#FUCK STUDIO BONES. I HATE STUDIO BONES

[lotus-pear]

play this with us!! i'll start with shin skk

i don’t give them enough credit for the amount of brainrot they give me

[littencloud9]

bsd fandom has always mischaracterised kunikida to hell and back but the fact that i am seeing SO MUCH hate for his character right after his 'death' is insane

[stargalaxyshooter]

Fuck you bones for erasing Akutagawa's smile, and instead showed him angry of all things. It's like they're committed into not showing his character development because even before this scene was Akutagawa telling Atsushi that he only has a limited time left before he dies due to his illness. Now this scene in the manga was very solemn and Akutagawa delivers this news in a very calm manner that conveys he's pretty much accepted his fate and is dedicated into fulfilling his goals before he dies. And Atsushi's expression also looked torn and muted in surpise at this revelation. Now compared to the anime where for some reason it's a side profile shot of Akutagwa looking angry when delivering this devastating news, which gives off a completely different vibe. The differences between the two was so off that I actually saw anime only's think that Akutagawa was lying about his disease when he confesses to Atsushi (in order to get a surprise attack against fukuchi) because of the way it was delivered. Akutagawa looks mad and uncaring as though he isn't talking about making the most out of his short life before he dies and atsushi looks like he doesn't wanna be here, like he doesn't care all that much about whatever aku is on about. They both were behaving like this is season 1 and not season 5, which is a shame since this arc is a culmination of the two's relationship and how much they've grown to not only care about the other but how they've also changed as individuals. So thanks bones for fucking up akutagawa's pivotal moment 🙏 I knew it was gonna be bad when they ended the episode when he first gets slashed across the neck and proceeded to speed run this moment in the next episode to go straight towards vampirism. Love y'all 🫶

[imsosocold]

Aku being revealed to be wearing a knight suit in the anime’s final moments when he meets up with Atsushi proper again… Bram telling Aya she will be a great knight…

[is-this-just-fantasy]

HUHUU!? WHY!?!??!?!

[hijackalx]

*SOME DURGE QUEST SPOILERS*

***NONCON AND DRUG USE MENTIONS***

GORTASH SFW HEADCANONS:

ok to start i think when he was a prisoner his hair got rlly long and unkept and he hateddd it so the minute he escaped he chopped that shit off himself and thats why its so unruly lol (*EDIT he always cuts his own hair is what im sayin)

this man is such a taurus like everything about him screams taurus. has a taurus stellium fosho

would listen to superheaven

hes also sooo jenny by studio killers, disco man by remi wolf, happiness by the 1975 coded with Durge 😩😩

with durge hes also giving bf that ur dad hates but like thats canon. i think he likes that hes able to influence durge to the point that they rebel lol. the type of boy u run away with when ur younger

probably BLASTED jet black heart by 5SOS on repeat when Durge disappeared LMFAOO

also i kind of feel like the fearless buff to his clothing is more an insight to his character rather than him needing magic to not be fearful bcz he literally got the shit beat out of him everyday and lived in HELL how can he not be desensitized to everything at that point 😭😭😭 it does not get much worse than that my boy

hes so thique like hes just a big boned dude. tiddies SO fat too EUGH + thick shoulders/arms. he feels so warm and safe i just know it i just KNOW it gurl

also idk if it was supposed to happen but in my latest playthrough during the fight with him he dropped his bow and just started beating the shit out of us 😭😭😭😭 all hands baby like WHAT 😭😭 so i like to think thats his preferred method of fighting idk if thats canon tho i feel like i seen somebody talking abt that before but mightve just been another hc

occasionally does drugs. likes the ones that make him feel really elated (idk what theyre called in bg3 its some kind of dust or something) ALSO HC THAT HE WAS ON SOMETHING WHEN HE WROTE RHAT FUCKED UP NOTE TO FRANC (WAS THAG HIS NAME U GUYS KNOW THE NOTE) HE WAS OBVIOJSLY TRIPPING BALLSSSSS

lots of body hair…… everywhere……. straight and black body hair. that is so sexy to me let me smell the pheromones in your armpits king LMFAO (i think theres something wrong with me)

going off of rhat yes i think he smells good (DIVINE, even) as a woman that is feral and in heat all the time. but to normal ppl he may smell kind of weird. not STINKY stinky but like when u dont shower and ur natural scent starts to mix with the perfume/cologne ur wearing SORRY 😭😭😭 im trying to be realistic here. or maybe like when u wake up and didnt shower the night before and u can still smell the perfume/cologne u put on yesterday. basically what im saying is he might need to shower

hes just so masculine it drives me crazy I LOVE MEN !!!!!!!!!! I LOVE EEENERM. ME E WN

love language:

giving = lowkey getting acts of service vibes here but u didnt hear it from me 🤫🤐 gift giving too. tav is just his widdle babie and he wants to make sure theyre the happiest they can be 🥺😩

receiving = acts of service LMAO give and get back type of shit

relationship wise i think he is the most doting and sweetest person. like tav will never have to worry abt anything ever again bcz he will handle everything. takes care of them cuz they are his king/queen 😌

GORTASH NSFW HEADCANONS:

yeah going off that last hc he is sweet outside the bedroom but a menace in it. its just the way he is. its probably exhausting too 😩 like if u ask him to be gentler/less intense he will try for a while but probably wont enjoy it as much. he doesnt like to hold back.

i WILL say tho ☝🏻🤨 i think when he gets close to finishing he gets a little more soft/loving. he just has to get his badness out first yall its fine

HIGH libido wants to smash all the time. he also (POSSIBLE NONCON MENTION !!!!!!!) thinks that since ur his u should be willing to give it up whenever he wants it. (NONCON MENTION OVER) i think in the bedroom he sees u as a servant even if ur considered his equal normally. like hes a chosen of bane he has to feel like he has control over u in SOME way

can be selfish depending on his mood. sometimes he doesnt see u as anything other than a toy (lowkey hard for me to admit but i NEVA LIE GIRLS !!!!! 🙅🙅🙅) like can be such a fucking asshole about it too

BUT !!! when he is feeling generous he is soooo generous. EUGH like he will make sure u enjoy urself!!!! probably multiple times !!!!!!!!!!!!

dont know why nobody else has said he has a daddy kink. so obvious like call him daddy ms thing he will nut so hard. oh corruption kink too. like can u imagine Durge being so innocent when they first met cuz they were never allowed to get close to anybody and hes just sooo into it HELLO i got to write that fic NEOW

omg breeding kink too give him heirs. will fuck the shitttt out of u in a mating press. probably comes a lot too almost impossible not to get pregnant with him LMAO

likes to pick u up and fuck u. manhandling king. also will do the faerun equivalent to coke and wants u to do it w him then fuck nasty afterwards

i feel like he doesnt last an extremely long time. 15-20 mins is THE MOST youre getting out of him lol he just gets very excited (which is lowkey kind of cute??)

do i even have to say that this man is packing schmeat. heavy dick. heavy balls. allow me to bear some of that weight for u my liege 🤲🏻🧎

ORIN BONUS ????:

mostly nsfw

ok i didnt originally plan to add orin but listen….. gortash is a charismatic guy….. imagine orin was into him too LISTEN ! like shes jealous asf of Durge in that sense too not just bcz of them being bhaal’s fav. like when i think abt them i just am getting a vibe okay. this trio……..

every time she sees gortash and Durge acting close and doing all their yucky lovesick shit she just gets soooo mad. now imagine she shifts into Durge to get gortash to fuck her. yeah… yall seeing the vision? would he ever find out ?? imagine that was why he hates orin so much?? he doesnt want to tell Durge (cuz thats cheating hes not a cheater duh 🙄 plus hes scared theyll be mad at him) and thats why his explanations as to why he hates orin are so vague

[kaurwreck]

Regarding your tags, Studio Bones is not responsible for the translations. Translations are derivative works that are typically licensed to the English language publisher with the distribution rights. This is because the English language publisher is typically better equipped to commission, provide, or supervise English translations than the Japanese animation studio.

Bungo Stray Dogs is distributed in English by Crunchyroll, which has an in-house translation and localization team. Crunchyroll may sometimes consult the licensors (here, Studio Bones, Kafka Asagiri, and Harukawa) to confirm details like the spelling of certain names and placement of subtitles or to ask questions about creative intent. Crunchyroll outlines its approach to translation and localization here.

But, Crunchyroll decides what the questions to ask and how to translate the intent gleaned from asking those questions. Further, because of the unique challenges associated with translating Japanese to English, there are a myriad of potential translations for the same concepts, all of which strip some context and nuance from the original dialogue, and all of which must be displayed or recorded within the constraints of the medium in which they'll be displayed.

As an audience, we can exercise some agency in confronting those challenges by engaging proactively and curiously with the translations, but that requires (i) acknowledging the limitations of our own lenses of interpretation; (ii) asking questions prior to jumping to conclusions or presuming malice; (iii) identifying and making efforts to address potential barriers to our understanding; and (iv) recalling that when we are engaging with foreign media, we are guests rather than the primary audience.

Also, Studio Bones is divided into five smaller studios, each of which work on separate anime titles. Studio C was responsible for Soul Eater. Perhaps it's okay to forgive Studio D, which works on Bungo Stray Dogs, for an anime that they did not create as studio.

fuck studio bones for not including chuuya’s “no witty commentary” line and dazai’s slow and almost mournful reply. dazai doesn’t jest about his victory or flaunt it in front of nikolai like he does with other villains. he lets him mourn.

dazai knows what it’s like to lose the only person that looked past your violent and cruel exterior and into your true essence. your heart. dazai knows what it’s like to lose the only person that ever understood you. and that’s why he digresses and tells chuuya to leave quietly by his side.

[dsireland86]

Okay picture just laying down on your stomach and Folio see's and immediately smacks your ass but then takes it a step further and bites it

This is going to be the death of me. The thoughts I had with this one... jeeze. Okay... here we go...

Bite Marks

Tags: @philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @theanarchymuse95 @thisbicc @lma1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @thefallenangel @fadingintothegrey

18+ below the cut

Stretched out on the nice comfy bed, you sighed, thankful for the peace and quiet.

After being in the studio part of the day with the guys, all the noise of music making had your head overwhelmed. Most of the time, you could handle it, but for some reason, today was a little different.

You stretched and stretched, feeling the muscles pull and the bones crack, turning over on your belly and stretching some more.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, came a hard smack that sounded like a clap of thunder right on your bottom, making you scream out in fear and pain. Tears welled up in your eyes, and your heart pounded against your chest. Then you heard the sound of quiet laughter, knowing fully when you had the audacity to be so cruel.

"Go away, Folio! I hate you!" you cried, wiping away the few tears that slid down your cheeks. You hid your face from him out of embarrassment because a smack on the bottom hurt too much, and he scared you.

"No, you don't, you could never hate me, baby girl," he said, partially kidding.

"Go away."

"Hey, look at me."

"No!"

"Please look at me, sweetheart. Did I really upset you?"

You wouldn't answer him, knees pulled up to your chest, face buried in your arms, and the sting from the smack burning beneath you.

"Hey," he said more seriously.

Folio tugged on your shoulder. You shrugged him off, turning over and laying back down on your belly, burying your face in the mattress.

"Damn, sweetheart, I'm sorry," he apologized, caressing your back. "I didn't mean to make you upset."

The sweet softness you heard in his voice melted your pride a little, and you turned your head just enough to see that he was sitting next to you on the bed.

"You scared me, that's all. And you always smack my butt too hard," you pouted, tears long dried up.

"Awe, shit baby girl, I'm sorry," Folio apologized again, slipping his hand under your shirt and grazing your back with his hand.

His gentle touch relaxed you and helped you take a deep, calming breath. But soon, his hand started to wander further down, traveling over your lower back and over the spot on your bottom that was sore.

"I think," Folio suggested, scooting closer to you and straddling your legs. "I think I should assess the damage. What do you think?"

His fingers gripped the waistband of your shorts and slid them down, revealing your white, flowered cotton panties.

"You're adorable, you know that?" he praised. You could hear the smile in his tone.

You shook your head.

"Well, you are," Folio continued, sliding your panties down, revealing the damage. "And I fucking love that about you."

Sure enough, a huge red hand mark rested on your butt cheek, right where he had smacked you.

"Shit. Baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave a mark on you," he said sympathetically, grazing his hand over it. You sucked in a deep breath just from the discomfort of the simple gesture.

The feeling that came next was insatiable. As Folio’s lips grazed the painful spot on your bottom, his warm breath cascaded over the sting and eased some of the pain. Then came the feeling of his tongue gently sliding over the skin surrounding the red area as his hand drifted over the flesh on the opposite side.

"Nick," you sighed, his name falling from your lips so sweetly.

"You like that, sweetheart?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Yeah? What about this?"

You hissed, a slight little moan following right after, arching your back at the intense feeling of Folio’s teeth capturing your flesh and baring down hard enough for it to hurt like hell yet feel incredible at the same time. It completely aroused you in a way it probably shouldn't have.

"Yeah, you like that a lot," he jeered, knowing he was getting to you.

"How about this. I know you like this," slipping a finger inside your wet core, making you grip the bed sheets as he bit down on your skin again.

"Nick, baby," you whined, trying to be quiet.

Folio slid his finger in and out of your sex, making you so wet between your thighs for him.

"What do you want, baby?"

He kissed the side of your face, leaning over you as he continued fingering you.

"I want," you huffed, breathing through the delicious feeling of what was being done to you. "I want more bite marks," you confessed, gasping at an unexpected harsher thrust.

Folio chuckled.

"Yes, ma'am. You stay just like that," he ordered, jumping off the bed. You heard the sound of his belt coming undone, and it sent the best kind of shivers up your spine.

With the sound of the bedroom door closing and locking, you know all too well what was coming next, and the thought alone made your abdomen tighten.

"Alright, beautiful, ass up. I owe you some more bite marks."

And with that, Folio smacked your bottom again, making you moan with pleasure. 

[ipegchangbin]

— lines, lines, and more lines

hyunjin x reader | 4.5k words

♡ ... accompanying playlist. Hyunjin stared at the unfinished painting. It always seemed to stare back. And its eyes — it had none — looked like yours.

❥ angst. hurt, comfort. hopeful ending. ❥ not beta read. gender neutral reader (no pronouns). past breakup. declining mental health (depression). mentions of suggestive activity. exes to…

📝 happy valentine’s day! art & playlist by me. otherwise, enjoy.

18+ only. minors do not interact.

Should he have called you?

He loves all sorts of art. He has not once ever hated a single piece, thinking that all works were masterpieces in their own right.

Standing in the corner of the room, though, was a canvas he hated to see. Hyunjin didn’t dislike your unfinished painting, but he hated being reminded of what could’ve been.

It had been a year yet nothing in that corner of the room had changed. He always used the studio, of course, the large open workspace full of ideas that came to fruition and stored the ones that didn’t in unsealed paint cans and palettes with stories in them.

The room was littered — half-clean thanks to weekly maintenance — but not dusty. It was a calculated mess, typical for an artist, atypical for a depressed romantic.

Because all but one goddamn corner of the room changed. That one painting stood on that easel, paint dried yet not chipping once off its canvas.

It was supposed to be a portrait of his face. You finished the perimeter of his head, his bangs and mullet colored in, and an underpainting of his skin was in the works. His lips were as luscious as you used to claim — one of his favorite compliments, he wouldn’t admit — and they were frozen in an ever-present gentle smile. He didn’t have any eyes yet, but your rendition of him stared back at Hyunjin like a warped reflection in moving water.

Yet it seemed to stand still in time.

That’s why he called you. After months of no contact, he dialed you up at 2 AM in a state of slightly calmed panic. Hyunjin wasn’t thinking; he didn’t want to think, not anymore. All he wanted was to see you.

He bit his lips that you once said were luscious and full. The anticipation in his system only seemed to outweigh the feeling of his teeth clamping his lower lip.

Autopilot drew over his actions. Your phone rang. His own vibrated in his hand. He allowed the speaker to ring across the colorfully-decorated walls of the studio.

Please, pick up.

“Hello?”

Hyunjin blinked and suddenly he was back to where he was. The call had been over twenty minutes ago. It would be approximately ten more minutes before you’d arrive at his doorstep.

Was that really your voice that he heard?

Can’t be stupid, of course that was you. There was no mistaking the calm and soothing timbre of a voice that had just awoken, not from sleep, but from resting a stretch of time without speech.

Maybe he dreamt it up again? No, he didn’t. Then, why did he do that?

Hyunjin, are you fucking stupid? He couldn’t help his thoughts.

It’s no secret that he’d slip into that same blurry headspace, the one where he’d stop thinking and just do. Do things. Do whatever. It would take a bone to the head for him to even stop him at this state and it was painfully clear whenever he was in this trance.

He wouldn’t speak much. He’d pick up whatever he was supposed to hold and focus with deathly control. He’d zone in instead of out; this regularly occurred when he was painting, and he’d lose track of thought and simply keep going.

Is that why my works are more soulless lately? I don’t think when I make them. Hyunjin waved a hand in front of his sleepy eyes.

The downside to this was that, after the autopilot switches off, the flurry of thoughts would race and speed and subsequently crash. His thoughts were bullet trains that resumed motion and his head had tracks suddenly converging at a point. It’s wild, even to him, and he still isn’t sure if he’s gotten used to it yet.

All that he knew is that he missed you dearly.

You would know him better than he does. You would know how to comfort him. You would know — no, understand him better. Process his feelings more than he could ever do alone.

He never knew what love was until he loved you. He still loves you. It’s a love that eats away at him, as it’s the only love he knows.

It’s the only love he had. It’s the only love he lost.

Knock, knock, knock.

And it’s the only love that answers his call.

Startled by the sudden noise, Hyunjin got up from the dark amber floors of his well-loved studio and stopped staring at the painting.

It told him something. It seemed to know that someone was there. The artist behind his unfinished face, you, returned to his home no matter how absent-minded he seemed to be as he called you.

But he could leave the door unanswered. He could half-lie, pretend that he was drunk and fell asleep, text you a simple apology. It could be simpler.

But you were waiting so patiently by his door.

Curse you. Why have you always been patient with him? Why do you always wait for him? He didn’t deserve you, didn’t deserve to date you then break up with you. He didn’t deserve to waste a single second of your time.

Even if you weren’t together anymore, why do you wait so loyally for him behind a door that won’t open in the dead middle of the night?

Hyunjin pondered whether or not to unlock the entrance and let you back into his life at least for one more fleeting moment.

“Sorry for making you wait,” he said, guiding you through the halls of his house as if you hadn’t memorized it by now.

Maybe he wanted the moment to feel special all over again. After several months of calling it quits, he wanted to make it feel as if you re-entered a dream from where you left off.

Ignore that it looked nightmarish now. If it at least holds any bearing, it did feel like you picked up from where you left off, though.

The more you traversed the familiar walls you once called home, the more it seemed apparent that life and time both flowed and stopped within the house. Some things were stuck in time, like the one-fourth full shampoo bottle sitting in your former corner of his shower. The sink was newly wet, water still dripping from the porcelain. It wasn’t like you wanted to pry, but the bathroom door was wide open to begin with, the scene more apparent when you noticed Hyunjin sniffling behind you.

Did he break down in the restroom again?

You knew he always did that. He didn’t have the habit of keeping to himself, but when he didn’t want to display his vulnerability to you, the same bathroom became his space if an outlet. Drawings weren’t always an answer, especially if it was his job, so he’d sob in the restroom — and it seemed, in his dissociative episode, he cried for a minute before calling you.

You walked further into the house. Your steps creaked against the wooden flooring that he promised to fix several months ago — had it been a year?

Maybe so. You haven’t used the same brand of the three-fourths empty shampoo bottle since last year. You switched brands since you left him.

He must’ve noticed. Hyunjin always made it known to you that he loved taking whiffs of your scent when you once were lovers. Now that he was trailing behind you while simultaneously guiding you through the depressive home, he must’ve realized that once was a lavender-scented head became lemon and lime.

It was unfamiliar. It shouldn’t affect Hyunjin. It’s just you. You’ve changed, so did the house, so did he, but it wasn’t anywhere near your level of maturation and growth.

Because how the fuck does a change of shampoo beat an unchanging home?

“Hyune,” you called to him, “do you need help with anything over here?”

He blinked. Even he didn’t know why he called you.

“I thought you needed help with the furniture?”

Right…right? He said that? Caught up in the sight of you after months, Hyunjin didn’t even remember his own excuse. He just craved to see you. See the person you grew to become.

See the person who left for the sake of love.

“Oh, yeah, I do.” Hyunjin sniffled with a weak smile. “Had to move a table in our—the studio, but your stuff’s in there.”

A genuine shock washed over you. “Shit, I forgot some things? I’m sorry.”

Hyunjin shouldn’t be this delighted to see your emotions.

He always loved watching you talk. He listened with full observation, relishing in the way you expressed yourself because you were beyond entertaining. You were his opposite, but also his twin flame. So maybe that was why it burnt his chest with charred edges to see that you were so much more confident in your words.

Was it speech therapy? Was it freedom? Was it because you left him, that you learned to love yourself more? Was it really not him, but you? “It’s not you, it’s me?”

Shit. He was overthinking again. His temples started to hurt more than it did. Sweating and despairing and wondering when — if it would all end by staring at you long enough.

He led you through the corner leading up to the studio. The first thing you saw, thankfully, wasn’t the mess he was creating around the corner; it was your painting. The haunting aura of Hyunjin’s portrait seemed to surprise you, taking one step back on your left leg. The studio was rampant of Hyunjin’s constant and bustling work ethic and then there was your corner, pristine in the way that it hadn’t moved at all. The painting stared at you both. You wondered if that had really been the state at which you left it — the state at which you left him.

You’re not the same. There’s comfort in the fact that you’re still you, the you he fell for and cherished. The you that he deemed his darling. His co-artist, his muse.

Standing in his studio after months, taking a gander at your unfinished work; you have the same backside but your silhouette has changed. Hyunjin couldn’t seem to grasp it. How could he, when you were his one and only love?

“God, that thing’s still there,” you joked. For a moment, Hyunjin’s thoughts seemed to calm themselves as you both chuckled silently.

“It’s funny, I stare at your painting and it looks like it’ll never crack.” He pointed at the painting, forgetting about the furniture he pretended to need help with. “You haven’t even varnished it and yet I feel more brittle than it ever will be.”

There’s a solemn look in his eyes as he stared at the spitting image of him, albeit rough around the edges and eyeless.

“Bits and pieces of my heart chipped when you left,” he whispered, though you caught it.

He bit his tongue to keep himself from uttering the petname “darling.” Force of habit, even after months — yet nobody could blame him, especially after you left him to wonder what you both were.

He knew how to mix orange paint better than knowing the mix of emotions you gave him.

“I’m sorry?”

The guilt washed over his shoulders as he realized that he spoke aloud, suddenly hoping that you could just go back to furnitures. He pretended to clear his dusty table, only for your hand to catch his. Skin on skin had never felt this refreshing. He’d realized that he never had another being touch him after you left.

“No, nevermind, I—”

“Hyune, no, I’m sorry.” The sincerity in your voice gave him goosebumps that he hoped you hadn’t felt under your palm. “I didn’t think I’d affect you like this…”

“It’s nothing big, really,” he scoffed, his own eye bags from losing sleep over you proving him otherwise. Hyunjin started feeling weird, like his head was spinning and he could faint at any moment. He was losing balance while holding onto the table. All he wanted was for you to talk.

Your concern only ever grew. “But you even kept the painting like that. Why didn’t you just take it down?”

You turned to him after he gave no response.

He thought and thought until he lost himself in a sea of overwhelming ideas and questions. He tried to come up with answers until he concluded that these were the same questions he’d ask himself every single day as he worked in the same exact studio. If only his clutter could talk, they’d know his secret; he’d stare at your art in between his works and mourn.

Mourn the future he couldn’t have with you. Mourn the lost love.

“Couldn’t take it down I guess.” Hyunjin huffed, defeated. “I just…couldn’t.”

That’s when it hit you. A lot of things in his house were merely things he simply couldn’t let go of.

The shampoo bottle from earlier. The painting. Trinkets stacked in the corners of the hallway you slowly walked through were keychains that you and Hyunjin bought at art fairs together. The hat you’d been missing was hanging by the entrance all along, untouched. Some brushes in his studio were yours.

He’d been stuck in a limbo between the past and present, unable to see a future from the dust on his table. Hyunjin stood in silence as you both shared a knowing look.

A look you couldn’t even spare him when you left.

For the past months, he couldn’t stop fixating on the last time you made love — the night before you left. It was great, satisfying and full of sweat and tears, full of kisses and promises that you’ll be back someday. You were going to focus on yourself, that you realized that love isn’t for you if you didn’t love yourself first. Hyunjin believed in it. He believed in you. You weren’t lying, but you weren’t sure of your words either. You figured that was the point of leaving, so that you’d “come back” as a sure, secure, and mature person.

It’s just that the world had been so unkind to you both. The things that you used to enjoy with him became something of nothing, and you realized that it was your end that needed fixing. To you, coming back wasn’t a promise to Hyunjin. To him, it was something he was willing to wait for even until the next lifetime. Love to you was for yourself to grow and familiarize with, but love to him was something he only knew through you.

That was the last time he’d ever touched another person, let alone himself. That was the last time he had ever uttered “I love you.” But maybe, just maybe, you were too set on leaving to care about the sex. It was full of love to him but it was probably empty to you. It was probably one last promise that you wanted to fulfill—let go of. You didn’t even pack your shampoo bottles when you left.

Hyunjin sat on the ground, legs about to give in from the sheer weight of his emotions and thoughts. You followed suit, sitting beside him.

I feel weird again.

Hyunjin clutched his arms closer to his chest, squeezing his knees in between the embrace, trembling in fear of another barrage of racing thoughts consuming him, eating away at his space.

There was nothing he could do about it. It always just seemed to happen.

Everything hurt, his brain was throbbing, your presence alone was too much in his shitty abode that he calls a home, his studio is one shabby excuse of a room that shouldn’t have you in it, you didn’t deserve to be here, in his place, in his damned, shitty place—

“Hyune.”

You reached out behind yourself to grab his arm.

“You’re not okay.”

It took two full, quiet seconds before anything. You stared not at his arm, but his eyes.

“Thought it was obvious,” he tried to joke. Once he caught a glimpse of your unwavering concern, he looked back down.

You made the grip on his arm firmer. You stroked his forearm with your thumb. It seemed to ground your ex, but he still felt just as broken as he was earlier.

“I’m sorry.” You sighed. “I keep saying it but I don’t think it’ll ever be enough. I’m sorry I left you like this. I’m sorry I even left you. I just…you know that I had to do this for me, for us…”

You felt something in your throat. You swallowed it. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me. I know how shitty it is and now, I’m here for you.”

Hyunjin wordlessly listened, nodding at your now-real and sincere promises. Tears were falling down his eyes in the same tracks his previous tear stains ran down.

Your painting had been staring at you this whole time, the strokes around the eyes sticking out like sore thumbs to him — they were more of pinky promises to you, left hanging and ignored yet still innocently waiting.

“Let’s fix that,” you sighed.

“What?”

You looked at Hyunjin with a smile, half fond and half despondent. “May I finish this real quick?”

Hyunjin simply stared at you. The tears in his eyes fell but he didn’t dare blink. His eyes were wide open, in awe of your smile, scorn growing in his chest that you are both incredibly hurt people.

He hated, still hates, and will always hate the way that this world wronged either of you to the extent that you smile with unhappiness.

Alas, you got up to finish your work, thinking he nodded when he didn’t.

You stumbled to get up on two legs, struggling in your trembling body to even put a hand on your knee to get up. It was less of heartbroken now and more of tired, emotionally exhausted, sleepy, and slightly frustrated at the sight of your unfinished work.

Though it was your painting that your chose to abandon for months, you finally took the brush and picked up a surprisingly active thinner and a semi-dry pigment — random color that you couldn’t bother to check — off his palette with its bristles. You started slashing in a semi-calculative fashion, not minding the strokes but rather the picture you were painting, burning butterflies from your brain right onto the canvas.

Hyunjin stared curiously with hands on his knees still close to his chest. The eyes that were promised on the canvas became less and less like his own until they weren’t.

And there they were, butterflies sitting on a portrait of his face.

“There,” you said, accomplished. For some reason though, the lump in your throat returned.

You figured it was the thought of slightly finishing in the way you never intended to. You remembered working on the piece while you were still together, promising to paint him a portrait as a signifier of your love for him. He sat in front of your easel for hours, not because you couldn’t paint his face right, but because you and him couldn’t finish your work from laughing together and talking endlessly.

You couldn’t get it done even if you wanted to just because he loved you so much. He loved you enough to make you smile and laugh. He loved you to the point of obsession and fixation. Nowadays, you aren’t sure how you feel about that, but then, it was refreshing and alive.

Maybe that’s what killed love for you. You didn’t want him and his explosive bouts of love to get in the way of your love for your work, your life, yourself. You loved him, you still do. It’s no question. So, what is it?

Is it that you didn’t love him the way he loved you?

You left to focus on yourself. You left to find the love that you needed for yourself. Or maybe, is this his consequence of loving too much?

Or did you not love him the same?

“It’s…” Hyunjin slowly spoke, “it’s so pretty.”

Your eyes sparkled at him. He was fixated on the butterfly in your painting.

“Your work is always so beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you nervously said. The tears started to pool by your eyes. The nostalgia, the pain in his voice, the longing for you and him…was it all too much?

Hyunjin seemed to have an answer.

“Though we won’t be certain about what’s in store for us,” he mustered up the courage to say, “I’m certain that you’ll always be in my picture.”

“What if I don’t want to be in your picture anymore?” You asked.

Hyunjin’s lips shut.

You didn’t know what overcame you when you said that. The frustration of thoughts, from having to answer your ex’s call and seeing him break down like this, to questioning the love that you still have for him. It was all much.

“I’ll be hurt,” he sniffled, “I’ll respect it.”

While you were at it, you had to ask. “Is it selfish to say that I wish you didn’t love me so that you leaving would’ve been easier?”

A part of you wished this too much. You hoped that he could just move on. But again, how could he? How could he when you were his first, his supposed last? You were the one who taught him love and he loved you with his all. It’s not a love that you’re used to and it’s not a type of love you could give to him let alone yourself.

Your eyes shifted towards the painting again when he couldn’t answer, until you felt his hand reaching out for yours.

“I love you most. It isn’t selfish, but I think I’m selfish for still yearning. You just know me better than I know myself.” Hyunjin spoke with a sudden eloquence that gave you shivers.

It wouldn’t last long.

“Thank you.” You held his hand with your other. “But Hyunjin…you should know yourself better than most.”

“Darling—” His voice broke slightly. The habit creeped back, betraying his tongue as it chased you. “Y/N, I don’t even know anything, so how else am I supposed to do that with myself?”

It became trickier to respond as his tears exploded. “Then understand yourself,” you said, “It’s hard, it sucks, but look. You have to care for yourself before you get to love others.”

“Like you?” He asked with swollen, slightly bitten lips. “You know yourself.”

“I don’t. Not yet. Not completely.”

Hyunjin nodded with sorrow in his eyes. “It’s just…”

He took a deep breath as he glanced at the butterfly. It seemed like a breed of bug that would be free in the wind. He wished to become that, a wandering creature with beauty and nothing in its simple mind but the love of life.

Hyunjin exhaled.

“I’ve been trying to accept that you left because you found yourself, and I’m happy for you. But I can’t help myself. I can’t help but think about you. I can’t help but miss you. I can’t help thinking about how you are, I can’t help staring at the things you left for me, I can’t help the thought that—”

You don’t love me.

“That…th-that…you’re better off without me.”

Holding his hand tighter, you urged him to look at you. “Hyunjin…that isn’t the case. At all.”

“Yet I can’t help it. I…I can’t lose you.” He started choking in his words. “I see my own portrait and all I’ll think about is you.”

Words started to hit like pangs to your chest. He’s right; it’s difficult to separate the art from the artist especially in your circumstances. He couldn’t let the notion of you go at all.

“You painted it. You stared at me. I’ll never forget the concentrated face you made while drawing me. It all goes back to you, and I love you, and I just…”

“Hyunjin…”

“I’m so stupid. I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear any of this. It’s so early, I…” He gulped and bit his bottom lip. “And I can’t kick you out now. God. I’m so fucking stupid…”

Pity and sincere concern washed over you. “You aren’t.” You’ve been in this scene before, back when you were together. Hyunjin’s grateful that you still have the right words to say. “Hyune…I still care for you deeply. I love you.”

“I love myself too and I’m sorry I prioritized myself. I left you in the dark. I’m so, so sorry.”

He tilted his head at that. “No. You deserve to be happy.” He’s right, there was no need to be sorry for choosing yourself when he could only choose you too.

You tried to smile. “Hyune, I always hope that you’ll be happy too.”

A few seconds of silence passed before a glint amidst your ex’s crying appears in his very real eyes.

“We can go back to painting maps. I hope by then, you’ll find yourself too.”

Profound words became skipped heartbeats. If you knew what to say, then he would always be ahead. That’s what you loved about him.

“If I do find it…the way back…” Hyunjin stuttered, “Will you come back to me too?”

“Maybe.” You smiled. “There’s a point that fate will take me to. Hope to meet you at that point.”

The both of you prepared coffee as purple streaks of daylight broke into the sky. You caught up with yourselves and shared a few jokes over the dining table. It had been a while since Hyunjin — nor you — felt this kind if human connection again. The bitterness of the caffeine and sweetness of the sugar would be fitting for you both if it weren’t for the fact that you both downed your drinks with ease, just as you would before.

Things are different, things are the same. Hyunjin promised to be healthier. You picked up one of his extra paper bags and got some of your stuff.

“Hyune, I want to apologize one last time,” you turned to him. “Sorry I pulled the “it’s not you, it’s me” thing even if I knew next to nothing either. And sorry for leaving this.”

You held up the unopened shampoo bottle next to your head. Hyunjin blinked before smiling fondly.

“Do you still want it?”

“Well, you probably need it.”

“I have stock of a new one at home. I miss this one though. Do you mind?”

Familiarity returned at last once you gave him the look with the big, curious eyes.

Hyunjin realized that you, no matter the distance, were never going to be too far from his heart.

Like a butterfly, it always returns to the flowers. Chipped paint can be retouched with new, brighter pigment. Love isn’t off the table, it changes — it grows. Maybe it branches in different directions, but just like butterflies, they don’t fly in straight paths.

He smiled wider when he realized he took too long to respond.

“Not at all.”

thank you for reading ! consider reblogging and leaving feedback if you loved my work 💗 writing © ipegchangbin

[hearts4yawnzzn]

His Poison // 1

pairing: jung gi-cheol x fem!oc

genre: friends to lovers

word count: 1.7k

warnings: Blood, guns, knifes, broken bones, slight nsfw, death, injuries (severe and non-severe), drugs, smoking, burning/burn marks, torture, gore, violence did i miss anything?

A/N: I honestly don’t know how to feel about this but I wrote it as soon as I could! I will start to follow the drama plot on the second plot but please let me know what you think of this one!! <3

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

Stepping outside of the airport, the cold breeze engulfed her as she looked around for a vacant taxi.

Since she was coming from Japan, Yuna had no idea how the taxi system in Korea worked, and frankly, she didn't care. What matters is reaching her apartment studio without any delays.

There was one downside for her when it came to living in South Korea—her father.

Hate is a strong word to describe how she felt about him, but it wasn’t enough. In fact, she despised him.

Back when she lived with her parents in Japan, her mother was sent to a hospital and fell into a coma due to the treatment she had gotten from her father.

And when it was just him and Yuna, he was very harsh on her. He was using every violent move against her and calling it ‘discipline’ from broken bones, and bruises littering her body to scars that have permanently imprinted into her body.

But when she turned 18 he kicked her out. Yuna didn’t mind being kicked out, she was relieved to have gotten away from him. 2 weeks before leaving Japan, she had heard from her colleagues about her father’s living state in Korea, but now that she had moved to Korea at the age of 25, she was praying to not run into him at any cost.

Shaking her head and dismissing herself from the thoughts of her father, Yuna walked up to a random taxi and knocked on the window.

She had asked the driver if the taxi was occupied. When she saw him shake his head she hopped in, relaying the location of her apartment studio and sending him a quick nod.

The ride to her apartment studio was quiet, but she hadn't expected this much traffic to arise in Gangnam, which is why the sound of honking cars would break the silence between the driver and herself.

Being nearly stuck in the same spot for almost twenty minutes, Yuna let out a deep breath as she leaned over to the driver. “I don’t think we’ll move anytime soon.” she pulled out the expected amount of the fare and handed it over to the driver. “Thanks for the ride.”

The sound of the taxi’s door slamming loudly was muffled by the commotion around her. Yuna took in a deep breath as she looked around her, beautiful wasn’t the exact word to describe Gangnam, maybe cool and amazing?

The city was alive, full of lights and people everywhere despite it being a weekday.

Walking away from the road, Yuna started walking around and asking vendors about the location of the street she needed to go to.

She stuffed her hands in her pockets and zipped up her jacket, comfortably walking through the streets without a care in the world.

Yuna had heard about the crimes that occurred in Gangnam, from the killing and torture to the stealing and kidnapping. But she didn’t care, she knew she could take care of herself and that’s all that mattered.

As she was walking, a crash could be heard from the depths of an alley. It was a bad idea to check it out, that’s how everyone dies in a horror movie.

But this wasn’t a horror movie.

Yuna mentally shrugged and walked over to where the commotion was heard, once she neared the scene, she hid behind a trash bin and watched everything happen.

Three men were ganging up on one man, quite literally beating him to a pulp.

The man was on the floor, holding his stomach as the three looked down on him. Each of them was smirking as one of them knelt to the man’s level and looked him in the eye, he said something Yuna couldn’t catch as he stood up once more.

“Tell you boss-” he kicked him harshly, “To give me-” another kick, “My fucking money back!” the last kick sounded bad, something in the man’s body could be heard breaking as Yuna grimaced slightly.

She could clearly see the guy’s face from her position, and she already hated the way he looked as he had an annoying vibe to him. That was enough for her to beat the shit out of him.

The sound of a knife being unsheathed immediately caught her attention and she locked her eyes on the sharp piece of metal.

She loudly scoffed and stepped out of her hiding spot, biting her cheek and looking the man up and down with a clear look of disgust.

“I thought you were a mouse… But from the way you’re acting, you’re definitely a fucking rat.” Yuna cleared her throat and stepped forward, stepping over the guy on the ground as she took out her hands from her pockets, crossing them.

The guy looked at her in disbelief, letting out a short laugh as he pointed to her, “The fuck is she saying? Are you insane?” he asked his friends sarcastically and pushed her by her shoulder.

“Are you a slut?” he asked her and stepped forward, Yuna didn’t move. “Because you’re surely dressed like one.”

Shuffling could be heard behind her, she assumed the man on the ground had gotten up.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Her tone was cold as it pierced through the atmosphere if making her angry was his idea then he had succeeded.

He pushed her again. “Are-” another Push, “You-” another push, “A slut?” The last push sent her slightly stumbling back, but the body of someone behind her prevented her from falling.

Not wasting a second, she quickly took a step towards him and raised her leg, kicking him back successfully, her foot slamming against his chest as he ended up on the floor.

Yuna looked at the guy’s friends before looking back at him. “Say that again. I dare you.”

“What the hell is this bitch’s problem?” both men sneered at her as they approached her, getting ready to grab her, but someone was quicker.

Yuna was pulled back in the blink of an eye, a hand firmly resting on her shoulder as she was pulled behind the man.

And again, she couldn't see his face.

From Yuna’s perspective, she wasn’t protecting him. That asshole had her pissed off just by the look on his face and the way he talks.

She watches the man as he slowly approaches the three men, their bodies stiffened and their eyes widen as they stare at him. Was the look on his face that scary?

Yuna didn’t speak up as she watched the scene unfold, the man who was on the ground a few moments ago was actually kicking their asses.

She took a step back and crossed her arms, raising a brow at the man’s sudden courage.

A few moments later, all three men were bloodied up and bruised as he sent a final blow to the leader’s face, his fist connecting with his jaw.

Yuna slightly grimaced as she definitely heard something crack, but shook it off as the look on her face turned to amusement as she saw the two guys carrying their leader away. She broke out into a fit of laughter.

“You’ll fucking pay for this!”

“Don’t think our big boss won't find out!!”

Their threats were meaningless.

Her breath slightly hitched as the silence took over. Was this it? Will she finally see the face of the man she ‘defended’?

All of her questions would be answered if he just fucking turned around.

And so he did, breathing heavily as he approached her, and for the first time in her life, Yuna was stunned.

She didn't know how to describe him.

Handsome? Smoking hot? Pretty? Serious? Cold?

She couldn't fit them into a good description.

Which had her wondering, ‘If this is what he looks like, then what the hell does he sound like?’

But when she realized he wouldn't stop walking towards her she tensed up, is he gonna beat the shit out of her because she got involved?

“Thanks.”

What?

Yuna gulped harshly, nodding as she stepped back.

“Do I get to know the identity of the person who defended me? Or are you gonna label yourself as a passerby?”

Another gulp. Closing your mouth which she hadn’t even noticed was slightly open, Yuna cleared her throat as she spoke up.

“Depends, am I gonna have to waste my time if I give you my name?” a chuckle left his lips, and he hung his head before bringing it back up, gently biting his tongue.

“I’d have to know more about your skill before I decide that.”

Yuna scoffed, was he teasing her and wasting her time even more? She didn't care, but that handsome face of his annoys the shit out of her.

“Do you have a job yet?” he asked, hands now stuffed in his pockets. Despite how bad those guys fucked him up, he didn't show any signs of pain.

She shrugs, “Still looking, even the best jobs don't even pay minimum wage.” she was infuriated that, most of these jobs were owned by greedy old men who were probably perverts too.

“Work for me.”

She raised an eyebrow at his question, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Work for me and I'll make sure you’ll get much more than minimum wage.”

Truth to be told, she was tempted. Yet again, he was a complete stranger, so she needed to play her cards right.

“What’s in it for me?” he scoffed, walking one step closer as he shrugged, “What do you want?”

Yuna stopped, her teeth gritted as she stopped breathing for a few moments, her hands clenched into fists as she glared at him. Why was she glaring? No one has ever asked her what she wants, only her mother did.

“To kill someone.”

“Then how far are you willing to go?” he asks her with a straight face after backing her into a wall, a couple of inches of space between them. He stretches out his hand for her to take, if she takes it then he has his answer. Yuna stares at him with a puzzled expression before taking his hand in a tight grip, slightly shaking it as he tightens his grip on her hand and pulls her towards him. her breath hitches, but she doesn’t falter.

“As far as it takes.”

He smiles victoriously, letting go of her hand as he finally introduces himself.

“Jung Gi-Cheol, pleasure.”

“Kang Yuna, likewise.”

[angel-fics]

In The Room Where You Sleep

Summary: Dalton was just being curious and stumbles upon something he probably shouldn’t have. He then does something he shouldn’t have.

Warnings: Mentions of the Further, mentions of entities, Dalton being a creep, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation (f & m), sexual fantasies

All credit to @glodessa who wrote the imagine that inspired this, so much talent there and you’re feeding my Dalton addiction

Dalton was your friend. His primary art class was in the studio next to the orchestra rooms where you practiced in. He’d wandered in on you playing a section piece on the violin after he’d forgotten that his class was cancelled.

Since you two had obviously seen each other on multiple occasions when going to and leaving from class, he’d felt comfortable striking up a conversation. He usually wasn’t into initiating introductions, but Chris had started forcing him to interact with more people and make friends. You were the first person he had introduced himself to without her assistance.

In a way, he felt a sick sense of possession when it came to you because of that. It made him feel funny, like he was gross and he tried to stomp it down, but it would crawl it’s way up his throat whenever you talked to him. He’d met you all on his on, without a buffer or cleverly charming segue. You knew him for him from the get go, and still liked him. You liked him enough to start waiting for him before classes for a chat. You liked him enough to exchange contacts and let him take pictures of you to save for his own personal enjoyment put into his saved contacts.

You liked him enough to let him walk you back to your dorms every time he had the chance to. Which he did, considering he started walking a different path to insure that he would run into you more often.

He didn’t think he was odd, not really. Lots of friends took secret pictures of each other. For fun, it was funny, like a secret joke. And lots of friends walked together in between classes, it was normal. Even if they didn’t share certain classes. Or if one of the friends wasn’t completely aware that the other friend was nearby.

Dalton didn’t consider it strange that he didn’t like when you talked to Chris, or any of his other friends. Or anyone that might find you attractive. In his eyes, that should’ve meant everyone. You were gorgeous and people should be falling over themselves trying to be with you, in his opinion. But you were his. His friend, at least. And he hated not having your full attention.

Nighttime was the worst, in some ways. You two had met up on occasion to help each other study or wind down from an intense test. But most nights, you turned in early to spend time with your roommate. Dalton hated your roommate, she was so clingy and always convinced you to go back to the dorms, cutting off his time with you. He thought she was off, or at least very selfish, and that she used every opportunity to guilt you and take advantage of your kindness and naivety.

Dalton would never do that, he was lucky to get to be your friend. You were beautiful, talented, kind and accepting. You even accepted his ability of astral projection without hesitation. You were beyond perfect to him, and if he wasn’t with you, he was thinking about you. Constantly, and usually aloud, much to Chris’ annoyance.

“Dolphin! Please, for the love of fuck, ask that girl out already. You’re driving me nuts!” She threw herself back onto the spare bed in Dalton’s dorm in dramatic agony, groaning loudly in complaint.

“No, Chris. She’ll just think that I became friends with her because I wanted to get in her pants,” he dismissed, tossing a dirty t-shirt into his hamper a little too forcefully.

“Isn’t that what all guys do? What’s the big deal?” Chris sat up again to try to convince him. It wasn’t the first time either, but she was almost positive that you liked Dalton back and would rather you keep his mouth too occupied for him to verbally obsess over you. Like he was doing right now.

“I’m not going to do that, Chris. Just drop it.” His voice was unnervingly firm and Chris snapped her mouth shut before another incentive could fall out. Dalton was usually mild-mannered, at least when it came to anyone but his dad, not really the aggressive type. Anti-social and surly, but not aggressive. Unless it had something to do with you.

Chris thought there was something not quite right about Dalton’s crush on you but she figured his abnormal childhood and resulting trauma made it hard for him properly process his feelings. And she was reluctant to ask in case it set him off.

“I heard her roommate is going home to her parents’ for her dad’s birthday, maybe y’all can hang out more this weekend,” Chris suggested instead, unfettered by Dalton’s tone. “She left earlier this afternoon.”

Something seized in Dalton’s chest. You hadn’t mentioned that to him. You didn’t have a reason not to. Was there someone else? Were you going to spend the whole weekend with another guy? Did you have a boyfriend? Anger and hatred for this secret man clouded his mind and he felt like throwing something against the wall until it broke.

“I hadn’t heard about that,” he replied to Chris coolly. “I’ve got some homework to finish, do you mind?”

Chris nodded slowly, grabbing her bag and quickly making her way to the door, watching Dalton worriedly. She gave a half-hearted wave goodbye and left without a word.

As soon as the door shut, he quickly locked it, tearing his ball cap from his head and flinging thoughtlessly towards his desk, knocking over a small stack of his sketchbooks and a tin of water. Cursing under his breath, Dalton begrudgingly trudged to clean up the mess before the water could stain or damage any of his work.

After mopping up the water, he flipped through his drawings to check if any of it ruined the paper. One of the sketchbooks was relatively new, but nearly full of pencil and ink sketches. Of you.

Most of them took up an entire page of their own. They were innocent, somewhat, just candids that he’d done while or after hanging out with you. You smiling, laughing, playing the violin, biting your lip awkwardly. Gorgeous and sweet.

There were some other ones, smaller in comparison to the rest and done with a light hand. You changing through the window of your room. You bending over at work. You crying to your mom on the phone after you tore your favorite dress right before a date you ended up not going on. Done in a hurry by someone who was sketching without a still reference.

It was not stalking. No, he wasn’t like that. He didn’t threaten you or send you lewd messages. He didn’t get off on scaring you or making you feel unsafe. He wanted you to feel safe around him, did everything in his power to make sure you were always comfortable with him. Plus, he never invaded your privacy, he just looked. Watched. It was friendly, protective even.

Plus, those sketches were nothing compared to the rest. Small enough for three separate drawings to fit on a page, and darkly filled in with a heavy and rough hand.

It wasn’t intentional, not at first. He was a guy. You were his crush. He couldn’t control his own thoughts, let alone his dreams. It happened, and it was completely normal and natural. Not at all creepy or perverted.

He dreamt of you often. He couldn’t keep his mind off you even in his sleep. Of course, his unconscious mind was different than his conscious mind. Mostly, anyway. A lot more eager for you, hungry for you.

The pencil drawings were of you as you appeared to him in his dreams. Bent over his desk, wearing a string of pearls and a sultry smile. You, on his bed with your legs spread out invitingly, your fingers scissoring your slick folds. There was even one featuring him, his lower face dripping with drool and your arousal as his tongue delved into your wet heat from under you. That one was his favorite, even if the drawing itself wasn’t exactly his best work skill-wise. He had a hard time balancing the pad with only one hand, which he was also using to draw.

Dalton sighed and picked up all of the sketch pads, putting them back where they were and collapsing on his back on his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he should bring up your roommate leaving and confront you about not telling him. You must have had a good reason, right? It’s not like you were getting tired of him or anything. Right?

As he drifted further and further into his thoughts, the room became darker around him. Standing up to fix his lamp, he caught the sight of himself sleeping in his peripheral. He’d fallen asleep and accidentally projected.

He didn’t do so often anymore, the Further was a scary and dangerous place and he was cautious of bringing something back with him. But it had its advantages, for pranks or finding out things that others couldn’t. Surprisingly, he’d never used his ability to watch you. You were too pure and beautiful to see through the lenses of the Further, he liked seeing you surrounded by light and color, with no potential of evil spirits ruining the experience for him.

But just this once…

No! He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

You trusted him, it would be so easy. And it’s not like he was trying to be a weirdo, he just wanted to see if you had plans that weekend without having to actually ask you. It would only be once, for a few minutes. He wouldn’t mess with you or your things. He would just listen in and leave.

He grabbed the lantern and walked out of his room. He could’ve found your dorm with his eyes closed, but since it was in a different building and he was traveling through the Further, it took him longer than he would’ve liked. But at least he didn’t encounter anyone. You lived on the second floor of your dorm house and yours was nicer and more expensive than his. You had your own bedroom and personal bathroom, not having to share with your roommate and the rest of your floor like Dalton did.

Your door was unlocked and after he entered your dorm, he locked it himself, knowing he’d have to unlock again it in order to leave. Your bedroom door was open and he could see you through it, sitting at your desk and typing on your phone. Silently and curiously, he peered over your shoulder to watch you text your roommate.

He rolled his eyes at seeing her contact but ignored it in favor of the messages being sent. Mostly average, just you being your considerate self and asking about her trip home. She, obviously, sent paragraph after paragraph detailing every insignificant second of her weekend away, not once asking anything about you. The entire conversation revolves around her and Dalton had to bite his tongue to avoid scoffing in your ear, which was inches from his mouth.

Finally she asked about you, specifically your plans for while she was gone. Luckily, she could serve a purpose for once, Dalton thought.

You mentioned work, homework and just relaxing and Dalton was tempted to leave and rid himself of his craving to kiss you. Then, he saw you type his name. You wanted to surprise him by inviting him over for a sleepover. Your roommate responded by teasing you about you and Dalton finally progressing to the next stage in your friendship; a relationship.

Huh, maybe your roommate wasn’t as bad as Dalton thought she was.

Dalton’s heart was racing as he continued to read all of your roommate’s suggestions for extremely sexual twists on common sleepover activities, all in order to seduce him. You didn’t have to try to seduce him, but trying any one of these wouldn’t hurt. He felt his cock hardening in his pants and knew that he probably should’ve left. Like, now.

But then you sighed loudly into the empty air. Your head dropped back, your lips parted and you shifted awkwardly in your seat, your thighs pressing together tightly. Dalton felt his mouth water just watching you and suddenly stopped in his tracks. He decided that he would wait until you either went to the bathroom or fell asleep. If he tried leaving before then, you might catch him.

So he stood off to the side and simply observed you from up close. You seemed more deflated when you weren’t around him, less animated and poise. Less…cheery. You continued to stay at your desk texting your roommate for a while before getting up for a glass of water. It seems like she was going to bed. You paced around the kitchen as you sipped your drink, looking slightly anxious about how the conversation ended. Dalton regretted not reading it along with you and now he couldn’t because your phone was off and locked.

Huffing out a tense laugh to yourself, you marched back into your room, passing Dalton to get to your phone. You continued pacing as you opened up your messages and scrolled until you found a particular contact, hesitating for a moment and then opening the chat thread. Dalton stood in front of you this time and read his own name from upside down. Why were you pausing when it came to texting him? Did this happen often? We’re you inviting him over?

He watched you type out a greeting and began pacing in your room. When the message delivered, Dalton panicked before remembering that his phone was next to his actual body. You wouldn’t catch him over his phone notifications sounding off in your otherwise silent room.

You turned off your phone and sat on your bed, your back straight and your eyes staring out into nothingness. Your leg bounced erratically and you started checking your phone every thirty seconds in case you missed his message. You were waiting for a response from him, Dalton realized. And he couldn’t do that while he was standing here with you.

Now was definitely the time to go and you gave him the perfect opportunity when you started collecting your things to take a shower, muttering to yourself about how desperate you were. It was clear that you were agitated from waiting on his message, and he supposed it was because he hardly ever took more than 20 seconds to start typing back. He only took long if he was busy, and he would always tell you beforehand if he was.

As much as he wanted to watch you undress yourself and shower, becoming aroused slightly once more at the idea, he wouldn’t cross that boundary when you were so vulnerable and unaware. It was completely different from the times he watched you change your shirt or remove your bra from outside your window. He was in your home and you were going to be completely naked. Dalton wanted go reserve that honor for when you would strip in front of him eagerly, at least for the first time he ever saw you naked.

*~*~*

Gasping, Dalton sat up in his own bed, his erection pressing against his sweats and his body feeling sweaty. He immediately opened his messages and read your message asking him what he was doing. Getting his own clothing, he walked to the common bathroom in his dorm house and stripped, sending you a picture of his shower stall with the reflection of his bare torso halfway in the frame.

He’d never been so forward with you before. You’d seen him shirtless on occasion, he wasn’t shy about his body, but never on purpose and he hardly ever sent you pictures instead of just telling you what he was doing. But now that he knew you felt the same way he did, he felt confident enough to give actual signals to tell you that.

He turned on the shower and waited for the ancient water settings to actually heat up the water. As he was about to step in, you messaged him back with a photo of your own.

You were wearing nothing but a robe, tied at the waist, but doing a very poor job at concealing your cleavage, and your hair was soaked. The mirror that you had taken the picture in was fogged and he could see streams of steam swirling in the air around your head. So you liked really hot showers, fuck, that was attractive to him. You smiled shyly into the camera with one of your hands clutching a towel in your hands.

You: “I just got out of the shower, how funny is that?”

God, you were adorable without even trying. He wondered if the placement of your robe was intentional or if you were just that sexy without trying to be. It could go either way, you were as effortlessly cunning as you were absurdly oblivious to your affect on others.

He quickly went through his shower routine quickly, not taking his time to enjoy the water and relax like he usually did. He didn’t want to keep you waiting again. He decided to toe the line of flirtation and idle conversation once more by sending you another photo. This time following your lead with a mirror pic. He was still shirtless and brushing his teeth with an overly wide and sud-filled smile. His shorts hung low on his hips and his entire frame was centered in the photo this time.

D: “What’s up?”

It was a lame line, but he wanted to keep the conversation going and see if you were going to invite him over. He spit out his toothpaste and gargled mouthwash, accidentally swallowing some as you replied back. Coughing at the strong taste burning his throat, his eyes widened as he memorized every pixel of the photo you sent, catching on to his little provocation.

The mirror in your bathroom was still slightly fogged but he could clearly see that all you were wearing was a t-shirt. It was big enough to cover your thighs, so Dalton didn’t know what you were wearing under it and he could see your nipples poking through the material ever so slightly. He dragged his lip into his mouth and bit down hard, hand clenching on the edge of the counter. He gathered his shower stuff and walked back to his room, keeping his towel gathered in a ball in front of his crotch in case he ran into anyone this late.

It didn’t occur to him to read the message you sent until he was about to send one himself. He was so distracted by your selfie that he completely forgot that he was in the middle of a conversation with you. He wondered if it was weird to be more turned on by you in your pajamas than you soaking wet and in a towel.

You: “Nothing much? What are you doing right now?”

He sat down on his art stool, and angled the camera at the mirror that sat in the corner between his spare bed and the wall. He hadn’t gotten the motivation to actually put it up so it laid on its side and only showed from his waist down at this angle. The picture showed his bare stomach, shorts and legs, with one of his feet braced up on the leg of his seat.

D: “Chilling in my room now, you?”

You responded a minute later in much the same fashion. This photo didn’t show your face either, but he could see your hair and the junction between your neck and shoulder at the top of the photo. You were stretched out on your bed, your legs propped up in front of you and you holding the weight of your upper body on your other arm as you snapped a photo of yourself. From the way your shirt rode up on your thighs, you weren’t wearing any shorts, but he couldn’t see your underwear.

You: “Same. My roommate left to her parents’ house so I have the place to myself.”

Was this your way of implying that you wanted him to come over? How does he respond to that information without sounding weird or letting on that he’d already known? Should he tell you that he already knew? He decided that now was the perfect time to reorganize his desk and actually put up the mirror in his room. It took fifteen minutes for him to respond and the guilt ate at him now that he knew how you reacted when he didn’t message back quickly.

D: “Oh, really? Yeah, I kinda always have my place to myself, haha :)Look what I finally did.”

The added “haha” looked so stupid that he wanted to jump out his window. He hoped the selfie he sent to you would make up for it. He was standing in front of his mirror, acting as if he was only trying to show you the mirror you’d been bugging him about putting up. He was still shirtless and a light sheen of sweat made his body glow slightly from the exertion of his impromptu redecorating. He angled his phone to show a grin, but the rest of his face was covered.

You took a few minutes to respond yourself and Dalton thought he understood your anxiety about having to wait for messages. He felt the anxiety was all the more potent now that you were sending each other photos of yourselves. But he couldn’t deny that he liked the tension, the anticipation ate him up and he was beyond keyed up.

You: “I got bored being here by myself so I’m doing my makeup :p”

You: “Oml, finally!”

You were kneeling in front of the camera with your legs slightly spread. The lighting in your room made it hard for him to see what your underwear looked like and he felt like a pervert for being disappointed. Probably not as bad as he would’ve felt before he knew that you reciprocated his feelings. Your hair was put up into an updo so it was out of your face and it reminded him of that Pamela Anderson hairdo that you complained about not being able to do. You looked beautiful, your makeup was darker than you normally had it, more like dark seduction than pretty fairy. Dalton wondered if that was on purpose.

He sent you a closeup selfie of half of his face, his eyes mostly angled down at the phone screen instead of the actual camera and a slight smirk on his lips. His neck, collarbones and one of his shoulders were on display for you as well

D: “Guess I got bored too. Your hair looks like Pamela Anderson’s, btw”

D: “I like your makeup, it looks good!”

You responded quickly and without a photo.

You: “Are you joking me?! The one time I’m not bending over backwards trying to do it right…”

Dalton had to take a minute to recover from the mental image of you bending over backwards, particularly the image of how your breasts would look at that angle when your next message came in with another photo.

You: “Come over?”

This time, your phone was placed close to the floor and angled up for Dalton to see your knees pulled up to your chest and you dramatically and exaggeratedly pouted at the camera, your dark red lips shining in the camera flash. The flash also, probably unintentionally, highlighted the junction between your legs and he could actually see your panties this time. White lace. Son of a bitch!

Instead of responding, he jumped around his room and tried to gather all of his shit to take to your place and was pulling up his jacket when he noticed some papers on his bed. His homework that he had told Chris about earlier and completely forgot about. It was due at midnight and his teacher was a hardass about homework.

“Fuck!” His curse echoed loudly in his empty and otherwise silent room and he slammed his things down on the bed in anger.

As desperate as he was to go to your room and potentially spend the night inside you, he was stuck inside his dorm unless he wanted his grade to tank. With a heavy heart and tense motions, he sat in his chair, a different one from his stool, and faced his mirror. He spread his legs so that he was man-spreading and propped a leg up on the edge of his bed. He held up his homework in one hand above his head and made a faux-angry face at the camera, his expression not even making at dent when it came to showing just how angry he actually was. He gave himself a minute of fantasizing about your lips kissing marks all over his body before snapping the picture and sending it to you.

D: “I was on my way when I remembered I had homework. Fucking sucks! Raincheck? I’ll bring you breakfast in the morning?”

He ordinarily didn’t curse over text, or in general. He wasn’t a prude about swearing, but he just didn’t feel the need to do it. However, he also needed you to understand that he wasn’t blowing you off, and then he genuinely was upset about not being able to spend the night with you. He felt it was probably too risky sending you a picture where he was very obviously at half-mast and worried that he was being too forward and would make you uncomfortable.

Two minutes of complete agony imagining all of the ways that you would dismiss him and tell him to forget about it, or get angry and misinterpret what he was telling you. Now that the conversation couldn’t go anywhere, the anticipation wasn’t alluring and fun, it felt like acid burning his skin.

You: “Oh, please do your homework! Grades are important. Breakfast sounds good! Goodnight x”

A kiss, you messaged him a kiss. And you were completely fine with it. For the first time in his life, Dalton felt the urge to do a chest bump with a bro. He was on top of the world right now. He was tempted to rush his homework and run over to you as soon as possible, but as soon as he sat down to do it, he knew that the assignment required all of his time and attention. Fortunately, the assignment itself was relatively simple, but it was incredibly time consuming, which is why he’d been putting it off.

Two hours later, he took some pictures of his completed homework and sent them to his professor’s email. It was fifteen minutes til midnight and he wondered if he should risk going over to you now. You weren’t expecting him, though, and for all he knew, you were asleep or something. He debated texting you that he was done and seeing if you’d extend the invitation to come over again, but you hadn’t even brought up his last picture and that made him a bit insecure. What if you were trying to just ignore it as a way to say you weren’t interested? Even back in your room, when your roommate was encouraging you to take advantage of having your dorm to yourself, you had only denied all of her sexual innuendos. He knew you liked him back, but maybe sending you a picture of like the one he sent was too much too fast?

Oh yeah, astral projector. He could always just pop in and check without actually having to check. It was fine the first time, right? No big deal anymore. He wasn’t hurting anyone.

He relaxed on his bed and before long, he was picking up that lantern once more and leaving his body behind, making sure that all of his lights were on to protect his body before he left the room.

You had been in your room with your door mostly closed when he came in again. You really should make sure your front door was locked, he thought. He heard little whimpers coming from your room and was immediately concerned, automatically assuming that you were crying. Your bedroom door was swaying on account of the industrial fan that you insisted was the only thing strong enough to keep you cool at night. He had no problem opening your door and putting it back in place, making it look completely natural in case you noticed.

From what he could see, you were looking at your phone and were mostly covered by your blanket. Only one of your hands was holding your phone, which Dalton found odd because you normally preferred using both hands. Finally seeing your face, Dalton noticed that you had no tears on your cheeks or in your eyes. You weren’t crying. What the hell were you looking at on your phone?

Him. You were looking at a picture of Dalton that he’d sent to you. More accurately, you were looking at the second photo he had sent you, the one where he was brushing his teeth. It took Dalton several moments to begin thinking again to put the dots together.

Oh. Oh.

Just as Dalton registered what you were actually doing, you threw your blanket aside in frustration and essentially showed him that he was correct. He watched in rapt fascination as you rubbed your clothed center over your panties with two fingers. You kept focused on your phone, swiping over to the photo of him after he hung up his mirror, as your index fingers slipped beneath your lacy white underwear and into your slick heat. Your breathing was loud and shallow, the occasional moan slipping through as you touched yourself.

Dalton should not be here. He knew that. He knew what was and what wasn’t appropriate, his mom made sure he knew how to respect women, so he knew what he was doing was the furthest thing from okay. He also knew that he would have to be dragged by his teeth to get him out of your room. His cock swelled and twitched from under his shorts as he stood over, watching you masturbate to a picture of him. In the low lighting of your mostly dark room, he could see the shine of your wetness on your fingers and over your folds. He wanted to drag his tongue over your labia and savor every drop you gave him. It was all for him, after all, he was entitled to it.

You groaned in annoyance through your teeth and yanked your panties down your legs. Dalton’s severely dilated gaze zeroed in on them and he made a mental note to grab them before he left when your shirt joined it in the floor. You were completely nude and sitting up on your bed, in a very similar position to the photo where you had shown him your makeup. He’d never look at it again without thinking of this. He wished he had a picture of this.

You looked like a goddess or some kind of celestial siren as you arched your back and groped at one of your breasts and toyed with your clit. The chill of your room and the sudden banishment of your blanket had your flesh covered in goosebumps and your nipples hard. Dalton wanted nothing more than to cover your body with his and discover new forms of pleasure using his tongue, hands and cock. You were everything, you surrounded him and took up so much everything. And yet, he wasn’t actually with you, no matter how much he wished he could be. He didn’t know why he couldn’t try, you were his now. You admitted to it. Maybe not to him directly, and maybe you didn’t know he was there, but it didn’t make it any less true.

Dalton approached your bed and was about to rest his weight on it when you grabbed a decorative throw pillow from the mountain of pillows you had on your bed. You shoved it between your legs and adjusted it so that the woven seams pressed between your folds. You rested your weight on it and rolled your hips experimentally to find a rhythm and angle that felt best. Soon, you were panting and gasping, and Dalton could barely hear you over the stupid fan.

As you rode the pillow, Dalton lost his restraint. He either had to take care of himself now and fully condemn himself as an actual peeping tom and a pervert, or take care of you and risk you freaking out and losing you before he could actually have you. He’d rather hate himself for a little while than you hate him forever. He reached into his shorts, cupping his erection and squeezing lightly. He bit his lips and tried to keep quiet. He didn’t think he would last long, and he didn’t really care to either. He’d worry about that once he was actually inside you.

Dalton started off with slow and trading strokes before working up to the rhythm you set for yourself. You were grinding down on the pillow with slow and long thrusts, lowering your body slightly so that the seam of the pillow rubbed your clit. Dalton imagined his face replacing the pillow and started speeding up the movements of his hand, spitting on himself to help his hand move more fluidly along his shaft. Coincidentally, you started to quicken as well, humping the pillow desperately instead of steadily rolling your hips.

“Dalton! Oh…fuck! Daltonnn…” you cried out softly into the seemingly empty room. As the waves of your orgasm crashed over you, you lost strength in your arms and fell to the mattress, your hips still moving rhythmically as you came. Your limbs felt electrocuted and twitchy, and you could do nothing but gasp and whimper as you came down from your high. Rolling over, you reached down and caressed your soaked folds, moaning softly as your fingers became coated in the stringy remnants of your wetness.

Dalton nearly fell to his knees in his desire to suck your fingers into his mouth and devour your cunt. Luckily, he managed to stay upright and went rigid as he came in his hands, making sure the pearly white spurts of semen didn’t make a mess anywhere in your room, if they could. He wasn’t actually entirely sure how it all worked when he was in this state, but he wasn’t going to risk it.

He waited until you fell asleep to grab your panties and leave your dorm, falling back into his own body and finding it a mess. His shorts were soaked at the crotch with his cum because his actual hands couldn’t stop his real orgasm from staining his clothes. He tore off his shorts and decided to sleep naked, hiding your panties in his pillow case.

*~*~*

You woke up refreshed and well-rested the next morning, still not used to the stillness and quiet in the absence of your roommate, Carla. Usually, she was up by now blaring metal music while she got ready for the day and you would make the two of you breakfast. You went to do just that when you heard a knock at your door and remembered that Dalton was supposed to come over with breakfast.

You told him to wait through a text message and grabbed a pair of athletic shorts, yanking them on as you made your way to let him in. Much to your surprise, the door was unlocked, though you don’t remember leaving it that way. In all fairness, you also don’t remember the last time you had locked it, so it was fair game.

Dalton greeted you with a large smile, showing off his extended canines, and a bag from your favorite pastry shop. It was hard not to blush after what you did when you saw the pictures he sent you, but the food was also distracting. You excitedly took the bag from him and started rifling through it as he guided the both of you to your room. Had he ever been inside your dorm before? How did he know which room was yours?

Before you could ask him, he plopped himself onto your bed and settled onto his stomach. He then used a pillow to prop up his chin. The same pillow you had used last night.

There was something about the way he was smiling at you. The way he was watching you.

“So, did you sleep well last night?”

********

Lemme know if you want a part two or maybe a “What if Dalton hadn’t had any homework?” situation.

This was super fun and sorry if it’s too long

[s1urpjuic3]

Quaint Rant

There's a couple characters that no one can convince me weren't gay, aka my gay OTPs (In no particular order)

Jonathan Joestar & Dio Brando

What evidence even is there otherwise??? Even after everything, JJ literally DIED with Dio in his arms. If that's not gay, then i'm not straight; gosh darn it. Like Yeahhh, he had a kid; but you can just chop it up to him being a gentleman.

Jotaro Kujo & Kakyoin

Once again; where is the evidence that proves otherwise? Only reason that Joot got married, is cause Kakyoin died.

L & Light

I don't think that L or Light showed any real interest with any female character in the entire series. They were obsessed with each other. Likeeee ik Light got off to the thought of killing L. And the handcuffs?? Just LIES so they can do kinky shit without them being questioned.

Naruto Uzimaki & Fucking Sasuke Uchiha

Probably the biggest sell of this decade, tbh. Once again, Sasuke showed no real interest in any female in the show, and lets be honest, Naruto showed more interest in Sasuke than he ever did to Sakura. They loved each other so deeply and unconditionally it's impossible to think that they have a straight bone in their body. To anyone who thinks chasing after a man for basically his entire childhood+teen years is straight...stop living in denial and let the Sasunaru light embrace you. I think I saw somewhere on an Wattpad comment (So it's probably wrong lmao) that the show was supposed to end with them getting married but they couldn't because of the studio. L. To me they're the only 2 that make sense. THEY LITERALLY KISSED TWICE.

They were gay for each other, cry about it.

Shizuo & Izaya

Love hate relationship to the max! They def fucked on rainy days. If you really a Durarara faithful, yk it's wayyy to much sexual tension between them for them to be straight.

That's all I can think of for now. Might make a pt. 2 if I can pull some more out my ass.

[soukmahdek]

EP 4 later…. 🥲

edit: I hate studio bones…. Other than fucking up Aku’s smile, other parts of the ep were good though. I just don’t understand, was it hard to follow a panel for once, bones?!

[searchingforplanes]

Call me when you're bored

Not sure if the ““““““story”””””” around this actually makes any sense, I just wanted to write this down without overthinking it because I hate rereading the things I write.

TW: mdni!, smut, breath play, slight bondage(?), dom/sub undertones, terrible use of the English language, typos

WC: 1100-ish

You hadn’t realized it at first. Nothing had seemed atypical when he had come over, just the usual quick fuck: as per usual, he gave you a quick call, just to make sure you were in fact home and seven minutes later, no words spoken since he had entered the door, he was fumbling with the buttons of your shirt while kissing you harshly, warm, plumped lips tracing the expanse of your throat. As you soon had learned when you first met him, Matty seemed, at least to the untrained eye, a creature of habit. Truth was, routines worked for him because he wasn’t one to work for routines: fame taught him that minimizing steps between actions and decisions often meant that he got to enjoy his time more. So, at a certain point in his career, he had begun to just do anything he pleased, without asking, on rotation, until everyone was so in sync with his daily antics that he did not have to explain himself or ask for anything. It’s not like anyone was going to get mad at him for it, anyway. He had that kind of boyish grin that made everything justifiable. 

You weren’t immune, that’s for sure, or you wouldn’t have left the door ajar, as you always did, when you had heard the screeching of his tires just below your apartment complex; and he, like clockwork, just swung the door open, so sure of himself that you pondered, just for a second, how funny it would be if one day he just crashed on your front door that you ‘’accidentally’’ had left locked.

Becoming his favorite and only booty call was not something you had planned, the switch in your life so imperceptible you barely noticed it happened. At first, it was casual, just a mutual agreement for casual sex, but slowly you had become part of his never ending collection of habits, especially with your flat being exactly in the middle of the path between his place and the studio, making your ‘dates’ a daily occurrence that only required a brief notice on the phone, the convenience of it adjusting perfectly to his manically simple schedule.

And so there you were, standing before your still opened front door, topless and with your pjs shorts barely standing his needy pawing. Your fingers guide his face back on you, back at kissing him with force while his arms envelops you so close to him you almost feel you’re the one about to enter his body, and not the other way around. Quickly, his hands glide down your sides, putting the fabric that’s barely covering your modesty at risk again , coming at the back of your thighs before he finally speaks: ‘Jump’. You obey silently, his bulge brushing on your backside making you whimper like a teen at a school dance grinding on her crush. To be honest, it wasn’t too far fetched from truth, you had grown to like Matty quite a bit, especially when he was looking at you up and down like a predator, still in his white shirt and dress pants (maybe today wasn’t actually a studio day after all), towering over your now completely naked body on the couch. 

He lifts one of your ankles in his hand, lowering just enough to stamp a trail of butterfly kisses from your calf to the soft skin between your thigh and your hip bone, letting his curls cover the spectacle of his eyes. He grabs your hips, suddenly turning you on your stomach as he grabs your wrists with one hand, reaching for his discarded tie with the other, the only piece of clothing he freed himself of. He waits a beat for you to stop him, taking your small hum as a sign before he’s tying your arms behind your back, your shoulder blades almost coming to touch. 

You then hear his zipper come undone and after a couple of seconds his tip is splitting you open and filling you up to the hilt, not really giving you time to adjust to the delicious sting in your lower abdomen. He starts slowly but he’s soon pounding relentlessly into you, short, quick thrust that knock on your G spot just right every time, moans and calls of his name falling from your mouth with your now melted brain. He brings a hand to your head, shoving you against the cushion harshly and using it as leverage, almost like he wants to shut you up against the pillow, the new angle bringing him deeper in your cunt, but not stopping him from following his own pace, fast, barely bottoming out, hips clashing with your ass incessantly. 

‘Stop fucking clenching’ 

The order comes as a surprise. Then, when his hands are instead pushing on your shoulders to keep you down and firm against the plushness of the sofa, it finally hits you: he’s fucking you like he would his fleshlight. On your request, he had sent you a video while he was on tour, the rhythm of his hips in your memory matching perfectly the one he was now keeping. He knew you liked seeing him using that toy, and he now wanted you pliant and still like the object had been. You actually had asked for it, to be used like that, but the conversation had taken place so long ago you were kind of embarrassed to bring that up again.

No eye contact, no moans, no movements of any sort, just your perfectly still body: it all made sense and you couldn’t bring yourself to find it even slightly less hot. You try to muffle something to him, adding to the fire within him, his hand coming to shut your mouth and pinching your nose between his pointer finger and his thumb, blocking your airways.

‘If you want to opt out, kick me, if not, keep playing, doll, but don’t you dare fucking cum’

There it was, the final confirmation coming straight from his pet names.

The lack of oxygen was making your head dizzy, heightening the tightness in your stomach and you could feel Matty starting to lose his steady pace. 

‘You can cum now baby, did so good for me’ suddenly, the pressure of his body is off you, your constraint feels looser, the air returns your lungs and your orgasm is hitting you, the combination so strong your trembling under Matty, who’s enjoying the scene so much he’s decided to slides out to cum in his fist just to look better at you.

‘That was fucking insane, how did you remember about that clip? It was so long ago.’

And there it was, the most stupidly hot and egocentric grin you’ve ever saw in your life.

‘My doll asks and she shall receive.’

[jgabriel1920]

Johnnytober 17°: Rage

It was a chance in a million. 

A chance he took to heart as he held the hand of his beloved, you. It was incredible to Tom Trench, he never expected the day this would have happened. He had been pushed down so many times by so many people, love had seemed to run away from him. But he wouldn't let go this time. 

Both of you were going to a restaurant on the floor above, only an elevator ride away from eating in a luxurious place. You had a marvelous dress that suited your figure, no matter how much you said you didn't agree. He saw how beautiful you were, no matter what. He was wearing a red suit this time, it did suit his hair, not much for his gas mask however you didn't seem to mind. He hated it if he was quite honest, he wished you could see his face. To kiss your mouth, to blink at you. Anything to show affection. 

It didn't matter, he said to himself. You two got to the elevator, last floor, and the door closed… until it remained half opened. 

A man put his foot in the way, apologizing with a sad expression in his theater mask like face. He wore a suit too, but black. He was clearly ruining the moment for both of you. Tom narrowed his eyes at him, rage coming over. Not for anything simple, because he saw him on the new station. Laughing at Tom, throwing jokes. He knew his kind. 

Of course, to make the matter worse, he had to open his mouth. 

“Didn't expect you with a lady.” He said with a raised eyebrow, leaning against the wall of the small space. 

“Yeah.” Tom said Pacific aggressive, foot tapping on the ground impatient. 

“How much?”

“How much what?” Tom had to ask, he didn't believe he was hearing that from his mouth. 

“How much did you pay for her?”

“... Are you calling me a who-” you tried to interfere but he sushed you with his hand

“No Offense, nobody wants to have sex with him. I was asking if he paid you to accompany him, it's his type to do that.”

“No, I came because I wanted to… weirdo.” You said and whispered the last part, making Tom glad he wasn't the only one pissed about it. 

“Weirdo? Are you blind or are we talking about a different person?” he chuckled with enthusiasm, making Tom hand clench. “This guy probably eats rats with the smell he brings to the studio.”

“It isn't my fault the trash truck dropped shit on me.” Tom speaks up, breathing heavily. 

“I mean it is, but with your intelligence I understand why you would think the contrary.”

“What are you saying?”

“Oh, sorry. Forgive me, I am talking to you, I forgot it. It means… you are a retard.” He made sure to say it slowly, each word needles in Tom's heart. 

A deafening silence stood, as they looked at each other, you horrified and Tom expression unreadable. When you were about to talk, Tom began to laugh. 

His laugh was full, from the bottom of his heart, and with a lot of pain. It made the man cringe as Tom tried to stop himself. 

“Hahahaha… y-you can continue, darling…”

“... Leave us alone asshole.” You said to the man, caressing Tom's shoulders, trying to ease him down. 

The man however didn't back down, walking to Tom. “How about I show how much of a pussy he is-” 

He was interrupted by Tom fist on his face, breaking the center of his mask as he went down with his arms trying to balance himself. “What the fuck!”

Tom kicked his stomach, making him hold his stomach in pain and fall to the ground. He kept kicking him, as the man tried to defend himself with his arms and hands, back against the wall. 

You went to the corner as the man yelled at Tom 

“FUCKING PSYCHO STOP IT! LET ME UP AND I KILL YOU-”

Tom's feet unexpectedly went to the man's head and began kicking it hard, and non-stop. Tom holded against the elevator supports and kept pounding his feet on the man. Hollow sounds became cracks as his feet cracked the man's skull, wet noises following as blood splashed to the ground and to Tom clothes. Brain matter, bone and face became unrecognizable as he kept kicking. He would have kept going if he didn't hear you yell. 

“Stop! He's already dead!”

Tom looked back at you, then back at the now dead body. He felt horrible, not for killing someone but doing it in front of you. He had made a fool of himself, what were you gonna think of him? 

He stared at you, unmoving, thinking. He didn't even notice when you came close and hugged him. 

“T-Thank you…” your sweet words calmed his core, as you scratched his blond hair. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Letting himself relax at you. You eventually left the hug, holding his hand and walking away as the elevator got to your floor. 

The blood was hidden mist his red clothes, as you both left the crime scene to someone else. Tom wondering if it was too early to ask to marry you… 

I got inspired let's just say...

And yes, I drive(2012)

[eddiediazismyhusband]

breathe friend you know tommy is bones in s8, he's not bucks endgame the reliable leaker has literally been clear about that. don't believe anything that psychopath on twitter says, she's literally insane.

oh trust me i don’t believe anything she says lmao

and i know the leaker said that about tommy but tbh that dont mean shit about whether or not they are actually going to fix any of the fuckery they pulled in s7

just because they are allegedly giving tommy the boot doesn’t mean they’re going to actually get their shit together and stop ship baiting us; so like i said until they actually start to give us any indication that they’re going to stop mistreating poc characters for cheap drama and that storylines are actually going to be thought out beforehand rather than thrown together because “ehh, this is good enough” i’m not going to be wasting my time. these shows are meant for entertainment. if i am not being entertained by what’s being done, why am i going to waste my energy on it?

i dont say this to sound snippy or rude, anon, and it is NOT directed at you specifically (and i really hope it doesn’t come across that way i am just bad at emoting through screens 😭😭), i promise, but sometimes it feels like people who try to “talk me off the ledge” in these anonymous asks don’t really look at what i’m actually saying and they jump to the conclusion that i’m just making shit up to panic about, but the fact of the matter is that everything i talked about in that post is something that could feasibly happen… all of buck’s love interests up to this point have not been narratively satisfying; developed or not. so even if tommy does end up going like the leaker said (again not getting my hopes up because things change at the drop of a hat in this business) that doesn’t mean they will actually follow through with queer eddie or that any other potential love interest for buck will be in any way narratively satisfying. i’m not saying i’m closing on buddie, because i will love them and ship them together when my body is six feet under, but after the burning dumpster that was s7 post the cruise ship arc, i don’t have the faith in tim that i had before.

at the end of the day, yes abc is a more accepting and inclusive studio, but it is still that: a studio. a corporation. a money maker. they don’t actually give a fuck about the fans. i have seen time and time again that these shows do this cat and mouse shit with a queer ship and then never follow through, even if one of the characters involved does end up being confirmed queer. maybe it was a little harsh to say that tim is only interested in money, but after how little thought and care he put into last season it’s hard not to feel like he actually cares about the fans who have stuck with this show since the beginning.

i’ve mentioned before that i have stuck with this show for seven years. i have shipped buddie since s2. i witnessed the s4 buildup and subsequent letdown in s5 and 6. I know that was not tim’s fault specifically, that KR and Fox both fucked the show over

but that does not mean that tim won’t also change his mind— we saw evidence of that last minute with all the rewrites that were happening post mid season hiatus with s7. he found out he’s getting another season so he changed the plot of 7b, and if they get a season 9, all the more reason to keep dragging the buddie bait hype along with now true intentions to follow through?

i reslly really reallly wanted to trust tim again especially after the potential he had with the shooting arc in s4, but sometimes it feels like he himself has closed on buddie since then unless it’s done as a last-ditch effort to save the show… again, i’m not saying i think bt is going to be endgame, but just because they aren’t endgame doesn’t mean buddie is and that is what pisses me off. that we will have been waiting for nearly a decade for this ship to go canon, we will have gone through so much hate and vitriol from the bt stans, we have been teased and built up time and time again (even in s7), we have been bait and switched with no satisfactory outcome, and we have been laughed at the entire time, and there is a possibility that none of it will actually pay off, all because some white man gets to call the shots and he’s shown that all he cares about is melodrama and trolling people online to stir up shit.

anyway, i didn’t mean to hijack this post, anon, but i wnated to further expound upon what exactly my point was in my original post, which was not that i believed Bree’s delusions or that the helicopter pilot is buck’s endgame, but that i won’t trust tim to actually go through with anything promising until i start to see actual concrete irrefutable evidence of it.