#python x male reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yieldtotemptation · 4 months ago

Text

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.

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.”

#kpop smut #Danielle smut #newjeans smut #njz smut #male reader

2K notes · View notes

defmaybe · 4 months ago

Text

Sprint

PURPLE KISS’ Na Goeun x Male Reader

2.6k words

A/N: Very messy lmfao, thanks for reading as always! Part of @mintwithchoco's prompt exercise!

—

“You’re arriving at the halfway point of our cycle. I’m still perplexed why they don’t let you come in after this sprint ends!” Goeun says, clearly annoyed by the fact that you were accepted into the department in the middle of this mess. Still, you have to be a professional and accept this hardship, no matter how difficult it will be.

“Don’t worry, Miss Na. I can work with that,” you answer, trying to sound firm as you walk along with her through the floor, passing countless tables and your soon-to-be co-workers. The scent of lavender wafts into your nose. It’s different from what you’ve expected the office to smell, especially a tech-related office. Sounds of clicking keyboards ring through the floor. These people are clearly working hard, and you have a lot to catch up to them.

Goeun chuckles, clearly amused by your enthusiasm. “Well, if you need anything, just tell me or the other guys, alright? We won’t bite.”

“Yes, Miss Na.”

You two advance through the floor until you arrive at an unoccupied table. The table is empty, like empty-empty. There’s nothing on it, only a plug socket on the right of the partition.

“Here’s your desk!” Goeun says, palming her hands towards the table with a small smile. “Again, if there’s any problem, just ask us!”

“Sure, Miss Na.”

“Just call me Goeun. No need for formalities, really.”

—

Two weeks go by quickly. You find yourself caught in the web of the ever-growing project your team is working on. The sprint is harsh on you, punishing in its sheer complexity and size, but you fight through it. You double your efforts on the works, so determined to earn acceptance from your co-workers. You stay for the overtime (the money’s great). You polish your work. You try to be nothing short of resolute.

And it works.

Your first sprint is a success, and your contribution finds its place in the project. The stakeholders give you a few praises during the meeting, and ecstasy couldn’t even begin to describe the emotion you feel after that.

You aced it.

—

“Well, it seems that your first sprint went well. Congratulations!” Goeun cheers, raising her bubble tea for a toast, to which you shyly reciprocate along with your other co-workers.

“You did great! Especially considering you came in during the middle of it,” Jiwoong adds, giving you a thumbs up.

“I couldn’t do half as good as you did when I joined here. Good job!” says Sumin.

“I’m here because of you guys, so–thank you!” you say, smiling. They sure have helped you a lot. You were afraid at some point that they’d be annoyed with how frequently you’ve asked them for help, but it’s apparent that these guys are genuinely kind. You’re falling in love with this company, well, at least the department.

“To the new guy!” and Goeun leads another toast.

—

The rest of the day goes by quickly as you get absorbed into the whirlwind of work. More Python, more Pandas, and without knowing, it’s starting to get dark outside.

“Hey.” Goeun greets, peeking out from the partition with a small smile. “We’re not paying more after six, remember?”

You look at the clock, suddenly reminded of how much time has passed since your last bathroom break at three. “Oh, fuck, shit,” you mumble, quickly scrambling through the tabs you’ve opened through the day on your overworked laptop. “Let me–uh–”

“I’ll wait in front of the building.”

“Sure.”

—

The chilly night air blows through your body. White puffs of air leave your lungs as you walk along the street with Goeun. Your hands occasionally rub against each other in an attempt to retain some heat. A car passes by.

“So–why did you decide to become a programmer?” Goeun asks. The sounds of dry leaves crunching under your feet can be heard. Another car passes by.

“Oh, my mom, she works in tech, and I kinda didn’t know what to do when I had to go to college, so–yeah.” You let out a huff, looking downwards as you take strides after strides along the asphalt road. Another car passes by. “How about you? Why did you become a programmer?”

“I was also like you—don’t know what to do, and I did well in Python, so I kinda just–roll with that.”

Another car passes by.

She muses, looking up at the stars, “You know, I did wanna be a singer once when I was young.”

An image of Goeun, lost in the symphony, pops up in your head. You find it cute.

You chuckle softly, out of endearment more than anything.

“But I was afraid that I’d fail, so I kinda just, well, stick to programming instead, more reliable.”

“You seem like you’d make a brilliant singer, though.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Just a hunch.”

You continue walking along the street. You take a glance at her to find her eyes, and you feel something. It’s short-lived, but it’s definitely something. You don’t consider it much more than just an eye contact, though.

“What?” Goeun asks. You aren’t going to deny that she looks good tonight. The pairing of a black leather jacket and a white t-shirt fit her like a glove. She looks much better than your average programmer.

“Nothing,” you reply, before breaking eye contact and continuing to walk into the nocturne.

After a short while, you reach her apartment, very likely one of the rooms inside this 40-floor tower (unless she’s otherworldly rich). You’ve walked past it quite a fair few times. It’s not so far from your apartment, after all.

“See you on Monday, I guess?” you say, smiling. It’s almost your bedtime now.

“Wanna have something from my room before you go? I have a few beers,” Goeun invites you, her thumb pointing towards the building.

Your eyebrows arch slightly, hands shifting inside your pockets. You’re uncertain.

“I mean, a bottle can make you go a bit drowsy and stuff,” she continues, cocking her head towards the tower. “Should help you sleep better.”

—

“Nice room,” you say as you take a look around her place.

Goeun’s room is neat, spine-chillingly neat. It’s a small studio room meant for single-living. Everything is kept in its place. No stray strands of hair on the floor, no clothes lying around. She’s good at this.

“Can’t live in a dirty room, you know?”

“I get it.”

You settle yourself on her couch nervously. It’s your first time at her place, after all, gotta be a good visitor.

“Kirin or Hoegaarden?”

“Kirin, please.”

Goeun picks up a Kirin from her fridge before walking towards you. Her legs look longer than usual from this angle.

“To our next sprint,” she says, handing you the beer can, smiling. You take it.

Cold.

“Thanks.” You open the beer can with a loud pop. A fizzling sound can be heard. You take a swig of beer. The familiar bitterness and a hint of malt runs down your throat, and you’re sure your face contorts a little as you put the can down.

Tastes good as always. Well, for a beer.

Goeun takes a seat beside you. She reaches forward to pick up the tv remote on the table, before turning it on.

“What do you wanna watch?”

—

You forget what time it is, but after Crazy, Stupid, Love ends, the last Merseyside Derby at Goodison Park starts, and you two are glued to the screen.

“I’m going to miss this stadium a lot, been there once, and it was fucking awesome,” Goeun says, taking a sip of beer. There’s a pool of aluminium cans sitting on the table in front of you now. You’re feeling a little woozy as you open your fourth beer tonight.

“Lucky.”

The word brings out a chuckle out of Goeun. You can see from the corner of your eyes that she moves in closer towards you, but that’s the least of your concern right now.

She takes a glance at you. You can see in the corner of your eyes, and this time, you give her a reply, shooting a look back at her. She laughs softly. The soft glow of the television casts onto her face. It’s mostly dark blue from Everton’s kit. You can feel the effect of the alcohol dawning on you—dizzy, disoriented—and you realize that she looks good under any light. You look into her gorgeous eyes, and there’s something in them.

Want.

Need.

Lust.

You kiss her.

You get a taste of her lipstick flavor—intense, fruity. Your body shudders as she has her hand wander around your body, feeling every curve and contour of your body—touching, sliding down your frame with haste—and she stops right on your belt.

“Can I?”

“Sure.”

Your hands aren’t doing any better in straying away from this filth, pulling her towards you by her ass. She gasps into your mouth. It’s affecting her, and you go a little further, giving her butt a light squeeze. “God,” she gasps again. Her lips softly quiver against yours. Her tongue trembles. She’s nervous.

The tug on your belt pulls you closer into her tremored body. “Shit.” Her hands begin to undo the leather belt around your pants. It makes a slight scuffle with her, but it comes off, eventually.

“Lie down,” you say. Goeun’s flushing, all red, all anxious. She grabs onto the back of your head with her hand, pulling you down with her as she falls onto the couch, and you’re on top of her.

You draw your hands forward to her jeans' button, undoing it with haste. It makes a slight scuffle with you, but it comes off, eventually. You’re so, so close to her heat right now, and you couldn’t have asked for more for tonight.

“Fuck,” Goeun utters, writhing under you as your hand run along the hem of her panties. Her hips buck up to you—so wanton, so full of need. “Stop with the teasing already.”

You chuckle before pulling her garments down in a single swoop. Her glistening pussy is sitting just right there—below you, waiting to be filled with your throbbing cock inside your boxers. “Already wet?”

“I’m horny, that’s normal,” Goeun says, giggling. “You’re hard too, you know?”

“Thanks.”

With no more words, Goeun pulls your boxer down your legs. Your cock springs free from its fabric cage. You lower yourself closer to her wanton cunt, making a slight touch as you run your cockhead along her wet slit.

“Fuck,” she says, breathy. “What did I say about teasing, huh?”

You chortle before you push yourself into her pussy. Her breath comes out in a stuttering rhythm. Her eyes roll up in pleasure. She’s loving this.

“Fuck, goddamn,” Goeun rasps as you push yourself into her wet cunt. Her fingers dig into the back of your head, forcefully pulling you into a sloppy, drunken kiss.

Your hands slide under her white t-shirt for her chest as you thrust into her pussy while kissing her vigorously. You give her bra-clad tits a squeeze, eliciting a soft moan out of her lips.

“Fuck, this feels good,” Goeun huffs between the kisses, hand moving with your hips to push you into her warmth. Your bodies move in sync as if it’s a habit between the two of you. She feels so good. Her pussy feels so good.

The sound of kissing rings inside your ear as you try to take in how her body feels. You drag your lips down her jaw. She smells like spring. Her skin is so smooth, so soft. The notes she makes are chaotic, but you find it angelic. Her body writhes and spasms under you as you fuck her brains out. God, she’s perfect.

You double your efforts, pushing in deeper and faster with each stroke. She cries. She whimpers. She moans. Her body responds to you so well, pussy gripping your cock like a goddamn vice.

“Ugh–fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Goeun rasps, her face flushing with red as your hand wanders under her white tee, giving her firm breasts squeezes after squeezes. “You cock, god!”

You reply to Goeun with harsher thrusts; her notes grow higher and higher as you hit the sensitive spot deep inside her cunt. She’s lighting your synapses aflame, making you see stars around her gorgeous face. Your moans and hers are filling up the bluish room.

Goeun’s breathing grows shorter and shorter. Her moans climb higher and higher as she’s at the brink of her orgasm. “Shit, shit, I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” Goeun rasps, and you thrust into her with even more intensity. Your cock vigorously pumps into her wet cunt, so determined to bring her to her peak.

And she breaks.

Her body spasms under you as the wave crashes into her. Goeun mewls, moans, cries under the sheer force of her orgasm. Her hips buck. Her eyes roll up. And suddenly, she grabs you by the collar again, pulling you into a deep kiss as you keep ravaging her spent cunt. The sound of flesh smacking echoes through the room, along with her filthy cries.

She slowly comes down from her orgasm as you keep fucking her through her peak. Goeun’s chest heaves up and down as she tries to recollect herself back up again.

Pulling back, she utters, “Fuck.”

“I know.”

And you are, again, dragged back by the collar to kiss her pouty lips.

“Cum in me,” Goeun says into the kiss, breathy, tired. “I want to feel that cock twitching inside my pussy. I want to feel your cum hitting my womb.”

The ever-so-used-to feeling is boiling inside your loins as your cock finds its rhythm in and out of Goeun’s cunt. Your hand is still playing with her bra-clad tits. Your fingers slide under the garment for her stiff nipple. She moans, struggling to keep up with the pleasure coursing through her body. It’s getting difficult for her to kiss you now.

“Gonna cum,” you whine, your tongue interlocking with hers messily. Her hand grabs onto the back of your head harsher, pulling you deeper into the kiss. The sound of it is obscene, but you’re too happy to care right now. The burning feeling is so strong right now. You need a release. You need a release.

“Do it, baby. Cum in my pussy.”

And you break.

Your cock shoots ropes and ropes of cum into Goeun’s wanting cunt. Your entire body shakes and spasms above her. You moan, whine, whimper, and cry into the kiss. Her pussy wraps your cock so fucking well, and you just fail to find any word to describe the feeling you’re feeling right now.

Fuck.

You connect your lips with her messily again. Your fingers latch onto her face as your tongues are busy exploring each other’s mouth. She finds a good grip on your ass and pulls your hips closer to hers, pushing your softening cock deeper into her cunt.

You pull back. Her bangs are a mess.

“We can’t tell anybody about this,” Goeun huffs, her chest still heaving from the sheer force of her orgasm. Her whole body flushes with red, but most importantly, she’s beaming, so full of joy.

“Sure, sure, Miss Na.”

Goeun chuckles, getting up from the couch as you get off her flushed body. “We should get cleaned up.”

“Round two in the shower?”

She shoots you a smile, before saying, “Definitely, maybe.”

—

#goeun #purple kiss #goeun smut #purple kiss smut #kpop fan #kpop smut

305 notes · View notes

amphitriteswife · 10 months ago

Text

💛🧡Rejection🧡💛

Tagging: @praisethesuuun @mizz-sea-nymph @nicasdreamer @swallowtail-lotus

I know i made it male reader but feel free to see your oc sunny!😈

Apollo x male! Reader.

Apollo, god of the Sun, one of the 12 olympians and twin brother of the moon goddess herself, Artemis. That’s what he was most known for. Yet many forgot he was so much more than that. For example being the god of medicine, music, boys, knowledge and so much more. He was well loved among the ancient greeks. Often seen as the male beauty. In many of his famous tales Apollo falls in love with a man or woman, yet it always ends badly for them, causing Apollo to have them turned into flowers. Yet despite all the recognition, the glorious tales of him defeating the monster Python… he wasn’t always a saint.

Clutching your bow in one hand, you looked at the boar you just hunted. The boar was usually a symbol or offer to the lady Artemis herself. Once again, failing to have an offer for the god you worship. It was tiring and disappointing. Now it was a waste if you didn’t do anything with the now dead boar. Until the idea hit you that you might offer it to Artemis without entering her temple as only women or her priestesses are allowed to enter in. Walking in the direction of the temple you met one of the priestesses, giving her the boar and turning on your heel to go back to train with your bow, yet you couldn’t help but feel as if you were being followed. It was an uneasy feeling in your gut that told you to keep watching who was behind you. Ignoring the feeling but not the suspicion, you clutched your bow and narrowed your eyes. The sudden sound of leaves rattling made you alert as you quickly raised your bow, pulling out an arrow and aiming at the source of the sound, your hand pulling on the string before firing the arrow without missing a beat.

Steading your breath, you listing closely, hearing the sound of your arrow hitting something followed by a rather loud and dramatic ‘OW’ which made you a bit stunned before you hesitantly walked into the direction of where you shot your arrow. Moving some of the leaves and bushes you could finally see…a naked man in the lake? The sight was honestly a little baffling since most of the warriors were already back at the training camp, and not to mention the light shade of the pink hair which was a unusual color for human hair, walking closer you could see the little red liquid in the pond water, slowly getting thinner the more it stayed in the water. Following the trail of blood you could recognize seeing your own arrow in the right shoulder of the man. The man seemed confused as to why he suddenly got hit by an arrow. Your arrow. Guilt filled your being as you walked closer to the man, wanting to help him stop the bleeding yet when you were about to call him out he pulled out the arrow himself. His hand hovered over the cut before a yellow light surrounded the area where he ws hurt, the wound slowly closing under the dim light.

Suddenly, the man turned behind him. Staring at you wide eyed. He had hazel pupils, something that was rare, yet not unusual. You too stared back at him shocked. Who the hell was this man? Was it a magician? A witch? Should you tell someone? This can’t be real. This cannot be happening. ‘You look like you saw a ghost…well I’m even better.’ The man spoke to you, his hazel eyes focused on you. He had sharp features and a cocky arrogant smirk playing on his thin yet pink lips. He had a nice, lean yet muscular body and his voice was smooth and almost velvety…it made your head a little light and dizzy. ‘Are you feeling alright mortal? Can’t have you passing out on me?’ He told you in a hearty chuckling tone. He was suspicious. He must’ve done something to you. Your vision was a little clouded and your head felt heavy. ‘What have you done to me?’ You asked him placing one hand on your head. Massaging it a little. Your eyes focused on the suspicious man. The man Hmph-ed and scoffed. Closing his eyes, seemingly hurt and offended that he was accused of something like that.

‘I didn’t do anything, you idiot. Who do you take me for? That’s no way to talk your god!’ he said to you, crossing his arms and keeping his head high. How arrogant! And why is he claiming to be a god? That’s disrespectful! Claiming to be a god is highly disrespectful and insulting to your religion. ‘You can’t just claim you’re a god mister. It’s disrespectful.’ You told him carefully which made him scoff at you. ‘I’m no pretender! Seriously who do you take me for! It’s me! Apollo! Your lord! Your sweet, charming, loving, amazing sun god!’ Apollo told you proud fully, his strawberry pink like hair glistening in the waters. But he couldn’t help but chuckle when he looked at your flabbergasted face. His arms reached out to your body and he pulled you in the water with him. His hands on your broad shoulders while he looked you deep into your eyes, his face held a confident smirk and his hands soon began to make its way to your face, cupping it slightly. ‘Keep your god company, won’t you?’ Apollo asked you softly whispering in your ear. The sudden action once again made your head spin.

There was no denying that Apollo was attractive and charming….and seductive. But it was still highly Inappropriate to have something with the god you worship. Would you be allowed to go into the temple again? What if you end up like most of his lovers who have met unfortunate fates? Dying isn’t something you wanted…even if being with your god seemed like a dream. Would it really be a good choice to accept? Is that really what you want? So many questions yet so little answers. It made you dizzy and uncomfortable which cause you to take a fews steps back which made the god stunned. ‘I don’t know if that’s what i want...’ You told him slowly and carefully. You didn’t want to make quick and reckless decisions.. there was too much at stake. ‘I decline. I’m sorry my lord’ You told him carefully but firmly. Even if you loved your god, it was still platonic and admiration. Not romantic love like he hoped.

To not make the situation worse you walked out of the waters, apologized for the arrow and took your leave. Leaving Apollo, even if it was still hard to process in your state of disbelief that it was really him, alone in the waters who was confused himself. Apollo was never rejected by anyone, causing him to have a stir of mixed emotions. He was hurt that you didn’t feel for him. Yet also angry you had the audacity to reject him. Yet also admiration that you wanted to put yourself first. He himself felt strange, but he was a powerful and confident being. And rejection won’t be a final answer. After all. In Apollo’s myths he never took no for an answer either…

🌻Thank you for reading! 🌻

#apollo #apollo x reader #record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #snv #ror #ror apollo #snv apollo #ror apollo x reader #snv apollo x reader #male reader #record of ragnarok apollo #apollo snv #mxm fanfiction #mxm #male x male #apollon #gay #bi apollo

282 notes · View notes

driedposies · 2 days ago

Text

warm welcome to my writing list. join me in my abditory.

i mainly write fics for acotar. dms and requests are open!

(credits to @uzmacchiato for the banners!)

Series & Multiple Parts

"My little Nepenthe,” | ongoing Eris x Reader | mature, 18+ | 35.8k words

⋆｡°✩ The looming threat of the Death God Koschei and the High Lord of Autumn allying has those of the Inner Circle fretting about the consequences on Prythian. However, the heir of the Autumn Court, Eris Vanserra, proposes a deadly machination of deceit to bypass laws and suspicions to remove his father from the board—a show of wooing and manipulating a reason for murder. You, the second eldest Archeron sister, still dealing with the repercussions of your mortal changes and manifesting gifts, agree to play the partner in Eris’s wicked schemes of usurpation. As you pretend to fall for the heir who always manages to get under your skin, you uncover more than just a male of arrogance and entitlement. Sometimes, even the best playwrights change the script in the production's final moments. And nothing makes a performance more exhilarating than a little behind-the-scenes romance.

Single Stories & Requests

My Head of Pythons Court of Nightmares | 1k words

⋆｡°✩ A forgotten court of women.

It's been a long, long time Azriel x Reader | angst w/ a happy ending | 2.5k words

⋆｡°✩ A Second World War grips the world, and your lover, Azriel, is sent off as one of many pilots to win against the Germans.

My ire, My misfortune, My burning desire Lucien x Reader | mature, 18+ | 2.4k words

⋆｡°✩ As a lady in waiting, you were brought to the heart of the Autumn Court for a single reason: to find a husband that will keep you comfortable for the rest of your days. But upon meeting the youngest Vanserra son, your world is turned on its axis.

"He's A One Stop Shop, Makes My Panties Drop!" Rhysand x Reader | fluff | 1.3k words

⋆｡°✩ Major Rhysand convinces you to dance after a hard day.

I'm so cold, let me in your window Azriel x Reader | angst | 4.7k words

⋆｡°✩ You've always been sick. Your sisters hoped that becoming Made would cure you. Azriel believes you to be his punishment from the Mother.

If you climb into the saddle, be ready for a ride Cassian x Reader | mature, 18+ | cowboy au | 12.1k words

⋆｡°✩ You were never one for taking in strays, but when you discover a wounded man hiding in your barn... well, you've never rejected another helping hand.

Drabbles

TBA

40 notes · View notes

danosrosegarden · 1 year ago

Note

HIIII ELIII !!! firstly THANK YOU for all the work you do for danonation… you are our strongest soldier !!! 🙏🙏💕💕💕 secondly, i’d like to put in a request for the anniversary celebration !!! <3 if i could may i get glitz + edward nashton? i love that lil freak … maybe something with creepy mutual obsession? i need him to know i’m just as obsessed with him as he would be with me …. THANK YOU SO MUCH AAAH !!! ^_^

it's hot and we rot - edward nashton x gn!reader headcanons (NSFW)

elijah's anniversary celebration: post three!

✨ glitz prompt: give me a character, and i will write a nsfw piece for them. ✨

{contains: male masturbation, public masturbation, underwear thievery, sub edward, and general mutual creepiness and obsession.}

♡ Sharp, grimy talons of guilt pierce through his heart and spill the thick, gushing blood all over each time he finds himself back in the bathroom next to his cubicle. Edward Nashton knows that there's nothing good in what he's doing. There never is.

♡ But God, does it feel right. Sorry. He really shouldn't tell you that, it might make you uncomfortable, he knows. But he thinks it's something you should know. An inky black secret too revolting and shameful to keep to himself. A slowly swirling python of perverse glee wraps itself around Edward's sweat-slicked body as he pulls your underwear out of his pocket: the carnival prize he'd won for himself last time he was over at your apartment.

♡ He hears your voice swimming around in his head as he wraps it around his cock, already slick with precum and throbbing a harsh, blushing pink. That's disgusting, Edward! I trusted you, I let you into my home, and that's what you do when I'm not looking? You're a fucking freak, you know that?

♡ Jesus. He's already biting down hard on his cracked lips so as to not alert his coworkers. It's all a rolling ball of sharpened knives, a blazing firecracker of intensity...the thought of your horrified look and cruel, venom-laced words spat into his face. The idea that somebody in the office could walk in at any moment and accidentally catch sight of him through the spaces in the stall doors, crimson-cheeked and leaking all over his tightly-gripped hand.

♡ His mind runs chaotically wild as he pumps himself, the fluorescent light above his head humming a low, growling buzz. You. He wants you. He doesn't give a fuck what he has to do. He'll beg for scraps. He'll whine and plead. He'll get on his knees and pray. God, he just wants you.

♡ Heat. It rushes through his body, injects itself straight into his bloodstream. He feels the white-hot warmth tingling deep in his gut as a high whine slips from the slits in his clenched teeth. It feels dirty, what he's doing, but that's part of the charm. He feels appalling, painting his hand with thick dribbles of cum in his workplace bathroom while thinking of your acidic, outraged insults, but he cannot stop himself.

♡ Maybe it's for the better that Edward doesn't know how deeply you want him, too. He's hardly able to be around you as is without the sickening thoughts infecting his brain...if he knew you reciprocated, he would never be able to calm himself down.

♡ For sure, Edward would explode if he knew about the picture of him you kept in your bedside drawer. You took it on your Polaroid while he was over one evening, destressing from work. His smile is crooked and his hair is ratty, but that was the picture. The picture you held tight in your hand when you masturbated and whispered his name into the hot, blanketing air of your bedroom. The picture you stared longingly at when the aftershocks subsided. My precious boy. Sweet angel. I wish I could ruin you.

♡ Edward stuffs his prize back into his pocket and washes his hands with a sheen of light sweat dusted across his forehead and a heavy coat of shame wrapped around his shoulders. He knows deep down in the depths of his heart that you're far too good for him. He'd actually much rather be the loser moaning and writhing to the thought of you than risk the friendship he'd somehow managed to obtain. At least he'd gotten away with his gross thievery. Nothing more, he promised himself. There is no going further.

♡ He also knows deep down in the depths of his heart that there was no stopping the enormity of his depraved desire. It was famished and on the hunt for any fragment of you it could find. And if only he knew the same hunger lived within you, chronically clawing at your gut, demanding more, more, more. God, if only he knew.

#eli's writing #danonation #paul dano #edward nashton #the riddler #the batman #edward nashton x reader #the riddler x reader #edward nashton x you #the riddler x you #edward nashton x y/n #the riddler x y/n #elijah's anniversary celebration 24

201 notes · View notes

himexyandere · 2 years ago

Text

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Hime (25 she/her) ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This blog is dedicated to yanderes, monsters, my OC's and all of their loveable, toxic traits! There will be NSFW content, so please be mindful of that (I'll make sure to add content warnings in all of my stories/HC's)! I only write for female readers, and I'll also occasionally describe the reader's body as chubby!

Feel free to send in thirsty asks and join me in thirsting for men who are clearly red flags (but red's our favorite color ❤️) Master List Below!

Yandere Male!Spider x Female!Reader

Yandere Butler x Female!Reader

Yandere Headcanons Pt. 1

Yandere Headcanons Pt. 2

NSFW Alphabet: Leumin Holiday

SFW Alphabet: Leumin Holiday

NSFW Alphabet: Mikka Lapan

Mikka x Chubby Female!Reader

Yandere Python Husband x Female!Reader

Monster Boyfriend x Female!Reader

Yandere Villain x Female!Reader Part 1

Yandere Villain x Female!Reader Part 2

Big Monster Boyfriend x Female!Reader

Yandere Poly Mermen x Female!Reader

Vivian x Chubby Female!Reader

NSFW Alphabet: Vivian Tang

Poly!Yandere Angel Twins x Female!Reader

Yandere!Bunny Butlers x Female!Reader

Yandere Male!Naga x Female!Reader

Vivian x Female!Reader

#side blog #yandere #yandere community #blog intro

288 notes · View notes

la-gotica-fantasma · 2 months ago

Text

All True Love Must Die

characters - Newt x Male!Reader

word count - 1k

contains - minor character deaths, major character deaths, an OC, hellenistic beliefs, description of dead body (Sorry.)

request - Okay so a Newt x male reader again where the reader also betrays them and “helps” WCKD when in reality he’s slowly sabotaging things from the inside. He can’t tell anybody because he’s paranoid about WCKD finding out. When Thomas and Newt are getting Minho out of the facility they bump into reader and they’re resentful but reader shows only concern and is scared of them getting hurt (but mainly Newt) more than anything (reader doesnt know Newt is infected). Slowly reader is stopping WCKD from reaching Newt and Thomas by using security cameras somewhere and shutting doors using some control system (idk-). He does try to get out after but is caught in the crossfire of the battle and dies but he never got to explain to Newt but even in his dying moments he just hopes Newt will live freely now (little does he know his body is only a couple meters from Newt’s) just a lot of angst bc I feel like it :) -🪶

authors notes - Be nice to my oc Belladonna. She’s very kind, trust - I don't think I made this NEARLY gay enough.

Only the sound of dulled nails clacking against keys broke through the silence of the security room. Every code he entered; another door opened; another time his eyes met the cameras. [Name] sat idly watching Newt and Thomas weave through the hallways, through each door he opened. His guilt swallowed him like a python, his betrayal left dripping from the snakes’ mouth.

Teresa was in the room beside him, practically taunting him with her presence. Each reminder of her deathly breathing reminded him of his friends'.

Aching fingers and back pain riddled through [Name], but he rested at nothing to see Newt's safety.

Sirens blared and red lights flashed around the small room. [Name] stood from the uncomfortable office chair, sprinting out of the door and through the white hallway. He ran to Minho’s room, ripping the door open and seeing him splayed across the cold tile. “Minho!” [Name] whisper-yelled, crouching and shaking the unresponsive boy by his shoulders.

Minho turned, his fists balling up out of pure anger at the image of [Name] and the agony that dared to embellish him. Glaring up at [Name], he spat. “Fuck you,” he exhaustedly insulted.

Nodding, [Name] dragged Minho only an inch before he groaned, insultingly standing up to walk his fatigued body himself.

A shattered voice broke from behind them, “Minho?”

It sounded so distant, but like it used to be ever so close.

Newt.

“[Name]?” the voice asked. It sounded hurt, strained, and slightly disgusted.

Minho whipped around, a newfound strength leading him to Newt. [Name] turned too, his fingers rubbing against the hem of his jacket anxiously.

Newt and Thomas stood, Minho beside them with his back slouched. Newt just shook his head. [Name]’s vision was clouded with tears, as were fears of Newt and them getting hurt. Or worse.

He wanted to reach out. He wanted to hold Newt. He wanted to redo everything he has ever done. But Newt wanted him gone, and what Newt wanted from [Name], [Name] would give.

Turning away from them, [Name] ran back to the control room. His face was covered in tears, the sirens ringing in his ears, and the ache of his legs and the hole in his heart. It felt as though is heart was being flipped inside out by his own hands, guided by Newts’.

“Fuck,” he cried, leaning over the cold white table by his forearms. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeated in his loss of reality. A thin hand wrapped around his shoulders, lifting their fingers before letting them down in a forced reassuring pat.

He turned his head up, seeing an anguish faced Teresa staring down at him. “Save them,” she whispered, before slowly walking back into her own room.

His neck ached as he bent uncomfortably over the keyboard, shutting down each of WCKDs’ gun controls. He cried with every newt siren that blared, the loud and intrusive reminder that death was around him and almost inescapable.

Dragging his legs hurriedly across the floor, down the hallway, to what he presumed as safety; his world shakes with vigor, the ceiling crumbling above him, the debris disabling his vision. He collapsed to the ground with his cheek pressed against the frigid white tile, his red blood spilt from every gaping wound. He thought of Newt as a smile adorned his face.

At least Newt will be okay, he thought.

An opal desk that was supported by three dog statues, strong and threatening with their teeth bared, stood in front of [Name]. Behind the desk sat a purple tinted woman, her yellow-nailed fingers holding a string that flossed in between her ears. She yawned as she dropped one side, the string slowly slipping out of her ear; showing the tan, rotted brain that stuck to it.

Popping her bitter gum in the shape of a skull, she looked up at [Name]. “Welcome, buddy. I’m dead, you’re dead. So what’s ya’ name?” she grinned with a Jersey accent.

“Dead…” [Name] repeatedly quietly.

The woman’s eyebrow rose questionably. “Deader than the deadest animal that ever died,” she hummed. “So, your name?”

[Name] gulped harshly, “[Name],”

The woman looked at him with an urging gaze. “Last name?”

“I don’t have one,” he frowned, examining his own body that was covered in bruises and wounds.

“You don’t have a last name, boy?” she asked in disbelief. “What about you?” she said, pointing behind [Name] with her long, rotten finger. [Name] noticed the golden watch she had on, the first hand sped backward as the second hand slowly clicked forward. The sound of the gears clicking were not at all in time with the watch itself, and its glass was shattered in near fifty different ways.

[Name] turned, only to find Newt behind him. “Newt?” he asked in a broken tone.

Newt ignored him, responding to the woman. “No, I don’t have one either.”

“Ah- What in Zeus’s name.” she complained, rolling her blooding eyes so hard that one threatened to fall out completely. “Just jump into the River Styx, for all I care.” the woman excused, waving them off.

They walked off side by side. Their end goal was unknown. “Why’d you do it?” Newt asked, looking off into the distance that was more large marble statues. “Why’d you hurt us?”

“I wanted to help you-”

Newt scoffed a laugh, rolling his eyes to look at [Name].

“Why are you dead?” [Name] asked, surveying Newt for injuries he couldn’t see.

Newt plainly pointed to himself. “Crank.” he said, almost intended to offend.

“You look as perfect as you did when we met, I don’t see a thing wrong.” [Name] admitted. He wasn't lying, he saw no sign of Newt ever being a crank.

Newt repeated his scoffed laugh. “I wasn’t perfect then, and I’m not perfect now.” Newt pointed out, rolling his head back, only to hear cracks and snaps of his neck.

Their mundane, but tension-filled deaths soaked through the halls, threatening to crumble the pillars that held the place up.

#help i hate this #guys i got scared i had cancer #idk why because i have zero symptoms other than chronic fatigue but i just have chronic fatigue #tmr newt x reader #newt x male reader #newt x reader #newt tmr #tmr newt #newt tmr x reader #newt #newt imagine #newt the maze runner

9 notes · View notes

whoiseduardito · 1 year ago

Text

THE BASTARD

pairing: joker! reader x Miguel O'hara trigger warn: graphic. reader is male presenting, and is referred as john doe. homophobia. setting: pre!across the spiderverse,

How does a son out of wedlock,

a son of an affair,

a bastard, ever live as a normal kid?

Because, if we think of it, since childhood, there are people who hate them, who pray every night that a thunder bolt will strike them down, no matter what. That will do anything to make their life a ginormous rock as a punishment for being born, they have to roll to the top of the mountain.

But-

What would a bastard do to take revenge on the cruel life they were harshly born into?

Now, that’s a real one.

But here’s one; Miguel O’hara.

a groan, the sound dogs use to express discomfort, anxiety.

“ugh, Lyla, prepare some coffee please.” the sound of water automatically being poured and being boiled was heard through the kitchen. “lyla can you lightly open the blinds?” he spoke up again, interrupting the atmosphere “‘s too dark in here” the blinds opened quickly, bathing the room with sunlight.

“you have 1 message. from the public eye .” lyla appeared next to Miguel’s groggy form, his steps pattering against the cold floor, there was a bell sound and he grabbed his cup with ‘automatic coffee’ in his mug, one with ‘World’s greatest brain’, he nodded at the hologram and took a sip.

If we’re honest here, Miguel O’hara hated the public eye, they were basically hunting him. each time Spiderman was there to save the day, the public eye was there to have his head on a stick. he groaned loudly, rolling his eyes at the thought

“....could you read it to me?” a buzzing noise was heard in return “citizens of nueva york, there is a new threat” threat? “but remain calm. it is advised to stay inside of your homes, we’ll be sending more information through most media, i repeat it’s advised to stay inside during night.”

“what threat could it be?” he muttered to himself, he then took another sip “lyla, what is this…threat?” some holographic screens appeared in front of him, displaying some files of the public eye.

“it seems that they have found a serial killer, miguel.”

He hummed, acknowledging the news, taking another sip of coffee.

“Do they have any modus operandi?”

“It’s too early to say, but I’ll get more information.”

“Thank you Lyla”

He placed his coffee on the sink, and retreated back to his room, to get changed. he admired his own body on the mirror, his horrible teeth, he didn’t even like them as a kid, before he turned into this. He looked straight into his eyes, his blood red eyes, it was actually haunting, he could see himself many times and just see that.

As he put on his pants, there was a bell sound on his holocel, a message from alchemax, they needed him quickly there.

[O’hara, the public eye is here.] it read [they need to talk to you, right. now.]

His head cocked to the side while reading the message, he pulled on a shirt, and left for his office.

After quickly making his way to his office, there seemed to be many people harassing him with their eyes, as if he had done something wrong. He barged into his office, only tk come face to face with the public eye.

“Mister O’hara.”

“Sir, can I help you?.”

“Actually, you can” Darryl King began “You’re a geneticist, am i right?”

“yes”

“very well then” he paused for a second, standing up from miguel’s desk “did you know that dynastor darius, a type of butterfly, has a pupa that looks like a python?”

“...how can i help?”

there was a pregnant pause

“...i believe you are a dynastor darius, miguel, can i call you that?” his heavy, clacky steps echoed through the room, miguel didn’t respond, just glaring holes into the man in front of him. “i believe that you are a python, who’s actually a butterfly, miguel.”

“i believe you are weak.”

“you know, we’ve had our eyes on you, after a tragic death.” the man stopped smiling “Gabriel O’hara’s death, Conchata O’hara’s death.” Miguel’s eyes widened

“What are you trying to say?” he sneered

“that you had something to do with the dea-” before he could finish the word, he was already on the ground, MIguel O’hara on top of him, hitting him.

the color red filled his senses, completely enveloping him, his mind, fists, his office, wait.. his office? boots stamped against the floor, overwhelming his senses, and the second he looked behind-

clack! black out cold.

why were they here again?

“wake up”

“wake up!”

“WAKE UP!”

he opened his eyes and on reflex tried to stand up, he jolted, he looked down, he was bound to himself, he tried moving, he was shaken.

“wake up”

he growled and tried to scream, but his words were muffled against the mask.

“shut it, o’hara, stay still”

Miguel was seething, he was confused, he was bound to himself. he looked around a white hallway with cells, everything sterile, everything clean and pristine. something was wrong, something was awfully wrong. he tried to look into the cells, in each one there was… wait-

there were people in them.

everything suddenly clicked, the dulled out people, the smell of chloride burning in his nose, and the straightjacket.

he was in a fucking psych ward, a fucking ashylum.

he began jolting, he began fighting against the restraints, he even had a muzzle, miguel tried speaking, he tried biting when the guards began holding him down, screamed, he began scrambling, until he received a blow on his head, he received even more than he could count until he heard a voice, and footsteps running down the hall, something along the lines of ‘stop!’ and ‘hold him down!’ he felt as they grabbed his head and pulled it away, showing his neck, until he felt a prick on his neck.

“easy- easy..” slowly, he felt his head drop, until his eyes were the only thing he could move, and he saw the shoes of his ‘savior’

he had black shoes…

with fucking butterfly socks.

with stupid shiny colors and with

“fucking butterflies…”

“take him to my office.”

“on it.”

“why is he here?”

“he attacked Darryll King, we just wanted for him to help us with the killer”

"....tell darryll, i'll be on o'hara's case".

#atsv x reader #across the spiderverse #batman #dc joker #miguel x reader #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman x reader

29 notes · View notes

r0-boat · 2 years ago

Text

Out of Water

Merman Oc! Noah x reader

Ch: 2

Cut for length.

You spent your evening on your laptop scrolling through the list of missing persons on a government website. You kept glancing over at the brown-haired male who was staring wide-eyed at your pet snake, Luna. A white ball python you adopted from a neighbor before they moved out. For a moment, you thought about just letting the police handle him…

But you had already offered him to stay here, and if you're being honest, the police in this area wasn't too hopeful, to put it lightly…

Even though he seemed to have a very negative reaction when you mentioned his family or parents, it was no harm in checking…

The young man gave you a rather confused look when you mentioned identification—speaking that strange language once again.

As you continue to look over your thoughts, a sinking feeling in your stomach continues to Bubble within you as you keep scrolling through the list of missing people, unable to find a photographic match to the man you had in your house.

'Maybe something more Sinister happened to him?' You glanced over back at him. You saw as you began to push down your anxiety when you saw his big stupid smile when Luna flicked her tongue at him.

No, no, no… human trafficking? How ridiculous; he didn't really show signs of being in distress, no bruises or anything that would show signs of a struggle.

Besides, when you first met him, even though you can really understand him, he seemed polite and friendly, a little nice and, in fact. Letting out a sigh you will lower your head

into your hands, those suppose you can't really judge me th. You just let a total stranger crash at your house.

…..

A land creature he has never seen before! Its long pearly white body entranced him, and his eyes filled with Wonder and curiosity; the sea serpent looked different. Sea serpents back home were longer, flatter, and meaner looking. This one was smaller and fatter.

He remembered being warned to stay away from serpents as they zipped in the water quikly , and most were venom. Still, this is one, with its glimmering snow-white scales, was slow and almost graceful as it slithered its way out of its den to greet him, he was marveled when the serpent looked like it was smiling at him. Even with the wall of glass separated between the two Noah was still compelled to give the creature a little distance, almost afraid that it would strike and he would be poisoned! But the creature, curious about him to move closer, booping its nose against the glass on accident before flicking its tongue at him.

"Do you wanna hold her?"

Noah's eyes shifted to you; he understood some human, but not much. He watched as you got up from the chair closing your…. Uh thing? as you walk over to him his breath hitches in panic when you open the lid of the tank putting your hands the creatures containment box outwardly touching the land sea serpent.

He completely expected the white serpent to bite you but to his shock the serpent immediately wrapped itself around you, remaining docile yet inquisitive in your hands as you slowly bring it out of its box.

Noah's eyes widened in amazement, in a little bit of nervousness.

A look of confusion crosses your face at his reaction to Luna. Trying to almost back away when Luna would try to reach her head to flick her tongue at him. Sensing that something isn't right, you try giving some distance between Luna and Noah so he can watch from afar. Still, for some reason, your ball python wanted to get closer. Luna was usually shy, immediately balling up in your hand when she didn't want to interact. Seeing her this excited to meet someone new was strange. You knew snakes had a bad rap for being scary, and you didn't want to contribute to that, so you quickly opened back up her lid, putting Luna back inside.

"Ah, Sorry, I thought you wanted to hold her."

Noah always had terrible encounters with serpents back home… He didn't think he was ready for the dry versions.

~~~~

You pretty much guide Noah to your bathroom. As it was getting late, he smelled like seawater, and his dress, now dried, had sand falling from the fabric.

"Is that the only thing you have?" You ask, pulling at his dress.

Noah tilts his head, grabbing at the fabric and looking at the white dress before looking back at you. He seems to understand what you are saying, only for you to panic when he tries to take it off. Your face turns red as you push him into the bathroom.

"NOPE, NOPE, NOPE! Bathroom, run the water now!"

You paused, going over your thoughts,

… you have a random man in your house…

hearing the shower quietly run…

Taking him in was a mistake immediately. What he needed wasn't just a place to stay he needed something that was far beyond your control… whatever fight or disagreement he had with his parents did not concern you and you didn't want to get involved. You rest your head into your hands, groaning. Tomorrow for sure, you're going straight to the poli-

Hearing the sound of crashing you immediately with your head around, it had only been about 2 minutes since you heard the water running?!

You turn the handle to your bathroom door. You couldn't believe your eyes to the sight in front of you. The white dress discarded on the floor, the slippery floor of your bathtub taking its first life. The mysterious hid tan skin was now replaced with silver scales draped over the rim of the bathtub, a fishtail lying Motionless inside the tub.

"WHAT THE F-!?"

#oc x reader #merman x reader #merman boyfriend #merman x human #merman oc #Sfw #original character x reader #original character #Oc #oc:noah

35 notes · View notes

the-whispers-of-death · 11 months ago

Note

By hook or by crook I will out Python and Bear! Reader in a room together. You can fight me on this but I will win. 🫧

Python, being pushed into a room and locked in there: Why am I being locked in here??

Bear!Reader, also locked in the room: Hello!

Python: *screams*

Poor Bear!Reader, falling in love with a man who is scared of bears. But you’re so cuddly and sweet, so Python will eventually fall in love with you.

He totally eyes your claws warily at first though, his scar on his face throbbing with phantom pain. He flinches any time you’re near and you’re near a lot since there’s very little room in this locked room.

Just keep being your sweet self, Bear!Reader! Python will fold!

7 notes · View notes

yanderemommabean · 6 years ago

Note

Mama Bean, could we get a scene of Dr. Lee having to fight his python Gilbert for his darling's attention? I love snakes. -Pasta Bean

(I am not a snake expert, but this was cute! I hope I did ok! )

“Alright! He’s acting much much better! No mouth rot, no mites, and he’s a healthy weight! He just needed help with shedding is all” You state with a smile, allowing Gilbert the python to curl around you as Lee stood by with crossed arms. He seemed jealous if you were being honest with yourself, maybe he didn’t like people touching his pets? You can’t be sure.

You giggle as Gilbert wraps around your shoulders, gently flicking his tongue against your cheek as he slides and slithers around your form. He had just gotten done shedding, and his scales were shining. He wanted to show off and show you how handsome he felt, it was cute!

Lee however, felt a bit miffed. His best friend is stealing you away right before his eyes, and he almost can’t stand it. How dare that scaley, slimey fiend slither all over your delicate skin and act as if you’re his habitat?! The nerve! “Lee, I’d say your pet is very healthy, albeit a bit rough to settle down” You quip, setting the animal back in his cage slowly, gently petting his back to calm him down and allow him to be comfortable.

“He’s an attention seeker, that’s for sure” The doctor grumbled, glaring at his serpentine friend with a bit of malice. “Maybe give him a shot or two? you know, make sure he’s truly healthy “ He joked, watching as his fried curled up and gave a flick of his tongue, as if to say “Try me, I’ll bite them AND you”. You laugh, shaking your head as you close the hatch to his habitat, giving Lee one of your signature grins of pure amusement. “I can see you two have been at odds. Next time you need a house call, feel free to call me, the vet’s office is open all day, so i should be available”.

Lee nods, watching as the snake pokes his head up as if to say “Thank you” before sliding underneath the pellets in his pen, going still as if he was trying to sleep. “Thank you Doctor Y/N, it means the world you were able to help with his mood. It’s as if he misses you when you leave the house after these visits”. To be honest, he felt the same, missing the smell of your shampoo and the cute little quips you’d make when working on his pet. But he would rather die than admit that.

You pack up with a huff, fixing your hair that was mussed up from Gilbert being curious and sniffing it a bit too roughly, and give Lee a curt nod. “It’s my pleasure Doctor, If you need me again feel free to call! Just give your friend here a nice day or twos rest and he’ll be back to his normal self”. You open the door, slinging the bag over your shoulder, giving a final wave before leaving down the front steps of his home. You could have sworn as you went to your car that Lee was scolding someone, but who? you couldn’t be sure.

Hopefully it doesn’t stress out the poor snake, you’ll have to be called back almost immediately if the pet worsens! The last thing you want is for Lee to be upset at your incompetence, and for the poor thing to feel worse. You begin to pull out of the driveway, when you hear Lee scold someone one last time, making you laugh as you drive away. “That’s not cool man! That’s like breaking the friendship rule number one! “.

-Mommabean

#Yandere male #yandere doctor #Doctor lee my OC #my ocs #yandere fluff #soft yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere #yandere x reader #gilbert the python #pasta bean #hiya!#Mommabean

475 notes · View notes

aseaofyoongi · 2 years ago

Text

a years interlude | kth

kth x reader (f)

genre: 19th century; one-shot

rating: mature audiences only (18+)

summary: a story of pain, healing, love, and the yearning of the heart.

warnings: slight mention of blood; non-descriptive (brief) mention of dead fetus (lost baby at birth); memory loss; slight fluff; penetrative sex; cunnilingus; clitorial stimulation; nipple play; hand job; taehyung looking like a 19th century prince in his photofolio; if non-19th century things are mentioned i am so sorry, i tried to do as much research as possible but so many personal things went down while I was writing this that research was slim.

word count: 10,9 thousand words

posted: friday january 6, 2023

The Levate was your home. It had been assigned as your unruly fate far before you were even a fetus in your mother’s womb.

It was your destiny.

The tale commenced about two-hundred years prior, with your great grandmother. She was a mere lass—young, beautiful and most importantly educated girl. It was a rarity for its time. Initially, the men in her family, your family, were destined healers but your great grandmother’s father's bloodline was referred to as fragile and it was ‘cursed’ with just daughters.

One after another after another.

A couple of years passed before the men of the village realized that their people would only benefit in allowing the women of your family to become a part of the legacy and aid those in need. . Especially, the wives of the select few who were in need of assistance during childbirth, word had it women were growing uncomfortable in being presented with male assistance while they carried their babies for nearly nine months and then having inexperienced servants assisting during deliveries— numerous women left to neighboring villages which implemented the requirement of having qualified female only aids during their pregnancies and in their labor confinements.

After a rather hefty consensus the people of the town spoke and your family was granted their titles as former healers and reputable midwives.

Upon shadowing her nearly retired father and the accoucheuse from neighboring villages, your great grandmother learned the complexity of your modern medicament rapidly. She was very astute, stretching as far as the barriers of your society allowed her to reach. Truth was despite everything she was still a woman and was only allowed a speck of liberty—and one single mistake sent her down a bridle pathway of damnation for an eternity and her grave would be dug up by the Kim family.

The Kim’s were the most powerful family in the village, simulating the most vicious predators at the peak of the food chain. They were pythons while the rest of you were rodents. Their formidable force stemmed from their affluence leading them to soar like eagles in the expansive sky, high beyond the passing clouds—they were as close to royals as Hawkshead could attain.

Your great grandmother had been called on by Viscountess Kim to service in the delivery of what would be their fifth child. They were hoping for a male to supply as an eventual successor after being consecutively burdened by a string of daughters. The task was seemingly simple as she already had a hefty resume in delivering babies day in and day out but this particular delivery was. . arduous. The pressure was immense, she knew there was little room for error, and despite the dozen pound weight dragging from her shoulder, she graced her mind with confidence; the assurance of her skills and began her duty as a midwife.

Things began as usual, the dimly lit birth chamber was crowded by servants as they serviced Viscountess Kim any and all of her absurd requests ranging from kneading her feet beyond comfort to fetching her intricate suppers that could only be found a whole town away. The room was aromatized with the soft scents of chamomile, her remedy for easing the nerves. That was all she could provide but of course, medicine then, wasn’t what it is now.

Her duty was to sit and wait. And then sit and wait some more—until baby Kim has decided it was finally time to meet the world.

From her place at the delivery stool her eyes roamed across the unblemished midnight sky. There were innumerable stars prancing around the black vastness accompanying the moon as they danced a soft tango together. Nights were serene; peaceful and she always found herself enthralled in it. The twinkling seams of the stars were dazzling yet there was no way she could look away. Initially, there was a brief silence amongst the emergent storm sweeping across the dormitory, she recalled screaming; frantic screams. In the beginning they were muffled, so far away, for a brief second she had thought Lord Kim was chopping off someone's head down the corridor—except, it wasn’t.

Lady Kim was beginning to hyperventilate, she broke out in sweats, and the lady maids were flailing their arms in the air calling your attention, their attempt at getting her to snap out of her trance.

“We need help,” she’d heard from one of the many nameless figures accompanying the Viscountess.

“Just give me some space,” she abandoned her spot near the window now sitting at the foot of the bed, “fetch me more linens.”

She was heaving, trembling, gasping for air and her screams could likely be heard by the Levate. Her forehead glistened, “I need him out of me,” her breathing was heavy, “I need him out.”

There was a cold bead of sweat rolling down her back but she remained in her position waiting for baby Kim, (hopefully, a boy), to greet you with bright chocolate eyes and raucous cries. You instructed her to push, and she complied. Again, you communicated the same and she did as told. She pushed harder and harder, until the fetal head crowned.

She almost sighed with relief.

Almost.

But the room was eerily still.

Baby Kim, the baby boy, was now in her hands but he was not weeping—his eyes were closed, and his skin was a shade of periwinkle.

He was not breathing.

“How is my baby?” Lady Kim asked.

But she stood, completely still, the tiny body of what was supposed to be a healthy scion laid in her arms, unmoving.

“How is he?” She asked once again.

Your great grandmother’s skin glimmered in the dim candle light as the sweat trickled down her forehead. She quickly walked the boy to the baby bassinet and laid him down.

“Is he OK?” her pleas to know rumbled in the inner walls of your ears, and all you could do was rummage through your brain for an answer on what to do—this had never happened before. She’d always delivered healthy babies, always.

How could this happen? She had not pulled too hard, the mother seemed in good health. . What evil lurked in the shadows to drag this baby away from its mother before she even has the chance to hold him in her arms?

Lady Kim sat up on her elbows—her eyes were mimicking the sparkle of shining glass, she was shaking with anxiousness; fear.

“The baby-”she stammered, “h-he’s”

Words failed her. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth and no matter how she tried to structure the news, sentences did not come easy to her.

“He’s what?” the Viscountess yelled, her voice vibrating through the walls like a high pitched sound wave, “how is my baby boy?”

“Baby Kim has passed on, Lady Kim. My sincerest apologies,” She bowed as her voice cracked delivering the unfortunate news.

The viscountess’ wails were inconsolable, they were haunting and your great grandmother couldn’t help but hang her head in shame. Everything her father taught her was flushed down the drain, her career as a healer was compromised and her life was not guaranteed at the sake of her failure.

All her certainties hung by a single thread and her freedom disintegrated when a lock and chain adorned her wrists and soon as Viscount Kim heard of the unfortunate events surrounding the birth and death of his only son. He—they blamed her for the entire thing, despite her best interest always being the delivery of a healthy boy. They did not listen to her, instead they ostracized her and held a trial to supply her culpability. Her charges included, ‘conspiring against the noble Kim.’

You closed her journal up and slouched on your rickety rocking chair, swinging back and forth lightly.

That was all written by her.

She wrote it as an autobiography for the following generations to understand—it was a reminder of the story you didn’t need to read because you knew it by heart; you lived it; you simulated her pain.

After the verdict was delivered by the counsel, composed of those hand selected by the Kim family, for the proceedings of an unjust trial. They were ready to send your great grandmother to be executed. Hastily, they came to the realization that our family were the only healers in Hawkshead and the nearest family of honorable medicinal knowledge settled days away from our village, so instead of ending her life. . They decided to sentence her and the women to follow to be banished, and sent her on exile to the Levate.

So they walked her to the outskirts nearing the barrier of the viridescent enchanted forrest—she was to reside there and if her knowledge was ever requested they would seek out for her, but that was not her only duty, she was to assist all men injured in the Levate and guide them out the barrier in the direction of the village.

It was the punishment of imprisonment without the shackles, but at least in a cell you had cell mates, guards, people around you—there was nothing but emerald pasture and brobdingnagian trees for miles into the dense forest.

Her husband and son stayed behind in Hawkshead and they continued the legacy of male healers while the women in our family were condemned by her mistake. We were sent to fend for ourselves in the estranged surroundings of the Levate as soon as it was decided by the Kim counsel. A lot of them wed and snuck their husbands in and out of the forest but it wasn't in your intention to subject a man through the complications of the barrier but specially you did not plan to contribute a child into the damnation of this curse. Your predestined beginning and end was as it was, your inevitable demise. There was nothing you could do about it but your principles—your conscience wouldn’t allow you to drag someone else to be a subject of this morbid ordeal and while residing in the Levate was out of your reach; celibacy was the only aspect of your life you had control over.

It’s been a continuity of the same thing, day after day, the same sky up above, the same redundant emerald leaves on the same golden tree branches.

Everything was the same.

It was revolting and it sent you on a spiral of drumming headaches, the same four walls in this same cabin, and the same scenery outdoors.

Five years down, an eternity to go.

An eternity. Seems like ages away but our perception of forever is but mere speck in our reality because to the people out there—living, laughing, loving, life is dazed and comes and goes in the blink of an eye but within the barriers, behind the unchanged days and the repetitious routine your eternity has exceeded the five years you’d been in here and it seemed roads away from where you stood in that moment.

Though you were promised occasional outings of aid, not a single person back in the village has requested your healing abilities for months now and no one ever stumbles past the barriers unless absolutely necessary. You were completely alone, left to rot in abandonment—the Kim counsel knew that but you were certain the infliction of isolation was their specialty for torture.

Nightfall approached quicker than expected that day but you supposed it was the repercussions of being cocooned behind your probing thoughts for a clock’s worth. After dining and changing into your nightgown, you found yourself laying down on the creaky bedstead, you kept your window open becoming astounded by the luminosity of the night sky. The pale crescent moon shone like a bright pearl, and the blanket of winking stars stretched to infinity. Their soft glint mimicked the flickering candle light of your neighbors back at the village, and for a single moment. . you weren’t forgotten, they were just a door away keeping you company until you were finally able to drift off into a deep slumber.

“There’s word in town about the death of the Lord Kim,” There were two girls walking by the southeastern border of the Levate, close to where you currently kneeled picking berries.

Although you could not see their faces, the youth and naivety in their tone was indication enough that they were young, far too young to acknowledge the gravity of their claims.

Being in seclusion was a dead man’s curse because despite the exigency of claims floating around the forest’ border you could never truly confirm its legitimacy.

One of the girls hushed the other, and they began their soft whispers but you could still hear. They were to keep away from the barrier, you should’ve probably warned them but their gossip was far more interesting.

“How could you even know of this?” one of the girls questioned, you didn’t dare peek out from your place behind the bushes to see who they were. . just listened, “what business have you in the Kim estate?”

“For starters, they called on that knowledgeable nurse from Lockwick and the lady maids have been spreading word around town.”

“I suppose you’re right but how could we be certain? They all hide so discreetly behind those golden gates.”

“Process of elimination obviously,” —you’d admit this is the most intel you have eavesdropped on in the last one thousand eight hundred and twenty five days. They continued, “The Kim daughters are all married off, their son is off on a voyage and Lady Kim was seen in town just two days ago. Who is the only person we have failed to see for weeks?”

“I suppose you’re right,” she continued in a whispering voice, “that still is no proof of his passing. I think we should wait and keep this to ourselves if we don’t want to end up like that girl who was banished there.” They were probably pointing into the Levate and were certainly referring to you.

Is that all you were in the village? A fable? A tactic to scare kids into respecting their elders? Did anyone even know what happened?

You sat on the soil which likely stained your blush pink skirt—you couldn’t bring yourself to care however.

‘like that girl’

‘that girl’

The words bounced in your head, their kinetic force dented the delicate walls of your brain. You just played their predicament over and over in a continuous loop. You were alive, breathing but you were as good as dead.

Noone remembered you or your name or what you stood for. Noone knew who you were anymore. You felt like an ant on a planet of giants—so insignificant and useless.

Your only consultation lay beside Lord Kim, in his deathbed if he was even dead. Your hope is rooted, that with his passing, the abolishment of the previous ancient laws and regulations would be mandated. This could be the opportunity to get out of here for good, to leave Hawkshead and live for yourself. You had never wished for the cessation of anyone before but you sure hoped there was a stone with his name engraved on it somewhere, especially after the hand he’s dealt in the suffrage of the women in your family, especially after he held onto the grudge of his ancestors as if they were his own.

Your brain was still frazzled by the rumors of the young girls, still, you attempted to map out who the following Viscount would be to serve as a successor. You doubt any of their daughters would come back, they are all married into wealth far richer than the Kim’s could even dream of. There was their eldest son who was off on a voyage and no one had seen sight of him for the last 11 years. No one knew exactly who he was anymore or what he looked like for that matter.

If speculation was right and Lord Kim has passed—their mysterious son should be coming into town. Perhaps, you could try and arrange a meeting with him, and argue your case.

You could be free.

At last there was hope. The possibility of a future you actually had the chance of living.

You skipped the rest of the way to the cabin. Your feet felt lighter against the verdure path—a buoyant spark coursed through your blood stream, the current sent you floating in mid-air. Intoxicated off ecstasy at the mere grasp of the potential freedom you so desperately craved.

You stood near the barrier.

You were still in the Levate but there was a shift in the surroundings you were so accustomed to. Your initial thought was to run once and for all but your thoughts kept you grounded right where you stood.

Of course, you’ve thought about escaping but if the journals had taught you anything it was that running away would only lead to your demise.

All of your ancestors who disappeared. . turned up in a wooden box days after. You supposed freedom in the afterlife was much better than no freedom at all but you craved living and besides you couldn’t give the Kim’s the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

You couldn’t.

You breathed slowly as the figure on the other side stood facing you. Its face was blurred and the usual lines outlining one's eyes, nose and lips were consumed by irrefutable darkness.

“Who are you?” You yelled out. . No response, “what are you doing so near the barrier?”

It held its hand out—palm stretched out reaching for you; calling out for you.

“I cannot leave unless called for medical assistance purposes,” you stepped closer to the barrier. . definitely digging into treacherous territories, “this is my home.” The words tasted so sour on your tongue, because although you were forced into the Levate it certainly wasn’t a home.

It remained in the same position, you knew you should’ve been petrified but his demeanor was inviting, it called out to you. His vocal vibrations perforated right through the barrier and enchanted the soles of your feet leading you to inch closer and closer to it.

“I can’t. .” you mouthed.

You looked back into the thicket there was nothing left for you here.

One step closer.

The bottomless feeling of loneliness vanished and was replaced with optimism. You shouldn’t wait to go far away.

“I shouldn’t. .” you mumbled.

“Come to me,” you heard, the voice was monotone, displaying no real sense of emotion, “we must make haste.”

“No. . no. .” Your objections convinced no one at all, not even yourself—but your eyes were closed and you shook your head vigorously, “No. .” you chanted over and over.

The voice which was once louder than yours, sounded farther and farther away, its words became muffled and disintegrating in your head. Suddenly, there was a shift and his pleas to have you disobey the rules set upon your life became cries for help.

“Help,” it repeated once over.

“Shut up.” You screamed, finally opening your eyes, there was nothing but darkness. . and you were laying in bed.

You were just dreaming.

You sighed, relieved to learn that you were not on the brink of insanity. . a little deprived of formal human interaction but you weren’t entirely a lost cause yet. Perhaps, the whole thing was rooted from the lone thread which remained intact, the same one which was to eventually lead you right out of the Levate, if the Kim son was as merciful as he was rumored to be in the village back when you were younger.

You sat up on your bed, a cold bead of sweat traveled along your temples and once again you found yourself in solace within the night sky. It was peaceful, as usual, but you couldn’t help but wonder how far the sky stretched. Was there such a place on earth where the heavens met its end? A place where you could climb up the stars as you would a ladder and swim amongst them forever.

There was a whimper, initially, it was faint and you thought it came from a traveler on the pathway near the barrier. But the whines became louder and louder and they were followed with soft cries for help. Unfamiliar, to the one in your dream this voice sputtered much more emotion, whoever it belonged to, surely they were hurt.

You slid on your slippers and made kitten strides towards the front door of the cabin.

“Is there anyone here?”

You grabbed onto the door handle, before stopping for just a second to take a deep breath. After grabbing the lit up lantern from the nearby countertop you made your way out of the house.

“Where are you?” you called out once stepping off the last wooden staircase.

Realistically speaking, you were aware you should’ve armed yourself with a kitchen knife for protection—but you were steered by adrenaline almost; shaken with the possibility of your first patient in five years. Guzzled, with the idea of the presence of another human being on the premises.

“I’m on the left side of your lovely home.”

“Lovely. .” You scoffed, more like hell.

When you finally reached him, he was crushing your rose bush as he remained sprawled out on the ground.

“Are you in need of some assistance, sir?” You asked in the utmost innocent voice.

“Uh,” He groaned, “Yes. . yes please.”

“How did you end up past the barrier?”

“I came. .” he scratched the back of his head, his voice you noticed was grave, much lower than you could remember any man sounding like back in Hawkshead. It was soothing, and felt just as it does when the sun hits your skin on a hot summer day, “I can’t actually remember..”

“The barriers have that effect on people, especially those who were not cursed to be in here.”

“Cursed?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ll explain soon. How about I help you up and we can chat inside. I’m getting a bit cold out here.” You stretched for him to grab, he did, and you quickly led him to the safety of your home. You sat him on one of the dining room chairs and pulled the second one for you right beside him.

“Welcome to the Levate,” you placed the lantern on the table. The swaying of the candle’s flame reflected on his perfect fucking face.

Actually, was there anything more passionate than the word perfect? because if there was, it would still not be enough to describe the beauty of the man you’d just housed.

“The Levate.” He repeated, his expresso eyes glimmered under the flickering flame, they sparkled like the hundreds of bright friends you had found in the dead of night every dawn.

“Yes,” after washing your hands and gathering a bottle of whiskey, cloth bandages, tweezers, and a cold compress for his head you took a seat beside him

“Is this forest part of the village up ahead?”

“You remember Hawkshead?”

“Is that the village?”

You hummed.

“Vaguely.”

You placed the cotton cloth with ice against the bump on this forehead, “Is it ok if we remove this sleeve of your shirt?” You pointed at the bloodstained sleeve with the scattered holes which were likely a result of the thorns dug into his arm from your roses. He nodded, “does it hurt?”

He shook his head, “not really.”

“Can you remember your name?” You asked, slowly removing the shirt as to avoid more injury.

“Tae,” he winced. “All I remember is being called Tae.”

“Ok, Tae. .” you began, “This is going to pinch just a bit but you let me know if you want me to stop.”

Tae nodded. His arm had seven thorns adorning his honey-toned skin. “Do you remember anything about your family?”

“Not really,” You pulled out the first thorn and he winced, just six more to go, “I remember I have a mother and like 5 sisters but their names are blank. Is this normal here. . In the Levate?”

“Yes,” you pulled out two more, “It is. To on goers the Levate is a pause in time. This is the forest of abandonment—while in here your mind is on pause and all your memories are tampered by the forces casted upon the ambience.”

“So when I leave—”

“I have never had the liberty to leave but I believe I’ll be but a faint memory.”

“Are you stuck here?” You pulled out the remaining with little to no reaction from him.

You nodded. A faint smile was pressed upon your lips.

“I suppose I am.” After grabbing the whiskey and pouring some into a cloth you began dabing his wounds to prevent infection. His gaze was on you like a spell and while you tried to remain focused you couldn’t help the stutter in your movements as you began wrapping his arm up.

“What does that mean?”

“My great great grandmother made a very wealthy family in the village angry and ever since then the healing female descendents have been casted to an eternity of damnation here in the Levate. This is our home for the rest of our lives.” You looked right into his gleaming orbs in an attempt to hide the melancholiness in yours, his were soft; soulful; and you could easily map out the entire galaxy in them.

“Have you ever tried to just up and leave?”

“Others have tried but it didn't quite work out.”

“These people really hold onto grudges don’t they,” he shook his head.

“I guess it’s human nature.”

“What’s yours?” You stood to discard the supplies you had used to assist him. The ill-lit cabin was the worst reminder of what your human nature was; the Levate was too; your lineage; you were.

“To be alone.”

“And you believe that?”

“Doesn’t really matter what I believe because it is as it is. There’s nothing to change now and the only person who can is on voyages nowhere to be found.” Saying it out loud was unsparing—every time those hopeless words met your tympanum it added to the deeply rooted sentiment of wanting out, of searching for a better tomorrow.

“Who can?”

“Their son.”

“And he’s gone?”

You shrugged, “not dead just away from Hawkshead.”

He slouched back on the chair, lips spread widely in a yawn, his toned chest was exposed under the two torn buttons on his white top—he looked exhausted.

“Well this is the only home in the Levate but you are more than welcome to stay over as long as you like.” You offered.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, my tiny prison is your tiny prison.” You smiled.

“I love the decorative statements you’ve made here,” he unhurriedly scanned the cabin’s walls, taking it all in inch by inch, “especially this unique wall paper.”

“It’s sun dried flowers. . they were all dead.”

“Well they certainly bring life to the place.”

“Thanks.”

His smile was wide, so luminous it lit up the pathway back to the village even from here. “And where shall I divulge in my slumber? I require a lot of commodities, you know.”

“Of course, will a sleeping bag or a duvet do?”

“Duvet sounds lovely.”

“I’ll fetch that for you.”

Mornings were always your favorite time of the day. You awoke, read a few pages from your ancestors journals or medical books, prepared a pot of tea and fetched the daily nutritional offerings left for you by those in the village. It was a routine, one you have grown accustomed to, and embraced dearly because it reminded you that despite being shunned away you were still here. Alive. Breathing.

You rubbed sleep off your eyes and sat up on the bed.

“Good morning,” the voice was invasive and although you knew Tae was here, you just weren’t used to having anyone around.

“Good morning to you.” you reciprocated, “you seem to be doing well this morning.”

“It was but a couple of scratches.” His back was still turned to you as he scrambled around on top of the stove, “I’m much better. I really hope you weren’t expecting me off this early.”

“Honestly, I thought you would’ve ran out of here as soon as the sun emerged.”

“Why is that?”

“A lot of men flee from the burden of not knowing. Actually, no. . Nobody has ever stumbled amongst my gardens before. I assume they would all run for the hills.”

“Assumptions are not facts.” Tae handed you a piece of bread and a small cup of coffee, “I hope you do not mind me staying just for a bit though.”

“That is fine with me.” You deliver softly. The only burden weighing on your shoulders was getting used to being around Tae and then having to watch him cross that barrier to his regular life back in the village without the faintest memory of you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, taking a seat next to you on the bed.

You nodded, “I’m alright.”

“So. .” he rubbed his hands on his slacks, “What’s on the itinerary for the day?”

“Not much actually,” you laughed as you were reeled back into your pathetic life, “there are very few things to do in here.”

Tae smiled so tenderly it felt as if you were floating on water—as if you were being swayed aimlessly on a body of water. Allowing the curvatures of his mouth to direct you as they pleased. It felt so refreshing having someone smile at you that way. You couldn’t quite get enough of it.

“Anything in particular you need to get done?”

“I need to go wash my clothes in the river.”

“I’ll come along.”

Upon making it to the river you landed at the usual spot on the river bank where a couple of boulders sat. You placed your basket on the ground and reached for the first item before smearing soap on it to slap, twist and rub the clothes against the rock.

You repeated the same for everything you brought over which was not necessarily a whole lot but you felt the need to distract yourself from being so indulged in Tae’s presence.

“So what are you going to do to arrange a meeting with this wealthy person to get you out of here?” He laid on the grass, his head touched your calf slightly and you swore you could feel the small sparks beginning to ignite as his dark hair tickled your skin.

“First, I have to see if he’s back in town.”

“And how would we know?”

You shrugged, “They’re pretty well known so I’m hoping word gets around and somehow makes it back to me.”

“That’s an absurd plan.” His protests were right but you really had no way of arranging for things to be executed in a better way.

“Well, Tae, that is the best I could come up with. There’s no other way.”

“Are you even being watched here?” He asked.

“I walked the perimeter of the Levate previously but I didn’t see anyone guarding it but all my previous ancestors who have attempted an escape have been killed shortly after leaving.” You twisted the cloth a bit harder against the hard surface.

“So they’re not caught leaving but instead on the road out of the village. I’m guessing they’ve been unlucky enough to encounter people who honor that wicked family.” Tae continued, “how many have tried to escape?”

“Two.”

“One’s a coincidence but I believe in a situation like this two might be intentional. I’m not sure I remember but there might be guards watching movement in and out of the village”

“Seems like it. . but I do not plan an escape. I wanna leave out of here honorably and to break this stupid curse once and for all. It needs to end with me.” You rubbed harsher and harsher.

“I promise I will remember you. I’ll help you get out of here,” he sat up and guided your chin towards him—your eyes met his once again. They were dark this time, almost black and you could tell he actually meant the words he said and even though you did not quite believe he had a say in remembering anything upon crossing the barrier you smiled either way. He believed in you and your hopes of getting out and that’s all that mattered.

“I’ll hold you to that.” You laughed playfully.

“You won’t have to wait long.” He held your hand and his thumb rubbed circles on your wrist, “I promise.”

Promise. The density of the word was far too great and while you wanted to believe Tae’s dulcet words, you knew that even if unintentionally he would forget about your existence the moment he left.

His heart was in the right place but you could not get your hopes up on empty promises.

You just had to find the Kim son.

“It’s really no trouble. I don’t want you knocking door to door back at the village asking about the girl living in the woods.”

“I’ll do it if I have to. You are not your ancestors’ mistakes. You deserve a chance at a life to live.” His touch was still soothing against you, it mimicked the softness of silk and you could maintain your fingers intertwined for an eternity. Funny enough in this situation an eternity did not seem long enough to have Tae holding you as he was.

“I’ll be here.” There was a flutter in your heart—something you’ve never felt before, “I would ask about you but your memory is impaired at the moment.”

“Yeah,” He scoffed, “I’m hoping I’m an only child and hopefully a succeeding prince.”

“A prince would never set foot in Hawkshead.”

“Perhaps I was in search of my princess.”

“In Hawkshead?” you shook your head, “again. . unrealistic.”

“Not entirely.” He laid back on the grass and closed his eyes, “It is no secret how desperate princes tend to be.”

“So now you are desperate?”

“Perhaps,” he shrugged.

“Perhaps—” you reiterated, “and what exactly is his desperateness dependent on?”

“The lady I would be searching for I guess.”

“I’m sure there are countless potential maidens to choose from back in Hawkshead.”

“Hawkshead?” He chuckled amusingly.

“Well, yes, that was your intentional destination. Was it not?” A breeze swept swiftly easing the haze raging in your head as a result of Tae’s words and the scorching mid-summer sun.

“Intentional?” he shrugged, “Sure. But I believe I ended up right where I needed to be.”

“You believe so?” You hummed.

“I know so.” Tae was confident and the certitude behind his words sent a shiver down your spinal cord—just twenty four hours with him and your heart began to pounce at your chest whenever his voice graced your ears. Your movements slowed and you felt breathless as if his being alone sucked the air right out of your lungs.

“The implications of this place are less than ideal don’t you think?” you resonated.

“You have lived it darling. Is the Levate substandard?”

“It is like a prison chamber,” you scrubbed the top in your hands so hard it felt like you were grating your palm on the boulder.

“Do you not believe yourself to be free?”

“I live the same days over and over again, Tae. There is no freedom within these borders.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

His being was alluring like one of those paintings your father kept in his study back home. The soft strokes of the emerald grass complimented the honey tone Tae seemed to have adopted for the duration of summer. Elegance augmented his features from his dark locks, to the soft smile curved at his face, to his attire.

He belonged in an art gallery.

He cleared his throat, “can I ask something?”

“Sure.”

“Is your love already promised to someone else once you leave this place?”

“No.” One word responses were not usually your forte but Taehyung’s question was rather surprising, although coming from the peak of his curiosity you expected nothing less, “why is that inquiry living in your head?”

“I wanted to decipher whether I would ever have a chance with you.”

“Perhaps, if it is written in the stars, we could meet back in Hawkshead and during courtship we could attend the balls in each other’ arms.”

“The balls are pretentious and congested with chaotic gestures of desperate daughters. . I want no distraction in my attempt to romance you,” he was a sweet talker, you had noticed, swatting the butterflies in your stomach was useless — you could already feel yourself colliding against him.

“In society we would not be granted the privacy you require. .” you shook your head, “do you want a forced marriage at the cost of your hands accidentally touching mine?”

“Not forced. . My willingness is voluntary.”

“You live inside the fantasy brick walls of your creative mind..”

“Are you saying you would mind?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Good. Now push over,” He kneeled beside you making your elbows grace each other ever so slightly. You weren’t sure if he did it on purpose or if he even felt what you did but your feet levitated into the stratosphere. His touch even unintentionally swept you right off your feet, “allow me to give you a hand.”

It’s been three days since Tae stumbled upon your rose bushes and sadly it was his last night here in the Levate. He was to cross the barrier early morning and embark on his quest to help you out of here. . if he even remembered.

You really hoped he did but there was no certainty and that very detail would gnaw at your anxiousness until you were given the chance to be face to face with him once again.

“What are you so deep in your head about?” Tae asked from his position on the floor.

“Many things.”

“What? Will you miss me?” He joked.

Yes. You wanted to shout out but you didn’t.

“Not one bit.”

“I don’t believe you,” you were sure there was probably a smug expression plastered on his face but you were too busy glancing out the window to verify, “your days were graced by my charm.”

“So narcissistic,” you heard him gasp, “perhaps you are a descendent of royals after all.”

“It is in my bloodstream.”

An ear-splitting silence fell between the two of you. You realized even just his company sufficed to provide you with warmth and comfort you needed.

“Have you ever tried to count how many stars look over us every night?” The vibrato of his whispered; grave utters bounced right off of the oak walls.

“That would be impossible.” The luminous points invaded the night sky as they did every other night. They were your faithful companions.

“Not at all,” slumber was catching up to him. You could hear it in the stammering, “every night as we lay under the same sky, let’s both count the stars until we finally get to reunite once more.”

“How would we know we are watching them at the same exact time?”

“Just trust your heart.”

“I know it’s selfish. .” you began, “but I wish you could stay for a bit longer.”

Tae did not respond, not vocally anyway. Instead, he turned in the direction of your bed from his place on the floor. His expression was tender, his cheeks were impaled by dimbles.

You would miss his company, and his eyes, and his smile, and the unspoken intimacy you felt dancing between the two of you. You wondered if he felt it as intensely as you did even in such a short time? You wouldn’t dare ask—but your heart was convinced he did, while your head remained on his departure the following morning. No matter how many times he promised, you were aware you would be a granule of sugar in a short three days of his abundant existence, one he would not be able to remember the moment he walked out on the other side.

You wanted to kiss him so badly. His lips were so inviting. . It would be your perfect departure from him.

But there was no use if he would not be able to recall any of it once he crossed over.

“I would stay with you forever,” he murmured.

You opened your eyes abruptly—but he was already fast asleep. Surely, you’d imagined it.

Surely.

“Lord Kim,” a voice sounded through the other side of the door, “are you decent?”

He hummed back groggily and almost immediately his doubled doors were pushed open. The Butler of the Kim estate, Hoseok, invaded his dormitory.

“I told you since I have come back, Hoseok,” he yawned, “you are more than welcome to refer to me as Taehyung.”

“Of course Sir,” he stumbled, “I mean, Taehyung.”

Taehyung sat up on the canopy bed surrounded by fine silk sheets. Ever since he was able to make it home after being missing, life in the Kim estate seemed like so much for just one person. It all did. This bed, his room, his new title as Viscount Kim ever since his father passed away twelve months prior.

Before making it to Hawkshead, Taehyung had gone missing for a period of three entire days, and although his mother had kept this information from him at the time, he managed to obtain the location from where he was found by staff in the manor after his mother passed just nine months ago.

They told him he had been laying down near the northern border of the Levate forest geared towards the entrance of the village.

Back then, he was coming back home to assist his mother with the funerary ceremony for his father—but after losing her as well just a few months after he was shackled to this place as he was officially the new and esteemed, Viscount Kim Taehyung III.

“I just wanted to announce that dinner would be served in about ten minutes, sir.” He did not make it a habit to correct Hoseok on the usage of anything but his name once again. For, he knew his father and ancestors before were rather stern with how they managed life around the home.

He knew his changes would take some getting used to.

“Would you like me to close the drapes, Sir?”

“No, Hoseok, they’re fine. I like to look at the night sky before falling fast asleep.”

“Very well, I’ll see downstairs in ten.” Hoseok walked towards the door and reached for the golden handle before opening it.

“Hoseok,” Taehyung called out, “the files that I requested a few days ago. Have they been fetched yet?”

“Yes sir, they’re bringing up the last of the few boxes and everything should be in the study right after dinner.”

“Thank you so much, Hoseok.”

Hoseok disappeared behind the mahogany door and Taehyung was left alone once again.

Just him and his thoughts.

And somehow they always brought him right back to those three days he couldn’t even precisely remember. The Levate was always known to be desolate; scary and unexplored. Those were the stories his parents always recounted as a warning for him to stay away but he could not help the feeling that there had been someone out there who took care of him.

But who could willingly reside in that creepy forest on the outskirts of the village?

Tae walked over to his bedroom window taking in the sights of the stars swimming amongst the late night sky. In the couple of minutes he stood by he counted hundreds of them. There was a sense of serenity in being able to witness their brightness, there was a bubbling urgency in him in wanting to assign a number to all of them, although it seemed impossible.

He would one day, though, and that was a promise he made to himself.

After scarcely getting through dinner as he did not have too much of an appetite, Taehyung invited Hoseok over to the study in an attempt to get through all of the documents he needed to before dawn.

Under the flickering flames of the candles around the room, Hoseok took the couch with one box while he sat in the leather chair behind your father’s desk with two more. The first few documents detailed finances, work affairs and where your father usually geared towards for business encounters. On the bottom of the first box there was a folder with a black stamp sealed in the top right corner, spelling the word, confidential in all capitals.

He quickly pulled out the folder and scattered the documents out in-front of him. It was a family tree with all of the female descendants circled in red ink for the last two-hundred years. There were two years listed under every single name, one for which they were banished and one for the date indicating they had passed away.

The most recent one showed the latest descent had been banished around six years prior.

Taehyung, flipped through a couple more pages in the document before landing on the agreement between the council, the Kim family and the first ancestor to have been banished.

Apparently, she had attempted to assist in the birth of a Kim ancestor hundreds of years ago who passed during the delivery and instead of public execution, they had sentenced her to banishment in the Levate. Although not stated in the original document they made a new regulation after her passing to imprison all the female descendants on her side of the family as a repercussion to avoid the death of any more babies in the village by the carelessness of their hands.

“This is absurd,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “come here, Hoseok. Did you know about this?”

Hoseok hovered over your shoulder as he began scanning the document, nodding slowly as if he wanted to lie instead but opting against it in the end.

“I found out when it was time for your father to banish the recent descendant six years ago,” he leaned on the dark walls of the room, “but your father wasn’t as understanding as you are. He threatened me and my family in exchange for my secrecy.”

“But he’s been gone for months, Hoseok.” Taehyung reasoned, he was mad that the butler had not brought it up at least once in the past few months, “You’ve had so many opportunities to bring it up to my attention.”

“I did not know many details, Sir,” his lips quivered and Taehyung could see the exasperation glooming over Hoseok, “All I know is the latest descendent was banished and only you have the power to bring it to the council for reconsideration as a Kim.”

Taehyung’s expression softened, “thank you for providing me with the details now. Would you please seek out the council and arrange for a meeting tomorrow afternoon?”

“Of course.”

“This is all for tonight. Please let me know of the meeting time and location come early morning. Good night, Hoseok.”

“Good night.”

The meeting was arranged in the Kim garden early afternoon and while you had discussed some pressing points the council held relating to your parents passing, it was time for you to bring your own concern to their attention.

Most of the original council has now been overtaken by an earlier generation for reasons similar to your own.

“Joon, I presume Hoseok mentioned the reason for the calling of today’s meeting.”

He nodded as he gobbled on yet another tea sandwich, “he provided a brief synopsis.”

Joon was the descendent of the original founder of the council and whatever he said went. He was far less serious and strict than his father was but Tae supposed they all were. None of them were their fathers.

“Why don’t you detail what you want to propose with a bit more clarity, Taehyung?” Yoongi cut-in as he noticed Namjoon was far too indulged in the delicacies table. Yoon was more of the straightforward kind of guy and had fought tirelessly to be kept out of the council but with the passing of his father he had no choice but to step in as the eldest Min son.

“This is regarding the descendants of the Levate. I wanted to propose an official release as the original document was altered after the first healer passed away.” you detailed, “it is not fair to continue the imprisonment of those women in that forest.”

“I agree,” Jimin cut-in. His family was known for being quite liberal and you figured the recorded vote against the sending of that woman to the Levate all of those years ago came from his ancestor.

“That’s 2-5, as I am obviously voting against keeping her there,” Tae said.

“I’m with them seems a bit cruel and unusual,” Seokjin conquered.

“Same.” Yoongi said.

He was the more traditional man of the bunch so it surprised you when Joon seemed to be the bearer of bad news.

“I also agree with your arguments but the only way out of banishment for the healer is marriage to a Kim descendent. It is stated in the original document that you should have read Tae.”

“Don’t ‘Tae’ me if you plan to enforce the rules of our beastly fathers.”

“I plan to do no such thing,” Joon quickly argued, “but we were sworn in to provide transparency to the people of Hawkshead. We are not royalty by any means but as founding families we do not and cannot sit above the mandates of those who came before us, for if we do, how can the people trust in us as the new replacing founders.”

“I’m afraid he’s right, Taehyung,” Seokjin was the voice of reason, “we cannot afford having the village against our judgments and decisions at this time.”

This is not what he originally planned for.

“With all due respect Tae,” Yoongi began, “How about we near the borders of the Levate and summon the descendent. From there we can propose the marriage proposal and see where she stands. If it is not an option for her she will unfortunately have to enter back into the Levate until we can seek a viable way to get her out.”

“It is settled, she does not need to be paying for reparations of an accident that took place years ago. Therefore, all in favor of the marriage proposition to lift banishment say I.” Joon was an honest man, and Taehyung was sure the pressures of being head of the founding council was a heavy-bearing occupation and though this wasn’t the conclusion he was hoping for—it was a start.

A wave of I’s circled around him.

He hesitated but ultimately caved as he saw no other way as of now, “I.”

Approaching the Levate was quite intimidating and it certainly did not help that Yoongi, Jimin, Seokjin and Namjoon had offered to accompany you on the trip to the initiation of a possible loveless marriage.

They stood near the carriage as he walked towards the barrier. The hairs on the back of his neck stood as a wind of familiarity immediately brushed past his face the closer he got.

Taehyung hoped this would not seem odd to you but he was trying his best to get you out of the Levate as soon as possible.

Taehyung saw her figure nearing the border of the green pasture and automatically noticed her smile beaming from ear to ear. She was as radiant as the flowers embedded in the wealthiest of gardens in the village, as dazzling as the sun and her aura was as familiar as the late-night stars he had begun conversing with ever since he made it back home earlier that year.

“Tae, you’re back,” her voice was silky and your name sounded like honey dripping from her lips, “you promised and now you’re back.”

He cleared your throat “I promised?”

“Sorry,” she began, “yes, some months ago you had stumbled into the Levate after being back from a voyage. After falling on my rose garden. I did a miniscule job of pulling out the thorns and you stayed about three days before heading off,” her recount of the events cleared the patches of missing information within your memory.

“Why can’t I remember any of that on my own?”

“The barrier of the Levate erases your memory as soon as you cross over,” her eyebrows were furrowed, “but if you cannot remember how come you are here?”

“My name is Kim Taehyung III, a descendent of the Hawshead founding families. After the recent passing of our fathers the replacement council made it our mission to overturn the cruel mandates set forth by our ancestors.”

“Yes, we discussed that while you were in here,” she said softly, “although, I did not know then that you were the person I needed to speak to.”

“Your case was the first to come to our attention, mine especially, as a Kim descendent. In the unofficial documents by the founders however there is a minor detail standing in the way of your immediate liberation.”

“What is the minor detail?”

“The only way of our banishment for your family is through marriage.” Taehyung said.

Her pupils were blown and her voice quivered, “who would I have to wed?”

“Me. Otherwise you would have to remain in the Levate until the council finds another way to get you out.”

The agreement of marriage came unexpectedly to you but in your time together she had recollections of only pleasant memories plus made you made him promise to drag you along on his explorations when he had to go off on voyages.

You craved to see the world.

Taehyung agreed and after the small wedding ceremony with the founding families bearing as witnesses. The two of you became husband and wife in the local church after your meeting a couple of days prior. Everything was geared on high speed and happened just a few weeks after your meeting with the proposition.

The two of you barely had any time to talk between the legality of documents and the preparations of the hurried marriage.

“Are we all alone?” you asked, flickering on the lights of the family room as you walked in the Kim estate.

“It is the beginning of the honeymoon traditions,” he informed, “the house is left vacant for the husband and wives and the next couple of days we get to ourselves before embarking on a voyage to visit extended family.”

“Is my family still around in Hawkshead?” you asked to take a seat on the couch, he followed sitting across from you.

“They live a boat ride over now but not far. They were granted leave by my father as the remaining siblings seemed to be brothers who were born just a couple of years ago.”

“I have brothers?”

“Twin brothers,” he confirmed, “we can go see them tomorrow if you would like.”

“Can we go later on in the week?”

“We shall go right before heading off to see mine early next week. How does that sound?”

“That sounds fine.”

He scratched the back of his head, “I forgot to thank you for your care back in the Levate. I am sorry I cannot remember anything about our time together.”

She shook her head, “it is not your fault my Lord. I was just happy I could assist, plus you made those three days the best of my time in the Levate.”

“You can just call me Taehyung if you would like.”

“Taehyung.” she repeated, “so it is true that the replacing founders are trying to implement structures of change to Hawkshead. They seem to be less austere and puritanical than their ancestors.”

He flashed a boxy smile in your direction, the one you missed so much over the past year, “I heard they are trying their hardest.”

“I am glad their compassion now graces the land,” you complimented, watching as his cheeks turned as red as the roses he had stumbled upon in your garden, “thank you Taehyung, for keeping your promise of getting me out of there.”

“No need to thank me. Unfortunately, my descendants were at fault for this entire ordeal. It is the least I could do.”

You gazed at the way his cherry lips were moisturized by his tongue. Perhaps, a nervous tic you had not quite picked up back in the Levate. Was he nervous? Replaying, the rather chaste kiss he left on your lips back at the altar and his clammy palms holding yours you deduced he was in fact nervous.

All you could ever think of however was his body heat in your proximity.

“It will forever be engraved in my heart that even after losing your memories of me after crossing the barrier, you still cared enough to get a stranger out of that situation,” you placed your hand on top of his.

“It was my basic duty after everything inflicted on your family all these years,” you noticed the change in his tone as he breathed out ruggedly, “please do not assume you owe me anything because of this. You do not.”

“I know you are a perfect gentleman, Taehyung but my heart beat for you the moment we met back in the Levate. What I feel is not forced or payment for your heroic antics,” his eyes remained on his lap and he seemed to be averting eye contact at all costs, “but that doesn’t mean you are forced to reciprocate something you cannot remember.”

“I cannot remember it,” he spoke barely above a whisper, “but I can feel the way my heart races when you come in my proximity. I felt it during our meeting. I feel it even now.”

The heat rose rapidly as you felt the way his eyes began mapping out your figure sprawled out on the couch. You figured it was a bit onerous though, as the wedding dress gifted to you wasn’t too flattering on your body. You made short strides towards him and stood in between his thighs, after unzipping the fabric you saw as it pooled at your feet exposing your inner-wear.

His carnal desires were reflective on the way his eyes scorched to a deep umber and his lower lip was blanketed under his teeth.

“Can I take you up to my suite?” The question sounded in your ears like a song being played delicately on the keys of pianos.

“Take me to your suite.”

Taehyung carried you bridal style sharing plenty of laughs at the countless trips and stumbles as he trotted up the stairs with you in his arms. You both finally made it to his massive sleeping chamber—it seemed a bit crazy how you were shoved into a tiny pocket of the Levate while Taehyung slept this lavishly every night.

You didn’t hold it against him but it was ironic how your worlds were destined to be so different and somehow clashed.

“Your house is so grand,” your eyes wandered through the different shades of blues adorning his room, “and to think you wanted to stay with me in the forest.”

“What?” he scoffed, “you do not see me as someone who can forage off the land?”

“You are far from the term, Kim Taehyung.”

“Assumptions are not facts,” he laid beside you on the bed and suddenly you were taken back to that morning in the Levate when he uttered those exact words.

“You have said those exact words to me before, you know.”

“My wisdom transcends the erasure of memories from a magical forest. You didn’t know?”

You giggled landing a soft punch on his elbow. “It seems I was not aware.”

“Now you are,” the tips of his fingers felt like waves of static shocks against your skin. He traced the outline of your chin, the nape of your neck, and collarbone before stopping where your cleavage began.

Your eyes were shut tightly as his cold touch continued exploring your searing body.

“Darling, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Taehyung, you have been the muse of my wildest dreams and the root of my deepest desires for the year following your leave,” you caressed his delicate cheeks with the back of your thumbs. He melted right into your touch, “I have longed for you and now I am finally here with you.”

“You waited for me?”

“Well realistically speaking,” you shrugged, “I had nowhere to go. My only option was to wait.”

He winked, “I will remember it my way.”

As a substitute to the small talk the both of you had engaged in to relieve some of the tension clinging to the air, you found yourselves leaning into each other at a leaden speed until finally your lips crashed into one another. His tender lips tasted of strawberries exactly as you imagined.

And the way his lips moved against yours was agonizingly mellow - and made you feel faint.

Who would have guessed being free could ever taste so sweet. . so fucking sweet.

The two of you were bare, crashing back into the ocean of his silk sheets. His wandering touch landed on your breast, while his kisses continued sweeping you off your feet. . his fingers focused on your nipple as he began rolling, pinching, and rubbing the sensitive bud.

“Taehyung. .” you breathed out.

“I’m just getting started,”

His pillowy lips trailed down your stomach leaving icy wet kisses on your skin leading you to succumb to the delicacy of his care. Your paradise you quickly realized was at the mercy of Taehyung’s ministrations.

The way he pecked your body so sweetly was intoxicating.

Just when you believed he reached his destination, he continued to travel lower and lower positioning himself between your thighs.

“Taehyung?” your eyes met his as he hovered over your arousal.

“Do you trust me darling?”

He propped your legs up on his shoulders. A yelp escaped your lips as your pussy was now placed right in front of his face.

Your heart began pounding against your chest blaringly - it became so potent you could almost hear its rhythmic beat against the shell of your ear.

“I trust you.”

The feeling was electrifying and beat through you like a bolt of lightning igniting a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach. His effects on you were lost in the darkness invading your surroundings; still he devoured you as if you were the last meal he’s been presented with.

His tongue licked and sucked your clit. Your breath hitched and all your voice could manage were incoherent babbles accompanied by the chanting of his name.

“Y-you are so good Taehyung.”

He hummed against your folds.

“So good, Taehyung.” You repeated, lacing your finger into his dark strands.

There were spurs of white light behind your eyelids as you became enthralled in the way he continued to move against you. The pleasure was addicting and you were afraid your longing wish was to have Taehyung on his knees every hour of every day and at every given moment.

“Please do not stop,” He continued, “please.”

There were successions of shooting stars ornamenting the heavens and finally you reached the breath-taking place where the earth and the sky meet.

Your heaven.

“You were so good darling,” he paused, “you took my breath away.”

His voice is now deeper than you remembered. A train of moonlight invaded his dormitory. Taehyung looked as stunning as ever, his hair is a disheveled mess, his lips adopted a deeper hue of scarlet while his features were inundated with his sweat.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Yes.”

The feeling was foreign and dissimilar to the feeling you had experienced hen his mouth ate you out, you felt full with him inside of you and although initially there was pain, the more you grew accustomed to it the more pleasure you felt.

His hips moved slowly in and out of you.

Your whimpers mixed with his groans was all that could be heard through the house.

Still, his agonizing pace remained, while his finger landed back on your clit as he traced the number eight repeatedly.

There was no falter in his movements, continued, and continued and continued once again.

Those shooting stars from before burst into beautiful displays of fireworks and for the second time that night you reached your high.

When Taehyung pulled out of you he was still hard, “I am going to head to the bathroom.”

You cut-in, “can I help?”

“Oh,” he moaned, “can you?”

“I want to.”

He sat at the foot of the mattress and patted the spot next to him for you to sit—you did.

“Use your hand. Is that ok with you darling?”

“Yes, can you guide me?”

“Of course.”

The tip of his cock disappeared behind your grasp while his balmy palms covered yours. He guided you down to the base and back up to the tip—the motion he set was swift and you could only ogle as Taehyung masterbated using your hand for release.

The thought made you wet all over again.

He whimpered, “I’m so close.”

His hand remained on top of yours but his motions were no longer leading, he was too engrossed in his own pleasure. You hastened the speed, now determined to help him feel as good as he made you feel.

His whispered moans only motivated your movements until finally his come covered your hand.

After disappearing for a couple of seconds Taehyung walked back from the wash room with a towel in hand, “sorry I didn’t warn you about this,” he wiped you all clean.

“I liked it,” you murmured, “I would like for you to teach me many more things.”

“We have a whole eternity for that darling.”

“Eternity. . That sounds nice.”

author’s note: this feels a but rushed in certain parts and I apologize for that but this story is been something that has taken way too long and I was truly just looking to put it out — hopefully it’s enjoyable though.

thanks for reading. comments, likes, reblogs and messages are always appreciated. let me know what you think <3

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #kim taehyung #bts v #taehyung smut #bts v smut #bts smut #bts imagines #bts reactions #taehyung x y/n #taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #bts v x reader #taehyung

416 notes · View notes

deathmetalunicorn1 · 2 years ago

Text

RoR Funny Masterlist

Sandwich

Confession

Pretty

Python

Proposal

Detention

Good Idea/Bad Idea

Custody Battle

Custody Battle Round 2

Worm

Surprise Kisses

Lion King

Short Reader

The Whole World

Holding Hands

Drunk Reader

Atheist Reader Prank

The Hunter

The Hunter Part 2

The Hunter Part 3

The Hunter Part 4

Wouldn’t Hurt a Fly

Hidden Sword

Hidden Sword 2

Ugly Faces

Brutally Honest Child 2

Brutally Honest Child 3

Brutally Honest Child 4

Brutally Honest Child 5

Don’t Mess with a Sage

Where do Babies Come From?

Forever~

Watermelon

Awkward Dinner

Savage Teen Reader

Different Meanings

Cupcake Valkyrie Reader

Screwed no Matter What!

Norse vs. Greek (innocent reader)

Kindergarten Kisses

Pocky Game (kindergarten)

Reincarnated Gremlin

When I was your Age

Kindergarten Holiday Gift Exchange

Kindergarten Valentine’s Day

Kindergarten AU- Not Funny Anymore

Can you Help me Hide a Body?

I don’t Negotiate with Terrorists

Designer

Iconic Duo

Strange Pairings

Oblivious

Skeleton

Burned

Put up for Adoption

Stealing Thor's Hammer

Male Wife

Eri x Other OCs- Babysitting

Type

Try not to Laugh (Reader x Thor)

Jokes

#masterlist

97 notes · View notes

monstersarebeautifultoo · 3 years ago

Text

Of Scales and Skin Pt. 3

Male Naga (Boelen's Python Anil) x Trans Masc Reader

Fluff, angst, and NSFW (eventually). Minors DNI.

{Part One} {Part Two}

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's barely a day later that you hear a knocking on your front door as you prepare your dinner. You're quick to answer it, knowing it's Anil, no one else would ever visit you. Your face breaks into a grin as your eyes meet his. Your doubts from hours before disappearing, it seems he's a man of his word.

"Hello, Anil. Would you like to come in?" He nods, a grin of his own painted on his lips. You take a few steps to the side, so he can slither his way into your home. You watch his tail in awe, watching its iridescence as it moves in the light of the sun. You quickly but gently close your door once he's fully inside, not wanting to surprise the male. He seems to be admiring your home, the few paintings and embroideries from your mother on your walls, along with some of your father's favorite trophies. He begins to move, slithering towards your hearth, looking at the slightly larger painting above it. It's the smallest of the large paintings your parents owned, but it's perfect. A professional painting of you and your parents after your transition.

The painting had always made your chest warm and ribcage swell with love and appreciation for everything your parents had done for you. You watch as he looks at it closely.

"Your mother and father?" He asks.

"Yes, a few years before their deaths." He nods in understanding, still inspecting your younger self in the painting.

"It seems you've always been quite handsome." You flush at his comment.

"Thank you, but I would like to disagree. I was an interesting toddler." He chuckles, turning to look at you.

"In looks or demeanor?"

"Well, both. I looked nothing like I do now, which I remember vividly. Plus, I was much rougher than my parents had expected from me as a child." One of his eyebrows raises.

"Because you were sickly?" Your eyes slightly widen, having momentarily forgotten the story your parents had convinced the village was the truth. You make a split-second decision to tell him the truth, you aren't sure why.

"Yes and no... I was sickly, but not in the way I'm sure the village told you." Once more his eyebrow raises in question. "I wasn't sickly in the way that my body was dying. Mentally, on the other hand, I was very unhappy, in such a way that would be considered sickly by some." You begin to walk back to your kitchen, wanting to finish preparing dinner as you talk, admittedly to avoid making eye contact with him while you talk. You can hear him following you as do so.

"I admittedly was not born with a body that would grow to look this way. If I had stayed the way I was born, I would look much more..." You pause, unsure if you should continue," feminine... I would most likely have wide hips, a bosom, a plush rear, and softer features. I would be considered a witch, rather than a man that prefers privacy." You stop speaking, cutting vegetables, waiting for any sign of understanding from him. It does take a moment before he speaks.

"You were born a woman, but are now a man?" You nod. "Ah, you are much like my tribes' second souls." This confuses you, turning to look at him, surprised to find a smile on his face. "Your people may call them something different. But my tribe calls those like you, those whose souls do not match their bodies, second souls. They are seen as the bravest, and strongest of us all."

"Are they common within your tribe?"

"As common as those of us that do not feel the way they do. Despite being considered the bravest and strongest spiritually, we see them no differently than the rest of us. They simply need something different to find joy within themselves." You nod to show that you understand, your gut curling with envy. "Our healers are always taught how to help them with what they need, whether it be a medical procedure, or simply talking with someone about the way they feel about themselves." You sigh, your bottom lid slightly lined with tears, wishing your people were as understanding as his sounds to be.

"It seems your people are much kinder than my own, despite being solitary." He laughs at your statement.

"We are only solitary towards species less kind than our own. Humans believe us to be solitary, because we avoid you, due to the common pattern of human brutality killing our people." This makes complete sense to you, it's why you avoid the townspeople. You smile as you speak.

"Understandable reason to avoid humans." He grins and nods. "So do your tribes communicate often, and with other species, besides humans." He nods, still smiling.

"Oh yes, we are quite familiar with our neighboring tribes, along with neighboring tribes of other species. We trade with them often, along with inviting them for festivities, and they invite us. My first best friend was a Drider, whom by the way, is still a close friend." This makes you smile, you wished humans were kinder, so you could be invited to such things. Being a part of such a diverse but understanding community sounds glorious.

"How often do you visit one another?"

"When I lived with the tribe, daily. Now? Once to twice every seven days, when I bring some of the hunts for that week to my family." You nod in acknowledgment of his words.

"Why did you leave?" He slightly cringes at your question, and you quickly backtrack. "I apologize, you do not have to answer."

"No, you have shared some of your secrets with me, it is only fair I share mine with you."

"No. Anil. That was of my own will, without prodding. If you do not wish to answer, then do not. I understand if the subject is still an open wound." He smiles appreciatively but continues.

"Still, I would like to tell you." You nod, turning back to the vegetables, giving him a slight feeling of privacy as he speaks, something he's grateful for.

"I left of my own volition, tired of hearing the sneers and harsh words about those that raised me." You shift your weight, then slightly tilt your head to the side, telling him to continue when he's ready, and he does. "It turns out my mother was unable to carry eggs, but that's not what had upset the people. Rather than requesting help from another female, or asking to raise an egg from another pair's brood, they stole my egg from a momentarily unattended nest. My biological parent was alone, his husband having been recently murdered by a human hunting party." This makes you wince; humans really are awful. Yet, you're intrigued, it was two males in a relationship? How would that work? You keep your questions to yourself.

"He had left to retrieve a healer, knowing the eggs would hatch soon, something the non-incubating mate would do. Since the nest was unattended, they took me, hoping he wouldn't notice when he came back with the healer. He did, quickly going into a searching frenzy, alerting others of the tribe that I was missing. My parents were quickly found with me. But I had already hatched, seeing them, my little brain latching on to them as my parents. Therefore, causing the tribe to be unable to take me from them and return me to my true parent. When I got old enough to survive, they left, unable to handle the hatred from the tribe. That was when the truth was revealed to me. I had tried to return to my father, create a bond with him. But he couldn't look at me, I smelt too much like them, acted too much like their version of a perfect child. After that, the tribe was no longer shameful of their harsh words toward those that raised me. I understand why the people were upset, yet I couldn't bear to listen to the horrible things they were saying about the pair that had loved and cherished me as their child."

You understood his reasoning. Sometimes you could hear the townspeople blaming your parents for the plague, saying that it was their fault you infected the village. Saying it wouldn't have happened if they had gotten rid of you as a child.

Then a thought hits you. "Although, I have a question."

"Yes?"

"If those that raised you left, then who are you taking food when you visit your village."

"Oh! Yes, I did say that earlier, didn't I? My father and siblings, in hopes of making some amends on behalf of my parents."

"Ah, I see. Does it work?"

"Some. My siblings and I have become closer. My father... Not so much."

"I'm sorry, Anil. I'm sure it hurt to have them leave, then to be rejected by your father and continue to be rejected by him."

"It did and does, but what hurts worse is the tribes' lack of compassion for the desperate pair." You nod. That also makes sense. Yes, what they did was a crime, but it was born out of shame and desperation.

"It seems we're quite the interesting pair." You softly laugh, both of you not a part of your people, but not completely separate.

"It seems so, although, it's said in my tribe that those that have gone through similar events, such as rejection by their community, make an amazing mated pair." You flush deeply at this; it sounds as if he is suggesting you two would make a proper couple.

"Really? Does that stand for those of similar bodies too?" He chuckles.

"Yes, _____. Your species is the only species that believes two people with uteri can't be mated, or that two people with penises can't be mated. In many, if not all other cultures it is common for those with similar bodies to be mated, they simply request assistance from their community when it comes to producing a brood." This shocks you. It was true, you hadn't ever seen two men, or two women, together romantically. But did other cultures really find no problem with it.

It was as if Anil could read your thoughts "Why should they, _____? If the pair is truly in love, and truly healthy for one another, why should there be a problem with it?" His words struck through you, awakening thoughts you had been hiding for the longest time.

You turn to look at him, tears rolling down your cheeks.

"I could truly love anyone I wanted? I would be allowed?" He quickly rushes towards you, cupping your cheeks, wiping your tears away. A look of earnest in his eyes.

"Yes, _____. Anyone you desired." Before you even register what you're doing, you're dropping the knife in your hand onto the counter, cupping his jaw and cheeks, and kissing him. Your eyelids slide shut as you do so, melting as he quickly kisses you back, the kiss sweet, gentle, and filled with adoration. When you two pull away, your foreheads are quickly resting together, noses touching as you catch your breath, holding onto one another.

He speaks first, watching you curiously. "I understand if I am speaking too early, or if you would like to think, but would you be willing to let me court you?" Your blush deepens, but you nod, causing him to grin, his fangs barely, but adorably poking out below his top lip, something you hadn't noticed until being this close. "Thank you. I promise to prove myself to be a worthy mate." Warmth fills you and you kiss him once more, this one more chaste as you quickly move to cover the skin of his face in light but adoration-filled kisses.

You've barely known him for two days, and yet, you trust him. You trust him to stick to his words, to court you into being his mate.

#monster boy #monster boyfriend #monster x reader #monster x human #naga boyfriend

49 notes · View notes

ariana-winchester95 · 4 years ago

Text

Welcome to the Jungle

Pairing: Carpet Python Shifter Min Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: 18+, oral (m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (stay safe out there), snake tail sex, biting, sub!yoongi, aftercare, soft boyfriend Yoongi, Yoongi has a split tongue and two cocks.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this, I wrote this because my best friend was complaining about the lack of Snake Hybrids AUs for Yoongi, so I took one for the team. Feedback is very welcome.

It had been a few weeks since I received a call to retrieve a Carpet Python from a backyard across town. Usually, I take reptiles back to the enclosures at the local zoo, but there was something different about this one. He was smaller than a regular-sized adult python. I expected a fight getting near the snake, but it never came, almost like he was too scared to fight. I have observed him over the past few weeks, doing nothing else but eating and sleeping.

One morning, I checked on the snake, but the tank was empty, the lid a-jar. I searched the room but found no trace of the snake. Huffing, I went off looking for the snake; I stopped dead in my tracks once I reached the lounge room, my eyes catching a glimpse of a figure moving in the kitchen.

"Looking for me?" The figure said, back still turned towards me.

Stepping in the kitchen, I let out a small gasp at the sight of him. He wore black sweatpants paired with an oversized t-shirt, but that is not what caught my attention. The visible tail, the same patterning of the snake from the backyard. The intricately patterned scales on the back of his and flowing down his arms.

"Who are you?" I asked, coming to a stop as I heard the man sigh heavily before speaking.

"I guess I have some explaining to do." He spoke, his hands sliding along the sink's edge before taking a deep breath and turning around, facing me, squinting slightly. I raised an eyebrow once I caught his gaze, "My name is Yoongi, and I'm the snake you saved from that backyard."

"How?" I questioned, stepping closer, and as I did, the sunlight hit his eyes, making them appear yellowish-green.

"I was an experiment, deemed a failure. I was created in a facility experimenting on humans to develop mixed DNA species, but something went wrong during their experimentation on me." He explained, his voice sounding distant as he reflected on the memory.

"What happened?" I asked softly.

"The DNA mixed perfectly with mine, but they discovered that I could shift into a snake. They told me that they didn't want a venomous snake in their facility in fear that I would kill anyone that got near me. They said I was too dangerous." Yoongi turned his head, eyes trained on the backyard through the window as he explained further.

"I'm sorry, but they got it wrong. You're a carpet python, correct?" I asked, pausing a moment to let Yoongi nod. "They're non-venomous to humans. So you're not dangerous at all." I continued, leaning against the counter.

"What?" He gasped, his narrow eyes widening, "So if I were to touch you, you would be okay?" Yoongi question softly, stepping closer, so close that I can easily see the colours in his eyes.

"They truly do not know anything of your species," I said, more to myself. "Snakes are only venomous by biting, not touching. So considering you are non-venomous, you'd only have to be careful of your bite. You are harmless to humans."

"How do you know all of this?" Yoongi asked, his lisp showing even more now that he's starting to comfortable.

"I am a herpetologist, an expert in reptiles. That is the reason why I came to retrieve you in the backyard, in your snake form."

"So, if what you are saying is true," Yoongi spoke to himself rather than me. "I can do this."

Before I could ask what he meant, his fingers were lightly touching the top of my hand. Shivers ran through my body, the nerves in my body igniting. My eyes travelled up his arm to his face, watching the expressions cross his features as he applies more pressure to my hand. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion before raising in wonder as he realised that I was telling the truth.

"You were right; I believe you now." He spoke softly, still looking at the spot where his fingers trace across my skin, then he looked up, catching my gaze. "I trust you."

The longer his gaze bore into mine, the more body seemed to tingle, and I can tell he feels it as well. His hand then moved to grasp mine, my hand fitting perfectly in his as if it were his to hold. He uttered a word under his breath; before I had the chance to clarify what he said, he pulled me to him. A breath left my mouth as I collided with his broad chest; I stood frozen, his hand the only thing keeping me upright. I held my breath as I felt his fingers now tracing my cheek lightly, his eyes following their movements in amazement.

"How I've craved to touch someone without fear of killing of them, and here I am, touching you, and you're still standing. I realise now how deprived I've been." He monologued, his thumb tracing over my bottom lip. His body vibrated against mine, something that male snakes do before mating a female to excite her, and it's working. The notion sent a spark flowing through my body, heading south to my core.

Yoongi stared at me a moment longer before he leaned down and captured my lips with his. I closed my eyes after a few seconds of shock, and then, his lips disappeared. He placed his forehead against mine, his hands on my waist, holding me close. Looking up, I found his snake eyes staring at me as I smiled softly.

Yoongi breathed in deeply as his nose reached my hair, nuzzling right in. His nose traced over the skin of my cheek, his breath fanning over my jaw. Then, he lightly moved a hand up from my waist to bury it within my hair.

"You smell of vanilla and citrus—my favourites." He murmured, closing his eyes and breathing in my scent. "No wonder I feel safe here. It all smells like you. My mate."

I barely had any time to process his words before his lips were on mine again, my heart pounding against my rib cage. This kiss was firmer than before, more heated like something snapped in him as he moaned into my mouth. My hands moved on their own accord, trailing up his broad chest to the back of his neck, feeling when I felt scales gracing his skin. Yoongi let out a little moan as I tugged on his hair, causing his hips to roll into mine.

"I need you," Yoongi whispered against my lips. "I can smell you." The hand on my waist tightened upon smelling my arousal.

I pulled away from him with a smirk on my face, contrasting his confusion. I trailed my hand down the length of his arm to grasp his hand. Then, walking backwards, I tugged him to follow me as I lead him to the bedroom.

Entering the bedroom, I took the opportunity to shove the curious snake against the wall. He let out a breath as his back hit the wall, his eyes moving to look directly at me. I rolled my hips into his, just like he did before, and he let out the prettiest of moans.

"You sound so pretty for species so feared." I purred, running my hands up and down his chest as he breathed deeply. "I wonder, what other sounds you can make from the pretty mouth of yours." Yoongi visibly swallowed hard before running his split tongue over his bottom lip as he let his mind wander.

I leaned back and trailed my hands downwards, pushing my hands underneath his t-shirt, his body shuddering when my fingertips came into contact with his skin. I moved fingers ever so lightly over his stomach up to his firm chest and over his nipples. Yoongi hissed when my fingers brushed over the tiny buds; I smirked in satisfaction.

"So sensitive and responsive," I noted as I continued flicking the sensitive buds. Yoongi's head thudded against the wall, his body squirming and little whimpers gracing my ears.

"It hurts." Yoongi hissed out, rolling his hips into mine. I looked down as I felt his big problem press into my thigh.

"Do you need some help, baby?" I teased, running my hands down to the waistband of his sweats, watching as he nodded and squeezing his eyes shut.

I pulled the elastic band slightly and let it snap back against his skin, giggling as his body jumped at the motion, his hands clenching at his sides. Then, slowly, I let my hand slide past the waistband and into his boxers. Yoongi hissed harshly as I lightly touched his cock, rolling his hips into my fingers, chasing the friction he desperately needed.

"Please," Yoongi begged, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as my hand wrapped around him. I gasped when my fingertips touched something underneath his cock.

"I should have known," I started, reaching my hand further before coming into contact with a second cock, "snakes have two cocks. So here you are with two." I smirked.

Yoongi let out a groan of frustration as I pulled my hand out of his sweatpants. Hooking my fingers in the waistband, I pulled down his sweatpants to his ankles as I kneeled before him. Scales lined the pale skin of his thighs and calves. He let out a moan as his cocks were released into the warm air. I couldn't take my eyes away from the two angry, red cocks in front of me.

I threw Yoongi's sweatpants to the side once he stepped out of them and ran my hands up the length of his legs, brushing over his scales before bracing myself on his thighs, feeling the muscles flex under my touch as I looked up at Yoongi through my lashes. His snake-like eyes looked back at me, running his split tongue over his lips again as I moved my hands closer towards his cocks. Yoongi hissed once I wrapped both hands around a cock each, his tailing winding around one of my wrists as I slowly pumped both at the same pace.

"So pretty," I admired, rubbing my thumbs over the tips, spreading the pre-cum around the heads of his cocks. "I wonder what you taste like."

I barely gave Yoongi time to comprehend my words before leaning forward and pressing my lips to one of his cocks while stroking the other. Relishing in the way that Yoongi groaned and threw his head back with a thud against the wall. Next, I ran my tongue over the underside of his cock, spurred on by hearing Yoongi moan and gasp at the stimulation on both cocks.

"You taste delicious." I praised, realising his cock with a pop and licking my lips.

"God," Yoongi breathed as I drew his cock back into my mouth, lightly sucking. His hands moved to grasp my hair, keeping me in place as he thrusted his hips into my mouth and hand.

I took as much of him as I could before I started to gag. Then, drawing back, I swirled my tongue around the head before repeating the same action and taking him deep into my throat as I moved my hand to massage his balls. Yoongi's legs nearly gave out from the amount of stimulation he was receiving; my hand and mouth still working his cocks, and now my other hand caressing his balls.

"Stop, baby," Yoongi strained, pulling me off of him and uncoiling his tail from my wrist. Finally, I released him with a pop. I then looked up at him with a slight tilt to my head. "I'm going to cum if you keep that up, but I wanna cum in you."

Yoongi moved his hands moved from my hair to my hands. Grasping them, he gently pulled me up to a stood position. He then raised a hand to my face, cupping it as he used his thumb to wipe a bit of drool away, smiling softly.

"Will you let me cum inside you, jagi?" Yoongi asked softly, caressing my cheek with his thumb, smearing my drool over the skin, as I looked up at him in a love-drunk state, nodding slowly.

I let Yoongi lead me over to my bed, stopping to stand next to it. His hands travelled to the hem of my shirt, silently asking to take it off. I placed my hands next to his, grasping the hem before taking it off and flicking it somewhere on the floor. Yoongi seemed to freeze for a moment, his eyes taking in my almost naked appearance. Then, he gently placed his hands on my waist, his barely-there touch causing goosebumps to apparently.

Yoongi slowly traced his fingers over the soft skin of my stomach before lightly running over my lace bra. I shivered as his fingers made contact with the skin of my breasts, as he cupped them over the bra. I made a move to undo my pants, bending down slightly to push down over the curve of my ass and letting them pool at my feet vectored they come to the same fate as my shirt.

"Wow," Yoongi whispered, taking me all in as I stood there in front of him in nothing but my lingerie. "You're more beautiful than I imagined."

A shy smile made its way onto my lips as I looked down in embarrassment, softly chuckling, a soft blush creeping its way onto my cheeks. Then, I felt Yoongi place a finger under my chin, coaxing me to look back up at him. My heart skipped a beat as my eyes caught his gaze, the look of pure love evident within the chocolate orbs.

"You needn't hide from me," he spoke with such sincerity, his thumb running over my bottom lip, "you're stunning."

Yoongi swiftly took off his shirt, discarding it somewhere in the room before settling himself on top of my bed, patting the space next to him. Crawling my way to join him, he pulled me onto his lap once I was within reach. I let out a gasp as his cock pressed into my clothed core, his tail coiling around my thigh. His hands settled on my ass, his fingers squeezing the flesh as he moved my hips forward, making me grind against him. My head fell into his shoulder as I let out an involuntary moan, my hands holding onto his biceps.

"Please," I didn't know what I was asking for, but I knew I need more.

My hips moved on their own accord, chasing the friction I desperately craved. Yoongi's hands travelled up along my spine, stopping at the clasp of my bra. He lightly ran his fingers along the bottom of it before coming back to the middle and undoing the clasp. Then, bringing his hands to my shoulders, he gently pushed me off his shoulders so he could witness my breasts become bare before his eyes.

Yoongi took his time taking the bra off, lightly pulling the straps down my shoulders and then dropping it on the floor next to the bed, his eyes never leaving my breasts as he did so. Cupping his large hands around my breasts, he pushed them together and then let them fall back into place. The motion caused my mouth to fall open, closing my eyes. Yoongi lightly moved his fingers over the mounds, but never touching my nipples, already erect and hard for him.

"Yoongi," I moaned, rolling my hips against his cocks, burying my hands in his hair.

Yoongi leaned forward, connecting our lips in a soft kiss, and at the same time, kneading my breasts, causing me to moan into his mouth. Yoongi trailed his kisses over my cheek and down along my neck, sucking purple blemishes in his wake. I leaned back slightly once Yoongi reached the tops of my breasts, his snake eyes flicking up to mine. My breath caught in my throat, his split tongue moved out past his lips, reaching out and flicking my nipple, his tongue on either side of the erect bud.

"Oh god," I moaned out at the unusual sensation, throwing my head back and pulling his face closer to my breast.

Yoongi took the hint, wrapping his around my nipple, gently sucking as he kneaded the other. His free hand roaming my curves, his hand danced over my stomach on thighs before settling on my ass. My back arched into him as Yoongi flicked his snake tongue against my nipple rapidly, breathy moans left my mouth and filled the air. His hand moved from my ass to lightly trace over my clothed centre.

"I can feel how wet you are, jagi?" Yoongi spoke into the room, moving my panties to the side.

Yoongi ran a finger through my wet folds, collecting my arousal on his fingertip. My eyes followed as he bought his finger to his mouth, openly using his tongue to taste it. The sight sent a shiver down my spine, adding the fire already burning in the pit of my stomach.

"You taste sweet, my dear," he praised, his eyes glinting as he smiled softly.

Yoongi's finger returned to my core, this time running two fingers through my folds. I squeaked when his fingers flicked over my clit, my hands grabbing onto his shoulders as my head fell forward. He rubbed firm circles over my clit and pinched my nipple between his fingers simultaneously, drawing little moans from me, rutting my hips into his hand. His fingers moved towards my entrance, pushing the tip of his in and then bringing it back out. I groaned in frustration as he repeated the action a few more times before finally sinking his index finger inside me.

"You're so tight," Yoongi mused as I became a blubbering mess on top of him, "I'm going to have you stretch you out real good if you're going to take me."

"Yoongi, please," I breathed desperately, looking into his eyes.

Yoongi's hand rose from my breast to my neck as the other kept pumping in and out. He wrapped his hand around my throat, gently squeezing as he added another finger inside me. Curling them towards him, quickly finding my g-spot, he continued to hit it with every thrust of his fingers.

"Yoongi," I whispered, feeling my high about to hit. Instead, Yoongi pulled his fingers out of me, halting my orgasm. I groaned in response.

"Not just yet," Yoongi stated, bring his hand up to my cheek, gently brushing his thumb over my skin. "I have something in mind. Do you trust me?"

Wordlessly, I nodded my head with a small, blissed-out smile. Yoongi, then, shuffled us down further so that he could lay his head against the pillows. He wrapped his arms around my waist, cuddling me to him. His cocks now rubbing between our stomachs.

Yoongi uncoiled his tail from my thigh, his hands holding onto my hips. He softly ran the tip over my skin, causing me to shiver against him, my own hands finding their place on his shoulders. His breath hitched as my movement gave gentle friction against his cocks. Yoongi moved his tail over the curve of my ass. I gasped as I felt the appendage brush against my entrance.

"Easy," he reassured, moving the tip of his tail through my folds, coating the appendage in my wetness.

The tip of his tail returned to my entrance, circling before gently pushing inside as his hands ran up and down my spine. I gasped at the strange feeling, but it felt so good at the same time. He pulled his tail out before pushing it back in, a little deeper this time, causing me to squirm. He whispered sweet nothings as his tail was pushed in deeper, stretching me out, his hand moving up my spine to hold onto the back of my neck.

Yoongi curled the tip, making it hit my g-spot, causing me to let out a moan as my hips started to grind against him. He kept thrusting his extra appendage against that spot, my juices flowing out and onto him. His tail was now stretching me further, my slick aiding to the penetration. He trailed his hand to my chin, pulling my face in front of him and drawing me closer to connect our lips in a feverish kiss.

"I need your cock in me," I whispered against his lips, thrusting my hips to meet the thrusts of his tail.

"Is my tail not enough for you, jagi?" Yoongi teased, holding the side of my face in his large hand and pushing his tail deeper inside me, drawing a strangled moan from the back of my throat. "or are you just that much of a cockslut?"

"Yes," I let out a pathetic moan at the degradation, burying my face in his neck, clenching around his tail.

Yoongi moaned at the sensation, pressing his head further into the pillow, his grip tightening on my hip. He halted my movements, removing his tail from me. I whined at the loss of having him inside me. His hands moved to my shoulders, pushing me up, so I was straddling his hips.

"I want you to ride me," he expressed, running his hands over my thighs.

Showing Yoogni a smirk, I wrapped my hands around his cocks, pumping them slowly. Running both thumbs over the tip of his cocks, smearing the pre-cum leaking from them. I let go of one and brought my hand to his heavy balls, massaging them as Yoongi's hips rose and his body writhed beneath me.

"Please," Yoongi's voice came, his head tossed to the side, hair spread out across the pillow, hands now gripping at the sheets.

I tightened my hold at the base of his cock, causing Yoongi to let out a choked sob. In a matter of minutes, his aura changed. Gone was the confident man speaking what he wanted, now replaced with a needy and desperate sub. I smiled to myself at the realisation.

Rising to my knees, I positioned myself over his cock, teasing myself a little, rubbing the head of his cock through my wet folds, spreading our slick around my entrance. Yoongi opened his mouth to speak but let out a groan instead as I started to sink on his length. My walls clenching around him, drawing him in even more until he was completely buried inside me.

I let myself adjust to his size, and Yoongi tries to catch his breath, his chest dramatically rising and falling with his every breath. We both let out moans of relief as I started to roll my hips against his, bracing my hands on his chest.

"Amazing," Yoongi strained, holding my hips in his big hands, " you are still so tight."

Yoongi's hands guided my hips to rise, his cock barely inside my pussy before I took the liberty to slammed myself back down. The movement caused Yoongi to shout, his fingers digging into my flesh, most likely to cause bruising, but I didn't care.

I lightly ran my hands over his stomach as I returned to a grinding movement, watching the goosebumps rise in my wake. Yoongi's body writhed, letting out whines as I lightly traced a finger over the patterns and ridges of his neglected cock. He hissed as I wrapped my hand around him, pumping him in the rhythm as I bounced on his other cock.

"I'm gonna-" he started, the stimulation now becoming too much for him.

"No, you're not," I spoke sternly, relishing as he cried in frustration as I came to a halt, only clenching my walls around him. "Not yet anyway."

I resumed pumping his cock, this time with both hands, massaging him. His hands gripping the sheets, his back arching off the mattress. I raised my hips, clenching as I did so, before slowly lowering myself back down, repeating a few more times as Yoogni started to let out high pitched mewls.

"You sound so pretty, baby," I praised, pumping his cock with one hand and circling a finger around the tip of his cock with the other, "are you going to cum?"

"Yes," Yoongi vigorously nodded. Pained groans filled the room with each breath he let out. He pushed his feet into the mattress, thrusting up to meet me halfway.

I could feel my high approaching quickly. I braced a hand on Yoongi's chest, keeping a steady pace on his cock with my other hand. The top half of my body started to slump forward, my energy beginning to wear out. Yoongi noticed, moving his hands to my back. He let me fall against him before his hands travelled to my hips, halting my movements. He then used what was left of his energy to pound into me rapidly.

"Yoongi," I moaned, my breath fanning over his ear.

Our moans mingled together, our skin slapping filling the room as our high's quickly came. I moaned Yoongi's name as I clenched and released around him. Feeling me come around him, Yoongi thrusted faster like a mad man. His cocks twitched before he stilled and came with a groan, my name the only word he said before sinking his fangs into the soft skin of my neck. He came inside me, painting my walls white, filling me to the brim. We became still, his cock softening buried in my pussy.

"Are you okay?" Yoongi whispered in my ear, softly stroking my hair as I still tried to slow my breathing. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"I'm fine," I breathed, burying my face in his neck, "I'm perfect."

I pressed a soft kiss to his neck, weakly chuckling as I felt his cocks twitch. Yoongi swatted my ass in a warning.

"Don't," he spoke, using his hands to lift me off him gently, "let me calm down first."

I trembled with the promise of him taking me for a second time today. I rolled to the side, too exhausted to move. I heard Yoongi rise from the bed, walking off somewhere. He returned with a wet cloth in hand, using it to clean me up, stopping when he reached my pussy. I gasped as I felt him press two fingers to me, collecting our mixed juices spilling out of me and pushing the liquid back inside me before wiping over my pussy.

Yoongi discarded the cloth in the bin, then maneuvering me under the sheets before getting under himself. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me entirely against his body.

"Rest up, jagi," he whispered against my hair as I snuggled against his side, "we have a few more days of this, my mate."

Taglist: @alternateafterthought | @haven-raven012591 | @mitzwinchester

#hybrid bts #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts hybrid au #bts smut #min yoongi #snakehybrid!yoongi #hybrid!yoongi #yoongi x reader

327 notes · View notes