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dakusan · 2 months ago

Text

C H A I N B I T E R

bang chan x reader | silver chain. pouty moans. and the lesson he teaches you when you act up.

🔞synopsis: he comes home from tour. you pout, you ignore his texts, you act up—because you want him mean. he keeps the chain on. and when you bite it? he folds you in half, fucks you dumb, and doesn’t let you cum until you’re crying, drooling, and begging for the cock you’ve been bratting for. he ruins you. then holds you like you’re breakable. because you are—and you’re his favourite thing to break.

💌a/n: welcome to filth friday, sluts. 🧷this fic is dedicated to the chokehold that silver chains + pouty brattiness + missionary with a vengeance have on my brain. chan keeps the chain on. you bite it. he loses his mind. we all win. p.s. reblogs = love. comments = spit in my mouth. tags = my new religion. p.p.s. missionary is not vanilla when he growls in your ear and denies your orgasms p.p.p.s. if you reblog this while still recovering? i see you. i respect you.

⚠️ warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY. minors do not pass go, do not collect the chain | explicit sexual content | dom!bang chan, soft menace energy, and a very smug mouth | sub!reader with brat tendencies that get corrected | jewellery kink (chain stays ON. you bite it. he breaks.) | missionary sex but feral — folded position, deep strokes, held down, no escape | denial / edging | cockdrunk reader | dirty talk, degradation + praise mix (“mine.” “good girl.” “you don’t get to cum yet.”) | aftercare | breeding kink tones | crying & tears of pleasure | pouty!reader energy (literally the reason this entire fic exists. pout responsibly.)

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » TASTE — Stray Kids « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:37 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

The apartment feels colder without him.

It’s not actually cold—you’re curled up on the couch in nothing but his oversized hoodie, bare legs tucked beneath you, a mug of tea half-drunk on the coffee table. But it’s the kind of cold that seeps under your skin when the bed’s too big, the silence too loud, and your vibrator’s not doing the fucking job.

Your phone buzzes again. You don’t look.

You already know it’s him.

You’ve been ignoring him all day—not completely, just... enough. Left him on read once or twice. Gave him one-word replies. Didn’t answer the FaceTime this morning, even though you’d woken up with your hand between your thighs, aching from a dream you couldn’t finish.

It’s not fair, you know that. He’s on tour. He’s busy. He’s doing everything right—checking in, calling, sending those stupid audio messages that make your stomach flip when he whispers, “Miss you, baby. So much.”

But you’re needy.

Touch-starved. Cramps in your hips from curling up in bed alone. Horny to the point of irrational.

And the worst part? You can see him. Online. Onstage. Living in your phone like some cruel ghost. There he is at rehearsal. Dripping in sweat, shirt half-off, silver chain swinging with every breath. There he is in a fan-captured clip, laughing, flexing, biting his lip while dancing to your favorite track like he’s not out here ruining your life. And now? Now he has the audacity to send a mirror selfie. In the fucking studio. With the chain. The bracelets. The goddamn veins.

You nearly throw your phone across the room.

Instead, you sink deeper into the couch, bite the sleeve of his hoodie, and scream into the fabric.

“Fucking menace,” you mumble against your wrist.

He didn’t do anything wrong. That makes it worse.

Because now, every time you shift your hips, every time you think about his hands pinning you down and that cold metal chain slapping your chest while he fucks you stupid—

You can’t breathe.

You glance at your phone.

Three new messages.

[CHAN]: baby [CHAN]: don’t ignore me please [CHAN]: did i do something? talk to me

Your lip wobbles. Goddammit.

No. No. You’re supposed to be mad. Not real mad. Just pouty. Irritated. Like a girl whose boyfriend hasn’t been around to wreck her properly in over two weeks.

You don’t want sweet texts.

You want teeth on your throat. Fingers in your mouth. You want him to press your legs up and fuck the attitude out of you until you’re crying and clinging to his stupid chain like it’s the only thing keeping you sane.

Your gaze flicks to the bedroom door.

Then to the drawer.

You reach for the vibrator. Pause. Throw it back in.

“Fuck it,” you whisper. “Not tonight.”

If he were here, you wouldn’t even need it. He’d just look at you, and you’d be done for.

You bury yourself deeper into the cushions, grumbling, annoyed with the world. The room smells like him. The hoodie smells like him. Your whole body aches from missing him—not emotionally. Physically. Raw, feral want.

So you ignore the phone again.

Because if he really misses you? Let him come get you. Let him walk through that door and make it up to you with his chain swinging and his hands on your throat. Let him see what happens when he makes a needy girl wait too long.

The keys hit the lock at 1:37AM.

You hear them before you see him—metal clinking, a shuffle, a low curse. You barely manage to mute the TV before the door swings open.

He’s here.

And he looks like sin.

Black hoodie half-zipped, chain glinting just above the collar. His damp hair is pushed back with one hand, the other dragging his suitcase inside. His duffel slumps to the floor. Then he sees you—curled on the couch, one leg bare, still in his hoodie, sleeves covering your hands.

For a second, he just stares. Then that mouth curves. “You’re still up.”

You shrug, trying to look casual. You are not casual. Your thighs are clenched under the throw blanket, and your heart’s pounding like you weren’t just imagining that exact chain slapping against your collarbone while he fucks you into the mattress.

“Barely,” you say, voice too innocent.

His gaze drops to your bare thighs. Then back to your face. “Didn’t answer my texts.”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

He huffs out a soft laugh. That cocky, knowing one. “Oh. It’s like that?”

You don’t reply. Just stretch with an exaggerated yawn, lifting your arms enough for the hem of his hoodie to ride up. No shorts. Just skin. His tongue runs across his bottom lip. The chain shifts with the way he breathes, catching the lamplight.

“Were you waiting for me?”

“Not really.”

“Mhm.” He drops his hoodie onto a chair. “So the blanket, the hoodie, and no pants—that’s just what you wear now?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what?”

“All smug.”

He grins. Oh no. He knows. Of course he knows.

“Baby,” he says, stepping closer. “You’ve been bratting out all week. You think I can’t tell?”

Your breath catches. Heat coils instantly in your gut.

“Didn’t say anything when I sent you that mirror pic. Left my voice note on read. Ignored the one where I said I wanted to fuck you through the floor.” He pauses. Tilts his head. “Nothing to say now either?”

You stare up at him. Slowly pull the blanket off your lap. “I missed you,” you admit, soft.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I missed you too.”

A pause. Then—

“I also know that pout’s not about feelings.”

“What’s it about, then?”

He’s standing over you now, hands on his hips, chain resting just beneath his throat. “It’s about the fact that you haven’t been fucked in two weeks.”

You look away. Cheeks hot. “And?”

“And you’re soaked just from seeing me walk in the door.”

You shoot him a glare, but it’s weak at best. He sees right through it. And worse? You see his jaw flex—barely—before he lets out a dark, low laugh.

“Get up.”

You blink. “What?”

“Up.”

You rise slowly, confused. He reaches forward and lifts the hoodie—his hoodie—up and off your body in one smooth motion. You shiver at the loss of warmth. Now you’re just standing there in panties and nothing else.

He steps back. Eyes dark. “You waited for me like this?”

You nod, shy now. “Wanted to be ready,” you mumble.

His lips part just slightly. His gaze drops, lingers on your hips, then snaps back up.

And then—

His hands are on your thighs, fast.

“Jump.”

You don’t think. You obey.

He catches you with ease, arms firm under your thighs, the chill of his bracelets biting into your skin. Your breath hitches as your legs wrap around his waist, chest flush against his. His chain presses cold between your breasts, and he’s not even trying to hide the way he grinds against your panties on instinct.

“You think I don’t know what that look means?” he murmurs, voice brushing hot against your cheek. “Little pout. Ignoring my calls like I wouldn’t drop everything to ruin you the second I walked through the door.”

You squirm against him, but he tightens his grip—just enough to pin your hips in place.

“Could’ve told me, baby,” he breathes, walking toward the bedroom. “Could’ve just said, ‘Chan, I’m wet and I miss your cock.’ I’d have flown home yesterday.”

He kicks the bedroom door open without a pause. Keeps walking until your back hits the mattress in a controlled drop. You bounce once, hair a mess, legs open, breathing ragged.

He stands at the edge of the bed, staring down at you like he’s starving.

Then he peels off the hoodie.

His shirt follows. Then the pants. He leaves the jewelry. Every bit of it. Rings, bracelets, and that fucking chain.

You swallow hard, mouth dry.

“Want me to take it off?” he teases, watching your eyes follow the chain.

You shake your head. “Keep it.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod. Voice barely a whisper now. “Wanna see it dangling, wanna bite it.”

That does something to him. His jaw flexes. His cock twitches against the band of his briefs. “Fuck.” He climbs onto the bed like a man possessed. Cages you under him in one smooth motion, his hands planted firm beside your head, chain dangling just above your lips.

You glance up at him, pupils blown wide.

“Say it again.”

“I want to bite it.”

“While I’m inside you?”

“Yes.”

“While I’m ruining that little attitude?”

“Please.” You barely finish the word—“please”—before he’s kissing you like he’s making up for every second he’s been gone.

It’s not sweet. It’s hungry.

His mouth claims yours with a groan, hot and wet and open, tongue sliding past your lips like he already knows what you taste like. His chain swings between you, brushing your throat every time he shifts, a cold contrast to the heat pouring off his skin.

You moan into the kiss. He drinks it like oxygen.

Then he sinks down fully, settling between your thighs with the kind of weight that makes you feel pinned—owned. His cock presses hard against the soaked fabric of your panties, still trapped behind his briefs, but thick enough to make you gasp when he grinds down. “Fuck, baby,” he groans into your mouth. “You’ve been holding out on me. This pussy’s starving.”

Your back arches. You’re soaked, the wet patch obvious now—heat meeting heat as he rocks against you, slow and punishing, like he’s savoring every drag of his cock over your clit.

“Thought about this every night,” he whispers, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “This exact spot. These hips. The way you whimper when I press right… here—”

He thrusts just right. Your head falls back.

He kisses down your neck, slow and greedy. The cold metal of his chain follows, dragging like ice down your collarbone, between your breasts.

“Missed this fucking body,” he breathes, licking a stripe along your throat. “Missed the way you twitch for me. How you bite your lip to keep quiet.”

He grinds down again. And again. Until your hips start chasing his, until your nails dig into his back.

“Chan,” you pant, “I—I need—”

He shushes you with another kiss, deeper this time. He kisses you until you can’t think, until all you can do is cling to him, his chain brushing your lips like it wants to be bitten.

You’re pulsing through your panties. You know he feels it. You feel the smirk when he pulls back, just enough to look you in the eye.

“You gonna make a mess before I’m even inside?”

You glare. He chuckles darkly. “Go on then, baby. Rub that pretty cunt all over my cock. Show me how much you need it.”

You moan—needy, wrecked—and tilt your hips up into him, grinding against the thick ridge of him through both layers of fabric. “Fucking please,” you whimper. “Want you so bad.”

“You’ve got me,” he growls. “You have me.”

His hand slips between your bodies, pushing his briefs down just enough for his cock to spring free—hot, flushed, already leaking. He swears low under his breath.

“God, baby. Look what you do to me.”

Then he presses himself against your soaked panties again, bare cock against soaked fabric, and grinds. Slow. Deep. Purposeful.

“You feel that?” he grits. “You feel how hard I am for you?”

You nod frantically. “Yes, yes—Chan, please—”

“You want me to rip these off?” You can barely speak. “Or you wanna be good and ask nicely?”

You can barely speak.

Your whole body is tense—writhing beneath him, soaked and shaking and on the edge of sobbing for it. He sees it. Loves it. The way your breath catches. The way your thighs twitch around his waist. “C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek. “One sweet word, and I’ll give you everything.”

Your eyes flutter shut. “Please,” you whisper. “Take them off. Please, Chan—need you…”

That’s all it takes.

He groans softly, like the sound is pulled from deep in his chest, and finally—finally—hooks his fingers in the sides of your panties. He drags them down your legs like he’s unwrapping you. Not fast. Not greedy. Just slow, like he’s enjoying every second of you bare and spread beneath him. When they’re off, he kisses the inside of your thigh. Then higher. Then higher.

But he doesn’t go where you want. No. He climbs back up your body, and you think—thank God, he’s going to fuck me—But instead, his mouth goes to your chest.

“So fucking pretty,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours as he kisses just above your heart.

His hand palms one breast, thumb circling the nipple until it peaks under his touch. His mouth follows—hot, open, wet—and he sucks, slow and deep.

You gasp. He groans. The sound vibrates through your chest.

Then he pulls back just enough to nip—just a little—right over the mark he made. “That feel good, baby?”

You nod, breathless. “Y-Yeah—more—”

He moves to the other breast. Does the same. Tongue first. Then lips. Then teeth. Your back arches into him, hands twisting in the sheets. The chain dangles against your sternum, cold and perfect, catching in the valley between your tits as he worships you. “Could spend hours right here,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue across your nipple. “Could make you cum just from this.”

“Please,” you pant. “I need more—Chan, please, I—”

He hushes you again with a kiss.

Then he trails down. And down. And down. Mouth dragging over your stomach. Teeth grazing the curve of your waist. He settles between your thighs, breath warm and heavy against your dripping cunt.

But he doesn’t lick. Not yet.

“God, baby,” he groans, almost reverent. “You’re fucking soaked.”

You whimper. Try to lift your hips. He holds you down. “Be good,” he warns softly. “Be still.”

You try. You really do.

But then he spits—just a little—hot and slick onto your clit, and you jerk like you’ve been shocked. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, smirking as he leans in.

And then—then—he licks. One slow, torturous stripe up your cunt. Flat tongue. No mercy.

You moan, loud, thighs clamping around his head.

He groans into your pussy, pressing his mouth harder, licking deeper, like he’s starving. His chain dangles against your inner thigh now, cool and maddening with every pass.

And just when you start to build—just when your toes curl, your body tenses, and you’re right there—

He pulls back. “Nuh uh,” he says, voice thick and smug. “You don’t get to cum yet.”

You sob. He kisses your thigh, then blows softly on your wet, throbbing clit just to be cruel. “You’re gonna cum with me inside you,” he murmurs. “With this chain in your mouth, and my cock so deep you forget your own name.”

Your hips twitch. Your eyes roll back. He grins at the sight.

And his mouth returns to your cunt like a man addicted—like he’s missed this more than sleep, more than air, more than the stage itself. His tongue licks deeper now, deliberate, dragging slick through your folds and sucking gently at your clit like he knows exactly how much you can take.

“Fucking perfect,” he groans against you. “Tastes like you missed me.”

You cry out, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. He lets you. For now. Then—

His fingers join the party.

Two of them, thick and slick, pressing at your entrance and sliding in with no resistance. Your walls clench instantly.

“Oh my God—Chan—!”

“Shhh. You’re fine.” He curls them. “You’re so fucking fine.”

His lips wrap around your clit again just as his fingers start thrusting—slow at first, then deeper, firmer, building rhythm. Every drag hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

You’re so close it’s shameful. Your hips roll into his face. Your moans are embarrassingly loud now. And just as you hit that edge—

He pulls away again. His mouth gone. Fingers stilled inside you.

“Wha—why—” you gasp, blinking through the haze.

He looks up from between your thighs. His lips are slick, his chin glistening, the chain glinting as he rises slightly, his fingers still buried to the knuckle in your fluttering pussy.

“Brats don’t get to cum without permission.”

You whimper. Physically ache. “Channie, please—”

“You gave me attitude. You ignored me. You made me wait.”

He slides his fingers out slowly, watching them glisten in the low light. You’re dripping. He presses them back in—just one knuckle—then pauses again. “Now you’ll wait.”

“I said sorry—”

“Did you mean it?”

“Yes—”

“Then you’ll be good.” His voice is soft, dangerous. “Keep those legs open. Take what I give you. And you don’t cum until I say.”

You nod frantically.

“Say it,” he demands, pushing his fingers in deep again.

“I won’t cum,” you gasp. “Not unless you say.”

“Good girl.”

And just like that—his mouth is back.

He fucks you with his fingers while he sucks your clit with precision. Every moan you make only spurs him on. He watches your body unravel, his chain swinging between your breasts with every jolt of pleasure.

You’re shaking again. So close it hurts. Your eyes roll back—your legs tremble—your whole body’s about to give out—

“Don’t,” he warns, pulling his mouth off just enough to speak. “Don’t even think about it.”

Your hips jerk. He curls his fingers and presses his tongue harder. “Not until I say.”

You’re crying now. Wrecked. Gutted. Desperate. And still, he doesn’t let you have it.

“That’s it,” he whispers, lips wet against your thigh. “You feel that? That’s what brats get.”

“Channie, please,” you sob. “I need it—I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll—”

“I know you will,” he coos.

Then he withdraws completely.

You scream.

“You’re gonna be so fucking good for me now,” he mutters, climbing back over you.

His cock, thick and flushed, brushes against your inner thigh. You’re slick enough he could slide right in. But he doesn’t. Not yet. He leans in, chain swinging.

“Open your mouth.”

You do. He places the chain between your lips. “Bite.”

You bite. The chain presses cold between your teeth, sharp metal on your tongue, a mouthful of him. Of ownership. Of need. You moan around it as he grips your thighs tighter, spreads them wider, and finally—finally—guides his cock to your soaked, twitching entrance.

“Look at that,” he breathes, staring down between your legs. “You’re begging for it.”

You are. Your pussy flutters, aching, empty for so long you can barely think. His tip nudges your entrance, hot and heavy and thick, and just the brush makes your whole body tense.

“Been saving this for you,” he murmurs, dragging his cock slowly through your folds. “Didn’t even jerk off on tour. You know how fucking hard that was?”

You whimper around the chain.

He grins. “Yeah, you do.”

Then—without warning—he pushes in. Just the head. You sob.

“Fuck, baby…” he groans. “So tight. So wet. You missed this cock, didn’t you?”

You nod frantically, teeth clenched on the chain. Your walls spasm around him, already trying to pull him deeper. And he gives it to you. Inch by inch. Stretching you slow, deliberate, merciless. You feel everything. Every vein. Every ridge. Every twitch and pulse.

By the time his hips finally press flush against yours, you’re shaking.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Take it. Take all of it.”

He stills. Deep. Thick. Fucking perfect.

You can’t breathe. You can’t move. You’re so full it borders on painful, the burn and pressure delicious in its cruelty. He leans down over you, forearms braced beside your head. The chain swings, slipping from your perfect lips but brushing them.

You’re clenching around him—helpless, desperate—and he doesn’t move.

“That’s right,” he breathes. “Hold me. Grip me tight like that.”

He pulls halfway out. You sob. Then thrusts back in. Hard. And stills again. You’re drooling at this point, chest heaving, vision blurred.

“You think you can brat your way into getting fucked?” he growls, mouth brushing your ear. “You think this pussy deserves to cum yet?”

You shake your head. Tears well.

“That’s right. Not yet. Not fucking yet.”

Then he starts to move. Slow. Deep. Devastating.

His hips roll with purpose, like every stroke is a lesson, a punishment, a promise. His cock drags against every swollen nerve inside you, hitting that spot so precisely it almost feels cruel. And he doesn’t let up—not even a little.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice thick. “You feel that? Feel how deep I am?”

You nod, barely. You’re breathless, moaning with every slow, relentless thrust.

“So fucking tight,” he pants. “You’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go.”

You don’t. You can’t. You’re gripping him like a vice, your legs trembling around his waist, the chain now hanging loose across your chest—dragging over your nipples every time he fucks into you just right.

He leans in, kisses your jaw, then your throat. His hips grind at the end of each thrust, pressing his cock even deeper, and you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

“This pussy’s mine,” he growls. “Say it.”

You gasp, voice wrecked. “It’s yours.”

“Say it again.”

“Yours—Channie—it’s yours—!”

His pace picks up. Not fast, but harder. More pressure. More control. He’s fucking you like he owns you—like he earned this. Like he waited two weeks for the chance to bury himself so deep in you, you’d never forget what it felt like to be full of him.

“That’s my girl,” he breathes, sweat dotting his temple. “My bratty little baby. Thought you could tease me, huh?”

You whine—shaking beneath him, overstimulated already, toes curling with every thick, slow stroke.

“Missed this cock so much,” he murmurs, voice rough as he licks the sweat from your neck. “Should’ve begged. Should’ve dropped to your knees the second I got home.”

He pulls out just slightly—just the tip—before slamming back in, hard.

You scream.

He does it again. And again. Punishing. Precise.

“But no,” he growls. “You wanted to act up. So now? You get fucked how I say.”

Your hands claw at his back. Your nails leave marks. Your eyes roll back when he grabs your throat—not choking, just holding. Grounding. Possessive.

“You wanna cum, baby?”

You nod, crying now.

“You wanna fall apart all over my cock?”

You sob, “Please.”

He leans down. Mouth at your ear. Voice like a fucking curse. “Then earn it.”

He lets go of your throat, pulls your legs up higher around his hips, changes the angle—and fucks into you so deep you see white. Your hands shoot up, grabbing at his chain again. You yank it between your teeth, moaning around the metal like it’s your only lifeline.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Bite down. Be good. Take every inch.”

He’s fucking you hard now. Relentless. The bed slams against the wall, your cries muffled by the chain in your mouth, your body trembling under his. You don’t know where he ends and you begin. All you know is his voice, his cock, his chain, and how fucking close you are.

He knows it too.

Your body is a mess beneath him—shaking, leaking, barely holding on. Your mouth is full of chain and nothing else makes sense. You’re right there.

So he changes it up. Again.

Without warning, he pulls out—just for a second—and grabs your thighs.

You whimper in confusion, but he’s already moving.

He presses your legs together, tight, then lifts them up and folds them toward your chest, locking your thighs against him with one arm. The angle is obscene—your pussy now swollen, dripping, needy, completely exposed to him like a fucking feast.

He lines up again.

“Hold still.”

You can’t move anyway. He thrusts back in, all at once. You moan.

“Oh my god—”

“Yeah?” he growls, voice cracking. “That’s what you wanted?”

His arm flexes as he locks your legs to his chest, other hand gripping the headboard for leverage as he slams into you—deep, brutal, unforgiving.

Your mouth falls open. The chain slips from your lips, damp and clinking against your chest as your head tips back, jaw slack.

You’re drooling. Literally. You don’t even realize it. And still—still—he doesn’t let you cum. “You feel that?” he pants. “Hear how fucking wet you are?”

Slap slap slap—your pussy sounds obscene, slick gushing down your ass, pooling beneath you as he fucks into the tight, hot mess he’s made of you.

“You fucking live for this cock, don’t you?”

You nod, eyes rolled back, moaning like you’ve already cum three times.

“Say it,” he snaps, thrusts slamming into you. “Say you’re cockdrunk. Say you need it.”

You try.

Nothing comes out.

You’re babbling, lips trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“What’s that, baby? Can’t talk?” he mocks, voice half-gone, fully feral. “Already gone and I haven’t even let you cum?”

His cock pulses inside you, thick and angry, twitching with the effort to hold back—but he doesn’t break. Not yet.

He wants you ruined.

He wants you begging.

“Not yet,” he growls. “You’re not there yet.”

You choke on a sob, head thrashing, arms reaching up to grab anything—his wrist, his chain, the sheets—but it’s not enough. The pressure in your gut is unbearable. Your cunt’s fluttering around him like you’re already mid-orgasm. You’re leaking down his balls, dripping from the stretch, absolutely wrecked.

And he loves it.

“You’ll cum,” he promises, fucking deeper, harder. “But not until you break. Not until you’re drooling and sobbing and begging for it with that pretty little voice I own.”

Your brain’s gone fuzzy.

Nothing left but heat and pressure and the sound of him—filthy, brutal, mercilessly deep. Your body isn’t even yours anymore. You’re limp in his hold, legs pressed together and pinned to his chest while his cock splits you open over and over, dragging against that spot inside you with every punishing thrust.

And you still haven’t cum. You can’t cum. Not until he says.

“Come on, baby,” he growls, his voice wrecked with effort. “Where’s that sweet little voice now?”

You sob, drooling down your chin, lips trembling around broken words that won’t form. “Nngh—Ch-Chan, I—please—”

“That’s it,” he moans. “Beg for it.”

Your hands claw uselessly at the sheets. “P-please,” you cry. “Please—I n-need—I can’t—Channie, please—your cock, I need it—need to cum—please—”

Your cunt clenches around him so hard it nearly makes him lose rhythm. He grunts, digging his fingers into your thighs, pace faltering just enough to grind deep before resuming that relentless rhythm.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he snarls. “Dripping all over me, baby. You’re gonna ruin the bed.”

“I-I don’t care—please, please—”

Your body twitches, helpless under him, tears leaking into your hairline, mouth open and glossy, his name the only thing you know how to say.

“Say what you are.”

“Wh—what?”

He thrusts hard, knocking the breath out of you. “Say what. You. Are.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m yours—I’m your fucktoy—I’m cockdrunk, I—”

“You’re what?”

“I’m cockdrunk, Channie—please—please let me cum—”

He slams into you so deep you nearly scream, chest arching into his grip, your vision flickering to white. “That’s right,” he moans, voice unravelling. “That’s my baby. All mine. This pussy—mine. Say it.”

“Yours—yours—yours—!”

“You wanna cum?”

“Please—”

“Then fucking do it.”

Your body shatters. It’s not even an orgasm—it’s a detonation. You clamp down around him, sobbing, your whole body convulsing as wave after wave crashes through you. You can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t even scream. All you can do is feel.

Feel him. Feel the stretch. Feel your pussy gush around his cock as you cum so hard it feels like it might kill you.

He doesn’t stop.

“That’s it,” he groans, fucking you through it. “Fucking soak me, baby—fuck—fuck—you’re milking my cock—”

Your mind’s gone. You’re nothing but a trembling, cockdrunk mess, tears and drool smeared across your face, still whispering “yours, yours, yours” under your breath like a prayer.

“Gonna cum inside you,” he pants, voice cracked and breaking. “Gonna fill you up—fuck—can I, baby?”

You nod frantically, eyes fluttering. “Give it to me—want it—want all of it—please—”

And then he breaks.

He fucks into you one last time—deep, desperate, final—and lets go with a raw, shuddering moan as he empties inside you, cock pulsing, hot cum spilling into your still-clenching pussy.

“Fuckfuckfuck—baby—”

He collapses over you, chain dragging across your chest, both of you soaked, panting, trembling messes.

And still…

You whisper, barely conscious, lips ghosting his ear: “Yours.”

Your body is done. You don’t even register the moment he pulls out—all you feel is the warmth spilling down your thighs, his cum leaking out slow and heavy as your pussy pulses in the aftermath.

You try to speak. Nothing comes out but a sigh and a tiny broken whimper.

He huffs a soft laugh above you, lips brushing your temple as he shifts just enough to kiss the corner of your mouth. You’re too wrecked to return it—eyes fluttering, fingers twitching in the sheets, hair a sweaty halo around your face.

“That’s what my pouty baby gets, huh?” he murmurs, voice low and too smug. “Act like a brat, get fucked stupid.”

You let out a soft, slurred noise.

He kisses you again—this time on your nose. Then your forehead. Then both cheeks. “You did so good for me,” he whispers, hand cupping your jaw. “Took it all like my perfect girl."

You blink up at him. Barely coherent. “Mmhnn…you’re…annoying.”

“Aww,” he coos, grin wide. “You sound so mad for someone who just came like her soul was leaving her body.”

“You ruined me.”

“Damn right I did.”

He kisses your lips, slow and deep, like he’s trying to pour himself back into you. His tongue licks into your mouth with lazy heat, but now it’s tender. Now it’s grounding. His chain is still resting against your skin. You reach up, weakly tug it.

“Still on,” you whisper.

“You earned it,” he says softly. “Might keep it on since you like it that much.”

Your thighs twitch. He notices. Of course he notices.

“Oh, now you’re getting greedy again?” he laughs, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’re leaking my cum and still trying to start something?”

You whine. He grins and kisses you quiet again. Then he finally shifts—gently—lifting your legs, helping you unfold from the wrecked, folded position. You hiss when your body relaxes, muscles trembling. He hushes you instantly. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

He eases you onto your side, tugs the blankets up, and disappears for just a moment.

You hear the faucet. The soft clink of a glass.

He returns with a warm towel, cleans you carefully—between your thighs, over your stomach, around the curve of your ass where the sheets are soaked. You flinch at first, but his touch is featherlight. Reverent.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “My messy, fucked-out girl.”

He kisses your knee.

“My perfect pouty baby.”

Then he tosses the towel aside, climbs into bed, and pulls you into his chest like he’s never letting go. You curl up instantly—limp, warm, safe. His arms wrap around your back, one hand stroking your spine. His lips stay near your temple.

You nuzzle in deeper. “Gonna sleep for a week,” you mumble.

“Gonna feed you first,” he murmurs. “Then let you sleep. Then fuck you again.”

“Chan—”

“What?” he grins. “My baby was hungry. I provided.”

“Provided a near-death experience.”

“You’re welcome.”

You laugh—weakly. He presses a kiss right over your pulse. “You okay?” he asks, quiet now. Real. “Too much?”

You shake your head against his chest. “Perfect.”

“Good. ‘Cause next time, I’m making you cum around my tongue five times before I even think about fucking you.”

Your breath catches. He just smirks.

“Sleep now, sweetheart,” he whispers, grinning against your hair. “You’ve earned it.” And you do—out like a light, drooling on his chest while he smirks like the menace he is.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #bang chan #방찬 #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #filthy friday

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obsessivel0v3r · 3 months ago

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Ask game:

"Creepy Anons, Share Your Thoughts"

💌: I'd flood your inbox on a daily if you'd be fine with it.

🌷: What would it take to get you equally obsessed as I am for you?

🤍: We're in a parasocial relationship in my mind, can I share what I think about you?

🦋: You're so sweet, but I want to capture you and break off your wings so you'd just be mine.

🎧: I'd listen to your voice on repeat if you made a voice reveal.

🍓: I'd love to share a meal with you.

💘: I'm so jealous to think you've liked others before.

👁: Can I be creepy with you?

🐶: I'd devote myself to you if you were ever open to looking for a significant other.

🐺: I admire your blog in silence, but I hate how you share your attention with every other anon too.

🪻: Can I keep your mind busy?

⚘️: Can I have all your attention?

🌹: I wish you'd block everyone and only chat with me...

🥀: I love you, but I hate how obsessed I feel right now.

🌺: I'd make this feeling become more than just a one-sided feeling if I could.

🔪: I'd get rid of everyone else if it meant that you'd be mine. ♡

(Made by: @obsessivel0v3r )

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sqgeism · 3 months ago

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𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 lay on the horn to prove that it haunts me | amphoreus men x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; ! i love you, i'm sorry ! NEVER have a soulmate as an immortal. written by amphoreus men 🤦‍♀️

love mail — trend made me sad. decided to make it EVERYONE ELSES PROBLEM!!!!!!!!!!!

soulmated so hard, i couldn't live without you. anaxa knew his goal; to fuse with the titan cerces. but when he knew it was time, and he held his hand over his chest, his mind raced with a thought of one possibility. that maybe if he sacrificed his mortal body, that at least his consciousness could meet yours again. in a kinder, softer life.

anaxa was no fool, the possibilities of life after death were endless—absolute nothingness, a 'heaven' and 'hell', or maybe he'll be reborn. with a family who won't leave, and a lover he does not have to mourn early.

and as he holds out his coreflame to the sky, it feels like offering his heart to you all over again. everyone thinks he smiled because he fulfilled his duty as a chrysos heir, but it was in fact that in the 2 minutes and 11 seconds of him realizing he had passed the trial of reason; he had just enough time to replay his memories of you, and was ready to go home.

soulmated so hard, i couldn't make your favorite dish without feeling sick. mydei's love language was always cooking, he adored seeing that smile on your face whenever he made you his favorite dish, laughing at how fast you would eat and warn you to slow down. now he can't even smell the aroma of it without wanting to throw up.

it isn't his fault, he knows it isn't. but he can still smell the blood whenever he tries to. he can't smell a dish; he smells a battlefield. it makes him feel so weak but he isn't even mad about it, he's just a man in mourning. a husband mourning his lover who had gone far too soon.

call it silly, he doesn't care. but he kept the leftovers he made for you the night prior to your death still left in the freezer. it's like keeping a piece of you, really. he can't afford to lose anything else or it'll feel like you're really gone.

soulmated so hard, i'm yours in every universe but you can't be mine. phainon feels like he's just doomed for some kind failure and hardship in every universe, but the one consistent heartache will always be you. it's stupid, really. he'll see that smile he won't forget, fall in love with every version of you, only to have you taken away right before he can tell you how he feels. the worst part is that he knows you reciprocate, he found the unsent letters you wrote for him and he still keeps them in his jacket pockets. reads 'em whenever he feels hopeless because a new death means a new life, and even if he can't have you, he'll at least know you. even if his love will have you doomed forever. for who is phainon if he does not love you unconditionally through every rebirth of you?

#ㅤ 𐔌᭥ᩙ༉ㅤnew flower bloomed ! :ೃ࿔𔓘 #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #anaxa x reader #anaxagoras x reader #mydei x reader #mydeimos x reader #phainon x reader #phainon hsr x reader

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astrologydray · 3 months ago

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Most Romantic Venus Placements — Ranked

1. Venus in Pisces ♓️

Ultimate Lover

Soft, unconditional, dreamy. They love you like a walking love song. They’ll sacrifice for you and still believe in fairytales.

🌊 “I wrote you a love letter in my head after our first text.”

2. Venus in Libra ♎️

Hopeless Romantic

Flirty, elegant, charming. They want romance to look and feel perfect—flowers, date nights, sweet nothings included.

💌 “I want us to match energies and outfits.”

3. Venus in Cancer ♋️

The Nurturer

Deep, emotional, and fiercely loyal. They love through care, affection, and endless emotional support.

🫶🏾 “I made you dinner and folded your hoodie you left at my house.”

4. Venus in Leo ♌️

Loyal Lover

Passionate, loyal, and adoring. They’ll treat you like royalty and expect to be adored in return. Love is grand with them.

❤️‍🔥 “I want the world to know you’re mine.”

5. Venus in Taurus ♉️

Sensual Devotion

Physical touch, consistency, and luxury. They love through actions, comfort, and making you feel safe and spoiled.

🍯 “Here’s your favorite snack, your favorite hoodie, and a massage.”

6. Venus in Sagittarius ♐️

Adventurous Romantic

Excited, playful, and always looking for the next adventure together. They love big and laugh hard.

✨ “Let’s fall in love in a different city.”

7. Venus in Scorpio ♏️

Intense Romantic

It’s not light—it’s deep. They crave soul-shaking love that transforms you. They love like it’s life or death.

🦂 “If you’re not obsessed with me, why are we here?”

8. Venus in Gemini ♊️

Playful Romantic

Cute texts, inside jokes, and endless flirting. They keep it light, fun, and mentally stimulating.

✉️ “I fell for the way your mind works.”

9. Venus in Aquarius ♒️

Freedom Lover

Romantic in a unique, offbeat way. They’ll love you because you’re different—not in spite of it.

🛸 “You’re weird. I love that about you.”

10. Venus in Virgo ♍️

Acts of Service Romantic

Love is practical. They notice your needs, fix your problems, and love you through loyalty and dedication.

🧹 “I cleaned your whole house because I love you.”

11. Venus in Aries ♈️

Fiery Romantic

Bold, impulsive, and full of passion. They’ll chase you with their whole heart—until they catch you.

⚡️ “I want you. I’m not hiding it.”

12. Venus in Capricorn ♑️

Serious Lover

Romantic in a slow-burn, stable way. They show love through commitment, respect, and future plans—not flowers.

🏛️ “I built a life around you.”

#astro notes #astrology #birth chart #astro observations #astro community #astrology observations #astrology community #astrology degrees #astro #astroblr #astrology content #astrologyposts #astrology insights #ranked #Venus

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bywons · 5 months ago

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YOU GET ME SO HIGH 𖥔 LHS

𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬──── 𝗂 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗂𝗇’𝗍 𝖺 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗀, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁

❪ 𝖲𝖧𝖮𝖶𝓉𝖨𝖬𝖤 ❫ ⋆ 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋’𝗌 𝖻𝗌𝖿!𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 𝟏𝟐𝟔𝟏 𖥔 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ─────𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗒 愛

스루 ܃ happy @flwrstqr day ! i hope you will like this little gift of mine :3 i love you so much, munchkin ~ enjoy your day well 💌

𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗌 ꣑꣒ 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾

“my brother is right across the room,” you sigh, hoping your glare towards heeseung will be effective and he will shut up.

instead, he draws even closer to you, his voice is a hushed whisper, thick with amusement, curling around you like smoke. the heat of his breath lingers against your skin, a phantom touch that sends a shiver racing down your spine.

you look up to see heeseung smiling at you, not one of those genuine smiles which he would offer at times of comfort and entertainment— but today it felt more enticing and teasing.

you are not sure what lee heeseung is plotting in his mind when you register his feather-like touch, advancing from your waist. but as soon as you hope it’s nothing too scandalous, he pulls you in by a minimal but effective force, causing you to crash against his chest.

“heeseung!” you grit your teeth, hands forming into fists against his chest and shoulders, his satin short at your touch, “my brother—”

his hand tightens just slightly at your waist, the warmth of his palm bleeding through the thin fabric of your dress. his grip isn't forceful, but it's firm enough to remind you that he’s in control of this moment, of your breath catching in your throat, of the way your pulse stutters beneath his fingertips.

“your brother,” heeseung murmurs, voice laced with mock innocence, “isn’t looking.

to assure yourself, you slowly glance around the room. jay is indeed busy with his friends, completely unaware of the fact that his best friend and younger sister are sharing a rather dislikeable proximity— something which jay definitely wouldn’t like.

“but this isn’t alright,” you hiss, although your voice lack the sharpness you intend, “you shouldn’t be so—”

heeseung leans dangerously close, cutting you short of your sentence as he presses his lips on yours. “be so what?” he smirks, slowly closing the necessary minimal distance between the two of you, “bold? smug? disturbing?”

“all of it,” your cheeks burn, the heat creeping down your neck as you attempt to push him away—only for heeseung to tighten his grip just enough to keep you where he wants.

“all of it?” heeseung tilts his head. a hushed giggle escapes from him as his hands move to your forearms, holding you as if you’re porcelain, “but you like it, don’t you?”

your mind races. you shouldn’t really be doing this, kissing your brother’s best friend, enjoying his masculine, warm embrace.

but you’ve done it before, behind your brother’s back again. lee heeseung has been your romantic rendezvous point before, where he'd teach you how to kiss in exchange for your heart.

and although it feels wrong to want to date your brother’s best friend, you can’t help but fall for his pampering and flirty nature towards you.

your heart is unpredictable, and you know that.

you want to argue, want to tell him he’s wrong, but then his lips are on yours again, this time firmer, more certain. the heat of his body seeps into yours, his hands at your waist tightening just enough to make you dizzy. he moves slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second, every soft gasp that escapes you.

your heart slams against your ribs, a frantic, unsteady rhythm that only seems to encourage him. heeseung kisses you once, twice—each time slower, deeper, pulling you under with him. his fingers trace lazy patterns against your back, keeping you close, as if he has no intention of letting you go.

“this is wrong,” you breathe, out of breathe, as you pull back from the kiss, “if jay finds out—”

“you never stopped me though,” his tone is firm, eyes steady on you, “besides, i think it’s about time we let jay know.”

you don’t really like the thought, knowing jay is very protective of you, he’d never let his close friend circle ignite romance with you. but it’s too late for that.

heeseung now pulls away his embrace, yet standing so close to you.

“what? you love someone else?” he pushes a barely noticeable pout, one hand cupping your cheeks.

you get the scenario quick.

“you think sunghoon is a better match for me?” you test the waters.

“no,” his jaws tighten, quickly straightening his position he draws closer to you again, “only i am meant for you.”

his words send a ripple down your spine, a quiet, unshakable certainty that settles deep in your chest. only heeseung.

his fingers press into your waist again, this time not to tease, not to provoke, but to claim. his eyes darken, no longer holding that playful glint—this time, it’s possession, raw and undiluted.

“you’re mine,” heeseung murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the air like a vow.

your breath catches. your hands, still pressed against his chest, twitch slightly, as if your body is betraying you, as if some part of you wants to pull him closer instead of pushing him away.

“heeseung, we can’t—”

he cuts you off with another kiss, this one more desperate, more demanding. it’s different from the stolen kisses you’ve shared before, different from the soft, secret rendezvous that left you breathless and guilty all at once. this kiss feels like a breaking point.

you melt into it before you can stop yourself, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. heeseung exhales through his nose, satisfied, before tilting his head and kissing you deeper. your back arches slightly as he pulls you closer, leaving no space between you, no room for hesitation.

but then—

“what the hell is this?”

your body goes rigid.

the voice is unmistakable.

jay.

heeseung is the first to pull away, slow and unbothered, like he expected this all along. his grip on you doesn’t loosen, though, as if he’s making a point.

you, on the other hand, feel your stomach drop, your heart slam against your ribs in sheer panic. your brother stands just a few feet away, his expression unreadable—his jaw locked, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

“jay,” you breathe, stepping back, but heeseung doesn’t let you go far.

jay’s eyes flicker between the two of you, realization dawning, anger settling into his features. “seriously?” he hisses.

heeseung finally releases you, but instead of backing down, he straightens, shoulders squared, chin lifted. “we were gonna tell you,” he says smoothly, as if he didn’t just get caught making out with your brother’s little sister.

jay lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “tell me what, exactly? that you’re messing around with my sister behind my back?”

“no,” heeseung’s tone hardens. “that i love her.”

the room falls into silence. your breath stutters.

jay looks at heeseung, then at you. disbelief clouds his features, followed by something else—something unreadable.

“you love her?” he scoffs.

heeseung doesn’t hesitate. “i do.”

your chest tightens. your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. you’ve always known heeseung was reckless, always known he never backed down from a fight, but this? this is different.

jay clenches his jaw, looking at you now. “and you? do you love him?”

your lips part, but no words come out. you don’t know how to answer that.

heeseung, ever so patient, ever so sure, simply waits. his hand brushes against yours, barely there, but you feel it like a promise.

and you realize, with your brother’s furious gaze on you, with the weight of the moment pressing into your chest—

your heart is unpredictable. but right now, it’s screaming one thing.

only heeseung.

taglist────open nets @/k-labels @k-films @kflixnet

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mattslolita · 1 year ago

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his facial expressions this video had me giggling so much 😭💌

#lilly's love letter💌#mattslolita 💌#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #thoughts with lilly 💌#mind of mine 💌

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chrrific · 5 months ago

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綺麗 IT’S A BAD IDEA, RIGHT? 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 & 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎

slytherin! 엔하이픈 x 𝑓. gryffindor! reader wc 2.005k ─── fluff forbidden relationship au est. relationships l’avis kissing pda pining nicknames like ‘doll’ & ‘pretty’

for : love 💌 mick’s coming back from the dead ?? this one’s for my love ai ( @jjennuine ) >< she’s mine y’all !!!! stay away 😾😾 and go support our collaboration series — lovestruck ! — @lovestruck-show-official

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Envelope 1

To the one my heart recognises,

You move through life like a dreamer caught between worlds, always reaching, always searching, always holding a litle more hope than you let on. And I see it. I see you.

You chase after the things your heart aches for, even when the path twists, even when the road splits in too many directions. You weigh choices in your hands like they hold the weight of the universe, afraid to step too far in the wrong direction. But, love, you are never lost to me. No matter where you go, no matter how far you run, I will always find you. Because I already know the shape of your soul.

The world hasn't always been kind to you, and I know you carry the weight of thingS unspoken, the fractures from moments that tried to break you. But even in your quietest battles, you are still becoming. still unfolding into someone even more extraordinary than you were yesterday. And I will be here, beside you, through every rebirth

So leap. Make the reckless choice. Follow the dream that won't let you sleep at night. You were not meant to stay within lines drawn by other people's expectations, you were meant to break through, to touch the sky, to chase the impossible and make it yours.

And if ever you need a hand to hold, a heart that won't waver, or someone who will remind you of the fire in your soul, you already know where to find me.

I am yours. Always.

Envelope 2

With all that I am,

The one who was always meant for you.

To the One My Soul Knows,

Loving you is like standing beneath the moon, soft light, deep mystery, and the quiet knowing that some things are felt more than they are understood. There are parts of you that shift like tides, emotions that swell and retreat, thoughts that linger in the silence before sleep. And I love every version of you, every hidden depth, every unspoken word.

You are a force, a wild thing that cannot be tamed, and I would never want to. There is something raw, something instinctual about the way you move through this world like you are both ancient and new, both fearless and tender. I see the hunger in you, the ache for something real, something lasting. Love is not a word you take lightly. Nor do I.

With you, I see forever. Not in the way stories promise perfect endings, but in the way two souls recognize each other across lifetimes. In the way your touch feels like something I’ve known before, something I would know again, no matter where time places us. You are home, not because you make things easy, but because you make them true.

I want to build a life with you, not just in the quiet, beautiful moments, but in the raw, messy, achingly real ones. I want to know the thoughts you never say aloud, the dreams you keep close to your chest. I want to trace every part of you, mind and body, learning you in ways no one else ever has.

Loving you is a temple I will worship in for as long as you’ll let me. You are the question, the answer, the universe wrapped in skin. And if there is a destiny greater than this, I do not want to know it.

You are mine, and I am yours. In this life, and in every one after.

Forever,

The one who chooses you.

Envelope 3

To the One Who Holds My Heart,

Loving you is an unfolding, slow, steady, something delicate but unshakable. It isn’t always easy, and I know that. You carry so much in that beautiful mind of yours, thoughts that keep you awake when the world is quiet, worries that press against your chest like weights only you can feel. But you don’t have to hold it all alone. Not with me.

I see you. The way you give, the way you pour yourself into others, always making sure there is enough love to go around. But love, when was the last time you let yourself receive? When was the last time you let someone hold you the way you hold everyone else? I want to be that for you. Not just in fleeting moments, but in all the ways that matter.

I don’t need you to have it all figured out. I don’t need you to be perfect. I only need you to know that you are already enough, just as you are. Even in your quiet, even in your uncertainty, even in the moments you hesitate to let yourself be fully seen. You don’t have to keep your heart wrapped in caution, hidden away like a gem buried deep in the earth. Let it breathe. Let it shine.

Love doesn’t have to be rushed. It doesn’t have to be forced. It’s something we build, something we water, something that grows in its own time. So take my hand. Let’s rest in this moment together, without worrying about what comes next.

Because no matter how long it takes, no matter how many times the world shifts around us, I will still be here.

Always,

The one who chooses you, again and again.

#free readings #tarot community #divination community #pick a card #pac #love pick a card #love reading #love pick a pile #valentine's day pick a pile #tarot readers #spirituality

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4barbatos · 3 days ago

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✦ 5wirl w scene gf 👾

headcanons + chats .ᐟ

cw. explicit sexual content, possessive / jealous behavior, verbal degradation, obsessive attachment / unhealthy dynamics, dubious consent tone

an. this one was requested by @xxxxxxxrawrxxxxxxx — thank u so so much for the request !! i really enjoyed writing this one hehe, hope u guys like it too <33

✦ XIAO

💌 MYSPACE MSG FROM: xxxhaosboi

subj: … u didnt text back. its fine i guess. if ur mad jus say it. if u hate me jus say it. if u miss me jus come over & sit on my bed like u always do. i cleaned the blood off ur fishnets btw. also i think abt the way u sound when ur breathless. a lot. dont ignore this.

he never takes the bracelet off. ever. you gave him a cheap little kandi bracelet w/ black & red beads that says “mine” in glitter letters and he hasn’t taken it off since. you thought he’d hate it. he never mentions it. just stares at it when he misses you. punches walls with it on. fucks you with it still tight around his wrist.

his idea of flirting is staring at you like he’s in pain. xiao doesn’t know how to be normal about you. you walk into the room wearing a miniskirt + fishnets and he just looks away like his entire soul short-circuited. he won’t say anything. he’ll just grab your wrist later and mutter, “don’t wear that in front of anyone else.” (he’ll finger you wearing it two hours later. still won’t speak. just moans into your neck like a warning.)

doesn’t know what to do with his hands unless they’re on you. he’s the type to sit on the edge of the bed, hoodie up, face flushed red, while you straddle him in your torn plaid skirt, chewing your gum like a brat. his hands stay hovering — near your thighs, your waist — until you guide them where you want them. after that, he doesn’t stop touching. almost like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

bites. a lot. he says he doesn’t care about marks. lies. he’ll bite your collarbone just hard enough to bruise and mutter, “mine.” his voice cracks when you bite back. if you scratch him up during sex, he’ll sit in front of the mirror after with his shirt off just staring at the red trails on his chest. silent. dazed. weirdly proud.

fucks like he’s trying not to cry. xiao’s quiet. careful. intense. he makes love like he’s trying not to break something — or like he already has. doesn’t talk much during, but the way he holds you down, the way he groans your name like it physically hurts — it’s everything. when he cums, he goes silent, eyes clenched shut, breathing shaking like he’s holding something back. (you don’t ask. he won’t say. he just buries his face in your neck and holds you tighter than ever.)

💬 MYSPACE CHAT @ 2:11AM

xxxhaosboi: whr r u xxxhaosboi: itz 2am xxxhaosboi: come ovr xxxhaosboi: miss ur thighs xxxhaosboi: miss ur voice xxxhaosboi: miss da way u say my name like ur breaking xxxhaosboi: … xxxhaosboi: im fine btw. xxxhaosboi: u dont hav 2 worry

✦ VENTI

💌 MYSPACE MSG FROM: drunknmelody

subj: i wrote ur name on my dick with sharpie felt inspired then cried then came thinking abt ur voice when ur on top of me anywy pls text back im still outside da bar. the sky looks like ur eyes when ur pissed off. <3

he’s the loudest in the room and the weakest for you. venti is chaos in studded belts — yelling during shows, climbing onto speakers mid-set, stealing sips of vodka from strangers. but the second you walk in, he's immediately locked on you like a dog. gets quieter. follows you like a shadow. bites his lip when you ignore him. he’ll let the world watch him burn if it makes you look.

he’s a slut for validation — especially yours. you call him pretty and he literally preens. he’ll spend an hour redoing his eyeliner after you say it’s “not sharp enough to hurt.” he wants your praise more than he wants air. moans louder when you tell him he sounds good. loses his fucking mind when you call him “my favorite little whore” while tugging his hair.

loves performing with bruises you gave him. venti wears your bite marks like stage props. scratches across his chest? his favorite tank top is low-cut now. bruises on his hips? he shows them off when he changes strings mid-set. gets off on being ruined by you. gets off harder when you watch him from the crowd like you're gonna take him apart again after.

gets hard way too easy. it doesn’t take much. fishnets? a gum pop? you licking a lollipop on purpose while making eye contact? done. he’ll sit next to you, shifting in his seat, pretending like he’s not throbbing in his skinny jeans, while his hand slowly sneaks to your thigh. sometimes he gets so desperate he’ll beg — quietly, breathlessly — for just a taste of you.

cries when he cums sometimes. he doesn't always mean to. it’s just — when you’re on top of him, kissing him too sweet, calling him your muse while his back arches off the mattress and his fingers dig into your thighs — something in him shatters. he’ll laugh it off, wipe his face, say “wow u broke me haha,” but he means it. you ruin him in ways he’ll never write down. not even in his songs.

💬 MYSPACE CHAT @ 12:03AM

drunknmelody: BB drunknmelody: bb im drunk drunknmelody: bb im DRUNK n also in love maybe idk drunknmelody: come spit in my mouth or sing w me drunknmelody: or both drunknmelody: ill write u a song if u sit on my face drunknmelody: nd call it art

✦ KAZUHA

💌 MYSPACE MSG FROM: kissesonkuts

subj: ur name is carved in my ribs i wrote 4 stanzas about the way ur lip gloss smeared on my jaw u kissed me like i was disposable i liked it the bruises u left still ache when i breathe too hard. pls do it again (i miss u) (i miss how u taste when ur mad)

he writes poems about you and hides them in your purse. you’ll find folded scraps of paper tucked into your fishnets or band hoodies with lines like “the moon envies your thighs / the sky bleeds for your kiss.” if you ask, he’ll pretend they’re “just drafts.” but his hands shake when you read them out loud.

goes feral when you call him sweet things during sex. he acts all calm and poetic but he melts when you whisper “my pretty boy” or “my favorite toy.” he’ll literally start rutting into you faster, breath hitching, moaning like it’s too much. the second you say “good boy”? he’s whimpering. losing rhythm. cumming too fast. it’s adorable.

he loves your lip gloss so much it’s practically a kink. he keeps one of your used tubes in his bag and sometimes just smells it when you’re not around. when you straddle him in glitter gloss and call him yours, he gets dizzy. likes it best when you kiss him messy — mouth sticky, spit-slick — so it smears down his jaw.

his hands are always on your thighs. in public? resting just above your ripped fishnets. at home? gripping the backs of them while he fucks up into you, breathing against your chest like it’s his first time again. he treats you like art — kneels for you, worships you — but fucks like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t leave bruises.

aftercare king. like. above and beyond. draws a bath. plays your favorite song. lights a black cherry candle and rubs your thighs with lotion while kissing your knee caps like a simp. tells you you’re beautiful while cleaning you up with his shirt. then curls into you and falls asleep tangled in your fishnet-clad legs like a cat in love.

💬 MYSPACE CHAT @ 11:58PM

kissesonkuts: i saw someone who looked like u today kissesonkuts: i almost threw up kissesonkuts: u still have my hoodie. its ok. keep it. kissesonkuts: it still smells like ur perfume kissesonkuts: i sleep w it pressed against my face like a fucking loser lol kissesonkuts: come over. bring the eyeliner that smudges when i bite ur throat.

✦ HEIZOU

💌 MYSPACE MSG FROM: heizoumoanz

subj: i want u. lik now. bite my lip til it bleeds call me a slut again u make me feel like art n a crime scene all at once come over ill be hard in 3 mins (jk i already am lol)

he knows everything about you. like, everything. memorized your favorite eyeliner brand, your childhood trauma, and the exact pitch you moan at when he hits the right spot with his fingers. he acts casual, but don’t be fooled — he’s obsessed. keeps your selfies in a secret folder labeled evidence. jacks off to them. won’t admit it unless you catch him.

talks so much during sex. filthy. teasing. relentless. “mm, getting wet just from kissing? you are easy, huh?” “who do you belong to, sweetheart? say it louder. make the neighbors know.” makes you beg to cum just because he likes how wrecked your voice sounds. the second you cry? he’s losing his mind. he lives for the mess.

has a thing for catching you off-guard. pulls you into a bathroom stall at shows and fucks you stupid over the sink, palm over your mouth. unzips your hoodie just to suck bruises into your chest before you’ve even said hello. he likes it when you pretend to hate it — when you roll your eyes and call him a menace right before letting him finger you behind a merch booth.

lives for your scene look. your ripped tights? your layered hair? your hot pink skull necklace?? he’s biting his lip every time you walk by. will absolutely offer to “help” fix your lip gloss and end up with your gloss-stained thighs around his head. takes polaroids of you mid-makeup just to jack off later. calls you his decoration of sin. he’s so annoying about it.

he’s a dom but in a bratty, obsessive way. he likes control, but only because he needs it. he’ll pin you down and eat you out like it’s a crime scene, muttering “fuck, look what you do to me” while rutting against the bed. if you ever top him? he short-circuits. gets so red. whines. begs. hates how much he loves it. he’ll swear he’s still in charge after. he's not. you ruined him.

💬 MYSPACE CHAT @ 4:10AM

heizoumoanz: bby i literally cant sleep heizoumoanz: my sheets still smell like ur perfume heizoumoanz: also my dick still hurts from what u did last night heizoumoanz: thank u heizoumoanz: u want head in the band room tmrw or u tryna be good this week heizoumoanz: jk ur never good heizoumoanz: nd i luv u for it <3

✦ SCARA

💌 MYSPACE MSG FROM: scenewhoreabuser

subj: u looked fuckable onstage dont roll ur eyes im serious i wanted to drag u into the greenroom and make u scream over the sound of ur stupid little band u like when im mad. dont lie. u left teeth marks on my shoulder again. i didnt cover them up. i want ppl to ask.

he treats your love like it’s a sickness. he acts like you're a drug he hates being addicted to. says shit like “you’re rotting my brain” while tugging your hair back and kissing you hard enough to bruise. but he needs you — claws at your waist under his oversized hoodie like he’ll die if you let go. you’re the poison in his bloodstream and he’s drinking deep.

hates sharing you. hates it. you so much as smile at someone else and he’s gripping your thigh so hard it bruises. he’ll whisper, “don’t fucking test me” in your ear at parties with that smile that means he’s two seconds from starting a scene. then drags you into a back room and fucks you dumb to prove a point. makes you moan his name until it echoes. makes sure they hear it.

he’s mean. like. mean. chokes you during head just to see your mascara run. calls you his “stupid little bitch” while you whimper under him. but the second you get shaky? he’s cradling your face like you’re made of glass. “hey. look at me. you okay?” he’ll never say sorry, but the way he kisses your hands after? you know he means it.

he’s obsessed with how you taste. he’ll spend literal hours between your thighs, eyes glazed over like he’s in a trance. mutters filthy praise while licking you out like he’s starving. when you pull his hair and cum on his face? he grins. licks his lips. calls it “breakfast.” then spits it back into your mouth just to watch you blush.

he's the kind of guy who bites your neck during arguments. you’ll be yelling at him, mascara smudged, threatening to walk out—and he’ll grab your hips and bite. just enough to hurt. enough to make you gasp. “go on,” he hisses. “leave with my teeth still in you.” you never do. not when he kisses you like he’s trying to ruin you. not when he already has.

💬 MYSPACE CHAT @ 3:06AM

scenewhoreabuser: ur ignoring me again. cute. scenewhoreabuser: who was that guy u hugged after the show scenewhoreabuser: tell him to stop breathing or i will scenewhoreabuser: ur mine. u know that. scenewhoreabuser: come over n prove it. scenewhoreabuser: wear those fishnets i ripped last week scenewhoreabuser: i wanna finish the job

credits to @cafekitsune for the animated border lines!

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