PROMPT POST 1
Nov. 21st, 2020 04:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cobrakaikinkPlease be aware of the Rules and Guidelines. Thank you!
Prompting: [CK or KK: pairing/gen/etc, kink]
Specifics can be put in the actual prompt.
For example:
CK: Carmen/Amanda, fluff
Post-divorce Amanda finds herself in a sports bar hit on by some aholes, but the cute waitress gets rid of them for her. Bonus for bathroom cunnilingus.
Report Your Fills:That post is for users to track to make it easier to find new fills without having to track the actual prompt post.
FILL 3: Like That Chick From Culture Club (3/4)
Date: 2021-05-05 09:51 pm (UTC)She’d be facing one of the mirrors maybe, combing her short wavy hair and humming absentmindedly to herself, shimmying to the nonexistent music; it’s one of those kooky things she does, but Dutch kind of likes it, likes the way she marches to the beat of her own drum. Instead of the usual ill-fitting boy clothes that don’t suit her he pictures her with a flimsy cotton blouse on, a pleated skirt hiked dangerously short and swaying hypnotically, slouch socks paired with white sneakers. It’s an outfit all the girls in school would probably wear, but on Danielle it looks fucking awesome, and it makes the blood rush down to his dick so fast he gets all woozy.
She’d be so distracted that she won’t realize he’s there until he's got her pressed all the way up against the sink, shocked written on her face as she sees his reflection looming over hers -- and fuck, she’s cute. Dutch indulges himself by dolling her up some more with blue eyeliner and sexy red lipstick, but the gash of color on her mouth makes other thoughts bubble angrily to the surface -- split lip and bloody mouth, slamming his opponent hard into the ground, rage-violence-agony strikefirststrikehardnomercy – and Dutch quickly smothers the unnerving vision, switches the look to a cherry pink lip gloss instead, all sweet and girly and safe. Much better.
Danielle would struggle of course; she’s goddamned feisty, even if she is weak as a kitten. As she tries vainly to buck him off he twists her arms back and traps them between their bodies, locking them tight in his grip. And here Dutch’s imagination really works its magic; like perfect mood lighting the mist of fantasy softens everything, sands down the harsh edges of his memory. She’s not really Larusso anymore-- he’s not trying to beat her, to hurt her -- and this makes her quiet down just enough, conveniently transmutes her real-life terror into something more flattering, more pleasing.
Reality starts to fully overlap with the make-believe now; while Dutch writhes against sheets, fucking his own hand, he’s simultaneously using pretty little Danielle to relieve his aching cock. He loves it, the way the roll of his hips elicits a shiver from her, her mouth dropping open in a startled gasp. This close, he imagines the saccharine fragrance of her flowery cologne and hairspray blending in with the distinct boy-smell of Danielle’s sweat; a heady mix that makes Dutch’s stomach drop, twists in his gut in a way he’d rather not examine too closely.
He revels in the sensation-- ruts against Danielle’s ass in earnest, uses her to jack himself off like a dirty pillow, like a toy. She’s shoved up onto her tiptoes as he rocks against her slight frame, her skirt rucking up with each push and drag she can only helplessly endure.
And boy does it piss her off. “Let go, asshole,” she snarls in that throaty voice of hers, and that insolent tone, a little too familiar, sends a delicious frisson through him. “This isn’t funny. Someone’s gonna see,” And Dutch totally cracks up at that, because it sounds like the exact opposite of a threat. Fuck that would be hot, wouldn’t it? If one of the other guys caught him with Danielle?
It’s only hot if they catch you with a girl, dumbass, and if there was a way for Dutch to punch his own brain he would; it should butt out and mind its own goddamn business.
Being seen with Danielle, huh? Letting the whole school know? He puts his chin over her shoulder so the two of them are cheek to cheek, like some mushy couple in a polaroid. He bites back a smile when she flinches away, whispers to her in mock-secret. “Aww, you don’t need to pretend, Danielle. I know you’re gagging for this.” He not-so-subtly pokes her with his erection, making the point pretty literal.
“You’re crazy,” she hisses back. And yeah he is crazy, is proud of it in fact, but he’s also right; she just has to admit it already. Normally it sucks when a girl acts all shy to make you jump through hoops, but fine—he can be more persuasive, if that’s what she wants.
Sweet-talking is the fine art of saying crap you don’t mean, and for some reason chicks love that shit. Nothing gets them opening their legs faster than a supposedly sensitive bad boy spilling his guts. Dutch isn’t normally great with words, isn’t really the sentimental type. But for her he can be slicker than Elvis, than Bowie, than fucking James Dean. Fuck the poets, fuck the bards--- Dutch’ll blow them all out of the water.
“Stop being a little bitch, Danielle,” and okay, it’s not his best work, but he can roll with it. Call it freestyling. “C’mon, I don’t want to fight you,” he insists, and it’s strange, how much it feels like a real confession. He sucks a bruise against the tilt of her neck, only pulling off to murmur more nonsense into her ear. “Fuck, I want to touch you so bad, sweetheart,” he groans out. “Want my hands all over you. Pull you open and strip you bare. But you gotta let me. I can’t if you keep fighting me like this.” He mouths at her jaw, the shell of her ear, burying his nose in her hair like a kid with his favorite blanket. He’s careful to keep his gaze on the mirror so as not break the spell. He hauls her closer, tighter, pins her down with his eyes and his fists, like she might slip away if he doesn’t-- nothing more than sand through his fingers, a shimmering mirage.
“Don’t run. Don’t you dare fucking run from me.” He grazes her skin with a whisper of teeth, balanced between a threat and a promise. “I swear I’ll treat you so good. Isn’t that what you want?”
Danielle whimpers, starts to tremble at the knees. She’s unable to tear her eyes away from Dutch’s consuming gaze. And it’s only fair, that she should know exactly how he fucking feels, how much he burns for her all the time-- and that it ought to make a matching ache grow inside her too, shaking her apart and splintering her from the inside, cracking her open right to the very center ‘til she’s all broken up and crazy, until she’s got the same look on her face that he recognizes on himself, because then, then he knows for sure that she’s finally lost. That Danielle’s all his.
That’s the only time Dutch can let her go. And so he does.
Her numb hands fly to the edge of the sink as she weakly tries to steady herself. She squirms and arches her back for him like a wanton bitch in heat, and Dutch hums in pleasure, feels the relief all the way down to his toes. Thank fuck, he wants to say, which is ridiculous. This is his fantasy, of course she’s not going anywhere. He holds her by the jaw, thumbing into her mouth as his other hand strokes her fragile shoulders, her ribs, her waist, tugs out the hem of her blouse so he can slip under it. He covers the width of her abdomen with his palm, feeling the muscles of her stomach twitch and tense, then slides forward enough to ruck up her top, til he touches the delicate band of her bra. Then down again, to rest on her hip.
Danielle sucks in a breath and ducks her head, ashamed and resentful, eyelashes fanning over the dark rose of her cheeks. “You’re such a jerk,” she mutters, breath hitching, scrubbing a quick fist over her face.
“I know. Can’t help it,” Dutch soothes, thumbing a bit of moisture from her eye. It’s a sucky non-apology but incredibly it makes a difference. She turns her head to look at him askance, eyes dark and searching.
“What are you waiting for then,” she murmurs, nervously licking her lips. “Go ahead and kiss me, jerk.”
And fuck, does he kiss her. Spins her around to face him properly, just goes ahead and ruins that mouth with his own, that gorgeous fucking mouth that tastes like lip gloss and sugar and sin. She’s getting pinned back again so he lifts her up all gentleman-like and balances her on the sink, letting her lean on his shoulders for support as they continue to make out.
He clumsily tries to pop her blouse buttons one- handed while the other slides all over her thighs, toying with the hem of her skirt before reaching underneath and back, his rough fingertips teasing and tugging the edge of her wispy lace panties before sliding in and palming her pert ass. She moans into his mouth, loud and low, and he sucks it up like a drowning man in need of air.
Emboldened, he starts circle the rim of her cunt, teasing it with a finger. She keens and groans, tensing at the touch, and then—
She breaks their kiss.
The sudden loss almost shatters his reverie-- for a split-second he’s knocked back into his own bedroom, alone and horny, here but not here— but just as quickly she’s right back in front of him, forehead resting against his as she stops to catch her breath, and the visceral, comforting feel of that simple touch grounds him back in unreality. Like physics. Like magic.
“Okay, we really cannot do this out here,” she grumbles, but at this point there’s no ire in her tone, only arousal. Assessing one of the empty toilet stalls with its handy door lock, she bites at her lip and shoots Dutch a wary look. “…You think we can keep the noise down?”
Dutch grins back winningly, silently promising to make her scream. “Sure thing, baby.”
Re: FILL 3: Like That Chick From Culture Club (3/4)
Date: 2021-05-05 10:28 pm (UTC)Re: FILL 3: Like That Chick From Culture Club (3/4)
Date: 2021-05-06 12:07 am (UTC)Re: FILL 3: Like That Chick From Culture Club (3/4)
Date: 2021-05-06 11:04 pm (UTC)Re: FILL 3: Like That Chick From Culture Club (3/4)
Date: 2021-10-13 11:51 am (UTC)