#and/or just throwing code into it until it maybe works

[gottaarc]

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[yieldtotemptation]

PYTHON ft. Danielle

danielle x male reader smut

17k words

“You really need to stop showing up like this,” you’re saying, knowing full well that it’s falling on deaf ears. But it doesn’t hurt to try.

Danielle tilts her head. Glossy lips part, flashing a smile. It’s pretty. So clearly practiced, and so fucking obvious. Worst of all—it absolutely works on you. “Like what?”

“Unannounced,” you start, before swerving, “Naked.”

“Well.” Danielle takes a step closer. Then another. Suddenly making you feel like a stranger in your own apartment. “If you really had a problem with it, you’d have changed the door code by now. Or told my sister what we’ve been up to.”

You need to correct her before this can get any further out of hand, there’s no we to tell anyone anything about, but—look. She’s half-right. You were going to get around to changing the locks. Eventually. The other part, the nuclear option, the sister of it all—“You know I can’t do that.”

“Then you’re just going to have to deal with me until you can,” she says, casually.

Doing that thing all pretty girls seem to have built into their genetic coding. Standing there, posing, like she’s the sum of a dozen happy accidents—the hip cocked just so, the hand at her impossibly tiny waist. The wet hair, the pout, the fucking collarbone.

Accidents—yeah right. 

Anyone else but her, and maybe you’d buy it. 

“Besides, I’m not completely naked,” she adds, smile sharpening into a grin, and—fuck.

She is far too gorgeous for her own good. She is also extremely, without a shadow of a doubt, bad news, persona non grata, unbelievably off-limits.

“I'm wearing your towel, after all.”

—

(Okay, okay, okay.

You’re well aware you’re the only person on this planet that wouldn’t be delighted to have Danielle stepping out of their shower.

But maybe consider the following points:

1)      You’re still raw, wound’s barely scabbed over from the last woman you let into your home;

2)      Your whole career kinda rides on the fact that you keep your head fucking straight and free from any distractions, especially the kind that’s crazy enough to break into your apartment and hot enough to make it seem like a perfectly good idea; and

3)      If you were going to ignore points 1 and 2, and just decide you’re going to let that towel drop and let whatever happens, happen (hopefully something with a lot of moaning and a lot of sweat and a lot of giving up on what little modicum of peace you’ve managed to claw back from the world)—she’s your ex-girlfriend’s sister, for fuck’s sake.

Counterpoint:

She’s Danielle fucking Marsh.)

 —

Clearly you should’ve ended things a week ago when she first showed up—kicked that irredeemably cute, tight ass out of your apartment and slammed the door behind her. 

You should’ve seen Danielle for the walking, talking red flag that she is: a jump-scare in skin-tight jeans, or a barely-there top, or more frequently than necessary (or not frequently enough, depending on how honest you’re feeling) in nothing but your towel that’s now clearly found its home around her razor-thin waist.

The girl is apparently allergic to clothes.

“I’m gonna make some ramyun,” she’s calling from the kitchen, rifling through your fridge. Voice carrying over the sound of a week’s worth of meal-prepping and pre-blended protein smoothies being carelessly shuffled out of order. “You want some too?”

No, not a ‘would it be okay for me to help myself’, or even a simple ‘do you mind?’. Just straight up making herself at home, helping herself to your bathroom, your kitchen, and after a very strong suggestion, one of your old sweatshirts.

Your casa; now her casa. Or something like that.

“I don’t have any ramyun,” is your answer. It comes out weak.

To that, she whips around, cradling in her arms her bounty—a pack of noodles, a tub of kimchi, and a cut of pork belly you’ve been saving for a special cheat day. Throws you a far-too-easy grin that you’re realising is her signature. “I know. I picked some up on the way here.”

“Of course you did.”

“It’s a good idea to eat normal people food every once in a while, instead of whatever this is,” she says, nodding her head to your stacks of perfectly portioned containers; your towers of health and virtue.

“I think I’m good,” you reply, cautiously. Resisting the urge to let your eyes wander and get caught for the nth time. Don’t want to give her even more ammunition in her campaign against your very clumsily-established boundaries.

At least not until you’ve made your cursory attempt to get her the fuck out of here. Trying (and inevitably failing) to come up with a compelling argument that would convince her to leave. Something to illustrate that this isn’t going anywhere, she doesn’t do a thing for you, let alone register as anything other than a mild strain on your already tenuous relationship with your ex-girlfriend.

Yeah, you don’t even believe that shit yourself.

Regardless, recognise that your first instincts, like always, are terrible ones. Ignore all the parts of your brain that are telling you to do things that could end with you buried in some unmarked grave along the DMZ. Ignore how good she looks wrapped up in your oversized sweatshirt; how it looks so lovely draped over her body, stopping short of the tops of her thighs, letting the damp, pale skin peek out and glisten and—

Fuck.

Maybe you should take the sweater back. Peel it right off her body and—

Again. Fuck.

“Trust me, you’ll want some. Everyone thinks they don't, right up until they do,” she says, and there she goes, pursing her lips together, throwing you a wink. God knows what she’s insinuating.

“Do whatever you want,” you’re saying, leaving out the implied—‘not like I can stop you’.

“Careful with your promises,” she’s laughing to herself, turning away and setting her culinary treasures next to your stove. “I just might have to hold you to them.”

That you pick up on immediately. But she lets it rest, putting a pause on the flirting-that’s-totally-not-flirting, busying herself with the task on hand. Reaching for your pots, your spices, navigating around your kitchen like she’s done it a million times before. So at ease, so… natural, in your space.

It’s eerily intimate.

Wearing your clothes, cooking for you, chatting over her shoulder as if she’s the sister that you have the years of history, of baggage with. First times and fuckups. All the messy, complicated shit in between.

(No matter how well she fits the role, a reminder: she’s not.)

There’s all these incidental miracles too—a curtain of chestnut brown hair sweeping aside as she stirs, a hint of bare shoulder, a column of porcelain along her neck. The sag of her collar until it’s falling down one arm, and there’s no sign of a top underneath, no strap, nothing to curb your imagination from running wild.

And it's all extremely unfair, how the hemline rises with each sway, how it clings right to her waist and curves around the flare of her hips. It wasn’t built for someone like her, wasn’t designed to withstand being worn like this.

But it tries it’s best. You do too.

You really should force your eyes elsewhere. The living room, the TV, the window. Anywhere but her. But you can’t help yourself.

“So,” she starts, happy to let the dish come together on its own. Asks, apropos of nothing, “You ever wonder why my sister never wanted to leave us alone together?”

You blink, torn from the hypnosis of her bare skin. “What?”

Danielle’s facing you again, leaning over the kitchen island. Playing with a loose strand of hair, looping it around her finger. Taking the dumb look on your face as an answer. “I mean, before all these little hangouts we never even had a full conversation, just me and you. One-on-one. Isn’t that weird?”

No. It never occurred to you, because it’s not weird at all.

Because Danielle is, and this is plain fact at this point—not in any way, shape or form exaggeration—unfathomably, quite offensively hot, and very much aware of the devastating effect she has on the people around her just by simply existing.

You hardly trust yourself at the moment.

“Then again, she probably knew what I’d do if given the chance.”

Danielle bites her lip, and you make the mistake of staring for just a second too long.

Yeah, it makes a lot of fucking sense.

(Back in the kitchen, the pot boils over.)

—

(It was somewhere close to the end of things; when it became more common to talk in loud accusations than sweet whispers, that your ex was telling you—“I do love her. But I swear sometimes, I can’t stand her.”

“Who?” You’d asked, because playing dumb was much easier than accidentally stumbling into some new argument you weren’t quite prepared for.

“Dani.”

“Your sister?” you replied, too quickly, and without thinking, “I don’t know—she seems sweet.”

There’s a pause, a tension in the car and your hand clenches around the steering wheel as you realise what you said, and the entire world holds its breath. Then, she laughs. Something sad and bitter that makes you wince. “Sweet? Yeah, sure. She’s a fucking angel.”

And before she can even elaborate on that, she’s looking out the window, leaving you to wonder how you’re at fault this time.

So, you decide then and there to never mention her again, never even look in said sister’s direction when she’s around. Push her out of your mind completely. As far as you’re concerned, she never even existed.

That lasts right up until the next time you see Danielle, and she’s all smiles and friendliness and barely-dressed and so painfully attractive and so very happy to see you. And sure, maybe you smile back, reciprocate the hug, blush when she kisses your cheek, hold your hand on her lower back for that extra millisecond too long, bounding over that ephemeral line and right into flagrantly inappropriate territory.

All the while, somewhere over your shoulder your ex spits out the corner of her mouth—“Typical.”)

—

“I thought I already explained?” Danielle starts, the next time she shows up uninvited, half-naked, bright and early and ready to completely fuck up your day.

Despite the number of times you’ve witnessed the same routine, it still floors you every time she sashays into your kitchen, towel draped low on her body, wrapped around her ridiculously tiny frame, water droplets clinging to her flushed skin like a layer of glitter.

Fresh from a shower. She’s always just fresh from a shower.

She’s already rolling her eyes at whatever she’s about to say. Takes a deep breath, then: “There’s a whole thing going on with my living situation at the moment. You probably don’t need to know anything other than sharing a bathroom with four other girls can be a bit of a nightmare, and your place is so conveniently close, and your water pressure is actually unbelievably good, so—”

You’re very slowly realising that she’s never imagined a reality where this would actually be a problem for you. “And so you decided that the next best option was a complete stranger’s apartment?”

Danielle drums her fingers over your kitchen counter. Your eyes follow the beat. “You’re not a complete stranger.”

“You don’t even know me,” you say, trying to play the part of the responsible adult. Danielle scoffs, because you’re failing spectacularly.

“Well, according to my sister, I have nothing to worry about when it comes to you,” she says, adding, “she told me the two of you broke up because you were gay.”

“She said what?”

She recites, “He prefers rolling around with men than with me—were her exact words.”

“M-M-A. I do MMA.”

“Hm.” Danielle’s baring teeth now, a dangerous slant to her smile. “Is that a new addition to the acronym? LGBTQI-MMA? What colours are your flag?”

“It’s fighting,” you clarify, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. “Mixed martial arts. I’m not—not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I’m not—”

“Sure.” She pushes herself upright and rounds the counter, swinging herself around and over to you. “And here I thought you had all those muscles for show.”

“I’m very straight.”

Her laugh fills the room, makes it warmer, the air sweeter somehow. You choke on it. “Good to know.”

She closes the distance in much fewer steps than you’d like, bare feet gliding across heated flooring, until you’re forced to notice that she’s taken the liberty of using all your shower products too, and you’re starting to rationalise the perfectly normal response it's eliciting. The shortness of breath, the thumping in your chest, the stickiness of your palms.

All perfectly normal.

Stand your ground, what’s the worst that could happen? You’re taller, probably twice her weight. You could pick her up and throw her out if you had to. Or onto one of the many softer surfaces in your apartment.

Erase that thought.

“If it really helps, maybe all we need to do is get to know each other better,” she says, all honeyed-sweet and fucking hazardous, and when she’s this close, you can’t avoid looking.

You try not to, but you’re absorbing all the details—how are her lips this pink, how do they look this soft? How does her skin look so smooth, how does vanilla and coconut and sandalwood smell so much better on her?

It’s fucking troubling how much of her sister you can see in her, except it’s all skewed in directions that make your brain short-circuit. Similar eyes, same shape, but darker; less warmth, more heat. That same mouth, the curve is a mirror when she smiles, but on her its natural state is a pout or a grin over anything close to reassuring.

The dial’s been turned up, the sliders are all wrong, no one should look this good with this little effort.

“For starters, how about we just exchange numbers? So I can call ahead before I come up next time. Avoid any unnecessary surprises,” she throws out, noncommittal. “Even though that’s the best part.”

It should stun you, the smoothness of her request. So innocent in its construction. Yet she loads it heavy, suggestion stacked on suggestion.

She continues, when she catches the look on your face, “I promise I’ll only contact you in strictly emergency shower situations. Would that be okay?”

“That’s fine,” you answer, making liars of you both.

“Then it’s decided then!” She practically cheers, jumps in your arms, wraps you in a hug. Looks up at you, all smiles, all teeth; all wide eyes and hopefulness and fucking hell she’s so close.

Instinct has you leaning closer, has you maybe letting your hands rest a little too comfortably around her waist.

Panic has you recognising that you need to get out of here before she catches on to the involuntarily reactions she’s coaxing out of you. Eyes dipping down to the towel, heart bursting out of your chest, and your co—

“It goes without saying, but you can contact me too. For anything. Emergency or not.”

Yep, it’s about time to get the fuck out of here. Peeling her arms off you, bailing on this conversation before you start agreeing to even more things you know you shouldn’t. You declare, rather robotically, “I should be on my way out.”

“Guys waiting for you to roll around with?”

You sigh, “Something like that.”

“Well, I’m always available if you want someone more fun to practice with,” she says, before amending. “Or, on.”

Again, this can absolutely not happen. You’re not usually one for rules, but it goes without saying—no fucking around with your ex’s sister. It’s like the golden rule of dating, or human decency, or something.

Besides, it’s not really about you that she's into. It’s about the idea of you—the one person who won’t immediately give her what she wants.

That’s all.

She’s just a brat that’s dealing with denial for the first time. Right?

Danielle pouts when it’s clear that you’re not going to feed into any more of her flirty delusions. Twirls on her heels, the towel dancing around her waist. You’re pretty sure you could write a whole essay on the physics of it all.

“Guess there’s no point in me sticking around if you’re not going to be here.”

You avert your eyes. No need to watch her disappear into her room.  

Correction—your room.

But then you hear it, and your head whips around so quick you get fucking whiplash.

Witnessing Danielle time her exit just right so the last thing you see before she rounds the corner is the sweep of her back, the drop of her towel, and the flash of her tight, bare ass that will burn itself into the back of your retinas and stay there for the rest of the day.

—

(You really should’ve seen this coming.

Or maybe you did, and the lesser angels of your nature thought it wouldn’t be so bad to let it happen.

Whatever, it’s too late to come back now because Danielle’s taken to sending you messages throughout her day. All mundane updates; what she’s doing, who she’s with, what’s she eaten for breakfast, lunch, dinner. Little things throughout the day that somehow remind her—through bizarre and barely tangential logic—of you.

You read them, pretend to ignore them.

You choose not to reply.

She chooses to start sending photos.)

—

It really, really doesn’t help that Danielle is everywhere.

She’ll be in your kitchen, your living room, your bedroom when she conveniently forgot to bring a change of clothes and the ones that she came over in are way too sweaty and sticky to put back on. Hopefully you don’t mind washing it for her?

You’ll leave your apartment thinking you’re finally free, only to find her flashing that grin on giant screens hanging off buildings, or on the side of the buses you take to the gym, or on the cover of every magazine at the convenience store where you used to dive in for a quick snack without ever even having to worry about her existence.

Her music plays in the café you get your afternoon caffeine fix; her commercials show up on every single app on your phone—she’s selling everything from headphones to sneakers to fucking bank loans. All with that same sweet, annoying, lovely voice that haunts you with unabashed innuendo and questions about where you keep your fabric softener and why your apartment is completely barren of anything that could be considered a snack.

It's a sick, sick joke the universe is playing on you. Throwing her in your face every five minutes when all you can think about is how she looked that morning when she took her time putting herself together—just lounging on your couch in nothing but a pair of glasses and a towel, kicking her legs up in the air while she laughs over some meme that's completely skipped your generation.

The legs. Can’t help but think what it would be like to run your tongue over them.

She'd probably be thrilled to let you try.

“Hey,” Danielle says, choosing the moment when you’re trying to figure out just how high her legs go to catch your attention. “Did you and my sister ever do it on this couch?”

“What?” —the fuck.

“Just asking,” Danielle sing-songs, taking the opportune moment to adjust the knot on the towel. Higher up her chest, higher up her thighs. “It’s got good cushioning, you know.”

“That’s,” and really, stop right there, because you’re not about to rehash the greatest hits with her. Not going to even get close to dipping your toes into an innocent, casual chat about ghosts long exorcised—about all the nights you had your ex spread out like a buffet, her legs around your neck, her nails digging into your back; her whispers and pleas, the sweet taste of her—and fuck, now the memory of her face is twisting and morphing and you’re seeing Danielle in those same positions and—

You shake your head, clearing the fog.

"Not going there."

Danielle feigns innocence, batting those doe-eyes. You’re already sick of that sugary-sweet giggle. "Where?"

“Anywhere. With you.”

“You never know, it could help,” she’s teasing. Possibly the most dangerous sentence you’ve ever heard. “Replace all the old memories with some new ones? A little less her, a little more," she pauses for great emphasis, and it feeds right into the mouth of the devil on your shoulder, "me?"

“Danielle—”

“You know, you can just call me Dani. All my close friends do.”

Alarm bells are blaring. Take the easy way out, just leave again. Maybe leave forever. Get out of here and don’t look back. She can have your apartment as far as you’re concerned—the backseat of your car isn’t that uncomfortable.

But before you can make a break for the door—"I just meant we could watch a movie or something.”

And again, you find yourself asking so often these days, “What?”

“You know a little bit of Netflix,” she suggests, and you’re already anticipating the grin before it spreads across her face, because she’s far too smart to play dumb, “and a bit of chill?”

“Danielle—” you try once more, then correcting before you can think better of it, “Dani.”

Danielle blinks. Adjusts herself. Pats the cushion next to her.

Her legs spread, then cross over each other. Just to give you some room.

The towel holds on for dear life.

—

It all goes to shit in a matter of days.

Truthfully, you can’t be blamed for this one, no matter how predictably it plays out.

Danielle’s fogged up your mind with thoughts you’d rather not be having, really been hard at work convincing you of just how available she is.

(Translation: Look at me, aren't I just so damn fuckable?)

Even though it’s all been common knowledge from the get-go, her cards have been on the table since she first stepped out of the steam and rented a space inside your brain, whether you want to be honest with yourself or not.

She wants you, badly.

You want her too.

It’s all you think about.

So, it’s no surprise your coach sends you home early from training after taking one too many unanswered shots to the head. Pushes you out the door and yells at you to get over or on top of whatever the fuck is going on in your personal life.

You know he’s right.

And it’s in this state, where your brain is mildly-concussed and filled with the images of Danielle—the ones of her wearing next to nothing except that fucking wry, knowing smirk of hers, like she’s just counting down the moments until you finally, inevitably give in—that you stumble into your apartment.

You don’t even have the strength to close the door properly.

You barely notice the closed blinds, the heating turned up too high, the light coming from your room, the scent of something much more sweeter; something that doesn’t belong here at all.

No, you don’t notice anything at all—until you do.

A moan from down the hall.

Louder as you approach, joined by noises of shuffling bedsheets, the unmistakable rhythmic squeaks of your mattress. The slick sounds of skin on skin, and—oh fuck.

You push open your door.

Danielle’s there to greet you, flat on your bed, fingers deep inside her cunt.

Wearing your sweatshirt and nothing else.

Crying out your name.

It’s game over.

Every filthy, lurid though, every half-imagined fantasy, everything your brain has conjured up whenever you've caught a glimpse of Danielle's bare skin, brought to life.

Fucking gorgeous, pretty, even like this. Wrecking herself so sweetly, fucking herself with her fingers so deeply and carefully, half-naked and wet and begging.

“Ah, God—” She’s sinking into herself, not even registering your presence, nor the fact that the door’s even opened.

Her face is locked into this smile, and you clock it as the same one she wears every time she catches you watching her, every time she manages to make that crack in your armour widen just a smidge. It’s a trap. A challenge. An invitation.

You hover by the door, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but watch as she works herself over, eyes fixed shut, cheeks red, burning hot.

You shouldn’t look.

You should turn around.

You should do anything but stay.

But you don’t.

You just witness her, in your bed, chanting your name in tempo with her own fingers. Your body betrays you—you take a step forward.

Her eyes open. Unsurprised. “Hey.”

She keeps going.

One more step couldn’t hurt. Moth to her flame, fly to her sweet, sticky trap.

The sweatshirt is a crime against humanity, hiding her like that. You could reach down, rip it off her, expose all her secrets to the cold air. Finally see it all.

But instead, you keep your eyes trained, transfixed, as she arches her back, her breasts pushing up against the cotton, points of her nipples poking through. Abs—chiselled, firm, tense—revealed inch by glorious inch.

Your name on her lips, moaned into your ears.

And her pussy. So pretty. Pink, plump. Perfect.

Sopping wet and making a mess of your bedsheets. The mattress will never be the same. 

“Welcome home,” she gasps out. Loving this turn of events. Spreads her legs wider, no intention to stop. Just going on and on.

She stretches out your name for good measure, fucking herself faster. Fingers plunging in and out of herself, hips rocking back and forth. Eyes locking onto yours, daring you to do something about it.

“How’s the view?” She’s grinning, aiming for seductive, nonchalant, but her voice is all broken-up and fucked up. Too turned on to be anything but earnest.

“Fucking hell,” you find your own voice much the same. Really, it’s a miracle that your lungs aren’t clogged up with the thick, heavy air that’s settled in your room. Or that your tongue isn’t a dry, useless slab of meat in your mouth.

“I’d say it’s rather—gah—” Danielle says, taking your words, twisting them into something that sounds like a whine as her eyes slowly shut, a fresh wave of pleasure washing over her. She opens them again, focuses on you. “Heavenly.”

You should have more to say. Something locked and loaded to navigate your way out of this specific situation, because face it, this was always going to happen one way or another the day you let her have free reign of your apartment, of your life, of your thoughts.

Your mouth opens, hoping something disarming and with enough wit comes out to end this whole farce, only Danielle beats you to the punch—“I bet it tastes heavenly too.”

And then the words come to you. You grit out, “Stop.”

Danielle laughs. Unconvinced. “Why should I?”

You repeat. “Stop.”

She just keeps fucking herself. “Make me.”

“Stop,” you let your voice come out deep, firm. Like it's a threat. Taking the closest ankle in your grip, lifting her leg up.

Danielle gasps. Her hand stills.

“Stop and let me.”

Danielle’s whispering now. “Then go ahead.”

You’ve never imagined yourself as that guy. You’re a romantic, you swear. Grand gestures, sweet kisses, candles, roses, the works, making love slow and soft until the sun comes up.

Nothing like this.

Like wanting to ruin something beautiful. Take the hottest girl you’ve ever met, probably ever lived. Cross lines so thick you’d typically need a buzzsaw to cut through. Make her forget about anything that isn’t you, anything that isn’t you. Make her need you in the worst way.

Make her come apart in your fucking hands.

The look on Danielle’s face gives you all the permission you need. Her words are just the cherry on top. “Please.”

You start small.

A kiss on the sole of her foot, and Danielle’s already trembling, giggling, at the light touch. More kisses, building, keen attention on the arch, the ankle, the calf, and she’s shivering. Muscles tensing under your lips, body tightening in anticipation.

She’s a ticking time bomb, was on edge when you walked in, so you don’t drag it out. Just long enough to make her whine. Get a few, “God you’re so—”, gasps and half-formed sentences that die the higher you get.

You kiss your way past her knee, and she’s properly whimpering now. Her fault that her legs are so long. A ladder of sweetness, salt on her skin, and you’re starving. She is right. It tastes heavenly. You’ll do your part by devouring it, bite by fucking bite.

“This is torture,” the words slip out of her, but it hardly sounds like a complaint. Moreso a confession. Something to say while her shoulders sink into the mattress and her fingers dig into the sheets. “Sweet torture.”

A chuckle into her inner thigh, where the skin is softest, smoothest, and her wetness has leaked down far enough to coat your cheek. Because this is the first time Danielle’s been anywhere close to a position of submissiveness to you. Let the mask, the control slip. The game, the pretences. All it took was the right use of your tongue.

“Higher, please, just eat me already,” she’s pleading now, and it sounds so lovely coming from her lips. And fuck, the scent of her, her arousal, sweet and heady. Calling for you to just dive in face-first.

But you want her to beg. Make her as desperate as she’s made you. It’s only fair.

Your nose meets the bottom of the sweatshirt. You push up, ghost your lips, the warmth of your breath higher up her thigh until her hips are practically stuttering.

Lean in, nibble the flesh just beside her pussy.

She convulses then and there. Arches off the bed, a sharp cry leaving her lips.

Only a moment to revel in it before your hair is snatched in her hands, pulling you closer, and you finally give her what she wants. Tongue darting out, tasting her.

“Right—yes—fuck!”

Her scream drowns out the groan climbing out from your throat, as your lungs are filled with the depths of her. No waiting, really, she’s fucking soaked already. Primed, prepared for your tongue. For the sucking, licking, kissing; every part of her that’s been begging for attention, waiting for you.

Her hips buck, but your palms shoot up, press down against the flat of her stomach, feel the ridged abs, the tiny waist under your fingertips. Holding her down with a firm hand. Letting her know the truth of it all. She’s yours now.

All she can do is whine, “I—I—God, I need—”

“Need me to taste you? Lick you, suck you right up, ruin you with my tongue?” The things coming out of your mouth, the aggression in your tone, it surprises you. But there's not enough time to ponder on what manner of beast she's turned you into so quickly, there's only what's next—press the flat of your tongue against her folds, give a rough, firm pressure, make her squirm.

It’s from here that you can witness it all: the bend of her neck as she throws her head back, the tightness in her stomach, the sharp inhale and heavy exhale of her chest. The tremble in her thighs against your cheek, her breath hitching and her pussy quivering over your mouth.

And it comes to you, so easily, like it was always there. Filth being composed in the back of your mind anytime she was in your presence. Everything you've ever wanted to do to this girl. Everything you've wanted to inflict upon her cunt.

“I'm gonna make you into a fucking mess all over my face, down my chin, all over my bed. Fuck this pussy, Danielle. I could get drunk off it. So fucking sweet.”

“It’s—fuck—” and you’re really enjoying this now, having her be the one that’s lost for words for once. “—whatever—all of it. Do whatever you want, please, because I’m so, so close.”

“I didn’t need your permission,” you tell her, speaking into her cunt. “But it’s appreciated anyway.”

And Danielle’s well and truly wrecked. Drenched cunt so swollen and desperate and really, truly in quite a state. So desperate for you, her body thrumming with it. Cunt pulsing like a fucking heartbeat.

You could take it slow. Could drag out the torture a little longer.

Fuck that.

Tongue goes higher, fixes upon her clit. Danielle falls apart.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—” Her words are slurring together, choked out, gasps, whines. Barely coherent, and yet, “your mouth—tongue—please—”

The pleases you recognise, they come in staccatos as you lick her from bottom to top. Long, slow drags that make her legs shake.

“You’re going to scream for me,” you declare, a prediction more than an instruction. “Beg for me. Going to make you cum so hard. So loud. Going to make you remember it. Remember me every time you think about touching this sweet cunt.

“Sadist,” she manages, breathless, but it’s hard to detect anything from her other than pure glee. “I can see why my sister would always come home so—fuck—so worn out from seeing you.”

“Don’t,” you spit on her cunt. Take a long, gratuitous lap of your tongue against her folds. Force her hips against your face.

“I’m only wondering—” she says, and there’s an edge to her voice, and you know that whatever’s going to follow is going to make you fucking crazy— “Did she taste as good as me?”

You try your best to ignore the taunt. Just push your tongue inside her, feel the way she clenches around the muscle. Fuck her for making you even think about your ex.

“Or did she ever even get to feel like this? Did she let you? Or maybe you never gave her the honour. Because I can't imagine ever letting go of someone like you."

“Enough,” you murmur, not even sure if it’s a warning or a plea. Your teeth graze her clit. Danielle jolts. “This isn’t about her. It’s about you.”

A barely there—“Me?”

“You started this,” your voice is gravelly now, coloured with something mean, “Just had to be too pretty to ignore. Fucking cocktease.”

“Then—oh—give me what I deserve.”

“That would take hours.” The laugh that comes out of your mouth is anything but warm, and she tries to fire back with one of her usual quips—something that dances on the line of flirty and sarcastic and completely charming all at once, the full Danielle experience.

But that all dies on her lips when your finger pushes through until you’re knuckle-deep, curling up inside her.

“Ah—fuck—” That’s all she’s got, and it’s all you need.

You kiss her cunt, suction around those puffy lips. Her pussy is just so, so pretty; like the rest of her, same as every single fucking inch of her. Even now, all huffing and groaning and fucked-up on your tongue—so effortlessly beautiful.

“Baby,” comes out, all velvety and warm, and then again and again. Pitch rising, falling, voice getting louder, a crescendo dictated by your mouth.

Creamy thighs fit snug over either side of your head, but you’re not going anywhere. You need to make her cum—as hard as she can. Make sure she remembers.

You lick, kiss, suck. Danielle doesn’t require much precision, just intense passion. Showing her how much you love her cunt, love making her fall apart. Really sloppy with it, it’s the pace that matters at this point—giving her everything that’s been boiling deep inside her since she ever laid eyes on you.

Swirl your tongue around her clit, flicking it in a way that has her knees shake and bang together. Suck deep against her folds, making her fingers knot themselves in your hair. And when you moan into her cunt, vibrate your lips against her while your fingers—one, then two, now three—work her over, well—

She can’t fucking do anything but try to breathe, try to keep herself together. Be anything other than the excruciatingly cute and beautiful and fucking delicious mess you’re turning her into.

“Right—right there—right there—” Unnecessary instruction, really. Because you already have her dissolving underneath your tongue. Filling your bedroom, your apartment with noises of her cunt being properly fucked, the sighs and moans that bounce off the walls, echoing around your skull. Putting you in some heavenly torture chamber where the only way out is through her orgasm.

And it’s somewhere in her pleas for a higher power that you feel the beginnings, or the very rapidly approaching endings of it all. The tightness in her thigh, the convulsions. The waterfall dripping down your tongue, your fingers, onto the palm of your hand and pooling underneath her ass.

“This is—this is too much—"

Too much means not enough. Not enough of her, not when you’re so in love with the sound of her breaking apart. The smell of her on your nose, your chin. The feeling of her cunt colliding against your lips.

“Oh God, fuck, please, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—"

You breathe in, take all you can from what little oxygen she’s left in the room, and bury your face in her. You don’t let up until her cries become screams, until she’s bucking against your face, until her nails are digging into your scalp.

You don’t stop until you feel the first pulse in her climax, until her cunt clenches around your fingers like a fist, until she’s painting your face with her wetness.

And that’s when you reach your other hand around her, urge your fingers underneath those tight, firm cheeks. Push a finger up into her ass, press into that puckered button, making her seize like you just sent a bolt of lightning through her.

“What the fuck, it’s so—God!”

For a moment, she’s yours. Completely and utterly yours.

Her stomach tenses, abs bunching and knitting together. Not a single muscle in her body moves, just frozen in place, locked in pleasure.

Tiny, little shakes, building and building, until it’s a full-body experience; quakes all over her skin, shaking your whole bed. And then—

“Daddy!”

There’s a right word for this—flawless, absolute, divine. Or just plain perfect.

The way she cums is so at odds with who she is. It’s not pretty, it’s not subtle. God, it’s fucking apocalyptic. Orgasms herself into an out-of-body experience onto your chin.

It’s all so fucking obvious; people in the next building over will be able to feel what she’s going through just by the timbre of her voice when she cries out for some sort of God, or spits a filthy curse, or just screams your name in a dozen different ways.

“You’re fucking—yes!”

You need both hands back on her body to fix her to the bed, make sure she doesn’t fall off the fucking edge of the world. Help her bear it, through gritted teeth and sharp hisses, that one final push into oblivion.

A whine signals the end for her; a final real, loud, teary-eyed whine. The most honest sound you’ve ever heard from her and fuck you’d do anything to hear more of it. Give up everything for just an echo of the sweet obscenities that fall from her lips when she cums.

Danielle exhales.

Tries to relax her way out of it. But the trembles haven’t left her, still bubbling underneath her skin. Her legs fall away from your head, leaving your ears ringing, and you ease back. Wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

You massage her, run your hands up to her waist, underneath the sweatshirt. Stroke the lines on her body to coax her back down to the land of the living. Let it all slow down.

Her eyes are still hazy, glazed over, pupils all fucked-up and blown wide.

“Animal,” she says, when her lungs begin to fill again. She giggles, and there’s all the sweetness returning to her body. Radiating off her in this afterglow. Twisting herself a little beneath you to work out all the tension that you’ve just built up and wrecked her with.

“You asked for it,” you tease, hovering over her. Rightfully smug.

Danielle huffs. Looking so pretty behind all the tears. “And I will again.”

And you exhale too, because now you don’t know what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into.

But Danielle doesn’t give you time to dwell on your thoughts. Scoots up and shifts so she’s on her elbows. Takes your chin in her fingers. Kisses you.

Inhales you deep, tongue immediately pushing past your lips, scraping around the edges. Licking up all the evidence that’s still stuck on the roof of your mouth.

You fall into her, hands rising up her body. God, you just need to feel her nipples harden beneath your palm, her body fold back into yours. Get to know every curve, every dip. You’ve tasted heaven, now you want to map it out with your fingers.

Your hips urge against her waist, pushing her legs apart, and that tells Danielle all she needs to know.

But her tongue leaves yours, escapes the chase of your own.

“Not yet,” and she’s laughing because you actually believed for a heartbeat that you were the one in control here. That you weren’t the one that was going to be left begging. Aching. Left with nothing to do but commit the taste of her to memory.

She draws her tongue across your jaw, your cheek. Licks your face clean, leaves it sticky. Smiles against your skin.

“But maybe later.” She pushes back, hand at your chest. Gets herself up and off your bed, turns away from you so you can only imagine the grin playing on her lips.

Her ass tilts. Her pussy drips onto your floor.

She looks over her shoulder, blows you a kiss, a wink. “Gotta take a shower first.”  

—

(This is the part where Danielle pulls her greatest trick yet—radio silence.

A week without hearing from her—not a text, not a peep, nothing. Turning your brain inside out. Leaving you with nothing but this tangled mess of thoughts about thighs and abs and moans and questions of did whatever the fuck that was really happen?

The worst part of it all is, you know exactly what she’s doing when she’s not busy haunting the edges of your apartment, leaving her fingerprints in every room, over every surface, just waiting for you to find them.

She’s quite easy to be found. She’s still everywhere.

Everywhere except the one place you need her to be.

It’s too early in the evening to be lying in bed, staring at your phone, nothing but the background noise of heaters, TVs and air purifiers to make you seem less alone.

You should really have much better things to do then to hover your thumb over her name.

Your screen lights up with a message—immediately disappointing you when you realise it’s not her. Just your training partner, sending a cursory group invite to anyone else that fancies a night out to break up the routine of getting punched in the head on the daily.

Fuck it.

It’s as good a time to drink as any.)

—

You’re barely in one piece when you get home; which is really par for the course for the past few weeks.

Dazed, horny, tired, concussed—and now, stone-cold drunk.

Habit has you collapsing on your bed in a heap, flicking on your phone, dragging your finger over the screen and taking an embarrassing amount of attempts to unlock it. The blue glow lights up your room, the screen immediately blasting you with the most recent thing you were looking at—the last photo Danielle had sent you.

The one she took in front of your bathroom mirror, where she’s leaning over the sink. A hand perched on the counter, hip cocked to the side. Towel hanging on by a thread, dipping, just so. Tongue poking out, lips looking so shiny and soft.

Eyes right down the barrel of the camera. Knowing the reaction it’ll force out of you. The power she has to stir your cock to life with just a single image.

It’s so fucked up. How in such a short amount of time, she’s occupied every corner of your mind, every corner of your digital life. Unavoidable. Inescapable.

And there’s truth in that: you’re flying too close to the sun; you’re going to get burned but you can’t help but soar a little closer anyway. Heading headfirst into tears, heartache, or worse, a very awkward family reunion.

And you hate that you miss her.

Hate that you’re calling her.

She answers.

“Hey—” you slur, making a stellar start.

You’re picturing the smug smile on the other end of the line. “Is this a drunk dial?”

“I—yeah.” No point in lying. You’re not good at it, and she’s not that dumb.

“Well, I’m flattered,” and there’s pure amusement seeping out of the speaker and into your ear. She sounds like she’s laughing at you. But it’s warm, familiar, and for a second it’s like she’s right here, in your room, in your bed, her naked body pressed against yours. “To what do I owe the honour?”

Since you’re too inebriated to be anything other than honest, you just outright say it—“Got drunk. Can’t sleep. Missed you.”

There's hesitation on the other end. Surprise, you guess. "Then that makes two of us."

"You're drunk too?"

"Unfortunately not. Just the insomnia and the yearning on my part."

“Why aren’t you here?” comes right out your mouth, before you can even stop it.

Her breaths come through the phone. Slow. “Because I’m in a hotel. Hong Kong.”

You roll onto your back, close your eyes. Picture it. Danielle, prettier-than-perfect, curled up on some plush, extravagant bedspread. A complimentary towel getting the luxury of being around her tight figure. Her long legs stretched out in front of her, painted toes digging into the sheets.

You still remember how they felt against your lips.

“I don’t believe you,” you decide, and demand, “Turn on your camera.”

“Oh, you’re very drunk,” is Danielle’s reply, right before the chime of your phone and—

There she is. Scarily accurate to your imagination. Only now, the details are colouring in the rest of the picture—the contrast of hotel white against her dark hair. The glint of light off her sharp cheekbones. Her lips absolutely wicked.

No towel, though. A bathrobe this time.

“It’s fucked up how pretty you are,” you say, because it’s true and you can’t hold back. “Like, Christ.”

Danielle giggles, and it’s also fucked up the things the sound does to your stomach. Forcing you to realise how much you missed having it in your apartment. She leans closer to the camera, head tilting a little to the side. “Very, very drunk.”

“Don’t have to be drunk to recognise how good you look.”

“I always look good.”

“If you were here right now—or if I was there—”

“You’d what? Bury your face between my thighs? Ruin me with your tongue?” She’s smiling. Teasing. Thank God you can see her face again. “Make me call you Daddy?”

“I didn’t make you do anything. That was all you.”

“And you just happened to love it,” she says so easily. Full of confidence. “What else would you love to make me do?”

It comes to your mind immediately, the thought of it—“Your shoulder.”

Her eyebrow jumps up at that, expression settling into something curious. “My shoulder?” She angles herself, gives you a better look. Leaving it bare, the bathrobe droops, doesn’t bother to hide the line of her throat. “Nothing about my neck, my eyes, my lips?”

“I’d get to that. But I’d start with your shoulder,” you recite, letting her in on the journal entries you’ve been writing in your mind. Notes on Danielle. “You’re always just leaving it out there. Your shoulder, collarbone. I’d kiss there first.”

Your words do something to her, you can see it through your bleary eyes. She shifts on top of her bed, twists herself around to settle into a more comfortable position. Leans back into the headboard of her bed. Juts her shoulder out so the bathrobe drops further down her arm.

Has you follow the path of her camera as she angles it lower, and it doesn’t help that she’s biting on her lower lip, and you can’t see where her other hand has gone, and she’s spurring you on by asking:

“Would you kiss me lower too?” The bathrobe parts, plush cotton revealing a single line of her sternum, and then further still, the shadow of her cleavage just out of view.

You nod, swallow. A strained, “Yeah.”

“And here?” The robe slips, falls further down. Revealing the swell of one perfect breast. A nipple, stiffened from the cold. Or the thought of your lips.

Your eyes are locked onto the image of her creamy skin, the darkened areola. You don’t care that you’re groaning, that your hand is already reaching down to palm your erection through your sweatpants. You don’t care that she probably knows.

It’s what she wants.

“Yeah, I’d kiss you there. Lick it. Get it between my teeth, and—”

“Sounds like you’ve thought a lot about me,” she murmurs, but she’s only saying things that you both are keenly aware of. You are—have been—putty in her hands. A man lost at sea with only her voice as a compass. The camera moves in closer still. You can feel the heat of her skin through the screen. “What if I told you I’ve been thinking about you too?”

Her free hand returns in view. Up to her chest. Teasing her own nipple; pinching between her thumb and forefinger. She gasps, breathes heavy down the line, and you swear you can feel it too, a phantom softness at your own fingertips.

“I’ve been thinking about what you did to me with your mouth, been thinking about it—” she’s panting, and her hand’s moving. Thumb tracing lazy circles around her breast, and you’re thinking that it’s the exact path you’d take with your tongue. “Every. Single. Night.”

It’s too much and nearly not enough. No where close to satisfying the ache she’s built inside you. You want her here, in your bed, underneath you. You want to show her what you can really do to her. How you’d kiss her until she couldn’t breathe, lick her until she couldn’t think, fuck her until she’s nothing more but a shivering mess, leave her begging.

And then, as if announcing your own thoughts back to you— “I want to cum,” she sighs, barely a whisper. “But I don’t want to do it alone.”

“Show me.”

There’s a beat, two, where Danielle mulls it over. Nothing but pants heard through the speaker. Her nipple still in view.

Until she turns, phone hitting the bedside table with a gentle thump. Screen still on, camera pointing right at her face. But the angle’s off—she shifts it downward and returns to the bed.

It sobers you up, puts you on alert. Danielle. Lying on her side. The soft, pale swell of her breasts, the dip of her vanishing, practically non-existent waist. The curve of her hips down to the long, smooth legs. The robe slides down, baring her other shoulder. Her neck. The cut of her clavicle.

Fuck.

Her breathing hitches when she sees you, the look on your face. So low, so quiet, when she says, “Now, you too.”

A mirror of her actions—your phone finds a spot to lean on. Hands wobbly, vision blurs as you rush to get the angle right. Sweatpants disappear, freeing your cock. The waistband catches on your length, causing it to spring out hard.

It’s Danielle’s turn now to groan out a “Fuck.”

And for a moment, it’s just heat and silence. Hot, laboured breaths filling the space between the two of you. Her hand drifts down, skating between her abs, lower—

“Tell me,” she says, fingers crawling to the hood of her pussy, gliding over where she’s most sensitive. Her thighs part slightly, slowly, showing herself to the camera, to you. How wet she is, how delicious she looks. You want to taste it. You’d die to feel the heat of her against your tongue once more.

But you’re not there. You’re both stuck in this digital limbo. Two people desperate to fuck each other through a screen. It won’t be enough. It just can’t be. But it’s all you’ve got, so it’ll have to do.

“Tell me everything.” Her eyes close, hand starting to move with purpose. Spreading her folds. Glistening clit standing proud. “Everything you’d do to me. All of it. I know you’ve been thinking about me. Give me every little detail. Make it dirty, make it good, make it—”

“I—” you start, only to stumble, “I want to fuck you.”

“Obviously,” she’s smiling into the camera, and yeah, you’re realising it was a stupid way to begin things. “Please don’t make me do all the work here. Where’s the guy that said he’d make sure I remember him every time I touch this tight, little cunt?”

“Sweet cunt.”

“You would know.”

You clear your throat. Adjust yourself. Angle your cock towards her so she can see how much you mean what you’re about to say. “Danielle—”

“Dani, please.”

“Dani,” you restart, “After your shoulder, your collarbone, after I’ve left those fucking tits all marked up—I’d run my tongue back up to your neck, suck on that spot right here—” you bring your other hand up, tap it over your pulse. Danielle’s eyes shoot open. Follows your finger. “You know the one.”

Her hand falters, she chokes on a breath. She’s picturing it. Feeling it. “Yeah,” she stammers. “Yeah, I know.”

“And then—then you’d feel my fingers. Pushing in,” you continue, hand tightening around your own shaft. Pre-cum making it slick. Recalling her heat, the tightness of her cunt. The clench around your digits. “So fucking slow. Watching your face as you take them. One, two. Three. Yeah, you’d look just like that.”

Her own fingers dip, bringing your words to life. Eager to follow word for word, whispering these hushed little pleas, and then a moan, and then— “Don’t—don’t stop.”

“Slowly, Dani,” you make her whine, as if you’re right there, holding her hand, forcing her to balance on that edge. “Just like that. God, you look so pretty. You would look so pretty. Coming apart on my fingers. I don’t think I’d ever be able to stop telling you, because fuck.”

You break it down—break her down. Tell her the steps, one by one. The way you’d kiss her, taste her. How lovely it would be, lips as sweet as her cunt was. Kiss so deep that you’d steal the breath from her lungs, make sure she knows what it’s like to be consumed. The way you’d kiss her neck, her ear, make a mess on her tits. Every spot that makes her quiver.

There’s tension in her shoulders, tightening across her muscles. Eyes clenched shut, fingers dancing over her every inch that you tell her you’d explore once you’ve finally stripped her bare.

Leave her in her natural state: naked, beautiful, fucking breathtaking.

Her hand’s a blur now, thighs trembling with each pass of her fingers, and she’s chewing on her bottom lip so hard you can see the indentation. Whining, pleading, these divine little noises, intermittent—“Keep going, don’t stop, tell me more,” —pure bliss articulated,  and you’ve lost track of how many times she’s asked, “and then?”

“I’d spread you wide open, Dani,” you tell her, and watch as her legs part, leaving her splayed out on her bed. Image so fucking wanton it’s biblical sin. “God, look at you. You’re so fucking wet I can hear it through the phone.”

Danielle can’t help herself, “It’s you,” she’s gasping, panting, fucking herself with her fingers so intently that the sounds of her cunt are coming through loud and clear. “It’s all because of you. So, so wet. I’ve been like this all week.”

A thought, you realise, “So that’s why you stopped messaging me.”

The tightness in her voice confirms it for you, “Yeah. Couldn’t stop thinking of you. Reaching out would’ve made it too fucking much.”

This revelation hangs in the air, thick and palpable. Pushes aside any remaining inhibitions. You stroke yourself harder, faster, matching her rhythm, her breaths. Joining the slicks of her own cunt with the sound of your skin slapping against your palm.

“But it didn’t help. So, fuck it. I needed to let you see. Let you know. How much I want you. Need you.”

“Was never much a secret.”

“Never said I was good at hiding it,” and Danielle���s grinning now, looking so beautifully lost and downright filthy and there’s really only one thing left to ask, “Tell me how you’d fuck me.”

“Hard.”

One word and she fucking loves it.  

“Flip you over, from behind. Against whatever hard surface I can push you up against. Nothing sweet about it. Giving you what you fucking deserve.”

“God!”

“Leave you out of fucking breath. Just take my cock deep. You can see it can’t you? How big it is. How fucking hard it is for you. I’d make you take every inch fucking fast and rough. Make you mine. My own personal cocksleeve. Daddy’s little cocksleeve, how do you like the sound of that?”

Danielle’s back arches, chest rises and falls. Hand moving faster, fucking herself, really going for it. Head thrown back, eyes open, on you. Like she’s memorising the way you’re looking at her. Unable to do anything but look when you’re puppeteering her body across an entire ocean, words dictating every little shiver, every little pulse.

“Pin you against a wall, Dani. Make it so you can’t move. Can’t do anything but feel me. So deep inside you that you’d feel fucking empty without me.”

“Fuck, that sounds so—” Dani’s barely breathing now, and whether by some reflex or just a need to make your words feel a little more real, she rolls onto her stomach. Ass up in the air, pushing her face down into the mattress. You can see the muscles in her back ripple, the fingers disappearing between her thighs, and she’s biting down on the sheets but you’re making out the— “Just like that. Yes, yes, like that. Fuck me like that. Make me—”

It’s the view of her tight ass and it's like she's inviting you to tell her, “I’d spank you—leave you all nice and red. So you’d feel it after. Have you screaming until you can’t even speak. Make sure the last word you’ll ever say is my name.”

“You’d pull my hair too, right?”

“You wouldn’t have a choice.”

Danielle screams your name; the first time you’ve ever heard it sound like that. Somewhere between worship and pure desperation. It’s fucking heavenly. Your cock flexes in your hand, and you want to drop everything and rush over to her hotel room right now and shove it directly in her face.

But you’ll have to be content with what you’ve got.

With Danielle, an utter disaster; soaked cunt and all, splashing down onto the bed. And it’s going to be a problem, an explanation she’ll have to provide. How the perfect, idol-princess left her room stained and forever ruined with the scent of her cum-drenched sheets.

She’ll lie, of course. Spin something about a spill, or a new perfume she’s trying, or maybe she’ll fucking own it.

How some guy over the phone left her shaking with his words alone. Made her scream his name until she got noise complaints from rooms on the opposite side of the hall. Caused a fucking mess that the hotel laundry service would never be able to scrub out.

She’s so close, so fucking close. You know because you’ve been on the same tracks as her, charting it through the throbbing of your own cock, the tightening in your balls.

She’s just dying for release. For your permission.

“I’m just—I can’t—Can’t believe you’re going to make me—”

“Just fucking cum then, Dani,” you command. An order.

She follows without question.

Hand builds speed—faster, faster, faster. ‘Fuck—fuck—fuck’ spilling from her lips until it’s all just one noise buried in a mess of pleasure and bliss. Until she’s just a heartbeat in the palm of your hand.

Fucking God, she cums hard.

You do too.

You swear the camera shakes, it’s not just your vision, the head spin, the alcohol. It all vibrates around you and you can’t see straight.

Watching Danielle; her abs tense, back bow, collapsing into her bed. Eyes squeezed shut, choking on sheets as she tries and fails to muffle herself. Orgasm ringing through your phone, a chorus of sin. Your own cock is bucking, moving with her hips, and you’re fucking her, fucking her through it all, making her fall apart again and again, making her shiver, beg, cry out your name and—

It’s a fucking masterpiece.

“Cum for me please, Daddy!”

Like a gunshot, a trigger, and you’re gone too.

A mess—sticky, warm. Fucking satisfying.

And then it’s over.

You both slump down, dissolve into your own individual puddles. Needing deep, heaving breaths. Sweat sticking to your skins, to the sheets. It makes her glow.

Just laying there. Not bothering to clean up. Evidence of your lust smeared across your hands, your stomachs, your beds. The trophies earned.

The silence stretches out, and it’s weird because it’s just like she’s breathing right in your ear, coming down next to you. Warmth against your neck, hand sliding down your body. Fitting right in your arms.

Her eyes finally open. Slow movements have her hand dropping away from her pussy, sliding over the wetness to her side. A mess, and there’s a new kind of smile on her face. A little lazy, weak. Satisfied.

“Fuck.”

“Tell me about it.”

She watches you for a beat. Runs a tongue over her lips. “Can’t wait to see you again.”

“When?”

“As soon as I fucking can.”

 —

(It feels good—too good—to be honest for once.

The games are still there, but now that you’re a willing participant, Danielle’s tactics shift.

It starts innocently enough—a good morning text here, a photo of her breakfast there, a meme you’d both find funny.

And then the escalation.

Here’s what I’m wearing. Here’s what’s underneath. You want to see more?

Reciprocate.

Every notification from her has you running to the bathroom, or at least somewhere with a little privacy, because it’s always a photo or a video, a little slice of heaven to get you through the day or completely ruin it just by seeing her picture.

And fuck, you do look.

And then there’s the last photo—and of course there’s a bathroom and a mirror and your sweatshirt hiked up to her chest and she’s completely bare otherwise and you’re thinking she’s laughing here because she knows you’re going to zoom in and find the tiny caption left for you to discover between her thighs.

One word.

Your cock jumps, a silent cheer.

Tomorrow.)

—

It's borderline problematic how you have to hold yourself back from sprinting down your hallway when you get home. Just because you hear the sound of running water.

Danielle's here again.

She’s fucking back.

And that’s how you find her; the door to the bathroom’s been left wide open, an invitation you don’t really need—nothing could stop you at this point.

But it doesn’t take away from the surprise of it at all, you're knocked off your feet when you meet her in the shower.

Danielle, head thrown back, letting the hot water cascade over her. Down her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. She’s soapy, skin a canvas of bubbles, your bottle of body wash in her hand, flipped upside down and dripping on her tits.

There’s a smile in the opposite mirror for you, and fuck, for a second you’re believing in love at first sight or the existence of angels or just the fact that maybe you were put on this planet to procreate.

“You’re late.”

You clear your throat, steam starting to warm it up for you. “I was at the gym.”

And she giggles, and she’s smug, and you missed her presence so much more than you anticipated. “Then it sounds like you should join me.”

She reaches out, grabs you by the wrist, and you have mere seconds to get rid of your shirt and your sweatpants and anything you don’t want to get wet because you’re falling into her. Threading your fingers through wet mattes of hair, pushing her into cold tile, and kissing the prettiest fucking girl you’ve ever met in your entire life.

“Missed you,” she murmurs into your lips, warm and steamy words that taste like mint. “Really fucking missed you.”

She’s too real now.

In your shower, beneath your fingertips, water running in rivulets over her body. Moisture evaporating off her skin, sticking to yours. Photos, videos, everything from that fabricated reality of pixels and soundwaves, could never do enough to come close to having her right in front of you.

You run your hands over her body, hers are doing the same down yours—as if needing multiple points of contact to confirm that you’re really here, that this is really happening. Her skin’s like silk under the water, slippery and smooth. You trace the outline of her waist, her ribs, the curves of her ass.

And her abs. Fucking hell. Sculpted, each ridge a testament to her dedication, to hours spent. To the sweat, the tears, the sheer fucking willpower it takes to become an idol. A map of her life’s work, and they’re begging to be touched. Appreciated.

You do.

A soft touch. Reverent. She responds with a gasp that sends a shiver down your spine. Danielle’s eyes are on yours, watching, as your thumb traces the line of here stomach.

You get the obvious out of the way. “You’re so fucking pretty, Dani.”

She arches a brow. “Just pretty?”

You smile, kiss her shoulder. Lap up the water pooling in her collarbone. Stuck between the need to take your time to worship her body like it deserves, and the primal urge to just claim her, take everything about her that’s good and soft and hot and make it yours. “It doesn’t even cover it. I don’t think any words do.”

“Then show me.”

So, you pull her closer, hands cradling her face, thumbs brushing against the soft skin of her cheeks. Kiss her until she’s melting into you, until her body’s pressing into yours so tightly that you can feel the heat of her.

A palm falls to her hip, thumb resting at that glorious spot where her waist sinks right in just before curving out to her ass. Your fingers dig into flesh, and Danielle’s moan; the sweet, sweet sound fills your mouth, vibrates down your throat.

Her hand wraps around the back of your neck, gripping tight; she’s not shy of about touching you either. About asking for more. More of everything. More of this. More of you. You kiss her harder, like you’re trying to break her apart and rebuild her in your own image. Like you’re trying to brand her with your mouth.

“This is,” she breathes between the kisses, slurring against your chest, “so much different in person.”

“How so?” You ask, and follow her eyes southward.

Her cheeks flush, and she looks up at you through wet lashes. “Bigger.”

You laugh, feeling something unlock in your chest. It’s so absurd. Like all at once, your entire destiny's been flipped on its head.

Danielle’s fingers take hold of your cock, stroking you gently. Staring at it in wonder. She’s worshipping it. This goddess, and it’s your cock that’s her idol. She squeezes at the top of your head. The glee in her eyes when you groan.

“God, it’s—” Danielle voice cracks, and she gives the words their proper weight when she says, “Taken too long.”

You can barely think anymore. Not when her hand is winding up and down you in these long, smooth strokes. Like she's somehow been practicing, rehearsing for this exact occasion, studied upon every sensitive spot and how to hit it just right.

“Could’ve had this from the start,” Danielle tells you, and you’re throbbing so hard in her hands. “Could’ve had this any time you wanted,” she says again; like it’s fact, a simple truth of the universe.

And suddenly nothing really makes sense anymore. Whatever logic you had leading up to this point—why didn’t you just reach out and take her? All the times she was right in front of you, on your couch, in your bedroom, or in this very shower, with the door unlocked.

“Could’ve had me whenever you liked,” she whispers, pushing herself closer, her pert little nipples pointed against your chest. “I’ve been so wet and desperate and ready for your cock this whole time. All you had to do was take it.”

You’ve got nothing but an uncommitted, “Couldn’t.”

To that she laughs, presses her lips into your jaw and her grip’s tightening. There’s pre-cum beading from your tip and leaking onto her palm, you both see it clearly before it gets washed away. “I know. That’s why I tried my best to be patient.”

You need a reality check, make sure she’s at all aware of the damage she’s been wreaking. “You? Patient?”

“Oh, you think this only started a few weeks ago?” Danielle taunts, and it’s with an air of ridicule. Incredulous that you could be so naïve. “You have no idea.”

But the honest truth is—you do. You’ve been aware of it—aware of her—from the start. Her sister had probably been aware of it even longer.

Probably why you chose to bury your head in the sand.

But there’s no avoiding it now. This girl—woman. This dream. A picture of youth and beauty; a masterpiece painted by time and genetics, with a touch of that special something that makes you want to frame her and hang her up on every wall in your apartment—make everyone see her the way you do.

And even then, strip that all away, and it's just those lips—the grin, the smile, the pout—and the intention behind each expression that is your true undoing.

It’s the smirk this time when she makes her point, “I’ve had the biggest crush on you since—” And that does it. That does you in. “Forever.”

“Yeah,” you tell her, falling straight into confession. “I think I have too.” 

Danielle’s pace picks up, the rhythm building until it’s starting to drive you crazy. Making you lean into her, pushing into the warmth of her small hands. She’s back to kissing into your throat, your ear lobe, any part of your skin she can get her lips to when she whispers, mockingly, “Is this the part where you tell me—I want to fuck you—again?”

That’s an unfair callback.

Danielle quirks an eyebrow. Daring you to do something about it.

You push off her. Slip out of her grasp. Hand trapping her wrists above her head before she can grab you again. You're the one grinning now.

"No. This is the part where I spread you wide open. Pin you against this wall. Make you scream my name.”

Her eyes dilate, pupils blown wide. She licks her lips, “Spank me?”

“And pull your hair.”

“Then go ahead and do it.”

But you pause. Wait. Hold her wrists above her head and stare into her eyes. Give her the chance to put the magic words together herself. Your grip tightens.

Danielle’s smile widens. “Please, Daddy—”

She’s so fucking small, light, practically weightless in your hands. Easy enough to take her hips and lift and spin her around before she can even register that she’s moving. She catches herself on the tile when you set her down, bracing herself against the wall; palms flush, fingers splayed out. Legs naturally split just slightly.

All this build-up and you can’t help but rush.

She turns to look back at you. Needs to see you, needs you to see her, all of her. Giving up on all ideas of teasing, of whatever game took you to this point. Just need. Just burning desperation.

“Need it,” is everything she’s wanted to say, everything she’s tried to tell you over and over again. Everything that makes her vanilla thighs tremble, her knees all wobbly, her cunt drip onto your shower floor.

Your cock twitches, and there’s first contact, sweeping against her folds. Heat sticking to the tip and fuck, yeah, this is not going to be one of those slow, tender moments. You press into her, align yourself between her thighs. One hand at her hip, the other joining her palm against the wall because judging by the way she’s shivering, she just might slip away completely without it.

“Need it now, Daddy,” Danielle whines, so fucking cute and honest, and when you drag your cock so it’s kissing against her entrance, it turns into a demand of, “Inside—please, fuck, put that big cock inside my—”

A push of your hips, and she’s so fucking soaking wet that you slide right in.

Her moan.

You think she’s trying for ‘Daddy’ again, but it’s all fucked up and muddled. Lost in the clench of her muscles, the tension across her body, the way her face screws up and holds and makes all the noises that come out strained and whiny.

So fucking nice.

“God—fuck—finally—”

Fitting so perfectly around you; folding her body into yours. It’s partly the angle—her back arching into yours, her hips urging backwards so nicely, ass squishing against your waist. Her pussy. Hotter than hot, wetter than wet. A fucking vice, a perfect grip that makes you feel like this is where your cock was always supposed to be.

Buried deep inside Danielle’s hot, tight, fucking glorious body.

It’s all just so easy, everything about her, so easy to fuck. Not that she’s not tight—the feel is so fucking divine it’s enough to make your eyes roll back in your head—but because she moves with you, like you’re two parts of one machine, two bodies meant to be joined at the hip; or at the cock and the cunt.

She’s made for you. Tailored to each line and curve and angle of your length.

It takes several strokes—euphoric, mind-breaking, soul-shattering strokes—before Danielle gets some bearings on herself. Panting through it all, making some effort to tear off the bathroom tiles with just her nails, but she’s got enough breath to whisper over her shoulder, “Feels so good. I knew—knew it would be like this.”

A small hand leaves the wall, reaches behind her. Fingers dig into your thigh because she needs something else to hold onto. Something real.

“Knew I’d be perfect for you.”

You want to laugh, chalk it up to her doing her usual cocky little thing. But she’s got you too deep inside her, you’ve sunk all the way in so quickly your lungs are still in recovery trying to catch your breath. Got you so far up her cunt that it’s difficult to manage anything that isn’t a moan. So you just nod. Thrust harder. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“God this is exactly how I thought it’d go,” she keeps going, slowly finding her voice again. Each word like a spell, a curse. “I thought about it—what you’d be like—how you’d fuck me—”

“Danielle,” you grunt out, surprising yourself with how easily it comes out. Then again, it's always been on the tip of your tongue.

“I used to think it’d be nice and sweet—gentle—” she says, shakily, “But this—rough—fucking me like you own me—like you can’t get enough—it’s so much better than I ever imagined. So much better—”

Her words cut off into a gasp when you kiss into her throat. Her hand snakes back up to your neck, pulling you closer, nails scraping along your skin, leaving little white lines. The sting is nice. A welcome distraction from the fire burning through your veins.

Your lips drift higher, and she twists her body to draw you into this clumsy, uncoordinated kiss. Sloppy in construction, she’s kissing at the corners of your mouth, your tongue is dragging up to her cheek at one point. But it’s all communicated in the clash of lips and teeth and the way she’s panting into you, moaning down your throat, “So good, you’re so fucking good, Daddy—”

And then just—

“More,” and she’s at your mercy, and she just loves it, is so fucking earnest for her need for you to just keep going. “Harder, please, I need—”

But you already know. She needs to be fucked, handled rough and just nailed like she’s wanted you to for weeks. Months. Maybe a year at this point. She’s done watching from the sidelines while you were too stupid to realise that she was what you needed all along. Done being the outsider, the third party, watching you go by unappreciated, watching you not get what you needed.

Your name bounces off the shower walls and back into your ears. Impossibly loud; the sound hardly sweet or loving, but it’s pure music. Everything you’ve ever wanted to hear.

It’s joined by the wet smacks of skin on skin. The slick of her cunt around you. Her breaths hitching and catching every time you bottom out and rut your cock so deep in her bowels that it takes a herculean amount of effort to pull it back out again.

Her ass just bounces back against you. The perfect handful—slapping into your thighs with every push. And then, the idea thought of in tandem, two minds as one—“Didn’t you say you were going to—”

A smack ripples across Danielle’s ludicrously tight cheeks.

“Fuck!” She cries out, eyes start to moisten, but she just pushes her ass back. Ready for more.

So you give her another.

A snap; your palm against her. Making the flesh pink up, making it jiggle just right.

Her eyes squeeze shut, mouth opens. Forces out these adorable little sounds, mewls, whimpers.

And then another, and another, and her pussy tightens around you with every hit. You can hear her breath catch in her throat; and fuck she clenches even tighter down on your cock. It’s so dangerous for her because the way she’s reacting, practically thanking you with her moans and sighs and lovely tightening of her cunt around you—it’s making you so greedy.

Greedy to mark her up, to really draw a work of fucking art on her skin. Leave your handprints on something beautiful.

“Again,” she begs, and her voice is absolutely shot. Just raspy, desperate, needy. “Harder, please, Daddy. I’ve never, no one’s ever—"

You smack her again.

And again.

And again.

Leaving her cheeks red and stinging. Leaving her trembling. Just a boneless mess of beautiful sighs and blissful pleasure. You can see it, in the bumps rising on her skin, the way her toes are curling in ecstasy, her cunt gushing down your own thighs. There’s no hiding it. Without a doubt, this is what she’s always deserved.

It’s a hard thrust, a harsh smack, each following one after another in rapid succession. Fucking her apart, fucking her in two. Fucking her into oblivion.

Each spank, each perfect spasm of her abs, her cunt, it’s all a quiet mercy. Pain pushing her closer and closer to pleasure, balancing on that precipice where her pussy is strangling the fuck out of your cock so perfectly.

There’s only one word for someone who’s loving this kind of treatment, someone who’s this fucking filthy and vulgar and dying for more.

“Slut,” you bite into her ear, and the gasp that rises from her throat confirms it. The second word, “Cocksleeve," nearly shatters her completely.

You could never imagine someone like her, someone that could live in the torture if only because it brings out so much joy.

You know it, she knows it, but you still let her know, “You’re going to cum for me.”

And she whimpers and bucks against you because she sees it for what it is. A promise. And it’s all because she’s so fucking responsive, so eager for it, so fucking reactive. A pinwheel in a tornado, spinning and spinning until it’s just a blur of colour and motion and all you can do is watch in amazement.

“I will,” she promises back, and fuck you’re not far behind. “I'll cum for you. All over your beautiful fucking cock.”

It keeps you going, makes your strokes erratic, wild, just harsh, punishing thrusts into the depths of her cunt. And she keeps taking it, walls gripping around your cock with unreal pressure, like she’s trying to keep you there forever. Like she’s afraid you’ll pull out and leave her unsated.

But she’s wrong.

You let her know with your next spank. The hardest one yet.

“Fuck you’re—” and it’s your name, and curses, and filth, and begging and just “yes, yes, yes” again and again. Screaming it into your ear, crying it into your neck; she’s baring the deepest, darkest part of her soul.

Locked in place, cumming.

Unable to move, because her back’s to your chest, and she’s up against a wall so all she can really do is tremble and shiver and shake until she’s completely dissolved.

And it’s somewhere in all this that you come to terms with the fact that it’s not enough. You’ve crossed the line and you don’t even dream of settling. You’re going to make her cum again. And again. And again.

She’s spent all this time offering herself up to you, crafting herself into this toy for your amusement, a fuckdoll for you to play with; as if you were only going to take this one taste and let her go.

But you do give her a break, if only for a moment.

You massage her ass; soothe the sting with your fingertips. A little tenderness amidst the storm.

“Good girl,” you catch yourself kissing into her, and the words are like a password to some hidden part of her, something that makes her nearly collapse onto the shower floor.

Her cunt pulses, once, twice, milking you. Her muscles start to give out, and you need to wrap your hand around her body to keep upright. Fingers at her tits, squeezing, twisting her nipples because you’ve always wanted to and you know she loves it. Because she needs the sensation to keep her on her feet.

“Mine,” you grit out, and there’s no disagreement from Danielle. No, her eyes are too glassy, glazed over and not even looking at you anymore. Just feeling you, feeling what you’re doing to her.

There’s tears in her eyes too; it’s not just the water raining down overhead. She’s sobbing well and truly, because you’ve fucked her so thoroughly that it’s all she can do. It’s all her pretty eyes can show you to tell you just how fucking good it feels for her. So perfect. So much more than she ever hoped for.

Letting you see every bit of her. Every tear that falls down her face, every quiver in her legs. Every time she chokes out your name.

“Mine,” you repeat, kissing it into her shoulder.

Her response is a nod. She’s caught her breath. “Always have been.”

She’s just so soft, even as she’s still quivering. Legs somehow still holding her upright, even when the architecture's been threatening to crumble and collapse this entire time.

So you start to move again. Slower, gentler, almost apologetic.

Danielle ends all ideas of that very quickly. “Hey,” she kisses your cheek. Aiming for your lips, but misses entirely. You don’t mind much.

“Dani,” you groan, because God, even when you’re trying to take it slow, a little easy, it’s still so fucking agonising. So dangerous. Like you’re the first to ever get his hands on her. You’ve discovered fire, now you just can’t keep your hands off it.

“Don’t you dare go taking it easy on me now. Not after you just made me cum my fucking brains out,” is what Danielle rasps, “Remember, I’m yours.”

She kisses you again, gets your mouth this time, tongue pushes in. Convinces you with the sweetness of it that it’s far from over. Not until you’ve done exactly as you’ve promised to her—fucked her so hard, so deep, until she couldn’t move, until she’d feel empty without your cock inside her.

“Your slut,” she slides down you, until it’s only the tip of your cock that remains nestled at her entrance, “your cocksleeve,” her hips snap back, a rush of air exits your lungs and fuck, you’re in deep again, “and you still haven’t pulled my hair yet.”

Yeah.

Grab a fistful of chestnut silk, yank back, and she’s yours. Back to speed, fucking her open and raw, having this effect on her.

Seeing it blossom from her thighs, up her abs, her ribs, her tits, around her throat until it’s bubbling out of lips and the corner of her eyes. This girl is yours. This petite, perfect, fuckable body is yours to do as you wish—to use, to pleasure, to ruin.

You tell her to take it—she takes it. You tell her to beg for it—and she cries and pleas and makes it seem like the only thing that could settle her soul is your cock.

And when you command her to scream your name, and it's just so fucking soul-destroying—the loveliest noise from the filthiest tongue, and everything that comes with it. The ‘just like this’, the barely coherent ‘your slut, Daddy, I’m your slut’, and these encouraging quivers from her lips that take the shape of ‘give your good little girl all of your hot fucking cum and—”

“Fuck, this pussy is incredible,” you breathe into her, and your grip is tightening into a fist, tugging her back even further until she’s leaning into it, her back arched so beautifully like some mathematical wonder.

Head tipped back, throat bared, and she’s trapped. Trapped underneath your weight, trapped in your hands, trapped against the wall with nowhere to go but further down your cock.

It only seems right. After all she’s put you through; the mind games, the seduction, the fucking audacity. You’ll give it right back. Fuck her as hard as she’s been fucking with you. Roughness as penance, finding forgiveness in the soaked and messy and now red and swollen recesses of her cunt.

Fingers drift higher, two past her plump lips, into her mouth. She bites down. You don’t even care anymore. Pulling harder on her hair, fixing her body to yours, and God, even like this, wrapping her up in your body, having her as close to you as possible, being as deep as you are in her. It’s not enough.

She chokes on your digits, collapsing. “Fuck. Too good. Fuck!”

Getting wetter and wetter, messier and messier, thank God you’re already in the shower.

Telling you these things with every whimper, with every twitch of her body, every squeeze of her cunt around your cock. Find out, is what you’re getting. Find out how good she is at being a slut. Where her limits are—how much she can take. Find out how quickly she can make you cum.

“You want this, don’t you?” Danielle reads your mind. Had your number since the beginning, figured you out before you knew. “You don’t need someone nice. Someone sweet, someone good for you. You need someone who’ll—fuck—push you to the edge and then—and then—fucking kick you off. Someone who’ll let you do the same to her.”

Yeah, you’re fucked. Never had someone lay it out so bluntly. So perfectly.

“Daddy wants to cum so bad,” Danielle’s being whiny, slutty, drooling down your fingers, because there’s nothing else she can do. Just taunt and tease and be fucked senselessly. Helpless to take it—harder, deeper—faster, faster, faster. “Daddy needs to fill his slut’s cunt, doesn’t he?”

“I will,” you growl into her ear, and the quivers around your cock are nothing short of rapturous.

It’s all coming to a head—the shower’s a steamy mess around you; water’s cold now, but Danielle’s getting even hotter around you. Can’t stop moving; don’t you dare give her a moment to catch her breath. Not when she’s this close. Not when you’re this fucking close.

Her nails dig into your arms, you’re leaving bruises on her hips. You know it. You can feel them. She’s thanking you for them.

And then a glimpse, the light hits the glass walls of the shower just right and you’re seeing it. Danielle, grace and elegance in a package so tight and wet and perfect and it's all going to hell. Your hand in her hair, the water running over your fingers, splashing onto her back, hitting the gorgeous, sweet pink of her well-spanked ass.

You’re just fucking her. Like it’s all you can do. Like it’s all she’s good for.

Eyes fastened shut. Mouth—beautiful, kissable lips frozen into an even circle, letting out these wails. Danielle’s perfect. So flawless it hurts to look at her. And you’re ruining it all. Dumping a bucket of paint on a priceless work of art, watching the colours run down the canvas.

“God, just—“ Danielle tries, but it takes several attempts until she can piece together the words she really wants you to hear, loud and clear: “Just fuck your cum deep into me. Daddy, I’ve earned it, haven’t I?”

You’re not sure what noise you make as a reply. It’s very likely not something nice.

“Please, please, Daddy,” Danielle’s pouting, and there’s the brat again. The girl that gets what she wants with just the jutting of her lower lip and a voice so sweet it’s undoubtedly terrible for your blood-sugar levels. Just pleading for you to let her bring all your filthiest fantasies to life—fuck her deeper, fill her with all the cum you have, spank her, pull her hair, choke her, even. Letting you know there’s no limit to what she’ll do just to have her cunt spilling out your cum. “It’s what I need right now. It’s my reward for being such a good girl. That’s what good girls get, right? Their Daddy’s cum?”

Christ, this is going to become a problem.

You can never go back.

Not to anything less than fucking to incoherence; to cumming as gratitude. To using someone so pretty, so God-damn lovely, the embodiment of everything wholesome and good in the world; with all the angelic hopes and dreams and aspirations, and reducing it to a simple dumpster for your cum.

To destroying someone with just your cock, and being thanked for the privilege.

“Fuck you, Dani,” you spit at her, and you mean it. “You’re too fucking perfect. Too good of a slut, too needy of a cocksleeve. I’ll give you everything. Fill you with it. Every tight, needy hole, paint every inch of your body. Fuck you against every single surface in this apartment. Fuck.”

“Good,” and it’s fucked up how she blushes, only seeing the praise, the compliments in your words. Yeah, she’ll be all those things, and then some. She’ll be every pornographic fantasy you can think of and then show you even more you could never imagine. She’ll make sure to drain you dry and then drill deep inside you to get out every last drop. “All of those things. Do all of those things. But now—just—cum!”

Your hips meet, you nearly fuck her off her feet.

She cums, or you do, or you both do, it all gets lost in this noise. A wave of sound that could wake the fucking dead—you’re not sure who jumps first, no point in trying to figure it out. Just a blur of sensation and release, crashing through your veins and you’re going to tear her in half, or she’s going to swallow you whole; it’s two and one and fuck.

You try to hold on—her hands around your neck and then your thigh, yours straight to her tits; more of her, you need more of her.

But your knees are buckling. Your breaths are haggard. You’re pushing her into the wall, her cheek is squished against the tile and she’s slurring things that get lost in the water like God, fuck, this is so perfect and if you were paying more attention you might catch it when she says it’s all I’ve ever wanted.

You do hear your name.

“Thank you, thank you, it’s so fucking good, just fucking thank you—”

She’s on her tiptoes when you feel the rush down her thighs, when her cunt makes its final effort around your cock, and it’s all coming out in whispers and prayers and unholy verbal contracts to never let this end.

Her body jerks, hips slamming back into you, and the wall's cold on her face, but it's the heat from your chest that’s all she needs to soothe her shivering; her chattering teeth repeating, "Fill me, fill me, fill me, Daddy!"

Fuck, you’ve lost count how many times now, but you’re spurting inside her. Unbearable pressure, blissful release. You can’t see the end of it, but you don’t want to escape—only sink into the feeling of her cunt around your cock, the gasps of her breath in your ear, the pleas and overtures for you to keep going. And you do, because this is now your heaven, and you’re feeling more religious by the second.

Shot after shot into her, feeling it fill her up, pool inside her pussy. She tells you it’s not enough, her cunt tries to milk every single drop out. You’re okay with that. You’ll give her everything you’ve got. Just to see her stumble out of this bathroom with your cum leaking out of her. Witness her waddling down the hall, globs of it dripping down her thighs. That’s the power play right there.

And somewhere in all this obscene debauchery, she says, “I love this,” and there’s a kiss that follows.

Suddenly tender; still sloppy, and yet—gentle. Softer than any of the bruises you’ve left on her skin.

Danielle’s still holding onto your neck, your fingers are glued to her tits, but for the first time you give her the space to breathe.

Her body relaxes, the fight leaves her legs and she’s just a ragdoll in your arms. And you hold her. Just hold her there, still inside her, cum leaking out of her and running down her thighs, mixing with the shower water and going down the drain.

And you’re unwilling to let her go, you might never, because maybe if you pull out, she’ll vanish. Maybe you’re dreaming. Maybe it’s all some sick, twisted, fucked up fantasy spurred by every thought she’s filled your head with over the past month.

But when you blink your eyes, she’s still there. Real and present and just as fucked up as you are. And she’s smiling.

You lean into her, catching your breath. Danielle’s panting too, happy to let you carry her weight, and so content. Back to being so smug. Another round of fucking might fix that.

“Told you we’d be perfect together.”

“You told me a lot of things.”

Danielle's lips meet the back of your hand. Your wrist, up your forearm. Says, “I also told you that I’d have you screaming my name so loud you wouldn’t be able to speak.”

"I said that."

"And yet here I am, voice still intact."

You roll your eyes, take a slow, careful step back. Your cock slips out, accompanied by a groan and a splash of cum hitting the floor between your feet. Danielle’s laughing, still shivering in your arms, body still quaking with aftershocks. You kiss her back, her neck, her shoulder, her ear.

Anything to keep her here.

Finally, the taps are turned off, and Danielle shifts in your arms. Cheeks flushed, eyes half-open, but undoubtedly—satisfied.

You manage a weak chuckle. “What now?”

Danielle takes you by the chin, plants a kiss on your lips and yeah, this feels right, this feels like providence, and this is going to last until the universe says otherwise, and even then. “Now?” She says, and another kiss, on your chin, on your cheek, down your chest and lower and lower and, “Now, I go back to your room, and you come with me, and we do this all over until we pass out.”

—

Again, there’s the kiss.

Only you’re both on your bed, and it’s peppered down the underside of your cock. Then her tongue's dragging along your shaft, staining it in her glossy saliva. Slow and languid. More occupied with enjoying her new favourite toy than your pleasure. It’s the simple things, you guess.

And as she’s doing it, she’s talking. Planning out the rest of your day, your lives, you realise, and you’re just nodding along like you’re listening, but all you’re hearing is the wet smack of her lips around your cock, her tongue lolling and swiping around the head.

You look down at her, and she’s smiling, so goddamn happy, your heart fucking splits in half.

She’s curled up against your thigh, and she kisses into your cock, "God, I could never get tired of this."

"Really?"

Danielle pulls away, a sad pout on her lips, and you realise you may have offended her. Repeats, with emphasis, "Your slut."

And it's funny how easily that assuages you. You probably should be worried. Maybe deal with the very likely outcome that this will not end well—reality tends to have complications that the simplicity of just lying in bed with an impossibly beautiful woman cannot anticipate.

Yet, it's okay to just believe for a second that things will be alright. It's okay to lean back into the pillows and let her have her way. Let her suck you until you're seeing stars, and then climb on top of you again and fuck you until you've forgotten how to function and you can't even see past your nose, let alone whatever comes the morning after.

"Of course, I'll remember that."

"And here I am doing my best to make you never forget, Daddy."

Only, one final, stupid, silly little question—"I never asked, how did you know the code to my apartment?"

Danielle laughs, letting your cock pop out from her lips, stifling her giggles against your thigh. "My sister's birthday. Got it first try."

"Ah," you answer, and then, "Fuck. Probably should get that changed."

"Definitely should get it changed," she answers, then tacking on, "Especially if I'm going to be spending more time here."

"Even more than you already are?"

Danielle just grabs her hair in her fist, loops it around and tightens it into a makeshift ponytail. Lifts her chin and looks up at you. Defiant. "Where else would I go?"

And for now, it'll have to be enough, because really, all you can think of, as she sinks her lips back down onto your cock, takes you deep into her throat, and her eyes start to water and you're already throbbing and ready to release, is that she's claimed total victory over you, and for that alone you'll let her have it all.

To the winner, goes the spoils.

Everything she wants, everything she needs.

With a gasp, Danielle lifts her head up; pre-cum, saliva, drool falling off her lips and grins so fucking adorably that you're already thinking of rushing towards words that she’ll never let you take back.

She reads it on your face, sees it take shape on your lips and stops you. Her hand reaches up to cover your mouth, her eyes wide and gleaming.

“At least let a girl earn it first.”

And so you let it rest, because right now you’re exactly where you should be—in your bed, nearly reduced to a puddle of basic needs, with Danielle in your sweatshirt with all her otherworldly beauty and loveliness straddled right on top of you.

Her mouth full of you, your heart full of her.

“Then don’t ever stop,” you tell her, knowing full well that she never had any dreams of slowing down. Your thumb pads her cheek. She leans into your touch. “Keep going, just like this.”

[greeniegaes]

Screaming crying sobbing

Over a courtesan Shen Yuan.

Maybe he knew YQY and SJ when they were kids, maybe not. Either way SY ends up working at the warm red pavilion and ends up interacting with SJ

First it’s just small things, delivering tea for his jiejies, putting instruments back when they are done, dropping off various things.

Then he starts actually talking to SJ and SJ surprisingly doesn’t hate him just for being a guy (I’ve been thinking trans yuan here but also like cos yuan works, I this trans is funnier cause SJ is like ‘damn you CHOSE to be a man? L move bro’)

They start getting along more and more, working together on music SJ has to turn in for his peak, actually chatting comfortably, stuff like that. SJ realizes SY is an absolute monster freak and always tells him about the stuff he’s seen, long chats lounging on the same bed into the night.

Until one day YQY and LQG burst in.

SJ is instantly in protect mode, hissing and spitting at his sect siblings as SY groggily wakes up, watching them bicker. Eventually LQG says something along the lines of ‘well if you weren’t messing around we’d already be tracking down such and such beast’ to which SY perks up out of bed, quickly throwing on his clothes before anyone can so much as blink and is just

“Well let’s get going then.”

SJ quickly tries to stop the man, annoyed that his di would even entertain the thought of talking with LQG. SY though, does not give a fuck, throwing SJ a zither to use for musical cultivation, telling the jiejies bye and making them go out on their little adventure.

LQG and YQY are so confused, looking at this freaky little twink drooling over various things about monsters all the while SJ is giving them death glares and huffing.

YQY is extremely jealous watching SJ and this dude too, like bro! That’s his emotionally unavailable Shen! Get your own! He’s upset at how easily they get along, how SJ doesn’t care if his hand is pulled along or if SY tugs on him to whisper something. Anytime YQY had ever attempted such a thing SJ would pull or flinch away, making him stop

LQG meanwhile is just… confused. On one hand his moral code states that any courtesan isn’t a good person to be around. On the other hand this cute guy is getting excited over monster guts in a way he’s never seen before and it’s quiet fascinating to hear him do enough talking for the rest of the group.

I feel like eventually LQG and SJ are totally in love with SY and YQY is in love with SJ so they end up awkwardly paired together, all vying for another’s attention and stuff.

(If SY ever met airplane here he’d be so pissed by the way, chasing him around like a rhino and yelling about how he had to deal away with his pride (SY made the choice of going to the brothel, he doesn’t even do sex work though.) and the others just watch him like ‘wow, look at him acting so feral, kinda hot tbh)

[okaylikeschaewon]

Future

~6.5k words, KAMPFyre Part 3, smut

“Where’s your phone?”

Responding was barely a possibility for you as you gasped for air, your chest heaving up and down as you lay on the couch. Without saying anything, you motioned generally towards your pants which were haphazardly thrown across the room in a mess on the floor.

“Code?”

“That’s… a secret…” you huffed, slowly regaining your breath.

Karina walked across the room and held your phone up to your face.

“Hey, that’s cheating,” you whined while making no effort to stop her.

She ignored you and started typing into your phone.

“You don’t have a girlfriend do you?” she asked, pausing and looking up from the screen.

“I feel like that’s something you should have asked earlier,” you laughed as you slipped your shirt back on.

“Do you?” Karina snapped at you. “I’ll delete my number right now if you do.”

“No, really, I don’t,” you chuckled, reaching for your underwear.

Karina held your phone up for a second as you were about to put on your underwear before she started typing into it.

“Did you just take a picture of my dick with my phone?”

“Yeah, I needed to send myself a message,” Karina replied nonchalantly before holding your phone out to you. “Don’t worry, as long as you didn’t lie about the girlfriend thing, no one else will see it.”

“You didn’t actually send it, did you?” you pressed as you slipped your underwear on.

“Of course I did.”

“Delete it.”

“No,” Karina laughed in your face. “Here, since you’re being such a baby about it,” she added after seeing your expression. The girl held your phone up and posed for a selfie. “There you go, the picture you got is worth way more, trust me.”

“What am I supposed to do with your number?” you asked, catching your phone as Karina tossed it to you.

“Oh my God,” Karina paused, shirt in hand, staring at you with mouth agape. “Did I just fuck an idiot?”

“Ha ha very funny,” you rolled your eyes and gestured towards your pants. “You know what I mean.”

“Well,” Karina replied while picking up your pants and handing them to you. “Depending on how tonight goes, maybe I’ll reply when you text me.”

“Tonight?” you inquired, a bit too excitedly.

“Awh, look at you,” Karina teased, staring at your crotch, not missing any opportunity to give you shit. “You’ll have to wait until we’re back at the hotel, unfortunately I’m in a bit of a rush and don’t have time for another round.”

After you slipped your pants on, you patiently watched Karina dress herself. She checked herself with her phone’s camera, clearly unhappy with the state of her hair. Despite her frustration, she settled with pulling her hood up before walking over to where you were sitting. Without any warning, she straddled your lap and stretched the neck of your shirt over your shoulder.

“What the fuck!” you shouted, almost instinctively throwing her off you as she bit into your skin.

“Something to remember me by,” Karina giggled as she stood up. “We’ll continue this at the hotel,” she instructed you while walking towards the door.

Naturally, you began following her when she stopped and turned around.

“You can’t come with me you idiot,” Karina said, looking at you in disbelief. “I swear you’re as dumb as Winter.”

“Why not?”

“Obviously because if anyone sees us they’ll start dating rumors,” Karina tutted. “Especially if they see that mark I left you.”

“How am I supposed to know how this shit works?” you countered. “I’ve never had to deal with dating scandal bullshit.”

“And to keep it that way, you’re going to arrive separately,” Karina instructed in a sarcastic over-the-top sweet voice. “Neither of us wants to deal with that, trust me.”

As soon as Karina closed the door behind her, you pulled out your phone and were about to delete the text she sent. Your plan changed, however, when you opened your phone and were greeted with the selfie she took; It definitely came as a surprise to see the selfie included much more than her face.

—

“You didn’t tell me you were sharing a room,” you whispered as soon as you heard the sound of the shower running.

“Oh fucking relax, you’re very familiar with her already,” Karina entered the hallway and closed the door behind her. “After I’m done with you, maybe you can convince her that your magic nut will make her skin glow or something.”

“It’s Winter? Wait then why are we leaving?” you joked as you followed Karina down the hallway.

“Ex’ fucking ‘scuse me?” she stopped and turned on her heels, glaring at you. “Go.”

She glowered at you, arms crossed, daring you to push the joke further. Part of you considered it, but you decided against risking it. Not an easy choice, not when Karina looked so fucking sexy when she was mad - a great combination when paired with her very short temper.

“That’s what I thought,” she turned back around and continued walking.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” you said while catching up with her. “I don’t have the keycard.”

Without missing a beat, she reached into her pocket and pulled it out, tossing it on the floor as she kept walking. She definitely let out a smug chuckle after she heard you pick it up and keep following her; The rest of the walk was silent until the two of you arrived at your destination - the rooftop.

“Wow,” you muttered as soon as the doors opened. “This is gorgeous.”

In front of you was the most luxurious and magnificent rooftop pool to have ever blessed your eyes. The dark blue water was dimly lit from underneath. Around the pool were a number of lounge chairs, also dimly lit by lamps. The whole scene was overlooking the city below, creating the most surreal atmosphere.

“I assume you can swim?” Karina asked, looking over her shoulder as she stepped out of her pants. “Hello?”

While the rooftop and everything was beautiful, you were at an absolute loss for words as your eyes fixated on Karina. Your brain didn’t even register that she had just asked you a question, all you could do was stare at her perfectly shaped ass in the dim light. Karina giggled, shaking her head before slipping off her shirt and bra, tossing them to the side, giving you a view of her toned back. She took just two steps before jumping into the pool, disappearing under the water.

“Aren’t you worried about getting caught?” you asked as you walked up to the side of the pool. “Anyone could come up here.”

“That’s the point,” Karina replied, pushing her hair out of her face. “I woulda brought you into my room otherwise, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Oh I’m sure there would be a lot of fun in that,” you began stripping down. “Maybe when we’re done here we can confirm?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Karina scoffed. “Who says I’d want you in my room after?”

“Who says?” you repeated her words before pretending to hold up a phone. “What’s taking so long, I don’t want to be able to walk tomorrow, hurry up.”

“Oh shut up,” Karina laughed, splashing water at you before swimming to the middle of the pool. “Coming in or what?”

Of course you were, that wasn’t an offer to refuse. You quickly stripped down as well after taking a quick look around to make sure the roof was still empty before jumping into the pool - luckily it was heated, a marvelous blessing. You swam over to where Karina was playfully spinning around in the water.

“Are you always this wild?”

“That’s for you to find out,” she teased, moving her body closer to yours and turning around so that her back was facing you. “Don’t be shy now.”

Exactly the words you wanted to hear from this completely drop-dead gorgeous nude girl. You wrapped your arms around her body, under her arms, and grabbed two full handfuls of Karina’s beautiful tits. She leaned back against you, her ass pressing against your cock while you squished and squeezed her soft chest.

“You’re by far the hottest girl I’ve ever touched,” you whispered into her ear.

“Yeah? Tell me more,” she replied, pushing her ass back onto you.

“You also have the best tits I’ve ever held,” you breathed into her neck before kissing it.

“Careful,” Karina spun around so that she was facing you. “Can’t have you leaving any marks on me.”

“Like the one you gave me?”

She smirked as she placed her hands on your shoulders, gently rubbing where she bit you earlier.

“Does it hurt?” she teased, pressing down on the wound.

“Yeah it fucking hurts,” you answered while your hands grabbed her ass under the water and squeezed hard.

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” she smirked playfully. “Didn’t I make it worth it?”

“You’re still making it worth it,” you answered, giving her ass another rough squeeze.

“How about you stop treating me like a sex doll and tell me a bit about yourself,” Karina suggested, gently floating away from you.

“It’s tough when you look so much like one,” you teased back before moving your hands up from her ass, resting them on her hips instead. “Alright, what do you wanna know?”

“Anything,” she replied, her arms dangling on your shoulders now as she walked around the pool with you. “Other than your magical vocal cum, I really don’t know anything about you.”

“Well, I graduated last year, since then I’ve kinda just been trying to find a place for myself.”

“And you feel that place is working events?” Karina inquired.

“Nah, that was a part-time thing,” you replied. “Partially for the money, partially because I was bored.”

“How come you didn’t go into whatever you studied in college?” Karina continued. “Don’t tell me you have some useless arts degree or something.”

“For a singer, I figured you’d respect the arts a bit more.”

“Fair point,” Karina chuckled. “What was your major anyway?”

“Some bullshit in a field I’d never want to work in.”

Karina cocked an eyebrow at you.

“Not that I’m judging you for it, but then why…”

“Because I was lost coming out of highschool, didn’t know what I wanted to do.”

“I get that,” she said sympathetically. “It’s not an easy decision to make, especially at that age.”

“You say that, but didn’t you make your decision when you were way younger? It’s something I read when I was looking you guys up.”

“True, doesn’t mean it’s easy,” Karina continued. “Everyone goes through their own journey, I wouldn’t ever discredit that.”

“That’s quite the mature stance.”

“What, you don’t take me as mature?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“I can’t tell if it’s the fact that we’re both naked,” you paused to look at her body. “But I feel some tension.”

“We’ll relieve all of that tension soon enough,” Karina smiled. “Tell me more about yourself, first. Relationships?”

“I told you I didn’t have a girlfriend,” you rolled your eyes.

“Stop being silly,” Karina giggled, flicking a few droplets of water onto your face. “Have you had any?”

“I ended my last one after my senior year,” you answered.

“Bad terms?”

“Not necessarily,” you replied. “She moved away, I wasn’t interested in long distance.”

“You weren’t interested in long distance or long distance with her?”

“I haven’t really thought about that before,” you pondered her question, it was an interesting one now that you had it in your mind. “Honestly, I want to say in general.”

Even in the dim light you noticed Karina’s face dropped just a tiny bit at that comment.

“But I’m not sure,” you continued. “I just haven’t done it before, so maybe with the right person?”

“It’s not easy, though,” Karina commented. “It usually doesn’t work out.”

“Maybe not, but I think for the right person it wouldn’t matter how difficult it is.”

“That’s a nice way to look at it,” Karina smiled at you.

“Who would have thought I’d be having a meaningful conversation in a setting like this tonight,” you chuckled. “You’re really just full of surprises.”

“Sometimes being vulnerable leads to good conversation,” Karina giggled. “So, what’s your next adventure?”

“I wish I knew myself,” you answered honestly. “I guess I’ll just see where life takes me.”

“Regardless of where you end up, I’m glad you decided to work the event tonight,” Karina again smiled warmly at you. “Somehow some way it led to where we are now.”

“Where we are now? You mean me having a bite mark on my shoulder?”

“Poor baby,” she mocked before pushing against your chest and swimming to the edge of the pool. She began climbing out, pausing with her ass facing you to look over her shoulder. “Come on, get your revenge then, I’m waiting.”

By the time you swam over, she had climbed out of the pool, standing there watching you as the night sky illuminated her bare body, hands on her hips. You climbed out of the pool and turned her around before slapping your palm against her ass, sending droplets of water flying in every direction.

“Oh yeah,” she cooed into the night sky. “Fucking punish me.”

“You done with your interview?”

“I guess so,” she responded. “Now let’s get to why you’re really here.”

The tonal shift of the night was music to your ears. She wanted it now, and that’s exactly what she’d get. You pushed her forward until she made contact with the railing at the edge of the roof, then you pushed some more until she was completely bent over.

It was the most beautiful sight. You dropped down to your knees and spread Karina’s ass cheeks apart before shoving your face into them. Your tongue made contact with her pussy, giving it a couple of deep licks before you slapped her ass and stood back up, grabbing your cock. Eating her out from behind was so tempting, but you knew you had to get on with it already.

“Come on, hurry up,” she gasped as soon as your cock rubbed against the entrance of her pussy, confirming what you already predicted. “Don’t make me bite you again.”

“You’re insatiable,” you moaned as your cock finally invaded her pussy.

“Fuck. Me.”

There was no easing into it, no point in taking it slow. Karina wanted your dick and she wanted it now. Really, it was your responsibility to deliver. You began thrusting into her pussy, spraying more water around as your skin slapped against her skin. Under your palms, her hips began shaking with each shove of your cock.

“Oh fuck yeah there we go,” she moaned. “Fuck me like your little whore.”

No matter how hard you slammed into Karina’s cheeks, the girl wanted more. It was absolutely overwhelming, this complete fuck-doll of a girl was absolutely breathtaking the way she took your dick. This girl left you esurient over her, forcing your body to try desperately to give her what she wanted - which was also exactly what you wanted.

“Harder,” she begged in desperation. “Fuck me harder.”

In an attempt to give the wanton girl what she wanted, you placed your hands on her shoulders, giving you better leverage. You started thrusting your hips even harder into her backside, each slap of skin on skin echoing into the night. Anyone with their window open would hear the wet smacking of your thighs into Karina’s ass.

Her pussy was gripping your cock hard, nearly cutting off circulation. She was incredibly tight, yet so easily fuckable. Not only did she manage to squeeze your cock hard with her pussy, she also gave you almost no resistance. Perhaps it felt this way because you were thrusting with all your strength - it didn’t fucking matter.

What mattered was Karina’s moans, her pussy around your cock, the warmth and wetness of her body combining with yours. Her pleasure became your pleasure. All the sexual tension between the two of you led up to this moment. Fucking her hard on this roof couldn’t be compared to anything else.

This was so much better than the post-show quickie from earlier. This time you had as long as you wanted. You could probably fuck Karina all night - she’d like that. Your body was the only thing holding you back, but even as you continuously plowed Karina’s soft body, you somehow found the strength to keep going as if stamina did not exist.

Your fingers squeezed her shoulders hard in an attempt to hold her steady. You couldn’t see them clearly, but even from behind you could see her massive tits flinging back and forth with each thrust. Her body was fucking perfect. Part of you wanted to reach around her and grab them again, but you weren’t capable of changing a thing right now. All you could do was keep the rhythmic thrusting of your hips going.

“I’m going to fucking cum!” she cried out, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the railing.

She deserved no reprieve, not that she wanted any. You knew exactly what she wanted, and you were going to keep giving it to her. In and out your cock went, destroying her pussy, pushing as deep as physically possible. Her body was starting to go limp, her legs starting to bed as she began depending on the railing to keep her upright.

Just as she was about to collapse, you let go of her shoulders and wrapped your arms around her body, holding her up for the final barrage of fucking. You drove as hard and fast as you could for what felt like minutes (but was probably just a few seconds) until a slurry of cuss words spilled out of Karina’s mouth in all of its orgasmic beauty.

Karina was practically sobbing as her body convulsed into a pile on the ground in front of you. She slipped one hand between her legs and began touching herself, her legs still squirming as her back arched towards the clouds above. With her free hand, she tried reaching up for your cock, missing entirely until you grabbed her wrist and guided her to your shaft.

“Fucking cum on me,” she panted, eyes still closed as she started jerking you off. “Wherever you want.”

Your cock was already itching to explode, and her repetitive ‘cum for me’ requests as she stroked your length had brought you as close to your own climax as possible. The possibilities quickly flashed before your eyes: cover her face, down her throat, on her tits, and anywhere else on that beautiful body of hers.

Ultimately, you didn’t even bother choosing, you simply enjoyed the sensation as Karina jerked you off. She opened her mouth, her eyes still closed at this point, and tried to feebly aim your cock towards it, but it was futile. As your cock began erupting, the initial massive spurts landed directly on her chest.

With any remaining consciousness you had left, you grabbed your cock and pushed it against Karina’s mouth until it entered her lips. She started sucking at your tip, letting the rest of your seed fill her mouth. The hand she had around your cock was now rubbing your cum all over her tits, leaving a glossy shine on her beautiful breasts. Her other hand was still working between her legs.

Once your cock had finally emptied itself, Karina opened up her eyes and looked straight up at you. With your tip still in her mouth, she began licking circles around it, coaxing out every last drop of cum until she was satisfied you were empty. Before letting go of your cock, she had already swallowed.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you moaned, sliding down against the railing to sit next to her.

“I’m also covered in your cum,” she commented nonchalantly before turning to you. “Oh sorry, I thought we were sharing obvious truths.”

Both of you started giggling.

“Where the fuck have you been all my life,” you sighed, staring up at the sky.

“What matters is that I’m here now,” Karina replied, turning her head towards you.

“You’re right, there’s no point in us wasting any time,” you responded, reaching your hand over and sliding it between her legs.

“Now who’s insatiable,” she teased, spreading her legs to give you easier access while she reached her own hand towards your lap, grabbing your semi-erect cock. “Ooh, still sensitive are we?”

“Give me a moment,” you moaned as electric shocks shot up your spine at Karina’s touch.

“No,” she giggled as she continued to stroke your cock, making you squirm in her hand.

It was too much for your body. You grabbed her wrist and forced her away, and before she could protest you had already pushed her onto her back so that she was lying beneath you. With one hand on each of her tits, you slid your face down her body until you were right in front of her pussy.

Karina placed her hands on top of yours, squeezing your hands into her tits as soon as your lips touched her pussy. Her breaths started getting heavier as your tongue probed at her clit. By the time you pressed your mouth against her pussy, she was panting. You went from licking all around her pussy to shoving your tongue inside her, tasting her from inside. She let go of your hands and grabbed your hair, pressing your face deeper into her delicious pussy.

Your own hands slowly slid down her body, smearing the cum on her tits all over her. You moved your face back and shoved two fingers into her pussy, watching her writhe in pleasure for a moment before planting your lips on her clit, stimulating as much of her body as you could.

“Oh fuck- please- fuck-” Karina gasped, incapable of forming any coherent sentences. “I’m- fuck-”

With your free hand, you grabbed your cock and gave it a couple of strokes. It was rock hard and ready to go, but you waited until Karina’s body stopped squirming so violently - depriving her of this pleasure would be an unforgivable crime.

“You’re making me fucking cum,” Karina cried out, almost pulling the hair off your scalp. “I’m…”

She calmed down suddenly, the energy draining out of her. The only movements left were the deep breaths she took and the little jolts every time your fingers moved inside her. Slowly, you withdrew both fingers and sensually ran them up her body towards her mouth. She opened her lips just wide enough for you to put your fingers into her mouth, sucking on them with any remaining energy she had left.

After giving her a few moments to compose herself, you got up onto your knees and positioned yourself between Karina’s legs. Your cock was throbbing at this point, begging you to enter her pussy again. You gripped the base and slowly rubbed it up and down Karina’s pussy until she opened her eyes and stared at you. Just as you were about to push into her, she shook her head.

“Stop,” she mumbled before sitting up in front of you.

Karina pushed you back with her hand until you were sitting with your back against the railing. The sheer sexiness she was emitting as she crawled forward towards you, her massive tits hanging down in front of her as she bent over you, had your cock ready to erupt already - and she hadn’t even touched it yet.

She held her mouth over your shaft, eyes looking down, parting her lips enough to let a glob of spit fall down onto your tip. Then, in one single motion, she brought her mouth down to your cock and slowly lowered it until she had engulfed your entire shaft, spreading her saliva evenly across your cock.

“Oh my fucking God,” you gasped as her tongue gently toyed with your tip. “Karina…”

Slowly, she brought her lips back up and sat up straight in front of you. She stared directly into your eyes with the most lascivious gaze you have ever seen in your life as her hand grabbed your cock, giving it a single stroke before she straddled your body. She already had your cock trembling and she knew it.

With one hand guiding your cock, she slowly lowered herself onto you. Your body entered her seamlessly, reuniting with that divine feeling of Karina’s pussy. She lowered herself all the way, letting go of your cock and putting both of her hands on your shoulders. She went up and down a couple more times, painfully slowly.

Each time she moved her body, you were scared she’d send you right over the edge. You didn’t want this to end - not yet. In an attempt to draw it out as long as possible, you sat still, closing your eyes tight. Steadily, she began speeding up just a bit. As you got closer and closer, she moved quicker and quicker.

“I’m really fucking close,” you moaned. “You’re going to make me cum.”

“Let it happen,” she whispered before grabbing the back of your head and pressing it into her chest. “Cum in me.”

That was too much for you. As soon as you heard her words and felt her soft tits engulf your face, you knew it was over. You were seconds away from exploding, nothing could stop you now. Knowing this, you reached your arms around her body and grabbed her ass with each hand.

With Karina’s tits still pressed against your face, you started thrusting your hips upwards. Each thrust pressed her tits harder against your skin. It only lasted probably ten seconds before you began unloading. You had no more energy to do anything but hold onto Karina’s body, you held steady as your cock launched cum deep into her pussy.

Each spurt of cum felt like a bullet with the force it launched out with. There was a lot, more than you thought possible considering all the previous events of the night; Your cock felt like it was never going to stop. Burst after burst of your seed painted Karina’s insides, overflowing as some of the warm mess slid down your shaft as well. Eventually, your cock did manage to calm down.

“Holy fucking shit,” you moaned, letting go of Karina’s body slowly.

She leaned back, smiling proudly at you before slowly lifting herself up. A gush of your cum spilled out of her pussy immediately, landing all over your crotch.

“How was that?” she slurred before bending over and licking at your tip gently.

It almost made you want to cry with how sensitive your cock was right now, but at least Karina was being gentle for once.

“Fucking perfect,” you moaned.

Karina played with the mess of cum, using her pinky finger to scoop some into her mouth before she went back to playfully licking at your tip.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” she suggested after giving you a few moments to gather your strength. She stood up and held her hands out for you.

The two of you rinsed off using the outdoor showers by the pool before grabbing towels.

“It’s getting kinda chilly up here” you said hesitantly, hoping the night would last forever.

“Down to come to the room for a bit?” Karina asked, equally hesitantly. “I know it’s late-”

“Yes absolutely.”

Her bright smile could have put the moon to shame.

—

“Winter is probably asleep by now, so just come out to the balcony,” Karina whispered as she carefully closed the door behind you.

Sure enough, Winter was asleep on the bed. The shocker, however, was the fact that half of her body wasn’t covered by the sheets. In fact, it wasn’t covered by anything, apparently Winter liked sleeping nude. The two of you carefully stepped out onto the balcony, closing the door behind you.

“What a night,” Karina sighed, leaning against the railing.

“I know right,” you agreed, taking in the beautiful view before you. “Wherever we end up now, I’ll never forget this night,” you muttered, staring into the night sky.

Karina took a step closer to you and leaned her head against your shoulder.

“I still don’t quite understand how things happened like this, but I’m glad they did,” she whispered softly.

It was oddly intimate - not something you expected from an arrangement born out of pure lust, but it felt nice. You stood there silently, simply enjoying Karina’s company, almost forgetting about the more carnal activities of the night. Seeing Karina’s sentimental side really put into perspective how unorthodox everything was.

Not that it mattered, this would probably be the last time you’d ever talk to the girl let alone see her again. To think, this girl who you didn’t know existed this morning, was now making your chest thump as if you were about to lose a significant part of your life. It was just one night, but why did it feel like so much more? It’s not like this was your first one night stand with a girl.

“This sucks,” Karina mumbled quietly.

“Well shit, my bad, I’ll leave.”

“Oh shush,” Karina lifted her head off your shoulder and turned to face you, leaning on the railing with you.

The amount of pure melancholy in her eyes was not something you were prepared to see. Carefully, you used your thumbs to wipe under her eyes before any tears fell.

“A girl my age…” Karina explained. “I just… I love sex, but it fucking sucks not being able to do this back home.”

“I hope I’m not overstepping with this, but why exactly can’t you?” you probed gently. “I only mean that a girl as beautiful as you… it shouldn’t be very difficult?”

“Ever since I became an idol, I’ve essentially been banned from anything related to guys,” she sighed, her breath filled to the brim with sorrow. “I love it of course, don’t get me wrong, I just miss this one part of my life from before.”

“Again, risk of overstepping, but why-”

“Why’d I do all this with you?” Karina finished your sentence. “I don’t know, maybe it was just seeing your cock out when I walked in the room earlier, maybe it was because Winter mentioned that you had no idea who we were, or maybe I’m tired of not getting any action.”

“I… don’t really know what to say.”

“I guess I just trust you, can’t really explain it,” she continued softly. “Probably why I took that picture on your phone.”

“Yeah I was gonna ask about that actually.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Karina laughed. “Even if you did post it somewhere, everyone would just think it’s fake.”

“I’m not going to post it.”

There was a moment’s pause between the two of you before Karina spoke up again.

“Come back with us.”

“What?” you couldn’t believe your ears. “What do you mean?”

“Quit your job and come to Korea with us.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” you chuckled. “As much as I wish I could just get up and move to Korea, I don’t know if I can.”

“How about you at least stay with us for the next week while we’re in the US?” Karina pleaded. “What’ll it take to make you quit your job?”

“Holy shit you’re being serious right now,” you responded. “I mean, working the event was a part-time job, this was my last night…”

“Great, so how about for just the next week you stay, and we’ll figure the rest out later.”

“Karina-”

“We’ll cover the costs, food, transport, whatever you need,” she continued. “Please?”

Before answering, you took a second to think about what to say.

“Are you sure this is what you actually want?” you asked cautiously. “We obviously just had a lot of fun tonight, but I don’t want that to influence you into doing something you’d regret.”

“Fuck’s sake, stop overthinking it,” Karina rolled her eyes at you. “Spend the next week sleeping with me, and if I get bored I’ll just kick you out.”

“When you put it like that, what’s there really to lose?” you laughed as her aggressive nature returned. “Alright, for one week your sweet ass belongs to me.”

“Belongs to you?” Karina’s head launched back as she burst out laughing. “That’s so cute coming from a glorified dildo.”

“Glorified dildo? I’ll take it.”

The two of you laughed together, simply enjoying each other’s company. The way her eyes, lit up by the scarce moonlight, shined through her squint. Those adorable upside down crescents were making your heartbeat just a little bit quicker. As the laughs subsided, she stared at you tenderly with a smile on her lips.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked suddenly.

After everything the two of you did tonight, one would assume this was an irrelevant question, but it was potentially the most attractive thing she did all night. You didn’t even answer her with words; Without a second thought, you stepped right in front of her and grabbed her face with both hands before tilting your head sideways and pushing your lips to hers.

She kissed you back, her arms wrapping around your back, pushing you closer to her. Her lips, so plump and full, felt absolutely perfect. The kiss felt perfect. She felt perfect. The sun could have come up for all you cared, nothing would make you want to end this moment - that was until you heard the door open behind you.

“I heard laughing,” a groggy voice came through the curtains.

Karina immediately stepped back from you as both of you turned to see Winter step onto the balcony, rubbing her eyes with her hands.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you,” Karina pulled her into a hug, patting her back. “Let’s go inside, you’re not dressed to be on the balcony.”

It was very true, the girl who would sleep nude only bothered putting on a shirt before coming out to the balcony. You followed the two of them into the room where Winter slipped back into her bed and Karina sat next to her.

“So is someone going to explain what’s going on?” Winter asked, still in her groggy state.

“We were just chatting,” Karina started.

“About what?” Winter pressed before turning to look at you. “Oh also, hello! It’s nice to see you again.”

“Hey, likewise!” you responded warmly, waiting for Karina to take the lead.

“I was thinking,” Karina continued. “If you really felt like your arrangement with him worked, why don’t we keep him around until we have to go back home?”

“Do you really believe me now?” Winter asked Karina excitedly.

“I… do…” Karina faked a smile back.

Winter jumped up and pulled Karina into a hug, letting the bed sheets fall off her, revealing her bare ass to you.

“Thank you thank you thank you for this!” Winter cheered, any sleepiness from a moment ago completely absent. “This is an amazing idea!” Winter let go of Karina and turned around to face you, sitting on her knees on the bed. “And thank you for doing this for us!”

“Us?” Karina interjected.

“Yeah, you’re also going to keep swallowing loads, right?” Winter asked innocently.

“Of course she is,” you answered before she could say anything. “In fact, Karina was telling me something about it making your skin glow.”

“Really?” Winter gasped, covering her mouth. “I’d love to try that.”

She really made it too easy.

“How about tomorrow?” you suggested. “That way the two of you can rest up, it’s pretty late after all.”

“Great idea,” Karina replied from behind Winter’s back, shaking her head at your ridiculous plan. “I guess you might as well spend the night, like you said, it’s pretty late.”

—

Your brain turned on before your body. At this moment, nothing could get you to open your eyes and get out of bed, especially after that phenomenal dream. Maybe laying in the soft sheets would let you relive it some more, experience that vivid sensation of fucking this mystery girl named Karina. You let yourself relish in the state of bliss for just a bit longer before opening your eyes.

That’s when it hit you - it wasn’t a dream. In the next bed lay Winter, peacefully exhaling through her nose. You got out of the bed and then the next segment of reality hit you - you were incredibly sore.

“Fuck,” you whispered quietly to avoid waking Winter as you clutched your abs.

Once you stood up, you stretched as far as you could, reaching towards the roof. The curtain was left mostly open, letting in the morning sun. You walked over to close it, not wanting to disturb the peaceful girl sleeping. As you started walking towards the bathroom, curiosity got the best of you and you took a little detour to walk next to Winter’s bed.

Carefully, to make sure she didn’t wake up, you lifted the sheets and took a peek under them. Just as you thought, she was wearing nothing but a shirt. You gently put the sheets back as the reality was really starting to set in; Everything that happened last night was real.

After using the bathroom, you stood in front of the sink and splashed your face with water a couple of times to help wake you up. That’s when the next question hit you - Where was Karina? Maybe that part wasn’t real? Then you remembered something, you stretched the neck of your shirt over your shoulder and sure enough there it was, the bite mark she left. You let out a sigh of relief as you realized everything was real.

Your calmness didn’t last long as someone started slamming on the door.

“Are you almost done? I need to pee!”

“Sorry, go ahead,” you opened the door to see Winter standing there

She ran in and didn’t even bother closing the door. You quickly stepped out of the bathroom, giving her privacy. Once she was done, she came out into the room and stood in front of you.

“Can we try the skin thing now?” Winter asked innocently, not caring that she was still wearing nothing but a shirt.

“Skin… oh right, that.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Oh, um, of course we can,” you replied. “Do you know where Karina went by the way?”

Almost as if she was waiting for you to ask, there was a knock on the door.

“I got it,” you quickly stopped Winter from answering it, gesturing downwards.

“Oh, right,” Winter giggled. “Let me put on some clothes.”

“You still have my keycard,” Karina announced as soon as you let her in. “I ordered breakfast.”

“You know you could have just called them,” you said.

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” Karina replied, her cheeks tinted slightly pink.

“Oh.”

There was a moment of silence in the room before Winter broke it.

“Is there something going on here?”

“Nothing like that,” Karina answered immediately.

“Okay, good,” Winter said cheerily as she jumped onto her bed. “I, for one, am very excited for my upcoming vocal lessons.”

“And a new skincare routine,” you added.

“Skincare routine,” Karina repeated quietly so only you could hear, shaking her head. “I can’t believe my life right now.”

“Get used to it, you’ve committed to a week,” you whispered back to her.

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

---

A/N:

There we go, since the last part had such a phenomenal reaction and because I've really been wanting to write Karina, the not-very-long awaited sequel is here. As I mentioned above, this is the final part to this trilogy. HOWEVER, I'm not opposed to continuing this story in another fashion, perhaps a small time skip leading into another trilogy. I'll have to think about what exactly I want to do, but I have a strong feeling this won't be the last time I write this version of Aespa.

Hope you guys enjoyed, I wouldn't expect another update from me any time soon. I'm still working on my Dating Seraphs series, this was just a small yet fun detour, but I have no idea when the next update will be for it. Huge thanks to everyone who left a kind comment or message or simply just read and enjoyed the last part, it really helped inspire my "return" to writing!

[bit-b]

About a trending Discord warning:

TL;DR: Discord is NOT making "Find your friends" enabled by default. You're probably not giving Discord your contact information without your knowledge. Their UI choices just suck.

There's a warning post going around by a person I'm not going to name, as I don't want people to dogpile on them. That is NOT the goal of this post, and if you DO harass anyone because of what I write, then you're a garbage person with garbage habits that needs to throw those habits in the garbage.

Rather, my goal with this post is to educate about a Discord feature that's not being represented properly.

-------------------------------------

Supposedly in the new mobile update, Discord added this ""NEW"" feature called "Find your friends", and then they enabled it by default. This feature allows users to use their smartphone contacts to search for their friends on Discord. It also enables others to be able to find you in the exact same way.

Obviously, this would be MASSIVELY dangerous from a privacy perspective.

Imagine if someone had relatives that use Discord. In a scenario like that, those relatives would have an easy way of finding the accounts of family members. And in some home situations, online anonymity from relatives could mean the difference between having an outlet and not having an outlet.

I'm also pretty sure I know some folks with alt accounts (you know who you are). And if Discord was somehow able to cross-reference all your contacts with the Discord accounts you're logged into, that would be DISASTROUSLY EMBARRASSING, to say the least.

So I totally understand how concerning this would be if it turned out to be true.

The thing is, it's not.

The person who made that warning misinterpreted THIS page:

This is the new "Add Friends" page for the Discord mobile app. Obviously, a page to help you add friends. There's a big 'ol window at the bottom showcasing Discord's "Find your friends" feature.

Now, this feature is actually NOT new. It's been around for a long time. But there's a very subtle change that happened with the new update. Take a look at how "Find your friends" used to look:

It starts by giving you a banner at the top of your friends list, telling you that this feature is available. Then when you click on it, it takes you to a page with UI elements that look awfully familiar.

It's pretty clear what happened. In an effort to condense down their friend-finding functions into one menu, Discord took the "Find your friends" setup menu and tossed it in with all the other ways to contact friends.

But by doing this, Discord has made this setup window confusing. It's not immediately obvious if the "Find your friends" feature is ON and running, or OFF and waiting to be activated.

Maybe it would have helped to make the blurple button read something like "Sync contacts" instead of "Find friends". At least then, you could tell at a glance that nothing has been sync'd yet. (Or y'know, maybe just stick to "Grant Permission". That was working just fine before.)

So it seems the OP:

Looked at the "Find your friends" setup menu that Discord hastily slapped into the "Add friends" page

Noticed the checkbox that read "Allow contacts to add me"

Saw that it was already marked

Then assumed that it must be some kind of tucked-away setting that was left ON by default.

To make this abundantly clear, "Find your friends" only works if you opt-in.

That checkmark allows you to tell Discord you are okay with people finding you in this manner. Unchecking it makes it possible to use "Find your friends" without others being able to find you the same way.

It doesn't get set up on your device until you press the big blurple "Find friends" button. Even then, you still have to add your phone number to your account and verify it via a 6-digit code sent via SMS.

After that, you have to give Discord permission to access your contacts via whatever phone OS you use.

You have to be pretty deliberate for any of these functions to start.

I won't say it's impossible to set it up on accident. It's a strange world, and stranger things have happened. If you want to, go check your app permissions to make sure you don't have contact permissions enabled for Discord. It's always good to be sure. But rest easy knowing that you probably don't have to worry about it.

-------------------------------------

In my opinion, I think that anyone who reblogged that warning should consider reversing those reblogs.

Honestly, I also think the OP should just delete their post instead of repeatedly adding amended reblogs to it. At the end of the day, the core of that post was misinformation and misguided assumptions. There's no real reason to keep it up.

Besides, I'd rather pin Discord on things they're ACTUALLY guilty of. Like designing a new UI that's widely mocked. And making things 10x more confusing for the end-user.

Here's Discord's official "Find your friends" FAQ page:

https://support.discord.com/hc/en-us/articles/360061878534-Find-Your-Friends-FAQ

I hate to beg, but I'd appreciate if people would reblog this post. I fear that the warning post is gonna steer a LOT of people to believe a lot of things about Discord that are logically and functionally not true.

[snowball-doie]

| pairing: johnny x manager!fem!reader

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. rough sex. hate? sex. quickie. bathroom sex. unprotected sex. breeding kink. praise kink (bro's obsessed/down bad).

| wc: 2.8k

| aurora's note: this is originally written as johnny x manager!oc, so it's mildly plus size coded and includes background about johnny and reader being married and having a kid together already. enjoy <3

Being as busy as you were handling a million other issues backstage, you didn’t realize that Johnny was trying to get your attention for an entire song until a staff member finally interrupted what you were doing to tell you that something was wrong with Johnny. When you stopped to look at the stage, you saw Johnny standing there. During the middle of a song, he was just standing there, staring at you, waiting for your attention so that he could finally point at his mic and mouth frustratedly: “It’s not working!” Immediately, you groaned. How was it that you had a million staff members standing around doing nothing and not a single one of them thought to actually do something to solve the problem? Did you really have to do everything yourself? It seemed that you did indeed have to do it because you were the one who told the techs that something was wrong with his microphone and that it needed to be fixed— All the while, Johnny was still on stage, protesting the whole thing during his parts of the song by refusing to even lip sync or put full effort into the choreography.

By the time the song was over, they had a new battery pack and microphone ready for Johnny to switch out during the ment next up on the cue sheet. So you gestured for Johnny to come over.  When Johnny ran off stage, he immediately tossed his mic to the side angrily and snatched the new one from you without a word. You stared at him as the sound team closed in to check Johnny's in-ears as well to make sure that everything was working fine again. Johnny huffed and brushed them off so that he could check it himself. You sighed and shook your head at him. You understood that he was frustrated, but he was taking it out on the wrong people, and he was putting himself and everyone else in a sour mood unnecessarily. Then just as he was about to run off without a word, you caught his hand and pulled him back a few steps.

“Hey, look at me.”

Johnny reluctantly spun around while rolling his eyes.

“Smile a bit. Have fun. Don’t get upset again.” You kissed him quickly and smacked his ass— Which he usually would have giggled in response to, instead he continued to pout before escaping your hold and running off. “What’s got his panties in a twist?” you muttered to yourself.

Granted, once he was back on stage, Johnny was smiling and being his usual self that he presented in front of fans. Why he had to take his anger out on you was a mystery. You figured that he let it go or at least felt mildly better, however, because he was acting completely normal again and wasn’t continuously glancing off stage again for help which no one but you was eager to supply. Maybe he just needed a breather. The boys seemed to cheer him up, and interacting with the fans seemed to put a bright smile on his face… Surely he wasn’t mad anymore.

When the concert ended, the boys ran off stage to immediately hand over their equipment and get their water bottles which they all chugged for dear life. Except Johnny. Mr. Pouty angrily threw his mic and in-ear into his labeled basket without any care of if it would break; and in the process of throwing his public tantrum, he shocked literally everyone with his out of character behavior, prompting all of backstage to fall eerily silent and still. Johnny ignored them as he stormed off. Of course your first and only reaction was to follow him— Not as his worried wife but as his pissed off manager who was seeking an explanation about how a fucking mic could possibly do all that to him on the first night of their tour when they were supposed to be happy and just roll with any of the issues that would accidentally occur— That always happened during the first shows! Always! Johnny knew better than anyone that the first show was a trial run, so things were bound to go wrong…

Johnny suddenly diverted into a bathroom in the hallway, and before you knew what was going on, your wrists were being held in his tight grip as he pulled you in with him. You stumbled in, giving him time to lock the door.

“What’s your prob—”

The thought of scolding him was washed away within an instant when he cupped his hands over your ass and squeezed roughly so that you were pulled flush against his chest before he pushed both of you to the wall where he immediately began kissing you roughly.

“J—”

“Stop talking.”

Despite being caught completely off guard by Johnny, you did as you were told, instead of talking you used your energy to kiss him back in the hopes that he was just trying to ground himself with something real— with you. But the longer you kissed, the more aggressive Johnny got. You realized quickly that if you continued that it would go further until neither of you could stop, and you just couldn’t do that with everyone walking on eggshells around him and waiting for you to cool him down. If someone noticed you were gone for so long… If someone heard you… You just couldn’t risk it.

“Joh—”

“What did I say, hmmm?” With a rough grasp on your hips, Johnny spun you around and moved you over a few steps so that you were bent over the sink. “Why do you have to be so fucking pretty all the time? It’s a distraction… But you wouldn’t know that with how you get distracted during our performances. Do you realize how long I was trying to get your attention after my mic stopped working?”

“I had other things to do—”

“What part of ‘stop talking’ do you not get?”

You watched Johnny through the mirror as he focused on checking you out from head to toe with his lip bottom trapped between his teeth. He still looked angry. Honestly, you'd never seen him mad on stage, but what was even stranger was how mad he was with you. Johnny was kind and quiet and understanding. He hardly ever raised his voice, and he always stopped himself from going too far when he got upset. Now, though, it was like everything boiled over until he couldn’t control himself anymore, so his only salvation was bending you over the sink and pulling your cargo pants and underwear down in unison. You grabbed the cold counter top to hold yourself steady.

“Someone could catch us,” you warned warily, worried that he would scold you again for talking.

Johnny grabbed your ass to spread you open before groaning at the sight. “I don’t care.”

“But—”

“It’s not a crime to fuck my wife.”

“It’s unprofessional.”

“Tell that to the techs who couldn’t do their jobs earlier.”

“That’s not their fault.”

“Someone has to take the blame,” he told you sincerely, his gaze meeting yours in the mirror, not a hint of humor or kindness in those dark eyes of his. “Who’s it gonna be?”

You stared at him and exhaled. “It’s my fault for not making sure the techs checked the mic after your outfit change.”

Was it actually your fault? No. But if there was anyone you wished Johnny would be so angry with that he couldn’t see straight, you wanted it to be you because you knew that you could handle him. Who knew what he would do if let loose on the poor crew who made one silly mistake that ruined the whole show for Johnny? In his state, Johnny probably would’ve chewed into everyone there, regardless of their job title, so you instead offered yourself up, which seemed to do the trick because Johnny immediately took that answer and ran with it. With your pants barely pushed down around your thighs and no wiggle room between the sink and Johnny's body pressed up behind you, you had no choice but to stand still as Johnny began to undo his pants with one hand while the other remained glued to your hip. Without so much as a courteous warning, Johnny took you by surprise— Literally. One second you were bracing against the sink for what was to come, the next Johnny had his tip kissing your entrance, and then he was in all at once. You barely stood a chance. You tried to stay quiet by biting your lip and inevitably slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans, but it was too late. The shock of having Johnny fuck you so brutally and so suddenly was too much for you to handle. Surely if the boys were eavesdropping outside in the hopes of hearing you two argue, they were immediately scarred forever knowing that Johnny was railing their Noona in the bathroom… If crew members were walking by, they were likely running to gossip about the moans echoing from the bathroom… There was nothing you could do about it, not while your brain felt numb to everything but the fact that Johnny was deep inside of you, and he was being relentless.

“So fucking perfect,” he grunted quietly. “Look at you…” He reached around to grab your face and force you to look up into the mirror to watch your disheveled self bouncing into the sink every time Johnny thrusted forward. “What do I do with you? I just can’t help myself, baby, it’s getting dangerous… All I can think about is you— Even when I’m on stage, I think about you, you, you. It’s unprofessional.”

He hit a sensitive spot that made you moan his name.

“And that face… You always look so pretty when you go dumb on my cock.”

Sure, Johnny was the type to talk dirty in bed, but never like that with you. Back when you first started dating, you used to think about all the women he had been with before you and what they had gotten up to, and if Johnny missed any of it. Over the years, though, when Johnny never showed any changes in your sexual life, like wanting to be degrading, you figured that you assumed wrong about him. Yet there he was, bending you over the sink, holding you steady, and telling you dirty things that made you wet and your legs shake.

“I think I have an idea of what to do with you,” he said between deep thrusts. Leaning in close, his breath was hot on your ear as he whispered sensually, “I’m gonna fill you up…” The two of you moaned together at the thought. “You keep talking about wanting a girl who looks like you, right? We can do that. I can do that… Give you the little girl you want so badly… Maybe then you’ll be at home again like you were when you were pregnant with our son, so I won’t have to be distracted by you all the time.”

“Bold of you t— Fuck— B-bold of you to assume… you wouldn’t still… think— Shit— about me when I’m like that…”

Johnny chuckled. “True.” He brushed your hair off your shoulders so that he could have access to your neck where he started leaving visible hickies.

You reached back to slide one of your hands through his long hair before tugging on the strands to urge him to moan again.

“Gonna cum in you, darling,” he muttered desperately.

Those rough thrusts of his didn’t waver, even when you grunted about him going too fast or too hard. The sound of skin slapping together and moans echoing through the bathroom were enough to convince you that there was no way everyone in the building didn’t know about what you were doing in there. For whatever reason, though, you stopped caring. Maybe it was because the thought of you and Johnny having another kid made your brain melt… All of those comments you made about wanting a baby girl were just jokes to poke fun at how your son looked so like Johnny and not you, but to Johnny it wasn’t just a joke, and you should have known better after the fourth time you brought it up and Johnny kept saying, “One day.” You thought he was kidding too! But no, there he was, a man on a mission, driving into you like there was no tomorrow, like you were the last two people left on Earth.

“You’re so fucking perfect, fuck—” Johnny leaned back just enough for him to be able to look down at the obscene image of his cock disappearing into you over and over again as his nails left imprints in the fat on your hips. “So fucking pretty.” He slid his hands down to drag his nails up, leaving a trail of red marks in their wake along your plush thighs. “All mine, too.” He threw his head back and let out a moan as he very suddenly started cumming inside of you, also without any warning, just like everything else that night.

You stood with your weight being held up by his hands and your supportive grip on the sink, but your legs shook too hard to keep entirely still while you felt the warmth of his cum seep into your core. You could’ve sworn you heard him mumble something along the lines of, “Good girl,” but your head was spinning too fast to make sense of it. So just as quickly as Johnny had been in you, he slid out with a lewd sound caused by your wetness and his cum, then he pulled up his pants. With shaky hands, you pulled your pants up too. Neither of you said anything as Johnny pushed his hair back out of his face with a heavy, relieved sigh, like he couldn’t remember why he was mad in the first place now that he had gotten off inside of his wife who was left with a dry mouth and a body that was vibrating uncontrollably. You tried to calm yourself down the only way you knew how: You squatted down and bowed your head so that you could focus on catching your breath. Johnny gasped and reached out to grab you, but you had yourself still supported by holding onto the sink, so he backed off slightly but remained close in case you needed his help.

“I’m sorry, baby— I got ahead of myself, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

Swallowing hard, you croaked, “John…”

“Yeah?” he replied worriedly.

“We’ve been together for nearly five years… You need to fuck me like that more often.”

For a moment, he didn’t do a thing, but then he started laughing loudly while leaning over to brace his hands on his knees. You stayed where you were on the ground. He nodded, still laughing. “Okay, baby, I can do that.” When he got his laugh out of the way, Johnny held his hands out to help you off the ground and up to your feet slowly so that you could carefully regain your bearings. “You okay?”

You nodded.

“Promise?”

“It’s not sexy if you keep asking.”

Johnny chuckled lightly before kissing your forehead. “By the way, I know it wasn’t your fault that my mic got fucked up. Stupid cord came loose, it’s no one’s fault.”

You looked up at him with a smile before kissing him with a peck at first until he used his height to tower over you and kiss you passionately while he inhaled for air and you reached up to tangle your fingers in his hair. When someone knocked on the bathroom door all of a sudden, you both pulled away and took a large step in opposite directions of each other as if you had actually been caught with your pants down.

“Are you two done?” Yuta asked from the other side of the door.

You sighed quietly. Yeah, everyone definitely knew about you two.

“Yeah,” you replied, giving up on the idea of pretending you weren’t in there or that you hadn’t just fucked. “Coming.”

Johnny chortled.

Your attention snapped to your husband, and before you could pull paper towels out of the dispenser and throw them at him, Johnny made a run for it out of the bathroom with his tail tucked between his legs.

taglist: @theycallmesya , @tiredlittlevirgo , @henderysposts , @trash-number-one , @mystverse

@aeriwave , @vrak-co , @chibilino , @luvhaeni , @leekslou

@ah-2212 , @junrenjun , @ant-onie , @sunshinesmuse , @userntfnd

@jibunie , @markyoursupplier127 , @linlinaert , @agust-june , @slayhaechan

@cherryynoir ,

[chadobi]

I'm frothing at the mouth for your bayverse donnie, you write him so well, thank you for being amazing!

Thank u so much! So if you like my way of writing bay Donnie i will give you one! Enjoy 💜

“Move With Me”

Bayverse Donatello x Reader

It was late. The kind of late where the city felt distant, quiet — just a hum behind concrete and steel. And in the heart of the lair, Donatello’s lab was glowing with cold light, flickering screens, and the soft buzz of machines running on fumes.

He hadn’t spoken to anyone in hours.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, just watching him. The way his brow was furrowed deep behind his purple mask, how his jaw clenched as he adjusted a cluster of wires with more force than necessary. The screen in front of him flashed with lines of code and a red error message that had popped up five, maybe six times now. You weren’t counting. But he definitely was.

He was in one of his spirals. You’d seen them before — when a plan didn’t go right, when tech wouldn’t cooperate, when the weight of being the genius of the team crushed down a little too hard on his back.

And every time, he convinced himself he had to fix it. Alone. Quietly. Efficiently. Even if it broke him in the process.

You stepped into the room on soft feet, mindful of scattered gadgets and wires on the floor.

Still, he didn’t look up.

You stood beside the worktable and leaned slightly toward him. “Donnie,” you said gently. No response. His fingers flew across the keyboard like he was racing something invisible. “You’re gonna burn out if you keep this up.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, not even pausing to look at you.

You frowned, shifting your weight. “You’re lying.”

That made him pause — just for a breath. His gaze flickered up to meet yours. There were deep shadows under his eyes, and his expression was tight, like someone holding in a scream by the edges of his teeth.

“I have to get this finished,” he said. “Leo’s counting on me. The tracker’s still throwing false pings, and if we go out with that—if someone gets hurt because of a system I built—”

“Donnie.” You stepped in front of the table, placing yourself directly in his line of sight. “You’re not a machine. You don’t have to keep running until you fall apart.”

He blinked, startled by the sharpness in your voice — not harsh, but certain. Grounded.

You softened, then reached toward the little Bluetooth speaker on the shelf. It was dusty — he hadn’t used it in weeks, maybe months. But it still worked.

You tapped your phone against it and let the soft music begin.

The melody drifted through the air — something slow, something warm. Jazzy and nostalgic. The kind of song you might hear in a quiet cafe, or under the stars, or in someone’s living room where dancing wasn’t choreographed, just instinctive.

Donnie blinked again. “What are you—”

“Interrupting your spiral,” you said simply. “You need to get out of your head.”

He tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to decide whether to be annoyed or amused. “You think a song is gonna fix the tracking system?”

“No,” you replied, offering your hand to him. “But it might fix you. Just for a minute.”

His eyes dropped to your hand, then to your face. “I… I can’t dance.”

“You don’t have to,” you whispered. “Just move with me.”

He stared at you for a long moment — visibly torn, clearly exhausted. But eventually, he pushed back from the table and stood. Not with grace. Not like he wanted to. But like he needed to.

His hand slid into yours. You gave it a gentle squeeze.

You pulled him slowly into the open space of the lab, your free hand resting lightly against his shoulder. His movements were stiff at first, uncertain. But you didn’t rush him.

You just swayed — simple steps, back and forth, side to side. Nothing choreographed. Just motion. Just presence.

He slowly settled into your rhythm, one hand on your waist, the other still holding yours with careful pressure. You didn’t speak. You just moved together, letting the music wrap around you like a quiet cocoon.

For the first time that night, his shoulders started to loosen.

“You’re overthinking,” you murmured, glancing up at him.

“It’s literally my job,” he replied, his voice softer than before.

You smiled. “It’s not your whole identity, though.”

Silence. Just the quiet shuffle of his feet, the subtle dip of your hips. The way his thumb brushed against the back of your hand — a nervous habit, probably unconscious.

Then he whispered, almost like it hurt to say, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Your chest ached.

You stopped swaying — just for a moment — and looked up into his eyes. “Because I love you,” you said, barely louder than the music.

He froze. Eyes wide. Breath shallow.

You leaned a little closer, forehead brushing against his chest.

“Even when you forget how to love yourself.”

He let out a shaky breath like it had knocked the wind out of him.

“Say that again,” he whispered, voice low and almost breaking.

You looked up and said it again — steady this time. “I love you.”

His hand lifted, almost uncertain, and cupped your cheek.

And then his mouth was on yours — hesitant and warm, like he was afraid you might disappear if he leaned in too hard. It was the kind of kiss that asked permission. That tasted like vulnerability, and softness, and finally.

You kissed him back, slow and sure, grounding him in the now. In you.

When you pulled away, his eyes were still closed. His forehead rested lightly against yours.

“You’re everything I don’t deserve,” he breathed.

You smiled gently, your thumb brushing his wrist. “You’re everything I choose.”

The music faded into silence.

And for once, Donnie let the rest of the world fall away — machines humming, code blinking, problems waiting — just long enough to breathe in your arms.

Just long enough to believe he was loved.

[cutiecusp]

Call me.

John Price x XXX phone operator.

Tw. Talks of smut, feelings. MDNI.

A military life was a lonely one. Especially if you aren't married. The nights you weren't deployed often means losing yourself into alcohol or something else to take the edge off, and after a few weeks of being snapped at, Gaz had had enough.

"Call this number, Cap. Work out your frustrations." He says, placing a business card down on John's desk.

"There's a few girls to choose from. Maybe you'll come back from leave in a better mood, eh?"

......

A few days into his leave, John finds the business card tucked into his jacket. He pulls out the card, the plain logo giving nothing away.

Sighing, he puts it on the coffee table. What kind of man would he be to call up a girl and practically beg for sex? Was he that desperate?

As the evening wore on, and he had a few drinks, he felt more bold. Glancing over at the card, he picks up his phone and dials before he can stop himself.

A rich, honey toned voice takes him through the motions, connecting the call to you.

"Hello there." You purr on the other side.

"Uh, hello." John gruffs, before taking a swig of his glass.

"And how can I help you tonight, handsome?" You continue, your voice a soft balm over him.

"I don't know, this isn't something I've ever done. I was recommended to you by a friend." John closes his eyes. How desperate did that sound?

"Well, I'm glad you called tonight. What's your name, sugar?" You ask.

"You can call me John." He decides, no code name, no rank, just John.

"And what do you need from me tonight, John?"

"What do you mean, isn't it obvious?" He says, shifting in his seat.

"Not everyone calls for the same reasons, John. Some like to fuck, others talk." You supply, a smile forming on your face.

"Although, I'm not quite sure what you are doing here, you have a lovely voice, John. Commanding, powerful." You add.

Heat rises up John's neck, he wasn't used to being complimented, and he wasn't sure if it was your voice, or the alcohol, but he felt more relaxed than he had in a long time.

"I. Uh, I need to get some frustration out, apparently." John replies, his voice deep and low.

"I can help with that. Where are you now, John?" You ask softly.

He glances around the room, should he tell the truth, or-

"I'm in my living room, my favourite armchair."

"I see, and what are you wearing, John?" You ask.

"Surely I should be asking that." John laughs, a little more bold than before.

"I could lie and say I'm in stockings and silk, but you seem like the type of man to appreciate the truth. I'm in an oversized tee and some pyjama shorts." You admit.

He hums, a vision of a pretty girl in an oversized tee and short shorts on the other end of the phone, talking to him, making him feel relaxed turns him on a little.

"Appreciate the honesty. Jeans and a plain tee. I wanted to be comfortable."

He hears you laugh down the phone, and it jolts something through him. He wants to see you laugh in person, see what you look like when you're talking to him like this.

"Appreciate the honesty, John. Now, I gotta be honest. Our times nearly up for tonight. And I am probably breaking all the rules, but I'll give you my extension number. I'd like to hear from you again."

He pauses. He lost track of time, and that's something he never does.

"I'd like to hear you again, sweetheart." He murmurs, not willing to let the call go, just yet.

"My extension is 141." You supply. "Take care, John." And the call disconnects, leaving John alone in the living room again.

He stares at the phone in his hand. Does he call now? Does he wait until tomorrow? He throws back the last of his drink and grabs his keys. Maybe a walk will clear his head.

As he head out of his apartment, he's almost knocked to his feet as a body rushes past him carrying a laundry basket.

"Sorry! I have to get there before they shut!" A voice calls from the stairwell, a glimpse of an oversized tee whipping around the corner.

That outfit... that voice...

"No worries, love." He returns with a smile before following you down the stairs.

Things have just got a lot more interesting..

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @skeletonsucker @ghost-soaps-shadow

[honeydippedfiction]

I loved your f1 drivers knowing about protective styles, can we get something like that with Joe?

main navigation | reqs | table of contents | F1 Version

Joe Burrow x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The afternoon had slipped into one of those gray, whisper-quiet moments that seemed to press a stillness into everything. Rain tapped softly against the windows of the condo, smearing the skyline into a watercolor blur. Inside, the living room was warm and cocooned in that kind of quiet that comes when two people know how to exist in the same space without needing to fill the silence.

A muted football game from earlier still flickered on the television, long forgotten. A lavender and sage candle flickered low on the coffee table, its scent curling in lazy spirals through the room. Joe was stretched out at one end of the couch in black sweats and a fitted long-sleeve tee, legs slightly splayed, his tablet balanced against one knee as he watched game film through a single earbud. His eyes tracked across the screen with quiet intensity, fingers occasionally swiping or pausing to scribble something with the stylus.

At the other end of the couch, she sat nestled into a throw blanket, legs tucked beneath her, phone cradled in one hand. Her screen glowed with images — close-ups of box braids, boho knotless styles with curly tendrils, marley twists, braided bobs, stitch feed-ins with clean parts, honey blondes, burgundy reds, and ombré browns. Every few seconds, she'd let out a tiny sigh. Not quite loud enough to be a cry for help, but just loud enough to register.

Joe didn’t react the first or second time. He’d been watching film long enough to know when to let a few plays run before making a move. But after the third sigh — this one slightly longer and tinged with frustration — he pulled his earbud out and glanced over.

“You okay, babe?” he asked, voice low and casual, like he already half-knew the answer.

She didn’t look up from her phone. “Mhm.”

“You sure? That sounded like a ‘these-Pinterest-girls-are-lying-to-me’ kind of sigh.”

That got a small laugh from her, barely a puff of air through her nose.

“I’m just…” She turned the screen toward him, briefly flashing a grid of photos. “My appointment’s on Thursday, and I still don’t know what I want. Every style looks good until I imagine sitting in the chair for six hours and ending up hating it.”

He nodded, lips twitching with amusement. “You’ve said that before.”

“It’s a commitment! And I can’t be walking around for three weeks looking like someone’s tired cousin.”

Joe set the tablet down for a second, leaning his elbows on his knees. He studied her for a moment, eyes scanning the open tabs of hairstyles she had on her phone, then said, without hesitation, “Why don’t you do goddess braids again? The ones you had in August — with the cinnamon brown? You said that color mix was fire on you.”

There was a beat of silence.

Her head snapped toward him like she hadn’t heard him right. “What?”

He repeated it, slower this time, like maybe he’d just asked her to name every route in a playbook. “Goddess braids. Cinnamon brown. You know — the one that’s, like… color 30 mixed with a little 33? You said it matched your skin tone better than the copper you tried last spring.”

She blinked. Then blinked again.

“Joe…” she said slowly, brows knitting together in both awe and suspicion. “How do you know that? How do you know exactly what I was wearing and the color code?”

“I just remember stuff.”

“Mmhmm.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is that so?”

He gave a lazy shrug, leaning back again, the picture of innocence. “Yeah. You liked that style. You said it made your face look — what was the word? Snatched? And I liked it too. You looked good.”

She wasn’t smiling. Not yet. She tilted her head, gaze sharp now. “That’s weirdly specific. So you just remembered the name of the braids and the color?”

“Yes,” he said, drawing out the word like it should’ve been obvious.

She gave him a long, pointed side-eye. “Must be the sidechicks in your DMs, huh? You out here consulting on protective styles behind my back?”

Joe froze for half a second, then let out a laugh, short and incredulous. “Sidechicks?”

She lifted her eyebrows. “I mean… knowing the difference between color 30 and 33? That sounds like someone’s been in the chat rooms.”

He clutched his chest in mock betrayal. “Wow. So that’s what we’re doing now?”

She kept a straight face, lips twitching. “Just saying, it’s giving… secret HairTok account.”

Joe chuckled and leaned toward her again, resting one arm along the back of the couch behind her head. “Sweetheart, no one in my DMs is asking me for hair advice. You think women are sliding in talking about braid patterns?”

“I don’t know what women are sliding in talking about. But clearly somebody taught you about color blends.”

“You did!” he shot back. “Babe — you were up until, like, 1 a.m. watching hair tutorials last month, remember? You had that one lady on full blast, talking about pre-stretched hair and mousse application.”

“Oh my God,” she laughed, covering her face. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. And I was trying to sleep, but all I heard was, ‘Make sure to wrap your ends before dipping!’” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice.

She burst out laughing and shoved his shoulder. “Stop it.”

“I had to learn,” he said, grinning, pulling her closer under his arm. “It was either that or be confused every time you started talking about textures and curl patterns. You teach me football stuff sometimes — I’m just trying to keep up.”

She gave him a mock-suspicious look, but the warmth in her eyes had softened. “Okay, fine. Maybe you do pay attention.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Always.”

She turned her phone back toward herself, scrolling up until she found the style he’d mentioned. Goddess braids, waist-length, curled ends, and yes — cinnamon brown, laced with subtle highlights. She paused.

“You really think I should go with this again?”

“I do. You looked good. You felt good. That’s what matters.”

She glanced back at him, her smile slower this time, thoughtful. “You know I’m telling my stylist you picked this one, right?”

“As long as I get credit for the assist.”

“You’re still not off the hook for the sidechick accusation.”

Joe smirked and picked his tablet back up. “I’ll take the flag. Worth it.”

She nestled closer under his arm, letting her head rest on his shoulder as the candle flickered low beside them and the rain softened against the glass. For a while, they didn’t say anything else.

Her phone screen dimmed, but the photo stayed open — cinnamon goddess braids, just like he’d said.

Maybe he really was paying attention, after all.

¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸

The salon buzzed with the familiar energy of a Thursday afternoon — blow dryers whirring, Afrobeats humming from a speaker near the front, the occasional burst of laughter or the snap of a stylist’s gloves. The air smelled of peppermint oil, setting mousse, and the sweet burn of flat irons somewhere in the back.

She sat in her usual stylist’s chair, fingers dancing across the hem of the salon cape draped over her lap. Even though she’d settled on the style days ago — or rather, Joe had — a familiar flutter of uncertainty bubbled beneath her ribs. Would the color pop the same way? Would the curls hold? Was it giving what it needed to give?

“You brought the hair, right?” her stylist asked, glancing at her through the mirror with a teasing smirk.

“Got it right here,” she said, lifting the bag beside her. “Color 30, with a little 33.”

“Oooh, cinnamon brown today?” Her stylist raised a brow, approving. “A fall favorite.”

“Apparently,” she said, half-laughing, “my boyfriend requested it.”

The stylist’s head snapped up with a playful grin. “He picked it? Girl, since when do men know the difference between a 1B and a 4?”

“Exactly! That’s what I said. He was just like, ‘Do the goddess braids again — the cinnamon ones.’ Like it was nothing.”

“I know that’s right,” her stylist said, chuckling as she started parting out her hair. “You better keep that one. He might be the chosen one.”

As the braids began to take shape — long, neat rows weaving down her back with soft curled ends trailing at the bottom — she relaxed into the rhythm of it all. The tug of sections, the cool mist of setting spray, the hum of easy salon chatter. Three hours in, she opened her camera and checked the mirror on her screen. The color shimmered like honey dipped in cinnamon — warm, rich, and smooth against her skin.

Joe had been right.

Of course he had.

¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸

By the time she left, the city had cooled into the gold-blue haze of early evening. She stepped into the condo an hour later with her hoodie up, keys jingling in her hand and her edges freshly laid under a silk scarf. She was half-hoping to sneak in unnoticed, maybe let the big reveal wait until she could shower and wrap the ends.

No such luck.

Joe was already in the kitchen, barefoot in sweats and a gray T-shirt, tossing popcorn into a bowl. The game film was off for once — in its place, ESPN hummed quietly from the mounted TV in the living room. He glanced up as she walked in.

“Hey, honey.”

“Hey,” she said, nonchalant, kicking her sneakers off by the door and padding in on quiet feet.

Joe squinted a little as she walked past. “You got it done?”

“Mmhm,” she said, casual.

“You gonna show me?”

She paused, then gave a slow smile over her shoulder. “Why, Mr. Cinnamon Brown, you feeling confident?”

He chuckled. “I just want to see if my vision came to life.”

“Your vision, huh?”

“Absolutely. I curated this look.”

With a laugh, she pulled the hoodie back slowly and unwound the silk scarf with a slight flourish. The goddess braids spilled down her shoulders in full reveal — waist-length, curled ends bouncing slightly with movement, and that warm cinnamon hue catching the soft overhead lighting just right.

Joe froze.

Then let out a low whistle.

“Damn.”

She smirked, turning slightly so he could see the full 360. “You did good, huh?”

“No, you did good. I just made the assist. This is…” He trailed off, coming closer, reaching out to gently finger one of the braids. “Baby, this color is insane on you. Like — not to sound dramatic — but this might be top-tier level.”

She laughed, pretending to fan herself. “I mean, it is giving."

“It’s giving everything.” Joe tilted his head, still visibly impressed. “You walking into the stadium like this Sunday, or...?”

“Please,” she laughed. “You want me to outshine you on your own field?”

He leaned in, brushing a kiss against her temple. “Always.”

They stood there for a moment, his fingers still lightly grazing her braids, her smile quiet and content.

“You know,” she murmured, resting a hand on his chest, “I really thought you were cheating for a second. When you knew the hair code.”

Joe grinned. “Told you — I listen. And I love you in every version of you, but this one?” He gave a dramatic nod of approval. “Yeah. This one’s special.”

She leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. “Well… lucky for you, this one’s staying around for a while.”

“And lucky for you,” he said, sliding his arms around her waist, “I’ve got a lot of free time tonight to admire it.”

She laughed as he pulled her close, the popcorn now completely forgotten.

In the background, ESPN droned on about passing yards and defensive lines, but none of that mattered. Not here, not in their little pocket of quiet — where cinnamon braids and side-eyes had given way to warmth, laughter, and the kind of love that noticed every little detail.

[studioeisa]

svt x what was. 💌

you've seen what could have been (@gotta-winwin) and what is (@gyubakeries), but not all good things last. this is the deep and dying breath of the love you've been working on.

📦 Choi Seungcheol. 

Neither of you speak as you pack up your lives into respective boxes. Occasionally, there’s a question. Do you want to keep this? Should we throw this one out? For the most part, the two of you move like ghosts through the apartment you once shared. 

You only watch as Seungcheol hauls several of his boxes towards the elevator, like he’s hoping to not have to come back. Like he can maybe walk out in one fell swoop. His fingers are shaking; you don’t point it out.

The hands that once built your relationship— now the ones taking it away. 

🪑 Yoon Jeonghan. 

If Jeonghan could write a guidebook on relationships, the first thing he’d write would be something like this: Don’t take them to your favorite restaurant. 

You’re not here anymore. Long gone. A funny story, a footnote in his life. And yet his eyes keep flicking to the corner you once loved so much. It’d witnessed everything. First date, first anniversary, first breakup. Final breakup. 

“You alright?” the new girl across from him asks. 

Jeonghan forces a smile. “I’m good,” he says, “but I don’t think I’m feeling this place.” 

“You said it was your favorite.” “Was. Not anymore, I think.”

📅 Hong Jisoo. 

The shared Google Calendar glares up at Joshua, taunting him with color-coded reminders of occasions you will no longer celebrate together. His cursor hovers over the Delete button— because he doesn’t need to remember when your next dentist appointment is, does he? 

His eyes flick over the dates, set a long time ago. 

It’s your parents’ anniversary in two weeks. He knows. 

It’s your quarterly check-up in a month. He knows. 

This is the only part of your life he has left. He knows, he knows, he knows. 

What’s one more day?, Joshua thinks as he leaves the calendar alone.

🚲 Wen Junhui. 

Junhui knows this route. He’s gone down it dozens of times before, though you had been by his side back then. Tonight, it’s just him, his rusty bicycle, and the streetlights that seem to be holding their breath. 

They cast shadows on the street. Ones that look suspiciously like you. Junhui chases them until he’s breathless, until he’s crashing and his knees are all scratched from the rough pavement. 

He laughs at himself. At this fucked situation. At his loss. At the world. He laughs until he’s crying. 

Junhui knows this route. He’ll go down it a dozen times more. 

📍 Kwoon Soonyoung. 

You forgot to stop sharing your location with Soonyoung. He had thought of telling you, but he didn’t want to be the one to break the ‘no contact’ rule. (Excuses.) 

Every so often, he’ll check it. Just to see how you are, he reasons. (Excuses.) 

A dive bar on the other side of town. The museum he said he would take you to but never did. A fancy restaurant, the kind you go to on a first date. 

He has no right to be angry, to care. (Excuses, excuses.) 

He watches you chart a map of a life without him. 

📷 Jeon Wonwoo. 

There’s a photo in Wonwoo’s phone that he can’t let go of. He can tell you all about it. 

IMG329.JPEG. 450MB. All other evidence of you has been wiped except this one. 

It’s the very first photo he took of you. It’s terrible, all things considered. The composition could use some work. The focus is abysmal. And you’re not even looking at the camera. You’re looking at the one holding it, at Wonwoo. 

Wonwoo has looked at IMG329.JPEG so much, he thinks he could step right back into it— the moment when you first realized you loved him.

🍼 Lee Jihoon. 

The baby aisle of Toys R Us is Jihoon’s personal hell.

He considers it the beginning of the end. How, six months ago, you had pointed out which pajamas you wanted to give your future child. And Jihoon had winced, his grip on your hand getting a little tighter. You noticed. 

We don’t want the same things, you had realized; the fact, bouncing off the linoleum floor and white-washed walls. 

The relationship died a quiet death afterwards. Present-day Jihoon toys with a pair of baby shoes and allows himself a single thought: He would’ve wished the baby had your eyes. 

🥜 Lee Seokmin. 

“Does that have any peanuts in it?” 

The question is out of Seokmin’s mouth before he can think twice. All his friends share glances, and he pointedly ignores them despite his fingers tightening around the menu. Might as well commit. 

The waitress assures him there aren’t any. Seokmin smiles politely, goes through with his order. 

He doesn’t have any allergies. You did, though. 

His friends don’t point it out, the same way they ignore the hair tie on his wrist; the space he keeps on the chair to his right. How Seokmin still accommodates for you after all this time.

🍚 Kim Mingyu. 

Made too much pasta, Mingyu texts Seokmin. Come grab some. 

“I have a couple of spare brownies,” Mingyu tells Minghao over the phone. “Do you want me to send them over?”

SOS, Mingyu tweets. Someone take this extra bulgogi off my hands. 

There are towers of leftover tupperwares in Mingyu’s refrigerator. They remind him he is physically incapable of cooking just for one person, just for himself. He had gotten so used to making everything for two. 

He does not know how to unlearn adoring you through his cooking. 

He still loves you. He still wants you to eat well. 

✉️ Xu Minghao. 

The airport personnel is skeptical as he holds up the Ziploc bag of Minghao’s postcards. 

“They’re gifts,” Minghao says stiffly, trying to ignore the feeling of being judged. 

“Quite heavy,” the personnel quips. 

“It is.” 

“How many are these, anyway?” 

“Dozens. From all over.” 

“Haven’t set them yet, have you?” 

Minghao falters. He contemplates telling this stranger about your love for letters. About how he’s spent the aftermath jet-setting, writing postcard he’ll never send. 

He loved you in Hong Kong. He loved you in Paris. He’ll love you wherever he runs. 

“Haven’t sent them,” Minghao concedes. “Not yet.” 

🎵 Boo Seungkwan. 

Seungkwan’s voice cracks the moment the lyrics flash on screen. His friends all poke fun at him and he tosses the microphone aside, screeching something about the alcohol messing with his throat. 

Somebody performs instead of him. Seungkwan sinks back into the couch, his expression of annoyance crumpling when nobody is looking. 

He hasn’t sung properly in months. He thought this karaoke outing would fix him. 

Instead, it reminds him of the times he’d hum to you while you were falling asleep, head in his lap. 

He doesn’t think he can ever sing again. Not without thinking of you.

📻 Chwe Hansol. 

The radio is playing your song. 

Vernon had thought it was silly, being a couple with a ‘song’, and yet you’d gone and picked one anyway. It proves to bite him in the ass now as the new girl in his passenger seat begins to sing along. Wrong, he immediately thinks. Not the right voice. Not the right person. 

It makes his skin crawl, makes his pulse race. He reaches off to switch stations just as Matty Healy croons Do you think I have forgotten—

“Hey,” his date complains. “I liked that one!”

“Yeah, well,” Vernon says, “I don’t.” 

💔 Lee Chan. 

Chan is the one who called it quits, which is why he doesn’t know if he has the right to heartbreak. 

Is he allowed to miss you? To want to take it all back? 

He does everything and more. But he never texts at midnight, never calls while drunk. Chan takes the love he has for you and tucks it away, reshapes it into something more fitting for exes. 

“You’ll be okay,” he had told you that night, trying his damnedest to let you down gently. 

You are, now. Okay. 

He will be, too. 

And the world spins madly on. 

footnotes: unlike serena and tiya’s verses, there will be no poll for this one. all these stories have ended, for better or for worse. these concepts came alive with serena, tiya, and ally’s help! i hope you enjoyed the worlds we’ve tried to fit in a hundred words or less. ‹𝟹

[tmnt-l0v3rrr]

Punishments

Yan! Rottmnt x Reader Headcanons

Warnings!!

Kidnapping, loss of privacy, being watched, forced touch, unhealthy relationships, abuse, beatings, Obsession, shock collars, and overall yandere and unhealthy topics.

Raphael

Now, he really hates seeing you upset. But, part of him remembers that if you don't learn now you never will, he is an older brother after all.

His punishments aren't near the worst of the bunch. Raph's punishments are more inconvenient than anything, not being allowed to leave his room whatsoever, doing laps around the lair, are the minor ones, they do progress the worst of the action you do.

If you try to run away you lose all and any privacy you had. Zero time alone at all, it's suffocating.

It's time for you to shower? He's right outside the curtain the whole time, he isn't afraid to look in if he hears something out of the ordinary. Bathroom? He's looking away but you can even lose that. Changing? Unless it's undergarments his eyes aren't leaving you.

You aren't allowed to face the door when you two sleep, you're kept facing the wall cradled by Raph, he'll chain you to the bed if he has to.

In summary, privacy loss is one of his most used punishments. He'd never hit you, on purpose….

Leonardo

Now, he isn't super sure how to punish someone humanely… He just isn't sure on how else to get you to listen.

For the little things, like talking back or refusing to do a dumb activity with him, he can be cold or manipulative. He could spit something at you like “Really? All I want to do is love and spend time with you and all you ever do is ignore me or be ungrateful! All I want is to love you, let me love you, dear.”

He will also pinch you for small mistakes, like say you say something he doesn't exactly agree with, Leo will simply pinch, normally on the neck, it works, his pinches hurt like a bitch. Or he'll flick you, those also hurt.

He worries, alot, so if you try to run away?

He throws a fit, screaming, crying the whole ordeal. He will get to you, lock the door on his train car. Yell, so loud your ears ring. Screaming about how mad he is, how you should never do that and how dangerous it is.

In his fit of rage, it will likely get physical.

Maybe grabbing you by the collar… throwing you against the wall, screaming at you, he'll kick your legs and bash until they bleed and are bruised.

He didn't mean to, he is just too worried about you, he can't let you leave. No matter how much it hurts.

Donatello

By far he Is the worst, he knows what you did is wrong and won't feel bad, you did this to yourself. It was your choice.

Now, almost all of his punishments are with a shock collar he made, one like he made for Leo awhile ago, but it has different settings and is remote controlled. (He can also control it with his tech gauntlet) Based on what you do is how bad the shock will be, it is normally at a 2 for small mistakes. A quick zap is it.

Now, if you try to escape? That's where it gets bad. What were you thinking?

Once he finds you, you're in big trouble. The collar will go off, the highest setting. Over and over. You'll be lugged back to where you started being shocked and yelled at.

Like his blue coded brother, he isn't too sure how to be humane. Whatever he does, it's gonna leave a mark.

Mikey

He is somewhere along with Raph, he's more disappointed than anything when you mess up badly. He is rare to punish, he doesn't want to see you in pain or upset. It's just hard for him to see. It hurts.

For small mistakes he'll give you a small scolding and that's it. Nothing to scare you. He doesn't want to scare you anymore then he already has.

If you try to escape, he reminds himself that you're human, you're scared. Your world was torn apart by him. He had to be gentle.

He will take you back to the lair, tied up with his mystic chains, leaving no room to squirm. Along with his older brother, you'll lose privacy and with Mikey, you'll be treated like a helpless child.

You can't do anything alone or without help. It's truly embarrassing. You're not allowed to even brush your own hair. Pretty much everything is taken away from you. It sucks.

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Continuation of Soap using military talk on you, let's change things up a bit

When you use military talk it always makes Soap crack up.

The first time it happens he's playfully chasing you through the appartment. "You little shit! You ate the last one, don't deny it!", he is shouting after you. And when you just giggle he can feel his heart skip a beat.

"Can't prove it Johnny, maybe you ate it and forgot!", you counter. And you can hear the soft thumping of his feet speed up.

You're sqealing in delight as you try to rush around the couch to have a barrier between you and him. Before you can do that, there's fingers on your waist and Soap grabs you. Your body abruptly changes directions, being thrown onto the couch instead of running behind it.

You land with a soft "oof" and Soap immediately holds your wrists down. His cheeks are tinted a lovely shade of pink and he's panting.

You wriggle in a mock attempt to get free and say: "Captain! There's been an ambush!"

He grins: "Yeah? Captain, really?"

You laugh a bit and answer "Captain we got a Situation Alpha over here!"

Your heart soars when he barks out a laugh. "That...", he tries to stop laughing and fails "That's not how it works."

Now you're both breathless with amusement and you get out between huffs of breath: "We need backup! Got a charly foxtrott here! Need an evac right now, or we'll be in a deep code red!"

Soap absolutely wheezes in laughter above you, his entire body shaking and he finaly collapses onto you. His voice mocks you between his bursts of laughter. "In a code red...", he's near hysterical as he throws your words back at you "Got a charley... charley..." He gives up trying to repeat you, rolls off of you and falls to the soft carpet next to the couch with a thud.

You lean over the side still giggling and watch him, as he clutches his ribs while shaking with laughter.

"Ow, ow, ow it hurts.", he wheezes between laughing and your grin grows soft and fond.

Finally he calms down and smiles up at you, both your expressions mirroring the affection of the other.

He crawls up to you again, caging you in between his arms and leaning down until his lips brush yours. "Better rescue you from your dangerous situation then."

The following kiss if full of smiles.

[severedfromthesource]

Androids and Electric Sheep

Ren is experiencing an unusual bug. Features F resus, M rescuer, CPR, stething, mouth to mouth, internal defibs, sex leading to cardiac arrest, sex acts both with consent and a person who cannot consent. I got too invested in the preamble so I highlighted the moment resus actually starts if you want to skip it.

No matter how advanced technology gets, it’ll only ever be used to fulfill man’s most base desires. Case in point- RN-34678. Or Ren, when the barcodes make my eyes glaze over and I get sick of calling them the number slurry X Tech names absolutely everything. Ren is as sophisticated as they come. Actual artificial intelligence. She makes the predictive text and ‘can’t even draw fingers’ image generating 21st century jokes people passed off as AI look like even more of a waste of time than they had been in those days. They might as well have been Speak n Spells. The collective power of every single basement dwelling crypto whizz kid with miles of wires and burnt up processors and bricked up video cards dedicated to their etherium farms pale in comparison to the computing power it takes to run Ren’s brain for an hour. She understands nearly 6,000 languages. She learns and retains information, consuming nearly 160 TB of memory every 8 hours. The bio-organic lace that makes up the net of her brain is a miracle, with the possibility of infinite memory. She is perfect in every sense of the word.

She is a glorified fuck toy.

The second the first android became commercially available, one of the first markets they hit was sex work. If nothing about late stage capitalism drove you crazy, that would have. Fuck curing cancer, or making androids for the dangerous, back breaking work people wreck their bodies to do, X Tech decided people needed a sex doll with a 100k price tag. The world’s most expensive cum sock. And yeah, alright, maybe I’m just bitter, partially because there’s no way in hell I could ever afford one, even as an android technician. But what a waste. She sits on my examination table, dutifully unzipping her black leather catsuit. Her managers always manage to stick her in something stupid looking, so overblown and sexualized they stop even being sexy at a certain point.

She looks up at me with lilac eyes. Last time they’d been blue. I like this shade better, I think, though I could do without the electric blue bob they have her wearing today. ”Your crash reports say you’ve been throwing error codes whenever a stream donation comes in over 2k,” I say. Which, for a bot like Ren, is quite a lot of her donations. “It’s probably just a bug in payment processing.” I look again over her diagnostics, floating on the screen at my desk. “Any complaints I wouldn’t find in the debug menu?”

”My heart has been feeling strange,” she says. I pause and look at her over the top of my glasses. “Well, firstly, it’s not your heart. An aether pump does not a heart make. Secondly, it shouldn’t feel like anything. You’re supposed to ignore the inner workings, it’s all background programs, runs without you thinking about it.” She shrugs. Her shoulders are pale as she rolls down the catsuit and pulls her arms from the sleeves, bunching up the tight leather around her midriff. Her breasts are small and round, standing upright as pretty as a Botticelli painting. I’d noticed the small bumps on either side of her nipples (Christ, did the things ever go soft? Or were they just always cutting glass?) but didn’t register until I saw them now that her managers had pierced them sometime since our last checkup. Little silver bars were stuck through the pink nubs, with winking silver balls on either end. Alright, cool, chill.

I clear my throat and pull up my rolling stool. “Well, let’s just take a look then.” I shift once I’m seated to alleviate the pressure of my stiffening cock. Listen, I’m not a technophile, honest to God. I go out of my way to filter out androids when I’m scrolling through porn sites because, despite the leaps and bounds we’ve made in technology, the uncanny valley is still a thing. It feels weird getting off to bots. But then there’s Ren. And fuck me if she isn’t the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen. I put a hand on the back of her neck, my thumb resting at the diagnostic mode button hidden just under the edge of her jaw. I feel the soft bump that sinks in when I press. Her lilac eyes flash black with snatches of white text, then roll back to lilac. Damn, she smells like a new car.

I glance back at the monitor, and as I suspected, nothing comes up about the aether pump. It seems in perfect working order. Still, I dig around my box of scrap wires and spare tubing until I find my mostly neglected stethoscope. I don’t often have to use it, but I feel a trill of excitement go up from my stomach to think I get to use it on Ren. I plug up my ears and put a hand on her shoulder, taking the bell of the steth in my other hand. Her breasts rise and fall with the rhythm of her breathing, set to mimic human intervals. The real purpose is to cool down her insides and keep her from overheating, but just like the aether pump and its auditory cues, its designed to mimic humans as closely as possible. After a guy fucks something like Ren, he gets the added benefit of being able to lay next to her and listen to her breathing. Feel her heart beat. Doesn’t matter what the purpose of the design is for, it matters so he doesn’t feel like he’s fucking a 100k fleshlight with arms and legs. I press the steth to a spot above her breast and it sinks into her pillowy soft skin like it was real. Cool it, Christ, you can’t get so hot and bothered over everything. Heel, boy.

But my thumb makes a slight imprint against her tit, and it’s hard to think of anything else. Same thing happens when I press the steth against a space under her breast, and it lays warmly against the back of my hand. The pump, like the fake lungs, is designed to look and act and even sound like a heart, pumping coolant through her body. I tell her it’s not a heart out of some petty, pedantic need to distance myself and my unique humanity, but truth is, the thing is a heart. She could die if something went really wrong with it, and a lot of bots have. Sudden cardiac arrest was one of the main bugs in the 2.3 rollout. It got so bad, tons of models in the service industry had to be recalled, because mechanical line cooks and servers were dropping if the ovens got too hot. My hand still on her neck, I pull her forward and press the bell to her back. Her forehead brushes against my shoulder, her gaudy blue wig draping against the side of my neck and jaw. I tilt my head just enough my nose brushes her hair. Fuck, she really does smell good.

“Well, I don’t hear any irregularities,” I tell her, because I don’t. The thing is pumping liquid aether around her body at around 70 bpm, like it should. She draws up from my shoulder, glancing at me sideways. “It only seems to happen with clients,” she says, drying out my throat in an instant. “Clients?” “Mhm. Whenever one of them climaxes. If they do it inside me, my heart starts going very fast. I get foggy and I can’t think afterwards.” I swallow. “Right,” I say, “I mean… I can’t exactly test that, Ren.” She touches my wrist. “It’s rather frightening, Doc. I worry…” She pauses, and I try very hard not to say out loud what I’m thinking. You shouldn’t be frightened of anything, Ren. You’re not supposed to feel any of this. She sits back, bringing her hand up, her fingers curling against where her pump lies in her chest, half covering her nudity.

She doesn’t want to get recalled. I wince in spite of myself. If she has the same defect others in her rollout had, she’s going right back to X Tech. I push the steth around my neck, scooping back hair from my face. “It’s a pretty fatal system flaw. It… I could… Well, I-“ I can’t look at her. Fuck, I really can’t look at her. My face feels hot. This is the plot of like, 90% of bot R34 on the internet. I might as well be a pizza delivery guy and she a lonely housewife who’s a few bucks short on a large sausage. She ‘breathes’. Her chest goes up and down, the lights winking off her pierced nipples. She’s so goddamn gorgeous.

“Doc?” “Thinking,” I huff. I spare a glance around the other cubicles bordering mine. Big glass offices, designed for this exact stupid fucking thing I’m about to do. The first guy who got caught with his dick in a bot ruined it for everyone, so now my coworkers and I are subjected to rat lab cubicles where we can look in on each other at any given moment. People around us testing reflexes, repairing cosmetic damage, quashing bugs. What I was about to do was also technically debugging, but there was no way in hell my boss was gonna see it that way if he saw my flat ass pumping in and out of a bot worth more than I make in a year on the other side of plexiglass. Alright, cool, chill. I scoop up my backpack with my work laptop and sling it over my shoulder. “Bathroom,” I whisper.

Cut to Ren and I, locked in the women’s bathroom. We have three women in the office, and their cubes are on the other side of the building, closer to another bathroom. This one is usually empty. Cut to her, awkwardly standing in front of a toilet. Me, on the verge of being the Most Fired Man Who Ever Lived. For extra security, I’d stuffed us both into a stall, locking it behind me too. It's cramped, which adds to the feeling this is absolutely not what I'm supposed to be doing. But hey, it's my job, isn't it?

I awkwardly maneuver around her and sit on the toilet lid, hastily undoing my pants. God, this is shameful. And weirdly hot? I can't tell if it's just Ren or the dozen or so corporate regulations and general laws I'm breaking doing this, but I can feel the pulse in my cock, pressing up against the inseam of my jeans. Those lavender eyes flick from my face to the swollen, flushed skin, and the outer rim of her pupils flash with color. I help her roll down the leather catsuit and then, holy shit, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I’m inside her. She feels real. My hands on her back, my face buried in her tits, her thighs on mine, she feels realer than any woman I had ever known. My breath warms her artificial skin, and the barbell through her nipple is cold, the contrast making me shiver whenever the hot skin of my cheek touches the metal. My fingers slide up her stomach, her hips bucking and pumping me in and out of her. She’s tight. Really fuckin tight. I can feel her aether pump, the artificial heart, throbbing in her inner walls, harder than any real heart I’d ever felt. It adds to every stroke, a thumping sensation that’s nearly making me come after a couple thrusts. Christ, I might as well be sticking my dick right against the chambers of her fake heart.

The job. Right, I’m doing a job. Fuck, I’ve never loved my job so much. “Lemme- ngh, God, fuck- lemme see i-ins-side your ch-est, R-Ren.” She’s straddling my lap, panting like a porn star, her bob swinging back and forth, and she nods. The synthetic skin goes translucent, a dull blue glow that starts at her collarbone and down to the bottom of her ribcage. I spare only a brief chuckle, Man, we never could get rid of those stupid gamer lights, before I try to focus my attention on her inner workings. The aether heart is basically a simplified human one, drawing hot fluid in one side and squeezing out coolant through the other in an eternal ebb and flow. And right now, it’s going insane. The valves are snapping open and closed rapidly, the thing shuddering instead of really beating. There’s a little display window pinned under her collarbone, and it’s clocking her at 150 bpm, the green spikes of her heartbeat saw toothing across the round display port. Not totally dangerous, but as I pump inside of her and she bounces on my thighs to match my quickening pace, it keeps climbing.

Alright. As much as I want to be stuck in here forever, with a beautiful woman bouncing on my dick in a way I’ve only ever dreamed of, I have to figure out what’s wrong. I wrap my arms around her body, pulling her flush against my chest. “Hold onto me, ‘kay?” I breathe against her ear. Her arms slid around me, nails brushing briefly against my shoulder blades. I take in her scent. Focus on the sensations of her body, the sharp cold of her piercings, breasts pressed against my chest, her warm, throbbing cunt. It doesn’t take long. I start to lose the rhythm as my breath shortens, my strokes shortening too, until finally I can take it no more. I come, hot seed filling her up, bathing my cock, spilling out from between our sexes. Her back arches, a cry ripping from her throat of the most exquisite ecstasy.

Then she dies.

No, seriously, the bot quits all at once. I’m there, still trying to enjoy the feeling of my load making her even tighter and full, when she goes completely limp. Her arms slide down from my back, and the artificial pulse I feel in her cunt just stops all at once. She’s dead weight on top of me. “Fuck,” I spit, trying to readjust her, but she’s goddamn heavy. “Ren? Hey, Ren- man, what the fuck-”

I look up at her sternum to see the aether pump has stopped. The little internal monitor is reading a flatline. I fumble to unlatch the bathroom door, my other hand cradling her back, as I awkwardly shift to try and swing it open. Both of us end up in a heap on the floor when I try to pick her up. I'm apologizing to her slack and lifeless face as I disentangle myself and hastily zip up, then lay her flat on her back. Her perfect round breasts sit in the open air, her still heart glowing between them. I set my laptop beside her and hook up a USB into the command port hidden behind her ear.

There was no tip off in her crash reports, but looking now, I can see the absolute mess of code in the last few lines she ran before arresting. I clean up some of the irregularities, get rid of the redundancies, and hit reboot. Two small circular nodes glow within her chest, then snap against the chambers of her heart. Basically built in defib units. Her body jerks, hand twitching in against her cheek, her back arching slightly. Her naked shoulder blades slap against the tile floor as she falls back, limp again. But she doesn't move. Her pump is still. I glance at the monitor and see FATAL SYSTEM ERROR flash across the screen. Fuck, am I going to have to do this manually?

Growling in frustration, I throw my hands against her sternum. It's easy to get the right position when I can see her heart lying beneath a few layers of synthetic skin. Squaring my shoulders, I push down hard. Unlike with real CPR on a real person, depth doesn't matter, nor the risk of breaking ribs. She's basically Wolverine. A hydraulic crusher couldn't break her ribs. They yield though, and bow in against her spine as I rhythmically pump her heart. The force ripples through her whole body. Her stomach pops up, her shoulders shrug in, her head rolls back and forth. I look from her face down to her tits. I can't help it, they're swaying with each compression, the light catching her piercings. I can feel the cool metal rest against my fingers. The position my hands are in leaves my fingertip pressing against her nipple, still standing upright from our exercise. A shiver runs through me. Am I seriously getting hard again? It's hard not to. My eyes drink in her still body, the remnants of our session dribbling down her thigh, her breasts bouncing like they had when she was riding me.

I can almost see the corner of the screen light up with “Kink Unlocked: Reviving Dead Girls”. I glance at the monitor and see the reboot option has lit up again. When I take my hands away from her chest, I see her aether pump jerking as if trying to start again. Once more I charge the internal defibrillators. While they hum to life, I partake in a ritual that isn't strictly necessary. The hero always gets to indulge in mouth to mouth with the downed heroine. She doesn't actually need air, but her lips are slack, full and inviting. I press mine over hers, breathing air she doesn't need into her mouth. I can feel her cheeks puff, and I'm surprised but excited to see her chest rises too. I give her a few quick bursts of oxygen. Her chest jerks up and I only allow it to fall part way before I give her another, making her chest rise and fall in short hyperventilations. My hand finds itself running up her stomach to feel the motion of my breaths, up over her breast again. It fills my palm as I breathe a long, slow draft into her throat, and I roll her nipple between my fingers. She sighs out recycled air against my face when I break the seal of our lips.

Man, how do EMTs not cum when they resuscitate hot girls? The whole tableau is so erotic, I can feel my pulse once more jerk in my cock. The defibs once more slap the chambers of her artificial heart and she thrashes under the current. Her breasts sway and she again falls limp to the tiles.

“Come on, Ren,” I say under my breath, watching her aether pump swelling at uneven intervals. The chambers aren't beating right still, snapping open and closed out of sync with one another. I again check her code on my laptop, using one hand to tap through my options. The other I lay against her sternum. It occurs to me I really don't know what the fuck I'm doing. Whatever feels like it helps, I guess. Or whatever feels good. I grind my heel in against her heart in slow, rhythmic compressions with one hand. “Come on, work with me here. Breathe for me. Do something, at least let me know you're not completely bricked.” The idea that she might be makes me swallow hard. I like Ren. I don't want to ship her off to the junkyard as much as she doesn't want to be shipped.

When her heart goes still again I lace my fingers together and start pumping her chest anew. I forget my laptop entirely- this isn't a software issue, it's the hardware in her chest acting up. If I can just get the damn thing to reset. Swinging my leg over her supple thighs, I straddle her so I can use my whole body. Like this, I can feel the motion my work creates in her otherwise still body. Each powerful thrust against her pump rolls the kinetic force through her whole body. Her feet swing back and forth. The force rolls from her chest, down her stomach, even rippling her thighs. Each compression makes her stomach roll out, only now I can feel it between my legs.

Fuck it, I'm already fired. These life saving efforts have got me hard all over again, something I would have thought impossible. I unzip and thrust into her almost in one motion. It's next to impossible to actually pump into her while I'm working her heart, so I mostly settle for letting her body rock into me while I do CPR. Only when the prompt for the defibrillator pops up again do I allow myself to roll my hips into her while it charges. The thing whines quietly as I brace my hand against her chest, driving my cock deep inside her. It slaps her heart again and she arches her back, filling my hand against her sternum. Her inner walls clench with the electricity and I groan as I roll in and out of her. That's when she draws in a breath and moans all at once. Her eyes flutter open and she instinctively begins to grind her hips in rhythm with me. Before long I'm filling her up all over again and I collapse on top of her. She's back. The thought strikes me as I look down and see her aether pump snapping out a normal, if elevated rhythm. I roll off onto the welcome chill of the tile floors, my arm still slung around her.

“You okay?” I pant, my eyes half lidded as I look at her. Ren nods, smiling weakly in return. Then she’s wrapping her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder. I hesitate, the shame of what I had done to her when she was basically dead starting to creep up now that the high is waning. But eventually I slide my arms around her in return, drawing her close to my body. “Thank you, doc,” she whispers.

“Don't mention it.” Seriously, don't mention any of this.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Defense (of the internet) (from billionaires) in depth

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

The only way to truly billionaire-proof the internet is to a) abolish billionaires and b) abolish the system that allows people to become billionaires. Short of that, any levees we build will need constant tending, reinforcement, and re-evaluation.

That's normal. No security measure (including billionaire-proofing the internet) is a "set and forget" affair. Any time you want something and someone else wants the opposite, you are stuck in an endless game of attack and defense. The measures that block your adversary today will only work until your adversary changes tactics to circumvent your defenses.

For example, mining all the links on the internet to find non-spam sites worked brilliantly for Google, because until Pagerank, there were zero reasons for spammers to get links to point to their sites. Once Google became the dominant way of finding things on the internet, spammers invented the linkfarm. This principle can be summed up as "Show me a ten-foot wall and I'll show you an eleven-foot ladder."

Security designers address this with something called "defense in depth": that's a series of overlapping defenses that are meant to correct for one another's weaknesses. Your bank might use a password, a 2FA code, and – for extremely high-stakes transactions – a series of biographical questions posed by a human customer service over a telephone line.

I've written extensively about defending a new, good internet from billionaire enshittifiers. For example, in this post, I described how Bluesky could be made enshittification-resistant with the use of "Ulysses Pacts" – self-imposed, binding restrictions on enshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/02/ulysses-pact/#tie-yourself-to-a-federated-mast

A classic example of a Ulysses Pact is "throwing away the Oreos when you go on a diet." Now, it doesn't take a lot of work to devise a countermeasure your future, Oreo-craving self can take to defeat this measure: just drive to the grocery store and buy more Oreos. This even works at 2AM, provided you live within driving distance of an all-night grocer.

That doesn't mean you shouldn't throw away those Oreos. Depending on how strong your Oreo craving is, even a little friction can help you resist the temptation to ruin your diet. We often do bad things because of momentary impulses that fade quickly, and simply airgapping the connection between thought and deed works surprisingly well in many instances.

This is why places with fewer guns have fewer suicides of all kinds: there are plenty of ways to kill yourself, but none are quite so quick and reliable as a gun. People in the grips of a suicidal impulse who don't have guns have more chances to let the impulse pass (this is also why gun control leads to fewer all-cause homicides). So just because a measure is imperfect, that doesn't make it worthless.

If you're trying to give up drinking, you throw away all your booze, but you also go to meetings, and you get a sponsor who can help you out with a 2AM phone call. You might even put a breathalyzer on your car's ignition system. None of these are impossible to defeat (you can get an Uber to the liquor store, after all), but they all create friction between the thing you want, and the thing your adversary (your addiction) is trying to get. They strengthen the hand of you as defender of the sober status quo, against the attacker who wants you to relapse.

Critically, all these defensive measures also buy you space and time that you can use to organize and deploy more defenses. Maybe the long Uber ride to the liquor store gives you enough time to think about your actions so you call your sponsor from the parking lot. Defense is useful even when it only slows your adversary, rather than stopping your adversary in their tracks.

Scaling up from personal defense to societal-scale security considerations, it's useful to think of this as a battle with four fronts: code (what is technically im/possible?), law (what is il/legal?), norms (what is socially un/acceptable?) and markets (what is un/profitable?). This framework was first raised a quarter-century ago, in Larry Lessig's Code and Other Laws of Cyberspace:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Code_And_Other_Laws_of_Cyberspace_Version_2_0.pdf

Lessig laid out these four forces as four angles of attack that challengers to the status quo should plan their strategy around. If you want to liberalize copyright, you can try norms (the "Free Mickey" campaign), laws (the Eldred v. Ashcroft Supreme Court case), code (machine-readable Creative Commons licenses) and markets (open access/free software businesses). Each one of these helps the other – for example, if lots of people believe in copyright reform (norms), more of them will back a Humble Bundle for open access materials (markets), and more lawmakers will be interested in changing copyright statutes (law), and more hackers will see reason to do cool things with CC licenses, like search engines (code).

But the four forces aren't just for attackers seeking to disrupt the status quo – they're just as important for defenders looking to create and sustain a new status quo. Figuring out how to "lock a system open" is very different from figuring out how to "force a system open." But they're both campaigns waged with code, law, norms and markets.

We're living through a key moment in enshittification history. Millions of people have become dissatisfied with legacy social media companies run by despicable, fascism-friendly billionaires like Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg and are ready to leave, despite the costs (losing contact with friends who stay behind). While many of them are moving to group chats and private Discord servers,tens of millions have moved to new social media platforms that advertise (though they don't necessarily deliver) decentralization: Mastodon (and the fediverse) and Bluesky (and the atmosphere).

Decentralization is itself a defensive countermeasure (code). When a service has diffuse power, it's harder for any one person to take it over. Federation adds another defensive layer, because users who don't like the way one server is run can move to another server, with varying degrees of data- and identity-portability. That makes it harder for server owners to squeeze users to make money (markets), and gives them an out if server owners try it anyway.

Federation with decentralization is my favorite anti-enshittification defense. It's powerful as hell. It's the main reason I endorse Free Our Feeds, an effort to (among other things) build more Bluesky servers to decrease the centralization and give users dissatisfied with Bluesky management an alternative:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/20/capitalist-unrealism/#praxis

That said, decentralization and federation are not perfect, set-and-forget defenses. Take email – the oldest, most successful federated system of them all. Email is nominally decentralized, but most email traffic goes through a handful of extremely large servers run by a cartel of companies (Google, Apple, Microsoft, and a few ISPs). These companies collude (or, more charitably, coordinate) to block email from non-cartel companies, in the name of fighting spam. This makes running your own mail server so hard that it is nearly impossible (that is, if you care about people actually receiving the email you send them):

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/10/dead-letters/

What's interesting about enshittified email is that it didn't start with corporate takeover: it started with volunteer-maintained blocklists of untrustworthy servers that most email operators subscribed to, defederating from any server that appeared on the list. These blocklists of bad servers were opaque (often, their maintainers would operate anonymously, citing the threat of retaliation from criminal scammers whose servers appeared on the list). They had little or no appeal process, and few or no objective criteria for inclusion (you could be blocklisted for how your email server was configured, even if no one was using it to send spam). All of this set up the conditions to favor large email servers, and also had the effect of immunizing these large servers from appearing on blocklists. I mean, once three quarters of the internet is on Gmail, no one is going to block email from Gmail, even if a ton of spam is sent using its servers.

The lesson of email doesn't mean email is bad, nor does it mean decentralization and federation are useless. It doesn't even mean that blocklists of bad servers are evil. It just means that federation and decentralization are imperfect and insufficient defenses against enshittification, and that blocklists are useful, but very dangerous. It means that we should strive to keep our systems federated and decentralized, and watch our blocklists very carefully, and not rely on any of this as the only defense against enshittification.

Likewise, both Mastodon and Bluesky are built on free/open code and standards. That means that anyone can fork them, fix them or mod them. What's more, the licenses involved are irrevocable, making them very effective Ulysses Pacts. No one – not a CEO, not a VC investor, not a court or a blackmailer – can order someone to make their GPL code proprietary. The license is perpetual and irrevocable, and that's that.

Free/open licenses are excellent Ulysses Pacts and great code-related defenses against enshittification, but they, too, are imperfect and insufficient. Google, Facebook, Amazon, Apple and Microsoft have all figured out how to enshittify services that are built on free/open code:

https://mako.cc/copyrighteous/libreplanet-2018-keynote

And then there are all the companies that use free/open code and defeat the freedom and openness by simply violating the license, on the grounds that a decentralized, federated development community can't figure out who has standing to sue, and also can't afford to pay for the lawyers to do so:

https://sfconservancy.org/news/2022/may/16/vizio-remand-win/

That's not to say that code-based antienshittification measures are pointless – only to say that they need other measures to backstop them, as defense in depth. Let's talk about law, then. Both Mastodon and Bluesky are governed by legal entities that are, nominally, organized by charters that oblige them to eschew enshittification and be responsive to their users (Bluesky is a B-corp, Mastodon's code is overseen by a US nonprofit).

These structures are very important. I've been a volunteer board member for several co-ops and nonprofits (I was even once a volunteer for a nonprofit co-op!) and I'm familiar with the role that good governance can play in defending a project from internal and external pressures to betray its mission. That means I'm also familiar with the limits of these governance measures.

Take nonprofits: nominally, nonprofits are legally bound to serve their charitable purpose, and technically, stakeholders have legal recourse if they stray from this. But you don't have to look far to find nonprofits that have violated their charter and gotten away with it. Take the Nature Conservancy, which has become a key player in the market for fake "carbon offsets" that are used to justify everything from fossil fuel extraction to SUV manufacture:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/12/fairy-use-tale/#greenwashing

Or think of ISOC, who get tens of millions of dollars in free money every year from their stewardship of the .ORG registry, but who decided to hand over control of the nonprofits' TLD of choice to a shadowy cabal of hedge-fund billionaires:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/12/how-we-saved-org-2020-review

Co-ops, too, are powerful but wildly imperfect. REI is a member co-op that does lots of great things…and also busts unions:

https://prismreports.org/2024/07/17/rei-workers-unionizing-fighting-for-agreemment/

But REI is a paragon of social virtue compared to its Canadian equivalent, Mountain Equipment Coop, whose board was taken over by corrupt assholes who then sold the whole thing to a US private equity fund and change the name to "MEC":

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/16/spike-lee-joint/#casse-le-mec

B-corps are far from perfect, too: while they are nominally required to serve a positive social purpose, in practice, they can violate that purpose with impunity, whether that through greenwashing:

https://www.bbc.com/worklife/article/20240202-has-b-corp-certification-turned-into-corporate-greenwashing

Or Kickstarter insiders taking a $100m bribe to help Andreesen-Horowitz do a crypto pump-and-dump:

https://fortune.com/crypto/2024/03/11/kickstarter-blockchain-a16z-crypto-secret-investment-chris-dixon/

None of this is to claim that B-corps, co-ops, and nonprofits are useless. Maybe we should just give up on organization altogether and have some kind of adhocracy? If you're thinking this will help, then you need to read Jo Freeman's "The Tyranny of Structurelessness" and learn how a "leaderless" group is actually led by its least scrupulous, most Machiavellian schemers:

https://www.jofreeman.com/joreen/tyranny.htm

At this point, you might be mentally designing a new corporate structure, one that's designed to correct for both the tyranny of structurelessness and the brittleness of co-ops, nonprofits and B-corps. Please don't do this. Rolling your own corporate structure is like rolling your own cryptography or your own free software license. It always ends in tears:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/artificial-intelligence/openai-remove-non-profit-control-give-sam-altman-equity-sources-say-2024-09-25/

I like co-ops, nonprofits and B-corps. They're powerful – but insufficient – weapons against enshittification. They need to be backstopped by other measures, like norms. Normative measures are very powerful! Of course, mass revolts of angry users don't always keep companies from enshittifying:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2023/dec/30/reddit-moderator-protest-communities-social-media

But sometimes they do. The C-suite of Unity was shown the door after enshittifying their flagship product:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/10/10/23911338/unity-ceo-steps-down-developers-react

As was the enshittifying CEO of Sonos:

https://www.theverge.com/2025/1/13/24342179/sonos-ceo-patrick-spence-resignation-reason-app

And of course, these defensive measures reinforce one another. The public outcry against the .ORG selloff (norms) led to California's Attorney General stepping in (law), and after that, we more-or-less romped to victory:

https://www.theregister.com/2020/04/17/icann_california_org_sale_delay/

Markets are the final antienshittificatory force. If a social network is designed to be surveillance-resistant, it will be (very) hard to implement behavioral surveillance advertising. If a network is designed to support a many clients, it will be easy to implement an ad-blocker. Both factors make advertising-based businesses very unattractive to individual server operators, spammers, and VCs who back companies that operate elements of a federated server.

Same goes for systems that allow users to control the recommendations and other algorithmic aspects of their feeds (including switching these off altogether). The fact that Tiktok's users overwhelmingly use an algorithmic feed that they have no way to control or even understand is an anti-Ulysses Pact, an irresistible temptation for Tiktok to enshittify itself:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

By contrast, it's much harder to pull those shenanigans with services that technologically devolve control over recommendations (code), making it less profitable to even try to attempt this (markets). And of course, if users refuse to tolerate this kind of thing (norms) and can hop to other servers (code), then any system that pulls that nonsense will lose lots of users and go broke (markets).

This defense-in-depth approach to decentralized social media pushes us to analyze both Mastodon and Bluesky through a tactical lens – to identify the weak parts in the defenses of each and shore them up.

Take Free Our Feeds and its attempt to stand up more Bluesky servers. This addresses one of the serious technical deficiencies in Bluesky (the lack of federation), and if lots of Bluesky users try it out, it will normalize the idea that Bluesky is a constellation of independently managed servers (norms). It also creates Bluesky alternatives with radically different commercial imperatives (markets), because the main Bluesky server is backed by venture capitalists, who are notorious for their enshittifying impulses.

But security isn't static – a tactic that works today won't work tomorrow if your adversary can figure out a way around it. Bluesky is a B-corp with an excellent board with some names I have profound trust for, but B-corps can abandon their public benefit purpose, and boards can be fired (and also even people you trust can talk themselves into doing stupid and wicked things, see .ORG).

If millions of Bluesky users flock to a rival service, one run by a nonprofit (markets), Bluesky's investors might be tempted to sever the link between Bluesky and that new server (code). That's what Facebook and Apple did to XMPP, an interoperable, federated messaging system that used to connect Apple users, Facebook users, and users of many other servers. They did this for commercial reasons (markets), to trap and lock in their users (code), and they got away with it because not enough users were outraged by this (norms) that they could get away with it.

When Bluesky's VCs fire the CEO, kick people like Mike Masnick off its board, and then defederate from Free Our Feeds' server, how do we make that more like Sonos or Unity (where the corporation capitulated to its users), and not like Reddit (where the user revolt was crushed)?

With social media, it's a numbers game. Social media grows by network effects: the more users there are in a system, the more valuable it is. It's not merely imperative to create alternative Bluesky servers, it's imperative to make them populous enough that cutting them off from the first Bluesky server will inflict more pain on the company than it inflicts on those other users. That's not a guarantee that Bluesky's future, enshittification-bent management won't go ahead and do it anyway, but it does increase the chances that if they press on, their users will take the hit to defect to free/open servers.

Bluesky has other problems besides its centralization, of course. The reason Bluesky is so centralized is that it's really expensive to run an alternative Bluesky server that provides a home for users who have left the main server (a "relay" in Bluesky-ese). Partly this is down to tooling: because no one has done it, Free Our Feeds will have to invent a lot of stuff to get that server up and running, but people who come later will benefit from whatever Free Our Feeds develops along the way.

But mostly, this isn't a tooling problem – it's an architecture problem. The way that Bluesky is structured demands a lot more of relays than Mastodon demands of "instances" (a loose Fediverse analog to relays):

https://www.techdirt.com/2025/01/21/the-technological-poison-pill-how-atprotocol-encourages-competition-resists-evil-billionaires-lock-in-enshittification/#comment-4253477

This is a code problem, and it's a hard one, but it's not insurmountable. The history of networked tools is the history of developers figuring out how to break apart large, monolithic, expensive services in cheaper, smaller, easier to develop. In other words, our defense in depth of Bluesky militates for more than one project – not just a "Free Our Feeds" but also a software development project to make it easier for anyone to free those feeds.

Which raises some important questions, the biggest being "Why bother?" After all, there's already a perfectly good Fediverse that could sure use the money and effort that Free Our Feeds is proposing to put into Bluesky. My main answer here is that the point of disenshittification is an enshittification-free internet, not a better Mastodon:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/20/capitalist-unrealism/#praxis

We want to set Bluesky users free because the problem with Bluesky isn't its users, it's the fact that there's no fire-exits those users can avail themselves of if Bluesky's VCs set it on fire:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/14/fire-exits/#graceful-failure-modes

But there's another good reason to do this, one that involves people who have no interest in using Bluesky: even if you don't want to use a better Bluesky, you likely have very good reasons to reach Bluesky users. Maybe you want them to help you organize against enshittification! Or maybe you just want to operate a real-world venue where people can gather and have a great time and support performers, and right now you're stuck advertising on Facebook and Instagram, and you don't want to end up being forced to use an enshittified, fire-exit-free Bluesky in the future:

https://www.dnalounge.com/backstage/log/2025/01/13.html

Of course, there's plenty of reasons to want to make Mastodon better. Many of Mastodon's features are absurdly primitive – the lack of threading support and quote-boosting sucks, and the supposedly opt-in system-wide search doesn't work, even if you opt in. Masto could sure use some of the money that Free Our Feeds is asking for to spruce up Bluesky.

This is true, but also irrelevant. Mastodon is stuck at around a million active users, while Bluesky has twenty times that amount. Crowdfunding a couple dollars per user to pursue software development is a reasonable goal, but raising twenty times that much is a lot harder:

https://mastodon-analytics.com/

The money being raised for Free Our Feeds isn't money that had been earmarked for Mastodon development, nor will abandoning Free Our Feeds redirect those funds to Mastodon development.

Which isn't to say that we shouldn't chip in to fund Mastodon development. I donated to the Kickstarter for Pixelfed, a Fediverse Insta replacement that has Meta so scared that they'll suspend your account if you even mention it:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/pixelfed/pixelfed-foundation-2024-real-ethical-social-networks

Adding Insta-like features to Mastodon is great. Fixing search, quoting, and threading would be great, too. We probably need some kind of governance efforts to keep volunteer-run, good faith defederation blocklists from exhibiting the same dynamics that email went through during the spam wars. There's some Bluesky features I'd love to see on Mastodon, like composable moderation and user-controlled, user-tunable recommendations. We also probably need some kind of adversarial press that closely monitors the governance structure for the Mastodon codebase and reports on process in standardization (I cannot overstate how much fuckery can take place within standards bodies, under cover of a nigh-impermeable shield of boringness).

Breaking Bluesky open is a priority. Keeping Mastodon open is a priority. But neither of these are goals unto themselves. The point is to set people free, not set technology free. Willie Sutton robbed banks because "that's where the money is." Right now, I'm interested in anti-enshittification measures for Bluesky because "that's where the people are."

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

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/2025/01/23/defense-in-depth/#self-marginalization

Image: Mike Baird (modified) https://flickr.com/photos/mikebaird/2354116406

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[scarletwinterxx]

cheeks are red like cherries in the spring - choi seungcheol imagine

hellllooooo yes back to back post😅 one thought, why is diet pepsi so cheol coded ??????? cherry???? cross gold chain???!?!?!?! LIKE OKAY MS ADDISON RAE THANK U FOR THE NEW CHEOL ANTHEM

and with that song in mind, here's a cheol scenario HAHA hope you like it!

if anyone want to be mutuals on X, i'm using the same un there😊

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

"Cheol, I swear to god get the fuck out of my shirt"

"Your shirt? This is my shirt"

The audacity of this man to argue back, you thought. Who knew a big buff man like Choi Seungcheol would be like a clingy koala, the answer would be you and only you. You're the only one who gets him like this.

Your fiancé knew exactly which buttons to push and when to push them. Like right now, you told him you were catching up on some work you missed while the two of you went on a quick weekend trip but ofcourse he would find a way to be involved somehow.

So here he is, half of his body inside your(his) shirt while you sit on his lap.

You're close to getting your work done but Cheol's being difficult, littering kisses and a few playful bites here and there on your chest.

"Cheolie, please give me five minutes to finish this then I'm all yours. If you don't stop, I'm sleeping in the guest bedroom"

You feel him move out of your shirt, now he's fully facing you. One brow raised and a sulky pout already placed on his lips "You're mean"

"5 minutes or no cuddles tonight"

He scowls before helping you off his lap so he can get off the seat. "I'm setting a timer, done or not I'm coming in here" And you believe him. He's petty like you, maybe because you're both Leos.

He kisses you on the cheek before walking away, closing the door behind him.

You finish the last three emails you had to send before doing a final run through. You look at the clock to see you're cutting it close. Testing to see if Cheol will really come in the room, you wait instead of going out to the living room.

When the clock turns, you hear the door swing open. Everything happening all too fast, Seungcheol already throwing you over his shoulder before you can protest. He walks to the other room where he throws you (gently) on the bed, hands on his hips as he watch you laugh

"You're so petty" you laugh

"And you're so pretty, you know just how to drive me mad huh" he tells you, climbing over the bed until he's on top of you. He slots himself between your legs, tangling them around his hips as he rests his body on you but not fully putting all of body weight on you

"You better not have left hickies on my neck again" you poke him on the cheek

"And if I did? It's not like somebody will come and check" he retorts, then leans down to start kissing your neck again as if to prove a point.

"Cheol, seriously. I can never wear low cut now" your words differ from your actions, tilting your head to the side to give him more room. He smirks against your skin, kissing the same spot over and over again.

He pauses to look at you, eyes looking back at him with so much love and lust it goes straight through him. "You know you have a few moles like from your neck down here" he trails his finger from your neck down the valley of your chest, leaving goosebumps on it's trail.

"Do I?"

"Mhm, and you know what they say about moles? They say that's where you were kissed the most in your past life"

You smile, already seeing where this conversation is going. "Jealous?" you tease him

"Pshhh me? Yes. Actually sometimes it pisses me off thinking someone loved you this much, someone who isn't me"

"But what if it was you?"

"Then good. It should be me. I can't even fathom any other guy loving you more than I do" he tells you, ever so sure and confident of his commitment to you.

"You're cute when you're jealous"

"I'm gonna kiss you here too, over and over again so when we're reborn you get all these moles again I'll be sure it would be because of me"

You stare up at your man, imagining a universe where you're not with him is simply impossible. Pulling him down to crash his lips against yours, he reciprocates the kiss with just as much passion. Like you're the air he's breathing.

When you pull away he speaks again, "I really hope it's me in every universe"

You smile at his words, giving him a more gentle kiss this time. The two of you share a smile and few more kisses before you tell him,

"Love me like this and I'll make sure of it"

[jazzyblusnowflake]

(If this was asked before, I swear to god.) FullCompany (NUziVJ) Headcannons?

aaaaaaaaa time to write once more- i missed being able to type away like the lil shit i am-

anyhow- okay lets see- gonna add some things here- tbh my ideas was mostly for Jenvy ideas mainly- but i guess ill fit Uzi in there lol

Some JeNVUzi HCs:

[once again- Drone au only, and maybe minor suggestive content but not nsfw]

The polycule is essentially formed around Uzi pulling them back together-

J's original reason for siding with Cyn which was rooted in fear- was on the basis that she still had her team on her side so she could keep them safe and so theyd have eachother to rely on even after Cyn destroys everything. she did not however, account for Uzi coming along and messing everything up and ruining her team's alignment while she was "dead".

the entire reason J tried to kill N or V at any time was cuz she knew a clone of them would be sent back anyway- she has basically become desensitized towards death in general given she had also died around 12 times herself [canon]- V and N try to help her through this- during which they also deal with Vs behavior and Ns trauma too.

to communicate with J they often had to spar with her- seeing as she hated talking about feelings- but this became their own thing they all did afterwards to unwind and communicate- as J opened up a lot easier after feeling like she was reached out to.

Uzi and J bond over anime and gaming- the latter being somewhere J could actually use her anger on more effectively XD

they all like reading books every now and then where one would read and the others snuggle or cuddle- they take turns. [this is from their manor days]

J is... unable to emote or show emotion easily and it eats her alive. she can't show the appropriate needed emotion to the mood of the room and it makes her have breakdowns- occasionally throw up- as though you are desperately trying to cry but the tears wont come so you try heaving it out- make yourself fit in and look normal by trying to FEEL something- but she cant. J is a dated business model drone- custom made for office work- she was made to be this way- Cyn didn't change her- and she grows to hate herself for it. so when a situation happens that she doesn't know how to react, she leaves or hides- until N,V or Uzi find her- usually disassociating or somewhat catatonic.

Uzi occasionally feels out of place with the group, as though she's just being a literal 4th wheel, since they have history together. the others try to show her that she is important to them each in their own ways-

addressing the elephant in the room- yes, it took a long time for N and J to come to terms with eachother- J eventually accepting that her original reason for hating N [him being better than her or preferred over her esp by Tessa] wasn't important anymore- and tries to appreciate him and V and Uzi more in whatever is left of her life.

make no mistake V and J are still very much bitchy on a surface level- just cuz they are all growing close does not mean they are all now lovey dovey with eachother or sweet and character-redemption-ed with everyone around them. therefore: "playful catfights" >:3 !

V and Uzi tease J alot- this is one of the reasons why J found more comfort with N- not gonna tell him to his face tho lol.

J teaches N to draw better and they bond over that alot-

Uzi and J like attention alot- and they wanna get it by being as wordless as possible- very cat coded.

Uzi, V and N like to drag J into doing more normal things that have less to do with work. so far J has mostly shown some interest in writing and maybe poetry but she WILL shoot your head off if you try to read her stuff-

J's first kiss was with Uzi- N and V having kissed once back at the manor being eachothers first kiss. J thinks V kisses the best tho lol.

N and V like to cuddle a lot- J and Uzi are usually dependent on mood-

V likes to bite- J likes to be bitten, N and Uzi like both- :3

J likes playing with N and Uzi's fluffy hair. V only lets N touch her hair.

during intimate cuddles- J has passed out the most lol. Uzi following a close second lol-

Uzi and J yap alot about tech work-

hmm this is all i can think about for NOW-

:"3