#(no name brand fucking BURNS do NOT do that!!)

[vyzz-undercover]

the voices have made this happen

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3)

(5,900ish words) (OUUGHHHHH)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon

•hints of size kink (obligatory)

•vaginal fingering

•oral (f receiving)

•mild possessive behaviour

•the consequences of ignoring important medical devices

•mentions of (hypothetical) torture

•tumblrs recurringly cancerous formatting

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im back on my bullshit after having to do overnights so as payment to the dark gods of whoring and degeneracy i humbly offer this taglist of sweet darling who've indulged my insanity: @the-raven-lady, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @bispecsual, @lemon-russ, @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @egrets-not-regrets, @moodymisty, @sinistermojo, @justeverythingnothingelse, @pluvio-tea, @thevoidscreams, @beckyninja, @yestheantichrist!!! if you wanna be tagged (or not) in the next let me know!!! also it may take me longer to do a part four to this namely because ive got more wageslaving ahead of me soon but alas i'll definitely have rowboat girlyman catch em. also maybe give cato some top. myehehehehe,,, AND THANK YOU FOR READING AS USUAL ILY ALL!!! :3

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Cato is just about leaving.

After having spent the better part of an hour discussing the predicted destruction pathway of a hive-fleet on the system's rim with his Father; it sends his balls into his throat when you nearly run into him in the chamber's huge archway.

It only takes a fraction of a second to catalogue your presence.

You're wearing the same utilitarian blue robe as you had been last week again.

Last week, when he'd been pounding you insensible on a lounge in the library—Cato promptly quashes the insidious memory, smothering down any sort of reaction. But there is a change in comparison to the dizzying reminder: there's a new addition to the reoccurring outfit.

You've brought a navy, high-collared turtleneck into the mix, layered below your lapels.

So, the efforts of his mouth hadn't gone unheeded, then.

Throne, if he's not smug, he's got no bloody clue what he is.

Cato steps aside and turns to allow you entrance first before his exit.

"Commander Sicarius," you lilt with a soft voice and a small downward tip of your chin, all while holding his gaze.

He's transfixed periodically at the honeyed sort of warmth in your eyes.

Despite himself, he lingers and greets you with a slow, "Lady Ambassador."

The left side of his mouth twitches upward in a half-aborted smirk that he quickly tries to mask as a stern, frown-nod combination.

You break the staring match and Cato's confident he's salvaged his slip-up without detection.

Or not—because oh, fuck—if he doesn't feel the burning focus of a Primarch's eyes boring a hole into the side of his head like a brand.

It only lasts an instant, but the second is an eternity to him.

Of course, you're oblivious to this subtle exchange—and promptly trot past him to his Father's vast desk.

"My Lord Primarch," you say with a curt little bow; and then Guilliman's attention is solely on you, his favourite little pet project. "I read the data-drives you instructed from the preceding article logging. I've arranged them back to the most recent mark counts."

You're looking for an empty spot to lay them on his table, but with all the meticulously arranged stacks, it's none too easy to find one.

"Perfect," the Primarch breaths, "Just on the side there is fine, don't worry."

Obligingly, you lay them atop a small mountain of paperwork.

"Do you need anything else of me, my Lord?" You chirp brightly, the tone of your voice so very painfully sweet—Cato is nearly overwhelmed fighting a pitched battle against the urge to run over, pick you up and shake you around suddenly.

Guilliman chuckles, waving one massive hand about vaguely, "You've done more than enough for me today, why don't we leave it at that for now, hm? Go on."

"Of course; thank you, and have a good evening, my Lord," You say, bow once more, and turn on your heel from the Primarch, and—and smile at Cato as you walk back towards the exit. That's—that's the first time you've smiled at him. His twin hearts lurch, slamming forward against the inside of his fused chest cavity. It's perfect abominable. You rotten temptress, he's—he's going to rectify that audacity later. Or now, if you're... possibly heading the same direction he is. Which is whatever direction you're going, purely by chance.

It's merely coincidence, he swears.

He's certainly not planning on hounding after you like a dog tailing a bitch in heat.

He's certainly not going to drag you into a side room the second he's sure no-one with a credible opinion's around.

He's certainly not going to indulge in anything heretical, like bending you bare over his knee for daring to taunt him.

Cato makes as if to fall in step behind you as you pass the threshold before him, but is quickly halted by his Father's curt, "I do not believe you have been dismissed, Cato."

He's never been subjected to such sinking dread quite so nonchalantly.

"Approach."

Cato complies stuffily, sparing a glance at your figure disappearing down the corridor before acquiescing. He's practically dragging his ceramite boots across the intricate rugs as he nears the Primarch's seated but colossal form.

Guilliman isn't looking at him, having had returned to notating a miscellaneous form.

The scritch-scratch of his gene-sire's preferred, yet archaic method of manually writing on the parchment is like someone grating a plate with a fork to his ears right now.

"You've gotten over your petty grievances regarding the Ambassador at last, I take it?" Guilliman asks, without looking up.

It is not Cato's duty to like or dislike. Nor is it to be biased without reason—his opinions are to be intellectual, not emotional. His duty is to assess, analyse and provide feedback, so that his Primarch can take it into account when making rulings and decisions.

Cato swallows around the proverbial hunk of drywall lodged in his throat and answers, "She has proven herself... useful, yes, sire."

Guilliman finally meets his eyes but says nothing for a short while. There's dark bags under his Primarch's eyes, and the deep, stern crease permanently between his dark blonde brows is a slight bit harsher, but the only thing Cato can parse out of the expression's intent is a vague sense of knowing. Because, insofar, he's thought himself quite adept at reading his Primarch; and rather well versed in deciphering the intricacies of his moods.

And right now, he feels like he's being read like an open manuscript.

The daunting prospect Cato's caught sinks it's teeth in his gullet. It's impossible, he's not left any room for suspicion, he's covered his tracks—there's no logical reason why he should be getting raked with such a look.

His gene-sire isn't a psyker nor omniscient, just impossibly intelligent—and so absurdly good at the mathematics of plotting and planning that it only appears superficially as if he is all-seeing. He can't possibly know what Cato has been doing—or rather, who he's been doing.

"It's about time," his Father hums abruptly, suddenly disinterested. "Now you're dismissed."

Cato nods, turns on his boot heel, and nigh bolts marches out the room. His proverbial tail definitely not between his legs.

The hall outside Guilliman's apartments is a central domed area that functions as a meeting area, where people go to one of six looming hallways. It's the bottom of a series of levels; and above, three echelons encircled by arcades and balustrades, framed on the exterior by engaged columns.

But the structure itself is immense and ancient, even by Imperial standards. One of the few still-original, unaltered parts of the great Gloriana-class warship's innards. It is doused in long swathes of red carpet and great standards of Magcraggian note, alongside glorious, heroic frescoes depicting Legiones Astartes in their thousands, crusading across the heavens with the Emperor their head.

Cato keeps his head down as he passes them, uneasy with guilt. Feeling as if their lenses are following him—intent on venturing into the lower layers to brood.

Several Astartes are hovering about amongst the personnel and serfs. The baselines look up at him in awe, and his Brothers nod in respect, but he pays them all no mind.

The furthest corridor beckons him, and so he goes; down the complex system of broad walks with high, barrel vault ceilings, mazing through the vessel's higher clearance reaches like arteries through a body.

Cato is seething, and self-admittedly itching to take a howler of a swing at the next thing that speaks to him.

He cuts down the southern channel and sees one of his subordinate Victrix Guard lingering in the middle of a groin vault intersection.

The younger Astartes is about to continue straight, yet he pauses.

Brother Marcellus meets Cato's eyes for a second, clearly notes his Commander's absolutely stinking mood from a hundred meters off; nods, swallows, takes a step backward—and changes direction to go left rather than pass him.

Cato's too pissed to even linger on the strangeness of the action.

Still, he doesn't rightly blame him.

Cato strides on, back straight, chin up—the red shawl pinned beneath his pauldrons swirling behind him.

His thoughts are eating at him the whole while.

He's sure his Primarch is just trying to innocently divine his sudden change of mind regarding you. There's no way his Father's aware of why. And yet, guilt is a big black wolf nipping at his ankles, making him hasten; and unease clouds about his heart. He's mortified, for lack of a better word.

The full implications of the situation are too enormous to be faced all at once; so he picks the smallest, most banal facet he can think of.

That being, you.

You, who he'll never see again if his Primarch finds out.

You, who's practically damned him without knowing it.

You, who he's now valiantly trying not to imagine in a hundred different circumstances where he gets away with it all. Each one more heretical than the last—it's like it was before he'd managed a hand on you: his body giving in to suffocating delusions, sleepless in his cot; lapping at whatever scant, lust-soaked morsels his mind offers up.

One of his favourites remains you scantily clad beneath a moonlit night sky, on the parapet of his ancestral fortress on the coastal edge of Perusia.

He likes to fantasise you like it there.

He suspects you would.

He knows just about all there is to know about you on paper, and wonders if you know much of Talassar. Or if you've read about Castra Tanagra. He assumes Guilliman would share the tale of that famed old battle with you as a part of your readings.

Each impossible reverie is a new shiny nail in his coffin, or dreadnaut—it depends where and how he dies, and if there's anything scrape up of him when he eventually goes down in a blaze of glory and duty, and honour.

If his Primarch catches him, there's going to be none of that.

He'll be struck from living record, like Titus had been. Cato would be lucky to get a little plaque in the deepest pits of the Fortress of Hera. Reduced to a whispered memory of his achievements passed solemnly between Captains, followed up with words of disappointment. Of waste. Until his memory dies with them and his deeds fade into obscurity, lost to any new brothers.

The fate that awaits you would somehow be worse. Cato was always going to die in war, as was his right—but you—you were not fashioned for such things. Yes, Guilliman enjoys you, but that fact won't save you. Just like it won't save Cato for all his usefulness. You'd be tried as a heretic, as a source of corruption upon the Legiones, and you'd be made to suffer; because torture ever comes before execution. You're so very soft weak in so very many ways. Your life lived in a gilded cage, without pain nor discomfort that extends further than grating professional grievances—he doesn't want to imagine the sound of you screaming, but he does.

He cannot stand the thought.

The sudden urge to barricade you in his chambers for permanent safe keeping is all-consuming.

It's suddenly all he can think about.

He has to find you.

The amount of serfs passing and parting to allow his passage thin out to nothing.

Even from the sterile confines of one of the many winding hallways, Cato abruptly swears he can hear the echoed rush of sandals—your sandals—reverberating off the floor.

He hadn't notice you following behind immediately because, damn it, he's spiralling thinking.

He chances a confrontation, and rounds about-face.

You stand there in the middle of the empty hallway like you've got a bolter aimed at you, frozen.

"Come here," he says, clipped.

You do not.

"Come here."

Again, no compliance.

"Do you pride yourself on being a idiot?" His voice is scathing now, taking a heavy step into your space and being met by you staying stock stiff, still. "Do you have any idea what that stunt of yours earlier might incur?"

"What?" You blink, finally animating. "I didn't do anything—"

"You know what you did," he hisses, accusatory. "You're hollow between the ears, but you're not blind."

Lips pursing tightly in mental deliberation, you make a fey noise of annoyance as a little frown graces your features, apparently not deigning to offer a comment back.

"Do you not understand that... this," he gesticulates between you both and his voice falls to a whisper. "This... is not common allowance?"

"It's not?"

Are you being intentionally dense at this point, or is it just second nature?

Cato raises a hand to knead the crease between his brows, "No."

"That explains a lot, actually," you say, seemingly without any real comprehension on the gravity of the matter. "I couldn't find any notes or references on it."

He's genuinely stunned, "Is that what you were doing when—"

"When I was rudely interrupted," you cut in, the comment is nigh a spat insult.

Cato isn't sure what to say to that sudden display of spine, and grumbles.

He surmises the optimal action is complete disregard.

Therefore, he has no problem turning on the heel of his sabatons and starting his pace on again.

"So... this isn't normal by Astartes standards?"

He's taken aback at your abrupt want for conversation after all that. Namely because it's atypical. You never attempted small talk with him. You never do anything but scurry off when he's accosted you for you flagrant overstepping—wait.

He feels as if the paradigm between you both has shifted again since the last time for some reason. More than last time, actually. More than you just simply having the audacity to backtalk him.

It's like some symptom of a deeper sickness rising to the surface.

It makes him unreasonably curious suspicious.

He wants to see just how much ground you'll give, so he plays along and answers, "Not as far as I am aware, no."

You hum, and immediately are at it again, posturing, "Surely you have heard of cases of it happening?"

"I have not," Cato says, and you hum in consideration.

You're satisfied at that information for a brief while, but then he remembers you cannot shut your mouth for more than five minutes, and purses his lips. He's already tiring of your incessant questioning.

"But you'd done it before?"

And that's just great.

You've expertly found an exposed nerve.

More kindling on the bonfire of him having an aneurysm before the cycle's end.

Cato can feel the hint of pressure behind his eyes as he begins increasing his walking speed. "I don't think that is a relevant question."

You haste to stay in step, "It definitely is."

"You ought to learn a civil fucking tongue when you're addressing me, woman," he bites out, nose crinkling into a sneer.

Unperturbed by his short-tempered comment, another thoughtful little 'hmm' slips out of you.

"So, to conclude... you where as inexperienced as I was at the start, and all those gloating insults back then were just projection?" You suddenly blurt out at rather impressive speed, like a politician possessed—before finishing with, "Sorry, 'all those gloating insults back then were just projection,' Commander Sicarius."

Cato grits his teeth and feels his eye twitch.

He stops, turns to look over his pauldron, and stares bloody murder.

He can't even imagine the idiocy in your brain that gave you the imprimatur to say that aloud.

But Throne, the sly little glint in your pretty eyes suddenly has his face thudding with heat.

Then you smile at him for the second time ever.

Cato bites back the urge to ogle you dumbly, and actually feels himself thicken in his body-glove in real time, because oh, fuck—his hind brain practically pelts him across the jaw with the mental pict of that sweet mouth lathing up the side of his cock.

Mentally unseated for a moment, his brows furrow; and he quickly turns away, applying himself entirely to the task of trudging down the stagings.

The silence is a breath of fresh air.

Even if he can still hear your laboured breathing a few steps back him from him. You're straining to keep up with his pace, and it's an excellent punishment for you. His heavy sabatons clank-clank-clank on the steel decking, and your little boots practically pitter-patter in contrast. It's a syncopated rhythm that he's absentmindedly trying to match—and when he lingers for a step he manages to even the beat out.

He hangs a left, and scales the wide stairs to the open intersection platform above two at a time; trying not to snort amusedly at the little groan you let out as you hurry up them behind him, heaving.

Cato realises abruptly that you're actually, really, seriously following him—and pretending you're not.

He makes a right at the top and then waits for you to fall in step.

And, pointedly, he then turns and doubles back around.

You stand there stupefied for a moment, before grumbling softly and continuing down the thoroughfare without him.

If his observation skills hold any weight, he heads straight into the nearest open room and waits for you to follow.

He doesn't activate the locking mechanism on the other side in on purpose when he strides in, and lets the sliding door close behind him.

This particular room is forgettable in its ubiquitousness, though unusual. He has no idea of it's actual intended purpose. It's fitted with screens and database terminals as if it's for debriefing purposes, but he has no real way of confirming. What he can catalogue is that there's wraparound surfaces littered with candles. A few strips of harsh lighting and scant furniture—a tallish counter and a few long benches. They're thankfully Astartes sized.

Which means he can sit down and pray for you to walk right into the metaphorical snare he's just laid.

Not a minute later, the door's sliding mechanism triggers and you scurry through—only to promptly go stiff.

You stare at him like a rat he's just found by lifting a crate.

The mechanism shuts automatically behind you and it apparently spooks you enough to jump a little.

"You're disgustingly predictable," he harrumphs, unimpressed.

A flush rises to your face as you scowl, "You're disgustingly predictable," you shoot back, echoing his words.

Of course, that audacity of yours leads to a short stalemate.

He huffs out a sigh as he concedes out of sheer frustration and says, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one."

You blink dumbly at him, "...what?"

"It's my locking code," he growls, and Throne, you must be acting stupid just to grate him; because there's no way your brain is so smooth as to not connect the dots. "It's for the door, moron."

A soft 'ohh' leaves you as you turn and step aside to the key pad fixed into the frame.

"Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," he's agonisingly forced to say once again.

"Three-nine-five-eight-eight-two-seven-one..." you mumble to yourself.

Cato hears an angry beep and suddenly wants to smash his head into a wall repeatedly.

Grinding his molars, he snarls, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," and then adds, "If I have to repeat that one more time, I'm going to throw you out of the nearest airlock."

And it seems the threat of violence works wonders, because you don't bungle the input this time.

Cato sighs, exasperated, and leans back against the lip of the table behind the bench.

He ought to start carrying around a correctional stun rod. Just for whenever you annoy him. If it's good enough for a Neophyte to suffer, it's good enough for you, he supposes.

Or it'll send you into a seizing fit.

He's not to sure of the maximum voltage a baseline can take without their singular, puny little heart giving out.

One disciplinary option scratched out, then.

But he can think of many, many more to make a model Ambassador out of you. The wonders of carefully applied violence are plentiful. A little roughing up never hurts, or at least, not for long. And fuck, do you need some lessons on proper manners. He could have you smacked into shape like a show pony in no time—even if it'd be more like teaching a grox to trot lateral movements. Then again, he also believes if he stuck a frag far enough up a Carnifex's ass, he could probably get it to play Regicide.

And then pointedly, he starts thinking about your ass.

Cato is so utterly lost on the tangent of hypotheticals that he's flabbergasted when a small mouth lands on his own.

He hadn't even been paying attention.

He hadn't even noticed you'd neared.

It feels like the breath has been knocked out him at the sheer unexpectedness of it.

The kiss is hasty, your eyes scrunched shut and cheeks flushed, scowling with focus.

All the while, his mind reels because Throne, the contact of his lips to yours doesn't really feel particularly profound aside from how soft your skin is—but the intention of it is the real reward.

Cato's genuinely infuriated when you pull away.

You blink owlishly at him, giving him a cautious look like you're trying to gauge his reaction.

There are a thousand things he wants to ask, to say, but the foremost among them is but one.

"Again," he huffs, lessening the distance between you just enough to invite you back.

And he thinks that perhaps he’s abusing his station over you, but when you tentatively find a hold on his gorget to steady yourself to give him another kiss—those thoughts are all but erased from his mind. It's a curious weight off his shoulders to have you initiate and to show you want him in return, especially since it's as new to you as it is for him.

Nonetheless, he can't even imagine finding a reason to stop you, so he starts blindly mouthing; trying to coordinate around the fact he's so much larger than you.

The angle is difficult, but he's willing to follow your lead. Your body is even more fragile when he's in full armour. The risk of actually hurting you is realer than ever, but he can't help the desire to wrap an gauntlet around your waist and pull you closer to him. Thankfully, you let him when he urges you to, trembling hands flitting across his chestplate like you're unsure of what, exactly, you should be holding—and he catches the tiny line between your brows smoothing out as you risk a peek. Only for you to yelp, nervously wrenching yourself back in flustered surprise upon meeting his unwavering stare.

It's as if you expected something else.

He senses he's made a mistake of some kind.

Then he remembers from the motion-picts he's not supposed to keep glaring at you when kissing.

Regardless, he studies your face, memorising the lingering want still clearly there like his life depends on it.

He pulls you in and kisses you again, just because he can, this time brief and chaste. And then he goes for a third, fourth—fifth, each time slightly longer, until finally he rears back; and when he does you push up on your toes just a little, trying to chase him, but lose the nerve; although to Cato the reason for your faltering is, frankly, irrelevant. Because just like him, you lack the practical capacity to really know what next step you should take. Still, you look down at his armour, as if there's a latch to pull that magically undoes all his wargear.

He knows he's not going to get himself out of his armour in any reasonable way or amount of time.

There's no way he's getting the satisfaction of having you on him right now—but he still wants to keep you near.

He thinks he hears you ask for something, but he's too distracted to catch it in time.

"What?" Cato scowls, "What do you want now?"

It's clear you've been struck by your own embarrassment, strung up somewhere between shy and wanton, "I.. uh..."

"Spit it out," he rumbles.

You wince, hesitant as you mumble, "You, uh... i-in me."

Cato's brain skids to a halt. And it's the gall of that request alone that has him sweeping you up off the ground and spinning you around to sit in his lap.

It's obvious you're overwhelmed at being held to the formidably larger size of himself in full-plate. But as usual, you're yet to actively complain. Using his vambrace as a leg-bar to scoop under your thighs, he folds you in his grasp—your knees pressed to your chest as you're tucked back against his pauldron and chestplate.

The angle forces the hems of your robe aside, and he can see the underside curve of your ass; along with the plump mound of your vulva under the white of your small-clothes.

Cato's suddenly offended by their existence. You didn't wear any last time, so why now? The irritation of there being one more thing between you and him is enough justification to yank at them, tearing them loose—before throwing them aside.

You grumble sourly, which he chooses to ignore.

The palm of his gauntlet smooths across your hip, and you make a small hugg as you shiver, goose-bumps suddenly covering your exposed flesh.

Cato lets the pads graze closer and closer to your sex, content to watch you impatiently glare at his armoured fingers from between the gap of your thighs.

With little preamble, he's stuffing his middle in. You're already so wet it's practically a cake-walk. Your cunt swallows down each articulating segment of his armoured finger down to the knuckle. The fact he's going to have to personally scrub your slick out from between the joints, instead of a lowly serf, is infinitely worth the shrill whine he receives as tribute.

"Would that my wargear had a zipper," he breathes, and fuck, he grins behind the obscurity of his gorget at the mournful mewl that remark earns. "I'd have you on your knees sucking for all the cunted trouble you've caused me."

You're making a warp-awful attempt at keeping yourself together, high-strung as you evidently are. Little more than a minute of him pumping his finger in and out of you has you red-faced and panting. All it takes to get those heavy breaths of yours to change into proper whines is his large thumb-pad adjusting to rest on your clit, applying pressure. You jerk, reflexively trying to buck into every motion. Fighting and failing to withhold the stuffy little moans escaping you—trying to stave off the inevitable by scrambling at the thigh plating of his power armour with one hand and tugging at his couter with the other.

Some part of Cato wants to stop solely out of spite for you being so grating earlier, or some other stupid mercurial justification of his; but instead, he simply continues, letting you squirm on his fingers.

And squirm you do.

It's clear to him the tide of it all is becoming too much for you to resist. Your sandal'd feet kick out where he's got your legs secured, joining in on the struggling as it begins anew when his thumb starts circling. It's a good sign, so he adds his pointer into you to bolster the stretch, curling in; before letting his fingers fan out inside you, stretching rather than stabbing. Your hips try to stutter forward in time with the quick thrusting of his digits, broken whimpers resonating off the room's walls. He promptly stuffs down to the knuckle and curls them again—and you all but bleat his surname as you're dragged into a fast and apparently exhausting orgasm. Just knowing he's you got you beat has his erection ache where it's trapped under the suiting and plating of his navel.

Cato can't feel you clenching through all the layers separating his skin from yours, but he knows from experience that you're seizing in fits internally—tight little cunt trying to milk a load out of an Astartes cock that should've been stuffed in you.

Just to allow himself one last bit of smugness, he scissors his fingers; giving a final swirl for good measure.

The shivered sob is worth every possible future disciplinary action he'll receive.

He pulls his gauntlet away slowly, and the wet shlick of it leaving you is almost amusingly alike pulling a blade from sinew. It's a degenerate comparison, he knows, but it's true.

Nonetheless, he splays out his hand and swallows dryly, eyeing the sticky, clear liquid webbing out and thinning between each ridge of his gauntlet'd digits.

Suddenly focused entirely on the fluid on his fingers, he pulls his vambrace barring under your knees up away. Now limp, and without the support, you slide off his lap and onto the floor in a slow slump.

"Nn-ngh," You groan weakly, face-down, legs still juddering a little.

Seeing as you're preoccupied, Cato doesn't even dignify the concept of hesitation, and promptly jams his fingers in his mouth—lathing the aftermath of your orgasm from them. And Throne, the taste of your hormones make him groan. He's absolutely stunned, unsure of how to act. He's so fucking stupid, why didn't he do this earlier? He's practically drugged by the omophagic aftereffect—getting off on your second hand bliss. Some sort of fey feedback loop in his brain catalysing his next decision solely on instinct.

He clambers to the floor and gets to his knees guards, securing a mitt on your bared thigh to roll you onto your back.

Apparently boneless with afterglow, you're easy to manhandle.

You barely have the strength to do much more than crane your head up at him and whine as he arranges your thighs apart, settling on his front between them with a warp-awful clank; before lifting your legs up to rest onto either lip of his gorget.

You try to scud back on your ass suddenly, but are quickly halted when he holds you fast by the hip.

He raises a confused brow.

"I-Isn't—" you start, still gathering the scraps of your brain together so soon post-orgasm, "Isn't y-your saliva acid?"

Cato suddenly wants to cuff you on the ear, "Who the hell told you that?"

"M-Master Calgar," you mumble.

Oh, of course, the gossiping hen.

He's going to have words with the Lord Defender of Greater Ultramar the next time they meet—words like 'for fuck sakes, stop scaring the woman he's trying to eat out with talk of Betcher's gland, Marneus,' come to mind, but then Cato realises that doesn't sound like he's not fucking you, so he quickly settles on: 'stop dignifying the Ambassador's hundred-and-one insane questions.'

"Not Ultramarines," Cato manages not to snarl, "It's a vestigial organ in most of us."

Your voice is shaky as you parrot, "Most of us?"

"Yes," He grunts, and promptly buries his face in your cunt.

The disproportion in size is painfully apparent when he realises his whole damned tongue is able to drag a stripe up the entire splay of you with minimal effort.

The pitched gasp he wins out of you is pure sin, and he's on the brink of swooning; but then you're running your trap again.

"Please, d-don't tell me you're one that can spit acid—" you manage to warble, seemingly still stuck on the topic.

Cato sighs as he's forced to pull away from your vulva, "I think you're forgetting I had my tongue on your tonsils in the library."

"Th-that's different," you stammer. "That's not as sensitive."

A long, unimpressed deadpan paints itself on his face.

"So," he starts with a bated hiss, "And let me be perfectly clear in this—you believe your vagina is more susceptible to burns than your mouth?"

Your face transforms into a strange mix of embarrassed and angry.

"I didn't say that—"

"Yes, you did," Cato grumbles.

"Did not," you huff.

"You—you just fucking did," he snaps, frustrated enough that he can feel one of the veins at his temple bulge. "The implication is obvious, you insufferable little whore."

You snort, but stay silent.

The argument appears, for all intents and purposes, to be finished.

"Did not," you say abruptly once more, pouting.

Cato's eyes roll back in his skull as he grits his teeth.

"Throne of Terra, if you don't drop the subject, acid in your cunt will be the least of your worries," he all but snarls, and that apparently quietens you enough that he can get back to lapping at you—the flat of his tongue running over your clit and earning a jolt.

He wraps his lips around the pink little nub and sucks. And that's all it apparently takes to make up for his amateur career in the practice.

You siphon down a sharp breath and let out a garbled cry, hips canting forward into his mouth—to which he obligingly stuffs his tongue into your slick entrance.

There's a satisfaction well beyond simple pleasure that swamps him at the way your thighs shake either side of his head. His own breath is hot about him, stuffy and dizzying; and the skin pressed against his cheeks is warm and smooth.

You're panting when he goes back to lapping over your clit, perching yourself up on a bent elbow and reaching out a hand.

Your fingers card through the messed brown hair atop his head. And he stiffens without realising—but he realises something: like this, the touch is ecstasy—pure, golden ecstasy. Every bit of higher thought in his head evaporates when you stroke him again.

A long, rumbling subvocal moan tears from him.

The infrasound vibration makes you buck weakly into his mouth again, teary eyed afore him as he adjusts his grip on you and crawls closer.

He's suddenly acutely aware that in this new, much more prone position, he's able to grind his body armour into his groin guard pressed on the floor. And as soon as the action bears results—namely a scorching burr of pleasure racing up his spine—he's deadset on rutting against the ground like a slavering beast.

He's frotting himself at a pace so rabid it'd cruel to subject your cunt to. It's brutal, and the harsh scraping sound of plasteel on steel only further proves that. It's just frantic lust—he's desperate.

It's complete insanity how close to finishing he is so quickly.

Not as close as you, though.

He can feel how your legs jump with each pass of his tongue; and then you're unraveling in front of his very eyes.

"I-I can't—I can't, S-Sicarius, I-I—" You ramble, dazed, trying to get away as he works you right through it, sobbing and oversensitive while he's rutting himself closer and closer to his own end.

It all comes to a head when your fingers dig into his hair, tugging—and his brain is overrun with static. A drawn out groan scathes from his maw as any sense of rhythm scatters like light through a prism. For a fraction of a second, the pleasure is serene.

Then it's abject agony, he feels—he feels like Roboute Guilliman himself has just taken a running start and kicked him in the balls.

"F-Fuck–ing—gh—" he chokes, vision swimming, straining against the tide of the torment. His back arches up, and he curls inward on himself; white-hot pain clocking his nervous system into overdrive. Every muscle in his abdomen is doused in acid. He's tolerated being shot, stabbed, burnt without so much as blinking—but this is an entirely new and entirely different sort of wound. It's like he's pissing promethium. It's—it's the catheter, he realises. He'd forgotten about the bloody catheter jammed up his cock.

Through the searing ordeal, he manages to force his armour's facilities to finally abide his impulses and dose him with a pain dampener.

And then everything's fine.

He opens eyes he wasn't aware he'd closed and finds your face has suddenly gotten far closer to his.

"S-Sicarius?" You stammer, and there's an honest panic in your voice. "Sicarius, p-please, please—a-are you okay?"

He realises he's on his back, and you're sitting beside him, half draped on his chestplate, frantically trying to figure out what's wrong with him to no avail.

You've leaned in so close he can feel your rushed breathing.

"I'm fine," Cato groans, and you sputter out a sigh.

"I-I don't know what happened, I-I—" you're still wildly confused and raving, and he inhales deeply; only to be greeted by the sour animal stink of fear practically dripping from you.

Cato rolls his tongue around inside his mouth and cringes knowingly at the foaming side-effect of the chem he'd self-administered, the acrid taste mixed with your slick is certainly not an ideal cocktail.

The sincerity of concern behind your reaction is baffling. He's not made of glass, for fuck sakes—and he's a bit pissy about the fact you'd actually fallen victim to the idea of him suffering some grievous injury so easily. But he supposes where there's a will of baseline overreaction, there's a way.

"You're acting like a child, woman. Pull yourself together," he sighs hoarsely, hoping the comment jars you out of your hysteria—or at the very least scares you off.

It does exactly neither, and you sidle in closer and rest your cheek on his jaw.

It’s an action so overwhelmingly horribly affectionate that it would’ve been a crime to not press into it with a lean of his head. Or, at least, that's the half-assed justification he tells himself.

Because he's loving enduring your attention, not seeking it; and therefore only humouring you when he lifts a hand and settles the wide splay of it on your flank as a comfort.

He shouldn't be, but he is.

[kaluawoo]

My question is What did Belkia think the power was!? Did he think Otogiri was doing drugs in the kitchen or something

Yeah my best guess is drugs. Gun powder is black so drugs would be the most common Dangerous White Powder...

[coweye]

The Honda Odyssey

Logan Howlett x Reader | smut | 6k words Summary: The car fight reimagined and it only needed to be like 10% more erotic than the original.

I got carried away. I just love Wolvie so much. I'm so happy Logan is getting the adoration he deserves. Long live the Wolverine renaissance.

Warning: smut, p in v, ass play, foul language.

If you had to pinpoint a moment when your life became the shit show it had steadily developed into, you’d say it was the moment you auditioned for X-Force.

In your tenure as besties with Wade Wilson, it's fair to say things hadn’t gone smoothly. The man was a conduit to all things fucked up, but you adored his loose morals and quick mouth. The idiot in red had weaselled his way into your heart and became something of a brother to you and more recently a roommate.

Now, if you’d have told your younger self you’d be in your late twenty’s sharing an apartment with a burn victim who regularly staples a toupee to his fucking head and a coke-head, blind, old African American woman, you’d have laughed in their fucking face.

So, you’d like to think that as these things go you are pretty damn well adjusted but traversing the multiverse was a bit of a stretch, even for you.

One moment you’re at Wade’s surprise party, the next your ass has been zapped to the TVA and you’ve been given a sacred mission; to accompany Marvel Jesus (Wade) and protect the sacred timeline.

Naturally you’re fucking mind blown, you’re a low-level mutant, fuck, you couldn’t even join the X-Men.  Your particular set of skills were a dime a dozen and your flagrant disregard of rules had made you a ‘poor candidate’.

No, the mutant powers you had been graced with weren’t extraordinary by any means. You were basically an off-brand Captain America, just without the gorgeous cheekbones, patriotism and righteous need to do good.

In layman terms, you are strong as shit and have an accelerated healing factor. Not quite the same level as Wade’s mind you. You have, give or take, an inconvenient five-minute turnaround on the more fatally debilitating wounds.

To say you were unqualified was an understatement and to say you were reluctant was a simple fact. A fact you repeated, loudly to anyone that would listen as you were bathed in rich black leather.

“I think maybe you meant to grab negasonic teenage whatchacallit… she’s great, super powerful!” You continue. “Did you mean to get Domino or Colossus or maybe one of the X-Men? “

“No Miss Y/L/N. We have not got the wrong person for the job.” The man you later find out is called Paradox, calls out as you re-enter the operation headquarters. “Mr Wilson requested your presence; he wanted your assistance on his mission.”

“Y/N/N… ten out of ten, baby girl, I one hundred percent would bang. I’m talking raw dog, Barry White on a rug, let’s go all fuckin’ night.”  Wade hollers in his own brand-new suit and even you must admit, you look fucking amazing. “Sweet angel, we’ve just gotta’ come up with a superhero name for you!”

You are enrobed in rich thick black and teal leather, your first ever hero suit and it’s a fucking good one. It doesn’t cling, but instead pulls you in securing your flesh and extenuating curves, ones you hadn’t entirely realised you had. The bottom half your face is concealed with a mask, carefully crafted to follow the contours of your nose and cheekbones.

You’d barely recognised the mysterious figure in the mirror.

“Right?! Tailor was pretty handsy though!”

“Oh yeah, ha! - that man is indeed a predator.” Wade says with a chuckle and a fond sigh.

It shames to you to say but that’s when you stopped fighting this whole thing. You looked the part of a hero; you thought that maybe the TVA knew what they were doing. That they had seen something in you and knew that you had a good heart under all the darkness that lingered on the surface.

Wrong.

You were just a demand Wade had made. He wanted his number one disciple at his side whilst he carried out his sacred mission. You were part of an attempt at appeasing him whilst they destroyed your timeline.

Little more than a pawn to be used whilst they manipulated him into a false sense of security.

Thus, you were thrown into a series of events far beyond your control when Wade being Wade decided you were hunting down a Wolverine to stabilise the timeline, only to be once again fucking zapped into some place they called the void by that little English shitbird named Paradox. It’s entirely accurate to say that you were a little less sturdy than your compadres.

Unfortunately for you, the fall from such a height into the void was fatal. When you finally awake in the desolate wasteland to the sounds of blades clashing it is disorientating to say the least.

Forcing yourself to your feet you lower your mask and gasp in the sweet strangely stale oxygen as you stretch out your newly healed spine with a groan. It was impossible to tell how long you were out as you take in the scene before you; Wade and the Wolverine are engaged in a heated battle. From the looks of it, Logan is winning this fight despite being the human equivalent of a knife block with Wade’s katanas protruding from his chest.

For a moment you pause, perhaps its head trauma that hasn’t healed (He’s fucking Deadpool, he can look after himself for two minutes) and appreciate his form, the Wolverine the two of you had kidnapped was gorgeous. Tch, as if there was any other kind.

Sure, you were biased you’d always been somewhat of a fangirl, but the Wolverine was objectively breath-taking.

You’d indulged in comics whilst growing up but when you found out he was real and looked the way he did, hell, Wolverine was your sexual awakening. He was the first man to make you feel that tingle in your lower stomach. Yes, you may have been thirteen years old, a ball of puppy fat and social anxiety but you’d been waiting for him ever since. 

You’re snapped out of your reverie when Wade loses baby knife in Logan’s shoulder blade, finally you spring into action. In good time as well as you’re not sure if even Deadpool can survive decapitation.

In the singularly most stupid act of your life you throw yourself in front of your friend’s body. “Wait, Wait! Please!”  

Wade has paused behind you, you can feel him weighing up the situation, pausing for a moment to see what you’re going to pull out of the bag.

“The TVA they can fix it, whatever you did, whatever made you the worst Logan, they can fix it! – They have the power to end universes, but they also have the power to fix yours! Help us get back there and we can fix both of our worlds! I promise, they can fix it.” You plead, it’s not quite a lie exactly, more of an Educated Wish than anything.

Okay it is a lie, but you’re sure that the TVA can most likely, probably, maybe fix his world.

Logan’s eyes lock with yours in that moment you can see that he wants to kill you both and be done with it, but that hope won’t let him. You feel a smidgen of guilt for the deceit, but frankly you’ve done worse for less. Your world was on the line it wasn’t the time to pull your punches.

Fast forward four exhausting hours, two periods of unconsciousness and one flaying to find yourself sat opposite Wade gagging down cold spoonful’s of Spam in some dusty ass diner.

You were no better than a man as you watched the Wolverine.

Those arms, those thighs, the way he had beheaded Sabretooth without even breaking a fucking sweat. You wanted him to wrap those instruments of death he called hands around your throat and fuck you dirty until the sun came up.

It had been a long exhausting day and you had been soaking wet for most of it.

Shit, could he smell that? Does that count as sexual harassment? You’d have to ask Wade.

Logan, however, was utterly dismissive of your advances in the face of what was undoubtedly utterly horrific past trauma. Something you were trying to be understanding about, but self-pity in a man, it just turned you on. I said you had some surface layers of darkness.

Unable to help yourself you gaze at him as he opens a bottle of rubbing alcohol. You are utterly entranced, watching the thick chords in his throat bob as he takes a swig.

That tanned skin where his jaw ends and neck begins, slick with sweat and dirt. You’d love to sink your canines into the strip below his ear. He must feel your stare on him as he looks up and catches your eyes dark with lust already surveying his person.

It should embarrass you, that every time he peers your way, he catches you gaping at him like a lovesick puppy, but there’s something about Logan you can’t quite put your finger on. The man heats your blood like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, maybe it’s that torch you’ve carried for him since girlhood, maybe it’s the thick thighs you’d kill to ride – who can say for sure?

In what you assume is against his better judgement, he comes to perch on the booth beside you. His broad shoulders cast an imposing figure as he gets close enough that if you were to move your hand a couple of inches to the right, you’d finally be able to touch that yellow fabric that plagued your tween dreams.

You’re burning up at the thought of him, unable to stop yourself you part your legs slightly to ease some of the pressure. Logans nose twitches, his head swivels your way and his eyes catch your own.  

Welp - at least you have your answer about him smelling your arousal.

Deciding that you were most likely verging on sexual harassment charges you decided to focus back in on the task at hand, gagging once again at another spoonful of spam.

“Be a good girl and swallow, Y/N/N, you know the rules!” Wade jokes, your chortle was your only response. What could you say? He always hit your funny bone despite the ocean that was raging in your panties.

Logan stares at Wade for a long moment before turning to your way and addressing you for maybe only the fourth time today?

“What are you doing with this fucking clown? You his sidekick? Following him round to laugh at his stupid fucking jokes whilst he gets kids killed?”

“Why I have never.” Wade is faux outraged at his words, clutching his imaginary pearls as the Wolverine throws around accusations that aren’t entirely untrue.

The Wolverine’s expression remains stern as his eyes track your face. They seem to be evaluating your character and from the flare in his nose and crease in his brow you can guess he finds you lacking. You’re embarrassed to admit how much that deflates you, so you do what you do best; you deflect.

 “I could follow you around and laugh at your jokes instead, if you like?” When you speak your voice has a sultry edge to it and there’s no mistaking your intentions.

Logan seems to think on your proposition for a second or two, before he huffs grabs his rubbing alcohol and unopened can of Spam and heads over to sit at the bar.

“Holy hot ham and cheese on rye, Y/N, you fucking slut.” Wade berates you though his voice is as light as it’s always been as he boots your shin under the table. “Trying to your holes filled by Wolvie during a world saving mission, Marvel H Christ, stay on fucking task!”

You swear you hear Logan mutter a Jesus Christ from the bar.

Though as Wade continues irritating the hero hunched against bar, you can’t help the realisation that he didn’t say no.

“You’re uh… well regarded in our world.” Wade complements, being real doesn’t come easy to him. You appreciate the effort.

“Well, I’m not shit in mine.”

“I tried to join the X-Men because of you.” You speak up finally joining their conversation. Wolverine’s back goes rigid, but he doesn’t respond. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to continue or hoping you’ll stop. “You made a difference to this world, made me think I could do the same. I just never quite make the cut.”

Logan doesn’t seem to have a response.

It seems your words have an effect as you catch him watching you more often. When Wade makes his jokes, he looks to you for validation of his withering looks.

You’re probably more distracted by this revelation than you should be when the three of you come across a real nasty variant of Colossus seeking out Wade for… you want to say… revenge?

The not-so-gentle-anymore-giant flips the Honda and tosses both Wade and Logan through the treeline as they advance on him as if they were little more than toys his mother had asked him to pick up.

One by one your bullets ricochet from his metal skin as he comes towards you. You aren’t built for this fight; you are completely and utterly outmatched.

All you’re doing at this point is buying yourself some time for your backup to pull themselves from the rubble, however during a particularly spirited cartwheel the metal oaf finally gets his hands on you. Colossus’ metal palm is cold on your throat, and you could swear you hear your neck snapping before you feel it.  

With a gasp you return to life to find a slightly dishevelled Logan standing above you. By the grace of god, his sleeves have been worn away in the fight, his arms, oh sweet lord, his arms are on full display.

“Thought you were a goner.” He offers you a hand when you simply stare mutely his way. Locking your fingers around his wrist he pulls you to your feet. You don’t release your hold on him and neither does he.

“Don’t throw the party just yet, eh?” You joke weakly, for a second you could swear there’s a slight raise of the corner of his mouth, imperceptible, if you didn’t know what you were looking for. In the past few hours you had become an expert on Wolverine’s face.  

Your mouth is dry as you take in his thick sweat laden biceps.

“Where’s Wade?” You query whilst rolling your aching neck as you haven’t heard his voice in a record thirty seconds, Logan suddenly remembers himself and drops your hand.

“’fraid Metal man took your clown, was pissed with him and can’t say I blame the guy.”

“Shit.” You sigh rubbing your temples as you kneel to pick up the dismembered arm of your best friend. “Well – fuck. That’ll take him a few hours at least to grow back – He’ll be so sad about his suit.”

You peel the fabric from the limb and tuck it under the breast plate of your own suit. Wade will want his glove back when it grows back.

“He say where he was taking him?”

“Oh yeah, that along with his plan for world domination...” Logan huffs as if your mere presence annoys him.

“Thought you didn’t like sarcasm.”

“I like sarcasm just fine, Bub. It’s you I don’t like.” You can’t help but smile his way at the comment made at your expense, his brows crease. “You’re a strange one.”

“Can you do your sniffy thing?”  Its impressive, you thought he’d reached the limit with his scathing looks towards Wade, yet he somehow manages to pull a deeper frown out the vault especially for you.

“Sniffy thing?” His words are spoken with such derision, it turns you on a little. You realise that perhaps you are in fact a deeply troubled individual.

“Oh, sorry.” You pretend to clear a frog in your throat. “Please, oh, please, beautiful, handsome Wolverine, please can you locate my bestest pal with your heightened sense of smell?” His face doesn’t break despite your hands clasped in front of your chin.

“You’re just as fucking annoying as that moron.” He huffs “Get in the fucking car, we’ll follow his trail.”

“You can smell him from the car?”

“The blood, Jesus Fucking Christ, there’s a trail of blood.”

“Ah.” Is all you reply as you find your seat in the passenger side and start your own one on one team up with Wolverine. Its not exactly the way you imagined it, but beggars certainly can’t be choosers.

After a few moments of sullen silence, you decide that there’s no time like the present to form a long-lasting bond.

“What’s your world like?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Okay... What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they can save your world? I bet its something boring as fuck, like team-“

“What did you just say?”

“I bet you’re gonna do something boring like-“

“No before that.”

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they save your world?” You question, his sudden interest in your words takes you by surprise as he has been vacant from your conversation.

The breaks suddenly shriek as the car comes to a stop.

“What do you mean if?”

“I…”

“You said they could fix my world. Undo it all, is what you fucking said.”

“I mean I think they can!”

“You fucking liar.” The edge to The Wolverine’s voice is terrifying. The realisation trickles down your spine, Logan has been nice to you all this time, you’re finally meeting The Wolverine.

“I didn’t lie!” For some reason you’re ashamed of your deceit, you’ve murdered countless people and still, you’ve felt less remorse. Logan’s eyes pin you in your seat as disgust clouds his face. It hurts more than you can fathom. “Not exactly, I think they can fix your world! – I needed your help and if you killed Wade there was no hope for my universe!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about your universe!” He spits your way; his hands are gripping the wheel in what seems like an effort to keep his cool.

“I know, but I do!” You cry back at him. “You know how to save the world, you’re the fucking Wolverine! I know how to kill people, but this hero shit, this isn’t me!”

“Ha! No shit.” There is pure hate in the man’s eyes as he stares back at you.

“Please, you’re Logan. Whether you’re the worst one or not - You’re still better than me.”

“Get out of the fucking car.” The words come from between clenched teeth and are filled with warning.

“No – fuck you.”  Your rage breaks the banks to meet Logan’s. Perhaps it’s the guilt, maybe it’s the fear for Wade but something within you snaps at his constant bad temper. “It was an educated guess and a fucking reasonable one at that, get the fuck over yourself you big bird wannabe geriatric fucker! “

He slams his palms on the steering wheel, his nose flares and his teeth clamp together.  “Fuck me? Fuck you – you sad pathetic excuse for a side-kick. No wonder the X-Men wouldn’t take you, and they’ll take fuckin’ anyone. You are a ridiculous, immature, moron who spends her days following around a fucking clown to avoid facing the reality that you are no one. I have never met a sadder, more attention starved asshole in my entire life. You were right about one thing, you’re no fucking hero.”

Its shameful the way your stomach drops, and your eyes involuntarily begin to tear. To hear your hero say the words you’ve thought about yourself whilst laying awake at night. It’s a knife to the gut.

“Nothing to fucking say, huh, Angel?” The use of Wade’s nickname for you is like sandpaper on your skin, it rubs you the wrong fucking way.

“I am going to hurt you now.” Your voice is barely a broken whisper.

“You’re going to hurt – “His faux chortle is cut short by a swift punch to his face. You’re worried you may have been overzealous with your swing when his nose begins bleeding. The Wolverine is stunned for only a moment before he grabs the back of your neck and proceeds with smashing your face into the dashboard and those concerns are quickly put to bed.

The old fucker is strong, but you don’t think he’ll kill you, yet another educated wish.

“Not so tough now…” He shouts as the radio channels change with your skull. Pulling a knife from your leg strap you embed it in his thigh and pull the lever to recline your seat whilst he’s distracted, luckily, you’re not there when he swings for retribution.

Though one of his fucking steak knives catches your upper arm slicing through the leather. Warm blood trickles down your arm, staining the beige interior of the poor Honda. 

Your legs are your strongest asset, so when he attempts to restrain you with the seatbelt, you are presented with your window of opportunity. You wrap them around his neck as you pivot your hips slamming the Wolverine headfirst into the metal of the door. Once, twice, three times - on the fourth he lands a fist to your gut, luckily, he has retracted his claws.

If he was willing to kill you, you wouldn’t stand a chance.

You’re winded struggling to catch your breath from the gut punch, but you manage pull the knife from his thigh that is nestled between your legs and thrust it into his neck, you aim for the spot you’d fantasied about kissing before he’d torn your character apart piece by piece, now you just want to bathe in his fucking blood.

It was the pain that instantaneously made his claws extend. He’s quick to move them, though he slices through the sides of your suit as he buries them in the chair behind you. Your ribs are a bloodied mess though you don’t care, in a few hours they’ll be good as new.

Logan has seized the opportunity and has your arms pinned to your sides, his blood has cooled a little more than yours, he doesn’t seem to want to murder you over an argument.

Perhaps he’s more well-adjusted than yourself, that thought alone should concern you, except it just enrages you further.

“You stupid fuckin-“The Wolverine starts admonishing you, before you swing your head forward and headbutt him.

Yes.

You really do that.

You headbutt the man with the adamantium fucking skeleton– at full strength. Its sheer dumb luck you don’t crack your own skull in the process– maybe Logan was right, you are fucking dumb.

“Fucking fuck!” You cry grabbing your forehead and writhing. Noone wins with a headbutt, except Logan apparently.

“Fucking stop that.” Your writhing has pushed your core against his crotch, and he is already packing quite the heat at what feels like half-mast. He grabs your hips to stop your movement, but it only seems to push you closer. “Stop fucking moving.”

The constant arousal you’ve felt since meeting him returns in double time, Logan’s nostrils flare and his eyes darken. It’s debased and you’re ashamed that you want him, you haven’t stopped wanting him, despite the awful fucking words that left his mouth minutes ago.

“Like … a little pain Wolvie?”

Its relief you feel, you think, when instead of answering or punching you in the face, he closes the gap.

The Wolverine’s claws retract, and he grabs at your chin. Logan’s mouth utterly devours your own, your front tooth clashes with his own as you push yourself upwards, you pull your knife out of his neck, catching his grunt of pain on your tongue as you begin licking your way down his thick throat.

The vein you’d spotted hours ago is throbbing freshly healed, you sink your canines into the flesh and its as good as you’d fucking imagine. His groan is utterly beast-like as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

The Wolverine’s throat tastes like salt and iron. Thick, tangy and warm on your tongue as you soothe the bite. It drives Logan wild, thrusting his hardened member against your warmth. One of his gloved hands rises to lock on the back of your neck to pull you into yet another earth-shattering kiss.  His sharp hot tongue slides against your own, exploring the expanses of your mouth like its his to claim.

You bite at him again then, your teeth catching his bottom lip sharply.  Logan groans into your mouth before you use every ounce of your enhanced strength to throw him backwards against the dashboard.

He is taken utterly by surprise as his head slams into the windscreen cracking the glass with a grunt. When he looks your way Logan’s eyes are blackened with desire, he is utterly wild.

Slowly as if afraid to make any sudden moves, you unzip your combat boots, your eyes never leaving his. One boot and then the next.

You thank the TVA’s tailor for making your suit a two piece as you shuffle backwards into the backseat, pushing the thick leather down your legs all whilst maintaining eye contact with the beast leaning against the dashboard.

“You sure you want this Darlin’?”

“Darlin’?” You question mockingly, your voice lowering to imitate his own, as you wantonly spread your legs, your bare leg resting next to the headrest. Only a pair of black cotton panties separate him from your most intimate parts and his eyes are locked on your clothed core. “a second ago it was ‘Pathetic Moron’ to you.”

Your head tilts in question as his eyes lock back on your own, you think perhaps for a moment something akin to regret passes over his face, but you’ve never been entirely comfortable with feelings, so you drop your hand into the waistband of your panties, you’ve barely circled your opening with your pointer finger before he’s on you.

“That’s my job, you fucking Moron.” He plunges two bare thick fingers into your heat. Gasping you throw your head back against the headrest, it’s a tight fit and its been a while but the slight burn eases some of the aching in your core.  “You’re fuckin’ soaking wet, you like it huh, bub? Making me bleed?”

Your grab his jaw, your nails digging into his flesh. “I’d like to bathe in-” He scissors his fingers finding that spot inside you and you let out an embarrassing noise, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. “-Your fucking blood… you mean motherfucker.”

You’re an absolute goner when he starts rubbing your clit, after a day of foreplay your body seizes, and you grab at the nape of his neck trying to find something to anchor you down. But as fast as the build was you come tumbling down just as quickly, when he cruelly withdraws his hands.

“No! - Wha- what the fuck?!” You’re almost crying as your torn from the precipice.

Logan flips you over onto your stomach before you can complain any further, your face down on the filthy upholstery as he pulls your panties from your hips. You can’t see him from this angle, though you can feel his warm hands tracing the globes of your ass.

You force your knees further apart, pushing your bare soaking pussy against the tight bulge of his yellow suit. If you had enough of your facilities about you, you’d be embarrassed that you’re currently rubbing your cunt against The Wolverine like a bitch in heat after he’d chewed you out only minutes ago.

Logan’s hand dip between your thighs, his fingers swirl along your hole, dragging your wetness along to your aching clit.

“You think I’d make it that easy?” He asks as he continues the journey back and forth. On the second pass he dips his finger inside of you for a fraction of a second before resuming its path. “What do you want, darlin’?”

You weren’t going to beg, in fact you bit your tongue to stop the traitorous words from forming, this man had already made you abandon most of your self-respect, he wasn’t having this.

“Logan…” At your breathy words the man leans forward, pressing his fabric covered cock into your ass as he folds his body over yours. One hand comes down next to your shoulder, the other explore your tits as he rocks himself into your throbbing core. It’s the perfect storm as he nuzzles into your exposed throat but somehow you manage your words. “Fuck me or don’t, I’m not begging, bub.”

He exhales through his nose in what you guess is equal parts amusement and annoyance, but you’re far beyond caring. He places a bite on the spot where your throat meets your shoulder as his body pulls back. Momentarily his hands leave your hips to deal with his own pants. You hear the clank of his belt hitting the car floor moments before you feel the head of his cock, running along your folds.

The head of his cock is thick, and it feels hot to the touch as he runs it along your slick. All of a sudden Logan pushes forward and sheathes himself inside of you with a single thrust.

You try your best to hold in your incoherent moans but to little avail as he pulls back before slamming full force back into you. If you were a human woman, your pelvis would’ve shattered from the force of his hips against your ass, instead you gather your strength and push back, allowing him deeper. The both of you moan in unison at the depth he reaches.

You grab onto the foam of the seat, ripping through the fabric with your bare hands desperate for an anchor as Logan unforgivingly pounds into you from behind, once again he folds his body over yours, wrapping a palm around your clawed fingers.

“.” He grunts something incoherent into your ear as he picks up the pace, slamming into you repeatedly, slowly picking up his pace. Your core is positively aching as you throb around him, pulling him deeper within you.  If you were expecting any further explanation, you’re sorely disappointed.

The wolverine pulls back, gripping at your hips keeping you still as he resumes his powerful strokes.  Logan’s hand dips to your clit, rubbing quick circles sending you barrelling back towards your orgasm. As you begin to clench around him, he pulls your body upwards, his head brushing against the top of the car as he holds you against him his fingers never leaving your clit.

“Come on my cock, Angel.” Unable to stop yourself you clench around him, hearing him talk like that does something primal to you.

You fucking loved Logan’s mouth, you bet he ate pussy like a champion if he played the clit this fucking well.

You stopped fighting it and threw yourself from the cliff, shattering in his thick muscle veined arms as he held you up against him, his cock still viciously plundering your depths.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He whispers against your neck whispers peppering it with bites.

Logan gives you a few moments to come down from your high before he resumes his punishing pace, you think perhaps you’ve reached your limit of pleasure, that the threshold can’t possibly be topped until he whispers into your ear in that gruff voice.

“What was it Wilson said? Filling all your holes?” The Wolverine asks, his eyes meet yours over your shoulder meaningfully, asking permission as he offers you his thumb. You merely moan your approval and wantonly draw his finger into your mouth, soaking the pad in saliva.  

Logan yanks your head into a vicious kiss. It’s a messy one, filled to the brim with need. The hand not currently locked on your neck holding your face to his, travels down your back, through the valley of your bodies. The pad of his pinky runs appreciatively over the globe of your ass, before his hand dips into the crease.

Logan’s thumb runs teasingly against the tight ring of muscle, it’s a foreign experience which makes you startle slightly.

“Anyone ever fucked you here?” He asks as he bites down your neck, delicately pushing you forward until your head rests on the backseat. You shake your head as your eyes close, his cock is buried balls deep within you as he plays with your asshole.

When his thumb finally breaches your tight hole just past the nail, he begins his thrusts once more. His cock fills your pussy from behind and suddenly you feel so fucking full, Its far too much for you.

“Fuck… Logan.” You gasp almost on the verge of tears as pounds you into the back seat. It seems the ass play has gotten to him more than expected, as his pace has increases.

“Where?” He asks breathless from the exertion as he pulls his thumbs from your ass and takes a handful of the meat on your hips.

“Inside…. Please … Logan.” You practically beg though you’ll never admit it, his rhythm becomes stunted as his hips slam into the back of your thighs.

“Give me something tight to come in, Darlin’.” Moaning at his words you’re eager to obey as you reach your hand between your own legs and rub mercilessly at your clit. The unforgiving pounding, the grunting and the fingers currently bruising your hips and the burning of your now vacant ass send you sailing over the edge.

You clamp down on him like a vice, groaning unable to hold back your whimpers anymore as he finally bites your neck and pumps his seed deep inside you as far as it can go. Logan grunts like a beast as he pulses deep inside of you.

Logan collapses beside you. Dents in the interior of the van you don’t even remember making have appeared from where a stray elbow or knee has hit the metal in the throes of passion.

The Wolverine tucks his cock back in his suit. Ever the gentleman, he uses your black panties to wipe away the cum dripping from your thighs, you haven’t got the heart to tell him that when you’re commando redressed in your suit that you can still feel him dripping from you, your pussy uncomfortably slick against the leather.

After dressing, the two of you sit in contemplative silence. Neither one of you has the emotional complexity to discuss what happened and neither one of you will accept fault for your argument that led to it, so, silence reigns.

The tension is sliced in two as Logan leans forward and pushes an errant lock of hair behind your ear in an act so goddamn endearing, you melt. You still wouldn’t apologise for lying, because you didn’t lie but you can meet him a quarter of the way.

“I’m sorry for calling you geriatric.” You whisper catching his eyes, a small spark of humour leaps into them, you’ve seen more emotions from your hero in the past half an hour than you knew he was capable of.

“I shouldn’t have-“ Logan’s heartfelt apology is cut off by the lead of this goddamn story.

“Well, well, well.  Would you look at this, My best friends, Ha! I get fucking kidnapped, an arm ripped off and you’re nowhere to be found? I thought don’t worry Wade, they won’t leave you, Y/N/N will come around that corner any second."

Wade has appeared through the passenger side window; he looks a little worse for wear and has a child’s arm growing from his stump, its kind of gross to look at.

"What if Colossus had had his way with me? What then Y/N? I expect this from Wolvie, but not from you! No, no heroic rescue for old Deadpool. I have to save myself because you fuckers are too busy playing hide the adamantium bone!  Thanks for nothing guys. Now the car has old man sex stank to it, as if this hunk of shit Honda could get any worse!”

[tonycries]

Wanna Do Bad Things To You

Synopsis. He fucks you like he hates you. You didn’t mean to fuck your old friend-with-benefits - truly - it just kinda happened.

Pairing. Multiple x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Reader, hate sex, ex-friends-with-benefits, slight angst, he’s still in love with you,  unprotected sex, jealous sex (from his side), choking, marking, pet names (my love, sweetheart), swearing.

Word count. 1.5k

A/N. Ummmmmmmm yeah. Art by @_3eam on X.

He fucks you like he hates you.

“Shut the fuck up, you little slut.”

“Do it then. What? Scared he’ll do it bet-”

Cut off by a pathetic gurgle - his large hand around your throat. Ringed fingers tightening right above your pulse, the cold metal digging into your searing skin. 

Your vision is bleary, blood roaring in your ears as he leans down, muscled front against your back. His breath is hot against your face as he whispers lowly, “Running your mouth a bit too much, my love. You do the same with him as well?”

Shivers run down your spine - all the way to your cunt, pulsing and clenching furiously around his throbbing tip. Teasing your dripping entrance. Unmoving.

Your walls burn, struggling at the stretch of his thick head, yet still wanting the bastard to fucking move. Such a fucking tease. He was always like this - even back when you two were together, but that’s a story for another time.

Turning to glare at him over your shoulder, “So what if I do? Who are you to tell me what to do?”

You’re either an idiot or a mastermind. 

Maybe both. Because you feel his achingly hard cock twitch animalistically inside you, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across those kiss-bitten lips you knew too well. You hated how much you wanted them on yours right now. 

“You’re right. I’m not anyone to you.” he murmurs venomously, swiftly capturing the tender skin of your exposed neck, sharp teeth digging into you. Branding you. 

You keen, hips bucking uselessly against his bruising grip on your hips as he pulls away. God, you felt so used - and it made your walls flutter around him so desperately. 

Two long fingers reach up to squeeze your cheeks together mockingly into a pathetic pout, forcing you to look at him. “But I’m gonna ruin you for everyone. Including that little prick you’ve tried to replace me with.”

Your eyes flutter open in shock - you didn’t even realize they were scrunched up - getting lost in the ones boring into yours, half-lidded and pupils blown ferally. Electricity jolts through your body at the pure lust and rage whirling in his intense gaze. 

You two were going to be the deaths of each other.

You two were always going to end up like this.

You’ve barely even finished the thought before his flushed tip is kissing your cervix so painfully good. 

“Hah- Oh, fuck. Fuck you.” Eyes rolling to the back of your head as he sheaths himself completely in you. A low hiss leaves his swollen lips as he pulls out agonizingly slow, inch by inch, prominent veins dragging along your g-spot. 

“Fuck, you sure you hate me? Because this pussy seems like she can’t get enough of me, hm?”

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue is cut off by his rock-hard cock bullying its way back into your snug cunt. He fucks you animalistically, heavy balls stinging your pussy as his cock rams in and out of your hole over and over at a relentless pace. 

Strangled mewls of ah! ah! ah! leave your swollen lips as large fingers presses tight circles into your clit at a merciless rhythm matching the cadence of his hips. 

You mindlessly writhe against him, you felt so full - so split open on his cock. It was too much to handle. He was always too much to take. 

“Now now, don’t hah- run away from me, my love. If you’re going to act like such a fucking slut then take it like one.” he purrs, lip curling into a smug smirk that you wanted to smack off his pretty face. You couldn’t stand him - but you couldn’t get enough of him either.

“I’m not the hah- o-one that runs away. And- hngh- I’m not your ‘love’” you grit, because God forbid you go down without a fight - even when you’re falling apart completely under him.

What else could he have even expected? You always did see through him.

God, did he love that bitchy mouth of yours. 

Huffing out a surprised laugh, he wraps a strong arm around your waist pulling you deeper onto his throbbing cock - grip hard enough that he knows you’ll have marks to remember him by. Not like he planned on letting you ever forget him in the first place.

“You always did know how to push my buttons, huh, my love?” 

“Could say the same for you, sweetheart.”

Fuck that stupid fucking petname. How is it that even after years of not hearing it, his heart still lurches the same as it falls out of your mouth? That annoying, nagging part of his brain wonders if you call him the same thing.

And maybe you could read minds - he wouldn’t be surprised - because you open those pretty lips to say “Though, you’re not my sweetheart anymore, huh?”

Unexplainable anger seethes under his skin in a way that makes him want to claw it off. 

“Fuck you.” he hisses, turning your face so his mouth clashes with yours. It’s all bruising urgency and teeth clashing at the breathless dance of your tongues. 

His cock speeds up it’s abuse on your cunt, fucking you with impatient, harsh thrusts that have his leaking tip kissing your cervix. Had it not been for his firm hand around your throat, you were sure you’d have been slammed into the headboard creaking in protest.

“You drive me fucking insane. Fuck you.”

He hates the whines of his name falling from your kiss-bitten lips, and how it’s his favorite song.

He hates the tears clinging to your lashes in a way that makes him want to burn down anything that made you cry. Including himself.

He hates the way your cunt clamps down on him as if it hurts to part - he wishes you felt the same.

He hates the way he can’t let you go.

You were perfect, so perfect. Too perfect for him. He was probably better for you - all stability and reassurance where he is nothing but a whirlwind of change. 

In one, fluid move, he’s pulled out of the snug heaven of your dripping cunt - flipping you onto your back to stare into those beautiful eyes that haunt him every night. 

"Let's forget everything else, if just for tonight."

And with those words, he’s back inside you again, ramming into you with purpose. Though his thrusts are as unforgiving as ever, something about the air feels charged with something different. A rawness that both of you would have shied away from. 

“Th-this doesn’t hngh- fix us, y’know.”

“I know, my love.”

His low words muffled as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, kissing the bite mark with a tenderness that doesn’t translate into his hips. And you can’t overthink it - because your head is only filled with him and the way your cunt is milking his thick cock so good. 

And later you’ll probably blame your foggy thoughts for the reason why your hands subconsciously wrap around his muscled shoulders, pulling him so impossibly close until you can feel his heartbeat thundering under your touch - in sync with your own. One. Two. Three.

“Ah! Shit. Doing so good, cunt made jus’ f’me. You’re made jus’ f’me.” choked moans leave his throat as he pulls away ever-so-slightly to look into your fucked out eyes. 

“Perfect f’me, my love.”

Maybe at his words - or maybe at his predatory, blown-out gaze - you buck your hips to desperately meet his. Breathless moans of his name leaving your bruised lips.

With a final, purposeful thrust of his cock, he pulls you once more into a familiar, searing kiss that sends you both over the edge. You see stars as you cum, mind barely registering the thick ropes of his seed that fill your quivering cunt.

A low groan leaves him as his cum forms a thick, white ring around his base, dripping down your legs and onto the bedsheets that he knew were your favorite. It was feral - and at least for this moment, it made him feel like yours. 

Some carnal part of him keeps bucking his hips into you as if on instinct, letting you ride out your highs together. Fucking his cum deeper and deeper the way he would as lovers, his strong arms wrapped around you to keep you from moving away. But he didn’t have to, because right now you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Keeping you close. As if he never wanted to let go - both of your bodies a mindless whisper of what your minds craved. 

A delicate intimacy that only your bodies could bring rings in the sex-filled air. And when he finally stops, body collapsing onto yours - he whispers a secret. Meant for only the two of you in this quiet world.

“Fuck me like you still love me.”

Because by God was he in love with you.

- Gojo, TOJI, SUGURU, Atsumu, SUNA, Tsukishima, SAKUSA, EREN

A/N. Maybe I’ll do some fluff next week to make up for this…

Plagiarism not authorized.

[onismdaydream]

⋅˚₊‧ PEACHES AND CREAM !

ASS OR TITS — everyone's got a preference and they make it known whenever they fuck you.

ft..!: t. fushiguro, y. itadori, i. takuma, n. zen'in, m. zen'in | s. gojo, s. ieiri, y. okkotsu, s. kong | r. sukuna, s. geto, k. nanami | m. fushiguro, h. higuruma | c. kamo

warnings..!: MDNI. fem/afab reader. aged up characters. penetrative sex. no protection. dry humping. rough sex. titjob. double penetration. thigh fucking. oral (m and f rec.) pet names. not proofread.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

it's an easy answer for him, what with the way his large hands always end up kneading and grabbing the fat of your ass. the soft flesh raw and red, the print of his palm practically branded on you.

“fuck, angel,” he grunts, voice gravelly and making you flutter around his length. “she’s gripping me like a vice.”

“tojiii,” you whine, drool dribbling from your mouth and soaking the sheet beneath you. it's hard to do anything other than follow his pace, your ass moving back to meet his thrusts, punching out more lewd sounds from your lips. his cock makes you dumb —something he likes to tease you about — but who could blame you when he fucks you so good?

“i know, baby. can't think straight, huh?” he squeezes your cheeks roughly, spreading them to watch the way your pussy sucks him in. his thumb brushes against your rim, pushing slightly but not yet breaching. “gonna fuck this tight hole next.”

YUJI ITADORI

he groans softly next to your ear, his broad chest against your back and strong arms holding you close. soft lips press sloppy and wet kisses along your neck, drawing out sighs from your beautiful mouth. yuji’s hips thrust forward, his thick bulge twitching even underneath the layers of clothes.

“you feel so good,” his voice is breathy, shaky almost, like he's fighting to stay in control. “fuck, ‘m not even inside you and ‘m gonna cum.”

your ass feels amazing against him, soft and firm as he grinds, his cock trapped between your bodies. his hands move along your skin, one of them slipping under the band of your shorts, his warm fingers rubbing along your slit. he gathers the slick leaking from you and massages your throbbing clit.

the moans you make are music to his ears.

“wan’ you to cum, baby. wanna cum with you.” yuji urges, the pressure of his touch on your bud increases when he feels you tense. you shudder against him and he spills his load in his underwear.

INO TAKUMA

“fuck,” he hisses, fingers gripping your hips so tightly it's bound to leave bruises. “just like that, baby. keep ridin’ me like that.”

you lean forward, placing your hands next to his legs for better leverage as you bounce up and down on his cock. unfortunately, you couldn't see ino’s expressions, but his words and responses were plenty to assure you that you're doing a perfectly fine job. he encourages you, each breath he takes followed by praise that makes your walls clamp around him.

“shit, gotta—”

you can feel him twitch inside you, the warning dying on his lips as he hurriedly pulls his length out. the wet schlick sounds of a half dozen strokes fill the room before he groans, his cum splattering against the top of your ass.“so pretty.” you hear him mumble, still catching his breath. he runs a thumb through the mess, rubbing the sticky cum into your skin. he likes the idea of you being covered in him.

NAOYA ZEN'IN

“this is how whores should be fucked,” the heel of his shoe digs uncomfortably into your skull, face squishing into the cool tile of the floor, his voice dripping with venom. “like a fuckin’ bitch.”

a sob rips from your throat, but naoya doesn't care. you misbehaved, made a fool of him in front of his clansmen, and this was your punishment. your pussy leaks slick despite your embarrassment and discomfort, forming a puddle underneath you as he thrusts into your tight ass.

“n-naoy—aah!” your lower lip trembles, tears falling freely as a loud smack rings throughout the room, your flesh burning at the sensation.

“i didn't give you permission to speak, bitch.” another spank, this one harder than the last, and you choke out a pathetic cry. he tugs on your wrists, one hand easily keeping a bruising grip behind your back. “i should gag you — wouldn't cause any more trouble for me then.”

MAKI ZEN'IN

fucking you into the mattress was something maki excelled at, one hand on your spine to force you into a perfect arch and make you melt into the bed. the fat of your ass ripples with each snap of her hips, her pace rough and brutal — the perfect way to expend the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

“maki,” your fingers curl around the sheets underneath you, grip tight and turning your knuckles white. “s-slow down, ‘s too much.”

tears stain your cheeks when you turn your head, trying to catch a glimpse of maki behind you, but her eyes are focused elsewhere. her lips are parted, her breathing shallow and short, scarred chest rising and falling quickly. you call out her name again, though it's more of a whine at this point.

dark eyes meet yours, a deep desire swallowing the usual brightness.

“sorry, got distracted.” her pace slows, a more calculated grinding taking its place, weapon calloused hands massaging your ass. that hunger drips into her voice, smooth and predatory. “let me make it up to you.”

SATORU GOJO

his snowy lashes flutter against his flushed cheeks, his mouth slightly open as he pants, a beautiful sight that you never tire of.

“shit,” satoru breathes out, his hips stuttering as he kneels over your chest. “perfect fuckin’ tits. god, it's like they were made f’r me.”

you smile up at him, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you push your breasts together, creating a tight channel for him to rut into. it was no secret that satoru loved your boobs, his hands constantly groping at them no matter where you were. and it was no secret that you loved to make satoru feel good.

his cock slides out, just the tip remaining in the space between your tits, and he spits down on his shaft, making it even more slippery. a shuddering gasp leaves his lips, the muscles in his stomach tightening as he continues his pace.

“yeahhh, that's it. hold it tight for me, angel. w’nna cum on your gorgeous tits.” 

SHOKO IEIRI

“look at you, baby.” the sickly sweet smell of nicotine hangs off shoko’s breath, her lips close to your ear as she stands behind you. “you wear all this just for me?”

you catch her gaze in the mirror, your cheeks warming as her eyes keep drifting down the reflection to take all of you in. her fingers itch to touch you, but she keeps them on your shoulders, prompting you with a hum when you don't answer.

you nod, then, guiding one of her hands to the lacy fabric covering your breasts. a smile quirks at shoko’s lips as she feels the warmth radiating off your skin. her palm engulfs your tit, squeezing it just hard enough to get a soft cry to fall from your mouth.

“you look so beautiful,” her voice is gentle and she pulls you flush against her body, both of her hands holding your chest now. you relax, your head falling back onto her shoulder as her lips press along your neck.

YUTA OKKOTSU

your fingers card through yuta’s silky hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp and eliciting a low groan from him. the vibrations spread through your body, his mouth never leaving your tits for more than a second. his tongue is hot against your skin, licking and messily kissing every inch he can reach.

his cock is throbbing — nearing the verge of painful — as it's trapped beneath him, his hips humping into the mattress in slow rolls. he can feel the precum soaking into his pants, making everything sticky and even more uncomfortable, but he's far too engrossed in the quiet moans and soft sighs leaving your lips to care.

“yuta,” you cry out when his teeth scrape against your sensitive nipple. your own hips buck up into his body and your fingers tighten their hold in his hair, pulling on his dark locks.

thick precum blurts from his cock, dirtying himself even more, and making his body tremble.

SHUI KONG

“that’s it, doll,” an easy smile pulls at the corner of his lips, eyes half lidded as he watches you grind on his lap. “keep moving just like this.”

shui’s hands rest on your body, one of them covering the fat of your tit, thumb brushing over your stiffening nipple. you roll your hips slowly, sensually, his thick tip dragging against that spongy spot inside you. his gaze flickers between your face and your chest, wanting to see the fucked out expression that he quickly became addicted to, but also craving the sight of your tits moving so beautifully. it should be criminal, really, just how flawless those tits of yours are.

“think you can bounce for me, baby? ride my cock and show me your perfect tits?”

fingers drifting down to grip your hips, shui groans softly when you start to move, the walls of your cunt squeezing him tight and your breasts following your motions.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

your nails claw at every part of him you can reach, leaving trails of red in their wake, marking his skin as you cry out. it's so much — too much — for you to handle, but sukuna grinds his hips forward regardless. you feel like you are being ripped apart, his thick cockheads breaching your dripping hole.

“s’kuna,” you hiccup, tears freely flowing down your cheeks as he sinks another inch in. it hurt. “‘s too much.”

“quiet, brat,” his large figure looms over you and you feel even smaller than before. “you asked for this, so take it.” 

a harsh smack to your clit makes your body jolt, slick dribbling from your pussy as it's stretched to its limits. your cunt feels impossibly tighter around sukuna, squeezing and fighting against the intrusions of his cocks, your walls twitching with every rough thrust.

sukuna isn't going to stop until he fills you to the brim, both with his cocks and his cum.

SUGURU GETO

suguru has the patience of a man that you've never witnessed, willing to draw out your own pleasure to ensure you see stars before he even thinks about himself. he takes pride in the way he can make you fall apart with just his mouth and he will spend hours in between your legs if you let him, tongue lapping at your dripping slit.

a broken moan of his name spills from your mouth as he pushes you over the edge for the second time, his large hands on your thighs to keep you from squirming away. your essence coats the bottom half of his face, his pretty lips shining with slick and cum.

“did so good for me, baby.” your legs are shaking still, but suguru finds his place again, teasing your sensitive skin with featherlight kisses. “gimme one more and then i’ll give you a break.”

you want to protest — want to push his head away before you pass out — but your hips still cant towards his mouth and you feel him smile against you.

KENTO NANAMI

his breath is hot against your skin, forehead pressing to yours as you both pant and moan into each other's mouth. you're folded in half, your legs being pushed by kento’s chest as he fucks you deep and hard. you swear you could feel him in your throat, his cockhead practically bruising your cervix — but you're not one to complain.

“kento,” you mewl, voice going high as he grinds his hips, his body weight resting on top of you to keep you still. every breath is punched out of your lungs and all you can suck in is him.

nanami couldn't pull out even if he wanted to, your pussy wrapping around his length so tightly. and you're so warm and wet, too, making the sound of your cunt getting fucked echo around the bedroom.

“you feel amazing, angel,” a whisper of praise that he kisses into your mouth, pulling a sweet whine from you. “so perfect for me.”

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

“oh, fuck,” he pants, squeezing his eyes shut as his hips stutter, trying to keep himself from orgasming too soon. your thighs are sticky with a mix of his precum and the overly generous amount of lube used, making his thrusts between your legs an easy glide. megumi’s fingers flex on top of your knees, your calves resting over his shoulders.

a shudder works through his body as your fingers brush against his leaking tip, eyebrows pinching together, climax threatening to wash over him.

“‘m gonna cum if you keep doing that.” it's meant to be a warning, but you take it as an invitation.

with a bitten back smile, you flex your thighs, tightening around him just as he starts to slowly grind his hips forward.

“yeah? gonna cum all over my thighs, megumi?” you tease and feel his grip on you increase to the point where there's no doubt you'll have bruises later. he groans in response, humping into you as he chases the feeling.

HIROMI HIGURUMA

hiromi’s nose brushes across your wet lips, settling into the space where your thigh meets your mound. his teeth graze against the sensitive skin and you close your legs on instinct, momentarily trapping your lover’s head. he doesn't mind, though — far from it. he’d happily suffocate in between your plush thighs.

his fingers grab onto your flesh, forcing your legs open once again. your chest heaves, clit throbbing and swollen as hiromi neglects where you need him most.

a quiet whine leaves your lips, brows pinching together as you struggle to stay still, the urge to hump his face growing stronger and stronger.

“patience, darling,” his voice is smooth, lips placing sweet kisses along the expanse of your thighs. “let me worship you.”

he takes his time, thoroughly covering every inch of your skin with his love. gentle nips and harsh sucks and soothing licks, leading to blooming bruises and love bites. a reminder to himself that you are his as he is yours.

CHOSO KAMO

his hand covers his mouth, muffling the sounds that threaten to fill the room and get the two of you caught. choso promised he would be quiet, begged you so sweetly to help him with his erection, and he doesn't plan on going back on his word. but it proves to be nearly impossible with the way your tongue slides along his length, your cheeks hollowing to provide the suction that makes his knees weak.

tears prick at your lash line as you take him as far as you can, his thick tip nudging against the back of your throat. a mixture of drool and precum spills from your spread lips, mouth aching from the stretch of his cock.

choso whines softly, biting his lower lip to stifle the noise as he moves his hands to brace himself on the wall behind you. you could feel his cock twitch, taste the salty precum that slides down your throat, see his abdomen flex — he's close.

and you love watching him fall apart above you.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

“Disenshittify or Die”

I'm coming to BURNING MAN! On TUESDAY (Aug 27) at 1PM, I'm giving a talk called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE!" at PALENQUE NORTE (7&E). On WEDNESDAY (Aug 28) at NOON, I'm doing a "Talking Caterpillar" Q&A at LIMINAL LABS (830&C).

Last weekend, I traveled to Las Vegas for Defcon 32, where I had the immense privilege of giving a solo talk on Track 1, entitled "Disenshittify or die! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification":

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=54861

This was a followup to last year's talk, "An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet's Enshittification," a talk that kicked off a lot of international interest in my analysis of platform decay ("enshittification"):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rimtaSgGz_4

The Defcon organizers have earned a restful week or two, and that means that the video of my talk hasn't yet been posted to Defcon's Youtube channel, so in the meantime, I thought I'd post a lightly edited version of my speech crib. If you're headed to Burning Man, you can hear me reprise this talk at Palenque Norte (7&E); I'm kicking off their lecture series on Tuesday, Aug 27 at 1PM.

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What the fuck happened to the old, good internet?

I mean, sure, our bosses were a little surveillance-happy, and they were usually up for sharing their data with the NSA, and whenever there was a tossup between user security and growth, it was always YOLO time.

But Google Search used to work. Facebook used to show you posts from people you followed. Uber used to be cheaper than a taxi and pay the driver more than a cabbie made. Amazon used to sell products, not Shein-grade self-destructing dropshipped garbage from all-consonant brands. Apple used to defend your privacy, rather than spying on you with your no-modifications-allowed Iphone.

There was a time when you searching for an album on Spotify would get you that album – not a playlist of insipid AI-generated covers with the same name and art.

Microsoft used to sell you software – sure, it was buggy – but now they just let you access apps in the cloud, so they can watch how you use those apps and strip the features you use the most out of the basic tier and turn them into an upcharge.

What – and I cannot stress this enough – the fuck happened?!

I’m talking about enshittification.

Here’s what enshittification looks like from the outside: First, you see a company that’s being good to its end users. Google puts the best search results at the top; Facebook shows you a feed of posts from people and groups you followl; Uber charges small dollars for a cab; Amazon subsidizes goods and returns and shipping and puts the best match for your product search at the top of the page.

That’s stage one, being good to end users. But there’s another part of this stage, call it stage 1a). That’s figuring out how to lock in those users.

There’s so many ways to lock in users.

If you’re Facebook, the users do it for you. You joined Facebook because there were people there you wanted to hang out with, and other people joined Facebook to hang out with you.

That’s the old “network effects” in action, and with network effects come “the collective action problem." Because you love your friends, but goddamn are they a pain in the ass! You all agree that FB sucks, sure, but can you all agree on when it’s time to leave?

No way.

Can you agree on where to go next?

Hell no.

You’re there because that’s where the support group for your rare disease hangs out, and your bestie is there because that’s where they talk with the people in the country they moved away from, then there’s that friend who coordinates their kid’s little league car pools on FB, and the best dungeon master you know isn’t gonna leave FB because that’s where her customers are.

So you’re stuck, because even though FB use comes at a high cost – your privacy, your dignity and your sanity – that’s still less than the switching cost you’d have to bear if you left: namely, all those friends who have taken you hostage, and whom you are holding hostage

Now, sometimes companies lock you in with money, like Amazon getting you to prepay for a year’s shipping with Prime, or to buy your Audible books on a monthly subscription, which virtually guarantees that every shopping search will start on Amazon, after all, you’ve already paid for it.

Sometimes, they lock you in with DRM, like HP selling you a printer with four ink cartridges filled with fluid that retails for more than $10,000/gallon, and using DRM to stop you from refilling any of those ink carts or using a third-party cartridge. So when one cart runs dry, you have to refill it or throw away your investment in the remaining three cartridges and the printer itself.

Sometimes, it’s a grab bag:

You can’t run your Ios apps without Apple hardware;

you can’t run your Apple music, books and movies on anything except an Ios app;

your iPhone uses parts pairing – DRM handshakes between replacement parts and the main system – so you can’t use third-party parts to fix it; and

every OEM iPhone part has a microscopic Apple logo engraved on it, so Apple can demand that the US Customs and Border Service seize any shipment of refurb Iphone parts as trademark violations.

Think Different, amirite?

Getting you locked in completes phase one of the enshittification cycle and signals the start of phase two: making things worse for you to make things better for business customers.

For example, a platform might poison its search results, like Google selling more and more of its results pages to ads that are identified with lighter and lighter tinier and tinier type.

Or Amazon selling off search results and calling it an “ad” business. They make $38b/year on this scam. The first result for your search is, on average, 29% more expensive than the best match for your search. The first row is 25% more expensive than the best match. On average, the best match for your search is likely to be found seventeen places down on the results page.

Other platforms sell off your feed, like Facebook, which started off showing you the things you asked to see, but now the quantum of content from the people you follow has dwindled to a homeopathic residue, leaving a void that Facebook fills with things that people pay to show you: boosted posts from publishers you haven’t subscribed to, and, of course, ads.

Now at this point you might be thinking ‘sure, if you’re not paying for the product, you’re the product.'

Bullshit!

Bull.

Shit.

The people who buy those Google ads? They pay more every year for worse ad-targeting and more ad-fraud

Those publishers paying to nonconsensually cram their content into your Facebook feed? They have to do that because FB suppresses their ability to reach the people who actually subscribed to them

The Amazon sellers with the best match for your query have to outbid everyone else just to show up on the first page of results. It costs so much to sell on Amazon that between 45-51% of every dollar an independent seller brings in has to be kicked up to Don Bezos and the Amazon crime family. Those sellers don’t have the kind of margins that let them pay 51% They have to raise prices in order to avoid losing money on every sale.

"But wait!" I hear you say!

[Come on, say it!]

"But wait! Things on Amazon aren’t more expensive that things at Target, or Walmart, or at a mom and pop store, or direct from the manufacturer.

"How can sellers be raising prices on Amazon if the price at Amazon is the same as at is everywhere else?"

[Any guesses?!]

That’s right, they charge more everywhere. They have to. Amazon binds its sellers to a policy called “most favored nation status,” which says they can’t charge more on Amazon than they charge elsewhere, including direct from their own factory store.

So every seller that wants to sell on Amazon has to raise their prices everywhere else.

Now, these sellers are Amazon’s best customers. They’re paying for the product, and they’re still getting screwed.

Paying for the product doesn’t fill your vapid boss’s shriveled heart with so much joy that he decides to stop trying to think of ways to fuck you over.

Look at Apple. Remember when Apple offered every Ios user a one-click opt out for app-based surveillance? And 96% of users clicked that box?

(The other four percent were either drunk or Facebook employees or drunk Facebook employees.)

That cost Facebook at least ten billion dollars per year in lost surveillance revenue?

I mean, you love to see it.

But did you know that at the same time Apple started spying on Ios users in the same way that Facebook had been, for surveillance data to use to target users for its competing advertising product?

Your Iphone isn’t an ad-supported gimme. You paid a thousand fucking dollars for that distraction rectangle in your pocket, and you’re still the product. What’s more, Apple has rigged Ios so that you can’t mod the OS to block its spying.

If you’re not not paying for the product, you’re the product, and if you are paying for the product, you’re still the product.

Just ask the farmers who are expected to swap parts into their own busted half-million dollar, mission-critical tractors, but can’t actually use those parts until a technician charges them $200 to drive out to the farm and type a parts pairing unlock code into their console.

John Deere’s not giving away tractors. Give John Deere a half mil for a tractor and you will be the product.

Please, my brothers and sisters in Christ. Please! Stop saying ‘if you’re not paying for the product, you’re the product.’

OK, OK, so that’s phase two of enshittification.

Phase one: be good to users while locking them in.

Phase two: screw the users a little to you can good to business customers while locking them in.

Phase three: screw everybody and take all the value for yourself. Leave behind the absolute bare minimum of utility so that everyone stays locked into your pile of shit.

Enshittification: a tragedy in three acts.

That’s what enshittification looks like from the outside, but what’s going on inside the company? What is the pathological mechanism? What sci-fi entropy ray converts the excellent and useful service into a pile of shit?

That mechanism is called twiddling. Twiddling is when someone alters the back end of a service to change how its business operates, changing prices, costs, search ranking, recommendation criteria and other foundational aspects of the system.

Digital platforms are a twiddler’s utopia. A grocer would need an army of teenagers with pricing guns on rollerblades to reprice everything in the building when someone arrives who’s extra hungry.

Whereas the McDonald’s Investments portfolio company Plexure advertises that it can use surveillance data to predict when an app user has just gotten paid so the seller can tack an extra couple bucks onto the price of their breakfast sandwich.

And of course, as the prophet William Gibson warned us, ‘cyberspace is everting.' With digital shelf tags, grocers can change prices whenever they feel like, like the grocers in Norway, whose e-ink shelf tags change the prices 2,000 times per day.

Every Uber driver is offered a different wage for every job. If a driver has been picky lately, the job pays more. But if the driver has been desperate enough to grab every ride the app offers, the pay goes down, and down, and down.

The law professor Veena Dubal calls this ‘algorithmic wage discrimination.' It’s a prime example of twiddling.

Every youtuber knows what it’s like to be twiddled. You work for weeks or months, spend thousands of dollars to make a video, then the algorithm decides that no one – not your own subscribers, not searchers who type in the exact name of your video – will see it.

Why? Who knows? The algorithm’s rules are not public.

Because content moderation is the last redoubt of security through obscurit: they can’t tell you what the como algorithm is downranking because then you’d cheat.

Youtube is the kind of shitty boss who docks every paycheck for all the rules you’ve broken, but won’t tell you what those rules were, lest you figure out how to break those rules next time without your boss catching you.

Twiddling can also work in some users’ favor, of course. Sometimes platforms twiddle to make things better for end users or business customers.

For example, Emily Baker-White from Forbes revealed the existence of a back-end feature that Tiktok’s management can access they call the “heating tool.”

When a manager applies the heating toll to a performer’s account, that performer’s videos are thrust into the feeds of millions of users, without regard to whether the recommendation algorithm predicts they will enjoy that video.

Why would they do this? Well, here’s an analogy from my boyhood I used to go to this traveling fair that would come to Toronto at the end of every summer, the Canadian National Exhibition. If you’ve been to a fair like the Ex, you know that you can always spot some guy lugging around a comedically huge teddy bear.

Nominally, you win that teddy bear by throwing five balls in a peach-basket, but to a first approximation, no one has ever gotten five balls to stay in that peach-basket.

That guy “won” the teddy bear when a carny on the midway singled him out and said, "fella, I like your face. Tell you what I’m gonna do: You get just one ball in the basket and I’ll give you this keychain, and if you amass two keychains, I’ll let you trade them in for one of these galactic-scale teddy-bears."

That’s how the guy got his teddy bear, which he now has to drag up and down the midway for the rest of the day.

Why the hell did that carny give away the teddy bear? Because it turns the guy into a walking billboard for the midway games. If that dopey-looking Judas Goat can get five balls into a peach basket, then so can you.

Except you can’t.

Tiktok’s heating tool is a way to give away tactical giant teddy bears. When someone in the TikTok brain trust decides they need more sports bros on the platform, they pick one bro out at random and make him king for the day, heating the shit out of his account.

That guy gets a bazillion views and he starts running around on all the sports bro forums trumpeting his success: *I am the Louis Pasteur of sports bro influencers!"

The other sports bros pile in and start retooling to make content that conforms to the idiosyncratic Tiktok format. When they fail to get giant teddy bears of their own, they assume that it’s because they’re doing Tiktok wrong, because they don’t know about the heating tool.

But then comes the day when the TikTok Star Chamber decides they need to lure in more astrologers, so they take the heat off that one lucky sports bro, and start heating up some lucky astrologer.

Giant teddy bears are all over the place: those Uber drivers who were boasting to the NYT ten years ago about earning $50/hour? The Substackers who were rolling in dough? Joe Rogan and his hundred million dollar Spotify payout? Those people are all the proud owners of giant teddy bears, and they’re a steal.

Because every dollar they get from the platform turns into five dollars worth of free labor from suckers who think they just internetting wrong.

Giant teddy bears are just one way of twiddling. Platforms can play games with every part of their business logic, in highly automated ways, that allows them to quickly and efficiently siphon value from end users to business customers and back again, hiding the pea in a shell game conducted at machine speeds, until they’ve got everyone so turned around that they take all the value for themselves.

That’s the how: How the platforms do the trick where they are good to users, then lock users in, then maltreat users to be good to business customers, then lock in those business customers, then take all the value for themselves.

So now we know what is happening, and how it is happening, all that’s left is why it’s happening.

Now, on the one hand, the why is pretty obvious. The less value that end-users and business customers capture, the more value there is left to divide up among the shareholders and the executives.

That’s why, but it doesn’t tell you why now. Companies could have done this shit at any time in the past 20 years, but they didn’t. Or at least, the successful ones didn’t. The ones that turned themselves into piles of shit got treated like piles of shit. We avoided them and they died.

Remember Myspace? Yahoo Search? Livejournal? Sure, they’re still serving some kind of AI slop or programmatic ad junk if you hit those domains, but they’re gone.

And there’s the clue: It used to be that if you enshittified your product, bad things happened to your company. Now, there are no consequences for enshittification, so everyone’s doing it.

Let’s break that down: What stops a company from enshittifying?

There are four forces that discipline tech companies. The first one is, obviously, competition.

If your customers find it easy to leave, then you have to worry about them leaving

Many factors can contribute to how hard or easy it is to depart a platform, like the network effects that Facebook has going for it. But the most important factor is whether there is anywhere to go.

Back in 2012, Facebook bought Insta for a billion dollars. That may seem like chump-change in these days of eleven-digit Big Tech acquisitions, but that was a big sum in those innocent days, and it was an especially big sum to pay for Insta. The company only had 13 employees, and a mere 25 million registered users.

But what mattered to Zuckerberg wasn’t how many users Insta had, it was where those users came from.

[Does anyone know where those Insta users came from?]

That’s right, they left Facebook and joined Insta. They were sick of FB, even though they liked the people there, they hated creepy Zuck, they hated the platform, so they left and they didn’t come back.

So Zuck spent a cool billion to recapture them, A fact he put in writing in a midnight email to CFO David Ebersman, explaining that he was paying over the odds for Insta because his users hated him, and loved Insta. So even if they quit Facebook (the platform), they would still be captured Facebook (the company).

Now, on paper, Zuck’s Instagram acquisition is illegal, but normally, that would be hard to stop, because you’d have to prove that he bought Insta with the intention of curtailing competition.

But in this case, Zuck tripped over his own dick: he put it in writing.

But Obama’s DoJ and FTC just let that one slide, following the pro-monopoly policies of Reagan, Bush I, Clinton and Bush II, and setting an example that Trump would follow, greenlighting gigamergers like the catastrophic, incestuous Warner-Discovery marriage.

Indeed, for 40 years, starting with Carter, and accelerating through Reagan, the US has encouraged monopoly formation, as an official policy, on the grounds that monopolies are “efficient.”

If everyone is using Google Search, that’s something we should celebrate. It means they’ve got the very best search and wouldn’t it be perverse to spend public funds to punish them for making the best product?

But as we all know, Google didn’t maintain search dominance by being best. They did it by paying bribes. More than 20 billion per year to Apple alone to be the default Ios search, plus billions more to Samsung, Mozilla, and anyone else making a product or service with a search-box on it, ensuring that you never stumble on a search engine that’s better than theirs.

Which, in turn, ensured that no one smart invested big in rival search engines, even if they were visibly, obviously superior. Why bother making something better if Google’s buying up all the market oxygen before it can kindle your product to life?

Facebook, Google, Microsoft, Amazon – they’re not “making things” companies, they’re “buying things” companies, taking advantage of official tolerance for anticompetitive acquisitions, predatory pricing, market distorting exclusivity deals and other acts specifically prohibited by existing antitrust law.

Their goal is to become too big to fail, because that makes them too big to jail, and that means they can be too big to care.

Which is why Google Search is a pile of shit and everything on Amazon is dropshipped garbage that instantly disintegrates in a cloud of offgassed volatile organic compounds when you open the box.

Once companies no longer fear losing your business to a competitor, it’s much easier for them to treat you badly, because what’re you gonna do?

Remember Lily Tomlin as Ernestine the AT&T operator in those old SNL sketches? “We don’t care. We don’t have to. We’re the phone company.”

Competition is the first force that serves to discipline companies and the enshittificatory impulses of their leadership, and we just stopped enforcing competition law.

It takes a special kind of smooth-brained asshole – that is, an establishment economist – to insist that the collapse of every industry from eyeglasses to vitamin C into a cartel of five or fewer companies has nothing to do with policies that officially encouraged monopolization.

It’s like we used to put down rat poison and we didn’t have a rat problem. Then these dickheads convinced us that rats were good for us and we stopped putting down rat poison, and now rats are gnawing our faces off and they’re all running around saying, "Who’s to say where all these rats came from? Maybe it was that we stopped putting down poison, but maybe it’s just the Time of the Rats. The Great Forces of History bearing down on this moment to multiply rats beyond all measure!"

Antitrust didn’t slip down that staircase and fall spine-first on that stiletto: they stabbed it in the back and then they pushed it.

And when they killed antitrust, they also killed regulation, the second force that disciplines companies. Regulation is possible, but only when the regulator is more powerful than the regulated entities. When a company is bigger than the government, it gets damned hard to credibly threaten to punish that company, no matter what its sins.

That’s what protected IBM for all those years when it had its boot on the throat of the American tech sector. Do you know, the DOJ fought to break up IBM in the courts from 1970-1982, and that every year, for 12 consecutive years, IBM spent more on lawyers to fight the USG than the DOJ Antitrust Division spent on all the lawyers fighting every antitrust case in the entire USA?

IBM outspent Uncle Sam for 12 years. People called it “Antitrust’s Vietnam.” All that money paid off, because by 1982, the president was Ronald Reagan, a man whose official policy was that monopolies were “efficient." So he dropped the case, and Big Blue wriggled off the hook.

It’s hard to regulate a monopolist, and it’s hard to regulate a cartel. When a sector is composed of hundreds of competing companies, they compete. They genuinely fight with one another, trying to poach each others’ customers and workers. They are at each others’ throats.

It’s hard enough for a couple hundred executives to agree on anything. But when they’re legitimately competing with one another, really obsessing about how to eat each others’ lunches, they can’t agree on anything.

The instant one of them goes to their regulator with some bullshit story, about how it’s impossible to have a decent search engine without fine-grained commercial surveillance; or how it’s impossible to have a secure and easy to use mobile device without a total veto over which software can run on it; or how it’s impossible to administer an ISP’s network unless you can slow down connections to servers whose owners aren’t paying bribes for “premium carriage"; there’s some *other company saying, “That’s bullshit”

“We’ve managed it! Here’s our server logs, our quarterly financials and our customer testimonials to prove it.”

100 companies are a rabble, they're a mob. They can’t agree on a lobbying position. They’re too busy eating each others’ lunch to agree on how to cater a meeting to discuss it.

But let those hundred companies merge to monopoly, absorb one another in an incestuous orgy, turn into five giant companies, so inbred they’ve got a corporate Habsburg jaw, and they become a cartel.

It’s easy for a cartel to agree on what bullshit they’re all going to feed their regulator, and to mobilize some of the excess billions they’ve reaped through consolidation, which freed them from “wasteful competition," sp they can capture their regulators completely.

You know, Congress used to pass federal consumer privacy laws? Not anymore.

The last time Congress managed to pass a federal consumer privacy law was in 1988: The Video Privacy Protection Act. That’s a law that bans video-store clerks from telling newspapers what VHS cassettes you take home. In other words, it regulates three things that have effectively ceased to exist.

The threat of having your video rental history out there in the public eye was not the last or most urgent threat the American public faced, and yet, Congress is deadlocked on passing a privacy law.

Tech companies’ regulatory capture involves a risible and transparent gambit, that is so stupid, it’s an insult to all the good hardworking risible transparent ruses out there.

Namely, they claim that when they violate your consumer, privacy or labor rights, It’s not a crime, because they do it with an app.

Algorithmic wage discrimination isn’t illegal wage theft: we do it with an app.

Spying on you from asshole to appetite isn’t a privacy violation: we do it with an app.

And Amazon’s scam search tool that tricks you into paying 29% more than the best match for your query? Not a ripoff. We do it with an app.

Once we killed competition – stopped putting down rat poison – we got cartels – the rats ate our faces. And the cartels captured their regulators – the rats bought out the poison factory and shut it down.

So companies aren’t constrained by competition or regulation.

But you know what? This is tech, and tech is different.IIt’s different because it’s flexible. Because our computers are Turing-complete universal von Neumann machines. That means that any enshittificatory alteration to a program can be disenshittified with another program.

Every time HP jacks up the price of ink , they invite a competitor to market a refill kit or a compatible cartridge.

When Tesla installs code that says you have to pay an extra monthly fee to use your whole battery, they invite a modder to start selling a kit to jailbreak that battery and charge it all the way up.

Lemme take you through a little example of how that works: Imagine this is a product design meeting for our company’s website, and the guy leading the meeting says “Dudes, you know how our KPI is topline ad-revenue? Well, I’ve calculated that if we make the ads just 20% more invasive and obnoxious, we’ll boost ad rev by 2%”

This is a good pitch. Hit that KPI and everyone gets a fat bonus. We can all take our families on a luxury ski vacation in Switzerland.

But here’s the thing: someone’s gonna stick their arm up – someone who doesn’t give a shit about user well-being, and that person is gonna say, “I love how you think, Elon. But has it occurred to you that if we make the ads 20% more obnoxious, then 40% of our users will go to a search engine and type 'How do I block ads?'"

I mean, what a nightmare! Because once a user does that, the revenue from that user doesn’t rise to 102%. It doesn’t stay at 100% It falls to zero, forever.

[Any guesses why?]

Because no user ever went back to the search engine and typed, 'How do I start seeing ads again?'

Once the user jailbreaks their phone or discovers third party ink, or develops a relationship with an independent Tesla mechanic who’ll unlock all the DLC in their car, that user is gone, forever.

Interoperability – that latent property bequeathed to us courtesy of Herrs Turing and Von Neumann and their infinitely flexible, universal machines – that is a serious check on enshittification.

The fact that Congress hasn’t passed a privacy law since 1988 Is countered, at least in part, by the fact that the majority of web users are now running ad-blockers, which are also tracker-blockers.

But no one’s ever installed a tracker-blocker for an app. Because reverse engineering an app puts in you jeopardy of criminal and civil prosecution under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, with penalties of a 5-year prison sentence and a $500k fine for a first offense.

And violating its terms of service puts you in jeopardy under the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act of 1986, which is the law that Ronald Reagan signed in a panic after watching Wargames (seriously!).

Helping other users violate the terms of service can get you hit with a lawsuit for tortious interference with contract. And then there’s trademark, copyright and patent.

All that nonsense we call “IP,” but which Jay Freeman of Cydia calls “Felony Contempt of Business Model."

So if we’re still at that product planning meeting and now it’s time to talk about our app, the guy leading the meeting says, “OK, so we’ll make the ads in the app 20% more obnoxious to pull a 2% increase in topline ad rev?”

And that person who objected to making the website 20% worse? Their hand goes back up. Only this time they say “Why don’t we make the ads 100% more invasive and get a 10% increase in ad rev?"

Because it doesn't matter if a user goes to a search engine and types, “How do I block ads in an app." The answer is: you can't. So YOLO, enshittify away.

“IP” is just a euphemism for “any law that lets me reach outside my company’s walls to exert coercive control over my critics, competitors and customers,” and “app” is just a euphemism for “A web page skinned with the right IP so that protecting your privacy while you use it is a felony.”

Interop used to keep companies from enshittifying. If a company made its client suck, someone would roll out an alternative client, if they ripped a feature out and wanted to sell it back to you as a monthly subscription, someone would make a compatible plugin that restored it for a one-time fee, or for free.

To help people flee Myspace, FB gave them bots that you’d load with your login credentials. It would scrape your waiting Myspace messages and put ‘em in your FB inbox, and login to Myspace and paste your replies into your Myspace outbox. So you didn’t have to choose between the people you loved on Myspace, and Facebook, which launched with a promise never to spy on you. Remember that?!

Thanks to the metastasis of IP, all that is off the table today. Apple owes its very existence to iWork Suite, whose Pages, Numbers and Keynote are file-compatible with Microsoft’s Word, Excel and Powerpoint. But make an IOS runtime that’ll play back the files you bought from Apple’s stores on other platforms, and they’ll nuke you til you glow.

FB wouldn’t have had a hope of breaking Myspace’s grip on social media without that scrape, but scrape FB today in support of an alternative client and their lawyers will bomb you til the rubble bounces.

Google scraped every website in the world to create its search index. Try and scrape Google and they’ll have your head on a pike.

When they did it, it was progress. When you do it to them, that’s piracy. Every pirate wants to be an admiral.

Because this handful of companies has so thoroughly captured their regulators, they can wield the power of the state against you when you try to break their grip on power, even as their own flagrant violations of our rights go unpunished. Because they do them with an app.

Tech lost its fear of competitin it neutralized the threat from regulators, and then put them in harness to attack new startups that might do unto them as they did unto the companies that came before them.

But even so, there was a force that kept our bosses in check That force was us. Tech workers.

Tech workers have historically been in short supply, which gave us power, and our bosses knew it.

To get us to work crazy hours, they came up with a trick. They appealed to our love of technology, and told us that we were heroes of a digital revolution, who would “organize the world’s information and make it useful,” who would “bring the world closer together.”

They brought in expert set-dressers to turn our workplaces into whimsical campuses with free laundry, gourmet cafeterias, massages, and kombucha, and a surgeon on hand to freeze our eggs so that we could work through our fertile years.

They convinced us that we were being pampered, rather than being worked like government mules.

This trick has a name. Fobazi Ettarh, the librarian-theorist, calls it “vocational awe, and Elon Musk calls it being “extremely hardcore.”

This worked very well. Boy did we put in some long-ass hours!

But for our bosses, this trick failed badly. Because if you miss your mother’s funeral and to hit a deadline, and then your boss orders you to enshittify that product, you are gonna experience a profound moral injury, which you are absolutely gonna make your boss share.

Because what are they gonna do? Fire you? They can’t hire someone else to do your job, and you can get a job that’s even better at the shop across the street.

So workers held the line when competition, regulation and interop failed.

But eventually, supply caught up with demand. Tech laid off 260,000 of us last year, and another 100,000 in the first half of this year.

You can’t tell your bosses to go fuck themselves, because they’ll fire your ass and give your job to someone who’ll be only too happy to enshittify that product you built.

That’s why this is all happening right now. Our bosses aren’t different. They didn’t catch a mind-virus that turned them into greedy assholes who don’t care about our users’ wellbeing or the quality of our products.

As far as our bosses have always been concerned, the point of the business was to charge the most, and deliver the least, while sharing as little as possible with suppliers, workers, users and customers. They’re not running charities.

Since day one, our bosses have shown up for work and yanked as hard as they can on the big ENSHITTIFICATION lever behind their desks, only that lever didn’t move much. It was all gummed up by competition, regulation, interop and workers.

As those sources of friction melted away, the enshittification lever started moving very freely.

Which sucks, I know. But think about this for a sec: our bosses, despite being wildly imperfect vessels capable of rationalizing endless greed and cheating, nevertheless oversaw a series of actually great products and services.

Not because they used to be better people, but because they used to be subjected to discipline.

So it follows that if we want to end the enshittocene, dismantle the enshitternet, and build a new, good internet that our bosses can’t wreck, we need to make sure that these constraints are durably installed on that internet, wound around its very roots and nerves. And we have to stand guard over it so that it can’t be dismantled again.

A new, good internet is one that has the positive aspects of the old, good internet: an ethic of technological self-determination, where users of technology (and hackers, tinkerers, startups and others serving as their proxies) can reconfigure and mod the technology they use, so that it does what they need it to do, and so that it can’t be used against them.

But the new, good internet will fix the defects of the old, good internet, the part that made it hard to use for anyone who wasn’t us. And hell yeah we can do that. Tech bosses swear that it’s impossible, that you can’t have a conversation friend without sharing it with Zuck; or search the web without letting Google scrape you down to the viscera; or have a phone that works reliably without giving Apple a veto over the software you install.

They claim that it’s a nonsense to even ponder this kind of thing. It’s like making water that’s not wet. But that’s bullshit. We can have nice things. We can build for the people we love, and give them a place that’s worth of their time and attention.

To do that, we have to install constraints.

The first constraint, remember, is competition. We’re living through a epochal shift in competition policy. After 40 years with antitrust enforcement in an induced coma, a wave of antitrust vigor has swept through governments all over the world. Regulators are stepping in to ban monopolistic practices, open up walled gardens, block anticompetitive mergers, and even unwind corrupt mergers that were undertaken on false pretenses.

Normally this is the place in the speech where I’d list out all the amazing things that have happened over the past four years. The enforcement actions that blocked companies from becoming too big to care, and that scared companies away from even trying.

Like Wiz, which just noped out of the largest acquisition offer in history, turning down Google’s $23b cashout, and deciding to, you know, just be a fucking business that makes money by producing a product that people want and selling it at a competitive price.

Normally, I’d be listing out FTC rulemakings that banned noncompetes nationwid. Or the new merger guidelines the FTC and DOJ cooked up, which – among other things – establish that the agencies should be considering whether a merger will negatively impact privacy.

I had a whole section of this stuff in my notes, a real victory lap, but I deleted it all this week.

[Can anyone guess why?]

That’s right! This week, Judge Amit Mehta, ruling for the DC Circuit of these United States of America, In the docket 20-3010 a case known as United States v. Google LLC, found that “Google is a monopolist, and it has acted as one to maintain its monopoly," and ordered Google and the DOJ to propose a schedule for a remedy, like breaking the company up.

So yeah, that was pretty fucking epic.

Now, this antitrust stuff is pretty esoteric, and I won’t gatekeep you or shame you if you wanna keep a little distance on this subject. Nearly everyone is an antitrust normie, and that's OK. But if you’re a normie, you’re probably only catching little bits and pieces of the narrative, and let me tell you, the monopolists know it and they are flooding the zone.

The Wall Street Journal has published over 100 editorials condemning FTC Chair Lina Khan, saying she’s an ineffectual do-nothing, wasting public funds chasing doomed, quixotic adventures against poor, innocent businesses accomplishing nothing

[Does anyone out there know who owns the Wall Street Journal?]

That’s right, it’s Rupert Murdoch. Do you really think Rupert Murdoch pays his editorial board to write one hundred editorials about someone who’s not getting anything done?

The reality is that in the USA, in the UK, in the EU, in Australia, in Canada, in Japan, in South Korea, even in China, we are seeing more antitrust action over the past four years than over the preceding forty years.

Remember, competition law is actually pretty robust. The problem isn’t the law, It’s the enforcement priorities. Reagan put antitrust in mothballs 40 years ago, but that elegant weapon from a more civilized age is now back in the hands of people who know how to use it, and they’re swinging for the fences.

Next up: regulation.

As the seemingly inescapable power of the tech giants is revealed for the sham it always was, governments and regulators are finally gonna kill the “one weird trick” of violating the law, and saying “It doesn’t count, we did it with an app.”

Like in the EU, they’re rolling out the Digital Markets Act this year. That’s a law requiring dominant platforms to stand up APIs so that third parties can offer interoperable services.

So a co-op, a nonprofit, a hobbyist, a startup, or a local government agency wil eventuallyl be able to offer, say, a social media server that can interconnect with one of the dominant social media silos, and users who switch to that new platform will be able to continue to exchange messages with the users they follow and groups they belong to, so the switching costs will fall to damned near zero.

That’s a very cool rule, but what’s even cooler is how it’s gonna be enforced. Previous EU tech rules were “regulations” as in the GDPR – the General Data Privacy Regulation. EU regs need to be “transposed” into laws in each of the 27 EU member states, so they become national laws that get enforced by national courts.

For Big Tech, that means all previous tech regulations are enforced in Ireland, because Ireland is a tax haven, and all the tech companies fly Irish flags of convenience.

Here’s the thing: every tax haven is also a crime haven. After all, if Google can pretend it’s Irish this week, it can pretend to be Cypriot, or Maltese, or Luxembougeious next week. So Ireland has to keep these footloose criminal enterprises happy, or they’ll up sticks and go somewhere else.

This is why the GDPR is such a goddamned joke in practice. Big tech wipes its ass with the GDPR, and the only way to punish them starts with Ireland’s privacy commissioner, who barely bothers to get out of bed. This is an agency that spends most of its time watching cartoons on TV in its pajamas and eating breakfast cereal. So all of the big GDPR cases go to Ireland and they die there.

This is hardly a secret. The European Commission knows it’s going on. So with the DMA, the Commission has changed things up: The DMA is an “Act,” not a “Regulation.” Meaning it gets enforced in the EU’s federal courts, bypassing the national courts in crime-havens like Ireland.

In other words, the “we violate privacy law, but we do it with an app” gambit that worked on Ireland’s toothless privacy watchdog is now a dead letter, because EU federal judges have no reason to swallow that obvious bullshit.

Here in the US, the dam is breaking on federal consumer privacy law – at last!

Remember, our last privacy law was passed in 1988 to protect the sanctity of VHS rental history. It's been a minute.

And the thing is, there's a lot of people who are angry about stuff that has some nexus with America's piss-poor privacy landscape. Worried that Facebook turned grampy into a Qanon? That Insta made your teen anorexic? That TikTok is brainwashing millennials into quoting Osama Bin Laden? Or that cops are rolling up the identities of everyone at a Black Lives Matter protest or the Jan 6 riots by getting location data from Google? Or that Red State Attorneys General are tracking teen girls to out-of-state abortion clinics? Or that Black people are being discriminated against by online lending or hiring platforms? Or that someone is making AI deepfake porn of you?

A federal privacy law with a private right of action – which means that individuals can sue companies that violate their privacy – would go a long way to rectifying all of these problems

There's a pretty big coalition for that kind of privacy law! Which is why we have seen a procession of imperfect (but steadily improving) privacy laws working their way through Congress.

If you sign up for EFF’s mailing list at eff.org we’ll send you an email when these come up, so you can call your Congressjerk or Senator and talk to them about it. Or better yet, make an appointment to drop by their offices when they’re in their districts, and explain to them that you’re not just a registered voter from their district, you’re the kind of elite tech person who goes to Defcon, and then explain the bill to them. That stuff makes a difference.

What about self-help? How are we doing on making interoperability legal again, so hackers can just fix shit without waiting for Congress or a federal agency to act?

All the action here these day is in the state Right to Repair fight. We’re getting state R2R bills, like the one that passed this year in Oregon that bans parts pairing, where DRM is used to keep a device from using a new part until it gets an authorized technician’s unlock code.

These bills are pushed by a fantastic group of organizations called the Repair Coalition, at Repair.org, and they’ll email you when one of these laws is going through your statehouse, so you can meet with your state reps and explain to the JV squad the same thing you told your federal reps.

Repair.org’s prime mover is Ifixit, who are genuine heroes of the repair revolution, and Ifixit’s founder, Kyle Wiens, is here at the con. When you see him, you can shake his hand and tell him thanks, and that’ll be even better if you tell him that you’ve signed up to get alerts at repair.org!

Now, on to the final way that we reverse enhittification and build that new, good internet: you, the tech labor force.

For years, your bosses tricked you into thinking you were founders in waiting, temporarily embarrassed entrepreneurs who were only momentarily drawing a salary.

You certainly weren’t workers. Your power came from your intrinsic virtue, not like those lazy slobs in unions who have to get their power through that kumbaya solidarity nonsense.

It was a trick. You were scammed. The power you had came from scarcity, and so when the scarcity ended, when the industry started ringing up six-figure annual layoffs, your power went away with it.

The only durable source of power for tech workers is as workers, in a union.

Think about Amazon. Warehouse workers have to piss in bottles and have the highest rate of on-the-job maimings of any competing business. Whereas Amazon coders get to show up for work with facial piercings, green mohawks, and black t-shirts that say things their bosses don’t understand. They can piss whenever they want!

That’s not because Jeff Bezos or Andy Jassy loves you guys. It’s because they’re scared you’ll quit and they don’t know how to replace you.

Time for the second obligatory William Gibson quote: “The future is here, it’s just not evenly distributed.” You know who’s living in the future?. Those Amazon blue-collar workers. They are the bleeding edge.

Drivers whose eyeballs are monitored by AI cameras that do digital phrenology on their faces to figure out whether to dock their pay, warehouse workers whose bodies are ruined in just months.

As tech bosses beef up that reserve army of unemployed, skilled tech workers, then those tech workers – you all – will arrive at the same future as them.

Look, I know that you’ve spent your careers explaining in words so small your boss could understand them that you refuse to enshittify the company’s products, and I thank you for your service.

But if you want to go on fighting for the user, you need power that’s more durable than scarcity. You need a union. Wanna learn how? Check out the Tech Workers Coalition and Tech Solidarity, and get organized.

Enshittification didn’t arise because our bosses changed. They were always that guy.

They were always yankin’ on that enshittification lever in the C-suite.

What changed was the environment, everything that kept that switch from moving.

And that’s good news, in a bankshot way, because it means we can make good services out of imperfect people. As a wildly imperfect person myself, I find this heartening.

The new good internet is in our grasp: an internet that has the technological self-determination of the old, good internet, and the greased-skids simplicity of Web 2.0 that let all our normie friends get in on the fun.

Tech bosses want you to think that good UX and enshittification can’t ever be separated. That’s such a self-serving proposition you can spot it from orbit. We know it, 'cause we built the old good internet, and we’ve been fighting a rear-guard action to preserve it for the past two decades.

It’s time to stop playing defense. It's time to go on the offensive. To restore competition, regulation, interop and tech worker power so that we can create the new, good internet we’ll need to fight fascism, the climate emergency, and genocide.

To build a digital nervous system for a 21st century in which our children can thrive and prosper.

Community voting for SXSW is live! If you wanna hear RIDA QADRI and me talk about how GIG WORKERS can DISENSHITTIFY their jobs with INTEROPERABILITY, VOTE FOR THIS ONE!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/17/hack-the-planet/#how-about-a-nice-game-of-chess

Image: https://twitter.com/igama/status/1822347578094043435/ (cropped)

@fak3r@mastodon.social (cropped)

https://mamot.fr/@fak3r@mastodon.social/112963252835869648

CC BY 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/deed.pt

[lovegasmic]

  ִֶָ casualties ↪ part two of mafia boss sukuna.

⋆ mdni. semi public ( public place but no people around ) unprotected sex, mentions of guns and bribes, keep in mind he is literally a gangster, none of his behaviors are ‘normal’, mirror sex, slight stalking ( sending people to investigate you ), breeding kink and creampies, pet names used: princess, doll, my girl/love, sweetheart.

after your first encounter, it only took the man a flick of his wrist and your whole life was settled in a stack of papers on his coffee table, smirk tugging on the corner of his lip and a cigarette tightly held on his free hand. your address was the easiest part, with your father being an important member of the mafia, it was only normal for his men to get the direction in the blink of an eye, perfectly in time for Sukuna to start sending large bouquets of flowers with an unknown sender, although his scent was present on each petal, just for you to admire and your father to frown.

it was not too much work either to find your birthday, friends and places you often visit, after all you were a public figure as well, —that and a couple of bribes to your acquaintances it’s all it took.

the store of a luxury clothing brand stood in front of his car, tinted glasses concealing Sukuna’s half hooded eyes and knowing smirk, of course the princess would only shop at the most expensive places, perhaps using daddy’s black card. it’d be a lie if Sukuna said his cock didn’t throb at the idea of you using his black card next, to your heart’s content.

the pink haired man was not one to follow his impulses, to him everything was premeditated, carefully studied so things went smoothly like the fat wad of bills slipping into the retail’s clerk pocket, and much similar to the subtleness in his men’s loaded guns pressed against your bodyguards sides, who trembled in fear, so pathetic.

“tsk” Sukuna thinks, “i should get better guards for my girl” with a swift movement he fixes his cuffs, straightening the jacket suit and matching black half buttoned shirt underneath, allowing his tattoos to be seen.

and it takes his whole self control in not opening the dressing room door where he knows, you’re in, and sloppily make out with you, pants tightening at the memory of your fucked out and dizzy expression. fuck, he’s so hard already. but instead optes to sit on the large leather couch in the middle of the VIP space, his eyes scanning the quietness and luxury in ceiling high mirrors and marble floors.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, finally stepping out of from behind the wooden door and attempting not to let your surprise be seen, but considering the slight twitch in Sukuna’s lip, your attempts probably failed.

“it’s good to see you too, doll.” he almost purrs, eyes drifting up and down the sight of your body in a tight dress, “won’t you turn around for me?” he teases, licking his lips.

yet you remain still, raising a brow and crossing your arms, taking a peek at the now empty room.

“come on, sweetheart, just one turn, for me?” Sukuna grins, sliding a thumb over his bottom lip, “i’ll answer all your questions later” and you’re pliant enough to comply, twirling around with a slight burn in your face, questioning him once again.

his grin never falters, only increasing with your cute actions, deciding to stand up and calmly walk towards the clothing rack, humming in delight at the beautiful garments that would look absolutely stunning on his bedroom floor, “can’t a man shop freely now?” he teases, handing you a matching skirt and top set in an oddly similar color to his hair.

“yeah? i had no idea you liked to shop at an all women’s store” you tease back, allowing for Sukuna to rest his hand on your waist, his whole self made you weak in the knees, a whiff of his cologne and you wanted more.

he chuckles, deeply and rumbling on his chest, making you bite back a whine as his hand guides you to the dressing room, his voice dropping to an intimate level, yet he still bends down to breath against your ear, “then, would you believe me if I said I wanted to see you?” Sukuna whispers, pressing his lips against your nape; you’re not certain of what moment he made you get into the room and close the door softly behind him, only your reflection in the mirror bringing you back to reality, “you’re awfully hard to find, sweetheart” hands trail down your sides, squeezing the sides of your breasts just slightly, “has your daddy been keeping you away from me? did he find out about the lewd things I did to his precious daughter?”

you can’t help the soft moan off your lips at the sensation of the man’s bulge pressing on your lower back, the sight of his large, filled with rings and tattooed hands cupping your body made you dizzy, Sukuna having to bend down to easily nip on your nape, and gently brush your hair out of the way.

“he doesn’t know”

“he doesn’t?, that’s a pity, i’d love to see his reaction when he finds out i’m the one making you this wet and pliant” he chuckles, fingers dancing around the slit on the dress, so sensually your knees bucked, threatening to make you fall if it weren’t because of his arm around your waist.

you whine, “don’t... say that”

“it’s the truth, princess, there’s nothing else I want than having the world know you’re mine” Sukuna groans, raising the hem of your dress and maintaining it tightly under his arm, his other free hand gently cupping your jaw, tilting your head up so you meet his gaze through the mirror, “eyes on me, watch who’s making you feel this good”

with a last nibble on your neck, Sukuna roughly pushes your panties down, not wasting any time in sliding his digits through your drenched slit, coating your clit in your own scent. he’s rock hard at this point, breath coming out ragged in sheer desperation to be buried in your cunt, besides from the lewd picture you paint in the mirror, eyes glossy, lips parted and letting out the cutest sounds he has ever heard.

another trait of Sukuna, is that he’s not patient, in the slightest, so when a finger urgently slips inside your warm walls you shudder in response, hips bucking, almost flopping forward by the tremble in your legs, “good girl, so wet for me” he rasps, licking a fat strip down your neck and towards your shoulder, maintaining eye contact like his life depends on it.

“more...” you beg and his resolve crumbles, his initial plan of making you shiver and beg quickly by wanting to give you what you need, you make him go dizzy, you make him want to give you whoever you ask for, kiss the floor where you step.

“my greedy girl” Sukuna groans, rubbing his cheek with yours as another finger plunges in, messily fucking your hole that drips slick down his wrist, then another until your nails dig in his arm, “you’re ready for me, aren't you?” his voice is low and raspy, hidden lust behind each gasp. Sukuna is quick to undo his pants, cock bobbing in arousal, already dripping with precum as he guides the tip to your pussy, slowly sinking in with his breath hitching, “there we go”

if you weren’t looking at him, Sukuna would be very certain his rolls could have rolled back at the wetness and tightness of your cunt swallowing him inch by inch, his cock pulsing, “fuck, princess, it’s as good as I remember” he licks his lips, tightening his grip on your waist and slightly bending you further in the air.

“your body is begging for it, I can feel your count spasming around me” he smiles, thrusting in deeper, harder, making you take more of his incredible length until his heavy and full balls are nestled on your ass.

“’Kuna...!” you mewl, eyes hooded, threatening to fall shut but the explicit sight of Sukuna filling your hole made you resist, only fueling your desire and lust.

“yes, sweetheart, that’s right, it’s Sukuna the one making your pussy feel so good” he groans, hands grazing your sides in a tight grip before pulling back and forcefully slamming his cock inside, heart racing at the sound of your moans and sticky pussy squelching around his girth.

“o—ohh! fuck!” you moan, half scream at the rough pace Sukuna sets, forcing your body to jolt back and forth, tits about to fall from the low neckline of the expensive dress you tried on, you definitely had to buy it now, “too deep!

he groans in return, “the deeper the better” voice is slightly shaky, “i can reach your cervix properly” it’s a promise, to fill your fertile womb once again like he did weeks ago.

there���s sobs and moans echoing in the room, mixed with the sounds of your mixed juices, and Sukuna is only fueled by them, his hips pounding faster, most definitely leaving your ass sore from the brutal way his balls and hips slam against your soft skin. he holds no respect for your possible future uncomfortableness, only thinking of claiming your cunt.

“i’m close” Sukuna groans, sliding a hand between your drenched legs, pressing two fingers against your clit and messily rubbing in desperate circles, slightly embarrassed of the fact you’re going to make him cum so much and so soon, but how can you blame him when your pussy squeezes him like a tight grip, as if begging him for more.

leaning down he claims your lips, it’s as sloppy as his thrusts and wet as your slick dripping down his cock, “need you to cum with me” he murmurs.

“close!” you manage to cry out against his mouth, only for a brief second before his tongue plunges into your mouth again, swallowing your sounds but allowing the noise of your pussy to resonate, “oh, S-sukuna! i’m cumming” you cry, and there’s the precious and slutty expression he loves so much, eyes crossed as you shudder on his cock, trembling so much he would have been afraid you’d fall, but Sukuna is quicker, selfishly keeping you up to shoot his thick sperm deep in your willing pussy, a deep growl rumbling on the walls as he pumps you, a couple of times so he’s sure his cum would take.

“so gorgeous” he rasps, breathless, meeting your hazy eyes through the mirror while mindlessly rubbing your belly, “i’ll take care of you, my love, i’ll give you whatever your heart desires..., but in return, I just ask for one thing” he murmurs, “let me creampie your tight pussy every single day.”

that’s certainly Sukuna’s own way of asking you out.

🔖𖹭 @yuujispinkhair @valleydoli @hyeinwluv85s @sadmonke @ryomance @inzanekillian @emilymikado @r-ryuko09

[kenobers]

magic hands | Jason Todd x Sionis!Reader

but first free palestine !! Your regularly scheduled hook-up session with Jason Todd is rudely interrupted by the arrival of your period. As tragedy strikes, you have to ask Jason to buy you pads, perhaps throwing a curveball in your still emerging relationship. this installment comes before this one; you don't know jason is red hood in this one (not that it really matters to this particular story) tw: periods, mentions of drugging, reader having issues with acts of service, afab readera/n: i'm writing additions to this story completely out of order because i can. don't worry - you're gonna be the one comforting jason soon, just stay tuned. and if you're following me for the obi-wan content, i promise you'll also be fed soon. the sionis!reader concept was inspired by this ask on gilverrwrites' blog! In hindsight, it might've been kinda weird of me, but i couldn't get the concept out of my head. thank you to gilverr and anon! please check out their blog!

Yo

You cringe a little at your choice of words, wishing you'd thought harder before sending the text. Well actually, you cringe at the entire situation. You despise having to ask for help, but you're a little desperate.

Would you-

Too entitled.

Would you mind-

Passive aggressive.

Will-

Your phone buzzes before you can finish typing.

yo.

That was fast.

You take a deep breath. Jason was coming over anyway and it wasn't like you were in any position to have sex like you were planning to. And this constitutes as a bit of an emergency, considering you're currently sitting on a wad of toilet paper.

Can you pick me up some pads?

You hit send and drop your phone on your bed. This is so embarrassing for no reason. Jason's a good guy, he isn't going to judge you for being on your period of all things. He's not going to hold it against you if you can't have sex either.

It was just that you weren't sure your relationship was...like that. Acts of service and all that. A month ago, you wouldn't have even considered asking him to do this. But you'd been a lot more personal with one another lately. Making dinner, staying the night, being physically affectionate while your clothes were still on.

Your phone vibrates and you frantically feel for the purple case in the grey and white sheets. You'll deal with that giddy feeling later.

i don't know, can i?

Fucker, you think, glaring at your screen. You start furiously forming a response about how you aren't in the fucking mood for this when your phone buzzes again.

yeah, of course i can. need anything else? painkillers? chocolate?

You eye the empty bottle on your nightstand. Your stomach cramps painfully.

I'm out of ibuprofen

Then you consider for a moment. With a sigh, you bite back your pride. Well, if he's offering.

...and maybe some ice cream.

you got it babe.

Babe. Heat rushes to your cheeks as the corners of your mouth twitch upwards.

Ten minutes later his name flashes on your screen again, along with a photo of a wall of pads.

which kind

Damn, he was kind of good at this. A flare of jealousy burns through you at the thought of Jason doing this for some other girl. Another feeling you'll deal with later. You circled your preferred brand and send it back.

check. headed your way shawty.

After another ten minutes, the rumbling of a motorcycle echoes through your street. Nine minutes and 45 seconds later, the sound of your living room window sliding open lures you from your bed.

You fight back a goofy grin at the sight of Jason's large-than-life frame slipping through the window, two plastic bags balanced in one gloved hand. Leaning against your kitchen island, you allow yourself a second to admire the curve of his ass in those joggers.

"Hey," you greet, shivering as a gust of wind followed the man. He gives you a toothy grin, sliding the window shut. With a dramatic flourish of his arm, he presents the drugstore bag to you.

"Your essentials, m'lady."

"Oh, my hero," you giggle, taking the bag gratefully. You eye the second bag suspiciously, although the telltale red thank you print and the smell of fried rice give the contents away. "Chinese?"

"Chinese," he confirms. "And before you say anything, I was already picking it up when you texted."

You purse your lips. He was starting to know you too well. You would've said something, would've lied about how you weren't hungry. The idea that he'd already thought to do something nice for you before he even knew about your situation makes your stomach twist.

Jason takes a step closer, trapping you between him and the island. He reaches behind you to set the food on the counter, green eyes trained on your face. It's hard not to shrink below his quizzical gaze. Goosebumps cover your bicep as the leather of his jacket rubs against your bare arm.

Bastard.

"That okay, pretty girl?"

Fuck, he's handsome. He knows it too, know to flick his dark hair just so. Knows how to look at you so that any "oh, you shouldn't have" argument you can conjure up falters before it can reach your tongue. It certainly doesn't help that he's flexing the arm reaching behind you just so.

"Perfect, even," you purr, uncrossing your arms to play with his jacket zipper. "How much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it." You try not to roll your eyes at him, reminding yourself that you were opting to be nicer to him tonight. He is your hero after all. His hands fall to your hips, his thumbs running along the bone. "How you feeling?"

You shrug, suppressing another shiver as his pinkie pokes below the length of your shorts.

"Shitty. Like everything hurts," you answer honestly. Your lip twitches and you abandon his jacket zipper in favor of the strings of his sweatshirt.

"'m sorry we can't, y'know, do what we planned." The apology floods abruptly from your lips. "I would offer to do it anyways, but I just, I-I can't with these cramps." Your hips twinge with pain to emphasize your point. "But, I mean, I can blow you if you really want-"

"Hey."

Two fingers tilt your chin up, tough leather juxtaposing soft skin. You hadn't even realized you'd stopped looking at his face. He's smiling at you.

"Don't worry about it," he says for the second time. "Lemme make you feel better. It'll piss Roman off just as much."

You both look pointedly at the bookshelf you're fairly certain your father had hidden some sort of recording device.

"Besides," he continues with a wolfish smirk. "I've become accustomed to a certain level of performance from you and I'm not sure if I'd receive that if you're not at your peak."

"Fine, only because you insisted," you sigh. "And I'm gonna do you a favor and ignore that last part." You turn away from him, fishing the package of pads and the ibuprofen out of the drugstore bag. "I'm gonna go...yeah."

You wave the package in the air as you head for the bathroom. With your back turned, you don't catch Jason saluting you.

When you return, you notice one of the books on the shelf has been inconspicuously placed over a Wonder Woman knick knack. Part of you is relieved to know your father can't spy on you tonight. Another part of you feels a pang of anxiety knowing that means tonight is just for the two of you to enjoy each other's company. As people. Not fuckbuddies.

This is still casual. Professional, you tell yourself. It's not like he's my boyfriend.

You turn to the kitchen, where Jason is pulling plates out of a cupboard, and ignoring the smaller voice that wouldn't mind him being your boyfriend.

He hands the plates to you, letting you dish the both of you up.

Jason sidles up behind you, pressing his chest to your back. You lean into him, letting him support your weight.

"Chinese was a good call," you say. He hums in response, dipping his hands under your shirt to rub your sides. You yelp in alarm as something wet hits your skin.

"Dude! What the fuck!"

Jason backs up, holding two cream covered hands in the air. He looks apologetic enough, but still smirks at the way you glowered at him over your shoulder. It's an awful cute look when it isn't coming from behind an ugly ass skull mask.

"It's just CBD."

You spin around, pointing your spoon straight at his heart.

"CBD- what, are you trying to get me high?"

It's all Jason can do not to double over laughing. He'd take a picture if he wasn't certain you would find a way to lodge that spoon in a major artery.

His laughter has you fidgeting nervously, trying to maintain your hard stare.

"Don't laugh at me."

To his credit, he stops almost immediately. He straightens his posture and gestures to a small round container on the counter.

"It's just a lotion. Helps with joint pain, I use it all the time. I thought it might help with cramps."

You blink. That was...incredibly thoughtful of him.

"Oh."

You turn back to the food, continuing your task sheepishly. All you ever do in front of this man is embarrass yourself. And orgasm.

He creeps back to his spot cautiously. You glance over your shoulder, briefly meeting his eyes.

"You can...continue," you tell him, your tone much softer now. He presses a kiss to the exposed junction of your neck and slides his hands back under your shirt.

It does feel nice to have him massage the cool lotion into your aching body. His fingers seem to know exactly where to go, undoing the built up tension and leaving a light buzz in its place.

"I'm sorry I snapped like that," you whisper. "I overheard some of my dad's idiots talking about some kind of lube that's infused with LSD or something. Apparently it's becoming a popular method for people to get what they want so...little on edge."

After a moment, Jason speaks again, "I wouldn't drug you like that, you know."

"What, topically?" You scoff, dividing the orange chicken equally.

"Without your consent."

You pause. You suppose you hadn't given much thought to how much Jason respected you in that regard. To be fair, you'd never really been around men that respected you at all.

"Well, that's good to know." It's not the most sensitive response, but you're sudden determined to move on from the conversation before you start oversharing. "Let's eat, big guy."

After dinner, Jason applies the lotion again. This time, you're sat on the couch between his legs as he drives the stuff into a knot on your hip. The TV drones with some black comedy series the two of you have been watching at the recommendation of one of his brothers.

"Do you get a lot of joint pain?" You ask suddenly, looking back at him. He doesn't tear his eyes away from the screen.

"Huh?"

"You said you use it a lot on your joints. Do you get a lot of joint pain?" Now he looks at you, one slit eyebrow raised. For a moment you watch him try to remember when he told you that. Then he smirks, a silly view from upside down.

"I do whenever you get through with me," he says, his chest vibrating under you. You give him a look. "Sometimes after the gym, yeah."

You're not quite sure you believe him, but you let it slide, turning back to the TV in time to see your least favorite character earn a smack to the face.

"It was nice of you to bring it."

"'s helping?"

"Mmh," You sigh as he works a particularly tough spot. Your relief is short lived however as the small of your back cramps up. A small gasp escapes you and you squirm and swear in Jason's arms.

He pauses his work on your hips.

"Where's it hurt?"

"Back," you whimper, turning over so he can get to it. He obliges immediately, rubbing the butt of his palm into the sore spot. You groan into his chest, melting beneath his magic hands. "The fuck did I ever manage this shit before you."

He snorts, "very bravely, I'm sure."

You smile at his answer. Clever boy. You reward him with a kiss, pleased when he returns it in kind. His hand doesn't stop its work on your back as his soft lips move gently with your own.

"You sure you don't want a blowjob?" you murmur against his mouth.

Jason nods, giving you another chaste kiss before pulling away. "You're in pain, sweetheart. Let yourself rest."

He moves his lips to your ear, lowering his voice.

"Now, how about that ice cream, hm?"

Absolute professional.

[prael]

Touch

Kinktember Day 9: Spa

Newjeans Danielle x male reader smut

words: 7,422 Kinktember Masterlist

"My client, did you see her come in?" you ask.

"No, why? Is she famous or something?"

"Well, that would explain the secrecy, and it would also explain a woman barely twenty having cash to burn at a place like this," you whisper to the colleague who is far too jealous of how you just got requested by name because that usually means big tips for a good service.

"Did you get her name?"

"Supposed to be a secret." Your answer dissatisfies her, and she throws you a side-eye. "Okay. Okay. Danielle something... Marsh?"

"Shut up!" She hits you on the shoulder. "No fucking way. Let me take this one and you can have my next ten VIP bookings."

"Sorry, but she asked for me by name," you tell her. She mutters an obscenity under her breath. "Want to tell me what I'm getting into here?"

And then the girl spews out a jumble of ramblings about K-pop this and K-pop that—the kind of reaction that only the truly obsessed can have. Millions of views on this, charting on that, really fucking popular is the gist of it. So basically the whole planet Earth knows who this Danielle is. Well, shit. No pressure or anything. "Get in there already, do your best work and maybe get me an autograph."

A few forceful pushes out of the staff room and you find Danielle where you left her, her cleansing mask still on her face, sitting in that long white robe. You step barefoot over the soft wood, heat rising from underneath it.

As you draw near, you ask, "Miss Marsh, are we ready to begin?"

"Dani, please," her voice says from beneath the mask. It's hard not to be intimated after being hit with the fact that the woman before you is world-renowned. Though from here, she looks like any other delicate young woman. Her feet are small. Bare, tiny and arched, they hang just a few inches from the floor, and they are as perfectly still as the rest of her. "No need to be formal, I'm here to relax."

"Then let me start by offering you a drink." The bottle pops as you twist it. The label is adorned in cursive. "Bottled at source, premium mineral water." Your arm raises the bottle so she can see the brand clearly.

"Is it magical water?" There is a playful lilt in her voice, "Maybe it has some healing powers?"

"Guaranteed to nourish the soul and unclog those emotional pores," you deadpan.

The facemask stretches with Dani's wide smile, and she lightly chuckles. "That's good, laughter is good for the soul."

"Right." You pour from a height and a theatrical stream flows. When the flute is halfway, you stop the flow and pass it to her hands, which take it gently.

"What? You don't even hold the glass for me? Put it to my lips and tilt?" It's another tease, the joke stretching on her grin, but now it is her hands holding the flute, her fingers long and smooth around the stem.

"I serve, not control."

"Those don't have to always be exclusive." She laughs, and the sound makes you feel something. "But I appreciate the intention. I hear you're the best in the business."

"I'll let you be the judge, Miss Marsh. Now, allow me to remove that mask. I have raised the temperature in here to help open the pores, and I would like to begin with a facial."

"I do love a facial." Danielle smiles to herself. "And again, please, just Dani is fine."

You step over behind her, where her head tilts back against the chair, her long hair cascading below, shimmering in the moist air. Lightly, you place the tips of your fingers along her jawline, finding the edge of the mask and gently lifting it upwards. She doesn't flinch at all, and you watch the wet mask give way to her face. Even upside down, Danielle is indeed beautiful.

With her sun-kissed hair, radiant skin, and effortless, elegant beauty. She is, in summation of all her parts: perfect. The image the word calls up has always been fuzzy around the edges, an abstract idea more than a specific concrete thing, because real people aren't like this. That's what you believed until you laid eyes on her.

"You take good care of your skin, Miss—Sorry—Dani."

"Thank you," she says simply, no joke this time. Your fingers ghost over her chin and then trace to her cheekbones, moving lightly to test her texture, all so smooth.

"First, I shall cleanse away any impurities," you say and lean down to examine her face. Even when you are so close, there is nothing for your scrutiny—no visible crevice, no blemishes, despite there being not a trace of make-up. It's all-natural.

There's a light whisper on her lips, one that you barely make out, "Good luck with that."

You tilt your head as you reach over for a fresh sponge, run it under hot water until it is filled, squeeze out the excess, and slowly drag a path of heat across her forehead. As your other hand holds the sheet over her neck to catch stray water, your first-hand works in large strokes from above, rinsing her skin with each successive pass.

As you focus, she leans back into the chair, and a soft hum escapes her lips. "Feels nice already," she murmurs.

You say nothing, working her in silence. Her eyelids are closed, her lips slightly parted, and she remains so still that, if not for the sound of her breaths, she could be easily mistaken as unconscious. This silence has a tranquillity and familiarity to it, one that feels like home, and without thinking, you are smiling.

She stays just the same as you begin to exfoliate her, brushing across her face in ever-widening circles. It's with such tenderness that her cheeks take a pink tint as she grows hotter and she smiles as you rub in gentle swirls, one spot, then the next.

Time passes in silence as you finish the exfoliation and apply all manner of natural, topical lotions, toners, and peels to Dani. When her skin is primed, you press your fingers against her skin and, starting at her forehead, you massage her face to a rhythm of long, soothing strokes. You enjoy touching her, you admit, which isn't exactly right for a professional, but since you have no outward reaction from her, you assume it isn't the end of the world.

Throughout it all, she keeps her eyes shut. Over time you move around her face, applying more pressure in some spots than others. She shifts and sighs, soft exhalations of her warm breath tickling your arm, yet otherwise doesn't move an inch. Her shoulders relax against the leather of the seat. "You really know what you're doing," she says, with a smirk. You pull her skin with your fingertips, moving them in large circles as it comes to an end. Finally, you tap your fingers gently over her skin to soothe.

"Now, your body, Dani."

Her eyes crack open, but slowly. "Are we moving?"

"I'll wash your skin over there, but the massage will be in the next room. Now, I'll need you to—"

Dani doesn't let you finish your sentence before she rocks forward in her seat and pushes herself to a stand. She's facing away from you and puts her hands in front of her, then she throws the robe back off her shoulders and lets it slide off her arms to the floor in one quick motion.

"Good," she says. "I was for too hot in that thing anyway."

Of course, as a professional, you would never gasp in surprise, yet, at the sight of her ass, the muscles tight, small, and round, the curves of her waist so thin, hair over her shoulders threatening to hide her slender back and those long slim legs, you manage to just barely gulp.

Too hot, she certainly is, you want to tell her and not just in the sense that perspiration coats her skin. Tiny beads of sweat that, as your eyes crawl over her, are in the process of running downwards. This glistening on her flesh is hypnotic. The curve of her ass, the slight tilt of her hips forward, the way the base of her spine leads downward, right down to a crack between her—

Focus. You remind yourself you have a job to do.

"In the far corner. The stone pool. Please, stand by the edge." It takes a second before Dani's head bobs, and then she slinks forward, slow and catlike. Her stride, and every motion of her muscles beneath her flesh that accompanies it, are mesmerising. And with every sway of her hips, you love her tight body more.

She pauses, a foot by the edge, and looks down into the water. Steam rises and envelops her form in a pale white that hugs her curves.

"Please, step in," you say as you walk over to her side and take her hand. Now, you catch a glimpse of her profile, and her chest, small, round and perky, and as you avert your eyes to guide her down the step, you tell her, "Watch your step now, go from stone to stone until you stand in the middle just there."

"Got it," Dani says. She steps with confidence and the hot water reaches quickly above her ankles and then halfway up her calves. With each careful move down the next step she gasps, soft and light. The water splashes with her movement and then swallows her up to the upper thigh.

"Please, take a seat there, on the wide stone." You reach to help steady her as she sinks down, her knees bending as she perches down so the water is at her hips as she sits.

"I just sit?"

"Yes, Dani, and I will bathe you." You step into the pool until the hot flowing water covers your knees, and then you stand behind her. You reach for a sponge, submerge it, and watch it fill, then draw it out and over her lower back and drag a large circle across her soft skin. "How's the water? Feel okay?"

"Great. Wow." She goes quiet as you work up and down her back, long, relaxing, soothing strokes until all the tension has left her shoulders. "That's wonderful," she says.

You clean her shoulders and then down her arms, the sponge dipping under the surface, and caressing her in a movement that feels like worship. With a slow rhythm, you run the sponge over her shoulders and around her neck, and finally, reaching over her, down to her chest. She shifts back as you do, resting herself against your legs. You run it over her chest a few times before coming up again to her shoulders.

"So soft..." her voice says, almost a breathy moan, and you catch a hint of it. Maybe she realises how it sounds because she soon goes quiet. Next, you work downwards, to her tight, toned stomach. Slowly you make sure you cleanse every part of her body. All while her back rests on you and her breathing is warm and pleasant.

"Miss, I mean Dani, can you stand now? We need to get you clean." You prompt, a hand on her shoulder.

"Sure." Dani snaps out of it. She stretches and cracks her neck before rising, leaning forward for a moment. When she rises, ripples run out in all directions and your eyes drift over her ass. It looks plump, perky, perfect. Then you sponge it, giving purpose to your stare. You push it down, over her cheeks and Dani shivers.

You repeat your slow, languid movements. Wipe away any trace of imperfection from her hips and thighs and then when you make her slowly step out of the pool, you work down her bit by bit. Finally, she stands on the edge of the pool, looking down at you, towering over you in her naked glory. She presents to you her foot and you hold her ankle to steady it and clean each digit, scrubbing between the toes.

"You can take the towel, on the peg, Dani."

"You do it." Dani doesn't move at all, keeping her eyes on you, staring into your eyes and through you.

You cautiously nod and then climb from the pool. You keep eye contact and wrap the towel around her small, wet frame. In your arms, she feels so fragile. You rub her down, first her legs. Long strokes, left and right. Each, in turn, both legs. Then you bring the towel up. When you wrap it over her hip and move upwards along her torso, Dani presses herself to you.

"You really know how to put someone at ease," she mutters.

You nod silently in return, and finish drying her shoulders, down her arms, back up, and down her back. You remain stoic as the heat between you builds, and she turns around without prompting. You wrap her again and bring the towel all the way down. Then over her rear. Soft, short circular motions with your palm.

"The table in the next room, Dani. Start by lying on your front, you can use the towel on the table to cover yourself. Once I see you settled in, I'll join you."

She laughs quietly and starts her slow walk to the door. You take your own towel, drying your legs, the water has soaked into the front of your shorts from where she leant against you.

She's on the bed. The towel, provided for her decency, is in a pile on the floor.

"Dani, the towel..."

"I'm fine, I want it off. I want everything off. Is that a problem for you?" There's this undeniably confident quality to her like the universe just has to be as it is because she likes it that way.

"Not a problem," you tell her. "It does tend to get in the way."

You're close to the bed now, looking down at her, still so perfectly nude. So vulnerable and relaxed, and not a drop of shame in her eyes. She gives you a look that says she's in charge, and that she's been waiting for this, and now it's finally going to happen. And that smile is impossible to refuse. "You could join me if it helps. Make it feel more like an equal partnership."

"Miss— I—"

"I'm joking," she winks. Danielle bunches her hair by her head and turns her head to the side as she rests.

The first of your oils, imported, rich and infused, drip with a consistency thick as honey over her. You watch it roll from the top of her back and run down her spine. Its warmth makes her twitch gently.

Slowly you reach out, press your hands into her skin and drag them from top to bottom, following the oil, making sure you cover her.

She hums in delight.

With great care, you begin your work. Fingers sink in, and your thumbs feel her muscles. Stroking and rubbing, from the top of her back, your fingers coax and prod at the flesh beneath. Pressing it back and forth, at times as gentle as a summer breeze and then as hard as a hammer.

There are knots in her back, beneath the tender surface. You find them easily and work at them to relax, coax them into submission, untying the muscles until they go soft. She gasps at your touch as you release them. Her body responds to you in the sweetest ways. With the smallest of whispers, the little fluttering breaths, and with her skin taking on a pink glow.

When the last knot goes soft, she writhes in response, and a content, relaxed murmur comes out of her.

"Oh god, that's it, don't stop," she says, the first words to come from her for a while.

"You were very tight." You reach across, add a small amount of more oil and start working back upwards. One stroke at a time. Up her neck. Over her shoulders. She trembles when you go deep into her flesh and reaches out to grasp at something, anything, and finds the edge of the table, holding herself steady. Her arms now, you lift them one by one, prying them from her grip and then holding and rubbing and pulling to coax the stiffness out.

Oil over her legs, next. Slowly you run your hands over the outside and inside and rub them into her skin, kneading it into her. Danielle keeps her mouth firmly shut the whole time. No jokes. Nothing funny. You lean down to her, focusing on her thigh that refuses to let go. Bending down, you push into her. As you feel her tension drain, you are rewarded with another quiet hiss.

You place the oil upon her feet and work it into her soles with a finger, an instant trigger, she cackles as her foot recoils at your touch. "Sorry, that's a bit ticklish," she tells you, apologetically.

Her feet go still and she inhales deeply as you set back to your task, much to the quiet amusement of Danielle. It's the slowest you have ever worked on a client, with long, dragging strokes to make sure she really enjoys it. Each is careful, so careful, to pull and tease. "Keep working it all the way up, all the way up my legs," she orders, quietly. "Nice and slow. Can you do that?"

You agree.

You hear Danielle sigh as you move your hands slowly up her calf. So soft and firm at the same time as she breathes so gently. A trace of laughter, an easy smile. You work her in the same manner, up her thigh, as slow and relaxing as before, massaging deep and heavy. Danielle begins to roll her hips as you grip the flesh at the top of her thighs and dig in.

"Higher, please, just for me." Danielle makes a little hum to accompany the instruction. You obey, knowing where this is leading. You take the oil, and let it pour lightly onto the peak of her cheek, it threatens to roll away so you capture it in your palm, a firm squeeze of her rear, a spread of oily warmth. She shivers and pushes up her hips in silent encouragement.

Your hands trail along, smooth and oily, each touch brings more shivers. Her legs part slightly, a slow squirm of her hips. Your fingers glide on her tight, round cheeks; running across, back and forth as she breathes deep. You press deeper with each sweep and listen as her gasps become a little louder, and her body moves a little more. She bends her arm, reaching back, as you watch it shake. Her nails claw onto the side of the bed.

The more you tease her with your touch, the harder she grips and the more she parts her legs. You've known the perfection of her body, just by seeing it, but this feeling confirms it.

Your hand wanders with long, oily strokes as you glide up her back, tracing the curves of her slim back up, all the way to her neck. There, you hold her as you lean in. "You can turn over now. Let's work out your front," you say, and Dani nods in agreement.

She smiles, though she remains silent, slowly, with such care, turning onto her side, then twisting to face you, her face flush, eyes drowsy, her mouth agape. She rests upon her back, arms by her sides, legs flat against the bed, open, as you gaze into her eyes.

You apply the oil with long slow strokes down her stomach, feeling her as she flinches, watching the dimples at her waist appear then vanish with her body's twists, with every flexing of her muscles. When you trace up, her flat, beautiful chest, and slowly slide a finger beneath her small pert breast, Dani takes a deep, quick, raspy breath, then says, "They didn't lie when the reviews said you have the best hands in the world."

Your oil-covered thumbs graze upon her nipple, soft at first, gentle in pressure, but this becomes firmer, building and rising, faster. Round and round it swirls, and this delight sends Danielle's breath to hitches and sharp, shallow pants. As she squirms in delight, her legs twist, rubbing and clenching. Her teeth bite down on her lips. The flesh of her body glistens.

One hand reaches, down a thigh then back up, across her stomach and down the other. Repeated in pattern as the other thumb never ceases on her pert nipple. Dani's eyes go blank as your touch continues, circling, teasing, stroking and grabbing. Her body responds and you are delighted to witness every tremor and gasp as it arches. And finally, for the first time, a full-blooded moan rings free.

Your hand goes lower. Deeper into the pit of her thigh as she spreads her legs wide. You seek out the inevitable and when you reach her crotch, you watch her tense up. And when the touch slides between her pussy's folds, and against her clit, there's an immediate reaction, her body jumping as you make the slightest flick of motion with your middle finger. You lift and let a trail of oil roll down her slit and back down to her rear.

"I wasn't really joking before," she gasps. "You should be naked. It would make this whole experience better." Dani tilts her head, fixes her drowsy gaze onto you, and holds the stare for what feels like a hundred heartbeats. "Don't you think that's fair? The way things are going?"

You hold the eye contact and consider this, a sudden lump in your throat making any immediate reply a struggle. Her eyes don't move from yours. Even her chest barely heaves with her short, fast panting.

"Go on, I want you naked. I'm going to feel so, so empty otherwise..."

That's all it takes.

How could you deny her?

Your hands, still covered in the hot oil, reach for the buttons at your collar. You slip them in order from the top and release one after another. Danielle's lips twitch, and her teeth rake them to a shine. Your clothing drops to the floor. Bared. It feels so wrong, and unprofessional, yet Dani looks on and gapes with a hungry, dark delight.

"Nervous now?" Her eyebrow twitches up.

"Never," you bluff.

Danielle's mouth stays open wide, and her breaths get caught and flicker as your touch returns to the same spot as before. Gentle, light touches flutter with your fingertips, drawing the tips of your fingers back and forth, back and forth, over her clit. You watch as her eyes widen, how her legs straighten out and she starts to kick her feet with the faintest hint of frustration as you tease.

"I paid for a deep massage." She emphasises the adjective, dragging the syllable out like a whine. "This teasing is bad for my heart," she whispers.

Her arm rises, then reaches for your chest and trails its way downward. The pressure of her finger, nails lightly scratching at your skin, trailing down to the waistline and then she wraps her slender fingers around you. It's hard. Incredibly so.

"And I'll show you how generous I can be with a tip."

She licks her lips slowly and sensually as her eyes meet yours with a mischievous gleam.

You grunt, pressing down with your fingertip, and then without a second thought, push it inside of her. Danielle throws her head back in silent bliss.

"Holy shit," she mumbles in a muffled, muted moan. "Don't hold back." You circle inside her slowly with one finger, letting the oil's moisture guide you. Then, adding a second digit, you delve back into her, pushing in deep and making sure she can feel it all the way inside as the palm of your hand pushes against her crotch.

Dani rolls her head to one side as you work, staring you right in the eyes and biting down on her lip as she throbs and you press down inside of her, moving in all sorts of subtle directions that are impossible for her to guess. With that, she moans again and there's a little grunt from deep within her. Her fist twists around you and she gets bolder with her touch.

You build it into some sort of rhythm and she moves, each time, reacting so well with your own thrusts. When she's relaxed enough for it, you introduce another finger.

"I— You can— Go a little bit faster," she pleas. Stretched wider, Dani starts to grow even more restless. This time, instead of small, languid strokes, your whole hand works, fingers rubbing and swirling, thumb finding her clit to massage it with purpose, building, always building, until she is shuddering under you, every single time, tensing and twitching with every change in direction.

"Come on—more," she pleads, bucking up against your hand, so slick with arousal.

She's barely jerking your cock, not even intentionally, just the jolts through her body causing the occasional twist of her grip or slide of her palm. You let it just rest in the loose curl of her grip and focus on doing what she commands, twisting your hand, gripping and stroking, tugging in circles and holding inside. The quivering gets worse and worse. And her breath grows heavier.

You keep working her relentlessly, as she squeals a drawn-out curse. Dani nearly loses control. She grips you hard, tightens her fist around you in spasm, a pained wince on her face, as she curls her toes so hard.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop." It's the only thing she says, no jokes, no banter, as her eyes roll back, mouth agape as if the wind's been knocked from her, and a final, body-length spasm overtakes her. Her whole body. Back arched off the table, eyes pinched shut. It lasts for the longest time, almost impossible to sustain, you watch with an odd mix of terror and wonder. Her hair is a mess. Her naked, stretched-out limbs, glisten in the warm light.

It takes her a good half minute to fall back down, her lungs now sucking in the air as if there were none at all. One leg quivers. Her breaths slow, her eyes open again and you're holding her stare, her cheeks a faint scarlet, strands of hair plastered across her forehead.

More oil. More rubbing. From tension to relaxation again. Slowly she softens and you turn her whole body limp beneath your hands. All while you barely manage to hold yourself back from ravishing her. She keeps her eyes fixed upon you, so you force a smile, ignoring the ache clenched in her fist. You could kiss those lips, right now. Taste them. How soft and smooth would she feel pressed against you? What noises would come out of her?

You'd be forgiven for letting your imagination run wild with desire, but not forgiven for taking this service in any direction that Danielle didn't command.

She watches your thoughts as they float by, and seems to be considering the same. Then she smirks, and just with a look, reassures you that it's going to happen, and it's going to happen just exactly the way she wants it.

You're working your slick hands over her midriff, and have been for a minute or two, waiting for instruction. You work slightly up her body, perilously close to taking some initiative, but then she speaks, "That was... unexpected."

"Was it? Seemed to be your plan all along."

"Planned to tease. Planned to be touched. But did not expect it to be that good." She shakes her head softly, her cheek touching her shoulder as she stares with a fuzzy, dreamy look that is impossible to decipher. She has a cute, beautiful way of pouting her lips that's fascinating, you're struck still, hypnotised by the sight and the motion. "A few more would be perfect."

"You have me booked for another hour, and the client gets what the client wants."

Dani laughs. A light, melodious chime. "I know what I want," she tells you, gently rocking her palm over your cock. "I'm incredibly hard to fully satisfy, you better get to work."

Dani releases you from her grasp, and turns back over to her front, stretching out once more and looking back at you over her shoulder, holding a stare as she parts her legs. This stare could kill a man if his heart were too weak, and though your heartbeat quickens, your mind focuses on your purpose.

Your hands glide over her oil-coated thighs, wet and glistening. Dani rests her head back down and you are unable to stop your gaze from wandering along her spine, the gentle dimple above her ass, the two tight round cheeks below and the line bisecting between them. Up over her ass, you caress, then you slip and stroke in the valley, this, she clearly enjoys, judging from how her butt rises to greet your touch, her hips rolling once more.

Lower now. Lower and lower, until once again, your finger meets her lower lips and she hisses an inwards breath and tenses. Her body is so reactive to every touch. It makes this so easy, so rewarding, so deeply arousing. You are confident you can build her up, high, and crash her down in waves, for hours, until the sun breaks.

Two fingers again, to begin, that same twist and swirl to coax her towards delirium. Her quiet huffs and suppressed moans fill the air. With a heavy push, you dive in deeper, to watch as her whole body, muscle by muscle, starts to become lost in the sensation. And when you curl your fingers down and grind the heel of your hand over her clit, Dani absolutely loses it. She bites the sheets, body tight, hands trying to grab the far edge of the bed to give something to hold onto.

Her feet kick uselessly and a series of incomprehensible phrases fill her breath and break apart on the way out of her. Though you don't quite understand them, you grasp the meaning. This is what she wants you to do right now, to see how high you can bring her.

Her whole body starts trembling again. Tingling, quivering, shivering. It's one constant shake and her moans are louder, and longer. She struggles to breathe out a scream. Sweat begins to mix in the oil, and she lets out another unintelligible mess of words as you pull away. Dani collapses back into a quivering heap, gasping for air and stretching her hands out as if reaching out to the void, reaching out, grasping for something in the dark.

She lies there, spent, breathing deep. Her entire body is hot and burning as her muscles relax. Each breath is a moan, and her thighs clamp tightly together as if the feeling of nothing after being so worked up is torturous to endure.

Your fingers are soaked in her creamy fluids, it drips down onto the bed below. Yet somehow, this isn't over. No. There's a single goal, right in the back of your mind, that's never stopped clawing. If only you could taste her. Sink your face between her firm ass cheeks and tease her with your tongue and suck and devour her, the entirety of her.

Maybe you could ask. Or maybe you could just start kissing her lower back, your nose rubbing against her tailbone, working to the left, towards her hip and tease, trailing your lips ever lower to a spot just over the peak of her butt, until she wants your tongue to dive right in.

The thought is interrupted by her blessing, "Again. Another. However you want," her words stumble upon each other, a raspy, spent quality to her. "Whatever you want."

You kneel at the very end of the bed, lean over and take her hips and you lift them up with an abrupt strength that earns her immediate interest, judging by her sudden gasp. You put her on her knees, ass in the air. Beneath it, her lips shine and spread. You're going to drown in her. You lean over, planting kisses along her body until they land right where your fingers had been, right along her soaked pussy.

The taste is so sweet. Dani whimpers as her body twitches. Your lips part her, and your tongue stretches and laps her up with an unshakeable excitement. Dani tastes amazing, like every inch of her, hot and rich and so unbelievably delicate. She is desire—concentrated and distilled into the female form. Your mouth descends, kissing every tiny spot you can reach, your lips closing, sucking the sticky warmth into your mouth. You might spend the rest of eternity here, savouring her juices.

Each rough lick gives Dani a small burst of pleasure. This is perhaps not the most elegant approach, but you wouldn't dream of stopping and so you continue, over and over, eager to return Dani to her previous, tranced bliss. So wet and sweet and smooth as velvet, your tongue flattens over her clit.

Dani cums twice like this. Ass in the air, your face in her cunt, two more delicious releases and you lap up both. They come accompanied by Dani's musical screams and moans and swearing and mumbles and complete incoherence. Every part of her body tenses. Every movement becomes forced, with less control, until every part of her, quivering and shaking, is taken by a rapture. Her throat chokes off her moans and breathy whimpers, and then she becomes lost for a time, struggling to remember to breathe, caught up in the overwhelming, and unstoppable waves.

"Enough, enough," Dani chokes out, and so you stand back, watching as she twists back into a flat position on her back again, her hips shaking with the effort. She trembles for a while longer before lying perfectly still on the table. As you gaze at her, she still appears ethereal, unattainable. She gazes up at you with lidded eyes and the drowsy content smile that rests upon her lips—she is a goddess. Even after all those body-racking orgasms, she settles into that same elegant grace that makes you question what makes her mortal.

Dani raises a hand and curls a beckoning finger, "Come here."

And you come to her, to her smile that draws you in, a moth to a flame and the moth will burn, not the flame, it will never tire, it will consume anything. She takes you in her hand, hard and throbbing under her delicate touch, and yet so helpless against it. With a pull, Dani draws you in—to consume.

She parts those pretty, pink, curled lips and then looks up into your eyes and sighs as her warm breath runs across your length. Danielle curls her tongue to the underside of your head and engulfs it. She doesn't raise her head from where it rests, instead making you clamber up to her, so you put a knee on the wooden frame and a hand next to her shoulder. The heat grows, and Dani is swirling her tongue over your tip, making you twitch and throb in her grasp, a slave to her touch.

You're pushing forward, leaning over her, as her mouth opens wide and lets you in, then, all at once, tightens. Her tongue and lips stretch around your thickness and then enclose you, sealing tight. She makes a point of looking you in the eye, holding your stare, a curl at the corner of her mouth that only further sets a tremble to your loins. She pulls, slow, agonising and without hurry, her mouth holds tight and sucks back.

You pull out of her, an inch, and she stays clamped tight and as she draws away, she uses the time to slowly slide her tongue along and around your crown and against the sensitive underside. Once Danielle has pulled right off with a wet smack, the warmth of her breath covers your cock once more. She flicks her tongue against your tip, first as a long, sweeping, lingering brush, then a rapid flick that teases.

"Dani, fuck," you groan.

"That's the idea," she whispers, right against you, her warm, panting breath driving you crazy, her own burning desire barely contained. "Get down there and do me. Right now."

Then, in one fluid movement, her hands find her legs. She grips behind her knees and pulls her thighs up and back. She spreads her legs wide, with her feet in the air.

"Fuck me. I mean it," she states firmly, fixing you with that stern gaze. Her words send a flaming arrow directly to light the most basic of your instincts.

She has presented everything to you and wants to give even more. You can think of nothing else but ploughing her into the table until your vision fades to white. It takes only seconds and you find yourself over her, between those slim legs. You put a hand on each thigh and spread her.

Cock bearing down on her leaking cunt, you lower your body until she has all of your weight on top of her. Her hips squirm under your pressure, and she drags your arm tighter around herself until she finds exactly what she's been looking for. A rub between her folds as your length slips against her, up and down.

"Mmm, yes," she giggles, "put it in, all of it."

In an almost unconscious action, you place the head of your cock against her opening. Her wetness provides no friction, and Dani uses her nails to scratch your back impatiently. Slowly you flex forward. Every inch. So warm, so fucking hot. Tighter than anything.

"Oh, yes," is all Dani has to say as her breath cuts short. You feel the intense squeeze, you have no doubt this is a step beyond the pleasure your fingers gave her, and her entire body tightens, and she pulls you in, deep and full. Her eyes grow wide and her fingers dig into you as you draw back and drive in once more.

Another moan, her pitch gets deeper, this one drawn out from her very core. You hear it right in her chest, from the depth of her lungs, before it squeals free, right into your ear. "Worth every penny." Her words are thick and drawled, hard to make out, she can't seem to decide whether she wants to open her mouth or close it and keep it shut.

She wraps her arms tight around your neck and pulls you in deeper, you push her legs higher, folding her body up and it only makes things tighter, a thrill she clearly relishes.

You roll forward, holding her close to you, giving you a better purchase with her feet held up so high. Dani groans as you bite and suck at the soft skin along her neck. Your thrusts are still slow, so damnably slow. You push, and fill, and wait. Over and over, it's a cruel torment to both of you.

"Ah, come on. Give it to me, hard," Dani says, raking nails on your neck. She turns her head. Finds your mouth. Seals her lips against yours. Teeth nibble and then her tongue penetrates your mouth. Her hips start to rise and drop. Her sex grabs at you, pleading to pound her.

So you let go of your iron self-restraint and fuck her. Fuck her good.

Your tempo grows more powerful. Her walls squeeze and pull and writhe with a desperate need. It's tight, so, so tight, the way she envelops you, the slick warmth around you. Each stroke sends a shudder through her. Another ripple follows and with it, her high, pitchy wails. Dani's never been so loud, so demanding that her pleasure be delivered.

Number five is close, you can feel her body going rigid, the quivering, twitching, curling of her toes, the growing tension, you go faster, a force building within, trying to rush her to the inevitable. Dani screams, moaning incoherently, her eyes screw tight as you throw yourself into her with such ferocity, like an animal, with no regard for pace, or rhythm. Pure, unrelenting pleasure.

She grips so hard on your shoulder, and then her other hand goes back, over her head, gripping the edge of the table in white-knuckled desperation. "I'm... cumming," Dani spits through a clenched jaw, unable to even form her tongue around the word.

Her orgasm feels more powerful this time, so much more; it flows through her and you can't help but stare. Watching the way the pink blossom blooms on her face and how the rest of her pales. One orgasm into another, you think, it's difficult to discern. You're in no rush. No race. Instead, you delight in the absolute loss of control you see in Danielle's face and you feed off it.

Her mouth forms a soundless scream and she reaches up and sinks her nails into your chest and drags them across, not breaking the skin, but hard enough to leave marks. It feels amazing. All the more so watching Danielle break herself, willingly.

"Holy shit..." Danielle pants then sucks air into her empty lungs.

Her little, flexible body, pinned beneath yours, seems incapable of even the tiniest motion, save the trembles.

Through gritted teeth, she says, "I want— I want a facial. My face. Cum."

This is the single sexiest thing she could have possibly said at that moment. For all the time you've spent watching that pretty doll-like face contort in a hundred different ways, you want nothing more than to see it coated with your lust. To paint every last bit of that sweetness on her lips, on her cheeks—everywhere. To witness that brief moment, after climax where she is confused and awash with bliss and trying to remember how to breathe, and it's interrupted by a load of your cum. You want it.

You round the table, standing over her head, lowering down and watching her eyes spark with anticipation. Danielle knows how bad you want it, how close it is, and you watch, enraptured by the way she tilts her head up and licks her lips. Her little, eager tongue.

Dani wraps her fingers around you and strokes and pumps fast, pulling, urging you to completion, teasing you to spill over her, onto those pretty, dainty features. Your skin feels alive, like static and pinpricks and pure lightning, like your nerves have come to the surface. Pent-up energy coils low, threatening to snap. You cannot resist her anymore.

It all unfurls in a glorious, explosive instant. Blinding. A shiver climbs up your spine, spreading to every limb in one long spasm. A long, raw growl in your throat as you shoot thick and hard, some on her face, and some overshooting onto her chest. Dani gasps a cute little "Oh" and then starts to giggle as the second rope lands right over her perfect little features. And then another, this time across the bridge of her nose and her cheek and down her lips. Her tongue collects whatever it can.

Dani's small hand keeps a hard grip and keeps coaxing, even as you feel like you have nothing to give, with it all painting her face, still, she jerks up and down, until you are empty, trembling and drained. Still, she goes, forcing you through painful shivers, laughing the whole time until the pain becomes too much, and your hands take hers and pull.

You prop yourself against the table, looking down at the mess you made. Dani's happily laughing to herself, licking up what she can. "You'll need to clean me again now, won't you? Sponge away all your dirty filth," she giggles.

Her giggle is intoxicating. Loving. It warms you right through. You wish you could bottle up her laughter.

"Need a minute," you grunt, and there's so much pride on her cum-strewn face.

"Aw, need time for recovery?" Dani quips. "I'll just lay here, all messy and defiled. Waiting to be tended to. Enjoy the sight of me, of your filthy cum all over my sweet, innocent face, until you get the strength to lift me. Really, don't rush, I love this feeling."

[kooqitas]

#pairing: crush!jungkook x reader.

#genre: smut MINORS DNI | #w.c: ~1100

#synopsis: where jungkook finds out you have a crush on him and well… you end up in his bed

#warnings: vaginal sex, unprotected sex, a little teasing and a… cute ending?

★ m.list | inbox :D join my taglist

the story is a bit complicated, so i'll keep it short.

min yoongi is your best friend, you practically grew up together and even though now, because of college, you don't see each other every week, you at least talk on video calls.

and it was on one of those normal video calls that everything happened.

yoongi had recently broken up with his girlfriend, and with that he ended up entering the 'fuckboy phase' where he wanted to have sex with everyone without involving feelings, you listened to him, asked him to just be honest and not hurt anyone, and he agreed, but he also asked how you were, and you ended up telling him that you had a crush on his flatmate, jeon jungkook.

jeon jungkook had moved into yoongi's house a few weeks ago, they lived together with namjoon, taehyung and jimin too, you saw him a few times and even bumped into jungkook at college, but it never went beyond that.

when you told yoongi this, you didn't understand why he was laughing so fucking much... until you saw jungkook frame himself in the camera and laugh at you.

your reaction? turn off the video call, of course. and since then, you haven't seen each other again�� at least until tonight.

it was namjoon's birthday, and you were celebrating with pizza, beer, music, and lots of friends. and you were forced to deal with jungkook when you went to the kitchen to get a beer and he came after you

"so, daddy's little princess has a crush on me?"

you just rolled your eyes, trying to ignore jeon jungkook's figure beside you, fuck, he looked so hot in his baggy jeans and black shirt, you wouldn't mind if he fucked you right there on the kitchen counter.

but you wouldn't give him that dose of happiness, so you just mumbled something and left the kitchen, mean, you tried, the next second jungkook's hand was squeezing your waist, and he was so close that you could tell exactly what brand of beer he had drunk minutes ago.

"leaving so soon?" he presses you against the kitchen counter, trapping you.

"what that fuc-"

jungkook leans in closer, his face inches away from yours. "hm? what were you gonna say?"

"what that fuck are you doing, jungkook?" you scream.

"i just wanted to see what you were up to, that's all. can't a guy come check on his friend?"

"i'm not your friend! where's namjoon? i'll find him!"

"what? i was enjoying so fucking much our conversation."

"don't be pathetic" you roll your eyes again.

"watch your mouth!" jungkook's eyes narrow at your comment.

"or what?"

"or i'll teach you some manners." you laughs, and jungkook smirks, his annoyance at your laugh is clearly visible. he looks down at you for a moment before leaning closer.

jungkook grabs your waist, pinning you on the counter again, he pushes himself against you, closing the gap between you. "i'll teaching you a leson."

"j-jungkook..."

"don't call me like that, when you say my name like that... god... i'll break you..." jungkook's body now is pressed firmly against yours.

"so do you have a crush on me too?" you laughs, teasing him.

"don't. fuck. temp me. you're playing with fire."

"well... i like getting burned sometimes."

jungkook kisses you, devouring your mouth completely while his hand roams your body, rubbing his body against yours in a not-so-gentle way, almost laying you down on the table, his wet tongue taking complete control and making you softer and softer to his firm touch.

you don't even know how it happened, but namjoon and yoongi, in the corner of the room, saw you and jungkook go up the stairs towards his room, visibly horny.

jungkook barely locks the bedroom door and throws you on the bed, taking off his own shirt and devouring you again while his cold hand continues to shamelessly pass over your body. he seems a little desperate, but that makes you even more excited, of course!

when you take off your shirt and hike up your skirt to your waist, jungkook seems to stop working for a few seconds.

"what's wrong?" you ask.

"fuck, i… i'm gonna fuck you… fuck, i'm finally gonna fuck you."

"didn't you expect this to happen one day?"

"expect it? no, but i'm so fucking happy it's happening!"

jungkook places the palm of his hand on your pussy, and for a few seconds you feel embarrassed, it's almost pathetic how wet you are and you've barely done anything…

"fuck… all this for me?"

he laughs, lowering his face to fuck you, but you lift him up, grabbing his hair and asking him gently that you want to leave this for later. you touch jungkook's belt, unbuckling it and pulling his pants and underwear down, watching his fat cock jump down.

"i wan-need you inside me. now, jungkook!"

and he obeys, of course he obeys.

the thick cock opening you completely, but you've never felt so full. better yet, you've never felt so full of him.

"do you know how many times i've come imagining you like this? opening yourself up all over my cock? damn, you're so fucking hot!"

jungkook thrusts hard, clearly without any control over his own desire, and you love it, love how it seems like he's going to break you in half without even realizing it, love how it seems like he doesn't care about the creaking of the bed on the floor, love how he doesn't care if everyone down there will know that you two are having sex.

"you're mine. only mine. no one will ever touch you again. only me."

he kisses you, completely messy, one of his hands going up to your chest and playing with your nipples, your legs spreading wider and wider as if that would make him go deeper.

"i'm gonna fill you up so much, i'm gonna make you leak my cum and then i'm gonna cum in your mouth, on your tits, you're gonna sit on my face, i'm gonna make you cum in every way possible."

you grab his arm, screaming when you finally come around his dick, and that makes him come too, the hot liquid inside you making a mess that leaves you dizzy.

jungkook slows down, but still thrusting into you, sticky, wet, hot, and yet you want more, you need more…

"i-i wanna fuck you differently now." you arch your eyebrow, not quite understanding what he means. "i wanna fuck you like my girlfriend, i wanna cum inside my girlfriend and mark her all over"

“fuck, jungkook” is the only thing you can respond.

but he knows that's a yes.

and that's how he keeps fucking you all night long.

[almond-tofuuu]

His good girl ❄️

Zayne x fem reader smut

Warnings: PiV sex, some dirty talk, nipple play, praise, use of pet names (good girl, love, baby, angel), office sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it ppl), improper use of an evol (ice ice baby 🧊), sex against a wall/door, light mentions of biting/marking, little bit of cervix fucking, tummy bulge (he's big, trust me 😉), creampie

(lemme know if I missed anything)

You really weren't sure how you ended up like this, in fact you could barely remember your own name, all you could focus on was Zayne. His hot mouth leaving wet kisses on your shoulders, cool fingers pinching your sensitive nipples, and his thick cock pounding into your drenched cunt, his strong arms the only thing holding you up as his rough thrusts pin your body against his office door. What had started out as a simple lunch date with your boyfriend had now turned into something scandalous.

You'd never thought Zayne to be one to mix work and pleasure, but something about the way he was gripping the plush of your hips so tightly, sure to leave bruises for you to admire later on, pulling you back to meet every snap of his hips as he drove his deliciously thick cock into you over and over again, told you he was enjoying this as much as you were. With a particularly harsh thrust, Zayne's cock reaches even deeper inside you, hitting the spongey spot deep in your pussy that had you arching your back, cunt clenching tighter around his length as a high-pitched whine was forced from your throat.

"I thought I told you to be quiet love, what would all my colleagues think if they heard my little angel making such sinful noises?" Zayne whispered lowly into your ear, his voice was husky and soft but there was a quiet dominance to his words. "you need to be quiet for me, baby, you can do that can't you? You can be a good girl for me and keep that pretty mouth shut, right?"

You nod your head, desperately wanting to please him, wanting to be a good girl for your loving boyfriend who was fucking you so perfectly, biting your lip to stop any more sounds escaping as your cunt continued to flutter around his cock. Suddenly Zayne's movements slowed, pulling his cock out of your throbbing pussy until only the tip was left in, his icy fingers harshly pinching the nipple of your left breast.

"You know better than that, angel, come on, use your words. Or have I already fucked you dumb?"

A pathetic whimper left your throat as you tried to buck your hips back into his, your cunt aching to feel full again, but Zayne's firm grip kept you in place, small ice crystals forming, a warning to behave.

"You know the rules, angel, use your words. Are you going to be a good girl for me? Or do I need to stop right now, and it would be such a shame if I did because I've been aching to feel this pretty little cunt cum all over my cock.... But only good girls get to cum" his tone is as icy as his evol, sending shivers down your spine as you swallow down the desperate whine threatening to spill from your lips. Tears burn your eyes as you squeeze them shut, your brain struggling to form any coherent thoughts.

"I'll be g-good....please Zayne....'m gonna be good... please, need to cum" you hiccup out between sobs, your mind turning to mush as your cunt clenches around nothing.

"There we go, that wasn't so hard, now was it?" Zayne whispers softly, lips trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck, your skin igniting under the feeling of his tongue and teeth marking you, branding you as his.

"Now keep that pretty mouth quiet for me, love"

With that he's slamming back into you, his cock burying itself deep in your pussy, hitting your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips, forcing your body further into the door. You bit your bottom lip hard, the tangy taste of iron flooded your mouth as you fought to keep quiet as Zayne continued to pinch and pull your nipple with one hand, the other moving from your hip to press down on your stomach, feeling the outline of his cock as he roughly pounded into your gushing cunt.

"Ngh you feel that, Angel, feel how deep I am... You're taking me so well, always such a good girl for me, perfect girl with the perfect little pussy" Zayne's praises went straight to your cunt, working you closer to your orgasm, clenching harder around his cock that was taking you so well, forcing it's way inside you, making you feel every delicious ridge and vein as Zayne moulded your cunt to his shape. Feeling your high approaching rapidly, you try to warn Zayne, hands reaching out behind you blindly as your fucked-out brain is unable to form any words. Zayne, ever the observant physician, notices your struggle, hands grabbing hold of your wrists and pinning them to the door in front of you.

"Are you going to cum angel? I can feel you clenching around me... Ngh, it's okay.... You can cum, baby.... You've been such a good girl, go on and cum for me" Zayne urges you on, voice straining as he approaches his own release. With one hand he keeps your wrists pinned above your head as the other hand moves down to rub circles on your clit, working you closer to the edge.

"Come on, baby, want to feel you cum, need to feel my good girl squeezing my cock.... Please baby, cum for me, cum on my cock angel"

Zayne's skilled fingers on your clit and husky words of encouragement are all you need to push you over the edge, your back arching and cunt milking his cock as you're hurtled into an intense orgasm. Zayne isn't far behind, hips rutting into you erratically as he chases his own release, thrusting a few more times before his hips stutter and he burries his cock deep inside you, coating your cunt with his warm cum. Exhausted, your body slumps forward against the door, unable to hold yourself up you're grateful for Zayne's strong arms as they wrap around your waist, his forehead resting against your shoulder as you both come down from your highs. The room is quiet apart from your panting breaths and the hammering of your heart. After a few minutes, Zayne slides his softening cock from your spent pussy, taking a second to admire the way your cunt clenches around nothing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and the mix of both your cum dripping down your thighs. Leaning forward to press a gentle kiss between your shoulder blades, Zayne speaks softly against your skin "I apologise if I was a little too rough with you, love, you did so well for me" another loving kiss is pressed to your forehead, your eyes closing as you begin to drift off in the safety of your boyfriends warm embrace.

"Rest now, Angel, don't worry, I'll be right here when you wake up"

This is my first time writing smut so feedback is appreciated 😙

[luveline]

Hi luveline! I have a request: in a busy night at the restaurant reader cuts or burns herself and gets overwhelmed and carmen patches her up and calms her down 👉🏻👈🏻 pretty please I loveee your hurt/comfort fics <3

—Carmy looks after you and your burned wrist. fem, 1.2k

Carmy thought he had bad nerves. 

You julienne onion at your station, ready to garnish their miniature French onion hot pots, your hand coming down slightly too hard. You’ve positioned the knife wrong in panic, thumb too far down the blade and claw of your other hand loosely tucked. You’re getting too stressed, and you’re going to get hurt. 

He has too much to do, but not too much to call for your attention across the cutting boards. “Hey, hey,” he insists. You look up. “Slowly and surely. Thumb against the line of the blade, like this.” 

He shows you the proper grip. 

“I know how to do it,” you say, frowning. 

“Just calm down.”

“You’re never calm.” 

Carmy can actually be extremely calm, and especially when he cooks, but nobody at The Bear has true reason to believe him. He has yet to prove himself properly after his in-fridge meltdown. Maybe he can’t. 

But tonight is busy, not make or break. 

“Seriously,” he says, smirking because he knows you hate it, “take it slow. Well, slower. Check your grip and keep going.” 

“Carmy, can you fuck off and let me cut these?” you ask. Clearly, your associates are rubbing off on you. 

Richie chimes in, his official, nothing-but-business intonation in play, “Carmy, can you fuck off, please?” 

Carmy doesn’t need to raise his voice. “Fuck you.” 

“Fuck you, Carmen. Twelve, walking in five. Hands? We’ve gotta pick up some bucatini...” 

Richie’s getting pretty confident in the back of house. Carmy’s happy for him, even if they aren’t speaking outside of the kitchen. 

He’s about to swing around Daniela to help her on the stove when you burst forward toward it and take the reins. Your prep station is cleaned and your onions set aside; he can’t believe how quickly you’re moving, and he saw that chef who was taking questionable substances fuck up a carton of carrots in a good two minutes. Dude was fast. 

He wants to say Baby, slow down, and he wants to examine how awkward ‘baby’ might be if he said it. He can’t think of another pet name that could garner success. Honey’s too old (though maybe, said with softness–), sweetheart too sweet. Doll is for uncles and bub sounds like it’s missing a syllable when he says it. Honestly, Carmy’s just desperate to call you something nice and have you listen, for once. 

You grab a pan from Daniela’s hand. “I got it,” you tell her, not without sympathy. “We can do one each.” 

“Thank you, can you–”

“Daniela, I need those lobster claws now. I’m serious,” Sydney interrupts, giving Daniela a rightfully impatient look. “I needed them five minutes ago.” 

Daniela winces. Sydney waits. You, unbeknownst to everybody except Carmy, attempt to clean a smudge from the hot stove top for no good reason —Carmy could scream at you. He nearly does.

“Can you fucking stop?” he bites. 

Sydney looks at him likes he’s grown a third head, but her reaction, while unfortunate and rather important considering their partnership, is the least of his worries. You flinch at his sudden rough tone and pull your hand back from the smudge, sleeves rolled and clean, skin of your wrist naked and waiting to be branded as you catch it on the side of your hot pan. 

Your yelp is immediate. 

“Fucking– Carmy!” Sydney says. 

He’s not sure why he’s being shouted at. Maybe because he abandons the line at a time where doing so guarantees a ripple effect. 

You’re freaking out. Carmy slides in beside you to encourage the pan off of the heat while you’re unable to tend it. “Daniela?” he says, loud and clipped. 

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re wide-eyed and lying, it isn’t okay, the burn mark is a squeamish pink stripe against your skin and you're already crying. 

Carmy takes your elbow. He wants to yank you to the cold faucet, but he’s measured enough. He has an encyclopaedia of kitchen safety. 

He’s burned himself enough times. “Come here,” he says, though you’re coming anyway, wincing as he leads you to the back of the kitchen by the sink. He stoppers it and starts the cold tap, where he pauses. “It’s gonna sting.” 

“It already stings.” 

Carmy guides your arm under the stream. 

He turns the faucet until it’s a fast running spray and encourages you to lean down to submerge the entirety of the burn in cold water. Your sleeve gets wet. He pushes it up. 

“Carm, it’s fine.” 

He shakes his head to readjust your arm. His hand is tender, but his fingers are trembling. 

“Carmen,” you say firmly, quietly, “it’s okay.” 

He realises suddenly that he’s not breathing. He lets out a breath, pulls another fast one in, and snaps the fuck out of it. “It’s okay,” he repeats, “the cold waters gonna draw out the heat. I’m gonna get the first aid kit.” 

“I have to go back–”

“No.” His and Syd’s kitchen will never prioritise the food over injury. “I’m gonna get the first aid kit, I’m gonna dress it. But you have to stay here for thirty minutes with your hand in the water.” 

“A half hour, are you kidding?” 

“Do I sound like I am?” he asks genuinely, not pissed nor bossy, fighting a tendency to be both. 

“We’re right at the crest of the rush–”

“It doesn’t matter. You can’t prioritise the restaurant over yourself. It’ll fuck you up.” He feels the cold on his hand where he holds yours in the water, watches the water rise to the overflow. “Does it hurt?” He turns your hand to see the burn in better detail. “It’ll blister for sure. You’re gonna have to look after it.” 

You wipe the drying tears from your cheek. It was a stupid question. “Yeah, it hurts. Fuck, it was so hot.” 

“That’s why I told you to calm down.” 

“I know that. Thanks.” 

He doesn’t know if you’re sarcastic or genuine, can’t tell if you’re hurting or pissed at his instruction. You shiver when he lets your wrist go, but you keep the burn submerged, the faucet squeaking as he wrestles it off again. 

“Maybe we could both try calming down,” you suggest. 

“Maybe.” He squeezes his eyes shut quickly. When he opens them, you’re still squinting in your own pain. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll be right back.” 

He pats your shoulder gently. His hand gets stuck to you, massaging tenderly at your shoulder and down your upper arm, your faces closer than they reasonably need to be. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

Your cheek tilts down toward his hand where it holds you, but you don’t let it fall. “I’ll be fine. I am fine. It’s just… busy.” 

“I know.” 

“Never burned myself like that.” 

Carmy has, but you could guess that. “It’s fine. I know how to look after it.” Look after you. 

His hand crests your shoulder. You let your cheek touch briefly to the back of it. “Okay,” you murmur. 

Yeah, he’s fucked. The first aid kit can’t fix what’s wrong with him. 

[anastasiabowe]

𝘾𝙃𝘼 𝘾𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂! — Your husbands who just can’t say no to your cute little face, but sometimes that comes with a cost you will have to pay.

note: This one came to me in a DREAM. I want a man like this, so why not make my man like this?🤷🏽‍♀️

Content warnings: overstim, piv, punishment, rich husband, spanking, tough love, swearing, anything else 17+

★ — 𝗡𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗜

Nanami loved when you were happy. It wasn’t even a happy wife happy life situation, it was a I love seeing her smile situation. He never denied you of any expensive item you wanted. I mean how could he say no to you? He watched as you practically skipped around the mall with his black card, showcasing it if anyone who glanced at you.

He smirked seeing you happy, but yet he felt a little disappointed by your lack of self control. He knew what he was getting into when he pulled out that million dollar ring. His strong arms were lined with black bags and name brands, your hands only holding his card and one small bag. He didn’t mind though, as long as you were happy!

But don’t think he lets you get away with everything! If you have an attitude after this shopping spree, which you do, he will punish you, and that’s because he loves you! It was an agreement, if you can spend his cash, he can use you, or what he likes to say, “enjoy you.”

“Nanamin!” You whined as your new set of black nails tried to push his stomach away.

“Yes?” His deep, yet professional voice oh so casually responded, despite his deep thrusts.

“P-please slow down! I can’t t-take it!” He chuckled at you, you were too cute to ignore, but this is what you deserve! You spent thousands of dollars today, and when he simply asked “are you almost done?” You give an attitude? Oh no, no, no. You weren’t going to get away with that.

“I’m sorry baby, just wanna show you who’s paying for everything you bought today. Just wanna show you who you were giving an attitude to.” He started to speed up, and you cried from the amount of orgasms you’ve had.

“Just one more, then you can have a break.” He kissed your head, and readjusted his position, you both know it won’t be one more.

★ — 𝗧𝗢𝗝𝗜

Toji hated when you spent his money. And what I mean by hate, I mean he will hand you his card and regret it later. You’re actually a modest shopper. You have a bit of an expensive taste, but you have respect for Toji enough to not go crazy. But when Toji had handed you his card at the mall and gave you and said something back handed, you went a little wild.

You bought new heels, expensive jeans, expensive make up, expensive bags. You swiped his card until your hand had a rectangular shape from how hard you gripped it while you tapped it to the card reader.

When Toji later that night checked all of the receipts (which you purposely got so he could see how mad you were) he nearly blew a fuse. $10,000 worth of items you bought. Even though that is nearly nothing compared to how much is in his bank account, it was the principle of it.

“I give you my fucking card only for you to use it like a fucking piece of plastic.” His hand smacked your left ass cheek, making you dig your nails into his thigh.

“I-I’m sorry!” You cried. He rubbed his hand over the deep red mark, and tsked.

“I bet you are.” He landed two more hits to your left and right cheek. You let out a whimper and he ripped both of your cheeks again.

“$10,000, y/n. What were you shopping for, a house?” He chuckled at his own joke, but you didn’t find this funny. He landed another smack. “What made you think that was ok?”

You sniffled from crying and the rage you felt earlier burned through your body again. “Maybe if you didn’t call me a gold digger, yo I wouldn’t be $10,000 poorer!”

The word “poor” irked something in him he hasn’t felt in a while. He grabbed your hair and pulled your head up.

“I’d watch your fucking mouth, I’m the one who fucking pays for your shit.” He spat, you frown, and your bottom lip slowly popped out. He knew what you were doing, but it wasn’t going to work.

“Nah, don’t pull that shit.” He smirked, but the longer he looked at your face the more guilty he felt.

“Y/n.” He warned. You continued to look at him with that face, and he sighed. “You spoiled brat.” He let go of your hair, and moved you to straddle him.

“Just don’t be spending my money all crazy ‘n shit.” You nodded, and he rolled his eyes.

You always fucking win.

[neuvistar]

HI MARYSE thinkin' about tattoo!artist blade who thinks of ur whole body as a brand new delicate canvas for him, pretty tattoos going from ur breasts to your womb, and of course it's never without his " watermark " ( it's his name in mandarin ) on ur thigh<3 thinking about the way he's so proud of his works that he can't keep his hands to himself when he's (finger)fucking you

❝ HIS PRIZED POSSESSION. ❞ signed. blade . wc. 809 .

— featuring ┊tattoo artist!blade x fem!reader

— warnings / content warnings ┊all consensual! not proofread. TATTOO ARTIST BLADIE TATTOO ARTIST BLADIE!!!!, established relationships, v4ginal fingering, cunilingus, use of nicknames, feminine terms used, jus a TAAAAD bit of pussydrunk!bladie ♡ | 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒? @yngxing

— a/n ┊ANON U ARE SOOOOAURRE SMART. i loved this ask a little TEWWWW much that i decided 2 make a small fic out of it >:) THANK U 4 SENDING ME THIS… YUMMERS. (also… it’s been so long so i’m sorry 4 the VERY late response this is insane)

it’s no doubt that you were blade’s favourite customer, of course! you were his girlfriend! but yet, it shows in his works and the way he treats you. he can’t help it, really.. who wouldn’t be fond of someone as pretty as you? your body was delicate—it was worth worshipping in his eyes, it’s safe to say that it’s hard for him not to lose control. your perfect body was a sight to behold, blessing his eyes with newfound lust and pride. as he leaned in, his hands released your thighs as he dropped to his knees before you, his dark gaze burning with desire as he yanked your sundress up, baring you completely. blade admired his past work, absorbing the beauty of the tattoo on your breast, his initials over your womb, and his name over your thigh. “hmph. take those panties off and lift your skirt up more. i can't be doing this with your clothes on.” blade instructed, his brows furrowed as he pulled you towards his face. “don’t be shy now. it’ll be better to mark you as mine this way.” he bowed his head forward, his tongue flicking against your clit, the sensation sending shockwaves through your body.

"bladie!” you cried out in pleasure, hands fisting in his long dark hair. your boyfriend lapped at your drenched cunt, sparing no mercy as he drove you to the edge.. your back arching off the chair. the scent of his dominance and need fills the air, the heat between you both was thick and palpable. blade’s hand drifts to the side of your thigh, his thumb brushing over your skin through your dress. he growled against your pussy, the sound low and demanding. your face scrunched at the sounds of slurping and sucking from below; your hips arching to meet his tongue. “good.. so good.” blade suckled on your swollen folds like a starved man, feeling it pulse beneath his lips. he could sense the heat radiating from your core, making his own desire grow even stronger. his wet muscle flicked and circled, your moans growing louder and more desperate with each stroke.. it would be unfortunate if another customer walked in on this.

“pretty." he whispered, a wicked expression spreading across his face. and with that, he dove back in, his tongue plunging deep within you. his thumb toyed with your bud, the sensitive nub pulsing in response to his touch. letting out a rough guttural moan, his hands released your thigh to caress the tattoo on your womb, admiring his work once more as the ache in his groin grew more intense with each passing second. “mine.. mine.” sweat glistened on your bodies as you moved together, the room filled with the sounds of your sounds of pleasure. blade was determined to make you feel every ounce of ecstasy and pride he had in his body. he wanted this, he wanted to claim you.. show just how—proud he is of his work.

“.. can you take my fingers?” he asked you suddenly, his voice muffled against your cunt. “these fingers that have worked tirelessly to show everyone you belong to me.” his words are a mix of semi-praise and tease, his fingers spreading your lips open, watching as the slickness coats his digits. he’s enjoying this, the control he has over your body, the way you respond to his touch. “these tattoos.. are staying here forever.” his finger slid inside, stretching you completely wide. he loved this part, making you helplessly needy for his touch. blade knew he could take your body to the edge and back, control you completely.. a slow, sensual invasion meant to calm your nerves and ground you in the here and now. his eyes locked on your face, gauging your reactions and facial expressions. fuck, he knew you hated this combination. you hated that stupid combination of his fingers and his tongue, knowing it’ll make you cum quicker than usual.

blade couldn't get enough of you. no matter how many times he’d touch you, draw tattoos on you, kissed you, it was never enough for him. he wanted more, and he demanded for more. he could cover your entire body up with tattoos for all he cares! his talented tongue delved deeper, flicking and teasing your heat mercilessly. blade absolutely delighted in making you squirm, taking pleasure in your moans and whimpers… you were overwhelmed with everything, especially when blade’s fingers slipped in and out so easily like this. it was almost impressive. he hummed appreciatively at your wetness, a testament to how much you craved his touch.

“so wet.” blade muttered against your pussy, his voice thick with lust. "every touch, every kiss, every orgasm, it all belongs to me. no one else gets to enjoy your sweet body like this.”

…

“especially with my name signed on your womb.”

[byuntrash101]

incubus: coming of age

fem!reader x incubus!san smut | mdni 11.3k being in love with your boss, doctor jeong yunho, is a nightmare. unlike this dream you're having right now of him gently kissing you in the middle of the night. but something feels off. doctor jeong doesn't quite sound like himself... nsfw tags under the cut

multiple smut scenes (2), demon!san (needs its own warning), the duality© of choi san he's cute and sweet then hot then even hotter, he's pouty and whiny and then a cocky little shit, monster cock!san (i mean he do be a demon tbh so don't expect realism), dirty talk (he's filthy), oral (f&m), eye contact>>>, breath play, overstim (f), multiple orgasms (he ain't no sex demon for nothing), slight dumbification, breeding kink, a sprinkle of spit play, explicitly asking for consent, pet names (kitten, baby, good girl), breath play, praising, begging™ (that's my brand baby), bulge kink, marking (in a quite literal sense), orgasm control, squirting, an ungodly amount of cum, cum play, lowkey wholesome ending <3 a/n: please enjoy this rework of an old fic of mine

ateez masterlist | navigation

“Aaaah… Don’t stop” you huffed as you gripped on the bed sheets tightly “I’m cumming” you cry out through gritted teeth, furiously rubbing on your aching and throbbing nub. “F-fuck… Aaaah… Yunho…” You moaned, his name so naturally rolling off your tongue as you pushed yourself over the edge, finally grasping your orgasm and letting it wash over you in waves of heated bliss.

Once your sinful deeds accomplished, you sighed to yourself, lying wide awake in the dark bedroom, contemplating the blank ceiling as your bare chest heaved up and down. 

You did it again… You just couldn’t help yourself, you touched yourself to your handsome boss… Again!

You clicked your tongue, annoyed at your own lack of will.

Yunho was the head of the ophthalmology department at the KQ Medical Center where you worked. Doctor Jeong Yunho was everything a woman in her mid 20s, such as yourself, could desire. He was tall and well built, had strong broad shoulders that seemed like they could carry the weight of the entire world, he was unbelievably attractive with his big puppy eyes and a smile that could light up a room. And on top of that he was incredibly smart and a true gentleman, a wonderful listener, always considerate of his team and that smile! You thought again as you recalled how he looked fondly at you earlier today as you handed him yet another patient file.

As an ophthalmologist of said team, you worked directly under him. And God knew how much more you wanted to do under him…

You shook your head…You really had to stop dreaming about your married boss. Yes, he was married, happily married. And yes, your little thoughts and heart flutters were nothing more than that… dreams, just silly dreams.

You sighed and flipped to your side, tucking your head comfortably on the pillow to finally get some sleep. Not even taking the time to slip your panties back on. Simply buttoning your nightgown back up.

***

You have no idea how long you’ve slept for when you’re woken up by the sound of a pair of lips smacking and the feeling of the said lips attached to your bare shoulder. You blinked a few times, your blurry eyes adapting to the dark room solely illuminated by the rays of the full moon peeking through the blinds. Your eyes fell on the blonde tuft of hair occupied with gently nibbling on your collarbone.

“Hmmm… You finally woke up y/n?” The man lifted his head…

Dr Jeong?!?!

You flung yourself to the headboard, covering yourself with your blanket. Yunho was not at all startled by the sudden screech of terror you emitted and just casually joined you up the mattress. He leaned in and started to playfully lick around your ear. His tongue was surprisingly cool against your burning ear and the tickling sensation raised goosebumps on your skin.

“Aaah” A soft and unexpected moan seeped from your lips. You immediately clapped your hand over your traitorous mouth, refraining from moaning again. Your ears have always been your weak spot.

“Oh baby, you’re so sensitive” his deep voice resonated in your auditory, shivers running down your spine as you fought the urge to lean your head back to give him more access to your neck.

“Dr. Jeong,” you started, voice wavering before the tall blonde interrupted you. 

“Call me Yunho, darling” The pet name spoken in his soft sultry voice made arousal stir your guts around, the butterfly wings tickling your stomach as they took off by thousands.

“Y-Yunho, what are you doing?” You asked in a short breathed whisper, trying so hard not to whimper and, against all odds, succeeding. Yunho smirked, wet lips pressed against the thin skin of your neck.

“Come on baby… You know exactly what I’m doing” He marked a long pause to suck on your earlobe, compelling you to close your eyes. “I’m here to make your wildest dreams come true” Your eyes immediately shot open.

“How would you know about that?” You pushed him away to have a look at his face.

“I just do,” he shrugged nonchalantly before trying to go back to your neck, but you stopped him with a firm hand on his broad chest right between his pecs.

“There’s no way Doctor Jeong would know about that or even act like that at all… Who are you?” You asked, squinting as you grew suspicious. The man chuckled, incredulous.

“Y/n… It’s me Yunho your super sexy gynecologist boss”

Dread crept under your skin, you gasped loudly as you brought the covers further up your body… Doctor Jeong would never speak of himself as “super sexy” and above all else… He’s not a gynecologist!

“Who are you really?” you asked, tilting your head and frowning.

Soon the man dropped his shoulders and the fake reassuring smile, turning his face away from yours.

“Fine!” he spat, he got up from the bed and right there before your very eyes, red smoke started to form at the bottom of his feet, soon enveloping completely his big and tall figure. You rubbed your eyes, persuaded to still be in deep sleep, that was the only logical explanation.

When the smoke dissipated, Yunho was gone and there stood a boy. He had raven black locks of shiny hair perfectly sitting on top of his head, piercing and sharp dark brown orbs looking right into yours and pouty pink lips.

Well, a boy that is if you disregard the two obvious 10 cm (4in) tall horns that sprouted out of his forehead. And a just-as-obvious spade shaped black tail dangling behind him.

He was wearing an oversized black hoodie and a pair of denim shorts with thick white sneakers. He shoved his hands in his back pockets, looking annoyed.

“Who are you?” You asked again, this time more to yourself as you have trouble trusting your own eyes. The thing -for lack of a better word- runs his black stained fingertips through his hair.

“My name is San” he finally said.

“What are you?” you asked after clearing your throat trying not to squeal. San rolled his eyes and sighed deeply, his expression shifting from exasperated to defeated.

“I’m an incubus”

“A what?!” You nearly choked on your own saliva.

“A sex demon that-”

“I know what an incubus is!” you interrupted him, frustrated at the irrational scene taking place before your eyes.

“Well… At least I was supposed to become one” he looked down. You tilted your head in confusion. “Yeah… today is my exam… You’re my exam” You frowned your brows, the confusion thickening in your eyes.

“Your exam?” you echoed.

“Yeah, I was supposed to seduce you to pass…” Your heart jumped into your throat.

“Seduce me?!?” you said louder than intended, feeling yourself almost slipping into cardiac arrest.

“Are you going to repeat everything I say?” he snapped back with a biting tone. “Yeah… I kinda like… studied you and your preferences all semester just for today but it’s all for nothing… I’m going to fail anyway” he hung his head low, sulking cutely.

His words barely made any sense in your fuzzy mind. But then you took a closer look at him, he looked so sad, his cat-like eyes turned droopy, his lips forming an adorable pout as he nervously whipped his tail around. You immediately cursed your subconscious that decided to send you such a weird dream tonight. But the pouting incubus had you second guessing yourself.

“Well…I guess I can make an effort so you can pass your exam” His tail perked up and his eyes instantly lit up.

“Really?” 

You hesitated again.

“Y…yes” you dragged on the word, as if you were trying to keep the right of changing your mind for as long as possible.

“Oh, thank you so much!!!” he chirped, his lips stretching in the most adorable smile, making his sharp eyes turn into two small crescents. And you didn’t really know why but his happiness spread to you, you found yourself mirroring the beaming smile of the heart warming demon.

But something didn't sit right with you.

“Wait, an exam… how old are you?” you asked, uncertain again. San’s smile faded away as he tilted his head to think.

“Hm… You mean in demonic blood moon years or human sun years?” he asked dead serious. When you didn’t reply anything and only looked at him with round and confused eyes, he started mumbling to himself. “Yeah, how would she know what a blood moon year is…” he started counting on his fingers “I’ll be… One… Two… Ten… 19 years old in July” He said proudly puffing his chest.

“Oh my God! You’re only 18!!!” you nearly screamed, almost losing balance and falling off the bed. “I can’t I’m sorry, you’re way too young” San jumped to your side and grabbed both your hands pressing them into his black stained ones.

“Please y/n” he said, piercing cat-like eyes harpooning into yours and begging for your sympathy . “If I fail… I’ll be expelled from school and my parents will disown me… and…” he looked down at his feet, his grip slightly tightening around your hand, his voice quivering. “I’ll be prohibited from breeding, which is an incubus’ sole purpose” He hung his tails in defeat.

You didn’t know why or how but seeing him like that made your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach. You couldn’t possibly say “no” to such a face. You sighed again, it was your turn to feel defeated. 

“Fine…” you couldn’t help but to smile softly when you saw him wag his tail back. “What do you need to pass?” He looked to the side, recalling the instructions.

“For me to have just the passing grade I need to” he nervously licked his lips before looking back into your eyes “I need to successfully give you… one orgasm”.

You blinked your eyes twice, unsure of the information perceived by your ears. You started to shake your head slowly as the realization started to come clearer into mind. “Wait please y/n! We don’t actually have to have intercourse”

“Please don’t say it like that” you asked in a prolonged sigh, removing your hands from his to massage your temples, with knitted brows.

“Wait y/n! I mean… I could maybe… just…” he hesitated “go down on you?”. Silence fell for a second, but you started to shake your head again. “Please” he pleaded, getting on his knees at your side on the mattress, attacking with the damn irresistible eyes and pouty lips.

Silence again.

“OK…” you finally breathed out, getting up and pacing around the room. Once again, his tail cutely perked up. “If it’s a dream then I guess it’s ok…” you whispered to yourself this time your gaze drifting to the floor as you still have trouble processing what is going on.

Just a dream. You repeated to yourself.

“Oh my! Thank you! I promise I will make you feel good” your eyes shot back to him. It was almost imperceptible but the last two words sounded different. Something was different.

San took a step in your direction and you wanted to step back but the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed. You froze in your steps. He leaned into your ear and if you didn’t have your eyes to back up your ears on this one you would have sworn it wasn’t San speaking to you anymore. He took this deep, sultry, and alluring voice that only a demon could have.

“I promise you won’t regret it. Because I was trained for this.” You felt the unusually hot glide of his tongue on your ear as swarms of butterflies collectively took off inside your guts. “I was trained to please you… Only you.” Goosebumps ran across your skin as electricity sparked up in your core.

He went back to lick and suck on your ear you’re surprised how much surface his tongue can cover but you don’t pay that much attention to it, you’re too busy being gently laid back in your bed by San as he licked down your neck, leaving sloppy kisses and playful bites in his wake. His sharp teeth easily sunk into your skin and the pleasurable sting dragged a throaty moan out of your mouth. San briefly pulled away to look at you. He smirked at your flushed rosy cheeks.

“Baby, are you already feeling me?” Just as he said that he pushed his hips into yours and you had to keep yourself from loudly gasping when you felt… it. You haven’t seen it yet, but you just know it… That thing… was huge.

You let out a whimper and he unveiled his pointy teeth, the white pearls glistening under the moonlight. While San buried his face back in the crook of your neck you noticed how the buttons of your nightgown started to faintly glow red and in total stupor you understood they were undoing themselves. The straps swiftly slipped off your skin and you were left absolutely naked before San’s eyes.

He pulled away drinking in your most natural form while you laid on your back, thighs tightly pressed together.

“Baby you look this good, and you want me to behave?” he said in that voice again. He licked his lips, his tongue was different. It’s long and pointy, unnaturally red and… hot too… you recalled from the neck kisses. Your heart pounded in your chest.

He leans back again, and his disproportionately long tongue fully wrapped around your nipple. You moaned and bit your bottom lip. He lightly flicked his tongue. You gasped as it was gradually more difficult to resist.

He dipped down again, hot tongue gliding across your skin from your chest to your stomach and dangerously approaching your center. When he noticed you were keeping your legs tightly shut, he looked back up at you. Your eyes grew wide when you noticed the soft dark brown of his eyes was replaced by a glowing and ominous burgundy red.

“Baby, don’t make this harder than it has to be” San said, not parting his lips from your pubic bone still showering you with a thousand breathy kisses. Then with a flick of the wrist, your legs flew open, the magical force prying your legs open as if it were nothing, coercing you into unveiling yourself to the ravenous gaze of the demon. Before you could even realize it San was eyeing the most private part of you. 

And just like that the demon was at heaven's doors.

“Baby, it didn’t even start yet and you’re already this wet for me” his teasing made you squirm and it’s only then that you realized in what state the incubus has put you.

You were absolutely drenched. You never were this wet… Ever! Even in your wildest dream with Doctor Jeong. Without even proper touching, you soaked the sheets all the way through the mattress. You couldn’t see it, but you felt long strings of your juices linking your sopping center to the bed and coating your inner thighs.

When San approached his face very slowly, eyes focused on his target, licking his lips hungrily, when he’s right there, just a couple of centimeters away from your soaked slit he looked up at you. Sharp eyes glowing red and harboring a smirk that could only be described as downright evil.

“Oh, and y/n, one last thing. This is not a dream… It’s real… I’m real”

You didn’t have time to process the information before his tongue made contact with you, directly aiming for the clit. You gasped loudly, gripping the sheets. The sensation was unlike anything you’ve felt before. His tongue was uncommonly hot and wet, slimy even, like lubricated? It was also kind of rough, rugged, like a cat’s tongue. But strangely it was the best part about it, the little asperities were stimulating you in a novel way. You simply couldn’t hold back anymore. Frankly, you didn’t want to, you were giving in.

Your delighted moans filled the room, and your meek voice had San smirking, lips still tightly pressed to your folds.

“That’s it, kitten, moan for me.”

The pet name made you moan louder, your hand instinctively finding his head, fingers intertwining with the thick black hair between his horns and gripping it. His abnormally long tongue swirling around your clit, driving you to the verge of sanity. The pleasure rose steadily, and you felt the familiar build up form in your stomach.

He wrapped his lips around your swollen and very sensitive clit to give it a gentle suck. Another throaty moan slipped out your mouth which made you bite your lip right after. His sharp teeth grazed against you and you felt a small bite on your already aching bud. The sting was divine and made you scream out a moan. San felt you twitch under his tongue as you unconsciously buck your hips up and down, grinding your needy little cunt against his tongue.

“Kitten, are you gonna cum?” he asked with a mouth full.

You looked down at his dark red glowing eyes, his satisfied smirk, his pitch-black hair stuck to his forehead, his face smeared with your overflowing juices… Fuck why did he have to look so good?

You nodded, biting on your bottom lip so hard you could have drawn blood, feeling your walls flutter, inching so close to the edge, your peak within reach but San slowed down…

No… Please… 

You wanted to beg but you didn't.

You let out a desperate whimper that made San’s smirk grow even wider.

“Then tell me, Kitten. Tell me how good I’m making you feel. Tell me what you want.” he whispered in that deep voice again.

Fuck… How did he know you so well, the weak spot around your ear, the pet name, the dirty talk, the teasing? He knew about all the little things you fantasized about in the dead of night, all the details that drove you mad but never dared speak of out loud. All these secrets you kept for yourself until now. He knew your mind and your body. He had all the cards in hand and you were losing, giving up. But giving up never felt so good.

The agonizing slow flicks of his tongue on your throbbing pussy were killing you and you just wanted more. You needed more.

“Please, please San…” you whined. “Please, please let me cum. I-I need it so bad. Please”. you begged, your mind fogged up with lust. He chuckled in victory.

“Good girl” he praised before shoving his whole tongue in your clenching pussy. You didn't have the will (or the strength as a matter of fact) to control your voice anymore. You let your moans cascade off your tongue and crash heavily on the bedroom floor. The sounds were music to the demon's ear, the irrefutable sign you gave yourself up to him.

“Fuck… yessss…” you brought your second hand between the demon's horn to grip his hair too. Not realizing how harshly you're pulling at it, sting made San grunt against your heat.

“Beg me for it, Kitten”

“Please Sannie… aaah… Don’t stop… Please” you were pleading, you were so fucking close.

His tongue worked wonders going in and out of you at an astonishing speed, every time hitting your g spot dead on. Somehow, he managed to tongue fuck you while still give attention to your clit. Expertedly alternating between your fluttering and gushing hole and your touched deprived little bundle of nerves. 

“M’c-cumming” you whispered in a strangled breath.

“Yes, cum for me Kitten. Cum all over my mouth” San’s deep voice resonated in your ear as your eyes were closed shut. Your legs tensed up and your back arched as the knot finally ruptured, making you unravel at San’s touch. Juices flowing out into San’s open mouth. He sent you into an earth-shattering orgasm. The overwhelming sensation took over your entire body, making you shake uncontrollably as you screamed out his name. Never have you felt something like this. A simple human being would have never been capable of doing the things he had done to you.

San slowed down allowing you to ride off your high without hurry. When he parted his mouth from your quivering core you heard him swallow thickly then hum in satisfaction.

“Mmmmh… Delicious baby” he said wiping his glistening mouth and chin with the back of his hand, the glow in his eyes slowly fading to the original dark brown.

Your chest was heaving up and down and you still couldn’t believe what just happened. The things you felt you can’t really understand or even name them. All you knew was that you didn’t want to let them go.

San had already climbed off the bed when you let your heart speak. Or maybe the voice was coming from further south? 

“San…” he turned around “I-… hum…” you didn’t really say anything but San smirked. He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“Is Kitten becoming greedy?” With that a red halo of light started to surround him and his clothes just simultaneously dropped to the floor.

You looked at him with round eyes and a hanging jaw. Who would have known he was hiding all this behind his boyish face? He looked absolutely stunning. You would have never suspected such broad shoulders underneath that oversized hoodie. He was toned and in shape. But the most impressive thing was without a doubt his masculine attributes…

His huge dick stood proud and tall. It was quite literally the size of your forearm and you just kept staring at it as it lightly twitched, precum shining and pearling at his slit.

You licked your lips as the sight made your mouth water. San picked up on your piqued interest right away.

He slipped back in bed with you and whispered in your ear again, planting kisses around your ear. He grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks in a firm grip, his black stained thumb tugging at your lips before he slipped his long tongue inside your mouth. Instantly the taste of your own cum spreaded on your tongue, lust clouding your mind. San continued to push his tongue inside, past the back of your mouth and until it was down your throat. Making your lips finally meet. Your eyes instinctively rolled to the back of your head, your mind slipping into some kind of half consciousness as you could only think of San’s plump lips on yours, only think of his tongue down your throat and the heat and the mess it was creating, both your saliva mixing and dripping on your chin. Goosebumps woke on your skin in the nape of your neck as his heavy breathing fanned your warm cheeks.

When he pulled out and you gasped for air, light headed from the burning oxygen in your lungs.

“I know you want more,” he said as he let go of your face to forcefully grab your wrist, placing your hand on his fat huge cock. The thing was so hard and hot, twitching under your fingers, you bit your lip trying to repress an embarrassingly needy moan and barely succeeding. San enfolded your fingers around his cock, making your hand appear so tiny in comparison to the huge cock inside of your clenched fist. He harshly thrusted himself in your small hand wrapped around his two big ones. You whimpered as San growled in your ear.

“Tell me what you want, kitten” San’s low grunts made you shiver, heat pulling in your stomach once more. He gave another powerful thrust in your fist.

“Please… San” you started with your lips trembling. “Fuck me” you finally said in a breath, barely above a whisper.

That was all that San needed. He left your side and kneeled right in front of you. He harshly pulled on your parted thighs to bring you closer. You let a whimper out as his member rubbed against your still very responsive clit.

He wiggled himself even closer and linked his hips with yours, his fat cock resting on your stomach.

“Look kitten, this is how full I’m going to make you” he chuckled, an evil smirk playing at his lips, slightly swaying his hips to rub on your nub. You bit your lip and lifted your head to take a look. You whimpered when you saw the angry red and leaking tip reach all the way up to your midriff.

It’s never going to fit…

He seized his thick member and started to rub the tip against your slit, gathering your wetness and coating himself with it. You bucked your hips up, impatient to be filled. But San gently took your chin in his black stained fingers and lifted your head up. Your eyes shoot back to his, the red glow was back.

“Look at me while I fill you up with this huge fucking cock” he whispered detaching every syllable of the three last words, eyes diving deep into yours. The smirk was gone, he was done playing.

Slowly and steadily, he pushed himself inside you. His girthy tip delightfully stretching your tight little cunt. You felt him progress inside you, surprisingly you didn’t feel any discomfort at all. Something of this length, of this girth, it should have hurt. But it just didn’t. Instead every centimeter felt like pure heaven as his glowing eyes locked into yours as he frowned and grunted.

Eventually he reached the deepest part of you and your hips linked again. You squeezed your eyes shut and your toes curled up… Because as crazy as it may sound just with this one slow stroke, he made you cum. You couldn’t explain it, there’s no logical explanation but you, a woman of science, you didn’t have a single thought anymore for logic. You only wanted more. More of this unholy pleasure. More of this demon, more of him.

You pressed your lips into a thin line to not moan. But San wasn’t fooled, he couldn’t possibly when your tight cunt was so desperately fluttering around him. He hunched his warm body over yours and leaned into your ear to whisper with the deep voice that you were starting to know.

“Oh Kitten,” he clicked his tongue with a patronizing tone. “You came with that?” He cooed as he slowly pulled out of your still throbbing cunt. “But I have so much more in stock just for you”

Then he stood back straight and took a bruising grip on both of your thighs to smash himself back into your dripping heat.

“Fuck” you yelled. Your eyes shot open as you cursed out loud, unable to resist the feeling. Your previous orgasm still hadn’t completely worn off and he was already forcing another one into you. Your eyes rolled back as your jaw fell open, shaking every time he thrusted his huge cock inside you.

San smirked when he felt the signature clenching and throbbing of your on coming high. But that didn’t stop him. As another orgasm washed over you, your legs shook uncontrollably as you moaned out his name.

“Aaaah… Sannnnn”

“Awww, you’re cumming again… Kitten really has become greedy” he chuckled slowly, adapting his pace to allow you to breathe. Your high slowly wore off. Your eyes came back into focus and you caught San’s tail lazily waving behind him before they drift to his handsome (but evil) face.

“Oh Kitten, you’re back! I almost thought you were going to pass out with this one.” he chuckled again, still slowly pumping himself deep inside of you. “You’re not used to feeling this good, huh?” You couldn’t even reply anything, your brain couldn’t process just one useful coherent thought so you just laid there trying to process the feeling but San sped back up, going even faster. Right when you thought it couldn’t get better. Right when you thought he couldn’t possibly fuck you any better than this… he does exactly that.

Immediately you gripped the sheets again, arching your back. You were already back to screaming for him. He felt amazing inside you. The way each thrusted into you to deliciously spread your aching tiny little cunt, the way he rammed himself into you, rearranging your guts and shaping your hole to perfectly fit his fat cock… Frankly in this instant you couldn’t even remember your own name.

“Fuck… Aaaah…”

The sound of wet skin clashing reverberated against the walls of your room. Finally, you felt him dangerously twitch inside you. He was coming close to his release, and it showed in his dark red glowing eyes.

“I’m gonna cum inside you” he grunted lowly, tightening his grip on your thighs. This was definitely not a question. It was a statement.

You welcomed his demand as it meant salvation to you. You were exhausted, your pussy just couldn’t take another one of these intense orgasms. You felt like you were going to collapse as you laid there on your back while he furiously pounded into you, your eyes rolled back and your tongue hanging out of your mouth, flapping on your chin with every thrust.

“Yesh, pleash cum inshide me” you mumbled, not even bothering to slip your tongue back in.

“I’ll make you mine, kitten” he growled, making you shiver.

“Yesssshhhh” you huffed in a shaky breath.

Your own release was coming close, again. Your toes curled upward, and you arched your back, your tight pussy frantically throbbing and clenching around San as his cock pulsed and twitched inside you finally releasing his delicious piping hot cum.

“Fuckkkk” San breathed out through gritted teeth as you sunk your nails into his biceps.

Gallons of thick white sticky liquid gushed out inside you, adding on to the full feeling of San’s cock. You felt astronomical volumes of cum filling you to the brim until it had to flow out of you in a slimy river of gooey white spurts.

You both caught your breath for a good two minutes before you could even move. When San finally pulled out your mixed juices still linked him to you in long strings.

He was quicker to recover than you. Your chest was still heaving up and down when he magically popped his clothes back on.

He looked back at you and the change in attitude was blatant. The glow in his eyes was gone, his innocent boyish expression was back, the cat-like eyes had lost their sharpness and looked back at you with a kittenish expression, and his smile? just adorable. Even his tail was cutely wagging behind him. Suddenly there was nothing evil about him (once more, disregarding the demon horned of course).

“Thanks y/n! Imma have the best grade ever. I bet Hongjoong had to keep the illusion spell…” He smiled from ear to ear, the shiny brown irises completely disappearing to leave two cute crescents.

Completely drained out you barely managed to simply nod back at him and grinned from the corner of your mouth.

“Anyway, bye… Kitten” he said, a playful glint briefly passing his eyes while the red smoke engulfed him once more.

When the smoke cleared out you were almost - not almost - sad that he’s gone. You sighed deeply, cum still lazily dripping out of your broken-beyond-repair hole.

How  were you supposed to go back to a normal life after that?

***

Well in fact… you didn’t. It was over a year later and San never came back. Every night you were hoping that somehow, he would come visit you again. But every night you laid in your bed disappointed, actually, even worse: frustrated.

Because after that fateful night you never touched yourself to your handsome boss Doctor Jeong Yunho again. Actually, you completely lost interest in him. Sure, he was still very handsome and gentlemanly but you just… didn’t care anymore.

To be clear you didn’t touch yourself to Yunho, but you still did have intimate moments with yourself… Well, you tried at least. Because nothing, nothing came close to what you felt when San took care of you that night. Actually, you knew no human being, no simple mortal could possibly fuck you that way. It’s not something a being of flesh and blood can do… It’s something only an unholy creature could do, something only a demon could make you feel.

So every time you succumbed to the urge of relieving yourself by letting your fingers play with your folds it ended in either, a complete failure where you couldn’t even drive yourself to your peak or, a lukewarm, disappointing and frustrating orgasm.

A whole year…

A whole year spent fantasizing about a teenage demon that only used you to pass a stupid exam then vanished from your reality without failing to completely shatter your whole world.

So yeah… it sucked…

You sighed to yourself, staring at the same old ceiling of your room. It was one of those nights where the tension was just too much, but you didn’t feel like going through the hassle of actually pleasuring yourself knowing damn well it was going to be temporary and frankly dissatisfying.

You turned to your side, determined to chase off the frustration by getting some good sleep. Exhausted you drifted pretty quickly into a deep slumber.

But the sleep was anything but good… You found yourself covered in sweat, wrestling in your sheets, engrossed in a fever dream. Not much of it made sense but you felt hands were roaming your body, an usually warm embrace was enveloping your form, you felt rugged flesh lapping at your ear. You heard jerky breaths, lowly grunts, an unnaturally deep voice talking to you…

Missed me… Kitten?

“San?!” you shouted as you sat up in your bed, eyes snapping open.

You looked around in a slight panic, your night gown clamped to your sweaty skin and your chest heaving up and down.

“Fuck” you cursed yourself under your breath, disappointed when you realized your mind played tricks on you again. You were just here alone in your room, soaked in frustration… and arousal.

“God damn it” you cursed again as you slipped your nightgown over your head and kicked the covers off your heated skin. Leaving yourself naked on top of your bed. Immediately the cold air lifted goosebumps on your humid skin, hardening your nipples.

You let your fingers slip to the crux of the problem. You knew there was only one way to finally be able to chase away the memory of San, even if it was only for tonight.

The cold fingers on your drenched heat drew a sharp breath off your lips. You were so excited about this stupid fever dream, so excited about him that only a few rubs already had you with your toes curled up in pleasure, fisting the sheets tightly.

“Aaaah… San” you softly moaned his name. With eyes closed shut, you tried to recall the way he felt inside you, the way his eyes glowed red, the way his low voice sent shivers down your spine…

Awww Kittennn~…

It was like you could hear him… you gave no rest to your sensitive and throbbing nub.

“San, I’m gonna cum” you whispered to yourself. Pleasure slowly taking over your entire body. You slipped a finger inside your drenched heat to aid yourself to your peak a little quicker. Then another one. You aimed directly for your sensitive spot and you felt yourself tightly clenching around your fingers. You’re so close… so so close.

“Aren’t you going to wait for me?”

This time…There’s no doubt.

Your eyes snapped open again as you stopped what you were doing and you were met with San staring you down at the foot of the bed, licking his lips, eyes already wavering with a tint of red.

But for a second you doubted. Was it really him? You can’t help but to ask yourself. He looked so different. Sure, the spare shaped black tail still loosely dangled behind him but other than that his whole aura changed. The boyish features are completely gone. Instead, his eyes and jaw look sharper. He looks broader, more muscular. His plain black tee is tightly hugging his fit and toned body, making it easy for you to see abs peeking from underneath the constrictive fabric, abs you can’t recall from the previous visit. His arms muscles were thicker, and a lot more developed. Along with his pecs of which you could clearly see the outline of under the skin tight black tee. His matching jeans let you see through their rips his smooth silky skin and generous thighs.

But the most noticeable change is definitely his horns. The cute 10 cm (4in) tall skin-colored horns were replaced by huge 30cm (1ft) long ones. They were directly sprouting in a spiral from his forehead and stood proud on top of his head. Their base was black but as they went up it faded to a dark and deep blood red.

Overall, he looked much more mature.

He wasn’t a boy anymore… he was a man.

“San?” you started hesitantly as the demon already slipped beside you in bed. “Is that really you?” you couldn’t help but to ask.

“Yes, Kitten… It’s me” he whispered in the low voice you've missed so badly. Bringing his lips close to your ear and you felt his rough tongue lap at your sweet spot, the familiar sensation drew a shaky breath out of you. For a minute you didn't say anything, you were just there, under his spell as he played with you. In the midst of it all, you didn’t even notice you were stark naked, or maybe you just didn’t care. You didn’t want to protest quite frankly, you let him do, you let him gently nibble at your bare collarbones and plant gentle kisses on your neck. You let him because that’s what you’ve been waiting for… For a whole fucking year.

But then you shook your head, snapping out of it. You left his side and get off the bed taking the sheets to wrap around your naked body and get up, knowing that his soft kisses kept you from thinking rationally.

“San…” you turned your eyes back to him “you've… changed”. He chuckled and the red glow faded to slowly disappear as he got up.

“Yes… I know, a lot can change in 12 years…” he casually said while stepping closer to you.

Wait. What?

“What 12 years? No, it was just last year” you corrected him, and he took your hands in his slender black stained fingers.

“Maybe to you. But not to me” You suddenly recall the demonic blood moon years he had mentioned on his first visit. Maybe that’s what he meant. “I’ll be turning 30 this July.”

Your jaw dropped. How was that even possible? But then again, here you were questioning the passing of time for an incubus. So what's crazier really?

“You remember what I told you about breeding?” San’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Yes… that it is an incubus sole purpose, right?” you said absentmindedly, still having trouble wrapping your mind around the situation. But you were brought back to the present moment when San squeezed your hands tightly and dived in your gaze with his piercing dark brown orbs.

“Yes, I came back for that…” he leaned in and you instinctively leaned your head back giving him unconditional access to your neck. San’s voice went down an octave again, lips only millimeters away from your ear. “I came back for you…” he whispered before he licked around your sweet spot, making your heart loudly thump in your chest and your toes curl on the cold wooden floor of your bedroom. You bit your lip trying to restrain your voice.

“I’m going to breed you” his voice was hypnotizing, “You will bear my children and bring them into the world” You couldn’t even wrap your mind around what he was saying, “I chose you, y/n. I only want you” His voice was putting a spell on you. “I can fuck any women I want but…” his warm hand was now wrapped around your nape, and the other one gently pulled on the sheets wrapped around your nude body that you let fall to the ground without resistance.

“San what do you mean?” you asked in a jerky whisper, only focusing on his hot breath on your ear. He ignored your question.

“I need your approval to breed you, y/n” His blunt nails grazed against the naked skin of your lower back, you started to softly moan, you were wrapped around his fingers, completely bewitched by his cat-like eyes fixed into yours. 

“So, say yes, y/n… Say yes Kitten” he said before his large palms groped your ass and pulled you against him, closing in the last centimeters that were left between his clothed body and your naked one, sending radiating heat from your core to your entire body.

What were you supposed to reply? Were you supposed to say "no"? How could you do such a thing after waiting for him for a whole year, everyday growing a little more desperate, a little more frustrated… How could you possibly say no, when his hands were roaming your body like they have always known you. When he whispered with that voice in your ear. When minutes ago, you would have given anything to have another night with him…

You… just…

Couldn’t.

“Okay…” you whispered ever so quietly, barely audible even for your own ears.

You felt San’s cheek lift against yours as he smiled. When he pulled back, you can see his pointy teeth glistening under the full moon, like they did a year ago. He was wearing the same evil smirk that you knew so well, the same wicked and devious smirk that he burnt into your memory a year ago, making sure you could never forget about it.

Fuck…

Right there something snapped, something changed. When San looked back the red glow in his eyes was more intense than ever, his expression was wicked. Lust dancing in his dark orbs as he licked his lips with appetite.

You didn’t even notice the red glow around your naked form before you felt your feet being lifted from the ground. San smirked at the confusion plastered on your face. His magic made you levitate and harshly threw you on the bed, almost smashing your head on the headboard. You should have been stunned but the scene taking place right before your eyes kept you conscious and focused.

The red glow now circled San and in a fraction of second his clothes were gone. Not dropped to the floor, just gone. They completely vanished. And he stood right before you in all his glory. You couldn’t help but to let your eyes trail his body.

His intense gaze, his sharp jawline, long narrow neck, his collarbones. The large and sturdy muscular shoulders. The developed muscles of his pecs and arms moving and mesmerizing you. The dangling black tail. The toned abs, already lightly sparkling with sweat.

Then your eyes finally went below the waist line.

You do remember the enormous… thing – for lack of a better word – San fucked you with last time. How could you forget? You could never. That’s why you know for a fact that this thing right there in front of you, rock hard, lightly twitching and oozing precum at the slit, is actually bigger.

Your jaw dropped to the floor. The veiny and pulsing monstrous cock was as lengthy as your thigh and as thick as a soda can. When you looked more closely at it you realized it was beaded. Beads of different sizes were visible, forming bumps under his skin that progressed down the shaft. Your heart jumped in your chest. Because you knew that huge ass cock was made for pleasure. Tingles started to bubble in the pit of your stomach, and you unconsciously pressed your thighs together.

San couldn’t help but to smirk when he noticed fear and anticipation swim in your confused eyes.

He stepped closer to you.

“Oh Kitten” he started as he crawled in bed to you. The wicked smirk still dancing on his lips, red glowing eyes fixed on you. “We’re going to have so much fun~”

Then with the familiar flick of his wrist your legs flew open at his will. You gasped in surprise. And San’s smirk grew wider when he noticed how your folds glistened with your juices.

“Kitten look at you…” He said, gesturing his chin towards your most private part. “You’re always so wet for me” his low voice sent shivers down your spine as embarrassment rushed to your cheeks. But the spell maintained your legs nice and spread out for him.

San leaned in closer to your drenched heat, sharp teeth on display and tongue out.

You gasped loudly arching your back when you felt his rugged tongue aiming directly for your clit. Still very sensitive from almost cumming a few minutes ago.

“Mmmmh… Kitten you taste even better than last time” he purred, lips pressed to your core, the vibrations sending electricity in your body.

San took his sweet time gently lapping at and around your nub to tease you, while cascades of juices flowed out of your impatient center. You can’t endure the teasing anymore, not after all this time, not after a whole year. You unconsciously bucked your hips up, grinding your pussy on his tongue while a tiny pleading whimper escaped your lips.

San stopped in his tracks. You were taken aback when the glowing red pair of cat-like eyes looked back up at you as he shook his head fainting disappointment. But the smirk was quick to return.

“Baby” his warm breath fanned your delicate parts. “Don’t be so fucking greedy” he said before sinking his pointy white teeth in the sensitive little bud. The sting pulled a scream out of you while you gripped the sheets. Immediately after San’s tongue plunged inside your hungry little hole, reaching the deepest part right away. At an alluring speed, his long tongue came in and out of you, each time poking at your sweet spot. Your loud moans echoed through the empty night, the familiar knot, quick to tighten again after this much teasing.

“San don’t stop” you pleaded, feeling your release coming in. San’s red orbs still fixed in yours while his tail lazily dangled behind him.

The incessant stimulation of your g-spot got you clenching around his long and rugged tongue while you finally came, letting go of the knot. You screamed in absolute bliss.

That’s it… this feeling… The sensation you’ve been craving.

“Fuckkkk” You cried out.

San parted himself from your throbbing center for a moment, allowing you to ride out your high at your own pace. Your chest was heaving up and down, sweat was pearling between your breasts.

“Baby, don’t think it’s over just yet” he said, smirking again. “I have so much more in store for you…”

You didn't have time to fully recover yet but San dove down to your soaked folds again, this time his hot and wet tongue only focused on your swollen nub. You scream out in surprise and pleasure. Immediately your back arched again.

His tongue somehow felt like it vibrated, the feeling was intense and suffocating, and you knew you would soon be thrown into another strong orgasm again. Your hand instinctively flew to San’s hair, resting in between his two horns, fingers harshly pulling at his luscious raven black locks.

“Is Kitten cumming again?” he said with a mouthful.

You couldn’t even process an answer as the crushing orgasm washed over you again, excessive amounts of your arousal coating your tights and linking your center to the sheets. You moan out without restrain, not making any efforts whatsoever to keep your voice down.

When he was done San sat back up on the bed. You didn’t even notice how he stroked his huge monstrous pole in his fist.

“Kitten, I hope you’re not too tired yet…” you jumped when you felt the unnaturally hot tip glide against your folds. “Because it’s my turn now” he singsang.

He shimmied his way to your parted thighs. Like last time he rested his cock on your stomach to measure it up to you. Now there’s no doubt the thing is much much bigger than last time. A year ago, it reached to your midriff, now the red tip is comfortably placed between your breasts. In a sort of trance, you wrapped your hands around it, the both of them can barely circle the girth of his dick. It was huge… Abnormally long and terrifyingly thick… but you couldn’t wait to feel the thing inside you.

San smirked when he noticed you eyeing his member with burning desire. He pulled his hips back and aligned himself at your entrance. His tip teased you as you bit your lip, gathering your wetness for a smooth crossing.

“Look at me Kitten” your eyes shot back to San’s glowing orbs. “Look at me while I make you take my cock” You let a tiny whimper out when you feel him pushing himself inside you. The tip gently and slowly parting you. San grunted in your ear.

“Fuck Kitten, you’re so tight for me baby” he breathed out in his low voice.

With every centimeter it got better and better, you don’t feel any pain, only divine pleasure. You felt each one of the beads along his shaft, each one more pleasurable than the last. History repeats itself as with this one slow introductory stroke you found yourself coming undone for him again.

“I’m gonna cum” you whispered in a strangled breath, your eyes still locked with San’s. His smirk grew wider at your frowned brows and trembling lips. But he kept on steadily pushing his cock inside you, stretching you further and further.

“I know” he whispered before violently pushing the last few centimeters in. The unexpected and overwhelming pleasure washed over you as you sank your head back in the pillows, a long string of moans falling off your lips while your cunt twitched uncontrollably around San, a satisfied grin playing on his lips.

“Kitten” he said while pulling back slowly as you were still high from your climax. “I don’t think you’re ready for me” You peeled open one eye with difficulty to look at him and nodded to contradict him. San chuckled. “You think?” he asked, pulling his dick out of you while your walls desperately clenched around nothing.

“Y-yes” you whispered, squirming, craving for him to fill you up again. “Yes, I missed you so much” the words rolled so naturally off your tongue before you even realized they did. San lifted an eyebrow.

“Really Kitten? You missed me?” you nodded again. “Well… you only waited for a year” you gasped as his hot tip circled your aching little nub before going back to your entrance. “I waited for 12 years” he said in an unnaturally low grunt.

He slammed his hips into yours in one powerful and shattering thrust which set you right back to screaming again. His movements were fast and precise each time he sent his big cock smashing against your g-spot. The pleasurable feeling was unbearable.

“San… Aaaahh…” you moaned his name, as you got dangerously close to the edge again.

“Yes, moan for me Kitten” he said through gritted teeth. “Am I not a lot better than last time?” he panted.

You couldn’t believe it but it’s true. You didn’t think it was possible but yes. He got incredibly better at fucking you to the point that you were ready to pledge your pussy to him for eternity. For him only. You’d do anything to be fucked like this every day until your body eventually gave out from exhaustion.

“Yesss…. Aaaaah… fuck” You shouted closing your eyes under the pleasure. Your loud and unrestrained moans made San smirk.

“You’re mine” he growled continuously fucking you deep and hard. “Fucking look at me I told you” He planted his black nails at the side of your face, making you wince and also open your eyes. The red glow was brighter than ever. “Say that you’re mine” he commanded.

“I’m yours” you whined locking eyes with him as the clenching of your cunt warned San of how close you were.

“Kitten, are you gonna cum again?” he chuckled, eyes locked into yours, furiously pumping his abnormally large cock inside your now shapeless little hole.

“I’m gonna make you mine Kitten. I’m gonna pump you full of cum. Do you want that Kitten?”

“Yes please” You begged in a short breath, your release getting dangerously close.

“Good girl” He grunted getting close to your ear, his rugged tongue licking the shell of it. “Now cum. Cum around my big cock while I fill you up to the brink with hot cum.”

The low whispers were enough to rocket you over the edge. You screamed in absolute bliss, twitching around his huge cock as you felt the hot sticky liquid rushing into you and overflowing out. Just like last time the quantity was inhumane, testifying of San’s demonic nature.

When San finally slipped out of you, you felt your heat meekly clench around nothing, already missing the way San’s monstrous cock was making you feel so full.

You were left completely dazed, lying on the bed, eyes still rolled back in your head, focusing on the fading sensation of your peak.

You didn’t even notice when San stood by the bed and you also didn't notice how, contrary to last time, cumming had not calmed him down. The thing is still alive and lively. In other words, he’s far from done with you.

“Kitten, I’m gonna fuck your face now” he announced.

You didn’t have time to process the meaning of those words that you were being pulled by your arm. Your body was lying across the bed while your head was resting upside down on the edge of the mattress.

“Open wide Kitten” San’s hot and wet tip brushed against your lips. Almost out of instinct you opened your mouth.

San pressed himself inside your narrow mouth. The stretch was borderline unbearable, San’s cock was too big. Way too big for your tiny mouth and you barely managed to take the head of his dick inside your crowded wet hole. San grunted loudly, indulging in the feeling of stretching your lips to his convenience.

“Fuckkkk… y/n”

When he reached the back of your throat he started to slowly pull out, taking his cock completely out. You ceased the opportunity to take a deep breath. And that proved to be the right move, because seconds later San went back inside you but with much less tenderness. He placed both of his hands on your cheeks gripping your face tightly to aid himself with intruding your mouth.

He had no mercy for your poor sore throat, his powerful thrust silencing you except for the wet and sloppy sounds that your mouth emitted.

“How does your cum and mine taste like Kitten?”

His voice sent shivers across your skin, your eyes rolled back as your pained pried open jaw gradually went numb. You wanted to scream how good he tasted on your tongue but you couldn’t. You wanted more, more of this intoxicating taste taking over your mouth and clouding your mind.

“Fuckkkk… Kitten… You’re gonna make me cum” He whispered, his voice conveying the feeling of his incoming orgasm. “I’m gonna cum in your mouth baby. Want that Kitten?” You only produced a gargled moan and San knew how eager you truly were to taste more of him.

“Such a good girl for me”

Only instants after you felt the stream of his warm load shoot to the back of your throat, instantly filling your mouth. Squirts after squirts of cum crashed on the inside of your cheeks and on your tongue, some even slipped out of your mouth and lazily dripped down to your cheeks and forehead.. The bitter taste invades you and your entire body, making you dizzy, light headed.

When San pulled out you hurriedly swallowed a big mouthful of thick and hot cum before drawing a sharp -and much needed- breath.

San gently stroked your cum and spit covered cheeks.

“You’re such a good girl for me Kitten” he said before laying back on the bed, his back against the headboard. And your eyes went wide with stupor when you noticed that still. The monster has not calmed down. His cock is still hard, pumped full of burning blood, tip a shade of angry red and profusely leaking at the slit.

You felt exhausted and drained out by all the orgasms you failed to count. You couldn’t even lift a single muscle even if you tried.

But you didn’t have to because once again your body was enveloped by a red glowing light. With that you were lifted in the air. San’s magic spreading your legs into an impressive split, suspended in the air above him while he patiently waited for you to come down on him with his hands behind his head.

Beads of sweat formed on his chest and rolled down his toned abs. Sweat also stuck his bangs to his forehead and his horns. He was absolutely gorgeous, the kind of beauty that nobody would ever be able to turn down… and especially not you.

And unlike you, he looked everything but tired.

Slowly his magic lowered you down. You gasped when his hot tip brush against your drenched folds.

“I just need more of you, Kitten. Can you handle me?”

You wanted to respond but you were unable to think of anything coherent as, already, the steady descent had you stretched out around his girth and completely cock dumb. You only whimper meekly for a response. Slowly but surely San set you down on his cock, cunt perfectly angled with his huge dick. Each centimeter, each bead going inside you, making your body tense up with agonizing pleasure.

When you were halfway through the red light around your body went off and he dropped you to take the rest of him in one go. And it was just too much for you. The way his cock smashed into your sensitive sweet spot while San had his glowing red orbs fixed on the place your bodies met sent you into the abyss again. This time the pleasure was so intense that not only your needy cunt absolutely crushed San’s cock with a vice grip and uncontrollable spasms but also gushed out juices in powerful clear streams, drenching San’s muscular torso. San smirked as he clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“Kitten… You came again with the very first stroke” he said, fainting disappointment, taking pleasure in seeing you struggle above him, shaking uncontrollably, eyes rolled back, jaw hanging open and toes curled up.

Before you could even go back to your senses, you felt yourself getting lifted again and the red glow came back around your figure. You whimpered as you felt San slide out of you. But right before the tip popped out, he smashed you back onto him. You arched your back as a delighted long string of moans escaped your lips.

“Damn Kitten you’re so tight” San said through gritted teeth.

You couldn’t even say anything back as he’s already lifting you up with his magic. Each time he increased the pace until he had you jumping up and down his girth. The familiar knot tightened again.

“How good does my cock feel baby?” San asked his red eyes fixed on you as he made your breasts bounce on your chest with each back and forth.

“It’s the b-best…. San it’s the best thing ever. F-fuck! Wanna be fucked like this every day” you answered, struggling with your words, mushing them together. Visibly, it was what San wanted to hear as the evil twinkle in his eye intensified.

“Yeah Kitten? You want that, huh?” he grunted in the low voice you loved so much, sending swarms of butterflies flying in your stomach. He went faster again. The wet sounds of skin clashing bounced off the walls punctually interrupted by San’s and your moans.

“I’m gonna c-” You wanted to announce but San interrupted you.

“Not yet Kitten, this time you’ll cum with me and when I tell you to” He lifted you again, making you hover over his dick. Still, just above him. You squirmed only wanting to be filled again.

“Say what you want Kitten”

“Want your cock Sannie” he raised his eyebrow. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease” you begged, your pleas making him smirk again.

“Yeah baby? Is that what you want?” he said as he slipped the tip inside, the beaded shaft made you scream in bliss as San slowly lowered you on his cock, legs spread wide, offering him the best view on your cunt, your swollen clit hard and red and the shapeless entrance drooling and pulsing, aching to be filled again.

“Yessssss” you screamed while tears welled up in the corner of your eyes.

But then San’s spade shaped tail swiftly wrapped around your neck, the slick scales gliding on your skin send goosebumps in the nape of your neck. When the tail had made a full circle around your neck, San suddenly tightened the grip.

“Then fucking take it” he smashed you onto his huge cock.

You opened your mouth to scream but not a sound came out. You were completely silenced. Only the wet and lewd sounds of your pussy could be heard as San’s tip touched the deepest part of you, forming a visible bulge inside your stomach. Tears of pure joy rolled down your burning cheeks.

San then went back to this unforgiving rhythm. Every time angling you just right to smash your sensitive spot. Gradually your mind went blank as he fucked you furiously, your jaw hung open and your eyes rolled back into their orbit.

“Look at me” San whispered in his demonic low voice. Your eyes came back into focus and snapped to him. “I’m gonna cum inside you” he continued to whisper. You nodded vigorously, knowing it meant he’ll finally let you cum too. 

“With this one I’ll make you mine. I will pump you full of my seed and impregnate you. I’ll make your belly swell with my cum and have you bear my progeny” You nodded again, streams of tears wetting your heated cheeks. The restriction of blood to your brain fogged your vision with specks of white, making  you see stars as the pleasure rose again to an unbearable level.

“Now cum. Cum for me Kitten” San grunted.

You felt his cum flow into you, and that sent you over the edge into the most intense orgasm you ever felt, that’s including the ones San gave you in the past. This one was different. His big fat cock smashing into you, his glistening chest drenched with his sweat and your cum, the dirty talk, the pet name, the commanding tone, the low voice, the tail around your neck, the thick and hot cum filling you up. It was all too much.

Your spread out legs tensed up and shook uncontrollably as San led you to completion. Just as you were on the verge of losing consciousness due to the air restriction and the heavenly stimulation of your orgasm, San loosened his tail around your narrow neck. A strangled moan escaped free of your sore throat as you were finally able to vocally express the immense pleasure you felt.

“Yes, that’s it, baby” San purred. “Scream for me”. He kept you going up and down his length for a while longer.

You cried out a long moan as your head was thrown back and your tongue hung loose out of your mouth. San slowly decreased the pace until it came to a stop. He lifted you out one last time, as soon as his big member popped out of you, gallons of his cum flowed out of your tired and stretched out hole. San laid you down gently next to him. Before linking his lips with yours and shoving his long and rugged tongue inside your mouth while you didn’t notice the red glow marking you in the lower stomach region.

You laid there for you didn’t know how long, trying to gather your thoughts. You were completely drained, fucked beyond repair…

After a while San stood back up.

“In three weeks, the children will be born” you pelled open your eyes to look at him. “I’ll be back to take them… and you.”

What?!?

“Wait… me? Also babies? Plural?” so many questions shot through your mind.

“Yes” San said as he wiped himself with a piece of cloth he found. “I marked you as mine” It’s only now that you noticed the small obscure and cryptic symbol San engraved on the skin of your pubic bone with his demonic magic. The character seemed to be a language you can’t comprehend.

“What is this?” you asked, pointing to the tattoo.

“It means you are to be my wife”. Your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

“WHAT?” 

“Yes, you know what a succubus is right, a female incubus? ” you noded, unable to speak one more word.

“Well, succubus aren’t born. Succubus are made. They are human women chosen by incubus to become their wife and bring their heirs to the underworld.”

You wanted to say something, but you only stuttered nonsense.

“Over the course of the next three weeks you will kiss your humanity goodbye. Horns will sprout out your forehead and you will grow a tail. Your magic energy will increase, and you will slowly be able to use different magic spells. In three weeks, I’ll bring you back to the underworld with me, where you will live with me. And serve me with your body…” San marked a silence “and heart.”

“But… you… I-” San sat next to you on the edge of the bed and cupped your cheeks to make your troubled eyes meet his.

“Isn’t that what you asked for?” He asked, there was nothing left of the deep voice, instead he spoke softly, his dark orbs fixed into your unsure gaze. He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip “Right, Kitten?”

“Yes…” you whispered, bewitched by his intense stare.

“Over the past year, your feelings for me bloomed, didn’t they?” You felt blood rushing to your cheeks as San’s gaze was unwavering, sharp cat-like eyes piercing right through you and touching your soul. 

You didn’t answer anything, but you didn’t have to. San knew exactly how to read you. His eyes started to glow again, along with the symbol marked on your skin. And you were enveloped in his light. You felt like your soul was being bound to this creature, almost morphing with him. The bond was pure and benevolent. And real. From now on you were his and he was yours.

He got back up and magically summoned more clothes from thin air. Red smoke started to appear at his feet, gradually growing around him.

“I’ll be back in three weeks. Wait for me, Kitten, okay?” He said with that adorable boyish smile you haven’t seen in a year, he winked at you before disappearing in the red smoke.

You rubbed over the tattoo and over your belly, where life had taken its domain. This time, you wouldn’t have to try to go back to your normal life.

It was impossible anyway… and frankly you didn’t want to.

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a/n: so how was it? how was demon san? as a proud member of demon line i thought the concept suited him hehe. dont hesitate to tell me if you liked it. that would make me so happy <3

[mockerycrow]

okay, so something unsettling. with ghost x gn! reader. “don’t worry, it’s not my blood”. maybe you are ghost’s civilian friend in an abusive relationship and one day it reaches a point when you’re so scared you lock yourself in the bathroom while your s/o is raging outside the door, banging on it and threatening you. you manage to call simon and ask him to come get you. the result is, well, blood that is not his. 👁️👁️

- 🐇

JUSTICE (Ghost x GN!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

[WARNINGS; HUGE warning for abuse and reactions to abuse (I had to take a break writing a part of this), murder, blood + gore + injury, major hurt/comfort, can be read as platonic or romantic.]

BEING ON LEAVE means Simon needs to restock his fridge and cabinets with enough food for a couple of days. Leaning against the bar of the shopping cart as he turns over the box of tea in his hands. He grumbles since he’s having to buy a new brand of his favorite tea, figuring out that his favorite company discontinued that line. Simon lets out a huff of defeat before tossing the box into the cart and he begins to roll his cart to the self check-out. 

Simon bags his items up into his reusable bags and hauls them out to his car, putting a bag down to dig around for his keys. He finds them and unlocks the back, putting his bags in—and then his phone begins to ring. His eyebrows furrow a bit as he takes his cell phone out of his pocket, his eyebrows raising as he shuts the back. Simon swipes at his screen, accepting the call and pressing the phone to his ear as he gets into the driver's seat of his vehicle. “Hello?” Simon asks into the phone, a bit confused on why you’re calling him.

His heart nearly drops to his stomach when he hears you sob into the receiver, a muffled static banging in the background and some unintelligible yelling. “Simon—“ Your tone is laced with intense fear and alertness, and he can immediately tell you’re in a state of a need to survive. He calls your name, not even bothering to buckle up, starting his car.

Simon calls your name more insistently, his tone bordering on panic. “What’s goin’ on, love??” His heart begins to pound as you sob a near incoherent “go away” to whoever is making you act like this. “Hey, hey hey—focus, sweetheart, what’s happening?” Simon insists, pulling out of the parking lot, already decidedly going to your place of residence.

You shudder and sob into the phone and clear your throat. “Please, Simon, pleaseplease hElp me, he’s—“ You let out a heartbreaking sob that makes Simon’s chest ache, his knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel harder. “Derek, he’s fuckin’—he’s trying to—“ You’re barely able to push the words out, and fuck, Simon is so glad you’re not too far from the store he was just at.

“He’s tryin’ t’hurt you, love?” Simon asks—it’s so obvious your partner is, but he needs to double check; have you confirm it. “Yes—he’s trying to break dOwn the door—leave me alONE—!” You scream, piercing his ear through the phone. Simon lets out a huff, his heart pounding against his rib cage. “I’m on my way, alright? I’m nearly there, I won’t let ‘im hurt ya, love.”

Simon is definitely going over the speed limit, weaving through traffic and his tires screeching in protest at his movements. You choke and cough, letting out a terrified weeping noise, barely able to breathe. A painful itch blooms underneath his skin, the sensation burning and bubbling, bursting at the seams. Simon was not allowed anyone’s blood to spill except his. Derek’s. 

“Breathe, alright? I’m on your street—do ya have anythin’ in the restroom to protect yourself with?” Simon asks, hearing you whimper as the muffled sounds of Derek’s maniacal screaming and pounding is apparent. “C’mon, sweetheart.  I know you’re scared, I know, but you’ve got to stay with me.” Simon insists, and you make a timid “mhm” noise. There’s a shuffling sound, and he’s assuming you’re looking through your cabinets. Simon soon rolls up to your home, and he barely puts the car in park, not even bothering to turn the vehicle off.

“I’m here, darlin’. I’m here. Stay as far away from the door as possible.” And with that, he hangs up. You stutter out his name in fear, but you quickly hear your partner—soon to be ex—Derek redirects his anger from you to Simon, who you hear bellow out Derek’s name. Something about Simon’s tone is.. eerie. Something about how Derek begins to yell and gasp and fucking scream is satisfying.

You cover your ears, curled up in the corner of your bathroom, heaving and sobbing as your head is swimming. You’re dizzy from the lack of sufficient air entering your lungs. You aren’t sure how much time passes, but when you hear a gentle, muffled knock, you hold your breath. Simon calls your name from behind the door, causing you to scramble to your feet.

You sob softly and shakily unlock the door and you freeze at the sight of him—there’s blood splattered across his face, dripping down his neck, caking his hair and his clothes. You nearly scream but Simon quickly holds his hands up, his tone gentle. “Don’t worry, it’s not my blood. I’m alright, love.” The relief that floods you is crashing like waves, just like how you collapse into his arms.

Simon cringes just a bit, Derek’s blood smearing against you and staining your clothes, but your desperate sobs and grabby hands make him forget about the mess. Simon quickly wraps his arms around you and leads you deeper into the bathroom, making sure you don’t see the mangled and unrecognizable body of your ex-boyfriend laying in the hallway, in a puddle of his own blood, organs, and excrement.