#BUT I am determined to build my collection back up

[thelastspeecher]

The post about Redwall that I saw on my dash made me want to reread the books, since it's been a VERY long time

And oh my god I forgot about the otter sexism in the book I chose to read first

[deadsetobsessions]

“I ate paint once,” Danny nonchalantly threw out in the middle of game night.

The entire table stopped. Heads whipped towards Danny.

“Yeah, me too. Cardamom yellow was my favorite. Ugly as hell but the chemicals just tasted right.” Tim replied, using the distraction to nab some of Bruce’s money. Monopoly money, that is. Everyone’s heads snapped towards Tim, only Cass and Danny (who was part of the scheme) caught him cheating.

“Really? I think mine was those spray can blue cosmos paint. But that might have been more my thing for space than the actual taste.”

“WHY WERE YOU EATING PAINT?!” Dick asked, looking like he wanted to lunge over the table and shake Danny until he puked out paint. Bruce looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

“Yeah, what the fuck, Tim?” Jason snickered.

“In my defense,” Danny grinned. “I was left unsupervised. Also, Steph, you owe me $24 in rent.”

“Ugh! I’m almost out of money! Can’t you loan me some, Alfred?”

“I am sorry, Miss Stephanie, you are not qualified for another loan. In fact, one of your properties is about to be confiscated as per the collateral agreement.”

“Noooo!” Stephanie made dramatic dying noises.

“What was your excuse, Timothy?” Damian asked, eyes glued to the board and determined to win the game.

“Hey, I was probably less supervised than Danny was.”

“Yeah,” Danny perked up. “My parents brought us down to their lab all of the time. Taught us a lot of stuff.”

“Really? Like what?” Duke asked, casually slapping away Tim’s sneaky hands.

“Oh, like what a rocket launcher sounded like up close! And how to build a laser gun! Oh! And what human organs looked like when they’re fresh!” Danny chirped, collecting his money from a stunned Stephanie’s hands. He looked up.

“Oh, don’t worry! I at least learned what not to do when it comes to lab safety. And we wore hazmat suits to protect ourselves from the radiation.” Danny smiled in a ditzy fashion as the table fell silent in a horrified manner. Cass tapped his arm amusedly, but allowed his bullshit to stand. After all, it’s not like he lied.

“Radiation?” Duck’s voice raised a couple of octaves. Oh yeah, Danny’s going to laugh about that pitch for a long while.

“Organs?!” Jason’s hands closed around the plastic house he was holding rather forcefully.

“Do you even know what basic lab safety practices are, Danny?” Damian demanded, finally looking up with brows furrowed. He rolled the dice and grabbed a mystery card. He gets $100 from Alfred.

“How old were you??” Duke asked.

“Like… 8, when they first brought me in?”

“Eight.” Bruce rumbled, slipping into a more Batman like persona. When Danny sent him a confused look, Bruce straightened back into his Bruce persona. “Wow, they must have trusted you a lot!”

“Sure?”

“What were their names again?” Stephanie asked sweetly, Cass nodding at him.

“Jack and Maddie Fenton.” Not that they’ll find them here, considering his parents are dead and in another universe.

“Cool, cool, cool!” Stephanie blinked, beaming as her hands formed lethal fists underneath the table.

Danny blinked and tilted his head in an unassuming way, pretending like he had no idea what Stephanie was thinking of. He sneakily handed over $600 to Cass in order to complete his monopoly on his side of the board.

Danny stood up and spread his hands out, one hand clutching his new found victory.

"Well, lady and gents, you've all been floundering against the inevitable tide of capitalism. I am here, as a reminder that you can never win against the hopelessness that will be your financial ruin! I, Danny Fenton, have obtained a quarter of the board and therefore have won against even your best efforts!" He cackled, holding up his fan of properties triumphantly. He shot a mischievous grin at Cass, who held up a solemn thumbs up in support for his monetary takeover.

"... Danny, are you... planning on a career in villainy?" Bruce asked, after a brief and total wave of shocked silence. Damian looked like he was having a conniption at having been bested, unknowingly. Yeah, Danny was disarming like that.

"Yeah, that was concerning." Tim piped up, nabbing a ten from a shell-shocked Damian.

"Hey! The Riddler gives surprisingly good monologues! And he's really loud, so it's hard not to pick up on things. Duke, your turn." Danny sat back down, pouting. The villainy comment was a little too close to his fears.

"Damn it." Duke, who had rolled, landed smack middle of Danny's territory. He handed over a sheaf of bills to a grinning Danny.

"Wait a minute! You have cheated!" Damian bolted upwards from his seat, finally done running through the purchases he remembered Danny making. "You acquired that property not within the games' rules!"

"Okay, first of all, the rule book is a suggestion, like lab safety rules," Danny saw the others open their mouths to protest, but he quickly shut it down. "Second, there's totally no rules about selling and buying places from a private owner so suck on it. And thirdly? Cass sold it to me, so you all can take it up with her."

"Diabolical!" Damian muttered indignantly.

"... Dammit." Dick sighed, falling back into the chair and balancing on its two legs. He couldn't say anything, considering his current of bankruptcy.

"Danny. Danny, I'll buy a property from you." Jason said, eyeing one of Danny's other properties near his own cluster.

"What do you have that would interest me?" Danny asked, falling back into his Vlad-like imitation.

"Ew, don't do that," Steph reached over to jab him in the arm.

"Yeah, Jason, what do you have?" Duke said, the lovely subtle instigator that he is.

"Red Hood's signature."

The others blue-screen, gaping at the actual audacity Jason had to offer up something that would take him no effort. Danny, prepared with a poker face that came with lying straight to Jazz's ever perceptive eyes about whether he nabbed the last of her ice cream or not, was prepared.

"Red Hood? The condom guy working out of the... um. Upper East Side?" Danny asked, pretending to hesitate. He knows where Jason operated. That doesn't mean he couldn't simply pretend otherwise. For science, of course.

...

...

...

The table howled with laughter, Jason's indignant spluttering unable to say anything against Danny's wide eyed look of innocence. Cass leaned against the table, chuckles falling out of her mouth and eyes crinkled in mirth. Dick had fallen out of his chair, helplessly wheezing on the floor. Duke is hiding his face in his hands, mirroring Bruce's pose as they both shake from silent laughter. Damian is smirking, wicked and sharp as he smugly stared at Jason. Stephanie and Tim are leaning against each other, repeating "the CONDOM GUY" in alternating and increasingly louder voices. Alfred had a smile on his face and a tight grip on the bills in front of him that betrayed his amusement.

"He's a crime lord!" Jason exclaimed, indignant.

"Uh, okay. Well, I mean, why would I want a crime lord's signature? I don't want to be on his radar. Or echolocation or whatever. He's... a Bat, right? That's what you guys call that group, yeah?"

"How do you know the Rogues better than the vigilantes?!" Jason glared at his unhelpful family. Those assholes better prepare for a load of rubber bullets the next time they're on patrol near Crime Alley.

"Hey, it's not my fault the vigilantes here are unsociable. Maybe if they monologued more, I'd know who they are."

"Wouldn't- wouldn't that make them more villain like?" Tim asked, stuttering from his laughter.

"I dunno?" Danny replied, enjoying his the family's unabashed joy. "I mean, they're pretty legit and they help people already so I guess they don't need to be sociable... but still I swear I haven't heard anything about Batman other than that he grunts and is mean towards criminals."

Is mean towards criminals, Duke mouthed at a recovering Dick who was in the process of heaving himself back up. It sent him careening back down to the floor with restrained giggles. Cass tapped Danny, reminding him to eat some food.

"Tt. Of course not. They're efficient at their jobs and have no need to be seen as welcoming to criminals." Damian puffed up.

"Yeah, but they've gotta feel safe, right?" Danny shrugged as he plucked a cookie from the cookie platter. "The... one with the sword, what was it?"

"Robin." Damian supplied, eyes narrowed and trained on him.

"Yeah, the baby bird. The kids think his swords are cool so they trust him. But like, the others? The flippy blue one? Not so much."

"Wait," Dick said from the floor. "They don't trust Nightwing?"

"Nah, they trust him to protect them, but he has a history of bringing the kids to the police, you know?"

"What's wrong with that?"

Danny shrugged. "ACAB. But also because everybody knows that half the guys in the GCPD and CPS are child traffickers."

"Wait, what?" Jason and Tim straightened.

Bruce piped in, the emotional whiplash of amusement to concern to amusement to concern visibly making itself known on the man's baffled face. "I thought Batman and Commissioner Gordon took care of that?"

"Sure, the obvious ones." Danny hesitated. Well, he's pretty sure they think he's a meta so... "There's... a meta trafficking ring that they're a part of. That's. That's kind of what I was running from."

Danny looked up pleadingly. Cass placed a hand on his arm in comfort, not knowing that he was fibbing about running from them.

Danny was on the streets helping his own Alley metas to run from them.

Danny is as feral as she was, and that meant he could hide just as much as she could read off of him. Cass was the best and he felt kind of bad about lying to her, successfully or not.

"Uh. Some people said you know Batman, Bruce. I know- uh, that might not be the case but if you do, could you ask him to look into it?" Danny made his eyes tear up. "And maybe he wouldn't care about me much, I mean, I know he doesn't really like metas but if he helps out, I could totally like, leave the city once the kids are safe, promise."

Ooh, Danny put a little too much sincerity into that. He could practically hear the hearts breaking in the game room as everyone glared at Bruce.

"You won't have to leave."

"... Promise?" And Danny's voice was a little too desperate, too hopeful, because Bruce's eyes tugged down in sadness.

"Promise." He rumbled, all Bruce Wayne and all Batman. Danny's core warmed. Danny also saw the rest of the family's faces darken in pure agreement. And partial wrath.

"Yeah! We'll kick Batman's ass if he even thought about kicking you out!" Stephanie proclaimed.

"He's far more proficient in combat than you are, Brown." Damian immediately leapt to Batman's defense and that was that.

Well, later, as Danny was "sleeping" and Phantom was hovering in the cave, invisible and intangible, he got confirmation that his Alley meta kids were going to be safe, soon.

After all, the entire Batclan was suiting up and baying for blood, with Oracle's all encompassing presence behind them, fingers reaching for their enemies' weak points.

[cloudtransprncy]

Clothes Off

KOF Belle X Male Reader | 7k words

"Keep me wet, mark my checklist…" Some lyrics aren't just words on a page

The clock on your laptop read 1:17 AM. Seoul's skyline glittered beyond your floor-to-ceiling windows, a constellation of city lights against the night.

Your penthouse had morphed into a songwriter's dream den—cushions and blankets scattered across the floor, empty Sprite cans and convenience store wrappers evidence of the hours spent creating.

The oversized sectional had been pushed back, ambient lighting casting everything in that perfect 1 AM glow. The kind that makes bad ideas seem brilliant and good ideas seem inevitable.

Belle sat cross-legged on a cushion beside you, notebook balanced on one knee. Her blonde hair fell in waves past her shoulders, catching the light in a way that looked accidental but probably wasn't. Nothing about Belle was ever truly accidental.

"I still think the bridge needs work," she said, tapping her pen against the page. "But we can fix it tomorrow."

Three years of writing together had created a rhythm between you—a creative shorthand that had produced hits for LESSERAFIM, Chungha, and now, hopefully, KISS OF LIFE. Though industry insiders whispered about the anonymous genius behind their favorite lyrics, you preferred staying in the shadows, letting the artists shine while you collected quiet accolades and royalty checks.

Belle was different. She'd sought you out after hearing about your work, determined to write with you. That first session had ended with her hand lingering on yours after a celebratory toast, a moment stretched thin until her manager called.

Then came the marathon session for Chungha's EP—falling asleep on the studio couch and waking up with Belle curled against you, both pretending nothing happened by morning. Her late-night voice notes from European tour stops, voice dropping to that whisper that lived rent-free in your head for weeks after.

Three years of almosts. Three years of moments dripping with possibility, interrupted or carefully sidestepped when reality intruded.

"I think we're done for tonight," you said, saving the file. "Twenty-five demos is enough, even for us."

"Twenty-six if you count that rap throwaway," Belle corrected, stretching her arms overhead. Her white tank rode up, revealing a sliver of skin that pulled your focus like a magnet. "Though we both know only three or four will make the final cut. The way these company execs gatekeep tracks is toxic, but whatever."

She reached for her water bottle, the movement practiced and graceful. The makeup she'd worn to her earlier schedule remained perfect—winged liner accentuating her dark eyes, lips tinted pink that matched the slight flush creeping up her neck.

You turned back to your laptop, ready to shut down when Belle shifted closer, her shoulder pressing against yours. The scent of her perfume—something expensive and subtle that you'd caught yourself looking for in crowds—filled your senses as she pointed to a filename.

"What's this one?" she asked, voice close to your ear. "clothes_off_030125?"

Her proximity sent that familiar jolt through you—the same electricity that had been building since that night six months ago when she'd called you after her company dinner, voice wine-soft, confessing she'd turned down a setup because "there was someone else" before hanging up abruptly.

"Oh, that's..." you hesitated, mouse hovering. "It's for Kehlani."

Belle's eyes widened. "Kehlani? As in THE Kehlani?"

You nodded, unable to hold back a smile at her reaction. "Yeah, she's doing a collab with kwn—that upcoming R&B artist from Oakland. Sent me the beat last week."

"Holy shit." Belle straightened up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Play it. Right now."

"It's not finished—"

"I don't care. Play. It."

You clicked open the file. The beat filled the room—a deep bass line that seemed to sink into your bones, followed by subtle percussion that built with deliberate patience. The kind of track that didn't just ask for attention; it demanded it.

Belle closed her eyes, body swaying slightly. You watched her reaction, the way her lips parted, how her fingers drummed against her thigh in perfect time. You'd seen this look before—when you'd played her the instrumental for MIYEON's track, the one that earned her that songwriting credit she'd been chasing.

"Fuck, that's good," she whispered, eyes still closed.

"Yeah, Kehlani wants something raw. Authentic." You ran a hand through your hair. "Lyrics that feel real."

Belle opened her eyes, meeting yours. "Well? What do you have so far?"

You pulled up the lyric document, cleared your throat. "Girl, the way you're pushin' up on my body..."

"That's it?" One perfect eyebrow arched, the judgment softened by the playful curve of her mouth.

"I told you it wasn't finished."

She moved closer, eyes scanning the screen. "It's good. But something's missing." Without asking permission, she pulled your laptop toward her and began typing.

You leaned back, watching her work. Belle wasn't just an idol; she was a genuine songwriter. One of the few who could translate feeling into syllables that stuck in your head for days.

"Don't be scared, I ain't scared, no..." she murmured as she typed, her voice dropping to a register you'd only heard once before—in that hotel room in Japan when she'd thought you were asleep and was singing quietly to herself in the shower. You'd lain awake afterward, staring at the ceiling, trying to erase the sound from your memory and failing spectacularly.

Her fingers paused over the keyboard. "Can I dare to leave your bed a mess and wet?" she read, letting the words hang in the air between you.

Holy shit. The room suddenly felt ten degrees warmer. You swallowed hard, memories flooding back of the night you'd had too much soju after finishing the Chungha project—how Belle had leaned in, lips parted, before her phone rang with a call from her manager. The frustration in her eyes as she'd answered it, the moment slipping away.

Belle shifted her position, moving from cross-legged to kneeling beside you, the blankets bunching beneath her knees. The movement was fluid, catlike. She leaned forward to look at the screen, her body angled toward yours, the loose neckline of her tank dipping slightly.

Is she doing this on purpose? Your brain was fighting a losing battle against your body's immediate response. We've been dancing around this for too long. Maybe it was the late hour, maybe it was the lyrics, or maybe three years of tension had finally reached its breaking point.

She looked up through her lashes, pupils dilated in the dim light. "Oh, you better take my clothes off..."

This isn't about the lyrics anymore. The realization hit you with absolute certainty. After three years of missed chances and interrupted moments, this felt deliberate—Belle was done waiting.

Her lips parted slightly, the tip of her tongue wetting her bottom lip—the same gesture you'd caught yourself staring at during late-night takeout and early morning coffee runs.

Fuck, she's unreal right now. You'd always known Belle was stunning—that was just objective reality—but in this moment, with her blonde hair falling around her face and that look in her eyes, she was devastating. And for once, there were no managers calling, no schedules to rush to, no interruptions looming.

Her fingers trailed along her collarbone as she waited for your reaction, her head tilted just enough to expose the curve where her neck met her shoulder—the same spot you'd found yourself staring at during that summer session when the air conditioning broke and she'd pinned her hair up, fanning herself with sheet music.

"Focus, oppa." Her tone was pure temptation, the honorific carrying a weight it never had before.

She's been thinking about this too. Every lingering touch, every late-night call, every inside joke that brought her just a little too close—they hadn't been coincidences.

"I am," you lied, voice rough even to your own ears.

No the fuck you are not, your brain helpfully supplied. You haven't been focused since the first day you met her.

The beat continued to loop, becoming hypnotic in its repetition—bass, snare, hi-hat, silence, repeat . Three years of professional boundaries, carefully maintained through interruptions and bad timing, were finally crumbling.

The music surrounded you, but all you could hear was the thundering of your own heart and the magnetic pull between you.

You'd set your phone on the cushion between you, voice memo recording to capture any sudden inspiration. Standard procedure for your sessions, though tonight it felt like documenting evidence of something dangerous.

Seconds stretched into minutes. Neither of you moved. The line between writing lyrics and something else had blurred beyond recognition, leaving you in this strange limbo where every word felt like both work and confession.

You broke first, clearing your throat and turning back to the laptop. Work. Focus on the work.

"Maybe something like..." Your fingers moved across the keyboard, typing before you could second-guess yourself: "Girl, the way you sex me..."

Belle's breath caught audibly. Her eyes flickered from the screen to your face, pupils dilated against dark irises. She bit her lower lip, leaving a small indentation that your eyes couldn't help but track.

"That's good," she said, voice dropping lower. She shifted, her knee now pressing against your thigh, the warmth of her skin seeping through both layers of fabric. "But it needs..."

She leaned forward, reaching across you to type, her chest brushing against your arm as she added: "I don't share, I ain't sharin'..." The scent of her perfume intensified with her movement, mixed with something more primal—the subtle heat radiating from her skin.

Her hair fell forward, a strand brushing against your cheek like a whisper. She didn't apologize, didn't pull back. Instead, she stayed there, half-draped across you, her face inches from yours as she studied the screen.

"That flows better," she murmured, turning her head slightly. Her lips were close enough that you could feel her breath ghosting across your jaw. The voice memo caught the subtle hitch in your breathing, preserving evidence of your unraveling composure.

You opened your mouth to suggest another line, but your mind had emptied of everything except awareness of her proximity. Belle had already shifted closer, one hand coming to rest on your shoulder for "balance." Her fingertips pressed lightly against the nape of your neck, nails grazing the sensitive skin there in a way that couldn't possibly be accidental.

The notebook had fallen from her lap, forgotten among the blankets. The voice memo caught the rustle of fabric, the subtle shift in breathing patterns, the almost inaudible sound of her tongue wetting her lips.

"You always say I have to feel the song to write it properly," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers traced idle patterns against your skin, each touch sending electricity down your spine. She looked up through her lashes, the same expression she'd given a thousand times before on stage, in music videos, during photoshoots—but never like this, never this close, never with this tremor in her voice.

"Then make me feel it."

Your phone captured the sharp intake of breath—yours or hers, impossible to tell. The beat continued its relentless loop, providing structure to a moment rapidly spinning out of control.

She turned back to the laptop, fingers moving across the keys with purpose: "Keep me wet, mark my checklist..."

The words appeared on screen, black against white, impossible to misinterpret. Her hand moved to your thigh for balance as she leaned in again, the warmth of her palm burning through the fabric of your sweatpants. Her thumb traced a small circle, each rotation inching slightly higher.

Her free hand tucked her hair behind her ear, deliberately exposing the curve of her neck—the same spot you'd caught yourself staring at countless times. A silent invitation.

"Turn my hands into your necklace..." Her voice was deliberately seductive now, each syllable caressed rather than spoken. She emphasized the word "hands" by sliding her fingers up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. No pretense of professionalism remained—this was Belle, the woman, not Belle the idol or Belle the songwriter. The Belle who'd been carefully kept at arm's length for three years.

Your phone recorded the trembling exhale that escaped you, the slight creak of cushions as weights shifted, the building tension made audible.

She repositioned herself, kneeling between your legs now, her hands braced on either side of your hips. The movement was fluid, purposeful, her body caging yours against the cushions. Each breath brought her chest fractionally closer to yours, the distance between you shrinking with each passing second.

Her eyes never left yours as she whispered the final line: "I'm gonna take your clothes off..."

The space between you vanished—had it ever existed at all? Three years of careful distance collapsed in an instant. Your foreheads nearly touched, sharing the same air, both waiting for the other to make that final move.

The voice memo captured everything: the subtle sounds of fabric shifting as her hand moved to your collarbone, tracing it slowly; the quickening of your breath as her fingertips grazed your pulse point; the almost inaudible whimper that escaped her when your hands finally settled on her waist.

"Belle—" Your voice came out ragged, uncertain.

"I'm tired of pretending," she cut you off, her lips nearly brushing yours as she spoke, the confession captured in perfect digital clarity by the still-recording phone. Her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging slightly. "Aren't you?"

The beat looped once more. Bass, snare, hi-hat, silence.

And in that silence, three years of restraint finally shattered.

You were both done pretending.

You kissed her first—a decision three years in the making that happened in less than a heartbeat. Your lips crashed against hers with the force of every suppressed want, every interrupted moment, every almost-but-not-quite from the past three years.

Belle responded with equal hunger, fingers immediately threading through your hair, gripping with bruising intensity. Her mouth opened under yours, tongue sliding against yours with none of the hesitation that had characterized your relationship until now. She tasted like soju and the spicy tteokbokki you'd shared hours ago, with lingering traces of mint gum—but beneath it all was something headier, more intoxicating: pure, unfiltered desire. Three years of restraint dissolved on your tongue, the taste of finally giving in more potent than any alcohol.

"Finally," she gasped against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. "Three fucking years I've been waiting for this." She kissed you again, harder, deeper, her body pressing against yours with an urgency that made your head spin. "Just us. No interruptions, please."

Her hands were everywhere—sliding under your shirt, nails dragging down your back, palming your chest. You matched her desperation, hands gripping her waist before sliding up to cup her face, angling her head to deepen the kiss. The beat from your forgotten track looped in the background, the bass vibrating through the floor beneath you.

Belle pushed you back against the cushions, climbing onto your lap with practiced grace, her thighs straddling yours. She ground down against your hardening length, a keening sound escaping her throat. "I've thought about this," she admitted, voice dropping to that register that had haunted your dreams. "Every time you'd bite your lip while you were working. Every goddamn time you'd roll up your sleeves and I could see your forearms. When you'd stretch and your shirt would ride up..." Her hips rolled against yours again, more deliberate this time. "I'd go back to my hotel room and touch myself thinking about you."

The confession sent heat surging through you. Your hands slid under her tank, finding the warm skin beneath. "Show me," you growled, tugging at the fabric. "I want to see you. All of you."

Belle smirked, that same confident smile that had graced magazine covers across Asia, but with something rawer beneath it now. She crossed her arms, grabbing the hem of her tank and pulling it over her head in one fluid motion.

She sat before you in her black lace bra, blonde hair tousled from your hands, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. The sight punched the air from your lungs. You'd seen her in stage outfits more revealing than this, but this was different—this was Belle, undressing for you, eyes dark with want.

"Your turn," she demanded, tugging at your shirt. You pulled it off, flinging it somewhere behind you.

Her hands were on you immediately, tracing the contours of your chest, nails dragging lightly across your skin. "Fuck, look at you," she breathed, leaning forward to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

You couldn't wait any longer. Your hands moved to the clasp of her bra, unhooking it with surprising dexterity given how badly your fingers were trembling. The straps slid down her shoulders, and then she was bare before you, perfect breasts with dusky pink nipples already hardened into tight peaks.

"Jesus Christ," you exhaled, hands moving to cup the weight of them. "You're fucking perfect."

Belle arched into your touch, a pleased sound escaping her when your thumbs brushed across her nipples. You leaned forward, taking one nipple into your mouth, tongue circling the sensitive bud before sucking hard enough to make her gasp. The flesh pebbled against your tongue, hardening further as you alternated between gentle suction and the careful scrape of teeth. Her hands tangled in your hair again, nails scraping your scalp as she held you against her chest. You moved to her other breast, leaving the first glistening and reddened from your attention, a perfect contrast against her flawless skin.

"More," she demanded, grinding down against your erection, the friction maddening even through layers of fabric. "I want to feel your mouth everywhere."

You obliged, trailing kisses across her chest, up the column of her throat, sucking at the delicate skin just below her ear. Her pulse jumped beneath your lips as you worked your way down, teeth grazing the sensitive junction where her neck met her shoulder. You sucked harder, intent on leaving a mark, but Belle's hand flew to your hair, tugging you away with a breathless "No marks where they can see."

The idol in her was still conscious of appearances, but before disappointment could register, she guided your mouth to the spot just below her collarbone, hidden by most clothing. "Here," she whispered, pressing your face against her skin. "Mark me here."

You didn't need to be told twice, sucking and biting at the designated spot until a deep purple bruise bloomed against her golden skin. The sight of it satisfied something primal in you—visible evidence that this wasn't just another almost.

Belle's eyes darkened as she watched your admiration of the mark. Without warning, she leaned forward and latched onto the side of your neck, sucking hard enough to make you hiss, her teeth adding just enough pressure to ride the edge between pleasure and pain. She pulled back to admire her handiwork, a satisfied smirk on her lips at the sight of the fresh hickey. Unlike her, you didn't have stylists to please or cameras to face—you could wear her mark proudly.

Belle's nails scraped down your back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Her teeth found your earlobe, biting just hard enough to make you hiss, then soothing the sting with her tongue. Every touch was hungry, desperate, as if she was trying to make up for three years of restraint in a single night.

You stood suddenly, lifting her with you, her legs wrapping around your waist automatically. Her back hit the wall, a small "oof" escaping her lips before you captured them again in a bruising kiss. Your hands fumbled with the button of her jeans, desperation making you clumsy.

"Just rip them off," she panted against your mouth, the words nearly making you come on the spot.

You set her down, yanking at her jeans with little finesse, dragging them down those impossible legs along with her underwear. And then Belle was naked before you, all golden skin and subtle curves, blonde hair falling past her shoulders in waves that caught the dim studio light.

She was a vision, standing there with none of the shyness you might have expected. This was Belle in her element—confident, aware of her effect on you, reveling in the power of your desire. Her blonde hair framed her face like a halo, the contrast almost laughable given the sinful curve of her smirk.

You took a moment to just look at her—the subtle definition of her abs from countless hours of dance practice, the curve of her hips, the small constellation of beauty marks along her right side that you'd never known existed until now. Her body was a contradiction of soft curves and toned muscle, the body of someone who worked as hard as she played.

Belle didn't give you long to admire her. She stepped forward, hands moving to your sweatpants, shoving them down your legs along with your boxers. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of you, hard and aching for her. Her hand wrapped around your length, stroking once, twice, pulling a groan from deep in your chest.

"Fuck," she whispered, thumb circling the tip, spreading the wetness she found there. "I knew you'd be perfect."

You couldn't take it anymore. You pushed her back onto the cushions, covering her body with yours, the first press of skin against skin making both of you moan. Your mouth found her breast again, sucking harder this time, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. Your hand slid down her stomach, fingers dipping between her legs.

She was soaked, slick and hot against your fingers. "Holy shit, Belle," you groaned against her skin, fingers circling her clit. "You're literally soaked."

"For you," she gasped, hips canting up into your touch. "I've been wet af thinking about this for three years, don't act surprised."

You slid down her body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her ribs, her stomach, the jut of her hip bone. When you settled between her thighs, you took a moment to just look at her—glistening pink folds, the skin above shaved and bare, everything about her so perfect it made your chest ache.

"Please," she whimpered, a crack in her confident facade. Her hand reached down to tangle in your hair, guiding you to where she needed you most.

The first taste of her pulled groans from both of you. She was sweet and musky and perfect, her essence coating your tongue as you licked a broad stripe from her entrance to her clit. Her arousal was abundant, slick and hot against your mouth, the taste intoxicating—like nothing you'd ever experienced before. Your chin quickly became coated in her wetness as you devoured her, each pass of your tongue drawing more of her essence.

Two fingers slid inside her easily, her body practically pulling them in, so ready for you that the sound was audible—a wet, sucking noise that made your cock throb painfully against the cushions. She was tight around your fingers, her inner walls gripping them like a vise despite how wet she was, the contrasting sensations making your head spin. You curled your fingers forward, searching for that spot that would make her see stars, feeling the subtle difference in texture when you found it.

Belle's reaction was immediate—a sharp cry, her back arching off the cushions. You added a third finger, stretching her further, watching in fascination as her body accepted the intrusion eagerly. Your fingers glistened with her arousal when you pulled them out slightly, before pushing back in with more purpose. The sight of her taking your fingers, her pink folds stretched around your knuckles, was almost enough to make you come untouched.

Your tongue circled her clit, alternating between broad strokes and pointed precision, learning what made her gasp, what made her thighs shake. Her hands were in your hair, on her own breasts, gripping the cushions—restless with pleasure.

"Oh god, right there," she panted, her body arching when you found that perfect spot inside her. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

You had no intention of stopping, not when she was making those sounds, not when she was looking at you like that—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed with pleasure. You sucked her clit between your lips, fingers pumping faster, and felt her begin to tighten around you.

"I need you inside me," she gasped suddenly, tugging at your hair. "Like, right now. Please, I'm literally dying to feel you."

You looked up at her from between her thighs, mouth and chin wet with her arousal. "Beg me," you said, voice rough with desire.

A flash of defiance crossed her face, that same look she got when company executives tried to tell her what to do. She tugged your hair sharply, the pain sending a jolt of pleasure down your spine.

"Fuck me," she commanded, all idol authority despite her position. "I swear to god, if you don't put your dick in me right now..."

The power struggle between you was intoxicating. You surged up her body, positioning yourself between her thighs, the head of your cock pressing against her entrance. "Is this what you want?" you asked, circling her clit with the tip, coating yourself in her wetness.

"Yes," she hissed, trying to shift her hips to take you in. "Stop teasing."

You pushed inside her in one smooth thrust, both of you freezing at the sensation. She was tight and hot around you, her nails digging into your shoulders, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you deeper.

"Fucking finally," she breathed, eyes locked with yours, the connection between you transcending the physical. Three years of tension, of almosts and maybes, culminating in this perfect joining.

You began to move, hands gripping her thighs, pushing them wider, pinning her to the cushions. Each thrust drew breathless sounds from her lips, her blonde hair splayed across the dark fabric beneath her like spilled sunshine.

"You feel so good," you groaned, the tight heat of her making coherent thought impossible. "So fucking perfect."

Belle matched your rhythm, hips rising to meet each thrust, hands gripping your forearms, your shoulders, your back—anywhere she could reach. Her lips found yours in a messy, desperate kiss, all tongue and teeth and shared breath.

The beat of the forgotten track continued its loop—bass, snare, hi-hat, silence—providing a rhythm that your bodies naturally found. Belle's moans became the melody, the wet sounds of your bodies joining the percussion, creating the most authentic thing you'd ever produced.

Just as you felt the familiar tightening at the base of your spine, Belle shoved at your chest. "Wait," she gasped. "I need your dick in my mouth. Right now."

You withdrew reluctantly, the sight of your cock sliding out of her, glistening with her arousal, nearly making you lose control. Belle pushed you onto your back, positioning herself between your legs. Her blonde hair fell forward as she leaned down, tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your length.

"Fuck," you hissed, hands instinctively moving to her hair, gathering it back from her face so you could watch her.

Belle looked up at you through her lashes, lips wrapping around the head of your cock, tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. Her mouth was hot and wet, the perfect counterpoint to the cool air of the studio. The sight was obscene and perfect—Belle, the idol whose face was plastered across billboards in Seoul, taking you into her mouth with evident pleasure, her lipstick smudged, her eyes watering slightly as she focused on her task.

You traced her cheekbone with your thumb, feeling the subtle hollow as she sucked harder, watching in fascination as her jaw worked to accommodate your girth. Her lips stretched wide around you, glistening with saliva and traces of her own arousal that still coated your length. The contrast of her pale pink lips against your skin was mesmerizing, like something from the most forbidden fantasy.

She took you deeper, humming around your length, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure up your spine. The wet heat of her mouth surrounded you, her tongue pressing against the underside of your cock with perfect pressure. Her hand worked what couldn't fit, twisting on the upstroke in a way that made your toes curl, her grip firm but not painful.

Spit dripped down your shaft, pooling at the base and trailing down your balls, her movements becoming wetter, sloppier, more desperate with each passing second. The sounds she made were pornographic—wet suction, breathless moans, occasional gags when she took you too deep. Saliva gathered at the corners of her mouth, threatening to spill down her chin.

You pulled out briefly, a thick strand of saliva connecting her lips to the head of your cock, breaking only when she licked them hungrily. You traced her bottom lip with the tip, smearing it with the mixture of her saliva and your pre-cum. On impulse, you pressed two fingers against her lips. Belle opened immediately, sucking them into her mouth alongside your cock, her eyes never leaving yours as she worked both with equal enthusiasm. The feeling of her tongue sliding between your fingers while simultaneously laving the underside of your cock was mind-bending.

When she took you to the back of her throat, gagging slightly before adjusting, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, you nearly lost your mind. Your hands tightened in her hair, guiding her movements, careful not to be too rough.

"Belle, fuck, I'm going to—" You tried to pull her away, not wanting to finish like this, not yet.

She released you with an obscene pop, lips swollen and wet, a string of saliva connecting them to your cock. "Not yet," she agreed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I still want you inside me."

Belle turned, getting on her knees on the couch, facing away from you, ass presented in a way that made your mouth go dry. She looked over her shoulder, hair falling down her back in golden waves. "Like this," she said, reaching back to spread herself for you. "Please."

You moved behind her, transfixed by the sight of her on display—ass raised, back arched, hair cascading down her spine like liquid gold. Her arousal glistened on her inner thighs, evidence of how turned on she was. Unable to resist, you leaned down to taste her again from this new angle. Your tongue circled her entrance, gathering the abundant wetness there, before sliding up to her clit. The taste of her was even more intense now, her arousal having built to a fever pitch.

Belle gasped at the contact, pushing back against your face shamelessly, grinding herself against your tongue. You gripped her ass with both hands, spreading her wider, diving deeper, feeling her thighs tremble against your cheeks. You slipped two fingers inside her while your tongue worked her clit, curling them to hit that spot that had made her cry out before. Her inner walls clenched around you, pulling your fingers deeper, her body telegraph its need.

"Inside me," she demanded, voice breaking with need. "Now."

You straightened, taking your cock in hand, sliding the tip through her folds, gathering her abundant wetness. The head of your cock glistened with her arousal as you dragged it from her clit to her entrance and back again. Each pass collected more of her essence, until your cock was coated and dripping. You pushed just the tip inside, feeling her body try to pull you deeper, before withdrawing completely.

Belle whimpered, trying to push back, to take you in, but you held her hips steady with firm hands. You slapped your cock against her swollen pussy, the wet sound echoing in the studio.

Once, twice, three times—each contact sending visible ripples through the flesh of her ass and drawing desperate sounds from her throat. Your length rested against her for a moment, hot and heavy, before you did it again, harder this time, watching as her wetness created strings that connected your cock to her folds when you pulled away.

"Tell me what you want," you demanded, continuing to slap your cock against her, sometimes catching her clit, sometimes sliding between her lips without entering. Her arousal had become so abundant that it dripped down onto the couch below, creating a small dark spot on the fabric.

"You," she gasped. "Inside me. Filling me up. Please."

You pushed in slowly this time, savoring every sensation—the initial resistance as the head of your cock breached her entrance, then the way her body yielded, pulling you in deeper with each inch. She stretched around you, accommodating your girth, her inner walls gripping you like a vise despite how wet she was. The sight of your cock disappearing into her was mesmerizing, her pink folds hugging your length as you sank deeper.

Belle's back arched beautifully, her spine a perfect curve, her hands white-knuckled as they gripped the back of the couch for support. A long, low moan escaped her as you bottomed out, the sound so raw and unfiltered that you knew you'd never hear anything like it in any of her recordings. Her walls pulsed around you, adjusting to the intrusion, seemingly trying to pull you even deeper.

Once fully seated, you paused, overwhelmed by the sensation. The wet heat of her surrounded you completely, squeezing with subtle pulses that threatened your control. Your hands dug into her hips, fingertips leaving temporary indentations in her skin. You ground against her, circling your hips to feel every part of her, to let her feel every part of you.

Your hands slid up her back, gathering her blonde hair in one fist, pulling just enough to arch her back further. The silky strands wrapped around your fingers as you guided her movements. Your other hand traced the curve of her spine, feeling each vertebra beneath your fingertips, then followed the dip of her waist to the flare of her hip. She was a work of art beneath you, all golden skin and perfect curves, the subtle dimples at the base of her spine catching the studio's amber light.

You began to move, withdrawing almost completely before driving back in, watching in fascination as your cock appeared and disappeared, glistening with her arousal. Each thrust was accompanied by an obscene wet sound, evidence of how ready she was for you. You set a punishing pace that had the couch creaking beneath you, the sound mixing with the slap of skin against skin and Belle's breathless moans.

Belle met each thrust with equal force, pushing back against you, the impact sending ripples across the flesh of her ass. The sight of her taking you so eagerly, so completely, was almost too much to bear. Your cock seemed to disappear into her endlessly, only to reappear coated in her essence, wetter with each withdrawal.

Your free hand slid around to find her clit, circling the swollen bud in time with your thrusts. It was stiff under your fingers, slick with her arousal, the hood pulled back to expose the most sensitive part. You alternated between gentle circles and more direct pressure, learning from her reactions what pleased her most. The position allowed you to feel yourself moving inside her, your cock creating a subtle bulge against your palm with each deep thrust.

"Yes," she cried, head falling forward despite your grip on her hair. "Right there, don't stop."

You leaned forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her shoulders, the nape of her neck, the knobs of her spine. Your teeth grazed her skin, marking her, claiming her after three years of waiting. The scent of her perfume mixed with sweat and sex, creating a heady combination that made your head spin.

Belle reached back, hand finding your thigh, nails digging into your skin as if trying to pull you closer, deeper. The gesture was unexpectedly intimate, a silent plea for more connection even in this raw, primal position.

"I'm close," she gasped, inner walls beginning to flutter around you. "So close."

You redoubled your efforts, hips snapping against hers, fingers working her clit with more purpose. When she came, it was with a cry of your name that echoed through the studio, her body seizing around you in rhythmic pulses. Her inner walls clamped down with stunning force, rippling along your length with contractions so strong you could track their progression. Her back arched impossibly further, her hands clawing at the couch cushions, her thighs trembling violently against yours. Wetness gushed around your cock, soaking both of you further, dripping onto the couch beneath in a primal marking.

The visual, auditory, and physical sensations combined to trigger your own release. You buried yourself to the hilt, grinding deep inside her, feeling her body milk every drop from you. Your vision blurred at the edges, pleasure crashing through you in waves so intense they bordered on pain. You groaned against her shoulder, teeth grazing the delicate skin there as you pulsed inside her, filling her with your release.

The sensation of her body still contracting around you as you came extended your orgasm, drawing it out until you were both shaking with oversensitivity. For a moment, neither of you moved, joined together in the aftermath, your chest pressed against her back, both of you coated in a fine sheen of sweat. Your breath came in harsh pants, mingling with the sounds of the beat still looping endlessly in the background.

You could feel your combined arousal beginning to seep out around your still-hard cock, creating a mess between you that neither of you cared about. Your hands, which had been gripping her hips with bruising force, now gentled, stroking her sides with trembling fingers. Belle's body occasionally shuddered with aftershocks, each one squeezing your sensitive length and drawing small sounds from both of you.

You collapsed onto the couch, Belle's body following yours, limbs tangled together in a sweaty heap. Her head rested on your chest, blonde hair sticking to your damp skin, her breathing gradually slowing to match yours. The studio was thick with the scent of sex, the air conditioning struggling to clear the heat you'd generated between you.

"That was..." She trailed off, apparently unable to find adequate words.

"Yeah," you agreed, equally eloquent, fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. "Definitely worth the wait."

She hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to your chest. "Better than I even imagined. And trust me, I imagined it a lot."

The beat still looped in the background, a reminder of the work that had started this—work that should probably be saved before your laptop went to sleep. You reluctantly shifted, easing Belle off you with a kiss to her forehead.

"Let me save this session real quick."

You sat up, reaching for your laptop, fingers moving automatically to save the project. Your gaze drifted to your phone on the floor where it had fallen during your activities, screen still lit up. You froze.

The voice memo app was still running, the timer showing 46:27 and counting.

"...Fuck."

Belle, who had been stretching languidly on the couch, followed your gaze. "What?"

You picked up the phone, showing her the screen. "It's been recording. The whole time."

Belle sat up, tucking her hair behind her ears, not bothering to cover herself as she leaned over to look at your phone. Her eyes widened momentarily before her lips curved into that signature smirk—the same one that had launched a thousand fan edits online.

"...Keep it," she said, her voice casual in a way that made your heart race again. Her fingertip tapped the screen. "Tuck it in the back of the song."

You stared at her, certain you'd misheard. "You're serious?"

Belle shrugged, one perfect shoulder rising and falling. The motion made her breasts shift in a way that threatened to derail your thoughts completely. "You said Kehlani likes 'real' in her music, right?"

You nodded, still processing her suggestion.

Belle took the phone from your hand, tapping the playback button. The sound of your mingled breathing filled the room, followed by a breathless "Oh God, right there..." in Belle's voice, higher and more urgent than her normal speaking tone. The recording continued: "Don't stop, please don't stop," punctuated by the unmistakable sounds of skin against skin.

She stopped the playback, raising an eyebrow at you. "Tell me that doesn't sound fucking fire."

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you, equal parts shocked and impressed by her audacity. "Kehlani's gonna hear us fuck."

Belle's grin widened, something mischievous and proud in her expression. "She's gonna love it." She leaned over to your laptop, fingers moving across the keyboard with surprising energy given your recent activities. "Listen," she said, adding a line to the lyrics document: "'Til the neighbors knock this door down..."

She turned to you, expectant, clearly waiting for your reaction. The track continued to loop, but now you could hear it differently—could imagine those captured sounds layered beneath the beat, the breathless quality of Belle's voice adding an authenticity no studio session could fake.

"It's perfect," you admitted, shaking your head in disbelief.

Belle's smile was triumphant. "I know." She saved the document with a flourish, then stretched, a movement that seemed deliberately designed to showcase her naked body. "Now, about that bedroom you mentioned..."

You laughed again, marveling at her endless energy. "Give me five minutes to export this."

"You've got three," she countered, already gathering her clothes from around the studio. "And then I'm testing how soundproof those bedroom walls are." She paused, another smirk playing at her lips. "For research purposes, of course. The song might need a part two."

You watched her move around your studio, completely at ease in her nakedness, all the boundaries between you permanently shattered. The voice memo continued to record, capturing this moment too—the aftermath, the planning, the promise of more.

With a decisive tap, you stopped the recording and saved it. Whatever happened next didn't need documentation.

Some things could just be for the two of you.

AN: Clothes off by Kehlani

[pawstriez]

BET | love and deepspace

⟡ tags : underground boxer! sylus + reader — sylus isn’t afraid of going all in when it comes to you.

ミ★ content warning : fem! reader uses she/her prns, mentions of blood & injuries, mentions of female anatomy as well as male anatomy, oral fem! receive, gentle to rough sex, pet names like bby, dove, kitten, honey, 5.0K WORD COUNT

you step into the dimly lit underground boxing gym, the air thick with the scent of sweat, cigarette smoke, and leather. it’s a seedy place, hidden in the heart of the city’s most notorious neighborhood, where the law doesn’t dare to tread. the crowd tonight is a mix of rough characters - bikers with gang patches on their jackets, local gangsters with glares and expensive watches, shady high-rollers in suits looking to place big bets on the illegal fights.

as you navigate through the throng of people, you spot him in the corner, preparing for his match. sylus - the man who happened to be your ex-boyfriend . . oh, and only the most feared bare-knuckled boxer in the underground circuit. he was a sight to behold, all rippling muscles and newfound tattoos, with messy silver hair that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. you watch as he methodically wraps his hands, his intense red eyes focused on the task.

your history with sylus is complicated, to say the least. you met him two years ago at a biker rally, drawn to his bad-boy charm and undeniable charisma. he swept you off your feet with his daredevil antics on his custom harley and his smooth talking ways. but sylus’s world was always filled with danger, violence, and illegal activities. as the leader of onychinus, the city’s most notorious motorcycle club, he ran an empire built on illicit evol weapons, protocore deals, and underground fighting.

at first, the thrill of it all was intoxicating - the adrenaline rush of riding on the back of his bike, the wild parties at the onychinus clubhouse, watching him dominate in the ring. but as time went on, you grew tired of the constant chaos and the fear that one day, sylus’s risky lifestyle would catch up to him. you wanted stability, a future - things that sylus scoffed at. ‘i live in the moment, babe,’ he would say with that infuriating smirk. ‘and right now, all i want is you.’

but it wasn’t enough. six months ago, after a particularly brutal fight that left sylus battered and bleeding, you reached your breaking point. you told him you couldn’t watch him destroy himself anymore, that you needed more than he could give you. sylus, stubborn and proud as ever, refused to change. ‘this is who i am,’ he growled. ‘so take it or leave it.’ so you left, walking away from the man you loved, determined to build a life free from the violence and uncertainty.

now, seeing him again after all this time, you feel a mix of emotions stirring within you. anger, hurt, frustration . . . but also a undeniable pull of attraction and longing. as if sensing your presence, sylus glances up, his red eyes locking with yours. a slow, confident smirk spreads across his handsome face as he saunters over to you, the crowd parting before him.

“well, well. look who it is,” he drawls, looking you up and down appreciatively. “didn’t expect to see you here tonight, [★]. come to watch me dominate the ring as usual?”

you scoff and cross your arms, determined not to let him see how much his presence affects you. “i’m not here for you, sylus. i’m just here to collect on some bets.”

he chuckles, a deep, rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. “sure you are, sweetheart. keep telling yourself that.”

sylus takes a step closer, invading your personal space. he smells like musk and sandalwood, a scent that brings back memories of stolen moments and passionate nights. “i miss you, you know,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. “everything’s been so boring without you around to keep me on my toes.”

you try to stay strong, but you can feel your resolve wavering. damn him and his charm. “i’m not here to rehash the past, sylus. what do you want?”

his eyes glint with a challenge. “make a bet with me - when i win the championship belt tonight, you give me another shot. a chance to prove that we’re meant to be together.”

you laugh in disbelief. “you can’t be serious. we’re done, sy. i’m not falling for your games again.”

“who says it’s a game?” he counters, his expression turning serious. “i know i messed up, [★]. i wasn’t ready before, but i am now. i want you back in my life. i need you.”

you hesitate, torn between your lingering feelings and your better judgment. sylus is a force of nature, wild and untamed. being with him is like dancing on the edge of a razor - thrilling but dangerous. can you really risk your heart again?

“and what do i get if you lose?” you ask, buying yourself time to think.

sylus flashes you a cocky grin. “you know i never lose, kitten. but if by some miracle i do . . i’ll leave you alone. for good. unless you decide you can’t resist me and come crawling back.”

you snort at his arrogance, even as a part of you wonders if he might be right. sylus has always had a hold on you, an undeniable magnetism that draws you in against your will, “fine,” you hear yourself saying, almost as if from a distance. “you’ve got a deal.”

his grin widens, triumphant. “get ready to come back to where you belong, [★] - with me.”

the crowd starts to get louder, chanting and cheering as the lights flicker and dim. it’s almost time for the main event - sylus’s championship fight. he starts to walk towards the ring, but pauses and turns back to face you.

“watch closely now, honey,” he says with a wink. “i’m about to show you what you’ve been missing.”

with that, he strides away, his movements graceful and predatory. you watch him go, your heart pounding in your chest.

what had you gotten yourself into?

as the crowd’s chanting reaches a fevered pitch, sylus steps into the ring, the picture of coiled power and raw aggression. his opponent, a hulking brute known as ‘the mauler’, glares at him from across the mat, pounding his meaty fists together in a show of intimidation. but sylus just smirks, unfazed. he’s taken down bigger, badder fighters than this guy.

the referee calls them to the center, going over the rules - not that there are many in the underground circuit. “no biting, no eye gouging, fight ends with a knockout or tapout. keep it clean . . ish. touch gloves and come out swinging!”

sylus bumps his taped fists against the mauler’s, staring him down with those intense red eyes. then they’re backing away, the air crackling with tension as the crowd falls silent in anticipation.

the bell sounds and the mauler charges forward with a roar, swinging wildly. but sylus is too quick, too skilled. he slips and weaves, dodging the heavy blows, letting his opponent overextend himself. sylus fires off a rapid jab - cross combo, snapping the mauler’s head back and drawing first blood from his nose.

the big man snarls and redoubles his efforts, trying to use his size to his advantage, to trap sylus against the ropes and pummel him. but sylus is like smoke, always just out of reach. he targets the mauler’s weak spots with surgical precision - a knife-hand to the solar plexus to crush his wind, a heel kick to the floating rib, an elbow smash to the jaw.

each blow lands with devastating impact, chipping away at the mauler’s formidable stamina and sending the crowd into a frenzy. they chant sylus’s name like a war cry, thrilling at the sight of the chiseled, tattooed demigod of the ring in his element.

you watch in breathless awe, pulse racing, body heating. damn him. he’s magnificent like this - a perfect fighting machine, all fluid grace and controlled violence. it’s enough to make you forget why you walked away, to let yourself imagine those powerful hands on your body once more . .

a pained grunt snaps you back to the moment as the mauler finally lands a solid hit, a haymaker to sylus’s ribs that sends him staggering. your heart leaps into your throat. but sylus just shakes it off with a feral grin, spitting blood and bouncing on his toes as he beckons for more.

they trade blows in a brutal, lightning-fast exchange, neither giving quarter. the mauler is flagging but still dangerous, pure grit keeping him on his feet. sylus bleeds from a cut over his eye but barely seems to feel it, an unholy light in his gaze as he scents victory.

he presses his advantage with a dizzying flurry of strikes, driving the mauler back . . back . . until he’s pinned against the turnbuckle. sylus hammers his torso without mercy - left hook to the liver, right uppercut to the chin, again, again. the mauler’s knees buckle and sylus steps back, letting him crumple to the canvas.

the crowd erupts as the ref counts it out. at “ten,” sylus throws his hands up in triumph, basking in the adulation. his eyes find yours across the room and the heat in them makes your breath stop. in three long strides he’s out of the ring and hauling you into his arms, crushing his mouth to yours in a searing kiss.

for a moment, you forget where you are. forget the mob of rowdy spectators whistling and catcalling. forget every reason you swore you'd never let him back into your heart. all you know is the demanding press of his lips, the steel - cable strength of his blood-slicked body, the intoxicating rush of his victory and your surrender . . .

“looks like i won our bet, babe,” he says smugly, smirking down at you. “hope you’re ready to pay up.”

you scowl, hating how easily he affected you. “one. drink. that was the deal.”

sylus touches his tongue to the seam of his split lip, gaze roving hungrily over you. “oh, i’m just getting started.”

he drags you through the throng of well-wishers and sycophants, his grip on your hand unbreakable. outside, the night air is cool against your overheated skin, charged with tension and the distant growl of engines.

sylus leads you to his pride and joy - that sleek demon of a harley crouched by the curb. the way he straddles the throbbing machine is blatantly sexual, all hard muscles and black leather. he jerks his head at the space behind him.

“c’mon - you know the drill, hop on.”

your hesitation lasts a mere heartbeat before you throw a leg over the bike and wrap your arms around his waist, molding yourself to his back. the rumble of the engine between your thighs and the furnace heat of his body shreds the last of your resistance.

your hesitation lasts a mere heartbeat before you throw a leg over the bike and wrap your arms around his waist, molding yourself to his back. the rumble of the engine between your thighs and the furnace heat of his body shreds the last of your resistance.

then, sylus kicks off and you’re flying, the city lights a neon blur as he opens the throttle. your pulse pounds in time with the roar of the pipes, excitement and desire a heady drug in your veins. by the time he screeches to a stop outside a dingy saloon on the outskirts of town, you’re dizzy with need.

inside, the bar is a den of sin and swagger, all scuffed leather and polished chrome and clinking bottles. eyes follow sylus with a mix of fear and reverence as he stalks to a booth in the back, one possessive hand at the small of your back.

he orders a whiskey, neat, and your favorite poison, not bothering to ask what you want. at your raised eyebrow, he shrugs.

��i remember.”

two words. but the weight of history and unspoken emotion behind them squeezes your heart. your fingers tremble slightly as you raise your glass in a mock toast.

“to your victory. and my reckless wager.”

sylus’ gaze is molten as he clinks his tumbler against yours, gaze holding you captive over the rim as he tosses back the smooth liquid. the slight burn of the alcohol is nothing compared to the smolder of his stare.

“what are we doing, sy?” you ask into the charged quiet, liquid courage loosening your tongue. “why now, after all this time?”

a muscle ticks in his jaw. he looks down, spinning his empty glass, broad shoulders rigid with tension.

“i fucked up.”

his voice is low, raw with a vulnerability you've never heard from him. your breath snags.

“i thought i needed the rush, the rep, the respect. and yeah, maybe i did, for a while. but none of it meant shit without you.” slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, he reaches for your hand — lacing his scarred, tape-wrapped fingers with yours, “i was a coward. i pushed you away because i was scared shitless of how bad i wanted you - needed you. needed your strength, your goodness. you made me want to be better. and it truly fucking terrified me.”

his grip tightens, almost painfully. anchoring you to him.

“losing you . . it broke me, [★]. made me realize that the only thing i’m actually afraid of is living without you.”

sylus swallows hard, his throat working. when he looks up at you, his eyes are blazing with fierce intent.

“i know i don’t deserve another shot. i know i need to earn back your trust. but i swear to whoever may hold my fate, if you give me a chance, i will spend every waking day proving that you’re my whole damn world.”

your heart is a wild bird in your chest, frantic and yearning. you search his face, finding only sincerity and aching tenderness beneath the bruises and blood.

“i never stopped loving you,” you confess, voice breaking. “no matter how hard i tried to hate you . . i couldn’t let you go.”

sylus makes a rough sound, halfway between a growl and a groan. then he’s kissing you, deep and urgent and saying everything he can't put into words. you fall into him, all hunger and desperation, the levee finally breaking on the flood of your need.

“take me home,” you gasp into his mouth, fingers curling in the sweat-damp silk of his hair.

“i thought you’d never ask, dove.”

the anticipation is a living thing as sylus speeds through the lamp-lit streets, the throaty growl of his harley between your thighs a heady reminder of the man commanding the machine. by the time he pulls into the cavernous garage beneath his loft, your body is humming, every nerve ending alight with need.

sylus is on you the moment you dismount, crowding you back against the rough brick wall, his large frame enveloping yours. his kiss is searing, possession and passion, strong hands gripping your hips as he grinds into you. you moan into his mouth, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his leather-clad shoulders, craving more.

“been dreaming about this,” he rasps against your lips, his voice like gravel and whiskey, igniting heat in your veins. “having you back in my arms, in my bed. fuck, [★], need you so bad it's like a sickness.”

“then take me,” you breathe, emboldened by the blatant hunger shining in those crimson eyes. “i’m here, sylus. i’m yours.”

something animalistic unfurls behind his gaze, a primal sort of satisfaction that has you clenching with want. in a burst of movement, he hoists you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his lean hips as he strides purposefully to the industrial elevator that will carry you to his domain.

the short ride up is a haze of frantic kisses and roving hands, two years’ worth of pent-up longing seeking outlet. by the time sylus kicks open the door to his loft, you’re both panting, clothes askew and lips kiss-bruised. he carries you straight to the bedroom, a cavern of shadows and silver moonlight spilling across rumpled black silk sheets. when he lays you down in the center of that decadent expanse, the reverence in his touch steals your breath. his battle-scarred fingers shake slightly as they skim over your curves, learning you anew.

“so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, crimson gaze tracking hungrily over your body like he's committing every detail to memory. “can’t believe i almost lost this . . lost you . .”

“never,” you whisper fiercely, reaching up to cup his angular jaw. “i’m here, sylus. right where i belong. and i’m not going anywhere.”

he turns his head to press a fervent kiss to your palm, the heat of his breath making you shiver as his lips graze your fingers — and ever so gently, he bites. then slowly, deliberately, he divests you of your clothes, unwrapping you like a gift. you echo his actions, baring him inch by glorious inch to your avid gaze.

sylus’s body is a work of art, all chiseled muscle and inked skin, a roadmap of violence and survival. you take your time tracing the ridges and hollows, the scars and scrolling tattoos, familiarizing yourself with this new landscape of him. he shudders beneath your questing touch, eyes fluttering shut, a low rumble building in his chest.

“[★],” he grits out, and fuck, how you’ve missed the way he says your name, guttural and raw, like a prayer and a plea. “please, baby . . need to taste you.”

“yes,” you hiss, already aching, empty. “please, sylus.”

granted, he descends on you like a man starved, that talented mouth charting a path of fire over your sensitized flesh. he maps every curve and valley with lips and teeth and tongue, each nip and suck and lap stoking the inferno building in your core.

when he finally settles between your trembling thighs, the first bold stroke of his tongue punches the air from your lungs, your spine arching involuntarily. he groans in appreciation, strong hands splaying your thighs wider, opening you fully to his voracious appetite.

“fuck, i missed this,” he rasps against your slick folds, the vibration of his words making you keen. “missed the way you taste, the sounds you make when i devour this sweet cunt. could feast on you for hours, little one . .”

you whimper breathlessly, one hand fisting in the sheets, the other tangling in his silver hair, holding him to you. sylus takes the encouragement for what it is, sealing his mouth over your aching flesh and suckling greedily. stars erupt in your eyes, pleasure rioting through your veins as he works you ruthlessly, adding clever fingers to his oral assault. he curls them just right, rubbing that secret spot that has you seeing god, all while his wicked tongue paints obscene promises on your clit.

“s-sy, fuck!” you wail, back bowing, thighs clamping around his ears as he drives you higher and higher. “oh god, yes, just like that! don’t stop, please, i’m gonna’ cum . . fuck, baby-”

he doubles his efforts, a man possessed, growling his own pleasure into your core. “that’s it, my love,” he urges gutturally between long, lewd licks. “go ahead and give it to me, wanna’ feel you drench my face, want you gushing on my tongue . .”

his filthy encouragement hurls you over the edge with a strangled scream, release slamming into you like a freight train. you shatter spectacularly, pulsing and clenching around his thrusting fingers, slick gushing into his eager mouth as he works you through the most intense orgasm of your life.

when you finally drift back down to earth, aftershocks still rippling through you, sylus is grinning up at you wolfishly from between your thighs, his beard glistening obscenely with your essence. “fucking incredible,” he rumbles, pressing a soft kiss to your still-twitching center. “could watch you fall apart on my tongue forever and never get tired of it.”

“get up here,” you demand breathlessly, tugging him to you. he comes willingly, settling his considerable bulk over you, caging you beneath miles of warm, hard muscle.

you claim his mouth in a filthy kiss, moaning at the taste of yourself on his lips and tongue. he responds with matching hunger, hips rocking into the cradle of your thighs, the thick ridge of his erection a brand against your sensitive flesh.

“please,” you whimper into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip. “need you inside me, sylus. been too long, i want it . .”

“fuck,” he snarls, the words seeming to snap his restraint. “far too long, honey. be patient, you know i will.” slowly, giving you time to adjust, he notches himself at your entrance and pushes forward, gasping harshly at the tight, wet heat of you enveloping him. “goddamn,” he grits out through clenched teeth, forehead pressed to yours. “silly me. i almost forgot how fucking perfect you feel. like coming home.”

“yes,” you moan, reveling in the familiar stretch and burn of his thick length entering your body. “missed this so much . . missed you . . love you, sylus, so fucking much.”

“i love you too,” he rasps, pulling nearly all the way out before surging back in, starting a deep, rolling rhythm that has your toes curling. “i never stopped, never will. you’re only for me, [★]. only me.”

you lose yourselves to the timeless dance, bodies moving in perfect synchronicity, rediscovering every perfect angle and hidden sweet spot. sylus takes his time, building you back up with long, measured strokes, whispering words of worship into your skin, branding you with his love.

“so good,” he groans, hitching your leg higher on his hip, sinking impossibly deeper. “could stay buried in this tight little pussy forever. never wanna leave.”

“don’t.” you gasp, fingers clawing at his flexing back, desperate for more. “stay — harder, sylus, fuck me harder. wanna’ be able to feel it tomorrow.”

with a low, approving growl, sylus complies, snapping his hips faster, driving into your yielding body with the piston precision of the machine he rides. the wet, obscene slap of flesh fills the room, punctuated by your escalating moans and cries.

“i’m not gonna last,” he warns, rhythm faltering. “too good, too fucking good. tell me you’re close, baby . .”

“s-so close,” you pant, the coil in your belly wound to the breaking point. “just a little more - fuck, right there, sy . . o-oh my —”

sylus hammers into you, grunting with the effort, sweat sheening his skin. he wedges a hand between your straining bodies, finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight circles. “cum on my cock,” he demands, voice strained. “let me feel that pussy grip me, milk me . .” his words are your undoing, hurling you into oblivion with a keening wail. your inner muscles seize around him, rippling and fluttering, trying to pull him deeper as you drench his driving length in release.

“fuck, yes!” sylus roars, pistoning wildly, chasing his own end. “gonna’ - ah, shit, kitty, i’m cumming!” his climax overtakes him with a force that borders on violence, his cock jerking and pulsing as he spills himself deep in your still-spasming core, painting your inner walls with thick ropes of his seed. you mewl weakly in blissed-out overstimulation, aftershocks rolling through you as he fills you to the brim.

finally spent, sylus collapses onto you, taking care not to crush you with his bulk. you cuddle as sweat and other fluids cool on your skin, hearts gradually slowing in tandem. he’s still stuffed deep inside you and you clench involuntarily around his now-softening length, loving the way he groans, overused nerves sparking. “keep that up and we’ll be going again real soon,” he warns playfully, nuzzling into your neck.

you huff a laugh, carding your fingers through his damp hair. “yeah, yeah,” you tease. “we’ve got time now, sylus. all the time in the world. i’m not going anywhere.”

he raises his head to look at you, crimson eyes soft and full of wonder. “damn right you’re not,” he rumbles, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “i’m never letting you out of my sight again. you’re stuck with me now, sweetheart.”

��eh, could be worse,” you quip, grinning up at him. “i think i can handle being stuck with you. it’s only forever, after all.”

“forever,” sylus echoes solemnly, like an oath. “i like the sound of that. you and me. binded as one.”

“ . . . and loving each other stupid every chance we get,” you finish impishly, wiggling your eyebrows.

he barks a laugh, the joyful, uninhibited sound making your heart soar. “oh, that is definitely part of the plan,” he assures you, a wicked gleam in his eye. “gotta’ make up for lost time, don’t we?”

“mmhm, that we do,” you agree readily, warmth suffusing you. “better get started on that. forever’s not getting any longer.”

“as my lady commands,” sylus murmurs, capturing your mouth again as he begins to stir inside you once more.

and as passion ignites anew, the promise of countless tomorrows enfolding you like a benediction, you know this is just the beginning of the ups and downs.

because this love, tempered by loss and longing, by time and truth . . it’s unbreakable. a bond that even the harshest trials will only serve to strengthen.

and with sylus by your side, his heart in your keeping as surely as yours rests in his scarred and steady hands . .

. . you know you can weather any storm.

forever, and then some.

★ SUGUGASM 2024 | please don’t copy, translate or share my work on other platforms without my consent. tagging @ramonathinks <3

[queenofwands89]

The Storm Within Tyler Owens x fem!reader

Summary: What dramatic turn of events unfolds when Y/N storms off after an argument with Tyler, only to face the fury of a tornado that strikes their town and leaves Y/N injured?

Warnings: Tornado (duh lol), angst, arguing, mention of injuries, description of injuries, sad.

Notes: I wrote this because I am a whore for Tyler, and I love angst and pain. Enjoy byeeee

You feel the tension build in the air long before Tyler raises his voice. It's the kind of unease that clings to the back of your mind, an ineffable sense that something is about to go terribly wrong. You stand in the spacious, cluttered garage that serves as the command center for Tyler's storm-chasing crew. The storm models flashing on the multiple screens show bleak promises of another monstrous storm front moving across Oklahoma.

It starts as a simple disagreement. Tyler is passionate—almost recklessly so—about chasing a particular storm cell that evening. You object, voicing your concerns about the jeopardy it poses not only to Tyler but also to the entire crew.

"You never listen, Tyler!" Your voice quavers, your frustration edging too close to the surface. Your heart hammers in your chest. "You treat this like it's some adventure, but it’s dangerous!"

Tyler rakes his fingers through his hair, his expression a mix of determination and exasperation. "It's because it is dangerous," he shoots back. "But we do this because it saves lives, Y/N. If we can predict these storms better, we can give people the time they need to get to safety."

"And what about us? What about the people who love you? Are we just collateral damage in your crusade?"

Boone, who has been editing footage on his laptop nearby, looks up, his usually cheerful face clouded with concern. Lilly and Dexter exchange worried glances, while Dani silently tinkers with a drone, her stoic demeanor betrayed by the slightest furrow of her brow.

"I can’t sit by and do nothing while you risk everything, Tyler!" Your eyes well up with tears that you fiercely try to blink away. "One day, you might not come back."

Tyler sighs heavily. He takes a step towards you, but you instinctively recoil, the hurt in your eyes deepening the chasm between you. "Y/N, you know I love you, but this—this is what I do. It’s who I am."

"Well, I can't do this right now," you say, your voice cracking. "I need to clear my head."

Without another word, you grab your coat and storm out of the garage, slamming the door behind you. The echo of the slam lingers, punctuating the silence that envelops the room.

Tyler turns back to his crew, realizing that the argument has sapped the collective energy and morale. Boone breaks the silence with his usual attempt at lightening the mood.

"She'll cool off, man. Just give her some time," he offers, though his eyes betray the uncertainty he feels.

Lilly nods, her calm demeanor trying to instill a sense of reassurance. "Tyler, she just needs space. She loves you; that much is clear. Just let her process this."

Dexter, wiser and ever the emotional compass, adds softly, "Sometimes the best way to show love is to step back and let them come to terms with their fears on their own."

Tyler nods, although doubt gnaws at him. There is a sort of irony in chasing something as unpredictable as a tornado and yet being completely at a loss when it comes to matters of the heart.

You storm off down the gravel road, away from the storm-chasing headquarters. The expanses of Oklahoma stretch around you, vast and indifferent. You walk quickly, your thoughts a tumultuous whirl that rivals the storm brewing on the horizon.

Before long, a low rumble of thunder echoes in the distance. Your instincts tell you to seek shelter, but you are too consumed by your emotions to heed the warnings. Your phone buzzes, probably Jake checking in with you, but you ignore it.

As minutes turn to an hour, the sky darkens ominously, the oppressive weight of the storm hanging palpably in the air. You look up just as the first sharp gust of wind howls past you, sending a chill down your spine.

Your phone rings again. This time, you pick it up. It is Tyler.

"Y/N, you need to get back here. Now! There's an strom projected to hit our area. It's not safe out there!"

Before you can respond, the roar of the wind drowns out his voice. In the distance, a wall of debris begins to rise—terrifying in its beauty and formidable in its power. You feel a jolt of fear as you realize the windstorm is bearing down on you.

Panic-stricken, you try to find cover, but there is nowhere to go. The winds intensify, whipping your hair across your face and pulling at your clothes. In a desperate attempt to hold onto something, anything, you grab onto a nearby fence post as the monstrous tornado descends upon the town.

Back at the garage, the team is glued to their screens, tracking the terrifying path of the cyclone. Tyler's eyes are wide with dread, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"We need to go find her!" he shouts, his voice breaking with worry as he lunges toward the door.

Dexter and Boone spring into action, their grips tight on his arms, holding him back with all their strength. "Tyler, we will find her," Dexter insists, his voice steady yet intense. "But rushing headfirst into this will only get us all killed. We need a plan."

Tyler struggles against their hold, desperation etched into every line of his face. "You don't understand! She’s out there, and every second counts!"

Lilly's eyes mirror his fear but she nods in agreement with Dexter. "He's right, Tyler. We have to be smart about this."

Dani is already at the armored storm-chasing vehicle, her fingers flying over the controls as she starts the engine. "Let's go," she commands, her voice a beacon of resolve amidst the chaos.

The ride out is like plunging into a nightmare. The town around them is unrecognizable—a hellscape of uprooted trees, shattered windows, and debris swirling in the violent wind. The roar of the storm is deafening, a monstrous wall of sound that seems intent on swallowing them whole.

Every turn is fraught with danger, every street a potential deathtrap. The armored vehicle groans under the force of the gale, but it presses onward, cutting a determined path through the destruction.

Tyler's eyes scan the devastation, his heart pounding, every fiber of his being focused on one thing: finding you. The storm's fury lashes at them, but their resolve is unbreakable. They are driven by a singular, desperate hope—to bring you back alive.

As the harrowing storm begins to relent, the world around you is a landscape of devastation. The monstrous tornado has passed, leaving behind a chaotic aftermath. The team ventures deeper into the wreckage, eyes scanning anxiously for any sign of you.

Then they see you. Crumpled on the ground, clutching a fence post as though it’s the only thing tethering you to life, you lie unconscious, battered by the storm’s fury. Debris is scattered all around, a haunting testament to the storm's wrath. Tyler's heart wrenches at the sight.

Without a second thought, he leaps out of the vehicle, ignoring the stinging wind and flying debris that tug at his clothes and batter his body. "No, no, no," he mutters under his breath, sprinting towards you with a singular focus.

"Y/N!" he cries out, his voice breaking as he nears you. The sound barely cuts through the howl of the wind. He kneels beside you, wrapping his arms around your frail form, shielding you from the remnants of the storm. "Please, Y/N. Wake up."

Boone, sitting in the driver’s seat, immediately jumps out of the vehicle as well. He turns to Lilly and Dexter, his expression serious and determined. "Lilly, grab the emergency blankets. Dexter, I need you to help get Y/N into the truck, now!"

Boone rushes over to Tyler, his mouth set in a grim line. "Tyler, move aside. We need to get her stabilized." He swiftly yet carefully checks your pulse and breathing. "She's still with us. We have to move quickly."

“Be careful!” Tyler shouts over the wind to the crew, his voice tinged with panic. “She’s hurt!”

They work with meticulous care, gently extricating you from the wreckage. Tyler's hands shake as he helps lift you, his mind a whirlwind of desperate prayers and fear.

Dani, standing nearby, fights back tears, her voice breaking as she says, "Hang in there, Y/N. We’re not losing you."

They rush you back to the relative safety of the vehicle, urgency in every step. The vehicle starts moving, navigating through the storm’s terrible wake with a singular mission: to get you to medical attention.

Tyler sits beside you, cradling your hand in his, his eyes never leaving your face. “Hang in there, Y/N,” he whispers, as though sheer willpower could keep you tethered to life. “We’re almost there. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

The crew speeds through the chaotic aftermath, dodging fallen branches and uprooted signs. Dexter keeps a vigilant eye on the road, never slowing down. Lilly's hands shake as she dabs at your wounds with a cloth from the medical kit, trying to do whatever she can to help.

All the while, Tyler stays with you, his heart breaking and yet holding onto hope, as the vehicle barrels towards the hospital, each mile bringing you closer to safety. Tyler holds you tightly, his voice trembling and tears mingling with the rain on his cheeks as he whispers, "I'm so sorry. I love you. Please, hold on. Just hold on a little longer, baby."

[postmoe]

x You're My Antonym x

Yandere Alhaitham x Reader x Yandere Anaxagoras

no because this was supposed to be a 900 word one shot idea but now it's like 10,000. not really proof read.

power-play, unprofessional behaviour, teacher and student, fem reader, non-con, belittling, coercion

I used this for the interaction where Alhaitham is helping you with practicing your oral.

.

Most people leave the classes by the second term, there's a few reasons that build up over time but, if you asked any of the students who leave it can be narrowed down to one common factor: the teachers.

Alhaitham, the professor of Haravatat. He makes it known that he doesn't want to be here, even though he could leave any time. He says it's up to the students if they want to succeed, only pushing them to show basic etiquette in class. However, his nihilistic nature and harsh grading turns a lot of people away. He's not all that bad, though, he's even stayed behind when you've come after class to ask him questions. Don't even try to bring up work when he's out of the classroom, though.

Anaxagoras, the professor of Nousporist. He is a lot stricter than Alhaitham, and when in the classroom follows closely to the rule, 'Silence is Golden'. You get one warning before you're thrown out of the classroom. This man will question everything, even the philosophy students get fed up with him. Unless you provide 100% evidence, then your argument is void.

You're powering through their courses with a rigorous determination. Haravatat, the study of semiotics, taking sign systems from history to determine anything from anthropological to logical and sociological dimensions. You can piece together the very interesting discovery of ancient human civilisation! Nousporist is a perfect partner to this course, focusing more on experiments and research, seeking to uncover fundamental truths about life and existence through scrupulous scientific inquiry. You can even decipher the world of the Gods!

But holy shit, are you exhausted. You work a late-night shift at a 24/7 convenience store, only to come to school and study your brain to mush with little time to relax. It's an exhausting life, but you think about how it'll all be worth it once you graduate.

When it comes to these classes, you know your grades aren't the highest, perhaps only slightly above average on a good day. So, you rely on being an ideal student in the classroom, getting on the professor's good side by staying out of their way and only participating when necessary.

Except today, you seem to be a little... "Haah," your little squeak of a yawn has everyone looking back at you from your spot in the middle. You didn't mean to, you tried to make it silent. With am apprehensive look, you meet your gaze with a nonchalant Anaxagoras and quietly whisper, "'M sorry."

He seems to think over a response to you, deciding in the end to go back to teaching, probably because you never make a disturbance. You do your best to listen, shaking your head whenever the visage of the whiteboard starts to blur. As you feel your mind drifting off, your arm falling to the desk as it can no longer support your head, you think about how nice Professor Anaxagoras' voice really is. Like an asmr lulling you to sleep.

It doesn't help that his class was at the end of the day, when your exhaustion hits its peak. By the time you open your eyes you notice the low light of the setting sun. Confused, you sit up, your mouth dry and your hair fuzzy. No other students are in the room, leaving you alone with your professor.

At you rising, he gives you some time to collect your bearings before placing his pen down from marking papers, regarding you, "Finally awake, I see. Funny, I didn't think you of all people found my class boring."

Desperately, you lick your lips to dispel any dryness you could, "N-No! I love your class, Professor Anaxagoras, I'm super, extremely, exceedingly sorry!!"

He tilts his head to the side, the default line of his mouth tilting downwards slightly, "I was joking. I've noticed for the past few weeks that you've been getting more and more tired. Is everything okay? Even Alhaitham has expressed his concerns to me, wondering if I was the one putting you through such stress, the lout."

"I wouldn't say lout," a familiar and similarly cool voice speaks from the doorway, "Aggression isn't my usual problem solver."

"Oh? Then perhaps something like 'insipid' or 'sanctimonious' is a better fit."

Alhaitham huffs out the bare minimum of a laugh, "I believe 'sanctimonious' would be better suited to you, Professor Anaxa."

"Anaxagoras."

He turns his attention to you now, walking to the edge of the steps leading up the rows of seats, stopping and crossing his arms over his broad chest, "You've been spacing out more often, and the bags under your eyes are deeper. What's got you so stressed? Is it the covering material?"

Your cheeks gently blossom at being called out, your body shifting in your seat as you avoid eye contact. To have both of your professors worried about you sends a wave of admiration through your heart. Not only are they great (albeit firm) teachers, but, they also care for their students. "I'm really sorry if I've disturbed both of you. I've had to pick up more shifts at work because my rent is increasing so, I haven't had much time to rest."

"You don't live on campus?" Anaxagoras inquires, raising his eyebrow in question.

You shake your head, "I could only afford the starter tuition fees, not the campus bundle. I live in an apartment with cheaper rent. Even as it's going up, it's still below what they charge here."

Alhaitham nods in understanding, "This is one of the most expensive schools, even with government help."

"Yeah, but, I know that's not an excuse. I'll try harder, I promise," you say, gathering your things and packing them in your bag. As you step down to Alhaitham, you pull out a few pieces of paper and hand it to him, "Here are the picture comparisons I got from the museum, Professor."

With that, you leave the room, Anaxa already at Alhaitham's shoulder and peering at the documents. It was you at the Ancient Cultural Museum, comparing your body to humans of the past. You were wearing revealing clothing to get the best out of the angles.

Your thighs squeezed into tight shorts, collating the length of your legs to those of homo floresiensis. Another picture of you with one arm stretched, belly showing in your flimsy singlet, between gigantopithecus blacki and King Kong at 7.6 metres.

Anaxa hums lowly, standing back to eye him, "That's not very professional."

Alhaitham agrees, "I know. It seems more of an 'entertainment show' than a proper museum."

The other professor rolls his eyes, walking back to his desk, "You know what I am talking about. If the directors found out then you'd be in more trouble than just expulsion from the akademia."

He crosses his broad arms over his chest, papers carefully held between his fingers and thumb, "Aren't you a director?"

"You don't seem so worried about me saying anything."

"Please, I know you favour her as well. I'm not the only creep here."

At this, Anaxa smiles snidely, "Ah, well, then my ultimatum won't be so shocking. As long as you're willing to share your favourite student's 'private' homework, then I'm more than happy to keep this on the - how is it? - DL."

"Pfft," he looks down to one of the pictures, your foot side-by-side to the re-imagined soles of a slave from Ancient Egypt. Next to it, your pretty-painted toes idly sit by chipped nails. Did you paint your toes just for this photoshoot? Cute girl. "Would you like to take pictures now or shall I photocopy them at home?"

...

You didn't think your grades were that bad... Over the past couple of weeks, both Professor Anaxagoras and Professor Alhaitham have been wanting to keep you after class to help you catch up, even offering to invite you into their homes during the days they weren't working.

It seems you should have taken up on their offers as you review over your marks from the most recent short exam. Most of the students around you were already groaning, but, you usually at least make it slightly above average. This is a fail by all means.

You make eye contact with your professor and immediately look away. You can already tell Anaxa will want to see you after class, you don't need to acknowledge it right now. With a sigh, you check the time, seeing it's two more minutes until the end of class, and thirty minutes before you start your shift.

As soon as the clock ticks, he dismisses everyone. You obediently wait until everyone leaves before making your way to the front. He has his arms crossed, looking down on you like the peasant you are. You think he's going to be mad, instead, he only sighs like a let-down parent, "I thought you said you were going to be better."

There's nothing else you can say that's not repeating what you've already told him, so you stick with a non-committed, "I'm sorry."

"If you were truly sorry then you'd be taking up my offer to personally help you."

"I can't miss work," you say, exhausted from both the excessive hours and constant arguments with not one, but two, of your teachers. Your eyes shift to the clock above him, "In fact, I have to go-"

Heavy footsteps come through the door, a purposeful interruption made by Alhaitham. He takes his place beside you, his hand coming to your shoulder and squeezing, "You're going to call in sick, your grades depend on it."

You furrow your eyebrows, mouth opening to interject but Anaxa won't let you, "I agree. Any costs lost will be made up for by myself and Mr. Alhaitham here."

A sputtering sound passes your lips before you can say, "No?? I can't just do that-"

"As long as we don't tell anyone then I don't see why not," Anaxa says, somewhat smug, "I am one of the directors, after all, it's a lot easier for me to hide things."

You look to Alhaitham, "You could lose your job."

"Are you going to tell anyone?"

"Well, no-"

"Perfect, let's go to Mr. Anaxa's-"

"Anaxagoras."

"- house and get dinner on the way."

He takes your bag for you, the two of them walking towards the door and ignoring any more protests from you. Anaxa brushes back his ponytail, "Of course it's my house. Why, is yours not good enough?"

"Yours is bigger," Alhaitham shrugs, "At least, wasn't that your argument?"

"I suppose," he acknowledges, and it occurs to you that they've been conniving with themselves about this without your awareness.

It then hits you that you have heard rumours about his 'home' and were sure they were true, "Don't you live on campus?"

He turns his head over his shoulder and smirks, "For those long nights of research, I do have quite the homely office. However, I also own a comfortable space elsewhere."

...

Your boss sent you a frowny face text before accepting your sudden timetable shift. 'A mean case of gastro; couldn't even sit through class.'

Chinese was a tasty and easy take away dinner, getting lots of different boxes to share between the three of you. Then, you started heading into the main city, the bright lights a treat for your eyes as your usual apartment was shadowed by night with only a flickering lamp outside.

You drive into an underground car park, following diligently as you pile into a spacious elevator. He presses a number that says '74' and swipes a key card, your heart beats wilder at the prospect of a beautiful, night view.

Higher and higher you climb, until the doors open to a high-ceiling, expansive apartment. Alhaitham and Anaxa make their way to the lounge room area, placing their books and bags on a large, round, low table between the couch and the tv. From the table, Anaxa picks up a remote, and instead of pointing it to the television like you assumed, he pushes a button and the darkness of the windows seem to panel into a clear view of the city lights.

You walk over in awe, mouth agape, dinner hanging from your hands and forgotten about as you stare into the distance. Few buildings rivalled the height you were on, the entire city on display for your eyes alone. It felt surreal to be so high, so above everyone. Looking down, you saw specks of cars and people, none the wiser to your presence.

It's only when the bags are taken do you look away. Anaxa has slipped the handles over his fingers, while Alhaitham rummages the kitchen for cutlery and plates. You watch them work together, "Have you been here before, Professor Alhaitham?"

He returns with stacked plates and an arrangement of cutlery, setting them down and shaking his head, "No, I haven't."

Anaxa huffs, taking a seat on the floor, "Oh, really? I couldn't tell with how easily you made yourself at home."

Sitting opposite him, Alhaitham returns, "I'm just trying to help. Don't worry, I'll let you do all the washing up."

Feeling a little awkward, you sit at what could be considered the 'end' of the circular table, between your two professors. You take out the most recent material, opening your books and pencil case, preparing any text books, all while they serve up piles of food onto plates.

. You've barely touched your dinner, your head hurting as you go over the highlighted material in the book. "A-Are you sure we spoke about this in class? I was sure we left on page 107."

Alhaitham covers the words with his palm, making you take a break from the confusing sentences and looking up at him. Instantly, your head feels less strained from staring so long at the bright, white pages. He waits until you relax your shoulders, "We finished on 117. You just fell asleep at 107."

On the other side of you, Anaxa is going over your notes, circling the more important information and adding comments of his own. You hear him sigh and cross out something entirely, shifting your eyes to see a whole paragraph angrily scribbled out. He mutters, "When did I ever say this? Now you're making things up."

Your pencil drops from your fingers as you gape at him, "No???" You look closer to see what he was talking about, "We did talk about it, you were bringing up something that was like 'Nature's Endless Experiment', I remember those words."

Alhaitham raised his hand, "That was my class, it was a small off-topic discussion."

A long groan is all that comes from you, your forehead hitting the table as you collapse. You don't move when you feel them moving away the excessive books and pens you've littered the area with, opting to just rest your weary mind.

You tilt your head and grab your fork, poking at the rice and mumbling, "Why are you even having off-topic discussions? Don't you hate going over time..."

You squint when he juts a finger to your forehead, "Don't blame others for your mistakes."

Anaxa clears his throat, leaning back and closing his eye as he relaxes, "I think we have done enough tonight. You're at least up to date with the current material so you should be good for class again on Monday."

"Thank you so much," you say, taking a mouthful of food, "I really appreciate this, you're both the best professors ever. Could I please get the address so I can figure out a way home?"

You whimper when Professor Anaxagoras taps you on the head with the end of a wooden ruler, "Do not talk with your mouth full. Do I have to teach you basic life skills on top of everything else?"

Alhaitham scoots closer, taking the fork from your hand and impaling a soy-soaked bean before placing it to your lips, "At this point we may as well adopt you."

You bite the bean and yank your head away, eating the vegetable, "I am an adult, you know."

"Could've fooled me." They both say, at the same time, their monotonous tones making you feel like you've just stepped into an alternate reality.

Rolling your eyes, you take the fork back before your professor can get any more food on it, "So, about me getting home-"

Anaxa cuts in, standing up and taking his plate to the kitchen, "It's fine, you can stay here tonight."

"What? No, I can't do that," you gasp, eyeing him to see if this was another one of his 'jokes'.

He rinses the plate and then puts it in the dishwasher, "Do you have prior obligations at home? A pet, perhaps."

You snort, "As if I could afford that."

"Then I don't see the issue," he states, leaning against the island counter and folding his arms, "I'll get your bedroom sorted. We can study again tomorrow."

Incredulously, you look to Alhaitham, "Can you please talk some sense into him?"

He shrugs once again, lazily looking over to him, "I don't see an issue. Comfortable bed, good sleep. You could use the rest."

"I have to work tomorrow."

Of course, Anaxa has an excuse for that, "Gastro symptoms can last up to 72 hours. Just tell them you're still not well."

"But-"

"I'd just do as he says," Alhaitham starts collecting the rest of your stationary and packs it all away, placing the bag beside you, "Wouldn't you rather finally have a moment to sleep in and rejuvenate?"

It really does sound nice... Not having to set an alarm, to have a shower that runs just hot water and not switching to cold every other minute. You wonder how soft the sheets are, and maybe, just maybe, he has a mattress cover for extra comfort?

Finally, you relent, shoulders sagging, "I guess... If you're okay with it- ouch!"

Anaxa had made his way over during your consideration, now flicking you in the forehead and gazing down in annoyance, "I wouldn't have pushed it if I wasn't sure."

Rubbing your now sore spot, you look to Alhaitham and ask, "Are you staying, too?"

He shakes his head, "No, I have to get home. I'll come back tomorrow with lunch, I doubt Professor Anaxa has any food here."

"Just non-perishables," he replies, eye twitching at the disrespect from his colleague, "Now, get out of my house."

As he stands, he places his hand on your head and ruffles your hair, "At least he nice with you. See you tomorrow."

You bid your goodbyes, watching as he leaves down the elevator. Anaxa collects the remaining dishes, and you move to help but he stops you, "It's fine, you finish up. He's just too lazy to do anything."

It's all too easy to oblige, now that you weren't focused on studying anymore, your stomach has the stage for attention. As you consume your meal, you wonder to their likeness and how familiar they are with each other, "Are you and Professor Alhaitham good friends, Professor Anaxagoras?"

He huffs at the thought, returning with a fresh glass of water for you both and sitting down, "Our courses align somewhat and we're in the same wing. We've only really started talking more since you've been involved."

There's a happy feeling to think you might be the reason for a blooming friendship. You hold your head up proudly, "Maybe me being bad right now isn't such a bad thing? Once I leave, you guys might be besties!"

You watch his eyes lower to the table, mouth quirking downwards. It's only a moment later that he replies over the rim of his cup, "I highly doubt it. Neither of us have much of a reason to interact."

It's not something you push, if it happens it happens, and if not well, no skin off your back.

The shower is absolutely divine, the pressure perfect and the steam filling up the bathroom before being sent to through the vent was much nicer than being suffocated in your tiny apartment; you could only shower with the door open to let it out. Your professor generously lends you a shirt to wear to bed, the material certainly something fancy and comfortable. Ugh, don't even get you started on the bed, the king-sized mattress giving you ample room to roll about and the pillows delightfully suffocating you.

You were so comfortable from the night that you didn't wake up until you heard the murmurs of Alhaitham in the home. Sleepily and clumsily, you rush out of the room to show that you're awake, feeling bad for sleeping in so late. Your hair is a messy, you know that, fingers tearing away the worst of the knots. You don't focus on your exposed legs, the cheeks of your arse hanging out, you just wipe the sleep from your eyes and stare at them blearily.

They go silent, letting you apologise, calming your anxiety. You needed the rest, they don't mind. With a smile, you tell them you're going to get dressed and brush your teeth, leaving the two men alone.

As they look to each other, Anaxa smiles and holds his hands out innocently, "I didn't have any larger shirts."

It's not true, they both know that. Alhaitham replies honestly, "I'm not complaining."

...

"Do I have to stand here like this?" You ask, frowning at the uncomfortable feeling of being on display before your professor. Alhaitham was sitting nonchalantly on the chair, leaning back with his legs crossed and one arm over the backrest, holding a copy of your oral.

Both of your professors have said that dressing nicer would help with confidence and motivation. They also made an offhanded comment about seeing you something in an outfit more girly, as it would be such a difference. You decided to give it a shot, the cute, ruffled skirt and white blouse had heads turning, probably because you normally go for comfort when it comes to studying.

You were so close that the tip of his shoe is lightly grazing the underside of your skirt. He raises an eyebrow, silently questioning what you meant. You shift again, holding your papers tighter, "When we're presenting, we're not normally this close and..." and you think he can see up your skirt if he gets any lower on the chair.

Alhaitham holds his hand out as if providing evidence, "I have to make it uneasy somehow. Presenting to an entire room is one thing, in front of me alone is hardly scary. By providing such close proximity, it makes your overthink. It's also working."

"R-Right," you bring the papers back to your front, ignoring the way his gentle kicking was moving your clothes. You take a deep breath continue, "In more simple terms, we can look to smoke as an example-"

"-Eye contact," he interrupts, waiting until you look at him, "You will lose points if you stare down the whole time."

Gods, this really is embarrassing. You make sure to only look at your paper sparingly, "Smoke is the written word, an utterance, for a sign of fire. Though looking into the object, it is best thought as whatever is being signified, the object to which the written word is attached to - the fire being indicated by the smoke. Then, there's the interpretant, wAh!"

You step back suddenly, face red as you use one hand to hold your skirt down. He had suddenly kicked hard, your skirt flying up and showing off your girly panties with a tiny bow on the front. "Not that I'm one to talk, but, your monologuing is dragging on."

He's not going to acknowledge that? Is he embarrassed too? Apparently not since he reaches forward and tugs you so that your standing with one of his knees between your thighs. Your eyes shift to the doors, half expecting it to fling open, "Wh-what're you doing...?"

"Spicing things up. How am I meant to grade you if I'm falling asleep through the whole thing? Keep talking."

The lump in your throat is swallowed down. Your hands start to shake a bit at the way his thumbs slowly circle the jut of your hips. "The inerp-interpretant - haa, w-wait!"

You're cut off by his knees rolling up and into your pussy, igniting a throbbing in your clit at the motion. His grip is tight, you can't step away. You think to yell but how humiliating would it be to have someone walk in on the teacher's pet being tended to by their admired professor. The grip on your hips is also painful, would he hurt you more if you made a sound?

He's so focused on rolling his knee into you that he isn't even looking at your face. You tentatively reach out, tapping his shoulder, "P-Professor, this is really inappropriate."

Now, he darts his eyes to yours, tilting his head to the side, "Oh? You come to my classroom wearing a skirt so small, and now it's inappropriate?"

Your cheeks redden at him turning it on you and you tug at the bottom to try and cover more of your skin, which only drags his attention back to your plump thighs and what's in between, "The lady at the store said this was super girly. You and Professor Anaxagoras said- Ah!"

His large palm had slapped against your left butt cheek, fingers grabbing moulding your flesh beneath the skirt, "What have we said about pushing the blame onto others? In the end of the day, you chose to comply." Alhaitham leans in, inhaling your scent, the light and sweet perfume you had sprayed so many hours before, "And what a good girl you are for doing so."

You squeal as he pushes you to your knees, his foot pressing against your crotch and one of his hands gathering up what he can of your hair and holding you in place. Scared, doe-like eyes gaze up at him, your papers crinkled in your hands, "I don't understand..." He's never acted like this, he was always so kind and helping towards you.

Dread fills you when he starts to grope his growing cock, he watches your expression with an intense interest, "I think... we can change the parameters of your oral since you're struggling so much. Why don't we try something more practical?"

Trying to keep your composure, you flatten the papers beneath you as you witness him manoeuvre his pants to free his cock. It springs forth and your breathing goes faster, tears finally collecting in your eyes, begging to be let go, "I-I don't know how to do this, either."

Surely he sees how distraught you are. Surely he relents at your naivete over this.

He doesn't.

He brings you forwards and pushes your cheek against the hot skin of his cock. Alhaitham smiles down at you, a wicked glint in his eyes, "Is that so? Well, luckily you have your favourite professor here to teach you." His legs spread a little wider, allowing more room for your head to rest in the groove of his thigh and dick, "Let's start by giving it some gentle kisses. Just like you would a lover."

Are you really going to do this? What else can you do, though, he has you by a stronghold. When he pushes you against his shaft, you finally comply, though you barely pucker your lips. It was more of a pathetic touch, eyes averted to the side since closing them only stains the picture of his member in your mind.

"Hmm, I won't be too harsh since it's your first time. Why don't we try with your tongue out? Lick it, melt the outside with your saliva, soften it up so you can swallow it good," he orders, holding the side steady so you can lick him easier.

He moves your head by your hair, forcing you to move your tongue up and down the length. You groan in disgust when he makes you pay attention to the head, his precum that had pearled on the top now spreading on your taste buds. At your little noise, he pushes the toes of his shoe against your sex, still clothed, and moves it slowly in an up-down motion.

A low whistle leaves him at your defiant gaze, mouth blocked by the tip of his cock, eyes glaring up. "I'm more into obedient students but," he pauses to lick his lips, "I don't mind this side of you either."

Alhaitham allows you to pull away, gasping for a breath of fresh air and not one that's tainted by the heady smell of his cock. You push against the edge of the seat but he won't let you go farther, yanking you back into submission. More tears now stream down your face, angry and hurt, "Please, I don't want to do this anymore."

Now masturbating in front of you, he hums a little sigh of pleasure, "Don't you know the saying? 'The bell doesn't release you, I do'. You don't get to leave my classroom until I say you can." You cry as his hand releases your hair and slips his fingers through the strands, now holding the back of your head still so he can angle his cock to your lips, "If you bite me, I'll get you pregnant."

The shock of his threat is enough to keep you incapacitated until he reaches the back of your throat. Immediately, you hold his thighs tight, fingers digging into his pants while he moves your fair from your face so he can get a better visage of you choking on his cock. You make pitiable gagging sounds, feeling his long dick slide back and forth on your tongue, the muscle having no idea what to do as pulling back choked your more but laying flat made you taste him worse.

"Fffuuck," he hisses, and it's the first time you've heard him swear. The schlicking sound of his cock in your mouth was so loud, such a turn on for him. You're whining from the ache of his girth after a while, coughing whenever he gave you the mildest of breaks. He would switch it up sometimes, aiming for the inside of your cheek just so he could watch the bulge of his penis in your mouth, saliva and precum pouring from your lips like the fountain of a whore. Back down to the back of your throat he goes, holding there until your flailing stilled, visage going white at the edges. A second later and he pulls out once more, gently caressing your cheeks and squishing them as he coos, "Good fucking girl. Better at using your head for this than study. This is the last stretch."

It hurt your heart to hear that, even from the man who is assaulting you now. You've spent so much time, money, effort, and so much more on trying to be the best you can. All of it was worth something, and now, it feels like it's reduced to nothing. Being told by your professor who had been teaching you for the better part of a year... You're past your refund date.

He's moving with an animalistic jolt of his hips, hardly separating from your mouth. His breathing is harder, faster, matching the pace he uses in your throat. You're scrunching your eyes shut, holding your breath, ignoring the way his hand won't stop patting back your hair until he's cumming load after load down your restricting throat. Alhaitham makes sure to burn this memory into his retina, thumb wiping at the tears in the corner of your eye, "Good girl... Good girl, (Y/n). Swallow it, for your professor."

You can't contain it all, the remnants of his semen dripping from your mouth as it comes back up. When he eventually removes his softening cock from your mouth, you retch and couch what little you couldn't swallow. Alhaitham is kind enough to offer his water bottle, and you're not proud enough to say no.

Except, as you reach for the plastic, he suddenly pulls away and grabs your wrist. The bottle is between his knees so he can hold you tenderly, kissing you with a lustful passion. It's only when he pulls away does he give you the water bottle.

You're too busy to even think about what he's doing, kneeling in a puddle of the mess created, letting the water flow down your front. The tinkering of metal is heard, you think he's doing up his pants.

You're wrong.

Once you finally finish the bottle, he leaves you no time to react and pulls your arms behind your back, securing the with his belt. If there's one thing you couldn't say about Alhaitham, it's that he's unfit. The man trains, and you suppose for someone who has had to track the desert and tackle forests for his job, you'd have to have a good physique. Struggling is useless, you only gasp in confusion and exhaustion, "W-Wait, what are you doing? I did what you wanted!"

His face is back to it's nonchalant self, cheeks showing minimal sign of the event that just occurred. You watch in horror as he undoes his green necktie, slipping it over his head before properly untying it, "I got a good idea of how you perform an oral. Now, it's my time. How are you going to learn if your professor doesn't demonstrate?"

"Hold on!" You kick, his arms hooking under your knees and lifting you up to carry you to his desk. Once he's laid you upon it, he yanks you forward so he can makeshift the tie into a gag for you. You shake your head in any direction, "No, stop! I don't want that-"

Of course, you wouldn't get what you wanted. It's secure enough, your arms successfully restrained. His desk chair is a lot nicer, bigger, comfier, and higher. When he sits, he's at the perfect height to drape your legs over his shoulders and breathe on your dampened panties. You make eye contact with him, unable to kick him effectively to stop, pleading with your eyes despite it being no use earlier.

He gives you a poor attempt at a smile, slipping your pretty, bow adorned panties down your legs, ducking under them and plucking them from your ankle. Your professor makes a show of pocketing them for later. The way his eyes devour the sight of your pussy has you cringing in on yourself, always been self-conscious of this intimate part of you.

Alhaitham seems to have a different opinion, no look of disgust, only impatient desire. "So beautiful, so natural," he moans into your thigh, kissing you tenderly before licking a hot, long stripe from your small taint, over your labia, across your clit and the top of your slit. It felt surreal, your cunny clenching in unwanted desire.

Fractured moans and sounds slip past the gag, fingers clenching and releasing with every jolt of stimulation. You wonder if he's practiced before, watched a tutorial, or if you're just that uncultured that this feels too good to be happening on your poor slit. His tongue is slow and savouring, lightly entering your hole before twirling back and around the outside of your lips. One of his hands, that have been holding your thighs tightly to his head, move to gently tickle the entrance of your vagina so he can focus on suckling and playing with your budding clit.

You're so dazed, eyes blearily looking to the high ceiling as you have nothing else to focus on but the delightful tingle in your belly. A heavy breath comes from Alhaitham, the man gazing you with heavy, lidded eyes to see your expression. Drool and cum still trickle from the corner of your lips, a drying trail down your collar bone and staining your blouse. His other hand is moving to his cock now, the slow, clicking sound making you lazily move your eyes to see what he was up to now. He smiles at you, kissing your engorged sex, "Truly a masterpiece to be studied. I could draw these wonderful sounds out of you all day."

His hand and mouth switch up, his thumb now taking your slick clit and swiping over it in ever-changing movements. Now, his mouth was back to making out with your labia, tongue swirling at the opening of your pussy and stimulating barely a centimetre in your walls. It's a teasing motion that feels gratifying when he delves his tongue deeper and harder into you. You moan lengthily, arching your hips into his mouth and fingers. He waits, teasing you again, only pushing into your clit when his tongue makes for that intrusive movement. He only does it a few more times until he's open mouth tongue-fucking you through your climax, pussy gripping him and hips suffocating him as tears streak down your face from the pleasure.

It was too much, too good, too stressful to even think about as you ride out your orgasm on your professor's face. He's in no hurry to leave you, taking his time to lap up your creamy ejaculate, hand hitting harder against his navel until he's pulling back, standing, and cumming all over your wet and exposed cunt, watching your body jerk from the sudden hit of fluid on your sensitive parts, even getting on your skirt and blouse. You're still teary eyes and vulnerable when he takes out his phone to snap a few pictures, hand slowly easing his cock down, "I've never seen anything so beautiful. You'll be fine if I keep these for me, right?"

You don't make a move to acknowledge him, 'letting' him take photos isn't the right, though you weren't making an effort to roll off the table either. Once he's done, he lifts you up, sitting on the desk and holding you with his arm steady around your back. He's showing you something on his phone; the pictures he just snapped.

A low chuckle comes from him when you move your head to the side to not see them, eyes slamming shut. He does something, and then the next time you open your eyes, there's a chat with Professor Anaxa and your photos in the message bubble, waiting to be sent. Wide eyes look to Alhaitham, shaking your head erratically. He hums in thought, "Then you'll be good, right? You wouldn't want such a renowned man to know what you look like defiled and sex-satisfied. Get what I'm saying?"

Of course, you nod. It already feel painful to have one person you looked up to do this, you don't want to extend that disgust onto someone else, especially your Nousporist professor. To have to look him in the eye after knowing he knows what your lower half looks like, what your post-orgasm face looks like, what you being covered in cum looks like.

"Perfect," he puts his phone in his pocket and unties the gag in your mouth, spittle and drool trailing away as he pulls it out. Next, he unlatches the belt and replaces it back around his waist. You sit quietly on the desk, letting him do what he needs to do, clean up the mess you both created, feed you water because even if you could take it yourself, you wouldn't. He swings your bag over his shoulder and loops his arm through yours, "Let's get you home, I'll drive you."

It's silent, save for the humming of the vehicle, he doesn't even turn the radio on but you're savouring the silence. You don't want to hear songs about sex, or rock 'n roll, or love stories, you just want to watch the sun set and the street lights turn on in the quiet of your mind.

Alhaitham pulls up the gutter of your apartment, reaching to place your bag in your lap and patting your hair, "Get a good sleep. We can talk more about your passing grades another day."

You could lash out at him, scream and shout and then run into your home and lock the door. Maybe throw a punch or two. Ah, but that would also be considered being bad, probably, and then those pictures go everywhere and... You're too exhausted to do anything anyway. You just unclip your belt and leave.

After spending a lot of time at Professor Anaxa's house, using hot water and getting a good diet, you really do lament the times you go home. Especially now, when you wish for scalding hot water and all you can sit in is the shitty pressure of 'just warm'. Well, you do like the smallness of it all, little spaces where you can curl up and pretend you don't exist.

...

4 days pass where you've been sick and away from classes. Funnily enough, Alhaitham hasn't tried to get your attention. There have, however, been a few attempts to reach out from Professor Anaxagoras. You sent a professional email detailing you weren't well, only missing one day where you couldn't be bothered to bring up the email tab and copy your message.

He texts you again today, and you finally eat something more than the crust of bread. You're nibbling some biscuit you had in the cupboard when your phone vibrates:

Professor Anaxagoras: Are you free today? You should come over. If you're sick, it's fine, I don't mind risking my health.

Maybe... Maybe it wouldn't be bad to see him. You could talk to him, and maybe you'll feel better having someone you trust to be around, maybe you'll confess everything and ask for advice, maybe you'll have a breakdown- maybe, maybe maybe maybe maybe:

Professor Anaxagoras: (Y/n), what's going on?

Okay. You trust him, he's been a great mentor to you, and you need to shower and get out of the house. Besides, this biscuits are stale. You reply:

You: Good morning, Professor Anaxagoras. Will it be just us there?

He replies immediately:

Professor Anaxagoras: Yes, just you and I. Would you like me to invite Professor Alhaitham?

You: No... I'd prefer it to be just us, thanks.

Professor Anaxagoras: Shall I pick you up in half an hour?

You: That would be helpful, thank you.

He gives you a time and you react to it, leaving your position leaning on the counter and making your way to the bathroom. You really need to scrub the dead skin off your body, you should feel better once you get dressed and ready.

. The car ride today was a lot nicer than the previous one, specifically because it wasn't with your abuser. But, also, being in the sun and having the radio on low, Professor Anaxa absentmindedly telling you about classes and some of the students being ridiculously stupid. He relaxes his shoulders when you crack a smile.

It must be obvious you're not sick. You look sickly, sure, but that goes without saying when you spend four days lying in the same position without food or sunlight. You wish you could've found your lip balm before you left, cracked lips dry from dehydration.

Stepping into his apartment is like a breath of fresh air. It's bright, clean, open, and you feel like you can breathe again. Things fall into place like your study days, slipping your shoes off at the door, bringing your bag to the low, lounge room table, and then awkwardly standing there until he tells you what to do next.

Today, he brings over a cup of water for you both and motions for you to take a seat on the couch. You do, Anaxa sitting beside you with just enough space so he can have his body turned to you. He holds the glass with two hands, looking to the water in deep thought before finally making eye contact, "I must admit, my main reason for bringing you here is because I am worried about your absence. At first I thought perhaps your illness wasn't being taken care of properly. However, when you asked for it to be just us... Has something happened between you and Alhaitham?"

Ah, he's so smart. Of course he is, he's one of the smartest people in the world. No one leaves for four days, not after all the hard work you've been putting into this, and then asks to be alone out of the blue; especially since it was obvious you admired both of your professors equally.

Admired, being the key word.

But Professor Anaxa here would be different than the Professor Anaxa you had in your head on the day of the incident. At that time, you could only think of him looking down on you, seeing you as less of a scholar and more of a common whore. You didn't dress girly today, aiming for comfortable pants, a t-shirt and a jumper for the comfort of the long sleeves. Telling him will be okay, he won't think you're asking for attention. You can't make eye contact now, so you relent with looking at a frayed strand on the cushion of the couch, "Has Alhaitham said anything to you?"

He lets out an airy laugh, "No prefix to his name? My, it must be bad. No, I haven't heard much from him, only that he received the same email as I."

You nod to that, not surprised that he wouldn't own up to such a thing, which only proves how much worse it is since he knows it's just that bad. "Well, five days ago, he offered to help me practice my oral skills..."

Anaxa waits patiently for you say your piece, and you only make it to the skirt flip from his foot before you suddenly hiccup from sudden tears. You didn't even think you were about to cry, it was so random that you were surprised. He stands then, making his way to the kitchen, "I think this is a conversation best had over a warm drink. What would you like, sweetheart?"

It is nicer to cradle something warm as you explain stuff. You find it difficult to go into detail, briefing a lot of it to 'his foot pressed here' and 'he kissed me with tongue'. He went down on you, masturbated and *insert a hand flick here* on you, he forced you to use your mouth on him. It was out of whack, but it made sense, you got what you wanted out.

By the end of it, your speech was slow and your eyes were tired from crying. He pulls you in to lean your head on his shoulder, caressing your back in a hug, "That arsehole. He didn't say anything to me about it."

"I don't know what to do..." You admit, nuzzling into his shoulder, eyes closing and you falling deeper into his embrace.

He hushes you, his other hand coming to sweetly stroke your head, "Leave it all to me now, love. I'll take care of that brute."

How embarrassing you feel, to unload all of this onto him and fall asleep in his arms.

.

"I thought we agreed ..... wait until she finishes the year?"

"..... too long, besides you ..... set up."

When you awaken next, you hear two sets of voices coming into your hearing, a small crack in the door making it easier for your hazy mind to make out. One was Professor Anaxa, the other was definitely Alhaitham. You wonder if he showed up randomly, Anaxa trying to kick him out for you, then it would be best if you hid yourself until he's gone.

Except, as you try to pull your arms towards you to help yourself up, you notice that they only go so far before being halted beside your head. Feeling takes its time to return, basic motor function even longer as you finally lift yourself into a sitting position and see that your wrists are parallel, facing inwards, cuffed by a thick, black, padded cuffs with a thin, black box tucked underneath for a key. A long chain trails above the headboard and into the mouth of a roaring, lion head - peering underneath shows it can be lessened and tightened at will.

Betrayal is the worst feeling, or perhaps the grief of losing the person you thought you knew. You've had to experience it twice in one week now, and it seems you're the only one mourning the loss of your relationships. They both enter the room, not shocked at you being awake and chained up, just neutral like it's another day in class.

Alhaitham is the first to speak to you, "How're you feeling?"

You obviously ignore him, looking to his companion for answers, "Did you drug me? While I was trusting you no less!" Not that it would make drugging you any better, though it does sound worse somehow.

Anaxa pinches the bridge of his nose, as if this is an inconvenience for him, "It wasn't supposed to go this way. If someone kept it in his pants, then you would have actually had a chance to finish the year. Instead, you're doting haravatat professor over here let his dick lead."

Alhaitham chortles, coming to stand beside him, "You certainly went silent about it when you say the pictures. Don't think I didn't notice the stiffy in your jeans."

"Even so," he turns to him, angrily, "You should have told me sooner, instead I had to take drastic action on the spot."

His hands motion to you, chained up to the bed. You flex your toes, the drug still taking its time to leave your system, "But why do any of this? I thought you said I was a good student."

Anaxa sits on the edge of the bed, as though being closer to you will help you ease your anxieties, "Yes, you are. I am still hopeful you will join me on exhibitions and such in the future. For now, however, you still need a bit of... training."

"Training?"

"Well, you're obviously going to run to the police if we let you go," Alhaitham says, matter-of-fact, "And you're dreams of running your own crew are really cute. It's just, Anaxa and I, we think you'd be better suited as an assistant or motivational support. Something closer to us."

You can't believe your ears, "I would have been honoured to work with either of you - with both of you! There was no need to go to this length."

"Don't be ridiculous," Alhaitham shakes his head, walking around the bed and dividing your attention, taking a seat on the other side. You couldn't move either way, both men an equal distance currently. He slides his hand across the covers and to your thigh, no amount of shifting able to escape his grippy hand, "We see how you look at us, like a fatherly mentor. Is it so bad you're someone we want to fuck? You'd never spread these pretty legs otherwise."

The disgust rolls off you in waves. Looking to Anaxa only confirms what he says, the man leaning over to push your hair from your face and relaxing his hand on the top of your head, "Really, it's an honour. I wouldn't put in so much risk for just any person. And we'll give you a much better life."

You shake his hand off of you, "I didn't work this hard to be kidnapped." With a little less aggression, you take a deep breath and try and a more practical approach, "Professor Anaxagoras, Professor Alhaitham, I think we all may have come to some confusion and misunderstanding."

Alhaitham purses his lips, pulling his hand away and saying after a moment of contemplation, "You should really try her throat. It's nice and tight; warm too."

"You-"

"Yes," Anaxa agrees to his insinuation, "It seems just going straight for it is the best course of action. Show her how serious we are rather than let her think she has any other choices." He then glares towards the other, "I get to use her pussy first. You had your fun, now it's my turn to choose."

Your teeth feel like they were about to crack with how hard you were gritting them, "You fucking bastards-!"

"Fine with me," Alhaitham shrugs, and the get to work stripping your flailing body. He holds you up after peeling your shirt above your head and leaving it to hand on the chain, unclasping your bra and holding your torso down by the waist while Anaxa easily slips your pants and underwear off.

You squeal when Alhaitham runs a finger over your nipple, the hardened peak sensitive to the airy room and new touch. Anaxa kneels between your thighs, gripping them hard to gain your attention, "Hey, focus on me now. It's my time."

The foreplay is nothing short of ruined, though it's to be assumed the main goal right now was your obedience and defeat. His fingers tentatively glide along your slit, testing your reactions and wetness before spreading your lips apart with his pointer and ring finger, using his middle to slide through to your clit. You bite your lip, mouth twitching and body going still.

"That's it," he practically purrs, being more playful and fluid with his movements, "Good girl. Spread your legs a little wider for me, now."

You attempt the opposite, going to slam your thighs closed yet there was no point as he easily kept them open with his own. Alhaitham clicks his tongue beside you, "Naughty, naughty. You're lucky we don't have our tools with us, perhaps a nice spanking with a ruler, to the back of your thighs, will keep you in check."

Your lips part with a silent exhale as Anaxa enters his fingers inside you, scissoring your cunt with a slow speed, pushing in all sorts of directions to find your best spots. Your voice is quiet, though no less dripping with hatred, "What do you expect... I hate you."

"Don't be like that," Anaxa coos, adding a third finger as he undoes his shirt with his other hand, "Or do, you'll change your perspective eventually."

Alhaitham begins to relieve himself of his clothing as well, "If there's one thing he's good at, it's debates."

"I'm good at a lot of things," he retorts, pulling his fingers out and removing his pants now. His cock was already hard and leaking, the veins more prominent than Alhaitham's and his tip weeping more precum as well. It only helped enhance his own lubricant, his fingers toying with the head to gather and schlick it down his shaft, licking his lips as he eyed you like a good meal, "You should find this more than satisfactory as well."

You were too preoccupied with his display that by the time Alhaitham garnered your attention again, he was already naked and holding his dick out for you to swallow. His other hand slides through the tresses of your hair, the familiar feeling of that alone sending your heart and breathing into haywire. He taps the wet head to your sealed lips, smiling snidely down at you, "Welcome back~"

His thumb slips behind your cheeks, to the back of your teeth and prying them open. Between your legs, Anaxa is beginning his push into you, one hand circling your clit and the other squishing and rolling the fat of your waist to stabilise himself and keep him grounded from thrusting into you. You're not strong enough to stop either of them, eventually Alhaitham enters your mouth again, and Anaxa bottoms out, deep inside you, falling forward and kissing tenderly between your breasts.

His hand on your waist slides over your stomach and to one of your mounds of flesh, massaging the breast as he groans, "Fuck, absolutely heavenly. If divinity existed then, I would consider you to be part of it."

You couldn't retort if you wanted to, Alhaitham taking his time to touch the knob of his cock to every part of your mouth and leaving his taste. He shallowly thrusts, Anaxa now suckling your tit as though goading something to come out from it, his pathetic humping only an appetiser as he allows you to adjust. Teeth lightly bite at your breasts, fingers pinching your clit and making you wince around Alhaitham's deepening cock.

Anaxa pops! off your nipple, sitting up and holding your hips at an elevated angle over his own, sliding out delightfully to start a steady, ongoing pace of his cock kissing your insides. Both of you roll your eyes, and you wish it didn't feel as good as he was making it, his hearty moans low and tantalising, "Such a beautiful girl. Could fuck this pussy every day for the rest of my life. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Your throat tightens around Alhaitham, noises being pushed thrust out of you with every push. Alhaitham caresses your cheeks, one of his palms soothingly trailing to your neck to feel the indent of his dick in your throat, "She absolutely would. Hungry for knowledge and cock, isn't that right?"

Anaxa chuckles lowly, lifting one of your legs to get a better, deeper angle, "Been thinking about how to get you sitting in my lectures, my cum pooling on the seat below as you try to keep it hidden from the other students."

Alhaitham tackles onto that, pace quickening as he chases his high down your throat, "To send you to school every day, nice and full, thanking your favourite professor with a kiss on the cheek and a good fuck."

"Who're you calling favourite?" Anaxa chides, rolling his hips in a way that catches your clit, an elongated moan being pulled lasciviously from deep within you. He laughs, single eye tauntingly gazing at the other, "From the sounds of that, it's me."

Your trembling knees and jolting hips grab their attention, Alhaitham lovingly wiping away a stray tear of pleasure, "Then perhaps you would like to make her cum? She does oh, so tighten perfectly in all the right ways."

It's no use to hide your reactions, your moans and the clicking of saliva and cum covered sex just too much to keep anything hidden. Your bouncing breasts are adding to the pressure, the movement salacious, holes filled with cock and cum, and Anaxa was right. Fuck, he feels so good inside you that it kills you to admit it. Why couldn't they be more rough, torturous, hurt you in a way more physical to meet on par with the mental torment.

"Gonna cum?"

Gonna cum... Gonna cum... Fuck, you're about to lose yourself on your professor's cock and there's no way to stop it. You suck in, your pussy clenching and milking, your mouth guzzling and tongue lapping to move around the object stuffing and trying to suffocate you. Hands roam all over your body, 'good girl' and 'pretty girl' and all sorts of praise being directed at you as you orgasm.

It's enough to tip them, the familiar feeling and taste of Alhaitham emptying his balls down your mouth. It was new to feel Anaxa, a gushing of cum being pressed so deep inside you that you'd be right to think he's trying to breed you.

Alhaitham eventually leaves your mouth, now feeling cold without him, though the oxygen to your brain makes your head spin. He's gentle to lay you down, head rolling to the side as you breathe heavily. You whine at the sensitive feeling of Anaxa pulling out of you, the feeling of liquid dripping down your sex an interesting sensation. Your pussy unwillingly clenches, pushing more of his ejaculate out of you.

Anaxa clicks his tongue disappointedly, "Not yet, keep it in a little longer, don't be so ungrateful." He fingers come to push it back in, holding them to the entrance to block any more leakage.

Once you finally get your breath back, you haphazardly shake your arms to bring attention to your cuffs, "Un...tie me..."

"Are you going to be good? Won't try and fight us?" Anaxa inquires, tickling his fingers of his other hand along your exposed stomach, bringing goosebumps all over your skin.

You close your eyes, more tears trickling down your cheeks, mixing with the cum and spit you couldn't swallow down, "I want to go home..."

He sighs, disheartened by your answer, "That's incorrect. Perhaps we should try... A new angle. What do you think, Professor Alhaitham?"

He grins wryly at him, "I hear DVP is pretty persuasive." At your lack of reaction, he whispers, "Double vagina penetration."

Your lips tremble, wobbling as you shake your head and sob, "Please no, no more."

Anaxa removes his fingers, idly holding up the slick digits to the light so he can inspect them. He then makes a show of puttling them in his mouth, sucking them clean with his eye closed as if putting together the notes of flavour. His fingers are clean when he pulls them out, "You can do more. If you can handle our lectures back-to-back, then you can take us both. Think of this as a particularly vigorous study session."

"And the only way to get better is to study, right?" Alhaitham sits you up, leaning you against his chest. His fingers go back to your puffy pussy, playing lightly with your slick, "Our good girl is a perfect student, after all."

Your body shakes violently beneath them.

...

The chain on your ankle clinks with every step, the heavy cuff thankfully not so tight to cut into your skin. You were wearing a long nightgown, long sleeves to keep you warm, though the fabric itself wasn't so thick.

Anaxa sipped comfortably at his drink, clicking through the photos of the house he wanted to show you, "50 acres, absolute isolation, I'm thinking we knock out a few walls and build it up how we want. What do you think?"

You're exhausted, you can't stand another punishment if you don't play along. Why can't he just let you sleep? It's already 1am, he needs to get up for class tomorrow, and you... You just want him to leave so you can have the house to yourself. "It looks good."

"You'll get to go outside," he says, voice lighter at the prospect, "With precautions, of course. But being seen won't be an issue."

There's trees around the fields, a lake off one of the yards. An indoor pool, a plethora of rooms, too. It seems like the perfect place for them both to get some alone time with you when they want. You nod, "That would be nice."

He hums over the rim of his mug, eyeing you from the corner of his gaze. After a second, he places his mug down and pulls you into his lap, planting loving kisses up and down your neck, "Good. You can show Alhaitham when he comes over tomorrow."

Your heart skips a beat, though you try not to show it, there's no doubt he can sense your unease, "O-Oh. I wasn't aware he would be here."

"Mm," he moves your face towards him, hand petting up and down your thigh from below your nightie, "He wants you to go over essays with him, you should enjoy the topics." A sweet kiss to your lips, and you lightly pucker back to imitate a response. Thankfully, he accepts it, sliding you off his lap and bopping your bum with the palm of his hand, "Off to bed, now. I'll be in shortly."

You don't need to be told twice, turning on your heels and mumbling a barely audible, "G'night."

[creekfiend]

I wanted to make a bonsai kitten recovery post that outlines some of the stuff that I've been doing. Because I don't think that you need to ✨see a therapist✨ to start dealing with a lot of this stuff and I get really frustrated when that is the answer that everyone is constantly giving. Firstly a disclaimer, because I know what website I am on: this is a guide for things that have worked for me! I am not everyone and if there are things on here that do not work for you or even that you think are stupid, that is fine, but please do not make it my problem. If you are reading it and you're like "that sounds like it would actually be detrimental to my specific mental health because of my specific issues" then please disregard it. Use your critical thinking skills and do what you think is right for you!

My second disclaimer is that I didn't make any of this up myself; most of these are collected from various places either in therapeutic guide books or various websites about emotional regulation etc. Some of it is stuff that I have extrapolated from those places based on experience with what works for me or does not work for me. A lot of the way that I treat myself when I need to get my body and brain into a place where I can think about stuff productively is actually directly from gentle parenting guides, because frankly cptsd recovery stuff is very often like parenting a toddler. And the toddler is you. ALL THAT SAID,

The first skill that I had to get good at, that many of the other skills depend on, is to learn how to understand when I am Reacting to something. If I am Reacting it is extremely likely that that's going to only escalate the situation and make it much worse. I HAVE to be able to tell if I am Reacting emotionally to something in a way that is coming from a place of fear and panic. This is important because it involves not being prescriptive about your emotions. You could be Reacting to something that you do not logically feel is at all justified in making you feel that way and that doesn't matter! You can't be doing math equations to try to come to the answer of how you SHOULD be feeling; you have to be observing your mind and body to see how you factually ARE feeling and then respond to THAT. This can be really hard to learn how to do especially if you were abused as a child. (If you cannot think of yourself as someone who is abused as a child perhaps it would help to think of yourself as someone who simply was not taught various emotional regulation skills for mysterious reasons that have nothing to do with your parents' inadequacies.) I need to be able to glance inward and see what the physiological reaction that I'm having is and identify whether or not I feel like this is the biggest emergency in the world that needs to be addressed right now immediately! That is a sure sign that Mr Fight and Mr Flight are in the building and it is bad to make declarative statements or important decisions when that is the case. So, I have to work on dismissing them first. That is literally the first step to any of this. One of my friends calls this "fire mittens," which is to say, if you are wearing mittens that are on fire and you try to touch stuff, the stuff will also become on fire. You have to put the fire out first before you can touch other things.

Once I have determined that I am indeed Reacting and in a physiological state of fear, I have a document in my notes app that is a "what to do when you are in fight or flight mode" guide and it has several helpful things that I will try to outline here.

Firstly, the really important thing for me for trying to get back into an emotional state where I'm capable of making decisions and being thoughtful is to feel safe and comfortable. So I actually have some stuff in my document that is straight up just like "go in the blankie nest. put on this specific music album. light this specific scented candle." etc. You might want to have a specific food or drink that is comforting to you or some other sort of stim toy that helps you regulate. If there's any calming medication or supplements for anxiety that you take as needed, now is also the time to do that. Physical sensory grounding is really important for this. This is probably especially true if, like me, you are neurodivergent, but I think it is also true for everyone because we are animals! And you can't just think about it, you have to actually do it. Which sounds obvious but is the thing that has often tripped me up in the past. Once you start getting into the habit of actually physically doing this it DOES become easier though.

One of my rules is that if I want to respond to something but I am in fight or flight mode, I don't get to respond to it for at least 24 hours. I'm only allowed to respond once I've gotten myself out of fear mode. If it is some kind of comment on Facebook that has set me off, often this means that 24 hours later I realize that I actually don't want to get into it to begin with, which is great. If it's something that is pretty serious and interpersonal with a friend, sometimes that means I have to communicate to them that I'm going to take a while to process it and then get back to them. IMPORTANT: You CANNOT do this passive aggressively or else it undermines the whole thing. You can't phrase it in a way that will make your friends think that you are guilt tripping them for "making" you feel a way. It is VERY tempting to do this when you are in the first stages of trying to form this habit and you simply need to resist the urge because it will render this step worthless. I know. It sucks.

If I am feeling fearful and insecure about friends or loved ones, I also usually try to spend some time thinking about the people that I love and care about. Because often this stuff manifest for me as insecurity that the people that I care about do not care about me, or that they think that I'm being annoying, or that they are secretly thinking mean things about me. It's obviously not good for me to constantly be imagining that the people in my life who I care about are actually avatars of my own insecurity who are here to tell me that I'm secretly fundamentally unlovable! But crucially also it's ALSO not fair to those people to imagine them as that. They are not that guy, they are their own complex human beings with their own lives and experiences and interiority. So sometimes I do thought exercises where I will imagine my friends or loved ones doing things in their everyday lives and I will think about them as people and I will think about the things that they like to do and the things that they say and the places that they go, and I will try to imagine them fondly in those circumstances. This helps to remind me that they are just people and that the scary puppet wearing their faces is not real. To this end I sometimes will have a document of screenshots of things that they have said to me that I can use to reality check myself. I personally find reality checks to be essential for a lot of this. Things can feel true when they are not true at all. Things can feel wrong when they are actually true. The point of most of these exercises is to gently remind myself that those feelings are normal for me to be having, but that I do not need to let them dictate my responses.

It is crucial throughout all of this that you are nice to yourself. You can't talk to yourself in a mean way while you're doing this, or you will not get to a point where you are feeling safe enough to react from a place of not-fear. You can't make yourself feel ashamed or defensive for your emotional reactions. This is the particular area where I find gentle parenting protocols helpful. You HAVE to be patient with yourself.

Ok that's all for now bc I ran out of steam but I will try to think of more to add on another day maybe. Godspeed everyone

[directdogman]

Dialtown is the most USA-core game I've ever played. It's so fucking American that it's scary, and I've lived there my entire life! Like, this feels fundamentally tied with the game's themes and narrative, that's how extreme it is. And it's not even alienating OR nationalist?? It makes such genuine commentary? And then there's so much other shit to think about too; Dialtown has a very real identity outside this that anyone could love?

One: I am VERY impressed that you have done the USA and its people this well. I am actually astounded, bewildered, and chuffed. I've never felt so seen by a video game, culturally-speaking. I didn't even know there was a culture to see.

Two: WHY did you do that. Dialtown is like USA Culture Absurdified: The Visual Novel. What drove you to make a game this rich with American culture and ideas???

Hello!

It would've been odd for an outsider (non American) who enjoys reading up on history to make my setting nationalist or alienating. America is a country with a lot of serious issues. You can't really study how America is (and has been) internally run without facing glaring and obvious systematic issues. DT's setting is one of scarcity and most of the main characters you follow in DT are kinda just scraping by without much hope for true mobility/advancement. A lot of Americans (especially younger generations) would agree this sorta encapsulates the national mood of the country right now.

Of course, the systems that run a country don't define its citizens - many of the finest people I've ever known are American and are victims of the whims of those with power, not willing participants in this system. I could be wrong, but that's why I think the setting connected with a lot of people. We all know Randys, Olivers + Karens, people who've fallen through the cracks in some way. To them, America's spirit of self-determination isn't about individual identity - it's more "you're on your own."

Why I chose to set DT in America would be a novel length answer in of itself, but it mainly came down to history + narrative opportunity. I wanted to set the game in the epicenter of where the phone-revolution came from and Crown likely couldn't have pulled his plan off anywhere else and probably not during any other time. It had to be 1960's America.

Of course, some parts of DT are sorta universal and were inspired by the the Great Recession and what followed. I remember there was an area not that far from my house that was full of green fields when I was born and when I was a kid (and when real estate boomed), stuff started being built there. Parts of it looked really nice, not quite like anything nearby. Like the future was coming. Then the economy crashed and stuff was left sitting there, half-built for like a decade. Skeletal, unfinished buildings. DT is much the same.

There's a feeling that the city could've been something better and while things could be more equal, it does feel like there are no easy solutions to fix everything - unless someone very smart and determined somehow bypassed every safeguard that was set up to halt radical change and enacted a genius plan to somehow eliminate scarcity. It happened once and might never again.

I don't think most people understand the intricacies of stuff like global commerce all that well (myself included), but when you're sitting looking at a half built neighbourhood mere hours after speaking to a friend who just kicked out of rented accommodation and doesn't have a stable family unit to fall back on, you'd have to be a real dolt not to understand that things aren't great right now. Most people are scraping by and feel if they could just get affordable housing locked down, if they had maybe one good opportunity - maybe there's hope that things could change for the better.

The end of DT isn't really utopian, things don't massively change for the better and indeed, the town has a lot of rebuilding to do. But, a collection of lonely people are now looking out for each other and through the relationships they have, now feel like they have a place in this world. That no matter how bad things really get - they aren't truly by themselves anymore. Most individuals don't have the means to significantly advance change on their own - but you can live your life, love those around you and support others and plan for when the opportunity to affect change comes about.

I guess that's what life is, in America or anywhere else. Sorry I rambled for so long. Hope this answered the question!

[g1rlken]

Inherently his

Rupert Campbell Black x gem!reader

Summary: domestic fluff #10 prompt list request

Word count: 4.2k+

Warnings: slight implications

Well polished burgundy car roof made a tapping sound against Rupert’s hands as he paced and sighed in the parking lot. Not frantically, not out of nerves, he never had those. Anticipation however was rather irritating. He didn’t realise when he caught that on from his wife, polar opposites. Ever anxious y/n’s unbothered lover. Most stuff rarely phased Rupert.

But when it regarded her, he couldn’t help it. Her wearies became his just the same way her joy lay in his. It was difficult to not adapt to her ways, especially on her big days. She was after a new job position, switching places in workspace and it was a big interview. He drove her to the place all calm and collected, full well confident in her capabilities. But as he awaited her return from the interview he couldn’t help but feel tense for her. She had wanted this for so long, despite the need of its financial aspect she didn’t have to work a day in our out of the house to sustain them in any way. But it wasn’t about that, he was a lover to an extremely passionate and determined woman. She would be crushed for days if it didn’t go her away after the time and energy she spent into this project. Regardless he quickly pushed that thought aside as his belief in her resurfaced more.

The sight of her walking out the building with her blazer and files in her hand and a bit far to make out her facial expression, he stiffened and paced closer himself. Reaching up to him she shrugged, with a heavy sigh as he searched for her eyes to meet his. “Apparently” she took a deep breath and paused for exaggerated effect, “I got it!” She exclaimed pivoting almost instantly and jumped right into his arms which he had opened for consolation either ways.

“Dear god” Rupert let out a deep chuckle as he could feel his heart beating in his ears, the false dread she built up replaced with immense happiness. “I knew it!” Kissing the top of her head he exclaimed, sweeping her off of her feet to spin her around. Deepening the embrace he held her impossibly close before putting her feet back to the ground with her giggles and squeals but didn’t exactly pull away. “My wonder girl didn’t I tell you!”

“Yes!” She giggled, heart warmed by his embrace and enthusiasm, mirroring his ear to ear smile. “I can’t believe it—I made it in the first round!”

“Well I for one most definitely can!” He brought her face closer to his, cupping her cheeks as he placed a passionate kiss on her lips. A hurried, teeth pressed, full of excitement movement of their lips crashing.

The surge of happiness within her was as it is skyrocketing, the kiss only highlighted it. “I couldn’t be more happier” she said breaking the kiss, “and thank you, for all that you put up with in the process I couldn’t have done it without-“

“I am about to kiss you to shut you up” he said placing soft peck on her lips again. “And I won’t hesitate to go further should you say, ‘thank you’ to me again. Ridiculous behaviour!” Rupert scolded her teasingly but he meant it.

It’s not as if Rupert needed a reason to celebrate his wife or celebrate with her. Everyday he got to wake up enlaced in her arms was a celebration, the warmth of her, the joy she radiates, everything pumped life into him. Most days he couldn’t comprehended she was real, someone who steered the storm of him directly out to the shore. He did not think it was possible, he couldn’t imagine being so anchored, so grounded but there she was and all it took her was a smile and his world seemed just fine. He knew he didn’t deserve her but he was so damn glad she was his. As were her dreams and her joys like her wearies.

Amongst obvious other things within their celebration, they ended up at the fancy fine dining. Generally the cooks of Rutshire sufficed for good food more than enough and Rupert’s expertise to romanticise the setting didn’t make their home dining table look any different than a fancy place yet she insisted on not skipping town this town. It wasn’t rare for them but his dates were rather activity oriented and y/n was already spent that day and wanted a slower night.

Time flew by at the dinner like it always did because conversation came so natural with her, at times he felt like he could spend hours just staring at her face, her perfect face with star for eyes and hearts on her lips and the sweetest tongue and the most precious laughter, he could swear her hair had intoxicating wildflowers in them as if he couldn’t waste a blink of a moment he got to stare at her. As the waiter presented the couple with a bill, she reached out for it and at first he assumed she were to slide to him since it was closer to her reach but she didn’t which alarmed him for a moment. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” He said with an unaccounted scoff and stopped her by placing his hand above here.

“Getting the check.” Y/n wanted to be nonchalant about this, not make a fuss of it yet somewhere with herself she knew that he would definitely not let her be sly about this.

“Yes my darling girl, get it here please.” He spoke trying to get the brown bill holders towards himself. Surprised that she gripped it harder he frowned in a confused manner. This was first of its name, extremely uncharacteristic it was an unsaid relationship law between them that he always paid. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What?” Brows furrowed back in reciprocation, a bit taken aback as to how seriously he took this prospect of paying for a restaurant check. When clearly neither of them had any financial bounds, even independently. “I’m paying.”

Rupert just laughed in her face as though she cracked a joke, “very funny” this time he grabbed the check towards himself at once.

“I’m serious!” Exclaiming with a whine as she tried to reach out for it again and he leant backwards shaking his head at her determination to get to it, “I’ve got a promotion today, come on!”

“And? You’re still my wife.” Rupert said with a quick glance at the bill and instantly shutting the book so she couldn’t even catch a glimpse of the figure.

“Yes exactly! I’m your wife I should be allowed to treat you.” She reasoned further prying him to let her see the bill but it was of no use, he’d already hid it behind him and sat tall in her way to reach to it.

“I am treated more than enough. More than you could imagine.” He shrugged as he reached for his wallet, a mere moment away from guarding the bill from her and she was back at it. Yet with another feeble attempt to reach to it.

“You know I can afford it!” It was like a dead end getting the ever headstrong, hellbent on spoiling her, husband of hers to be convinced to let her do something for once.

“It’s not about affording my love, I myself can’t morally and romantically afford you paying.” He exaggerated getting his wallet out and distracted her with a kiss as he placed the money inside the bill, so she truly couldn’t see the amount, no pestering would get him to change his ground.

“You are relentless” she breathed breaking away from the kiss yet remained close to his face.

“And you are mine.” He continued kissing the side of her face then let go off the bill putting it on the fattest side of the table, away from her reach. “Mine to spoil, to love, to irk, to fuck the life out of—“

“I think that’s enough” widening her eyes with the prospect he was reaching towards at the end of his sentence, not that she minded it. He knew that, besides the blush on her face said otherwise too. It was a rather civil and a public setting to be romantically lewd.

“Is it?” A deep chuckle escaped him at her awkward unbidden expression, he loved that.

“Let’s go?”

“—As my sweet girl wishes.”

-

It like any other day of their married bubble, only the first week of y/n’s promotional job and she had come home later in the evening. Obviously Rupert had to pick her up, he noticed this change within her of not being drained and mundanely exhausted from her long work day. She would talk his ear off unlike falling asleep on the way back home out of exhaustion how it occurred in her previous job. Rupert himself could tire out from her enthusiasm at the end of day, he loved this for her. Seeing her prosper and spend her time doing what she loved and coming home to who she loved, it warmed his heart. The hearty soul of her did not need energy for love, it was inherently imbedded within her.

However much he loved for the her to work on her deepest passions timelessly, his own deepest passion was loving her. It would have annoyed him if she had been working late over a job that drained her: that would be twice the disgrace of time he shared with her and he hated having it lessened. As of now, knowing she was off doing what she loved it simply eased his heart he’d never want her to cut down a bit even for him. He could simply find more time. Just how he picked her up from her workspace, it was a forty minute drive from their home, so almost an hour and half round trip for him but that gained forty more minutes with her.

Now, once home as she was having a bath, he came inside with his chair and a book in his hand as casually as strolling into any other room in the house. For a moment she was surprised and alarmed, shifting within the water and the foam surrounding. She had already offered him to join her but he’d refused her since he had already bathed. Was he planning to bath twice in the same evening? She thought to herself awaiting him to remove his clothes and get in but he just settled the chair close to the bathtub and sat on it. He even opened the book and was about to go on with his reading as though he just took a comfortable seat in the living room. “Rupert?” She questioned extremely amused by this antic.

“Yes my love?” He responded without looking at her, crossing one leg above the other, flipping through pages to reach the page he’d last left the book on.

“What are you doing?” A small giggle escaped her tilting her head, he was about to do something thematically romantic at any point she considered but this wasn’t as steamy as he usually was for foreplay.

“I’m reading.” He shrugged, as he raised the book fully to display her the cover. The

two often had silent reading sessions and the book he was currently into was something she had recommended so he would not read it if she wasn’t around. Not that she asked, but he’d rather have her around when he was reading a book she recommended, or some other book, or the newspaper, figuratively just about whatever. He’d always prefer to be around her.

“Whilst I’m trying to have a bath?” Bemused y/n tried piecing if he was actually nonchalant or going somewhere with this, she could generally tell. Currently it was weighting heavy on him being nonchalant yet, this setting was too much for him to not go somewhere.

“And have I blown out the candles? Have I turned the shower on? Have I splashed you with cold water?” Rupert went on with alternatives that would require her confusion “I’m not stoping you from bathing, love.”

“But you said you didn’t want to get in? You already bathed.” Who seriously reads in the goddamn bathroom whilst someone is having a bath. Rupert, apparently. This was a new discovery, at times he would walk in on her showering or bathing and most definitely join in, even if they were talking and she had to pee he’d just carry the conversation through the door, right outside. Not that he didn’t pester to be let inside, it’s just where she deemed 2 minutes of privacy to be necessary.

“I am not bathing. I am reading.” Rupert emphasised again, “I have got my chair see?”

“You can read in the living room, or our bedroom, or the guest room or wait—the library!” She joked leaning against the bathtub wall, finding this situation rather comical but it was a genuine chosen setting for him.

“No I want to read here with you so we get more time together.” He mentioned ever so casually whilst reading and indulging the conversation with her at the same time.

“I’m not going away on war tomorrow, Rupert.” Y/n was surprised to say at least, at times it seemed like Rupert was an amalgamation of all possible love languages: physical touch, words of affirmation, gift giving and quality time too.

“But we will go to bed in a few years so we would be away for six to eight hours—depending on where the night leads us.” He told her with a smirk on his face, implying what they got up to at night and regards with how much time the activity takes up to be up the next day.

“We sleep in the same bed what do you mean away?” This time she laughed, which made his lips curl down to a small smile from the smirk.

“I don’t get to see you until I wake up.” He reasoned and given how sure he was of himself Rupert considered that most definitely valid. By then, since the door was open like it always was, one of his dogs made its way inside as well. Peacefully lounging next to Rupert’s chair as he scratched their fur child’s back. “See, you’re his favourite too!” Time to time, not even one moment went by where Rupert didn’t think out loud about his book or even the most mundane of conversations which peaked their minds.

As he fell silent, focused on a passage y/n finally found the moment to reflect on this scenario “I really can’t believe you actually went on with this.”

“Darling I read all the time.” Rupert told her, breaking his reading link without hesitation.

“No I meant in here, I’m literally naked here.” She mentioned even though the foam covered all of it leaving her out just from the neck and face. It wasn’t left to interpretation that she was naked obviously.

“I have seen you naked more than you have seen yourself naked, come on” shrugging he returned to his finger on the word of his book to continue. The exaggerated implication didn’t seem so exaggerating when he said it like that and she knew better than to challenge him.

“Wow” was all she could mutter with a small laugh, “you know most people don’t bath with an audience.”

“One, you’re not most people and two, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” Their black mutt walked inside as well, buzzed with enthusiasm when it saw the full bath tub. Pacing up to jump right in with y/n, Rupert brew this habit of bathing with his dogs and as much as she loved them, she couldn’t bath in a lavender soap foam pool and tangerine candle hue with their dogs.

“And that’s my cue” she sighed, reaching up for the towel and quickly wrapping herself in it as she got out. The dog moved frantically in the bathtub with more room available now, causing Rupert to laugh and he stood up following her outside. Resettling on the arm chair in the bedroom as she got dressed, “it really concerns me to think what would happen to you if I had to go away for work or a girlfriends retreat for a week or two.”

“Your ladies trip generally runs short for upto 2 days and 4, maximum. As of work I’d just come with you” he proposed a solution at the top of his head.

“What if you couldn’t?” Amusing, y/n put on her bottoms. Now he’d completely set his book aside given he couldn’t miss a chance to see her getting dressed which made her laugh a bit to herself.

“What could I possibly have to do?” Rupert shrugged, lounging back on the chair. He had his work too but he didn’t even consider to consider it on the same level of importance.

“You’re a minister!” Exclaiming she reminded him, he spoked it a casually as if a real world did not exist outside of her. If he were to answer to that he’d let her know he was aware of a world outside of her but the real world lied within her so it didn’t matter anyways. “House of commons were in a crumbling mess whilst I would be away for work, what then?”

“Everything is a crumbling mess when you’re away darling.” Shifting in his chair he let out a sigh, “Besides if Tony Baddingham can use three different choppers in the same day to commute from the same office, I can most definitely fly out in one to see my wife.”

“What if I end up in an instant tragic situation and pass away?” She was layering herself, pulling a sweater over her head blocked her view of his face, which was an an immediately colour drained and changed one as she pulled it down. They were being light hearted, funny, what set him off all of a sudden?

“If you didn’t want me to read whilst you were bathing you could have simply asked me and I would have left granting you your privacy.” His playful demeanour shifted to a rather stoic one in an accusatory tone.

“What-?” It left her confused since she didn’t even comment on that subject nor did she drop any passive taunts that it bothered her, “what are you saying of course I wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just funny, sweet even I didn’t say it bothered me not at all.”

“Then why say such morbid things?” He scoffed, the unsettling feeling in him could not be contained whilst being seated so he stood up.

“It was just a silly question but it’s not inevitable-“ trying to reconstruct the meaning of her question he interrupted her.

“This is ghastly behaviour y/n, why would you say such things” letting out a heavy breath he paced small steps back and forth as he spoke.

“Such things? Are you serious? Life is just unpredictable it’s not like I said something wrong about you!” The exaggerated adjectives he used really ticked her off for some reason.

“It is plenty wrong talking about exiting our life like that!” He retaliated with words but kept his volume level headed like a normal conversation because despite his anger she deserved a decent tone from him at all times. valid anger and ill behaviour were mutually exclusive, one didn’t account for other obviously.

It left her taken aback and somewhat finding this conversation ridiculous, “it’s just logical thinking. Why do you think people have life insurances—both of us have one.”

“It’s a practicality. It’s a requirement.” He emphasised growing agitated that he wasn’t getting his extremely simple point across.

“Exactly it’s practical-! Neither of us will live forever.” She pointed out to the space between them, unsure of what exactly was making him have such a dramatised point of view.

“You don’t have to talk like that when I asked you once not to, I don’t enjoy that.” He sighed, tone dejected as sulk overpowered.

“You want me to apologise for saying I may die one day?” She asked sarcastically it wasn’t as serious nor difficult to her as it was to him.

Her repeated if again truly punctured his resolve for proper-ness. “Yes.” He paused, he generally never demanded apologies especially not from her.

“I am not saying sorry for a joke” she scoffed shaking her head, he was absurd to think that wasn’t a rhetorical question.

“—I think you should.”

“Well I won’t.” Remaining firm to her point y/m didn’t waver. But with a tensed jaw he did. Grabbing the pillow set from his side of the bed was enough for her to piece his move “you have got to be kidding me.” Generally when the fought, she would be the one sending him off to sleep in the guest room, he eventually would make his way back or vice versa because they did not believe in letting the other one go to sleep upset, yet this was a first. He couldn’t possibly outmatch her pettiness.

Rupert didn’t say anything as he made his way past her, the pillow tucked under his arm as he reached for his book. “You can keep your apology.” He huffed and left with his last word.

Leaving her to their bedroom, she pondered confused for a while that she truly did not say anything offensive and of the apologising, which clearly wouldn’t make her a smaller person but it was about principles. Was he even that upset? Why was he even that upset?

Rupert could be upset but he most definitely could not be upset and far from her for longer bounds of time, he softly knocked on their open bedroom door and leaned against the doorframe. Averting her attention to the door, she was doing her routinely journaling and today was rather eventful. “Back in 45 minutes?” She couldn’t help but smirk slightly at that, “you broke your last record I’m truly proud of you!”

With a deep exhale he leant off the doorframe and walked over to her stopping the stopwatch she’d set on their alarm clock. It was this stupid inside joke, he would always come back from the guest room or the other way around and she would time how much minutes to break their resolve. It was bittersweet in a way that despite the fight and faults he never made her upset to the extent of not awaiting him. “Last was 40 minutes was it?”

“41.” She corrected wanting to see him lighten up, the inescapable small smile on his face really helped. “Sit” she pulled him down to sit close to her, cross legged on the bed. His hands in hers as she spoke “what’s really got you so upset huh? It can’t be what I said, is it because I was working late?”

“No no it’s not you working late. On the contrary I am very happy about that, you’re pursuing your dream, I couldn’t be happier. But it is what you said…” he trailed off with a sigh tightening his grip back on her hands. “I have lived most of my life with my heart on my sleeve, until you I’ve never come across a love I was affected deeply by if I were to lose. I have lost, people have left and quite frankly I wasn’t affected to the one tenth fraction of them leaving than how the thought of losing you in any way affects me. I feel every minute of every hour you are not here, the mere thought is extremely disheartening and unpleasant. Is it possessive? Obsessive? Absolutely fucking mental? I couldn’t care less. I love my wife and I want her around forever. Y/n I put my heart off my sleeve into your hands and that’s the only place I want it to be.”

It left her speechless that he was in such turmoil, she felt so bad for being so insensitive towards him earlier she even refused to apologise, “Rupert” she said meekly, unable to hold his gaze she kissed him and shut her eyes. Deepened and passion filled kiss, with his arms enlacing her waist he brought her to his lap. “I am so so sorry, I feel like a jerk. I had no idea you had such overwhelming dread of losing me I am truly very sorry I joked like that-“

“You couldn’t have known unless I tell you, it’s not your fault.” Rupert reassured her instantly holding her closer to himself.

“I should have known. I can’t be this careless when I am holding your heart in my hands.” She spoke cupping his face to bring it closer to place a soft peck on. “Now that I know better I wouldn’t be so difficult with jokes, you are not losing me in any sense, in any way, ever. Life may be unpredictable but we will be inherently together to witness it I promise you.”

“My darling girl” he intertwined his fingers through her hair as he kissed her again and the bliss of beautifully heavy feelings and a perfect promise rounded them.

—

Brothers and kings, it is 5:48 am I just wrote this…staying up…I can hear the milk man and our neighbours waking up…I have no g1rl left in me you can call me dude

Also please I’ve made this with a lot of will and CRAZY efforts please please please leave a comment I would love to wake up to pls pls pls if you hate this piece I will kms

[nicromancytarot]

WHO IS COMING INTO YOUR LIFE ROMANTICALLY?

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I don’t change for these readings and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I got but I pull like 20-30 cards each reading and that just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD READING

I asked my spirit guides what you need to know about the next person who is coming into your life romantically, pick a pile and find out what they had to say!

Pile 1 ———> Pile 2 ———> Pile 3

PILE 1

This person is embodying the energy of the king of cups, they are giving off much more masculine energy, this doesn’t mean that they are a guy, however this person is more in tune with their masculine, leadership side. When you meet this person, they will be going with the flow, allowing life to take them wherever, and coincidentally they will find you.

I am getting the feeling that this person is new to most, if not all of you. So I’m not seeing any exes or reconciliations in this pile.

This person seems to have been going through something which led them astray or possibly ended in them getting hurt, for some this may have been a breakup.

Around the time that the two of you meet, they’re going to act like a taster for you, they’ll give you these little moments with them, which leave you waiting for more, yearning for them to allow you in some more, but you only receive a drip, a dribble of what they could actually give you.

They’ll keep this going on for a while, keeping you interested and guessing, during this time they may have you lined up as an accomplishment or trophy, they may still have feelings for an ex, and have you as a second option.

It will take a while to get out of the situationship and bring yourselves to something more committed and long term, honestly I’m seeing around 6-8 months of no label.

All while it can absolutely end well, it can give you what you desperately want in a relationship, the agony and anticipation may turn to be too much for you.

For those of you who choose to walk away from this without letting it grow or become anything more, you are making a good decision, you’re embodying the queen of wands energy, you don’t need anyone to define you or make you any more worthy than you already are.

For those of who choose to stay, be careful of your heart, make sure to protect your dignity and don’t let this person get you down, you can build something beautiful with a lot of patience and determination, however you are always ok to walk away.

PILE 2

A lot of you are getting over something at the moment, I’m unfortunately getting an ex, someone from your past who I’m not too sure that you received closure from when you last saw or spoke to them.

I do see this ex coming back into your life, if they come back during mercury retrograde, dawg bin them, we are in no need of negativity during this time! However, for those who do not come back during this current moment, either you will contact them, or they will contact you. I do see that a lot of you have some stuff to talk out with this past person.

The closure conversation won’t exactly go to plan, you may be sucked in by their drama, trauma dumping or a poor attempt to get you back. I do feel as though you will entertain this situation for a little, perhaps not too long, but long enough for some emotions and feelings to arise again.

However on the other side of things, you have someone completely new, someone who is willing to give you things that this past person wasn’t able to supply for you. This person is coming in hot and heavy, they will be very direct about what they want with you.

I feel like you’ve always been the one to make the first move, or admit your feelings, this person will turn your life on it’s head, they will be honest, direct, real and just very straightforward about what they desire.

They may say something along the lines of not wanting to be with you until you’re over your ex, this could be a drunken confession where you try to tell them that you are, and they tell you you’re not. It will either end up with you crying into their hands as they cradle your head, or some hot and heavy make out session lmao.

This person is willing to wait for you, they will be on the sidelines for as long as you need them to be. It doesn’t seem like they will be letting go easily.

The ex person is giving me twin flame vibes, meanwhile the new person is a soulmate.

So it’s either out with the old and in with the new, or out with the new and back to the old.

The choice is yours.

PILE 3

You guys seem to have gone through some type of break up as well lmao, something which forced you to let go of someone that you cared a lot about. If it’s not a relationship, then it’s a situation that had you up at night upset and stressing.

During this time there was this one person that you would confide in, this person was there to rub your back while you cried, and tell you that everything was ok.

They watched you through your healing journey, helping you become one with yourself and your expression once again, help you build yourself up until you felt comfortable in your own skin. This person is a people watcher, especially when it comes to you, they’re observing to the point of writing down every little thing about you, you could ask this person the colour of your eyes, or how many freckles are on your face and they would be able to answer without a second glance. They know you like they know themself.

This person may call you their flower or petal, you may have a flower relating name, something to do with how delicately they view you, you’re like a piece of china to them, one wrong touch and you’d break. They don’t want to break you.

They metaphorically stand by your bedside as you sleep, protecting you from every scary dream, or any unwanted negativity that could come your way, they want nothing more than to protect you and keep your safe, it’s their purpose.

You are Barbie, and they are just Ken. (No gender affirmed)

This person will wait for the right time before making their move, and when they do, they will resume leadership and continue to look after you for as long as you allow them to.

This person will love you like you have never been loved before, they will caress every inch of your skin as though you were sculpted by the Gods, they want nothing more than for you to be theirs, and them to resume being yours.

Because they will always be yours.

[nosyp]

IkeVamp chars reacting to someone harassing you

A/N = stepping into the waters of ikevamp

Napolean Bonaparte

Napoleon would look the harasser up and down, then his voice goes on to lecture the harasser.

"Leave now, or I’ll make you wish you had." He says, his gaze sharpening and a hint of his military background flashing in his eyes. "This will not end well for you if you continue."

If the harasser doesn't take him seriously, Napoleon's not gonna be as nice as before. "You’re testing the wrong person. Do you really want to deal with the full weight of my wrath?"

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Mozart would dramatically throw his hands up in exasperation, his tone playful yet scathing.

"Oh, how clever of you to harass someone who’s so clearly out of your league! Tell me, is this your best performance?" He'd laugh mockingly.

If the harasser doesn't back off, Mozart would quip, "You’ve already missed your chance to impress me, darling. Best leave before you make a fool of yourself."

Leonardo da Vinci

With a calm and inquisitive expression, Leonardo would step forward, his tone collected but firm.

"I find it curious that someone of your... intellect would waste time with such unseemly actions." His voice is steady, as though speaking to an inferior subject.

He’d pause, eyes narrowing, "I suggest you reconsider your actions. People of my stature do not tolerate such behavior. And I’m sure you’re aware of the consequences."

Arthur Conan Doyle

Arthur would straighten up, giving the harasser a cold, analytical look. "Really? This is your idea of making a lasting impression?"

He’d then address the harasser directly, his voice cutting through the tension. "If you think for a moment that you’re in control here, you’ve gravely underestimated both of us."

"You may want to rethink this, as I’m certain your motives could be better directed elsewhere," he adds, a calm threat hiding beneath his words.

Vincent van Gogh

Vincent’s normally calm demeanor would crack, his voice trembling with emotion. "You have no right... no right to treat them this way!"

He steps in front of the reader, glaring at the harasser. "You don’t know who you’re messing with, do you? I won't stand for it!"

As the tension builds, Vincent’s face hardens, "Leave them alone, now. I’ll make sure you regret it if you don’t."

Theodore

Theodore would step in between you and the harasser, his voice calm but stern as he calls out the harasser. "This is not the way to behave, and you know it."

He’d give the harasser a chance to back down. "I’d advise you to walk away, before I’m forced to make you understand how serious I am."

If needed, he’d become more forceful: "I am not one for drama, but I will not let you make this a problem."

Osamu Dazai

Dazai’s initial response would be a smirk, his tone sarcastic. "Oh, how bold of you. You really think you can harass them without consequences?"

He’d lean in slightly, his smile darkening. "You’re funny. But not in a good way."

If things escalate, Dazai’s tone would shift, becoming chilling. "You’ve just made a very bad decision. One I won’t be forgetting anytime soon."

Isaac Newton

Isaac would raise an eyebrow, voice level and logical. "I’m afraid your actions are... quite irrational."

He would calmly explain, "Such behavior is not only disrespectful but also entirely unnecessary. You should consider the consequences of your actions before they escalate further."

"I believe I’ve made myself clear," Isaac would finish, his voice stern with an undercurrent of intellectual superiority.

Jean d'Arc

Jean would stand tall, his voice unwavering as he faces the harasser. "You dare approach them in such a manner?"

He’d take a step forward, eyes burning with determination. "You will not continue this harassment. I will protect them, no matter what it takes."

"This is your last warning," he would say with a commanding tone, "Leave now, before you regret it."

William Shakespeare

With a wry smile, Shakespeare would deliver his retort in a theatrical flourish. "Thou art a fool, sir. A poor, unfortunate fool!"

His voice is laced with irony. "Do you not see the folly in your actions? I’d advise you to take your leave while there is still time for you to save face."

"For you shall not win this battle of wits," Shakespeare would say, his tone dripping with mockery, "And in this exchange, you are the one who loses."

Comte de Saint-Germain

Saint-Germain would speak in a low, controlled voice, his aristocratic tone giving him an air of superiority. "I am not one for unpleasantness, but you’ve given me no choice."

He would tilt his head, an elegant smirk on his lips. "You will leave, now. I assure you, it’s in your best interest."

If the harassment doesn’t stop, Comte's smile would turn cold. "You clearly don’t know who you’re dealing with. I suggest you correct that mistake—before I do it for you."

Sebastian

Sebastian’s tone would be smooth and polite, though there’s a dangerous edge to it. "Excuse me, sir, but I believe you’ve mistaken this person’s boundaries."

He would take a step closer, voice still calm but now carrying an unmistakable threat. "I’m sure you’ll find your behavior unwise in the end."

If the harasser continues, Sebastian would smile coldly. "I won’t repeat myself, but I do expect you to leave—immediately."

[eyesthatroll]

my love, mine all mine | quinn hughes

pairing: qh43 x fem!reader

warning(s): kissing, established relationship, nothing else i think. barely edited

summary: a lil somethin’ i wrote while listening to my love mine all mine by mitski

word count: 1.5k

author’s note: i am the most tired i have ever been right now and i have to get up in an hour or two for a ten hour shift 😔 but i hope you enjoy this lil number, it’s my first time writing for quinn n i hope i did alright. as usual, sending my love. go canucks! —mari

Yawning softly, you nestled yourself deeper into Quinn's warm embrace, allowing your eyelids to gently shut as you turned your back to the crackling fire. The animated conversation among the boys continued, the sound providing a soothing backdrop to the peaceful moment. Quinn's right hand moved in soothing circles on your back, while his other hand held onto a half-finished beer, the cool glass a stark contrast to the warmth you found in his arms.

During the sporadic lulls in the conversation, the mellowness of country music, Jack's choice, enveloped the space. The soulful chords of "Tennessee Whiskey" by Chris Stapleton, dominating the atmosphere. As you rested against Quinn's comforting presence, he quietly hummed along with the song, his voice adding a subtle layer to the music just low enough for only you to hear. Your fingers aimlessly toyed with the drawstring of his gray sweatpants, a futile effort to battle the creeping fatigue that had been amplified by the day's events. You were determined not to squander the night by retiring early, as the impending end of summer loomed overhead, casting a bittersweet shadow as it heralded the departure of everyone you loved, including your boyfriend of nine months.

Lowering his head, Quinn tenderly places a kiss on your forehead, his affectionate gesture infused with fondness and adoration. His hushed voice carries a gentle suggestion as he speaks to you, "Why don't you go up to bed, Baby-Doll?"

In response, you lightly shake your head, brushing aside his words. "I'm okay."

He doesn't press further, recognizing that your decision to head to bed will likely come only when he joins you. Nevertheless, he doesn't mind this compromise. Every moment in your embrace is precious to him, particularly with the imminent knowledge that in a week, he'll be heading back to Vancouver while you remain here. He keeps his inner turmoil hidden, unwilling to burden you with his feelings, but the strain of a long-distance relationship is slowly taking a toll. With your final year of university on the horizon, he hopes that you might consider moving to Vancouver with him, yet he's well aware of the magnitude of that request and the challenge it poses to both of you, so he's yet to bring it up.

Quinn spends the next twenty minutes or so caught in his head, his thoughts consumed by you and the possible future you might share. He absentmindedly nods at whatever topics the boys are discussing, their voices blending into a background hum as he drifts through his contemplations. In his mind, he envisions the two of you sharing a home, the two of you building a family together, and he can't help but smile at the idea, even if it remains unsaid in the midst of the casual banter.

"What do you think, Q?" Trevor asks, raising a beer to Quinn from across the flickering fire pit, where the warm glow dances in the darkness.

Quinn blinks, momentarily drawn from his reverie. "Huh?"

The group shares a collective chuckle, their laughter adding to the background melody of the evening. "Another beer, you want one?" Josh offers, extending a cold bottle towards Quinn.

A sudden hush fell over the group as they waited for his answer, emphasizing the gentle, rhythmic snores that escaped your lips. You looked utterly enchanting, cocooned in an old, oversized Michigan sweater of his, your delicate features half-hidden beneath your tousled curls. The dancing firelight painted your silhouette with warm, flickering hues, casting a soft, otherworldly glow around you.

In that poignant moment, as he looked down at you, all Quinn yearned for was to steal you away to your shared room. Just the two of you, wrapped in the comforting embrace of the warm duvet. He offered a tired smile. "No, actually, gonna call it for the night." The murmured words sounded like a gentle promise to both himself and the alluring vision before him.

You had always been a notoriously light sleeper, a trait Quinn found endearing. It was, therefore, a genuine surprise to him that you didn't stir the moment he scooped you into his arms and began carrying you into the house. However, as he carefully closed the screen door behind him, its echo resonated through the stillness of the house, and you stirred to consciousness. Blinking your eyes open, an expression of confusion graced your features as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. Your voice, soft and laden with sleep, slipped through your lips. "Quinn?"

"Goin' to bed, Baby-Doll," Quinn replies simply, his gaze momentarily fixated on you before he turns his attention to the path ahead, ensuring a safe ascent up the stairs with you in his arms.

He gently sets you down on the bed, and you flop back dramatically, savoring the comforting embrace of the sheets against your back, releasing a contented moan. Quinn chuckles at your playful display, beginning to shed his day clothes. And as much as you admired his physique, you spring out of bed, heading towards the en-suite bathroom, your intention to quickly wash your face and brush your teeth.

Soft footsteps echo through the bathroom as Quinn follows you inside, his tall and muscular frame comfortably settled in nothing but his boxers. The intimate setting feels soothing, and he joins you at the sink, standing side by side as you begin to brush your teeth.

You sneak a peek at him from the corner of your eye, and a playful glint in your eyes prompts you to initiate a playful toothpaste battle. Quinn's eyes widen as you start flicking tiny drops of toothpaste toward him, and he quickly retaliates, with laughter filling the room. Soon, both of you are playfully dueling with your toothbrushes, smirking and giggling like teenagers.

After the impromptu skirmish, Quinn doesn't put up any resistance when you give him your best puppy-dog eyes and plead for the privilege of conducting your nighttime skincare routine on him.

A comfortable silence envelops you both, the bathroom's soft lighting casting a warm, intimate glow. Perched on the bathroom counter, you have Quinn standing between your legs, your feet just barely wrapped around him. With gentle motions, you apply moisturizer to his flushed skin, your fingers caressing his cheeks with care.

Quinn's gaze is fixed on you, his eyes locked onto your face with an intensity that doesn't go unnoticed. As you work the moisturizer into his skin, you can't help but sense a subtle tension in his furrowed brows, a hint that something might be bothering him. You break the tranquil silence, your teeth grazing over your bottom lip, a nervous habit surfacing. "Are you okay?" You ask, your voice tender with concern, your eyes searching his for answers.

His response comes swiftly, as if he's been waiting for the right moment to share his thoughts. "You graduate this year," Quinn replies, his voice carrying a mixture of pride and a touch of uncertainty.

Your smile beams at him, and you gently place your hands on his strong shoulders, a gesture of reassurance. "I do," you affirm with a nod.

Quinn lets out a deep, contemplative breath, his hand instinctively moving up to run through his unruly, dark brown hair. His lips part and close a couple of times, as if he's grappling with the words he wants to convey, caught in a moment of indecision.

Your sudden, sweet kiss catches him off guard, his initial surprise giving way to a warm, affectionate response. Before he can fully process the gesture, you've already withdrawn, leaving a subtle, bashful grin dancing on your lips. "What's on your mind, My Love?"

He exhales another sigh, his tongue moistening his lower lip in contemplation before he voices his admittance. "I can't stand this long-distance thing."

Your lips contort into a pained frown, and an instinctive retreat pushes you further away from him, your back connecting with the mirror's cool surface. "Are you breaking up with me?" Your voice quivers at the fear of Quinn ending things so suddenly.

His eyes widen in alarm, a rapid motion closing the gap between you as he firmly grasps your waist, pulling you back into his comforting proximity. "No, no, baby, I'm not saying that at all." He emphasizes with a reassuring tone.

Relief floods your entire being, a soothing balm to your anxieties as the erratic thud of your heart settles back into its regular rhythm.

"What would you think about moving in with me, in Vancouver after you graduate?" His head tilts to the side, a distressed look on his face as tries to gage your reaction.

You crush your lips against his once more, the fervor of your kiss matching the intensity of your emotions. A delighted grin creeps across his face as your hands weave their way into his hair. Your mouths mold together in a harmonious dance, each movement executed in perfect synchronization. A subtle exploration ensues as you lightly trace your tongue across his bottom lip, coaxing it between your teeth, which elicits a throaty moan from him. With his defenses down, he grants you access, and your tongues engage in a sensual tango, his fingers pressing into your side involuntarily.

Breathlessly, you break apart from him. "I thought you'd never ask."

[appleblueberry-pie]

Honestly trauma bonding is the way to go 😌✨

Reader who adopted a child and loved them more than anything in the world, since she had no family or pets (being spiderwoman is a sacrifice, after all.).

Reader's Green Goblin killed their child brutally in front of her, leaving Reader with immense trauma and depression. (After torturing and then killing GG in the same gruesome way as he did with her child)

Reader who abandons being a Spider-person and goes back to her old job, being a professional gymnast.

Miguel who finds Reader's world, and asks who there isn't a Spider there if the canon event of the radioactive spider biting someone happened long ago.

Miguel who investigating, finds out that Reader is the spider there, however they abandoned their heroic life (mostly because of backlash from the media)

Miguel who one day goes to Reader's house to get answers, first explaining who he is and what the fuck that orange portal is 💀

Miguel understands how Reader feels and explains his backstory, and persuades (forces) Reader to join the Spider Society.

Miguel, that slowly falls in love with Reader and turns into an obsession. Maybe in the future, he can give Reader his kids so they won't have to grieve as much for their dead kids.

You were meant for him.

He shouldn't say that, but no bone or muscle in his entire body disagreed with this statement that he is claiming.

He fell in love with you before he even realized it and happily accepted the fall, knowing just from how you spoke to him, that you know how to love. You love the way that he wants to be loved. And he wants that. He wants you.

He was so goddamn in love with everything about you. He loves the way you speak, the way you carry yourself, the way you look at people, and the way you look at him.

He wants those eyes on him all of the time. So, he tries to work for it.

You looked so tired every single day. Since he found you alone in your apartment of your universe, he knew you held luggage no one else had behind them.

He wanted to at least take half of the weight off of your shoulders. He wanted to brush the midnight tears off of your face. He wanted kiss your callused hands. He wanted to have you.

He truly believes he can fix you.

"There is no fixing me. Nobody can save me."

He had never been so tuned into a conversation before. Mask off, sitting across from you in your living room, on the edge of his seat, staring into your iron eyes. You didn't want to let anyone back in again.

Hearing about your past only made him more determined.

"I can't put that suit back on again.....no. I killed enough people and killed off enough of myself. I don't benefit from that life anymore. Hell, my own city that I fought for doesn't want me anymore. Why the fuck would I even bother trying??" You try to laugh it off and killed the rest of your drink.

"The only person that could make me put that back on is the one I did all of this bullshit for."

You let the silence grow for a little to collect the words building up in your throat. But to speak it was a different battle.

"S/he was mine. S/he was all I had. Every day I had to wake up and go to sleep seeing her/his face, and it's all I needed to continue living another fucking day. And s/he's gone! I thought sparing lives would do me good, and now my babygirl/boy is gone. What the fuck am I supposed to do?" You whispered the words, as if it was forbidden to even speak them aloud.

And every single word you spoke made Miguel feel like he was living in your skin. Every question you asked, everything you said you felt is so close to experience of losing his little girl, it makes him nauseous. He only knew you for a few hours and already wanted to hold you in his arms.

"I can't....I just...can't put that thing back on. I really can't. I'm sorry." Your words slowly turned into a mutter as you fidgeted with your hands.

He doesn't know how many hopeful "yes, you can"s he whispered back to you with comforting (consensual) hugs before you had on that damned suit again and was in the middle of HQ.

His room was quiet. Peaceful, as he typed away on his technology you weren't interested in at all.

You felt so naked in the suit, but for some reason, it made you feel more secure than you'd ever felt these past few years......maybe this would be okay for now.

Miguel looked back at you, seeing you staring off into the distance and stopped typing to place his hand on your shoulder.

You looked up at him with those sad, tired eyes. Just seeing your face as clearly as it was, it continued to give him hope to be the one to support your during your healing process. You clearly needed the help. And if anyone could do it well, he was certain that it would be him.

[vvmylove]

My Time (18+)

Warnings: no ? mentions of him being mean

1.3k words mainly smut- This is prob the best thing I've written

Y/N looked at Goo in annoyance as he blabbered about money for the 4567th time that day. She was tired of his constant obsession with money and fighting, always too focused on his other interests rather than her. Despite her efforts, he never really noticed her, only seeing her as a friend on the side. Y/N had craved his attention for so long, yet the guy in front of her could not take the hint as he continued on about cash. For the past week she had spent trying to convince him to spend time with her, determined to make him listen instead of chasing money or fighting. Watching him talking about the same topics over and over again bored her. 

Goo sat across from her in his luxurious chair, the ugly leather chair he spent a fortune on. Y/N was so sick of it all, knowing she needed to distract him somehow. She had worn an outfit tighter than usual. All she had to do was flaunt what she had, leaning back in the chair as she spread her legs just a little, making herself comfortable. To her surprise, he noticed her shifting in her seat as he took a sip from the drink in his hand. If there was one thing about him, it is that he would never sit without a drink in his hand and that he does notice the little things. A sly smile spreads across his face, placing the drink down. “Is there something I am unaware of?” he snickers.

Y/N knew she had his attention at the moment, the atmosphere changing as both of their eyes were on each other. Lust clouded his eyes as he stared her down, oh how he loved women especially a woman as gorgeous as you in front of him. Thoughts of cash long forgotten as his focus was on you. Despite the fact that his focus was on her body rather than her efforts to engage with him, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of achievement. Maintaining the position that initially caught his attention, she looks away letting out a chuckle. “That you’re a dumbass.”

Goo couldn’t deny that the atmosphere between them was charged with a certain energy that he would never ignore. A surge of desire pumped through him as he stood up from his chair, walking over to her with confident strides. He leans down, placing his arms on each side of the chair Y/N sat in leaving her with no way to escape. 

Y/N held his gaze, looking up at him with a renewed sense of energy as all his attention was now on her. She brings her arms up and wraps them around his neck, bringing him closer. She could feel his breath on her lips, a smirk forming on face. He wanted to play hard to get, but why would he when the prize was right underneath him? Goo leaned in closer, his lips brushing against hers in a teasing manner. Y/N was impatient though, as she crashed her lips onto his, pulling his body on top of hers with a sense of desire so strong. Goo took the hint and slid his tongue past her lips, desperately kissing each other, roaming his hands along her body. His hands stop on the hem of her shirt, pulling away from the kiss. “Take this off, take everything off,” He demanded, pulling away from her to strip down to his boxers and sitting back on his stupidly expensive chair. Y/N wasted no time taking everything off, going over to straddle his thighs. 

Goo took a moment to admire the view in front of him, his hands snaking down from her waist to her precious little cunt. He collected some of the slick that had already formed in between her folds, the desperation in her voice evident with the little moan she let out. “That's my girl, show me how much you’ve been craving this.” He spoke in a rough tone, almost a growl.

“I want you so bad,” Y/N whined as she started to grind against his fingers, her arms finding their way back around his neck.

Goo slipped his slender fingers into her, his thumb finding and circling her clit skillfully. Y/N’s body started to tremble, the intoxicating pleasure building up inside of her. Her mind went blank as his fingers started to deliciously stretch her out. Goo pulled her into a deep kiss, picking up the pace and slipping another finger into her. “Such a good girl for me hmm?” he mocked, enjoying the view displayed in front of him. 

Y/N’s hips started stuttering as he quickened his pace, a burning sensation in her thighs from the pleasure she was receiving. He was knuckles deep, thrusting his fingers until he found the familiar spongy spot and curling his fingers into the spot. She let out a choked moan, her eyes tearing up as the knot in her stomach started to form. Goo could feel the way her walls spasmed against his fingers, her rhythm faltering. Her hands move down to his muscular biceps, nails digging into his skin as her eyes shut. “Come on baby, no one else can make you feel this good right? You can’t pay a guy better than I to do such a job. Look at you,” he says almost mockingly, teasing her. Sure, she may have not paid him to do such a thing- but it's not like he asked for money anyways. 

Her mind was fuzzy, barely registering the words coming out of his mouth. “I'm all yours,” Y/N responds desperately, pleasure washing over her as she came on his fingers, moaning his name in the process. He immediately pulls his fingers out of her, a whine escaping her mouth as she had not fully rode out her orgasm. Goo places his hand on her neck, his fingers wrapping around her throat as he pulls her in for another passionate kiss. The feeling was intoxicating, knowing that she had him all to herself- even if it was just for today. 

Y/N had no time to recover as Goo lay ahold of her hips, lifting her up to take off his boxers in one swift movement and lining himself. He easily slid her in, a mixture of the previous orgasm and her wetness lubricating her. A yelp escaped her throat as she felt the sting of his dick stretching her. While inside of her, he flipped her over on the couch, in full control as he gripped onto her hips and thrusting like an animal. His grip was sure to leave bruises and his thrusts rough and brutal.

All Y/N could do was moan in pleasure, her grip tightening on his shoulder. Her eyes were still shut, but she could feel the menacing stare of Goo piercing into her. She could sense how aroused he had become, enjoying the way her face scrunched up and eyes rolling to the back of her head, as his dick started twitching inside of her. She had always thought Goo would last longer- but who was she to judge when she was also close to her own climax once again. His movements became erratic, leaning in to press his body against hers and lowly moaning into her ear. He chased his own release rather than hers, as he started to pound into her vigorously. “Goo ‘ts- slow down-” Y/N whimpered, but his ears fell deaf to her pleas. 

That familiar feeling crashed down on Y/N, her orgasm coating his dick but he kept going, overstimulating her. Y/N’s body twitched underneath him as his pounding did not seem to slow at all. Her nails dug into his skin, clawing his back as her whimpering became loud. “You can take this, slut. Asking for me and yet you couldn’t handle it,” he growled into her ear. And after a few more thrusts, he finally came inside her. 

----

did you guys miss me or not yet LMAO. I know I dont write often so I hope you enjoy this.

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

Currently Watching - April

aka The Masterlist

Because I love a good little list - in alphabetical order! 😊

Regularly updated during the month, latest update 30.04.2024

A little link to my favorite bl-tropes-collection 💙

I am happy about gif-requests 🌼

Here you can find all of my gifs.

Tracking: #josistag

At the end you can have a look at what we can expect in April with a MDL link and a link for a trailer (if avaible).

This is guaranteed to contain spoilers!

1. 25 Ju, Akasaka de 🇯🇵 (2/10)

They were fellow students and now they have to play in a BL together. One of them is two years older and popular. For the other one, this is his first big role and he needs it, so he is determined to to anything he needs to do, to be a good actor. Even when this means to find a partner and fall in love to be able to play the role perfectly. Why not try to be lovers with your co-star. All for the sake of the series of course.

2. Blue Boys 🇰🇷 (2/4)

This short series is quite good. I saw the first episode by chance and I was hooked, but lost it again, because I couldn't track it on MDL. Now it is up there. I hope these two can resolve their missunderstanding, with talking! But they are too hungry for each other...

3. Boys Be Brave! 🇰🇷 (2/8)

Enemies to lovers, but different. Jinwoo likes Kisub and Kisub knows this. But while Kisub gives his heart away to every person who hits on him and can't really say No to anyone, Jinwoo loves to build up his wall and hide behind a strong No. Their worlds collide, when Kisub moves in with Jinwoo, if he likes it or not. Great first episodes!

4. Cityboy_Log 🇰🇷 (12/?)

They are back and unhinged like before! Jihan and Jaejun met after a while because they were busy and it seems they had some catching up to do the night before. We get some daily vlogging, some cuteness and some jealousy, which wasn't that cute. But they are finally back and I am happy. The acting is still very good. There is no deeper story behind, just some idols, models and actors falling in love with each other and theit daily lifes.

5. Deep Night 🇹🇭 (3/8)

his is everything I was expecting, so it didn't disappoint, I guess. To be honest, I watch this for First. I guess he would have chemistry with a stick, soooo this is nice. And I hope the story, at least stays like this and won't get worse... Update: This show is a mess 😂 there is so much going on all at once and at the same time nothing really happens? It is so confusing, yet very entertaining. But Wela, my dear, it is totally okay to be pissed if one fucks with you, while you are so drunk you can't remember shit the next day... Just a thought.

6. Kare no Iru Seikatsu 🇯🇵 (3/8)

Kazuhito has no girlfriend and the ones he had, broke up with him, because they felt he likes someone else... Who might that be?... The story is simple, I guess? (But perhaps not that simple... The preview for ep 3 looks interesting.) Childhood friends are forced to move in together after spending time apart. One is a little bit naive and is trying to find out why girls breaking up with the most charming and handsome guy he knows and the latter is in love with the naive one and in the end they have their happy ending. I like it. I want to see their growth.

7. Love Is Like A Cat 🇰🇷 (10/12)

Who thought this was a good idea? Who wrote this? Who said cut at the end of scenes? Who thought this is be the way Mew should act? I cringe so hard and not in a funny way. This series is just bad. I keep watching because of this little bean. But I had to skip so many scenes in today's episodes, because it was just so bad! And I can't figure out if Mew just didn't want to be there and act or if that is the way the director wanted him to act... But the acting is bad. Bad choices everywhere. And the dialogues? Cringe... Why would a bean like Dae Byeol fall for Uno? Nope...

8. My Stand-In 🇹🇭 (1/12)

Okay, hear me out. I watch this for Poom and for Poom only. But the story lookes interesting, it was quite intriguing. I don't know why, but I cringed a bit too much at some scenes. But Poom is beautiful and that is all I care about. Yes, I can be this shallow!

9. Only Boo 🇹🇭 (4/12)

The cringe was so strong with this one this week! I had to pause multiple times, but at the same time I enjoyed it so much! Moo is so unhinged and I love him! But please! Don't let Moo's cousin become a possible love interest for Kang. I know we got this dream sequence this week, but there is something in the air between Shone and him... and I don't like it. The second couple... I felt really sad for them this week. Beeing in love with your best friend is never easy...

10. Unknown 🇹🇼 (12/12)

The story about found family, childhood trauma and struggling topped with a lovestory between "brothers". They aren't really brothers so I really don't care and just enjoy this forbidden and hurtful lovestory to the fullest. This is exactly what I hoped for! The longing, tension and hurting is so good! It is the aftermath of the shooting and Qian is still dealing with his emotions and his feelings for Yuan. The love between them is real and strong, but Qian is afraid and can't just let his heart decide over the head, yet. He loves Yuan, but is afraid what that means for them and especially for Yuan's future. And yet he held him back. He was the one reaching out in the end! I have said enough about them and this first part of ep 11 in my post. I love them. My heart belongs to them. I wish we had more developement between these two as a couple, but I still love them and I forgive this show the rush in the end, because I love it so much.

11. Word of Honor 🇨🇳 (20/36)

Those two flirt a lot and are a married couple. Everyone knows that. And I love and enjoy that! Overall this is such a fun watch and the different sects and intrigues are sometimes a little bit confusing, but interesting. I love this world of martial arts and I love how protective Wen Kexing is over Zhou Zishu.

Finished in April

Series

My Strawberry Film 🇯🇵

This is what I call a love triangle. And the fact that the screenwriters worked for Eien No Kinou or Jack o'Frost promised some heartbreak and teenage angst. And they delivered. I really like this series. And I felt so many emotions, especially for Ryo. And I really loved the ending. No fake relationship and no unrealistic confessions, just some teenagers in love and being friends. And I think Hiraku was such a sweet friend in this last episode. He apologized and he finally recognized Ryo's feelings for him. And I believe they stay friends in the future. It might be difficult, but a good friendship is worth fighting for. It has so much to do with respect and love for each other. It is a solid 8 out of 10 for me.

Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto 🇯🇵

The story about highschool sweethearts, who didn't have the chance to enjoy their young love, because of horrible family backgrounds. Their story is devastating and I am happy they found their way back to each other. The story was good, the acting was good, I am in love with Furuya Robin, which is nice, and the side characters were special (shoutout to Yuto!). I wish there was more "passion" from Miyata, but I guess it is due to his character. Overall it was a good watch and I enjoyed it! A good 8 out of 10 for me.

Jazz For Two 🇰🇷

I love bls about music and about traumatic pasts. The second couple has my heart. I just love them coming together. Usually I hate this bully-trope, but with them, I kinda enjoyed it. Perhaps because Jooha always looked like a hurting puppy. Overall the homophobia in this one is strong and I think it is interesting to see them deal with their own feelings. Internal and external homophobia is such a big thing in all their stories and I wish they had more time to show the developement from hating themselves to loving the other person and themselves. But in my opinion they made a good story and a good show. I like it very much. And what was that kiss in the end? Wow! A good 9 out of 10 for.

To Be Continued 🇹🇭

I really like this one! I read some comments that the reason they never got together was just stupid, but from their perspective I can understand why they reacted how they reacted. They were young and unsure what to do and what all of this meant for them and their friendship. What I liked about the show was the present and past scenes. We learned so much about their past and the scenes fitted perfectly. It was a really good series and I am glad I waited to binge it. Guess I come back to this one from time to time. Rewatch value is there. And those two have really good chemistry! A good 9 out of 10 for me.

Movie

Short Film

Dropped in April

We are 🇹🇭

I dropped this after the first half of the first episode. There are a few reasons for that. First, I need some shows to binge on lonely sundays. And second, I just don't feel like watching this one. It was so quirky for me. Not my kinf od humor right now.

Looking forward to in April

Love is like a cat - Trailer (Apr 1st)

We are - Trailer (Apr 3rd)

Memory in a letter - Trailer (Apr 6th)

Grey Shelter (Apr 11th)

Kare no Iru Seikatsu - Trailer (Apr 12th)

The Spirealm (Apr 15th)

Boys be brave! (Apr 25th)

25 Ji, Akasaka de (Apr 19th)

Kimi to Yukite Saku: Shinsengumi Seishunroku (Apr 25th)

My Stand-In - Trailer (Apr 26th)

Zettai BL ni Naru Sekai VS Zettai BL ni Naritakunai Otoko 2024

Knock Knock, Boys - Trailer

[willoillo]

do you have a process for drawing dragon faces? their expressions are so fun and lifelike to look at :]

Sure I do!! I don't think about it too much consciously nowadays but I definitely have a process. Mostly it's informed by previous experience doing human expressions? Specifically a loooot of anime style characters, but I also use the same basic layout for pretty much every character I draw from dragons to ponies; only thing that changes is the proportions and whether or not I need to add a snoot.

I threw together my best shot at a guide, hope it helps~!!

(I am aware that my chicken scratch is very messy and accessibility is a good idea so I'm gonna throw plaintext of what I wrote beneath the cut)

Willoillo's Hastily Drawn Guide to Dragon Faces!!

Step 1: Circle [image ID: a sketchy circle]

Step 2: Where they lookin'? [Image ID: the same circle, but with a cross drawn on it. the lines that make up the cross are curved slightly to show dimension.]

Cross roughly where the eyes are

Step 3: Top Snoot [Image ID: The same circle with the cross, but now with a collection of curved lines making up the top half of a dragon's snout attached. The mouthline is curved upwards to show a smile.]

top half first

I add a circle for the tip of the nose if there's foreshortening so I can tell where things will overlap

this line determines mouth shape. Important!!

Step 4: Eyes + Brows [Image ID: The circle with the snout, now with a pair of eyes and raised brows looking at the viewer.]

Sometimes I swap steps 3 & 4

Mini Eye Tangent [Image ID: a series of three drawings showing how to build an eye shape, starting with a circle, then adding a top and bottom lash to create a specific shape, and finally showing the eye with an iris looking at the viewer. Next to it are other eyes with different shapes and expressions, with the circle behind them shown to show how they were built from the same template. One of the eyes has a heavy eye bag drawn, following the shape of the circle behind it.]

Eye shape determines personality and expression but they're all based on the same base

Start with a circle, then do the lash shape, and finally the iris

The circle can also from wrinkles/eyebags

Step 5: Jaw!! [Image ID: The same dragon, but now with a lower jaw. The line for the back jaw is drawn visible through the snout to show how it connects to the face on the other side.]

Connect the back jaw behind the snout to make the cheek

Step 6: Neck + Ears [Image ID: Same as previous, but now with a curved neck added connected to the circle, as well as leaf shaped ears. An additional circular sketch has been extended behind the original circle past where the ear is connected.]

Start extending our circle back to make room for horns

When I'm drawing full bodies I usually have a neck already in place

Ear shape can differ a ton!! [Image ID: examples of how I draw different ear shapes for icewings, nightwings and sandwings; the icewing ear is sharp and jagged, the sandwing ear is long like a rabbits, and the nightwing ear is twisted like a goat's.]

Step 7: Features [Image ID: A finished sketch of Kinkajou from the Wings of Fire series with a happy expression. An arrow is pointing to her with the line 'oh look it's kinkajou now' written next to it.]

These vary depending on dragon.

Horns, frills, freckle scales, nostrils

Can't really show all of these, lol

... And that's pretty much it!! Hope it helps!!