#PE STRIPPING

[failgirlsafespace]

euuugh lost a bet :(

[imwritesometimes]

I think a lot about how if PE class had been focused more on literally just physical activity and not punishing un-athletic kids things would be a lot different for me and probably so many other ppl

I was never athletic. Never cared for playing team sports. But when I was a kid I'd ride my bike for hours and hours. But that wasn't enough at school. It wasn't enough to walk briskly or jog. You had to be picked (last) for team sports and humiliated or fail the mile over and over and then just straight up fail PE. It made me hate exercise of any kind

I think a lot about how if I'd just been allowed to walk/jog around the track with my friends for a class period I'd have been better off then and now. And it pisses me off to no fucking end.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

tears snot and drool

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ ONLY! SMUT, DARK!RAFE, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, NONCON, R*PE, FORCED ANAL, kind of r*pe kink from reader?, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cum play, degradation, dacryphilia, brief male receiving oral and brief mention of fingering

“so good for me, darling.” rafe drawls out, his voice deep and smooth as he pushes forward, sinking into you. “so tight.”

“slow-” you gasp out when rafe pushes in again, his hips swinging into yours in a smooth motion. “slow down, please rafey.”

“you feel so good.” rafe says, ignoring your pleas, ignoring your hands pushing at his hips, trying to stop his thrusts, trying to squirm away, but he grips your waist, holding you down into the mattress.

“it-it hurts.” you plea as his fat cock juts into you, feeling like you’re being split in half.

“stop fucking squirming.” rafe grunts. he liked it at first, liked you trying to get away, knowing he was too big for you, but now he’s starting to get upset, wanting you to let him fuck you without the whining. “if it hurts, you wouldn’t be so fucking wet.”

you hear it then, the wet sounds every time rafe pushes inside you, your pussy squelching as he fucks into your wetness, falling down your body, making a mess of the sheets.

“im gonna bruise.” you complain, already feeling the soreness on the walls of your cunt, knowing when he fucks you again in the morning, like he always does, that its going to hurt more than usual. rafe likes to build you up, likes to fuck you with his fingers while you moan on his lap, and you appreciate him warming you up and stretching you open, but he came home in a mood, pushing you down onto the bed and stripping you, shoving his cock in your opening without any prep.

“i dont give a shit.” rafe grunts out. you’re supposed to be his little plaything, supposed to be ready to be a toy for him whenever he needs.

“stop, stop!” you whine, finally being able to move, even with his hands squeezing your waist so tight it hurts. you manage to get away, for his cock to fall out of your cunt. you try to move up the bed, body shaking as you feel tears sliding down your cheeks.

rafe moves faster than you can, taking those hands on your waist and flipping you onto your stomach. you try to get on your hands and knees, try to crawl away, but rafe presses his chest into your back, using his massive size to pin you against the mattress.

“no, let me go!” you shout, feeling rafes cock push against you, rubbing against your ass as his hand grabs your wrist, holding them together above your head, preventing you from fighting.

“this is what you get for being a fucking brat.” rafe spits into your ear. he reaches down with his free hand, grasping his cock, still splitting hard. he rubs the head through your pussy, wetting his length, but he moves past your cunt.

“no!” you squeal, trying to buck your hips, but rafe delivers a hard slap to your ass to get you to stop.

rafe presses his cock against your other hole, the tight ring of muscle not opening up to him, not when you are strung so tight, muscles clenching.

“fucking relax for me before i force myself in.” rafe warns, but you can’t, you can’t calm down as tears flow down your face. 

rafe keeps the base of his cock held tightly in his hand as he shoves into your asshole, the stretch causing you to scream as he continues in, slowly, but only because he can’t move any faster with how tight your squeezing him.

“it hurts so bad, stop, please, fuck my pussy, just stop!” you beg, willing to let him destroy your cunt if it could keep your ass from hurting this bad.

“its too late.” rafe says, rocking his hips forward, moving one hand to your ass, gripping the flesh and spreading your cheeks open for him, your hole already turning bright red from his abuse.

rafe eventually opens you up a bit, allowing him to move faster as he pounds his hips down into you, a slapping sound every time his skin connects with the plushness of your bum.

you give up, give up on trying to get away as you sob into the mattress, not caring that you are staining rafes sheets with your tears, snot and drool.

“dont cry baby, you’re gonna make me fuck you even harder.” rafe smirks, liking seeing you like this, trapped under his muscles, hands held tight above your head, a complete wreck.

“i hate you.” you grit out, twisting your head to see rafe out of the corner of your eye, his jaw slackened open in a moan. you bare your teeth to him, the pain obvious on your face as he continues to fuck you, your cunt still leaking onto the bed.

“i know you do. and you’re still gonna let me fuck you.” rafe says. he’s done this one too many times, used you when you didn’t want it to happen, only for him to apologize and shower you with kisses, getting you to spread your legs once again for him.

“no i wont.” you vow, vow to yourself in the moment, but despite the pain, it feels to good, too good to get rafes attention, even if it meant him violating your asshole. you’d be back. you’ll always come crawling right back.

“whatever you say baby girl.” rafe laughs, mocking you as he moves deeper, making your feet kick out uncontrollably, unable to help the movements as sharp pain stabs through your insides. “want me to touch your clit?”

“yes.” you cry out, knowing the pleasure would help distract you from his cock splitting you in two, breaking you in half.

“tell me you love me then. tell me you love my cock, that you love me forcing myself on you.” rafe spits out, moving his hand from holding your wrists to grip either side of your ass, moving faster as he puts every pound of his weight into every thrust.

“no!” you shout out. you can’t say such sweet words to him, not when your nails are clawing at the sheets and he’s pumping inside of your ass. not right after you told him you hated him.

“then you don’t get to cum.” rafe says. he wants you to cum, he always does, he just prioritizes himself first.

“fine!” you whine out, lifting your hips up, wondering if a different angle will help the pain, and you let out a low moan when the thrusts suddenly become pleasurable, at least somewhat as he hits a new spot inside of you. “i love you!”

rafe smiles, moving a hand to your clit, rubbing over your sensitive bud without caring how harsh the rough pads of his fingers feel. 

“you gonna cum for me little whore?” rafe questions. 

you don’t give him a response, but you know he feels the way your clit pulses underneath his fingertips, still able to force an orgasm out of you despite the state he’s put you in.

“want me to cum in your ass? or should i fill your pussy up?” rafe asks. “switch to your other hole, breed you?”

you’re on birth control, and rafe knows it too, but it doesn’t stop him fantasizing about filling you up, making your tummy swell with his kid, just another way of possessing you, owning you.

“fuck you.” you manage to grit out, hating the semblance of choice, as if rafe won’t do what he wants, like he always does.

rafe smirks, knowing you are about to cum as he moves faster, jackhammering into you at a blistering pace, all from his need to get off as well.

you feel his cock swell inside of you as his fingers pinch harshly at your clit, trying to get you to cum in time with him.

“fuck!” rafe shouts out, releasing into your ass as you cum as well, your high hitting you like a brick wall as you scream out, rafes nails digging into your clit as his cum floods your ass, long spurts filling you up.

rafe collapses against you, his hand moving from underneath you on your cunt as you ride out your orgasm with no stimulation, making you whine as his weight squishes you, taking the breath out of your lungs.

rafes breathing slowly returns to normal while you struggle underneath him, tears still flowing down your cheeks.

he finally manages to move his tired muscles, kneeling over you before pulling his cock out, watching as his cum begins to spill. rafe places a hand on your cheek, spreading your ass open as it falls out in white globs.

“such a tight little hole.” rafe pushes his pointer finger against your skin, rubbing the cum around. “i’m gonna have to play with it more often.”

you press your face into the mattress as his finger enters you, not caring that your cheek is now pressed against the wet spot of your saliva and snot. 

“please.” you manage to whimper out. you’ve had too much for tonight. you can’t even fight him back, can’t clench your ass to stop his finger from entering your abused tunnel.

“fine.” rafe sighs, pulling his finger out, but not before slapping his hand over your ass. “but my cock is still hard. pussy or mouth?”

you move as rafe does, flopping down against the bed, his head on the pillows. you lay yourself between his legs, thighs still shaking, but glad that the mess that is your private parts is going to be left alone for a while as you grasp his cock in your hand, sinking your lips down, wondering how much longer he is going to play with you for tonight.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @rvfecamerons

[toxicanonymity]

The Raid.

2.7k, dark!Javi P x f!reader | SERIES MASTER

There's now a HOT GIF by @iamasaddie and HOT ART by @bonezone44. PT. 2. | THE RAID masterlist

Your gaze falls down his tac vest to his tight jeans and a bulge you didn’t see before. Peña follows your eyes, looks down at himself, then sighs.  "Ay, pobrecita" (poor little girl), he whispers insincerely, putting on a frown. He uses his gun to nudge your chin up and bring your eyes back to his. 

WARNINGS: I8+, canon-typical violence, drug abuse, dubcon blow job (power dynamic / transactional / drugs), jacking off, fingering, cumplay, manhandling, handcuffs, gunplay, degradation, kidnapping

A/N: Yes, it's raider Javi. . . inspired by the original raider Joel fic (not the whole series and it will not progress the same way). Tysm 🖤

-------

You're lying on the sofa in your boyfriend Jack's slum house while he and a buddy count stacks of cash on the kitchen table and bitch about their street dealers. It’s a typical night. One friend is still playing grand theft auto on the floor. Every surface is littered with bottles, takeout boxes, crumpled up foil, and baggies.  You're laid out on the sagging sofa, scrolling your phone, about to drift off.  

There's a loud rap at the door. "DEA." Your heart jumps to your throat and you jolt upright. 

"FUCK," Jack yells and grabs his gun off the table.  "Go to the bedroom, you'll be fine," he tells you as he heads to the kitchen and out the back.  You sit there in disbelief that he's leaving you. The DEA doesn't knock again before busting down the door.  "DROP YOUR WEAPONS."  

Several agents swarm the house, wearing bullet-proof vests, crouching as they prowl around, pointing their guns. 

Two men approach you while a few more agents mill around the house. 

"Don't let anyone leave," says a mustached man on his way through the house. 

"Got it, Peña," confirms one of the men standing in front of you. Peña nods, glances at you, then sees Jack running away and rushes out after him.  

Both of the men in front of you are big. One taller, one more muscular. They look at you like you're a piece of meat. They guard you for a few minutes, keeping their guns trained on you.  They talk about you like you're not there. 

"Pretty girl,” the tall one says. 

The other man takes a step back, craning to see out the window before answering, "we got time, Ed." Ed, the taller one, puts his gun in his vest and unbuckles his belt. Meanwhile, you bolt off the sofa and try to dodge the other man on your way to the door. A third agent catches you and shoves you back to the original two, asking "Lose something'?" He sticks around.

Ed, with his pants still unbuckled, slaps you across the face with the back of his hand. It stings, but you laugh at him as if it doesn’t hurt. 

With that, the newest man steps forward and raises his gun to your head.  You flinch and your courage drains away. "Clothes off, he demands." You look to the door for help, but no one's coming. Yet another agent is making his way over. Your'e shaking as you strip down to your underwear with four men now facing you. 

Ed lewdly grabs his crotch. "Woulda been a whole lot happier with this." Then he brings his gun to your face and prods your cheek. "But let's see what this pretty mouth can do." 

. . .

A few minutes later, you’re relieved to hear voices and footsteps outside. Peña skids through the door, panting. He removes a pair of aviators as he takes in the scene. Under his green bullet proof vest, his tan shirt is darkened with sweat. His brow furrows at you in your underwear with the barrel of a gun in your mouth. 

"Dejenla, pendejos," (leave her alone, assholes) Your heart flutters with appreciation as they slowly back away. 

"She tried to run," one says. Peña points his gun at them, arms straining his sleeves.  The men back away obediently. "Outside. All of you," he tells them calmly but sternly. They disperse, slowly and sheepishly. "NOW," he booms. They leave the door cracked. “Cerrado” (Closed), Peña snaps, and they shut the door. 

When the door closes, it’s just you and Peña. You reach for your shirt on the sofa to put it back on, but he points his gun at you. "No. Don't fucking move." He’s still catching his breath.  He walks backwards, keeping his gun fixed on you as he makes his way to the front door. He reaches behind himself and locks the deadbolt, then holds the gun with both hands again. 

"You wanna go to jail?" He asks and you shake your head no. He approaches you in no hurry, still aiming the gun at you."Cause that's what's s'posed to happen."

You look into his big, brown eyes, trying to connect with something. 

"Here’s what happens," he starts, his breath still somewhat labored. "I take what’s mine and the DEA’s. . .” 

You nod. 

“and when I let them back in, they take what they want.”  He gestures to the drugs and money on the table, then wipes his brow. "So. . ." He takes a moment to breathe, then raises his eyebrows. "you want them to take what they want," he gestures his gun down your body. "Or want me to take you in?"  He wets his lips and his eyes fall to your bra for a moment. 

"Neither,” you plead. 

He sighs and finally lowers his gun. He uses his left sleeve to wipe his brow but the sleeve is almost too short. His hairline is matted with perspiration.  He bends forward and braces his hands on his thighs to look at you, right hand holding the gun against his jeans. 

"Here's what we're gonna do. . ."  His face is tense, but his voice is low and soothing. "We're gonna make a deal, aren't we?"  He nods. He wets his lips and looks you over. You nod back, just barely.  Your gaze falls down his tac vest to his tight jeans and a bulge you didn’t notice before.

Peña follows your eyes, looks down at his pants, then sighs. 

"Ay, pobrecita" (poor little girl), he whispers insincerely, putting on a frown. 

He uses his gun to nudge your chin up and bring your eyes back to his. 

"Be a good girl for me," he says. "And we'll see what I can do." 

You nod. 

“You can call me Javi,” he offers, and you tell him your name. Your wallet is right there anyway. 

"Can I put this away?" He asks, holding up his gun. You nod.  "Nowhere to run," he warns you as he slips the gun into his vest. He adjusts himself then braces both hands on his thighs again and hardens his face. "Try something, and I'll let them back in for an hour, then cuff you myself. ¿Comprende?" 

You nod again. 

"Dime que comprendes" (tell me you understand).

"Yes," you confirm. "Entiendo." (I understand).

"Que bueno, pobrecita" (Good). He lets his eyes fall down your body hungrily. "How should we make this deal official?" 

You reach for his pants. He puts his hands out of the way and rests them loosely on his hips. His pelvis pushes forward as you palm the warm, ample bulge in his tight jeans. The front of his shirt has come slightly untucked from his foot pursuit, exposing a sliver of tummy that expands with his breathing as his cock hardens under your palm.  You catch a waft of his sweat and it sends a pang between your legs. You give him a slow, sensual rub with pressure. 

“Mm, good girl.” 

His massive hand comes to your face.  He grips your jaw and makes you look at him. You pause your hand then continue rubbing him and you feel yourself getting wetter. Then he squeezes your mouth open and looks at your teeth. His face is inches from yours and he reeks of tobacco.  "Not bad. . . at least you stay away from the pipe,” he raises an eyebrow. He looks at the side table of the sofa, littered with empty prescription bottles. "How long have you been using?" 

You don't answer. You slowly rub him and let your mind escape to a world where this is just a nice dick hardening warmly under your palm. 

"When's the last time you were clean more than a week?" 

Unsure what he wants to hear, you say, "Maybe a year."

"And how long have you been with that jackass?"

"I'm not."  You're not.  Not anymore. Not after this. 

"Mm-hm," Peña nods judgmentally and you feel a wave of shame when you see things through his eyes - a trap house and a loser boyfriend. "How does he fuck you?" 

You don't answer.

"Does he make you cum?"   His hips push forward and the outline of his tip presses against your palm.

“What do you want,” you snap defensively and his dick twitches under your hand. 

“You need to figure that out,” he says flatly. You meet his eyes and see desire. In different circumstances–like if he wasn't such an asshole–you'd hop on this man's dick in a flash, so you try to pretend he’s just a guy.

You reach for his belt buckle. His lips pout and his eyebrows go up with a tilt of his head. “Not a bad idea.” You unbuckle his belt, then unbutton and unzip his jeans. He’s not wearing underwear. His dark hair is trimmed close, almost shaven. His cock is thick, tan, and gorgeous. You work to free him from his restrictive pants, and it’s quite a package you’re looking at. 

His dick bobs heavily right in front of you, almost grazing your nose.  You take it in your hand, thumb resting on its crown.  You gently squeeze and admire it and it’s not long until he’s fully hard. Then you glance up at him and he’s looking at your mouth. You hover your lips near the tip and glance up at him again. He gives a go-ahead nod.  You suck the tip into your mouth.  Your tongue flattens under his shaft, then curls around the smooth, veiny skin. Holding his dick in your mouth, you tug his pants down lower and take out his balls before returning a hand to his cock. His balls are on the bigger side of average, symmetrical and only a little fuzzy. 

“Ohh, pobrecita.”  His voice is soft and dark, like Duvalin (nutella). 

Desire stirs between your legs.  He sucks in air through his teeth as you suck more of him into your mouth, and his tip nudges the back of your throat.  You cup his balls in your free hand and he lets out a low, quiet moan.  

“Tan suave, tan mojado. . .Tu boquita inmunda” (So soft, so wet, your unclean little mouth). 

You give his balls a light squeeze and his hands go to the back of your head, one following the other. He pulls your head down on his cock.

"You're a good little slut," He pants and thrusts his hips, his length sliding down the back of your throat– you try not to gag. "Just need somethin' in this mouth to keep you outta trouble." Tears sting your eyes from the gag reflex.  "Look at me, pobrecita." 

It's not easy but you try to look up. You watch him study your face for a few seconds as he fucks it.  Then you can't suppress it anymore.  You gag and pull your head away, afraid you might actually retch. His grip relaxes, but one hand stays on the crown of your head. He takes his cock in his hand. He kneels down on the floor and with his free hand, begins to take your panties down. You're suddenly very aware of how wet and throbbing you are from having his dick in your mouth.  He's soon aware, too, but he doesn't make a move to get on the sofa with you. He strokes himself with your saliva. "Open your legs." 

You obediently spread them but not far enough. He grabs breast and shoves your upper body back into the couch cushion, then he turns his attention to your cunt. He looks at it studiously and knits his brows.

“Que lástima” (what a shame), he mutters as he admires your glistening hole. “I’m a generous lover, too.” 

“¿Que lástima?” you ask. 

He shakes his head apologetically at your pussy, then meets your eyes. "Won't stick my dick in junkie cunt, sweetheart." 

He returns his gaze between your thighs and wets his lips.  “Juicy as it looks.” You huff and begin to close your legs. He places his massive hands on your knees, spreads them again, then runs his hands up your thighs and spreads them more.  He tilts his head as his thumbs reach the creases of your thighs.  Then he plants his thumbs on your outer lips and spreads you open to the cool air.  His nose twitches as he examines you.  Your clit throbs and you gush wetness. He puffs his cheeks out with an exhale. His dick is still hard between his legs, and he’s not touching it – his composure and self control is a little psycho. 

He gathers your slick, sniffs it with a barely visible snarl, and adds it to your saliva on his cock.  Then he fists his cock while staring between your legs. His free hand reaches up to tear your bra down on both sides, and he lets out a quiet moan at the sight of your tits. He jerks himself with his right hand and his left hand goes  between your legs. 

You're laid back on the sofa with your hips at the edge and he's kneeling between them.  He runs the backs of two digits through your folds, then inserts his thick middle finger and rotates his hand palm up. He pumps it twice and adds a second finger. 

He pumps himself and fingers you and when he's about to cum, he points his cock right between your legs.  He cums all over your mound, dripping down through your folds. He wipes his tip off on your inner thigh.  Then, his massive left hand returns between your legs, sliding through his own mess.  He fucks it into you with two fingers. He watches your face with a subtle, devious flicker behind his stare as he keeps fingering his cum into you. 

The lewdness ofi t makes your walls tighten around his thick digits. He curls them so his hand is rubbing your clit and his brow furrows as you begin to come undone. Your body tenses and your hips lift into his hand. Your back digs into the threadbare cushion. You bite your lip but fail to suppress a moan. He sucks in a deep breath watching you cum. 

“Good girl.” He withdraws his fingers and brings them to your mouth.  You suck off the salty, tangy blend and swallow it. 

He gently pats your cunt. "This is mine, now," he nods, then clenches his jaw and looks back and forth between your eyes.  "We’re gonna get you clean, pobrecita.  Entonces puedo usarla" (Then I can use it). Then he stands up and puts his cock back in his pants. "Put your clothes on, let’s go," he says. He picks them up off the sofa and drops them in your lap. 

Javi is watching you get dressed when someone knocks at the front door. Peña moves toward the door, and on instinct you start to make a break for the back exit, but he sees you in the corner of his eye.  “Ay, putita,” (little slut) he mutters as he bolts toward you.  He catches up just as you'ved opened the door.   His massive hands grab your arms roughly from behind, and he shakes you. "You were doing so fucking good," he spits through gritted teeth as he wrangles you back into the kitchen. He slams you face first up against the fridge and pins you with his left forearm while he grabs his cuffs. 

"You asshole. You're really taking me in? On what??"

He regains his composure and brings his mouth to your ear in a near whisper.  "Not to jail.” 

"Then where are you–" 

His voice is deep and quiet. "Callate, pobrecita." (Be quiet). He closes the cuffs, then tightens them. "It's for your own good." 

—---

If you like this, consider raider Joel (read warnings).

------

Thank you so much for reading and engagement!! Your support and interaction really keeps me going when other things drain me and drag me down. I love you guys.

Note: In general, if someone else’s work inspires yours, please share their work and give a shoutout.   

—----

[gotham-daydreams]

Chapter 3 Sneak Peak/Teaser:

Some additions have been added for the sake of it, and may not appear in the actual post when Chapter 3 is up. However, they do serve as a little glimpse into how certain characters feel at the moment. Glimpses which aren't exactly shown in the final post either, at least not like they are here.

Regardless, I hope y'all like this little piece of what's to come!

-----

Tim felt his heart leap to his throat. No way, had he really...? No. No, he couldn't get his hopes up... but he just couldn't help himself. Could anyone really blame him? After all this time, he finally felt like he was getting close, but he couldn't be too sure. No, no. Not yet. Though right here, right now he would. He would confirm it, and make himself certain. There was no way around it. ... Yet his heart rate increased as his hands began to shake.

No way, he thought. No way.

[...] He had to be sure. He had to be certain. He couldn't afford to be wrong. Not this time around. Not over you.

[...]

He almost couldn't believe it, staring at the document where he had listed all of the information he gathered from his search.

... He had done it. He finally did it.

[...]

Tim just looked at his screen, still processing all that had happened, suddenly feeling unsure. 

Should he just keep this to himself, so that he could go after you? The others didn't know yet… they didn't have to know yet, this was a golden opportunity. Should he really be giving this up?

Though of course he just had to run his mouth before thinking things over. Of course.

[...]

Maybe... this whole thing wasn't such a good idea after all. Not with how he went about things, not with how he acted and just spit out the most important thing he had found without thinking, just out of spite.

If only he had gone about it differently. Then maybe he'd be with you instead of him.

--

Somewhere in your heart, you knew it couldn't last forever — and as if hearing your worries, an abrupt knock echoed throughout the apartment.

If only you had listened to how your heart stopped.

[...]

You made your way to the door, and yet here — right at the foot of it, an odd feeling began to blossom in your chest. You couldn't make sense of it, but as you reached for the knob, you found yourself stopping. It didn't feel like a good idea to open the door, and though you couldn't figure out why, you just took a small breath and pushed the feeling to the side. 

Clearly, you were having a weird night, but just to humor yourself you decided to 'comply' with whatever this feeling was, and check who was at the door by looking through the peephole instead.

It was only then did you understand.

[..]

Your heart leapt from your chest to your throat when more knocks came, basically pounding against the door. Fuck. They were getting impatient.

[...]

Your hands were sweaty, your heart was racing, and you could hardly stand still as you waited and waited.

Life in Gotham had always worked in mysterious ways, but this was too much too soon. Despite months having past, in the moment, it felt like it had been days since you had left. Like you had barely just gotten a taste of freedom, of love and appreciation — only for it to be stripped away from you. To be taken by the very people you once turned to for such things.

Perhaps even staying in the city was too close. Maybe you should've moved farther away when you still had the chance.

[...]

Oh god, you were really doing this.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you took a step forward and tried to take a breath. Trying to calm down your heart a bit as you gathered your composure, and acted as normally as you could manage.

Walking forward, you rounded the corner, and there he was in all of his tainted glory.

[...]

The way he looked at you made you feel uncomfortable to say the least, and his whole demeanor was nothing you had seen from him before. Not directed towards you anyway, and you couldn’t help but struggle trying to remember the last time he smiled at you in person, but maybe you had just gotten used to seeing his back turned to you one too many times. Maybe you had just grown too familiar seeing his smile in photographs and painted pictures, instead of real life.

[...]

Your heart felt heavy in your chest, and despite how you tried to ignore it, you could feel that something was wrong. Though you just chalked it up to how you aren't used to them talking with you, or smiling towards you or anything. Or you tried to anyway, but you were slowly beginning to doubt it.

[..] On any other occasion you'd try to let it go, but doing so didn't feel right. It felt stupid, and almost as if you'd put yourself in more danger by trying to, so for now you'd just keep it in mind. Even if nothing came of it, at least you were being cautious, right?

.. All you could do was just hope that this would end as quickly as it started. For both your sake and their's, but mostly for your own.

[...]

The absence of sirens in the air and occasional gunshots didn't sit right with you, and even the amount of people driving by wasn't as much as it'd usually be. The city didn't feel busy, let alone as alive as it would've been on any other night, and it bothered you. It was like some sort of silent evacuation was going on, or a lock down of some kind that not everyone was informed of. There were more whispers than there were shouts, and a kind of awkward peace instead of striking violence and chaos.

You couldn't believe it, was this Gotham's first real quiet night?

CRACK.

Perhaps you spoke too soon.

[..]

It was only then did you really take a look around, and notice how the people you passed by looked equally tense and nervous. An unsaid but shared feeling of tension and anxiety hung in the air, and now that you noticed it — you couldn't ignore it.

[...]

Small beads of sweat began to roll down your neck. Your hands felt clammy, and you tried to steady your breathing once you realized it was wavering. You tried to fix any outward reaction you noticed you were displaying before they could catch on, fiddling with your sleeves as you tried to reassure yourself.

You were going to be okay... right?

[..]

So, you tried to ignore how the pit in your stomach continued to grow with each second that passed. How each sound caused you to tense, and sometimes jump the smallest bit, but you tried to ignore that too.

... Seconds turned into minutes, and it was only now that you fully realized how long this short walk felt. The sidewalks stretched on, and the streets never seemed to end.

The longer time dragged on, the worse you felt. The more you wanted to get away and just shove them aside. You didn't want this, you thought you wouldn't see them again after leaving, because why would you think otherwise? After all that time of them treating you like you were never there? And now this?

Just this whole situation was giving off mixed signals, but the worst part about it? It made you feel like you should've given up sooner, and who knows? Maybe you should've.

[...]

At least now you were able to take a breather, even if it was only temporary. With someone familiar that you actually felt comfortable enough to be around. To talk with, and exist in their space.

Sure, you'd have to step back outside eventually, but for now? You didn't have to. Not until the order was ready, and you'd have to face them again. Though that wasn't now, was it? For now you could just... be.

To think you'd feel so grateful just to be able to breathe in your own space.

To think that they'd try to take that away from you too, but you wouldn't let them. You couldn't. Not freely or willingly anyway.

You had given them enough, why couldn't they understand that? Why did they suddenly want to have what you tried to give them so long ago? Haven't they realized that the opportunity has already past, and they're the ones that let it happen? Maybe. Maybe some of them do. Maybe some of them did. They were smart like that, after all. Some had to know. They had to.

But not this one. Otherwise he wouldn't be here.

[octoberautumnbox]

Discordant Waltz: Juicy Juicy

Oh Sieun (Former IZ*ONE/Soloist Jo Yuri) & Male Reader

Categories/warnings: smut, public sex, blood, clothed sex, hair pulling, blowjob, cowgirl, friends with benefits, fuck buddy

Word count: 1.9k

| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 (coming soon) |

a/n: i just really wanted to put this out, i think atp I can't write consistently like I used to before all this shit happened. we'll just see how it goes from now on but i swear i still have a bunch of fics i wanna write :))))

bathroom 3rd

sieun fckbd, 2:43 pm

pushy. omw

You, 2:43 pm

The warm, unconditioned air hit you like a brick wall when you first stepped out of the classroom, but with the cool breeze and shade, you really didn't mind any further.

You head for the rendezvous lazily, though it nags at you why she would want to see you during school hours. 

Sieun was leaning against the empty bulletin board between the male and female restrooms when you found her. She was ethereal and fleeting, like a poster from a magazine you weren’t supposed to buy. 

There’s no response from her as you took your careful steps towards her. She looked worried and lost in thought, like something shook her on a deeply personal level. Not that it mattered to you; neither of you were supposed to care about each other in that way.

"Can I help you?" She jumps and stares wide-eyed at you, evidently so surprised that she didn't even see you coming. Apologetically, you push up her chin and force eye contact with her, which pulls her back down to Earth.

"Great," she sighs, relieved, "you're here. Come on!" 

You suddenly find yourself getting dragged by the collar into the women's restroom and shoved into one of the stalls. You're pushed and forced to sit down onto the toilet seat, and your fuckbuddy promptly gets into her own position, straddling you and wrapping her arms around your neck.

This isn't anything new, and by now you know what she's asking for. Place both hands on her ass, feel up her cheeks through the baggy PE pants she loves wearing for some reason. She dives in and captures your lips with hers, and savoring the feeling of your tongues on each other and swapping spit. 

Carelessly you reach under her pants garters and under the waistband of her boxers, fully relishing how her smooth skin and plump ass feels in your hands. She breathes heavily under your touch, and moans spill from her lips with every squeeze. 

"Sorry about the boxers by the way," she whispers, breaking the kiss. "I didn't plan on this." 

You take her lips again, feeling her breath growing less and less stable against yours. "It's fine, baby. You okay?"

She tries to act tough with her retort, but her blushing gives her away. "Less talk, more getting your cock hard enough for me to choke on." 

You estimate a solid minute of making out and groping her ass while she grinds on your clothed dick, making sure she feels you getting harder for her.

Once she's had her fun, she gets up and hurriedly unzips your pants. Meanwhile you work on stripping her of her own pants, yanking off her boxers at the same time. Her wet, pink pussy comes into view, and you place a thumb on her clit to rub while she works hard trying to strip you herself. Noticing she's fumbling and having trouble with your belt, you unbuckle it for her and get up, so she makes quick work of pulling everything off of you. You sit back down onto the toilet and feel the cold ceramic seat on your thighs.

“Thank you. Do you have any other questions?” Sieun asks, but her interest lies elsewhere. She eyes your stiffening cock hungrily while licking her lips. 

Without waiting for an answer, she squats down between your legs and places the tip of her tongue right on the slit of your dick, giving it tiny licks. She allows her saliva to run down from her tongue, watching you watch her start to pleasure you. 

She takes your cock in her hand and starts to jerk you off in long and slow strokes. Her lips hover over your tip, still letting her saliva drip down, and you feel her handjob getting slicker. Between the feeling of her spit coating your cock and the pure visual of her heavenly face in front of you, you grip the toilet seat to try and delay your orgasm just a bit longer.

Satisfied with her work and how your face contorted in pleasure to what she’s doing, Sieun begins her monumental task of taking you into her mouth. She kisses your tip before taking your head between her plump lips. She gives it a little suck before withdrawing, licking her lips, and going back for more. You notice her free right hand working between her legs and tweaking her clit, and just then she moans a small “mmh” onto your head as she goes deeper with her blowjob to half your shaft. 

Unfortunately for her (or perhaps fortunately, you know how sick she is in the head), just half your shaft reaches to the back of her mouth. The sensation of her tongue tracing the veins around your dick sends a shock wave of pleasure up your spine, causing you to reach out and grip a handful of her hair. She looks up at you, expectant and pleading, as you watch her insert two fingers into her dripping pussy. 

Instead of forcing your cock into her throat though, you pull her head away by her hair with a jerk. She gasps at the sudden rough treatment, but displays her submission by panting with her tongue out like a dog. She hasn’t stopped fingering herself, and this lets you know what she wants next. 

Hand still tangled in her hair, you pull her up to your eye level. Take her onto your lap and position your cock onto her wet folds, and earn a groan from her as she relaxes onto you. 

Sieun reaches under her jacket and, you guess, into her bra before pulling out a condom. Seeing you surprised, she smirks at you and rips open the packaging with her teeth.

"You always know how to get me riled up."

She expertly rolls the rubber onto your throbbing cock. She holds your chin up the way you did with her earlier, and she makes you watch as she lets a line of her spit fall from her tongue to her open palm. Finally she rubs it all over your cock, giving it a few pumps while making sure it's lubricated and ready for her.

You grab her by the hips, savoring how her smooth skin feels on your hands, and pull her back onto your cock. She gives in and, carefully but not too much so, she lowers herself onto your dick. She shuts her eyes as you feel yourself sliding into her, first the head, then the shaft, and even more after that, all the while you guide her down by her hips. 

"Never fucking gets old, you stretch me out so well…" Her breathy and quiet voice tells you she's close. She bites her lip and tries to make eye contact with you again. In the split second that you do, you're reminded that Oh Sieun is gorgeous in her own right, and that you're lucky you get to have her like this at all. You admire her big brown eyes, how they shut as she lowers herself onto you, how her lips part as she lets out a deep sigh.

Sieun is dazed; you know she's getting even hornier with you. She's straining herself to keep quiet, knowing that just one mistimed yelp might be all it takes for someone to get curious, check out the bathroom, and catch the two of you red-handed. Despite that, she soldiers on, lifting herself up before letting herself drop again. As she does, you feel her velvet walls clench tighter around you, and you resolve to place your hand over her mouth. Getting the message, she goes for another bounce on your cock, more careful than anything to keep the sound of her skin on yours to a minimum. You hold back yourself, trying to match her control despite the mind-melting pleasure you get from her tight, needy pussy.

You watch as she lifts herself up again. You take a deep breath into your lungs, knowing that you can't hold back much longer: you need her just as much as she needs you. Hands firm on her mouth and hip, her head lolls back as she prepares to take all of you into her again. 

She crashes down onto you like a meteor, sending waves of pleasure throughout both your bodies. With your common sense leaving you, you thrust up into her, reaching a depth she's never experienced in this life until now. She jerks her head in surprise to face you, and almost immediately her eyes point up and then roll to the back of her head. She groans against your palm before developing into a full-blown scream you both were lucky to have muffled. Her cunt squeezes your throbbing cock as it convulses through her orgasm, squirting her cum all over your crotch and waist. 

Don't relent, she loves it when you don't. You thrust up into her again, forcing more of your cock into her heat and vying for your own release. Sieun struggles to scream louder into your hand as she loses her mind to the pleasure.

You thrust harder up into her, matching how tight she's clamping down on you. Inadvertently she makes up for it with how much of her love juice is spraying onto your crotch and lap. Snake a hand across her back and onto her shoulder, and with your other hand on her mouth, pull her down.

Her teeth find your palm an easy target, biting down and drawing blood. She could do nothing else, completely victim to the immense orgasm you were subjecting her to. Fight down your pain; just a bit more. 

It arrives when you least expect it to, and you're sure deep down inside whatever's left of Sieun is thanking whatever god she believes in that you're about to let her go. Your dick throbs with each spurt of cum you shoot into the rubber, unintentionally also hitting her good spots even more. She leaks more and more of her juices onto your lap, and as you look up you find she's also started to cry. You almost feel sorry for her, if not for how unbelievably and blissfully elated she seems to be getting fucked out of her mind. Your blood shows itself, from your palm and dripping onto Sieun's jacket. 

Both your climaxes end gradually, bringing you down from the highest of highs. Your arms fall exhaustedly to your sides and you lose all feeling in them. Sieun collapses face down on top of you, limp and out of breath, but still finds the tiniest bit of strength to nuzzle into your neck. Extend your last greatest effort, swing your arm over the small of her back and hug her. 

“You good?” Your tone is casual, like she didn't just have the orgasm of her life. She weakly nods into your neck and puts a kiss right on your pulse.

~~~

You find yourself walking back to the classroom, unaware of how much time has passed. The sun hides behind a fair bit of cloud cover, and the breeze seems nippier than you remember. 

Sieun is long gone, off to wherever she was before. Hopefully, nobody notices her limp, nor the red stain on her jacket. Above all, you hope nobody questions the hand mark over her mouth. 

But deep inside, you kind of do. She wouldn't be able to say it, but she'll know it's because she gave herself to a man that makes her feel complete.

~~~

| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 (coming soon) |

a/n: this was something i wanted to write for a long time, im really glad i got to do something like this now :) thanks for reading!

[submissive-humiliation-slut]

Gender Traitor

My husband comes home from work and I serve him a wonderful dinner. Afterwards we cuddle on the couch while we watch some random show, my head on his lap. He strokes my hair and starts to tell me about how he wants to r@pe the women closest to me. He starts to detail what he would do to my sister, where and how. I stop breathing. My heart beats so hard I feel I might faint. I quickly get up. Stand before him, rapidly strip naked, kneel, pull out his semi erect cock, put it in my mouth, put my left hand on my clit and look up at him with blinding lust. With his cock still in my mouth I feel it start to grow as I whisper, “Please…” and I deep throat him as he starts to detail his plans for my bff, my sister, and each of my friends, one by one…! 

Fuckkkkkkk

[kismetlotts]

-`♡´- pervy Johnny Soap Mactavish with a somnophillia kink x afab femreader

cw: somnophillia, non consensual play, stalking, mentions of pillow humping, sex toys, pantie sniffing, mentions of sa (the word r*pe) cumming untouched, male masturbation, mentions of gagging, mentions of ejaculation tasting bad, non consensual pornography, mentions of regurgitating (no actual v*miting), mentions of violence (no actual violence)

Soap was a disgusting and dirty man. He came across the usual sweet caring soldier he always pretends to be. Someone eager to get things done, eager to do well but deep down he wasn’t as innocent and nice as the character he portrayed.

He was good at hiding the desires too. Quick to make a run to the bathroom to rub one out when you bend over, quickly getting in a few exercises before the next mission. Quiet enough to keep his grunts in his throat as his cock paints his underwear white at the sight of you.

He wouldn’t call it an obsession but you really did something to him. There was something about your dirt covered clothes with sweat and grime staining your skin that opened his eyes and made him fall still. You weren’t the first woman he’d worked with but you were the first he’d set his eyes on, the first he’d substantially claimed for himself.

Then things began to get bad, being on missions with you were too risky. Of course he’d jump a bullet for you and protect you consistently but he found himself getting distracted- more so than before.

Your body sprawled out in front of him, that hot little mouth that wouldn’t stop panting out orders. How could he not imagine you just like that in his bed naked?

He felt like he was back to being a teenager, one hand on his dick and the other clutching his mothers stolen magazine opened on page 3. It was embarrassing how horny he was and under what circumstances, so he did the mature thing and decided to try put an end to it.

Picking your front door lock was easy- too easy and if he had a good excuse as to why he was checking your lock he would alert you of it immediately. You work in the military, making enemies daily and the lock at your home is that easy to break? What if when you came home someone had let themselves in, waiting for you to come back and stab you in the throat.

Shaking off that thought, he’d bolt upstairs and snatch what he could without it being noticeable. Your panties- used and washed. The cushion he’d seen you ride and cum over because it’s normal to peek through your crushes window, right? An old vibrator, a bottle of your perfume, body lotion. All the things he could possibly think of that would turn him on, he’d taken. Shoved in his pocket before leaving and going back home.

And when he was home, oh was it fun. He’d strip off his clothes and lay on his bed, stringing your clean, cute, frilly little panties over his already hard dick. Maybe if he didn’t make a mess on them, he’d return them, knowing that something his throbbing cock touched would be so close to your sweet ol’ cunt.

Your used panties on the other hand, would lay on his face, your scent still prominent on the fabric and cascading into his nostrils. Maybe he’d lick a stripe down the middle, maybe he’d shove it all in his mouth and force himself to gag on it, but as of right now your smell was doing enough for him.

He’d coat his hands with your favourite lotion, the scent of you on the panties and the smell of your skin earning a grunt from his mouth: he’d probably sprayed your perfume around his room before this too-to get himself started and in the mood obviously.

It was like you where there, in his hands, over his body and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted with you. As he thrusted into his hand he’d think of you, eyes darting to your pillow and vibrator. Would you ever think of him while you used them?

He strained his other hand out, reaching and turning on the sexy device and watching it flicker and pulse while the settings slowly got more powerful.

“Fuck..” He groaned, his fist shaking faster and faster to the thought of you. It made him fucking wild.

Did you have this against your clit imagining his tongue? Did you use this over and over, your back arching with eyes squinted shut while you thought of him? His name leaving your mouth? His name being screamed?

And with them thoughts hed cum, shooting high in the air, coating your panties and his stomach. He’d wash them later probably, or maybe just wipe it a bit and let the rest of the cum dry before slipping to back into your bedroom drawer.

Surprisingly though, it did nothing to tame his desires, if anything it worsened them. He’d sometimes stuff your dirtied panties in his pocket and bring them to work, talking to you- face to face- as his fingers clutched the soft material.

“I think i’m going crazy, things just seem to be going missing at my house.” You’d tell him gaining a small gasp of surprise from him. Your face looking away as you bite your lip anxiously.

“God that sucks, do ya think your misplacing em?” He’d ponder aloud, keeping his smirk in as he comforted you. Hates seeing how worried you get over this, so he’d support you as much as you he could. Deep down he wishes he could just hand them back over to you or leave them back in the place he found them but he couldn’t return everything. What if you found that little cum stain he’d left? He was certain you were a virgin and if you found that you’d definitely panic and get the wrong idea.

Johnny wasn’t a stalker or some sex driven psychopath who wants to rape and kill you. He’s just a friend who finds you attractive, and he needs a few things to help relieve himself. Isn’t that what friends do? Help each other out?

“I don’t know.. I’m sorry if this is too much information, but it’s usually my underwear that gets lost. I’m scared I have a stalker or something..” His cock throbbed as you admitted that to him, your plump lips quivering slightly as you attempted to mask your fear. Johnnys rough hand came and met your back giving you a soothing rub and he smiled as you. Earning a small jump and wide eyes in return.

“Don’t worry lassie, even if there is one i’m here to protect ya! I’m sure your knickers will turn up somewhere.. Probably just stuffing em elsewhere by mistake.”

His Scottish accent and meaningful words would always bring you a feeling of comfort, as the both of you were getting so close. The two of you arranged meet-ups with the team and without, you trained together and you really were building your friendship. Sometimes you’d even ask yourself if there was anything more there, maybe a possible romance but you didn’t want to ruin what you had at this moment and pushed your thoughts into the future: the chemistry was definitely there though. He was someone you trusted and everyone knew that, so it was no surprise when you were injured out in the field, the team ordered Soap to drive you home.

He’d watch as you pass out, over and over again most likely from tiredness, Price really pushed the team far with that last mission but as always, everyone buckled down and completed it efficiently. Soap occasionally leaned over bolting you awake with a gentle slap of your cheek because he knew he was losing control of himself. The sight of you unconscious next to him as he drove your car home made him mad- feral. Such a sweet innocent girl totally oblivious to the white knuckles that clenched your steering wheel, and the outline of his hard cock that stood upright as he drove.

Your house wasn’t far from his- walking distance in fact, and funnily enough you had to drive past his house in order to get to yours. Johnnys eyes flicked to the light spilling through the window coming from his bathroom en-suite. He exhaled a sigh, cursing himself out under his breath as he pulled up and onto the drive.

The team trusted him to drive you home safely, to make sure you were safe and asleep in your own home but how would they even know he brought you here. He only needed to pop in quickly anyway. The seatbelt hit the side of your car and he took the keys out and left quickly, glancing back at the windshield and stopping before he reached his door.

What if someone was following the two of you and leaving you out here alone could result in your death? What if you vomited and chocked and he wasn’t there to save you? What if- But deep down he knew he’d bring you inside regardless.

Swooping you up in his arms bridal-style and carrying you inside, you disliked being lifted and he knew this but he couldn’t wake you now. You’d probably tell him something like “It’s fine, i can drive home anyway. Don’t worry.” And he wanted you with him. Plopping you down on his bed, he walked over to the door, before flipping the switch and walking back over to the bed.

His eyes flickered to your body, the soft fall and rise of your chest and the obvious tent in his military cargos. It was dangerous having you here and even he knew that. Luckily enough the items he had stolen were stashed under his bed however for some reason he wished they were out, scattered around you without you knowing.

His hands reached out to brush the hair on your face out the way and tucked it behind your ear, revealing your face and the slight drool dripping from the crack of your lips.

“Pretty lil thing aren’t ya? Hm?” He asked you in a whisper despite there not being a response. He felt as your body warmed under his hand and hummed in delight, his thumb swatting the saliva away and tracing the soft skin of your cheeks. His stomach fluttering like a butterfly house.

Everything felt tight, the room, his cargos, your shirt and he found himself slipping out of control. Hands rubbing the smooth skin of your tummy and chest beneath your top careful not to graze the small wound, before pulling the material up just below your tits, you weren’t wearing a bra, his eyes settled on your skin.

“How fucking adorable.” He growled, and it wasn’t long before he wanted and required more.

Now, he wasn’t going to fuck you or taste you as much as he wanted too. You were going to be awake when he did that, he needed to hear you moan his name, push his head deeper between your thighs, or fuck back onto his cock shamelessly needing to reach your own orgasm. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t toy with you now. You were his little puppet and he wanted to make a show out of you, all for himself.

His hands rushed to his cargos quickly fishing his phone and the panties out of his pockets, throwing his phone on the duvet and hiding your panties under the bed with the rest of them. God he couldn’t fucking wait any longer.

He started unbuckling his belt and pushing them down to his ankles along with his boxers. Smiling down at you as his dick leaked like a broken tap and sprung upright. He cupped it, stroking it a few times his eyes closing at how much he’d been waiting for this. The amount of nights he had laid in the same spot as you were, jerking himself just like he was doing now.

His hand let go of himself watching as he twitched crazily in need of something to fuck. He could get out that cushion again, the one you used to ride naked against. He’d made a sweet little hole in that one and left plenty of stains and could add one more right in front of you, but he wanted you.

His hand reached out grabbing your chin and dragged your face along to the other side. The warm air from your nose hitting his palm and he slowly pulled your jaw down, opening your mouth. His heart fluttered in his chest at the sight and he itched his body closer, placing his swollen tip against your mouth.

His hand tapped himself against your lips leaving a small string of precum as he leaked over your lips. The sight was heavenly and he bit his lip trying his best not to lose control and start fucking into your mouth. His precum glossed your lips and something in him snapped. He couldn’t give up a sight like this and keep it as a memory-his other hand dashed over grabbing his phone.

It was just material he’d use for later, you would understand. His phone snapped a few pictures of your pretty little face and his dick against your lips, he even videotaped himself edging over you and watching as his precum dripped off and fell on you. His fingers dug into your mouth and grabbed your tongue before tugging it out slowly careful not to wake you, groaning at the sight.

“Sweet little angel..” He moaned. His tip hit your tongue and whimpers fell out his mouth at the feeling. It wasn’t as wet as he’d imagined but his dick made up for that with its own wetness. He jerked himself faster, legs trembling almost as he felt himself get close. Next time he’d cum in your mouth. He couldn’t risk waking you up or god forbid making you choke, it was a hazard and he didn’t want to take his chances.

His breathing became jagged and he stroked faster and faster, his aim worsening as he felt your warm breath hover over his cock. With one last tug he came undone, shooting white all over your shirt and on your chin and neck. Missing your mouth luckily. His thumb swept up a bead of his cum from your chin and he transferred it onto your tongue knowing that when you awoke you’d taste him, his diet wasn’t the best and he probably didn’t taste wonderful but he was too horny to care.

Johnny took a step back to admire his work with smile on his face and he took a few pictures of the end result. He found you so so beautiful like that, all messed up and solemnly relaxed. He wished he could stay in this moment forever but unfortunately the sound of his phone chiming brought him out of his trance. He’s got to get you cleaned up and home.

He slipped back into his cargos again and refastened his belt still breathing heavy from his orgasm. Slowly he lifted you back up and carried you to the bathroom propping you up on the counter. He felt as your head hit his shoulder and he let out a small laugh before lifting up your shirt, threading your arms out carefully and throwing it into his wash basket, blending in with his shirts similar in colour.

He rinsed a facial towel under warm water for a few seconds before whipping off himself off you, trying to be gentle and not to wake you but taking subtle glances at your breasts as he cleaned you up. Your skin was soft and warm under his touch and he found himself already becoming hard again but he ignored it for now, he’d pleasure himself later with the new photos he’d taken.

“Mmmm.. Johnny?” A voice mumbled tiredly and close to his ear and he froze sensing you were awake. The smell of him sent your stomach into swirls and your head flipped back. Rubbing your eye’s and opening them slightly. Johnny watched as your face scrunched up in disgust while your tongue lapped the roof of your mouth, swallowing down the unfamiliar taste. Really, he should be ashamed of what he did, it was perverted of him but it just turned him on more, making his cock harder in his underwear.

“You awake? Sorry bonnie, I was driving you home and you vom’ed over yourself. I was going to wake you but figured you needed some sleep. Just popped into mine and got you cleaned up.” Your eyes held his, so innocent and pure and blatantly unaware of the previous activities. But as you took in your surroundings you gave him a small smile and met his eyes once more.

“Thanks. I can drive myself home now don’t worry about me.” You mumbled pushing off the counter. Soap was about to protest but the throb of his dick kept him quiet and he cleared his throat trying his best not to glance back at your tits.

And with his small throat clearing you realised you were shirtless. Your face instantly burning red as you reached up to cover yourself, beginning to form a sentence of apology or something alongside that but he cut you off shaking his head.

“Don’t worry lass it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I’ll get you one of my shirts to put on. Threw yours in the bin since it was covered in dirt and blood anyway.” He walked over to his wardrobe pulling out a t-shirt and threw it your way with a comforting smile and you caught it quickly.

“Thank you Johnny.” You smiled, slipping it over yourself and walking over to join him in the bedroom. It was quite an open space and you smiled as the air smelt of him with a subtle hint of something familiar, smelt similar to your perfume but you shrugged it off. His hands rummaged over the drawer and picked out your keys, tossing them to you. He grabbed his phone off the bed shutting it off and began walking you down the stairs towards the front door. You took a step outside the cold air hitting your bare arms before turning back to meet his eyes, there was something different in them but you couldn’t place what.

“Drive home safely. Any problems give me a call.” His hand tapped the back of his phone and smiled at you widely, you nodded back to him smiling again and thanking him for cleaning you up before unlocking the car and slipping inside. The air didn’t smell funky or like vomit which was a good thing and you checked the seats seeing not a single drip on them. You breathed out a happy sigh, putting the car into drive.

Completely and utterly unaware to his dirty and sexual shenanigans and what photos he was currently scrolling through as he drove.

[the-muppet-joker]

ok my liege i will attempt to make you cry. forgive me in advance.

imagine the platonic ideal of Batman (chiseled) (muscular) (handsome) on a throne made of green felt. felt flayed from long dead muppets. surrounding batman, worshiping at his feet, adoring him, is a harem of jokers. all the jokers from all the dc universes. the jokers are all submissive and trembling. they are naked. stripped of their costumes they throw themselves at Batman's feet. professing their love for him. they say they never loved kermit the frog and they just want to live a life of submission to batman's manly will. also they are all saying how much they hate women. the batman laughs darkly and begins to explore the jokers' bodies with his huge pe

Crying with a Dark Rage. Sobbing in addition to throbbing.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

When private equity destroys your hospital

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW in PHOENIX (Changing Hands, Feb 29) then Tucson (Mar 9-10), San Francisco (Mar 13), and more!

As someone who writes a lot of fiction about corporate crime, I naturally end up spending a lot of time being angry about corporate crime. It's pretty goddamned enraging. But the fiction writer in me is especially upset at how cartoonishly evil the perps are – routinely doing things that I couldn't ever get away with putting in a novel.

Beyond a doubt, the most cartoonishly evil characters are the private equity looters. And the most cartoonishly evil private equity looters are the ones who get involved in health care.

(Buckle up.)

Writing for The American Prospect, Maureen Tcacik details a national scandal: the collapse of PE-backed hospital chain Steward Health, a company that bought and looted hospitals up and down the country, starving them of everything from heart valves to prescription paper, ripping off suppliers, doctors and nurses, and callously exposing patients to deadly risk:

https://prospect.org/health/2024-02-27-scenes-from-bat-cave-steward-health-florida/

Steward occupies a very special place in the private equity looting cycle. Private equity companies arrange themselves on a continuum of indiscriminate depravity. At the start of the continuum are PE funds that buy productive and useful firms (everything from hospitals to car-washes) using "leveraged buyouts." That means that they borrow money to buy the company and use the company itself as collateral: it's like you getting a bank-loan to buy your neighbor's mortgage out from under them, and using your neighbor's house as collateral for that loan.

Once the buyout is done, the PE fund pays itself a "special dividend" (stealing money the business needs to survive) and then starts charging the business a "management fee" for the PE fund's expertise. To pay for all this, the PE bosses start to hack away at the company. Quality declines. So do wages. Prices go up. The company changes suppliers, opting for cheaper alternatives, often stiffing the old company. There are mass layoffs. The remaining employees end up doing three peoples' jobs, for lower wages, with fewer materials of lower quality.

Eventually, that top-feeding PE company finds a more desperate, more ham-fisted PE company to unload the business onto. That middle-feeding company also does a leveraged buyout, pays itself another special dividend, cuts wages, staffing and quality even further. They switch to even worse suppliers and stiff the last batch. Prices go up even higher.

Then – you guessed it – the middle-feeding PE company finds an even more awful PE bottom-feeder to unload the company onto. That bottom feeder does it all again, without even pretending to leave the business in condition to do its job. The company is a shambling zombie at this point, often producing literal garbage in place of the products that made its reputation. Employees' paychecks bounce, or don't show up at all. The company stops bothering to pay the lawyers that have been fending off its creditors. Those lawyers sue the company, too.

That's the kind of PE company Steward Health was, and, as the name suggests, Steward Health is in the business of stripping away the very last residue of value from community hospitals. As you might imagine, this gets pretty fucking ugly.

Steward owns 32 hospitals up and down the country, though its holdings are dwindling as the company walks away from its debt-burdened holdings, after years of neglect that have rendered them unfit for use as health facilities – or for any other purpose. Tcacik's piece offers a snapshot of one such hospital: Florida's Rockledge Regional Medical Center, just eight miles from Cape Canaveral.

Rockledge is a disaster. The fifth floor was, at one point, home to 5,000 bats.

Five.

Thousand.

Bats.

(Rockledge stiffed the exterminators.)

The bats were just the beginning. One of the internal sewage pipes ruptured. Whole sections of the hospital were literally full of shit, oozing out of the walls and ceiling, slopping over medical equipment.

That's an urgent situation for any hospital, but for Rockledge, it's catastrophic, because Rockledge is a hospital without any hospital supplies. Steward has stiffed the companies that supply "heart valves, urology lasers, Impella catheters, cardiac catheterization balloons, slings for lifting heavier patients, blood and urine test reagents, and most recently, prescription paper." Key medical equipment has been repossessed. So have the Pepsi machines. The hospital cafeteria had its supply of cold cuts repossessed:

https://www.reddit.com/r/massachusetts/comments/1agc1j4/comment/kolicqo/

It's not just Steward's nonpayments that reek of impending doom. Its payments also bear the hallmarks of a scam artist on the brink of blowing off the con. The company recently paid off a vendor with five separate checks for $1m, each drawn on "a random hospital in Utah" (Steward recently walked away from its Utah hospitals; its partners there are suing it for stealing $18m on their way out the door).

This company – which owns 32 hospitals! – has resorted to gambits like sending photos of fake checks to doctors it hasn't paid in months as "proof" that the money was coming (the checks arrived 22 days later).

Steward owes so much money to its employees – $1.66m to just one doctors' group. But the medical staff keep doing their jobs, and are reluctant to speak on the record, thanks to Steward's reputation for vicious retaliation. Those health workers keep showing up to take care of patients, even as the hospital crumbles around them. One clinician told Tcacik: "I watched a bed collapse underneath a [patient] who had just undergone hip surgery."

Rockledge has nine elevators, but only five of them work – the other four have been broken for a year. The hospital's fourth floor has been converted to "a graveyard of broken beds." The sinks are clogged, or filled with foul gunk. There's black mold. Nurses have noted on the maintenance tags that the repair service refuses to attend the hospital until their overdue bills are paid. The fifteen-person on-site maintenance team was cut to just two workers.

Steward is just the latest looting owner of Rockledge. After the Great Financial Crisis, private equity consultants helped sell it to Health Management Associates. The hospital's CEO took home a $10m bonus for that sale and exited; Health Management Associates then quickly became embroiled in a Medicare fraud and kickback scandal. Soon after, Rockledge was passed on to Community Health Systems, who then sold it on to Rockledge.

Steward, meanwhile, was at that time owned by an even bigger private equity giant, Cerberus, which then sold Steward off. That deal was performatively complex and hid all kinds of mischief. Prior to Cerberus's sell-off of Steward, they sold off Steward's real-estate. The buyer was Medical Properties Trust, who gave Cerberus $1.25b for the real-estate: three hospitals in Florida and three more in Ohio. Steward then contracted to operate these hospitals on MPT's behalf, and pay MPT rent for the real-estate.

This complex arrangement was key to siphoning value out of the hospital and to keeping angry creditors at bay – if you can't figure out who owes you money, it's a lot harder to collect on the debt. The scheme was masterminded by Steward founder/CEO Ralph de la Torre. De la Torre is notorious for taking a massive dividend out of the company while it owed $1.4b to its creditors. He bought a $40m yacht with the money.

De la Torre was once feted as a business genius who would "disrupt" healthcare. But as Steward's private jet hops around "Corfu, Santorini, St. Maarten and Antigua" as its hospitals literally crumble, he's becoming less popular. In Massachusetts, politicians have railed against Steward and de la Torre (Governor Healey wants the company to leave the state "as soon as possible").

Florida, by contrast, is much more friendly to Steward. The state Health and Human Services Committee chair Randy Fine is an ardent admirer of hospital privatization and is currently campaigning to sell off the last community hospital in Brevard County. The state inspectors are likewise remarkably tolerant of Steward's little peccadillos. The quasi-governmental agency that inspects hospitals has awarded this shit-and-bat-filled, elevator-free, understaffed rotting hulk "A" grades for quality.

These inspectors jointly represent a mismatched assortment of private and public agencies, dominated by a nonprofit called Leapfrog, the brainchild of Harvard public-health prof Lucian Leape, who founded it in 2000. Leapfrog likes to tout its "transparent" assessment criteria, and Steward are experts at hitting those criteria, spending the exact minimum to tick every box that Leapfrog inspectors use as proxies for overall quality and safety.

This is a pretty great example of Goodhart's Law: "every measurement eventually becomes a target, whereupon it ceases to be a good measurement":

https://xkcd.com/2899/

But despite Steward's increasingly furious creditors and its decaying facilities, the company remains bullish on its ability to continue operations. Medical Properties Trust – the real estate investment trust that is nominally a separate company from Steward – recently hosted a conference call to reassure Wall Street investors that it would be a going concern. When a Bank of America analyst asked MPT's CFO how this could possibly be, given the facility's dire condition and Steward's degraded state, the CFO blithely assured him that the company would get bailouts: "We own hospitals no one wants to see closed."

That's the thing about PE and health-care. The looters who buy out every health-care facility in a region understand that this makes them too big to fail: no matter how dangerous the companies they drain become, local governments will continue to prop them up. Look at dialysis, a market that's been cornered by private equity rollups. Today, if you need this lifesaving therapy, there's a good chance that every accessible facility is owned by a private equity fund that has fired all its qualified staff and ceased sterilizing its needles. Otherwise healthy people who visit these clinics sometimes die due to operator error. But they chug along, because no dialysis clinics is worse that "dialysis clinics where unqualified sadists sometimes kill you with dirty needles":

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/the-dirty-business-of-clean-blood

The bad news is that private equity has thoroughly colonized the entire medical system. They took hospitals, fired the doctors, then took over the doctors' groups that provided outsource staff to the hospital:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/04/a-mind-forever-voyaging/#prop-bets

It's illegal for private equity companies to own doctors' practices (doctors have to own these), but they obfuscated the crime with a paper-thin pretext that they got away with despite its obvious bullshittery:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/21/profitable-butchers/#looted

The financier who decides whether you live or die depends on an algorithm that literally sets a tolerable level of preventable deaths for the patients trapped in the practice:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/05/any-metric-becomes-a-target/#hca

Private equity also took over emergency rooms and boobytrapped them with "surprise billing" – junk fees that ran to thousands of dollars that you had to pay even if the hospital was in network with your insurer. They made billions from this, and spent a many millions from that booty keeping the scam alive with scare ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/21/all-in-it-together/#doctor-patient-unity

The whole health stack is colonized by private equity-backed monopolies. Even your hospital bed!

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/05/hillrom/#baxter-international

Then there's residential care. Private equity cornered many regional markets on nursing homes and turned them into slaughterhouses, places where you go to die, not live:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/23/acceptable-losses/#disposable-olds

The palliative care sector is also captured by private equity. PE bosses hire vast teams of fast-talking salespeople who con vulnerable older people into entering an end-of-life system before they are ready to die. Thanks to loose regulation, the nation is filled with fake hospices that can rake in millions from Medicare while denying all care to their patients (hospice patients don't get life-extending medication or procedures, by definition):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS

If you survive this long enough, Medicare eventually tells the hospice that you're clearly not dying and you get kicked off their rolls. Now you have to go through the lengthy bureaucratic nightmare of convincing the system – which was previously informed that you were at death's door – that you are actually viable and need to start getting care again (good luck with that).

If that kills you, guess what? Private equity has rolled up funeral homes up and down the country, and they will scam your survivors just as hard as the medical system that killed you did:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/09/high-cost-of-dying/#memento-mori

The PE sector spent more than a trillion dollars over the past decade buying up healthcare companies, and it has trillions more in "dry powder" allocated for further medical acquisitions. Why not? As the CFO of Medical Properties Trust told that Bank of America analyst last week, when you "own hospitals no one wants to see closed." you literally can't fail, no matter how many people you murder.

The PE sector is a reminder that the crimes people commit for money far outstrip the crimes they commit for ideology. Even the most ideological killers are horrified by the murders their profit-motivated colleagues commit.

Last year, Tkacic wrote about the history of IG Farben, the German company that built Monowitz, a private slave-labor camp up the road from Auschwitz to make the materiel it was gouging Hitler's Wehrmacht on:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

Farben bought the cheapest possible slaves from Auschwitz, preferentially sourcing women and children. These slaves were worked to death at a rate that put Auschwitz's wholesale murder in the shade. Farben's slaves died an average of just three months after starting work at Monowitz. The situation was so abominable, so unconscionable, that the SS officers who provided outsource guard-labor to Monowitz actually wrote to Berlin to complain about the cruelty.

The Nuremberg trials are famous for the Nazi officers who insisted that they were "just following order" but were nonetheless executed for their crimes. 24 Farben executives were also tried at Nuremberg, where they offered a very different defense: "We had a fiduciary duty to our shareholders to maximize our profits." 19 of the 24 were acquitted on that basis.

PE is committed to an ideology that is far worse than any form of racial animus or other bias. As a sector, it is committed to profit above all other values. As a result, its brutality knows no bounds, no decency, no compassion. Even the worst crimes we commit for hate are nothing compared to the crimes we commit for greed.

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/2024/02/28/5000-bats/retaliation#charnel-house

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Most Wanted (Mafia Boss!Toji x Spy!Self-Insert!Reader 18+ One Shot) [COMMISSION FILL]

"I’m gonna make sure you remember tonight and what happens when you fuck with a guy like me."

*IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: THIS WORK CONTAINS R*PE & NONCON SEXUAL ACTS. PLEASE MIND THE TAGS AND READ LIGHTLY.

Pairing: Toji Fushigiro x Self-Insert!Reader (Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You’re a highly skilled hitwoman. You’ve been doing this for years–getting paid to take hits on the wealthy and corrupt at your agency’s order. You figure taking a hit on the renowned Tokyo mafia boss Toji Fushigiro won’t be any different. However, things take a terrifying turn for you, and your skills are put to the test when you go undercover as a dancer at his favorite club and give him a private dance. But instead of killing you, Toji takes it upon himself to punish you and show you what happens when you fuck with him.

Warnings: Smutty Smut, 18+; Porn with Plot; Physical Fighting; Gun Play; Knife Play; Noncon/R*pe; Forced Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Forced Orgasm; Lap Dancing/Pole Dancing; Doggystyle; Spit Play; Degradation + Praise; Rough Sex; Choking; Hair Pulling; Unprotected PIV Sex; Creampie; Some Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Here you go lovely!! @curiouscutie143 I hope you & everyone other toji lovers enjoy this. I had so much fun writing this & I tried to make it as nasty as I could lol. I may write another mafia!toji thing in the future just cuz this shit was soooo fun. Enjoy! -Jazz

*********

“Peaches, you’re needed in the backrooms.” 

You resist the urge to smile as you turn around from your seat at the bar, sipping on some water after your dance and sweet-talking a middle-aged bank broker into his pockets. It’s important to keep up the facade.

“Comin’,” you tell your coworker and turn to the broker who looks ready to dive into your cleavage. 

“Sorry, but I’ve gotta run,” you sigh, acting apologetic. He frowns at you, making the wrinkles and lines in his face more evident. “But this shouldn’t take too long. Find me afterward?”

The broker puts his hand on yours, accidentally using the hand his gold marriage band sits on. “You’ve got it, baby,” he purrs. “I’ve got some dollars just waitin’ on ya.” 

He gives you a wink before polishing off his whiskey and walking away from the bar, leaving you to breathe and collect your thoughts. You turn to the bottle girl, waving her down. “One shot of Patron, please!” you yell above the music blaring from the overhead speakers. She nods, scurrying to fetch you a much-needed shot. It will be the first alcoholic drink you’ve had since your shift started. 

You suddenly hear a buzz from your right ear and instantly put your hand up against it under your hair. “V,” a gruff voice says into your earpiece. “Come in, V. It’s been 20 minutes since we last talked. Did you get him yet?” 

You scan the upscale strip club pulsing with purple and red strobe lights and booming with activity: businessmen and regular-degular customers tossing money at the dancers on stage who spin around poles and do splits in their thongs and heels.

“Target was sighted five minutes earlier, sir,” you whisper into the earpiece given to you by your agency. “He is currently in the backrooms waiting for me. He came alone. He made eye contact with me ten minutes ago, so he may be asking for me.” 

More like you made eye contact with him and had been since he walked in. He is impossible to miss with how tall and buff he is. His black V-neck tee stuck to his pectorals and abs while his jeans hung low on his hips.

You had expected he’d be flashier with his wealth by wearing obvious designer clothing, but you figured that he had to keep a low profile as well. Beneath the V-neck that hung from his neck, you could see the tattoos that roped over his chest just like his arms. The healed scar at the corner of his smirk as his green eyes scanned the place over told you that this was, indeed, your target. 

He stood between two bodyguards in suits half his size, giving off an intimidating aura, especially with the guns at their hips. But you’d expect nothing less from Toji Fushigiro, Tokyo’s most notorious mafia boss. 

He is powerful. He is wealthy. He is known throughout Tokyo and Japan for being the head of Tokyo’s infamous mafia gang, the spot being passed down by his father. He is also a criminal. White-collar crime, organized crime, drug trafficking––you name it, Toji does it. 

He is also known for his scare tactics on those who owe him a debt. He’s held man over bridges, threatening to drop them in the murky waters below. He’s pistol-whipped. He’s choked. He’s stomped. He’s jumped guys in alleyways and left them for dead. He is a man of his word. If he tells you he’ll fuck you up if you don’t give him his money in a certain amount of time, he’ll do it. 

He is the number one man current on your hitlist…and your agency’s. They knew it was a good idea to employ you, their top hitwoman, to Toji’s favorite club to take him out for good. Though he didn’t show up when you started at the club a couple of weeks ago, you knew it was only a matter of time until he showed up. 

And now, he is. As soon as he was in the club, everyone’s eyes were on him. Dancers scurried to the pole and backstage to change into their best outfits to milk him out of his pockets. Bartenders and bottle girls quickly wiped down counters and took care of customers as quickly as possible so they could tend to him. Your manager barreled toward him with complimentary champagne and a spot in the VIP section. 

As Toji walked with your manager, your eyes met across the room. They met again while he sat in the VIP section when he should’ve been watching a dancer twirl around the pole in front of him. Both times were fleeting, but they affected you completely. His green eyes, like mirrors to a forest, sent chills down your spine and made your stomach flip. His gaze was intense. Intimate. His eyes made it hard to relax or act like a normal dancer working her shift at the club. 

He seemed to know what he was doing to you or he was sizing you up because he would simply smirk and sip on his whiskey on the rocks and puff on his cigar, his soft lips forming Os and blowing the smoke into the strobe-lit air. You can understand why so many women fell for him, but you aren’t one of them. The tiny gun strapped to your hip proves it. 

Your real boss sighs in relief. “Excellent work,” he praises. “Unfortunately, we can’t see what you’re doing from over at headquarters and we’re still working on connecting the audio to hear what’s happening around you, so just fill us in on what you do next until then. All you have to do now is walk back there and complete the mission as we discussed.” 

You toss an arm over the bar, stretching your coffin-shaped nails along the polished bar. “Of course,” you reply with a smirk. “Don’t I always?”

The bartender returns with your shot and you down it at once, relishing the burn and the way it loosened you right up. “I’ll keep you informed,” you say. “Just stay near the phone.” 

“Be careful,” your boss says before the line cuts. You check your makeup in the bar before you get up from the bar and strut over to your beautiful, blonde coworker in her red lingerie and heels. “Hey, Yuki,” you greet her. 

She smiles at you and guides you to the backrooms where the wealthier customers usually take the girls to get a dance…or something more. Sexual exchanges aren’t allowed, but the manager never complains if they bring in more money. You and Yuki peer down the hallway to the double doors of a private room where Toji’s bodyguards stand. 

“Why the guards?” you ask, pretending to be confused. “Is the President here or somethin’?” Yuki turns you to face her, her eyes wide. “Even bigger,” she replies. “He’s the hot guy with the scar who comes in here often. He’s a mafia boss, apparently. Super hot, but very powerful. The bossman gave him his pick of any girl he wanted and he picked you.” 

You do your best to hide your smirk. You knew you had him. “Me?” you ask breathlessly. “Why me?” Yuki shrugs, just as clueless. “Don’t know, but I was sent out to fetch you. He’s willin’ to pay double the amount of a regular lapdance, but he didn’t say if he wanted it topless, naked or not.” She gives you a worried look, furrowing her blonde brows. “You sure you up for it, hon?” she asks. “I know you’ve taken high rollers before, but he ain’t even a high roller! He’s beyond that!” 

To sell it even more, you bite your lip, acting nervous but intrigued. “I can do it,” you reply. “Just hold my hand when you walk me in there.” Yuki obliges and squeezes your hand as you begin to walk toward the guards, heels clicking across the floor. 

“Target is in sight,” you whisper into your earpiece, turning away from Yuki and putting your mouth in your arm to muffle your voice. “I’m walkin’ to the backrooms now where he’s located.” 

“Excellent, V!” your boss says. “Just do it as we discussed. Don’t falter, don’t yield, and don’t lose focus.” The three rules of being a spy. You never forgot them. Finally, you come to the guards and Yuki smiles up at them. “I’m here with Peaches,” Yuki announces. “The girl Mr. Fushigiro asked for.” 

You plaster a bright, charming smile on your face. It must work because the guards budge and step out of the way for you. One of them opens the door for you and Yuki, holding it. “Step in,” he orders. You thank him and scurry inside the dimly lit room with an included mini-bar, a single stripper pole, and leather lounging couches. Toji currently sits in one of them, legs spread and eyes hooded as he puffs on a blunt and sips on his drink. 

His green eyes pierce into your very soul when he eyes you in the doorway. “Here she is, sir,” Yuki says. “Just as you requested. And she’s just as pretty as I told you she is.” She moves your hair out of your face, exposing your pretty false flashes, Fenty Beauty gloss, and accentuated features to the boss. 

Toji hums, liking what he sees. “Yes, she is,” he agrees. “Tell your boss thanks. He can expect some good business out of me once the night is through.” Yuki nods and gives your arm a squeeze. “Good luck,” she whispers before heading off. The doors close and you are left alone with your hit. 

Neither one of you moves toward the other, staying posted to your spots. Toji takes a puff on his blunt and lights taps it above the ashtray next to him. “Y’know, you’re mighty pretty up close,” he purrs. “I’ve been wonderin’ what you’d look like up close instead of across the room.” 

You finally look at him, noticing how big he is even sitting down. “So you’ve been watchin’ me tonight?” you ask. He nods, his eyes trailing down your form. “I knew I hadn’t seen ya before,” he continues. “I come here often and I would’ve remembered seein’ a face and a rack like that.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Charmer, aren’t you?” you sarcastically question. 

He smirks at your wittiness. He likes that bite in a woman. “When I wanna be, but you’ll have to forgive me; the liquor makes me bolder than I already am.” His tongue jets out to lick his lips. “But you’ve gotta give a guy credit for bein’ honest and that lil’ outfit don’t leave much to the imagination.” 

You go to wrap your arms around yourself but then stop. You need to sell this and if you’re forced to stand here in a mini dress that barely covers your ass or titties with heels that could crush a bitch in front of your hit who also happens with me enticingly sexy, then so be it. Toji’s gaze softens somewhat, noticing your discomfort. “You are very beautiful, Peaches,” he genuinely says. “Is it okay if I use your name?” 

“Thank you, Mr. Fushigiro,” you softly reply. “And no, it’s fine. It’s what I’m known as around here anyway. I started here five weeks ago.” He nods, sipping on his whiskey. “Call me Toji.” 

“Toji,” you parrot, slowly striding towards the pole in the middle of the room, an overhead speaker playing soft R&B overhead. “You’re quite the man. The entire club seems to be in a frenzy over you.” 

His smirk widens, proud and cocky. “They always are,” he chuckles. “Don’t know why. This place gets plenty of people bigger than me all the time, especially international celebs. I heard Drake was here not too long ago.” You give a dry “mm-hmm” as you grasp the pole. Toji takes that answer another way. “What, you don’t like Drake?” he snorts. 

“He’s okay,” you reply, short and impatient. “So what are you here for? To talk or to watch me dance?” You wrap a hand around the pole and pop your hip out, waiting for him to give you an order. 

“Depends.” He sits up, leaning forward to get a better look at you. “What are you willin’ to do tonight for me? ‘Cause we can just sit here and talk. I wouldn’t mind hearin’ that pretty voice all night.” His green eyes gleam with mirth and a small hint of lust.

“Definitely a charmer,” you chuckle. “That’s fine if you’re willin’ to pay, though we don’t have a rate for conversation.” 

He laughs at this, the sound deep and raspy yet pleasant to the ear. He takes another puff on his blunt before he lowers it down onto the ashtray. “Then let’s cut to the chase,” he sniggers. “It’s $500 for a 10-minute dance, right? I want 20 minutes, so that would make…”

He begins to count on his fingers but then stops. “A lot,” he chuckles. “I’ll probably ask for you to strip though. Are you okay with that, Peaches?” 

You feel something flip inside of you at the mention of all of that money and how passive he is about it. Any girl working here would do whatever he wanted for 20 minutes! “I’m a stripper,” you reply passively. “What else am I gonna do?” 

Toji tsks, grimacing at you. “Damn, what kinda attitude is that?” he laughs. “A beauty like you should be more adamant about showin’ off her body. Can I offer you a drink to get you in the mood?” He nods at the mini bar overflowing with bottles of tequila, vodka, and liquor.

“I don’t drink on the job,” you reply. “Music helps.” You suddenly hear a buzz in your ear and then your boss’ gruff voice: “Give me the rundown, V,” he demands. 

You want another drink?” you ask. You nod at Toji’s empty glass and he agrees, so you walk over to the bar. To him, you’re seemingly looking for a bottle of whiskey, bent down to look through the racks. “With the target now,” you whisper. “Just waiting for the right time to attack. Give me a second.” 

Once the line goes dead, you walk back over to Toji and pour him a bottle. As you bend down, you give him an ample view of your titties much to his enjoyment. As you do, you slip the gun out of your dress and place it under the couch where only you can find it. Once done, you leave the bottle with him, and step back, hands on your hips. He sits back against the couch, preparing for the show. “Whenever you’re ready, darlin’,” he purrs, his eyes filled with obvious lust and attraction. 

With a slow song playing above and the lights dipping into an almost ominous red shade, you begin to move to the beat. You roll your hips, swaying them side to side and front to back, almost as if you’re grinding on Toji despite him being several feet away from you. You let the music take control of you as you grasp the pole and begin to grind against it, dipping low to wind your ass in his face. 

You do a few tricks on the pole for him–jumping and spinning around it, your thighs wrapped tight around the metal pole; squatting and lifting up your dress to bounce your ass, etc.–before you turn to look at him over your shoulder, flipping your hair. Toji’s eyes are hooded and lustful, all from the weed, the whiskey, and the effect you’re having on him. Despite the situation, it feels good to have an attractive man ogle at your plump frame. 

“Take off the dress,” he demands, a slight growl in his voice. You don’t turn to face him, instead still facing the wall as you carefully unzip the back of your dress. The thin piece of clothing falls off of your body, revealing all of your rolls, curves, and the matching glittery bra and thong set. 

“Shit!” Toji hisses, ogling at your asscheeks in your glittery thong. “Your back don’t hurt carryin’ that around?” 

You finally turn around and find him leaning forward, his hands clenching his thighs. “You don’t look like you’re ready,” you giggle, winding your hips and toying with your titties in their cups. “Did you talk too much big game, Toji?”

The boss looks like he can’t even speak, his scarred lips parted as he stares you down. “Goddamn,” he hisses. “How some horny fuck didn’t propose to you and steal you out of here yet is beyond me.” 

You give a light, tittering laugh, smiling down at him. “Well, if someone did that, I wouldn’t be here with you.” He looks happy with that response. You then twist around and bend over for him, giving him a full view of your full, round, perfect ass. “Can you handle it, baby?” you purr. “Can you handle me?” 

You quickly pop up and turn around, finding him shifting in his seat and gritting his jaw. “I should be askin’ you that,” he growls. “Come the fuck here.” Deciding not to tease him any longer, you strut over to him, feeling sexy and irresistible. It’s strange that the same man you were sent to kill is doing this to you. 

His eyes have grown several shades darker, reminding you of the deepest, darkest parts of a jungle. “Dance for me,” he demands. “Not on the pole; on me.” He opens his legs wider for you and pats his lap, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Though clients often get handsy when dancers give them lapdances here, you decide that it’s best to do as he says. 

Plus, you’d be lying if you said that you aren’t curious to feel him for yourself. So you place your hands on his thick, muscular highs and begin to roll your body before squatting down, popping up between his legs. You reach up to drag your palms and long nails down his chest, feeling up his abs and toned stomach. He allows it, staring down at you with a look that would make a nun blush. 

You then stand up between his legs before turning around and lowering yourself down into his lap. “Shit,” he whispers, watching the way you work your ass along his lap and the jean-clad bulge that has begun to make an appearance. You twerk and bounce on top of him before he takes a drag of his blunt, blowing the air away from you. “You ever shotgun before?” he asks, his lips close to your ear now. 

Your body grows hot from him being so close, the attraction ironically magnetic. Slowly, you shake your head and Toji chuckles, adoring your mix of cute and sexy. “C’mere.” You lean back and tilt your head up while he takes another puff of his blunt. He holds the marijuana smoke before puckering his lips up and leaning down as if to kiss you. Slowly, the smoke travels from his lips to yours in an indirect kiss that leaves you breathless and your head dizzy. 

You can’t deny it: you’re wet. Your pussy has never been this wet for any man before…and he’s the enemy! Toji seems to feel it too judging by the hard-on you can feel pressing into your thigh. You shift onto his knee and begin grinding your ass back, doing your best to not grind your pussy against his thigh. 

“So you got a name other than that stripper shit?” he randomly asks you. You are immediately taken out of your lustful haze, remembering why you’re here. “I don’t remember us talkin’ about personal shit,” you dryly reply. “I don’t give my real name out to men I don’t know.” 

Then, for the first time tonight, Toji touches you. His big hand lowers onto your thigh and squeezes. You don’t try to move it but you are alarmed. “Oh, but you do know me, darlin’,” he replies, digging his fingers into your flesh. “And I know you, V.” 

At the mention of your real name, you freeze. The world freezes with you, everything seeming to cease their existence including the music that continues to play overhead. But you don’t hear it. All you can hear is your own blood pumping loudly in your eardrums. Toji releases you and you quickly jump off of him, turning toward him. 

He just sits there staring at you, a humorous smirk playing on his lips. The smile is no longer attractive to you anymore. Suddenly, you feel disoriented. You feel like you may vomit or drop to the floor in your heels. Your earpiece buzzes to life again in your ear. “V!” your boss calls. “We just got the audio working again. What’s happening?” He sounds panicked, just as much as you are. 

Toji bares his pearly whites at you as he calmly reaches for his whiskey. “Ah, now them wheels are turnin’ in that pretty little head,” he chuckles. “You know, you dance almost as good as you lie. I can see why you were put here to go undercover.” He takes a sip and licks the remnants away from his top lip, still staring you down. 

“Ain’t that right?” he asks and it feels like a snake has just silvered up your back and sunk its teeth in you, paralyzing you. 

“Y/N, he knows!” your boss hisses. “Stand down! Don’t do anything stupid!” He continues to yell and scream at you about aborting the mission and telling you that someone will be there soon, but you can’t quite hear him. It’s like you’re underwater and he’s standing above ground, his voice muffled and murky. 

For a few seconds that seem like a lifetime, you and Toji stare each other down, waiting for the other to make the first move. Your body kicks into fight or flight, the freeze stage having already been awakened. Inisctively, you shift into fight mode. Quickly, you take the bottle of whiskey and bring it down towards Toji’s head, but he catches your wrist like it’s nothing. 

You grunt, wincing at the pain of his grip. “Oh, you wanna play, huh?” he cackles. “Goin’ against your boss’ little rules just to take me out? How cute.”

With a wail of effort, you swing your other hand at his head but he catches that too. Counting on this, you bring your leg up and kick him hard in the groin. He immediately releases you and lurches forward, holding his junk, giving you a chance to grab your gun from under the couch.

“Don’t move,” you growl, cocking the gun at him. “You move and I’ll shoot.” 

Toji, red in the face and panting, glares up at you. “Please,” he scoffs. “You act like you’re the first bitch that’s put a gun to my head.” Before you can blink, he is swinging the bottle at you. You duck which is a mistake because Toji uses that opening to tackle you to the ground. You struggle and growl, turning into an animal as he wrestles with you for your gun. 

He ends up winning, flipping you over and pinning you down to the floor with his body. “Get off!” you scream, still wriggling around. “Get off me!” Click. The barrel of your gun presses to your temple. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll make you regret it,” he growls. 

His fingers move your hair back away from your ear and pry the earpiece out of your ear. He snarls at it as if it’s nothing but a bug. “God, they made these things so much smaller now.” He stands up, keeping the gun on you, and stomps on the earpiece, breaking it. “Whoops!” he mockingly says. “They should still be able to find ya though. I don’t plan on movin’ ya to another location…if you don’t piss me off.” 

The gun clicks again. “Turn around slowly,” he demands. Despite your reluctance to do so, you slowly turn around and face him, lying on your back with your own shit pointed at you as Toji stands above you. “How did you know?” you whisper. 

He smirks, appearing like the Devil in your eyes. “It wasn’t hard, darlin’,” he chuckles. “Dancers don’t eye me up the way you were. You looked like you were out for blood, not dollars. Not to mention the gun I saw at your hip.” You flush, cursing yourself. You should’ve been smarter. Of course, he would know. He spends his days having people hunt him down. 

His smirk fades, his expression darkening. “Who sent you?” he demands. “And don’t lie. You don’t wanna know what I do with liars.” The gun cocks, his finger trained on the trigger. You glare at him, hating his guts even more than you had before you met him. So you weakly confess. He guffaws, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn, those guys? They’ve been after me for years!” 

“You’re a criminal,” you hiss despite the gun in your face. “You only got this far because of you dippin’ your hands in crime and gettin’ blood on your fists. I’m here to stop you.”

Toji’s brows raise in shock though he’s intrigued by your stubbornness. He squats down in front of you, still pointing the gun at your head. “And how are you gonna do that, huh, little girl?” he asks. 

Not even thinking, you hollow your lips and wallop a glob of spit in Toji’s handsome face before quickly turning over and scrambling to the door. However, Toji is just as fast and has his big, tatted arms wrapped around you, squeezing you tight. You can’t elbow him anywhere because your arms are stuck in his, leaving you to kick and wriggle.

“Oooh, I love a feisty bitch,” he chuckles. “Makes it a lot more fun to break ‘em.” 

He begins to walk with you over to a nearby wall and slams you against it, knocking the air out of your lungs. You find yourself pressed against the wall and him who is equally as hard and unmoving as the solid wall against your front.

He shoves the side of your face into the wall while he pins your arms behind your back, causing your muscles to explode with pain at being stretched back too far. “Get off!” you cry. “O-Ow, that hurts!” 

Toji tugs on your arms again, emitting a weak whine of pain from you. “That’s what you get for fuckin’ with me,” he growls. “Now what should I do with you? Kill you? Leave your agency to find you here?” The gun once again presses against your temple, cold and unrelenting. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, tears pushing back the ducks. You can’t beat this. You can’t fight this. “Do it,” you sob. “Just do it!” You go limp against him, waiting to feel that bullet penetrating your skull and for the void to come to collect you…but instead, Toji takes the gun away from you, leaving an indent on your temple. “No,” he says. “I’ve got a better idea.” 

You open your eyes, confused but also scared. What else is he planning to do with you? Before you can answer, you hear the undeniable sounds of his zipper coming down and the clinking of his metal belt buckle. Your body instant seizes, fear flooding your insides.

“I’m gonna make sure you remember tonight and what happens when you fuck with a guy like me. Tonight, babydoll, you’re mine. You don’t have a choice. You’re mine and I’m gonna show you what that means.” 

With his belt finally in his hands, he trains the gun on you. “Put your hands against the wall and stick that ass out,” he demands, his voice void of all emotion. “Do it now.” Outnumbered and out of tricks, you do as he says, trembling as you do so. 

“Bad girls like you need to be punished,” he says before the belt comes down hard onto your right asscheek. WHACK! The sharp sound of the leather hitting the soft, jiggly flesh of your ass penetrates the air. It feels like fire has licked your skin and your knees buckle at the pain. “Ow!” you cry out. 

Toji cackles at your agony, finding enjoyment and cuteness in it. “What, that hurt?” he laughs. “You don’t like the pain? I’m sure a girl like you has taken plenty of worse things before.” He raises his arm and whips the same cheek twice.

WHACK! WHACK! You flinch at each sharp hit, each one becoming more painful than the last. “Hurts, don’t it?” he snickers. “Don’t you regret pullin’ that shit with me now, babydoll, hm?” 

He then proceeds to whip your left cheek, not allowing you any time to recover or breathe. 

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! You bite your lip so hard that you nearly draw blood, the burning of your backside too much to bear. “S-Stop!” you whine. “Please stop!” 

Toji’s big hands wrap around your mouth, covering it. “Don’t speak,” he whispers into your ear, his breath the scent of whiskey and mint. “You don’t get to speak. Just take it.” You have no choice but to do so as he wails on your ass again and again, the leather cracking like fire against your jiggly ass. “God, that recoil,” he groans. “I’m gonna enjoy my time with you, baby doll.” 

You don’t answer, too busy holding back tears that have begun to push at your eye sockets. Toji finally stops and tosses his head back to laugh. “Are you cryin’?” he laughs in disbelief. “Damn, and all from some spankings? And here I thought you were this tough bitch.” 

You burn with resentment and humiliation, but all of that is pushed aside when he forces you to stand up straight and tugs your arms behind your back. You begin to panic but don’t say anything as he tightens his belt around your wrists and locks the belt buckle around them. “Turn around,” he finally says. 

Despite your tiny sobs, you do so and face him. His eyes are hooded and dark with obvious lust for you. He uses one big hand to force you onto your knees, right in front of his open fly and hard cock that you can see pressing against his designer briefs. “I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about,” he growls. He points the gun at your face, specifically at your lips. “Open your mouth and suck on it.” 

His expression, dark and chilling you to the bone, makes you feel as if you don’t have a choice..and not the loaded gun pressing to your lips. Swallowing hard, you shakily open your mouth and he slides the pistol in. The metal feels cold and hard in your mouth, making you cringe. “That’s it,” Toji chuckles. “Take that shit, baby. C’mon, don’t you wanna please me?” 

Slowly, you begin to suck, hollowing your lips out against the gun. Though you tremble and shake, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to imagine the gun as a hard, warm, throbbing cock instead. Toji moans as if you’re sucking on him, watching your tongue swirl along the barrel and your head bob. 

“Fuck, baby doll,” he groans. “You’ve got such a mouth on ya.” He slides it in further, the metal scraping against your teeth, until he reaches your throat. You gag and try to pull away, but Toji grips the back of your head.

“Uh-uh, mama,” he snickers. “You don’t get to get outta this. C’mon, just open your throat and breathe through your nose. You can do it.” He continues to push and pull, the gun sliding in and out of your mouth, while you struggle to breathe. You can feel sweat pool under your pits and between your cleavage all from your fear. Toji’s finger isn’t on the trigger anymore, but it doesn’t matter. He could change that in a second. 

So you suck and you slurp and you bob your head up and down like a good little slut, staring him into his eyes while spit drips from your lips. Finally satisfied, Toji pulls the gun out of your lips now coated in your saliva. “You fuckin’ slut,” he pants. “Now I need to try ya out for myself.” 

He pockets the gun and, with one hand, pulls down his briefs. His big, long, throbbing, veiny, perfect-looking dick springs to life. It damn near hits you in the face, making you gasp. “Sorry, mama,” he chuckles. “He just likes you.”

He wraps a hand around his 12-inch dick, pumping it lewdly in your face. “So you finna stare at it or suck it?” he deadpans, but he doesn’t wait for you to answer or recover. 

“W-Wait,” you stammer.

That’s all you get to say before his cock is pushing between your lips and into your mouth. He releases a moan when he first slides into your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your wet mouth, soft lips, and tongue wrapping around him. Meanwhile, you’re struggling to take him. His girthy dick stretches out your jaw and your throat as he pushes himself in deep. 

“C’mon, babydoll,” he chuckles. “That can’t be all you can take of me.” He continues to push, filling your tongue and nostrils with the scent and taste of him. The walls of your throat have no choice but to accommodate his size though it burns and you gag as he begins to slowly yet roughly thrust into your mouth. “Maybe this will help ya out,” he says. Suddenly, he retrieves a pocket knife from his pocket and flicks it open. 

Fear flares into your stomach, making you want to jump away, but his large hand keeps you locked down on his cock. He presses the knife to your throat, chuckling as he does. “Careful now,” he warns. “You lean too close and that pretty neck might get sliced. I just wanna encourage you to do a good job.” He grips your hair and wrenches it up to look at him. “And you will do a good job for me, won’t you?” he asks. 

His tone makes it so you can’t refuse, so you say yes and allow him to force your head back down onto his cock before pulling it back. He does that for a while––pushing and pulling your head down onto his dick like you’re his toy while he uses your sloppy, wet mouth like it’s a fleshlight. “Fuck!” he shouts to the ceiling. “This fuckin’ mouth is heaven, baby. I hope your pussy is just as tight as your tight ass throat.” 

You gargle and mumble on his cock, causing pleasurable vibrations to travel throughout his body and his heavy balls that drip with your saliva. He continues to fuck your face and ruin your makeup, marveling at how beautiful you look choking on his cock. “Look at you, you little slut,” he dreamily sighs. “Makeup all fucked up. Hair ruined. You’re just a little mess for me, aren’t ya?” 

He slides his cock out of your throat and you take a grateful gulp of air, strands of your hair stuck to your wet lips and chin. He takes the knife and slides it along your chin, smirking down at you. “Now it’s my turn to taste you,” he murmurs. Before you can protest, he is picking you up, tossing you over his shoulder, and placing you on your stomach with your arms still tied behind you. 

“Please!” you sob, beginning to cry again. Toji straddles your ass, one hand massaging the globes of fat in your thong while the other holds his knife. “Please what, baby?” he mockingly coos. “I ain’t even touch you yet.” You then feel the cool metal of the knife dragging up your spine, sending shivers down your spine. “Time to get your sexy ass out of these fuckin’ clothes,” he growls. 

You flinch when you feel the knife drag up to your left shoulder where it cuts the bra strap. He does the same to your left one before positioning you onto your knees with your wrists slung over the couch arm. Your tits are now exposed, hanging like ripe, juicy fruit beneath you. Then off comes your thong with two swipes of the knife cutting through the thin straps. You sob helplessly as the cool air touches your sodden, wet pussy. 

“Damn, baby!” Toji cackles. “Are you wet from all this? You naughty little girl.” His middle and forefingers gently probe your entrance and slide up and down your slit, dragging unwanted moans out of you. “I’m gonna have some fun with you,” he chuckles. “Make sure you never forget about me.” 

He then bends you over the couch and proceeds to put his hot, wet, experienced mouth on your pussy while the knife stays pressed against your thigh. You whine at the feeling of his soft lips and tongue swirling along your clit and every sensitive part of you, opening your pussy up to more of him. He drowns in your pussy, pushing his face into it as far as he can and letting his tongue do all of the talking. 

You can’t stop the moans and gasps that escape you. The pleasure is just too much and too good! What a shame that a man who is so good at eating kitty is the same man you were sent here to kill. “Toji,” you moan, using his name for the first time ever. “Please…please!” 

Toji’s one hand massages and smacks your ass, becoming aoslutely obessed with it. “What do you need, babydoll?” he coos against your clit. “You need somethin’?” You nod helplessly though you have no clue what you need at this point. “Tell me you’re mine then,” he growls. “Say it and fuckin’ mean it. Say you’re my good little slut.” 

You keep your lips clamped tight, not wanting to swallow your pride or give up that tiny part of you that hates him still. SPANK! Your ass stings from his assault on your ass, his hand no doubt leaving a handprint. “Say it!” he bellows. 

At the blinding pain, pleasure, and delirium, you break. “I’m yours!” you sob. “I’m your good girl! Your good little slut! I’m everything you want me to be!”

Toji, pleased, presses soothing kisses to your burning asscheek. “Good girl,” he praises. “See how easy that was? Now you get your reward.” Suddenly, you feel his thick cock smack against your pussy once, twice, three times and then he is sliding home inside of you. 

Your mouth goes slack and your eyes grow wide as he begins to rocks his hips into, allowing you to get used to him. He is big. You can feel him stretching out every part of your cunt as he sinks deeper into your velvety, wet walls. “Fuck,” he sighs, one hand clutching your hip. “Not bad, babydoll. Your pussy is definitely the best one I’ve fucked…so far.” 

He begins to fuck you harder, faster, railing you as if this will be his last time doing so. Your moans and huffs of breath become louder and more intense the harder and deeper his cock plunges inside of you. “W-Wait!” you gasp. “Slow down! I can’t…can’t!”

Toji chuckles, watching your ass bounce against his pelvis as he fucks you. “Sorry, honey,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “I couldn’t help it. You just sound so cute.” 

Your thighs clench and your body writhes as he rails you, unable to take this deep dicking into the couch. You try to move away but the knife suddenly sliding against your throat stops you. “Uh-uh, babydoll,” he growls. “Don’t run from me. I wouldn’t try it if I were you.” He then pops his knee up, his foot up on the couch, and reaches a part inside of you that makes you feel unimaginable pleasure. 

“Just take me like a good girl, okay?” he whispers. “You can do that for me if you wanna live.” You don’t have a choice in the matter, mostly because of the hold he has on your arms, pulling you back as drives himself forward again and again. The sound of your moans, his grunts, and the lewd plap, plap, plap as his balls swing against your overly-sensitive clit and his hips slam into your ass fill the air, drowned out by the music playing outside. 

“Who would’ve thought,” Toji pants into your ear. “C.O.D.E.’s good little spy gettin’ her brains fucked out on a mission, huh? I bet they’d love to see this.” His free hand releases your arms and yanks on a handful of your hair. “I bet they’d love to see you full of me,” he growls. “Full of this dick and my cum.”

He presses the knife deeper into your throat, just enough for you to feel the sharp, jagged edge of the blade. “You wanna cum for me, baby?” he asks. “You gonna be a good slut and take all my cum too?” 

“Please!” you whimper, losing your mind and all of your pride. “Please just make me cum! I’ll do whatever you want, Toji!” He takes the knife from your throat and replaces it with his hand, choking you as he fucks you stupid. “Then do it,” he demands. “Fuckin’ cum on this cock while I fill you up. Cum with me now!” 

“Ah, ah, fuck, I-I’m gonna cum!” you deliriously sob as he continues to pound into you. “I’m gonna…gonna–!”

You don’t get a chance to finish because your pussy has finally reached its limit and explodes all over him, your walls squeezing around him and your clit shuddering. You reaching your peak triggers Toji and he grips your throat and ass as he comes to a still, his entire body tensing. “Fuck!” he bellows, cumming deep, deep, deep inside of you. 

You gasp as you feel a rush of warm liquid flood into your pussy while you gush all over his cock, dripping down his balls. He fills you to the brim, giving you so much that it has no choice but to trickle down your thighs. He doesn’t immediately pull out though––he continues to fuck you, albeit slowly and sloppily, before giving your tit one feeble squeeze and finally pulling out of you. 

You weakly moan at the feeling of being empty yet used, your pussy twitching and aching. “Mmm, now look at that,” he sighs dreamily, staring at your cum-soaked cunt. “Now that’s a properly fucked pussy if I do say so myself.” He takes a handful of your chin, squeezing your cheeks together, and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Not bad, babydoll.” 

You don’t respond, too weak and too tired to do so. You’re too tired to even feel any amount of disgust for him and shame in yourself for failing the mission and enjoying the sex. “Let’s get this off of you,” Toji says, his hands unbuckling the belt from your wrists. “I’m gon’ need it for myself, anyway.” He releases your wrists and lets you lay on the couch, panting and coated in sweat. 

Your makeup and hair are ruined. Your underwear is in tatters. You feel used and fucked-out. You can only stare at Toji as he quickly gets dressed and straightens out his clothes, his cock still covered in you. “I’m sorry, baby, but I’ve gotta go before your people get here.” He gives you an apologetic smile. “But gimme a call since I’m sure you can find that out. Maybe we can do this again.” 

He then moves to the extra bathroom behind the couch and retrieves a robe which he covers you with. “See?” he chuckles. “I ain’t that big of an asshole.” He presses a kiss to your lips before bending down to pick up your thong. “Thanks for this,” he says, dangling it in front of you. “And the dance. I’ll cherish both forever.” 

You don’t say anything, even as you watch him leave, taking your thong and your dignity with you.

Then you are alone. At some point, you find the strength to stand up and wobble to the bathroom where you take a hot shower, washing the scent of sex and cum off of you. When you return, dressed in your robe, the door busts in, and your boss and fellow spies enter the room, guns drawn and masks on their faces. 

“V!” your boss shouts, instantly dropping his weapon and running to you. His eyes widen at your state, looking for any bruises or scars. There are none…that are physical, anyway. “V, what happened?” he asks. 

And as the events of tonight come flooding back to you at full speed, you muster up the most believable lie you can, clutching your robe closed: 

“He overpowered me.” 

[dimlylittorch]

18+ MDNI

Club owner!John Price x transmasc!chubby!sweetheart!innocent!reader

I’m just craving to write something so self serving y’all- very much my kind of thing i like to read so I hope someone else might enjoy it too💀

My Masterlist🌿

It wasn’t your first time in a club, of course. You went once with one of your college clubs, so that totally counts right? Then again, that was just a basic campus dive bar. This place was a little more high end, but it came with great reviews.

You decided to dress casually- I mean it was basically a bar with extra add ons right? Who wouldn’t dress comfortably? Slipping into a slightly baggy Hawaiian shirt and some solid colored shorts to accommodate, you walked in front of your bathroom mirror and looked yourself over. A usual outfit for you, but you picked one of your prettier ones for the benefit of the doubt. A tan colored shirt with a dark red and green rose pattern on it.. who wouldn’t think it’s cute? And doesn’t everyone love to feel like they’re on vacation when at a bar? It was simple, really. You couldn’t see any reason not to wear it.

That is until you walk into the place.

Women wearing nice dresses, some men in suits.. you stuck out like a sore thumb. You already feel the embarrassment rising in your cheeks as you start to get stares, but you quickly calm yourself. Standing out is good. If they’re staring for that long, they must like my outfit, right? Maybe someone will ask me where I got it- which leads to a conversation, which leads to no more embarrassment. Everything’s fine.

You smiled softly to yourself as you eased your anxious thoughts, walking up to the bar and leaning over it a little rather than sitting at a stool.

“Could I just get an ice water please?” You ask sweetly with a smile to the bartender, earning you a questioning look. Your brain quickly tries to rationalize why he looked at you that way- many people didn’t order water a lot so he didn’t know what kind of glass to put it in? “You can just put it in a whiskey glass- makes me feel fancy” you beam at him. Of course, the bartender still was confused, but you didn’t pay any mind. You didn’t think he had any reason to he confused, so you didn’t worry about it.

Once you get your water, rather than sitting at a table you start to make your rounds, gently wandering around the club, lots of eyes on you, which you ignore with a smile to every persons gaze you catch. As you wander, you reach the more strip club-esque area, dancers on stage and walking around with lots of people sitting and watching. Men cheering and women laughing. You decide to grab a seat right in front of the stage, pulling out your wallet and pulling out the few bills you had. It wasn’t much, but it seemed rude to not tip the dancers.

The next performance starts and a woman starts her dance in front of you, meeting your gaze once or twice. You weren’t like the usual customer, not eye fucking her and practically salivating in your seat. You were actually watching her dancing, enjoying the performance like most people should. At the end of the routine, most people start throwing bills at her on stage, which to you seemed a little rude. You gently stand from your seat, leaning forward and offering her your money instead, earning you points and laughs from most of the other patrons.

“You did really well” you say softly with a genuine smile as she takes the money before you sit back down meekly, knowing everyone was making comments about you.

That was definitely a new experience for her, not often being treated with respect at her night job. She heads to the back after her performance, seeing her boss walking by.

“How did tonight go?” He asks with a cigar hanging from his lips.

“Not too bad. Made a decent amount.” She sighs softly. “The funniest thing though- there’s some kid out there, being all sweet and handing me the money.” She chuckles. “Poor thing got laughed at pretty hard.” She adds before she heads down the hallway.

John’s ears perk up at her words, his eyes turning towards the door that leads to the audience. He decides to peek out into the crowd, and his eyes land on a young man in a Hawaiian shirt, slipping his wallet into his pocket before he stands up from his seat and starts to leave the performance area. John’s curiosity is peaked. How is it that a sweet looking kid like that managed to wander into his club?

As you leave the performance area, you start to turn back towards the bar area, when you hear a voice behind you.

“Didn’t like the performance enough to stay?” A rough voice speaks from behind you. You quickly turn around, looking up at a tall man in a dark suit with a white button down, a few of the buttons undone so you could see some of his chest hair peeking out. He was definitely older- but also definitely attractive. Your eyes widen at his words, finally registering what he said.

“No! No- no, not at all” you ramble out quickly. “It was great- I just-“ you chuckle, clearly anxious about saying the wrong thing. He was pretty intimidating to look at. “I ran out of cash. And I didn’t want to not tip the next performers.” You add softly.

John smirks at how anxious you are around him, fully prepared to attempt to make you flustered. “Or maybe you just don’t like men.” He smirks as he gestures to the next performance, a male dancer taking the stage this time. He watches your eyes widen as your gaze catches the dancer, your cheeks heating up ever so slightly before you look away shyly.

“I-“ you start to whisper, but he quickly cuts you off.

“You like how he looks, hm?” He murmurs amusedly. “His name is Soap. Why don’t you come sit with me. We can watch him together.” He offers with a smirk.

Your cheeks are already red from standing in front of one of the most attractive men you’ve seen in a while- but the thought of watching a strip show with him? Jesus. How could you say no?

“Alright” you say softly, shyly following him to a nicer table in what seemed to be the V.I.P section. You set your glass of ice water on the table, glancing around absentmindedly before you look up to him. “Are there any coasters?” Your soft voice speaks.

John can’t help but let out a soft chuckle at your words, leaning back in the booth and raising his arms over the back of it.

“No coasters.” He murmurs. It occurs to him that I probably have no idea who he is. No idea that he owns this club. It’s the innocence as a whole that intrigues him.. the genuine smile, casual clothing.

“Right” you whisper softly, taking the glass off of the table and holding it on your lap, much to his amusement. As he watches the dancer on stage, you carefully glance over his form, taking him in. He was tall, well built, but not too muscular. He had a pouch on his stomach area, but who doesn’t love a dad bod? He looks.. good. Really good. Sure, plenty of guys are attractive, but he just seems to have all of the good qualities mixed into one man. Strong, yet soft, intimidating but not scary. You felt safe with him, surprisingly.

“You’re new here.” He murmurs as he looks across the crowd, paying attention to the performance, as if making sure the routine is going as it should. “Yeah.” You say softly as you sip your water. “I don’t drink much.” You add quietly.

“But you’re here?” He questions as he looks at you, his eyebrow raising slightly. “Forgive me for wanting to adventure out a little.” You chuckle softly. “It seemed.. nice. The ratings were good.” As he’s about to reply, a round of applause starts off, Soap’s routine having ended. You quickly set your glass in between your legs, clapping as you look towards the stage with a smile.

“He did really well” you smile at John when you glance over at him. John smirks slightly when he sees your smile, and he reaches over, grabbing the glass from in between your legs and holding it.

“Wouldn’t want your thighs to get cold, love.” He murmurs with a small smirk as he looks off towards Soap. Before you can reply, the stage is set for a new performance, and a freshly dressed Soap approaches the booth.

“How’d I do, sir?” He grins down at John.

“As good as ever” he smirks as he gestures to me. “Soap, this is my new friend..?”

“Y/n” you say with a sweet smile towards Soap. It’s a little awkward considering you were just watching him grind against a stage. “You’re a really good dancer”

Soap grins and puffs out his chest slightly with a smirk. “I’m a good dancer in private too, if you ever happen to be interested” he winks.

“Oh buzz off Johnny. I’m sure there are plenty of people waiting for you back stage.” John scoffs.

Your cheeks redden slightly, a shy chuckle slipping past your lips, making John glance over at you.

“Unless you’re interested, love.” He murmurs with a curious gaze.

Your eyes meet his and they widen slightly. “No! No-“ you say quickly. “I mean- I’m flattered- you’re- you’re very pretty” I chuckle shyly as your eyes meet Soap’s. You see grins starting to form on both of their faces, and your cheeks heat up further. “I- um” you stutter. “Thank you for the offer” you finally manage to spit out.

Both of the men start to chuckle amongst themselves, Soap leaning over the table to get a better look at you.

“Pretty boy, you’re allowed to say yes” he smirks. “Unless I’m not your type..” he fake pouts a little.

As he leans closer, your hearts speeds up a little. “You are” you whisper softly. “I’m just.. probably not a good candidate” you murmur with an apologetic smile.

Soap offers a small smile, standing back up with a nod. “No worries, pretty boy. I’m always around if you change your mind” he winks before he pats John’s shoulder, then heading off backstage.

John smirks as he sees your reddened cheeks, his gaze affectionate. “Not a good candidate, eh?”

You sigh softly, taking a sip of water. “Trans” you murmur without much more explanation. “By the time I explain it to people, the mood is ruined.”

“You kidding?” I laughs. “Soap will fuck just about anything. No need to be worried about that in here” he murmurs as he finishes his glass of whiskey. “Cmon. I’m taking you back” he says as he stands up, holding out his hand.

You glance at his outstretched hand, blinking a little in confusion. After a few moments you take it, standing up and letting him lead you backstage.

tips and requests are open :D

haven’t been on my writing game lately so i’m sorry if this wasn’t that great!

[brnesblogposts]

wired autocomplete interview!

(repost)

pairing: pedro pascal x fem!reader

a/n: this is my first like irl au, i kinda rushed it just ‘cause I’ve had this idea in my head for so long and I couldn’t relax until I got it out. Also I haven’t written in AGES and it feels so good to do it! I hope you like it! I definitely plan on doing more Pedro x reader irl au’s ‘cause there definitely aren’t enough!

reblog if you enjoy it, thank you :))

—————————-

“Hey everyone, i’m Pedro Pascal” Pedro said enthusiastically. “And i’m Y/N Y/L/N” you stated with a smile. To be quite frank, you were a nervous wreck. This was, after all, your first interview of many, considering this movie was your first big role.

“We’re here to do the Wired Autocomplete Interview!” Both you and Pedro gave your best attempt at talking in unison, you were trying your best to keep your nerves at bay, trying the tip your best friend gave you and imagining everyone in the studio in their underwear. It wasn’t working. You scrapped that idea. On with the interview!

Pedro received the first board of questions, tearing away a strip of paper, “How old is Pedro Pascal?” he looked straight into the camera and deadpanned. “Pedro Pascal is ageless” you blurted out before he could cook up a response himself. He turned to you and laughed, “She’s right. I am ageless!” You both smiled at each other as he moved onto the next question.

“How did Pedro Pascal get into acting?” You listened attentively as he started to explain how his career got started. “(…) Yeah so that’s my story, there are definitely actors out there with more interesting origin stories than me” You slapped his arm lightly “Don’t sell yourself short” you sneered at him, he probably doesn’t know how much you look up to him and have since you were a teenager.

After a few more questions Pedro was done with the board, now it was your turn. You started peeling back the slip of paper, “Who is Y/N Y/L/N’s role model?” Pedro started staring at you, looking around the room and putting his finger on his chin as if he was deep in thought, you started laughing at his comedic act. “Definitely this guy called Pedro Pascal, don’t know if you’ve heard of him” you declared, “Aww, isn’t she sweet!” Pedro put his hands to his heart and pouted, “I love my fans” He said as he wiped a fake tear, you wacked him with the board.

“Who is Y/N Y/L/N dating?” Was the next question on the board, rather intrusive you thought, that’s nobodies business except your own. You struggled to find words to answer this one and it was causing your anxiety to flare up. “It’s none of your business!” Your head turned to see Pedro staring into the camera, he answered on your behalf and you appreciated it, he turned to you and smiled, reassuring you. You whispered a thank you under your breath and he nodded.

The third board was Pedro’s again, and he started peeling the slip of paper away, “Where is Pedro Pascal from?” It said. “CHILEE!!!!” He screamed “I’m from Chile.” He stated matter of factly, “As you can see he’s very proud” you responded to his antics. “I should take you to visit, you’d love it!” His offer caught you off guard but you kept your cool. “I might just take you up on that offer” and you swear you could see a smirk.

“Where did Pedro Pascal meet Y/N Y/L/N?” You had to think on this one, where did you meet Pe- “The first time we met was at an after party for a movie premier of a friend of mine, she’d just got into the industry and my friend told me he’d heard Y/N had auditioned for the movie I was gonna be in. I approached her and she freaked out” You punched him, he started laughing, “Yeah she was like obsessed with me or somethi- OW?!” You had pinched him in an attempt for him to shut up, this is not the kind of information you need to be ridiculed by for rest of your career. “Okay, okay..” he reprimanded “Yeah, so- after our initial meeting we started talking and got one really well, now she always calls me an old man so I don’t really think it was worth it” he joked. You both insulted each other, but it was in a best friend sort of way. Yes he was considerably older than you but he was a child at heart and so were you. When you were together it was dangerous.

Finally, after a few more questions you got to the last one. “Are Pedro Pascal and Y/N Y/L/N dating?” Why are people so nosy? You thought. Pedro answered professionally as not to misinform and start a whole internet drama, “We are not, we’re just best friends. Although, if anyone IS planning on dating her then you should know I’ve been going to the gym. Break her and i break you.” He said in a serious tone, in his defence he had been working out. The best he could, anyway.. bad back and all. “Yeah what he said! Except that last part- I didn’t tell him to do that, don’t let him scare you! And I’m not looking for anything right now, just focusing on my career!” You aren’t lying, you are focusing on your blossoming career, but you also couldn’t possibly date anyone considering you had a massive crush on the man sitting next to you. But that secret was for another day.

The interview ended and you took a deep breathe you’d been holding in. “You did so good!” Pedro exclaimed and hugged you, “I’m so proud of you” He knew you were dreading this interview, but you made it through it and now you could go back to your hotel room, order room service and watch Narcos with Pedro, (against his will but who cares!).

[runariya]

My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 6

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: DDDNE, foul language, denial, a little bit of fluff, drugging, detailed description of r@pe, blo0d, gore, punch!ng, carving, cum, anger issues, shur!ken, kick!ng, f!ghting, realisation, wishing of being d€ad, pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 4.2K

a/n: pls don't hate me—hate the characters instead 🙂

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

prologue • 01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • 05 • masterlist • 07

Two weeks go by, and with each passing day, you find yourself and Jungkook drawing nearer, though you had always believed, in the depth of your long friendship, that there was no further closeness to be gained. Yet still, there you are, sharing not just your days but, more often than not, your nights as well. There’s a certain way in which time fades into insignificance when you’re together, and though the light of day holds nearly no barriers for the way he maps your body, it’s the cloak of night that allows you to strip down more than just all of your clothes—it is there, in that twilight intimacy, that you feel you might finally be able to touch the entirety of his soul and him yours. He rearranges you completely in those moments, a cartographer of your flesh and spirit alike.

Taehyung, on the other hand, has had that difficult conversation with you far too many times to count—each instance his eyes filled with that same uncertainty, the struggle not only on his face but yours too as he questions whether telling Jungkook the truth, baring your past and present alike, is truly the right course of action. You’ve known for a long time it isn’t fair to leave Jungkook in the dark, not when this darkness is part of who you are, tethered to you in ways you sometimes wish it weren’t. It’s not easy to admit that parts of you have been moulded by decisions you never wished to make, paths you walked out of necessity rather than real choice. You can almost see how Jungkook might listen, his usual patient, understanding self—but with every moment you imagine his reaction, you also see him turning away, running when the truth becomes too much to bear.

And so, though you know you can’t be selfish in love—especially not when it’s him—each time you try to tell him, the words seem to stick in your throat like glue. You’ve tried so many times, only to falter at the last moment, unable to bear the idea of that carefree, incandescent smile slipping from his face. So, you promise yourself that you’ll tell him tomorrow, or maybe the day after. Always tomorrow, tomorrow, and tomorrow, each new day bringing with it a fresh round of procrastination and a fresh wave of guilt for the secrets you continue to withhold.

Gradually, you convince yourself that your relationship hasn’t yet reached the point where it can withstand such a confession, blinding yourself to the reality that the beginning of love is precisely when such truths should come to light. And yet, deep down, you know you’re deceiving yourself, creating a shelter of denial in which you hide from the storm that must eventually break.

At the same time, you’re beginning to sense that Jungkook too harbours his own secrets. There are nights when he quietly slips away, his reasons vague and evasive. He doesn’t share everything, and you’ve noticed it. Sometimes, he avoids your bed, though he never quite admits why, sidestepping your questions with a soft smile or a gentle touch. It’s something you don’t press him on—those absences leave you with the solitude you need to focus on the darkness you still carry and use to scheme, to map out your next move, like a chess player preparing for the final play that will topple the board eventually.

Those nights, while Jungkook is elsewhere, you roam the shadowed streets and buildings around Dojin’s office, gathering information about him, timing Sangwook’s weakest moments too, plotting when and how both will fall. And sometimes, on those nights, you catch a glimpse of Pulse, who never comes close, but you feel his eyes on you, the burning of his gaze a silent threat to dare make a move. He watches from a distance, still a spectre lingering on the edge of your plans, and his presence haunts you—his gaze lingers on your skin and mind since two weeks ago, like a thorn embedded too deeply to remove.

But when the nights are spent in Jungkook’s arms, curled against his warmth, the world feels different—quieter, almost safe. You listen to his soft, steady breathing as he sleeps beside you, utterly unaware of the poison bubbling inside you. Yet even then, as his embrace cocoons you, your mind remains restless. You lie awake, feeling torn between two worlds, wondering whether the path you’ve chosen is worth the price you might have to pay. Are you wasting precious time revenging your beloved parents? Or are you, in some twisted way, moving closer to the freedom you crave?

You let yourself dream, if only for a moment, that perhaps the happy ending is simply the softening of your being, the ability to remain gentle despite the rough hands life has dealt you. Perhaps it is a calm nervous system, a peacefulness that cannot be threatened. Perhaps the happy ending is you moving on with Jungkook by your side, where you finally reclaim the love you’ve lost, but always wanted back. Perhaps the happy ending is you embracing change, is you going in the direction of the person that grows you and moves you and magnitates your spirit.

But even as you entertain that hopeful vision, a darker force pulls you back. It wraps around you like it’s one with you, refusing to let go, as though with every step you take towards Jungkook, it drags you back three. For every word of love he whispers to you, a thousand doubts rise in your mind. Each time he brings you to the peak of ecstasy, it only pushes you deeper into a chasm you fear you’ll never climb out of.

The silence that followed Chulsoo’s death—the way it was wiped clean from the media, hidden from view so as not to tarnish Dojin’s image—only served to feed the fire of your revenge. That burning desire for justice, or perhaps just for release, is still there, gnawing at you like an unquenchable hunger of thousand starved demons. And so, despite everything, you find yourself returning to your plans, hoping that, in the end, they will finally give you the salvation and freedom to carve out the future you so desperately desire with Jungkook.

And now, two weeks later, it’s all set. Every piece has fallen into place. You called in a favour with one of Seokjin’s IT specialists, a man who owed you a debt for helping his daughter years ago with her SATs. It was a small thing back then, but now, that kindness has ripened into something vital, something almost fated. He fabricated a message, making it seem as though Dojin himself had ordered Sangwook into a night shift at the office. You thought long and hard about how to exact your revenge, and the answer came to you like a whisper in the dark—a plan perfectly devised to balance the scales that tipped over so many years ago. 

So here you stand now, darkness flowing through your veins like it never has before, alive and pulsing and fatal. You’re in Dojin’s office, with Sangwook before you, drugged and unconscious in the chair, his head lolling to one side, bound by the anaesthetic you pilfered from the lab days ago. Everything is ready—the second scene has been set. And the only question that remains is whether, when the final scene comes to an end and all is said and done, will the path truly be cleared for the future you dream of with Jungkook by your side. But you lock that thought away, deliberately procrastinating again until your demon screams ‘action’. 

Sangwook hovers in the haze of barely held consciousness when your boot collides with his side, sending him sprawling to the floor with a graceless thud. His face catches the weight of the fall, and though a pained groan escapes him, you find yourself devoid of sympathy, feeling nothing but the cold resolve that fills the room like silent smoke. The office is as barren as you anticipated, a hollow shell of corporate sterility, its emptiness bearing silent witness to the reckoning about to unfold, a ghost of a place where no one will hear the echoes of what you are about to do.

“You know,” you murmur, your voice a dangerous lull that barely masks the venom beneath, “I saw you smiling while he raped her. Perhaps it’s time you discovered how it feels to be on the other side, hm?” You crouch beside him, your fingers ghosting over his cheek, now wet with drool and slack with stupor. His eyes, bleary and unfocused, swim beneath heavy lids, his breath a sickly rasp that rises and falls in broken stutters.

You kick him again, flipping him from his side to his stomach with the ease of someone handling dead weight. His groans are quieter now, more distant, but you pay them no mind. You’ve come prepared for this moment, the cable ties rigid in your hands as you bind his wrists behind him, securing them with an efficient brutality. Once the ties are tight enough, cutting into his skin with a satisfying snap, you shift his body once more, forcing his hips up so that he kneels with his face pressed into the cold, indifferent floor, his knees scraping against it with a dull sound. 

With a nudge of your foot, you spread his legs apart, widening the space between them as you reach into your hidden pocket and retrieve one of your shuriken. The blade gleams faintly in the low light as you slice through the fabric of his trousers and boxers, leaving his exposed ass an ugly, vulnerable thing that turns your stomach. You swallow the disgust, pushing it down, focusing instead on the cold fury that hums inside you like a living thing.

From another concealed pocket, you pull out an oversized black vibrator, letting it dangle in the air between your fingers like a grotesque trophy. You wave it lazily in front of Sangwook’s face, his glazed eyes flickering with some faint recognition. “Oh no,” you say, voice dripping with a mocking faux-innocence, “I think I forgot the lube.” You pout, a cruel smile twisting your lips that aren’t hidden by your mask. “Looks like history repeats itself more than I thought.”

You move back behind him, your heart beating calmly despite the anticipation of what you have prepared next. And with a force born of all the pent-up rage you’ve carried for so long, you ram the vibrator into his exposed asshole, not bothering with gentleness or care. 

The effect is immediate—Sangwook’s scream tears through the silence of the office, a visceral sound that cuts through the fog of drugs clouding his mind. His body convulses, buckling against the intrusion, but you press your hands into his hips, forcing him to remain in position as you reach for the duct tape from your pocket, securing the vibrator firmly in place. His flesh resists, bleeding around the object, the blood flowing freely, but you push it deeper still, the tape tightening until you’re certain it won’t budge.

The blood, the pain, his broken sobs—all of it comes together to create an image that stirs something dark and primal within you, something that has long been caged but now finally feels liberated. His pitiful sounds mirror the cries you remember, the cries that haunt you from this distant, unbearable night, and for the first time in so long, you feel a strange, twisted sense of peace begin to settle inside you. It’s a perverse kind of satisfaction, seeing him brought low, powerless, humiliated. His sobs fill the room like symphony meant for masses, and with every tear that falls from his face, with every tremor that wracks his body, you feel your breath coming a little easier, feel that demon within you finally soothe itself into something manageable.

You stand back, watching with a detached sense of curiosity as snot and tears pool beneath Sangwook’s face, mixing with the blood that drips steadily from his ass. His humiliation is complete—the blood, the shame, even his unwanted orgasm staining the floor beneath him, the fluids mingling into a sickening mess. He can barely withstand it anymore, and you sense that his endurance is nearing its end, the agony almost enough to make him pass out. Almost.

You step forward and rip the vibrator free from his body with a vicious yank, taking the duct tape with it, peeling away skin and hair in the process. The sound is gruesome, the ripping noise followed by another hoarse scream from Sangwook, his head lolling against the floor. The satisfaction swells inside you, filling the space in your chest that has long been empty, and for a brief, shimmering moment, it feels as though you’ve finally taken something back from the world that once stole everything from you.

But this isn’t the end—not yet. You can’t let this be another act buried by Dojin’s power, another silenced death hidden from the eyes of the world. So you push Sangwook’s slack body back onto the chair, his head rolling from side to side in drugged disorientation. You calculate the dose just right, ensuring that though his body is weakened, his mind remains painfully clear, aware of every agonising second.

“It felt good, didn’t it?” you mock, your laughter low and dripping with menace. You step closer, forcing his face upward until his dulled, tear-filled eyes meet your own, your gaze lifeless as steel. “You remember what happened after, don’t you?” His silence is met with a sneer as you push his face aside and reach for your shuriken once more, the blade glinting in your hand as you rip open his shirt, exposing the heaving rise and fall of his chest, every breath laboured and uneven. Blood still pours from the wounds you’ve already inflicted, but you don’t care. “But first, let me leave a note, yeah?” The blade hovers for a moment over his skin before you press it against him, carving deep, big letters into his chest with more force than necessary.

‘Father, don’t forgive them, for they know what they do.’

The blood spills over your writing, cascading down his body in thick rivulets, pooling once again on the floor beneath him, mingling with the other stains of his disgrace. You step back and admire your handiwork, feeling an odd, almost surreal sense of fulfilment as you gaze upon the wreckage you’ve created.

It feels like freedom—like the release you’ve been chasing for years. You don’t care if anyone else understands it, don’t care if Jungkook would understand. In this moment, the world shrinks to this room, to this man, to this beautifully orchestrated vengeance. And for the first time, you feel as though this is the right path, the only path that could ever set you free. You toss the bloodied shuriken to the ground with a resounding clang, the sound echoing in the hollow space like a final punctuation to this violent symphony.

And then, you strike—fist meeting flesh again and again, until Sangwook’s face is nothing but a pulpy mess of blood and bone beneath your knuckles. Each punch sends a wave of release through you, every hit drawing out the grief that’s lain dormant inside you for so long. Tears blur your vision, and you let them fall, unheeded, as you continue to rain down blow after blow, releasing years of pain in a single, savage outpouring.

But suddenly, the sound of faint movement is heard through your frenzy, and your instinct kicks in. You spin on your heel and release a shuriken in one fluid motion, sending it hurtling towards the intruder behind you. It misses its mark by a hair’s breadth, embedding itself into the wall beside Pulse’s head. He stands there, watching, his eyes wide with shock, his expression stricken. But despite everything, despite the violence, despite the blood, his gaze remains—soft, empathetic, as though he can still see something within you worth saving.

“What the hell do you want?” you scream, voice raw, feeling too close to madness, eyes narrowing at the sight of him standing there, his presence alone an irritant to your senses. The sight of Pulse—of this man, this moron—makes your blood boil with a heat that consumes every rational thought, every shred of patience you might’ve had left.

“You can still stop Stasis,” he says softly, his words slipping through the chaos like a breeze through fire, and there’s something infuriatingly calm in his tone that makes your fists curl tighter. “It’s not too late.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, voice dripping with venom, “I don’t have time for your bullshit.” You spin back to Sangwook, channeling the surge of anger into your fists, striking him again—he groans, barely a sound escaping his bloodied lips, but it’s enough to quell the fire in your veins, if only for a fleeting moment.

“This isn’t the right way,” Pulse insists, his voice still thick with that maddening compassion, that softness you cannot bear to listen to any longer.

“Oh, fuck off!” you spit, turning back towards him, seething. “What the hell do you know about anything?”

“I don’t need to know everything,” he replies, his voice unwavering. “I only need to know that it’s not too late.”

“Not too late?!” you bark, flinging your arms into the air, exasperation dripping from every word. “Do you even hear yourself? Don’t waste my fucking time with this fuckery—go fetch some petty pickpockets if you’re feeling heroic.”

You start to turn away, fed up, ready to pour all your anger back into Sangwook’s trembling body, but Pulse’s voice hooks you mid-step, tugging at something inside you, and despite yourself knowing better, you pause, facing Pulse once more. He stands there, almost pleading with you, a figure so at odds with the carnage around him. “I can help you,” he says, voice much gentler now. “You don’t have to do this.”

A low, biting laugh slips from your throat, raw and empty, more like the growl of something wounded than the echo of any true amusement. “Help me?” you sneer, the corners of your mouth twisting into a cruel smile. “Oh, I’m doing just fine helping myself.”

“That’s not helping,” he says quietly, and there’s a softness to his words that feels like nails on a chalkboard, like he’s trying to pierce through the layers of darkness that have long since engulfed you. “If you could just—”

But you don’t let him finish. You spin around again, but this time something’s different. Something cold and sharp slashes through the air in your mind, halting you in your tracks. Sangwook sits still, the rise and fall of his chest no longer there, his eyes now glassy and fixed on nothing. It’s as though the world shifts beneath your feet. His wounds, they’ve finally claimed him, and you missed it—the exact moment when life left him, when that miserable soul slipped away.

“He’s dead,” you whisper, though the words are nothing more than a breath, laced with an anger so potent it seethes from your pores. The demon inside you roars with a feral intensity, its presence so loud, so overwhelming, you reckon the entire city must hear it. But your blood, it doesn’t run cold—not in the way people speak of fear or regret. No, your blood burns hotter than ever before, an inferno raging through your veins, pushing you beyond the boundaries of reason, of sanity, into a space where you never been before. 

“He’s dead!” you shout, the fury shaking your body and walls, vibrating through every nerve as you reach for your shuriken. One after another, you hurl them towards Pulse with reckless, unrestrained violence, each throw fuelled by the white-hot rage that blinds you to everything else but this freak standing before you. Most of them miss, slicing through the air uselessly, but one grazes his side, drawing blood and a sharp hiss from his lips. You see the pain flash in his eyes, but it’s not enough. “You fucking idiot!” you scream, voice cracking under the weight of your fury. “You had to ruin everything!”

You launch yourself at him, driven by that blinding fury, your body moving faster than your mind can comprehend. The force of your kick catches him squarely in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground, but Pulse—fuck him—manages to scramble back to his feet, dodging and deflecting every punch, every savage blow you aim at him and his stupid face. He’s skilled, a professional, and you can see that now in the way he moves with ease, with a calm that only makes the inferno within you rage hotter, more fiercely.

You land a hit against his face, a sharp crack against his cheekbone, and for a moment, his composure slips. His eyes narrow, the warmth in them replaced by a cold anger, a frustrated irritation that mirrors your own. And then, for the first time, he strikes back. His fist connects with the side of your head that makes your vision blur for a moment, but that’s all it is—a moment. You recover quickly, shaking off the dizziness, your lips curling into a smug smirk as you catch the flicker of disbelief in his gaze.

“Jealous it didn’t faze me?” you taunt, your voice dripping with poison ready to take him down, your breath coming fast and shallow, though you force it to remain steady, to keep the superiority alive.

“As if,” he growls, his tone clipped, though there’s a flicker of frustration behind his words, a crack in that calm façade he wears so well.

The fight escalates, a brutal dance of fists and kicks, bodies slamming into walls and furniture bruising you both more than the actual hits. He throws you around like you weigh nothing, a mere doll, but you hit back with equal force, aiming for his weak spots with precision born from years of knowing where it hurts most. You’re both panting heavily now, bruised and bloodied, but where his strength begins to wane, your twisted advantage of feeling no pain holds firm. 

“Give up Stasis,” Pulse gasps, his voice ragged with exhaustion, but still, there’s that damn plea in his tone, that maddening refusal to break.

“Never,” you spit, a wicked smile twisting your lips as you fling your last shuriken towards him. It grazes the edge of his face mask, slicing through the straps with a clean cut. The mask falls to the floor silently,  in slow motion, leaving his face exposed to the dim, flickering light of the room.

And in that moment, the world stops last. 

The air is sucked from your lungs as you stare at him, your heart plummeting into an abyss that you thought you’d already reached the bottom of. His face—his face is the face you know so well. A face you’ve kissed, a face you’ve held in your hands, a face that, until this moment, you believed belonged to someone pure, someone who hadn’t been touched by the darkness that now consumes you. Jungkook. It’s Jungkook standing before you, bruised, bloodied, and trying to stop you.

You take a step back, your limbs trembling with the force of the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but more than that, they tremble with the force of your breaking heart. “No,” you whisper, barely audible, the word slipping from your lips like a plea to the universe itself. But Jungkook doesn’t hear it, or if he does, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t see the devastation in your eyes, the cracks forming in your soul as the reality of this nightmare sinks in.

“You’ve finally had enough, haven’t you?” he taunts, voice cold, cutting, as he steps towards you, uncaring that his mask has been stripped away. His steps are slow and menacing in a way you’ve never seen from him before.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t seem to make sense of the world anymore. Jungkook—your Jungkook, your friend, your lover, the man who filled your life with light and warmth for years—is standing here as Pulse, the man who’s tried to stop you, to save you, from the path you’ve chosen. It breaks you, fracturing the remaining parts of your soul, and for the first time since your parents died, you feel as though you’re drowning all over again.

There’s nothing left to do, nothing that could possibly fix this, fix you both, nothing that could make the universe undo its cruel joke. So you do the only thing you can think of and what you should have done years ago—you run. You turn and bolt, fleeing from this nightmare, desperate to escape the truth that has gutted you so deeply you wish you had died with your parents. 

You run, hoping the darkness will swallow you whole before the pain can.

prologue • 01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • 05 • masterlist • 07

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like! MBV-Game Part II:

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

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[karvroom]

School Outside of Heroism

There’s classes outside of Homeroom with Mr. Aizawa, right? So what is Class 1-A like in science, PE, English, Math, etc.?

includes: Katsuki Bakugo, Izuku Midoriya, Shoto Todoroki, Denki Kaminari, Eijiro Kirishima, Ochako Uraraka, Tsuyu Asui, Momo Yaoyorozu

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⟢ KATSUKI BAKUGO

✮ surprisingly really good at math

✮ constantly wants to compare math answers with whoever is sitting next to him. if the person’s answer was wrong, he would say “shits easy. what aren’t you getting?” then would proceed to show step by step how he got his correct answer.

✮ absolutely hates english and modern literature

✮ as much as he doesn’t enjoy reading, he’ll still try the material, but would often get confused by the jumble of words.

✮ faded sketches of pro heroes are scattered in his notes. they’re only faded because he erases them at the end of class to ensure no one would ever see them.

✮ during science, he would know every single answer when it came to anything regarding stars or planets. when he was a kid he had a major obsession with astronomy (even had the plastic glowing stars on his bedroom ceiling).

⟢ IZUKU MIDORIYA

✮ has definitely called All Might “dad” by accident when talking about him to Todoroki.

✮ has a hard time during anatomy because he’s too focused on the unit where they learn about quirks. he would bother the teacher everyday by asking questions about various different quirks.

✮ his notes are always disorganized, yet he somehow knows where the exact information he’s looking for is. to make it even worse, he doesn’t add any form of annotation—no highlighting, underlining, circling, etc.

✮ horrible hand writing.

✮ he keeps track of who’s absent in any class. the next day, he’ll give the person his notes of what they missed (even if they were unable to read his chicken scratch).

⟢ SHOTO TODOROKI

✮ neatest hand writing you’ll ever come across

✮ sneaks his phone under the desk just to text his mom/sister back when he knows he shouldn’t.

✮ the type to never ask for help in class from his classmates or the teacher, yet always gets a perfect grade on his assignments. when he does need help he’ll shyly ask Fuyumi for it.

✮ fell asleep in class one time and no one woke him up.

✮ you’ll find Midoriya as his partner in most classes

✮ his sister would find the time to make a large breakfast for the family every morning, but he always only eats a slice of toast or two strips of bacon.

⟢ DENKI KAMINARI

✮ used to always chew the tops of the erasers off of pencils.

✮ tries so hard to be the class clown (he is)

✮ always asks the group chat for class 1-a for the answers. when no one responds in the chat or Iida bites his head off for “not trying”, Sero would send him the answers in a private chat between them two.

✮ never has a pencil, yet keeps small knick knacks (fidget spinners, fidget cubes, small action figurines, etc.) in the front pocket of his backpack.

✮ Nike representative.

⟢ EIJIRO KIRISHIMA

✮ along with Iida, Kirishima is that one kid who shouts at the class to be quiet when the teacher is talking.

✮ a lot of girls outside of 1-A have a fat crush on him.

✮ lovesss taking culinary classes, even if he isn’t a great cook. he forced Kaminari to take them with him.

✮ struggles in math, but whenever he does get the correct answer he makes a big deal about it, showing it off to whoever is closest to him.

✮ very sociable; if he sees someone sitting by themselves, he’ll go up and ask if they want to sit with him or just plop in a seat next to them and strike up a conversation.

⟢ OCHAKO URARAKA

✮ finds dissecting any kind of animal in anatomy disgusting and forces Mina to do all the work.

✮ the one girl who is always out of her seat and socializing with everyone.

✮ is never seen alone. she’s always accompanied by midoriya, tsu, or hagakure.

✮ on the first day, when the teacher was calling names for attendance, she responded by saying “present”. Sero and Kaminari would not shut up about for the rest of the day.

⟢ TSUYU ASUI

✮ unable to dissect any animal during anatomy because…yk—so her and Uraraka make Mina do it.

✮best subject is history. she’s a history NUT when it comes to that class. she aces every quiz/exam. easily remembers dates of important events.

✮ teachers LOVE her, but she doesn’t feed into it (she doesn’t like being a teacher’s pet).

✮ never responds in the class 1-A group chat unless they are directly talking to her or something regarding her.

⟢ MOMO YAOYOROZU

✮ has every color highlighter she could ever need.

✮ carries a water bottle with her everywhere (stanley, hydroflask, etc.)

✮ has an extra tote bag that has all the essentials: hairbrush, hair ties, a book, an extra plastic water bottle, headphones, etc.

✮ freaks out when her grade goes below an A-

✮ ENGLISH QUEEN. loves reading and analyzing texts and speeches given by the teacher. she studies them even outside of class so whenever the teacher asks questions she’s always the first to answer.

✮ teacher’s pet but doesn’t acknowledge that fact

[gryficowa]

Boycott!

Now that I have your attention: