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ceilidho · 8 months ago

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Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 4 | masterlist

There’s nothing else to do but pretend it didn’t happen.

In the morning, you’re surprised to wake up and find him in the bed next to you, still covered in old sweat and dried cum. You suppose even in your sleep you’d unconsciously expected him to avoid the incident altogether—wake up extra early to shower while leaving you alone in the bed, giving you a modicum of privacy to digest the situation and its repercussions on your own.

He does no such thing.

“Morning, sweetheart,” John rumbles, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Feeling alright?”

Dangling precariously over the edge of oblivion. Some kind of abyss. The kind that says you might not like what’s down here, girlie, but still you sit by the edge and kick your feet.

“Yeah,” you croak, and Lord, your voice is hoarse. Scratchy and rough, like it’s been dragged over sandpaper.

“Good.” He lets his hand rest on the curve of your cheek for a second before pulling it away. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? I’ll shower after.”

The bed groans under his weight when he sits up, throwing his legs over the side before rising to his feet. You quickly avert your eyes at the sight of his naked backside, hairy there as well. A bear all over. Even his yawn reminds you of one. And the way that he stretches his arms overhead and every bone in his upper body cricks and cracks, the sounds of age manifold.

You scrub yourself with shaky hands in the shower, gnawing at your bottom lip when you spread your puffy folds to find his cum still slightly tacky inside of you. Very bad. Scooping as much out as you can with your fingers, watching it run down the drain. Very bad indeed.

John has breakfast on the table when you come downstairs and it seems, somehow, uncouth to just tell him you want to go home. So instead you force yourself to sit and eat, glad that he at least agrees that it isn’t the time for conversation.

At the door, he sees you off with a hug, watching you from the door until you reverse out of his driveway and drive off, waving as you leave.

“This is really bad,” you whisper to yourself on the drive home. “Really, really bad.”

Despite the morning after, the night you spent together is never explicitly spoken about. It’s not a ‘thing’ you discuss by any means. No sit down conversation, no awkward allusions to it, no talking around and around the events until the exchange becomes unbearable. It simply blips out of existence as soon as you change into your old clothes and John walks you to the door, seeing you out.

You still show up the next day, as usual. Nothing’s changed except everything, but it feels taboo to even mention that things feel different.

The world hasn’t radically changed since you accidentally slept with John, but it certainly feels that way sometimes. In the few delicate hours after leaving his house, you were sure he’d call at any moment to tell you that your services would no longer be required—that he’d send your last check in the mail before parting ways. So sure of that, in fact, that you’d put your phone on silent for hours before mustering up the courage to check your missed calls later that evening.

Only a few texts from friends. No missed calls from your employer.

He doesn’t fire you. He certainly doesn’t treat you any differently the next time you come to babysit. You still get paid every week—though, admittedly, the money makes you feel a little weird now after sleeping with him, but it’s not like you can just turn your nose up at making rent—and everything else in your life stays exactly the same. If you weren’t now acutely aware of the feeling of your boss coming inside you, you might even think you dreamt it up.

Still, despite John never bringing it up or even alluding to sleeping with you, there’s still a sense that he—

The soft, affectionate thanks, hun that he gives you when you bring him a glass of water on the rare day he comes home early to work out in the garage makes you shiver.

His need to touch increases tenfold, matched only by his proprietariness. He must feel like after what you did together, it’s nothing for him to squeeze your thighs when he tells you that you did a good job with the baby or hug you extra tight when you’re about to leave.

If you’re extra shy around him, he doesn’t remark on it.

You’re levelheaded enough to know that he shouldn’t be so touchy with his younger female employee—his babysitter no less—especially after what happened, but it’s not as though he treats you like sleeping with you is a given. When a week goes by and nothing happens, you almost relax. Almost. Enough to let your guard down.

But—

You can’t stop thinking about it though. It runs through your head every hour of every day, made worse by the fact that you see him six days a week, Sundays excluded. Sundays being your one day off, which you no longer look forward to but rather dread because Sundays mean no baby, no park, and no John Price.

So, you follow his lead and pretend like it didn’t happen.

You think it’s past you; a terrible mistake that’ll never happen again until it happens again.

Eight o’clock at night and the blue light from the television has begun to strain your eyes. Baby sleeping upstairs—you put him down a few hours earlier without much of a peep; had to check on him a few times, but otherwise the baby monitor sitting on the end table hasn’t so much as crackled, leaving you no choice but to doze off on the couch.

When the door opens, it startles you awake.

“Mr. Price?” you ask, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and clearing your throat.

John’s there when you twist around to peek over the back of the couch, filling out the door frame. Dishevelled after a long day’s work, his beard even more grown out than when he left earlier in the morning. A bit rougher around the edges, the day leaving its mark in the slight dark circles under his eyes and the set of his jaw, which only relaxes when he lays eyes on you.

“Just me, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, I…the baby’s been asleep for awhile, so I just thought I’d—”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. I know you’ve got it under control.”

“Let me just get my stuff and I’ll be out of your hair—”

He cuts you off with a wave, toeing his boots off at the same time. “No, no, no—you stay there and finish your movie. I’m gonna grab a drink and join you.”

There’s not much more you can say to that. Instead, you watch him take his bag upstairs to put away in the bedroom before you hear the sink turn on. Running water.

You carefully avoid looking at him when John comes back downstairs, the creaking steps signalling his descent. He heads to the kitchen without stopping by the living room first. The light switches on with a click. The fridge door opens and bottles clinking together when he roots around for something to drink.

And then you hear him make his way back to the living room.

The unspoken pact to not bring up what happened the last time you spent any alone time together imbues you with a false sense of security. Part of you expects him to take the single recliner next to the couch, if only to put some distance between the two of you.

Except when he comes back into the living room, he plops right down in the middle of the couch like always, close enough to you that you’re forced to scoot away, pressed up against the arm of the sofa. You shiver when he cracks open his beer and takes a swig, resting his arm on the back of the couch with the can held in a loose grip.

“What’re we watching?” he asks, blatantly adjusting himself to get more comfortable on the couch. Even soft, the outline of his cock is visible through his trousers.

You stare over at him nervously, unblinking.

“Sweetheart?” John prompts when you don’t answer.

“Oh, um…” You clear your throat again. “It’s just a Hallmark movie.”

“Cute. Well, we can keep it on. No sense changing it now.”

It’s tense for a little while. You keep your hands folded in your lap like a good girl and your eyes on the television. So you can’t stop inhaling the heady scent of tobacco and vanilla. So you can’t stop blinking your eyes, each blink heavier than the last until they spend more time shut than open. So you yawn and burrow deeper into the cushions, your head tipping back and nearly jarring you awake when you lean too far and topple over the side.

When you lean the other way and start to doze off on his shoulder, he pulls you onto his lap. You squirm, initially resistant, but he shushes you before you can put up a fuss.

“Just don’t want you to drool on my shirt,” he teases in a low murmur, smoothing a hand down your side and then it’s lights out for you.

You wake to a blunt intrusion at your entrance. Half-awake and squirming, you vaguely feel him rub the tip of his cock up and down your pussy, teasing himself. The second you squirm just a little too much, he uses that little bit of movement to push the tip in. It pops in without much resistance; then the slow, methodical press inward, your walls squeezing around the thick length thrusting up into you.

“Wha—” you whimper, keening when a big hand glides up your chest to squeeze a tit, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

“S’alright, baby, it’s just me,” John murmurs, his voice right in your ear.

You come to gradually and then all at once, aware of your back pressed to his clothed chest and your legs spread around his, your ankles hooked around his calves. Skirt rolled up and panties pushed to the side, one of his arms locked around your waist like a seatbelt to hold you in place.

“John, I’m—we c-can’t do it again—”

“Sorry, honey,” he apologises into your neck, kissing the area he just spoke into. “Had to be inside you again. S’all I’ve been able to think about since you came on my cock the other night. Promise it’ll be easier this time, okay, baby?”

He guides you down his length until he bottoms out, slick lips kissing the base of his dick. The pressure is overwhelming; in your belly, in your throat, in your head. Heart beating a million miles a minute. Walls throbbing around his length, thicker and heavier than you remembered.

All you can think of now is the last time he had you like this, legs spread for him and pussy dripping wet. Taking his cock all sleepy and sweaty under his giant comforter, whimpering into his neck.

It’s not as frantic this time, no rush to the finish line. He seems to like just burying his cock in you while he plays with your breasts, pinching and plucking your nipples until they’re pebbled and sore. His hands aren’t particularly soft either, callused from years of hard labour. When you whine and try to push his hands away, he shushes you again, not paying your protests any mind.

“Fuck, these are pretty,” John praises, staring down at your tits from over your shoulder. “No, baby, jus’ watch your show. M’gonna use your pussy for a bit, okay?”

It’s just that it’s—

When he lets go of your breast to play with your clit instead, you melt, any resistance going up in flames. The heat fans over your cheeks, your eyelids too heavy to lift, vision blurring even when you try to focus.

He helps you grind your hips down on him, big hands like manacles on your waist. Little undulations of your hips. Short, shallow thrusts that keep you both right on the edge, drenching his lap with your juices. When he gets bored of playing with your clit, he switches back to your breasts, pawing at them and then bending down to suck a nipple into his mouth.

Any time you get distracted by what he’s doing, he stops, holding you down on his cock and coaxing you to focus on the television in front of you instead.

When he jiggles your clit, you seize up, heart hammering in your throat.

“Good girl, c’mon—jus’ like that.” John presses a hot kiss to your temple, arm tightening around your front to keep you close. Sweet talks you through your orgasm, all vaguely paternalistic and patronising in the best and worst way.

He makes you lean forward so he can bounce you on his dick after, your hands braced on his knees to keep yourself upright.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah—”

“Almost there, honey, jus’—fuck, perfect, yeah, tighten up like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

He comes with a strangled moan, still cognizant enough to keep the volume down even if you can’t. Shuttles you down onto his cock a few more times until you’re filled to the brim with cum.

In the aftermath, he sits you back against his sweat-matted chest and pushes his cum back into your sore cunt with his fingers when it dribbles out. Ignores your wounded little sounds like they’re just background noise. He even makes you suck his fingers to clean them up, the digits coated in your combined juices.

“Best fuckin’ girl,” John growls, pressing another kiss to the side of your head. Your fingers twitch feebly in your lap.

Pretending like it didn’t happen after the second time around doesn’t seem wise, but still you don’t know how to broach the subject.

Especially since you know it’s going to happen again.

John doesn’t say it outright, but his actions speak for themselves. An arm looped around your waist casually in line for coffee. Paying for the two of you in any situation, you having your own source of income be damned.

“It’s my money anyway, sweetheart,” he says when you point that out. “Might as well just pay now.”

And doesn’t that just send you into a tizzy, head spinning and mouth agape. Embarrassingly so.

Not to mention you still have this strange, sycophantic need to please him, even after everything. The complicated nature of your relationship aside, it still makes your heart flutter to hear him praise you for anything.

That’s how you end up in his bed on a Saturday afternoon, taking a nap with him after a long day out in the sun. Two hours spent at the botanical gardens, the sun beating down on your head, lathering sunscreen on the baby’s sensitive little arms and legs, and swiping it over his cheeks. John sporting a mild sunburn near the collar of his shirt where he forgot to apply sunscreen and when you have the audacity to giggle, he pulls your baseball hat down over your eyes.

It’s almost too easy for him to coax you into his bed, even though you’re adamant about keeping it clean. A hand firm on your back up the stairs. Already yawning when you put the baby down for a nap, so why not take one too? Ushering you into the bedroom when you say you can take the couch, but why, he presses, take the couch when you’ve already shared the bed before?

Well, because the last time—

He draws the blinds shut and climbs into bed, pulling you into his chest.

You wake up to John plastered against your back, bare cock nudging against your cunt while he snores into your neck. You don’t remember him curling up next to you without any clothes on, but he must have taken off his pants in his sleep, now somewhere rumpled at the end of the bed.

When you try to quietly pull away, his arms just tighten around you more, grumbling in his sleep. The sound makes you freeze, going quiet as a mouse. A few more minutes go by before you feel confident enough to try moving again, carefully trying to slide out from his hold.

You wiggle a hand out, reaching for the other end of the bed.

The hand resting on your belly dips low, shoved between your legs and feeling you up before you can do more than gasp. The man behind you gives a short exhale, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, rising out of it like a wave now that he feels something wet under his hand.

“Oh, honey…why didn’t you tell me you needed my cock again? You’re leaking right through your panties,” John rasps, dragging your underwear down to mid-thigh.

A big bear hand clamps over your mouth before you have a chance to protest. There’s nothing you can do to keep his knee from spreading your legs and feeding his cock into your drenched centre with his other hand. As soon as he notches the head against your entrance, it’s a smooth glide in.

“There we go,” he pants into your neck. “Big stretch—ah, yeah, nice ‘n tight. That’s my pretty girl.”

He keeps your legs spread with a hand on the inside of your thigh. All you can do is moan behind his hand, humid breath blowing back around your face as you pant. So hot for it that you’re almost nauseous.

You’re a bit too tight for him to fit his cock in you, so he has to work to stretch you out, bullying another inch into you with every thrust. The angle makes it tricky though; means he can’t get more than half of his cock into you. It’s hardly comfortable for you either, your leg already cramping.

“My leg’s got a cramp,” you whine, unsure of what you want to happen. All you know is that you can’t keep this up.

He readjusts his grip, but that just makes you hiss, wincing when that makes your leg twinge. Suddenly the world spins, the pillows going from comfortably under your head to right in your face, John manoeuvring you onto your tummy and hiking your hips up a few inches. It lets him get even deeper, the angle letting him slide right to the hilt.

“Oh god, oh god—John, I can’t—”

“Shh—you’re alright, honey. Much better like this,” he breathes, settling on top of you. It takes him a second to get comfortable, nudging right up against a sensitive spot inside of you the whole time, so deep you can almost feel him in your throat.

He weighs a ton on top of you, rutting between your thighs like he can’t hold himself back, his self-control snapping like brittle glass. Bristly beard chafing your neck when he buries his head to suck on the tender skin there, smothering you under his weight. Thighs trapping you in place, your memory jumping back to that time at the beach, but now there’s nothing between you. Just a thick cock pounding into you and moulding you around its shape.

His hips slap against your ass with every thrust, the lewdest sound you’ve ever heard.

“Gonna make sure it takes this time,” John grunts. “Wanna take care of my baby so bad? I’ll give you a couple to mind.”

That rattles you right to your core; shakes you to the foundations of who you are. You don’t know what to think, what to say—tongue tied and loose lipped all at once. You’ve let him come inside of you so many times that if it hasn’t taken already, surely it will soon.

It slips out before you can take it back. “D-daddy, please—”

That makes him lose his mind. Just a bit.

“Fuck,” he snarls. “Again.”

He wedges his arm under you to curl his hand around your throat, tilting your head out.

“Daddy—daddy—please, I wanna come—” you pant, repeating the same word until it sounds like nothing, tongue puffy in your mouth.

His dick slips out at some point and he wrenches himself off you long enough to wrap his hand around himself and slap it against your ass a few times, cum tagging your skin. Your breath catches in your throat, whining when you clench down on nothing. One stroke after repositioning himself and he’s all the way back in, hammering the spot that makes you go cross-eyed and squeak.

“Make daddy another baby, okay, sweetheart?” It’s not sweet. It’s not doting. It’s growled into your ear like a demand, punctuated by the way his hips snap forward, nearly sending you into the headboard.

You’re practically an old hat at taking his cum now, squeezing up when you can feel it coming and giving him a nice little treat. He sinks his teeth into the back of your neck when he does, muffling the sound roaring out of him, and it hurts.

He’s tender with you after though. Lavishes the line of your neck with soft kisses; murmurs sweet nothings into your ear while you cry fat tears onto the pillow. Even twists and turns so you’re no longer on your back but rather splayed across his chest again, urging you up for a deeper kiss with tongue.

“‘Know you’re tired, sweetie, but this is for your own good,” John murmurs as he wedges a hard thigh between your legs and makes you ride it, grinding your sensitive, throbbing clit down on the muscle. “Can you come, baby? Jus’ like that—that’s good, baby—”

It hurts so good that you don’t even notice when you squirt, the emotions too big for you. It’s like being squeezed too tight, unable to catch your breath or say anything but the same word on a loop. John’s sweet about it though—wipes the sweat from your hairline and upper lip, talking you through it until you slump down on his chest, legs akimbo.

For a bachelor, you think in a daze, he’d make a good husband.

The days grow colder and the sun sets earlier.

A while ago you thought maybe this babysitting gig would be temporary. That at some point you’d move on—maybe go back to school or apply for a more standard nine-to-five job. That’s how the trajectory of your life was supposed to go, you think.

But the timing never seems right. Maybe you’ve grown too attached to the baby or maybe the pay is just too good to give up or maybe you’ve just become habituated to someone getting you off at least every other day. Still, it feels a bit weird to get paid for what essentially boils down to fucking a man and taking care of his baby.

It comes up when you’re sitting out on the porch with him again, this time in his lap in the same adirondack chair, a blanket wrapped around you to keep you warm. John laces his fingers through yours, thumb stroking over your finger, burning a line into the skin.

“Doesn’t it make you feel weird to pay me for…” you say, trailing off with a cocked eyebrow. Surely he must catch your drift.

He chuckles. You wait for the joke.

Your eyes must be big as moons staring up at him.

“Don’t think of it as a paycheck, sweetheart. That’s your allowance.”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and swallow.

“Okay,” you whisper. Then let him reel you back in for another kiss, his thumb resting over your ring finger and pressing.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #price x reader #price/reader #price x you #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price x reader

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strwberri-milk · 3 months ago

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Can you do a longer piece focused on sylus and how he would talk a virgin mc through her first time having sex at all, not just with him. Sexy reassurance and hand holding please!

hihi!! you can also look here for a shorter little blurb w him!! i also know you mentioned wanting something w nervous mc/reader but lowk to me its implied and thats why hes taking his time and being so thorough but idk if other people will catch that so this is me telling you that hes being this nice and slow bc youre nervous lmao

Sylus is very kind and takes things very slow. He doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable and would absolutely hate to do anything to hurt you so even if you weren't a virgin he'd take things very slowly regardless. His hands run over your body over and over, almost as though committing the way you feel under his palms to memory. He chuckles lowly as he feels your breath catching with each pass of his hands. He practically worships you, his eyes doing all the talking as he looks down at you adoringly.

He wouldn't even take off your clothes until you're basically begging him to, wanting to push you to that edge of desperation to make sure you are absolutely ready for everything that's going to come next. He tells you what he wants to do to you but not explicitly - he just hints at it, telling you that he can't want to hear your moans or see how big of a mess he can make of you. His eyes watch your every move, taking note of what sounds are elicited by what actions to make sure he can do it again, and again, and again.

When he does strip you down the act is reverential. He trails kisses down your chest all the way up to your thighs, fingers running up and down along your heated sex. He loves the way you sound when his fingers tease you but he also knows he wants to be inside of you desperately, trying to balance between the feral need to finally have you and keeping your comfort.

He'll get you to spill over his fingers first, a hand reaching to find one of yours as he pins it over your head. You think that the feeling of his hand moving against you is too much but all thought is knocked out of your head the second he starts kissing you stupid. His lips move against yours in a way that matches how his hand is moving, the erotic feeling making that pool of desire in your gut spill over. You know he can tell it's coming judging by the way his hand tightens over yours, pressing it more insistently into the bed as you melt all over him.

When you finish cumming he'll slowly slide inside of you after the aftershocks, your pleasure forcibly drawn out as he takes his sweet time sliding home. He knows his size is intimidating and refuses to go all in at once, no matter how you may be trying to convince him that you can handle it. He doesn't want to accidentally hurt you but he makes you feel so perfectly full, hitting spots you never knew you needed as you make a mess under your joined bodies.

For your first time he's going constantly whisper sweet nothings into your ear as he has nothing but good things to say to you. He praises you for taking him so well and for being so obedient, tongue sweet and saccharine as he makes you feel pleasure you never thought you could before.

His hips move slowly against your body, pace steady as he lets you adjust to his length. Your body squeezes tightly against the intrusion and it's all he can do to not just hold the backs of your thighs and fuck you mindlessly. He wants to make you dumb on his cock but instead just decides to make your orgasm a slow climb to the peak.

You can reach down and try to stimulate yourself but he'll just grab your free hand and pin it over your head with the other one. He'll start grinding into you slowly, not really fucking you until your breathing picks up and you start getting closer. When you start keening and begging for more he'll pick up from his slow, deep pace to a steady pace against your body, wet noises rhythmic as you listen to the depravity.

You won't realise you're cumming until you are, his patience making your mind melt as you moan and sigh his name. Similarly to the entire act, he'll be whispering soft praises into your ear, urging you to cum all over his cock and show him just how much you love it. You can't help but whimper and moan pathetically, Sylus loving every minute of it.

#love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #sylus x reader #lads sylus x reader #l&ds sylus x reader #sylus smut #lads smut #l&ds smut #love and deepspace smut

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hyuneflix · 5 months ago

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THE CURE 0.2 • Bang Chan

sex therapist!chan x client!reader after years of unhappy endings, your friend suggests a trip to sydney's most up and coming sex therapist. you hadn't expected much, least of all to discover the cure you'd been looking for all this time was your therapist himself.

word count: 13k << back to dash // next episode >>

CONTENT WARNINGS

𐙚 - female masturbation, mutual masturbation, vibrator use, guided masturbation, dirty talk, use of "slut" and similar terms, chan is called sir, light degradation, light spanking, slapping, more orgasm denial, fingering, oral both female and male receiving, sub!reader, soft dom!chan but some hard dom too, slightly possessive chan, praise, very tiny breeding kink in the form of chan pushing his cum inside her.

! - inappropriate relationship dynamic (chan is her sex therapist), reader is written to be neurodivergent though it isn't explicitly stated, therapy talk/setting, descriptions of self help and healing, brief mention of toxic positivity and dissociation, very brief description of reader having a difficult childhood, talk about hopelessness and feelings of defeat. like last time, everything is intentionally vague but approach with caution all the same.

episode two - a cure for self-dissatisfaction

You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe that you were actually here, again. Making another appointment had sounded so promising in the after-glow of your first ever orgasm–or, at least, the first that felt like that–but now that you were actually here you questioned your sanity. How could you possibly face him after that phone call? Sure, it had been an entire month since then, plenty of time to get over it or just cancel the one-hour slot. You never did, though, and you still couldn’t quite decide why. Was it him that you wanted to see again? So entirely unable to close this chapter of your life now that he’d suddenly made its contents more interesting; turning the pages of your life from dull shades of black and white into hues of technicolour.

Or, maybe it was just that. He made things interesting and you needed interesting.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, the manner with which your fairytale life had twisted and morphed into something so mundane. You had the fancy beachside apartment, the dream job with the fun co-workers. You had the nice clothes and the sparkling jewels to go with them; large wardrobe full to the brim with rare pieces and garaments alike. Even your dating life had been exciting, meeting famous faces and well-off suitors in the upscale establishments you frequented with your friends. But it wasn’t enough. You feared nothing would ever be enough. Nothing exciting enough, glamorous enough, expensive enough to fill the growing feeling of indifference that threatened to paint your entire world grey.

A part of you liked familiarity, needed it, even. Clung to it in the same way you gripped the straps of your favourite tote bag. It was comforting to ease the unknowns of life with something habitual and constant. But when you did settle, when the anxiety did dissipate, it was like you almost missed it in its absence. It was the adrenaline you craved rather than the anxious wracking of your brain; the adrenaline that followed every redundant fear your mind conjured up; the push of chemicals through your veins as you murmurred ‘oh fuck, am i going to miss my train?’, ‘shit did i leave the stove on?’, ‘did i have a meeting today or was that tomorrow?.’ The bubbling of nervous adrenaline, it was like a shot of espresso, or the abrupt sound of your morning alarm clock. It forced you back to reality, tore you from the prison your restless thoughts built around your consciousness.

Chan had been that too in a lot of ways, a rude awakening of sorts. He had astounded you in more ways than one, tearing you from normalcy and forcing you from your comfort zone in the process. No longer just floating through life while your mind hummed with restless noise. Perhaps that was why, despite every anxious part of you that wanted to run away from him, a deeper, unheard part refused. You’d regret it, wouldn’t you? Walking away from him, vowing to never see him again. You’d regret it almost instantly no doubt, the tick of your apartment’s clock taunting you as it reminded you where you should’ve been on the day of your cancelled appointment. Your mind would trap you again, filling your head with thoughts of what could’ve been, should’ve been, if you’d just pulled yourself together.

That was of course without mentioning that you indeed remained uncured. You were still very much afflicted with the same inability to get yourself off no matter how hard you tried. You’d done it once, you so foolishly believed from that moment onwards it would be easy. It was not. Even with the vivid memory of that night playing over and over in your mind like a song caught in a loop, you were back to square one. You needed the dark to find the light. How true that had turned out to be, how unfortunate that your infatuation for your therapist was turning out to be more practical than whimsical. You really did need him.

The timing of your appointment meant that within moments of your arrival, the doe-eyed receptionist was already hurrying off for her lunch break, insisting that you wait for Dr Bang in his office instead. Dr Bang, hearing her say it almost pulled a laugh from your parted lips; what a suitable name for someone in his profession. She didn’t join in with your amused half-chuckle as she gathered her purse and coat. You didn’t blame her, you were sure she’d heard the stifled laughter a million times before. Thanking her one last time as she motioned you toward his office, you pushed open the door expectantly.

Immediately your eyes fixed on the black oak desk situated in the foreground of the furthest wall. The room was empty, no muscular figure tucked behind the neat workstation, nor situated in the same leather chair he had been a month prior. You breathed out a sigh, your throat finally releasing a breath you hadn’t even realised you’d been holding until you accounted for his absence. You made your way inside, letting the door close behind you with a clack. It felt eerie being in the infinite silence of his abandoned office. Not even the sound of the AC lulled in the background as you wandered throughout the space, taking in the details as if it were your first time being here, and in a way, it was.

During your last visit you’d been so distracted by Chan you’d been unable to focus on much else, let alone the intricacies of his office. The much too large windows were the first thing you’d noticed, both today and the last. Unlike a month ago they were covered by enormous blinds, the afternoon heat so unbearable today that having the sun exposed would be as sweltering as standing on a shadeless street corner. The lack of AC left the office tepid, and the vacancy of natural light shadowed the once bright room. You felt as if you had stepped into the embrace of a warm hug; one that sucked all the sound from the atmosphere until all that remained was the thumping of your heart.

You could hear it now; your heart. It beat with uncertainty as your eyes trailed across the shelves upon shelves of awards and personal photos behind his desk. You felt like you’d snuck into a secret place you weren’t supposed to be, taking in every detail of someone’s life without an inkling of what any of it meant. One frame held a picture of a smiling boy, a younger girl tucked under his arm in a near chokehold. Judging by the look of disdain on her features, and the mischievous expression on his own, you figured they were siblings. Another picture captured an older version of that boy, one that now more closely resembled Chan. He knelt on the grass, a dog, who’s white fur was blotched with copper-tones, smiled up at him, pink tongue spilling from its mouth. You knew Chan’s life hadn’t started when he met you, but it still felt strange to see it all play out in front of you now.

The office door opened with a clatter, your body spinning round at the intrusion; trusty tote bag slipping from your arm in the process. You caught hold of the strap before it could fall from your rigid limb completely, eyes settling on Dr Bang himself. He seemed frozen in place, palm clutching the door handle with bleached knuckles. His nervous disposition suggested he’d been preparing himself for this moment, to no avail, and if that were true, you were thankful. At least then you’d be in the same boat. In a second, a mere tick of a clock’s hand, he was back to his usual self, pushing a large smile atop his pillowy lips.

“Hello, y/n. How have you been?” His voice was soft as he closed the door behind him, the hand that wasn’t clutching a stack of papers flicking on a second set of lights. In an instant the room was engulfed in pale yellow hues, your eyes blinking to adjust. He walked the distance from the door to his desk, letting the pile of papers fall down with a dull thud.

“Could be better, could be worse.” You murmured, still feeling like a deer in headlights. He nodded at this, almost as if he silently understood, agreed even. You didn’t know whether you should stay rooted beside his desk or take a seat, body itching for another of his commands. You hated how badly you wanted him to tell you what to do and how to do it, no matter if it were a simple seating arrangement or one of his filthy, guided masturbations.

“That’s a start, hopefully by the end of the session we can turn it around?” He spoke, tone as level as it had always been, though you noticed how quickly his eyes seemed to wander. It had been impossible last time to look anywhere but him, that intentional and scrutinising stare holding yours for what felt like eternities. His gaze was scattered now, moving from your face to his desk and back again, fingers re-arranging his already neat desk as if attempting to regain control.

But, regain control of what? His thoughts, his racing heart, his body? You wanted to know. You wanted to crack him open, let the secrets spill from him like yolk. You wanted to study his mind the way he studied you. It was intoxicating, the mystery that still surrounded him. So intoxicating that you were starting to find you didn’t need to get lost in the shadows of his stare, only needed to be close enough to feel the palpable energy, the magnetic charge, that radiated from him like the sun’s unbearable warmth.

“Should we get started?” He asked, brown eyes leaving the surface of his immaculate desk to search your expression. You nodded, pushing a smile atop your lips as you moved toward the leather chairs, slouching into yours right away.

You noticed he wasn’t wearing that same dark suit this time, instead he wore a crisp white dress shirt with a few too many buttons undone at the top. The bottom part of it was tucked half-hazardly into a pair of tight ebony trousers. It didn’t remain that way for long. With a raise of his hand–fingers combing through dark curls–one side fell from its confines, a slither of pale skin meeting your hungry gaze. You swallowed, drawing your eyes from his figure as it drew nearer to you, stopping only when he reached the chair opposite you.

“Shall we start with an update?” He questioned, taking a seat while his hand tightened around that same large ipad. “How have you been doing, did you manage to climax again?”

“No.” You admitted right away, head shaking in disappointment. It was hard to hide how frustrating it was, even more now than before. At least prior to your first happy ending you were none the wiser to how much greener the grass truly was on the other side. Now you’d grazed in it, tasted it, felt it between your fingers and toes. How could you ever return to astro turf after you’d experienced the real thing?

“No?” Chan looked surprised at this, chin tilting to the side as he drank in your expression. You were sure you looked anything but pleased, brows furrowed as you shook your head no once more. “Okay, did you follow the routine?”

“I did, yeah.” You mumbled, digits playing with the pleats in your skirt.

“What do you think was different?” He asked, looking genuinely curious by your dilemma.

“Do I even have to say it?” You released a huff of air, heart jumping nervously behind its skeletal confines.

“It would help if you did. Guessing games can lead to miscommunications.” HIs smile was back, dimples pressed prettily against his plush cheeks. How badly you wanted to cup them, how badly you wanted to let the pads of your thumbs brush against the indents that dotted them. How badly you wanted him.

“I just… I feel like I need your help, you helped so much that time… ever since I haven’t managed it, I mean, what does that tell you?” You asked, heart racing a little faster now, hands growing clammy; thoughts scrambling as you felt your frustration grow. Your situation felt so hopeless, so entirely unfixable. It shouldn’t hurt, but it did. It always would.

So many past relationships flashed across your mind, so many times when you’d watched the partners in your life walk away. Their promises that you’d never be too much, that there was no storm you couldn’t weather together, ground to dust beneath their retreating steps. There had been other issues that ended the relationship of course, not this one, never this one. Yet it still seemed so unbelievably ironic how, try as they might, they never could fix this little problem. How laughable it was that Chan had managed within hours of meeting him.

“You- you need my help with climaxing?” He seemed taken aback, his innocence almost sending your eyes rolling. How could he be so surprised? Had he not been on that phone call with you after all, had that all been a vivid dream?

“I think so, yeah.” You opted to speak instead, fingers still playing lazily with your clothing in search of some relief from the awkwardness of the conversation.

“I’m sure you just need a little direction and practice.” He shook his head, ever the dismissive party out of the two of you. But you knew better now. You’d heard the way he fell apart, heard the things he’d said when all resolve had vanished. He was just as depraved, just as desperate and needy but he hid it well. He cowered behind fabricated boundaries, crossing one and then inventing another. He pushed, and he pushed, but he always found a new way to hold back. You wanted to test that, wanted to make him snap. Was that bad?

“I’m twenty-five Chan, I think if practice was going to do it I’d have done it by now.” You shook your head, tone uncharacteristically sarcastic as you let your frustrations slip. He winced at this, taken aback by the change in your tone. Easily your annoyance dampened, sigh falling from your lips as quickly as your apology “I’m sorry, that was– I’m just– I feel defeated.”

“It’s understandable, you don’t need to apologise.” Chan offered you a comforting smile, eyes glimmering with a patient understanding that had you thawing instantly.

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, tell me what to do. Like give me some direction or something.” You asked, trying to pry more solutions from his all-knowing brain.

“Like on the phone?” He questioned, palm gliding across his thick thigh as he spoke. You couldn’t help the way your gaze followed its movement, long fingers instantly taking you back to that night. You pictured them wrapped around his length, the wet sound of his desperate, thrusting grip, too much to think about right now. You squirmed in your seat, thighs pushing together in momentary distress.

“Yeah like then, is there more I can do?” You asked, trying to hide your growing weariness behind another frustrated huff.

“Perhaps you need to focus on finding ways to relax, maybe you have a problem switching off, moving from one task to the other. If you’re still tense when you’re masturbating then it can be hard to let yourself go.” He was so composed, seemingly so unaware of the way you were breaking down internally. How did he do it? How did he look at you with such easy indifference after that night. Maybe he was just that; indifferent. Maybe you’d been looking at this all wrong.

“Okay.” You shrugged, barely listening by now.

“You don’t look happy with that.” Chan pushed for an answer, clasping his apple pen a little tighter in anticipation of your response.

“I’m not patient enough. I guess I just hoped that it was fixed. But, now I have to get used to the idea of this being some long healing journey as if I haven’t had enough of those. As if I haven’t–fucking–read enough–fucking–self-help books or listened to enough ‘all you need is recharged rose quartz and you’ll be fine’--fucking–influencers.” You felt your hands grip at your forehead in defeat, palms attempting to erase the tension that settled there through half-hazard motions. You wanted to laugh at the way you got so easily wound up, but the idea of starting yet another ‘healing era’, felt suffocating, impossible even.

How much more growing was there to do? Some people say it never stops, but you’ve had a lifetime of it. A lifetime of people pointing out your flaws, telling you what was wrong or what needed fixing. You’ve had a lifetime of changing everything about you until something felt right, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. A lifetime of trying to do everything right just to be told you were doing it wrong, anyway. You weren’t emotional enough, then you were too emotional. You were loud, then too quiet. You were rude, then you were compliant. It took reaching your twenties to realise you didn’t really care who you were, or how you acted, as long as you were happy with yourself.

It felt freeing, so entirely exhilarating to feel as if you were done changing, morphing and growing into someone else’s idea of a normal human woman. It matched you well, but it was also tiring. You’d grown to be independent far younger than you probably should’ve, your therapist said it built character, you thought that was stupid even at ten years old. Having a childhood built character, having healthy relationships and good role models; that was what you needed. People’s incessant criticisms had felt like the only freedom from your independence for so long; the only time you weren’t thinking for yourself. Bittersweet was the lingering feeling that remained for a few years after your new found self-assurance.

It was stupid, to crave something that had been so toxic, but that was just so unequivocally you. Hate something with every fibre of your being when you had it just to miss it when it was gone. Didn’t matter how much it hurt you, didn’t matter that it damn nearly killed you, only the good parts of it remained in its absence. The ghosts of memories even your unrelenting, self-sabotaging brain forgot. Were those the causes of your dissociation? The fragmented memories of times gone by, the missing pieces still stashed away in some untravelled corner of your mind?

“These things do take time, yeah.” Chan pulled you from your thoughts, tugging a sigh from your lips as you shook your head in defeat.

“Fuck that, there’s gotta just be something in me that doesn’t work, right? Like there’s just a part of me that can’t do it and I’m gonna have to just live with that.” Your arms raised in exasperation, frustrated rambles not phasing him in the slightest. You figured that shouldn’t surprise you, despite everything that had transpired between you, despite how unlikely it sometimes seemed, he was a therapist. A person you were paying to listen to you speak. A person you had essentially paid to make you cum. Jesus.

“But you did.” He countered.

“No, you did.” You reminded him, his brows rising at the implication.

“That was all you, I just helped.” He shook his head, dismissive once more.

“Can’t you help me again, then? Just tell me what to do, show me. Make that part of me wake the fuck up and realise it has a job to do. Fix me again.” You murmured helplessly, searching his mind for something, anything that could ease your anguish.

“You want that? You want me to teach you? You want me to fix you?” He spoke after a beat of silence, plump mouth emphasising your latter sentiment. A switch had seemingly been flipped in him, reminding you of his faltering resolve from a month ago. You were sure it was your imagination–after all he was so quick to collect himself–but that was expected, you didn’t know him well enough. You didn’t know how badly he yearned to ‘fix you’.

There was a saying that went along the lines of this; therapists need therapy the most The first part of their adult lives were dedicated to learning the secrets of the mind, just to spend the rest of it fixing other people’s. The perfect distraction; fix others so you don’t have to fix yourself. Yeah, that was him. Finding distraction after distraction to avoid the complicated mess in his own brain. But that wasn’t just it. No, Chan was a people pleaser, a man so desperate to be needed that he put his heart in danger every single fucking time.

He’d lost count by now, the amount of times he’d run in blindly; falling for a pretty girl with pretty problems. A pretty girl with a pretty smile and a pretty big hole in her pretty heart. He did it every single time. He’d never mixed work with self-sabotage though, this was unchartered territory. But that was then, one slip up, one mistake made in the heat of the moment. How could he not? You were so pretty, sounded so pretty pleading for him to help you. Not even he had the patience for that.

“Yes.” You breathed out, eyes turning wide and expectant beneath his weighted retort. There you were again, looking hopeful, as if he really did have the power to cure you. But he didn’t, Chan had learned that again and again; he couldn’t change the last girl, or the girl before, or the girl before that and he couldn’t change you. Not like this anyway, not through lust or–heaven forbid–love. Growing attached, letting them be dependent, it was bad in the end; always bad, never good like he’d intended.

“I can’t, you’re not broken.” He assured you, not a drop of insincerity mixing with the honey sweet tone of his soft voice.

“Then pretend I am and fix me anyway– break me just to put me back together again– I don’t care, just please do something to make it stop.” You felt a little frantic now: he wasn’t giving you the answers, wasn’t providing solutions. Was it really that hopeless? Were you really this cursed? Knowing that the cure was right in front of you, within arms reach, but too far to hold. Too distant and closed off, too unwilling to give you what you know you needed.

Were you crazy for thinking he wanted it to, were you delusional for thinking you could see the fire in his eyes every time you reached for him with words? The air around you didn’t lie though, did it? Or were you the only one feeling that constant chemical reaction that surrounded you both. That fizzle and burn, that electric fever that drove you crazy; depriving you of clean, pure air with every breath. It was filling your lungs with hot embers, you could feel it, could feel the way it choked you of all sense and left only desire in its place. Could he really not feel it too?��

“Make what stop, love?” The nickname wasn’t lost on you, its presence sent a ripple of hope across your skin, igniting goosebumps in its path.

“I don’t know, everything I guess. The boredom, the anxiety, the noise, the frustration, the emptiness; all of it went away that night and I’ve been trying to get back there ever since.” You admitted, teeth gnawing at your lip, brows scrunched together in frustration. Chan thought you looked utterly pitiful in the hottest way. Was that possible? To look pathetic and undeniably attractive all at once. Yeah, it was; you were.

“I can’t cure you, you know that right? You have to do that on your own.” He insisted. It was true, wasn’t it? Historically speaking, practically speaking. People can’t change other people, that was how it worked right? They had to change on their own, grow alone, love themselves before they could learn to love someone else. If they didn’t, they’d be forever codependent, clinging to the sun that helped them grow into a fully flourished person. But the sun went down, it didn’t stick around forever; he couldn’t stick around forever.

“But what if…”

“I can’t.” He was quick to cut you off, not wanting to fill your head with pointless sentiments of hope. Whether he wanted to or not, whether you wanted to or not, you had to stand on your own two feet. He knew this to be true more than ever when it came to your own pleasure. You couldn’t depend on him for that; he couldn’t fill the void. He’d fall in love too easily, catch feelings in an instant. How could he ever make it out of that alive? It wasn’t right, you deserved better. Deserved to know your own body, how it felt, what made you feel good.

“Try?” You spoke, voice barely above a whisper, eyes wide and pleading.

“I can’t.” He huffed through gritted teeth, jaw stiff with useless restraint.

“Please?” You looked at him as if he held the world and all its mysteries in his grasp, ready to hand them over if only you could wear him down enough. It wasn’t not working, he hated to admit.

“Don’t… don’t do that.” He shook his head, eyes dipping to the ipad in his grip as he drew mindless patterns across its slick screen. It was enough to distract him for a moment, but not long enough.

“So, I just, I just go home and try the same shit again then is that it? Another month of nothing? Or can I call again, would you pick up if I did?” Your words had his cock twitching, palms growing clammy. That night haunted him. It felt so wrong, so completely fucked up. He lay awake for nights after that wondering if he should resign, turning his dream of owning a successful therapeutic clinic into a distant memory with the same stroke. But more than that, he wondered if you’d call again. Would you need him some more? Would you lean on him a little longer? Was it really true that he was the missing piece? That only he could make you cum.

“You know I would.” He responded in an instant, too quick in fact. “I’m surprised you didn’t call, to be honest.” He chuckled, attempting to seem unaffected. As if he hadn’t been waiting by the phone every evening, as if he hadn’t checked and re-checked for missed calls when sleep didn’t come to him easily.

“I wanted to try on my own; I’m really trying.” You half-whined and that sound alone was enough to have every noise from a month ago flooding his mind at once. His hips shifted, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

“I know, baby, you’re so good.” He sighed, resolve slipping; gaze darkening along with it. You saw it happen right in front of you, pupils dilating, mask slipping from his handsome face. “How about this… You show me how you do it at home and I’ll see if there are areas for improvement?” Chan suggested, against what he knew to be his better judgement. Fuck it, though, right? He could cross another line, just one more, find a new one to draw between you to keep you at arms length. You’d seen right through him in that regard, knew exactly how he justified each gradual crawl toward your eagerly awaiting form.

“You want me to… now?” You blinked, fireworks erupting in the pit of your stomach signaling an internal celebration of what you were almost sure was a triumphant victory.

“Isn’t that what you want? To make a mess of my chair? To cum again?” His words sent a jolt of something electric and sweet straight to your core. Your teeth felt like blades, threatening to draw blood from the plump flesh of your bottom lip as you nodded wordlessly, too turned on at the prospect of getting to climax again to formulate a coherent sentence.

“Why don’t you lift that little skirt of yours and show me how you pleasure yourself.” His voice was low, impossibly dark gaze studying you with an almost predatory stare. Your nerves stood alert like the hairs of your arm, hands moving at their own accord. You moved the hem of your skirt up the meat of your bare thighs, his eyes following your motions closely before fixing on the sheer fabric of your damp panties.

You felt like an imposter in your own skin as you spread your legs, circling the pads of your fingers across your clothed clit in compliance. You tried to stop the heat from rising in your cheeks, from pulsing through your blood like lava, the molton toxicity wetting your panties even more. You were helpless to it; the growing intensity of your lust. It was strange, the combination of embarrassment mixed with desire. It felt like a dangerous cocktail, one destined to leave you with a hangover unlike any other you’d felt; a banging headache, a sick feeling, a desperation for a wellness you could never reach without it.

Was that what this was? A growing addiction? An inability to feel better without him, or an unwillingness to find an alternative cure? You pushed the thoughts from your mind, easily too with the help of his sultry voice, though all the same the bubbling of nervousness remained.

“This is how you do it? What’s rule number one? What did we do last time?” He asked, too put together considering the pornographic movie that was playing out in front of him. His eyes told a different story though, hungry and feverish as you moved your fingers clumsily.

“Umm, take my clothes off?” You managed between huffs of impatient air, wanting nothing more than to skip to the part where your toes were curling, head tipped back in reticent ecstacy. You moved your hands away from your clothed cunt, starting to remove the tight fitting crop top a strap at a time. You watched his jaw grow slack at this, your confidence growing in place of the initial uncertainty.

You put on a show for him, suddenly abandoning the idea of being taught the ways of your pussy in favour of winding him up. Both straps fell past your shoulders, the rough material of your tiny top grazing your perky nipples as you dragged it down your chest, letting your plump breasts spill out from beyond its fabric confines. His brow twitched, lips faltering along with it as he watched the bounce of your tits.

“Mhm and start with your nipples, make them feel good, work yourself up.” Pulling your top off completely, you followed his demands, fingers tugging at your hardening buds. You remembered his advice from the last time, making sure to wet your digits with your tongue in a slow sinful motion. This earned a half moan from the man, his body shifting as he hid his faltering confidence behind a closed fist. With his chin resting against it, he gazed at you through his lashes, watching every pinch and tug with a hawk-like intensity.

“I’m already so worked up.” You groaned, unable to hold his heated glare any longer. You lulled your eyes toward the wet patch growing in your panties, pussy clenching around nothing at the sight of it.

“I make you worked up?” He mused, leaning forward in interest. Leveled as his voice remained, his restless form gave him away; dilated pupils darting between your hard nipples and your soaked underwear. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, moan designed behind a cough at your response.

“Yeah, so bad.” You mewled, one hand traversing the expanse of your smooth skin until your fingers met with the pool of sticky wetness between your thighs. You pulled at the band of your panties, sighing at the feeling of the tight fabric squeezing against your sensitive clit. You watched his expression as you drank in every movement, the obvious stiffness mounting in his crotch area not going unnoticed by you.

You wondered what it would take to have him desperate for his own release again, enough to disregard every one of his frivolous boundaries until his head was too clouded with intoxicating lust to draw a new line between you.

“Don’t focus on me, focus on yourself and your body.” It was almost like he knew, as if he could read your mind; could sense the way it reeled with thoughts of him and him alone. You tugged at your panties again, focusing on the movement of your fingers as they swirled around your excited nipple. “That’s good, don’t be shy now, you weren’t shy last time.”

“You couldn’t see me last time.” You murmured, the tips of your ears and apples of your cheeks the same shade of crimson.

“You’re beautiful, don’t be embarrassed.“ Chan shook his head, shifting in his seat once again. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get comfortable, not when the growing ache in his pants became harder and harder to ignore. “Now do what we did last time, feel what works best for you, take your time.”

“This?” You questioned, fingers pulling your panties aside as strings of sticky cum followed suit. You touched your bare clit with care, jolting and wincing with each caress. You were so sensitive, so turned on by the intent stare he fixed on your soaked cunt. You traced a finger down the seam of your pussy, rubbing the thick, juicy substance across your bundle of nerves in a clockwork motion.

“Yeah, that’s right, feel yourself.” He drew a breath, tongue darting across his lips, hands not sure what to do with one another as he watched the sight play out in front of him. “That’s good, does that feel good?” Chan questioned, slouching back in his chair as if the increased distance would afford him some alleviation from your mesmerising performance.

“Yeah, I think so.” You retorted, repeating the back and forth between your clit and dampening folds. You teased your entrance with the gentle prod of your fingers, tight clenching accompanying each experimental push.

“Do what makes you feel good, learn what you like.” It was unbearable how calm he was, a whine leaving your lips as his professional tone.

“How.” You murmured, the strumming of your clit increasing in speed as you felt a pleasurable sensation begin to wash over you.

“Try new things, keep touching yourself–why don’t you take those panties off and give your pussy a slap.” You nodded, eagerly complying with his wishes as you pulled your panties down your legs letting the sheer fabric pool at the base of your chair. You placed your skirt there too, completely bare save the pair of kitten heels snug around your feet.

“What?” The second part of his statement had you puzzled though, or perhaps it was just the intense feeling of being exposed in front of a person who was not only fully clothed but seemingly unbothered. Yeah, maybe that was it; that would be enough to have anyone confused and uncertain.

“You like it rough don’t you? Smack your pussy, give your clit a spanking for me.” His words had your hips shifting, a moan tumbling from your lips. Everything sounded better coming from his full mouth, the gravel tone interlaced with his thick accent–it was unbearable.

“Like this?” You questioned, landing a smack against your sensitive clit. Both of you moved in sync, hips shifting at the shrill noise your palm made abusing your sensitive nub. Your face screwed up at the feeling, the delightful sting accompanied by another wave of self-satisfaction.

“Harder.” He growled, moan mingling with his next words. “Yeah, you like that? I can see how wet you are, keep spanking your pretty little cunt.” You complied, strings of whines and groans following each harsh slap.

“You’re making me this wet.” You mewled, expression still contorted in pleasure. Chan wasn’t sure how he’d expected to make it through this entire ordeal, that had been foolish thinking on his part. He hadn’t expected you to be so brazen though, both nervous in your disposition but shameless in your filthy words and actions. His cock was impossibly hard in his pants now, hand itching to relieve the tension.

“Fuck don’t say that, gonna have to learn how to make yourself cum when I’m not around.” He insisted, though in truth you were saying all the right things to morph him into malleable putty, substance perfect for the palms of your hands; mass supple enough to wrap around your finger. “That’s good, yeah that’s good fuck you’re clenching around nothing.”

“Wanna be full.” You whined, pinching and rubbing at your clit with a rise and fall of your hips. You could tell the chair beneath you was drenched by now, the surface becoming slippery beneath your clammy thighs.

“Fuck yourself with your fingers, start with one and keep adding as many as your greedy little cunt needs to feel full.” His resolve was slipping, you could tell, could connect the dots from that night a month ago. It filled you with confidence, had your heart racing and limbs squirming as you rubbed your clit more furiously.

“Not gonna be enough.” You shook your head, hoping, so intensely, that he would just give up and finish you himself. You could practically sense it, the way his fingers would make you feel, the sharp rush of intense white light that bubbled up with every thrust of his skilled digits. How perfectly they’d fill your tight hole, stretching you open as if preparing you for his fat cock. You slid a finger inside, feeling empty despite the new intrusion.

“You just need to learn how to make yourself feel good baby, curl your fingers, do a scissor motion, whatever makes you feel the best.” He was still instructional in his method, but he looked anything but the calm teacher he’d been previously. Chan was leant forward now, tongue poking out his mouth, elbows propped on his knees as he watched you intensely.

“How?” You questioned, brows scrunched.

“How, what baby? Use your words.” He asked, his palms rubbing together in a useless attempt to distract his mind from the ache in his pants.

“How do I make it feel good, sir.” You elaborated, pushing another finger inside your convulsing pussy.

“Fuck, god, gonna make me crazy if you keep that up.” He run a hand through his hair, hips rising from the chair. His dark hair looked a mess by the time his fingers were done combing and tugging with restraint. You didn’t think it was possible for him to look any sexier, but his disheveled appearance proved otherwise.

“Please.” You implored, the steady back and forth of your fingers slowing to a standstill at his next words.

“You want me to show you, yeah?” He licked his lips shamelessly at you, hungry eyes awaiting your response with uninhabited lust.

“Yes, please, so bad.” You mused, squirming in your chair at the prospect of his fingers tucked snugly inside your needy pussy. You hoped this wasn’t a dream, that you weren’t about to jolt awake to the shrill sound of your alarm clock.

“Beg, show sir how badly you want his fingers inside you.” He murmured, jaw clenching at the sight of your pussy as it squeezed around nothing. “Keep circling your clit, yeah, keep going.” He commanded you, and without hesitation you followed.

“Please, please, want you to fill me so bad, please sir- please.” You keened, fingers toying frantically with your bundle of nerves.

“That’s it baby, keep getting yourself off, you're doing such a good job on your own.” He licked his lips again, chest heaving with every circular motion. You pushed your fingers back between the snug walls of your cunt, moving your hips to accompany the thrust of your digits.

“I need more, please.” You wailed, the edge you’d wanted to revisit so badly gradually inching into view.

“You really want my help, baby?” He asked, almost as if he were undecided. That couldn’t be it, though. There was no conceivable way Chan could doubt your desire to have him, in whichever way he was willing to give. He wanted to hear you beg some more, didn’t he? Wanted to hear just how badly you needed him, as if seeing it wasn’t enough.

“Please.” You gave him what he wanted, putting on your best forlorn expression to better your chances. It worked, a little too well judging by the haphazard way he fell to his knees in front of you. Whatever glimmer of self-discipline he’d been clinging to, it was gone now, and in its place: a man starved.

“You’ll tell me if you wanna stop, can you do that for me?” He looked up at you with hopeful eyes, his final attempt at giving you an out. An insincere part of him hoped you would, that you’d be the one to grasp ahold of your better sensibilities and put an end to your affair. But you didn’t, of course not, you never would, would you? He doubted it, not when your gaze exuded a level of desperation he was sure he’d only seen in wild animals. Instead, you nodded, teeth claiming your bottom lip as you did so. “Good girl.”

Chan wasted no time sliding a finger inside your warm walls, a drawn out groan falling from his lips at the spongy grip that took a hold of his digit. His hips shifted compulsively as you tightened around him, a second finger inching its way in as he studied every rise and fall of your expression. Another moan from your lips–another half-grunt, half-groan from his own. He pushed his digits deeper, thrusting them in and out at a steady pace, letting his knuckles brush against your velvety clit.

“Ugh, that’s good.” You practically screamed out, head tipping back with a wide open-mouthed grimace; face contorted in unimaginable pleasure. How was it possible to feel this good? You thought you’d reached the maximum capacity for bliss that night, but Chan was showing you an entirely new palette of gratifying hues.

“Barely touching you, darling. So desperate, hmm? Not been able to get off without me? Need me that badly?” He mewled, lips pressing wet, desultory kisses to your shoulder and collarbone. Your body twitched and seized beneath him, eyes rolling back at the sensation of his plump mouth against your hypersensitive skin. Every nerve felt as if it were going haywire, every brush of his bony flesh against your clit feeling like a rush of adrenaline. It was then that he did something truly toe-curling, the sudden feeling of something prodding at just the right angle inside of your tight walls; it had your spasming wildly beneath him.

“Yeah I need you, need you to make me cum–need your cock in me, want you to stretch me out.” You sang in between moans, hands clinging to his clothed shoulders, nails latching onto him harshly.

“Fuck, baby, slow down. Gonna take my time; you gotta take your time.” He panted, dark eyes finding yours in among the thick haze of lust that consumed you both. It had you moaning even louder, the combination of his intoxicating stare and that unidentifiable sensation threatening to push you over the edge prematurely.

“Oh god, so much better.” You whined, tears filling your eyes, forehead shifting to press against his own as you clung to him for dear life. The warmth that radiated from his body was like a balmy embrace, the rousing scent of his cologne only adding to the numbing of your senses. He smelled incredible; expensive and masculine but with an undertone of something musky and thrilling. You wanted more of it, more of him. Wanted to taste him, to feel his cock pushed so far past your walls you could feel him rearranging your guts; the head of his member visibly prodding at the pit of your stomach. You wanted his mouth on yours, tongue exploring the inside of your mouth until he’d discerned every inch of you, top to bottom.

You felt safe beneath his strong body, the hand that wasn’t busy splitting your open prying at your thigh until he managed to hook a leg over his shoulder. You felt your head fall back again, eyes squeezing shut as he sped up his pace, the room filling with the sound of your drenched pussy. The squelching was so lewd, so loud that you were sure you’d cum from that alone. Could feel it in the way your cunt clenched again and again, sucking his digits in and refusing to let them free.

“That’s ‘cause I’m curling them. Feel the difference?” He murmured, tone the only thing calm about him now. Looking down at him, you saw the frazzled expression painted across his handsome face, the frantic look in his eyes underpinning that same predatory stare. “Mmm fuck– gonna find your g-spot; gonna make you scream.”

“Chan, fuck, please.” You wailed, hips bucking upwards in motion with his thrusts. He pushed you down with his free hand, cheek pressing against the meat of your leg as he watched you intently. His attentive stare didn’t last long, though, not when your pussy was putting on such a pretty show for him. His arm was soaked, the chair beneath you was drenched, juices pooling on the floor by your clothes.

“So hot–stay still for me baby, did I hit the spot?” You could only nod now, moans coming out in pitchy screams as you bucked against his firm palm, desperately trying to fuck yourself with his fingers. You couldn’t describe it, the pleasure that was building inside of you, the edge that was careening so close to your helpless, frantic body that you could taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue.

“Yeah, think so, oh god, oh my god.” You found your words at last, whining disapprovingly when his fingers left your needy pussy empty in favour of pushing past his plump mouth. Your gaze drank him in as he did so, watching with narrowed eyes as he sucked on them. It was slow and erotic and downright torturous, a string of desperate moans tumbling from his glistening pink lips.

“Fuck you taste so good, let me taste you properly, please can I?” Apparently it was his turn to beg, his nose nuzzling against the inside of your thigh as he adjusted the leg propped atop his shoulder.

“Please, please, do whatever you want, own me.” You nodded frantically, wanting nothing more than to return to that blissed out state you’d been so caught up in.

“You want me to make this pussy mine, for real? Want me to fuck you rough like the slut you are?” You wanted him to mean what he was saying, but something told you he wasn’t. That was as a line you were certain he wouldn’t cross, not for now anyway, but you could live with that. A sentiment that rang even truer when you felt the rough texture of his tongue against your puffy, sopping cunt.

The reverberation of his moans only added to the intense wave of pleasure that overcame you, his frenzied ministrations causing your hips to buck, thighs closing around his head. He took it all, licking up and down your pussy as if lapping up your juices. Whatever lesson this was supposed to teach you about masturbation, you didn’t know, and you weren’t about to question him about it, not when you switched to burying his face in your leaking pussy, tongue fucking you with purpose as his nose prodded your swollen clit.

“Yes, please, sir–ruin me.” You grabbed ahold of his hair, earning another moan from the man as he continued devouring your drenched cunt. Every time he lapped at your sweet juices, more poured from your clenching hole, his tongue drinking up every last drop as he shifted between your entrance and your sensitive nub.

“Fuck this isn’t good.” He groaned, breathing out words in the short amount of time he spent away from your pussy; allowing him mere moments to suck in oxygen before he dove back in. “We shouldn’t be doing this, baby, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Ugh, that feels so fucking good.” This time he focused his mouth on your clit, lips wrapping around your bud as he pushed his fingers inside of you, thrusting in knuckles deep with a pace that bordered on animalistic. Your fingers gripped his hair just as aggressively, hips moving at their own accord as you felt the edge of your orgasm hurtle towards you.

“Good keep going, use my fingers fuck yes.” He moaned, breaths coming out in desperate pants against your sensitive clit. The gentle push of air paired with his relentless thrust of his fingers against your g-spot was enough to have you screaming, head falling backward, cunt convulsing as you felt that white light begin to encase you.“Shit you’re cumming so soon? Oh fuck, yeah, fuck, so messy.”

“Fuck, please, keep going– no why did you stop?” That feeling you’d been so frantic to chase, the bright, welcoming light that you’d been so ready to rush toward was ripped from you the moment his fingers exited your clamping walls. You looked at him in disbelief, body spent, skin aglow with sweat.

“It's your turn, do what I did.” He rejoindered.

“No, no please” You shook your head, tears welling over as you pleaded with him to give you release. This was bordering on mean, knowing how frustrated and desperate you were to feel that warm white release only to pry it from your begging hands.

“Come on pretty girl, you got this. Let me help you.” His palms ran comforting patterns across your skin, face still level with your pussy as his breath fanned across your sensitive core. You twitched beneath him, stare holding his own in hopes your beseeching eyes could reason with him.

“Not the same.” You murmured, shaking your head once more.

“Don’t be greedy now, come on.” He spoke, landing a slap against your clit in warning. Your hips jumped, sensitive pussy clenching around air as you greedily accepted your punishment. Despite your momentary disobedience, you followed his request, pathetic fingers moving down between you both to begin thrusting in and out of your weeping hole. “Good girl, keep going.”

“Need yours.” You sobbed, the feeling of your digits nowhere close to the pleasurable strokes of his thick, veiny hand.

“Hmm, why don’t we try a new toy? See if you can make yourself cum like that?” He suggested, and how he’d managed to maintain any semblance of his role as your sex therapist after annihilating your pussy with his pretty lips, you had no idea. Truly the man was a saint, he hadn’t even touched his hard cock once, too busy pleasuring you to even notice the impossibly tight feeling in his pants.

“Okay…” You agreed, body beginning to ache with fatigue.

“Keep playing with yourself, slap that pretty little clit around while I find a toy for baby girl to play with.” Chan commanded, and you obeyed.

You watched him walk the short distance to his desk, opening one of the cupboards to look over a collection of unboxed sex toys. The consistent branding told you it was probably a sponsorship deal, a collaboration of sorts. But you didn’t pay the toys enough attention to confirm this, no, instead you watched the way his back flexed, vein hands tugging at a box before returning it to its home. It was utterly unfair how even the back of him could drive you crazy; everything about him was thick, masculine and oozing sex appeal. Yet despite the plumpness of his arms, thighs and ass, his waist remained tiny beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt. You wanted to see what lay beneath his tight-fitting clothing so badly, the thought enough to have your fingers speeding up in a newfound wave of ecstasy.

“What about this? Long like my fingers, that’s what you like right?” He returned with a different vibrator. Unlike the other one, this had some sort of vibrating node for your clit; making sure to stimulate every inch of you it could touch.

“Lemme show you how this works, okay? Gonna use it just like the vibrator, push it up as far as your little cunt can bear.” Chan grumbled, tongue licking his lips as he lowered himself to his knees again. Removing it from its packaging with ease, he pressed the velvety device against your desperate cunt, quizzical gaze searching for any signs of hesitation.

“I can take it all, please make me take it.” You were quick to retort, squirming in anticipation of what was to come. You hoped, no you prayed, that this time he’d make you cum, not stopping till your body was limp and spent, eyes rolled back in your head and screams so pitchy not a sound came out. You wanted that, you wanted that so bad.

“Fuck, you’re so hot when you’re all wound up baby, you sure you want that?” His voice was low, free hand coaxing your leg back over his shoulder as he peppered kisses to your inner thigh.

“Please, pretend it's your cock. How would you fuck me?” You whined, hands shifting to pinch at your nipples desperate for any form of release.

“No, no you can’t think like that baby.” He shook his head dismissively, using the toy to push up and down your gushing pussy, chuckling wickedly every time your body twitched.

“You want it too, don’t you? Wanna know what it’s like to fuck me? So do–” You couldn’t even finish getting the words out before he was shoving the toy into your needy hole with force, a dark expression atop his faltering features. “Yeah fuck, like that.” You screamed out, your pussy barely able to sheath the toy with how puffy and swollen your walls were.

“That feel good, baby?” He growled, teeth gritted as he pushed the device in and out of you with fever.

“So good.” You whimpered, bucking your hips in time with his thrusts.

“Gonna have to take over, you need to learn for yourself.” He reminded you, your head shaking in an instant.

“Not yet, keep going please.” You sobbed tearlessly, moans coming out in broken, melodic strings of half-cries and curse words.

“Haven’t even turned the vibrate on and you’re already clenching like a whore.” He tutted, tongue spilling from his lips as he got lost in your pleasure. It looked like he enjoyed this almost as much as you did, his brows furrowed in concentration as he took in every change in your expression.

“Can I touch you?” You whined out, hips bouncing in time with his expertly timed thrusts. Your hands reached out, starting to undo the buttons of his dress shirt with a growing desire to see him naked and exposed like you were. He didn’t show any resistance, even shuddering beneath the graze of your nails against his bare chest as you opened the unbuttoned top. He looked delectable; toned muscles flexing with every thrust of his arm.

“No, then I really will wanna fuck you.” He murmured, setting another boundary you had every intention of crossing; his forehead leaning down to press against yours, bodies as close as they could possibly be given the current position. His lust-filled gaze sparkled in the shadowed confines of your close faces, the soft whimpers and laboured breaths that left his parted lips sending your body into overdrive. You leaned forward to connect your lips, mouth ghosting over his for a nanosecond before he moved his face away from yours. You whined, aching to chase after him but opting to pry a little more instead.

“Will you touch yourself when it’s my turn then?” You questioned, hungry eyes searching his for any signs of defiance.

“You want that?” He whimpered, free palm pushing you down against the soaked leather chair once more, trying to keep your quivering body still beneath him.

“Yeah wanna hear you moan again.” You yelped, clenching again and again around the silicon toy, wanting more than anything to replace it with his meaty cock.

“Does that turn you on?” Chan asked, proud grin on his lips.

“So bad.” You murmured, head rolling back as you felt him graze against your g-spot with the tip of your new device. “Wanna watch your cock make a mess– oh my god I’m so close Channie~” He didn’t let you finish, turning the vibrator on mid sentence. The sudden change in sensation caused you to shake and convulse beneath him, creaming the toy with every pointed thrust he offered your greedy cunt.

“Yeah? Take over for me baby, fuck yourself like the depraved slut you are.” You could barely think straight, eyes glazed over with unadulterated, carnal desire.

“Fuck you’d break me open so good, want your cock so bad.” You mumbled, taking the toy from his grip to try and match his relentless pace. You weren’t even close, too tired, too rigid to compare.

“God, bet you do, never enough for your greedy little pussy is it? Just want more and more.” Chan mused, the sound of his belt clattering drawing your attention to his lower half. You watched eagerly, excitement growing with every push of his hands. He pulled his cock out hurriedly, leg still propped over his shoulder as he fisted the base of his cock.

You whined at the sight, free hand clawing at his half-clothed chest before gripping the meat of his upper arm. You hoped, pointlessly so, that the feeling of his toned muscle beneath your hold would ground you, keeping you steady as you worked yourself with the toy. The sight of him jerking desperately at his leaking cock, though, was far too compelling. Moans fell from his mouth, curse words interjecting every sinful noise.

You’d thought his pointed gaze was enough to hypnotise you, but the image of his stiff member as it oozed pre cum transfixed you in an entirely new way. You couldn’t look away, couldn’t tear your eyes from his thrusting hips and eager fist as it worked its way up and down his length. You were sure you’d not seen a cock quite as pretty as his, either. It wasn’t overly large but it was thick and veiny with an angry red tip that you knew would prod your cunt in all the right ways. You wanted it, you wanted him so bad. You were salivating at the thought, mouth gaping wide open at the prospect of it.

“Bet you’d fuck me dry, so desperate you’d milk my cock of every drop.” He groaned loudly, hips bucking into his first with an air of impatience.

“Yeah, want that so bad sir.” You could feel your high approaching once more, the edge coming into view in new and improved shades of technicolour bliss.

“That’s it, good girl, you’re doing so well.” He praised you, head lulling back as he hissed, teeth clenching, face scrunching; the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever seen. His adams apple bobbed, thick neck glistening with sweat as he squirmed, face falling to rest against your leg.

“Cum on me, in my mouth.” You pleaded, trying to match the rhythm of his thrusts, imagination fixing on the idea of it being him fucking you like this.

“Fuck that’s so hot, you’re so fucking hot.” He instantly complied with your wishes, hand abandoning his cock momentarily in favour of getting to his feet. He gently lowered the leg once propped atop his shoulder as he did so, discarding his trousers and underwear properly when he was stood. He was frantic in his motions, wanting nothing more than to dump his load on your pretty face.

Hovering over you, he watched as you eagerly opened your mouth, head angled to allow him to aim the tip of his length toward your lips. He hummed at the sight, face scrunching again as he began to fist at his cock. The wet sound of his cum streaking the length of his member had you keening, tongue darting out to lick at his tip desperately. He bucked his hips at the new sensation, shoving his cock closer to your mouth in the process. You kept lapping at his head, enjoying the salty taste of his cum as it hit your tongue–the bitter flavour pulling pornographic moans from your throat.

“Oh god that feels amazing. Yeah, keep doing that baby.” He too moaned, pumping his cock relentlessly while you leaned closer to him, sucking the head of his twitching member feverishly. “Such a good girl, yeah, your lips look so pretty around my cock baby.”

“More.” You begged, the initial taste of his salty cum enough to have you craving more. You wanted all of it, wanted to feel his mushroom tip abuse the back of your throat, wanted to choke on his fat cock until breath became a necessity. You were positive you’d see the white, orgasmic light then, when you were deprived of all air, forced to take in every inch of him until he was done using you for his own pleasure.

“No, don’t be greedy. Take what I give you and say thank you like a good slut.” He landed a slap against your cheek, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to sting and fuck it felt incredible.

“Mmm, thank you sir.” You whined, complying instantly, pussy clenching around the toy still thrusting in and out of your numb cunt. Your arms were in a similar position, movements growing sloppy and slow as you tried to chase your high through till the end.

“Good, now you gonna cum for me?” He asked, fucking his fist with the same fierce pace he’d gifted you. “Yeah, fuck you’re so hot.” He moaned, watching you struggle to pleasure yourself, movements ragged and desperate as you became unable to control your limbs.

“So close, so so so– please.” You cried out, riding the toy with one final push of determined energy.

“That’s it, keep fucking yourself. You’re so close, baby don’t give up now.” He moaned out, his own high building with every snap of your hips, the noises your mouth and pussy were making so sinful it had his eyes rolling back. He resisted though, keeping his well-trained eyes on your abused cunt. You were struggling, he could tell, something in you not quite snapping the way you clearly wanted it to. It wasn’t your fault, he’d tired you out by now; he blamed himself for that.

“Come on, you can do better than that. Like this baby.” He abandoned his own pleasure again, hand leaving his cock to replace yours. His pace was exactly what you needed, your body convulsing the moment he replaced your sloppy grip.

“Oh god, yes, please keep going.” You cried, almost scared he’d deny you again.

“Yeah? You gonna cum? Look at the mess you’re making pretty girl, fuck, I bet it tastes delicious.” He growled, pushing the toy as deep as your puffy cunt would allow, angle directed toward the extra-sensitive spot you seemed to love so much. “You’re taking it so well, such a good little slut.”

“I’m gonna cum.” You wailed, hand gripping his, half-reacting to the sudden feeling of overstimulation that washed over you, the part of the vibrator pressed against your clit sending you into spasms with every hard thrust.

“That’s right, come on baby, good girls cum– you’re my good girl aren’t you? Gonna cum like sir told you to?” He growled, the possessive tone that had overtaken him sending shockwaves across your limbs.

“Yeah, yeah fuck! I’m-” You didn’t have time to respond to his pleas before you were thrown from the edge, same white light blinding you in the process. You lost all feeling, all consciousness as you came, the explosions errupting throughout your spent body going unnoticed by your fucked out mind. Your chest heaved as you started to come to, hand still clamped around his now motionless wrist as his voice broke through your heavy breathing.

“Shit, you squirted everywhere baby. Fuck that’s so hot.” You whimpered, scrambling to sit up in embarrassment. You looked at the chair first, the leather slick with your release, but it wasn’t until you gazed at Chan that you saw the extent of it. His white shirt was dotted with wet spots, looking almost like the splatter of something colourless. His hand and arm were soaked, chest glistening too.

“Sorry.” You frowned, suddenly embarrassed by the mess you’d made.

“Shh, don’t be sorry, you did so well baby; look at you, so messy, so pretty.” He was quick to assure you, abandoning the vibrator in favour of cupping both your cheeks. You took each other in for a moment, no words spoken between you as your eyes lowered to his lips. One of his hands moved toward your chin, tugging our gaze upward again; not letting you linger with the thought of kissing him.

“Lemme make you cum.” You spoke after a beat in time.

“No, no lovely girl, you need to rest a second.” He smiled, pad of thumb caressing your plump bottom lip before he shifted, seemingly ready to clean you up and send you on your way. You weren’t ready for the moment to end, though. Couldn’t bear the thought of not getting to see him like this again for another month, or, god forbid, longer.

“Then use me to finish.” You reached for him, grabbing ahold of his wrist before his back could straighten, reaching his full height.

“Baby, fuck.” He moaned, clearly battling with the idea of you crossing yet another of his lines. He couldn’t blame you, not wholly anyway, he let you do it easily every time. Deep down he knew they were nothing but silly justifications; a safety net to fall back on when he broke every rule in the book.

“I want you to.” You assured him.

“This is supposed to be about you.” He shook his head.

“Then do it for me, use my mouth.” Your persistence seemed to be enough for him, still-hard cock twitching excitedly at the prospect.

“Get on your knees.” His eyes darkened, turning to face you properly as he watched you position yourself on the floor, obedient as ever. “That’s it, good girl.” He swallowed thickly, guiding you toward his painfully hard length. He tapped your outstretched tongue with the tip, wordlessly ordering you to open wide.

“Tastes so good sir.” You mewled as he slid the base of his cock along your tongue, moaning at the texture of your muscle against his veiny member. His patience, or whatever was left of it, was slipping away with every messy lick of your tongue, his hand shifting to grip your hair.

“Squeeze my thigh if it's too much, okay?” Your nod was enough to have him pushing his length past your parted lips, cock giving you no time to adjust as he pushed his hips forward. “Such an obedient little slut, aren’t you? Touch your clit for me, want you cumming with my cock shoved down your throat.” He growled, pushing his length as far down your throat as your tight mouth would allow.

“Oh fuck yeah, yeah, yeah that’s so– ohmygod you feel amazing.” You moaned the moment he afforded you a few seconds to breathe. Your fingers toyed with your clit just as he’d requested, but you were far too focused on swallowing his member to focus on the tingling feeling between your thighs.

“Bet your pussy feels better though, doesn’t it baby? Filled all the way up with my fat cock.” He grunted, grip in your hair tightening as he thrust his length past your lips harshly. You squealed at this, sound muffled by the back and forth of his cock as he used your throat to chase his own release. It was hard to focus his gaze as he pushed his cock all the way to the base, your nose pressing against his toned flesh as you gagged, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Are you crying? Yeah? Sir giving it to you too rough? This is what greedy girls get–a throat full of cock.” He growled, any hints of his prior softness dissipated with the tightening of your throat around his sensitive length. He started setting a pace, no longer mindlessly pushing you down his cock. Rather he pulled out of your swollen mouth, giving you a few seconds to breathe before he thrust in, repeating that motion again and again with a frenzied persistence. If he had any doubts about your feelings on the matter, your soaked cunt gave it all away.

“God your pussy is drenched, sounds so good. Does it feel good, baby? Getting mouth fucked while you play with your little cunt for me?” He moaned, fucking your face with a new found fever, his approaching high numbing his senses until all that remained was the sound of your wet pussy clenching around nothing and the feeling of your tight throat seathing his desperate cock. In all of the blissful chaos though, the man couldn’t help but take pity on you; the tears streaming down your cheeks, drool coating your chin, was enough to have him pulling out. You instantly gasped for air, forehead falling against his thigh as you caught your breath.

“Sit up baby, spread your legs. Gonna paint your pussy with my cum–gonna make it mine.” He instructed, helping you back atop the chair when you looked at him with pleading eyes. Your chest still rose and fell, gaze glossy with fresh tears as you whimpered, barely able to register the possessive way he wanted to claim you beneath your heavy fatigue.

“You gonna cum for me too, yeah? gonna fuck my cum inside you with my fingers while you play with your clit.” He was back to those sinful rambles, an apparent sign of his impending orgasm as he worked his cock, hovering above your spread legs while he watched you circle your clit violently. “Good girl, good girl, fuck.”

“Yeah fuck, mine, my good girl, looking so pretty for me.” His pace picked up, abs tensing with every twitch of his cock. His tip leaked with presumptive release, small bouts of thick cum running down the head, aided in its journey by the drying slick of your spit. “So useless without me aren’t you baby? Can’t do anything without me, need me so badly.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, oh god.” His words had you quickly barreling toward the edge again, consciousness slipping as you fell in and out of subspace.

“Say you’re mine.” He growled, face contorted in the hottest expression you’d ever seen. He looked determined, the first that fucked his cock thrusting at such a frenzied pace you wondered if it was painful. “Mmm” Was all you could manage, before a harsh slap to your cunt was enough to jolt you away from the fucked-out state you found yourself in.

‘Say it, slut.” He insisted.

“I’m yours, all yours; only yours. No one else can make me feel like this, not even me, this pussy belongs to you.” Your words were all it took, his entire body shifting, twitching and shaking at the sudden onset of his climax. His knees almost buckled, the half-awkward position causing his muscles to burn and tense as he milked his cock of its stringy cum. Moan after moan fell from his lips as he watched it splatter against your lower half, your hungry cunt clenching as the warm liquid painted your clit and abdomen.

Lowering to his knees again, he kept his promise, pulling your hand away from your puffy clit in favour of collecting up all the cum that settled on your skin, sticky substance coating two of his digits as he shoved it inside your overworked pussy. “Cum for me, come on. Don’t make me spank you again.”

You moaned out, shrill noise almost awakening his cock once again as he drilled your cunt with his fingers, pushing his cum as far into you as your swollen walls would allow. “Good girl, that’s a good girl; such a good little cum slut.” He cooed as you lost all control, body seizing beneath the weight of another orgasm; the wave of ecstasy so sudden and unexpected it stole the air from your lungs, the noise from your voice.

Chan rode you through your high, pressing kisses to every inch of your inner thigh, fingers slowing to a halt inside you. Sweet praises filled the air as he pulled his digits from your defeated cunt, palms rubbing soothing patterns against your skin. He kept this up until the ability to move seemed to finally return to your aching limbs, your body shifting to sit upright. Your breathing was laboured as his eyes leveled with yours, searching for any signs of pain or discomfort.

“Are you okay?” He asked, fingers back to tracing your skin affectionately; an action that felt just a little too sweet considering the events that had just transpired. You nodded, still not quite able to form words as you moved forward, pulling him into your embrace, desperate to lean on him for support. He let you, of course he did, arms wrapping around your fatigued body as he pulled you against him. Your head fell to the crook of his neck when you lowered from the chair, awkwardly positioned atop his kneeling form until he shifted to accommodate you.

For a moment you stayed like this, the sounds of your breathing the only thing breaking through the heavy silence. It gave you both time to think, to come down from your post-orgasm bliss and retrace the events of your appointment.

“Fuck, what are we doing.” Chan was the first one to speak, a heavy sigh pulled from his downturned lips.

“I don’t know but I don’t want it to stop.” You whispered, neither of you making any attempt to put distance between you.

“We have to.” His response was instant but insincere, there was no denying that now. Not even your anxiety could trick you into believing that Chan didn't want this.

“But do you want to?” You asked, making the first move as you pulled back to look him in the eyes. Maybe his mouth lied, but his gaze never could.

“...No. do you?” He said after a beat in time, large gaze studying you just as you did him. His palms moved to grip at your bare waist, a single hand shifting to run up and down your right side, tracing the curve of your hips as he waited expectantly.

You smiled, the fireworks that erupted behind every one of his caresses giving you the answer you'd been looking for: “Never.”

“Never?” Chan stared at you dubiously, hand stilling at this.

“Never.” You didn’t hesitate, head shaking. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, eyes flicking from feature to feature in search of any insincerity. He found none, only a flourishing of adoration that threatened to grow tucked behind your gaze.

He decided to believe you. You decided to believe it too–hoped so badly for it to be true–wanted so badly to have finally found the cure. Needed so badly for him to be the cure.

<< back to dash // next episode >>

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A/N: jfc i nearly didn't finish this in time oopsies! semi-unedited again so apologies for any sloppy writing in places. thank you all for 200 followers!! next chapter is due for release at the 350 milestone <3

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necronatural · 5 months ago

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Even If You Got Dropped In A Ghost Story, You Still Go To Work: A visual primer for English speakers

This took me a week. I did this for ORV like 4 years ago so it felt like my moral obligation to make one again.

Some notes on character designs and images without text:

Gorals and domestic goats look very different, but in Manor of the Blind attention is put into how these two are similar and contrasting, the truly noble Go Youngeun with the white goat and the sinister Baek Saheon with the black goat. I also picked a literal goral instead of a mountain goat (which are naturally white) because gorals look more like roe deers than goats, making the 3 of them more closely linked.

I always thought it was a shame most fanartists don't give Baek Saheon darling 90s curls because that's one of the only traits he explicitly has and is tied into how harmless he looks at first glance and it's adorable

Because this is a horror novel and unnatural features aren't mentioned, I tried to keep this as grounded as possible. Mowing through these anime designs. I don't think J3 is an idol with hair in his eyes. I think he just looks like a very tired guy of ambiguous age

Another hardliner of of grounded designs is Jin Nasol, who gets the most ostentatious anime character treatment besides Jay in fanart. She is coldly utilitarian and prizes efficiency over all else, there is no way that woman has bangs

I am not giving Park Minseong brown hair. There is nothing wrong with a good warm black

Lee Jaheon is often depicted as an adorable little newt in fanart, but a huge part of why he is so hysterical is that he is scary, so I picked more intimidating lizard traits so he functions in both dramatic heroic scenes and eating granola bars with the wrappers still on. He gets to keep the newt mask though

I gave Braun white gloves at first but I saw a Braun cosplayer and a demon possessed me. I have no idea what colour is canon. who doesnt love black leather

Making Jang Heo-un the "sharp eyes meek personality" trope made my brain light up so good. I was trying to contrast with the relaxed eyes of the easygoing Park Minseong to make them more obviously different but this feels cosmically correct

I tried to avoid the stereotypical fanart designs but the fanartists really captured how it feels for Lee Seonghae to be on the page with this design. Made her hair darker and that's it like we nailed it

Choi's design archetypes are 1. reliable senior 2. cheerful 3. unsettlingly intense, so I leaned on a more gritty korean procedural archetype with Choi. Kind of guy that makes your entire spinal column freeze when he turns on the heat

You can use these pics for whatever you want. ⬆️

#ghost story work #art #used a new custom title. i promise not to change it again.

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thef1diary · 9 months ago

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Anytime, Anywhere | D. Ricciardo

Kinktober 4/11 - Free Use

Summary: it didn’t matter if you were in the safety of your home or not, Daniel could have you whenever he wanted.

warnings: 18+ smut, consensual free use, unprotected sex, slight breast play, lil bit of degradation, praise kink, fingering, Daniel’s like obsessed w your cunt

please note, though not explicitly mentioned, the free use arrangement is completely consensual from both sides aka no one is doing anything they don’t want to. also, huge thank you to @emchante for proofreading this, love you loads!

wc: 4.5k

kinktober masterlist

The kitchen is warm, filled with the comforting scent of herbs and spices simmering on the stove. You’re standing by the counter, chopping vegetables, the rhythm of the knife steady against the cutting board. It’s a quiet moment, one where you’d normally lose yourself in the task, but you can already feel Daniel’s presence approaching behind you.

“Danny, can you help me with—” The words are barely out of your mouth when you feel him press up against you from behind, his hands sliding around your waist, his chest firm. His lips find the curve of your neck instantly, peppering kisses all over.

You let out a soft sigh, tilting your head to the side to give him more access, but you try to keep your focus on the vegetables in front of you. Your movements slowed down, the rhythmic chopping faltering as his kisses grew insistent. His teeth grazed your skin lightly, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Daniel…” you murmured, but there’s no hint of resistance in your voice.

“I’m right here,” he murmured against your neck, his voice low. His hands roam lower, over your hips before dipping under the hem of your skirt. His featherlight touch glides over your inner thighs before grasping on the fabric, slowly pulling it up until it’s bunched around your waist.

Your breath catches in your throat as the cool air hits your skin, and though you try to keep chopping, your focus splinters under the heat of his touch. His fingers graze over the bare skin of your hips and trailing lower, until he reaches the space where your panties should’ve been. But there’s nothing. Just you, completely exposed and ready for him.

His soft chuckle vibrates against your neck, lips still ghosting over your skin. “Good girl,” he mutters, his voice a rough whisper. The praise sends a wave of warmth through you, your cunt’s wetness slicking your thighs as evidence.

Daniel’s hand lingers between your thighs, fingers gliding over your folds with deliberate teasing strokes. Ever since the two of you had agreed on this, there was no point in wearing anything that might get in the way of what he wanted.

You’d stopped wearing panties completely, abandoning them in favor of clothing that granted him easy access whenever the mood struck. Skirts had become your uniform—simple, accessible, and a constant reminder of your submission to him. All he needed to do was lift the hem, and you were his, no flimsy barriers in place.

Over time, he’d indulge you with a wardrobe full of skirts, each one shorter than the last. With every new skirt, the tease was more potent, the air against your bare skin constantly reminding you that you were his for the taking, any time he desired.

He’d spoiled you this way, every hemline a bit more revealing, every breeze between your legs a subtle promise of what was to come. And now, as his fingers glide over your wetness, you know exactly why you’d agreed to it. The ease with which he could take control of your body was intoxicating, leaving you vulnerable in the best possible way.

His fingers part your slick folds as he dips into your wetness, collecting it on his fingertips. He hums in low approval, bringing his fingers up to his mouth. He sucks them clean, savouring the taste with a deep, satisfied groan.

Daniel’s body pressing you firmly against the counter is the only thing keeping you upright as your focus shifts from the task at hand to the overwhelming presence behind you. The rich, earthy aroma of herbs and spices simmering on the stove fades into the background, eclipsed by the intoxicating scent of Daniel—something undeniably masculine, warm, and familiar. His scent wraps around you, filling your senses as he holds you there, exposed and vulnerable.

His hand doesn’t stay idle for long. He reaches for the neckline of your shirt, fingers hooking under the fabric, and with one swift motion, he pulls it down. The cool air hits your bare chest, and your nipples harden immediately. You gasp at the sudden exposure, your body arching into the pleasure. You never bothered with bras at home, not when Daniel made it clear he preferred you without them.

“Just the way I like it,” Daniel mutters, his large hands cup your boobs, playing with the soft, supple mounds. His thumbs circle your nipples, teasing them with a featherlight touch that has you biting your lip, struggling to hold back a moan.

You suck in a sharp breath as he toys with you, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. You can feel him grinning against your neck, savouring the way your body responds to him without resistance. Your thighs tremble, wetness slicking your skin as you try, and fail, to stay focused on the task in front of you.

“Drop the knife,” he commands, his voice barely above a whisper, but the authority in it is undeniable. The tone sends a shiver down your spine, your fingers instantly loosening their grip on the handle. The knife clatters to the counter, forgotten as his hands slide down your body with purpose. Compliance comes easily, a reflex born out of the silent understanding between you.

He grips your hips, tugging you with him as he takes a few steps back, pressing your ass against his clothed cock. His rough palms spread your cheeks apart, and you hear the low groan of approval as he watches your arousal drip down your pussy and onto your thighs.

“Fuck,” Daniel muttered, his voice thick with lust. “Look at you… already so wet.”

You whimper, the sound barely leaving your throat as his fingers brush lightly over your folds, spreading your wetness further. You can feel him watching you, the intensity of his gaze heavy as he marvels at the way your body responds to him. You don’t dare to move, don’t even think of it, not when you know exactly what’s coming next.

Without warning, he reaches forward and swipes the cutting board out of the way, sending the vegetables scattering. His grip on your hips tightens as he bends you over the counter, pressing your chest flat against the cool surface. The sudden shift makes your breath hitch, and you brace yourself, palms splayed out on the flat surface beside you, your body already trembling with anticipation.

Daniel wastes no time. His hands grip your hips firmly, and you can feel the rough fabric of his jeans grazing against the back of your thighs. He hadn’t even bothered to take them off completely, too desperate to get inside you. The sensation of the denim biting into your skin is the only warning you get before he pushes into you—thick, unrelenting, and all at once.

A gasp escapes your lips, sharp and breathless, as your mouth falls open in shock. He stretches you to the limit, filling you completely in one brutal thrust.

“That’s it,” he growls, his hand slipping to the back of your neck, holding you in place. “Take it.”

The pleasure is immediate and overwhelming, your body instinctively arching to meet his rough thrusts. Each movement is purposeful, brutal, and all-consuming. You can feel how desperate he is to claim you, to remind you of exactly who you belong to. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the kitchen, mixed with your broken moans and the low groans coming from Daniel.

His hand moves down to your ass, spreading you wider as he watches himself disappear inside you, over and over again. The filthy sound of your slickness meeting each thrust fills the room, and he curses under his breath, eyes locked on the sight.

“You’re s’good for me,” Daniel grunts, pounding into you harder. “So eager to let me use you.”

Your mind blanks, your nails scraping against the countertop as you nod frantically, unable to form a coherent response. The only thing grounding you is the feeling of him inside you, fucking you like he owns you—and in this moment, he does.

“Fuck, Daniel…” you moan, voice shaky, barely audible over the sound of his cock thrusting into you.

He leans down, his chest pressing against your back, lips brushing against your ear. “You were made for this,” he muttered, his pace quickening, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Made to be fucked like this. Mine to take whenever I want.”

His words send you spiraling, your body tightening around him as the pleasure builds to a breaking point. He can feel it, too, the way your pussy clenches around his cock, and it only spurs him on, his hips slamming into yours.

“You gonna cum for me?” he breathes, his voice ragged with exertion. His hand snakes between your legs, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that push you over the edge. “Cum all over my cock.”

It’s too much. The heat of his body, the roughness of his voice, the relentless pace—it all crashes over you in a wave of ecstasy. Your body shakes violently as you fall apart beneath him, your orgasm ripping through you, leaving you breathless and trembling as you moan his name.

Daniel isn’t far behind. With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, his grip on your hips bruising as he groans, spilling inside you. The sound of his release sends one last shudder of pleasure through your body, your mind blissfully blank as he slowly pulls out, leaving you empty and spent.

You collapse against the counter, your legs shaky and weak, trying to catch your breath. Daniel stands behind you, his hands still gripping your hips as he leans down, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “Now, what did you need help with?”

— — —

The gym is filled with the pounding beat of Daniel’s workout playlist, the bass reverberating off the walls. It’s a fast-paced mix, perfectly matching the intensity of his solo workout. Sweat clings to his skin, muscles flexing with every movement as he powers through his sets. He’s deep in the zone, the rhythm of the music syncing with the repetition of lifting, his breath steady and controlled.

You step in quietly, drawn by the sound of the music and the sight of Daniel’s toned body moving effortlessly through his routine. You don’t acknowledge him, knowing full well he’s focused on his workout, and head to the far corner of the gym, rolling out your mat. You’re dressed in a tight workout set—shorts that hug your curves and a sports bra that offers little in the way of modesty. It’s an outfit you’ve worn many times before, but today it feels different.

You drop into a series of stretches, starting with a deep forward bend, reaching for your toes. As you move, the tight fabric of your shorts clings to your skin in a way that’s impossible to ignore. The material molds to every curve of your body, hugging your thighs and pressing against your bare pussy—because you hadn’t bothered with panties. Or rather, you weren’t allowed to. Not when Daniel made it clear that panties were unnecessary.

With every stretch, the fabric pulls tighter against your cunt, the friction sending an unintentional wave of heat through you. You shift your hips, trying to focus on loosening your muscles, but it’s hard to ignore the way the material rubs against your bare skin, each movement causing a small pulse of arousal to build inside you.

You spread your legs wider, sinking deeper into the stretch, your mind momentarily focused on the satisfying pull in your hamstrings. But as your body shifts, you’re unaware of just how exposed you are. The tight material catches between your lips, pressing into your folds so much that it feels like you’re barely wearing anything at all.

You think it’s just the lack of underwear that’s making you feel so bare, convinced the sensation is all in your head. What you don’t realize is how truly visible you are—your pussy completely framed and outlined by your shorts, the thin fabric offering almost no coverage. It clings to every detail, highlighting the shape of your folds, as if the material is struggling to keep anything hidden. It’s almost obscene, the way your cunt is on display, but you remain oblivious, stretching and moving as if you’re not practically naked.

In reality, it would be better if you were completely nude, because at least then, the exposure would be intentional.

Daniel notices. He’s been watching you from the moment you walked in, his eyes tracking every movement as you stretch. The way your muscles flex and your body moves, wrapped in that tight workout set, has his blood running hot.

Daniel watches you with a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips, eyes glued to the sight between your spread legs. He’s more than pleased—thrilled, really—that even here, outside the privacy of your home, you follow his rule without hesitation. No panties. It may be a private gym, secluded and safe, but it’s the principle that gets him going. You’re obedient, even when you don’t realize just how exposed you are.

The music blares in the background, but it’s nothing compared to the sudden surge of desire that courses through him. His workout forgotten, Daniel sets down his weights and strides toward you, his eyes never leaving the curve of your ass as you drop to all fours in another stretch. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t announce his presence; he just watches, drawn to how the material of your shorts has ridden up, caught between your legs, displaying the full shape of your cunt.

You don’t hear him approach. Too focused on the burning stretch in your muscles, you arch your back, completely unaware that Daniel is standing right behind you. That is, until you feel it—his large, warm hand cups your pussy through your shorts, pressing with deliberate, unrelenting pressure. The shock of it sends a gasp spilling from your lips, and your body freezes at the sudden, unexpected contact.

“Daniel,” you gasp, your voice barely audible over the thumping music.

He doesn’t respond with words, only action. His grip tightens as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles through the material. His other hand grips your hip, keeping you steady as his fingers play with you, nudging your swollen clit with the same practiced ease that has your breath hitching.

The sensation is maddening, the rough drag of the fabric against your sensitive skin making it impossible to think straight. Your legs part wider instinctively, inviting him to do more, to take what he wants. His fingers trace along your slit, running up and down your folds, gathering the wetness that has seeped through your shorts.

Just as you’re sure he’s going to pull your shorts down and give you what your body craves, Daniel surprises you. With a swift, rough motion, he yanks your shorts even tighter against your pussy, pulling the material harshly up between your lips. The pressure is immediate and intense, the fabric digging into your clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you that rips a moan from your throat. Your body arches into his touch, completely at his mercy.

“Look at you,” he growls softly, his voice laced with a filthy edge. “So fucking desperate, you should’ve just walked in with your pussy out, ready for me.”

His grip still firm on the waistband, keeping the material taut against your cunt, while his other hand slides down, giving your pussy a light tap, making you gasp as the sharp sting of pleasure mixes with the aching need that’s building between your legs. The second and third time he brings his fingers down, it’s directed at your clit protruding through the tightened fabric, each gentle slap sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

But just as quickly as it began, it’s over. Daniel steps back, his touch disappearing, leaving you panting, your body buzzing with unfulfilled desire. You glance over your shoulder, expecting him to continue, to fill your cunt—instead, he’s already walking back to his weights as if nothing happened.

The heat between your legs throbs, the feeling of his hands lingering long after he’s let go. You’re left hot and bothered, your pussy slick and swollen, but Daniel doesn’t seem to care. This is what he likes most about your arrangement — it’s not always about him using you to get off. No, sometimes it’s about watching you fall apart under his touch, teasing you until you’re aching for more and then forcing you to return to your mundane tasks as if nothing ever happened.

You finish your stretches, the lingering heat from Daniel’s touch burning in your skin, the wetness between your legs undeniable. Your shorts are already sticking to you, soaked from when his fingers slid over your slit. It’s hard to focus on anything else, but you need to move on, to pretend like you’re not dripping wet and aching for him to finish what he started.

Taking a deep breath, you walk over to the weights, setting yourself up for squats, your body instinctively falling into the rhythm of the workout. The bar rests heavy on your shoulders as you lower yourself, the strain of your muscles distracting you only for a moment from the throbbing between your legs.

You bite your lip, trying to concentrate, but the sensation is impossible to ignore, the fabric no longer doing anything to hide how turned on you are.

You can’t ignore Daniel’s presence, no matter how hard you try to focus on your workout. It’s like a thick, lustful cloud surrounding you, suffocating your concentration with every heavy breath he takes. Every grunt, every clink of metal as he lifts weights echoes through the gym over the music, making your core tighten with each sound. He had taken his shirt off now, sweat glistening over the hard planes of his chest, his muscles flexing with every movement.

You pretend to keep your focus, but you can feel it—the weight of his gaze burning into your skin. He’s watching you. Waiting.

You lower yourself again, your muscles quivering with the effort, but it’s not the workout that’s making your legs tremble. It’s the slick heat between your thighs, the way your soaked shorts cling to your skin, rubbing against your clit with every movement.

You feel his presence before you see him, the space between you shrinking as he steps closer. By the time you rise from your squat, Daniel is right in front of you, his eyes dark with intent. He doesn’t waste a second—his hands move instantly, cupping your tits through your sports bra as you try to finish your set. His fingers knead the sensitive flesh, thumbs brushing over your already hard nipples, making you gasp and falter under the weight of both the bar and his touch.

“You really think I’m going to let you finish this workout?” Daniel’s voice is low, husky, dripping with lust. “Not with the way you walked in here practically bare.”

Your breath hitches, legs shaking as his hands roam over your body. You try to maintain control, to focus on the bar resting on your shoulders, but the way Daniel’s fingers trace along your sides, slipping down to your waist, makes it impossible to concentrate. He’s everywhere, his touch overwhelming, possessive.

“Save your energy, baby,” he murmurs, leaning in close until his lips brush your ear. “You’re going to need it. You know I’m not stopping until you’re dripping in this fucking gym.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat surging through you, your cunt throbbing in response.

You shakily place the weight back into its spot, and as soon as your hands are free, they instinctively reach out to him, sliding over his sweat-slicked chest. The hard muscles beneath his skin flex under your palms, and you can’t help but bite your lip as you trace the lines of his abs, your mind already fogging with lust.

Daniel grabs your wrists, pulling you closer with a wicked grin, guiding you towards a workout bench. Your back meets the padded surface as he presses you down onto the bench. His hands move with purpose, pushing your thighs apart until you’re splayed open for him, your cunt visibly outlined by the damp fabric of your shorts.

Daniel’s fingers find the soaked material between your legs, pulling the fabric away from your dripping cunt, and pinching it until the wetness coats his fingertips.

His eyes darken as he looks at you. “Let’s make this easier, hmm?”

With a sudden, sharp motion, he tears the fabric right over your pussy, the sound of it ripping echoing through the gym now that his playlist had ended. The cool air hits your exposed, dripping cunt, making you shiver, but it’s Daniel’s fingers that make you gasp. He wastes no time, slipping two fingers between your folds, gathering your slickness as he drags them over your clit.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he whispers, his voice thick with lust as he circles your clit with slow, teasing strokes. His other hand slides up your body, pinching your nipple through your bra, sending a fresh wave of heat flooding your core. “You’re going to take whatever I give you, aren’t you? Right here, on this bench.”

Your body arches into his touch, legs spreading wider as you nod frantically, unable to form words. The thought of being taken right there, out in the open, dripping all over the equipment, makes your cunt throb with anticipation.

Daniel chuckles darkly, leaning down to nip at your ear as his fingers keep torturing your swollen clit. “Good girl. Now stay still, because I’m not stopping until you’re soaked in more than just sweat.”

In one fluid motion, Daniel pulls his cock out, thick and heavy in his hand, and the sight alone makes your walls clench in anticipation. He positions himself, the tip teasing the wetness between your folds, just barely brushing against your sensitive, slick skin. You’re so ready, your body practically begging for him, your pussy already pulsing with need as he slowly pushes into you. Inch by inch, he fills you through the hole in your torn shorts, stretching you in the most delicious way.

A guttural moan escapes you, your body trembling as he sinks deeper, the sensation of his cock sliding into your tight warmth overwhelming your senses. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt, filling you completely, your walls hugging him snugly. For a moment, all you can feel is the way he fits so perfectly inside you, leaving you breathless and needy.

Daniel’s grip on your waist tightens, and he starts to move, his hips rolling into you with a slow but intense rhythm. Each thrust sends a shockwave of pleasure through you, driving deeper with every motion. His fingers find your swollen clit again, rubbing in circles that match the pace of his hips, the pressure building with each stroke.

You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, your moans growing desperate, your body arching off the bench as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter inside you. He holds your legs apart, his thrusts becoming more intense, more deliberate, each one hitting that perfect spot inside you. The tension builds, and you can feel it—you’re about to squirt.

He pulls out just before you lose control. He taps your soaked cunt with his cock, the sensation almost too much as he rubs your clit, coaxing the orgasm out of you.

Your body shudders violently, and you cry out as your juices gush from you, soaking his cock and thighs. He keeps rubbing your clit, pushing you to the edge of overstimulation, making you gush even more. The wetness pools beneath you, and just when you think you can’t take any more, he slides back inside you in one swift thrust.

The feeling of him filling you again, his cock sliding through your slickness, sends you spiraling. He doesn’t hold back now, each thrust harder and faster than the last. Your body trembles, on the brink of another orgasm as he pounds into you, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every stroke.

“Come on, cum for me,” Daniel growls, his voice strained as he drives deeper, feeling your walls flutter around him. “I wanna feel you cum all over my cock.”

You can’t hold back any longer. Your body tenses, and with a broken moan, you fall over the edge, your cunt clenching tight around him as your orgasm rips through you. The pleasure is blinding, waves of heat crashing over you as your body spasms uncontrollably beneath him.

With one last deep thrust, Daniel groans, his grip on your hips tightening as he fills you, his cock pulsing as he spills into you, the heat of his cum mixing with your own. He holds you there, completely still for a moment, his cock twitching inside you as you both come down from the high.

When Daniel finally pulls out, the sensation of emptiness makes you whimper, and almost immediately, his cum begins to leak from the torn hole in your shorts. The warmth of it drips down onto the padded surface beneath you, mixing with your own slickness. Your legs are still spread wide, your body trembling, utterly spent and exposed.

Daniel stands over you, his eyes roaming over your flushed skin, your trembling thighs, and the mess between your legs. A satisfied smirk curls his lips. “Guess you’re gonna need to change,” he says, his voice low and teasing, like this is all part of some game you didn’t realize you were playing.

Still catching your breath, you blink up at him, the haze of pleasure lingering in your mind. “Shit… I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” you manage to murmur, your heart racing at the realization.

Daniel’s eyes darken with amusement, and he shrugs, completely unfazed. “No worries,” he says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “You can walk home like that, shower later.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief, your pulse quickening at the thought of leaving like this, with a torn hole in your shorts and his cum leaking out of you. “You want me to walk home with my pussy out? You ripped my shorts, Daniel. I can’t walk around like this!”

He chuckles, stepping closer, his fingers tracing the edges of the torn fabric. “You were such a good girl for me, coming here without panties, knowing damn well how easy it’d be for me to get inside you. And now? Since you forgot a change of clothes, you’re gonna have to walk home like the little slut you are, with my cum leaking out of you and that hole in your shorts.”

taglist: @thenotoriouserg @cheer-bear-go-vroom @ggaslyp1 @nominsgirl @moll1701 @mrs-saturday @teamnovalak @sassy-chan @ruti26-11 @kennysimp101 @falling-feels-like-flying @laeblue @tremendousstarlighttragedy @bountychanti @savewaterdrinkvodka @cloud-55 @aarchiives @holylovercopsludge @black-fireproofs @lazydragonpeach @biancathecool @myownwritings @rebelatbay @ethereal0810 @leclercsluvs @01rrdbull @fallingforfalll2 @lilorose25

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edgy-ella · 29 days ago

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I’m sure I’ve said this before but Helmut and Bob from Psychonauts 2 are probably one of the best written gay couples from a piece of media that isn’t overtly a romance/exploration of queer relationships and I’m mad I never see anyone talk about it

They are explicitly depicted as gay (you even go to a mental recreation of their wedding) without needing to stop and explain to Raz/the player what gay people are. No reliance on queer coding or room for interpretation.

They’re major characters (though not main) in the story and their relationship is a big part of Bob’s arc. It’s not like they’re only part of an optional side quest with ultimately no impact that can be skipped/patched out in other regions.

They have distinct personalities outside of just being The Gay Couple™

Their sexuality/queerness isn’t used as a source of angst, it’s just part of who they are. While they both clearly have their own issues and personal demons, so does everyone else in the game (Bob’s main source of angst is that Helmut seemingly died during the battle against Maligula, but that has nothing to do with them being gay. It’s not like either of them deal with overt homophobia and continue the narrative of “being gay sucks because people will always hate you for it”).

Helmut starts off the game essentially dead, but by the end he’s able to live on as a brain in a hamster wheel with the promise of him eventually getting his body back. I think for a lot of folks but especially queer people, the hopeful message of enduring through difficult and sometimes even deadly times is very poignant and inspiring. It’s kind of like a reverse fridging/bury your gays lol

Their sexuality was never used as a marketing gimmick during the game’s prerelease period (in fact, I’m not sure it was ever mentioned during the marketing at all). This is especially noteworthy because Helmut got a lot of press otherwise because he’s voiced by Jack Black and gets his own song.

Everyone please play Psychonauts 1 and 2 they’re so good even if 2 ruined my headcanons

#Psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #helmut fullbear #bob zanotto #fullbob #pride month #video games #gay men #hall of fame

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gettinontopic · 2 months ago

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Way too many binary trans people (Edit: Op is actually nonbinary as well. Which makes this all more baffling for me?)

Because this is still showing desperation for a world where they have people guess their gender based on appearance bc my daily experience is nothing but a hypothetical to them.

It's not degendering unless they explicitly know your pronouns and gender and circumvent it using neutral terms.

Using Neutral pronouns when you do not know someones pronouns is not fucking degendering it's making the world safer for nonbinary people and trans people everywhere.

For fucks sake what the hell why are we going backwards on the things that allow our genders not to be assumed by cis people?? why are we moving the line to where they would want it???

Why the fuck is it so hard to believe those who try and stay inclusive of nonbinary people are out to get you and your fucking gender?

Like this was so uneeded!!!

Not to mention you know full and well it was not degndering (A purposeful act) bc you know it would be misgendering you to call you she/her or a woman if you were nonbinary. You acknowledge that right there. So it also at worst is this person unmaliciously misgendering you on accident.

But that's not it and you know it! It was a stranger at the bar! They do not know you so it makes sense they're not assuming!

You however assumed the pronouns and gender idenity of everyone else involved though so maybe I shouldn't be surprised that you don't care much for breaking cis peoples need to make assumptions either.

#also im uh #sick of seeing that shit where we act like person is gender invalidating #we are all persons #thats litterally correct for anyone #g speaks #exorsexism #nbphobia

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bones4thecats · 8 days ago

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Can i request Yandere platonic saja boys with young teen male idol

Like reader is a singer whos probably 13-17, who looks young for their age and is blind in one eye with a scar over it. Like reader been a idol for years and is probably friends with Huntrix, so the saja boys decided to try and befriend reader for information but almost immediately decided this is their new son/baby brother. While they follow him around even trying to get reader to quit his solo act and join them, reader just wants nothing to do with them, especially because the saja boys baby him.

Just imagine the internet going insane with theory’s about reader being related to the saja boys and the saja boys hinting at it while reader trys to clear the rumors. The boys probably wanting their king to make reader a demon

↳ Songbird of HUNTR/X the Saja Boys.

A K-Pop Demon Hunters × Young-Teen, Male Idol! Reader.

Requester: @vampirnico.

Characters Included: Jinu, Abs, Romance, Baby, and Mystery Saja.

Possible Trigger Warnings: Mentions of stalking, hints of murder (not explicitly said though), delusion, hinted obsessions, and cyber-stalking.

A/N: The Reader is inspired by Stray Kid's Hwang Hyunjin. Specifically, his appearance in this picture: link. Also, some things in your request weren't explicitly put it, but I believe I got them all. Sorry if I missed anything. Hope you like it!

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🎤 JINU. He views hard work as an admirable quality in someone, especially in the people he holds dear. So, when he went up to the surface to scope out how he and the rest of the boys could invade the Idol Industry, he had appeared at one of your concerts. He saw how devoted and hardworking you were, and he began to watch over you like a hawk. Did he take the form of his bird to stalk you? Yes. Who knows? He does love babying you once befriended, seeing it as a second chance to be a better older brother. Hates how close you are the Hunters, wants them out of the picture and you to become a demon to be by his side forever. He's the best at talking to you, but still fails at convincing you to quite your solo performances and join the Saja Boys.

💪 ABBY. This guy is known far and wide for his physique, and when he saw how devoted you were to your own in order to please the fans, he felt a pride he never thought he'd feel. He was the slowest to get close to you, mainly due to his issue of his shirts always showing his abs and distracting you from your work; which annoyed you to no end. He stalks you the least, always making sure you know he's there and watching. Abby hints the most that you're related, and gets slightly upset when you deny the claims and describe him as "just a friend, no blood relation whatsoever." He fails at convincing you to join the Saja Boys the most, never really good at talking to you without messing up his words. 💖 ROMANCE. He loves how devoted you are to your fans, seeing it as destiny that you were meant to be brothers. He does not take kindly to the others claiming to be your brother as well, so whenever asked by interviewers or fans, he says they're "just like brother-figures while he was more of a blood-brother." This leads to rumors which you turn down. It's because of Romance's words that HUNTR/X actually begins to block contact from them more, trying to keep you safe. Romance doesn't view watching you from the shadows as stalking, he sees it as protecting his family. And if you catch him watching, he plays it off as if he's ran into you. But, you don't think two people can run into each other backstage like you would in the grocery store. ☄️ MYSTERY. Mystery is the one who is always clinging to you, barking and growling lowly at anyone surrounding you that he got even the smallest amount of bad vibes from. Especially HUNTR/X. During the meet-and-greet for example, when a fan brought a photograph of you and the girls for each of them to sign, he gritted his teeth and balled his hands in fists in anger. Doesn't verbally claim to be your brother, but doesn't deny the claims in the slightest. Fans only suspect you're related because of your shared quality of hiding your eyes; you doing it because of your scar and him doing it for... unknown reasons. Does want you to become a demon, but wouldn't force you. He likes your humanity quite a bit, surprisingly. Stalks you the most, and is the best at doing it because he knows how to be silent and blend in with his surroundings, despite his bright-colored hair. 🎼 BABY. Hates the Hunters as much as the others, but hates the fact that you're extremely close to them more. If any interviewer asks if you're dating one of the HUNTR/X girls, he shrugs and passes it off, saying you're just friends and "wouldn't abandon your brother is such a way." When asked to clarify if you're actually biological brothers or just friend-brothers, he shrugs and tells them to "make an estimated guess". Rumors spread, you clean up the mess, and you begin to have animosity between the two of you. Baby also stalks you the second-most, not physically though. He tends to stalk your socials more, ghosting in a fake account and only reacting to certain things; hiding himself well between the thousands of interactions of fans. He doesn't try convincing you to join the Saja Boys a lot, the topic only comes out when you question your life as a solo-artist. But, no matter how down you are, you always turn his offers to join his group down.

"Hey!" Zoey calls from the door of the elevator. In her hands is a tiny, dog-edible cake. Your long-haired chihuahua barking happily as his tail wagged, tiny pieces of his fur moving like a wave of seawater on the shores.

"Hey, Zoey! How have you been?" You asked when inside.

"Perfect! Actually, I've been working on the collab between HUNTR/X and 'The Prince'!" She exclaimed, holding up one of her journals after putting the dog-cake down on the counter.

"Sounds nice. Can't wait to actually start performing. The fans are gonna love this, no doubt."

Hearing two voices call your name, you looked behind you. Walking in from the hall was Rumi and Mira, who were in their comfort clothes, much like Zoey. You smiled and embraced the two, only stopping when you heard Zoey turn on the TV.

"BREAKING NEWS: IS SOUTH KOREA'S YOUNGEST MALE IDOL RELATED TO THE HIT NEW BOY BAND THE SAJA BOYS' MEMBERS? MIN-SEO IS ON THE CASE." You heard the host say.

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you sat down on the couch beside the black-haired idol. She was confused; the Saja Boys were demons, how would you be related to them?

Rumi and Mira on the other hand were upset. This was no doubt not the first time you've heard this, based on your reaction.

The purple and pink haired girls leaned on the couch from behind and watched as an interviewer named Min-Seo asked the demonic boy band questions.

"So, there is a rumor going around the fans that one of you boys, or all of you according to some, is related to hit solo artist 'The Prince'. Is this correct or just another rumor?"

The boys each chuckled and glanced at each other, their eyes each flashing golden yellow before they spoke back to the woman.

"Depends." Jinu began. "What do they mean by 'related'. Musically or biologically? Because, answering such a question is quite frankly difficult without..." He fake pondered. "Details."

Your eyebrows furrowed as you felt your dog curl up on the couch in between Zoey and you. His soft fur just barely touching your balled-up fist.

"I believe what they mean by is blood related." Min-Seo clarified, obviously oblivious to their taunting.

"Might have to take a DNA test on that. But, you never know, I guess." Romance said, his lips rested upwards in a delicately-crafted smile. "After all... there are always possibilities to every rumor."

Grabbing your phone from your pocket, you pressed the app directly to your manager. Texting him furiously to let out a statement as soon as possible that the rumors were false along with the results from the DNA test you had taken literally a couple days prior when they got back.

He agreed and told you it was on the top of his to-do list, and wished you luck in this scenario. Thanking him and hearing the TV turn off along with feeling three pairs of arms wrap around you from behind, you smiled.

"Don't worry," Rumi said. "I'm sure this'll all pass over soon."

"Yeah." Zoey agreed. "Rumors rise and fall. Kind of like a balloon!"

Mira chuckled. "Besides, they've asked us quite a bit if we were related. That's passed, this will too."

"Thanks girls." You said, hugging them back as best as you could before they pulled away and took deep breaths.

"You want some Ramyeon? It's your favorite flavor~" Rumi said, pointing towards the kitchen. Now, you could smell the noodles and broth. And it was true; it was your favorite flavor.

Nodding as you stood up and whistled for your pup to follow you, you agreed.

You loved these girls like your older sisters; thank goodness you were there with them and not alongside those teasing and taunting Saja Boys.

Unbeknownst to you, they were always there. Watching. Waiting. And planning for your rise into demon-hood, whether you wanted it or not.

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fantastic-nonsense · 24 days ago

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I think I'm so mad about Red Hood because it IS a really interesting plot for Jason, the concept of a Jason+Helena team-up is super interesting, and the writer is both a woman and by all accounts a very good writer. So to see Helena being treated like this and Jason seemingly undergoing his nth character regression cycle given the book's theoretical potential is doubly upsetting where it otherwise would have just been another line in the "Jason in a bad book? Must be Wednesday" category.

The book is explicitly being billed as a 17+ "gritty, bloody, sexy, and stripped down" Red Hood ongoing. The editor, Arianna Turturro, said that Jason will "be killing people—a lot" in it. I already disagree with that approach because it is a useless step backwards from where we have been with Jason since "Cheer" in 2021, when he said he would no longer kill people and gave up his guns. You can do an interesting story about Jason returning to killing, obviously, but this is...not it. I'm not pleased about everything Martinbrough tried to establish in The Hill getting thrown away, either. That said, I'm willing to reserve judgement on the book re: Jason because the rest of the book's plot from Jason's end sounds interesting.

But...Helena. I've been begging for more Helena content, and the concept of a Jason-Helena team-up is super interesting! Helena was the OG black sheep! She filled Jason's niche for 15 years before Jason was resurrected, and having them interact so Jason can further deconstruct his philosophy that "killing criminals is worth it" with someone who has actually gotten revenge on the men who killed her family and childhood is a fascinating concept!

Unfortunately this book isn't interested in that; instead it's seemingly more concerned with the spectacle of letting Jason be a discount Punisher (again) and shoving Helena into being an accessory and romantic interest in Jason's story. This is not just me speculating based on the clickbait variant covers btw; multiple members of the creative team have confirmed that's what they're doing with Jason and Helena:

"Is it steamy in a good way?" "Everything's steamy in a good way if you look hard enough." -Becca Carey, the book's letterer

And from the official book announcement:

"Every element of the book highlights the core aspects of Jason’s character—his difficulties with personal connections, his badass training, his brooding hotness, and his violent approach to heroism. Which means he’ll be killing people—a lot. Let me repeat myself: this is the story Jason Todd fans have been waiting for.” ......... Red Hood #1 arrives in comic shops and digital platforms on September 10, 2025, and will be available to preorder and add to pull lists beginning Friday, June 20. Get ready for an angsty, sexy, and violent new chapter in Jason Todd’s legend.

Not to mention this quote (also from the announcement):

“Jason isn’t a regular antihero who coldly does things their own way and feels nothing,” continued Turturro. "He is an exposed nerve, a beating heart with no protection, a man lashing out at both his world and himself for the violence he has survived. Helena deeply understands where Jason has come from. They're two severely broken people who can't help but hurt themselves and others… and together they might just end up bringing out each other’s worst instincts."

This quote is all well and good from Jason's perspective, though again somewhat outdated as of "Cheer"; I've said as much before about him, after all. But this does not describe Helena Bertinelli. Helena is a schoolteacher. She is someone who's haunted by violence but refuses to continue to let it define her after her initial revenge/return to Gotham arc. That's the whole point of Helena: she is someone who got revenge on the people who hurt her, found it did not fill the chasm inside of her, and learned to live with that by helping and teaching others. And with all of the Christian iconography being dropped from her costume (which is also ugly as sin compared to her Infinite Frontier-era one), we've got yet another red flag that the creative team doesn't understand or care who Helena is outside of "the other violent black sheep of the Batfam."

Also...yes, Helena is more violent and a lot more morally flexible than the other Bats. But while she's generally portrayed as someone who is willing to kill, she's only actually killed four people in her entire 37 year history as a character and all but one were directly connected to her family's deaths: two of the deaths were the same incident and one of her first acts of vigilantism (Mandragora and his bodyguard), one wasn't even a direct kill—and in fact she outright stated she wasn't going to be the one to kill him (Santo Cassamento), and one occurred while she was a completely different character and unrecognizable as Helena Bertinelli (Mr. Minos), so I think we can count that one as an aberration and move on.

She didn't even kill Omerta, the man who actually showed up to her house and killed her parents; originally Mandragora killed him, and in Huntress: Year One Helena just cut out his tongue and took her cross necklace back. Helena doesn't like killing and she doesn't want to kill; she was raised in a very particular dysfunctional family system and believed that belonging to that family required certain things of her ("blood cries for blood"). She even outright said it:

"...I only kill for money." "I only kill for closure." -Huntress: Year One (2008) #6

Maybe the writer will work with that. Maybe she won't. But ultimately the signs are not looking good at all for this book as it relates to Helena as a character and I'm incredibly disappointed so far in everything I've seen related to the book that isn't the base-level plot.

#jason todd #helena bertinelli #red hood #huntress #dc comics #jason todd meta #helena bertinelli meta

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th3sungod · 7 months ago

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parkner au where harley technically remembers peter, and is very concerned that tony suddenly stopped talking about him one day.

he remembers hearing about tony's insanely smart intern and how he rivals even tony's genius ( harley would beg to differ on principal but tony never says that about anyone ) so he assumes the kid must be special. he absentmindedly assumed the kid was spider-man, and when he asked, tony simply told him 'i can neither confirm nor deny' which basically answer that question.

but, he never got a name for the intern. spider-man. the kid. underoos. spider-boy. spiderling. 'one of the two people fully responsible for every grey hair on his head' -- all names used, but never explicitly stating a name.

and, when after nearly a month and a half of not hearing a thing from Tony about him, he asks. at first he assumes he has no new stories since it's been a hot minute since Tony's even been able to do anything other than sit in bed and recover, but something isn't sitting right with him. he asks where's the intern been, and says as much about not hearing anything, throwing in a joke or two about leaving him on the side of the road, but Tony is silent.

"Who?"

"Uhh- your intern? Spider-man? Don't tell me you're already forgetting in your old age." Harley jokes dryly.

Except, Tony actually has no clue why Harley would think Spider-man interns for him. And, he doesn't seem to remember any instances he'd brought up when trying to jog his memory. He says he remembers Spidey helping for a few different things, but never stayed to chat and never revealed his identity.

So, given that it's not particularly out of the question, he automatically assume an alien has taken over Tony Stark's body and calls Pepper. And Pepper knows nothing. And after a very frantic bout of questioning, he takes the initiative to drive all the way to New York.

He doesn't know The Avengers, he talked to Rhodes and Vision maybe once at Tony's wedding, but something is most obviously wrong so his first thought is to tell them. Get there before whatever took over Tony's body, or is impersonating him, or something doesn't have the time to infiltrate the world's mightiest heroes.

No one knows anything. Happy said he drove him once, but he was in full costume and he doesn't remember the starting address off the top of his head. He feels like he's going crazy. He tells Tony as much.

He tells Tony about the kid from Queens he picked up basically off the side of the road, gave him a new suit, and every single story he can remember Tony told him about Spidey. It's a fucking long shot, but he recounts the Vulture incident and about how he took the suit, so he has to know who's under the mask.

Eventually, Tony tries picking out specifics about the dates Harley mentions, and can't honestly tell him what happened otherwise -- other than things that definitely don't add up.

Harley, now trying to think back to ever since time Tony even mentioned the kid, while simultaneously trying to figure out why the vigilante has been subsequently missing since around the time Tony stopped mentioning him, puts himself to work immediately. He said the kid had an aunt, he doesn't know her name. He went to one of the best STEM schools in New York, but he doesn't know which one. But, there are discrepancies. The AI he knows Tony made the kid is still functioning, though it won't locate since the HUDs been off for nearly a month.

Slowly, Harley finds himself spending every waking hour thinking of Spider-man, one of the world's finest, who simply fell off the face of the earth. And, by the time he finds concrete proof in the form of a picture and a name, Tony finally brings him to a resident wizard to help. There are no files on Peter Parker anywhere, so maybe magic will help?

What they find is a scrawny teenager half dead in an abandoned train station, wearing what's left of a spider-suit underneath dingy clothes. he's balled up, and doesn't hold a lick of peace in sleep.

he decides, then and there, he isn't leaving New York until whatever happened is fixed, and everyone remembers peter again. he doesn't know why any of this happened, but he's gonna damn help as much as he can.

( harley would've definitely heard the news of some teenager being outed as being spidey, but he never got a name. he did see a picture, so any memories of the outing are wiped from his mind. )

#peter parker #harley keener #harley keener x peter parker #parkner #parley #spider man headcannon #au #tony stark is alive cause i said so #alternate universe #it doesn't technically have to be parkner #peters going though a lot right now #but i think harley might've already fallen for him when tony talked about him everytime they spoke #i dunno either way i think it'd be cool

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theactofknowing · 7 months ago

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take a shot for me

You and Jayce Talis are friends — good friends, even — and it’s no surprise for the two of you to be found drinking. You’re young, free from the shackles of true responsibility, and the bar is the perfect place to go.

What does surprise you, however it came to be, is what falls into your hands when you invite him into your apartment after a night out.

tags: smut, mutual pining, AU!modern setting but it’s not explicitly stated, sub!jayce, WHO SAID THAT(!!!), loss of virginity because HELLO JAYCE ARCANE. NOT beta read. forgive me

wc: 4.5k

Golden eyes — happy sun-yellow, warm and bubbling companionably with tipsy indulgence — meet yours.

Your gaze falters for a moment as you take him in; the unsteady lean against the bar which he tries to play off as a suave stance, the slight shine on his lips from his drink.

“You’re such a lightweight,” Jayce says, small smile curling his lips — which are only slightly asymmetrical, you’ve stared at them often enough to recognize it.

The recognition you have has been built over the past months. Two academy students; oriented together in the same lectures seats apart, till the courses increased and the distance dimmed, sat side-by-side.

Your connection had grown in the class setting, though it thrived outside of it— blooming like a flower exposed to the sun. Conversations started with work, class, then shifted into something more boisterous, entertaining, to nights in the bar more than was healthy.

“Bull,” you retort, making move to stand from your chair. You’d meant to leave ages ago, when you saw how depressing the bar life had been. It was a weekday, and you and Jayce were mixed along with divorced singles and depressed fathers. Jayce’s company, however, kept you idle.

He’s kind enough to not mention your slight sway when you rise from your seat. You pull your coat on, closing it under your chin, and he does the same.

“Take me home,” you say, joke lacing your tone, and he complies. He holds his arm out for you to grasp onto, which you gratefully take as he leads the two of you into the chilly night.

“Do we have a drinking problem?” You ask, recalling your frequency at the bar. You pull yourself closer to his side, leeching the warm heat that emulated from him as easy as breathing.

The night streets are dimmed, shrouding the intricate architecture and well-loved streets from your eyes. It meant little, not when the both of you knew the way like muscle memory. Your feet carry you easily, shuffling softly against the streets.

In the dark, you can’t see his features when he turns to look at you, making his voice more clear in the position. “Maybe you do,” he says, and you know he has a smug look on his face, one eyebrow raised — the right one, with the knick in it. Part of you wishes to see it.

You scoff, playfully swatting his padded arm as you accuse him of being beside you all those drunken nights. Youthful laughter echoes through the street, quieting down as you turn once, twice onto your street.

He departs from you, keeping an eye as you reach your apartment door. You stand there silently for a moment, contemplating, then turn towards him. You know you must look odd, fondling the doorknob and standing still like you don’t know how to open your door.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask, surprising yourself with the question as you do. You aren’t sure what your intentions are; helping a friend get out of the climate, or help him take his pants off. Either would be fine.

Fortunately the weather has long turned cold, winter swirling around the corner, and the wind is the perfect explanation for the heat in your cheeks — just nipped numb and warm from the weather, nothing more.

His brows raise in surprise, like he isn’t sure either of your intent either. “Yeah, yes.”He nods quickly, taking a moment to bury his face in his coat as you turn away.

Your home is dark, quiet, with midnight-moon light painting a cool glow over the belongings within. Flicking on one light, a lamp near the couch, you move with a one-track mind.

Shucking off your coat, then hobbling over to rip your shoes off, which Jayce laughs at when you stumble, though he denies this. You ask yourself why you invited him in as you move about, though you aren’t opposed to the idea — you enjoy his company, his refreshing intelligence, the kindness he possessed to do good and share it.

You plop yourself on the couch, your lack of full sobriety existing as a slight tingle behind your eyes, giving you the kick you need. “Come hither,” you joke, motioning with your finger as you rest your head against one cushion.

Jayce has been in your home often enough to recognize where his belongings go, how you want him to kick his shoes off at the door, before moving to join you. He laughs quietly and sits down next to you, eyes swimming with subdued mirth.

It’s comfortable, sitting together and letting companionable silence come and go like the wind. Easy conversation flows between you, speaking on projects and things processed in the academy, papers to be done and stamped.

Eventually, your mind starts to wander. His voice fades into the background, a warm sound that reminds you of blankets and drinks together, although it means little in the moment.

Openly, you watch his lips. You wonder if they’re soft, if you can taste the drink on his breath and lick the remnants from his mouth. Typically you’d reel these thoughts in, slap a big shame sticker atop them, though you have little care in your happy state.

You begin to scoot closer, inch by inch. Jayce doesn’t notice till he does, eyebrows silently furrowed as he tries to deduce if you’ve moved closer, or if he’s had too much to drink.

You’re not quite sure what your plan is, what your means are. Distracted by the premise of your feelings, Jayce could ask you if you were an idiot, and in your otherworldly state you’d probably say yeah, sure, without processing the question.

One inch, then another, and you’re sat beside him. You can feel his legs shift beside you, always having to move, to fidget. He’s long been quiet, watching you with open curiosity and, perhaps wariness, as you gaze upon him.

Your head comes to rest upon his shoulders, and you know the angle looks good on you — coy smile pulling at your lips, long lashes fluttering around your open, speaking eyes — and he stares at you in surprise.

Slipping slowly, your hand trails up his bicep — you’re unsure what your plan is, but it feels good to exist here, here in the moment, and maybe your past self was wrong for withholding you — and settles on the curve of his chest.

There’s a clear shift in the means of his visit by now, and he’s caught on. He’s watching, waiting expectantly, seeing if this is a prank or something more, something real and curling around his heart.

Yellow eyes turned sunset-sky dark, overshadowed by the slight of his dilated pupils, watch you. There’s a question lingering in his open eyes, one of uncertainty and for the knowledge of more.

“Jayce,” you sigh, unable to articulate your want and your certainty through nothing more than a whisper. Your hands are at his chest — not quite pawing at the softness like you’d like — fingers drawing impatient lines.

A breath, two, then you will yourself to move in. You feel air pass between you, still shifting into electric sparks as your lips near one another. You can envision the curve of his lips as your lids shut, how it’ll feel licking into his mouth. Just before they do, Jayce stops you.

“I’m…” his voice is low, face pinched in a grimace. “I’ve never, I’m…”

Never… what? And oh, surprise hits you like a truck when the realization settles. Jayce Talis, a virgin? Your thoughts must show on your face because he starts to scoot away from you, shutting himself out.

Quickly, you grab his bicep. “That’s okay.” You squeeze reassuringly, hoping and praying you haven’t scared him off. Jayce was, above all else and the lust in your brain, once of your closest friends. “Seriously. And I’m fine going as fast or… or as slow as you want.”

He looks at you disbelievingly, though a hesitant smile plays on his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. Shamefully, part of you revels in this. Heat licks at your groin at the thought of being the only one to see him so, to have his hands on your skin and voice in your ear.

He’s not saying no to you, he’s warning you, between the lines saying he wants you to be the first. You should take this revelation slow, have a first date and build up the promise of the good he could have. Your mouth moves before you can decide. “Let me… show you a good time?”

He nods, both of you lost for words as the gap diminishes. The ache inside you — thumping heavily in your chest and urging your hands to move, feel — burns brighter, gasoline of his lips exciting it so.

The moment your lips connect, you can’t help but sigh. The sparks you felt are burning, urging you to slip closer, to shut your eyes snd let the waves wash over you.

Jayce is enthusiastic, lips clumsily pressing against yours in a rhythm that’s hard to follow. You don’t find fault in that, not when you know you’re shaking with just as much need as he is. In the interval, where your breaths are one and your skin is hot, his need slips and he begins to follow your lead.

You push him against the couch, eyes still shut and unwilling to depart from him more than necessary. He gasps into your mouth when you settle in his lap, fists clenched painfully at his sides as he’s uncertain of what to do, how to do it.

Unrelenting, you push further into him. He loves this, it seems, as he arches in response, curling himself into the warmth and smell of you. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, memorizing the dips and curves of his body on the chance you’ll never experience this again. Ever the multitasker, your hands begin to fumble the buttons on his shirt, painstakingly slipping them free till his torso is bare to you.

Your lips separate from his, dragging a slick trail of kisses of want across his cheek, jaw, the thin skin by his ear. Oh, you know you’re doing something right when his head falls to your shoulder, pitched sigh of his gracing your ear as you suck the skin.

Flushed, the mark left behind blooms. There’s a tenseness in his shoulders as you draw back to review your work, and for a breath you worry that you’ve done something wrong. It dawns on you when you see the shift of his hips, the slight press into the seat below, that he’s resisting the urge to grind.

Heat blooms in your core when you realize he’s trying to be good, to follow your unspoken instructions to follow your lead. You take incentive and grind your clothed cunt against his tented trousers, the grind wonderfully heavy as the seam of your pants press against your clit.

His hips rut upwards sharply, surprised moan warm against your collarbones. Open-mouthed breaths pass between you, swirling in the air and suffocating in your ears, as the two of you curve together. His upwards grinds are inconsistent and fueled by his natural instinct to move, but lack of experience simmers alongside it.

You whisper Jayce’s name with a soft hand on his chest, which he takes as sign to stop. He doesn’t seem to process that his hips are still shifting an inch, like he’ll explode if he ceases his movements, but he watches you painfully expectantly.

The room is dim as you hadn’t bothered to flick on the light, though an adjacent lamp beams behind your head, haloing a soft glow around your head that blocks the light from kissing along his frame. For a moment you wish you withheld till you got to your bedroom or at least flicked on more light.

That worry passes by quickly when you take in what you can see — the soft parting of his reddened lips, the pleased furrow of his brows — he’s looking at you like you’re the lit candle in a shrouded room, like you’re the illuminated masterpiece of art in a room of lackluster beauties.

You can feel his clothed cock against your core, impatiently pressing close enough as though he could break out of his pants and yours. Grasping the back of the couch, you lean forward. You lift your hips by a few inches, punctuating your lifted dance with a hearty grind.

Curling and warming; you’d been tipsy when you entered your apartment, drink pulsing in your blood and inebriating your veins. Arousal and want for more pulsed instead, shaking your hands and holding your breath, and you weren’t sure you could live with the unresolved tension.

“How do you want me?” You ask breathlessly, though you aren’t sure he could answer. He’s been panting against your skin, wet lips dragging along the unmarred canvas. His grip on you, once shy and courteous, now hold you with such strength that he could fuck up into you however.

A whine. “My hands? Mouth? …” there’s a question that hangs in the silence. Do you want to fuck me? It asks. You swallow thickly imagining it, of him bending you over the couch or you in his lap, whispering in his ear as he whimpered in yours. He must be imagining the same because he presses into your heat, jumpy for you.

“You— well, hah,” Jayce babbles, sentence accentuated by his soft moan. You can hear the click of his throat as he swallows, voice almost hoarse as he speaks, “anywhere, anything. Just you, please.”

Your breath stutters for a moment, unsure how to respond appropriately. You lean forward and press your lips to his — sharing your unspoken want through unrelenting kisses, your shared pining in your teeth as you nip at his lip.

After a breath and slick kisses, you part from him and he lifts himself trying to chase your lips. He looks almost pained to be separated from you, the heat of your body. You shimmy down his frame, nudging his legs apart to kneel between them.

“You’re going to— you want to—?” He asks, shocked at the motion you’ve set. You give him a look, one of disbelief and certainty. He nods, understanding, more than excited to let the waves pass over him.

Your hands settle first at his knees, then slowly dance up the covered skin, fingers twirling and leaving a trail of promises as they near where he must be aching. Every drag upwards seems to hurt him with the way his muscles dramatically tense, brow pinching inch and inch further.

With you gripping his thighs for support, you lean in. You press your mouth against his groin, cheek petting the fabric as you kiss where his cock rests. He jumps like he’s been burned, then curls in towards you like he isn’t sure if he wants to run away or into the feeling.

You take a breath to look up at Jayce, though you don’t separate yourself from him. You imagine that the sensation is dimmed through all the fabric, but his mouth hangs open like you’re already sucking him off. His arm sits on the backrest, curling to press the back of his hand against his open lips.

It must be an erotic sight, you realize. Your frame, small when compared to his in this scenario, pressed against his long, long legs, like you’re trapped there. His eyes — golden sun, marigold circle around his blown pupils — won’t leave yours as you blink hazily up at him, nuzzling against his cock like you’re worshipping it, him.

Pressing your cheek against his thigh, you lift your free hand up. Your fingers dance along the seam of his pants, curling excitedly along where the button rests. One of the two layers that separates you from the heat of him, you’re glad to be rid of it.

You look up to him, silent question gracing him as your nimble digits circle the button. This is his first time — you don’t want to push him, overwhelm him, but you want him — and you can see he’s nervous in the stiffness of his frame.

“We don’t have to do anything.” You softly remind him, fingers smoothing away an invisible wrinkle in his pants. Your hands are antsy.

“No, no— Gods, please—“ he closes his eyes, legs spreading further in an invitation, “I want you.” I want you if you want me, he means.

Jayce’s hands slip to his pants before you can, pushing the button through the eyelet and hold your breath in your chest till it hurts, and you aid him the rest of the way. He moans unashamedly as the heaviest restriction on his cock is freed, leaving him nearly skin clad.

His boxers are still on, too shy and riddled with nerves to expose himself just yet. He’s watching you carefully, waiting to see your reaction as if you’d ever react negatively. You halt his worries by returning to your spot, lashes tickling your cheeks as you mouth along the clear shape of him.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Jayce whines as you suck on the covered tip of his cock. He can’t sit still while your tongue laves the precum-dampened spot on his boxers, wetting the fabric till it plastered to his cock within. His thighs are shaking next to your dipped head, like he’s fighting the urge to clamp them against your skull.

You’ve hardly done anything and he’s already falling apart. You peek up at him to the best of your ability, unwilling to pull away your mouth; his head is tipped back, only leaving his heaving chest for you to see, in and out.

Such open and honest responses have you sighing against him, focusing on the feel of him against you and the heavy pulsing in your cunt. You feel like you’re about to explode, like a bubbling kettle bursting with steam at the edges. Your lid is about to pop.

The pressure has long gone past aching, so you decide to relieve yourself with your free hand. You pop open the button on your pants with a quiet jingle, fingers slipping between your folds. You huff, warm breath wrapping around Jayce’s cock and it jumps against your skin.

There’s a sharp intake of air above you, and you open your eyes to find Jayce watching you. Your gaze meets just as the meat of your palm grinds against your clit, mouth dropping open as pleasure shoots up your spine.

You whimper his name, face shifting momentarily away as you forget what you were occupied with, and he chokes on air. His hand comes down quickly to grasp himself, breathing through the motions, like he was about to cum. “You… oh,” he whispers, starstruck. He’s getting off on this, seeing you lose yourself with his name in your mouth.

He can’t help himself, it seems, as he takes himself fully in hand and his boxers start to fall away. There’s a soft shlick sound that fills the air, wet head of his cock sliding his hands smoothly. His open-mouthed panting shows how overwhelmed he is, how one squeeze too many could have his cum painting his knuckles.

You wonder what he’s thinking about, if he’s imagining fucking you or painting your face. Watching him, you ache. You have to have him now, you decide as his thick hands squeeze himself indulgently.

You bat away his hand and he easily complies, nails poking under the band of his shifting boxers as you look up to him with the unspoken question. He nods enthusiastically, no longer shy and embarrassed, and lifts his hips to assist you.

He pops completely free from his boxers and exhales thankfully. You, on the same level, are incredibly thankful to be here. The tip of his cock shines with precum, twitching something fierce when you reach forward and use your still-slick hand to pull the foreskin down and expose him to the cool air.

Your hand slips, inching down the length of his shaft till your thumb rests on the sensitive circle of skin just by his sack, thumb circling softly. Jayce squirms under the pressure, though unwilling to voice his needs without your say-so or inquiry — always looking to please.

Lips trailing, you kiss up his exposed thigh, biting back a pleased smile when the muscle twitches beneath your touch. Trailing further and further up… you pass by his cock, much to his dismay.

The soft fuzz of his abdomen tickles your face where you press against him, stomach twitching beside you. As you lean more into the couch, his cock presses against your chest. He squirms, as if burdened by the uncomfortable pressure.

“Please,” Jayce says, never having been burdened by his open emotions and desires. You love that about him. He begins to murmur nearly inaudibly, “please, please, please…”

You draw back, looking inquisitively at him. You know you’re playing mean, though you can’t bring yourself to feel guilt. “Please what?”

“I want…” he swallows, thinking about how he should respond. “I want your mouth on me. Please.”

“My mouth was just on you.” You remind him, head tilted to the side.

“My— my cock.” He relents. His ears must be burning with a shocked flush, but you aren’t paying enough attention to actually check. “I want you to suck me off,” he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, “I feel like I’m about to explode.”

Laughing softly, you move to fulfill his request. The air in your living room has shifted multiple times throughout the evening — once electric and stifling, now shifting into something slower, more memorable.

Your mouth falls open and you lick up the side of his cock, lips plump around his shaft. You can tell he’s shaking from the anticipation, and you wonder how long he’ll last.

You breathe in once and then wrap your lips around the head of his cock, sucking softly as to not overwhelm him.

“Yes— oh, yes,” Jayce is loud with it, his gratitude and pleasure. He’s trying not to move too much underneath you, to let you work as you please, but he can’t resist his back from arching dramatically. You pray the neighbors don’t hear his cries. “Hah, oh…”

Bobbing slightly, you let yourself be lost to the sensation. You urge yourself to take him in further, to press your tongue against his sensitive underside as the head glides smoothly into your waiting mouth. With each slip down, you catch a whiff of him — woodsy like charcoal, mixed in with the natural scent of him that embodies him so well.

You know he’s not going to last longer when his cock twitches in your mouth, gasps of his filling your ears and traveling straight to your clit.

“Oh, you—“ he’s mewling now, unable to resist the slight curve of his hips into your mouth. His hand comes to curl in your hair, not demanding, but rather grounding himself as the world slips away. “Fuck, yes— yesyesyesyes—“

You pull your mouth up as spurts of him start to coat your tongue. He’s fighting to keep his lids open, to watch as you open yourself so readily for him. Lips parting, your tongue cradles the underside of his cock as his cum paints your tastebuds — salty, enticing you for more — and his jumping tip.

He sits still for a moment, recalibrating his sensors as you let the sense wash over you. With one final suck and kiss, which Jayce gasps and jolts with as the sensitivity burns him, you pull off him.

“That was…” Jayce wheezes, dopey smile pulling at his uneven lips. You laugh in agreement, taking in his wrecked form as you do, the sheen on his bare skin. “Holy shit. Get up here,” he leans over and pulls you up onto his lap with a strength you forgot he possessed.

He breathes against you for a moment, arching into your touch as your hands glide across his skin. If he could, you imagine he’d be purring. He pulls back from you to meet your eyes, a powerful glint in his own; the same one he possesses when he has an excellent, exciting plan.

“Can I… return the favor?” His fingers curl at your open waistband, still unbuttoned from your earlier pursuits. At the mention, your arousal floods back overwhelmingly fast, knocking your knees weak. You nod quickly, afraid words would fail you.

Your pants are gone in an instant — albeit with an awkward dance as neither of you want to separate, chests heaving and dragging together in the tight spot you’ve dug — leaving you bare at the waist down. Wet, damp, you press against his open thigh and the slight pressure has your back curling.

“Show me how,” Jayce says, unashamed and eager with a boyish giddiness.

“Take your hand… here like— uhn,” you hold his wrist in your hand, curling his longest fingers forward before his palm kisses your oversensitive clit. His chest puffs out a smidge at your moan, though you make no move to comment on this.

His fingers are stiff in your cunt as they separate your folds, curling in that ‘come hither’ motion you directed to earlier. You’re going to love teaching him, you realize, as he soaks up every lesson you grace him with, responding back as a student more enthusiastic than you.

Overwhelming gratitude falls over you in heavy bursts, trickling down your spine like a thick rainfall. Grinding softly, you lean forward and swallow his fingers in your heat.

You’re not sure if he’s trying to be subtle or doing it subconsciously, though you don’t have the energy to ponder; his cock, not hard, rubs against your leg as your whines and huffs kiss his ears.

“Gods, you’re better than I imagined.” He says against your temple as you lean forward for support, fingers curling in a mind-numbing race that leaves you unable to respond. You moan loudly at the image this paints; him, fucking his fist or his pillow, stifling his whines as he imagines you bent over, mouth open and saying his name. Jayce, Jayce.

You find yourself hurrying, grinding your clit as hard as possible till it hurts. You’ve been on the edge for ages, and now you find yourself overwhelmed by the sense of all around you. Each push of his fingers into you follows the grind of his hips, and you hope he’s imagining taking you, how the warmth of you would envelop his cock.

One proper twist has your legs buckling, clenching as deep as possible around his fingers as your hips stutter. You’re huffing in his ear and he whimpers in yours, dragging his oversensitive cock against the curve of your thigh, and oh, Jayce—

Your head falls against his shoulder. You feel as though you’ve been beaten, dragged, and wrung out— but in a good way, akin to the soreness that follows a massage.

Kissing up his neck when you find yourself, you peck at the spot you left before. He sighs happily, readjusting you in his arms.

“So,” he says, and you can feel his voice vibrate against your lips. You imagine his neck words are partnered with an excited grin, masking the uncertainty he showcased earlier, “how’d I do?”

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#jayce talis #jayce talis x reader #jayce talis x you #jayce arcane #jayce talis arcane #arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane fanfiction #arcane fandom #jayce talis smut #arcane jayce

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