#brain has been Bad today and i have been craving screaming and violent acts

[kurthorton-moving]

Craving violence so i had to log onto my pin cushion

[gagmebucky]

[steve. breeding kink. baby.]

“Wanna know what makes it worse?” Steve leans in and trails his nose along the inviting curve of your shoulder and neck until his lips are adjacent with your ear. “My sense of smell, it tells me when your body is just ripe for the taking. It’s like you’re fucking calling me every single month—begging me to put your little pussy out of your misery. . . fuck and fuck until you’re milkin’ my kid right outta me.”

in which you’re playing with a baby and steve can’t resist himself. (includes steve’s pov, avenger!steve rogers x girlfriend!reader, breeding kink, dirty talk, praise kink, mild daddy kink, unprotected sex.) 

do not repost.

—

Procedure requires debriefing at the end of every mission. In this hours-long process, an agent must recap the objectives and the means used to achieve them; deviations to the original plan and why; as well as whether success was gained, and any other pertinent intel possibly acquired.

This routine is mandatory for all those working for and with an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D.; not even the Avengers are exempt from this. Except in this particular case where the titular first of the super-powered team has forgone the professional necessity, and instead, is in search of you. 

Normally, America’s golden boy can handle the dangers that occur in such a violent but imperative field. He understands the risks and pressures inherent to his line of duty, and he’s always accepted it, dealt with it because the overall outcome dwarfs the bad.

On this particular assignment, however, the stakes were higher than usual and although the quick snap-quick decisions he made ultimately paid off, it didn’t soften the blow of the sacrifices made. Times like this, he has to wonder if it’s worth it.

The tension weighs on his shoulders and crackles underneath his skin; his synapses are frayed with the memory of each fallen agent, the orders he doled out preambling every one, and the electricity curls his fists and locks his jaw. It’s corrupting that logical part of his brain, and that craving for vengeance can’t be sated with  his knuckles breaking a few punching bags. 

In rare moments like these, when the serum is pumping through his veins like rabies, there’s one thing to straighten the edges and bring him back from the trenches. That solace is you; your alluring smile and twinkling eyes, the musical carry of your laugh, your seemingly innate ability to figure out what’s wrong and quell the turmoil cycloning inside of him. 

So he doesn’t report to Fury like he’s supposed to, doesn’t go over the myriad of errors that only worsened as the mission progressed—no one stops him either. 

When employees spot him marching down the corridors, stealth suit still on and rippling across his hulking mass, his strides colliding deafeningly with the floor, handsome and affable features tightened intensely, their only recourse is moved out of the way. Thankfully, they get the hint because if someone hadn’t, he knows he’d snap and do something he might regret. 

His senses, formerly haywire in his manic state, have lasered into tunnel focus; his eardrums hone in on the specific sound wave of your crooning voice, and the olfactory nerves in his nostrils guide him in a trail to the source of your intoxicating essence.

Steve slams the door open and storms into the upper, restricted level of the headquarters. His hastened pace slows upon your increased dose, lulling his awareness and distance waning significantly. As his search nears its end, he recognizes where he’s at: the luxurious space designed by and created for Tony Stark. 

The doors are open so he doesn’t waste time knocking (not that he possesses the patience to abide by his hundred year old manners). Upon entry, he’s taken the tranquility occupying the atmosphere and the sight of you bathed in the sun’s glow; bright rays beam through the impenetrable windowed wall of the tower while you gently rock the three month old baby perched on your shoulder, probably basking in the dual warmth of you and the star.    

From afar, behind you, the brown-eyed girl’s mother stands. With her head tilted and soft gratefulness slanted into her lips, the strawberry blonde’s hip rests against the office’s wet bar and watches fondly as you effortlessly soothe her child’s fussiness into a thumb-sucking slumber. 

“Aren’t they cute?” Pepper Potts remarks as he steps beside her. Her gaze maintains on his girlfriend and her daughter. “Morgan would not stop crying for the past few hours, and I did everything to calm her down. I was frazzled and at my wit’s end then I handed her off to her aunt, and now she’s as quiet as a mouse.” She pauses and spares a glance over to his adoration-fixed stare, a slyness twisting into her smile. “I don't know what stage you two are at but she’d make a great mom.” 

Steve knows you occasionally babysit for the Starks, but he’s never seen you like this. You’re in your element, swaying back and forth while you hum inaudibly into the infamous delicate baby’s ear. Her small hands are curled around your neck and her face nuzzled into the crease of your shoulder, with the opposing thumb slid between her lips as her big chocolate eyes flutter into a peaceful rest. 

Suddenly breathless—but it’s not from the exertion—he has to agree, nodding his head. “Y - yeah,” he answers to both statements because it’s fucking adorable, and while there’s never been a doubt about your caring nature, this cements the fact that you would be an amazing mother. The sensation boils in his gut, and his fingers twitch at his sides. “Has she always been this good with her?”

“Oh, yeah,” Pepper tells him matter-of-factly. “With her, other kids, too. She came with us to the park, and this one kid was screaming his head off and she just went over and poof! He was happy.” Her eyes are back on your slow pacing silhouette. “I would swear she was made for this. I bet she was a nanny in another life.” 

His knuckles clench as her words ignite the simmering inferno of his being. Made for this, made for this, echoes in his head and he has to remind himself that he’s in public. But the primal image of you, radiating like an angel with a little piece of him growing inside you, has already carved itself in the forefront of his psyche.

Steve has never been into traditional gender roles, not even when he was in his time and it was the norm (he’s always been a very progressive thinker). But, God, he can’t deny the appeal now that he has you. There’s something so primally satisfying about having you at home, free of any worries that aren’t about your family, potentially—preferably—knocked up.

The carnal urge grips him more intensely than before. Usually, he can suppress that visceral desire to bury himself bare inside you and spill his virility until he further claims you as his. However, receiving a glimpse of you in this maternal state, it has every instinct screaming that you’re irrefutably perfect and primed. 

As if on cue, you turn around with the effectively lullabied infant clinging around your neck. After a flicker of surprise, pleasant then concerned, you pad on over to carefully hand over Morgan to her thankful mother. Your attention rivets back to him with a knitted brow gaze. 

“Babe, hey,” you greet in a gentle voice. Worry ebbs into your gaze amongst the usual stare of attraction upon dragging across the navy blue material that still clings to his muscular torso. You offer your hand, which he immediately takes, and you guide him out of the office into the hallway. The door shuts behind you, and the sectioned off level is empty, but your voice is still quiet when asking, “What happened?”  

You stand barely a breath away, and the proximity pacifies his senses. His stance loosens while a smile upturns a corner of his mouth. “Nothing,” he answers then clarifies, “Nothing that matters anymore, anyway.” 

The amendment dwindles your concerned curiosity because it’s honest—he doesn’t need to dwell when you’re standing here—and you can hear it; another lovingly scrutinizing up-and-down glance confirms that his earlier disquietude has settled significantly.

“D’you have fun back there?” he goes onto wonder, eyes flickering over to the closed door.   Your earlier titillatingly visage snaps into his brain, and he subconsciously bites down on his bottom lip. “You looked like you were.” 

You accept his subject-change with a nonchalant shrug. “Babies like me, and I like them,” you tell him, smiling at the admission. “What can I say?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that you want me to knock you up.” The words fumble out of his mouth before he thinks about it, and while he hadn’t intended on letting it slip, if he did, it would’ve been without the serious fluctuation he blurted it out with. 

In a lame attempt to correct his slip of the tongue regarding a topic you both rarely discussed, he quickly adds, “I’m joking.” A surprised expression had crossed your features upon processing his former response, transitioning into something he can’t yet pinpoint if he likes. As if to test the waters—or dig himself into a deeper hole—he says, matter-of-factly, borderline suggestive, “But you know, back in my day, you’d probably already have a few popped out by now.”

“Mr. Rogers!” you gasp in an almost-shocked tone, but your cheeks split with a devious grin. “Are you telling me you want to be a daddy?” 

Disheveled by his mission, then upended by your placating presence, he’s more awkward than the day he met you. “Fuck. Look, I’d never pressure you, okay?” For the millionth time, the previous scene plays mentally; he exhales heavily. “It’s just you with her, and I. . . never mind.” He shakes his head, deciding he’s still on the edge from both events today, and dismisses his animalistic inkling. “Act like I didn’t say anything.” 

You fold your arms and nod.

“Uh-huh, daddy,” you drawl, scintillating in mischievousness that simultaneously has his heart skipping a beat and his cock jumping. Your smirk widens before disappearing beneath a cascade of feigned innocence. “We can just act like you don’t want me to have your kid.”

 His lips part at your teasing twist of his words. “That’s - that’s not what I said.” 

“Isn’t it?” You lift a brow. “It is. So, maybe I should find a guy who does. I think any other man would take immense pleasure in going condomless inside of me.” One hand wiggles into your jacket pocket while you peddle away from his orbit; a rectangular plastic ruffles as his reflexes instinctively catch it. “You know, I think Bucky would really appreciate me. I bet he’d have the manners to really wife me up and make me—“

He knows you’re poking fun of him; playfulness alight within your gaze that he usually enjoys. In actuality, he understands there’s zero truth in your jesting and he’d be more amused than jealous. However, currently, the circumstances have corrupted his sensibilities. 

“That’s not funny.”

Your laugh echoes musically. “It’s not ‘cause it isn’t a joke,” you say between your giggles, your amusement pardoning your spacial awareness. “I mean—Steve!” Your yelp is louder and even more musical when he surges forth and reigns you in. 

Air expels from your chest as his body cages yours against the wall. Using one hand to brace himself above you, his opposing appendage tilts your dazed blinking up. “Now do you really think I don’t want you to carry my kid?” he rumbles. “Because if it were up to me, I would’ve taken claim to your womb the second I saw you.” 

Your breathing hitches, and you try to remain unaffected but he’s too keen on your reactions to be fooled. “O - oh?” 

“Yeah.” His tongue swipes across his bottom lip. “Wanna know what makes it worse?” He leans in and trails his nose along the inviting curve of your shoulder and neck until his lips are adjacent to your ear. “My sense of smell, it tells me when your body is just ripe for the taking. It’s like you’re fucking calling me every single month—begging me to put your little pussy out of your misery. . . fuck and fuck until you’re milkin’ my kid right outta me.” 

A sound, hybrid between a moan and a gasp, escapes your throat; humor eviscerated, desire exudes from you and submerges his senses in a provoking intoxication. The rush sinks into his brain and triggers that visceral frenzy within him but he has no interest in suppressing it anymore. 

He releases a guttural groan and grabs your hips. His big hands splay on either side, thumb slightly kneading back and forth, and he draws you in closer. “I can smell you right now, too. Not only how wet you’re gettin’ but that it’s that time for you, isn’t it?” he purrs and nips at your lobe. “You’re mine for the taking.” His teeth catch your pulse, sucking a mark onto the vulnerable skin. “Hm, baby?”

“Y - yes!” you moan wantonly loud as your weight sags into his embrace. “Always.”

“Good—” His hands cinch on your flanks and abruptly hoist you up: prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist and your arms to encircle around his neck. “—cause holding back with you is gonna be impossible.”

With your body clutched  around his abdomen, he heads for the closest empty room, scoped out via his enhanced hearing. Unceremoniously, he turns a handle and breaks the lock of the unused office space; two doors down from the main room, it’s smaller but it has a sturdy-looking desk in the center.

He kicks the door shut and sets you down as your lips find his. Although you’re sat down, legs dangling over the wooden edge, you keep your elbows hooked around the nape of his neck and coax a ragged groan out of his chest with the deft stroke of your tongue. 

“Shit, baby,” he breathes and parts from you in order to yank your jacket down your shoulders. Tossing it off the side, he reveals a braless tank top and your nipples he can see have pebbled underneath. His imagination takes off once more, envisioning what the already perfect twins will look like in the wake of his seed taking root inside you.

His blood pumps viciously, flowing downward and flooding his cock to strain beneath the oppressive stealth-suit fabric. Like you’re reading his mind, you unhook the utility belt and similarly shove it off somewhere on the side.

Something rustles, and it’s the condom you’d thrown at him. Absentmindedly tucked under the cinch of the belt previously, it falls into your undressing hands. Your eyes rivet up to him, lashes fluttering big, as you hold it between two fingers: halfway offering. “What are you gonna do, daddy?” 

At that particular moment, it occurs to him that you’re doubting his seriousness. While abundantly clear you want this, you’re dubious on whether he’s going through it. Which is preposterous, but he figures that the look on your face when he spills inside you bareback will only further his orgasm, consequently heightening the odds of his end-goal. 

He plucks the packaging from of your grip, holds it up as your gazes clash and makes a show out of discarding it out of reach. Then he seizes your knees and slides your ass to the edge so your center is flushed against him, rocking into his hardened imprint.

“You,” he answers your query, tone a growl, as he peels your jeans off. He continues on just to shred your panties. “I’m doing you. With nothing to separate me from you, nothing to keep you from your rightful destiny: knocked up with our baby.”

“Please,” is all you utter, but the room’s thick with sensory evidence of your essence. 

Spreading your thighs as far as possible, he glances down to spit lewdly on your glistening mound; a long dribble of saliva coating your eager button and slit. He uses his thumb to smear it all over, mixing with the puddle you’re creating, dipping into your sticky folds with his middle finger. 

The whole time, you’re choking with these hungry and appreciative little noises. Likewise, you’re watching as he prepares you thoroughly and roughly to wring the cum out of him. “S - Steve,” you mewl coherently and buck into his messy caress. Your fingers are tugging pleading on the lower half of his uniform. “I need you. Please!” 

It is about damn time. 

His control has been witting away since the first time you called him daddy. He swiftly wrenches the suit down and exposes his leaking, throbbing cock to your tunnel of relief. His size always dwarfs your kempt triangle; an initial observation one might come to is the improbability he won’t fit. But he does, every single time, and in this special instance, he’s going to ensure all of his formidable length is buried in your fertile heat.         

He rasps his tip over your clit, plastering his translucent white pre-cum over the engorged nub, then traces down the crease of your slit. As he prods in, his hands span your thighs and  help open up your elastic entrance for his  ravenous cock. He stretches your tightness slow but unyieldingly while you both watch with labored breathing, transfixed by the sight of your dripping core enveloping his veined and tanned angry stalk until he’s nudging your cervix.

“Good girl,” he grits out, strangled by the electricity prickling his nerves.  He slips support underneath your ass, intertwining from the inner to the outer so when he hauls you up, your knees are bent over his elbows. “You ready to make me a daddy, baby?”

“Yes!” You nod quickly with a moan. “Shit, you’re big—and deep. Really fucking deep.”

He chuckles huskily because if you think that now, he can’t wait to see you once he’s truly plundered new depths. “Now, you just hold on tight and let me do all the work. I only want you to focus on givin’ me a baby, okay?”

In the middle of an abandoned office room—possibly a storage area—he heaves you up and drops you back down. Your arms curl around his neck, hands twisting into his suit, while he alters between gravity and his hips jutting forth to drill inside you.   

Without any mind to those around you—just you and him—he fucks you with every ounce of strength coiled into his super-charged build. Ignoring the fact that door is unlocked, broken more specifically, and the possibility that there’s likely high quality surveillance cameras watching, your shared sounds of carnality fills the room in between the harsh collision of skin. 

Each propelling thrust seems to jostle further than further, carving himself into your inner walls. Like he said before, he handles all the work, effortlessly bouncing your sporadically clenching channel with his inhuman strength and stamina; leaving you to accept and bask in the stimulation his cock is providing and the gift he’ll be depositing inside of you any time now. 

Your lips are breathless in his ear, gasping, “Daddy, please,” that has him climbing the rope faster. The beg pours gasoline on an already roaring fire, igniting wildly to burn up his legs then his stomach and on its way to take him under.

“Y’gonna make me a daddy, baby? You’re gonna be a pretty lil’ mommy and take care of us? Is that what you want?” he croons, identifying the way you tighten as your steadily approaching orgasm. “Y’gonna have your pretty pussy squeeze me until I’m shooting my load and knocking you up?” 

He’s pretty sure your nails have punctured the suit’s resilient material. “S - Steve, fuck! Please. Yes! Cum inside me—cum inside me—“ you cry out with genuine desperation that his limbs tingling numbly. “I want it. I want you. Please. I wanna feel you!” 

His jaw locks and works you somehow even harder. The room is completely engulfed with you, your arousal, the potency of your ovulation, and your future with him; once he releases, it’ll only seal the fact that you’re his and belong to him (as well as vice versa). 

“Who’s gonna be a daddy, baby? Who are you making a daddy, baby?” His words are practically slurred while fever coalesces across his entirety. “Who owns your pretty little pussy and your womb?” 

“You—Steve—daddy,” you sob as your orgasm  seizes up around his cock, giving him no other choice other than to: “Cum inside me, daddy—!” 

Something beastly rips out of his chest, and without protest, he gifts you exactly what you want. He burrows into the absolute hilt and fires inside you for what feels like forever. Spurts of ooze finally wane, nudging your fruitful cervix, but even then, he doesn’t dare retreat from your heavenly depths. 

The aftershocks force him to set you back down on the desk, still buried and keeping you stuffed. His face nuzzles the junction between your neck and shoulder languorously,  and you lazily run your fingers through his hair, walls periodically pulsating. 

When he regains the energy, he straightens and pulls out of you until his bulbous head is blocking your entrance; he stops there because he realizes something. “It’s gonna leak, and as hot as that is, I need to keep you full, baby.” Abruptly, he hauls you up and shuffles the position so that he’s sitting on the desk, and you’re sitting on his cock.

Your sensitivity flares around him, and you squeal. “F - fuck!” But you adjust to comfortability, blinking at him. “For how long?” 

A smile curls into his lips, and he strokes your cheek while his other hand lays on your belly. “For as long as it takes.”

[masterlist / feedback]

[sunnyborabora]

Obsession (Suhø x Reader)

You’re in love with a man you know nothing about, but it doesn’t stop you from falling deeper and deeper. 

Hi! Here is a little drabble to celebrate EXO’s comeback that was a real masterpiece! Junmyeon bias wrecked me hard I am still crying ndnbhdhdhd Anyway what did you think of the come back? And the concept? I loved I am still crying over it.... I tried to write x exo Suhø differently than I would write Junmyeon. I feel like he would be a mastermind, cold and calculating, violent in his acts but eager to find his own identity and not to just be the other version of Suho. Tell me what you think about it!

Tags: Super explicit smut, porn without plot, soft bdsm,Suhø has feelings, kinda sad tho :/ 

« You like it, don’t you ? » You were like paralyzed as he was whispering in your ears all those obscene things. His hard rock chest was pressed against your back and you could feel his muscle contract. « Babygirl has been bad, so so bad » You could sense his smirk in his words, the way his large hand was serpenting along your neck to tighten around your throat. Your breath itched as his hold was becoming tighter. You couldn’t see his face but you knew. And maybe it was better that way. You were already so intoxicated by him, you knew how his appearance was something that would fuck up your brain even more. « Suho please… -Oh come on… I can’t give it to you so easily » How did you even find yourself in this situation. You were just an innocent cashier, all you did was being nice. And maybe falling in love with the guy that always came into your shop to buy food. He was fascinating. You couldn’t stop looking at him, your heart racing every time he was coming into the store. His hood low on his head, you were only able to see his dark eyes accentuated by strong brows. You were unable to look at him in the eyes, this man was truly sending shivers down your spine. He was coming more and more, every time enticing the most embarrassing reaction from you. Your body was reacting to his in a way that you couldn’t explain. He was seeing this, you, how you would blush, how you would look away. How you seemed to wait for his arrival. But today has been different. The day your relationship took a turn was when you had a night shift. He had not come yet and it was almost the time for you to close the shop. You were on your way to close when someone entered. But it wasn’t who you hoped to see. « Sorry sir we are closed ». But you really didn’t have the time to react when the stranger pointed the gun at you. You dropped your keys, your body going numb with fear. « Give me the money, don’t tempt anything » And you didn’t. You rushed to the cashier and opened it as fast as you could. As you were handling him the money he grabbed your wrist making you tumble and tripped. « Get up ! » You yelped in pain as his hold tighten around your wrist. « The fuck is happening ? » You turned toward the entrance as a deep voice resonate in the space. It was the man, his familiar silhouette triggering a flow of emotion. Tears started streaming down your face as you try to get away from the man holding you. « Don’t get closer fucker ! Just go and I won’t shoot your dumb face ! » He didn’t move a muscle. The way the artificial light was hitting his face was making him look intimidating, scary even. You felt the grip on your wrist becoming loose and you yeet yourself out. You felt the man turn around and expected to get shot, but you didn’t. You heard a big boom behind you and the scream of pain of someone. You turned around to see the raider on the ground. « Are you okay ? » You couldn’t answer, your throat so tight it was impossible for you to speak. Burning tears erupted from your ayes as you collapsed on the ground. You felt too strong hand on each side of your shoulders. « You’re not hurt right ? » You shook your head still crying. « Stupid girl. Putting yourself in dangerous situation. » He put you on your feet and you fell in his arms still weak from what you have lived. He let you hug him, taking comfort in his embrace. After a moment he grabbed your face in his hand, squishing your cheeks. « What if I did not come hm ? What would you have done ? » You did not answer. What could you have done ? Nothing. But him being here, him who saved you, and who was now holding you. « Hmm, baby is not answering », he smirked, his face coming closer to yours. « You look so scared, so fucking hot » You did not even blink when his mouth crashed into yours. It was violent, his hand clenching even harder on your jaw. « Stop, please » He released you, his mouth coming near your ear. « You want me to stop Y/n ? Are you sure ? » You started shaking in his arms, when his other hand winded along your curves. « How do you know my name ? -The question is what do I not know about you ? Pretty girl that always waits for me to come in hmm » He grabbed your ass, making you jump. « Call me Suho babygirl » And you did, whispering his name as he drags you in the storage room. For the first Suho fucked you senseless. Making you forget your fear, your insecurities. You were bent over the bench as he was trusting in you. Your knees were weak, but his strong hold on your hips was not allowing you to fall. « Fuck, Y/n, you're so tight, so fucking tight, so much more than I imagined » You tried not to think too much about how he imagined you two together before. But the slaps of hips against your ass was so loud, he had so much strength and a sort of animosity that could not be contained. You weren’t seeing anything as he was just moving you along his dick as he pleased, but you could feel something shifting behind you. He groaned deep, and you came for the third time on his dick, almost fainting. You couldn’t put a name on the type of relationship you had. Suho, as he told you to call him, never came back to the grocery store. He just knew where to find you. And every time he came, he would fuck you, so good you would almost lose your mind, and he would leave. You didn’t know anything about him, and he would never tell you anything. That was the rule. Sometimes, you would wonder, as he was settling besides you on your bed. With time, he was staying a bit longer every time. Sometimes he would hold you in his arms, letting you pass your hands through his deep red hair. His blue eyes were closed as if he was savoring those little moments. Even if you were doubting it. Today wasn’t different. He just seemed even more on the edge than usually. He pushed your skirt up around your waist, and you heard him catch his breath. « Fuck… » he sighed. You pushed your hips back towards him almost involuntarily, but he resisted. You let out a quiet whine as you watch him walk around you like you were a prey. He was wearing that obscene red suit, the color of his hair. It wasn’t buttoned up, and you could clearly see his chest and abs. His hair were styled in a way he looked like he had horns. « Now I can do anything I like to you, for as long as I like, » he said, his voice smooth but laden with danger. « Yes, » you say in a voice barely more than a whisper. « You wouldn’t disagree right. Babygirl would let me do anything to her. -Yes, I would. -Even if what I want is to break you? » He said, his voice deep and dark, as if he was mocking you. « Go on the bed baby, bend over and let me see that ass of yours » You did as he told you. As if his voice had a hypnotic power over you. He walked slowly back towards you, never taking his eyes off your body. You bit your lip so hard you thought it might bleed, trying to contain yourself as you heard him unbuckling his belt. Suho wasn’t a man of many words except when they were dirty, but his actions were even worse. Within seconds, you feel the biting pain of the leather striking your bare ass. Before you could respond, it was followed by another, harder blow, and you cried out as your body is ravaged by the perfect combination of pleasure and pain. A third loud crack echoed around the room. You clawed at the bed with your fingernails, gasping for breath as he slowly dragged the belt across your tender skin. You’re expecting, no, craving, the next one, and he knew it. Even without looking at him you can feel the sadistic smile on his face as he teased you. « I want you to ask for it, » he said, and you could swear his smirk was audible. You took a deep, shaky breath in and exhale slowly. « Please, Suho, fuck... » you cried softly, your voice shaking. He seemed satisfied with that, and you heard the belt swishing through the air before cracking across your skin one last time. Your body trembled as he traced the red marks with his fingertips. His touches wandered down to your inner thighs, making you moan softly. His own breath caught in his throat as his fingers wandered a little too far, and he felt how wet you were, how desperate you were for his touch, for his body. He pulled you up roughly by the hair, earning a small yelp of surprise from you, and turned you to face him. He stared at you for a second, but you could see it, his eyes glowing orange now, before kissing you roughly. It took you by surprise, because usually he would take on your hand and knees like an animal, it was unusual for him to kiss you. The only thing you were aware of was him, how his tongue was in your mouth and his hands were pulling your hair and grasping at your body and God, how much you wanted him. You didn’t know before knowing him, that it was possible to want, to love someone that much. Because even if you were doubting his feelings for you, you knew you loved him deeply. When his lips finally left yours, you gasped for air, and suddenly his lips were on your neck. You moaned into his hair, taking a deep breath of his scent, your voice wavering as he gently bit you, sending electric shocks through your body. Satisfied with your reaction, he bit you harder before sucking on the soft skin of your neck until he was satisfied that he had marked you. Marked you as his. He left another hickey on your thigh, as e was on his knees. It wasn’t usual. He would never put himself in a situation that would make him look inferior. But today he seemed particularly attentive. His warm breath was dangerously close to where you wanted his gorgeous face the most, and it took every ounce of self-control you had just to restrain yourself from clutching at his hair and redirecting him yourself. But you knew better. You knew you weren’t authorized to touch him. He looked up at you with his dark blue eyes, just seeing him looking at you like that, like a hawk watching you, that made you moan.When he finally parted his lips from your body, he took a step back, taking of his jacket, showing you his sculpted body. It was like he had been made by the gods themselves, but knowing him, he probably would a demon coming straight from hell to torment you. He unbuttoned his trousers, letting them set on his hips. He grabbed your ankle, drawing you closer to him in a swift motion. Something was different today. He looked into your eyes as he entered you. You sighed deeply, your eyes rolling back in pleasure as he filled you. He started slowly, fucking you with long, deep strokes, but as you both lose control he picks up the pace, fucking you relentlessly against the wall. He was looking deep into your eyes, his mouth hanging open. You were so tempted. You wanted to put your hands in his beautiful hair, mess it up. You wanted to touch him. You grabbed his biceps trying to stabilize you, your weak whimpers slowly turning into long, shaky cries of ecstasy as he brought you closer to orgasm. Just as you’re about to climax, he laughed, a quiet, dirty, sadistic laughter in your ear. « Yes come on princess come around my cock », he husked in your ear, as he kept trusting, faster and faster, as you come, throbbing around his cock. His trusts never stopped and you felt like you were going to come all over again. « Don’t… stop…Suho » you moaned in his ear and you hear him groaned. You sighed his name out loud, and he looked into your eyes and bit his lip as he slowly ran his fingers up your thigh again. He groaned under his breath as he felt you clench again and again. You simply nodded your head and moaned softly in response, mentally begging him to give you more. He pinned your hands above your head as he brushed his lips against the hickeys on your neck, then the bruises on your ribs, before leaving a trail of kisses from between your breasts, downwards, until he was looking up at you. His eyes had a weird orange tint. He grabbed your hips, pulled you towards him and gave you what you needed the most. You entwined your fingers in his hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingers as you scraped his scalp and cry out his name over and over again like a sacred mantra as he trusted in you hard, his hips rolling between your thighs. You came again, screaming his name as you hug him tightly. Seconds later, He was back trusting in you again, abusing your cunt again and again. He’s sensual and slow, occasionally pausing to catch your gaze or lightly kiss your lips. And you think you might cry. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, your bodies moving as one. You clung to him, slowly coming undone in his arms again and you hear him groaned and finally you felt the moment when the last string of his control gave out, he gave into his pleasure entirely, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he let himself go, his body shaking slightly as he came deep inside you, so deep inside, so much you thought his cum already dripping out of your cunt. The intensity of it wrenches another crashing wave of pleasure from your body. Feelings you can’t describe soar through you, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your voice gives out, cracking as you try to call out his name one last time.You stayed in each other's arms as you give and take from each other. It was the first time it ever happened. He was on his side, hugging you, still inside you. You felt so incredibly intimate. Tears started streaming down your face. « Don’t cry... » You couldn’t help yourself. You felt like something was wrong. « I have to tell you something… -What ? -I won’t be able to come for a while… » You knew it. You clutched your hands around his arm, not wanting to let go ever. « Y/n ? » You didn’t want him to leave. Every time he was disappearing after coming to see you was like he was taking a piece of you with him. « Don’t leave me. » He wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He seemed tormented. « Just stay safe while I am gone okay ? » You nodded still not letting go. « I’am not going anywhere right now, you can sleep. » His eyes were shining a weird hue. His red hair were a mess falling on his forehead. He looked so beautiful. You tried to fight against sleep, perfectly knowing that once you’ll be gone into Morpheus’arms, he’ll leave. But you couldn’t help it, weirdly enough you never felt this safe. Before falling asleep, you took a last look at his face, seeing him looking at you. « Don’t forget about me Suho. -I will never » He hugged you and you closed your eyes.

[butterflynotes-a]

The Devil Within

Fandom: Mystic Messenger Relationships: Yoosung x Saeran Characters: Saeran Choi, Yoosung Kim, Saeran Choi Originally Posted: August 7th 2017

Life. Love. Breathing.

Did any of those matter among shattered souls? The hearts frozen over by the ice inside them, exposed to the arctic temperatures of cruelty within the world. Saeran knew that he could care less for any of those.

Living? That was just the term people used for the time they are dying but not yet dead - the times they are constantly losing life and being reborn. After all, by the time a person was 12, they would not have the same body as when they were born, for every cell but those of the brain would have replaced themselves. Their mind the only thing keeping them as they were.

Love? That wasn't real. It was a pathetic thing, fake, unneeded and unwanted by him. Love was simply what people called attachment, something unimportant within this world. Love, Saeran knew this, wasn't real, but a silly concept made by those desperate to feel such an emotion.

Saeran had never experienced what someone would describe as love. Parental love had never played a part in his life - his father had abandoned him, never even knowing him, and his mother.. His mother had left him broken and bruised more times than he could ever count. She'd starved him, tied him, shattered what had been left of him ever since he could remember.

Brotherly love, he had been sure he'd experienced once. Yet he was so sure that had been faked, it wasn't even necessary anyway. His brother hadn't ever loved him, he knew that much. The elder had left him once, changed his name and never come back. It took Saeran too long to track him down - and it hadn't taken long for the knowledge that his brother hadn't ever held an ounce of love for him to set in, to influence his mind and his behaviour towards the elder.

Romantic love was one Saeran had never experienced, so he couldn't say it was real or not - though, if it was anything like the other fake loves, he didn't ever want to feel it and let himself believe he could ever care or be cared for again.

And breathing? He wished he could stop. He was sick of air flowing in and out of his lungs, forcing him to stay alive. However, whenever he was tried, he simply ended up gasping for air moments later.

Saeran hid his anxiety and depression beneath anger and cruelty, never showing an ounce of kindness to anyone. He knew that if he was nice, he'd get close to people, he'd get attached and he'd.. Let himself care, let himself love - and he didn't want that, didn't need it (but he did, he so desperately craved to be loved, needed it with all he had) and wouldn't let himself get hurt through such things again.

He shielded himself with shields made of crystal, shielded his glass heart with ice and hid his broken mind with a fake fix.

After all, what else could he do?

[Unknown has entered the chatroom]

[Unknown]Hey. [Yoosung] How are you, Saeran? [Unknown] How have you been?

He found it was easier to direct the conversation away from himself. Not answering did that, really. He'd return the question without an answer and no one would notice, nor would they end up caring. Fool proof, really.

It always worked with his brother, anyway.

[Unknown] The weather is nice today. It might rain though.

He said that on his worst days, really, even if no one knew what he meant. It might rain, yes - the tears may flood down his cheeks from clouded eyes that glistened with pain and sadness. Coming from a man who had only ever suffered, only ever hurt.

Admitting it was so hard. Not answering stopped his mind from splitting him in two.

If he told, it would be a mistake - his anxiety constantly reminded himself of such things. And then, he would feel bad if he told them, for making them worry, for letting them know every single thing in his stupid, fucked up head that he desperately wished no one to find out.

If only the voices of his depression, the voices of his anxiety, would go away.. Maybe then he could feel the slightest bit of happiness compared to the drowning sadness and bitter loneliness that absorbed his entire being.

[Yoosung] I'm fine, thank you! It's nice to see you! [Unknown] It's nice to see you too.

It was, really. Yoosung helped him, just a bit, when it came to talking to him. Saeran found that he could ignore the urge to cry (to die, to die) when he spoke to Yoosung, if only for a few minutes of peace before the demons in his mind once again got under his skin and he returned the hell of thoughts it had become.

He could scream out the pain of his past from his corrupted lungs - he hated the fact they actually did their job - and he could pull out his heart from his chest without a care in the world.

Well, a care for himself. He'd care too much about Saeyoung, about Yoosung, about everyone... He cared too much for their reactions, he couldn't ever leave them, he knew that.

He knew the fake love, the non existent concept he'd fallen victim too, stopped him from that.

[Unknown] Anyway... What's going on with you all? It's.. Pretty nice ^^

The false happiness he provided in the chatroom compared to the consuming sadness he truly felt was a contrast he had grown to be proud of - no one guessed (he knew they didn't care enough to guess. They just wanted to live in their own bubble with no care about the rest of the world, only their own pain. Saeran knew what that was like, he remembered when he was pathetic enough to ignore others pain in the hopes that he'd feel better - and he remembered how pathetic he was to think it had ever worked).

[Unknown] I had ice cream today, it was Honeycomb flavour. I'd suggest giving it a try..

And keeping up this false pretense - the happy, kind person Saeran was in the chatroom compared to the broken, bitter person he was in reality - was becoming an act that was exhausting him. It was draining him of happiness he could have felt if he didn't have to pretend...

He wished he could turn back time to the days he wasn't broken and end it all before it started.

[Yoosung] Hey, Saeran! Are you okay? [707 has entered the chatroom] [707] Little bro! Why are you ignoring me? [707] Are you feeling alright? Do you need some love from your big brother? [707] Have you eaten breakfast yet?

"Stop asking!"

He hadn't meant to verbalise the thought, trembling violently as he threw his phone onto the bed, trying desperately to stop the tears. He was upset over something so, so stupid - what kind of idiot got upset over someone caring? (he did. He was an idiot. He knew that all too well).

Why did they have to ask such things? 'How are you?', he'd answer that he was fine or direct the conversation away. He was never fine, however, every time he said such a thing was a lie. A stupid, stupid lie. He wished he could just disappear at times, rid the world of the mistake he was.

The depression told him to die, the anxiety told him every reason it would be wrong - every reason it could hurt someone else, every reason they'd hate him should he survive an attempt to do such a thing. And he hated how right the voice of anxiety was - hated how much the voice of depression tempted him.

And the question of had he eaten... He needed to eat, wanted to eat, but he didn't have the appetite to do such - and he didn't need a sick body to match his mind at this point.

Why did people have to care?

It was so insignificant, so silly... Why did Saeran have to care? He wished he could just stop caring about what others thought, stop caring, stop loving. Maybe if he could just stop being so weak, so attached, he could get rid of himself. (After all, getting rid of a problem was meant to be the solution, and Saeran was the problem no one could get rid of.)

"Fuck!" He cursed, slamming his hand down on the desk, shaking violently, tears falling from golden eyes like rivers. "Stop being so weak! Stop being so stupid!" He was nothing but weak, nothing but stupid - and he couldn't seem to do anything right, never in his life.

This carried on for a while before he picked up his phone, unable to cease his sobbing. However, he knew he'd run out of tears to cry eventually.

[Yoosung] Saeran, can we hang out at some time? Tell me when you're available! [Unknown] You could come over right now, I'm not busy.

Not busy being anything but a pathetic idiot. Maybe if Yoosung saw how silly, how utterly ridiculous Saeran acted, he'd leave. Maybe then, that would make one less person for Saeran to disappoint.

He was always the disappointment, after all.

[Unknown] I'm sorry for the wait in response- I [Unknown] I was-

What could he even say? He couldn't admit that he'd broken down over someone caring for him, he couldn't admit that he was far too anxious about everything at the moment - especially meeting Yoosung, but that didn't matter, he needed Yoosung to see him like this so that he'd leave. Saeran would only be a burden on him, he knew that - so he should stop the problem before it could even begin.

[Unknown] I was getting ice cream :D

He hated himself for that lie.

He was still sobbing an hour later, curled up in his bed and shaking. His brother had been by his side for a while, trying to comfort him - however, it seemed that this wasn't a day Saeran could be consoled. His mumbles were bitter and melancholy, he found himself unable to calm down in the slightest.

And that day, he knew that when Yoosung left, with teary eyes and a pitiful expression, that Saeran had lost the only person he had ever loved. It was funny, really, how long humans spend pushing others away.

"Humans are so fragile, so easy to hurt and break. We spend our lives wishing for love, when we spend all our time pushing it away... We never know what we have until it's gone…”