#ty for that anonymous reader

[angelpuns]

some parts of chapter 13 are gonna be almost hilariously confusing but ya'll are just gonna have to deal with it. Mystery and whatever. Dw it will all make sense later and if it doesn't I'll explain in depth wtf is going on lmao. trust. also I wanna hear theories cause I like them and I totally chan ged a plot point based on a theory someone had last year. Liked it so much it became canon LMAO

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi! Could you please write head canons with a platonic ENA DREAM BBG X Reader who's been Forgiven by the Genie?

One moment, you're just a business-oriented entity who was curious about the Lonely Door, making a bet with your coworker Ena that you could reach the Genie first.

And in the next moment...you both reunite in the Core, but something was different.

She wasn't half-polygonal anymore; her limbs didn't float either. But instead she looked like a human woman, corpselike with a burning orange hole in her torso.

Ignoring the armored masked figures surrounding you both, she could only stare up at you in awe...

Because you've changed, too, as Theodora the Genie has forgiven you of all sins, transforming you into a literal angel.

She sensed you weren't ready to ascend yet, granting your wish to stay in this plane of existence. So now you're here.

You would've asked her to clear the smoke, although you believed that request should come from Ena herself.

"It's me, Ena. Everyone was right. The Genie and the Bathroom are one. She's real. And she's beautiful." Your laughter is soft and divine, and your feathery wings stretch outwards as you help your friend to her feet. "You must see her."

For a moment, the humanesque Ena just stares. Her mouth moves, trying to form words--but no sound comes out. And she looks embarrassed when she realizes this, although you shake your head and chuckle.

"Don't worry. I can't believe it, either. I look nothing like I used to. But I've never felt cleaner."

Then you see a figure with a fuzzy orange outline emerge from her stomach. It's her more familiar-self, and she groans in pain, rubbing her face and looking very exhausted overall.

"My head's killing me......oh, our bet...right." She mumbles. "Look, can we talk about what I owe you later? I need some coffee...or milk....or a bathroom..."

"Our bet? That doesn't matter to me anymore. I've been forgiven, what more could I want? Come." You gesture to the giant portable bathroom. "What you seek lies across that river. Let us cross together."

While Ena seemed surprised by its size, she followed you to the bridge, as now it was the only path forward.

However, her physical body was giving her trouble--especially as she starts seeing double while staring down at the bamboo rafts drifting across the river of light.

She nearly falls into it, but you quickly catch her and decide to carry her in your arms. "You look like you've been to a party. Have one too many drinks?"

Her bleak eyes gaze up at you listlessly, surprised by your actions, before her head just falls against your chest, not wanting to be anywhere else.

It felt so strange, so...wrong, to be held like this.

She didn't feel worthy at all.

Not when she visited the Purge Event and felt like she committed a great sin, straying from her job and allowing herself to be devoured.

But at the same time she felt safe, and the way she went completely slack in your embrace shows it.

Professionalism and formalities didn't exist here. At least...not at the moment.

"I don't wanna talk about it..." Her orange-self mumbles. "I got off track, I know. I'm a hypocrite."

"It's okay. We all get temptations that are difficult to resist. But the Genie will forgive you of them, I'm sure of it." You hum. "Just rest, Ena. I'll get you to the Bathroom. And you'll finish your mission as intended."

[silkythewriter]

Hello! Can I request alastor x reader where the two were married while they were alive, but reader died via illness or something and went to hell (though they never partaked in the cannibalism) and the reunite in hell?

“I'll love you 'til I'm dead”

Warning!: Angst, but eventually fluff! A bit of OOC since I haven’t written in awhile.. (.,.)💧

Fandom!: Hazbin hotel!

Author note: LONGGGGG TIME NO SEE, HIYA! IM SO SORRY FOR MY HIATUS OF SORTS BUT I FELT LIKE WRITING SUM SMALL ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ I apologize!, I hope you guys enjoy and I’m so sorry for disagreeing yet again!.

Summary!: Spouse! Reader dying via sickness, but reuniting with alastor in hell.

ꕥ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ꕥ

Louise (Louise)

I'll love you 'til I'm dead

Louise (Louise)

Not even if she likes the way you dance

ꕥ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ꕥ

First of all, he cherished you to the fullest content. As stuck up as he seems to be smile and all, he was in desperate need of support and attention. And you supplying both of those was all he needed even if he didn’t say out loud the tender touches and moments you both shared alone was enough to tell you everything.

Your relationship was nothing less then sweet and tender, and depending if you knew of his..ahem..little side hobby, it was innocent as well!

He cared for you so deeply, so desperately, to the point where you became his tie to humanity. Of course he knew how to play a role of a sane man, but even then he needed you to tie him to the small humanity and sanity he had.

Although not a big fan of physical affection himself he would in private of course, indulge in your soft touches, and hold. He and there he may quietly slip next to you just so you could softly run you fingers across his skin.

But of course the unviable happen, as the world ripped him of what he held so dear. Maybe as a punishment for his sins and misdeeds, or simply because it could.

Of course in the 30’s medicine was far from advanced, not only that but expensive. So when the news arrived of your newly found sickness all he could do was smile and nod at the doctor as if he wasn’t receiving the most dreadful news.

At first, he genuinely did hope for a recovery, he believed you would get better. Sure a tiny voice in his head was feeding him scary thoughts, and his gut twisted and turned. He felt something was off but surely it was nothing!, right?.

But as your health deteriorated so did his mental state and sanity, even worse then it once was. He put up a front though, for your sake and his, comforting you and saying how you’ll be fine soon, and recover then both of you could go off and do something you always wanted to do.

At some points of repeating this it really turned into him assuring himself. That your not leaving him, no, not anytime soon.

The more you fell ill the more you watched him spiral infront of you. And all you really could do was stare at him with sadden eyes as you gave comforting touches against his cheek or holding him close, even if you could barely pull yourself up from the bed you laid.

You felt your time coming close to ending, and somehow so did he. But unlike you he denied it to the fullest extent.

“Please dear don’t speak of such things, don’t worry yourself. You’ll be fine you’ll see!, now just rest my dear”

He wanted to believe it’ll pass over anytime now, ignoring the doctors he spent fortunes on. And sometimes he does blame them even if they just told the truth. He hated how they couldn’t help you, how he couldn’t help you.

So the day of you passing was the day he lost his final tie to humanity. If not for you, why give such a nasty world mercy?.

ꕥ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ꕥ

The minute they lowered your casket and buried you with the dirt is also the day he decided to amp up his murders.

He’s not sloppy with his murders their always calculated and tidy but grossem. Even with this, losing you he couldn’t concentrate which didn’t help his case as his blood lust grew and grew.

Each and every murder his mind went blank, thoughts of you kept flooding in that he desperately wanted to rip from his mind.

If a woman that wore you same fragrant passed him. She would be gone in a matter of days.

Nights were colder, harsher, he always assumed karma would catch up to him, but to him not you.

He often questioned what happened how did it happen. How did you even get such a illness?, and why did it have to be you?. We’re you in heaven watching him in his pitiful state? Was there even such a thing?. If there was…he surely wasn’t going to see you he knew where he was damned to go, but you?, he was sure you deserved the Pearl-ist set of wings.

Depending on the days, months or years following your death, he’s like a ticking time bomb.

He yearns for you in such a way he’s humiliated at it in a way. He misses you desperately, widowed too soon, he always assumed it would be you to be in this position, but he assumed wrong.

Even then he couldn’t tell if he could subject you to the twist of his heart and guts. He would beg to die before you, but the pain he feels now is something he would never want you to feel.

Following thoughts of your death was also his. Would he get to see you soon?, one last glance before being damned?.

He never truly moved on, cause you were his only love. Loving someone for him atleast, was rare in a romantic sense.

At some point he genuinely does just continue his murders till his death, maybe it was your passing that truly killed him. After your passing he was a bit hasty, maybe that’s what lead him to be shot in the woods. But who truly knows?

ꕥ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ꕥ

Now, after his death is where everything truly came together.

His rise to power was fairly quick killing overloads one by one gaining more voices on his radio.

But the lingering feeling of hope stayed in him…maybe you were here? Waiting for him?, But at the same time he hated this life for you, in such a miserable and disgusting yet admittedly amusing place(at least to him)

Now depending on how you found him maybe the minute his radio debuted. Or maybe by a game of telephone by the residents in hell whispering rumors and describing someone all to familiar to you.

Either way! You guys do eventually find each other. By chance or destiny is up to you

The minute he spots you, hears you, even senses you, he freezes. His smile never flattering but static surrounding the area as he processes what’s happening. Is this some sort of trick?, how..how did you end up here?

In a matter a seconds though he’s in front of you, looming as his shadow grows in suspense.

He holds his appearance and self image very important but in this tiny moment of silence. He lets it slip even if just a bit, smile never faltering but I’m his eyes a glimpse of renewed joy. Genuine joy, not form the harms of others but from something warm…something bitter sweet.

Maybe it’s you who pipes up snapping him from observing you like a painting in a museum.

“See?” You said softly grabbing his hand gently like you used to do, as you softly brought it to your face and softly planted it on your cheek. “I’m real” you said with a soft smile (SILENT HILL REFERENCE!!¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Depending on where you are he’s quick to whisk you away to somewhere secluded.

Despite the questions on his mind all he can do is silently stare at you taking in ever detail, even if some changes here and there, you were still you. The you that he missed so desperately for all too long.

Even if not one for physical affection he’s quick with holding you, scared of you being taken from him again, taking in all he can.

Your so much more precious then he leads on, and he’ll be damned to second hell if he loses you again.

In the period of first meeting you again he is keen on keeping an eye one you 24/7, doesn’t matter what powers or how long you survived without him in hell. He can’t risk it, especially not now as he started accumulating enemies so quickly.

He’ll treat you like it’s your first time dating, of course in his old time-y way, but either surprising you with flowers at random times of the day, or watching you get giddy when he kisses the crown of your head.

Now that he knows, and felt the pain of losing you, every moment you have together form than on is cherished more than before. He remembers every day with you like the back of his hand, what you ate, what you said, what you wore, and more!

He know’s…he knows he’s a messed up, and vail man. He understands the gruesome things he’s done with little to no regret. But if he did in somehow and some way do good, something good to earn you back in his afterlife man is he greatful for it.

Some nights he does just stare at you. He’s scared, he will never show it but he is. If he loses you again, for eternity, he’s not sure what’d he do with himself. And that, the fact you weight so heavily on him is the second scariest thing, first being losing you.

Over all, he’s taken aback having you back, but he gets use to it very quickly, your soft comforting touches and your voice that brings back a flood of memories is something he will never forget nor let ago, he isn’t losing you this time, and he’ll do anything to make sure of that.

ꕥ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ꕥ

WOW THAT WAS LONG, I LOVED WRITING IT THOUGH OH MY GOSH I LOVED THIS IDEA, PLEASE REQUEST AGAIN!!! \(^ヮ^)/

[harbingersglory]

Thoughts on transfem Ningguang with a fem!reader whose her bodyguard? Fem!reader whose like a loyal, protective dog out in the world when they're out and about together, but an utter submissive puppy behind closed doors for the Tianquan?

literally shaking like a chihuahua oh what i'd do to be the Tianquan's lap dog..mean femmes are so attractive its like putting my brain in a blender.

It's not surprising the Tianquan has a bodyguard. She's a key political figure in Liyue and anyone aiming to dismantle the carefully curated hierarchy has her at the top of the list. To the public, your just muscle to intimidate the lesser crooks from even thinking about it and deal with those who get too bold.

Behind closed doors, though? Your nothing but the Tianquan's lap dog at her beck and call.

She isn't fond of public displays, but she does like hiding it in public just for the thrill. Knowing you wear your collar under your uniform so you'll always remember who holds your leash is a thrill she can't beat.

She's a bit mean and sadistic, really, but she's the Tianquan. She has the money to spoil you like a good puppy afterwards..so long as you behave and exceed expectations. Whether you lean more dominant or submissive doesn't matter, since you'll probably be subbing whether your top or bottom. It's a different kind of thrill to make you sit on her lap, stuffed full of her cock, while she works. That or she has you under her desk, one hand fisted in your hair while she uses your mouth instead.

She has to be at the top of her game, after all, and her position is a stressful one. What better way to de-stress then to put her little puppy to good use? You're just so pliant when she orders you on your knees.

She keeps it tame if thats more your thing, but if you give her the go ahead she will buy you muzzles. Some just the standard muzzle, others with gags, plenty of collars and leashes for all sorts of occasions..she might even get you faux ears and a tail just for a little finishing touch.

She's just as big on aftercare, though. She puts her money to good use spoiling you, partially because she knows she can get a little rough with you. That and as much as she likes to call you her puppy, she won't have you smelling like a wet dog. Get in the bath.

You won't stay clean for long, especially because she absolutely goes all out on her tub so it's more then big enough for some extra activities, but it's better then nothing.

Sometimes, though, she just needs to be pampered herself. She adores body worship after a particularly stressful day. Just lounging in half tied silk while you worship every inch of her.

And if anyone notices you limping the morning after..they say nothing. They just chalk it up to a fight with some assassin or similar. And if they do know, they know better then to bring it up.

Bonus for being shared with Beidou when she drops by Liyue harbor. Nothing like a rowdy pirate to shake things up and make a mess of you on the Tianquan's bed while she watches.

[powerfultenderness]

Not a request but a suggestion Miss Author!

I've been loving your fics 'bout Neighbor! Konig and Civilian!y/n. Gosh I can't help but feel like diabetes has slapped me tenfold. Buttt I saw thiiss one and I can't help but ponder Damn he'd do this shi frfr.

I mean LOOK: https://www.tumblr.com/blueparadis/761405680000417792?source=share

Anyways keep up the good work and live you and your works!!!

Aw, thank you!

(highlighted text: "A man who lets a woman wear his hat indicates that he's interested in seeing more of her- and if she takes it off him, it means that she'd like to take off some other attire, too")

Yea, our sweet little neighbor definitely get's special treatment from König, and is the only person who could get away with stealing his mask!

(Fluffy little blurb under cut! ❤)

This man! 

You narrowed your eyes at König, nose scrunching up and lips pursed together, as you stared him down. 

“What?” He asked with a head tilt, his eyes shifting slightly with worry.

It was his eyes that gave it away. He had beautiful blue eyes, yes, but they were extra striking today. And that’s when you noticed the difference.

“Are you…” You closed the distance between you a bit, just enough to step into his space. 

König swallowed a lump in his throat when you brought your hand up, the backs of your knuckles brushing against his chest until your fingers toyed with the edge of his mask. 

“-wearing a mask under your mask?!”

He usually scrubbed his face clean of any eye black before he went home, he usually pulled his balaclava or gaiter off before he walked into the building. But today, for whatever reason he hadn’t (“whatever reason” being that he was rushing home because you had asked him to help you get back in training shape). 

He saw the wicked grin that pulled your lips up, his eyes drooping and heart thumping because you were looking at him like that, and when your fingers gripped the sniper hood he usually wore (though less and less around you), he couldn’t move fast enough to stop you even if he wanted to. 

You pulled, only because at this point you were certain of his second mask, and the black material floated down, landing on your shoulder. 

He blinked at you, half his face still hidden under a gaiter pulled up just under his eyes. You’d seen that much of his face before, he took off his hood to drive, after all, but it still felt like you were seeing him without a shirt. (or rather, you’d seen him without a shirt more than you’d seen him without a mask!). 

Your grin widened at how stunned he looked, then you quickly pulled the hood over your own face. “I’m the König now!” You laughed and took a few steps back, out of his immediate reach.

König, catching up with your playfulness, grinned under the mask that was still on his face. “Well, now I’m not going to go easy on you, darling.” And he rushed forward, chasing you as you ran around his flat, laughing and giggling when he pulled you to his chest.

[Neighbor König masterlist]

Neighbor König taglist: 

@warrior-of-justice  @cumikering @ihateuguys @rand0m--fangirl @keiva1000 @dtftheavengers @takeyour-pants-off @aeeliy @milenko115 @sodonuthideout @onegami @nadiauddincrafts @nadiauddincrafts @grizzersmamma @flooftoof @techs-ass @virginalsacrifice @s0rc3r3r @sleeplessskeleton @introvered-violinist @tizylish @romula96 @peach-habibitch @mitchlow @queenotaku27 @fenixnegras @emmbny @love-dove-noora @lesbianmitsuri @supergirl16 @wybwtjmiadz @ghonigsloverbabe @thatmusedhatter @grassclippers @skystreamchan @lordlydragon @luvecarson @thetestsubject666 @mafer383 @darkangel4121 @puppylikethedog  @trashitytrashitytrash @teapartydreams 

[cranberrv]

Have you tried making a music playlist with soc!reader x dally or any of the gang members? :

hmm i kind of took some creative liberty with this, but i think that if soc!girly!reader made a playlist for dal, it would look something like this!

there’s a mix of old & new music, because i wanted it to be kind of a 60s vibe but also how could i not include taylor and lana! (+ she’s listening to elvis because dally really wanted her to )

[didderd]

I’ve had the thought for awhile of how Tic and Tac are poly with their respective Grillby’s and Toriels, and how Grillby is also poly. Really ever since I came across that bit of information I’ve been wondering what their reaction would be if one of their partners was cuddled asleep on Grillby when Tic or Tac got home from something.

OUGH! ;^; i love that. ty for sharing ur thoughts <3

Both of them would be very happy to see this.

Not only do their partners get along, they like each other. At least enough to cuddle.

Tic might even tear up (least if both of his partners are asleep and won't see him).

They would both join the snuggles. Maybe take a shower first if they have too (depending on where they're coming home from), but it'd be a quick one. They wanna join the cuddles as soon as they can.

Either of them might tease their partner a bit later, but Tac definitely would, and then promptly get teased himself, by Grillbz, for joining them.

Either of them would also question their partner alone later on whether they like like Grillby or not, bc he definitely does them. Not just anyone can get that close too Tac's Grillby without getting burnt, and Tic's Grillby is usually pretty reserved.

[senbons]

A pic of your tits of course! Haha nope, kidding. Give me a little excerpt. The most gutwrenching one! I want sweet torture 😭

Lolol

It's definitely not the most gut-wrenching (and as spoiler free as I can find) but it's definitely not a fun feeling in the gut!!!

[pricelessemotion]

Hi just wanted to stop by and say I love Can I Ask You a Question so much

thank you so much! i love U! 🥹 ive been lacking in inspiration for months and this lovely ask gave me the motivation to open up the doc and get back to the story <3

here’s a sneak peek for the next chapter!

[toxicanonymity]

EVERY INCH 4

SERIES MASTERLIST | SLASHERS MASTERLIST PAIRINGS: ghostface x f!reader; dark javi x f!reader LENGTH: ~6.6k words. The next one will be shorter.

SUMMARY: after what you did on the metro, you're ashamed and paranoid. javi crosses a line. ghostface does something he's never done before. so do you.

WARNINGS: I8+ dubcon, piv and various acts, references to noncon, somno, drugs, degradation, dirty talk, angst/shame, yearning, breeding & "daddy" kinks, descriptions of (not actual) pregnancy. Restraints, blindfold. And idk, it gets weird. Anonymous ghostface. We enjoy surprises in this series, soo WRITER CHOOSES NOT TO WARN IN FULL. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

A/N: Thank you for your patience and enthusiasm and omg all the love on the fics 🖤. Thank you negraarmadura (@theblackarmor) for your valuable input and inspiration. Also, @lunitawrites can shoulder some blame for the excessive breeding kink. Ty @saradika for the dividers.

🚨 FIC ART: banger collage by @aurorawritestoescape and action packed movie trailer by @carminepoison

Overnight, your fury and humiliation fades into gloom and confusion. Ghostface. You wake up itchy and dehydrated. 

You never imagined things would go this far. You should kill him, right? Ghostface? Don’t you have to? Think about what he did to you. What he made you do. You should kill him, but you don't have the energy. And you're too angry at yourself to have much ire for anyone else. 

Ghostface, a notoriously brutal killer, called you a serial rapist, and he wasn’t even really lying. How much of the metro disaster was planned? Did Ghostface orchestrate it, or did he simply seize the opportunity to watch, fascinated by your blind lust and rage? 

You didn't want to know. As long as you weren't certain, you still had that little sliver hope that you didn't rape a stranger at gunpoint all on your own. But either way, you did hold the gun. Either way, you took the man’s dick out and degraded him as you forced yourself on him in the middle of a public train. Lost in the moment. Feeling like it was just you and him, Ghostface. Until it wasn’t.

The day after the metro, it feels like everybody knows what you did. Every time you close your eyes, images of crowds on train platforms blur through your mind. An infinite audience to your terrible crime. 

You stay in bed, frozen, not wanting to face reality. Telling yourself it’s a dream. Sleeping off and on. Batting away uncomfortable thoughts–like when will you see Ghostface again? Is he going to call you? What will you do? You can’t get him off your mind. 

Two mornings after the metro, you drag yourself out of bed, then out into the world. At the grocery store, you bump into your older pothead neighbor, and he asks if you're okay. Your heart races, thinking he must know. It takes you a moment to remember why he’s asking – your friend Marla was stabbed to death just days ago, and she wasn't the first.  

In the checkout line, you space out until a man’s voice jars you from your trance. You apologize and put your items on the conveyor belt. When you’re just about to pay, you receive a text message from an unknown number, a fact which on its own makes your tummy tingle. When you read the text, your whole body turns hot: 

I’ll split your ass like a tangerine. 

The words land straight between your legs. As the grocer hands you your bags, he asks if you’re okay. You shake yourself out of it and nod.  The grocer wishes you good luck. At least, that’s what you think he says. Good luck not getting caught? Good luck not getting killed? Good luck with what? You decide you must have imagined it. 

In the parking lot, before heading home, you sit in your car for a few minutes, spaced out, wondering if you'll ever be able to go out in public again without feeling like this. Like everyone knows something awful about you.

On the way home, you can't get your phone to charge. You’re fiddling with the cord when blue lights flash in your rearview mirror, making your stomach drop. The lights turn off only after you're parked on the grass shoulder of the two lane road. 

Every second feels like a minute until a tall, blonde cop in aviators gets out of his car, stretches, and strides over like he has all the time in the world.  You roll down the window. He plants two huge hands on the top of your car and ducks down to look at you. For a few seconds, he doesn't say anything, just leisurely chews his gum. 

Then, he shifts his stance and asks, “How ya doin’, ma’am?”  Deep voice, smooth as butter. 

Out of nowhere, you feel on the verge of tears. Avoiding your reflection in his shades, you swallow the knot in your throat and answer, “fine.” 

He stops chewing and asks,“Yeah? You sure?”

You suck your lips together and nod. 

He looks from you to the groceries in your front seat and the mess of junk in the back, then asks, “Where ya headed?”

“Home.”

He bobs his head in understanding and glances down the road, chewing his gum again. 

Your heart continues to race as you watch his face for a long moment of silence. Finally, he speaks. “Well, put your fuckin’ phone down for me.” He raises his eyebrows and tips his shades forward, forcing his sky blue eyes on you. “‘k, darlin’?”

Your lips part, and you forget to blink until he winks at you and flashes a smile. Then you nod and mumble, “Uh. Yeah, sorry.” 

He fixes his aviators back. “Careful out there, ‘k?” After a nod and a casual tap on your roof, he walks off. You watch him in the rear view mirror.  

Are his legs that long, or is it the monochrome outfit? He adjusts his belt before getting in his car. Your chest bubbles with interest, attraction, and you curse yourself under your breath. 

At home, you try to distract yourself by watching a show, but it’s just not possible. After what he did—what you did–on the train, you’re terrified to know what’s next. What you might do next in this absurd state you find yourself in where he consumes your every thought. And it hits you, the sickest part of all—why you attacked who you thought was Ghostface. Not because Ghostface attacked you, not because he tried to kill you, but because he left you after getting you worked up. Ghostface walked away from you. He left you alone and alive in that alley, and it upset you. 

You find yourself at the bizarre revelation that you and Ghostface are the only people in your world that feel real right now. You’re inextricably linked. He’s the only one who really knows you. He knows your darkness. 

Are you the only one who really knows him, too?

Your phone dings with a text. It’s a political campaign, but you take the opportunity to re-read:

I’ll split your ass like a tangerine.

It gives you butterflies. It sounds like him. It has to be him. That’s the only thing that helps you relax.

(Some hours and a nap later. . .)

"What would you do if you had Ghostface cornered," Javi asks, sitting back and manspreading next to you on your sofa. He's nursing a Mike's Hard Lemonade from a case he brought and crammed into your fridge, pushing aside expired condiments and old takeout containers. 

You should never have let Officer Javi in when he knocked on your door. “Heard ya had a rough day,” he had remarked. “Pulled over?” he raised his eyebrows. There was something about him that made you uneasy, but you didn’t feel like you had a choice, so you opened the door.

It was impossible to miss the way he sniffed the air after crossing the threshold. You imagined he was smelling the cum of Ghostface and amateur Ghostface, even two days and several showers later. 

Pulling yourself back into the moment at hand – Javi’s question isn’t easy – what would you do if you had Ghostface cornered? What would a normal person do? 

You ask, "if I had him cornered?"

"What, you wouldn't do anything?" Javi challenges you. 

"I wouldn't get within ten feet of him," you claim. 

Javi chuckles skeptically. "You wouldn't kill him?" 

��No. . . .should I?”

"I think you have it in you,” Javi replies, then drops his voice. “Or you want it in you." 

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t let it go. You challenge him, "What are you talking about?"

"You don't want to be a victim. You're determined not to be." 

In a gesture that could pass for reassurance, Javi’s cold, broad hand rests just above your bare knee for a moment. Then he trails his fingers up your thigh, all the way to the hem of your shorts, close to where you’re now tingling. 

His voice goes down in pitch and volume.  "It's an attractive quality. . . Your lust for control." His face is dark with lust. 

You take his hand off your thigh and place it on his own leg. 

“See? ” he asks with a condescending twitch of his mustache in the corner of your eye.  

"Pervert," you mutter.

"You wouldn't shoot Ghostface with my gun?" Javi glances down at himself. Eyes following his gaze, you do a double take at the shape in his tight pants. 

Shame prickles your face, and you swallow as you admit, "Your gun was stolen." 

"I know," Javi nods with just the hint of a smile. "It was turned in." 

With an air of nonchalance, he takes the gun out of the back of his pants. He subtly rubs the side of the barrel against his hard cock as he pretends to inspect the firearm before setting it on the coffee table. "Now you can shoot him.”

He watches you look at the gun on your coffee table. The one that was buried in your cunt less than 48 hours ago. Javi continues, “But you won't shoot him, will you?"

"No," you agree. 

"Don't want him to leave you alone."

"No," you argue, mouth getting dry. “That’s ridiculous.”

"Oh,” Javi seems to be acting. “Too scared to shoot a gun?  We'll practice."

“No,” you shake your head, then ask, "How do I know he's the right one? The one who’s cornered?" 

"Ah," A smile creeps across his face. "The real Ghostface, and not just some guy in a Stab costume? " He raises an eyebrow. 

Over the next few seconds, your face goes ice cold.

"Shhh. It's okay,” Javi rests a hand on your back, then rubs it slowly. “I know, sweetheart.” 

He knows what? Is he involved in this somehow? Your question spills out before you can stop it. “What are you getting at? What did you do?”

The large palm on your back slows to a halt between your shoulder blades. Javi pouts in contemplation, looking at the ceiling like he's racking his brain. Another twitch of his mustache. Before meeting your eyes again, he subtly shakes his head, "Nothing," then bends forward, picks up your drink, and hands it to you. He puts his hand on your back again, lazily caressing it with his knuckles this time. 

Trying to calm yourself down, you take a sip. He nods encouragingly. 

You ask, "Are you even a cop?"

"Yeah, I’m a cop," he laughs. 

“Okay, pig. Who’s your supervisor?”

Javi’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ouch! ” 

Another sip of your drink. 

“Good girl,” he whispers as he watches you swallow. His eyes are right on your throat. The tingle simmers between your legs. Javi’s hand slides up your back to slowly rub the nape of your neck with his thumb and fingers while his hungry eyes scan you head to toe. How hard is he right now? You don’t allow yourself the glance.

“Listen sweetheart,” his tone shifts,  “I can’t make this any easier on you.” His thumb gently glides over the peach fuzz on your neck.

“Make what easier?”

Javi’s only acknowledgement of your question is to breathe out a small laugh, then continue, “But I can make it harder.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It’s in your best interest if I keep you company tonight.” 

With Javi’s crotch tugging at your peripheral vision, a mild arousal stirs in your gut, but you muster a look of disgust. “Or what?”

“Let’s not find out, ” he threatens. 

You scowl and take another sip, catching a flash of satisfaction in his dark eyes. He continues to caress the back of your neck, then says, “Unless you want to find out.” 

His thumb freezes right in the dip at the base of your skull. “Maybe I read you wrong. Maybe you do want to be a victim.”  He taps his thumb twice and takes his hand away. His dark eyes scan your face as he reaches for the remote control.  

Are you paranoid, or does he know something? You no longer trust yourself to see things as they are. You pray he’s just a creep, taking advantage of his assignment to protect you. If he were a worse looking creep, you might be more concerned. 

Two hard lemonades later, you’re lying on your side on the couch, watching Rosemary’s Baby with Javi spooning you and lightly caressing your lower abdomen, right at the top of your shorts.  

“Are you on birth control? ” he asks, which catches you off guard and makes your face and insides tingle.  

“Yeah, gonna put that in your report?” you answer. 

“Mm,” he sighs. “Bet you take it real well, too.” 

A pool is forming in your panties. 

“Same time every day? ” He doesn't wait for an answer before adding, “Even with all this going on? ”

No response from you.

With the softest flick of his thumb, he unbuttons your shorts. 

“You really think i’m going to fuck you, don’t you?” you ask as his hand plunges into your panties. At least those are fresh. Or they were. 

When Javi’s fingers reach your wetness, he groans softly. “I told you, sweetheart. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” Rubbing circles over your most sensitive place, he lightly grinds his hardening dick against your backside. The warm pressure of his arousal makes you throb. 

This goes on for a minute, then he cruelly slides his hand out of your shorts. He smells his fingers. The crudeness makes you twitch and seethe. A moment later, he’s urgently tugging down your shorts. His forearm vein bulges as he wedges his hand between your legs again. Your knees open for him, you can’t help it. His cock is pressing so hard against your ass, throbbing for you. He’s rubbing you at a steady, desirous rhythm, and your body is helping your mind forget everything. 

Need is rushing through your blood. The only thing you can see is a climax in sight.  Your insides swell and throb for him. You think about his cock, you want his cock, but no, you’re not going to give a pig that honor. This will have to do. 

He breathes heavier, and so do you. Your hips move with his rhythm. Every once in a while, his middle finger goes down and teases your hole as he gathers more slick to bring upward. Then one time, his finger stays at your entrance. He wriggles the tip of his middle digit into you, then plunges it in with a grunt, as far as he can get. 

He pumps his finger and grinds his palm against your clit. Your hips begin to rock into his hand. He mutters, “mierda” (shit), to himself as he slides his ring finger in. His thick digits stay buried inside. His cock twitches, and he calms himself, slowing down. A moan slips out of your mouth when you’re on the edge, desperate for release. 

“You want this, don’t you? ” he sides an arm under your neck and across your breasts to pull you tight against him. The swell of his cock sends a wave of pleasure upward, through your chest. 

“No,” you choke out, but your hips roll into his hand. 

“If you want to cum, all you have to do is ask.”

“Fuck you,” you manage between heavy breaths. You’re almost there. Then, you grab his hand and hold it still against your cunt as you send yourself over the edge, grinding against his palm, gasping vocally, spasming against his hand, pathetically trying to hold back your moans. 

As it fades, you want more. Of course you want more. But you won’t give him the satisfaction. 

You wriggle out of his embrace to sit up and kick your shorts off your ankles. 

“I’m going to wash the cop off me,” you mutter in self-disgust. 

Javi is bemused. “He doesn’t make you ask, huh? ” 

Heat rises to your face. You stand up and don’t even look at him. “Fuck you, Javi,” you mutter. 

“Does he even make you cum? ”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you lie. 

Javi stands up, braces his thumbs on his lower back,  and pushes his hips forward in a stretch. A spot of precum on his pants draws your eye as he steps forward, his engorged dick straining to get out.  

After his stretch, he steps forward. His jaw clenches and his eyes are cold. He takes your jaw in his hand and looks from your lips to your eyes and back.  “Everyone’s going to know who I’m talking about if you’re not careful.”

Your stomach drops, but you manage not to show it, you think. “Be gone when I’m out of the shower,” you warn as if you could do anything about it. 

“Suit yourself,” he smiles slightly. “This time.” He adjusts himself with his dry hand. 

You give him one last glare. Then, your eyes fall to his hand, where he’s inspecting his two wet fingers, glimmering in the low light of the movie credits. His mustache twitches, and he walks in the opposite direction of your front door. You don’t bother redirecting him. You’re just glad he’s leaving when he exits out the back.

In the shower, you start to feel woozy. Did you drink more than you realized, or did Javi slip you something? It could have been either.  You end the shower sooner than you otherwise might, wrap yourself in a robe and lay on your bed. Aching to be filled, you think about retrieving a toy from your nightstand, but your sudden fatigue wins over.  Not getting off to the thought of Ghostface is a victory, even if it’s on a technicality. Instead, you fall asleep, thinking about the only man you’ve thought about for weeks. 

Your dreams are wild. 

Ghostface is working at a grocery store, with his mask on. He has a black button down shirt under a long black apron with a name tag that says Daddy. He’s rolling up his sleeves as he walks toward customer service. It feels like he runs the place. He stops in his tracks when he sees you. You stand frozen as he approaches swiftly. He grabs you roughly by the elbow and marches you toward the produce section as if you shouldn’t even be there at the store. 

He bends you over a crate of citrus fruit, and a fake thunderstorm booms from a nearby produce cooler as the vegetables get misted.

Standing behind you, holding you down on the fruit with one hand, he kicks your ankles to spread your feet open, exposing your cunt to the cool air. “You couldn't wait, could you?”  He asks, hiking up your dress. You aren't wearing anything under it. “Couldn’t wait for Daddy to get home...” 

There's a surge of need at the crux of your thighs, and you eagerly await his cock. Instead, what you feel is the cool, taut skin of a lime gliding against your dripping pussy. 

He slides the fruit up and down your dripping seam and pauses to grind it against your clit. The man knows what he’s doing. You throb and twitch and sigh as the smooth skin of the lime warms up. 

“That’s right, princess.” He wedges your legs further apart, so far apart the stretch burns. Then he resumes his work with the fruit. 

One end of the lime teases your entrance, then he pushes it into you. Your body sucks it up with ease and spasms around it. 

“Good girl.” His hand remains between your legs, hooking under your body to reach your clit. You whine as he rubs your sweet spot. The lime seems to thrust inside you with each rub of his hand against your front. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt.

He makes you cum on the lime, and with each of your spasms, your body sucks the fruit further into your channel. 

As your orgasm fades, Ghostface zip ties your hands over your head, fixing them to the sale sign in the middle of the produce crate. He leaves you with your dress still pulled up, ass and cunt exposed, twitching with aftershocks. 

“Please, wait,” You beg him to come back. 

Another worker notices you and fails to hide his erection. The man’s face is pink and spellbound. He stands there and rubs himself through his pants. He looks around furtively as he does it, watching you. And you’re a vision — pathetically bent over the fruit, spread wide open, moaning and whining for your man to come back and fuck you raw. 

A new sensation eclipses your awareness of the small audience. It begins to feel like the lime is growing in your womb, spreading your insides apart. You're increasingly aroused, feeling less and less control over your body as it swells with desire. You find yourself wishing for anyone to shove himself inside you—staff or customer. If only anyone with a cock would stop and use you. Please, you think to yourself. “Please,” you whimper out loud. You’re desperate to cum again, desperate to relieve all this pressure building in your belly. 

An older man approaches, undoing his belt, and he looks you over as he runs his hand over the outline of his erection, deciding what to do with you. He gets close enough to spread your cheeks and examine your cunt. Your hole tremors at his touch, and you whimper. You can feel from the air that you are spread wide open. It feels like you’re going to split at the seam. After examining your parts, the man mutters, “oh,” before deciding against it and walking away. 

Your whole torso feels like it could burst with the amount of tension swelling inside you. Your nipples are tight and sensitive, and you feel one of them bare against an orange under your chest. You look down to see your breasts, noticeably swollen, falling out of your dress. 

The fruit beneath you begins to dig into your tummy and it hurts. It's too much, paired with the aching need between your legs.  You cry out, and the other worker pages the general manager, Ghostface, over the intercom. 

-

When Ghostface returns, he snips your zip ties then roughly flips you over so you're face-up on a big pile of fruit. He ties your hands over your head again, this time using a plastic produce bag. 

“Well, look at my pumpkin,” he admires your body as he removes his gloves. Until you see the way his mask seems to stare at your middle, you don’t realize your midriff is exposed. Your dress has ridden up over your belly, which is rounder than before. It feels tight and distended, and you just feel so full.  He places both hands on your belly, feeling your shape. When you look down, you hardly recognize yourself. Your nipples are leaking. The one still in your top is creating a wet spot. Your other breast has broken containment completely. 

“What did you do to me,” you demand, with Ghostface massaging your belly tenderly. 

He groans and reaches up with one hand. Suddenly he clamps his hand over your eyes. The next thing you feel is a mouth sucking at your exposed tit. It feels amazing, all the tension rushing out of your breast, along with the stimulation of his tongue. He breaks away with a moan. 

“I knew you'd be delicious.”

So much pressure is built up inside you, you're dying to cum. He holds you by both your sides. You’re painfully spread open, inner thigh muscles aching. He puts himself between your legs. He grinds himself against you, and it makes your walls clench and convulse almost instantly with a groan that echoes. 

He pulls his hips back and watches between your legs as you surrender to another orgasm. “Look at you, drizzled all over the fruit,” he marvels as he watches your fluttering hole. With each wave, you feel your belly and breasts swell a little more until you feel and look like you're in your third trimester. 

“Please make it stop,” you beg.  It feels so good, but you don’t want your body like this.

He rubs at your dripping cunt, his flattened fingers gliding soothingly between your puffy folds. Soon, you're grinding against his hand. 

“Please,” you beg. “Take it out, take the lime out.”

“Might be too late, angel.” 

“Please try.” 

He relents and wedges three fingers together. The fingertips tease your dilated hole, then his three thick digits slide right in, the ease of it making him groan. The obscene squelching practically echoes as he fucks you with three fingers, and soon he adds a fourth. Your body accepts him, and welcomes the addition of his thumb. Soon his hand is reaching deep inside you, fist and forearm flexing as he searches for the lime. 

“Daddy’s trying, baby.”

Your body hugs his hand. “Please,” you cry, tears running down your face, from pleasure and pressure more than pain. 

“Let me see,” he muses to himself as he withdraws his hand and moves a finger down to your asshole. He teases the rim of it and you feel it open up for him like the rest of your body. Then he slides two dripping fingers in. With his fingers buried in your ass, you feel some relief. You breathe with the rhythm of his fingers, but when you see your belly heaving with each breath, you remember. “Please, please put me back to normal.” 

Ghostface sighs. “Are you sure, princess?” His fingers slide out of your asshole. 

“Yes,” you insist. 

He crouches down, puts your legs over his shoulders, and positions himself with his mask right at your cunt. He rests his dry hand on your belly, and his wet hand grips his mask at the edges. 

Just as he goes to take the mask off, the whole scene melts into a moving mosaic of fleeting thoughts. 

Everything but the pleasure fades away. 

Everything but the pleasure. . . and the feeling of being spread wide open. . . and your legs over someone’s strong shoulders. . .

Yes, there’s a head between your thighs, two strong hands holding you open, and a hungry mouth feasting on you with abandon. He’s grunting into your cunt with his tongue intruding into your deepest places, making your insides hum with need. 

Did Javi never leave? It doesn’t exactly sound like Javi. Javi is far too measured to be so—ohh, God, that feels good. It feels so good, you barely notice that you’re blindfolded. Or that your wrists are tied above your head, securing you to the bed frame. 

He licks up your cunt to suck at your clit, and he does it well. Fuck. A moan slips out, muffled by something damp and lacy. Your mouth is sore and gagged.  Your heart races as he sucks, and your sensitive nub swells with pressure. 

You’re still waking up, and your traitorous hips are grinding into his face. You’re close. His hands are on your thighs. You’re on the edge of climax, trying not to make any sound or sudden movements. 

When his tongue slips down to your asshole, you flinch. You squirm, but the hands hold you still. His thumbs spread your cheeks, and he licks a wide circle around the rim, getting closer and closer until his tongue is teasing your hole. 

Your nose twitches. You sniff the air, and breathe a shameful sigh of relief. It’s not Javi. It’s him. Thank God, it’s him. And it smells like he smoked in your room.

Ghostface pauses to mutter, “Good girl,” and the voice comes from between your legs, and from your right, as though he’s separated from the voice changer. 

And separated from his mask. Wow. You never thought he’d— his warm mouth returns to your ass, and he thrusts his tongue into you. A pit in your gut deepens with each thrust of his tongue. Your eyelashes flutter against the folded bandana that covers your eyes. 

You grunt and whine into the gag, then he begins to rub your clit while his tongue is buried in your ass. Before long, the tension snaps, and your vision goes from black to white. A muffled moan marks the start of your peak. His tongue slides out, and your body jerks with each spasm. 

“Attagirl,” you hear from both directions.

As you finish coming, he lays a cheek on one thigh and a hand on the other, stroking your skin with his thumb. 

“You were on a silver platter, princess. I had to take a bite.” Your nipples harden—you’re naked and your sweat is cooling. “You know how it is.” You don’t try to respond. “Had a feeling you wouldn’t mind,” he taunts. “And ohhh, Pumpkin. We’ve been having *fun*.” 

Can’t exactly ask what he’s been up to with a mouth full of your own panties. But you wriggle and groan in disapproval.  His face lifts off your thigh, and his hands are quick to hold you down and keep you still.

“Yeah, yeah,” he acknowledges your halfhearted effort, and you stop resisting. The fact that you both see through this charade puts you more at ease somehow. 

When you feel his breath on your hip, it’s clear he’s not done, and you’re not mad about it. You’re in a daze—Ghostface is in your room, unmasked. Between your legs. 

His teeth press into your skin, then his lips. He sucks hard, then harder, and the bruising suction makes you throb. You grunt into the panty gag. He releases your skin, then drags his lips to your mound. 

He licks up your mound and presses wet, hungry, open-mouth kisses along your exposed torso, licking upward between each kiss, all the way to your breast where he pauses to suck and moan into it. You whine into the gag as your nipple hardens in his mouth and you gush and throb.

He drags his tongue up your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The closer his head gets to yours, the more clearly you can smell him - his unique blend of pheromones, his sweat, the way it mixes with the weed. 

And then it slaps against you. His cock. Smooth, and warm, and hard against your hip, and your chest swarms with butterflies. You moan softly. His face is in the crook of your neck. He latches on for a suck and the dull pain makes your hips lift, seeking more of his cock. You feel an emptiness, a longing to be filled. 

His bare face nuzzles at your jaw. He drags his lips up your chin, to your cheek, to your ear. 

“Shhh,” he whispers, despite your silence. 

His lips slowly drag toward your mouth, dragging along the gag. With his mouth on your cheek, your lips tingle with an urge. And then he gets there. His mouth lingers, open against yours, his breath, hot and humid, enveloping your lips. His teeth scrape the corner of your mouth. He bites down on the gag while one hand fiddles behind you to untie it. His cock, now on your mound, swells harder against you and Good God, you need him bad. 

With a backward nod, he tugs at the panty gag, then lets it fall away with a vocal exhale, thrusting his stiff manhood against you. The loss of his lips on your face resembles heartache. 

Barely above a whisper, you ask, “what are you doing?” and brace to hear his real voice. 

Instead, his hand seizes your jaw, forcing your mouth wider open. And then he spits in your mouth. You taste it as it slides down your tongue, down your throat, and desire stirs in your gut. 

He releases your jaw. “Daddy needs to hear ya, princess.” He mutters breathily, and it echoes from your right, “Daddy needs to hear you, princess.”

You pull your knees up. He braces a hand behind you against the wall and grinds his stiff manhood against your slick mound. “Fuck,” he whispers, with no digital echo. Then, in both voices, “You want this. . . Don’t you, pumpkin?” He grinds against you, harder. “You want Daddy’s big cock,” he confirms, and you can imagine him nodding. 

“Yeah,” you admit in a whisper.

“Oh, yeah,” he replies. The slow, throbbing grind of his warm cock is devastating so close to where you need it. 

“Please,” you ask. 

“Please what?” he replies. 

“Please,” your chest tingles, “Please, Daddy.”

“Uh-huh,” he thrusts against you nice and slow. So stiff and warm. 

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you plead. 

He pulls his hips back, letting his cock slide and drop to where his tip notches at your entrance. “Who’s gonna fuck you?” 

“You are, Daddy.” 

“Yeah, that’s my girl.” His tip pushes into your yearning cunt. 

“Please, Daddy.” 

“That’s right,” his tone sharpens as he abruptly shoves his length into you, pushing your slick walls apart.  He shudders as he bottoms out. There’s a tingling burn in the stretch, but it quickly fades as your body gives way to the intrusion. And then, the overwhelming feeling is fullness and need for friction. 

His hips pull back, and your legs wrap around him, begging him all the way back inside. He slams into you, and you grunt with the impact as his flesh fills yours again. “Good girl,” he praises. His cock — How did you ever mistake another man for him? He slams in again, making you whole. 

As he fucks you, your thighs tremble, and you whimper, “Daddy,” drawing a groan from him.

He rails in, and slides almost all the way out. Each time, your cunt is pulling at him, begging him back in.  

“Whose little slut are you? ” He asks, his thrusts becoming sharper.  

“Yours, Daddy.” 

A bead of sweat hits your sternum, then your forehead.

“That's my girl,” you hear in surround sound. 

A salty drop falls into your mouth.

“Daddy’s little slut,” he breathes, “can really take a cock,” and the voice changer catches the last half.

He hovers his body lower, closer to yours. A thick steam condenses between you as he pounds you unforgivingly, even from the closer angle. Your chest, your whole torso, you’re all dewy with heat. And his skin, it’s so close, you want to feel it. You neeeed to feel it. 

“Fuck,” you whisper. 

Yearning to put your hand on his chest, you try to wriggle out of the rope and your wrists begin to burn. Your breasts jiggle and jut into the air with the effort.  His chest grazes your tits, and you gasp with the pleasure that seizes your tummy. 

You take a deep breath through your nose, drowning yourself in his masculine scent and the weed that hangs in the air. 

He thrusts sharply and stays all the way in, grinding against you. His chest grazes yours again as he brings his mouth to your ear, and feeling his breath makes you weak. “Cum for Daddy,” he whispers, and his lips graze your temple with another thrust. He raises his volume, catching the modulator. “Cum on this cock, princess.”

“Mmm,” You bite your lip and whimper. 

“One more for Daddy.” His thick, hard manhood drags heavily through your tight, wet channel, then he grinds again after bottoming out. His pubic bone is nudging your front just right. 

“Mmgh,” you whimper, “Daddy,” and the pressure bursts. You whine, overtaken by your rhythmic release, hips lifting into him. His heavy breaths seem to echo to the beat of your climax. 

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes, fucking you through it. “Ohhh,” he thrusts sharply and shudders as he begins to pulse. Your spasming cunt milks his cock. Your heels dig into his back. 

He shoots a thick, hot rope deep into your cunt, and with a slow thrust, another one.  Then his cock cruelly slides out. Your heart falls, and your legs reflexively tighten around him. You whine, “no,” with your desperate cunt grabbing at nothing. 

But it's only a split second before his dripping wet cock shoves into your ass. It’s just in time to pulse again as his girth spreads you open and he claims another hole. “Yeah,” He bottoms out and your whole body heats up. In surround sound, you hear, “Hell yeah.” 

He groans as he pulses, and over a few more beats and moans, the rest of his hot seed floods your guts. Each twitch of his shaft makes you shudder. You let yourself get lost in the warmth.

He breathes vocally as he finishes. Then his nose grazes yours ever so briefly, and you bite your lip. As he slides out of your ass, his breath is humid on your cheek and the corner of your mouth. When his face pulls away, your face feels cold.

He reaches toward the corner of your bed. Then you hear him rustling around as he puts his mask back on. 

“Untie me,” you beg. He gets off the bed. More rustling. When he comes back, you feel his pj pants graze your bare skin and you’re offended. 

He lightly braces a hand on your shoulder as he gets closer to where your hands are tied. The cool metal of his blade hits your palm and gives you a chill. The flat of the knife presses into your skin as he slices part of the rope and it loosens. You free your hands and bring them in front of you to caress the burn marks from your attempts to free yourself. He gets off your bed again. 

“You had company tonight,” he remarks. 

“Uninvited,” you clarify. 

“Ohhhh. *Uninvited*,” he taunts with skepticism. The location of his voice has changed—he’s pacing. 

“Jealous?” You ask.

“No,” he replies. “Want him to bleed out anyway? ” 

“Yeah,” you answer. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“He’s not a good guy,” you offer.

“Oh, princess. If he was a good guy, you wouldn’t let him in your pants. . .Wouldn't give it up that easy.” 

“I didn’t–what–If you were here, why didn't you do anything?” 

“Oh, I did a lot. Just not to him.”

“How long have you been here?” 

He ignores the question.  “Tell me, princess. Why would Prince Charming knock you out, and then just. . . leave?”

“I dunno,” you mumble. “But I'm glad he left.”

“Cause he got what he wanted,” Ghostface answers his own question. 

“He didn't even cum”

“Oh, that's not it, princess.” 

“How would you know?”

“Think, Pumpkin.”

You’ve got nothing. 

“There’s gotta be one brain cell left.”  He sits down on the bed to put on his shoes. 

“You're not gonna tell me?” 

He stands up. You hear the woosh of his robe as he puts it on and walks away.

“Wait,” you protest. But he doesn't say a word. His footsteps recede, and you tug the blindfold down to see his robe trailing behind him toward the back door. 

“Asshole,” you mutter to yourself.

When you go to the bathroom, cum is leaking out of both holes, which shouldn’t surprise you. After cleaning up, you get back in bed and keep the blindfold with you. It’s faded green, stiff with sweat. You sniff it. His sweat.  Your chest feels light with forbidden affection. 

Then you’re back to thinking about the question he left you with.

What did Javi want? You push through the shame and replay it all in your head. And then, you see the way he held his wet fingers so carefully as he left, not letting them get contaminated. And it makes your stomach drop. He might be trying to do his job, after all. It unsettles you and keeps you up. 

You curl up under the covers, hugging a pillow. The bandana is wrapped around your hand, pressed against your nose and lips. The scent is comforting. You dart your tongue out for a taste, and find even more comfort in the salty tang. Then ,you take a wrinkled corner of it between your teeth. Your lips wrap around the cloth, and your body finally relaxes fully. You drift off suckling at his sweat. 

April 2025 note: If you enjoyed this part, especially the dream, and you also liked the original Every Inch, you might like my new Michael Myers one shot Wreck.

Thank you for reading! PLEASE READ THIS NOTE

Thank you for being here and sticking with me. I value each one of you. I can't overstate how much your comments and reblogs really help and motivate me. Your asks, too. I love knowing what you enjoyed most.

When people simply demand the next one (ignoring my comments about this at the end of the fic, on the fic masterlist, and in my pinned post) without saying anything about the one they just read, it does NOT make me write any faster or prioritize this story. It's actually pretty demoralizing. I work hard on these and if the only thing Im gonna hear after the next one is NEXT/MORE, what kind of incentive is that for me to do the next one? I'm glad you're excited but acknowledging what you just read is a more beneficial way of expressing it, from the writer's perspective. Please ❤️

As for what's next - no promises, no time estimates.

[starlightkun]

hi!!!!! i saw the trailer for pupsick and when it released i was scrolling thru the regular nct fics tags (nct x reader etc) and it wasn’t showing up so i thought it was delayed D: found ur account again though!!! and i’m planning on reading it later tonight hehe

this might not be smt u care abt at all but i think the reason why pupsick wasn’t showing up in the tags is bc only the first three (i think???) tags on a post actually show up when looking through the hashtags which i think it’s silly but might also explain why i couldn’t find the fic initially .. if u don’t really care abt tags and stuff u can ignore this sjdjskdhjd i just had thoughts that had been thought and wanted to just say it somewhere

ok bye and i cannot wait to read pupsick <3

i think it's either like the first 3 or 5 tags maybe? i keep hearing different numbers i cant keep up anymore it feels like 😭 and i do care abt tags! i want more ppl to find my fics but like also tumblr will hide ur posts for the dumbest reasons (links too sometimes, which like, i need to link for navigation reasons?? my masterlist, etc.)

and also i kind of feel so disconnected from how readers find fics now? like idk how yall find fics, like which tags you actually look in?? not to age(?) myself but back in my heyday of reading fic everything (reader insert or slash fic, which omg is also old fandom lingo i feel like) was called an "imagine" so u would always go look in the "xyz imagine" tag for ur fill but im starting to figure out that now we're not using that anymore so like 😭😭😭 i feel old

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Playful prompts for tadc cast playing hide and seek with hider reader?

Awe this is a cute idea! (not including Caine bc I see him as the one organizing this game).

.........

Pomni

During her first week inside the Digital Circus, she's slowly adapting to everything...although she refuses to give up on finding an exit.

But when Caine forced everybody to play some hide n' seek, with you being the hider, she really doesn't want any part of it.

However you convinced her to play along, whispering that if she found you first, you'll share what you remembered from your old life as a "prize".

Although initially annoyed you wouldn't just tell her, she becomes motivated searching high and low, opening doors, looking down barrels, etc.

When she finally finds you (courtesy of a glitching object), she's anxious to hear what you had to say-

Unfortunately Caine decides to pop in and put on a big celebration for Pomni winning the game...which goes on the whole damn day up until everybody goes to bed that night.

You seemingly forgot what you were gonna tell her, to which she gets upset and angry that you gave her false hope, sulking in her room.

But you slide a note under her door, explaining that you only recently remembered your real name.

Suddenly she realizes that maybe her memories weren't 100% gone.

If you could suddenly remember your name, then....surely she can, too!

Gangle

After Jax was mean to her during the last hide n' seek game, you try cheering her up by playing another one.

It didn't involve Caine or anybody else. Just you two.

She mopes about being a terrible seeker. But since you're her best friend (and you promised her a prize), she'll go along if it makes you happy.

You decide to hide in spots that she would 100% think to check, deliberately allowing her to win.

Since she's all ribbons, it's easy for her to slink around and squeeze into tight spaces.

After finding you three times, she gets suspicious that you're purposefully going easy on her-

But she stops her accusations as you finally present her prize:

It's a brand new comedy mask!! Except this one wasn't made of porcelain or ceramic, instead being unbreakable material (or at least material that's couldn't casually be broken by anyone, especially Jax).

Gangle sobs with happiness before putting the mask on, squealing over how perfectly it fits, and hugging you tightly.

Thanks to you, she can finally feel joyful again!

Zooble

They'd rather do anything else....

But since this little hide n' seek "adventure" was all Caine's idea, she has no choice but to go along with it.

Even so, she puts the least amount effort into the game.

When you're the hider and she's the seeker, they just pray to whatever god is in this world (besides Caine) that you aren't anywhere in the Gloink cavern.

She'd rather not get discombobulated again.

Sometimes, she'll throw parts of herself in the direction where she thinks you're hiding, hoping to startle you into giving away your location so this dumb game can finally end.

Lucky for you, you know their tricks and keep quiet.

She doesn't expect any prizes (unless it's a limb that makes her body not look like a hot mess).

If they find you, she'll be like "yay I win..now I'm going back to my room" and saunter off.

Kinger

Like Zooble, he'd much rather do something else.

But he goes along with Caine's game anyways after you enticed him into playing for a prize.

Whatever momentarily stops his sanity from spiraling, I guess.

He searches high and low, getting nervous when he can't find you anywhere in the places he'd 100% expect you to be.

Lowkey starts to wonder if something terrible actually happened to you--like if you were trapped and not even Caine could help you.

The last place he could think of was your room but.....he doesn't have your key.

At the same time, he knew you weren't a cheater. You wouldn't hide somewhere that nobody else (except Jax) could access!

In the end, he goes back to his fort to sulk, openly declaring that you've won the game.

As it turns out, you chose to hide in that same fort, and you jump out with a grin, feeling victorious.

Kinger just stares at you for a solid 10 seconds.....before he suddenly screams and asks why tf you were in there.

You feel bad for scaring him, so you reward him for at least trying: a jar with a caterpillar currently wrapped up in a chrysalis.

He LOVES it, but now he carries around the jar every second of the day, staring at it until the little bug hatches.

At least now he has a reason not to fall off the deep end just yet.

Jax

Hide n' seek is like child's play to him.

Somehow this cheeky bastard knows exactly where you're hiding no matter what, even if it's outside the tent (like at the lake or fair).

It's definitely tarnishing your reputation as the best "hider" out of all of the gang.

When you ask him how tf he knew, he just shrugs and says "you're too predictable, try a better spot next time".

Hiding in your room is definitely not an option, as he's stolen your key (and would point out that would be cheating if someone else was the seeker instead)--so there truly is no place to hide.

Like Zooble, he's not in it for some prize.

It is, however, quite rewarding seeing you get so frustrated when he effortlessly finds you.

And that's enough for him

If it's a game involving everyone, then he just straight-up mocks the others for not realizing the very obvious spot (or at least to him it was obvious) you were hiding in.

Ragatha

She's probably the most enthusiastic about Hide n' seek (like you have mentioned, it's a good distraction from the stresses of being stuck in this virtual world).

Is also a fair and honest player, never once peeking while she counts to 10.

Like Pomni, she does her best to find you first, searching places she knows you frequent--or mentioned liking in the past.

But you're definitely the best hider out of everyone, so it's a little challenging.

Still, she refuses to give up!

When she does successfully find you, you and Caine decided that she should get a prize for being such a great seeker.

It's her very own centipede-repellent spray bottle.

While it won't stop Jax from trying to sneak those little pests into her room, the mist will deter them from coming near her at all and help her conquer her fear.

She's forever grateful and sprays it around her bed every night before she sleeps.

Oh, and she'll definitely threaten Jax with it if he even mentioned centipedes around her.

[silkythewriter]

Hey, hi, hello! I had this idea for a Vox x reader that won’t leave me no matter what I do. I know you’re probably sick of writing for vox so much lately, so no pressure to do this! Take your time and don’t feel pressured to get it out soon! :D

What if Vox had a short s/o- I just barely realized how short the demons in hell can be and I think would be interesting. Like- what if his s/o just constantly walked on their tippy toes so they don’t seem as short as they really are compared to Vox? I also think it would be hilarious if his s/o was ever in an argument and they just randomly got Vox to pick them up because they want a height advantage.

-🃏

★Vox with a short! Reader★

Warnings!: non pure fluff!

Fandom!: Hazbin hotel

Author note: HI OKAY I DUNNO IF THE OG REQUESTER IS EVER GONNA SEE THIS BUT GENUINELY I LOVE WHEN U REQUEST!, and thank you so so so much for checking up on me last time!, again thank you for requesting and I know I have some of your other request in my inbox so I’ll definitely go take a look LOVE YOUR IDEAS SORRY THIS IS LONG (💧｡•́‿•̀｡)

Summary!: Vox with a short! Reader (￣▽￣)

✾✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✾

“Look at me

I'm as helpless as a kitten up a tree

And I feel like I'm clinging to a cloud“

✾✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✾

OKAY, OKAY, BUT LIKE HE DEFINITELY LOVES THE HEIGHT DIFFERENCE.

Don’t get me wrong, this man would love you whatever height you’re at, but man can he admit he loves when you have to snap your neck up ward just to look him in the eyes. He finds it hilarious. 

He teases you a ton, he blames you for his back problems, having to bend a bit down to kiss you. (Definitely not that he looks like a gremlin in his work chair hunched over stacks of papers)

Don’t get me started on the names he gives you, quite literally calls you doll cause he just loves how short and small you are!

Oh and that thingy you do with your tippy toes? To try and seem just a tinny bit taller? He also finds that hilarious!. Literally watched you struggle to balance yourself and purposely scares you so you slip up a bit and you end up landing in his arms. He’s a charmer what can he say?

Hates when someone else teases you though, that’s his bit, who do they think they are???

Likes looming over you as you do something, he can’t and won’t explain why he likes it he just finds it enjoying

For April fools’ he actually left a bunch of stools around your shared apartment for you (which…actually was very much needed for you, which he burst out laughing at)

He does find himself looking at you from afar and spacing off, he just finds you cute, everything About you, even your height!, he can’t help but just admire you for a bit.

Carry’s you bridle style, girl, boy, or in-between doesn’t matter to him. He loves how small you feel in his arms.

Val and velvet calling you his elf is probably the worse teasing you faced there but if it upsets you Vox is quick to silence them.

Now we’re heading into the topic of arguments…(ﾒ﹏ﾒ)

“Look at me in my eyes when I talk to you!”you huffed watching him roll his eyes “Fine.” Vox says as he picks you up. You two broke into a giggle after that 😭

Whenever your stern talking him he turns his screen into a camera so you can see what he sees needless to say you didn’t talk to him for a week.

When ever you two sit together he uses you as an arm rest here and there messing up your hair but he really couldn’t care much (ಡ‸ಡ)

Likes having you in his lap as he works like I said in my last post about him, he can’t help it. You truly are like a doll to him and he just enjoys having you in his lap and holding you in his arms.

Cuddling is definitely easier as he opts to big spoon most of the time, but if you figure out a way or want to be big spoon he won’t protest to much. He finds it cute like a little koala hanging off his back ( he has stated this out loud before and burst out laughing with you ( =ω= ) )

Purposely calls you to get an item he intentionally put on the high shelf of a cabinet literally his favorite thing to pull on you

“Honey, mind grabbing the popcorn?, my new show is about to come on” he said sweetly as he pointed to the pantry from the couch. You shrugged “sure” you said getting up as you dug through the pantry’s bottom and middle shelves but coming out empty handed and confused. “I think we ran out…” you trailed off knowing you saw it yesterday in there. “Oh, I must have moved it, check up there” he said in a fake remorseful tone as he again, pointed his finger only to the top shelves nearing the roof. “Vox!” You groaned turning your head up as you heard him chuckle behind you.

Picks you up randomly when your not budging and just takes you himself 😭

Overall, he genuinely finds your height adorable!, and aside from teasing, he does really finds you cute. And is careful not to hurt your feelings most of the time…(unless he’s having a particularly bad day) but always makes up for it!. He loves you, and he’ll make sure you know that. ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

✾✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✾

AHHHHH I LOVE WRITING THIS THANK YOU SOSOSOOS MUCH FOR REQUESTING I HOPE YOU ENJOYED PLEASE REQUEST AGAIN!

[puckinghischier]

Spotlight

luke hughes x fem!reader

summary - reader prefers to stay out of the spotlight being luke hughes’ girlfriend brings

notes - y’all asked for luke, so luke you’ll get. i wanted to try to get out at least one more fic for you guys before my semester kicks off tomorrow. i don’t know how often i’ll be able to write once things get going, but i’m going to try my best not to completely disappear again. i don’t really like the ending of this, but i hope you enjoy it anyways. happy reading! 🫶🏼

request - “go with me?” “only if you’ll hold my hand” “take my jacket, i don’t want you catching a cold”

[2.3k]

You were someone that absolutely hated the spotlight. You hated the feeling of eyes on you, the knowledge that every move you make is being observed and analyzed.

You flew under the radar all through school, until college. You managed to become valedictorian of your program, earning a highly sought after position with a company based out of New Jersey.

The city has always brought a sense of anonymity to you that you’ve enjoyed. The ability to be a stranger everywhere you go brings a certain comfort to you.

That is, until you met one of the most well-known men in Jersey.

You first met Luke at an event your company was hosting in partnership with the Devils to present them with a hefty donation for a new practice facility. You had tried to get out of going, suit and tie events not being your typical scene, but your boss informed you that you were required to attend.

Even wearing the most plain dress you could find, you caught the attention of none other than the team’s rookie defenseman. You had tried to politely make your exit, but Luke was too intrigued by the pretty stranger in the corner.

The two of you had spent the rest of the night talking, despite the feeling of every eye on you as Luke lead you back to a table. The two of you exchanged numbers at the end of the event, Luke inviting you out to a game. He offered to give you a ticket, but you informed him that your company had rink-side season seats, courtesy of the GM after the donation.

You attended games regularly after that night, blending in the sea of red with Luke’s own Jersey on your back—another perk of the large donation— while also chatting with Luke nearly every day over text, which eventually morphed into phone calls, then facetime calls when he was on the road.

Four months after your initial meeting, Luke decided to make it official and put a label on your relationship.

You had worried about the unwanted attention that came with being a ‘WAG’ as you learned the other significant others on the team were nicknamed, but your feelings for Luke were greater than any discomfort you may experience.

Now, though, looking at the hoard of photographers that are stationed around the rink, your anxiety begins to spike a little.

“Honeybee, I promise it’ll be fine. They probably won’t even focus on us, anyways. They’ll want a few shots of me and Jack with mom and dad, but it’s likely they’ll be too busy on the guys with kids to even notice you’re with me,” Luke reassures you, crouched in front of you while tying your skates.

Today was family skate day for the team, Luke having asked you weeks ago to participate with him.

You agreed, despite your limited ability to skate, thinking it was just going to be the players and their families, no media presence. When you arrived with Luke this morning, however, and you saw the photographers trying to get pictures through the windows of Luke’s BMW, you realized you were wrong.

“I’m just nervous, Luke,” you tell him quietly. “I know if they release pictures of you with a girl during family skate it’s going to be the next big hockey gossip topic, and then it’ll feel like I’m under a microscope.”

Luke’s soft eyes look up at you, sensing the nervousness in your own.

“I know, sweet girl. But I promise, I’ll have Tom talk to the media and tell him to withhold any pictures of us together, if that makes you feel better?” he offers, picking up your now skate clad foot off of his knee and placing it on the padded floor.

You think about the offer, but realize it would still cause unwanted attention on you. You don’t want to be difficult, just invisible.

“No, I don’t want to overcomplicate things. It’s fine. Like you said, I’m sure they’ll mostly focus on everyone else,” you smile down at him, watching his own grin overtake his face.

“Well then, it’s time we finally get you acquainted with the ice. I have a feeling you’ll be seeing a lot of it in your future,” he winks, standing to his full height and holding a hand out to help you off of the bench.

He helps you walk over to the entrance to the rink, steadying you after every wobble. Once you reached the gate, you hesitate, halting your movements.

“C’mon, Honeybee. Go with me?” Luke asks you, already having stepped on the ice.

Thinking about what this means once more, and the huge step it is, no only onto the ice but in your relationship, you hesitate for only a few seconds.

“Only if you hold my hand,” you tell him, your words going deeper than just ice skating.

“Always,” he responds, tugging your hands towards him when you step onto the ice, shakily keeping your balance.

“Well, look at you, Wallflower, out here skating with the big dogs,” Jack calls out, skating up towards you and Luke.

Looking over to give him a short smile, you try to keep a majority of your attention on not falling over as Luke slowly pulls you towards him as he skates backwards.

“Figured it can’t be that hard if you do it all the time,” you tease him back, the two of you becoming close friends over the course of yours and Luke’s relationship.

Jack, as rambunctious and rowdy as he can be, is one of the people who works the hardest to keep you out of the spotlight, other than Luke, of course.

On the rare occasion you decide to tag along for team outings with Luke, Jack will act as your own personal body guard, perfectly hiding you in-between him and Luke anytime there’s a flash of a camera or a squeal of a fan.

“Oh, yeah, make fun of the professional. Let’s see you do this,” Jack makes a big show of skating backwards while swiveling, then executing a very poor jump, but still managing to land upright on his skates.

You roll your eyes at him, only glancing up for a few seconds at a time, trying to keep your eyes on your own feet.

“Alright, Jack, that’s enough showing off. Give the poor girl a break,” you hear Ellen scold her middle child as her and Jim skate over towards the three of you, hand in hand.

“Hey, she started it. I was just trying to defend myself,” he holds his hands up in surrender.

Luke guides you over to one of the short walls, allowing you to hold onto it for support for a second, giving you a break.

“Don’t act like you have to have a reason to show off, it’s just your natural state,” you tease Jack again, earning a laugh from the rest of the group.

“You got me there,” Jack doesn’t argue, shrugging his shoulders in agreement.

“Jack! Luke! Over here!” you hear a voice yell, turning to look at the photographer a few feet away from you, leaning over the wall with his camera pointed in your direction.

You feel the spike of anxiety in your chest, attempting to scoot further down the wall to separate yourself from them, but nearly losing your balance.

Luckily Luke was right there to catch you. “Hey, it’s okay. They’ll just get a few pictures of our family together and then move on,” he assures you once he makes sure you’re steady enough to be left alone.

You watch as Jack and Luke position themselves in just the right way that you’re completely hidden behind them, the added bodies of Ellen and Jim only ensuring your hidden state.

The photographer snaps a few shots of the family before giving a thumbs up, looking down to check the quality of his pictures.

You let out the breath you were holding in, sagging a bit at the relief of avoiding any unwanted attention.

“See, told you there was nothing to worry about,” Luke skates over to you again, leading you away from the wall.

“Luke! How about a shot of you and your lady!” the same photographer yells out, causing your relaxed state to turn rigid in a heartbeat.

“Nah, man. No pictures for her today. Just me and Jack,” Luke replies, skating to stand in front of you, blocking you from the camera pointed at you.

“Oh, c’mon, man. The fans will love it!” the photographer tries again, attempting to move positions to catch a glimpse of you.

“He said, no, man. Go get some shots of Cap or something. She doesn’t want her picture taken,” Jack skates up, standing in front of both you and Luke.

The photographer rolls his eyes, agitated at the loss of a good picture opportunity. “Fine, whatever,” the man huffs, turning and walking towards Nico and his family.

“Thanks, you guys,” you mumble out, embarrassed at the interaction.

“I told you, no pictures if you don’t want them,” Luke turns to face you, taking your hands in his once again, pulling you out further onto the ice.

The rest of the skate goes smoothly, no more unwanted attention from the photographers, just you and Luke and his family skating in small circles and having a good time.

Towards the end of the skate, you start bringing your gloved hands up to rub at your red nose, the chill of the ice finally getting to you.

“You cold, Honeybee?” Luke asks you, knowing how chilled you get, even when wearing layers like you were right now.

“Yeah, it’s a little chilly in here. Not that you’d know,” you tease your boyfriend, gesturing to his full set of pads and jersey he was wearing. Not to mention his tolerance for the cold anyways.

He leads the two of you over towards the benches, leaving you leaned against the wall for a second before returning with something in his hands.

“Here, take my jacket, I don’t want you catching a cold,” he tells you, draping your favorite plaid jacket of his over your shoulders.

You put your arms through the large sleeves, loving how you were now engulfed in the smell of his cologne.

Thanking him, you lean up to give him a small kiss, not caring who was watching, lost in your love for your boyfriend.

“Alright, let’s get you out of these skates and back into your normal shoes before people start filing in for warm ups. I have a game to play and you have to get to your seat so you can watch your hunky boyfriend do his manly job of hitting people and chasing a piece of rubber on ice,” he tells you, causing you to laugh at him, bringing a hand up to ruffle his curls.

After helping you remove your skates, and pouting until you give him a good luck kiss, Luke shoos you away so you can make your way to your usual seat, Jim and Ellen opting to join you at the glass rather than sitting in a box with some of the other player parents.

The boys ended up winning their game, Luke coming straight out of the locker room after the game and picking you up in a celebratory spin, claiming you have to go skating with him before every game now.

You laugh at his superstitious self, grabbing his hand and walking towards the exit of the rink with him to join the rest of the team for celebratory drinks, not wanting to bail on Luke after such a game.

Weeks later, when you see an article containing the pictures from the family skate event, you click on it and scroll through the various snapshots.

You find yourself smiling at all of the family pictures of Luke’s teammates, enjoying how happy the guys are to have their wives and kids with them on the ice.

Scrolling all the way to the end of the article, you find yourself stopping on a couple pictures in particular, the familiar pit of anxiety forming in your stomach.

The last two pictures in the article are pictures of you and Luke. The first was taken when he was zipping up the jacket he gave you, the two of you looking at each other with so much fondness you could feel the love radiating from the picture.

The second is when you were craning your neck to give Luke a small kiss, the picture captured right before your lips touched, both of you smiling at the other with the same fond look in your eyes.

Your immediate reaction should have been a level three meltdown, your picture out there with Luke, officially, in an ESPN article of all places, but you were surprisingly calm. You should have been screaming and angry, having specifically told the photographer no pictures, but you couldn’t find that anger within yourself.

The pictures showcased yours and Luke’s love for each other so well, you wanted copies of them for yourself. Suddenly you didn’t care if people knew your name, or your face. You could care less if you were front and center on every hockey gossip page in existence.

All you cared about was the amount of happiness you saw on Luke’s face in the pictures, and how deeply you felt about him.

So, when Luke called you an hour later, panicked and telling you he was in the process of getting them taken down, you told him it didn’t matter. They didn’t need to be taken down, because you didn’t care if you had to stand naked in the middle of the rink during puck drop at his next game, you just wanted people to know you loved him with every ounce of your being.

Your aversion to attention be damned, seeing these pictures made you want to scream your love for him from the rooftop of the highest building in Jersey. You were still opposed to the idea of unwanted and unnecessary attention, but decided right here that there would be no more hiding. You were going to be there for Luke in any way he wanted or needed you from here on out. And if you happened to be caught in a few pictures on the way? Well, you guess you’ll just have to get them framed.

[skzdarlings]

the rescue ; skz; aotm!hyunjin x reader

original ask: requested by @tattywood: ❛ i'm simply enjoying the view. it's not every day i get to fuck someone so pretty. ❜ would 100000% fit Hyunjin 🩶 + requested by anonymous: ❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜ with hyunjin? thank you

pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: artist of the month!hyunjin was inspo here. gangster stuff, reader has been kidnapped and is in a see through nightdress, most violence off page though, bad guy hyunjin who is actually a good guy, arranged marriage, multiple smut scenes, not great communication but gets better lol. smut includes fingering, blow jobs, pussy eating, piv, spanking, light choking, husband/wife kink. word count: 6300 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy! <3

-

“I’ve already explained,” you say, equal parts frustrated and exhausted.  “My husband isn’t coming for me.” 

The gangster cronies still don’t seem to understand.  You are tied to a chair in their basement (because they are preposterously corny goons, tying you up like a comically silly damsel in a ridiculous film) while they berate you for your husband’s tardiness.    

You have tried explaining, over and over, that Hyunjin is not coming, but they won’t accept that answer.  The fools try in vain to reach him again, but his line leads straight to a dial tone. 

He went radio silent after the initial video contact, when your captors demanded a price for your healthy return. 

Hyunjin was quiet on the call.  Your husband is a quiet man in general, though he knows how to use his charms and work a room, and he has certainly perfected the art of severe intimidation.  When your marriage was arranged, one mob family to the other, you mistakenly assumed you were marrying a monster. 

Hyunjin is very reserved when not conducting business.  He doesn’t engage in any of the more debauched sides of the business, unlike the men in your family.  Evenings at home are silent and still, the penthouse view of the glittering cityscape the only real bustle. 

Maybe that shouldn’t have surprised you.  When he took over his family’s business, Hyunjin altered a lot of their practices, cutting the crueler sectors, opting for illicit crimes of more practical varieties. 

The country is in a political chokehold, government affairs conducted none too differently from the criminal underworld.  The cops are all dirty, the politicians corrupt, the wealthy depraved.  Hyunjin has taken it upon himself to alleviate the pressure suffered by the regular people, the civilians who truly pay the price of a broken system.

In a world with no good guys, sometimes only villains can be heroes.    

You think of his face now, how he certainly looked the part of a villain on the video call.  Hyunjin has a very austere demeanour, exacerbated by his severe appearance: sharp marble features and dark, vicious eyes often further darkened with heavy lining, sleek black hair, scattered scars and tattoos, and the sort of regard that judges at a glance.  He is young, but he has the air of a man who has already traversed the universe and found it wanting.       

You think of his face now, the silent perusal he gave your bound body on that video call.  You are dressed in your favourite nightgown, your underthings partially visible through the light material, but it was not willingly donned.   At the time of your kidnapping, you were attired appropriately for the wealthy wife of a famous gangster.  You were returning from a family visit when your captors intercepted you in transit from the airport. 

Either to intimidate or threaten or just because they could, they made you remove all your jewelry and fine clothes.  They rifled through your luggage and demanded you change into the nightgown. 

Hyunjin recognized the nightdress, realized you must have been stripped, and likely inferred the very worst. 

“Address,” was the only word Hyunjin said.   He ended the call seconds later.    

“Oh, he’ll come,” your captor says.  He points at you with a hand that feels more threatening than a knife.  It makes your terrified heart leap into your throat.  “Or else.” 

“He won’t, though!” you exclaim.  “You’re wasting your time!”

They are not listening.  They leave the basement, slamming the door behind them.

You huff and settle back in your bonds. 

It is only a matter of time before they realize you are telling the truth.  Hyunjin will not waste the money or resources to rescue you.  He has always been respectful of the marriage arrangement, but your husband is not sentimental.  There is a professional distance between you.  His decision will be based in the logic of all his strategies: nothing personal, just a matter of business. 

You sometimes see a different side of him, something buried under that quiet intensity.  He collects fine art and spends hours poring over his favourite pieces, listening to music, losing himself to artistic fantasies.  He always comes back, but you know there are other worlds in his mind. 

Every attempt to bridge the gap has been gently rebuffed, but there have been moments when your husband seems curious about you.  You often catch him staring.  He gets a wistful look that softens his face, even with that shield of make-up.  His eyes are gentle when you talk about your passions.  You never let his quietude deter your friendly penchant for chatter.   He seems more than content to listen.  He remembers everything too. 

You know he finds you attractive, if nothing else.  He has caved on that front several times over, though not right away.  He didn’t touch you on the wedding night, nor the honeymoon.  He left your beach holiday early to return to business, leaving you in a villa with security and his credit card.  It was the first time you realized the material world was no replacement for true companionship.  You missed his dark eyes.

Your family also had expectations.  There would be consequences if the marriage fell through.  You would be blamed, not him.  Worried he would renege on the nuptials, you did everything to try and seduce him. 

He politely rejected you at every turn. 

Just when you were resigned, he arrived home after a job.  It was almost three in the morning when he entered the penthouse.  You have separate bedrooms but they share a connecting bathroom.  You could hear him cursing above the running water. 

You only meant to peek.  The sliding door on your side was partially ajar so you tip-toed over. 

Hyunjin was standing in front of the mirror, shirtless, pressing a rag to his wounded shoulder.  There was a mess of blood streaked down his back, making you gasp at the terrible mosaic of pain, his body littered with violent scars. 

That gasp contained multitudes, for the horror, for his beauty.  His dark eyes were as severely lined as ever, expression intense as he breathed hard through the pain.  Smooth black hair fell across his face when he tipped his head. 

He froze at the sound of your gasp.  His turn was very slow, eyes peeking through the curtain of his short hair.  They captured yours.   

You held your breath. 

Eventually, he straightened, flicking his hair out of his face.  He looked in the mirror and sighed.    

“You can come in,” he said.   “This is your home too.” 

You slid the door open, just enough to squeeze through.  Your attention was utterly transfixed on his bleeding shoulder.  You could see the wound was a thin stripe.  It was not deep so stitches were not necessary, but it was slightly out of his reach as it sloped towards his back.

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you said, thoughtlessly taking the rag right out of his hands.    

In spite of the violence that raised you, or maybe because of it, you can’t stand to see suffering.   You and Hyunjin have had that in common from the start.  You were quick to help him clean the wound, wordlessly wiping all the blood then applying cream across the clotted cut. 

He flinched when the stinging cream made contact.  You went to apologize but your words evaporated when your eyes met through the mirror.  You were surprised to find him already looking at you, that expressive gaze as thoughtful as ever. 

“How did this happen?” you couldn’t help but ask, eyes rivetted to his reflection.   “You – you have people to protect you.”  You managed to rip your gaze away, looking at your task, feeling hot in the face. 

“I do,” he said.  “But I’d never ask someone to do something I’m not willing to do myself.” 

This did not surprise you to hear.   It is obvious that Hyunjin cares very deeply about the wellbeing of other people.  It is a fact known to few.  It aggravates you at times, but his reputation does not seem to bother him.  He would rather people think him a monster while he secretly does good rather than be praised in public while cruel in private. 

You have never known another man like him.  Looking at that scar that night, the realization truly struck you. 

Your fingers began to tremble where they brushed his bare skin, your eyes widening as you looked at the scar and many others.  If something happened to him, what would become of you?  Certainly, as his widow, you would be financially sound, but what did that matter?  This world would lose something irreplaceable if it lost Hwang Hyunjin.  This penthouse could be brimming with silver and gold and it would be empty, worthless. 

Tears in your eyes, you succumbed to desire, kissing him very gently on his hurt shoulder. 

“Hyunjin,” you said, your eyes closed, lips grazing his skin as you spoke.  “Please make sure you always come home, okay?” 

He did not answer at first.  When you lifted your eyes and looked in the mirror, those dark eyes were so enflamed that you were surprised nothing caught fire. 

“Hyunjin?” you said softly.   

“You mean that,” he said, not quite a question, more like a realization. 

“Of course,” you replied. You looked at his scarred back again, let your fingertips brush down the length of his spine.  It made him stand a little straighter.  “Have you ever known me to lie?” you asked. 

He finally turned around, looking at you with an long-engrained wariness, but also a hunger.  He was a starving man presented with a banquet, but one who did not easily trust when sitting at someone else’s table. 

“You’re a smart woman,” he said.  “I know that.  And I know that you’re – good.” 

Good was an exhale, like the word was too heavy for his tongue.  You realized that his wariness was less suspicion for you than hesitation regarding himself.  He was only starving because he though himself undeserving of the meal he wanted. 

“You’ve seen – and done – many bad things tonight, haven’t you?” you asked. 

Having the full force of his gaze was overwhelmingly heady.  You remember how it made your heart race like you were being chased, your breath catching over and over until you were almost panting. 

Arousal struck quickly, a sensation like you never experienced before.  You thought you understood attraction, but not until that moment when he released a breath, so close to your face, and you became truly aware of his proximity.   Of him, of all that he was, all that he did.  His character, his hidden depths.

Your husband. 

It made your racing heart thunder something fierce, your blood pumping hotly, throbbing places you did not know were so sensitive. 

You desperately wondered what was on his mind.  The gears in his head were spinning and whirring, delaying his response.  Was he feeling the same tension?  Were his thoughts the same realization?

 My wife.  

“Yes,” he finally said. 

“Is there something I can do to help?” you asked.

His tattooed hand cupped your head, tilting it just so.  It made your lips part with a gasp, eyelids heavy with anticipation for a kiss. 

He took his time looking at you, like he was scrubbing all those bad memories away, replacing them with the flustered look on his aroused wife’s face. 

“Yes,” he said again, and kissed you for the first time. 

You were so glad he rebuffed your previous half-hearted advances, clumsy seductions made out of obligation rather than desire.  It was so different to that kiss.  You would not have known how to even ask for a kiss like that.  You never knew what you were missing. 

Your quiet husband and his multitudes.  All that simmering intensity, hot just below the surface of his icy demeanour, burned right through his skin.  His kiss was ravishing, entirely possessive, like he wished to take your whole essence into him and hold it forever. 

He walked you backwards.  With a snap of his wrist, he slid the door open the rest of the way, so sharp that it tried to bounce back.  He continued onward, kissing you until you were dizzy with it.   

He picked you up just to put you on the bed himself.  Your kiss separated only then as you landed with a bounce and a breath. 

He loomed over the edge of the bed, this man who was both stranger and husband, hero and villain.   He looked at you like he already loved you.  He looked at you and saw the reciprocation.  You had fallen for him without realizing you had ever even stumbled. 

He ran his hands through his hair, the sleek black locks fluttering back into place.  His eyes were still rivetted to your face, to your body.  You were wearing the nightdress you are wearing now.  It is why it became your favourite. 

He looked down at you, the material translucent enough to see the details of your body.   It broke through that last layer of ice.  He surrendered with a choked breath. 

He unclasped a holster on his thigh, dropped a knife that was hidden in a pocket.   Once unarmed, his hands went to his belt.  You watched those nimble, efficient fingers, swallowing hard.   You were aching to an embarrassing degree, undoubtedly obvious in your desires.  No one ever warned you it would feel like this, just being looked at, never mind touched.

Then his belt was on the floor and he touchedyou for real.   His calloused hands moved up your thighs, pushing the nightdress up and out of his way.  He climbed on top of you, swift as a feline, mouth descending onto yours with that same desperate hunger as before. 

Recollection makes you crave another kiss.   You think you will always be starving for more. 

“Hyunjin,” you whispered, hands on his face, his shoulders, down to his chest. 

He took your hands and laced your fingers with his, pinning those hands to the bed.   He kissed you again, long and slow.  It was all more sensual than desperate.

His voice, however, was desperate when he begged, “Let me make you feel good, please.”  He kissed down your face, your jaw, your throat.  “Please, my wife.”  He kissed further down still, through your nightdress, tracing the curve of your breast with his tongue, wetting the material and awakening every nerve beneath it.   “My wife,” he repeated. 

“My husband.”  The words left your lips in a dizzy, delirious whisper.   

It was all the confirmation he needed.  Those deft and skilled hands, so quick to assemble weapons and pull triggers, applied themselves with a startling gentleness.  He took you apart and put you together with the same efficient ease.   

He hooked his fingers in the only material between him and his desire, tugged it out of his way.  His fingers went to you, slipping through all that wetness.  Those intense eyes rolled back even though it was just his fingers inside you, then he closed his eyes like it was too much, and it seemed he had to temper himself, murmuring nonsense as he let his fingers sink into you. 

He kissed you again, drinking down every sigh and gasp and moan while he fucked you with his long fingers.  It was like he could taste your pleasure, like he was trying to get drunk on it, every noise you made filling his mouth.  He gave them back and brought you over a peak, first with his hands, then with his mouth.  He laid between your legs and put your thighs around his head, losing himself entirely in you. 

He did not remove a single article of your clothing nor his pants, not that first time.  He simply held the material to the side as he unzipped and finally got inside you.  It made your whole body keen, coming to life like it never had before.  You forgot all your sensibilities and let every wanton sound and action loose.

He responded in kind.  His kiss tasted like your pleasure, his heart pounding as fast as yours where your chests pressed together.  You were careful near his injured shoulder, fingertips dodging scars.  Your soft touch made him whimper, this powerful man entirely undone by a few caresses. 

His skin was hot and he worked up a sweat, but his stamina seemed endless.  He always wanted more. 

You fell asleep tucked in his arms, content to believe the walls had crumbled.   However, they revealed themselves in the morning light, as concrete as ever.  He slipped away and left a note to excuse his absence as he was called away to business.   You thought about phoning or messaging him, but those lines were not always secure, not for such intimate conversations. 

When he returned a few days later, he hid behind those concrete walls, but too much had changed.  There was now an awareness of your proximity and your distance.  The lack of intimacy was not called into question before, the absence of something being a nothing.  But now that nothing was something, or had been something for a moment, and it made you both very aware of how it was now missing – and anticipating always when it might again appear.

He tried very hard to keep away, to stay cordial at best, his habitual quietude even heavier than before.  But while his silence was significant, so was his glance.  Every time you turned around, he was already looking at you, a longing in his eyes and a thought on his lips that he never dared to speak aloud. 

You granted him some distance for a time.  When it became abundantly obvious he was holding himself in check, you realized that your own vulnerability was required to bridge the gap. 

One night you crossed through the bathroom, slid open the door on his side.  You found him at his desk, dressed down in a white dress shirt and pants.  His blazer was discarded on the floor, his face still made up. 

He stood quickly when you entered, though he didn’t say anything. 

It was strange to imagine this man would need any reassurance, but you felt that was the case.   His fingers fidgeted at his sides, his roving eyes studious.

You said nothing.  You approached him, laid your hands on his chest, and gently guided him back into his chair.  He sat slowly, his eyes on your face the entire time, even when he had to tip his head back to peer up at you. 

You ran your fingers through his hair.  When you entered the room, his face was tightly screwed in an expression of aggravation, but all those harsh lines softened as you traced a thumb down the sharp slope of his cheek. 

There were some wipes on his desk.  You took one and began to carefully remove that shield of dark make-up.  His hand lifted but not to stop you, simply to rest his palm on your waist.  He began to really touch you, feeling the shape of your body through your robe as you helped him come back to himself. 

“Hello,” you finally said, looking at his bare face.  Still impossibly beautiful.

“Hello,” he replied. 

His fingertips dipped towards the hem of the robe.  Before he could distract you with your own pleasure, you sunk to your knees in front of him.  This startled him, his hand frozen in the air as you fit yourself between his open knees. 

He caught your hand, his reflexes fast, before it could reach his fly.   You could see he was already affected, a heavy bulge in the black material making your mouth water and core tighten. 

He squeezed your hand and you looked up at his face.   He tipped his head, blinked rapidly, an expression of mild confusion.

You took your hand back and unknotted your robe.  The silk fell from your shoulders and down, sliding like water right off your body.  You were completedly naked underneath. 

It clarified everything, his confusion gone, replaced with surprise.

“You—” he began.  It was interrupted when you put your head in his lap, resting on his thigh.  You led his hand to the back of your neck and kissed him through his pants.  It made his fingers clasp tighter around you.  

“Please,” you said. 

He would never deny you anything.  Not the smallest gift nor grandest gesture.  When you started a new charity to further your combined philanthropic efforts, he spared no expense in aiding the endeavour.  You shared passions, and now you shared this.

He was stiff at the start, but gradually let himself go lax in his seat.  His hand kept a steady grip on the back of your neck, not guiding but holding, like he thought you might disappear otherwise.  He murmured your name, letting his head fall back as you worked him in your mouth. 

You intended to make him finish like that, seeking nothing for yourself at that precise moment.  He had other ideas, needing more of your shared pleasure to take him over that brink. 

He lifted your face, adjusted his pants, and was on his feet in a matter of seconds.  That hand on your neck dragged you up, up, up until your naked body was pressed against his clothed one.  He clung to you needily, claiming your mouth in a wanting kiss. 

His hands moved over you, every new inch of skin making him moan as he walked you towards the bed.  The kiss only broke when you both sat down, his lips against yours as he breathed, almost smiling, “My pretty wife.”

“Hyunjin,” you said, shaking your head, feeling suddenly shy just because of a simple compliment. 

He did not allow you to curl into yourself with any shame.  When you tried, he seized you, pulling you onto his lap so you straddled it.   His eyes moved up and down your body, hands following, from your thighs to hips to waist and up. 

 “What are you doing?” you said, laughing helplessly when he kissed somewhere ticklish on your throat.  The sound made him smile, even softer than before, though it turned a little wicked as his mouth went lower. 

“I’m simply enjoying the view,” he said, then wrapped his lips around the stiff peak of your breast, ran his tongue up and over.  He licked and kissed back up to your mouth.   “It’s not everyday I get to fuck someone so pretty.” 

As he said this, he opened his pants again, eyes on yours as he grabbed your thighs and moved you so he could thrust up into you.  His hips moved with a slow roll, letting you adjust to him.  It had been a little while, and this angle was different.

And Hyunjin is not small.  Your husband is built in perfect proportion, his body a long, hard, slender build – everything inside you at that moment was no exception.   This angle made you whimper, clinging to him like  he was a life preserver in a storm.  The roll of his hips kept coming like waves and you were sure you would drown otherwise. 

Your arms were around his neck, his graceful but strong hands digging into the meat of your thighs as he fucked you.  He felt impossibly deep, every upward stroke feeling like it was bursting past something, pushing everything inside your body up to your throat. 

You swallowed again and again, the taste of him still on your lips, the feel of him inside every inch of you.  You clenched and tightened involuntarily, just pure animal reaction, and it made him moan and find all those sweet spots to make it happen again.    

“Help,” was your somewhat nonsensical request, blurted in the midst of some moaning babbling.

Fortunately, he was and is a smart man.  He understood.  He clasped you tight to his body and fell back on the bed, thrusting up into you with sharper, more focussed determination, faster until you were weeping on his chest, delirious with pleasure.  His shirt was unbuttoned and you accidentally ripped a few buttons right off, trying to press your face to bare skin. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you said as you tumbled over a height you never reached before.  You never knew you could come just from that, stimulated somewhere so deep inside you, but it made you come undone in his arms. 

He watched you unravel and it made him follow, clinging to you as he just barely pulled out before coming between your dripping thighs.  It was all so messy and wet, your legs trembling, but it felt so good that it hardly mattered. 

He caught his breath, then looked at your face just lose that breath again.  He moaned and dragged you in for another kiss.

Then you were on your back, the night far from over. 

That second night is the one that truly opened the door to more.  Though your husband can be reticent in other regards, he is not quiet when he is inside you.  You have come together again and again, a conversation with your bodies as you look for pleasure in a dangerous world.   You always find it, tucked in the protective circle of his arms, wrapped around every inch of him. 

You have been out of his arms for too long.  Your visit to your family grew tedious before long.  Your home is with Hyunjin now and you were eager to return. 

Now it seems you may never see it again.  You may never see him again. 

No.

Just like the night when you took control for yourself, you must take control now.  You realize if anything is to happen, then you must take the reins of your own rescue.  You would not want Hyunjin to compromise himself or his important business.  You know if something bad happened to you, it would weigh on his conscious, even if it was the better business decision.  You must eliminate the need for choice. 

It turns out, comical rope bindings are truly best suited for silly movies.  When the men come to check on you again, you have slipped free of your bindings.  There was an array of weapons in the room, so carelessly disposed because the assailants never assumed you would get free – or, if you did get free, that you would not know how to use them. 

It is true, you do not like violence. 

That does not mean you do not understand it. 

You leave the two men unconscious in their basement.  Unfortunately, you cannot find your suitcase and you do not want to hang around, so you venture outside in your nightgown.  You are debating your next move when a car pulls into the driveway. 

You back away quickly, raising the gun you stole as more men get out of the vehicle.  You only stay your hand because you recognize one of them, though it takes a second to place him as one of Hyunjin’s lieutenants. 

Then Hyunjin emerges.   You have seen your husband before and after a confrontation, but never during it.  If you thought he was an intimidating figure in the aftermath, he is all danger and darkness as he storms up the driveway now.   There is such an energy radiating from him, it makes you stumble and forget yourself entirely. 

Then he stumbles, recognizing you.  You are both startled, staring at each other with the gun raised between you. 

He looks nowhere but your eyes. 

“Hyunjin?” you finally say. 

“I—”  He looks at you, the gun, the nightdress.  He shakes his head.  Some of that bravado returns when he says, “I’m here to save you.”

“Ah,” you say.  You slowly lower the gun, at a loss how to reply.  You were so resigned to the idea this was all still business.  The reality of your husband risking himself to rescue you from unknown hostiles is making your heart pound.  

In the end, all you can think to say is, “Sorry.  You’re late.” 

That wicked smile crosses his face, his tongue pushing at the corner of his mouth.  He is suddenly nothing but amused, looking at you, then at the house.

“I can see that,” he says. 

He whistles sharply and gestures to the house with a gloved hand.  His lieutenants run past you and charge the door, no doubt heading inside to finish the job you started.        

You turn to watch them go.  In your distraction, Hyunjin grabs your arm.  He is fast, effectively disarming you.  He catches the gun with a twirl before tossing it aside.

It is not the gun he wants; it’s you.

Still holding your wrist, he tugs you into him.  You throw your arms around him.  The hug is surprisingly chaste, his face in your neck as he squeezes you like it is the only thing keeping him alive and standing.

“Are you hurt?” he asks. 

When in his arms, it seems impossible to consider you could ever feel any pain. 

You shake your head, daring to kiss his cheek.  He turns his face to yours, your lips close enough to brush in a swipe. 

“I’m all right now,” you say.  “Sorry I beat you to the punch.  I – I wasn’t sure if—”

His brow crinkles.  That gloved hand goes from your wrist to your chin, seizing it between thumb and forefinger.  He tips your head so he can look at your face.  He always regards you like he does one of his masterpieces, like he can never get his fill, like there is always something new to find.  He is enchanted every time. 

“You’re mine,” he says.  “And I take care of what belongs to me.” 

You gasp when those fingers go from your chin to your throat, just enough to pull you in that last breath of a space.  He kisses you there in the sunlight, utterly shameless. 

“Do not ever doubt that,” he says.  His eyes are soft with his affection, but his voice is hard, skirting the edge of a threat he would issue an adversary.  It makes you tingle from head to toe.  “Do I need to remind you?” 

You never actually answer.  You are not sure if your answer would have made a difference, as Hyunjin is determined to show you the very second you are home. 

You reach the penthouse. There is no time to shower or decompress once you cross the threshhold.  He sweeps you off your feet, your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist.  You are wearing his blazer over your nightdress to preserve your modesty – not that it will last long.

He carries you to the bedroom where so many slow and subtle exchanges took place.  Now, he is not slow or subtle.  He is a force of nature.   He tells you that he held no greater fear than losing you and he tried to keep his distance, but he regretted it the moment he saw you on that video call. 

“You’re my wife,” he says, peeling his blazer off your body.  “I’m your husband.  There is nothing I should be holding back.” 

“Yes,” you say, running your fingers through that smooth black hair.  You shiver as he bunches the fabric of your nightdress, the material spilling over his fingers.   “Don’t hold back,” you say, mouth open against his, stealing his every breath.   “Do whatever you want.” 

He tells you exactly what he wants, using his words for a change, finally letting those walls come down.  He whispers every filthy thought into your ear, between kisses, between bites.   You shiver at every suggestion. 

And so, moments later, he is sitting on your bed.  He arranges you to lay across his lap, facedown in the pillows while he runs his hands down your spine and over the curve of your ass. 

“You’re my wife,” he says.  The first tap of his open palm is through the thin material of your nightdress.  It is truly just a warning tap, just enough to make you bounce.  “Don’t ever doubt me again,” he says, swinging that strong hand a little harder.  

This time a yelp escapes your lips.  You wriggle until he pins you down, a hand on the back of your neck and the other lifting your dress.   He already stripped your underthings, his open palm smoothing down all that bare skin.  

You tingle with anticipation, braced yet still unprepared for the sharp smack he next delivers.  You feel it tingle all the way up to your head, as well as the next one, and the next.   You squirm under his firm grip, groaning his name as your thighs get tense and press together. 

“Don’t say my name,” he says, and smacks you again.  “Who am I?”

“M-my husband,” you say, practically mewling like a kitten when he next brings his hand down.  “My husband,” you say again. 

“And you are—”

“Your wife,” you say, though it comes out almost like a sob, a desperate gasp as he slips his fingers between your thighs and finds a new way to torture you.   With your backside hot and stinging, the pleasure of his hand in that sensitive place feels amplified by a tenfold. 

“Husband,” you say, hips bucking.  His free hand goes from the back of your neck to your lower spine, holding you in his lap as he slowly finger-fucks you.

“Yes?” he says.

You do not even remember what you were going to say, or beg, or plead.  You are overcome with sensation, tingling all over, intensifying the press of his fingers as he curls his fingers into that soft, soft place.  Then you are really squirming, helplessly, instinctively, whining into the pillows. 

“I make you feel good,” he says.  “I take care of you.  You, who are so good, and so smart, but so—”

You cry out when he angles his hand just a little differently.  Your vision swims with stars as he speeds up. 

“So soft,” he says, his own voice going soft, just a whisper as he makes you come all over his hand in a throbbing, aching, desperate wet mess.  “Just for me,” he says in that whisper.  “Just for your husband.” 

“Mmmf,” is all the response you have left in you. 

Your thighs are trembling and your pussy throbbing with aftershocks when he picks you up.  He stands and turns, laying you on your side in the bed.  You are grateful, as your backside still stings, though you suspect he is not done yet.

He strips out of his clothes, tearing through his shirt, leaving the pants in a heap.  He forgets to remove his necklace.  All that silver is cold against your hot skin as he lays down behind you.   You do not have time to linger on it, as he gathers up the hem of your dress and adjusts himself behind you. 

He has taken you many times, in many ways, many positions.   When you are on your hands and knees, he is overtaken by a primal urge, your hips as leverage in his hands as he pounds into you like it is a chase.   When you are on your back, he sinks into you slowly and deeply, rocking his hips into yours like he intends to fuck you forever.  When you are in his lap, he rolls his hips in steady, needy waves, captivated by the sight of you in his arms. 

He lays behind you now and wraps his arms around you, coaxes your thighs apart.  Your nightdress is bunched every which way, leaving nothing to the imagination, and you feel especially exposed and vulnerable in this position somehow.  Perhaps it is the fact he is the one holding you open, keeping you in position so he can take you.

You let yourself fall into it, fall into him.  You let him tell you, with words and actions, exactly how he feels. 

Before it ends, you change position.  He lays back and you straddle his hips while stripping off your dress entirely.  He keeps rolling up into you, only stopping when you plant your hands on his chest to slow him down.  Then he practically sinks in the mattress, murmuring your name.  His make-up is smudged, his calloused hands rough on your body.  Whatever pains you experienced have been overtaken by his hands, by the smarting on your backside, still tender as you bring your body down onto his again and again.  He has completely claimed you for himself and you take the same in turn. 

“Hyunjin,” you say.  “My husband, oh—”

He kisses your hand, long and hard, like he needs his mouth on some part of you desperately.  Your fingers are curled into his pretty mouth when he comes, his hands on your hips and his cock buried inside you. 

“Oh,” is your final sound before you slump on top of him, skin to skin. 

He rolls you onto your side, though he keeps you wrapped around him, his arms around you in turn.  His hair is already a sweaty mess and you rub your thumb through some of his shadowy make-up, but those familiar dark eyes are gazing at you with so much warmth.   There is no more ice, no more cold concrete. 

“I should let you rescue me more often,” you say with a laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh back, but he does smile softly.  It should be incongruous with his severe appearance, but it somehow comes together, layers of him exposed all at once as he strokes your cheek.

He looks at you like his favourite work of art. 

“You were the one who rescued you,” he says.   “Just like you rescued me.” 

You cannot find the words to reply, so you kiss him.  It speaks volumes, and he replies, kissing back. 

You lose yourself to the sweetness, to the heat, to the passion, to all those things more, knowing there are many more to come with this man as your husband. 

[kittenan]

The Art of Obedience

Pairing: 20 y/o curious college student!reader × 33 y/o famous anonymous kink author!Namjoon

Word Count: ~7k+

Warnings: Explicit smut, BDSM elements (tying up, spanking, fingering, blindfolding, rough sex, edging, orgasm denial, squirting), power dynamics, daddy issues, slow corruption, filthy dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, possessiveness, mild fluff, emotional vulnerability. All activities are consensual with safewords established.

The library is a labyrinth of secrets, its air thick with the musk of old books and unspoken desires. You’re on your tiptoes, stretching for a book you’ve only heard rumors about: The Art of Obedience by RM, hidden in the restricted section like a dirty little secret. Your fingers graze its worn leather spine, the title sending a shiver down your spine, when another hand—big, warm, and far too confident—brushes yours.

You gasp, startled, and the book crashes to the floor with a thud that echoes like a slap in the silent library. Your cheeks blaze as you stammer an apology, but a voice stops you—deep, velvety, laced with danger.

“Careful, sweetheart,” it purrs, amusement curling around the words like smoke.

You look up and fuck, you’re not ready. He’s towering, a wall of lean muscle in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that could snap you in half. Dark hair falls into sharper eyes, gold-framed glasses perched low, and his lips—god, his lips—curve into a smirk that screams trouble. He’s older, maybe mid-thirties, but the way he’s looking at you makes your thighs clench involuntarily.

“I—I didn’t mean to—” you start, voice barely a whisper.

He crouches, slow and deliberate, picking up the book. His fingers linger on the cover, thumb tracing the embossed RM. like it’s a lover’s skin. He placed this copy here himself, months ago, under his secret pen name—a test, a game to see who’d dare touch it. And now you, a wide-eyed college girl dripping with innocence, are reaching for his filthy words.

He straightens, eyes raking over you—slow, predatory, like he’s already fucking you in his head. “Interesting choice,” he murmurs, flipping the book open with a casual flick. The pages fall to a chapter on submission, and his smirk deepens. “What’s a sweet thing like you doing with a book like this? Researching for a boyfriend?”

Your throat tightens, heat pooling low in your belly. “N-no, I am single. I was… just curious.”

“Curious,” he repeats, stepping closer, close enough that you can smell him—clean soap, leather, and something dark, like bourbon and sin. “That’s a dangerous word, little girl. Curiosity gets you wet in places you don’t understand yet.”

You try to step back, but the bookshelf digs into your spine. Trapped. His gaze is a physical thing, heavy and hot, stripping you bare. He holds the book out, dangling it like bait. “Take it,” he says, voice low, commanding. “But if you do, you’re mine to teach. You ready to learn what this book really means?”

Your fingers tremble as you reach for it. His hand doesn’t budge, forcing you to lean into his space, your chest brushing his. Your breath hitches, and you catch the faintest twitch in his jaw, like he’s holding back from devouring you right here.

When your fingers close around the book, his brush yours again, deliberate and lingering. “Good girl,” he whispers, the words dripping with mockery and promise. “Lesson one: always listen when someone more experienced offers you help.”

“Lesson two: you don’t touch what’s mine without permission. And this—” he taps the book, “—is mine. Just like you’re about to be.”

You’re already fucked, and you haven’t even said yes out loud.

A week later, you’re in a private reading room at the back of the library, the door locked with a soft click that feels like a gunshot in your chest. Namjoon leans against the oak table, arms crossed, his presence filling the room like he owns it. The book sits between you, its leather cover gleaming under the dim light.

“Rules first,” he says, voice low and firm, like he’s already got you under his thumb. “You say ‘red’ to stop. ‘Yellow’ to slow down. Nothing means you’re good. Got it?”

You nod, mouth dry, pussy already throbbing. “Yes.”

His eyebrow arches, sharp and expectant. “Yes, sir,” you correct, voice shaking.

His lips twitch, a flicker of approval. “Good girl. Stand up.”

You do, legs wobbly, and he’s behind you in an instant, his heat pressing against your back. You feel the smooth silk of his tie slide over your wrists, cool and tight as he binds them behind you. The knot is firm, leaving you helpless, your arms pinned and your pulse hammering in your clit.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and teasing. “That’s what it’s like to be mine. Completely at my mercy, but safe. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you whisper, cunt slick with need.

He steps in front of you, fingers grazing your jaw, tilting your chin up. His eyes are molten, searching, and his thumb brushes your lower lip, pressing just enough to make you part your mouth. “So fucking innocent,” he says, voice dark. “You’re trembling already, and I haven’t even touched you.”

You whimper, and he leans in, lips hovering over yours, so close you can taste the mint on his breath. “I’m gonna make you beg for it,” he whispers, “make that pretty little pussy drip just from my words.” His fingers slide down your neck, ghosting over your collarbone, then lower, circling your nipple through your shirt. It’s hard, aching, and he pinches it lightly, making you gasp.

“Not yet,” he says, stepping back, leaving you panting, tied up, and so fucking wet you’re soaking your panties. He picks up the book, casual as hell, like he didn’t just set your body on fire. “Read the first page. Out loud.”

“W-what?” you stammer, cheeks burning.

He smirks, settling into a chair, legs spread wide, bulge obvious in his slacks. “You heard me. Read. Let’s see how good you are at following orders.”

You stumble through the words, voice shaking as you read about surrender, about giving yourself over completely. Every sentence feels like a caress, his eyes locked on you, devouring every flush, every hitch in your breath. When you finish, he stands, slow and deliberate, and unties your wrists, his fingers lingering on the faint red marks.

“Go home,” he says, voice soft but commanding. “Touch yourself daily until we meet again. Think about me. But you don’t come. Not until I say so.” - He gives his card. "Call me in case you need help."

You leave, pussy throbbing, mind spinning, already desperate for more.

You’re five minutes late to the next meeting, and Namjoon’s waiting, eyes dark and dangerous, like a predator who’s been kept waiting too long.

“Late,” he says, voice a low growl. “You know what that means.”

“I’m sorry, I—” You said. "The Bus-"

“No excuses.” He’s in your space before you can blink, towering over you, his hand tipping your chin up so you can’t look away. “You need to learn what happens when you make me wait.”

Your stomach flips, arousal pooling between your thighs. “W-what happens, sir?”

He doesn’t answer, just points to the table. “Bend over. Now.”

You obey, heart pounding, bending over the polished wood, hands braced on the table. The anticipation is electric, your body humming as he steps behind you. His hands lift your skirt, slow and deliberate, exposing your thighs, then your ass, your panties clinging to your soaked cunt. The air is cool against your skin, and you shiver, feeling utterly exposed.

“Count,” he orders, voice like velvet and steel.

His hand comes down, a sharp smack on your ass, the sting blooming hot and sweet. “One,” you gasp, voice trembling.

Another spank, harder, the heat spreading through your core. “Two.”

By five, your skin is burning, and you’re dripping, the fabric of your panties sticking to your swollen folds. He pauses, fingers grazing the edge of your underwear, so close to where you’re aching but not touching. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust. “So fucking wet already, and I’ve barely started. You love this, don’t you?”

You whimper, too turned on to be ashamed. “Y-yes, sir.”

Another spank, and this time you moan, loud and needy, your clit throbbing. His hand lingers, fingers slipping under the fabric, brushing the slick heat of your pussy but not pushing inside. “Such a dirty little girl,” he says, teasing, his touch gone before you can beg for more. “You want it so bad, but you don’t get to have it yet.”

He pulls your skirt down, leaving you trembling, unsatisfied, your ass stinging and your cunt aching. “Same time next week,” he says, voice calm, like he didn’t just wreck you. “And don’t you dare touch yourself until then.”

You leave, a mess of need, your body screaming for release you’re not allowed to take.

You’re on time this week, heart racing as you step into the reading room. Namjoon’s waiting, a black silk blindfold dangling from his fingers, his eyes dark with intent. Your pussy clenches at the sight, already wet, already his.

“Trust me?” he asks, voice soft but heavy, like he’s asking for your soul.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe, and he ties the blindfold over your eyes, plunging you into darkness. Every sound is sharper—his footsteps, the rustle of his clothes, the hitch in his breath. He guides you to the table, lifting you so you’re perched on the edge, thighs spread.

“Spread your legs wider,” he commands, and you do, skirt riding up, panties exposed. His hands slide up your thighs, slow, torturous, until he’s peeling your underwear off, leaving you bare. The air hits your slick folds, and you bite your lip, aching for his touch.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and then his fingers are there, teasing your entrance, circling your clit with featherlight strokes. You moan, hips bucking, but he grips your thigh, holding you still. “Not yet. You beg for it first.”

“Please, sir,” you whimper, voice breaking. “Please touch me. I need your fingers inside me. I need to come.”

He chuckles, low and filthy. “That’s better.” One finger slides inside, slow and deep, stretching you, then another, curling against that spot that makes you see stars. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles, and you’re shaking, so close it hurts.

“Look at this greedy little cunt,” he says, voice rough. “Sucking my fingers in like it’s starving. You’re so fucking tight, baby. Gonna feel so good when I finally fuck you.”

You’re whining now, desperate, the blindfold amplifying every sensation. His fingers pump faster, wet sounds filling the room, and you’re right there, teetering on the edge. “Please, sir,” you sob. “Please let me come. I can’t—I need it.”

“Come for me,” he growls, and you do, shattering, your pussy clenching around his fingers as waves of pleasure crash through you. His fingers don’t stop, curling harder, thumb pressing relentless circles, and something builds—intense, overwhelming. You cry out as your body convulses, a gush of wetness soaking his hand, the table, your thighs. You’re squirting, the release so powerful it leaves you trembling, oversensitive, a whimpering mess.

“Fuck,” Namjoon groans, voice raw with awe. “Look at that. You’re fucking perfect, baby, squirting all over me like a good little slut.”

He pulls his fingers out, and you hear him suck them clean, moaning like he’s savoring every drop. The blindfold comes off, and his eyes are wild, pupils blown, but there’s a flicker of something softer—something that scares him.

“You’re too fucking perfect,” he says, kissing your forehead, gentle and jarring after the filth. “Rest up. We’re far from done.”

The fourth meeting is different. Namjoon’s hungrier, rougher, like he’s been holding back too long. You’re on your knees, wrists tied with his tie, his hands fisted in your hair as he guides you closer to his cock, straining against his slacks. The book’s open on the table, and you spot something—a scribbled note in the cover: Kim Namjoon as well as RM. Both handwritten signatures side by side, RM's signature same as printed inside the book.

Your breath catches. “You’re… R.M.?”

He freezes, then laughs, dark and dangerous, tugging your hair to tilt your face up. “Caught me, baby. Now you know who’s been writing the shit that gets you so wet. And you’re still gonna let me ruin you.”

You’re too shocked, too turned on to argue. He kisses you, hard and possessive, teeth clashing, tongue claiming your mouth like he owns it. Clothes rip—your shirt’s buttons scatter, his belt clanks, your skirt’s yanked down. He lifts you onto the table, spreading your thighs wide, and pauses, just looking at your dripping cunt.

“Fuck, you’re a masterpiece,” he growls, and then he’s pushing inside, thick and long, stretching you so good it’s almost too much. You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, and he fucks you like he’s claiming you, each thrust deep and punishing.

“Mine,” he snarls, hands gripping your hips, leaving bruises. “This pussy’s mine. No one else gets to fuck you like this. Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasp, clenching around him, already close. “Only yours, sir.”

He groans, slamming harder, the table creaking. “Gonna fill you up,” he says, voice raw. “Make you mine for good.” His thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast, and you come undone, screaming his name, your pussy milking his cock as he spills inside you, hot and thick.

You’re both panting, sweaty, tangled together. He brushes your hair back, eyes soft for the first time, like he’s scared of what’s between you. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says quietly. “About the book. It’s just… a side hobby. Don't need attention.”

“I won’t,” you whisper, and he kisses you, slow and deep, like he’s sealing a promise. His cock buried deep inside you, hot and unyielding.

Weeks later, you’re back in the library, the familiar scent of old books wrapping around you like a lover’s embrace. You’re seated at a secluded table, The Art of Obedience open in your lap, every filthy page now a map of your own desires. You’ve read it cover to cover, each chapter a spark that ignites memories of Namjoon’s hands, his voice, his cock. Your thighs press together under the table, your panties already damp just thinking about him.

Across from you, Namjoon’s writing in a leather-bound notebook, his glasses low on his nose, that same predatory focus in his eyes. He’s been working on something new, he said, a chapter written just for you. The thought alone has kept you on edge all day, your body humming with anticipation, your cunt aching for what he might have in store.

He glances up, catching you staring, and his lips curve into a smirk that’s pure sin. “Done daydreaming?” he asks, voice low, teasing. He slides the notebook across the table, the pages open to a freshly inked chapter. “Read it. Out loud. Let’s see how you handle it.”

Your breath catches, heat flooding your core. You take the notebook, fingers trembling slightly, and begin to read, your voice soft but steady, though every word feels like it’s unraveling you.

The chapter is titled “Lessons in Lust” It begins with a description of a woman—clearly you, though unnamed—kneeling before a man, her wrists bound with silk, her body bare except for a thin lace garter. The man’s voice is described as a low growl, commanding her to spread her thighs wider, to show him how much she wants him. The prose is vivid, explicit, detailing the way her arousal drips down her inner thighs, the way her clit pulses with every word he speaks.

“You’re so fucking desperate for me, aren’t you?” he says in the text, and you can almost hear Namjoon’s voice in your head, feel his breath against your ear. “Look at that pretty cunt, begging for my cock. But you don’t get it yet. Not until you’re crying for it.”

He teases her, his fingers tracing her folds, collecting her slick and spreading it over her clit, but never giving her enough. He edges her, bringing her to the brink again and again, until she’s sobbing, pleading, her body shaking with need. The scene shifts—he bends her over a table, her cheek pressed to the wood, and spanks her, each strike making her wetter, her moans louder. He whispers filthy promises, telling her she’s his, that no one else will ever make her feel this way. “You’re mine to break,” he says, “mine to fuck, mine to ruin. And you love it, don’t you? You love being my dirty little girl.”

Your voice falters as you read, your pussy throbbing, soaking through your panties and onto your skirt. You shift in your seat, trying to relieve the pressure, but it’s no use—every word is a pulse straight to your clit. Namjoon’s watching you, his gaze heavy, his hand resting on his thigh, fingers twitching like he’s holding back from touching you right here.

“Keep going,” he says, voice rough, his own arousal evident in the tightness of his jaw.

You swallow, continuing, your cheeks burning.

The man finally gives in, sliding his cock into her, slow at first, letting her feel every inch. He fucks her hard, relentless, the table shaking beneath them. He pulls her hair, forcing her to arch back, and whispers in her ear, “Come for me, baby. Show me how much you need this.” She does, her body convulsing, squirting around him, soaking his cock, the table, the floor. He doesn’t stop, fucking her through it, claiming her completely.

You finish the page, voice barely a whisper, your body trembling with want. Your cunt is so wet you can feel it dripping, your thighs slick under the table. Namjoon leans forward, his eyes dark, dangerous, and so fucking pleased.

“Liked that, didn’t you?” he murmurs, standing and rounding the table. He stops behind you, his hand sliding over your shoulder, fingers brushing the nape of your neck. “You’re soaked just from reading it. I can smell how much you want me.”

You whimper, head tilting back as his fingers trail lower, dipping under your collar to graze your skin. “Please, sir,” you whisper, already desperate.

He chuckles, low and filthy, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Oh, baby, we’re gonna make that chapter real. But not here. Tonight, in my bedroom. You’re gonna show me just how much you want to be my good girl.”

He pulls back, leaving you panting, and slides the notebook into your hand. “Finish your reading,” he says, smirking. “I want you thinking about me all day, dripping for me until I’m ready to fuck you senseless.”

You nod, too overwhelmed to speak, your body alive with need. As he walks away, you open the book again, knowing every page is a promise of what’s to come—and you’re already his, completely.

A/N: "This library’s closed, but I hope Namjoon’s lessons left you soaked and begging for more of my words. Tell me your dirty thoughts in the comments. Hey @namluvili hope you like it."

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @btsstraykidsateez . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @namluvili . @mytaegiheart . @@dear-mono . @lilyficrec

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