#Glass Skin Tutorial

[clarabowmp3]

What is it with TikTok’s obsession over not aging

[brainstormingg]

Glass Skin Makeup DIY

The makeup industry is constantly evolving and introducing new trends and techniques. One of the latest makeup trends to hit the scene is the "glass skin" look.

So, what is glass skin? Simply put, it's all about achieving a luminous, glowing complexion that looks like glass. The goal is to create a smooth, even skin tone with minimal imperfections, resulting in a radiant and youthful appearance.

To achieve the glass skin look, start by cleansing and exfoliating your skin to create a smooth base. Next, apply a lightweight moisturizer to hydrate and plump up the skin. From there, you can use a variety of products to create the desired effect. A lightweight foundation or BB cream can help even out the skin tone, while a highlighter or illuminator can add extra luminosity.

One of the key elements of the glass skin trend is a healthy, well-hydrated complexion. To keep your skin looking its best, be sure to drink plenty of water and use products that are formulated for your skin type.

The glass skin trend is a great way to achieve a radiant and glowing complexion, and with the right products and techniques, it's easy to achieve. So why wait? Give the glass skin look a try and see for yourself how radiant and luminous your skin can be.

[aniharas]

𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥!𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘹 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘩.𝘤.'𝘴 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦)

pairing: obsessed!down bad!felix catton x fem!reader

summary: felix's lack of control over his deep feelings for you, his revisions partner, begins to spiral him into a sick and twisted sense of keeping you as his.

warnings: explicit language, sexual tension & content, themes of purity and corruption, use of cigarettes and alcohol

wc: 2.1k+

Maybe Felix Catton wasn’t the mindless pretty boy at Oxford like everyone had chalked him up to be. Maybe he was, at least until he saw you.

At first, he wasn’t exactly the most excited when he found out his revisions partner was you, a scholarship girl. A first-class student. Always buried in textbooks nonstop, always holed up with nerdy little books doing your nerdy little homework. He never found people like you any fun, so he braced himself for a snoozefest as you plopped down into the armchair beside him.

But Felix couldn’t have ever been more wrong about the pureness that was you. Sickly sweet, serene you. Skin tantalizingly covered by whatever shoddy arrangements Oxfam provided. Black-rimmed glasses with a prescription so high, it made your bambi-like eyes bulge out of your head. Voice so sugary, he could taste it on the tip of his tongue. You were a prude by all means, but you made it look so damn good. God forbid the tutor asked him anything about your essay, it was fuck all in his brain. And god forbid anyone asked him to make sense of what he felt for you.

And so he eagerly showed up to each revision. It started with the simplest of gestures. Holding the door open for you, carrying your books. He noticed you always walked home alone after each session at night, so he took it upon himself to escort you back to your dorm safely. 

And then it was gifts. Things that he could nonchalantly pass off as having extra of. Packaged sweets from the dining hall, an extra No. 2 pencil. He even tried to offer you a cigarette as the two of you strolled across campus. Of course, being the modest girl you were, you refused. He was glad that you did. You were responsible, you were good. He loved that about you.

But it wasn’t enough. Those brief, one-hour sessions were far from enough. Being the workaholic you were, you were hard to find around campus; that bit irked him. The whole “girl” thing was second-nature to him. They came to him in swarms, in fact. Why were you never there? That was fine with him, he liked the chase. He’d find a way.

“Tutor you? Felix, I think you’re doing fine–” “Codswallop, and you know it. You, on the other hand…you’re exceptional.” “I don’t think I’m exactly qualified enough-” “I do.”

And these newfound tutoring sessions were far better than what he had been getting. He never thought he’d look forward to being in a tutorial for hours in a stiff library chair, but the very thought consumed his waking days. Because it was you, dressed in your hand-me-down school jumper, brows adorably furrowed as you hastily scribbled notes across the margins of his essays. He wasn’t exactly the best at writing, but he occasionally found himself misspelling words just to see you get irritated with him. 

“Sometimes it slips my mind that you’re a rich kid. Until I remember we’re at Oxford and this is what you wrote,” you had said one time. Had it been from anyone else, he would’ve blown a fuse. But it was you, who always snuck in bites of your Crunchie between each sentence. You were so genuine, so oblivious to the world around you. He could never be upset with you.

Which is why he felt responsible for you. But how could he protect you when you were so elusive? He considered himself blessed if he found you at King’s Arms on the weekends, or anywhere at all. And blessed he was, on a Friday night, just before Oxford let out for the holidays.

It was you, accompanied by your trashy roommates. “Come on, just once before you go home,” they had whined as they pushed you through the doors. Upon this rare sighting, Felix decided that the story he was entertaining his table with was pointless, ceasing his conversation. It was like he was in a trance, the way he stood from his seat and gravitated toward you. Wordlessly, he plucked you away from your roommates. He figured you were better off with him.

It was clear that you weren’t used to any sort of bar culture, and while he found that endearing, he made sure to look over you. He booted a girl from his group just so he could seat you next to him, all while making sure you didn’t see the nasty glare she gave you. 

Assigning himself as your drink-sitter, he carefully scrutinized whatever you ended up drinking. Any strong liquors that came your way were quickly confiscated, much to Farleigh’s disdain (although he was placated once the extra shots were passed along to him). All you had to your name was a modest mug of beer, which you sipped at tentatively as you tried to make sense of the conversation around you.

You had gotten through one beer, though you were struggling about halfway through your refill. Despite that, Felix was in awe of you. The whining as he took the cup away, the mindlessly giggling at a joke one of the girls told, the fidgeting with the hem of your jumper. How could someone make drinking look so innocent? 

“My face is hot.” “You’ve got a buzz going. It’s quite a look.” “A good one or a bad one?” “A bit of a naughty one.” He quickly earned a punch in the arm from you.

And this was far better than the revisions or the tutoring. To finally discuss something other than academics with you was refreshing. He found himself recounting all of his stories, even the ones he had already told that night, just so he could hear you laugh at everything he said. It was a melody in his ears, a tiny bell jingling beside him.

Once the company began to fall out, Felix took you to get a breath of fresh air just beside the entrance of the pub. “D’you need anyone to take you home?” “Nooo, my roommates are heading back anyways.” “You sure? I can–” “Oh, you’re too kind. Why don’t you have a lover yet?”

The question was so forward and sudden, he couldn’t help but be surprised. You were definitely tipsy.  “Huh…haven’t given much thought to it.” “Well, you should.” “And that means?” “They’d be lucky.”

Felix couldn’t help it; he was out of control, cradling your face into his hands as his heart threatened to leap out of his chest. They were indeed hot, you weren’t lying about that. There was silence, anticipation with a bated breath, and then your lips were all that he felt. If anyone was watching, and they most likely were, it was like he was holding himself back. Jaw tensed, muscles taut, brows scrunched. It almost looked like he was in pain.

And he was in pain, his restraint being tested every second he kissed you. Trying so desperately to not have his way with you, to take you home and screw you into his dorm mattress. That’s not the type of person you were.

But boy, did you make it difficult. The mere act of placing your hands against his chest, pressing your body against his. Again, painfully obvious this wasn’t something you did often, but that made it all the more perfect to him. He intended to keep you that way, which is why he let go.

The confusion that overtook your features made him regret his decision more and more, twisting his insides with guilt for leaving you hanging. Your lips, donning a soft shine, mouthed his name, but any sound went fuzzy in his ears. The more he stared at them, the more that forbidden feeling stirred inside of him.

Mumbling an apology, he abruptly stepped back, not even sure of what he was even doing. He had to get away, head home. It was ironic, to long for you so deeply but to hold himself back from indulging in you. He was never one to shy away from what he desired; it was his very nature, his reputation. But he couldn’t just use a girl like you to scratch one of his sexual itches, how could he bring himself to?

And so, Felix turned his back on you, not uttering another word. He pushed through the crowded walkway in a blind frenzy, ignoring the people who tried to strike up conversation. Never once looking back. 

Soon enough, he heaved the grand doors open to his hall, ready to sleep off the feeling until a sultry voice called to him from his right. Annabel. Apparently she had been waiting for him.

It wasn’t long before she was straddled across his lap, basically eating away at the lower half of his face as she eagerly fumbled with his belt buckle. That’s what turned him off about her. Too eager, too annoying. It played a part as to why he had kept his distance from her, but for that night, she was better than nothing.

As she slipped off his lap to kneel on the messy floor of his dorm, his mind drifted elsewhere. The desperate girl in front of him disappeared, then you were there, just as he left you. Staring up at him behind your obnoxious glasses, your bottom lip trembling. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Would you even know how to do this sort of thing? 

If he allowed himself, he’d guide you, gripping a part of your hair. Not tight enough to hurt you, of course, just enough to get leverage. He’d watch as your pretty lips parted to take him in, taking your sweet time. Your mouth would be soft and hot, your tongue shifting about awkwardly underneath him. He bet that you’d have it down quickly; you were good at most things, being a quick learner. Perhaps there would be a few scrapes from your canines as you bobbed up and down, if he were to be realistic. But the sting was more than alright with him.

Felix always prided in himself for his ability to give a girl a good, long time. Why else would they flock to him by the dozens? So what was so different about you that made him feel like he was already about to burst the seams?

Because it was still you, sickly sweet and serene you, lips wrapped around him and devouring him like the candy you always loved. Your eyes would water, but he’d gladly wipe away each drop that managed to escape. It left him a whiny mess. Sweat prickling at his forehead, ragged breaths heaving his shoulders up and down, white-knuckling your hair.

And when he’d come close, he’d let you know. You didn’t like being caught off-guard. Your heavy disdain for pop-quizzes or his endless pranks of sneaking up behind you made that apparent. But he prided himself in knowing these things about you, that he was able to gather it all from your little ramblings. 

You liked American reality TV. Disliked gel pens. Loved your chips overdone. A ridiculous query crossed his mind. Would you like spitting or swallowing? Or would you rather it all over you? From how your lips were glued to him, it seemed like swallowing. But that made him hesitate. You would never like such a thing. You were squeamish around anything sticky or slimy. Cough syrup, oily or tacky lotions…you hated them. As much as it dismayed him, why would this be any different?

Because it wasn’t you. And as soon as the girl he had taken back to his dorm reappeared, he knew that she could never be you. Nobody could. He was disgusted with himself for dirtying that memory of you. He had turned something so innocent into something so grossly erotic, and he knew he had crossed a line. How could he ever see you the same way again?

He was also disgusted with how Annabel seemed to not care despite his disillusion. She might have been the only girl he had seen that got off on merely sucking someone off. It was genuinely pathetic. Her head was swiftly yanked up, her lips making a “pop” sound.

“Alright, get out.” “What? But we’ve barely done anything, Fe–” “I don’t fuckin’ care. Piss the fuck off!”

Felix thought he would feel bad about kicking Annabel out, especially after she left in tears with her clothes haphazardly buttoned. But he could genuinely not have cared in the slightest; he was already preoccupied, mind filled with guilt after what he had done to you. But did he feel regret? No. That’s what ate at him the most. Someone like him shouldn’t have gone for someone like you. 

Perhaps it was better to try and forget that he kissed you. Kissing you meant opening the floodgates of his feelings, his debauchery. He had to keep that closed so that you could stay as pure as you always were. His perfect girl.

And he would do anything to keep you that way.

to be continued!

a/n: dutifully fulfilling this request by my lovely anon. i wanted to delve more into the selfish, savior complex that he was and i DEFINITELY intend to take it deeper for the next part. again, thank you for the ask! co-written by @hellb4ts! leon, thank you for the many wonderful ideas. and you're welcome for introducing you to saltburn <3 inbox is open for any asks or reqs !

masterlist

put yourself on my taglist here!

@vannyangelxoxo @lilyrachelcassidy

[1800titz]

HI. HELLO. Here is my Valentine’s Day contribution. POTTERYINSTRUCTOR!HARRY!! POTTERY MAN! WOOO. Basically almost 7K of clay sexualization and sexually charged fluff (ish). Enjoy! :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: ridiculous sexualization of clay (I think I’ve managed to fetishize clay in this one??? OOPS), overly suggestive usage of pottery terms, a red-hot, hands-on tutorial for wheel throwing, and embarassingly long descriptions of Harry’s fingers coated in wet clay.

WC: 6.6K

slip: small bits of dry clay mixed with water to create a thick, creamy consistency

Clay is innately erotic. 

Wheel throwing is, arguably, the most pornographic art form, its only competing opponent being, maybe, literal body-painting. And that latter one still falls as a close second. Close, but second. 

Y/N decides that when she wanders into a little ceramics shop tucked away in a busy plaza downtown. There’s no method to her exploration, but the broad glass windows are adorned with dripping, colorful graffiti and its innards call to her. GLAZED, reads the large sign over the awning in blocky, white lettering, stippled with un-glowing light bulbs that she’s sure light alive in the night. 

It’s a cute shop. 

Upon entrance, the young woman discovers tables, as if set up for arts and crafts, crackling, clay covered wheels with shorter stools, and long, tall rows of shelving brimmed with colorless sculptures lining the walls. Despite its packed interior, the studio seems empty of people and quiet besides the soft notes of RÜFÜS DU SOL leaking from the overhead speakers. She roams beside the line of wheels over to a shelf by the door, admiring the myriad of statues there, some obviously crafted with expertise and elegant artistry, and others lopsided efforts that probably deserve a pitied gold star for effort. 

Her eyes are caught on an unpainted little ashtray that’s got a crooked sort of bee in the center when her gaze breaks away to the sound of footsteps. Maybe the shop isn’t as abandoned as she’d previously believed — a man appears from behind a row of white shelving stacked with more unfinished pottery. 

He’s a pretty man, that much she can decide from the downturned slope of his nose and his distracted lash line, focused on twisting the navy rag in his left hand over the tip of his right index finger. A dark baseball cap shrouds his hair, but little brunette tufts sneak out in curled bunches around his ears. That’s where Y/N finds a fun, little red-tinted pearl dangling from one lobe. He’s tatted in patchwork art — a mermaid with its tits out peeks at her from his forearm, soaked over and shining. She assumes he must have just been rinsing clay from that forearm, from his hands, no longer visible over his skin. However, streaks of dried gray stain over his white tee in crackling lines, like an old lamination on a well-loved t-shirt that’s been cycled through the washer one too many times. When he pulls the rag away, she discovers a shade of bright red that’s been painted over his nails.

Almost as if he can sense her presence without looking, his sneakers pause on the tile and he steals a peer up. Yes, he’s quite a pretty man, even when his features shape something caught off guard.

“Hello.”

His voice is rich — this smooth, bass-deep sort of sound driving a foreign lilt, and Y/N thinks that if it weren’t for his lengthy fingers and his cherry polished nails, if it weren’t for his handsomely sculpted face, if it weren’t for his seemingly innate effortless demeanor and style, that voice alone could make her fold.  

“Hello,” she returns, aware that a nervous note plucks at her cadence, unlike his own casual greeting. I promise I’m not shoplifting clay pots in silence, she nearly tells him. 

Thank fuck for the ability to physically bite your tongue. 

“What can I help you with?” the man asks, sauntering forward a bit. It’s probably sort of a polite manner to say what the fuck are you doing here, and the longer the young woman stands in the middle of the empty shop the more out of place she feels, almost like this a private, little haven and she shouldn’t be in here right now.

The song shifts into its choral bass drop of electric keys. That fills the void of the silence as she swallows and fixes a little smile onto her face, fingers tightening over the strap of her tote. 

“Oh, I’m just looking.” 

The man purses his mouth and walks over to the counter, where the register is littered with paperwork and an eclectic collection of faux plants. He sets the rag down beside a floppy one with its green tendrils dangling over the edge. 

“See anything you like?” his hand pinches over his nose, like he’s scratching an itch, before he sniffs and pivots to apparently decrease their proximity, “We’ve got loads — you can make something yourself, or,” another step, and Y/N’s eye bounce from his shorts to his tattooed knees to the hems of his white socks. “…If you know sculpting isn’t your craft, we’ve got ready-to-paint-one's on that shelf there.”

Her gaze follows the direction of his finger, where pasty ceramic bunnies, and angels, and cars line the shelving in multiples. 

“I think—“ the young woman’s tongue peeks out to swipe over her mouth, words growing drier the longer she captures his stare. She focuses back on a lopsided rendition of strawberry, its leaves cradling over as a disconnected lid and its stem a crooked handle. “I like these. They’ve got so much character.” 

She blinks back over to him and watches a soft smile shape over the cushiony pink of his mouth.

It only takes a moment — one where her sight draws back to the strawberry jar for a smidge of a second, before he’s so close that she can smell his cologne, spiced and clean. She ogles his arm, his hand, the way he reaches out between them to cull the piece, mildly appalled by the way he palms the sculpture and dwarfs it in his easy grasp. It’s such a casual maneuver, made almost as if he’s not fondling over something it’d take anyone else two hands to hold. Y/N imagines the dimpled form of clay coated over to match the color of his nails.

“They do, don’t they? I like this one, too. S’a little …ugly, but, s’in, like, a…” the man’s features twist into something silly and pinched, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth to avoid exposing her amusement at the brutal candor. His words catch in his throat and bubble as a short laugh, “I dunno. It’s art.” 

He sets it back onto the shelf with a light clink, and turns to face her, posturing against a post in the shelving where the tiers have a break. An exhale becomes paired with his nonchalant lean, arms crossing over his pecs, and Y/N tries intensely not to stare like a hawk at the muscle there. 

“I’m afraid people are coming back for these, though. This row came out of the kiln…” forest green skids to the assortment and then bounds up to the ceiling like he’s in thought, before he casts his gaze back onto her, “…yesterday. And there’s a month-and-a-half window for someone to come back and glaze before we toss or sell them to be painted.” 

He’s chewing gum. Y/N realizes it when she admires the soft stubble coating his jaw, his cheeks — that’s when she notices the work of his jawline over the minty piece. He tips his head. “Did you want to try sculpting something?” 

The edges of her lips break bashfully. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.” 

One corner of the man’s mouth curls up lopsidedly, and the beginnings of a dimple nudge into place. He blinks and chews a little slower, “Have you ever worked with clay before?” 

Her delayed, little no is met with the lopsided beam growing even. He nudges with his chin, deliciously bulging arms still tucked over his chest, his playfully raised eyebrows like a wordless notion of have more faith in yourself, “Then you may just be the next Magdalene Odundo. We’ll make a pro sculptor out of you, yet.” 

Magdalene Odundo. Somehow, the name isn’t familiar, but simultaneously, somehow, it feels like a compliment. 

Y/N inhales as his digits shift over his tri’s. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” plush pink shapes a handsome smile, bordering bright white teeth in straight lines. The man tips his head towards the curved berry vase, and then looks back at her, “Did you want to do something like this? All these over here were made on the wheel.” 

Y/N muzzles telling him that she’s no inkling of an idea how someone can morph a lump of clay into a vase, nevermind on a big, spinning platform that moves faster than her eyes can keep up with. The man seems to pick up on the hesitation in her silence. 

“S’easy, I promise. I’ll show you how to throw.” 

Show her. Okay. At least she’s not going to head into vase-sculpting or wheel-throwing or …whatever he’d called it blindly, fumbling over a block of clay on a twirling tray like a slapstick skit personified. At least it means she’s going to stay in his presence. After a moment of thought, though, (and the way she notes that his eyes make unwavering, relaxed contact with her face the entirety of the silent pause), Y/N decides she’s not sure whether that last bit is actually a good thing, considering she’s probably milliseconds away from, like, bracing a hand onto a the shelf to match his level of coolness, or something. And then subsequently sending ceramic pots spilling and shattering over the tile.

She blinks. Her shoulders rise on her nervous inhale, and he makes one of those playful faces, like he’s waiting for her to agree. The young woman’s eyes wander to the line of chairs pressed to its counterparts of wheels. 

“I don’t wanna, like, trouble you—“ 

“You’re not. S’my job,” he tells her, crimson fingertips drumming. She catches sight of his fabric-clad pectorals flexing when he leans forward a little to tack on, “…And to be honest, it’d give me something to do besides fucking around with clay, which is what I’ve been doing for the last hour.” 

Her mouth purses and then settles. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” he says again, and then winds around through a row of little tables that resemble the set up of an art classroom, like the kind she’d have in school. She’s ashamed that her gaze wanders down the back of his arm to ogle the rest of his ink. 

“You can have a seat at one of those wheels,” he tosses over his shoulder as he heads, she assumes, to wind back around the same shelf he’d surfaced from behind, “Just give me a mo’, and I’ll be right back with some clay.” 

It takes Y/N a moment — mostly because she admires the view of his stature from behind as he migrates to a back hallway, irises roaming down the projection of muscles in his back showcased through his tee. They skim down his legs, down the backs of his knees, rest on toned calves. He’s gone far too quickly for her viewing pleasure. The young woman takes another glance at the uneven strawberry-esque vase, and then she pivots to step around the crowded assortment of wheels to crouch into one of those little roll-y stools, feet crossing and uncrossing in the cramped space. 

He’s a sexy man, Y/N decides. That’s the word she’d been looking for all along, although pretty would match the descriptors of his long lashes and his pouty pink mouth. He’s sexy, though, in his baseball cap and his little six-inch-inseam shorts (which show off the sculpt of his tanned thighs and the ink over his kneecaps). He’s sexy when he comes out from the back over to her wheel, a gunmetal gray ball of clay cradled in his palm like it’s not the size of two of her own. He’s sexy in the green eye contact he makes when he settles into a stool similar to her own, right across, when his thighs splay because he doesn’t have enough room to sit otherwise, when he rests his elbows over his knees and stretches one arm out to pass off the clay. That’s when their digits brush, because it’s sort of unavoidable. He manages to make eye contact through that, too. Sexy. 

“Okay. Clay,” the chilled ball the man hands off weighs her hand down, and Y/N’s gaze flickers up to meet his own when he instructs, “Toss it onto the wheel. Aim for the center.” 

The young woman pauses like she’s calculating her aim, gearing up without visibly gearing up, and a little smile tugs at the instructor’s mouth as he waits. The clay lands with a thud onto the plate. 

“Great,” he tells her, monitoring the centering, and then jade bounces back up to her face as he coaxes, “Smack for good luck.” 

Y/N curbs the corners of her mouth out of mirth, hesitating for a moment before her palm lands over the smooth, gray lump in a halfhearted pat. She blinks up, hoping for assurance. The handsome man’s mouth purses like he’s restraining a grin. 

“Harder,” he encourages after a second, the corners of his muted raspberry mouth seeping up a smidge, more openly, “S’not gonna cry. You can go a little harder than that.” 

The young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, raises her hand, and follows his request, molding it flatter under the solid thud of her palm. Evidently, it’s a better attempt, because she earns a, “Very good,” in response from him.

She casts her gaze up to find him dipping his hands into the pot of murky water beside the wheel before a fist knocks lightly at the pedal-resembling lever on the opposite side, sending the wheel into a speeding twirl. And to add to her list of shame, the liquid that coats his fingers — that’s. 

Yeah. 

Y/N swallows and watches those wet hands cup over the clay, partly mesmerized by the way he coaxes the priorly deformed lump into a symmetrical cylinder, stroking up from the base up and back down, and partly mesmerized by the way the cherry polish becomes daubed with slicked clay. 

“I’m just gonna get it nice and easy for you, and then you can get to the fun bits,” the man tells her as if he isn’t currently awakening some deep, deviously sexual desires in her by fondling clay. Jade flickers up. “M’Harry, by the way.” 

“Y/N,” the young woman tells him in response, unsure whether to focus on his searing eye contact or the gentle press of his hands over … oddly erotic artistry in motion.

Harry unwittingly makes the decision for her by breaking the eye contact and glancing down at his work. 

“Y/N,” he says, as if testing the taste of her name on his tongue. 

Y/N takes a breath, smoothing her hands down her thighs. 

“Y/N,” his strawberry mouth parts a tad for a soft breath in, honey smooth cadence glazed in concentration as he presses a flat palm over the top of the clay, keeping his other hand cupped over the length. 

She watches the cylinder mold under his grip into something shorter, and then back up. She watches the way his arms flex, anchored to his body as he presses with the heels of his palms to sculpt. 

“This is called coning. Makes the clay centered so your grip stays nice and even when it spins. Otherwise, s’gonna wobble, and you’ll feel it when you’re trying to work with it.”

Sure enough, after a few moments, when the man takes his clay-sullied palms away, what’d priorly been a lopsided hunk twirling over the platform stands symmetrically, shining post his wet grip. When he balls his hand into a fist and punches over the lever a handful of times, the plate slows to a stop. He blows out a breath and the music shifts to the next track in the background.

“Take your bracelet off for me.” 

The comment is made totally innocuously. Its purpose is solely to preserve the condition of her jewelry — she knows that when his eyes go to meet hers again and he mentions, “Otherwise, it could get covered with clay, or break. Wouldn’t wanna ruin such a pretty piece.”

But it’s the way he says it, right? Two little words, so easy off his tongue. So nonchalant, so purely intended with no ulterior motive. For me. For me, for me, for me. 

It’s shameful — she’s ashamed. She’s no better than a man, Y/N decides, as she peers to the silver bangle with the sliver of warmth slithering through her chest and snaking to her tummy. She’s no better than a man, objectifying this poor, effortlessly sexy ceramics instructor and his casual commentary on a Wednesday. She swallows. 

“Right. Thanks— thank you,” the young woman tells him, her tone garbled with nervous enthusiasm as the fingers of her opposite hand wriggle under the clasp to pop the piece off. 

She’s still feeling dubious about the morality of her thoughts once she’s slipped the bracelet into her tote by her feet and sat back up. 

“Alright,” Harry starts again, elbows braced to his sturdy thighs, “We’re gonna go over what this little thing over here does, because it’s good to know. It sets your speed. We’ve got options—“

Y/N watches the way his arm stretches, she eyes the tail of the mermaid, the lines of scales etched into his skin. His eyes meet her own again. 

“…Fast,” Harry knocks over the lever again with the butt of a vertical fist, a couple more nudges rocketing the wheel into a motion that dissolves priorly visible remnants of clay rings into fast-moving swirls with no decipherable borders. 

Another few nudges has the wheel skidding to a full-stop, and then stuttering back up into a spin when he taps over the pad once more. 

“…Slow,” Harry fixes his gaze back onto her face and watches the curious concentration there. The man sits back up a tad, elbows bracing over his splayed thighs and fingers crooked and lax, coated with slippery wetness and clay. “Find what feels good for you. S’different for everyone.”

Despite the way the directions are made so innocently, so obviously stated as a tutorial that’s not intended to be taken as something suggestive, Y/N finds a heat teeming over her cheekbones. 

“But, I recommend—“ her teeth lodge into the inside of her cheek with subtlety as the instructor hunches a little again, just a tad, to rap over the lever in a pair. The wheel speeds. “—Sticking to something around this.”

The pace of the wheel settles into an easy spin — something that’s still too quick for her eyes to keep up with, but apparently not the fastest setting, judging by the higher speeds he’d displayed moments prior. 

“Alright. Here’s where you come in with your undiscovered ceramic talents,” the instructor tells her, the edges of his mouth so obviously restrained, like he’s amused with his own playful banter. His eyes glinting softly under the buttery light cast by the overhanging lanterns,”M’gonna show you how to drill, but you’ll need to get your hands wet first.”

Harry sits back, elbows still braced to his thighs, hands now coated with slippery clay as he waits for the young woman to douse her own into the bucket. The liquid greets her palms with a welcome chill, and when she lightly cups over the cylinder, it slips under her hands with ease. The man clears his throat, and their digits graze again when he touches over her fingers to guide her grasp. Y/N tries not to focus on the way his hands make her own look as if they belong to a child. 

“You’re gonna take your thumbs—” Harry coaxes, all concentrated seriousness now, and the pad of his own brushes against the knuckle of her left, “—and press over the top, here. Right in the middle, just like that.” 

He takes his hands away and the clay rolls under her fingertips, a divot forming from the pressure of her thumbs. 

“Good. Now what you’ve done is you’ve indicated where you’re going to make the opening. And to do that—“ his hands return, unintentionally persuading her own to fall away and sort of hover stagnantly mid-air, in sullied awe, as he dips the tip of his index into the cleft they’d created together. 

As if hungry for the finger, the clay parts to swallow the pad of the digit. It broadens its starving mouth, and Harry steadies the spread with his thumb, his pointer delving against the inside of the deepening wall. His opposite hand cups over the body as he molds the opening wider. 

Anyways, what Y/N manages to learn from the impressive showcase, before Harry steals a glance to make sure she’s been observing (which she has, very focused, actually), is that clay-working is a dirty, dirty, lustrous art form. Especially under his fingertips. This is all very educational stuff. Perhaps the most impressive step of his tutorial, thus far, is the way that, in mere moments, he cups and strokes and caresses over the clay, drawing the opening tighter. It shrinks until it disappears, and when he smooths his hands over the rounded edges a few more times, the vessel that’s left is an entirely clean slate. Almost as if she hadn’t just spent the last few seconds ogling a weirdly pornographic display of a clay cavern opening in response to the touch of his long finger. This was a horrible mistake, Y/N thinks pitifully — she’s getting aroused by clay working. If there was ever a blaring red indicator that she needed to get laid, this is it. 

“I want you to try now,” Harry directs, totally nonchalant. This is just a casual Wednesday for him, Y/N realizes. He casually fingers clay with his sexy, long fingers, and thinks nothing of it. Maybe she’s just a horribly wound-up pervert. 

Still sort of stunned, she reaches out and cups over the cylinder, clumsily positioning her thumbs in a replication of the manner he’d shown her, aiming for the center and driving a divot into the top. 

“Mm. That’s good. Keep your elbows closer to your body,” he prompts, eyes flickering from her posture to her hands. “Like this.” 

Following his body language, Y/N mimics, ducking a tad and tucking her arms to her torso. After a few moments, she lifts her thumbs to find a centered indent, one that’s similar to the one they’d created together. 

“Lovely. Now,” the chair makes a little rolling sound over the tile as Harry shifts forward, clay-slicked hands (warm, despite their cool coating) cradling over her own to position, “You’re gonna cup here, and then take this finger and push here. Yep. Jus’ like that.” 

The instructor takes his grip away and encourages, “If you need more water, get your hands wet. You can tell you need it if there’s friction — you want it a little wet.” 

She wants it a little wet. Y/N decides, as she dunks her hands into the bucket and returns to the clay, she in fact does not want anything wet right now. This is the last place she wants something wet. Her thoughts are disturbed by the way he grasps her at her hands again and repositions — twisted by the slippery feel of his own wet fingers. The clay over his palms has begun to dry now, morphing lighter and crackling, but the tips of his digits are still soaked and darker in shade. She’s awed when the cylinder gives under her touch, the same way it had for him to encompass her finger. It’s like magic, sort of. Very slippery, wet, weirdly erotically undertone-d magic. 

“There you go,” Harry tells her, baritone soft, “You’re a pro.” Then, after a moment, “You can go a little harder. Don’t be shy. Open it up.” 

She’s not blushing. She’s not blushing, because that would be silly. She presses harder, and the opening widens until it gapes. 

“How long have you worked here?” the young woman asks, naturally trying to change the subject from wet and hard things. Hopefully in an organic enough manner that doesn’t imply how affected she is by said wet and hard things. 

“I bought this place a few years ago,” Harry responds after a second, tone concentrating as he reaffixes the firmness of her grasp (she tries not to verbally apologize, glancing up), “…Both units. It was a smoke shop before, I think.” 

“Oh!” her hands stutter again in surprise, “Are you the owner?” 

He fixes them again, brows pinched, and when he glances up, his brow bone is smooth and there’s a soft smile playing over his mouth. “Indeed I am.” 

“It’s …beautiful in here,” Y/N tells him, gaze walloping from shelf to shelf for a moment, lantern lined ceilings to vine-coated crown molding, trusting that his hands will keep her own grounded to the piece. 

“Thanks. It’s a little crowded, but if you manage to get lost among the …phallic statues and the clay bongs,” he cocks his head, blatantly bridling a simper as he shrugs. At the response of her snort, jade flickers up and the plush of his mouth curls more obviously, “…You’ll find your way out of the maze soon enough.” 

As the walls of the clay grow thinner, the instructor takes his grip away, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Alright. What are we going for here? A mug? A vase? A bong masquerading as a vase?” 

Y/N takes the lack of his touch as an indication to lighten her own. She purses her lips thoughtfully. “A vase.” 

“A vase,” the instructor parrots, voice low, and then he hunches back over and cups the clay. The young woman returns her hands to meet his own. “I can work with that. We’re gonna build it up. You’re gonna squeeze and lift. Right—“

If his fingers keep brushing hers for the duration of the next …half hour? Hour? (How long does throwing take?), Y/N decides she’ll simply combust. His hands cup lightly over her own, two digits pressed to hers, and hers pinned to the inner wall of the clay in sin. 

“—Here. That’s it. You can be a little aggressive. We’ve gotta get it tall.”

Y/N swallows.

“You said you own both units?” she ponders aloud, “Is there …more?” 

“My place,” Harry tells her nonchalantly, as if it’s the most casual, normal, every day thing to live over a ceramics studio, “S’just over on the next floor.” 

“That’s—“ she realizes her grasp has lightened again, the integrity of the structure mostly only crawling up under the pressure of his own (steady, firm) grip over hers, “…so cool. To have, like, a whole studio right under you.” 

“Mm. I think right now…” Harry cranes his neck to peer up at the ceiling, “We’re under my kitchen.” 

A little breath of mirth tumbles from her when he grins and tacks on, “I think this is way cooler, though.” 

This is The Turning Point. 

And if it was a scene title in a play, Y/N thinks it would be capitalized to denote the importance. It’s important, because somewhere along the trail of her perversions, as Harry had guided her hands into the innards of the clay — fittingly describing it as the body — when he’d pressed his hands against her own to widen its base, when he’d shown her the sponge, things had clicked. It had clicked because she realized she wasn’t fucking crazy. Because Harry then said this thing — this one little thing that would have launched her into a frenzied, internal mess of dubious morality on the basis of her perversions—

But then it clicked. 

“Careful with the amount of water you’re using now, yeah?” he’d told her, maneuvering her grip over the sponge as they’d smoothed over the lip together, “S’all about balance. …If you go too hard, you’ll make a wet mess.” 

Y/N had glanced up. That’s when she’d noticed the way the instructor gnawed into his cheek, almost immediately, almost as if he was amused by some sort of devious inside joke. And then his blocky front teeth had dug lightly into the plush of his pink bottom lip. It was nearly unnoticeable — but she had noticed. Clay was innately erotic, and he was doing it on purpose. It was one, or the other, or both. 

For a little while from there, they work in blatantly charged silence. It’s a very short while, all things considered, and she’s willing to clam up altogether and daydream about his digits for the duration of the lesson, but the tone of his next words nearly gives her whiplash. 

“So what are you doing on this lovely Valentine’s day?” Harry breaks the silence, once again, his tone so even and nonchalant that Y/N can’t begin to fathom where his composure comes from. 

The young woman clears her throat, “Oh. Y’know. Trying my hand at ceramics. The yuzh.” 

Jade doesn’t immediately jolt up when he ponders aloud, “Dinner plans?” 

“Not any on the calendar …that I’m aware of.”

His touch doesn’t lighten, but he does glance up, mouth all (apparently) disbelieving mirth, “You’re telling me you’re not being wined and dined tonight?” 

Feigning offense, the young woman sets her mouth into a line and nudges with her chin in a nod, joking, “Thank you for the reminder.” 

Harry laughs softly, one of those little breaths expelled through his nostrils, and he looks back down to the vase-in-progress, gentle grin undeniable. Y/N matches his amusement, faux indignation crackling. 

“You’re too pretty not to have a Valentine,” the instructor tells her, then, decibel low, almost like it was meant to be under his breath but also entirely not, and all Y/N can do is sit there with instant heat seeping to her face. Because that’s flirting. That’s definitely flirting. Her sexy ceramics instructor is helping her craft a vase out of clay on a wheel with his sexy hands, and he’s openly flirting. 

Y/N stuffs down how initially stunned she is to chew into her bottom lip and volley, “I bet you say that to every girl that comes in here.” 

Harry shrugs. It’s still almost an enraging level of cucumber-cool and composed. 

“Just the pretty ones.” He tacks on, after a moment, “And only on Valentine’s day. Don’t think that line would fit well on a random Wednesday.” 

Y/N snorts. She’s still basking in the pleasant warmth of the flattery when the man peers up and tells her, “I do accept tips, by the way, so. Feel free to leave a tip for the friendly service.” 

“I will—“ she snorts, restraining her open amusement at the way his brows crinkle in concentration as he helps her grip, “—definitely do that.” 

“Sick,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over his lips, disappearing back into his mouth as quick as the pink had showcased. Jade flits up, the corners of his mouth curled up in a little pause of silence, almost he wants to make it crystal clear he does not actually want a tip for hitting on her. 

Anyways, this is all a flustered mess. All of it. Y/N, the pot she’s sure will grow off-center and wobble under her shaky grip, all of it. 

“What about you?” the young woman takes a deep breath, hoping some sort of breathing exercise will help slow the buzzy flutter of her heartbeat, “Any wining and dining? For Valentine’s day?” 

“Not on the calendar,” Harry responds, sliding her own words back to her, his gaze still honed on the work ahead of them, now impressively morphed from a lumpy, shapeless ball into the beginnings of a vase, “As for how I’m spending my Valentine’s day, I did just show this one pretty girl how to shape and smooth. And now, …m’gonna show her how to shape some more.”

Y/N bats her lashes, and then she observes the work of his clay caked fingers, the way they curl and press over the vase in different points of the body, some motions widening the rim and some drawing it more narrow. He bids their tutorial a pause shortly after, explaining, “I’m gonna give you some creative freedom now. Figure out what shape you like.” 

Despite the slight disappointment budding at the close of their conversation, for now, the daunting task of unsupervised throwing is what probably surfaces on her face, more. The instructor catches it when he rolls back in the stool and stands, ogling her for a moment, mirthy mouth caving up in a way that suggests she must look like a deer in headlights. 

“It’s intimidating, but I believe in you. I’ll just be in the back for a sec, give me a shout if you need me.”

Y/N shifts her legs, pressing her thighs together when he adds, “Play around with it.” 

All in all, they manage to end the wheel session with (Y/N thinks, impressively) only a couple of hiccups, both being opportunities presented with unsupervised sculpting. When she’d played around with it (his words) a little too much and had coaxed a priorly even shape into something lopsided and petrifying, it’d swung around on the wheel, each turn quickening its slow but sure collapse. She’d called out for the instructor with a frantic note to his name. Of course, both times, Harry had come out from the back and patiently squeezed over the clay, hands and forearms jolting and flexing deliciously as he’d encouraged it back into something centered (yet another opportunity to stare at slick clay glazing over his fingers all over again), reassuring her that it was normal to struggle, especially with her first time. 

Y/N wonders if he’s constantly full of innuendos, or whether a ceramics studio is just innately an opportunity for double entendres. 

She tries not to make it too obvious when she stands on wobbling legs, when she brushes past him and catches soft notes of his cologne, clean and musky. When he directs her to the bathroom where she rinses clay from her hands into one of those artsy, utility sinks. When she sits at one of the tables, waiting for him to bring the vase over to her, torched and ready for additions, when he gives her another colorless lump. She tries not to make it obvious when she ogles more of his arms, the peek of his nipples through the white, clay-stained fabric of his tee shamelessly. She fears it’s utterly obvious how affected he’s made her, though, when she blinks up at his face, when he shows her what the different little tools in the cup do for sculpting. Y/N doesn’t even look away from him at the introduction of the first tool. She thinks that’s the one that must cross-hatch, driving little lines into the clay. 

“This is called slip,” Harry explains, dipping the tips of his index and middle fingers into the cup near the brushes with no hesitation. The consistency over his fingers, when he pulls them out, is like a wetter, creamier, sloppier variation of the same clay she’d worked with. 

Christ. 

“You put it over the lines you’ve carved to make more clay stick,” the instructor expands. 

Y/N swallows when he smears the consistency coating his fingers onto the lines he’d drawn, his gaze bouncing from his touch to her face. 

“Like, if you wanted to add a handle to a mug, you’d use this method. Or, alternatively,” the young woman focuses on the way the pads of the digits rub over the lines. They fade away. “It’s like an eraser. Careful with erasing, though. …Wet mess.” 

The latter is tacked on as a reminder, and it wonderfully reminds her of the heat coiling in the pit of her tummy. Wonderfully. She swallows again. 

“You can probably use that brush to apply the slip, though, if you don’t want to get your hands dirty again.” 

Flowers. She sculpts flowers with a searing heat between her thighs, because his added little comment of, “I don’t mind,” as he glances to the slip still glazing his fingers, implying that he doesn’t mind to get his hands dirty, does that to her. Y/N sculpts flowers and they settle into a comfortable sort of silence. It’s one where the only sounds are the soft music playing over the speakers and the occasional noise of pages turning from behind the counter as he leans over it and works through some kind of paperwork. She draws lines into the vase, and brushes on the slip, and presses creased flowers to decorate the bulbous body, concentration etching her features. 

She doesn’t notice when she goes over the hours of operation, and Harry doesn’t disturb her, doesn’t tell her that the shop’s been closed for nearly half an hour by the time she peers up and declares, “I’m done.” 

“You’re done,” the man repeats and sets the paperwork down, making his way over to the table where she’d set up, “Let’s have a look.” 

Y/N sits back admiring her artistry. All things considered, it’s sort of an ugly vase. Despite this, a sense of accomplishment buds in her chest as she stares at her creation. 

“I like it,” Harry tells her, nodding like he’s proud of a promising protégé, “It’s quite sweet.” 

“Thank you. What now?” 

“Now—“ the instructor props one hand onto the countertop and the other against his hip, “You wash your hands, you take a picture, and you come back in three weeks to sand it and glaze it.” 

Simple. It’s a simple set of instructions. Y/N brushes crackling, dried clay off of her fingertips against the cloth laid over the table, instinctively reaching for her purse. 

She blinks up at him expectantly, “How much?” 

Dimples wink awake with his soft simper, and he shifts his stance before he asserts, “Don’t worry about it.” 

The young woman’s features shape into something crinkled, something bemused and unwilling of a discount. She shakes her head and glances back down to the tote, “No, I have to pay you. What about your tip?” 

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, pecs flexing with the motion. Flexing, flexing, flexing, when will his muscles stop rippling? He sighs, cushiony mouth still smiling, “I think I’ll live. My tip was that I’ve helped you discover a hidden talent—“

Y/N snorts, eyeing the sloppy attachments to the shapely base, fingers still tucked over her wallet. 

“—It’d defeat the satisfaction and all the pride I’ve got now,” the man declares, shrugging. 

The unconvinced look she gives him coaxes him into a good-natured roll of his eyes, and Harry tuts before he compromises, raising his eyebrows, “But if you must tip me, you can tip me when you come back in three weeks, yeah?” 

Begrudged, the young woman takes her hand from the edges of her wallet. “Fine. Okay.” 

“Okay. Three weeks,” the man reminds her, a little smile playing over the plush of his mouth.

The world of ceramics is oddly pornographic, Y/N decides. But maybe clay isn’t innately erotic. Maybe it’s the way the man’s fingertips mold its shape, the way his digits look soaked in slip, the way his hands cradle over it as a wheel spins under his ducked stature. Maybe it’s the way his jade irises flit to her face when he makes an educational comment that’s obviously suggestive, Maybe it doesn’t have to do with clay, at all. Maybe it’s Harry.  

Maybe it’s the way he tells her, “If I were you, I wouldn’t miss it. Glazing is my favorite part.”

[jenoslutie]

Electric Hearts l k.mg (TEASER)

Synopsis: In a drunken haze, Mingyu orders a sex robot but has no recollection of it even happening. Now he has a sex robot thats way too realistic constantly trying to seduce him. Will Mingyu give in?

Pairing: Mingyu x Sex Robot!Reader

Genre: Smut, Sex robot reader, porn with plot

Teaser warnings: Fem!reader, Suggestive (not really but mentions of sex) afab reader, Wonwoo is in this like alot but he is just there as Mingyu's roommate, Reader is literally a robot LOL but she's very realistic.

Teaser word count: 665

“Mingyu!” Wonwoo called out “Your parcel is here!” dragging the abnormally big parcel into their living room and Mingyu trotted over into the living room where Wonwoo was with the box. 

“I didn’t order that” Mingyu yawned, still roaming somewhere in dreamland. Wonwoo shoots him a confused look, scanning the box for any sort of indication of who it was for until he saw a label reading the recipient as ‘Mingyu Kim’ 

“It’s yours dude, it says your name and everything” Mingyu took a look at the box and sure enough, the shipping label read his name. He remembers he was drinking a few days back but he’s almost positive he wouldn’t have ordered something this huge, under the influence or not. Accepting his fate, Mingyu dragged the box into his room and tried to look for any other indication of what it might be, the shipping label only had the sender address written in some language he definitely did not know how to read. Grabbing a pair of scissors from his and Wonwoo’s shared bathroom, he carefully cut the box open and that's when he saw it. His eyes widened in confusion. Placed carefully within the confines of the box sat a…naked human?

“Wonwoo!” Mingyu shrieked, hearing his roommate dart towards his room. 

“Look inside the box.” Wonwoo wordlessly trudged towards the box and that's when he saw it too. A human? That's naked? Inside a box that his roommate ordered? The two of them stood in silence, staring at the box until something clicks. 

“Hold on” Wonwoo broke the silence, extending his hand with hesitant fingers towards you inside the box. As his fingertips brushed against the smooth surface of your cheek, a shiver coursed down his spine. Instead of the expected warmth of human skin, his touch was met with a cold sensation. Wonwoo’s gaze flickered up to Mingyu who was looking at him with the same confusion in his eyes, his mind struggling to understand what’s happening.  

At Wonwoo’s touch, your eyes lit up, looking up at the two men staring down at you. “Hello”, you greeted, trying to adjust to the faces of the men in front of you. They looked down at you baffled and you realize they might not be aware of what you are. You stepped out of the box, making the men even more confused than they already were. 

“I suppose you haven't realized, I’m a robot.” You explain, moving your hair to the side to reveal the small charging port at the nape of your neck. Failing to get either of the men to talk, you take matters into your own hands.

“My name is Y/N, I’m a robot that was recently developed for sexual use” The taller one of the two gasps while the shorter one with glasses freezes. 

“A sex robot?” The taller man shrieks, much like the first time when he first opened the box. You take his hands in yours and place them on your chest, letting him feel you up. “I’m designed to please you” A part of Mingyu was freaked out by the advancement of technology that stood before him but another part of him couldn’t help but be turned on. 

“Without further ado, I’ll begin the usage tutorial!” 

Mingyu felt like he could almost pass out. What the hell did he get himself into? He was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice you inch closer to him, taking his face in your soft hands and pressing your lips onto his. 

He jolted as your soft lips touched his, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't enticed by you but the shock of the situation made it hard for him to even react to the kiss.

“Master, why aren’t you paying attention to me?”  Your voice was whiny, something neither Mingyu or Wonwoo knew was possible. The two men were at a loss of words as they watched your next steps. You sat down on Mingyu’s bed, spreading your legs to reveal your perfectly sculpted pussy. Needless to say, both men were baffled at how perfect and detailed it was. 

“Can you actually put stuff in there?” Wonwoo questioned, mostly to himself but you ended up responding,

“That’s what I was built for! Would you like to give it a try?"

a/n: hiii <3 this is a snippet of my mingyu x sex robot fic, Electric Hearts! please let me know if you enjoyed and if its worth continuing HAHA i dont wanan write it all just for no one to be on the same wavelength as me </3 feedback is appreciated!! :D

[caramelcleopatraa]

CAUGHT IN 4K

word count: 3.3k

x: finals are coming up, so i'm gonna be very busy, but i'm still writing y'all (this is the most consistent i've been lol) (excuse any errors of course) Hope you guys enjoyyy! leave comments... please. I love your comments.

content: Imani has a crush on Roman. Their friend group goes on live and her secret comes to the light. She thought that she was going to be rejected and move on, but things never go the way people expect. Roman Reigns x Imani, 18+ MDNI, oral (m recieving), cowg!rl, creamp!e

Imani loved weekend kickbacks. Time to chillax with her favorite people, and get her mind off of things. It was moments like these she waited for. Drinks and joints in rotation, and endless fun for hours to come. Jimmy, Jey, Roman, Trinity Talia, and Imani. She wishes that she was only thinking about the good vibes that circulated in the atmosphere, but she was focused on something else. It wasn’t like she was necessarily trying to focus on Roman, but it was inevitable when she could see him so clearly from the kitchen. She knew that having a crush on him could possibly mess up the bond that the group has, but he was so gravitating, He was perfect in her eyes. She basically textbook described him when Trinity and Talia asked her to describe her dream man: Tall, muscular, sweet, absurdly attractive, charismatic, humorous, dedicated. God, she could go on to name every single one of his attributes that she loved. She tried to brush it off as a mistake at first, but there was no part about this that was a mistake. He had a tight grip on her, and he wasn't even aware. She wonders what would happen if he felt the same way. If those pretty brown eyes she daydreamed about would reciprocate the love she was anxiously waiting to give him. She could only imagine all of the things she could do for him, to him, and provide him. If she had him all to herself, how they would spend their nights alone. How it would feel to be wrapped in his embrace. How it would feel to get lost in him between the sheets for hours, and repeat it again the next day. If she had him all to herself.

“WE GETTIN TURNT!” Talia raised her glass in the air and yelled out to her viewers, watching her through the small rectangular frame. Jimmy came around the corner with uno cards in his hands as the six of us gathered around the table. Roman, Trinity, or Jey would pop into the frame to answer a couple of questions while Jimmy shuffles the cards and Imani gathers multiple bottles to bring to the table. “Mani! They have some questions for you!” Imani joins her party, sitting the bottles on the table and scanning through the comments.

‘Do you get to go backstage with the bloodline?’

“Yes! It's amazing, I'm not gonna lie.”

‘Please do a makeup tutorial!’

“Maybe, I don't have a youtube channel.”

‘Seen any guys that have caught your eye?’

“A couple, but they ain’t nothin’ important.”

“Oh word?” Talia and Trinity both look at her with curious faces, but Imani just giggles and goes back to answering questions. 

“Ooh this is a good one. Kiss, marry, fuck: Jason Momoa, Michael B. Jordan, and Roman Reigns,” Talia reads out loud. That question got everyone’s attention. Jimmy stopped fidgeting with the cards and Roman and Jey both put their phones down impatient for her answer. “Well?” Talia was definitely setting her up, and she could feel it. Thank god for her brown skin that covered her fastly spreading blush. “Do I have to answer this?” “Yes, you do. I'm intrigued now,” Trinity says, as Imani quickly takes a double take at the entire table to see them all staring at her. She sighs before surrendering and thinking hard about the question.

“I’ll… kiss… Michael B. Jordan, fuck Jason Momoa, and marry Roman Reigns.” She instantly regretted answering the question before Trinity pried at Imani to get out more information that everyone was itching to know. “Hmm, why marry Roman?” She quickly swiped her drink off of the table and took a long sip, hiding her face. In all honesty, she wanted to say that it was the easiest choice, but that would only make her sound suspicious. And that was not a conversation that she wanted to have in front of quite literally everyone. “I'm not interested in the other guys like that.” “So you’re interested in Roman?” ‘Wait- wait! Noo that's not what I meant!’

“No, I just wouldn't marry the other two men. It’s not that deep Trin,” Imani says, a failed attempt at dismissing the conversation. “You’ve never gotten this defensive before… don’t tell me that you in your feelings.” She could see Talia smirking at the corner of her eyes. She knew she had to stop this fast. “You’re reaching Talia,” Imani says, laughing to herself. “Oooooh Imani wants the Tribal Chief, huh?” Never in her life had she ever been more embarrassed. “Jimmy, for the love of god, please start dealing the cards,” Imani says, covering her face, her words muffled by her hands. Everyone laughs, finding amusement in her nervousness. She anxiously waited for Jimmy to start dealing the cards so this moment could pass.

11:27 pm

Several rounds of uno and spades passed, and the guests were slowly starting to make their way out. She noticed Talia, Trinity, Jey, and Jimmy momentarily texting throughout the night, which would probably explain why the four of them were explaining the consequence of Imani losing a couple of rounds. “Sooooo we thought of something. Don’t be mad! It’s just a punishment for losing so much,” Talia says, sticking out her tongue. “Your punishment is that you have to ask Roman to fuck you.” ‘ASK ROMAN TO WHATT!?!?’

Her surprised face told them everything they needed to know. “You'll be fine. Uce will probably be down to fuck either way,” Jey says. Imani gave Talia a death glare, making Talia laugh. “You’re trippin’ girl. Just approach him with the right energy and make him want to stay with you. I guess this answers the question of if you have a crush on him or not.” Before she could defend herself, Roman walks in from the restroom and the four of them are gone in the blink of an eye. ‘These trifling’ heifers’

“Guess they all left. I should be on my way out then. Thank you for the food and dr-” She steps in front of him, stopping him from exiting out the front door. He looks at her with confusion. “You okay?” Her heart was beating fast. She didn't fully think out what she was going to do after she stepped in front of him, but it was now or never. 

“Fuck me.”

“...what?”

“F-fuck me.” She couldn't look him in the eye the second time. The pressure weighing on her shoulders was too much. But the thing that was racking her brain the most was how close they were. She felt like this was a disaster taking place in real time. She hears a soft chuckle, looking up to see him lightly smiling at her. “Was this your punishment for losing?” She nods, and his smile stays fixed on his face. “Do you want me to?” 

‘...did he say what I think he just said?’

Her mind is searching for an answer, a reason to say no. But she can't find any. As embarrassing and confusing this was, she had daydreamed about this moment. Maybe he was just being nice and would give her a quick fuck to fulfill the punishment. That idea became her leading thought. “You don’t have to if you’re uncomf-” “Do you want me to fuck you Imani?”

‘Shit he’s not joking.’

She slowly nods, which prompts him to lock the front door behind you. Her head was spinning, trying her hardest to maintain her composure. “Ask me again.”

“Fuck me, please,” She says nervously, eyes returning her shiny tile floors. “I don’t believe you sweetheart. Ask me again.” His hand gently grabs at her chin, making Imani look at him. Once they made eye contact, she knew that she was done for. She was already feeling weak from just looking at him. She took a deep breath before finally saying, “Please fuck me Roman.”

He wasted no time pulling her into a heated kiss. Not that she minded. This felt like a wonderful dream that she didn't want to wake up from. Only this wasn't a dream, it was real life. She finally got to feel the body that she had been drooling over. Right now, he was hers, and she was going to make the most of it. 

Her curious hands creeped along his captivating body while they explored each other’s mouths, dragging her hands up his torso from underneath his shirt. He pulled away from her soft lips to trail wet kisses from her cheek to her neck. “Not shy anymore huh?” She couldn't be shy. Her desire for him had completely taken over. “I really need you right now Roman,” She pants out. 

“Bedroom?” She nods and takes his hand in hers, leading the way to her bedroom. The sway of her hips only made Roman more aroused, as he silently admired her body from behind.

They enter her bedroom and she doesn't get a chance to close the door before being pulled into his arms again, temporarily hoisting her in the air to lay her on the spacious bed. He pulls her into another messy kiss, setting his focus on getting rid of their bothersome clothes. He quickly tore his shirt from his body and she did the same with hers. Their lips connected again, moving in harmony. He started to make his way down her body, but she squeezed his shoulders, signaling him to stop. “I wanna make you feel good first.” Roman was surprised to say the least. He kissed her tummy and replied, “Are you sure?” She gives him a confident nod, with those big doe eyes and her beautiful smile. “Alright, what do you want me to do?” “Let’s switch places.”

She scooted to the side, giving him room to lay down on the bed. She crawled down to his waist, tugging both his sweatpants and boxers down. His dick springs out of his pants, finally free from cloth restraints. Her eyes locked with his before lowering down to lick the underside of him; from his balls to his mushroom tip. A wad of spit drips from her mouth and lands on his length, using her hand to lather him up. His soft hums let her know that he was feeling good, and she was determined to make him feel a whole lot better. 

Her juicy lips start at his tip, giving small kitten licks before taking the tip in her mouth. Her warm mouth felt so good on his dick. He didn't know that Imani was this nasty. She gives him kisses up and down his shaft before taking him in her mouth again. 

She didn’t waste any time trying to tease him. He was big, and filled mer mouth well, but it’s nothing she's never handled before. Before she continued, the warmth of her mouth left him once again. “Can you record this?” Just when he thought she couldn't get more nasty. 

“Record?” She nodded her head. “Only if you’re comfortable.” “I’m more than comfortable,” Roman says, while reaching into his sweatpants pocket. He grabs his phone and opens the camera app, pressing record. “It’s recording, baby.” 

She smiles at the camera, curling her fingers around the base of his dick and tapping him against her tongue. She takes him in her mouth again for the final time, keeping her hand put at the base. She bobs her head slowly, swiveling her head from left to right. 

She keeps moving slowly, making sure to fit all she can in her mouth. Her hand that stayed curled around his base, moved in juxtaposition, stroking the rest of him that her mouth couldn't get to. “Goddamn baby, that mouth feels so good. I need that mouth around my dick all the time.” She moans in response, giving him vibrations that made him feel oh so good. She had him moaning and groaning. She didn't mind that at all. She got a big ego boost that he was so vocal from her mouth working its magic. She took note of every moan, every twitch, and any reaction he made. Right now, she was focused on his pleasure. 

His grip on his phone tightened, trying his best to keep his composure. She moved her head faster, still bobbing up and down, and using her hand to stroke his remaining inches. “Ahh s-shit mama, you keep sucking my dick like that and imma cum in your mouth.” She looks at him, already staring at her every move while she’s giving him euphoria like pleasure. She moans around his dick again, feeling her panties dampen. Her other hand massaged his balls lightly. Her slurping sounds made him close to coming. 

He couldn't take his eyes off of her. Those innocent eyes staring into him as he recorded her doing such lewd things. He tried his best not to tangle his hands in her hair and fuck her mouth full of him. But her mouth felt so good, and he wanted nothing more than to cum in her mouth. He couldn’t help himself when his hands disappeared into her hair, planting his feet on the bed and fucking up into her mouth. She put her hands behind her back, letting him use her as he pleased. His thrusts were quick, but soft, his balls slapping against her chin. “Oh fuck! I’m coming mama, ooh I'm comin’.” He kept her head steady while coming deep in her throat, and she accepted with jubilation. 

She bobbed her head a few more times, trying her best to overstimulate him the most she can, until his hand grabs her chin, lifting her up. “Slow down princess,” He says, ending the recording. She crawls up to meet him, giving him a quick passionate kiss. “See how good you taste?” Roman chuckles at her boldness. “Your turn. Lie down,” He says, trying to sit up, but fails due to her pushing him back down on the bed. “I need that dick right now daddy.”

“You don’t want me to eat that pussy?” She runs her hand through her messy hair. “God yes I do, but I need you to fuck me right now.” Her eyes did more pleading than her words. 

“I wanna record this too,” she says, looking down at his chest, tracing the intricate tattoo. He feels around the bed, finally grabbing the phone and reopening the camera app. “Can you prop it up somewhere? I want you to be able to touch me.” “Already on it baby.” He climbed back further on your bed, propping the phone up against the lamp on the nightstand. While he did that, she slid off her shorts and panties, throwing them behind her. He pressed record again, and instructed her to adjust herself so the camera could capture everything. 

His hands landed on her ass as they both observed themself. His hands felt so good kneading her ass, and she saw his eyes drinking in every part of her body. He couldn't keep his hands off of her curvaceous body, and he didn't want to. “You like it?” Her soft hands massaged his shoulders, making him groan softly. “I love it baby, love this ass.” An unexpected slap to her ass made her jump. “You sound so good, daddy.” His hands move her hips along his dick, grinding her body against his. 

“How long have you been thinking about this?” She shies away from his gaze, a sudden flash of embarrassment runs through her body. She had forgotten about all of her feelings of distress and nervousness and realized that she was running on arousal and adrenaline. “A-a couple of months.” He lifts her hips and grabs his length, rubbing the tip along her slit. A few rubs up and down her slickness before impaling her on his dick. They moan simultaneously, relishing in the mind numbing pleasure. “You been thinking about taking this dick baby?” She gives him small head nods, still captured by the feeling of him inside of her. His hands cupped her chin, turning her head to the direction of the phone, steadily recording them. His hands were full of her ass, moving her up and down his shaft slowly. His unsteady breaths and her elongated moans were harmonious. “Go ‘head then. Bounce that ass on my dick.”

Her eyes focused on him as she steadied herself, her hands placed on either side of his head. She throws her ass back, his thighs catching it every time. His eyes were still glued to the phone, watching her beautiful body on top of him. But it wouldn’t be long until he faced her again, her soft titties hanging in front of his face. She had daydreamed about fucking Roman, and she was finally doing it. It gave her confidence knowing that he couldn't keep his hands off of her body. Her facial expression told her exactly how she was feeling. It was almost overwhelming how sexy she was. Beautiful smile, sexy body, paired with addicting moans that made him want to fuck her all night long. 

“Mmm~ look at you taking daddy’s dick. You’re doing so good,” Roman pants, grabbing at her breasts. His gentle praises and gruff voice was enough to make her cum. His dominating presence, his words, his touch. This man had her mind running laps. Even though he wasn’t putting in any effort, he was hitting all the right spots.

Her words were slurred, eyes rolled back, mouth wide open spewing salacious moans. Her hips slowed down, the constant rhythm created by her ass and his thighs meeting no longer lasted while she hid in the crook of his neck. Her body was decorated with a sheet of sweat that didn’t take away from her golden hue. “Look at me.” She rested on her elbows, locking her eyes onto his. Their faces were laced with lust, an unsatisfied want for each other. 

His strong arms caged her in, preventing her from squirming or escaping. She was still catching her breath while Roman planted his feet on the bed again. He places a tender kiss on her cheek before fucking up into her. She grabbed on to any part of his body that could, her eyes fluttering shut. A harsh slap to her ass makes her scream in pleasure. “I said look at me,” Roman says, demanding her full attention.

“Ohhh- my god! You feel so fucking g-good!” Roman loved watching her unravel. How she screamed for glory while he fucked her. God, he could make this his favorite hobby. Making her cum over and over again. “Mhm- fuckk- keep talking to me baby.” Her mind was foggy. She could only focus on one thing right now, how good he was dicking her down. Roman was making her feel so good. She looked at his phone propped up on the nightstand again to see their reflection. Her ass rippled from his hard strokes. That sight alone had her ready to cum. “Shhit! I’m finna cum on that big ass dick!” “Yeah? You finna cum?”

Her nails dug into his broad shoulders, feeling a knot build up in her stomach. “Cum with me Imani, let me feel you cum around my dick.”

Her eyes shut as she came, her orgasm hitting like a dam breaking, sending waves of pleasure throughout her body. His hips slowed down, but still gave her deep strokes, coming deep inside her. High pitched moans and deep grunts filled the room. His hands lazily grab her hips, allowing her to move again. She reached to grab the phone and ended the video, dropping the phone somewhere as she laid limp against his chest. His thumbs worked small circles as they both caught their breath. “I’m gonna take a shower when I get up, wanna join me?” Imani hears him chuckle, still working small circles into her hips. “Nah, we’re not done. I gotta eat that pussy, Imani.”

If these were the punishments she got for losing in spades, maybe losing wasn't so bad after all.

🏷️ tags :) @reignsboy19 @2-muchsauce @theninthwonder @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede @badbitchcentralinc @christinabae @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @cyberdejos2

[brilium]

❥ K I N K T O B E R 2 0 2 3

Masterlist

➽──────────❥

❥ DAY 6. Cheating! with Gojo Satoru

Summary. Your boyfriend, hated by all your friends, turns you down again on a dinner that you planned for weeks and Satoru shows up at a bar to wash away all your worries like he always does.

Content Warning. Fem! reader, no use of Y/N, all characters are adults, smut, fingering, masturbation (f. recieving), vaginal sex, cheating, Satoru calls her slut one time but it's more praising, mirror sex.

Word count. 3,203

MINORS OR AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT !!

“Sorry, babe. I’ll make sure to make it up for you next time, okay?”

You sigh, throwing your phone inside your bag and standing up to leave the fancy restaurant with the sound of your heels echoing through the sound of the soft jazz music.

On the way back to your car, the only thought in your mind is all the times when your friends have told you that your boyfriend is an idiot that only stays with you for comfort. You always try to excuse him, but why? 

Do you even still love him?

Thinking about it is more hurtful than being turned down by him on the dinner that you planned for your anniversary, while you try to hold the tears hiding your face on the steering wheel, you make a decision.

You bought this pretty dress only for this night, to surprise him with a new dress. You looked for tutorials to get a pretty makeup on that’d make you look stunning. And you are, so it would be such a lame to waste this night crying over an idiot who can’t keep his word with you.

That’s what you thought in your car, getting excited for a wild night as you drive to the nearest night club and you get inside to get drunk and make out with a stranger. But, your moral betrays you once you get your drink and realize that your adrenaline got you thinking about cheating.

Does he really deserve it?

I mean, he's not that bad as a boyfriend. He at least remembered about sending me a message to say that he couldn’t come to our date, right?

Opposite to what was supposed to happen, the rush of thoughts running in your head makes you feel a little guilty after taking some more drinks. You put the money harshly on the bar and turn to leave, but a familiar voice calling your name makes you turn back to it.

“I didn’t think of finding you here, precious!” Satoru’s voice calls you, raising his tone to let you hear him through the loud sound of the music. “Weren’t you stressed all week planning a hookup or something for tonight?”.

You frown, looking at him with annoyance as you roll your eyes.

“It wasn’t a hookup! It was dinner!” You raise your tone too, but he makes a gesture to his ear, pointing that he didn’t hear you correctly. You lean closer to his side, trying to resume it and be clear “My boyfriend couldn’t make it!”

He laughs, leaning his head to the side to smile at you. His cheeks are slightly pink and he seems a little more relaxed than other times, it could be a mistake of your eyes thanks to the lights moving and flickering, but you get the hint that his pupils might be even a little dilated.

“I thought that you’d dump him sooner or later!”

“You wish. I haven’t broken up with him!” You protest, hitting his chest softly and rolling your eyes as you take the last remains on your glass on the bar in one sip. You thought of leaving, but Satoru always makes his way to bring up a smile to you everytime that your boyfriend disappoints you.

Satoru clicks his tongue, stepping closer to you and leaning down a little to speak closer to your ear. There are so many things around you both in this club; music, lights, people and the vibrations of the music resonating, but even through all that, Satoru’s breath makes your skin shiver when he speaks.

“I could make this night better for you, If you want”.

Your eyebrows frown, leaning a little to the side to look at him with a chuckle. But all your playfulness goes away when his face is still closer to yours, looking at you with expectation and a little smile on his mouth.

“How are you planning to do that?” The answer from your mouth comes out in a soft whisper, so soft that it’s impossible that Satoru heard it with the loud music playing. But he clearly knows that, if it were the opposite, you would have laughed and leaned back, but you didn't.

So, when he leans closer and closer to your face, with his lips barely touching yours is when you finally give up. His cologne has combined with a faint smell of smoke and his lips are slightly opened, waiting for you to take the final step, to take the decision of cheating on your boyfriend.

Should I call him and tell him that I felt hurt? 

Your hand goes up through his body to grab the back of his neck.

He might feel sorry and make time for me if I tell him.

The possibility crosses your mind as your head tilts to the side to have a better angle with Satoru’s face.

But.

Will he be able to give me the same satisfaction as Satoru? 

It's the final thought that you have before his lips start to devour yours, skipping the "innocent kiss" part and immediately grabbing your waist to bring you closer.

You don't know when or how, but your hands are hugging his neck to bring him down to your lips, taking quick breaks between kisses to grab some fresh air and get back to him again. He's holding you with such strength like you might escape from him, but there's no better place in the world right now than being here, kissing him and forgetting about everything. 

His hands go down from your waist to your hips, reaching finally your ass to give it a squeeze that makes you pull back from the kiss to moan softly. Satoru takes the chance to kiss down your jaw and neck, sucking on your skin without a second thought to let a purple bruise grow on you.

The braces of your dress start to fall down while he keeps kissing and marking, his knee holds you between your legs to keep you standing as he rubs the clothed cunt with his bone. You can only moan and grab his hair between your fingers, too aroused to do anything.

There's a lot of people, people too lost on their fun or alcohol to care about you both making out in the bar, they don't even know that you have a boyfriend. But you still hold his hair tightly to bring him up, he moans in a tiny laugh when you pull him, getting turned on by any simple action from you.

“N–Not…”

Satoru sighs, about to let you go but you hold him tight before keep talking.

"S–Satoru…" He looks down at you, staring between your lips and your eyes like he's hypnotized. "Not here".

A bright smirk grows on his face as he answers a clear "I got you" before grabbing your hand to sneak away through the people and get you both inside the bathrooms of the club. To your luck, it was empty and he took the opportunity to quickly close the door with a key.

"Why do you have the keys of the bathrooms?" You ask, still dizzy from the makeout and rush.

"Yaga won’t notice that I grabbed them." he winks at you and walks closer to you to caress firmly from your thighs to your waist, slowly lifting your dress. You let out a soft whimper when his nails scratch softly on your skin. "Are you feeling doubtful?”

You open your mouth to answer, but a moan comes out before you can say anything when his hand has already reached your clothed cunt while the other harshly pulls down the top of your dress to let out your breasts, you startle at the soft sound of a rip as Satoru laughs softly as his face hides on the crook of your neck to keep kissing and marking your skin.

“Fuck, Satoru— This dress was expensive!” Despite your whine, you shout your eyes to ignore how sensitive you are by the friction of his shirt on your nipples. Every movement resonates on the echo of the bathrooms, being the total opposite to the rowdy club.

“I’ll buy you a new one, don’t worry” He whispers beside your ear and you feel your legs getting weak again, so you bring a hand down between his legs on the bugle on his pants to squeeze him up and down. 

Satoru lets out a broken moan on your clavicle that sounds like heaven thanks to the echo. 

The vibrations coming from your bag start to distract you, but there’s nothing that could care you more than Satoru’s hand rubbing your clit above your underwear. 

You try to grab out the phone to stop the buzzing but it's hard to get focused right now, so you throw the small bag on the counter of the bathroom to hold his hair tightly and start to grind your hips on his hand.

Satoru loves how desperate you are, stopping the movement of his hand between your thighs suddenly. You whine in protest but he turns you on your spot quickly to have you looking at your both reflects on the mirror.

The reflection of your sweaty and half naked body makes you feel a little nervous, but Satoru quickly pushes that thought away as he looks directly at your eyes on the reflection while he keeps kissing down your shoulders, the deep gaze on you and the sensation of his hard crotch grinding on your ass makes you feel the most desired you ever felt on months. 

His hand returns down and puts aside your panties to slide inside the tip of two of his fingers inside your wet cunt, your body shakes at the action, holding the counter with one hand while the other holds his hand between your legs by instinct. Satoru immediately pulls out his fingers and you protest, again.

“W–What? Why did you stop?” Your voice comes out shaky, turning your head back slightly to look at his face.

“It’s not fun if you aren’t looking too.” Satoru pouts on your shoulder, returning the tip of his fingers to your entrance to lubricate them with the wetness around your folds. “Let’s enjoy the show together, okay?”

As his fingers slowly start to push inside you, you rest your head on his shoulder, trying to keep your gaze with half opened eyes on the mirror as he is fingering you and the other hand squeezes your breasts, pinching the nipples between his nails and making you squirm on him. All the movement of your body makes the grinding on his erection get more persistent, causing you both to moan and groan as his fingers keep digging and curling on your folds.

Moans and wet sounds resonate thanks to the echo of the bathrooms, echoing louder when your orgasm starts to get closer.

“Sa–Satoru… D–Don’t stop” You moan, almost crying of pleasure when his palm starts to rub harder on your swollen clit when his movements get a faster peace and spreading your juices all around your cunt. “I–I’m gonna cum!”

“Yeah? Are you gonna cum by the fingers of someone who’s not your boyfriend?” His voice is raspy, struggling to answer through his hard breathing.

It’s embarrassing, but you nod desperately, grinding harder on his hand and squeezing one of your breasts while the other holds his hair for support to not fall off because of the big orgasm coming.

“Yes! Yes and I l–love it!”

Satoru laughs shakily, curling his fingers and kissing your neck as he answers.

“Cum all over my fingers, darling. You won it.” He orders, and you cum almost instantly in a loud cry. All your squirming and shaking during the explosion of your orgasm makes you stop looking at the mirror, but fortunately this time he decides to enjoy the show by himself.

Satoru waits patiently for you to stop spasming to let you ride the orgasm as long as you can, trembling and standing up just because of his hold on your body. He pulls out his fingers to grab your hips and you whine breathless.

“Don’t whine, you look like you ran a marathon. One where you arrived at the last.” He teases, resting his head beside you with a smirk.

“S–Shut up.” You hiss, pushing your ass back to feel him and make him groan. “Wait until I make you cum next”.

He moans heavenly again, resting his forehead on your shoulder and struggling to speak with your movements, but not making a movement to stop you.

“I don’t want you to blame me for cheating on your dear boyfriend, y’know?” 

You roll your eyes, moving a little from his hold to lift the back of your dress to leave it hanging on your waist and pull down your panties. You hold the porcelain counter to arch your back better and jiggle your ass for him.

“So you want to lose the opportunity to do it raw?” 

Those words are heavy. 

You don’t even let your boyfriend cum inside, you use birth control but still you ask him to use a condom. You don’t even bother to blame the few shots you drank, you know that he gave you the best orgasm in two years since you started dating your partner. Right now, you don't even care if he rips in two halves the expensive dress that may be covered in sweat by now.

Satoru bites hard on his lip, looking everywhere but your tempting ass in sight for him. Now he’s the one doubting, but it doesn't last long before you hear the sound of his belt tinkling and feel his hands squeezing your butt to spread it.

He looks at your wet folds, dripping down the remains of your cum on your thighs, he grabs the base of his hard cock and rubs it on your entrance. 

"God— Baby" He hisses when the red tip starts to slide inside you and is received by your gummy walls already tightening. You moan sharply when he starts to push and let you feel his hard veins "You’re so fucking tight. So hot."

You moan sharply without any doubt anymore as his length makes his way inside you. Even if you can't see him, you feel the slight curvature of his cock pushing more and more on your G-Spot.

"I haven't had a good fuck in some time." The words come out in a breath once he has finally pushes all inside, his hands grab your hips firmly before he starts thrusting with a slow rhythm.

After the first orgasm, you’re still sensitive with any touch of his skin on yours.

"I guess I can fix that." He laughs, starting to send thrusts that make your ass jiggle slightly by the hit. Satoru's patience seems to blow away once you start to push back for more.

"Please… Ruin me, please" you fix your gaze again on the mirror, loving how Satoru seems almost hypnotized by your ass recoil while you get a view of your tits hanging side to side from his thrusts. "Make me feel guilty for enjoying another man's cock so much".

"Fuck— You're such a dirty girl, huh?" Satoru finally starts to send harder thrusts that resonate loudly, not enough with the sound of  his hips hitting your ass, his hand sends a slap on it, making you moan in a broken voice "A slut so fucking needy for a good cock, yeah?"

“Yes—! Yes I–I am” You nod, too cock drunk by how he keeps hitting on the weak spot on your gummy walls.

He laughs shakily and grabs your neck to bring your back against his chest, his hand holding your neck as the other crosses around your stomach to hold your cunt close to his thrusts.

It's hard to look at the reflection with the small tears forming on your eyes since this position gives his curve a better angle to get you crying his name. Your hands just can hang on your sides as your body receives all his hard thrusts. 

Satoru also looks at the reflection with his lips half opened and keeping his gaze on your numb body. When your insides start to tighten around him on the advice of your second orgasm approaching Satoru bends again your body closer to the counter. 

His hand grabs one of your thighs to put it on the counter and push your face against the mirror, his cock slams harder than before inside you as your body smashes violently on the mirror while your orgasm hits you screaming his name.

"Fuck— You're a fucking angel, gorgeous" Satoru keeps thrusting hard and messy until, in a hard thrust, you feel a warm start to fill your aching cunt.

You breathe heavy against the mirror, leaving a spot of mist on it while your whole body trembles while Satoru keeps thrusting inside you to push his cum further as the music of the club sounds like it's far away from you.

You both stay like that for a little, trying to put your heartbeats again on a stable rhythm. 

Satoru gently seats you on the counter when he pulls out and notices the weakness on your body. You blush softly, mumbling a soft 'Thanks' with your dry throat.

"No round two, then?" He jokes, fixing his pants and grabbing some paper towels from the dispenser.

"You look as fucked out as me, Satoru" you laugh softly, pointing at his flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead. He approaches near you to clean you with the paper towels you startle, pushing him immediately "Wait— What are you doing!?"

"Cleaning you up?" He asks with an skeptical tone "I know that anyone has ever cummed inside you and you don't know that, but—"

"I've done it like this before, Satoru".

Satoru only answers a soft "Oh" that is followed by a wide grin, his hand gives your thigh a small squeeze that makes you jump on your spot slightly.

"So you've been naughty before, huh?"

"Shut up, Satoru" you look away from him, pulling closer your bag to give it to him "I have some tissues here, use them. I don't trust in those paper towels".

"We literally just had sex in here" he protests, but still grumbles around your small bag to look for the tissues, but suddenly stops the movement when he notices something.

Instead of grabbing your tissues, Satoru brings out your phone and shows you a screen of a call in progress with your boyfriend.

You quickly grab the phone and put it on speaker, hoping that he answered with the phone still on his jeans.

"Hello?"

"Fuck off". You hear his voice and then the finished call sound comes.

You don't even feel bad or guilty after finding out that he maybe heard you fucking with another man, you just look at the phone surprised by all the things that happened so quickly. 

After some seconds, you feel again Satoru squeezing your thighs and you look up from your phone at his smirk looking at you with wide eyes.

"So… Are you single now?"

[alizalayne]

Hello! this will be a quick process post so that you can see how I needlefelted a fursuit head!

I began by following the "bucket head" tutorial by Matrices, then added a layer of polyfill so that I wouldn't use as much of my merino wool. This is how I typically make a doll head, my "core wool" is often polyfill because it really likes to clump together and fuse.

Overall, this project took about two months of my spare time. This is the first fursuit head I have made, but not my first needlefelt project.

I would really like to encourage other people to try making masks this way! You can do any kind of subtle color with wool and the wool fiber is very cheap. If you wanted to make a fursuit head with the entirety of starry night flowing over it, or a head with tons and tons of complex colors, I think wool might be the best material. I also did not need to know how to pattern or sew in order to make this-- it was sculpture rather than sewing, which I am bad at.

The rest under the cut!

Another angle where you can see that I am building up the structure of the head.

I then made the ears, which are translucent because they're felted, just like real ears!

I wasn't happy yet with the proportions at this point, so I spent a lot of time figuring that out and deciding where and how I'd be placing the eyes.

I made a pair of sculpey follow-me eyes by using a little soy sauce dish as a concave circular mold and tried a foam clay nose and teeth. The sculpey eyes could be more successful, they took a lot of shaving and adjusting to get right and they eventually cracked from the strain I'd put them through while making them more shallow. For a while, I intended to make wefts of white wool to use on the sides of the head, but I ended up preferring a domestic shorthair head shape because it reads the most clearly as a cat vs any other animal.

I originally intended to have the eyes behind clear plastic domes and used "shaker domes" that people use to make greeting cards to cover the eye, but in the end they made the eyes too dull. I made foam clay housing for the eyes and painted it pink with acrylic paint. I used stick-on car window tint to create the pupils. My visibility inside the head is really good!

Finally, after fiddling, one of the eyes was deeper than the other and I had to re-set both to account for it. I added spot glitter on top of the acrylic paint on the eye using some gold watercolor paint I had, which was silly because I'll need to wash the head at some point. I will probably seal the eyes before washing and hope for the best. I intend to spot clean the head until it absolutely needs to be washed, at which point I'll remove some pieces or find a way to protect them while soaking the head in a cool dr. bronner's bath.

I glued down a layer of felt fiber on top of the foam clay "tear ducts" and then felted new fiber over the tear duct skin and cheeks to blend them into the face. I also removed the teeth and closed her mouth because I didn't have time to adjust the teeth as much as I wanted before the con that my friends and I attended. I would like to modify this head so that she can open and close her mouth.

Lastly, I added wire whiskers with little glass beads looped onto the ends and paper eyelashes that I also watercolored and sealed, like the insides of the eyes. Like I said before, it's gonna be a problematic wash, but I'm confident I'll figure it out, and I can always repair her or replace her lashes if something goes wrong.

Last thing, to keep the inside of the head nice and cool and prevent fogging since in the end I closed the mouth and had sealed eyes, I made a snorkel out of a snorkel mouthpiece fitted into two collapsible auto funnels.

I would say that realistically this entire project cost me less than $150. I had some materials lying around, like the wire and the beads and the sculpey.

I added two ear vents on either side of the head so that I had options on where to feed the snorkel out. If you look at the other pictures on the blog of me wearing the head, you mostly can't even see the snorkel mouth. However, it was a little problematic to let go of the snorkel to talk. it would be perfect for a silent suiter, but I'm lucky that so many people wanted to talk to me. I'd like to try and replace the snorkel mouth with something I can talk in, but I'm not sure what to use. It should be something that can create a seal to keep my breath out of the head. it's possible that I will be able to make something with a painter's mask.

I hid the "seam" between the head and my body with two yards of tulle tied into a big bow and sewn down onto the neck so that it wouldn't move around.

I hope that if you try making something similar you'll show it to me!

[kawowoa]

retwists with sukuna <3

synopsis : it’s been a few months since your last retwist, your boyfriend thinks it’s stupid for you to go out and get it done when he’s right there

character : sukuna

info : gn. black reader, sukuna swears but not that much, but he’s nice and very loving, minimal dialogue n weird pacing, not beta read or proofread

wc : 1k

a/n : first jjk fic!! bare with me pls i never had locs so if some parts are a little inaccurate lmk!

you stare at yourself in the mirror, twirling one of your locs between your fingers. it’s been a few months of constant oiling and moisturizing your hair with products your mother bought and shipped to your house under the guise that it’ll keep your hair healthy and long (and possibly grow longer!)

she wasn’t wrong—your hair grew a lot, so much that you can’t see your scalp anymore. you silently curse but bless your mother for her unnecessarily good products

“the hell are you doing?” you hear his voice say from your left. you let out a small huff, turning to face your boyfriend. sukuna looked at you with a small frown, his eyes squinting at you almost like he was silently judging you

“just looking at my hair, think i need to book an appointment for a retwist” you explain to him, turning back to the mirror. you brush your locs out of your face, pouting when they only bounce back over your eyes

sukuna let out a short laugh, now standing behind you. he dragged his hands up your forehead, using his hands as a makeshift headband, only to yank his hands back, causing your head to snap back

you let out a small yelp, whining about his unnecessary use of his strength. he was always so heavy handed, stemming from the hours he put into the gym. a grin tugged the corners of his lips, earning a frown from you

“you don’t need to waste your damn money like that. let me do it for you” sukuna murmured against your skin. he stared down at your face, watching how your eyebrows pinched together as you contemplated his request

there’s no way he, your boyfriend, the most impatient man you know wants to do your retwist. the same man that was grumbling and pouting because you took too long too long to come back with food. the same man that would complain when you took too long to get ready for bed

there’s just no way

“you sure?” he nodded. “positive?” he nodded again. “okay then” he grinned

-

“fuck this shit, you got too much damn hair”

you knew something like this would happen, barely ten minutes in and he’s already complaining

you were seated between sukuna’s legs on the floor, his heavy hands giving you whiplash as he moved your head every which way. sukuna grumbling in your ears as his eyes darted from the laptop screen playing a tutorial and back down to your hair

you couldn’t help but laugh at him. it reminded you of your mother, you could practically hear her voice through sukuna’s words, the same tone complaining about your thick hair

it warmed your heart, a dumb grin on your face that sukuna couldn’t see

“you wanted to help, don’t go complaining now” you teased, tilting your head back to look at him with a cheeky grin

he frowned, his eyes narrowing at you behind the thin red framed glasses. he pushed your head back down, grumbling about how you’re ‘so damn annoying’

he was lying, not really. but you didn’t care, you loved him anyway

the two of you fell into a comfortable silence except for the buzz of hearing the lady speaking into the mic, instructing each of sukuna’s movements

it was a constant pattern sukuna easily fell into: using the comb to make a part, smoothing it out with the gel then twisting the hair in the comb

palm rolling had to be the hardest part for him, you could tell with the way he would grunt and how the loc would slip from his fingers, messing up his rhythm

it was cute, everything about him was

—

a few hours pass, if you went to a shop—like you had planned to before sukuna came into the picture—they would’ve been done by now. not that you cared if it meant spending more time with your boyfriend

“almost done, jus’ got the top of your big head to do” sukuna said, you could hear the grin in his voice. maybe you should’ve went to the shop instead

“rude! my head isn’t big!” you shot back, eliciting a hearty laugh from him. it made you smile, almost making you forget how he basically insulted you

“mhm, whatever helps ya sleep at night” sukuna presses the tips of his fingers against your temple, tipping your head back to press a feather light kiss onto your forehead

it made you pout, in return you just get a snide smirk before he tipped your head back forward, making you stare at the wall

the cool metal of the comb slid through your new growth as sukuna formed your favored part. his hands moving your head front, back, side to side as he made sure everything was even

he didn’t want his partner leaving the house with a messed up part. he’d be damned if he knew he was the cause of it too

—

“im done, go look in the mirror” sukuna said after almost another twenty minutes of silence

your head felt heavy, all the small metal clips that kept your hair in place made themselves very apparent as they clinked against each other while you made your way back to the bathroom

you could hear sukuna snickering behind you as he followed you to the bathroom. ignoring him, your eyes fall onto your face in the mirror, analyzing your hair as your fingers brushed through your locs, being mindful of the clips

you let out a noise mixed with surprise and amusement. he was leaning against the doorframe once you faced him, his shoulders tensed up, you could tell he was interested in what you have to say

“it looks good! for your first time, you did it perfectly!” you praised him, a bright smile on your face

it affected him, enough for him to have a bashful look on his face. “i know, i know. now you don’t need those shitty stylist who want to scam you out of ya money”

“okay, now you’re being dramatic”

“i’m jus’ saying”

[gigglecoffin]

MY CAS RESOURSES

WHELP HERES THE LONG AWAITED CAS RESOURCES!!! everything listed will always be in my recourses tab with my other fav cc links and tutorials!! i will try to update as much as i can!!!

GENETICS

m skin skin N10

f skin 1 kiko

f skin 2 jimi

f skin 3 skin N11

-

face shadow spotlight

mouth corners 1 N3

mouth corners 2 N2

nose mask 1 N1

nose mask 2 N4 upd

eyebag 1 OS-Eyebag 01

eyebag 2 N7

freckles 1 N1

freckles 2 naomi

moles 1

moles 2 N1

moles 3 N2

hairline 1 N1

hairline 2 TASHA HAIRLINE

hairline 3 PIXELORE ORGANIC HAIRLINE RECOLOR & FIX BY QWERTYSIMS

LIGHTING

gentle cas lighting

PRESETS

m body 1 ir7770_ElezenPreset01

m body 2 David male body

m body 3 N3

m body 4 DARK ELF M PRESET E2

m body 5

f body 1 N2

f body 2 pear

-

eye 1 fox eye preset

eye 2 MMSIMS Preset AM Eyes 1

eye 3 01

eye 4 02

eye 5 eyes v1

nose 1 button nose

nose 2 Female Nose Presets 04-09

nose 3  Male Nose Presets 04-06

nose 4 male preset 1

lips 1 ghostly

lips 2 puffy pt2

lips 3 puffy pt1

lips 4 jamie

lips 5 lips presets #10-32

jaw/chin 1

SLIDERS

anything by obscurus-sims, Dumbaby, Luumia, and Teamoon

SHADERS

sept 2022 shaders

heavy rain

TUTS BY ME

alpha hair recolor tut

FAVS

sept 5th 2022

hair acc

f skinblends

overall hairs

m hairs

glasses

[varpusvaras]

There are enough similarities with how the life was before and during the war, and how it is now, so that Seventeen doesn't lose his mind instantly.

He still gets up early. That was the easiest similarity to keep. He was told that he needs more sleep, so he gives himself until five thirty instead of his regular five sharp. It's acceptable. He still has enough time to get himself ready and then try to make food.

There the similarities end when it comes to the morning. The clothes aren't right. They are soft and while good for moving around, they are not tactical in the slightest. He feels like he is missing a layer of skin with them on. It grates on him, and it doesn't make the fact that he has no idea how to cook any better.

Not that he is giving it any more voluntary thought than he has to. Any of it. It's just clothes. It's just cooking. He has learnt to repair weapons, ships, armor. He has learnt how to fight, how to kill, and how not to be killed. He has made through all of it and has now ended up in a small kitchen of all places. This is not going to end him either.

He reads all the manuals for every single kitchenware they have. He reads of the nutritional values of every single item of food there is in the cupboards and in the cooler. He studies the diet plan he had been given enough time so he remembers every word. He downloads a cook book. He watches tutorials from the holonet.

Fifteen minutes after 6 in the morning, he has made caf, tea, toast and five other things that goes with the toast. It all tastes how the book and the tutorials describe them to taste like.

Then he cleans. He does the dishes. He looks through the kitchen again. He makes a list of things they need more of. He gathers every single item on all of the counters and puts them back in their place. He goes back to the bedroom. He makes the bed. He goes back into the kitchen. He dries the dishes. It's a repeating task, like cleaning a weapon. Take a plate. Turn it around in the cloth. Put it away. Take a plate. Turn it around in the cloth. Put it away.

He goes through all the plates like that, then the cutlery, then the glasses. He puts them away in the same order in their correct places inside the cabinets and drawers.

Then he goes into the living room and stands in the middle of it and stares at the wall for fifteen minutes.

After the fifteen minutes is over, he thinks about his therapist, who had told him to pick up a relaxing hobby that he can do with his hands but that gives him enough to think about. Something that is a little bit more removed from his life so far. Something softer had been the implication.

Seventeen doesn't want to do anything softer, but he still picks up the needles he had got for himself, despite it having felt like he was giving up, finds another tutorial, watches it, and starts learning how to put the thread through itself.

It's just past eight in the morning when he makes his first row of stitches. He stares at it for a minute, and then throws it at the same wall he had spent fifteen minutes staring at before.

His legs hurt. They do that a lot, these days. Seventeen thinks it's because they hate him just as much as he hates them.

He gets up. Takes the first dose of his allotted painkillers and tries not to feel like the biggest failure in the entire Galaxy, because it's thirteen minutes before he usually takes them, and then gets angry at himself for a moment for being stupid. Because the thing is, Seventeen does not care about anything.

He waits for a moment. The pain goes away. He picks up his needles. The stitches have fallen of off them.

It's nine in the morning. He has made 28 rows of stitches.

Seventeen hates the fact that he had forgotten to hate everything while focusing on doing them.

He doesn't throw the needles this time, though.

[accidentalshifter]

List of TVD/Original-verse Minishifts (Part 2, Electric Boogaloo)

Tw: blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation & dark themes. My dream Mikaelsons do not play nice at all. Be warned.

Unlike my other DRs where I've had success in scripting some things like choosing when I go in and where...this...whatever it is?? A weird alternate universe of the TVD/Original-verse or something?? Doesn't seem to play by the rules and refuses to adhere to any script I've tried to throw at it. At this point, I'm just riding the ride...

If anything, it's good inspiration for a story. Even if I sound absolutely crazy...

⚜️ Davina Claire is sitting on a three-legged stool, focusing on a singing bowl placed in front of her on a work table. Herbs, crystals, and candles litter the table as well. I can't tell what kinds of stones or herbs they are. This shift was quick to come & quicker to go. She is (slowly) circling the wooden mallet of the singing bowl around the rim of it, creating a brassy, humming sound. It looks like she is meditating while doing this. [Awake]

⚜️ Rebekah and her new werewolf boyfriend (who I'm pretty certain is that blonde named Oliver) are having really loud sex upstairs in one of the rooms of the Mikaelson chateau. The one in the French Quarter. I'm stuck as a ghost listening to it down in the courtyard & wishing I could raid their wet bar so at least I'm drunk while being stuck here. Their loud sex turns into loud conversation and arguing about Marcel. It seems like Oliver feels like a rebound. But if the shoe fits, my dude, you should probably wear it... [Awake]

⚜️ Elijah pours himself a late-night drink of aged liquor from his special reserve cabinet hidden in the office room of the Mikaelson chateau. He's agitated about something. It looks like he hasn't...I guess, fed?? There are the growing signs of dark circles underneath his eyes. The first button of his button-down shirt is undone, his silk tie is loosened. He's gripping the cut crystal glass too tight. His dark gaze trails over to the many journals he has opened at his desk. Some journals look old as fuck. Some of them look newer, with fresher pages that aren't yellowed and brittle and musty. I think these journals are his... [Awake]

⚜️ Rebekah watching YouTube facial & skin care tutorials and making snide commentary at the YouTubers she doesn't like or how she has been doing the very same beautification regiment for hundreds of years longer than them. There's also some Youtubers that she does like and I notice her adding them to her playlist. I had to have been there for 20 mins just sitting on her bed while she sat in front of her vanity mirror, applying makeup to get ready for some event. On the plus side?? I've started incorporating facial scrubs into my own routine here in my CR. [Awake]

⚜️ Niklaus strolling on into the chateau at 3 am with two drunk girls on either side of him & one other that he's more focused on. She's the most drunk. One of the girls tugs on his arm, asking him in a slurred voice "where all the fun is at?" and that she's "bored". The girl wearing a tight black cocktail dress asks Nik "if there's any liquor here?" and pouts. Klaus laughs, assuring them that the fun has just begun, and leads them all upstairs. I decide that I'm staying in the courtyard for this but for some fucking reason, I feel myself being dragged upstairs along with them. Even tho I try to grab hold tight to the bannister of the staircase. It doesn't work. The scene is going to Klaus' painting room whether I want to go or not...

With huge amounts of pride, Niklaus shows off his "post modern art." Especially to that one girl he's fixated on. I notice him sliding up behind her to wrap his arms around her shoulders. I wince. I try to say something to interrupt what I predict is going to unfold in a few seconds. Nobody hears me. Klaus has that girl in his clutches. He asks her what her opinion on the piece is and when she goes to speak, his mouth is on the crook of her neck. What comes out of the girl's mouth is a soft little whimper to which Klaus teasingly says "Oh, is it that good, love?? You could say I'm inspired-" and that's when he takes a vicious bite into her neck. The blood spurting goes everywhere. On the walls, on the paintings. He was not neat or precise with his bite. He didn't even give her a chance to scream. But I am screaming.

I try to run out of the room. But, as soon as I do, I seem to hit an invisible wall. And I can't push through it. I'm left to watch Klaus drop the girl whose neck now has a gaping hole in it and see the other two girls scream and try to scramble for the door. He lets them have a second where they think they're gonna make it and...basically catches, compels, & forces them to act like death is just one huge turn on kink they have. I, on the other hand, have slid down the surface of the invisible wall & now sit on the floor, repeating "I'm in my CR" over and over again until suddenly I'm back in my room. I did not sleep that night. [Awake]

⚜️ Niklaus on another occasion, escorting a very beautiful, dark haired, Latina out of the chateau after a night spent together. I catch sight of the woman staring directly at me as she and Klaus walk past me in the courtyard. She says nothing about it to him. [Awake]

⚜️ Elijah has a very tense conversation over speaker phone with Marcel in his office. Idk why this is on speaker phone since nobody that I can see is with Elijah...except me. But Elijah doesn't see me or he is pretending not to??? Anyways, Marcel is vehemently deflecting Elijah's pointed accusations that he's trying to undermine the Mikaelson's authority over New Orleans. Marcel points out that he can't undermine "Mikaelson authority" when he's settled across the river, not inside the French Quarter, & running his own vampire club. He can't be blamed that he runs the show better than them. Elijah adjusts something on his sleeves, reiterates the terms of a truce they had made, and Marcel laughs. Somewhere outside the office, I hear the sound of a door being slammed shut. [Awake]

⚜️ Father Kieran stomps into the chateau & he looks like absolute garbage. He demands to talk to Elijah while Klaus taunts him in the courtyard and Kieran barely restrains what I imagine was going to be a punch to the face. Elijah takes the priest up to his office but not after reminding Klaus that he's being "sullen" for someone who wanted to be King of New Orleans. This leaves me alone with Klaus in the courtyard whose mood suddenly swings to anger. He flings one of the garden tables across the courtyard, nearly missing me. I'm not happy about this either, Klaus. [Awake]

⚜️ Klaus just sitting there & reading a book for what felt like a half an hour. Pretty sure it was a Dickens book. I honestly wasn't really paying attention because while he was in his book, I was trying to slam my body against the invisible barrier that prevents me from leaving the chateau. Eventually I tired myself out to the point I ended up back in my CR. [Awake]

⚜️ Klaus and Rebekah sniping at each other after Klaus took a jab at Rebekah about her choices in "rebound guys." Elijah rubs at his forehead like he's having a particularly bad migraine and eventually walks away. There is a dead body of a girl just laying on the table in-between Klaus and Rebekah like she's the leftover McDonald's bags they forgot to toss in the trash. Her blood is dripping down onto the rug, creating a huge dark red stain spot. I am still not used to this. The show made it a lot...easier to take in. [Awake]

⚜️ The hell week Niklaus & Rebekah seemed to be in a competition on who could be more petty. I would seriously get tiny minishifts of Rebekah turning up the music when Niklaus was painting or Niklaus ruining her sheets & bed with another...leftover...person. That he'd just fed on. Or Rebekah tainting the rim of all of Klaus' wine glasses with Vervain. Niklaus fucked up Oliver in turn. Elijah had to squash it with a big, uncomfortable, family fun time meeting. Saying that they were letting their boredom get the better of them finally being able to enjoy having a "home" again. Why do I gotta be a part of family fun time? [Awake]

⚜️ Being in my CR, walking into the kitchen for a 3 am snack, and hearing Elijah's voice say "Niklaus, listen to reason!" as if the two of them were just in the other room and me replying in a deadpan voice before I realized I said anything "he's not gonna, bro." [Awake]

⚜️ Watching the St. Anne's massacre with Cami's twin brother just losing his shit. I'm not going to elaborate on this one. There's a reason the show didn't really show the scene in full. [Asleep]

⚜️ Laying awake in my bed, staring up at the ceiling because I can't sleep, noticing that it looks different than I remember, and seeing a familiar hand out of the corner of my eye. This hand has a daylight ring attached to it and leather bracelets with steel beads. My heart leaps into my throat. I jump out of bed to realize I'm back inside my room in my CR. Nobody is in my bed. [Awake]

⚜️ The three week period of time in my CR when Joeseph Morgan scambot pages kept flooding into my Facebook inbox. This isn't a minishift, it was just weird & super annoying. [Awake]

⚜️ One of the few times I wasn't stuck inside the Mikaelson chateau. Klaus is standing in the shadows of an alleyway across the street from Rousseau's, I think?? He's waiting for a person to come outside. [Awake]

So these are all the major minishifts that are memorable. Trust me, there's been more but they were just...little mundane moments that happened for an instant & were gone just as quick.

All of these minishifts and I still can't put any of them together as to why my imagination & dreams keep bringing me there. After all, I am currently obsessed with Hazbin Hotel & would rather be chilling with Alastor or Nifty or fucking Vox even.

Tomorrow is the New Moon in Pisces and it's a prime time to start dreamwork. So even if I don't feel prepared enough... I've decided it's high time to actually stop resisting the tug & be the bigger problem for my most likely all in my head dream Mikaelsons.

Wish me luck.

I'll be reporting in soon with a breakdown of my "TVD/Originals DR" and field notes. This time, I'm going to focus on a "DR-self" that I can embody so that I'm not stuck as a ghost which is a huge big bummer. Of course, that also means that the Mikaelsons will be able to see & interact with me. If I run into them at all...

[magg0tgf]

I HATE when a girl with acne does a makeup tutorial and someone in the comments goes "if you'd take good care of you skin you wouldn't need all of that" or "you should take care of your skin first" FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU EVERYONE TAKES CARE OF THEIR SKIN BUT IT'S NOT GONNA ALWAYS LOOK LIKE GLASS U STUPID DUMB ASS BASTARD BITCH

[httpsdana]

HI BABY ITS ME OFC

can i have prompt 138 when the reader is poorly and eric is doing her hair and babying her to look after her making sure she knows she’s loved

Loved~Eric Garcia

*GIF isn't mine. credits to the owner*

HE LOOKS ADORABLE IN THIS GIF. blame Lil its not my fault I swear. ANYWAYS. This is for my fav girl enjoy <33

you can request from my prompt list

this is my master list

players/drivers I write for

138-"shh.. stop fussing, I'm just braiding your hair."

Her period was about to start in a few days. And her emotions were all over the place. She was feeling really down, that she believed its not because of her period anymore. Suddenly she felt uncomfortable in her own body. Suddenly she could point out every imperfection in her.

But Eric noticed that immediately. It wasn't that she couldn't hide her disappointment, but he could always read through her. He always knew when she was feeling sad, and tried to making her feel better without telling her that he noticed her sadness.

"I got you some chocolate and ice cream. I thought we could watch some soppy romantic movies and cry a bit?" he suggested with a grin, making y/n's frown turn into a smile.

He held her up in his arms, her arms around his neck and legs around his torso, with his arms around her waist to steady her. He carried her to the living room, where he had everything set up. He had lightened some scented candles, and had placed two glasses of red wine next to the ice cream and chocolate.

She felt the tears in her eyes at the sight of what he had prepared for her

"you did this for me?" she said in a cracked voice, sniffing a bit, making Eric smile

"of course baby. we haven't had a lazy night for a while now. and I know you need it." he kissed the top of her head, before grabbing one of his hoodies that was placed on the side of the couch

"here let me help you wear this" he helped her take her t-shirt off, the tip of his warm fingers feeling soft against her cold skin.

She smiled gratefully at him, before he sat her down on the couch. He put their favorite movie on, before he sat down next to her. He held her waist close, before placing her on his lap, her back against her chest and arms around her stomach and under her hoodie, rubbing soft circles.

They were sat in silence, neither of them making a single move except for the occasional kisses Eric left on the top of her head.

Suddenly, Eric shifted under her a bit, placing her between his legs and putting a pillow under bin, so he was a bit higher. He ran his fingers through her hair, before he split her hair into two sides. He started by braiding the first side, making sure not to hurt her.

"Eric. what are you doing?" she tried looking up, but he only turned her head down back fo the movie that was playing.

"shh.. stop fussing, I'm just braiding your hair." he mumbled, his tongue poking out of mouth in concentration

"since when do you know how to braid?" she laughed slightly, already feeling her mood brighten up a bit

"I've noticed that you tried more than once to braid your own hair, but you were never able to complete then because your arms would hurt you. So I've been watching some tutorials on YouTube to learn how to braid. This was a hard style but I'm trying to make the Dutch braid. I think it will make you look more beautiful than you already are" he said, only to hear some sniffs in response

"you'd do that for me? oh my god I don't deserve you" she wiped her eyes, only for Eric to chuckle

"I'm the one who doesn't deserve you amor. now focus on the movie and let me finish your braids. just give me a kiss before" he lifted her head upside, putting his hand on her neck while the other was still in her hair.

He kissed her deeply, with passion and love. This action alone was enough for y/n to know how much she was loved by Eric. And the feeling was mutual

[briarpatch-kids]

can you give me a brief overview of brewing ginger ale? im interested!

Yeah! Non-alcoholic right? (If you want the alcoholic one, I'll reblog the ask I got about that a while ago)

Okay so Ginger Ale is mainly made from something called a ginger bug, which is a little colony of yeasts and bacteria simular to a sourdough starter. I made mine by mixing about a tablespoon of grated fresh ginger (skin on, not peeled) with a slightly smaller spoonful of sugar in a little water. You keep adding ginger and sugar every day until it starts to bubble a lot of little bubbles an hour or so after you feed it. Mine took like a week to bubble good.

If it starts getting full of ginger, take out a spoonful of the old ginger and either eat it (tasty and kinda pickled) or discard it. If the water in the jar smells a little too sour or starts to smell boozy, take half of it out and put fresh water in. (I do it about once a week when I feed my starter more ginger) after that, give it a spoonful of sugar every day or two when the bubbling slows down and a spoonful of ginger about once a week or so to maintain it. You can maintain it forever as long as you feed it pretty regularly. Some people keep them in the fridge so it needs less care.

When you go to make ginger ale, you make a really strong sweet tea out of fresh ginger (to taste) and at least a cup of sugar per 2 liters of water. Cool the hot tea down to about room temperature, mix in a half cup or so of the bubbling water from the ginger bug, and put it in a tightly closed bottle in a warm spot for a couple days while it bubbles and builds up pressure.

Some people put it in glass bottles, but you run a huge risk of the bottle exploding if you let it ferment too long and that will send ginger ale and shards of glass all over the kitchen into the ceiling and everything you love. I use a plastic 2l bottle because you can squeeze it and feel how firm the bottle is to see how fizzy it will be. Also if it explodes it's just plastic and not broken glass everywhere.

Once it's got a lot of pressure built up, put it in the fridge and let it get really cold so the liquid can hold more carbon dioxide and stay bubbly like a soda. Be careful opening it, if there's too much pressure, it'll spew ginger ale everywhere and be sticky and you'll lose some of your delicious soda.

You can also do this with juice, tea, and whatever other drinks have enough sugar in them and you want to carbonate. I made a cherry lemonade out of a can of cherries and a lemon that turned out tasty.

Here's a tutorial if I did a bad job of explaining lol. Ignore all the BS about organic ginger and filtered water. Unless your water is like... Oakland pool water levels of chlorine it should work. I didn't bother with the fancy organic stuff and my ginger bug is happy as can be with white sugar and tap water.