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highhhfiveee · 6 months

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safety net [p2] (pornstar!mike schmidt x reader)

part one: 💸 | part three: 📹

are we excited???? prepare your hearts cause the feels kinda took over

tags: fluff, lots of internal pining, porn mentions but nothing graphic. mike and reader are both genuine people and that draws them to each other. should be error free bc i actually proofread this one but if there are any, my sincerest apologies

“you have to be, like, evading taxes or something.”

mike chuckles behind you as he closes the door to his apartment--sorry, penthouse.

you're stood with your jaw unhinged, eyes scanning over the wide, sweeping space of his open concept living room and all of the furniture that decorates it, expensive-looking but cozy in a way that you wish you could replicate in your own place. you stalk over to tall windows that line the farthest wall, creating a corner that allows for you to see the bustling city below; all of the flashing lights, people drunkenly stumbling around street signs, and cars zipping and weaving through traffic.

you'd never seen anything like this, just a girl used to the urban suburbs on the south side of town, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment when you feel mike's presence behind you. you don't turn to him, dropping your shoes and purse to the ground and keeping your eyes trained on a street corner below.

"the view's what sold me on the place. i'm able to watch the sunrise on that side," he points to the windows on the other side of the kitchen, offering a view of the green space nestled in between skyscrapers. "and the sunset on this one."

"must be nice," you reply, backing away from the glass and observing the rest of the space. it was the size of, like, three of your apartments combined, organized and free of mess. "i only have a view of a corner store, and a really really busy bus stop. it's super annoying."

"where do you live?"

you give him the name of the neighborhood you'd known your whole life. you didn't recognize any of the area's flaws when you were a child. it was never a red flag to you that the street off of the one you grew up on had two storefronts of the same fast food chain on either end, or that the closest supermarket was twenty minutes away. you hadn't even batted an eye when some of your school “friends” would tell you about visiting gourmet cupcake restaurants and vintage consignments stores. you just went along with it, saying, "that's so cool. the fanciest place by my house is the $7.99 buffet." they all laughed at you.

it wasn't until you were older, freshly graduated from high school and looking to be on your own that you realized the disparity across the region. only people with certain attributes got the nice things, and you'd been conditioned to be grateful to have a daycare in a plaza with a smoke shop and tax preparation office.

"it's just too expensive for me to move anywhere else. i can barely make rent now, with the way they keep raising it every year. kept the tag on this dress just so i could take it back." you look down at yourself and mike can see the longing in your eye, the twinkle in them that wishes you could hang it up in your closet tomorrow.

after tonight, you kind of wish you hadn't bought it at all. you thought that simon would’ve found it insatiable, wining and dining you before taking you back to his place for a night cap, but all you think about now is the embarrassment of walking back into the luxury department store, handing them your receipt for the item you wore once and couldn’t keep.

it fills you with distaste and you find yourself desperate to peel the item off your skin. “is it okay if i shower?”

mike nods furiously, apologizing for not offering. he’d just been staring at you while you talked, admiring you. he was used to people with perfect appearances around him, done up by professionals that costed $200 an hour, but you were different, uncaring about your unruly curls and smeared eyeliner. you were unbothered and carefree, and that fascinated him.

he leads you down a long hall, coming to a stop once it forks into three different directions: left, right, and slightly diagonal right. the walls are lined with paintings and photos of mike and people that share his features, and at the end of the diagonal path is a giant trophy case, filled to the brim with plaques and trophies of various sizes, shapes, and finishes.

“jesus,” you murmur, abandoning your escort. mike’s walked ahead of you, but he makes his way back when he notices you’re not behind him.

“everything okay?”

you point to his trophy case, letting out an incredulous laugh. “are all of those for you?”

mike nods, and you laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “okay, so you’re obviously some sports star because no way someone living like this wouldn’t be.”

mike goes rigid next to you. he never knew how to bring up his career to new people he met, sometimes ping-ponging between “i work for a world-renown production company” and “i’m an entrepreneur”. he had no problem lying to other people, his guard all the way up from years of rejection and disgust at the mention of “sex worker” and “pornstar”, but something felt wrong about lying to you. he swallows hard, racking his mind for a semi truth.

“not sports, but definitely still physical.” you scrunch your nose at this, blinking at him in confusion, but you stop when he grabs your hand and nudges his head in the direction of the bathroom. “didn’t you want to shower?”

you nod, allowing him to pull you down the hall but not without a second glance at the case. what other physical career presented you with that many awards?

the bathroom is a star in it's own right, modern in a way that you fawn over when you're watching hgtv. the gigantic, complicated looking shower invites you from the corner, nestled in between the gadget-rigged toilet and garden bathtub.

all of the decor in here was clean, pale blue, a nice offset to all of the white tile and gold-accented appliances.

you're half-listening, your conscience replaced with static as mike explains where everything is. "so...towels are over here..."

his shower had a rainforest head and a small, handheld one clipped into a holder, with a screen embedded into the wall. there was a bench and railing to hold onto, a speaker on the back tile....your eyes cut to the toilet, and the smaller one next to it. a bidet??????

"...and, the bidet remote's right next to the soap. i'll lay some clothes out for you on the hall table, but let me know if you need anything, okay?" you react a little too late, raising your hand and squeaking, "wait" right as mike's backed out of the room.

"fuck."

you try to look around for things, eventually finding the towels in a closet concealed as a part of the wall and, as a bonus, a knob to turn on the heated floor?????

you strip down, completely bare under the dress, and fold it up, retail employee coded, delicately placing it by the sink with the tag on top. it was exactly how you'd return it, with a shitty excuse and plastic smile. you do the same with mike's jacket.

you throw your hair up before wrapping yourself in the towel, delicately cloaked in what had to be egyptian cotton, and pace on over to the shower. you tap the daunting screen, and it lights up with a flourish, displaying the date, time, weather, and a host of different icons.

you don't know why it's so hard for you to turn the shower on, scrolling and bumbling through a collection of options that weren't simply turn on. why did you need to use a screen anyway? why reinvent the simple wheel that was a faucet lever?

you decide you need mike's help after a bit, though self-conscious about having to ask after he probably told you earlier. you splash cool water on your face before leaving the room, attempting to wring the anxiety out of your body.

you're at the fork in the hallway again, the view of you obscured from the living room by a wall, and you turn your attention to mike's trophy case again. you're too far to see any of the engravings on anything and you're so curious to find out what they say.

you feel your muscles attempt to pull you down the lonely hall, but you halt, reminding yourself that mike was a kind person who'd invited you into his home, and you were supposed to be showering, not snooping. still, even with the moment of morality, untrustworthy interest prodded at your brain.

mike's exiting his room with a handful of clothes for you when he catches you, arms wound around yourself to keep your towel up. you haven't seen him yet, your gaze fixed on something down the hall. he gulps softly, unaware that he would see you like this so early in your connection. your long neck cranes forward to see better, and he prematurely wonders if you're sensitive there, mind swirling with musings of bites and marks.

"something wrong?" you jolt, blinking and stammering and damn near jestering as you attempt to defend yourself. mike doesn't look at you with malice or cynicism, simply stepping closer as your eyes flitter around. "i, uh...i need help with the shower. i don't know how to turn it on."

mike huffs, squinting his eyes at you jovially. "that the only thing?" fuck.

you drop your shoulders with a deep sigh, throwing a pointed finger down the hall. "i also wanna know why you have all those awards." there's a small, almost undetectable change in mike's face, his eye twitching. you watch him shrug it off, placing a hand on your shoulder to lead you back to the bathroom. "i'll explain after you shower."

you're puzzled as to why he's so cagey about it, but you don't question it, accepting his statement and finally listening to him as he explains what to do

you're alone again after he sets the clothes down and leaves. he took your dress, easing you with "just going to hang it up. no worries" and a sheepish smile, and you're eager, ready to hear about what he does and how he's able to afford all this, including this shower that provides you with the best shower you think you've ever taken.

you're able to get the water to the perfect temp, scalding, with the perfect amount of pressure to sting your skin and make you feel clean. you wash away all of your worries; thoughts of keeping a roof over your head, being okay, and finding a genuine connection extinguished with the hum of soft jazz and lather of ylang ylang scented soap.

you lotion yourself with one of the various creams on mike's counter, soothed by the powder smell, and slip into the clothes you're provided--a pair of soft, heart-covered boxers and a university t-shirt, faded into burgundy from countless washes.

mike's sitting on the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone when the the demure pitter patter of your feet sounds against the floors, and he swears he almost dies when he sees you.

maybe it hadn't been totally random when he chose the clothes for you, deciding to give you two of his favorite items so he could see how they looked on you. the shirt, very lived in and from his alma mater, skirted your thighs and covered up his boxers, draping over your lithe body in a way that made his mouth go dry.

"okay," you call, dropping beside him on the couch. the wispy hairs around your hairline frame your clean face, guiding his attention to the smattering of dark moles around your eyes and temples. "tell me. what are all of those awards for?"

"do you want some water or something?" he interrupts, and while you accept, you furrow your eyebrows at him. he gets up with the swiftness of a nascar pit crew, and you hold your gaze on him, pivoting your body as he moves.

"mike, c'mon, what gives? you can trust me."

his back is towards you, filling a glass with water from the filtered water faucet. he hunches at your baffled tone, your voice all soft and downcast.

he wants to scream because it's so easy to just come out and tell you what he does. you didn't say anything at the restaurant, but maybe you'd put two and two together when he finally told you truth, remembering a thumbnail from the porn site of your choosing. he wasn't ashamed---nowhere near that. he'd been in the industry almost a decade, moving past the internalized and societally-imposed scrutiny he felt for his career. it was other people that were ashamed, other people that turned their nose up at him because of what they assumed he was; sleazy, devious, a player. he'd had so many connections blow over because of it, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that happening with you.

you just stare at his back, watching it rise and fall with every laboured breath he takes. what was so bad about what he did that he couldn’t just tell you? he was obviously good at whatever it was, and you wondered if it was a front for something. maybe he disarmed you with his nice guy act, and he lured you here to kill you an—-

the clink of glass on glass brings you back to reality. mike is beside you again, staring blankly ahead while he wrings his hands.

“i’m a pornstar,” he utters plainly. he squeezes his eyes shut, expecting you to make a noise of disgust or get up and leave, but you don’t.

he opens one eye, and then both. you’re staring at him with no concrete expression, lips pursed. he closes his eyes again, counting in his head before opening them once more.

you’re still there, and it almost makes him cry.

“that checks out,” you muse. you’re fairly non reactive, but not because his admission freaks you out. you’re thinking back to the awards, the sheer amount of them in that case, and how good he really must be at what he does. “why didn’t you want to tell me?”

he runs a hand through his hair, melting into his couch with boyish reserve. his eyes are a mixed bag, bouncing between relief and despair. “people run every time i tell them. lots of them act like i just told them i killed their childhood pet and it's just so...disheartening, y'know?

"i just don't get it because it's just like any other job. you work, fucking hard, because you want to perform at your best, just like anyone else. the stigma around it never goes away, no matter how hard you try to convince people. they think you get around outside of it, having sex every second of every day, or that you're gonna mess around with your coworkers and give them something. it's like the trust level is in hell before you're even able to prove yourself." you scoot closer to mike without a word and place your hands over his. his rings are cold against your palm.

it's a gentle gesture. the airy smile you give pacifies him and he swears he's never felt anything like what he feels now.

"i'm not here to judge you, mike. i never will. sex work is a completely valid career, just like anything else. i'm sorry about all those shitty people who made assumptions about you."

"no need to apologize," he whispers, adjusting his hands so that they cradle yours now. you tilt your head down bashfully, lashes fluttering. "all those times led me here."

you two chat for a long while. mike tells you all about the production company he works for, how he got into the business, what his work schedule's like, the community of other stars that he works with, his stage name. you can tell he's passionate about it, lost in his rambles and talking with his hands. certain words segue your convo into other topics, like books and food and pop culture. you two have a lot more than coffee in common.

"i was surprised you didn't recognize me, honestly. not in a douchey way, but just because everyone does. it's usually the first thing they come up to me with." you could only imagine, being approached with "i've come to all of your work" in the condiment aisle at the grocery store.

"i don't watch professional porn really. too staged for me."

"i get that. i think you'd like our content. we really found a good balance between professional quality and ethical, genuine, safe fun."

you try to stay nonchalant, not wanting to betray the fact that you're itching to watch something of his work. "that's really nice. i bet you have quite the catalog."

"almost ten years worth so, yeah, i'd say," he chuckles, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth. "enough about me though. what do you do for work?"

"nothing as exciting and well-paying as porn. i type letters and numbers into a computer in a cubicle. it barely pays the bills, but i've worked in too many customer service jobs to ever go back." mike agrees. you're about to say something else when you're interrupted by a yawn, unhinging your jaw like an animal. you quickly cover your mouth, muttering, "jeez. sorry." you didn't realize it, but you were tired, exhausted from the night you had.

"it's okay, it is pretty late." he checks the time on his phone and turns it to you. 2:23 am. had you two really been talking on this couch for 3 hours? "i can show you to the guest room if you're tired. i have a shoot tomorrow anyway so i should get to bed too."

"sure," you whisper, grabbing his hand when he extends it to you. he pulls you to your feet like you weigh nothing at all, and you tail behind him like a lovesick puppy.

you're feeling that tingly ball of warmth in your stomach, the one you've felt with every person you thought you'd marry. you usually indulge in it, but with mike, it scares you. why do you feel like this after one night with a man you barely even know?

it's rash and inappropriate, you decide, and you're still convincing yourself as you slide under the black satin sheets and duvet on mike's king sized guest bed. you recline on the satin-covered pillows, sinking into the memory foam. it's a nice departure from your noisy childhood mattress back at home.

"do you have work tomorrow?" you shake your head, and mike claps his hands together with a cheer.

"yay. i'll be leaving around 8 or so, but feel free to sleep in and hang around as long as you want. the remote for the blinds is right there, i'll put a toothbrush out for you, and there's all kinds of food in the kitchen. help yourself. just let me know when you're leaving so i can lock the door."

your eyes squint. "you're gonna lock the door after i leave?"

mike nods, smiling excitedly and geekily diving into his rationale. "mhm, i have a smart lock. i can do it from my phone."

you're so tired that the words just foolishly tumble out of your mouth. "you must have great dick."

mike lets out a laugh that's a blend of flattered, nervous, and amused and you're both red-cheeked and flustered. "i am so fucking sorry, i, uh..y--" you stammer over all of your words, finally able to wrench out, "a smart lock just sounds expensive."

mike stares you down with fascination, backing towards the door. "watch the videos and find out for yourself, yeah?" he winks at you, and you gulp so loudly you're sure he hears. "goodnight, y/n. sleep well.”

"you too,” you croak.

you're out like a light once he leaves, but not before telling yourself to put up a new sticky note at home: “watch mike's porn."

you awake what feels like days later, refreshed and made anew. you click on the remote for the curtains, and they rise slowly, flooding the room with rich early afternoon sun. the clock on the nightstand reads 12:38 pm.

you hop to your feet and make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face before stalking to the living room. it's filled with light, and you think about how you'd probably never be depressed living in a place like this.

a box, red and moderately sized, sits upon the kitchen counter. you think you should ignore it, but as you get closer, you see a paper with your name scrawled across it. you like your name in mike's voice and handwriting.

you pull up the lid and inside is your dress from last night with the tag missing, two fat wads of hundred dollar bills, and another note that reads, “you deserve to feel beautiful and pay your rent <3 call this number when you're ready to go home. -m”.

in this moment, you're 100% positive that you're falling in love.

wow wow wow wow. they are so fucking CUTE! i love themmmmmmm <3 hopefully this tides y'all over for a bit because i need to outline the rest of their story, and i wanna work on some other stories for a little bit 💜 more parts are definitely coming, have no fear!

i'd also like to say that while i use y/n in my stories, reader is typically a character that i'm inventing. using your own name and likeness while you read is totally fine, of course! i just use y/n as a placeholder name for my reader character bc i don't feel like coming up with character names all the time <3 sorry if that doesn't make sense 💔

i hope you all enjoyed! happy reading my seedlings 🌱💜

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtsss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fluff #fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf fic #faire is writing stuff #faire's (pornstar) mike schmidt <3 #they are so fucking cute #like omg #i get the feels from them and they're my characters #rooting for them fr #josh hutcherson

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taintedbenevolence · 7 months

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Yandere Itadori Yuji + Yandere Sukuna x fem!reader Headcanons

! MINORS DNI !

A / N - NSFW content is only on Sukuna's section. Itadori is underage; I will not be writing NSFW content for him.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄 𝕀𝕋𝔸𝔻𝕆ℝ𝕀𝕐 𝕐𝕌𝕁𝕀 𝕒𝕟𝕕 ℝ𝕐𝕆𝕄𝔼ℕ 𝕊𝕌𝕂𝕌ℕ𝔸 𝕩 𝕗𝕖𝕞!𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘 ℍ𝔼𝔸𝔻ℂ𝔸ℕ𝕆ℕ𝕊

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ( + HEAVILY IMPLIED NSFW FOR SUKUNA ) 𝕀𝕄ℙ𝕃𝕀𝔼𝔻 𝕊𝕋𝔸𝕃𝕂𝕀ℕ𝔾, 𝕄𝕌ℝ𝔻𝔼ℝ, 𝕂𝕀𝔻ℕ𝔸ℙℙ𝕀ℕ𝔾, ℕ𝕆ℕ-ℂ𝕆ℕ 𝔸𝔽𝔽𝔼ℂ𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ, 𝔻ℝ𝕌𝔾𝔾𝕀ℕ𝔾, 𝕄𝔸ℕ𝕀ℙ𝕌𝕃𝔸𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ, 𝕌ℕℍ𝔼𝔸𝕃𝕋ℍ𝕐 𝔹𝔼ℍ𝔸𝕍𝕀𝕆ℝ, 𝕊𝔸𝔻𝕀𝕊𝕄/𝕄𝔸𝕊𝕆ℂℍ𝕀𝕊𝕄 𝔻𝕐ℕ𝔸𝕄𝕀ℂ

ITADORI YUJI [SUKUNA'S VESSEL]

" I'LL PROTECT YOU WITH MY LIFE ... I SWEAR IT.

JUST PLEASE GIVE ME YOUR LOVE. PLEASE! "

- ISFP - 15 y/o - He/him - March 20 - Caring + Obsessive Yandere

Yuji, for the most part, isn't a yandere you can immediately notice. He does such a good job at hiding it that honestly, it could grow to be terrifying at how hidden it is. His obsession with you doesn't come out in front of you. Ever.

If you're unaware of it, he'll make sure you don't ever realize it, or at least try his best to make sure you don't. Both because he wants to keep the good friendship you have so far, and he doesn't want to unintentionally scare you off. He's rather gentle on a surface view, you could say.

With the cheerful disposition alongside with that kind smile he possesses, Itadori is the last person you'd think is obsessed beyond redemption for you and you alone. And thank god he's trying to suppress it when you're present because if you just knew how unhinged he could be when it came to you ... only god knows if you'd ever see him the same again.

Yuji most likely doesn't admit he has an interest if anyone catches on that he's drifting off, thinking about something. Or someone. If somebody asked "do you like someone?" he will most likely shake his head no. He doesn't want anyone involved. Despite his accepting and carefree nature, he'd rather not drag in other people into his love life.

The few times you might rarely ever get a glimpse of his unhinged behavior is when somebody hurts you. The moment Yuji learns someone hurt you, he is beyond pissed off. He might be organizing himself in a rare occasion, but if he so much as hears a whisper or faint rumor that you were hurt?

He's not going to be happy. At all.

He will find you, no matter where you are, even if you're hiding. Any other matter can wait. They can scream at him that someone else is in need of help. But Itadori doesn't care. Not in the slightest. Not when you're the one who's in pain.

That's the scary thing of Itadori. As much as he cares for the wellbeing of the general population, he cares about you more than the rest. For all he cares, he'd die for you and kill for you. He'd do it all, go through hell and back just to be with you. He's like a switch. One moment, he's the caring boy you held a strong friendship with, the one who'd protect everyone.

The other? He could care less what happens to the world so long he gets to keep you for himself. Is that selfish? Yes. Is he aware? Yes. Does he care? Possibly. But will he ever bring himself to stop? Hell no.

You could say that as much as he hates it, Sukuna's traits might show a little when it comes to the latter side. He has no qualms in fighting for you. Verbally and physically. He just does not care.

As for how he tries to keep you for himself.. It's going to take him a long while to figure it out. The way he sees it, if he just drags you, it would terrify you beyond measure, and it wouldn't go too well. He wants to do it in a way you won't have problems with. Even though that's technically.. impossible.

He's definitely thought about taking you for his own with a chloroform rag, but he thinks it's too much of a hassle, and it'd still alarm you. He's also thought of knocking you out, leaving you unconscious until hours later, but he'd hate to hurt you.

So he just ends up being convinced about the fact that he can't take you for himself. Or at least, not kidnap you. Sounds good, right? Not really.

Because then he gets desperate. Increasingly so. He wants you. You. Just you. And he can't have that. And the more he grows desperate, the worse it is for you.

He begins to be a little clingy. At first, you just see it as something playful. He's just being adorable, how he clings to you, likes to be with you, you find it endearing. And for the most part, it is... right?

But it soon becomes a little concerning. He wants to be around a bit more than would be comfortable.

You're going out for a walk? Yuji's right by your side. You're buying some books to read alone? Yuji will accompany you! You want to go back home? He'll walk you back to it to keep you safe. You're calling a friend to make plans? He's going to tag along.

You were going to hang out by yourself someplace? Yuji so happens to be there already. You're going to a restaurant? He's gotten reservations! He's going to be with you, whether you like it or not.

If you ever asked him about it, he'd just say that he's doing this "for your own safety" despite the real reason being that he just is stuck to you like glue because of his obsession. But it doesn't end there. He begins to catch on that you're not exactly comfortable with this.

So he "stops" being with you so much, as much as it pains him. You feel relieved that he's not on your tail all that much, or at least, that's what you think. Because like hell he'd ever let you leave his sight. So he resorts to observing you from afar.

Contrary to what many would think, he makes it be very subtle, barely noticeable. The few times that you feel someone observing you, it's not something that makes you uneasy, and when you turn around and see nothing, you just tend to brush it off.

Yuji is patient. He has time. He has the will. He can wait for you to grow to love him too.

He'll wait until you confess with your face red and embarrassed. And he'll be more than happy to reciprocate. He'll love you with a full heart. So this could go two ways. It could turn out really well for you, so long as you don't find out the amount of people who've been indirectly threatened by him, and you keep loving him as the sweet darling you are.

Or it could be worse. You realize that any movement could result in a person's death. That your love is something sought after preciously. If you ever did, unfortunately, come to realize Yuji's obsession, you best believe he's not going to let you go anywhere.

Hell, if he has to strap you to a chair in your own room, he will- He's not going to risk letting you escape him now that you've found out the one thing he wished you hadn't. But at the very least, it also rids him of a burden.

He can now show you just how true his love his. His passion. His desire. It burns true and rightfully so. You'd do good to not outright reject him either. It would break him if you did, yes. His heart would be shattered. He wouldn't understand.

But at the same time, he would know why. Nevertheless, as much as he feels bad for you, he does not let go. At all. You'd expect that maybe after seeing your pain and dislike for this, he'd maybe loosen up a bit on the restraints, but no. If anything, he takes extra measures to be sure you won't go running away and escaping him.

And if you did manage to run away? Please; it's going to be less than ten minutes before he finds you once he realizes you're gone. It's pointless. You can't escape him, no matter how hard you try. And it'll only be worse for you if you managed to run and he finds you.

In all honesty, it is. His trust in you will decrease. Severely. If you had the freedom to even walk around through other rooms on your own, that privilege is also gone now. You're forced to be in the same place until Itadori comes back to be with you. He will make sure you don't run.

As kind as he is, he will be harsh, should you push him. A patient boy like him also has his limits. You ought to know better than to piss him off and cross the line.

Push his buttons enough times, and you'll begin to know what fear truly tastes like from firsthand experience.

Send your prayers. You might need them.

RYOMEN SUKUNA [KING OF CURSES]

" I'D KILL THEM ALL IF THEY SO MUCH

AS LOOKED IN YOUR DIRECTION. "

- ENTJ - 1000+ - He/him - UNKNOWN - Sadistic + Possessive Yandere

Oh, you're an unfortunate soul.

If you caught the eye of Sukuna, it's fair to say your life is only going to downhill from this point and on. He gives zero shits whether you're consenting or not. He will more than happily drag you kicking and screaming to where he wishes.

He is a highly possessive, jealous yandere. Definitely obsessive, but most prominently a possessive one. And it shows. He never lets you out of his sight. The moment you caught his eye, your fate had been sealed. And your end.. wasn't a good one, to put it lightly.

He's stalked you since day one, and there's no other way to put it. He has. He knows your routine, your preferences, your dislikes, what makes you tick, all of those insignificant details of yours that nobody cares to pay attention to. He knows you better than you know yourself, probably.

It would scare you to think about it. And he wants that. He loves your fear.

From the moment you met, it's clear to him that he's not gonna let you go. Maybe he's a little bit passive at first, just flirtatious, but it's far too dark what awaits you beneath the surface. And you couldn't be more blind to it.

Let's not count how many he's killed. Honestly, he's killed for less, so a massacre in your name is nothing more than a sweet, heartfelt course of action for your affection in his eyes. The blood on his hands is more than you'd ever be able to know.

You most likely tend to avoid him, given he is the King of Curses. You think he's someone who's best left undisturbed. And to a certain degree, this is true. However, in Sukuna's eyes, it only amuses him that you try to avoid him.

He thinks it's funny how you try to find an excuse to not get close to him and to avoid him when even still he manages to find you. He will definitely try to and scare you a bit by making appearances next to you without making a sound. It's like he's just appeared out of thin air next to you and every time he does it you're almost scared shitless.

( Though really, he's just.. stalking you and then showing himself every now and then just to say hi. He likes to piss you off. Yes, he's an asshole- )

Sukuna doesn't really care if his feelings towards you are unhealthy. Hell, he's a curse. Why should he of all people care about whether his feelings are healthy or not? It's not like he's not batshit crazy.

Oh, and remember how it was discussed he'd drag you kicking and screaming with no problem? Yeah, this man (curse) is kidnapping you. Good luck with that. It's better if you don't resist either, because come on. Look at him. He could kill you at any second if he wished to. You're getting more mercy than anyone else ever would by his hands.

Most likely there'll be no way to escape, and he'll have his own fun chaining you. He's not running risks. However, the restraints are more of a thing that he just would use for when he finally decides to take you for himself. He will be fucking you senseless.

Restraints such as chains, cuffs, and collars are an absolute thing he'd use on the occasion. He is tying you up. Sukuna is sadistic, and it shows. Knife-play may also be involved, though he takes care to not hurt you gravely, just enough to draw blood on some places. (As much as he hates to admit, he won't hurt you enough to kill you. He does care. In his own weird way.)

His sadism isn't just shown by the way he delights in your fearful expression when you plead him to spare others, to not kill them. It doesn't just show when you beg him, to the point tears brim from your eyes. It's honestly pathetic, the way he sees it, but he loves it. He's lovesick. Your suffering is his passion. Pain is pleasure, he'd say.

If you're a masochist, though? And you enjoy all that sadistic shit he makes you go through during sex? Oh god. You better not let him know. He's already a sadist as is, but knowing you enjoy that? It's going to amplify his excitement furthermore than is good.

The moment he realizes you like this, he will take things to a level above painful pleasure. He's going to put you through mind-breaking sex.

He's relentless, really, marking you in more ways than one, whether it be a mark on your neck left by a bite he did, or just fucking you until you can't even think properly anymore and you're all tight and wet, making you keep that length inside of you pushing and throbbing whilst you beg and scream.

He wants you all to himself, so why wouldn't he go to the extremes? After all, he doesn't want anyone else to even touch you. Please. He'd kill them if they so even glanced at you in the wrong way.

It's not going to be hard for him to claim you as his, nor will it be hard to keep you. You can't escape from him. It doesn't matter where you run, where you hide, to whom you'll plead and beg to help and save you; he'll have his eyes on you and you alone, and he'll make sure that during that bothersome eternity he lives through, you'll be with him too.

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yoongsisbae · 1 year

Text

King of Corruption | MYG

Sequel to Christmas Mass. Yoongi x reader Demon AU. Dark smut.

The organ player takes his time with you, holding you and caressing your body while you sleep, until you can’t discern your dreams from your reality. A king and a sleeping beauty, his name leaves your lips like a prayer, prostated at his feet in blind reverence…the perfect position for him to corrupt and defile you.

I promised readers a Yoongi version if Christmas Mass hit 1,000 notes, and you did it! Round of applause for you! This story is all your fault :D. Please please please heed the warnings, this is dreadfully filthy u.u.

Trigger warnings: 18+ dark themes, horror, demons, religion, smut, boss x employee, wanna experience the trauma of having an office job? this fic is for you!, power imbalance, Yoongi is literally the worst boss ever lol, yoongi is unhinged (remember that you wanted this sequel :’)) sloth is one of the hardest sins to really articulate - I wanted it to be a bit more than just sleepy/lazy, sleeping beauty syndrome, rough sex, corruption kink, pain kink, sadism, degradation, name calling, possession, reader manipulation, mental torture/mind break, dubcon, dark ending

Word Count: 8.9k

---

It’s quiet.

Apart from the clicking, dozens of busy hands typing away, needing to meet quarterly deadlines by the end of the month, less than a week away.

What day is it? Tuesday? Thursday?

So quiet.

Apart from papers shuffling back and forth and dress shoes thudding on thin office carpet; employees chasing down their supervisors, the gurgling of the water cooler dispensing another cold metallic tasting cup of water.

Click click click.

It’s almost closing time. Yet, you know you’ll be here at least two more hours along with everyone else. Your fingers are cramping, your legs shake up and down as you sit idle. You’re hungry and tired and so sick of these long office hours.

Tap tap tap.

Your office cell buzzes, a message popping up: ‘Come to my office.’

You press your lips together, annoyed.

Tap tap-

Your fingers hover over your keyboard as you finish looking over your current spreadsheet, double checking that the totals match the expense reports on your desk.

Click click click.

Tap tap tap.

Buzz. ‘Now.’

You sigh quietly, standing up.

Walking past rows of cubicles, you trek towards your manager’s private office, knocking softly before entering.

“Sir?”

He calls you closer with a lazy gesture, crossing his arms. He stares at you in silence for far too long, making you fidget uncomfortably on the spot. Lowering your head down you look at the objects on his desk, unable to meet his eyes.

A Newton’s cradle, at a standstill.

An ornate letter opener, shaped like a small needle dagger.

Countless papers, so scattered the desk wood is hardly seen.

“Y/n.”

“Yes, Sir?” You look up obediently.

Yoongi leans back in his office chair, eyes looking through you.

“I need these finished before you leave today.” He gestures down at the stack of reports at the corner of his desk.

Your eyes go wide, there’s at least three more hours of work piled up high. “B-But Sir-”

“Our quarterly deadline is in less than-”

“-a week,” you finish for him, dejected. “These have to be done today?” you ask, “Can’t I, um, come in early in the morning instead-”

Yoongi clears his throat and shakes his head, cracking his pointer finger with his thumb, turning the silver ring around the digit out of habit. “I needed those reports done yesterday.”

“Oh…”

You want to scream.

“...okay.”

“Okay.” He repeats impatiently. “Work on these first, I can’t finish what I have to do until I get those reports back.”

You exhale, reluctantly nodding and reaching for the extra work.

Yoongi slams his pen down, making you jump. “As soon as possible, y/n, okay? Got it?”

You nod quickly, turning on your heel, desperate to hide away from his stern gaze. Yoongi’s presence is intimidating, his curtness makes you feel like a child, dumb and incompetent. ‘Just get it done,’ you think, then you can go home, far away from this hell.

Yoongi watches your retreating figure, sighing, “How tiring…” he mumbles, a sly grin hiding behind his knuckles.

---

Your eyes sting, the blue electronic screen glow under half-dimmed office lights could seem sinister if you weren’t so focused, tiredly saving updated files to the company’s servers. Somehow you are always the last one left at your desk, a “model employee,” by administrative standards of course.

You rub your eyes. Eat, you need to eat, before you pass out.

‘Saving: 78%’ You look around, forgetting there was nobody left around for you to disturb. You look through your purse for some change to buy a snack bar from the company’s vending machine, anything to eat just so you can make it home in one piece.

Under closing lights the bright shine inside the vending machine makes the cheap snacks inside look incredibly appetizing, or perhaps it was because you skipped lunch today...

You rest your head on the glass of the vending machine, watching the agonizingly slow twirl of springs as your snack bar...gets stuck.

No. Not now!

Closing your eyes, you debate on whether to start screaming or crying.

‘Come on!’

Of course only you could be this unlucky. You try to quietly hit your fist on the glass, harder again when nothing moves.

‘FUCK THIS FUCKING SHIT,’ you think, cursing your life.

You shift your weight between legs, thinking, itching to kick the damn thing. No, you shouldn’t make a scene. Biting your tongue, you lean your body against the side of the vending machine, using your shoulder to nudge the large appliance.

‘FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU-’

Someone clears their throat.

You look up and stare into a pair of intense eyes, dark irises silently judging you.

It’s one of the rare times you’ve seen your boss without his coat jacket on, Yoongi’s unkept appearance surprising you. His tie is pulled down, top two buttons unfastened, the gel in the front strands of his hair has lost its hold, causing his bangs to frame his sharp cheekbones. His cheeks are flushed, a sign he has been doing more than just sitting at his desk all day, it makes you wonder what or who...

Yoongi swipes his credit card and hits the same two numbers you had chosen.

He bends down slowly, pulling two bars from the machine. Your lip trembles as you build up enough courage to speak. ‘That’s my bar.’

Just ask for it.

Just say it.

Say something!

“That’s mine,” you summon the courage to speak up.

Yoongi laughs softly. “Yours?” he hums.

He stares at you, and you realize he has no intention of giving you what you want.

You immediately look down out of habit. You would have let it go, scurried away before Yoongi really got annoyed at you, but you only brought enough change for one bar. “Y-Yes.”

“No.”

“It is! I paid for it, it got stuck, the stupid machine-” you trail off, realizing you were speaking your thoughts aloud.

“Nothing here is yours, y/n,” he tuts. His tone catches you off guard, and when you look up his expression is even more surprising. Yoongi is leaning against the machine, smiling at you.

A smile is usually friendly, welcoming.

Not like this.

His crescent eyes don’t twinkle, they gleam with a malice that makes your body stiffen.

He chuckles, staring at your gaping mouth. “This belongs to me. This whole company is mine,” he smiles. “And do you know what else is mine?”

“Huh?” you can only ask dumbly, frozen by his sudden icy demeanor.

You yelp when he grabs the back of your neck so swiftly you trip over yourself trying to pull free.

Yoongi forces you back against the cold vending machine glass.

He whispers his next words so softly in your ear, you wouldn't have believed he was capable of such tenderness in the midst of such aggression. “You belong to me.”

He runs his thumb harshly over your bottom lip smearing your lipstick down your chin, gripping your face in his hands so tightly it stings. You gasp out his name in surprise, jolting when he presses his knee between your legs. “You’re mine,” he whispers.

Your boss holds out one of the small snack bars in your direction. “Y/n?”

You shake out of your stupor, looking at Yoongi as he stares back at you blankly. “Y-Yes Sir?” you ask, realizing he was offering you the extra bar.

He stood three paces away from you, not close at all, but your body felt jittery thinking of his skin against yours, how it would feel if he pushed you against the vending machine and had his way with you.

Your thoughts horrify you. It had felt so real, you were still lingering in your own delusions. Your boss...he’s your boss. Why would you think such horrible things about your boss?!

You grab the bar away from him so quickly he stares down at his open palm.

You keep your head bowed, silencing away those horribly intrusive thoughts burning through your body like a forgotten muscle memory. Yoongi steps closer to you, eyes peering down at the bar held tightly to your chest. “I-I-”

“Y/n, go home.”

---

You put on the television.

It only takes a few minutes before your attention is on your phone instead, checking the latest trends. You scroll quickly, unfocused, so you didn’t have to think of the horribly embarrassing moments you had today.

If your thoughts become too loud, like tonight, you drown them out with music, adding another layer of noise inside your quiet home.

This has become routine.

You spend the night scrolling through images of popular celebrities, cute half naked men and women with soft features and sweet smiles so you wouldn’t think about him...

Your boss.

Min Yoongi.

Yoongi’s intimidating appearance, so unlike the warm and friendly celebrities displayed on your screens. Yoongi’s sharp angry eyes, you wonder what makes him happy. Yoongi’s deep drawling voice, that voice, what would it sound like in your ear? Oh, the way Yoongi runs his tongue over his lips when he concentrates...

You own tongue licks across your teeth thinking about it.

Your boss had a notorious reputation, there’s always been office gossip between chatty women who giggle amongst themselves when he walks by. Stories to explain why his assistants never stay for too long, and rumors of a terrible terrible temper. You’ve never seen it for yourself, but god help you, you can’t help but imagine...

Something must be under that listless facade he always exhibits for him to be so successful...

A fierceness...

You shake your head, sighing. Something is wrong with you, you think, ashamed at yourself. Stop y/n. You’re not brave enough to play with fire like that. You’re his subordinate and you’re fairly certain he finds you annoying, like a pest, and you’re definitely certain he is out of your league.

No, Mr. Min seems like the type who doesn’t bother with relationships anyways, the type to scoff at romantic gestures, probably prefers high class escorts and busy women who would leave him alone to his own devices. Your boss is not a nice man.

But there’s just something about him...that hooks you, in the lungs, in the chest, in the pit of your stomach. You’ve been wholly ensnared by him.

You pull your legs up, burying your face in your knees, hiding away. A silly gesture, you were all alone in your home after all.

You turn up the volume on your television and laughter fills your house. Rehearsed, giddy, raucous laughter. A show you’ve probably already watched before. You can barely crack a smile in response.

You eat a cold meal of leftovers, too lazy to cook for yourself, too hungry to even wait the time it takes until it heats up.

You move from the couch to the bed, and fall asleep quickly, exhausted.

---

You gasp for air, waking up.

Where had you been? Were you drowning? You catch your breath. No. Then why are you wet? Is that sweat?

It’s too dark to see. You try to move, but something heavy holds you down.

“What’s going on?” you murmur.

Something is wrong. Very wrong.

“Go back to sleep,” a deep drawl mumbles.

You know that voice.

Who is it? His name is on the tip of your tongue.

Your limbs feel so heavy, so tired. It can’t be morning yet, it’s too dark for that.

You still have time to sleep more, go back to dreaming, enjoying that pleasant feeling again, so good you can still feel it creeping over your limbs...

...up your body...

...inside you...

It’s a nice feeling, it was a nice dream. It’s where you want to be, where you want to stay. Just until morning, just until you have to go back to reality, back to work, where everything hurts and is exhausting and unpleasant, a deadline on top of a deadline, a bunch of dead ends, finish lines with no rewards.

You rather stay in bed and sleep.

That dream, what was it about? You try to remember, get it back, so you can go back, anywhere but here.

You groan, chest heavy. Just a little bit more time is all you need. Let the sun stay away for a little longer. Let the shadows hide you away. Please.

That dream, you’re almost there, it’s coming back to you like a sweet lovely serenade, sung by lips pressed against your skin.

A rhythm begins inside you that makes your body sink deeper, two fingers pulling out the song inside you, making you ache to hear more.

A deep sigh against your thigh followed by a chuckle makes you whine in tune. You think it almost feels too good to be just in your imagination, right before you fall deeper.

---

“Am I boring you?”

A sharp kick to the back of your chair by your coworker jolts you. “S-Sir? N-No, no– No, Sir.”

Shit, now everyone in the meeting room has their eyes on you. Your boss continues to chastise you. You shrink inward, gripping the ends of your skirt hard enough to wrinkle.

Yoongi asks your thoughts on the presentation so far, already knowing you don’t have an answer. You stutter out the notes you’ve written down, riffling through the papers in front of you and he corrects you, flustering you even more.

You mumble out an apology. You hate being the center of attention, you wish to disappear. Taking your pen and piercing it into the soft part of your throat would be less painful than the embarrassment you’re feeling and when you hear giggles on your left part of you contemplates on actually doing it and ending it all!

God, will this reflect poorly on your performance review?!

You try not to shake as you scribble down what he’s saying, ignoring his eyes fixated right on you. ‘Why me?’ you write in the corner of your notebook, holding off tears of frustration.

Why does Mr. Min always seem to be picking on you?

“Everyone is dismissed,” Yoongi says after the meeting concludes. He calls out to you before you can leave, asking you to see him in his office.

You wince. Of course, you never get a break from working.

You sit on the couch by his desk, waiting. He’s making you wait on him. When you should be eating lunch with everyone else. You swallow down your growing resentment instead.

It’s bitter.

Your leg shakes in boredom, your foot tapping on Yoongi’s office carpet. Time just ticks on by, slower and slower until you can’t take it.

You feel hungry and annoyed and worst of all, you feel deep restlessness, uneasiness working up your limbs and into the pit of your stomach until you wish to scream, run, anything.

How much can you tolerate before you explode? Act out? That’s what Yoongi seems to want to find out.

Your boss walks in, shutting the door to his office behind him.

Instead of sitting at his desk, he sits next to you on his couch, limbs sprawled out as he rests.

“Why did you need– Was there something you needed to discuss with me, Sir?” you ask, trying not to sound impatient.

“Y/n…” The way he drags out your name, deepening his voice, has you holding your breath, waiting for his next words. He runs his hands through his hair, fixing the strands away from his eyes.

“How long have you worked for me?” Yoongi asks, testing you.

“I…” you pause. How long has it been? It must be years now, right? This is your first job, you can’t remember having any other. “A very long time,” you laugh awkwardly, hoping he doesn’t ask you anymore about it. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Yoongi glances at you, fingers tapping on his knee as he stretches his legs. He adjusts his hips, moving closer towards you. “No, well, I think it’s time for a promotion, don’t you?”

“Oh?” You say, surprised. You would have bet Mr. Min would have fired you before ever promoting you.

“From now on you’ll be working directly under me. This department is growing, and I need an assistance manager. You’re a hard worker, your performance accuracy are always high, and I think you’ll be a perfect fit.”

You stay quiet, only nodding in acknowledgement. The idea of seeing more of him was burdensome. But you can’t help but fixate on his compliments, Yoongi called you ‘perfect.’

“How does that sound?”

“Sounds...great.”

He crosses his arms, “Yeah?”

“Yes...”

He glances in your direction frowning, “Really? Because you look like I just told you someone died-”

“No, sir!” you recoil, “I’m sorry Sir, I’m just surprised! I thought you were mad at me,” you say softly, looking down at your knees pressed tightly together.

He reaches out to you, turning your chin to face him. “Y/n, tell me, do you like your job?”

You can’t exactly be honest and tell your boss how much you…

…hate it here.

“Yes, I’m very grateful for the opportunity-”

Yoongi frowns again, his touch becoming rougher. “You can tell me the truth, y/n.”

“Oh...I-l really like my job.”

He laughs.

And then, he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back over the couch cushion. It’s quick and unexpected and...just like that time before...

What’s going on?!

“Do you?” he asks, a smug smile on his face. “You like your job?” he laughs.

“Y-Yes!” you defend yourself, pulling desperately at his arm. If you told him the truth, he would fire you. Then what would you do? How will you pay your bills? If you fought back against him, who would believe you? This goddamn job was all you had.

“Oh,” He nods back, voice pitched higher and seeming to mock your own voice. “You like this?” he laughs, dragging your body down, hovering over you.

This is Yoongi? His demeanor shifted so quickly you can barely recognize him as the same man. Your boss was reserved, almost apathetic to things. The man looking down at you seemed unhinged, animated, barely contained.

You didn’t know what this man was capable of. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “What do y-you want me to say?” you whimper, words barely audible.

“Still that quiet little lamb?” He holds you down so tightly your scalp burns and his other hand snakes around your throat threateningly, bending over you until your foreheads touch. “Spineless, dumb girl, this is the best you could want? Is this what you gave up everything for?” he asks, shaking your body.

You don’t understand what he’s saying or why he’s doing this, but something inside you feels ashamed at his words, like you’ve done something horribly wrong and you don’t even realize it, like a child being yelled at for going to a place they shouldn’t without an adult. You shouldn’t be here...

You want to leave!

You cry out, fighting against him. You try to scream, sound muffled by the pressure of his fingers around your neck.

Yoongi sits his full weight on top of you, his designer suit pulling at the itchy fabric of your cheap bargain clothes.

“You so desperately want to feel something, it’s all you can think about, all you can dream about. If you want to feel, I can make you feel. I can make you hurt. And I can make it feel so good. If I took away that numbness inside you, fill you up with my cock instead, wouldn’t that be nice?”

His words don’t make sense. He sounds like an echo of your thoughts being thrown back at you, like a twisted mirror showing your reflection. How could he know?

You stop struggling, surrendering. Yoongi is too strong, too heavy, too much for you. His eyes bore into you, deep dark irises with endless depth. You can’t look away and you start to cry.

This must be what drowning feels like, pain you’re forced to confront, a miserable knowing that you steadily lower into. It’s Yoongi who reaches for you, and it didn’t matter that he was pulling you down deeper, you cling to him for salvation.

“Do you like your job? Y/n?”

You gasp in air, looking at Yoongi’s passive face. Your hands immediately massage your itchy throat as you look around his office, catching your breath.

What the hell.

You feel like you’re losing your mind, grasping at something slipping between your fingers, something you can’t explain.

What the hell was that?

It had felt so real, so palpable, so shocking, like electricity through all your tired joints.

Yoongi clears his throat, tilting his head at you as you try to regain your composure.

“D-Do I like my job? I…yes, it’s fine. I’m fine,” you breathe out. You continue to look around the room and where Yoongi sits next to you. What was that?! Did you really imagine it all?

“Really?” He crosses his arms.

You laugh nervously. “Are you supposed to like your job? Don’t they say you shouldn’t turn what you love into work, you’ll grow to hate it or something like that, I think,” you trail off, unconfident you made any sense to him. “But this is a really good position! Thank you for the, um, promotion.”

“I see...” he says. “You know, this place is not my first choice, but I can appreciate this kind of job, it molds a certain kind of person. Someone disciplined, useful. Humans are natural born workers, did you know that? The very first man and woman had jobs. When God asked Adam and Eve to tend to his Garden. Humankind was created to work, to follow.”

This conversation is so odd. “Yes...”

“So do you think you can do that for me?” he asks, clasping his hands together.

“What, Sir?”

“Follow me.”

“I...”

“You look a bit sick,” he says, touching your forehead, causing you to flinch away.

“Y-Yeah,” you mumble, looking around his office again, worried you weren’t hearing things correctly, worried you were sick in another way, maybe you should talk to someone, go to HR. “I think I, uh, maybe need to take a sick day tomorrow.”

Yoongi frowns. “Take a half day, go home for the rest of today and get better, I need you back here tomorrow,” he commands.

“Okay,” you say shakily. “Yes, Sir.”

---

“Where am I?”

It’s a familiar room you’ve only visited in your dreams. A room with no doors. A realm you know you don’t belong in, but can’t help but come back to again and again. You should be used to the fear creeping over you, but you can’t remember why.

“Stay away.” Your words echo, come out as a weak whisper. “This is a dream, just a dream,” you mutter to yourself, trying to stand, but unable to.

Yoongi walks closer to you, ignoring your pleas.

You boss? His clothes change from the familiar sleek blue suit you remembered him in into black, brown hair to stark silver, deep dark eyes becoming even darker, turning into obsidian orbs.

You shut your eyes tightly. Your limbs feel heavy and slow, unable to move at the speed you wanted, unable to get out, unable to leave. Your body feels fractured from your mind, the physics of your dream always working against you.

“Relax,” His deep voice sends goosebumps over your skin, the pads of his fingers dig into your sole, relaxing the muscles. You open your eyes and see Yoongi back to normal again, strong hands cradling your foot. His touch is so relaxing and pleasurable, and for a moment you forget why you’re so scared, the tension releasing from your stressed body with every deep stroke across your sole and down your calf.

“Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream.” You repeat the words like a mantra when he lets your foot drop, the familiar weight of his body back again.

“Would you like to go back already? We just started.” His skillful hands presses into your skin, up your thigh, closer and closer, kneading the muscle in tantalizing circles, replacing the tension in your body with desire. “Let go and enjoy it, y/n.”

But you can’t, you need to wake up. You shouldn’t escape into your fantasies and shut out the real world every time you become stressed. How many nights has it been? Your twisted day dreams have turned into full fledged nightmares, and now you can’t escape him, this reoccurring torturous cycle every time you close your eyes and think about Yoongi.

‘Wake up, y/n.’ Get out of your head, get out of your house! You can’t keep living like this!

But you know, you’ll be here again, it just feels too good to stop. You don’t want to do anything but sleep and escape. It’s too easy.

And it’s too hard to resist him.

“Yoongi, fuck me. Please.”

Yoongi tuts, hand caressing down your throat and holding you there under him before he finally decides to stand.

“This time, work for it.”

He moves away and it’s cold loneliness without him on top of you, all you want to do is have him there again.

You feel the sudden energy return back to you at his command now that he wasn’t tangled over you. Your growing desire to have him back propels you.

You move yourself in front of him, getting on your knees. Assuming this is what he meant, you begin to unbuckle his belt.

He watches you, looking down at you dutifully fulfilling his orders. The perfect worker you are. Yoongi could get used to this kind of enthusiasm, even if he prefers you docile and completely pliable to his whims.

As you slowly pull out his length from his pants, you look up to make sure he is pleased. You let your lips stretch around him, taking him in your mouth as far as your throat allows.

“Good girl,” he sighs, “So sweet.”

He holds the back of your head, leading you to take him fully until you choke on his cock. Then he steps back, dragging your body forward by the hair, that way he keeps you connected to him, adjoined to him in the most sinful way.

You clumsily crawl forward, following his lead, knees hitting hard floor, a pain that reminds you just how much power he has over you.

Yoongi takes a seat, spreading his legs to make a place for you to kneel between them. He sighs in pleasure. In your dreams, you boss always seems much more at peace, putting pleasure first, and everything else melts away. Your worries, your responsibilities, your duty is only to him, it makes him happy.

You move your mouth, sucking him down over and over again until your jaw aches, until sweat drips down your forehead and your wrists and knees hurt and you’re messy and dripping for him. He helps guide you as you tire, hands still tangled in your hair.

He’s close, you can tell by the swell of his cock, the loud groans that escape his lips.

You taste his release, salty and thick. Your own is still so far away, you whimper around his still hard cock. Yoongi feels your quiver against him, and he gives you an unexpected mercy. He releases his hold on you, leaning back. “Get up and ride me now.”

You nod quickly, standing up. Yoongi lets you straddle him, awe over his muscular body. You don’t waste any time dropping down on his cock.

He watches you rut your hips side to side, up and down on his hard length, your hips moving fluidly against his own, chasing your pleasure. You reach for his hands and he lets you place his large palms over your breasts, watching as you mewl when he kneads and pulls on them. You place a hand across your collar bone and he takes the invitation to rest it higher, fingers squeezing around your throat, taking your air for his.

Oh, you’re good at this. And all Yoongi has to do is sit back and relax, let you take him, his own cocksleeve. A perfect disciple, willing to learn exactly what pleases him.

You close your eyes and listen to his low whisper, moans of encouragement. “You’re so close, don’t give up on me now, fuck yourself on my cock. That’s my girl. Keep going, come for your master.”

You tremble and whimper out his name like a prayer you’ve wished for over and over.

---

You wake up abruptly, falling off your couch, still in your work clothes from the day before.

You can’t believe you slept the whole day away. Maybe you really were sick. Your muscles ache, your head is spinning and you can’t stop thinking...

...about what it would really feel like...

...to have Yoongi’s hands hold down your body.

You clutch your head. ‘It wasn’t real.’

Your alarm hasn’t gone off, the sun is only just rising, you still have time to shower and get ready for work, but all you want to do is take away the frustratingly clawing ache inside of you, a desperate need you’re too embarrassed to acknowledge.

So you run a cold shower before breakfast instead.

You heave out a long drawn out sigh, letting the cool water hit your back, washing away your shamefulness.

You rest your head on cold tile. ‘Don’t think about him.’

No, don’t think about his rough hands on your delicate neck, his crotch pressed over your stomach, or the feeling of his cock getting harder against you.

Fuck, you want to fuck him.

You try to calm your breathing, tilting your head into the water. What are you doing? Your boss wouldn’t do that! He…

You touch your bottom lip…He could, if he wanted to.

Did you want him to?

The answer frightens you. No no, your morbid curiosity was nothing more than just that. You just wanted to feel fire, but you didn’t want to get burned.

So, like always, you resign yourself to this small depraved little fantasy. Behind shower curtains, hiding in the low light of your bath.

You trail your fingers down between your legs, working yourself up before you could think of talking yourself out of it.

It wasn’t really about him right now anyways. You just needed to release. You were so wound up and desperate, right?

You shudder a yes, pressing your fingers deeper into your sex.

You flinch as your back bumps into warmth. ‘This is not real.’

Smooth, wet skin, pressing back against you, fingers gripping your wrist so you don’t stop.

You feel yourself unraveling as lips run along your shoulder, the same lips you couldn’t stop thinking about. You close your eyes, whimpering, scared to look behind you and either confirm your delusions or become utterly lost in them.

You pull your fingers out, circling your clit, thinking of how good it feels to have Yoongi pressed against your back, his cock up between your legs.

The way he would be so merciless when he pushes his cock inside you, pulling your leg up higher to angle himself deeper.

You moan, feeling so full it makes your head spin.

The way his fingers would explore your body, gripping you like he owns you, pinching your nipples, pulling at your hips, pressing down on your tongue.

This fantasy feels so real, all that’s missing is…

“Can’t help yourself, greedy slut, can you? You ever wonder why that is, y/n?”

You cry out, focusing on the piercing drag of his cock against your walls. “Aw does it hurt? I told you, I would hurt you.”

He slams into you over again, water splashing with every impact against your ass. You struggle to stay standing, clinging to tile. “You’ll take it, though, like a good obedient whore.”

He pulls out, turning you around.

It shocks you how real this fantasy of yours looks. It’s dangerous how effective your thoughts work to rile you up, he’s dangerous.

“Lusting after monsters, you haven’t changed one bit, y/n.”

“I want to stop it,” you admit, shaking against him out of fear and pleasure. “I don’t know how,” you whimper, knowing you can only ever really have him like this, a twisted version of your boss you made up for yourself. It’s shameful and sickening.

“Because you’re mine. Look at you,” he tuts, “Your soul weeps for me,” he presses his fingers inside your dripping cunt, “But I want more than that, you understand?”

“What?” you stutter out.

He kisses you roughly, swallowing your whines. You close your eyes, lost to pleasure as his tongue rolls over your neck, sucking. You can’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around him, fingers tangling in his wet hair, succumbing to your delusion.

“Devotion. Your sweet devotion, give me your that, and you won’t need to do anything else ever again.”

---

Tap tap tap.

Click Click Click.

What?

Wait. Wait.

You stand up suddenly, startling those working around you. You look around, scanning the familiar setting over and over again.

Afraid you’ll start a scene you turn your heel and walk quickly to the bathroom.

Only when you’re alone and have caught your breath do you go to the mirror and stare at your reflection.

Your hair is still damp, the collar of your work shirt is wet, fading water droplets across your jacket and skirt.

And your panties feel wet, sticking to your core.

Shit, you think, noticing your smudged makeup. How long have you looked like this? You grab paper towels quickly, rubbing away the lipstick smudged under your lip, trying to gather your thoughts together.

What was happening to you? Why can’t you remember how you got here?

You massage your temples, feeling dizzy. There has to be an explanation, you just have to look for it.

But...

...unfortunately, right now you have work to do.

You sit at your desk, chewing on crackers, contemplating the idea that you might be going completely insane.

Your cell buzzes. ‘Sixth floor meeting room. Now.’

It’s your boss of course. You can’t face him right now. You turn off your cell, nibbling on your nails in your anxiousness.

This isn’t normal, something is very wrong with you. You end up back in the bathroom, trying to retrace your steps, figuring out the minutes that were escaping you. You turn on the faucet, wetting a towel, running the wet paper across your forehead to calm yourself.

You catch your reflection again, except this time, there are two.

Another person, behind you, staring back.

An image of a devil.

A beautiful devil.

Smiling wickedly behind you, an image of a man so haunting you forget how to breathe.

You scream.

Before you can turn around and confront your worst nightmares the bathroom door bursts open, familiar hands wrapping around your wrists and pulling you away.

Yoongi is pissed.

You can tell as he drags you along, not stopping until you are back in his office.

His nails dig into your elbow, pulling you possessively closer to him. “Missing him?!”

You shake your head frantically. Miss who? Not...

Whoever that was...no, you didn’t want to think about it anymore!

You whimper, feeling weak and dizzy.

“Oh poor little y/n,” Yoongi tuts, “you just need some more rest.”

---

“What do you think you’re doing, my friend?” Jimin asks. “You’re not usually this persistent.”

Yoongi yawns, undoing his tie. “I want her longer.”

Jimin laughs, so loud it would have surely woken you up if it weren’t for Yoongi’s effect on your body. “Fine.”

He watches your brow furrow, “I do enjoy watching the fight in her return,” Jimin laughs.

For all the passion Jimin possessed, Jimin was a heartless demon.

Jimin had thoroughly broken you, taken from you until you had nothing left to give and became a boredom to him.

So it was Yoongi’s turn.

“This is a nice little world,” Jimin looks around, flicking the metal name plate in the center of Yoongi’s desk.

“We’re currently not hiring.”

“Oh, don’t be like that!” Jimin whines.

“You can have her back when I’m done.”

Jimin bites his lip in thought. “You’re not lying to me, are you, dear friend?” he asks. “You remember she called out to me first. I can, hmmm, satisfy her the best.”

Jimin’s fingers trail the curves of your body, and even in your slumber your body responds to his touch, writhing in the other demon’s lap. Yoongi holds you loosely, caressing your cheek as you whine softly. Jimin moans at the sight.

Yoongi laughs, “Concerned for her satisfaction, are you?”

Jimin holds up his palms in mock defeat, smirking. “Okay. Then, let me watch.”

---

A soft touch, wet and warm.

You’re too tired to open your eyes, not yet fully awake. Your limbs laid sprawled out, sinking into the thick covers under you, body too sluggish to move. You don’t want to wake up just yet, it feels too good. It feels real good.

You breathe in, turning your head into your pillow, leaning into the softness against your cheek, the warmth rolling over your stomach, the weight on your pelvis. It makes you gasp softly.

Yoongi smiles against your skin, mouth opening to taste you again.

Your body rocks against the soft sheets. You wish to moan, but you can’t. You wish to press your sex closer to the delicious sensation between your legs, but you can’t. If only you could wrap your legs around it, beg for more. But you can only lie sedated in your pleasure, getting wetter and wetter.

---

You wake up restless in your bed, needing to pee. Stumbling through your pitch black room, you search for the light switch, your drowsiness slipping quickly away and being replaced by an anxiousness when you can’t find it.

The darkness frightens you. But even scarier, what could be hiding, terrifies you.

Click.

You decide to keep the lights on when you return.

You lie in bed thinking about him. Min Yoongi, when did he become such an obsession for you?

Maybe you need to find yourself a boyfriend, try dating, you stay home too much. You sigh, realizing how you have spent every other night in bed...fantasizing...instead. You’ve always been alone, but you’re starting to notice the loneliness, and it’s becoming suffocating. You need to go out, appreciate the couple hours of free time in the evening you had after working all day and afternoon. You’re coming to a realization your freedom shouldn't feel so...confining. The four walls of your room feel so close now. When did you become so lazy, so closed off and boring?

The sad realization leaves you even more unwilling to take the risk. Honestly, you should be grateful you have a roof over your head and a meal in your stomach and the luxury of being able to relax at home.

What about your dreams, ambitions?

Shh, you silence that annoying voice inside you. Those aren’t affordable! And take so much more energy than you have right now. But a nicer steak the next time you go shopping, a small joy, could still be an option.

Tomorrow, you’ll buy it tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.

Tonight, you’ll take your mind off your troubles.

So you go back to your increasing obsession with your boss.

You breathe in, thinking of the cologne you smelled on him today. Those eyes that narrow when you do something wrong, so sexy, it almost makes you want to make him angry.

You wonder what goes on in his mind when he gets annoyed at you. If he wants to punish you, if he could get away with anything, what kind of punishment would it be? another voice inside you asks.

Bending you over his desk?

Maybe.

Would he find serenity in slaps across your ass? A belt welting your cheeks.

Your previously relaxed limbs seize.

Fuck, it hurts. It hurts so much. There is cold wood against your front and stinging down your back. You can’t help but cry out, leather digging into your wrists.

What?

How?

“Shhhhh. Keep dreaming.”

The leather bands around your wrists hurt. You’re dreaming? Really? But this is too real.

But how else could you explain this situation? Your legs spread open, Yoongi standing in between them as he admires your aching backside.

He runs his fingers over the welts across your ass, making you hiss in pain.

“Let’s keep going, shall we?”

You stay quiet, unable to move, crying out when sharp pain comes back down across your ass.

“Oh, now don’t go regretting this now. You wanted this remember?”

Another slap makes you scream out in pain. You want to wake up now. ‘Wake up!’

“You chose this. You gave away your freedom just like that, dumb girl.”

Another hard smack with his belt has you reeling, legs tightening around Yoongi’s torso as you twist your body in agony. You sob, unable to handle anymore pain.

So Yoongi forces pleasure on you instead with two fingers inserted into your pussy, massaging the throbbing pain away. He slips in and out easily, the wetness that gushed out of you was a shameful reminder that you had been a willing captive. You moan weakly, body tired.

He easily builds up your orgasm, practiced fingers curling into your sex, stroking you inside and out until you’re close to bursting.

Yoongi stops, taking the moment to strike your ass with his messy palm. You shiver and cry out. “P-Please,” you stutter, pulling at your restraints.

Yoongi resumes his ministrations, “Please...Sir,” he reminds you.

“Please, Sir, let me come,” you gasp.

Yoongi turns you around, lifting your restrained hands over your head. He moves so fast you yelp at the sudden movement, only realizing after he lets go that the loud thud you heard was his letter opener sticking into wood and restraining you to his desk.

Your breathe becomes ragged as you lie tied down, body exposed to him. His thumb swipes over your clit, making you cry out his name. He sits, rubbing lazy circles into you, watching your body uncontrollably react. The buildup is achingly slow, steady, reliable, you know your orgasm is approaching and you are ever so close to release, yet Yoongi draws it out, until you feel the pressure in your ears, in you throat, in your feet, in your chest.

If this was another fantasy, it was the best one yet. Yoongi had fire in his eyes, electric movement, a demanding touch. You cum hard, crying out.

It wasn’t over even after your orgasm finished, Yoongi moves in closer, lips kissing your inner thigh. “Stay still, relax,” he smirks when your breath hitches.

You lose your breath all over again when his face rests in between your legs, burying his mouth into your sex. His tongue rolls over your folds, sucks on your abused nub. You clench your jaw and accept his pleasure. Your body pulses over and over again as Yoongi eats you out, your legs and hands going numb, but like Yoongi promised, you felt everything he was giving you, until exhaustion overcame you.

You wake up, still wet. You try not to feel ashamed, but your shame sticks to your core, underwear drenched and stretched as you slept.

Maybe it’s time to look for another job.

“Here’s your reports. And the notes for your next presentation. And-” you hand Yoongi a warm cup of coffee, “-for you. Black, half sugar.”

“Thank you, y/n,” Yoongi grunts, sipping the coffee.

“Thank you, Sir,” you smile, beaming.

Yoongi smiles too. It’s slight, barely there, but you notice the small curl of his lips. “You did well,” he reaches for your waist, pulling you close. “My best girl.”

You smile. “I-” you falter, “Have I…have we always been like this?” you think out loud.

“Does it matter? Doesn’t this feel right?” His hand caresses this inside of your thigh, disappearing under your skirt.

“S-Sir?!”

“Isn’t it nice working for me, why would you want to leave?”

You swallow, trying to sort out your surroundings, the happiness inside you shrinking away.

“Has that always been there?” you ask.

Yoongi glances at the corner of his office, pressing his fingers against your panties, rubbing on your clit through the sheer fabric.

You stare at the relic that didn’t belong there, a golden piano. No, that wasn’t quite right, it was an organ.

Yoongi pulls your gaze back to him, caressing your check. “That poor little mind of yours...” he sighs, tutting. “Why don’t you forget about that and just enjoy yourself? You’re finally starting to be useful to me.”

You can’t help but look for the organ from the corner of your eyes, a cold dripping feeling running down your spine.

Yoongi pulls you into his lap until you’re straddling him, your tight skirt digging into your thighs as you have to widen your legs around him. His mouth latches onto your neck to distract you, licking your clammy skin, sending shivers down you again.

His fingers curl inside your panties, moving the fabric to the side, so he can insert his digits fully. You hold his shoulders for stability, biting down moans.

“This is another dream.”

“Oh have you been dreaming about me?” he smirks.

“No!” you pant, “Yes...I’m dreaming.” His steady pressure moving inside you makes you dizzy, your jaw going slack as you lean into him. You can’t help but widen your legs, giving in to him in your lust. Yoongi takes the opportunity to kiss you, devouring your lips.

A knock on Yoongi’s office door stops his movements.

You stand up quickly, straightening your clothes, looking over at the corner where you could have sworn you had seen the large organ instrument.

“These came in for you, Sir.” A receptionist drops off three packages for him, excusing herself quietly before looking you over, her eyes narrowing at your appearance.

“You can leave now,” he says curtly and she huffs before leaving. He then turns back to you, swiping his fingers across his lips, tongue jutting out to roll over his wet glistening digits.

You pat down your skirt, legs wobbling. This wasn’t a dream?

“Come here.”

“Sir?” You look at the door, closed again, but unlocked.

“Come here, y/n.”

You take one hesitant step closer. Was this really happening? “W-We can’t,” you stutter out. “You can’t-”

“I can do whatever I want,” Yoongi laughs, “I’m the boss, remember? Now, come here.” He moves his chair further away, turning to fully face you, legs spread, a position you’ve only dreamed about.

You wipe the perspiration away from your brow and neck, looking down at his black Oxfords, until you’re finally courageous enough to look Yoongi in the eye, and what a mistake that was.

His eyes held a challenge that you couldn’t back away from. Yoongi was unbuckling his belt, undoing the button of his slacks.

He didn’t say come here this time, his pointer finger only had to draw one small movement to coax you to him.

He pulls you back to his lap easily, lets you clumsily touch him. This was really happening, and your boss seemed to be enjoying himself, acting so much nicer.

The smile he revealed, you believed to show kindness.

You smiled foolishly back, and he patted you head.

You hesitantly moved in for a kiss, pressing your lips softly to him, heart leaping when he opened his mouth for more, tasting his tongue.

The door opens again and you freeze, mortified at your predicament.

“I thought I told you to stay away.”

“You did, but look at her, she’s dripping with lust.”

With your back to the door, you can't see who is behind you, but his smooth sultry voice makes you shudder.

His words feels like daggers, each syllable chiseling away at you, fracturing what was left that held you together, revealing the truth underneath. It hit you like a splash of cold water, like waking up from a dream.

You look down at your hands, grasping tightly onto Yoongi’s shirt. “Father Park?”

“Hmm, not here,” he laughs, hands in his pockets, “Here you can call me Daddy,” he cocks his head, smiling.

Yoongi caresses your check, holding your jaw up when your head lulls to the side. You hear clicking, a belt buckle unfastening.

---

You wake up again in darkness.

That darkness never really left you, did it?

“Why are you doing this to me?” you call out.

The organ player reveals himself. He must have always been there too. “Because this is what you wanted,” he crawls over you, like he’s done countless times before, “what you begged for, prayed for, gave up everything for.”

“No, I didn’t want this,” you stutter out. Who was that woman you became? You barely recognized yourself in her...

Yet there were similarities, you suppose. If you had to recite a list of all your sins, you suppose your lists would look identical. If you had that kind of life, you suppose the path she took would have your footprints as well...

“Am I dead?” you look at your surroundings, soft sheets under you, fabric cascading over your body.

“Dead? No.” Yoongi chuckles. “You exist, y/n. Well, for us, death is just another existence.” Yoongi lies down next to you, arm over your stomach. You should push him away from you, but it’s cold and Yoongi is warmth, a fire lighting up the darkness.

“So I am dead...” you whisper.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Yoongi laughs. Humans can be quite amusing, he thinks. “What if I told you, you’re very much alive. See, the living realm is so much more fun, why would we keep you dead?”

“This place...”

“Welcome home,” Yoongi sighs, head snuggled to your shoulder.

“Is this hell?” you whisper, head heavy and limbs slow.

“No, not yet,” Yoongi smirks, “It’s just a dream. A place we can be alone together.”

“What is Jimin doing to my body?” you ask. You heart pounds, making you dizzy and anxious for the answer.

“Your body? Humans really are funny creatures...What is a body but a vessel to hold what’s really important, your soul, and who owns your soul, y/n?” he asks you. You stay quiet, resisting the answer, the consequence you’ll never escape from. “I will tell you something,” he whispers in your ear, “Your soul is here, with me. I hold it for the time being.” He places his hand over your heart, cupping your breast. “Feels just like it would in the physical world, doesn’t it?” he massages and tugs at the flesh. “Maybe it’s better, if you stay here with me?”

“Stay here, with you?” you repeat, trying to think of anything other than Yoongi’s slow torturous touch. You realize his touch feels familiar, skilled fingers like an old lover’s. You’ve betrayed yourself, over and over again.

You wonder if this is what you’ve become now, traitorous, self-gratifying, weak...did Father Park do this to you? Yoongi? Or was this...ache...void inside you always there, begging to be filled, to be touched?

And Yoongi was so excellent at making you feel whole, feel full of him and nothing else. He hugged you secure like a blanket, hands claiming you, soft and slow, with all the time in the world to make you his.

“If you decide you’d rather, let me have you, instead. Jimin is a master of desire. But we all are very adept at pleasure,” Yoongi smirks. “We can stay here for as long as you like. Your bones can turn to dust, but with me, here, your soul will remain. And you’ll be my Queen.” He kisses you, a slow drag of his lips pressing heavily onto yours making you feel even weaker.

The cascading fabric became tight around you, gold rings fastening it all in place to become a beautiful gown. You noticed Yoongi too wore gold, adorned on a black suit of armor fit for a King.

“Isn’t this what you dream of always?” he asks, a small smile pulling at his lips that made him look unthreatening. You knew better, but those tiny truths were being quieted by your King, who played his role so well, stuck his tongue inside your mouth and muted any lingering objections.

He places his hands on top of yours, stretching your arms upward, holding you in place, tongue taking away your voice. He lies his weight on top of you, kissing too sweetly the stretch of your neck, head nestled in the valley between your breasts, body sinking between your legs, mounting pleasure taking all your doubts away. “You don’t have to worry anymore,” Yoongi lies, “Give up. Give in.”

You try to keep your eyes open.

Yet your eyes flutter shut.

---

“Y/n.”

“Huh?” You turn your head in question.

Yoongi clears his throat, “As I was saying, due to the merger everyone is going to have to buckle down. We have to implement all new procedures, switch operating systems, upgrade the database... Are you listening!”

“Yes? Yes! Yes, Sir.” You sit up straighter, focusing on your boss.

“Expect to be here extra days, at least until everything settles in place.”

“Yes, Sir,” you nod, unsuccessfully trying not to frown.

“Also, since you will be managing twice as many people,” you wince at the thought, “You will have an assistant.”

On cue, there is a knock on Yoongi’s door.

“Hello,” you nod, standing up, forgetting you still had your binder in your lap, and papers scatter all over the floor. Yoongi curses as you quickly pick up your mess.

Your new assistant hands you the last stack of your remaining papers. You thank him, flustered at his kind gesture, your face heating up when you accidently bump his finger with your own.

“Hello,” he grins.

Yoongi lifts you up by the elbow, catching you off guard as you struggle to reorient yourself. “Nice to meet you, um...”

“Park Jimin.” Jimin licks his lips, beaming with excitement. “Hey, boss.”

You watch as the pair clasp hands, exchanging greetings. And a small part of you wonders, how it would feel

if their hands

were touching you instead.

---

So did you catch that y/n was actually reborn, did I fool you? But alas her soul is still theirs u.u

If this reaches 1k then I guess I will write a Mr. Kim version with the Kim trio, cause I’m not making myself suffer like this again for nothing lol :’D

#bts yandere #bts demon au #yandere bts #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x you #suga smut #suga x reader #bts one shot #bts scenarios #bts fantasy au

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olderthannetfic · 15 days

Note

I love Ao3 donation season because it truly brings out the most unhinged people.

Suddenly, these people whose blogs revolved only around fandom and memes turn into the most vocal activists, the most involved protesters. There's not a single cause they don't root for, there's not a GoFundMe they don't advertise.

Oh, you think you can donate 10 dollars to a site that provides you with hours of free entertainment and doesn't ask you to sell your soul through data mining? Well, then you should kill yourself and go to hell, because look at these *insert request of money from someone you've never heard of before, isn't part of your online social group, and you share nothing with* causes need it more!!!

I'm far more likely to donate to my mutuals/people I follow/causes I care about than random people (especially when the request comes from Tumblr users, the same breed that gave us people pretending to have AIDS and of being attacked in a mall bathroom for shipping the wrong ship).

But how dare we enjoy life when JonBenet Ramsey's killer is still on the loose, am I right?

Yuuup.

And half the time, the gofundmes they link to are dodgy as fuck. I don't reblog e-begging almost ever. I barely post about organizations fundraising, aside from OTW and maybe the Internet Archive once in a blue moon. Very occasionally, I'll find someone's "I'm a disabled, trans POC" post compelling enough that I'll donate myself, but I'm still not posting it here.

Mostly, I don't post such things because if I did, I'd never stop getting pestered to post more. But a lot of it is that many, many, many of them smell of bad money management of the "Oopsie, I spent all my money going to a con and buying merch! Now rent is due!" or "I adopted 57 disabled pets I don't have the means to care for!" (Yes, I have known many fans of both types. And all of them needed to beg again a month later.) I don't doubt that something is wrong in their life, but I just don't think it's money well spent. I'd rather donate to an organization or, on rare occasions, somebody I'm pretty sure is telling the truth about being from a poor-ass country where my few bucks might actually make an impact. That's not the majority of posts that I see.

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markantonys · 2 months

Text

AITA for joining a "cult" that thinks my sister and mom are Darkfriends?

First, some backstory. I (30m) have always been an outsider in my family. It wasn't anything to do with my parents - dad (dead) always spent all his time with me instead of my younger siblings, and (step)mom (43f) always gave me extra attention compared to her bio kids because she didn't want me to feel neglected - or with my brother (21m), who's always looked up to me. It was all because of my sister (19f). She's hated and bullied me ever since she was a toddler, and I have no idea why. I guess maybe she doesn't think I'm her real brother, or blames me for telling on her whenever she did irresponsible things like climb trees and talk to strangers. All I've ever done is try to keep her safe, but she's never appreciated it.

Anyway, there's this organization (my sister claims it's a cult, though I don't think that's fair) that's dedicated to serving the Light. My mom always hated them and kept them banned from our country because she thinks they have an agenda against women who can channel, and she's one herself, as is my sister. I used to believe her, but after reading one book written by the organization's founder, I realized that my mom has a totally biased view of them and they're actually doing really important work founded on admirable principles. So when my sister went missing at the hands of women who can channel, I decided I'd had enough of those women lying to everyone all the time and I joined this organization.

I did have my view of them shaken when I found out my mom had been kidnapped, abused, and murdered by one of their leaders (turns out she's actually still alive though, don't worry about that), but I challenged that leader to an honorable duel and killed him to avenge my mom, and my friends and I rooted out a handful of other corrupt members of the organization, so now with that small minority gone, the rest of us can continue doing the Light's work and spreading awareness of the evils of the One Power.

To be clear, I OBVIOUSLY don't think my sister and mom are Darkfriends; it's only everyone else who uses the One Power who is. I've explained this to my sister multiple times but it only makes her angrier instead of grateful that I'm making an exception for her and choosing to believe the best of her. It feels like I can never do anything right in her eyes, but maybe I've somehow got the wrong understanding of the situation. So, AITA?

******

u/dainbornhald: NTA. Your sister's problem isn't actually that you joined this organization (which totally does sound 100% Light-serving). She doesn't think you're her real brother and is just looking for any excuse to continue the bullying, manipulation, and gaslighting she's been using on you since she was a toddler. [+5k votes] u/childbyar: Came here to say this. Sister sounds like a textbook abuser, and, honestly, almost definitely a Darkfriend. I'd go no contact with her, OP, and maybe get a restraining order if you have to - she's obviously unhinged. [+1.2k votes]

u/amyrlinseat: You joined a cult that thinks your sister is a Darkfriend based on an innate characteristic about her that she didn't choose and can't change (unlike you, who DID choose to join this cult), and you're whining that she's mad at you for it??? YTA [-749 votes]

u/luckyfox: YTA for the cult thing, but this whole family's got serious mommy AND daddy issues (take it from an expert). Sister resents you for getting all your parents' attention growing up, and you have a victim complex about being a stepchild/half-brother. I can only wonder what might be going on with the middle brother who wasn't mentioned much here. You guys need to go to therapy. [+2 votes] u/galaddamodred [OP]: My brother always seemed very well-adjusted, but a few hours after I made this post he actually died going on a suicide charge in battle because he thought he was unimportant enough to risk and no one would care much if he died in the attempt. Which sucks because now the only sibling I've got left is my sister who hates me. [+273 votes] u/luckyfox: oh my god [+312 votes]

#every time i read galad's narration of elayne being sO MeAN to him in AMOL #i'm reminded of an r/aita post where the person is skirting around crucial information to make themselves sound like not the asshole jkfg #wot #wot book spoilers #the wheel of time

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jhuzen · 1 year

Note

I hate that tumblr has turned me into a Dottore simp...

But now I can't stop thinking about Dottore with a boyfriend with ADHD. Would he make notes?? I also think it would be extra hilarious if the reader was his lab assistant, like-

Dottore: How the hell did you get this done so quickly??

Reader: I haven't eaten, drank or moved from my desk for the last 12 hours.

-Morax

to worry a physician [m.reader]

morax anon and i are so in sync in the simping game, it’s beautiful. this is why ily. this was hilarious to write LMAO. so here’s another quickie for you. also don’t imitate dottore’s methods, he’s a lil unhinged 😔

𖦹 slightly suggestive in the end (again do not imitate dottore’s methods), a brief use of dottore’s real name

“H-Hey now… let’s not… jump to certain actions that we might soon regret…”

The cold metal was difficult against your back, you felt like a slab of meat hurled on some form of metal chopping board. You tried to get up but your beloved was quick to push you back down.

You winced as the buckles tightened around your body.

“You know how much I despise hypocrites, [Name].”

Suffice to say, it was a miracle that you were the last man standing amongst the myriad of assistants that the infamous second harbinger have been given. He went through all of them like a child digging into sweets ferociously, sometimes even quite viciously tearing them all apart limb from limb.

And yet somehow, you were the odd one out. You somehow managed to even keep up with the asinine nonsense that Dottore prattles on and on, writing down notes that you can barely organize either because your master is already jumping on the next topic, that or simply because there are tendencies of you forgetting to do them.

But even that didn’t trip you up. Because by a shot of luck, the harbinger found himself curling into your presence and starting to appreciate your efforts to a certain degree. He’s merciless, but he’s grown lenient on days where you are completely restless. Dottore may be cruel but he’s not a hypocrite.

Perhaps it is why you’re proudly wearing the title as Dottore’s far more favored being than the rest — his dearest beloved, a promised love that Dottore could never bother to share with others. He was possessive, that’s for sure, and he will keep you away from anything and anyone, even from the many segments of himself. It was hilariously pathetic, it’s like seeing a cat get so terribly territorial — only that it’s the very same cat that can lobotomize you in a split second if you so much as screw up any of his work.

However, it was as if it was innately built in you to catch up with him. It’s why Dottore finds you so interesting and remotely entertaining — the fact that you can barely make an organized effort on certain things, but when it comes to him, you’re all ears and can fulfill just about any task he has given you. Truly, you are his pride and joy and there can be no one in this world that can even refute that in the slightest.

But even Dottore can be extreme in his expression of affection, often toeing the threshold between something wholesome and adorable to something completely insane.

And aren’t you just the klutz, making the poor doctor worry.

You knocked on the door before entering — Dottore already told you to come in regardless, considering that you’re the only he has given his permission to do so. But still, you were his assistant, and even as his boyfriend, you still held a high degree of respect to the man (lest you barge in on him on his bad day and end up becoming a lab rat).

“I got what you asked for.”

Tearing himself away from his work, the doctor turned to you, half of his brain still very much attuned to the poor monstrosity of a cadaver that he just recently hacked away and toyed with, “What did I ask for?”

“Uhh… well, financial expense report for your Balladeer project in Sumeru, some relevant literatures for your current… cadaver endeavors, the new assignments that you got from the Jester that you somehow managed to push on me, the letter from Sumeru’s grand sage that you kept on whining about, and some samples that you asked from some poor unfortunate soul out there.”

Dottore’s eyes narrowed as he retained all the errands you’ve listed. Only for him to turn to you, a look of complete skepticism plastered on his temporarily unmasked face, “…That’s everything that I asked you to do.”

You slowly nodded, “…Yes? Is… something wrong with that?”

“I have made precise calculations of the average arrival of every single thing that I asked from you. A good half of them would have taken you a few weeks at most.”

“…Yes, well aware of that.”

You suddenly felt your poor tie getting yanked down as you came face-to-face with your normally unhinged lover, “Are you slacking on me? Are you cutting corners? You know I have no tolerance for such things.”

“Wait, dear— my tie.”

“I believe that head of yours should be the focus of your concerns, dear.”

At this point, resistance was futile, so you merely gave in with a sigh, carefully placing the basket filled with every single thing that he asked for. Dottore gave a side glance at your submissions, almost taken aback by the mountainous height of the papers you’ve stacked.

Still, while he may be lenient on you on certain things, he knows and expects that you above all are aware of the fact that he highly prioritizes his work. He still has to keep you in line after all if you’re starting to slag on your duties as his assistant.

“This is suspiciously early. It’s only been four days since these assignments. What did you do?”

You laughed a little, “You know I would never jeopardize your work, Zandik. I’d rather be six-feet under than even consider that in the first place.” The way his red eyes glowered, was enough to make you feel small, “…I… swear it…”

“Talk.”

“I only had to cut out a few unnecessary things on my schedule so I can focus on my tasks… like… sleep or… meals. Just… a couple, I promise.”

That wasn’t true. It wasn’t a deliberate cutting out. It’s only that you’ve fixated on your work and that you were always itching to be on the move that you completely lost track of your time and ultimately screwed with your time frame in eating and sleeping. You barely ate and barely slept and your stack of work was the testament of that.

What. Dottore blinked slowly as his brain processed the information you so very generously dropped on him. You, in your efforts of focusing on your tasks… had managed to cut off the only very reason why you’re even alive in the first place. The most necessary part of your day, which now somehow was deemed as otherwise, was cut out of your schedule just to do his work.

Dottore has discreetly admired your dedication as his assistant, and quite frankly that was the reason why you’re still alive and still sleeps in the same bed as he does every single night. But something about the fact that you’ve neglected yourself just for his work was enough to irk the ruthless doctor.

The loosening grip on your tie tightened into a vice and before you knew it, your back was met with the cold hard surface of an empty operating table — it wasn’t even one of those that bend and are cushioned for comfort, it was where he often placed his experiments in.

“Wait, wh—” you quickly swallowed your complaint the moment you saw his eyes glinting dangerously down at you.

“I need to pry your brain open.”

You almost choked on air as you heard your lovers words, you immediately propped yourself up by your elbows, “What do you mean pry my brain open?!”

“I mean cracking that thick skull of yours to see whether or not something went wrong in your wiring,” Dottore’s movements were swift as he climbed up to the table, straddling your hips as he reached for the belt buckles attached at the side of the this cold metal slab.

“H-Hey now… let’s not… jump to certain actions that we might soon regret…”

And now here you are, at a complete stalemate with your beloved boyfriend, with you completely under his mercy. You were tied down and those leather straps were not at all helping you in making your grand escape. Not to mention, you can’t exactly just shove off your boyfriend.

“Not eating or sleeping for days just to complete your work would have been admirable had it not been for the fact that you need it.” Dottore sighed, reaching out a gloved hand to cup your face, squishing your cheeks together, “And here I thought you were slacking on your work… only to find something far worse.” The grip on your cheeks tightened.

You only shot him a pleading look, absolutely trying not to get your brain picked on. Your beloved had finally granted your reddening cheeks some mercy as he let go of it, “It’s not exactly something I can help, y’know? It just comes onto me naturally.”

“You not eating or even barely sleeping for the next four days is natural?” The harbinger was perplexed to say the least. “Would you like me to repeat that again so you can hear just how utterly asinine your words are?”

Huffing, you turned your cheek to the other direction, only to be faced by a dismembered head and immediately looked back at your lover, “I just wanted to make sure you have no hassle in the long run. And like I said, I don’t mind it.”

“I, however, mind the fact that if you keep this up, I might be looking for a potential replacement in just a few days once you kick the bucket.” He huffed back at you, “I hate inconveniences.” His scowl was deep and showed complete frustration towards you and your actions.

And for a quick second, your sleep and nutrient deprived mind had finally stopped to take in as you realized that this was Dottore’s odd way of showing concern. He met your gaze, and with the way your eyes tendered as the realization sank into you, he was far too late.

“Aww, pumpkin… you were worried—?”

“Perish the thought. Absolute lunacy. Whatever. Have it your way — I’ll indulge myself this time.”

“Indulge your… H-Hey! Where are you touching?!”

Dottore’s smile was wicked and devious as his hands traveled somewhere far south, copping a quick feel, “By my initial diagnosis, it seems as though you’ve been experiencing bouts of hyperactivity to the point of neglect at your food intake as well as the much needed rest. Why don’t I sort this out? As your personal physician, I suggest we do something about that before assigning your prescribed medications, no?”

Fret not, he made good on his promise — and fed you before tucking you in bed… but not after feeding him yourself.

#do not fuck while there’s a preserved dismembered head in the next operating table #just a psa #genshin impact x male reader #il dottore x male reader #dottore x male reader #jhuzen’s stupid one shots

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nordickies · 8 months

Note

I have a question, are nations seen as ordinary people or are they seen as famous, like they are celebrities?

How unhinged do you want me to get about this topic? I have so many thoughts but no skills to write them down in a comprehensible manner. I have a lot of ideas on how Nations could potentially work in their universe, so exploring ideas like this is fun. The canon gives us some hints about it, but I love deep-diving into stuff. As a warning, this is how I view the situation and use it in my interpretations. I tag my thoughts on the nationverse as Nordickies Nationverse AU - so just to clarify, I don't even try to explain the canon with this! This is, once again, just my own thoughts and ideas. Feel free to implement them in your work.

The way I think Nations work, it would be impossible to see them as totally detached from the public consciousness. After all, they work for their government - their job description is to represent their country, domestically and internationally. But, how they're supposed to represent their state is a bit different than, say, a Head of State (like a president) would. They're not political personas; in fact, they would probably be pressed to be excessively apolitical. Their political rights would be almost certainly stripped away. They're not equal to their country's citizens in that regard.

While a Head of State would represent a country in diplomatic and political settings, a Nation would represent a country in entertainment, so to speak. These immortals don't hold any authority, so the only purpose they would have is to entertain people - Be the symbolic figure for people who share a national identity. This also makes Nations more people-oriented, easily approachable, and relatable. They regularly visit schools, hospitals, and ceremonies, work as a spokesperson for humanitarian organizations, appear at national celebrations or major events, support their athletes in international competitions, do interviews, etc.

And, of course, a massive part of their job is to uphold relationships with fellow Nations, which is a form of entertainment in itself. That's what the World Meetings are all about, for example. They're not political meetings, and they don't decide anything there. It's like a massive corporate party, just a chance for all the Nations to gather in one place for half a week and have fun. Keep up appearances, meet coworkers, and do networking. It's almost a facade sometimes, but the intentions are good. I think the Nations enjoy that particular side of their job more than anything.

But it hasn't always been like this, and I think the role of Nations has changed a lot throughout history. This sort of "celebrity" status only developed through celebrity culture and expectations of the modern world. Every Nation views their role differently, primarily based on their culture, personality, and even global status. The USA is far more famous than, say, a micronation. Some Nations love the luxurious celebrity lifestyle and genuinely love to meet and work with their people. But others prefer to keep to themselves and avoid publicity as much as possible outside work hours. I don't think there even is an agreed standard on what kind of role a Nation is expected to serve, to be honest - it's all determined by the local culture and government, not to mention Nations that don't even have an independent state! To summarize, some are far more public and famous than others.

But, this public role does come with a heavy burden. Being the representative of potentially millions of people means that Nations are not individuals anymore. They're not supposed to have needs, desires, or opinions - especially if those diverge from the masses or conflict with their state's interests. They don't even have an individual name anymore, and they just carry the name of their land. Their personal experiences don't matter because they're not a person anymore.

Every single thing they do can be praised or criticized (especially nowadays through social media). When their people are divided, whose side are they going to take? Do they serve their people or their government? Who do they really represent at the end of the day? Their government tells them that they represent the people, the nation. But their people may see them as the face of the system. And maybe, in their heart, they don't feel a particular connection to either of them. But that's a scary thought because if they're not here to serve their nation, then what is their purpose?

They didn't exactly ask for this role; they were just put into this situation. Nations don't know what they're doing or why they are here, but they feel this sense of duty and responsibility to be here for their people. Their personal needs, feelings, or even opinions don't matter. They have grown up thinking that they're here for humanity, not for themselves. But sometimes, they catch themselves thinking how unfair it is. They're expected to be perfect, to conform to the norms others have assigned to them. They can't disappoint people, but always put their best face forward and be the picture-perfect representative. But let's be real here, it's always going to be impossible to please everyone. They probably have loud critics, and what would entertainment be without scandals and controversies? It's such a fascinating and complex part of Nations' existence that I love to explore in the Nationverse.

Ah, I got off the rails, but I seriously have so many thoughts on the whole concept. I love developing this AU. I'm a logical person, and I must make sense of everything. I adore overanalyzing media, especially silly media like this. So, figuring out the small details of Nationverse is always fun for me. It really gets my creativity going because I'm curious about worldbuilding overall. If you didn't get it, I apologize. But if you did, I applaud you.

TL;DR: They're celebrities/public figures, but their level of fame and willingness to interact in celebrity culture is totally dependent on their personality and role in society. Some bathe in the public light, and some avoid it like the plague. It's a source of fluff and angst in this AU; I love it <3

#nordickies nationverse au

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adobe-outdesign · 2 years

Text

DHMIS Series Liveblog/Initial Thoughts

Episode 1:

The trio can harmonize surprisingly well

Hearing Red shout was the most jarring part of the episode

It’s interesting how there are parallels to the main series. Red’s connection to phones, the two aging (like at the end of 2), Bird’s eye getting gouged out (that’s like the third time), and, of course, Bird being vored at least once

Someone call the phone numbers. I’d do it but they’re British

I love that briefcase. might be my new favorite teacher

Much like the main series, there’s some great symbolism/meaning to the insanity. I love “you can be anything you want to do” in particular, as well as how Red’s laziness is rewarded while Bird’s efforts are ignored

Episode 2:

Bird/Duck calling himself a crow-like thing is probably a nod to the early fandom days, where he was often mistaken as a crow and it was also used as his nickname for a bit

Think this goes without saying but Bird being dead and having his organs removed parallels ep. 5

I made a joke about the David thing and what that means so I won’t do it again

Always headcanoned Red’s mouth as being terrifying, glad to see that’s been validated

This show is fucking hysterical, they keep getting me when I least expect it

“ew claymation“ JFLKADJS;

the claymation is gorgeous. in fact the whole series is gorgeous

Can I adopt Stain they’re adorable

the Bird that died had maggots so that was Actual Bird. there’s negative continuity here though so that might not matter

glad to see the lamp finally sobered up

Bird’s obsession with the military references ep 2 of the OG series. there’s a black and white photo of him in the military in the BG

the thing with the coffin was hysterical. annoyed the teacher into submission

Episode 3

the ending fucking GOT ME aljdfskl; could they have cut that more perfectly

rare instance of Bird being the straightman instead of Red

confirmed, Bird is the dad and Red and Yellow are siblings. makes perfect sense

once again, phones are bad news

I love how skanked up those human puppets are with the janky eyes

probably the creepiest episode so far in terms of setting

unexpected Roy cameo

this series is impeccably paced. I feel like I’ve been watching for hours but it’s only been and hour and a half

Episode 4

HOW IS THIS SHOW SO FUCKING FUNNY two minutes in and I’m in hysterics already

“keep an eye on grease fire” alkdsjf. also Bird’s window thing was a nod to the second episode when Yellow was remembering him yelling at it for not respecting him

the name bit klakfdjflsa

let Red say fuck

let Bird say dick

weird seeing Colin not killing people

love how the worm eagle is not malicious so much as a fucking simp

Bird is both completely unhinged and also the funniest character in this show

weird wholesome Colin moment

if there’s a worm in your brain, pro tip: go to sleep or shower

Episode 5

I just realized that there are at least three episodes in this show where the teacher fucking dies

Red’s interview on It’s Nice That stated that he loved extreme sports so this isn’t surprising

the guy in the train costume is having a great time

the Clayhill reference fajlkds. this is nothing but in jokes and I love it

“they’re not here” “aw what” AJDFKSL;A; THE SHOW CAN’T KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH BEING THIS FUNNY

padlock canon and their kid is whatever the fuck that is. sure why the fuck not

Bird rests his head on Yellow’s shoulder to sleep and that’s adorable

Red just chucks Roy out the window. the correct response

the simulation thing is probably a nod to the main series, which literally took place in a TV

what the fuck was that ending. I sense plotish stuff

Episode 6

I think this is an AU that parallels the original series. so like the original series was a TV show, this is another fabrication. it doesn’t seem to be by Roy this time but that clown thing

love the design of this teacher a lot

this kind of parallels Red’s awareness in ep 6. of the original shorts

once again, the teachers get fucking dunked on. refreshing

oh I noticed the train teacher’s license plate said Lesley earlier. I just assumed that was the teacher’s name

I SUPER do not like the meat teacher running by like that

I also SUPER do not like Lesley outbursts, this is def the most eerie episode

Okay, shitpost thoughts aside, that was incredible (though that’s not surprising; I expect nothing less than Becky and Joe). The animation, puppetry, and sets? Impeccable. The humor? Probably the funniest thing I’ve seen all year. The surreal horror? On point. I am so, so glad we got this series on top of the already perfect original series.

Compared to the original series, this series is a lot funnier and probably less scary as a whole, though it does have its moments. It does an excellent job of expanding upon the original characters personalities and makes them pretty darn endearing. The plot does seem looser (which I’ll talk about below), but they may have planned for a potential second season. I would say that as a whole the original series is better (creepier, hits harder, more satisfying plot and resolution), but A) that was a goddamn masterpiece and I’d be impressed if anything topped it and B) this is still incredible in its own right.

I’ll need to chew on the plot more, but my initial guess is that this is an AU (the wall calendar says June 20 but the characters are their original colors, the teachers are nicer, and Roy is creepy but doesn’t appear to be controlling everything, nor does everything seem to take place in a TV like the original series).

Rather, I think this is telling a similar story to the original series, but in a different way. I noted some of the parallels above, such as Bird’s death, the world being fabricated, and the whole last episode is similar to 6, but with Yellow being the one who “woke up” in place of Red and Lesley replacing Roy. The teachers also don’t appear to be virtual simulations like in the original series.

So in this series, this Lesley character controls everything. She may just be a stand-in for Becky herself, or she may be a new character with her own backstory and reasons for doing this; we’ll probably have to wait and see (the book that was shredded probably would’ve explained this). Just like the original series, the world the puppets live in is fake, sort of a meta commentary on the show itself. It’s worth noting that unlike Roy, Lesley doesn’t seem to be killing the puppets and has a fondness for them to some extent. Make of that what you will.

#don't hug me i'm scared #dhmis #dont hug me im scared #dhmis series #liveblog #outdesign posts things #dhmis spoilers #greatest hits

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gimmethatagustd · 3 months

Text

Hi besties,

If you've been here since the beginning, you'll recognize this unhinged banner jhskdfjds I fucking forgot about it lol. It's the banner I used for my very first follower milestone in June 2022. Clearly, I was just as much of a mess then as I am now.

Anyway, as mentioned in my poll, I've decided to do a little game to celebrate making friends with all of you to spend gremlin hours with 👹 Please join me in playing...

part 2 when?

Instructions

Pick a fic from my masterlists to request a Part 2 (or 3, 4, etc), and I will write a short continuation of that fic! It can be any fic, even from series or my other drabble games.

Rules

○ You can submit more than one request, but please only submit one fic per ask (so I can stay organized). Send me an ask here. ○ You must be 18+ and off anon to request smut - unless you don't want to expose your blog and you've DMed me so I know who you are first before you submit via anon (this is for you thirsty 🍆 anon hehe I won't snitch on you). ○ You can request a standard "I want more of this fic" or an AU version of the fic (a side character/plot spin-off, "what if the OC ended up with X-character instead", "what if you wrote OHTS but everyone was a zombie" kshdfkjs etc). ○ I'll try to keep these short, but we'll see lol. I might also cheat and use these as part of my 100 Drabble Challenge cuz I make the rules.

I think that's it?? As always, I have the right to decline a request if I don't feel comfortable writing it.

I LOVE YOU ALL, THANK YOU! I'M EXCITED! (CONSENSUAL) KISSES AND HUGS OKAY BYE

your bestie, jai 💜

#follower milestone #milestone drabbles #part 2 when?

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 1 year

Text

What a Pair we Make

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: dd/lg dynamics (no age play, although he gives her lots of stuffed animals and cutesy things), daddy kink, spanking, kink negotiation, mentions of abusive relationships and bad childhood, edging/orgasm denial, PIV sex, fingering

Summary: A series of short scenes depicting a very loving growth and evolution of a dd/lg relationship with Marcus.

A/N: There’s no plot to this. I just love, LOVE, LOVE writing conversations about kink negotiation and discussing kink and the cute sort of awkwardness they can carry. The following is just several related ‘slice of life’ scenes that don’t really connect other than the throughline of a kink relationship, inspired by some unhinged DMs with @littlebirdsbookshelf. It’s mostly soft, although there is some explicit smut in some scenes. Dividers are by @firefly-graphics. Please note: reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent and has trouble communicating when upset, although no specific diagnosis is ever mentioned.

A Further Note on Setting: There is a scene in which these two go to the National Zoo, but the actual zoo I’m describing is based on the one I regularly go to, both for plot conveniences and because I do not want to spend hours looking at a Zoo map to write my dumb stories. And because rays are cool.

Masterlist

You fume as you stalk into your building, slamming the elevator button several times in rapid succession, as if you could solve all of your problems by hitting this one button.

You’re not sure who you’re mad at. The VP of Sales, for giving you a very public dressing down for your “leadership” on the doomed project you were handed two months into your employment, that–shocker–ended up being implemented poorly, with not enough resources to achieve all of your goals? Your boss, who didn’t say a goddamn thing during the worst Zoom meeting of your life, not sticking up for you or standing up for her team?

Or are you mad at yourself for the sum of your small mistakes and missteps early on, caused both by lack of leadership support and your own naivete? Are you angry at your idealistic optimism, charging headfirst into this job and happily taking on new responsibilities, not understanding that you were being handed this project because no one in their right mind would want it? Or… are you upset because, at the most critical moment, you couldn’t manage to form the words to actually speak up for yourself, choking on your successes and looking like an idiot in a meeting where it felt like everyone was out to get you?

Of course, the easiest punching bag is always you. You, who’s always struggled in one way or another with fitting in, and now the entire sales team knows your name and hates you. You, who’d bounced around from dead-end job to dead-end job before finally landing this first big break–a tiny little cog in a massive organization, where anonymity is your friend, and you hide in plain sight behind massive spreadsheets and reply-all emails. When shit hits the fan, though, you stumble on your words, your tongue feels thick in your mouth and all the thoughts in your head can’t seem to find their way out of your mouth.

You’re not cut out for it, you decide as the elevator dings, announcing your arrival on your floor. You may as well quit, before they force you out. Which is fine, half the time you’re hardly a functional human being, let alone able to manage this failed project, the ire of your coworkers, and still somehow cook dinner for yourself.

It’s too much.

The door opens with a bang, and you flounce into the living room and throw yourself down on the couch. Marcus’s shoes had been on the mat beside the door, so that means he’s home before you, probably in the bedroom changing out of his work suit into something more comfortable. The two of you have lived together for about three months now, and have slipped into an easy routine.

Sure enough, in a few minutes, Marcus comes out of the bedroom, wearing track pants and a plain gray t-shirt. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says cheerfully, coming around the back of the couch and giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“Mm,” you respond, shrinking away from him even though you crave his presence. You always do this–you push everyone away, isolate yourself, your own worst enemy.

“Someone must’ve had a bad day,” Marcus remarks, not dropping his friendly demeanor. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I’m a failure,” you state dramatically. “Literally. This project is tanking, and it’s my fault.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Marcus says gently.

“It is,” you insist. “And even if it isn’t totally my fault, even if the damn thing was doomed from the beginning, it doesn’t matter, because I’m being blamed. Very publicly, I might add.”

“Really?” Marcus sinks down on the couch next to you. “Where the hell is your boss in all of this?”

“It’s no secret that she’s scared to death of our VP,” you mutter. “She’ll never say a word against him.”

“That’s shitty management,” Marcus says, ire in his tone over your treatment.

“Yeah?” you snap. “Well, it’s fucking happening, I don’t have any control over it.”

“Hey, I know,” Marcus replies. “It’s nothing against you, I was just saying–”

“Isn’t it?” you demand, your voice becoming high-pitched and shrill. “I might get fired, and it’s my fault.”

“I–I really don’t think that’s true, and even if it is–”

“I’m not cut out for this,” you say suddenly, putting your face in your hands. “I don’t think I’m one of these people who can handle the normal, day-to-day pressure of corporate America. I just don’t think I can. I’m not strong enough.”

“You’re plenty strong,” Marcus assures you. “You are.”

“I’m a basket case.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh yeah?” you counter. “Remember last week when I freaked out when the store was out of zucchini, and I had to make an entirely new plan for dinner? Who does that?”

“Some people have a harder time with change,” Marcus points out diplomatically.

“Ugh!” you cry. “You’re no help!”

“What can I do?” Marcus asks softly, touching your arm, trying desperately to forge a connection, and it makes you feel even worse for lashing out. Through all things, Marcus just wants to feel connected, and here you are, pushing him away because of your own personal bullshit.

“I don’t know,” you cry out, just so frustrated with everything that you can no longer carry on a reasonable conversation about it.

But then, almost unbidden, an image flashes through your mind. You blink several times in rapid succession to dispel it. No, that’s ridiculous.

“What?” Marcus presses, noticing the change in your expression.

“N-Nothing would help,” you say. “It’s just my own personal shit that I have to work through.”

The image returns. You, laying in Marcus’s lap, getting the catharsis you need through something physical–

“Okay,” Marcus says, frowning. You can tell he doesn’t buy it.

You can’t stop thinking about it, now. His hand coming down on you again and again, finally giving you a reason to let go of it all. No. Marcus wouldn’t. He doesn’t mind rougher sex, sometimes, but he’s hardly sadistic about it. Everything he does, he does for your pleasure and enjoyment.

That wouldn’t be about pleasure or enjoyment. It would be about release. Just… being allowed to feel things instead of being stuck in your head.

“You know,” Marcus says softly, “you can tell me anything. I promise, no matter what it is, I’ll want to hear it.”

You shake your head from side to side.

Except, your denial lets Marcus know that there is something on your mind.

“I just want to understand,” he murmurs, his hand stroking a gentle path up and down your arm.

“I don’t know what I need,” you mumble. “But I keep–I can’t stop thinking about–”

Marcus nods patiently, but doesn’t speak.

“I–I wonder if you would… spank me,” you say under your breath.

Marcus’s eyebrows raise. “Come again?”

See? You knew he wouldn’t go for it. “Never mind,” you say, shaking your head again. “I just… I dunno, some kind of physical release feels like it could… help.”

“Hang on,” Marcus says. “Don’t dismiss it. Let’s talk.”

"It's stupid," you protest.

"You haven't even given it a chance," Marcus points out.

"It was a fleeting thought," you say.

"Was it?"

"...No," you whisper. "I can't stop thinking about it."

"About being spanked?" Marcus asks.

"About you. Um, spanking me. Not just in general. You," you clarify. Marcus is an integral component of this fantasy. You've never wanted this before, but something about this relationship with Marcus makes you want… something more. Something as-of-yet undefined and unexplored.

"About me?" Marcus asks, smiling. He scoots closer, putting his arm around you on the couch. "Tell me."

"I just feel… safe, with you. And sometimes I think about how you… take such good care of me. And it makes me want… I don't know."

"Makes you want… more?" Marcus supplies.

"I don't know," you repeat quietly. "I'm not… I'm not wording this right, I can't find the words right now, I'm not in the right headspace," you murmur. "I'm stupid."

"That's certainly not true," Marcus says firmly.

"I c-can't talk right when I'm having a rough day," you stammer. "It's too hard, I–"

"Then don't talk," Marcus says, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. "I'm gonna ask you a few questions, and you can just nod or shake your head, okay?"

You sink with relief, nodding.

"Okay. Question one," Marcus says with a sheepish expression. "Do you want me to spank you?"

You can't keep eye contact, but you nod, looking down at your hands.

"Okay," Marcus replies softly, reassuringly. "Next question. Can I trust you to say 'stop' or tap my leg if you need to stop?"

Another nod, still looking down.

"Last question," Marcus says, and you can hear his smile. "Do you love me?"

An easy one. You bob your head up and down rapidly, making eye contact and smiling for the first time that night.

Marcus’s smile widens. "I love you, too. And hey–I'm always here to help, okay? No matter what it is you need."

You nod again.

Marcus scoots back, sitting back on the couch. "Come here," he instructs quietly. "Come lie across my lap."

You feel silly as you come to your stomach, face down in Marcus’s lap. You consider saying 'never mind,' but part of you is so curious, wanting to feel this so much, you don’t open your mouth.

Marcus gently pulls your leggings and underwear down, and you inhale sharply. You didn't expect him to do that. It sends an extra frisson of desire down your spine.

"Still okay?" Marcus asks, noticing the small tremor.

"Yes," you whisper.

Marcus's fingertips gently trace up and down your cheeks. "How many should I give you? Ten?" he asks, his voice a little rougher than normal. Does he like this, too?

You think for a moment. Ten doesn't seem like enough, not if you want to really feel it.

"Fifteen," you whisper.

Marcus is quiet for a few moments. "Okay," he says. "Fifteen."

His fingers stop tracing you, and you automatically tense in anticipation. You count your breaths for stability–one, two, thr–

Marcus’s hand comes down on your left cheek and you squeak in surprise. It stings, but it's not too bad. It's the jolt that startles you more than anything.

Another sharp sting on your other cheek, and you press your lips together and whine softly.

"Why are you being punished?" Marcus suddenly asks above you.

Oh. You have no idea, you didn't think about this at all.

Slap. "Come on, sweetheart. Tell me why."

You suck in a breath and try to think. One thought comes to you immediately.

"Because I'm being stupid," you mumble bitterly, thinking of your inexplicable outburst earlier.

Smack. "That is absolutely not it," Marcus says, his voice far more firm than it had been before. "I want you to really think about why for the rest of your punishment," he says, before dealing you another hard thwack on the alternating cheek.

It already kind of hurts. He's done what, five? And you can already feel your cheeks burning with friction. You try to think about Marcus's question, you really do, but already your mind feels like it's emptying, unable to focus on anything but the sharp stings on your ass as Marcus deals out six, seven, eight, nine–

You start crying on ten. Huge, globular tears that run down your face as you sob in relief and pain.

"Remember to say 'stop' if you need," Marcus reminds you, but he doesn't stop. His hand comes down for the eleventh time and you give up trying to staunch the flow of tears and simply cry loudly into the couch cushion.

After the twelfth, Marcus asks, "Now do you know why you're being punished?"

You don't. You shake your head as you continue to sob.

Slap. "Because you're not being kind to yourself," Marcus says firmly. "And I can't stand to watch you beat yourself up over and over." Smack. "So it stops now, understand? I don't have any problems doing this again."

His hand pauses for a moment. "Tell me you understand," he says.

"Yes," you sob, open-mouthed, as all the tension you've carried all day–or hell, much longer than that–breaks, and you feel like you're floating away when Marcus delivers the last devastating slap.

The punishment has stopped, but you can't stop crying. You take huge gulping breaths of air as you try to get yourself under control, and Marcus is pulling you up and into his lap properly.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “You can cry. You don’t have to try and stop yourself.”

You nod your thanks into his shirt, clutching at him desperately.

“Shhh,” Marcus soothes. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

The two of you sit there for God knows how long. You, sniffling softly into Marcus’s shirt, and him holding you through it. The longer you sit there, the more you realize: the internal pain you’d been feeling has been washed away, replaced by a bone-deep sense of relief.

Eventually, the tears subside, and a wave of gratitude washes over you. You close your eyes, breathing Marcus in.

“Are you feeling okay?” Marcus asks quietly.

“Yeah, actually,” you answer at the same volume. “I really do feel… better.”

“It helped?”

You nod. “I just kind of feel… blank, and floaty.”

“That’s good,” Marcus says.

“Did you–” you start. “Was that–okay? Like, it wasn’t too much, or… bad, or–”

“I don’t like causing you pain,” Marcus begins, and you cringe. “No, hang on,” he says. “But I do feel good when I give you something you want, or need, and it–it seems like you needed that, in a way. And,” he says, swallowing. “I, uh–” he ducks his head, chuckling.

“What?”

“Well, getting to spank you raw like that was… surprisingly hot,” Marcus admits, blushing lightly.

You let out a watery laugh and tighten your hold on Marcus. A word escapes your lips, then. One word that, in hindsight, would change your relationship, your life, forever.

“Daddy.”

Whispered, barely audible, muffled by his shoulder. More of a reflex than anything else.

Marcus’s only reaction is a sharp intake of breath that he lets out slowly. His hand gently rubs up and down your back. You don’t think he’d heard, but then, just as quiet–

“I’m here. Daddy’s got you.”

“Can we talk?”

For a moment, you panic. That phrase has never heralded anything good in your life, ever. Seeing your alarm, Marcus quickly changes tactics.

“Nothing bad, I promise. I wanted to talk about last night,” Marcus says, sitting down next to you.

Oh. Right. Last night, when you’d asked Marcus to spank you out of nowhere after having a bad day. Well, technically, it wasn’t out of nowhere. It hadn’t been the first time that mental image wormed its way into your brain, but it’s not like you know how to actually talk about something like that.

“I’m sorry if that was weird–” you begin.

“Not weird. I may be wrong–but I don’t think I am–” Marcus says, grinning, “–but liking to be spanked is very common.”

“I know,” you grumble, your face heating exponentially. “I’ve been on fucking Pornhub, too.”

Marcus laughs loudly. “Caught me,” he teases. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his. “What, then?”

Marcus swallows, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “You… you called me something,” he says quietly. “And I can’t get it out of my head.”

You don’t say anything right away, waiting for Marcus to continue. Eventually, he does.

“I hear it in my head every five minutes, I swear,” he says with a little huff of laughter. “And all I know is that I wish I could hear you say it again.”

“Daddy?” you whisper with a small smile.

You don’t miss the way Marcus shudders. “I don’t know why I like that,” he laughs softly.

“I may be wrong, but I don’t think I am,” you say with a grin, mirroring Marcus’s earlier statement, “but liking being called ‘Daddy’ is pretty common.”

“Touche,” Marcus murmurs, grabbing your hand and kissing your palm.

“What a pair we make,” you say softly.

“I think we make the perfect pair,” Marcus protests.

“I like calling you ‘Daddy,’” you admit, your voice barely audible. “You–you take such good care of me. I’ve never felt more… safe, with anyone,” you tell him. “I know I’ve mentioned that my, uh, my childhood wasn’t a great one. My mom… she fled an abusive relationship in the middle of the night and took only me and what she could carry,” you say with a self-deprecating laugh. “I remember fucking crying because I had to leave all my stuffed animals behind. Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing? We were fleeing for our lives, and my dumbass was worried about–”

“Shh,” Marcus hushes you quietly, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You were a kid. You didn’t know.”

“Anyways,” you mutter, “I spent the next, I dunno, twenty years? Feeling unsafe and unmoored, and now suddenly there’s–” you swallow, “–there’s you, and it’s the healthiest, most positive relationship I’ve ever had, and I feel like I can finally… exhale. Does–does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Marcus murmurs, between kissing your forehead and temples over and over again. “Yes, honey, it does.” He’s quiet for a while, the both of you just existing together in the moment, reveling in the security of Marcus’s arms. After a long while, he speaks again.

“What was your favorite? Of the things you left behind,” Marcus asks you softly.

“Oh,” you say, laughing softly. “I had this bunny. It came with a book that I loved–The Velveteen Rabbit. My mom used to read it to me, and I’d just flip through and look through the pictures when I was alone,” you tell him.

“What happened to the book?” Marcus asks, but you can tell from his tone that he already knows the answer.

“It’s long gone,” you say wistfully. “Wish I knew what edition it was.”

Marcus abruptly pulls you into his lap for a crushing hug. “I’m glad you feel safe with me,” he says, emotion choking his voice. “Please, always feel that way.”

“I will, Daddy,” you whisper, burying your head in Marcus’s neck. “I really, really will.”

You don’t know why it surprises you that, in less than a week, Marcus has a gift for you. Coming home from work, you walk into your bedroom to change into some sweatpants, and nearly fall to the ground at the sight that awaits you.

On the bed, propped up on the pillows, sits a simple brown stuffed bunny with large, floppy ears that look impossibly soft. And, sitting next to it, is a book with an old, worn cover.

You gasp and surge forward to pick it up, flipping open the front cover and raking your eyes over the title page. The Velveteen Rabbit.

“It’s a first edition,” comes a soft voice behind you.

You spin, and Marcus is leaning in the doorway, watching you with a small smile.

You pick up the rabbit next–it feels just as soft as it looks–and hug it to your chest, burying your face in its soft fur.

You don't remember the last time someone purchased something so simple and yet so meaningful.

You look at Marcus with unnaturally shiny eyes. "Daddy…" you whisper with a watery smile, "I love it."

"Come here," Marcus says, and you don't have to be told twice. You stride forward, bunny still clutched tightly to your chest, and allow yourself to be wrapped in Marcus's arms.

"Thank you," you whisper into his chest.

"You might not have gotten what you needed, what you deserved as a child," Marcus murmurs into your hair, "but that won't happen with me."

Your breath catches at the quiet ferocity in Marcus's tone, but at the same time, a little sliver of doubt worms its way into your brain. This isn't his responsibility, it says. This is too much of a gift for him to possibly give you.

"You don't have to, I dunno, take care of me or anything like that," you tell him in a small voice. "I don't want to just be a… a burden."

Marcus huffs a laugh, as if you'd just said something incredibly ridiculous.

"Oh, honey," he chuckles, "I've never wanted anything more."

It doesn’t happen all at once–there are many more funny, sometimes awkward discussions where you and Marcus hash things out, negotiating this new side of your relationship.

The crux of all of them, though, is that, for the first time, you feel safe just being… you. You start to indulge more in the little things that bring you joy–things that you might have dismissed as frivolous or silly before, but now that Marcus is really paying attention, he notices.

Like he notices one day in the supermarket, when the two of you are buying groceries for the week, how your eyes linger on a bin of stuffed toys near the checkout. Already in line, your cart full of groceries, you look down at them, one hand reaching out briefly to touch a cute little avocado with big, sparkling eyes and a tiny smile. Something in its goofy expression makes you smile, giggling softly at the toy.

Normally, you’d continue through the checkout aisle, putting down the stuffie with one last fond smile and returning to the task at hand, putting your groceries on the conveyor belt. When you turn, though, Marcus is watching you–with the same fond smile.

“Here.” He picks up the same stuffed avocado you’d been admiring. “Is this one your favorite?”

“It’s–it’s nice,” you say, “but it’s fine, I mean–it’s silly, what am I doing to do with–”

“Let me spoil my baby girl,” Marcus murmurs in your ear. “Let Daddy spoil you, honey.”

He hands you the toy with a crooked grin and a quick kiss on the forehead, and you can't contain the happy smile that spreads across your face. "Thank you," you whisper.

"Of course," Marcus answers softly. "Now help me with the groceries, hmm?"

As your comfort level grows, you realize that it’s not just about feeling a newfound sense of joy, getting to experience things that you’d lost out on as a kid. It’s not really about those things at all–it’s about safety. It’s about care, and protection. It’s not about the silly, blush-pink socks with little bows on the ankles that you like to wear around the house, kicking your feet as you type on your laptop, it’s about the care and the trust they symbolize. You’re safe to be completely and utterly yourself, to be vulnerable. You can allow yourself to slip back to a time where you felt the most vulnerable, except this time, Marcus is here to catch you.

As much as you feel safe and fulfilled by your new dynamic, Marcus seems to thrive in it as well. Now that you’ve essentially given him license to lean into that part of him that just wants to take care of you, he doesn’t hold back. You know by now that Marcus likes to be given a direction, and now that he has this, he blazes forward with enthusiasm. Marcus likes to be useful, and it’s as if you’ve handed him the world’s most powerful tool.

Marcus has always wanted to help you, whether by going to a few of your therapy sessions and holding your hand, or simply by being patient when you struggle to find your words. He’s one of the few people you’ve known that doesn’t try to finish your sentences or speak for you.

It makes you finally start to feel comfortable in your own skin, like you’ve finally come to the realization that you don’t have to try to be any different, not even for Marcus. On hard days, when you need his touch but don’t necessarily have the words to ask for it, you know that all you need to do is gently butt your head into his arm or shoulder, and he’ll turn with a soft smile and kiss the top of your head while he winds his arm around you.

You’ve never had anyone’s touch be so soothing.

Even still, there are bad days. Days where everything is too much and the words are caught in your throat and like the fighter you always have been, you push through it with sheer, stubborn bullheadedness until you collapse on the couch and draw a blanket over your head and breathe, like a little ghost haunting your living room for a little while.

“Hi, honey.” The words are always so soft-spoken, like he’s afraid he’ll startle you, as if you hadn’t heard the click of Marcus’s key in the lock moments before.

“I’d like to try something, is that okay?” he asks, and you nod.

“Can I see that pretty face?”

After a few more breaths, you lower the blanket and are greeted with the warm, brown eyes of your partner, and, in spite of yourself, you smile a little.

“There she is,” Marcus says softly. “My little girl.” He brushes his thumb over your cheekbone. “Will you follow me?”

When you nod, Marcus stands and walks to the bedroom with you in tow. When he strips off his shirt, you look at him warily. You can’t, you think. The sensory overload would be…

“Do you trust me?”

You nod for the third time, and Marcus approaches you and gently pulls your shirt over your head as well.

“Come lay with me,” he says, taking your hand and pulling you with him as he gets on the bed.

You allow yourself to be enfolded into Marcus’s arms with a shaky sigh. He gently pulls you on top of him, so that you’re laying fully on his chest, and his hand trails up and down your spine. You have to admit it, the feel of Marcus’s bare, warm chest against your cheek and the rise and fall of his breaths is already starting to loosen the tight coil of tension in your body.

Your eyes fall closed and you surrender to the feeling of being surrounded by Marcus. He doesn’t speak until your breaths lengthen and the muscles in your shoulders start to relax.

“I read this study a while back,” he murmurs, and you feel the words against your cheek when he speaks, “that skin-to-skin contact affects adults just as much as it does infants. There’s a whole range of physiological responses–heart rate goes down, blood pressure goes down, cortisol, anxiety levels, pain…” he huffs a little laugh, running the backs of his fingers up and down your neck. “I told myself I’d try it the next time you were having a hard day.”

You smile and tighten your hold on Marcus. “Such a scientist,” you murmur. “Testing hypotheses and whatnot.”

Marcus chuckles, and you smile too.

“It’s not a good study,” you tell him. “Your sample size is one.”

“Well,” he concedes with a smile. “Then we’ll have to do this again.”

You do. It becomes a habit on bad days, so much so that all you need to do is nuzzle your face into Marcus’s chest and tug at his shirt and he'll chuckle affectionately, pulling you over to the couch and letting you lounge, topless, against his bare chest as you watch a movie with the sound turned low.

It's never sexual, even with your breasts exposed and your nipples pebbling in the cool air. There's always a clear distinction between this, the loving way in which Marcus cares for you on bad days, and the times when you're intimate. Before Marcus, you'd never paid all that much attention to non-sexual touches, but this man seems to thrive off of touching you. He has an uncanny ability to make something as tame as a caress of your shoulder into something highly erotic, while at the same time showing you that even touching an intimate area–like the way his hand gently rests on the underside of your breast as he holds you–can be comforting and chaste.

"Daddy," you whimper pitifully. "Just… just a little longer, just a little more, just–argh!" You let out a cry of frustration as the little vibrator leaves you again and Marcus pauses the timer on his phone.

"Four more minutes," he announces.

"I can't go four more minutes," you whine.

"You said that at ten minutes, too," Marcus teases.

"You always say you like to spoil me," you pout. "Why are you making me wait?"

"I am spoiling you," Marcus counters playfully. "Think about how good it will feel when you're finally allowed to come."

You writhe uselessly on the bed, your hands restrained loosely above your head by a pair of lacy pink cuffs with little bows on them. They're only velcro; you could pull out of them easily, but you hardly want to. You know how much Marcus likes the look of you like this, and you get off on the feeling of perceived helplessness.

"Besides," he says, rubbing soothingly up and down your inner thigh. "Oh, how I love seeing you beg for me. I love seeing you like this. Daddy's little mess."

Marcus touches the little vibrator to your clit and restarts the timer, and you keen in frustration as you try to keep yourself under control. "C'mon, just four more minutes," he says. "You can do it."

Fifteen minutes, he had said, holding up your little vibrator. Fifteen minutes of this before you're allowed to come.

You've somehow managed to last eleven without completely breaking apart, but the last four minutes are torture. You're so close to the edge that he has to pause every thirty seconds or so, and whenever he pauses, so does the timer.

"Two minutes," Marcus murmurs gently. "You're doing so well. You're being so good for me, baby girl." He pauses the timer again and rubs his hand up and down your arm. "So good for me," he repeats quietly as you shake for him. "Catch your breath, it's okay."

The next two minutes might last a lifetime. When he stops for what seems like the tenth time and you let out a high pitched whine of frustration, Marcus brushes the hair from your forehead and says, "You've got twenty seconds left. I'm not gonna pause again, but you have to be a good girl for me and hold it there the whole time without coming, can you do that?"

You nod, biting your lip with determination. "Okay, Daddy," you whisper.

"Good girl," Marcus whispers back.

He restarts the timer and you try to take deep, even breaths, not allowing your body to do what it wants and fall off the edge. It feels impossible, especially when Marcus announces fifteen and then ten, and it feels like you can't possibly last another second. He starts counting slowly down from five, four, three, but your body is already seizing up as you fight the inevitable. The heat rises inside of you, and all you can do it grit your teeth and hope you can make it to one, when your mouth falls open and you start to come.

Marcus drops to his elbow beside you, not moving the vibrator from your clit, and hovers close to your face, whispering little praises as your pussy clenches violently.

"Perfect," he soothes. "Perfect girl. See? It feels so good when Daddy makes you wait, doesn't it?"

You nod pitifully. "Thank you, Daddy," you whimper.

"No, no," Marcus chuckles. "Thank you, baby girl. You do so well for Daddy."

"I want to feel you," you tell him softly. "Will you fill me up?"

Marcus smiles wickedly as he pushes his underwear down, freeing his cock. "Baby," he says with a chuckle, "Daddy will fill you up anytime you ask."

He lines himself up and, keeping his face close to yours, slowly pushes inside.

"My girl's choice," he rasps. "Slow or fast?"

"Hmmm," you smile teasingly, thinking about it for a moment. "Slow."

"Oh yeah? You like it when Daddy takes you apart inch by inch, don't you?" He asks as he reaches the deepest point within you.

"Yes," you answer blissfully, tipping your head back as he starts to to thrust, undulating his hips perfectly slowly, just like you'd asked.

“You wouldn’t believe the day I had,” Marcus says as he collapses onto the couch next to you.

“Oh! That bad?” you ask, curling into his side.

“No, just… really unbelievable. There was an elephant at my crime scene.”

Immediately, you pull back to look at him. “What?”

Marcus smiles at your reaction–from the glint in his eyes, you can tell he did it on purpose. “I swear. A real, live elephant.”

“Why?” you say with a little laugh.

“I was at the Smithsonian National Zoo,” Marcus explains, grinning. “One of the pieces the elephants painted was stolen.”

Now you’re even more confused. “The elephants… paint?”

“Yeah, you know, they train the elephants to hold a paintbrush, and they auction off the paintings for fundraisers,” Marcus says. “They’ve got a little gallery in the exhibit.”

“I’ve never been,” you say quietly.

“To the National Zoo?”

“To any zoo.”

Marcus’s lips part, and for a moment his eyes are sad–mourning for something you never had in the first place, before he perks up, realizing that now he gets to be the one to show you.

“Well,” he announces. “We’re just going to have to change that, aren’t we?”

Just a few short days later, you’re wiggling with excitement next to Marcus as you stand in line outside of the zoo.

“Excited?” Marcus teases.

“Yes,” you answer matter-of-factly, not bothering to hide it.

Marcus’s eyes crinkle as he grins. “Good. Where to first?”

Your eyes flit from sign to sign as you enter, momentarily overwhelmed by your choices and unsure of where to begin, before something catches your attention, and you know exactly where you want to go.

“Aquarium!”

You love it from the moment you walk in, taking in the darkened room lit by the otherworldly glow of the water. The first large glass window you come to contains an entire coral reef, with hundreds of different types of fish and one very ugly green eel that makes you giggle.

“Look,” you whisper in awe, hardly able to tear your eyes away. “Daddy, look.”

“I am looking,” Marcus says beside you, but when you turn, he’s not watching the fish at all.

He’s watching you.

“What?” you pout.

Marcus smiles and shakes his head. “Nothing, baby girl.”

His hand is always a comforting weight at the small of your back as the two of you stroll slowly through the gallery, until you come to a room with one large, open tank with low walls. Lips parting in surprise, you rush forward to look. It’s full of rays, swimming slowly, moving majestically and gracefully around the tank.

“You can touch them,” Marcus says beside you.

“What?” “The rays. You can touch them.”

You finally notice that many of the people around the tank have their hands submerged up to their elbows.

“No way,” you whisper.

“Yes, ray,” Marcus jokes beside you, and you elbow him in the ribs.

“Daddy.”

Marcus chuckles and you step forward, leaning over the tank and slowly sliding your hand into the water.

“I’m afraid I’m going to freak out if one of these things touches me,” you say with a giddy smile. “Do you think they’re slimy?”

Marcus shrugs. “I dunno, I’ve never touched one.”

“Stick your hand in the water.”

“You first,” he laughs. “Look, here one comes.”

You press your lips together with excitement as one of the rays swims along the side of the tank toward the two of you. It passes just under your hand, and you gasp as you feel its skin below your fingertips.

“Oh,” you exclaim softly. “Oh, that’s weird.”

"Weird?" Marcus laughs.

"Yeah, it's like, the smoothest thing I've ever felt, but it's soft and spongy."

"That is weird," Marcus says, his nose crinkling. "Hey, look, it likes you."

Sure enough, the ray turns around and comes by for another pass, one fin gently splashing the side of the tank as it swims by. It does it again and again, and you watch it with a disbelieving expression.

"Believe it or not, rays are quite social," a zookeeper says, noticing your odd companionship. "They can be playful, splashing people to show off, and they can form bonds."

"It does like you," Marcus breathes, watching the ray swimming underneath your fingers.

"That one's been through the ringer," the zookeeper comments. "It was rescued from a fishing net. See the big scar on its fin?"

You blink, looking at a line of darkened skin that you'd thought was simply color variation. "Oh," you whisper. "Poor thing."

"She's usually not very social," the zookeeper says. "I've never seen her do this."

"Is that right?" you say, smiling softly. "Are we friends?"

You stay there for a long time, until your fingers are pruny, in awe of the strange friendship.

Marcus, as always, is patient, and ends up chatting with the zookeeper, who's happy to share information about her research to the two of you.

"Hey," Marcus finally says, with an amused smile. "We've got a lot more zoo to see."

"I know," you say quietly, strangely reluctant to leave.

"This isn't the only time," Marcus assures you softly. "We'll be back."

Smiling sheepishly, you nod and withdraw your hand from the water, waving goodbye to the ray.

"That was the weirdest thing," you say with a laugh.

"That was adorable," Marcus hums, kissing your cheekbone.

The two of you walk through the rest of the zoo, you tucked into Marcus's side as you look at every exhibit. Finally, you find yourself back where you started at the entrance.

"C'mere," Marcus says, grabbing your hand. "One more thing."

He pulls you into the gift shop, smiling as you take in every conceivable type of stuffed animal lining the shelves.

"Pick your favorite," Marcus says.

"I don't know if I can narrow it down," you say with a laugh, overwhelmed with the sheer number of choices. But you walk up and down the aisles, looking at seals, tigers, penguins, orangutans, and sloths. They're all so cute. You bite down on your lip, looking around as you consider, and then you see it.

Back in one corner of the store, an entire shelf dedicated to…

"This one," you whisper, picking up a stuffed southern ray.

"How did I know?" Marcus chuckles.

You pause, a decades-old cycle of doubt worming its way into your brain. "Are you sure?"

Marcus frowns. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You always get me so many things… you spoil me too much."

Marcus raises one eyebrow in challenge. "I don't spoil you too much. I spoil you just the right amount."

He gently takes the ray from you, pays for it, and hands it back. He's quiet on the walk to the car, and it's making you uneasy.

"Daddy… are you mad?"

"What? No. God, no. I just…" Marcus sighs, leaning against the car. "I hate to think that you see this as spoiling you, baby girl. I don't see it spoiling you. I see it as giving you everything I want to give you. Everything you deserve."

"Daddy," you breathe, starting to tear up.

"You're everything to me," Marcus says quietly. "So I'm gonna give you everything. And if all I have to give in exchange for literally everything I want in my life is a few stuffed animals? Baby, you're getting the raw deal, here."

You laugh a watery laugh. "His name's Pancake, by the way."

"Pancake," Marcus chuckles, opening the car door. "That's cute, baby girl. Did you have a good time?"

"Of course I did," you answer. "I always do with you, Daddy."

"Daddy, aren't you going to bed?"

Marcus gives you an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, baby, Daddy’s got a big press conference tomorrow and I'm nowhere near prepared."

"Oh," you say, disappointed. "But I'm really tired."

“That’s okay, you don’t have to wait up for me.”

“But I miss you when you’re not there,” you pout.

Marcus looks up from his laptop with a wry smile. “You want Daddy to come tuck you in?”

You let out an involuntary shiver at his words.

"Yes, please," you whisper.

He grins. “Go get ready for bed, then. I’ll be there in a minute.”

You giggle and hop up from the couch, hurrying to the bathroom to brush your teeth. You throw on your favorite tank top to sleep in, leaving only your underwear on the bottom. As you’re getting into bed, Marcus comes in and sits beside you on the bed. He kisses you unhurriedly, taking his time moving his lips sensually against yours. You sigh into his mouth–he’s such a good kisser. Just as you start to lose yourself in the act, Marcus smiles against your lips.

“Lay down, baby girl.”

You obey, smiling dazedly up at him as your head hits the pillow.

“What’s Daddy’s rule?” Marcus asks softly.

“Don’t move,” you answer dutifully.

“That’s right. Get nice and comfortable for me.”

You arrange yourself half on your side, half on your stomach, with one leg bent to the side and Pancake tucked under one arm.

“Good girl,” Marcus whispers. His fingertips trail down your spine, over the fabric of your underwear, and then down, where he gently pulls them to one side to allow his other hand to touch. He sucks in a breath when he dips his fingers dip shallowly into your pussy, collecting your slick and rubbing it onto your clit. “Always so wet for Daddy, aren’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” you sigh contentedly into your pillow as Marcus starts rubbing in slow circles..

“My perfect girl, do you like it when I play with you?” he teases.

“Of course I do, Daddy,” you answer. “Would like it better if you gave me your c–”

“Shh,” Marcus chastises. “Not tonight, baby girl. I’m just trying to help you relax.”

You whine softly and shift your hips impatiently, and Marcus stops.

“No, no,” he chuckles. “Stay still for Daddy.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, taking a deep breath and letting it out as Marcus’s fingers start to move achingly slowly on your clit.

“Don’t be sorry,” Marcus soothes. “You’re doing so well for me. Look at how relaxed you are. You look so sweet, lying there and letting me take care of you.”

Your breath starts to come in pants, and you have to fight to keep yourself still as the pressure inside you starts to rise.

“That’s it,” Marcus whispers. “Nice and slow.”

Marcus is a patient man. He doesn’t rush toward your climax; he never speeds up the movement of his hand. He slowly builds you up until the fall becomes inevitable.

Your hands tighten into fists when Marcus finally pushes you over the edge; your mouth falls open and a little, ragged whimper comes out. Other than that, you don’t move a muscle as you come undone, and it brings all of your focus to the way your pussy clenches over and over again.

“Good,” Marcus whispers. “Good girl.” He gently pulls your underwear back into place and covers you with the blanket. “I love you so much, baby girl,” he whispers into the skin of your temple.

“Daddy,” you say softly, your eyes already closed. “You do a really good job. You take such good care of me.”

Marcus is quiet for a minute. “I’m glad,” he finally says, his voice rough with emotion. Clearing his throat, he adds, “I’ll be with you soon.”

His lips ghost against your temple once more before you hear him padding out of the room.

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #the mentalist #pedro pascal

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