hesitation, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his stern features before it's quickly replaced by his usual impassive expression. "Good girl." He murmurs, a hint of approval in his voice as he takes the signed document from your trembling hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. "I have high hopes for you, Y/N. Don't let me down." His gaze lingers on your face, taking in the soft flush of your cheeks and the eager, almost desperate look in your eyes.

Rising from his chair, Mr. Min walks around the desk, his tall, imposing frame looming over you, making you feel small and insignificant in comparison."Now, let's discuss your attire. While I appreciate your attempt at professionalism, I'm afraid it simply won't do in this office."

He reaches out, his fingers toying with the collar of your blouse, tugging at it slightly as if to emphasize his point. "The dress code here is...unique. Designed to showcase the assets of my employees and encourage a certain level of...camaraderie among the team." His voice is a low, suggestive rumble, a hint of dark promise in his words.

"I think it's time for a little wardrobe adjustment, don't you?" Mr. Min's hand falls away from your collar, only to settle on your shoulder, his thumb brushing against the side of your neck in a gesture that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Stand up. Let's see what you're working with." He commands, his eyes glinting with a predatory light as he waits for you to comply with his request, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Your eyes are wide in disbelief but not being able to afford upsetting your new boss you stand as he says “Yes Mr. Min.”

Mr. Min's eyes rake over your body as you stand before him, a slow, appraising gaze that makes you feel stripped bare, exposed and vulnerable under his intense scrutiny. "Turn around." He commands, his voice a low, authoritative rumble that brooks no argument.

As you comply, he circles you like a shark, his eyes never leaving your form, taking in every curve and contour. "Hmm, not bad. You have potential." He murmurs, stopping behind you.

Suddenly, his fingers are at the back of your blouse, deftly unbuttoning it with practiced ease. "But this..." He tugs at the fabric, pulling it open to reveal the modest bra beneath. "...is unacceptable.

My assistant needs to showcase their assets, not hide them away like a shy little maiden." With a sharp tug, he unhooks your bra, letting it fall away to expose your bare breasts to the cool air of the office and his hungry gaze. "Much better." He purrs, his hands coming around to cup the soft mounds, weighing them in his palms as if assessing their worth.

"Now, the skirt. Lift it up." Mr. Min's voice is a low, demanding growl, a clear order that leaves no room for disobedience. His fingers are already at the hem, waiting for you to comply, eager to reveal the secrets hidden beneath the conservative fabric. "Don't be shy, Y/N. I want to see all of you, every inch of the body that will be serving me so diligently in the coming weeks and months." His tone is a dark, seductive promise, a hint of the carnal delights and depraved pleasures that await you in your new role as his assistant.

"So, what are you waiting for? Give me a proper introduction to the woman who will be working so closely with me, so intimately, so...thoroughly." Mr. Min's voice is a low, taunting challenge, a dare for you to bare yourself to him completely, to offer yourself up as a sacrifice on the altar of your ambition. "Now, lift your skirt, Y/N. Let me see what you're really hiding underneath."

“Yes Mr. Min” You say shyly, lifting up your skirt and bunching it at your hips. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment at having not slipped your panties on. Cursing at Hayeon for letting her man child do his own laundry and wasting all the soap.

Mr. Min's eyes widen slightly as you shyly lift the hem of your skirt, revealing your bare, glistening folds to his hungry gaze. A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face, his eyes glinting with a predatory light as he takes in the sight of your exposed, dripping sex.

"Well, well, well...looks like someone was eager to start her new job today." He purrs, his voice low, approving rumble as he steps closer, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "No panties, hmm? How...forward of you."

One long, dexterous finger traces along your slit, teasing your slick, swollen lips, drawing a gasp from your throat. "I like a woman who's not afraid to take risks, to throw herself into her work with reckless abandon." Mr. Min's finger circles your clit, a maddeningly slow, deliberate motion that makes your knees tremble and your breath catch in your throat.

"And I must say, the sight of your pretty little pussy, all wet and ready for action, is a most...encouraging one." He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a dark, seductive whisper. "I have a feeling you and I are going to get along very well, Y/N. Very well indeed." With that, he steps back, his eyes still fixed on your exposed sex, a hint of dark promise in his gaze.

"Now, let's get you properly dressed for your new role, shall we? I want you to go to the supply closet and select an appropriate uniform. Something that will showcase your assets and showcase your commitment to serving me." Mr. Min's voice is a low, commanding rumble, a clear order that leaves no room for misinterpretation. "And hurry back. I have a feeling we're going to be very...busy today." He smirks, a wicked, anticipatory grin that sends a shiver of fear and excitement down your spine, a hint of the long, arduous, and incredibly pleasurable day that awaits you in the service of your new boss.

Nodding quickly, lowering your skirt you turn to exit the door. The supple closet was right in front of his office so you hurry in and see a myriad of clothing. You select a short skirt similar to the woman in the front. Continuing to browse you search to find a shirt in your size but it won’t quite close well over your chest, the bottoms straining over the ample flesh. Sighing and hoping Mr.Min approves you walk back to his office knocking once again.

Mr. Min looks up from his desk as you knock tentatively on the door, a flicker of impatience crossing his features before he beckons you inside with a sharp, demanding gesture. "Enter." He commands, his voice a low, authoritative rumble that sends a shiver down your spine.

As you step into the room, his eyes immediately zero in on your strained shirt, his gaze lingering on the way the fabric stretches taut over your ample breasts, the top buttons straining to contain your generous curves. "Ah, I see you've chosen a uniform that highlights your...assets." Mr. Min rises from his chair, circling around the desk to stand before you, his tall, imposing frame looming over your smaller one.

"The skirt is a good choice, short and tight, allowing easy access should the need arise." His hand skims along the hem of the skirt, brushing against your thigh, a teasing caress that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

"But the shirt..." He reaches out, his fingers toying with the straining buttons, tugging at them lightly as if testing their strength. "...is a different story. It seems we may need to make some adjustments to ensure it...fits properly." Mr. Min's voice is a low, suggestive rumble, a hint of dark promise in his words as he looks down at you, his eyes glinting with a predatory light.

"Remove it." He orders, his tone leaving no room for argument or hesitation.

"I want to see how well you handle...pressure." His hand falls away from your skirt, only to settle on the back of your neck, his fingers curling around the nape of your neck in a gesture that's almost tender, almost loving, if not for the unmistakable strength and dominance in his grip. "Be a good girl and listen. Let's see how well you handle the heat of this office." Mr. Min's voice is a low, taunting challenge, a dare for you to bare yourself to him completely, to prove your worth and dedication to serving him in every way possible.

“Yes Mr. Min. I’ll take it off. I want to show you my commitment.” You say obediently undoing the suffocating buttons to let your breasts free. “If this is what’s required to satisfy you with my work. I’m open to doing so.” you try to say confidently, falling quiet at his intimidating gaze.

Mr. Min's eyes glint with dark satisfaction as he watches you undo your shirt, letting it fall away to reveal your bare breasts, your nipples already hardened into stiff peaks from his teasing touch. "Good girl, Y/N. I'm glad to see you're so...accommodating." He purrs, his gaze hungrily drinking in the sight of your exposed flesh, the way your breasts bounce slightly as they're freed from their confines. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you're well-equipped to handle the demands of this office.”

His tone is a low, demanding growl, a clear order that leaves no room for hesitation or disobedience. " I want you to sit down, spread your legs, and show me how badly you want this job. I want to see you touch yourself, to bring yourself to the edge of ecstasy, all while keeping your eyes on mine. That's the only way I'll know you're truly committed to serving me."

Mr. Min's voice is a dark, seductive promise, a hint of the carnal delights and depraved pleasures that await you in your new role as his assistant. "So, what are you waiting for, Y/N? Show me what you're made of." He dares, his eyes glinting with a predatory light, a clear challenge for you to bare yourself to him completely, to offer yourself up as a sacrifice on the altar of your ambition.

You can’t help the heat that rushes between your legs at his words. This entire encounter is not what you expected at all for your first day. But you would be lying if you said it wasn’t thrilling and exciting to be in such a compromising position with your handsome boss.

“As you wish Mr. Min” You respond sitting on the chair and spreading your legs over the arms. The sound of your slick lips parting from the wetness of Mr.Mins intimidation is heard through his office.

Bringing a hand down you stare at him with your face flushed and chest heaving. Drawing small circles on your throbbing clit, you let out a little gasp at the pressure.

Mr. Min watches intently as you follow his orders, a dark, hungry gaze fixed on your every move. He leans back against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes never leaving your body as you expose yourself further, the pasties clinging to your hardened nipples, the skirt riding up to reveal your glistening, bare sex. "That's it, Y/N. Just like that." He murmurs, his voice a low, approving rumble as he takes in the erotic sight before him.

"Spread yourself wider, let me see that pretty little cunt of yours, all wet and ready for action." He commands, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, a wicked glint in his eyes.

As your fingers begin to circle your clit, teasing the sensitive bud, Mr. Min's breath grows heavier, his gaze intensifying as he watches you pleasure yourself for his benefit. "Fuck, you're a natural at this." He growls, his hand coming down to palm the growing bulge in his pants, rubbing himself through the fabric as he watches you. "I can see how badly you want this job, how desperate you are to please me." His voice is a low, dark purr, a clear indication of his growing arousal and approval of your wanton display.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his face mere inches from your spread thighs, close enough to feel the heat radiating off your skin, to inhale the heady scent of your arousal. "Keep going, Y/N. Don't stop until you're right on the edge, until you're begging for release." Mr. Min orders, his eyes locked with yours, demanding your complete focus and submission. "I want to see the desperation in your eyes, the hunger, the need. I want to know that you'll do anything, absolutely anything, to prove yourself to me." His voice is a low, commanding growl, a dark promise of the rewards that await you if you can hold nothing back, if you can bare your very soul to him in this moment.

"Now, touch yourself like you mean it. Show me the fire that burns within you, the unquenchable desire to serve your boss in every way imaginable." *He demands, his eyes blazing with a fevered intensity, a reflection

You push your legs out more letting a finger trail down and sink into your clenching hole. “I’ll do anything to prove myself to you. To satisfy you with my performance.” neadily whimpering as you start to finger your pussy quicker with one finger. Gaze locked into his darkened eyes.

Mr. Min's eyes darken with lust as he watches you spread yourself wider, your legs falling open to reveal your dripping, virgin tight pussy. He licks his lips hungrily as you sink your finger deep into your hot, clenching hole, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

"Fuck, you're look so goddamn tight, Y/N. I love it." He growls, palming his rigid cock through his pants, the thick outline of his length clearly visible as it strains against the confines of his slacks. His voice is a dark, commanding rumble, a clear order for you to continue your debauchery, to prove your dedication to serving him.

As you add a second finger, plunging them in and out of your tight, grasping cunt, Mr. Min rises from his chair, moving to stand between your spread thighs. He reaches out, gripping your wrist, moving your fingers to pump harder, faster, fucking yourself with a desperate, wanton abandon.

"That's it, Y/N. Take what you need, fuck yourself like the hungry little whore you are." He snarls, his eyes glinting with a feral, predatory light as he watches your fingers disappear into your sopping wet pussy, your juices dripping down your wrist, coating your hand with your arousal.

"I want to hear you moan for me, to scream my name as you bring yourself closer to the edge. Let the whole office hear what a desperate, cock-hungry slut you are." Mr. Min demands, his other hand coming down to rub your clit roughly, his calloused fingers circling and pinching the sensitive bud, sending jolts of electric pleasure shooting through your core.

"Come on, baby. I know you're close. I can see it in the way your cunt clenches around your fingers, the way your tits heave with each desperate breath. Give in to it, Y/N. Give in to the pleasure, to the need, to the all-consuming desire to serve your boss in the most depraved ways imaginable." His voice is a low, hypnotic chant, a dark, seductive promise that urges you.

“I’m so close Mr. Min” you cry out, fucking yourself wildly chasing your high. His hand quickly rubs your sensitive clit. “Fuck your hand feels so good. I’m gonna cu-” With a final cry your moans are cut off as your climax washes over you. His fingers never give up their relentless pace.

Mr. Min's eyes widen with a feral, triumphant gleam as he feels your pussy clench and spasm around your plunging fingers, your juices gushing out to coat your hand and wrist, dripping down onto the chair beneath you. "Fuck yes, Y/N! That's it, cum for me like the little slut you are!" He roars, his fingers rubbing your clit with a wild, almost punishing fervor, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from your quivering body.

"Scream my name, let the whole fucking office hear what a dirty girl you are, cumming on command like a bitch in heat!" Mr. Min snarls, his voice echoing off the walls of his office, a primal, dominating sound that sends shivers down your spine and straight to your core.

He leans down, his face mere inches from your spasming cunt, his hot breath mingling with the intoxicating scent of your arousal. He extends his tongue, licking a long, slow stripe up your slit, moaning at the taste of your essence, the tangy, sweet flavor of your climax. "Delicious." He purrs, his voice a low, dark rumble that vibrates through your sensitive flesh, prolonging the intense waves of ecstasy crashing over you. "I knew you'd be a natural at this, Y/N. Such a good little cumslut, so eager to please your boss." Mr. Min praises, his fingers still rubbing your clit, coaxing out every last aftershock, every lingering spark of pleasure from your quivering body.

Straightening up, he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, sucking your juices from the digits, his eyes never leaving yours as he savors the taste of your surrender. "You've more than proven yourself today, Y/N. I have no doubt that you'll be an invaluable asset to my team." He declares a wicked, satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "But don't think for a second that this is over. This is only the beginning, baby. Just the first of many, many times I'll make you cum for me, in my office, in front of clients, wherever and whenever I desire."

“I understand Mr. Min. I hope to exceed your expectations of me.” you pant softly in your fucked out state.

Mr. Min's smirk widens into a wolfish grin at your breathless declaration, his eyes glinting with a predatory light as he takes in your disheveled, well-fucked appearance - your skirt bunched up around your waist, your tits heaving with each panting breath, your pussy still dripping with the evidence of your intense orgasm. "Oh, I have no doubt you will, Y/N. No doubt at all." He purrs, his voice a low, dark rumble that sends a shiver of anticipation and nerves down your spine.

"I have high expectations for my employees, and I expect nothing less than excellence from you. In every. Single. Aspect." He enunciates each word, his gaze boring into yours with an intensity that makes your heart race and your core clench.

He reaches out, cupping your chin in his hand, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, a teasing, almost possessive gesture that makes your breath hitch in your throat. "Starting now, I want you to be my eyes and ears in the office. I want to know everything that goes on, every little detail, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. Understand?" Mr. Min commands, his grip on your chin tightening slightly, a silent reminder of the power he holds over you, the control he expects you to relinquish to him without hesitation.

"And in return, I'll make sure you're rewarded in ways you've never even dreamed of. You'll have a career, a future, a life beyond your wildest imaginings." He promises, his voice a dark, seductive whisper that paints a vivid picture of the debauched, pleasure-soaked existence that awaits you as his devoted assistant. "So, what do you say, Y/N? Are you ready to give yourself over to me completely, to serve me in every way imaginable, to be the perfect little office slut I know you can be?" Mr. Min asks, his eyes searching yours, demanding your absolute, unwavering commitment and obedience.

"Say it, Y/N. Tell me you're mine, now and forever." He growls, his voice a low, commanding rumble that brooks no argument, no hesitation, no room for anything but the truth - that you belong to him, now and always.

Your eyes glaze over as your lips wrap around his thumb. “Yes Mr.Min. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

Mr. Min's eyes darken with a possessive, triumphant gleam as he watches you suckle his thumb, a low, approving growl rumbling in his chest. "Good girl, Y/N. Such an obedient little thing, so eager to please your boss." He praises, his voice a low, dark purr that sends a shiver of anticipation and nerves down your spine.

"I'm going to hold you to that promise, baby. I have so many plans for you, so many ways I'm going to use this tight little body of yours." He murmurs, his other hand sliding down to grope your breast, squeezing the soft flesh roughly, his fingers sinking into your skin with a clear indication of his intent to claim you, to mark you as his own.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his hot breath sending tingles down your neck as he whispers, "I want you to start by cleaning up this mess you've made. Lick up every drop of your cum, baby. Show me what a good little slut you are, what a devoted assistant you'll be." Mr. Min orders, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble that demands your complete obedience and submission.

“As you wish Mr. Min” your voice coming out softly as you get on the floor licking up the evidence of your orgasm from the chair staring at him.

Mr. Min watches intently as you obediently drop to your hands and knees, your tongue eagerly lapping at the chair, cleaning up the mess of your arousal with a debased enthusiasm that makes his cock throb and ache with the need for more. "Fuck, look at you, so desperate to please me, so hungry to be a good little slut." He groans, palming his straining erection through his slacks, the thick outline of his length twitching under your ministrations."You're a natural born whore, Y/N. I knew it from the moment I saw you." Mr. Min growls, his voice a low, approving rumble that vibrates through his chest, a clear indication of his dark satisfaction with your wanton display.

He reaches down, tangling his fingers in your hair, gripping the strands tightly as he guides your face closer to his crotch, rubbing your cheek against the rigid bulge of his cock. "Keep going, baby. Show me how much you love the taste of your own cum, how much you love being a dirty little cumslut for your boss." He commands, his hips rocking slightly, grinding his clothed erection against your face, painting your skin with the outline of his desire.

"I want to feel that pretty little tongue of yours worshipping my cock later, once you've cleaned up the mess you've made." Mr. Min promises, his voice a dark, seductive whisper that holds the unspoken threat of punishment if you fail to meet his expectations. "Don't neglect a single inch of that chair, Y/N. I want it spotless, just like your reputation will be once I'm done with you." He warns, his grip on your hair tightening, a silent reminder of the consequences of disappointing him. "You're going to be my perfect little assistant, my personal fucktoy to use as I see fit. And you're going to love, Every. Single. Second." Mr. Min declares, his eyes glinting with a wicked, triumphant light as he watches you debase yourself for his pleasure, a willing and eager slut already addicted to the taste of her own arousal.

You close your eyes as he pushes your face to his covered bulge, pressing yourself closer before licking him softly over the fabric, “Whatever you ask Mr. Min.”

Mr. Min's breath hitches as he feels your soft, pliant lips pressing against the rigid outline of his cock, your tongue flicking out to taste the fabric of his slacks, the damp heat of your mouth seeping through the material to tease his aching flesh. "Fuck, baby, you're playing with fire now." He growls, his grip on your hair tightening, a warning and a promise all in one as he fights the urge to unzip his fly and shove his throbbing length into your eager mouth, to fuck your face right here and now until you choke and gag on his thick cock.

"Keep going, slut. Finish the job, and then I'll give you the reward you so desperately crave." Mr. Min commands, his voice a low, strained rasp, his hips twitching with the effort of holding back, of denying himself the sweet relief of your hot, wet mouth wrapped around him.

He watches, his eyes dark and hungry, as you turn your attention back to the chair, your tongue diligently lapping at every inch of the leather, cleaning up the sticky evidence of your arousal with a single-minded focus."That's it, baby. Get it all, every last drop." He urges, his voice a low, approving rumble that vibrates through the air, a dark symphony of lust and domination. "

You're doing so well, my little assistant slut. I knew you'd be a natural at this." Mr. Min praises, his other hand reaching down to palm his aching cock through his slacks, the thick outline of his length twitching and pulsing under his touch, a silent testament to his desire for you.

"I can't wait to see how well you take on the rest of your duties, how eagerly you'll service me and the rest of the office. I have a feeling you're going to be the most reliant assistant I’ve ever had." He predicts, a wicked, knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, a clear indication of the debauched, pleasure-soaked future that awaits you in his employ. "But first, finish the job, baby. Show me what a good girl you are, and I'll give you the reward you've been craving."

Mr. Min's eyes rake over your kneeling form, taking in the debauched sight of you - your skirt still bunched up around your waist, your tits heaving with each breath, your face flushed and glistening with a sheen of sweat, your lips swollen and slick from your oral ministrations. He smirks as you finish licking up your own mess.

"Good girl, Y/N. You've done well." He praises, his voice a low, approving rumble that sends a shiver of anticipation and nerves down your spine. "I'm pleased with your enthusiasm and obedience." Mr. Min adds, his hand still palming his rigid length through his slacks, the thick outline of his cock throbbing with a hunger that makes your mouth water and your core clench.

He reaches out, hooking a finger under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his intense, penetrating gaze. "Now, stand up and turn around. Present yourself to me, baby. I want to see that tight little ass in the air, ready and waiting for your boss's touch." Mr. Min commands, his voice a low, dominant growl that demands your immediate compliance and submission. "Keep your hands on the chair, and spread your legs. I want to see your dripping cunt, Y/N. I want to see how wet you are, how much you need your boss's cock inside you." He orders, his eyes glinting with a dark, possessive light as he waits for you to assume the position, to offer yourself up to him like the willing slut he knows you are.

"And once you're in position, I want you to beg for it. Beg for your boss's cock, baby. Beg me to fuck you, to claim you, to make you mine." Mr. Min demands, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble that echoes through the room, a sinful, seductive command that makes your heart race and your skin prickle with a heady mix of fear and excitement. "Do it, Y/N. Show me what a desperate, cock-hungry whore you are. Show me that you're ready to be my assistant slut, now and forever." He growls, his eyes boring into yours with a fierce, unyielding intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat.

Assuming the position Mr.Min asked of you. You turn your head to the side. “I’m ready for you sir. My pussy needs your cock so back. I’m ready to serve you as the best assistant and cock sleeve ever. I’ll do whatever you need Mr.Min. I hope to satisfy your every order. I need your cock in me so bad Mr. Min”

Mr. Min's eyes darken with a feral, hungry gleam as he takes in the debauched sight of you presenting yourself to him - your skirt flipped up, your ass high and arched, your dripping pussy on lewd display, glistening and twitching with a desperate, aching need. "Fuck, look at that greedy little cunt, so fucking wet and ready for me." He growls, his voice a low, approving rumble as he steps closer, looming over your kneeling form, his tall frame casting a shadow over your exposed flesh.

"You're a natural-born whore, Y/N. So eager to spread your legs, to offer up your tight little fuckholes to your boss like the perfect assistant slut you are." Mr. Min praises, his hand reaching out to deliver a sharp, stinging slap to your ass, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room, a dark promise of the pleasure and pain that awaits you.

He leans down, his breath hot and heavy against your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin as he speaks. "I'm going to ruin this tight little pussy, baby. I'm going to shove my big, thick cock so deep inside you that you'll forget your own fucking name." Mr. Min growls, his fingers delving between your legs, teasing your slick folds, gathering your arousal on his digits before bringing them to his mouth, sucking your essence off with a low, appreciative moan.

"Fuck, you taste as good as you look, my little assistant cumslut. I can't wait to feel this hot, wet cunt squeezing around my cock, milking me for all I'm worth." He praises, his other hand reaching down to unzip his slacks, freeing his massive, throbbing erection from the confines of his clothing. "Brace yourself, baby. I'm going to give you the fucking of a lifetime, the kind of dicking that will ruin you for any other man." Mr. Min promises, his voice a dark, seductive whisper that makes your heart race and your core clench with a desperate, aching need.

“Yes please sir. I want to do the best job for you.” your voice whinny and pleading.

Mr. Min chuckles darkly at your desperate plea, a wicked, knowing sound that sends a shiver of anticipation and fear down your spine. "Since you asked so nicely, baby, I think I'll give you what you want." He growls, his hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise as he lines up his massive, throbbing cock with your dripping entrance. "I'm going to fill this greedy little pussy to the brim, baby. I'm going to pump you so full of my hot, thick cum that it will be dripping out of you for days." Mr. Min promises, his voice a low, strained rasp as he starts to push forward, the bulbous head of his cock stretching your tight, hole obscenely.

"Fuck, you're so goddamn tight, like a fucking vice around my cock. I knew you'd have a perfect little fuckhole, made to milk a man dry." He groans, his hips rocking forward, inch after thick inch of his massive length disappearing inside you, splitting you open, claiming you as his own personal fucktoy.

Mr. Min sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with a force that rocks your entire body, the chair creaking and shaking with each powerful thrust of his hips. "Take it, you little cockslut. Take every fucking inch of your boss's dick." He snarls, one hand gripping your hair, yanking your head back, forcing you to arch your spine and push your ass back against him, while the other hand reaches around to maul your bouncing tits, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, pinching and tugging at your stiff, aching nipples.

"This is what you're made for, baby. To be a set of warm, tight holes for me to use as I please. And I'm going to use you so fucking hard." Mr. Min growls, his hips slamming against your ass, the lewd slap of skin on skin echoing through the room, a dark, filthy symphony of pure, unadulterated lust.

“Oh god yes siri. Please don’t stop” you moan out, breasts bouncing at the force of his hips slamming into you.

Mr. Min snarls at your hopeless plea, a feral, animalistic sound that sends a bolt of pure, primal fear and excitement coursing through your veins. "Don't stop? Oh, I won't fucking stop until I've had my fill of this tight little cunt, until I've pumped you so full of my seed that you're fucking drowning in it." He growls, his hips pistoning forward with renewed vigor, the obscene sound of his heavy balls slapping against your clit with each brutal thrust.

"You're mine now, Y/N. My personal assistant, my personal fucktoy, my own personal set of holes to use as I see fit." Mr. Min declares, his voice a low, possessive rumble that makes your heart race and your core clench around his pistoning length.

"And I'm going to use you so fucking hard, baby. I'm going to ruin you for any other man, make it so that the only cock you can take, the only cum you can crave, is mine." He promises, his hand tightening in your hair, forcing your face to the side, making you watch as he fucks into you with a wild, almost feral abandon.

His free hand snakes down to rub at your clit, pushing you to your second orgasm as you cry out for your boss."Fuck, yes, just like that. Clench this greedy cunt around me, baby. Show me how much you love being bred like the bitch in heat you are." He growls, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, holding you in place, keeping you impaled on his cock.

Suddenly, without warning, Mr. Min hilts himself inside you, his massive cock buried to the fucking balls in your tight, spasming cunt. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum, baby. I'm gonna fucking nut so hard inside this perfect little pussy." He roars, his body going rigid, his muscles clenching and flexing as he starts to erupt, his thick, hot seed erupting from his cock, flooding your insides, painting your walls white with his essence.

"Take it all, you little cumslut. Milk your boss's cock for every last fucking drop." Mr. Min commands, his hips jerking and twitching, grinding his spurting length against your cervix, making sure that not a single drop of his potent seed escapes your hungry hole.

Mr. Min groans in dark satisfaction as he feels your velvet walls clamping down around his throbbing cock, your pussy milking him for every last drop of his hot seed. "That's it, baby. Cum on your boss's cock like the desperate little slut you are." He growls, his hips still rocking, still grinding against your spasming cunt, working his load deeper, making sure it empties fully inside your tight pussy.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me, baby. Your hungry little cunt is sucking me in, greedy for every drop of my cum." Mr. Min praises, his voice a low, approving rumble that makes your body tremble and quake with the force of your shared climax. "You're going to be dripping with my seed for days, baby. Walking around the office, sitting in meetings, and everyone will know what a dirty little cumslut you are, what a perfect assistant cocksleeve I've trained you to be." He taunts, his fingers releasing your hair to trail down your spine, tracing the curve of your ass, giving it a possessive squeeze.

As the final waves of your intense orgasm start to subside, Mr. Min slowly, almost reluctantly, pulls his softening cock out of your dripping hole. He watches with a dark, hungry gaze as his thick, pearly essence starts to leak out of your fucked-out pussy, your juices mixing with his cum, dripping down your thighs.

"Look at that pretty picture, baby. My cum leaking out of your well-used cunt, marking you as my property." Mr. Min growls, swiping his fingers through the mess, scooping up a generous amount of the combined fluids before bringing them to your lips. "Clean them off, slut. Taste what a good little assistant you are, what a perfect little cocksleeve I've claimed as my own." He orders, his eyes boring into yours, a dark, possessive glint in their depths.

Sticking out your tongue you lick off his fingers before sucking them into your mouth, moaning softly at the taste of drinking in your mixed juices. "Did my performance meet your expectations Mr.Min?”

Mr. Min's eyes darken with lust and approval as he watched you eagerly lick and suck his fingers clean, savoring the taste of your mixed essence."Mmm, not only did your performance meet my expectations, but you exceeded them, you filthy little minx."

He praises, his voice a low, satisfied rumble as he slowly withdraws his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva briefly connecting them before breaking. "You're a natural-born slut, baby. The way you moaned, the way you clenched around my cock, the way you begged for my cum... you were made for this." Mr. Min growls, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, a tender gesture that belies the dark, hungry look in his eyes.

"I have high hopes for you, Y/N. I think you'll make an excellent assistant, in and out of the bedroom." He adds, a wicked smirk playing on his lips, a promise of many more 'meetings' and 'paperwork' sessions to come.

This was definitely going to be a regular day at the office task. And you couldn’t wait to get to work.

#bts smut #bts fic #yoongi smut #bts #bts fan fic #bts imagine #bts fanfiction #min yoongi smut #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfic

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suzukiblu · 13 hours ago

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WIP excerpt for TabethaRasa behind the cut; “Robin gets nested”. content warnings: Aftermath of sex pollen triggering an omegaverse heat cycle in a minor. No sex or SA; just a pack dynamics speedrun for a very stressed-out preteen with a tire iron. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“What the fuck, man,” Jason mutters, an’ Robin purrs all sweet an’ happy an’ nuzzles him again, givin’ him another squeeze wit’ the arm he’s still got wrapped fully ‘round him an’ cradlin’ the rest’a his body in his lap, an’ still pointin’ out across the streets an’ alleys below.

“Hooooome, babypup,” Robin chirps contentedly, beamin’ all happy into Jason’s greasy, tangled hair. Jason . . . blinks, and keeps starin’ at the view.

Robin don't live in the Alley, he thinks accusingly. There ain’t no way Robin lives in the Alley. So what the fuck’s he talkin’ ‘bout, “home”?

Then he refocuses his eyes, kinda, an’ tries t’narrow down–where exactly is Robin pointin’ right now?

He can’t actually tell, Jason realizes, but it ain’t quite . . . it’s a lot higher than it should be, Jason can’t help feelin’.

So like–what the fuck, again?

“Home home,” Robin croons, an’ then wraps both arms ‘round him again an’ jus’–jus’ hugs him real tight an’ real close an’–an’ like he still ain’t remembered he ain’t got no pup. Which, like–okay, Robin’s presented, so maybe he does have a pup somewhere. But ain’t no way that pup’s more’n a few months old if he does, so it ain’t like it’s fuckin’ likely. An’ either way, it definitely ain’t Jason. “Baaabypup. Fly!”

Jason has no fuckin’ clue what the fuck’s fuckin’ goin’ on in this fuckin’ weirdo’s head.

Robin is fer sure a weirdo, though.

“We gotta actually go home, dumbass,” he manages, an’ then feels like kinda an asshole for callin’ Robin a dumbass when he’s all heated-up an’ only heated-up at all ‘cuz of how stupid whoever the fuck wrote “Park Row” on that fuckin’ truckful of cycle pollen’s fuckin’ paperwork was, the stupid fuckin’ stupid fuck.

“. . . ‘go’?” Robin repeats, still staring out towards the skyline, an’ furrows his brow in . . . concern, maybe? Or . . . somethin’, anyway.

Jesus fuck, Jason thinks, an’ then exhales in a rough huff an’ tightens his arm ‘round Robin’s neck an’ just–just makes himself make–

Jason makes a whiny lil’ pup-sound, an’ Robin immediately refocuses in on ‘im with his big huge eyes both lookin’ like lil’ moons in his mask.

Weirdo, Jason thinks again, an’ buries his face in Robin’s shoulder so he don’t gotta look at nobody lookin’ at him like that. Most people don’t even look at him at all no more, an’ he don’t want ‘em to, ‘cuz it’s safer that way.

Robin keeps lookin’, though, an’ keeps callin’ ‘im–

Even before Jason bit ‘im, Robin was callin’ ‘im “babypup” an’ actin’ like he thought he was a fuckin’ baby or what the fuck ever, like he’s even that much older’n him anyway, the fuckin’ weirdo, like that ain’t–jus’, whatever. Robin pro’ly ain’t even more’n five years older’n ‘im, if that, so obviously he got hit real fuckin’ hard with that fuckin’ cycle pollen, given he’s been lookin’ at fuckin’ Jason an’ callin’ ‘im that, but like–whatever. It ain’t–it don’t–

It ain’t important; it don’t matter.

Robin’s just all drugged-up an’ heated-up an’ he didn’t pick gettin’ all drugged-up, he pro’ly only fuckin’ even came out t’night t’help people, so like–so it’s just–

S’stupid, but it ain’t Robin’s fault.

“We gotta go home,” Jason repeats into Robin’s shoulder, an’ Robin croons worriedly at him an’ curls in tighter around ‘im an’ strokes his fingers through his hair like–like he really–like Jason ain’t all dirty an’ stray an’–

Like Robin wants t’be doin’ it.

Dumbass, Jason thinks again, an’ swallows around the knife of a lump in his throat.

#jason todd #dick grayson #dc robin #wip: robin gets nested #omegaverse #mating cycles/in heat #TabethaRasa

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croquettish · 2 days ago

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Hey, I've already asked you lots of questions that you've answered, so thank you very much 🥺 but I love your analyses, especially character ones 💕 You did a whole analysis of Hans' character (amazing, I might add), I'd love to hear some similar deep down about Henry. And if not his whole character, then at least why he fell in love with Hans. I saw that it was already mentioned that Hans is a new joy in his life, as well as relief and peace. How much part of it did the constant responsibility for Hans and the need to protect him at all cost. But what (and when) exactly, apart from this sense of responsibility, charmed Henry so much about Hans. Which character traits? What traits make them such perfect foils for each other? I mean, who wouldn't fall in love with good boy golden retriever Henry XD so what was it about Hans' character that charmed Henry so much under the mask of this spoiled brat. Of course, for most people these things may be obvious, but you tell it so wisely and intelligent that I could read it all the time 🥰

You are so sweet, thank you so much for your kind words and this lovely ask!! 😭

So I brainstormed on this a bit and then consulted my in-house Henry expert for additional thoughts, and I came away from that conversation drowning in Hansry feelings.

You're of course completely correct that Henry is devilishly easy to fall in love with, but Hans absolutely isn't. And I do think that's actually part of it. Hans is someone who is capable himself but who still needs him all the same. Hans is someone he can protect and take care of in ways he couldn't protect or take care of his family. As a result, it allows him to regain a sense of control. (This, too, is a trauma response!) We know how much Henry cares about protecting those he loves so much so that it's a theme throughout the game. Just consider the threat that dream!Istvan levels at him about how he might inadvertently cause harm to the two people he cares about most, Hans and Sam.

And so Henry sees this very vulnerably person in Hans, like he's a fucking shelter dog who is a little violent because he's never been socialized right. And he's like, what will happen if I handle this poor shelter dog the way that he deserves to be handled?

He might get bitten in the process, but if he treats it just right, something beautiful comes out of that. He's a diamond in the rough, and Henry is nothing if not a talented craftsman. As @hallowedlore put it when we talked about this, it's like blacksmithing. You take a piece of rough, crude piece of metal that perhaps cuts you but not too deeply. And if you treat it right, you run it through fire but don't let it burn, it can become something truly beautiful. Henry knows that Hans will inevitably encounter fire and blow on it regardless. But what he can do is stop the fire when it's needed and control how many blows he takes.

Hans is also someone who doesn't see Henry's trauma as a large part of him. Henry treats Hans not like a noble, but like a person. In turn, Hans doesn't walk on eggshells around Henry even after finding out about what he went through. In fact, he often fucks up and puts his foot in his mouth, but then he reflects on it and apologizes. He never treats Henry like china, he just talks to him about the hard shit right away.

Every person that I know who has played KCD1 had the same reaction to a very particular scene. We all remember the fistfight. We all know and love the ways in which these boys finally come together and start seeing eye to eye. But the part that shocked everyone, me included, was the part where Hans instantly ate crow. He just apologizes to Henry right away the next morning. There's no way that didn't leave Henry shook as much as it left the rest of us shook.

Both of them are amazing at adapting. They both change each other and for each other and with each other.

This goes back too to another of my metas, the one about how Henry is the axle upon which the world turns. The weigh that places on Henry's shoulders is tremendous. And so many people look at him as this… tool to use. And Hans ofc also does that to a certain extent, but by the time KCD2 rolls around, he doesn't want to put Henry in that position anymore. He's willing to rescue Henry. In fact, he's desperate to be the one to rescue Henry and to get to be there to support him when he's suffering the most. He sees Henry shoulder everyone else's burdens and is desperate to take some of that weight.

"I don't want to add to that. But I'm this fucking idiot who sucks so much that I just do it by default. Henry can do better than me. So why is he here?"

This even parallels the carrying of the sacks. While Henry carries the burdens, Hans wants to carry the weight of those responsibilities for Henry. To support him as he's breaking his back for others. Even there, he insists that he do something for Henry in exchange, to help him with Mutt. It's not "I'm your lord, you'll do as I say," pretty much from the point when Henry comes for him after he's captured by the Cumans. That's when things really start changing.

And it's funny. At first I was going to say that it was when Henry offered to help him by enrolling in the tourney. But then I thought, no, it was even earlier. It was when Henry came to see him when no one else did while he was recovering after The Prey. And then I again thought no, it was earlier than that too. When he was willing to support him in walking home the entire way over several hours of slow, slow travel. These boys have gone through so much and their friendship truly went from 0 to 100 almost immediately as soon as Hans apologized.

And all of that still fits within Hans' idea of the nobility, in which he is still part of the peasantry as a protector, but not distinct from them.

Anyway, all that to say that I think there are a million reasons that Henry finds himself smitten with Hans. Hans is a nobleman who is willing to learn and adapt and grow from his mistakes. He cares about doing right by Henry. He's been socialized to act one way as per society's rules, and even then he defies that order for Henry's sake. Hans is someone who looks at Henry and sees the world. And for Henry, who has not only lost everything but feels responsible for losing everything, knowing that he can get this one thing right means the world as well.

And all of that before we even get into the part where Hans acts as not just joy, but acceptance for Henry! There's so much here. Because at the end of the day, they're just two boys who find connection with each other when they've either lost all connections (in Henry's case) or never had any that mattered (in Hans' case). They're each other's lifelines. I NEED TO STOP BEFORE I TEAR UP AGAIN 😭

#writing this made me emotional last night when I first discussed it with hallowedlore #and then again just now while writing it up for this post #oh I love them so much #hansry #henry of skalitz #hans capon #kcd #kcd2 spoilers #kingdom come deliverance #tam talks #kcd meta

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raevalyntine · 1 day ago

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cowboy sylus

—a whole lot of teasin’, sexual tension, sylus is a menace (but so are you), use of the nickname ‘bunny’, poor attempt at a southern accent (real sorry darlin’)

you wanted to fuck that damn smirk off that gorgeous cowboy’s face.

it had been days of pure torture.

you were the sweet daughter of the town chief. everyone knew you. elders praised you. all grace and manners, they said. always so respectful, always with a kind word and a soft smile. boys your age circled like moths to a flame, but none ever got too close. not with your daddy keepin’ a loaded rifle in the shed and a reputation for shootin’ first, askin’ later. ain’t no man good enough for his baby girl.

but you weren’t half as innocent as they thought you were, were you darlin’?

you played the part real well. everybody got fooled. the town’s sweetheart. battin’ your lashes, lookin’ up through those big doe eyes like you didn’t have a single wicked thought in that pretty little head of yours. but deep down, you knew how to pull the strings. knew just how to smile and sweet-talk your way into gettin’ exactly what you wanted.

they didn’t really knew you, didn’t they?

no one really knew your mind was filled with thoughts so sinful, you’d need a whole month of repentance just for thinkin’ one. no one knew you dreamed of rough hands on soft skin, touchin’ you just right, holdin’ you just tight enough to make you feel like you’d come undone. you’d lay awake at night, wonderin’ about someone older. someone who’d let you run wild, then fuck the attitude clean outta you when the day was done. not like those shy, fumblin’ boys who just wanted a sweet, obedient thing to hang on their arm.

but he knew.

that cowboy who bought the old bar downtown and that stretch of land a mile out. sylus, he said his name was. came ‘round one afternoon, stood on your daddy’s porch all calm and easy, tip of his hat and a firm handshake. said he was lookin’ for help on the ranch, wondered if your daddy could spread the word.

your daddy liked him. said he was a man’s man—respectful, hardworkin’, self-made. reminded him of himself back in the day.

but would he still think so if he knew what that cowboy was really after?

the minute sylus laid eyes on you, he saw clean through that sugar-sweet disguise. saw the sin sittin’ behind your smile, the devil hidin’ underneath that short little sundress you wore like temptation itself. and you knew he wanted you by the way his eyes stuck on you a second too long, the way his jaw tightened up every time you said his name like honey slow-drippin’ off your tongue.

sylus knew. knew you were trouble.

knew that you were just itchin’ to be found out.

and he was real tempted to give in.

‘specially when he’d come by your porch, talkin’ business with your daddy. you’d sashay on out with a drink tray in them soft little hands, offerin’ up sweet tea and an even sweeter smile. always leanin’ just a bit too close when you set the glasses down, lettin’ him catch a glimpse of the curve of your chest, lettin’ your perfume settle right under his skin. like you planned it that way.

or when you’d show up at the bar with your girlfriends, dressed like summer sin, laughin’ under the lights, never drinkin’ too much, just enough to let your hips sway easy with the country beat. he’d be behind the counter, tryin’ his damn best to focus on the pour—but your eyes never left him. not once.

he damn near gave in the other day, helpin’ your daddy fix up that old beat-up truck. sun was high, sweat slickin’ down his neck, grease on his hands—and while your daddy headed inside to grab more tools, you came out with somethin’, hell, he don’t even remember what it was—‘cause you dropped it on purpose, didn’t you?

bent over real slow in front of him, like you didn’t know what you were doin’.

then you stood up all sweet, handed him a towel like it was the most natural thing in the world, eyes big and innocent. praisin’ him like a preacher’s daughter.

“workin’ so hard,” you said, soft and syrupy,

fingers trailin’ over the dirt on his chest, slow as sin. “don’t know what we’d do without ya.”

and for a second, he damn near gave you what you’d been beggin’ for without sayin’ a word.

but where’s the fun in lettin’ you have it easy?

sylus wasn’t the kind of man to give in to a challenge. not without makin’ you work for it. and hell, there’s still so much more he’s curious about. he needs to know just how far you’re willin’ to go. what other tricks you’ve got hidin’ behind that sweet smile and them soft glances. what else you’d dare do to rile him up.

but mostly… he wants to give you a taste of your own damn medicine.

teasin’ you, same way you’ve been teasin’ him. real slow, real deliberate. watchin’ how you squirm when he leans in close but don’t touch, when his voice drops low and rough in your ear, makin’ you wonder if today’s the day he finally snaps.

you were playin’ a dangerous game.

and he was startin’ to forget why he shouldn’t play it right back. he was givin’ it right back now. every trick you pulled, he turned it on you tenfold, and worse still, he knew exactly how much you were affected.

“careful there, princess,” he said one afternoon, standin’ behind you at the porch while your daddy hammered away at the fence just a few steps ahead. sylus leaned in close, one hand braced on the rail right beside your waist. his breath ghosted over your ear, close enough to make your skin prickle, but not quite touchin’. “that dress is a little short for bendin’ over like that, don’t you think?”

you froze, heart skippin’, not from fear, but from heat. he just chuckled low under his breath and walked off whistlin’ like he hadn’t just set you on fire.

“look at you, angel,” he’d say when you dropped by the bar, pretendin’ to be there for a soda while your friends laughed near the jukebox. he’d slide the glass toward you slow, fingers brushing yours just barely. “you always this thirsty, or is it just when i’m around?”

but the worst—the one that got you every time—was when he called you bunny. it wasn’t just the word. it was the way he said it. low and certain, like he’d already made up his mind that you were his. his to tease, to hunt, to have when he finally felt like takin’ you.

he said it when no one else was listenin’.

when your daddy asked him to help unload supplies and you’d followed out back just to sneak a moment alone.

“would ya be a sweet lil’ bunny and hand me that?” he’d say, noddin’ to the rope coiled by your feet, not even lookin’ at it. just lookin’ at you. his eyes were all over you—draggin’ slow from your legs up to your mouth, like he was already undressin’ you in his mind, already takin’ his damn sweet time with what he knew was already his for the takin’.

and when you did hand it over, cheeks hot, mouth dry, he let his fingers close around yours a second too long, eyes borin’ into yours with a heat that makes you feel like you’re doin’ something you shouldn’t do.

“good girl,” he murmured, soft enough to make your knees go weak.

he never crossed the line. never touched where he shouldn’t, never said nothin’ someone else could catch. but god, he danced on the edge of it, all with that stupid smirk on his face. and the worst part? he did it all with your daddy just a breath away.

you’d watch him laugh with your daddy, talk business like nothin’ was brewin’ under the surface. but every now and then, he’d glance over, eyes lockin’ with yours like a silent promise.

you were startin’ to hate how much you wanted it. how he had you waitin’, yearnin’, burnin’—and still refused to give you more. how he’d just watch when you leaned in all soft and sweet, poutin’ like you thought that might be the thing to finally tip the scale.

but it only ever made him grin.

“you alright there, bunny?” he murmured one night, passin’ you in the hallway on his way out, your daddy just a few feet away in the next room. “lookin’ a little tense.” he leaned in, voice like warm smoke in your ear.

“you can always tell me if you need help. truth is, you wouldn’t know what to do without me, would ya?”

and then that smug bastard was gone, walkin’ out the door without so much as a glance back. leavin’ you breathin’ hard, thighs squeezed tight, and so damn mad you could scream.

he wanted you just as bad. fuck, you knew he did. saw it in the way his jaw tightened when you laughed, the way his eyes lingered a second too long, like he was holdin’ himself back.

but that son of a gun… he was waitin’.

waitin’ for you to give in. for you to take that first step, let go of all that pretendin’.

he didn’t just want to chase you. no, he wanted to watch you burn. wanted to see you light that fire you kept buried down deep, the one he knew was there.

you wanted to be a menace?

then be one.

show him just how wicked his sweet little bunny could get.

you couldn’t take it anymore.

that evenin’ he’d brought over a bottle of wine for your daddy, sayin’ it was a gift from the bar, just somethin’ nice to wind down the week. and as he passed behind you on the porch, he’d bumped you ever so gently, makin’ you stumble just enough.

his hand caught your waist, barely there, but firm, fingers pressing right where your body ached for more. he leaned in close, voice all velvet and smoke right against your ear.

“careful there, bunny.”

and then he let go. just like always. just enough to drive you insane.

so you took matters into your own hands.

told your daddy you were spendin’ the night at a friend’s place, a girls’ sleepover, you said, nothin’ special. he’d smiled, kissed your forehead, told you to have fun. sweet and trustin’ as ever.

he didn’t know you’d be walkin’ straight to sylus’ doorstep instead.

by the time you reached his place, your palms were sweatin’, heart thuddin’ like a drum in your chest. you knocked once, twice. barely had time to second-guess yourself before the door creaked open.

and there he was.

shirt unbuttoned just enough, eyes already locked on yours like he knew. like he’d been waitin’ for this exact moment.

“well, look what the—”

his words never made it out.

you surged forward, fingers in his shirt, mouth on his, crashin’ into him like a storm you’d been holdin’ back for far too long.

your lips, your hands. hell, everything about you was greedy.

you were pullin’ at his shirt, fisting your fingers in his hair, bitin’ at his bottom lip like you wanted to take a piece of him with you.

but he stumbled back a half step, breath catchin’, eyes dark.

“woah, woah — slow down there, bunny.”

but you didn’t slow. didn’t even pretend to.

you damn near growled before sinkin’ your teeth into his neck, not hard enough to hurt but just enough to warn him.

and that was it.

in one quick, rough motion, sylus had you pinned up against the wall, his body pressed close, heat radiatin’ off him like wildfire. one hand shot up and grabbed both your wrists in a single, strong grip, slammin’ them above your head and holdin’ you there like it was nothin’.

his eyes locked on yours, and you weren’t shy about starin’ right back, a wild little glare burnin’ in your gaze like you dared him to stop you again.

“i told you to slow down, didn’t i?” he muttered, low and amused, lips curled in that maddening smirk.

then he laughed, soft and low, the kind that raked down your spine.

his free hand hovered just over your skin—didn’t touch, not quite—but you could feel it. ghostin’ over your jaw, down the curve of your neck, slow as ever. draggin’ lower to your waist, fingers never meetin’ flesh, just close enough to make you ache.

he wasn’t holdin’ back anymore but he was takin’ his damn time.

his lips inched closer to yours. not kissing, just hovering, just there. and his breath was warm against your face, mixin’ with your own, heavy and fast. his hand still hadn’t touched you, not really, just floatin’ over your skin like a damn ghost, keepin’ you on edge.

“look at you,” he murmured, voice all low and velvet-rough, thick with that lazy drawl that drove you wild. “been runnin’ ‘round all week like a little tease.”

his fingers drifted just beside the line of your jaw, makin’ your breath hitch even though he still hadn’t touched you.

“flashin’ that pretty smile. sway in your step. bendin’ over in front of me like you didn’t know exactly what you were doin’.” he shook his head, clucked his tongue softly. “you been real bad, haven’t you, bunny?”

he tilted his head, eyes flickin’ down to your lips, hoverin’ there like he was debatin’ whether or not to claim them.

“tuggin’ at your skirt like you’re innocent. starin’ at me with those eyes like you ain’t been imaginin’ this every night.”

his hand ghosted over your throat, down your collarbone, and lower, hovering just above your chest. you arched forward, desperate for anything, but he didn’t give in. not yet.

“you wanted my attention so damn bad,” he whispered, smirkin’, that cocky tilt to his lips that made you wanna slap him or kiss him or both. “and now you got it.”

he leaned in close, lips brushin’ your cheek, breath warm and steady against your ear.

“so tell me, bunny,” he murmured, voice thick as molasses, laced with that dark, dangerous charm. “what should i do with you right now?”

you froze, flush crawlin’ up your neck like fire. you couldn’t say it. god, you wanted to, but the words tangled in your throat. your whole body was achin’, beggin’, but your mouth wouldn’t move.

so you turned your face away—just for a second. not outta pride. outta shame. wantin’ it too much. needin’ him too badly.

but that’s when he touched you.

his fingers slid up, slow and deliberate, until they found your chin. he tilted your face back to his with a firm little grip, holdin’ you in place, eyes lockin’ on yours.

“you weren’t shy before,” he said, tone dipped in mock sweetness, but that sharp edge was right beneath it. “batting them lashes, brushin’ against me like it was just somethin’ innocent.”

his thumb grazed your bottom lip, slow.

“what happened to that mouth of yours, huh? all that attitude, and now you’re quiet?”

he leaned in even closer, his voice sinkin’ low, thick with challenge, with want. that thumb of his still restin’ soft against your lip, like he was remindin’ you just how close he could be without givin’ you anything.

even that—that barest touch—had your skin burnin’. after all that time wantin’ him, dreamin’ about him, sufferin’ through every smirk and whisper… you were already halfway undone.

you bit your lip, holdin’ back a sound, a plea. then you muttered it, barely above a breath.

“…i want you.”

he blinked, slow, then tilted his head with a lazy little smirk. “what was that, now? can’t hear ya, bunny.” he was a cruel man. slow and cruel and patient.

he leaned in, his lips barely an inch from yours, voice low enough to vibrate through your chest.

“say it louder, so i can be sure.”

your throat tightened. eyes stingin’ now, not from hurt, but from sharp, sweet, unbearable need.

you closed your eyes, swallowed hard… then opened them again.

and you stared right into him.

“i want you to take me,” you whispered, voice shaky, breakin’ just a little at the end. shaky, breakin’ just a little at the end. “i want you to take me in all the ways you imagined.” your voice was clearer now, your confidence returning when you say just how much he was holdin’ back, how much he was nearly panting from hearin’ you spill out your desires to him. you leaned closer, nose to nose with him, as you finally delivered the last blow. “i want you to ruin me.”

and that was all it took.

the second those words left your lips, somethin’ in him snapped. quiet, sharp, final. like a tether givin’ way after bein’ pulled too damn tight for too long.

his hand let go of your wrists, and your arms dropped down without thinkin’, instinct takin’ over as you wrapped them around his neck, pullin’ him in like you couldn’t stand another inch of space between you.

he grabbed your waist, rough and certain, yankin’ you flush against him—no more games now, no more waitin’.

the kiss was messy, wild, needy. all tongue and teeth, breath and hunger. nothin’ soft about it. not anymore. it was everything you’d both been holdin’ back. it was like he was tryin’ to make up for every second he didn’t touch you, like he’d starved himself on purpose just to feel this kind of burn.

his fingers dug into your sides like he needed to feel all of you, ground himself in the heat of your body. and when your hands found his hair, tugged hard—he groaned against your mouth like it hurt good.

whatever restraint he had left?

it was gone.

and now… he was gonna make damn sure you meant every word you said.

his lips broke away from yours only to drag along your jaw, leavin’ hot, open-mouthed kisses as he made his way down to your neck, teeth grazin’ just enough to make you gasp.

and that sound—that sweet, desperate sound you made—only spurred him on. both of you were grindin’ on each other shamelessly, like wild animals in the dead of the night.

you clung to him tighter, fingers twisted in his hair, body archin’ into him without even thinkin’. your back hit the wall again, but this time you welcomed it—needed the support, needed him, pressin’ into every inch of you like he couldn’t get close enough.

he was mutterin’ now, words against your skin, voice low and frayed at the edges.

“look at you,” he breathed, mouth workin’ a mark into the crook of your neck. “ain’t so quiet now, huh?”

his hands were all over. rough palms slidin’ down your waist, over your hips, then back up under your shirt, callused fingertips draggin’ fire in their wake.

you could barely breathe, barely think.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, chest heaving, lips kiss-swollen, eyes dark as sin.

“you know,” he said, smirkin’ like he was still holdin’ the reins even now, “you coulda had this a long time ago… if you’d just asked real nice.”

you tried to snap back, but all that came out was a whimper—and that son of a gun—he laughed, low and breathless, like he loved seein’ you like this.

“that’s what i thought.”

his hand slid down to your waist, then lower, fingers pressin’ in sharp and sudden at the curve of your back, just enough to make you yelp.

“gotcha,” he muttered, grinnin’ against your mouth.

and before you could think, he was liftin’ you, hands strong under your thighs as your legs wrapped tight around his waist, your arms thrown over his shoulders, holdin’ on like he was the only thing keepin’ you upright.

you barely had time to let out a breath before he started walkin’, carryin’ you through the hallway like he’d done it a thousand times in his head.

you pressed your mouth to his neck—attacked him really—all teeth and heat and little gasps, bitin’ down hard enough to make him hiss, to leave something behind, proof you’d been there.

he chuckled, deep and low, like he liked the pain.

“feisty little thing tonight, ain’t ya?”

you didn’t answer. your mouth was too busy leavin’ more marks, claiming every inch of skin you could reach as he kicked open his bedroom door.

and the second you were inside?

he slammed it shut with his boot.

you were in his space now.

and there was no goin’ back.

p.s// i physically can’t write smut, i will be punished by lightning and my ancestors would send a demon to devour me so this is all we’re getting (sexual tension is already so hot to me actually it’s sooo delicious). also i’m sorry in advance if things are not so accurate, my only source is scrounging the internet for other cowboy fics and guides to the accent. hope everyone enjoys this as much as i enjoyed writing it!💗

#sylus x y/n #sylus lads #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus x reader #cowboy sylus

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animasola86 · 2 days ago

Text

🚩 FORCED: 05+06

Is your fever dream over? You doubt so when you wake up trapped in a cage. But then your new reality sinks in...

a morally gray man!your new master✖️ female!reader

WARNING: This is a DARK FANTASY EROTICA! Beware of the following tags: Dead dove: do not eat! Explicit sexual content! Noncon! Master/servant dynamic! Bad BDSM etiquette! Cages. Petplay. Butt plugs/spreaders. Humiliation, degradation. Impact play (slapping, spanking, caning). Masochism. Voyeurism/cuckqueaning. Oral sex/deepthroating. Vaginal fingering. Overstimulation. (🚩Please do not read/engage if any of these tags are triggering to you!)

WORDS: 7.1k 🚩 READ ON AO3!

A/N: Again, I put these two chapters into one post because they fit quite well (and I uploaded them individually on AO3 and need to catch up to my schedule over there).

So, we learn a bit more about Master, but he still doesn't have a name or is described physically, that's where you come in: turn him into your favorite blorbo if you want! Reader is just as vague (with hair long enough to braid and female genitalia). Also I'd like to add that I use the term "girl" a lot in these chapters, and while I never specified it, please note that all female characters are in fact adults, all adult women, I just like to call them girls.

Now please remember that this is very dark and rough, especially Chapter 6. It is also still fiction, just some smut fantasy and no how-to-guide. So. You've been warned!

For more information, check the Author's Notes on chapter 1.

Chapter 4 🔻 Chapter 5+6 🔺 Chapter 7

A low rumble woke you. Turning onto your side, you groaned, your whole body sore and hurting. Your mind was still hazy when you opened your eyes to find yourself lying on a cozy cushion, but as you tried to stretch your legs, your feet bumped into something. You weren't bound, yet you couldn't go anywhere either.

A dim light illuminated the room. You couldn't see far. But you could see the bars surrounding you on all sides. Thin yet sturdy looking metal bars, even above you. You reached out a hand, seeing it shaking from exhaustion, and when your fingers curled around one of the rods, you felt how unyielding they actually were. Blinking in confusion, you sat up, as best as you could, with your legs pulled against your chest and your head tilted to fit into the tight space – and you realized you were in a cage.

Panic flooded your strained body, and you pulled on the bars, rattled the metal, but nothing gave, you only exhausted yourself even more. Breathing harder, you looked around with a quiet whine, when a cold shiver crashed through you. You weren't the only one in the room. There were more cages, lining the walls, some were even suspended in the air, and all of them were occupied – with other girls. Most were still sleeping, and you could only see their prone forms, but others were awake as you were, and they were watching you through the bars of their own confinements, yet their eyes were vacant, dull, as if they'd accepted their fate a long time ago.

Their fate. Of being what? A pet? Treated like a fucking dog? Put in a cage? You were wearing the respective collar, and you were naked, like they all were. Your heart beat faster. This isn't happening. Your hands curled around the bars again, and you shook them, grunting with every attempt to get out, but there was no way. There wasn't even a visible lock.

You were crying and whimpering, pleading to whoever heard you to let you out, please, this was a mistake, I don't belong here, and by the time you realized you weren't strong enough to do anything to that awful cage, you felt even worse, and when you looked around, you saw some of the girls watching you, one of them had her finger on her lips as if to shush you.

You remembered then that they might all be mute like the two girls you had the pleasure of meeting the last time you were awake, and the mere idea of having your vocal chords removed sent a deep shiver down your spine. You wiped at your wet face, trying to calm yourself. Nothing else you could do.

“It'll get better,” you then heard a faint voice from somewhere above you. You strained your neck until you saw a girl talking to you, her slim arm dangling down from between the bars of her suspended cage. It was swaying slightly. “Just do what he tells you to do. It's fine...”

You wanted to say, no, it's not fine, this is horrible, how can you just accept this, he can't do this to me, to us, but before you could reply, a clack sounded and the lights in the room turned on all at once, making you squint at the sudden brightness.

There was a general shuffling of cushions and quiet aching of metal, and when you looked around, you saw all the girls waking up. They all assumed the same pose, on their knees, with their arms folded in front of them and their heads bowed deeply. There were at least ten on the ground, you included, and five suspended in the air.

You ducked your head when another loud click made you look towards the back of the room where a door opened. In came the man whose car you'd damaged, who'd made you sign this stupid contract, who'd done all these vile things to you. You cowered, unintentionally assuming the same position as the girls around you.

Nonchalant as he was in his dark suit, he was carrying a tablet, not even looking at the cages as he crossed the room, but as he went, some of the confinements opened with a strange whirring sound. “Get your breakfast, pets,” he told them casually, and five of the girls slowly crawled out of their cages, remained on their hands and knees, formed a line and exited the room, without making a single noise, heads bowed obediently as they clambered away. What a strange sight. But it got even weirder. You noticed they were all wearing butt plugs with a fluffy tail attached, finishing the whole pet theme.

The rest of the girls on the ground remained in their kneeling positions, waiting for their turn apparently. The man, however, came closer to your own cage, but instead of addressing you, he looked up at the girl suspended in the air next to you. She was quiet now, the arm retreated into the slightly swinging confinement.

He sighed as he pressed something on his tablet, and you watched with your heart beating faster how the cage was lowered to the ground, though it never touched it completely. The girl inside was kneeling too, but she was staring at the man, and you could have sworn there was defiance in her eyes, not the same vacant gaze the others sported.

Suddenly his hand shot through the bars and gripped the girl's throat. She gasped audibly, yet the hard edge remained in her eyes. “You really like getting punished, hm, slut?”

In your own cage just a few feet away, you flinched at the crude name, having assumed these girls would all have some sort of pet names, literally, like pet, bird, doll. To your further surprise, the girl, who had a black ribbon attached to her braid, bit her lip and replied: “Yes, master.”

He stared at her, but there was a smirk on his face. “Good,” he said and let go of her, straightening up again. “You'll help train our newest addition today.”

You winced as his gaze met yours, and you shrunk away into your cage. The whirring sounded again and both your and the cage of the defiant girl opened with a hiss.

“Get out,” he commanded, but you couldn't move.

The girl with the black bow (whose name you really didn't want to repeat) crawled out of her own cage, gracefully climbing down the last inches, swaying her naked hips (and you noticed the strange contraption in her butt, no plug or tail, but a spreader, allowing a perfect view into her ass, a sight you really didn't want to look at for long).

“Help her, slut,” the man said, and you ducked away more when the girl kept moving on her hands and knees towards your cage, tilting her head, staring at you intently, mouthing something you couldn't understand but got a notion what she wanted to say anyway: Play along.

You swallowed hard and nodded, letting the girl grab the loop on your collar and pull you after her as she backed out slowly. The man watched you emerge from the cage with a stoic expression, then leaned down to pat the girl's head, saying: “Good slut.”

You were about to get to your feet, stretch your limbs after having spent who knows how long in that cramped cage, but as soon as you tried, the man shook his head and the other girl pulled you down, her eyes widened as she shook her head as well. You frowned, but resumed your kneeling position, looking up in confusion.

“Be a good doll, yeah?” the man addressed you, his hand caressing your warm cheek. You blinked, but found yourself nodding into his palm. He smiled at you, the sight something that made the whole situation a little less frightening. He then moved his hand to the other girl, but instead of caressing her cheek, he slapped it, hard, but the girl barely flinched away, she even mewled a little. “I'll deal with you later,” he told her, and she licked her lips and nodded. “Bring her to Room D, I'll be there in five.”

“Yes, master,” she replied and bowed low, before she pressed her lips to his shiny shoes. You watched the scene with a deep crease between your eyebrows.

Somewhere behind you another door opened, and when the black ribbon girl turned and started crawling towards it, you threw one last glance at the tall man (who gave you a nod, then turned towards another cage) before you followed, though you kept your eyes fixed on the cold stone floor instead of the view in front of you. It looked painful to have one's asshole stretched that wide, and you really didn't want to see all the way into her bowels.

Walking on your hands and knees, crawling like a dog, felt humiliating, but all the girls were doing it, and you really didn't want to get punished, in whatever way, so you bit the inside of your cheek and played along. As soon as the girl moved through the open door, your curious gaze fell onto the interior. Your heart sank.

One side was lined with a concerning amount of spanking tools: riding crops, whips, floggers, canes, paddles, belts, and so many other things you didn't even have a name for. The next held a variety of cuffs and harnesses, all in shiny leather, as well as a lot of neatly curled up rope bundles. In one corner you saw wooden structures on the wall and in front of it, X-shapes, T-shapes, upside-down Y-shapes, with more cuffs and leather straps dangling from them. There were also various hoops attached to the walls and the ceiling, some already equipped with ropes.

On the last wall, where the other girl was leading you, was a large mirror. You quickly averted your eyes from your own reflection, it was too strange seeing yourself naked on all fours with a collar around your neck and various bite marks and bruises on your chest where the two girls had gone to town on you last night (the memory was hazy, but seeing the evidence didn't make it any easier to process). Focusing on something else, you noticed what stood in front of the mirror: a long row of dog bowls.

Your stomach churned at the sight, both in disgust and shock, but also in plain hunger. You couldn't even remember when you last ate. The girl stopped in front of one bowl and leaned down, as flat as humanly possible (with her ass raised high), bringing her mouth close to whatever food was waiting for her and started eating straight out of it, the crunch of whatever she was eating echoing loudly through the room.

You stared at her with wide eyes, not moving any further. “Come on,” she said through a mouthful of what looked either like one of those healthy cereals or really dry dog kibble. “Eat as long as you can. It's really not that bad.”

“What is it?” you asked quietly, your own voice hoarse from misuse and your past exertions.

“Not dog food, surprisingly,” the other girl replied, diving back in to munch on her food, shaking her rear absentmindedly.

You approached the bowl tentatively. As soon as you leaned down, resting on your hands with your elbows pointed away from you, the humiliation you felt turned into something else, the need to eat, to silence your rumbling stomach, and when you pulled a few bits between your lips, you inhaled deeply at the sugary taste. It was indeed cereal, not the happy kind, but at least it was sweet enough to endure the dry taste.

A sudden slurping and lapping sound made you freeze with your mouth full, and you saw the other girl focusing on another bowl, this one filled with a white liquid, and when you followed suit, turning your attention to the bowl next to the one you had just ate out of, you smelled it was milk, and you happily leaned down to drink some too. Drink wasn't the word, you really had to dip your tongue in and slobber it up, it was messy and uncoordinated, but it filled your mouth with a velvety feel and helped get the dry cereal down.

“Look at you go,” you heard the girl laugh beside you. “A natural. Took me way longer to adjust to eat like this.”

You looked up, then raised a hand to wipe at your mouth, blinking. “How long have you been here?” you whispered.

She sat back on her haunches, tilting her head. “No idea. I lost all concept of time down here. Doesn't matter, really. Not that we can go anywhere anyway, right?”

You frowned deeply, sitting up as well, scooping up some cereal into your hand to pop them into your mouth one by one. “What do you mean?” you asked while chewing.

The girl sighed. “Are you one of those who didn't read the contract?”

“Contract? Wait, he had you sign one too?”

“Yeah, all of us, as stupid as we were. I tried to read mine, but, well, he wasn't in the mood to give me time that day. Grabbed my hand and forged my signature while giving me a good pounding at the same time...” She sighed again, licking her lips as if reminiscing the moment. “I really don't mind. At least I get fed and have a roof over my head and don't have to worry about the state of the world, you know? And honestly... it's not that bad to service a hot guy like him, isn't it?”

“But it's not right! He can't force us to do this!” you exclaimed, staring at the other girl with tears brimming in your eyes. “Force us to do any of this!” You shook your head vehemently, waving your hand around, the first tears rolling past your lashes.

“Oh, but it is, and he can. It's his right. We signed away our lives to him. Whatever we did before doesn't matter,” she said, watching you closely. “How did you end up here, hm? Spilled your drink on his fancy suit?”

“Bumped into his car while drunk,” you mumbled, looking away, feeling defeated. “And couldn't pay for the damage...”

The girl laughed. “Ah, the guilt trip. Gave you the option to make you serve him to let you repay your debt? Classic.”

“What did you do?” you whispered, eyeing her from under your lashes.

“Kicked him in the balls for touching me in the club,” she replied, grinning wickedly. “He was not happy. Blackmailed me into following him, then presented me with that contract... and then couldn't wait to punish me for my behavior. I think I was high that night, I mean why reject a guy like him in the first place, hm? Also, turns out, I'm kinda into all that kinky shit anyway,” she added with a chuckle, wriggling her hips in her kneeling position – and you noticed how she pressed the heel of her foot right between her ass cheeks.

You looked away when she let out a soft moan. “It's still wrong... treating us like animals. Oh, and cutting out our vocal chords? What the hell is up with that?” you hissed, looking back at the girl who stopped her wriggling with a sigh. “Wait, you still have yours...”

“As do you,” she replied with a wink. “He seems to still consider what he'll do with you. And not all girls have lost their voices, only those he rents out to other perverts. It's his safest bet to send those who can't talk and possibly rat him out, you know? Me, for example, I'm safe, because he really likes my screams,” she added and looked towards the wall full of whips and paddles.

You shivered deeply as you followed her almost longing gaze.

“Don't worry, you'll find your purpose, or he'll find it for you,” the girl whispered. “I'm his pain slut, and I love it... and you will learn to love your new role as well, don't worry.”

“Don't really have a choice, now do I?” you replied bitterly, staring down at the bowl in front of you. “This is so degrading...”

“Nah, could be worse. There were girls once he fed actual dog food to, and he kept them in cages outside, with the real animals. They had to wear muzzles and dildo gags all day long, and I think he may even had his dogs fuck them, but that might have been just a rumor to make the rest of us behave...”

You stared at the girl with wide eyes, feeling your stomach churning for completely different reasons. Your horror grew, and you wished the other girl wouldn't share all these things with you, but she didn't seem to be able to read the room, or was just glad to use her voice for something other than screams for once. Because she didn't stop.

“Hey, I'd take a puny dog penis, even with the knot, as long as I don't have to be mounted by a horse or a bull. Those things are nasty and huge, and I bet you'll be utterly destroyed afterwards...”

“God, please stop!” you choked out, feeling bile creeping up your throat. Breathing heavily through your nose, you looked away, fighting tears.

“Sorry, must be all a little much for someone like you, hm?” the girl said quietly, but with a mocking tone. “He calls you doll, eh? Suits you, as innocent as you look. I'm sure you'll be treated better than those poor souls outside...”

Even though the mere thought of being an actual animal's plaything revolted you to no end, it didn't make you feel better about how you were treated before, bound and gagged and strapped to a fucking machine, ending up with a collar and in a cage, eating out of a bowl off the ground. No matter how you looked at it, it was all awful, and you didn't want any of it. But you also couldn't see a way out, and you knew you were bound by that horrible contract, bound to this man, having to endure whatever he told you to do, so there was nothing you could do but to adjust, to endure, hoping he might still let you go some day.

Perhaps, if you were on your best behavior, you might have a chance at surviving all this without losing too much of yourself. Biting your lip, you looked at the other girl who was back to pressing the heel of her foot into her gaping ass, a mellow expression on her face.

“So, uh,” you said quietly, feeling awkward to witness such a scene, but you should have been past awkward by now, being naked all the time, being treated like an animal, humiliated beyond belief (though you were sure now that there were worse ways of spending your time here), so you only cleared your throat, waiting for the girl to pass her attention back to you. “So I just do what he says, and I'll be fine?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, rolling her shoulders. “Be as obedient as you can be. Call him Master. Never do anything unprompted unless he tells you to. Be good. Be his doll. Then you'll be fine.”

You nodded, looking back at the dog bowl. Trying to distract yourself, you went back down on your hands and knees, leaning on your forearms, and lapped up a little bit more milk, feeling parched and empty. Your mind was still reeling, but the strange way of drinking had you concentrate so much, you didn't even hear the hissing sound of the door opening behind you.

[READ ON AO3]

“Time for another training session, doll.”

His words made your heart skip a beat, for whatever reasons (the timbre of his voice or the implications?). Slowly you leaned up, but remained in your crouched position over the milk bowl, waiting for the command to stand up. Next to you, the other girl assumed a slightly different position, with her face pressed to the ground and her ass in the air, and a little hum escaped her as she shook her hips a little.

“Not so eager, slut,” you heard him say with a sigh. “Doll, get up.”

Your breath hitched when you scrambled to your feet, turning slowly before you stood stock-still before him, head bowed, hands folded in front of your sex. He stepped closer and grabbed your chin, making you look up at him. You met his gaze, chills rushing down your spine. He looked you over sternly, then wiped at the corner of your mouth as his lips curled into a smirk.

“I hope you're still hungry. I got another treat for you,” he told you with a wink.

You felt yourself blushing badly, the warmth spread from your cheeks down your shoulders all the way between your thighs, and you couldn't help pressing them together slightly. He hooked his finger into the hoop at your collar and gently pulled you after him as he started walking to the middle of the room.

“Slut, on the X-frame,” he said over your head, and you heard the shuffle of the other girl behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see her crawling her way to the wooden structures lining the wall. “Doll, eyes on me,” he suddenly scolded, and you gasped, looking back fully at him, eyes wide, swallowing hard. He smiled. “Good.” You blinked, feeling a strange pulsing in your pussy.

“I'm ready, master,” the girl interrupted the little moment that left you slightly confused. The man patted your cheek, then walked past you.

“Stay there, doll. And watch,” he said as he stepped closer to the girl leaning against a large wooden X, arms raised, hands holding onto leather straps, while her legs were spread as well, exposing her shaved mound. He bent down to fasten thick cuffs around her ankles, before doing the same with her wrists when he straightened up again. Then, completely unprovoked, he slapped the girl so hard her head spun to the side. She inhaled sharply, but didn't show any other sign of discomfort.

“Thank you, master,” she even said, and from your watching position, you frowned deeply, feeling a little uneasy as the girl's cheek started blooming bright red.

“Come here, doll,” he called you, and it took you a moment to react, too shocked by the display.

You shuffled towards him, breathing a little harder, hands still clasped in front of your sex, arms squishing your breasts together. You might have somehow lost the shame of being naked, seeing that every girl here looked about the same as you, but you still felt a little uncomfortable, the anticipation of what was to come sitting heavy on your shoulders, knowing there was not a single layer of fabric to protect you.

The man turned to you, tilting his head. You looked up obediently. “So, before we start, let's talk a bit, shall we?” he said quietly, watching you closely. “Of course you are aware of the terms of our contract,” he added mockingly, knowing full well you didn't read a single line of it. “But let me sum it up for you a little.”

You held his gaze, tensing up as he continued.

“You are to address me as Master, you will do whatever I say without hesitation and only when I say so. You are my servant now, which means that you will serve me however I see fit. If you disobey or hesitate or show other signs of defiance, you will get punished. Like Slut here,” he finished, his hand moving to one of the girl's breasts. He groped it hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh, nails scratching over her skin, but the girl only held her breath. He ended the demonstration by slapping the plump mound with his flat hand, once, twice, until the girl issued a single gasp.

“What did she do, you may wonder? Well, she likes to provoke me, don't you, slut?” He slapped her breasts again, and again, red marks forming on her pale skin. “Don't you?” he repeated louder, his hand returning to her face, a harsh pat finding her already red cheek.

“Yes, master,” she croaked out, inhaling deeply through her nose. “I'm sorry, master.”

His hand met her cheek again, a lot harder this time, and she cried out as her head snapped to the side. “Don't lie to me. Tell Doll why you keep provoking me.”

You stared at the scene, frozen to the spot, appalled and frightened by the presentation of raw power. You felt tears burning under your lashes, but forced yourself not to cry. The other girl looked at you, her own eyes reddened.

“I like the pain,” she whispered. “I like being punished by Master. It... it gets me off...”

His hand moved down her restrained body before he cupped her sex with a fierce grip, causing the girl to arch up. His fingers dug into her folds, a squelching sound echoing through the room. “Oh yeah, so wet for a little bit of pain...” He sighed and shook his head. “You should be ashamed of yourself, slut.”

The girl bowed her head, breathing harder as he kept pushing his fingers in and out of her cunt. But then he stopped, and landed a few blows of his flat hand right on her swollen clit, making her convulse against the wooden frame she was tied to. You would have expected a shrill shriek or a scream, instead the girl moaned loudly.

“Thank you, master,” she breathed out. He slapped her clit once more, then pinched it between his fingers, and the girl howled in ecstasy, throwing her head back and pushing her hips forward. “Yes, yes, thank you, master.”

He let go of her then, wiping his wet hand on her fluttering stomach. “I'm not done with you yet, slut,” he said quietly before turning around to look at their silent witness.

You flinched at the attention, looking up at him with wide eyes, expecting the worst. He raised his hand, and you winced in anticipation, but then he only caressed your cheek, smiling softly down at you. “What a patient doll you are. I knew it the moment you fell on your knees in front of me,” he whispered, and you shuddered at the vague memory. “So submissive. Good little doll. Do you want your treat now?”

Confusion washed over you. “T-treat, si- master?” you stammered, biting your lip, still a little estranged by the situation, by your new role, unsure what exactly was expected of you.

He rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip. “Second breakfast, if you will,” he said, winking at you. His other hand moved to his belt, and you blinked as you followed the motion with your eyes. His long fingers expertly unbuckled his belt, opened the button at the top of his black dress pants, then pulled the zipper down. You were well aware of the gesture, but when his hard erection sprang free as he pushed the fabric down, you still let out an audible gasp.

“I want you to suck me off,” he told you, his hand back at your chin to make you look up. “Make me cum down your throat, yes, doll? And Slut here has to watch, but whenever you make a mistake or I'm not satisfied with how you handle me, she will get punished. Do you understand?”

You stared at him, your eyes flicking to the girl behind him for a moment. “I... uh...” You deemed it very unfair that someone else would be punished for your mistakes, but then you nodded, looking back into the man's eyes. “Yes, master, I understand.”

You knew there was nothing you could do. You had to obey, this was your life now that you had signed it away to this sadistic stranger. Inhaling deeply, you held his gaze, until he released your chin and pointed to the ground.

“Kneel,” he said, and you did, slowly going down, then sitting back on your haunches, looking up at him. “Now show me what a good doll you can be,” he said quietly, his hands on his hips as he looked down at you. “And remember, no biting, no pinching, any trick, and slut here will suffer the consequences. You can use your hands today, but for the future, I expect you to do this with your arms folded behind your back, understood?”

“Y-yes, master,” you mumbled, swallowing hard before wetting your lips in anticipation.

You weren't new to this, had a few dicks in your mouth before (his included, even if it was only through the ring gag), but you'd never felt this intimidated by it. The man was exuding dominance in his fancy black suit and tall stature, and the prospect of potentially harming the other girl by doing something wrong, made you feel sick to your stomach. Inhaling deeply, you scooted closer, your hands tentatively running up his legs before you closed one around his impressive girth.

Both of your hands were needed to fully envelop him, and you started stroking him slowly, up and down, your eyes fixed on his throbbing cock as you pushed the tight skin over his hardened core, palm closing around the tip with every upwards stroke, giving it a light squeeze.

“Use your mouth, doll,” he said, voice dark, bordering on impatient, and when you looked up, he had one hand on the girl's nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

You nodded quickly and leaned in, bending his hard member down to meet your level before you closed your lips around his spongy tip. His taste and smell flooded your senses, and you couldn't help the heat crashing into your stomach and lower, as you started bobbing your head gingerly, tongue rubbing along his underside as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked. A tiny shiver went through his body, and he moved his free hand to your head, patting it gently, while still pinching the other girl's pert bud.

Her soft whimpers mixed with the wet slurping sounds and your own muffled little gasps for air as you tried to take him deeper, teasing at the back of your throat. Your hands moved to cup his balls and grip his base respectively, giving gentle squeezes and massages as you continued moving your head back and forth. You thought you were doing a good job, you even held eye contact through it all. But his gaze darkened and his hand on your head tightened its grip as he moved it back to fist your hair.

With a smack he pulled you against his groin, and you gagged immediately as his cock forced its way into your throat, your hand tightening around his balls while the other slipped lower to grip at his thigh. He pulled you back and repeated the motion, and you had to squeeze your eyes shut as another convulsion ripped through your body, more spit gathering in your mouth.

“Eye contact, doll,” he hissed, and you forced yourself to look at him, even though tears burned in your eyes. He had raised his hand and was now slapping the girl's breasts, left, right, until she let out a little whimper and turned her head away, struggling in her restraints. “Always look at me when you're giving me head,” he added, staring down at you, while his hand continued to slap the already bruised chest of the other girl.

You nodded with his cock in your mouth, hoping a muffled confirmation was enough for him. Eventually he rested his hand on the girl's sternum, pressing her to the wall, holding her there. Meanwhile you continued your head bobbing, barely able to pull back enough to draw breaths with his hand still fisting your braid, but you forced yourself to calm down, breathe through your nose, fight your gag reflex. It didn't work, and you kept gagging whenever he breached your throat. Saliva and precum dripped down your chin, joined by silent tears rolling out of the corners of your eyes.

“Hurry up,” he said through gritted teeth, and his hand was back to spanking the bound girl, this time on her sex, coaxing breathless gasps out of her whenever he hit her clit or puffy pussy lips.

You felt your heart beating faster, and you tried your best, doubled your efforts, sucked and bobbed, fingers massaging his balls, tongue rubbing along his cock, the slurping sounds turning into wet gurgling noises as you forced yourself to push him into your throat over and over again. You were lightheaded when you finally felt his balls tightening, before his length twitched inside your mouth, and his hand gripped the back of your head and pulled you flush against his groin, causing his dick to slip particularly deep, bulging your neck, his pubic hair tickling in your nose.

You tried to extend your tongue, making it easier on you, but another gag came anyway, filling your mouth with spit. Your lungs burned, the urge to breathe and pull away was overpowering, and your eyelids fluttered before your eyes squeezed shut under the strain on your throat, the pain too much to keep your eyes open and on him. He groaned as he came down your throat, and you felt each rope of hot cum before it slid down slowly, gathering heavy in your almost empty stomach.

You felt another gag approaching, but then he pulled back, released you from his tight grip, and you spluttered, coughed, saliva and cum dripping from your swollen lips. He was still spurting thick globs onto your face, and you leaned back instinctively, eyes fluttering open even though your vision was blurry, before he slapped his wet cock against your lips, then your cheeks, more specks of cum painting your flushed skin, slowly dripping down, joining your tears and spit.

Your breaths were frantic, but you forced yourself to remain calm, awaiting his judgment. He wiped the tip of his dick over your eyebrows, adding to the sticky feeling and growing humiliation. Your stomach churned, be it because of the unusual meal or because you felt awful being treated like this.

“Tongue out,” he ordered, and you did so, extending your tongue flat and wide, not in the mind to care about more of his cum slipping out of your mouth and down your chin, dripping on your heaving chest and the floor below.

His gaze was dark as he pressed his cock back into your mouth, moving it in a circular motion as if to clean himself. You held still, new tears burning in your eyes. Then he sighed and leaned back, quickly tucking himself away again.

“Could have been worse,” he said, tilting his head. “We still have a lot of training to do, doll.”

You bowed your head in shame, a deep blush creeping up your soiled cheeks.

“I expect you to swallow everything I give you,” he went on, grabbing your chin. You blinked. “You wasted a lot of good seed. Lick it up.” His command made you stiffen, and you followed the movement of his shoe to see the thick specks of white on the stone floor in front of you. “Don't make me repeat myself,” he added quietly, anger in his usually smooth voice.

You gasped and bent down, breathing harder. Feeling even more horrible, you tentatively leaned closer and extended your tongue. So degrading... Silent sobs emerged from your hurting throat as you started licking his spend off the ground, the taste even worse as when he shot it onto your tongue. Swallowing hard, you leaned up, looked at him, still feeling his cum dripping down your face.

“Clean yourself up,” he then said, watching you stoically.

You wiped at your face, trying to rid yourself of the sticky stuff caked to your eyebrows, but when your hands were covered, you hesitated, biting your lip.

“Lick it off,” he commanded, and you closed your eyes and nodded, licking your fingers clean while your body still shook with the occasional sob and whimper. “Good,” he said when you were done, and the barely there praise didn't make you feel any better.

You sat on your knees, head bowed, hands folded in your lap, quietly fighting through the humiliation. A sudden smack made you wince, and you looked up to see the man standing before the other girl who convulsed under the intensity of his slaps. His flat hand landed hard blows to her breasts, to her cheeks, to her clit and pussy, but she barely issued more than a few hisses.

“Get me the cane, doll,” the man told you, and you stared at his broad back, then moved your eyes to the wall of spanking tools. A cold shiver crashed through you. “Now!” he bellowed.

You gasped and quickly scrambled to your feet, approaching the wall with apprehension. Your hand was shaking when you took the thin wooden stick off its hook before you quickly returned to him. He closed his fingers around the item, and the first hit made you scream in unison with the bound girl as it snapped against her sensitive skin, leaving an angry red welt right over her left breast.

Suddenly his hand was around your throat, and you felt yourself being pushed against the wall next to the X-frame, your hands automatically flying up to grip his wrist. His eyes met your frightened gaze. “Watch and learn. If you disobey me or if you do a bad job, you will get punished,” he told you, raising the cane again to land another blow to the poor girl's chest. She cried out, jerking away, struggling in her restraints.

“This is just one way of showing you your place,” he continued, the wooden stick whooshing through the air again, and again, hitting the girl's soft stomach, urging more screams out of her hoarse throat. “You are my property. You do as I say,” he said, each sentence ending with another swig of the cane and another ear-splitting scream. You felt sick, sobbing quietly in his grip. “You will make the effort to become better. I'm giving you food and shelter, I expect you to be grateful. You will thank me when I give you attention, when I punish you, when I allow you to come. I am your master,” he ended, the thin stick raining down on the girl's body in rapid succession, leaving a series of red stripes all over her pale skin.

The girl was wailing, crying as much as you were, and you didn't get spanked and violated. But watching this scene was almost as bad. Eventually the man lowered the cane, inhaling sharply, his grip on your throat loosening as well. When he let you go, you slumped down the wall a bit, your legs shaking so badly you were barely able to stand on them. The girl hung in her restraints, labored breaths rattling out of her throat, eyes closed, face tear-soaked, mutilated chest rising and falling rapidly.

“You did good, slut,” he told her, his hand rubbing over her lower stomach to then cup around her reddened mound. He even hit her clit and pussy with the cane, and the memory alone made you flinch badly as you stood beside them, watching silently. “Do you want to come now?” he asked, ignoring anyone's discomfort.

“Yes, master,” the girl rasped quietly. “Please, master...”

He nodded, stepping in front of the X-frame and rolled the cane along the girl's fluttering stomach before he moved it up to her face and made her bite down on it. His hand moved between her spread legs, and by the wet squelching sounds, you knew he was plunging them deep into the girl's pussy. You looked away then, feeling uncomfortable watching such an intimate scene, but the noises were enough to make your own cunt clench needily around nothing.

The bound girl gasped and moaned around the cane between her teeth, the man's fingers moved quickly, in and out, and you'd call the wet noises obscene if you hadn't just witnessed something much worse. Muffled wails and whimpers filled the room, fingers pushed into squishy flesh, and you could only imagine the feeling of warmth gathering inside the girl when the man curled his digits and bullied her sensitive spots. He went even quicker, and the girl gasped and sobbed, rattling in her restraints.

“Watch, doll,” he hissed, and your eyes flew up to him, then to his hand, then to the face of the girl, contorted in nothing but bliss as she suddenly cried out, the wooden stick falling from her open mouth, clattering noisily to the ground, her eyes rolling back, and her hips bucked against his hand as she gushed around him, her convulsing body squirming in the hold of the cuffs, something wet splattering to the ground.

“Th-thank you, m-master,” she tried to articulate between moans, voice cut up by harsh inhales. She kept squirting as the man kept assaulting her fluttering cunt, and after what must have been at least three orgasms, the girl collapsed, going limp with her head hanging low, her arms straining against her binds.

He pulled his fingers out of the girl's cunt and wiped them on her bruised breasts, gave one of them a short squeeze, before exhaling loudly. You were shaking in your watching position, face flushed, thighs pressed together, your own arousal dripping down your legs. When he turned to you, you winced and bowed your head, breathing harder. His hand found your nape, then moved along the length of your braid.

“I'm sure you will be a good doll for me,” he whispered, playing with the pink ribbon holding your hair together. “You take this all surprisingly well.” You looked up hesitantly, biting your lip.

“Thank you, master,” you breathed out, a little shocked how easy those words came to you now.

He smiled at you, his hand nudging your chin gently. “Come on then, it's time for your inspection,” he then said and hooked his finger into your collar. You stumbled after him, unsure what that meant, and kept looking back at the unconscious girl still strapped to the X-frame. “Don't worry about her. My men will take care of her.”

Somehow that didn't console you in the slightest.

Chapter 4 🔻 Chapter 5+6 🔺 Chapter 7

End notes: Don't worry, the girl will be fine... probably. Also, let's just imagine her to be a bit more chubby, so the caning of her breasts and stomach isn't as bad... Next up: inspection time!

New chapter every Saturday at around 9pm CEST!

Thank you for braving this depravity reading!

MASTERLIST 🔻 AO3 🔻 ORIGINAL WORKS

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