#and he started drawing like how *he* wanted. not just how he felt he needed to draw. and he kept his drawings messy and unpolished and

[cod-indulgences]

currently feeling ugh with my body again.. could you write small boobs chubby reader (it me) receiving some love with any of the men pls? 🥺🥺

Kyle Garrick x female!reader, insecure!reader, body image issues, low self esteem, small breasts!reader, chubby!reader, tits man Kyle Garrick, angst, fluff, fingering, breast worship, overstimulation, fingering

anon you and others sent me similar asks. this is me too, writing this felt very cathartic and I love you for sending this in. I hope it helps you!.......it's also over 3K

You wouldn't call yourself shy, just....practical. No need to draw more attention to your assets, or lack thereof.

Being fat was sexy, if you were a specific kind of fat. Men didn't come running for apron bellies or thick thighs, if there weren't big, lush tits to balance them out. And even while your flesh had expanded, growing around you like Saturn's rings, your breasts had stayed small. Clothes were a nightmare, and you got in the habit early of wearing crop tops instead of actual bras, wanting to avoid the discomfort of underwrire digging into your belly when you had to bend and move.

And then you met Gaz.

Your crush was inevitable and all-encompassing. He shone like the sun to you, even with that dumb hat, and you were left sighing over him in private. It stayed private though, because one of the first things you'd heard him proudly announce was that he was a tits guy- and your heart had sunk to your shoes. You'd known those sort of men, glancing past you for a woman with cleavage, with the sort of breasts that filled lingerie and bounced enticingly.

So when he started flirting with you- unmistakable flirting, innuendoes slipped in with coffee and invitations to dinner, compliments on your hair and clothes- you decided to take what you could get, as long as you could get it. It might just be a way to fill time for him, but you were so pathetically gone on this man that even the scraps handed out until someone with proper curves came through felt like a feast.

So you accepted the compliments and dinner invitations, kissed Gaz in your doorway and pushed aside the creeping discomfort as his hands curved around your back, your belly bumped up against him before your tits did. You could take this much. Even when the kisses got heated, his tongue slipping against yours and drawing lines down your neck, you kept your clothes on, a barrier to hold off the inevitable let down. You could handle him eventually finding someone better, you couldn't handle his face twisted up in disappointment at the sight of your body.

So when you got bold after a couple drinks and sat in his lap, let his hands rise up and cup your tits through your shirt, you didn't expect the shuddering moan Gaz released into your shoulder, the little "fuck, baby" and how it went straight through to your core. His hand squeezed and you whined a little, nipple perking up as he thumbed across it.

"Gaz- Gaz, wait, shit," you stutter, and he licks across your throat, his mouth lingering at the neckline of your shirt.

He squeezes again, and you moan a little yourself. It's like nothing you've ever felt touching yourself, or the handful of boys you'd slept with, ages ago.

"So sexy, so fucking hot," he says, and it's like cold water down your back.

"Gaz, wait- no, stop!" You push at his shoulders and he goes back, frowning when you climb off his lap. This is worse than disappointment. "I don't- don't fucking lie to me!" You feel too hot, shame burning your cheeks. "Don't give me that shit! I thought you at least liked me enough to not- to not do this-" You try not to let any tears fall. You don't want to cry.

He's just sitting here, staring at you like he's confused. "What? What are you talking about? What lies?" He says, and it's too much.

"The fucking- the sexy shit! Like this- like I'm something you want- just, I'd rather you leave, ok? Just go, and we can pretend it never happened." You sit on the far end of your couch, arms wrapped around yourself. You don't want to look at him, and when he stands up, your mouth trembles. Don't cry. Don't cry.

You expect him to go to the door. Instead he crouches in front of you, and takes your hands in his. You don't stop him.

"Baby," he says, and oh fuck that hurts. "Why do you think I'm lying?" He looks so fucking sad. Big dark eyes and his cheeks are still flushed, and he'd been smiling at you when you took his hand and brought it to your chest.

You can't look him in the eye while you lay it all out. "I know I'm not- not what you want. Or like. And you're my friend and I l-like you, a lot, but you can't do this. You can't say this shit and pretend it's true when I'm the one you're saying it to. I know better. People like me don't get to be sexy." His hand cups your cheek, and brushes away the release that managed to slip out. "So you can go, and I'm sorry it went this way, but I can't sit here while you're wishing I had the curves I know you want."

Gaz doesn't leave, or move away, and when you dare to glance at him you get shocked to see his eyes are wet. His other hand let's go of yours to cup your other cheek, and he leans in to kiss your forehead. "If I ever," he says, and kisses your eyelid, "meet any of the fuckers who told you things like that," your other eyelid, oh, your heart, "I'm going to kill them." He kisses your lips, soft, and you whimper at the tenderness of it.

"You, just as you are, are so sexy to me- no, stop," and he holds your face to look at him instead of away. "I don't know who started you thinking I want tits more than you-"

"You did!" You burst out. "You say it all the time, talking with the soldiers, about how you love a nice set of tits on a woman, how the breasts are the best part, whatever else, it's practically a catchphrase." The words are bitter in your mouth. "And I'm not just the fat girl, I'm the bad kind of fat, without anything good to balance out the bad. That's just how I am, and I thought I would be okay with the dates and the flirting, because I knew it wouldn't last anyway. But I'm not, and I'm sorry I wasted your time, and just....I just..."

He looks surprised, and then upset again. "No, baby, no. I'm sorry. I didn't know it would- sound like that. Look, okay yes, I love breasts, always will, but don't you get it's not about them being big for me? I don't care what size. I just," he laughs, a little incredulous, "I like tits. Big or small, whatever, they're all fucking awesome!"

You yank his hands away and he falls back on his ass, surprised. "Not like me! Not when the little ones are on top of, of all this!" You grab your stomach and shake it, flesh bouncing, a reminder of just what you carry. "I haven't been little anywhere it matters since I was fucking twelve."

Now he's standing up, looming over you. "Okay, first of all- you think I'm that fucking shallow? That all I want in a woman is how she looks? Fuck you." You swallow, suddenly ashamed. "And two, if you think you're that unattractive, you need to open your eyes. If you'd put your weight down on me properly instead of hovering like I was gonna break, you'd have known just how sexy I find you." He cups his hand over his groin, and you stutter, too close to eye level where his fingers outline a thick, heavy shape. You had been hovering, uneasy at sitting fully on his lap, when he'd sucked on your neck and touched your chest. Gaz boxes you in, hands on the back of the couch, and puts his face up close to yours. "If you tell me to go because you don't like me, then I'll go. But I'm not leaving just because you think I'm going to be fucking disappointed at seeing more of the body I've been jerking off over for fucking weeks."

His mouth crashes into yours, and you moan, all tangled up with emotions, shame and desire, the embers of lust fanned when he sucks on your tongue. He's big and strong around you, the smell of his skin and soap filling your nose, and when Gaz encourages you to turn and lay flat you obey. He settles over you, his hips wedged between yours, and you both moan together when he hitches up a little and rubs up against you. Two layers of pants mean you can't feel much, but it's enough, and he does it again as you mouth shakily at his cheek, sucking on his earlobe. It's messy and a little high strung, and your eyes are still teary when Gaz lifts his hand to your chest and waits until you swallow hard and nod. His fingertips are gentle, tracing the curve of your breast until they find your nipple again, and you fight down the wave of shame as you see how his whole hand covers you. Barely enough for a handful, that just can't be what he wants, you're not enough- but he's looking at you with such dark, hot eyes, and when you whine a little as his fingers start to play with your nipple, you see his pupils dilate. Fuck.

"No bra?" He murmurs, and pinches just a little through the fabric of your top, just enough to make you squirm under him.

"No," you gasp, "just a shirt and a- a crop top thing, I never wear them," and he moans a little, a soft fuck that he breathes out before suddenly getting his mouth onto your other breast.

You squeak, it's hot and wet, his tongue working your nipple through the thin fabric, and your thighs open up a little more as he grinds against you. He's just- he's enthusiastic, pinching and sucking, pressed up against your body from head to hip. There's a warm liquid lust pooling in your belly, and your chest heaves as you gasp for breath. You can feel him now, no hovering, hot and hard up between your legs.

Suddenly your clothes are too much after all. You push his shoulders, and as Gaz sits back tug at his shirt, yanking the collar up over his head until he starts helping. He's gorgeous, full pecs with little dark nipples that perk up under your fingers, the muscles of his abdomen flexing when you gently trace along his iliac crest, a little shivering twitch going through the flesh. His cock is bulging out his pants, and you picture it sheathed inside you and feel your pussy gush a little.

Gaz sets his hands at the hem of your shirt, and you clench at the heat in his eyes. You're trying, you're dizzy with arousal and so turned on you can't speak, but there's still fear there. But he's so, so sweet, and you want it so bad, and nod helplessly for him to draw the fabric up and away.

Your bra-top comes away with the shirt, and you don't even have time to cover yourself before Gaz has your hands in his, fingers intertwined, and he's fucking moaning over you. "Baby, fuck, if you knew how fucking luscious you look," and he's diving back into you, eating the moans that slip from your lips as he gets both hands on your tits.

Small, too small, but he gropes and squeezes them, letting the flesh fill his palms, tugging your nipples between his fingers. He releases your mouth and goes down again to suck fully on one nipple, and you shout, the sensation of hot-wet suction so much more intense without fabric in the way.

"Fuck, baby, yes- just like that, c'mon," he mumbles around your tit, and you realize you're grinding against his cock. Your pussy clenches and you moan, trying to lift your hips up, aching for something you can't get while you're both still half-dressed. Gaz's skin is silky smooth against yours, sweating, and you squirm a hand between your bodies to pull at the button of his jeans. Two fingers slip in and you manage to rub the base of his cock, feeling the heavy flesh and the heat, and he swears again and grinds up harder.

You're going to leave a wet spot, you realize, and the Gaz dares to oh-so-gently bite down, teeth scraping your nipple, and you feel your body turn to jelly.

It's so good, so hot, like nothing you've ever had. Forget body image or shame, you're reduced to broken moans and begging, you're fucking begging, and Gaz works your pants open blindly to shove a hand down. His fingers scrape past your pubic hair and then he's suddenly there, everything hot-wet-slick, your clit bumping against the heel of his hand as he slips a fingertip against your hole. Then two fingers, sliding in, and he groans so hard against your breast that you can feel the vibrations in your heartbeat.

"So wet, baby, so wet, all for me? All this from these sweet little tits getting the love they deserve?" He grinds his palm in and starts fucking you on his fingers. You can hear the wet sloppy sounds, and it only makes you clench, whining. Your other nipple aches where he's been plucking at it, and when he moves his mouth there instead, you shout and clamp down. "Fuuuuck, fuck baby do that again-" He bites this nipple, and you obey and let your pussy contract on his fingers, perfect and not enough.

You blearily look down and see your chest, Gaz's dark head pillowed on you, his lips sucking at the peak of your tit. Your other breast is littered with little red marks from his facial hair, your nipple swollen and red, and it's so erotic and sensual you can't breathe. Suddenly your tits are sexy, plump little things with sensitive nipples and soft round bottoms, your belly and sides tingling as Gaz drags his fingers over your flesh, groping, yanking at your pants to give himself room to get a handful of your ass. Your hips jerk up, and your moaning climbs in pitch as the instinct takes over, chasing a high that is so close it hurts- truly hurts, your clit throbbing and pussy squeezing where his fingers keep pumping in and out of you.

Gaz lifts his head, holding your nipple in his teeth as he tugs, and his big hot eyes hold your gaze as your mouth drops open on a moan that doesn't end, spiraling up and up as your nipples ache and pussy squeezes, a long hard clench, before it finally breaks into an orgasm that leaves you shaking and limp, sobbing in relief, the new gush of slick around Gaz's fingers dripping over his hand and wrist.

Your voice comes back in stops and starts. "Fuck- fuck, Gaz, oh God, please, I can't- can't-" because he's still fucking you, sitting up to stare at his hand between your legs, pants and panties shoved down your thighs, and you're aware of the bounce of your flesh. The old fear tries to crawl back up, but Gaz is working is cock out of his pants, and you gape at him. He's huge, thick and heavy, so hard he's wet at the tip. When his hand slows you shove at your clothes, trying to get the twisted fabric out of the way.

"You don't have to," he starts, but you kick a leg free and hook it over his hip, pushing his jeans down with your heel.

"I want to," you gasp, and help him guide the tip of his cock to your hole.

Your mind is a little more clear now, and you take the chance to memorize Gaz's face as he slides into you, how his eyes close and mouth falls open, the soft moaning sounds. He's a stretch, and you're slick as sin, you make it work. He hitches up your hips, and you breathe deeply to relax your muscles, and suddenly he's there, all the way in, an ache in your cunt and your clit as thin flesh rearranges around him. Gaz drops his head to your shoulder, braced on one elbow, and his free hand comes up again to cup your breast, squeezing and lifting the nipple up for a kiss.

You get a kiss too, hot and sweet, and moan into his mouth when he finally starts moving.

You're sore and sensitive, whining at each bump of your clit against his groin, as he picks up speed and starts really fucking you- the couch creaks and your thighs open as wide as they can under the onslaught- he's so big, almost too big, and you gasp and tell him this, making him whine in return.

"So big," you say again, and feel his hips stutter. "Gaz, fuck-"

"Say it again," he moans, and you yelp as he sucks again on your nipple, harder, pinching the other and tugging until your back arches.

"Fuck! Fuck, Gaz, you're too big, fucking my- my little cunt-" he grunts and slams in harder, fuck, "god, please, please don't stop, I'm gonna come again!"

Gaz fucks his cock into you like a machine, wet squelches echoing as your pussy clamps down, trying to hold him in, your clit rubbing against his groin and pubic hair, and you come again as he opens his jaw and sucks your whole breast into his mouth- hot-tight-wet, his tongue slurping over your skin, your nipple pulled so tight against the roof of his mouth and your other swollen and pinched under his fingers. You feel the distant gush of your pussy on his cock, the way it's suddenly so much wetter, sloppier, and Gaz shouts into your chest as he slams his hips in and stills, his cock pumping you full of come, grinding up into your dripping cunt to get as deep as possible.

He's heavy on you, but not too much, and as he slows and you both catch your breath you wrap your arms around his shoulders, clinging. There's a fragile feeling in your chest, under the sweat and aches and tingling skin, and your wordless begging for kisses against his head brings him up to you. He's as gentle as you are, slow and sweet, and the fragility firms, settles.

Gaz chuckles a little against your mouth, and when you hum a question at him, he answers, "I had a whole plan for you. Seduction and shit, take you to a proper fancy place to eat. Get you in an actual bed, especially." You start to laugh as well, seeing the picture you make- you're naked except for socks and your pants and underwear hanging off one ankle, Gaz with his jeans rucked down his thighs and a wet spot on the crotch. Your breasts are swollen and tingling along with your pussy as he gently pulls out, and you wince a little, feeling the aches in your hips and back.

"Not quite what you expected, then?" You tease, but there's a little old shiver down your back.

Bless him, Gaz just lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. "Better than," he says, and holds your eyes with his. "I promise."

It's a heavy moment, and your eyes blink back tears, feeling sweet, precious, so stupid with your previous outbursts in the face of such affection in his eyes- and then your stomach grumbles, and you both burst into giggles. You grin at him. "Is that offer for a fancy dinner on the table still?"

Gaz winks. "Only if I get to have you for dessert after."

[ashes-writing-corner]

Damn this is my longest chapter to date yall! Things are gonna start looking up a little for these two after this. I really hope you all enjoy it!

Taglist: @exactlyelegantwizard, @xenoanamorph, @hoeia-strigoi, @arwenkenobi48, @xanth420, @serpentdeath, @landlockedmermaid77, @uncensored-aj, @mypackpride, @whisperingwillowe, @sasksdemorg, and @emimuart

Without further ado:

Exile: A Nosferatu Fanfic

Chapter 7

Second, third, and hundredth chances, balancing on breaking branches. Those eyes add insult to injury…

She woke briefly, her head against something solid, strong. There was a faint, faint sound in her ear. It was like a watch wrapped in a thick covering. Her arms and shoulders were covered, as the wind pushed against her. Ellen looked up to see Orlok, keeping a hold of her as they rode back together. He looked…different in a way.

More alive, more…wholesome even. Did she do that? Did her blood do that? He had more color to his skin, and Ellen swore she saw a little more hair on his head. He looked down at her, and his eyes had gone from their moonlit shade to an almost storm cloud gray. Ellen looked into those eyes for all of a moment, and she saw a flash of concern in them before again, she slipped back into the darkness of her mind…

He rode faster back to the castle, the cold hitting him harder than he remembered. He was actually feeling it. For the first time in centuries, he felt it in his fingers. What in the world had his little Sylph done to him? One drink of her blood had affected him in a way Orlok couldn’t explain.

His hands had lost their pale, deathly pallor. He now had a soft slight color to them…like he was alive once again. It wasn’t a feeling he was sure he liked, given the circumstances of their being here. He felt stronger, but at the same time he felt human and he couldn’t stand that. Orlok didn’t want to be anything resembling human.

Resembling weakness.

He rode with Ellen back to the castle and carried her inside, the wolfhounds following close behind. They were all worried about her, and about how this revelation of her blood would affect their master. He was of course both concerned and curious, wondering if this strange Other World was giving them qualities of one another. A little of herself in him and a little of himself in her.

“How quaint…” the count thought, laying her down in bed.

Furie joined her on the bed, curling up next to her, while his siblings laid on either side on the floor. Sure they’d keep watch over her, but Orlok had no desire to leave Ellen’s side just yet. He wanted to make sure she was completely okay, as using power like that had the potential to leave the user with effects similar to an overdose. Yes, it was possible to overdose or overuse magic. It was a tricky thing, even in this world. But from what Orlok was beginning to understand was that, at least here in the Other World, there was no such thing as light or dark magic.

It was about intention. It was what one wanted to do with their magic that ultimately determined its power and price. Again, a quaint little thing. In the living world, there was magic of varying types, though generally falling into the light or the dark. Looking at his hand once more, he was beginning to lose feeling in it again. The price was paid, he didn’t need her blood anymore, so the effect was wearing off.

Orlok looked at Ellen as she rested, noting her color had returned to her when once she was pale. This more or less confirmed his theory. They seemed to draw power from each other now more acutely than they did in life. No light, no dark, only intention and an equal price to pay.

“Of all the oddities…we have become a part of each other” he thought aloud, still looking at her.

It was how he felt she was in danger, why he felt compelled to come to her aid despite his anger. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a will of his own, he did. He was still upset about her finding out about Mirela. He knew she would have questions, and Orlok wasn’t sure he was willing to answer those questions just yet.

He wasn’t sure he was ready to face it just yet.

There was so much to do…so much to figure out. He didn’t want to focus on the past right now. He didn’t want to think of who he was, what he had lost. Durere raised his head, as if sensing his master’s inner emotions. The wolfhound got up and went towards the door, most likely going to grab something that would only deepen it. He had a nasty habit of that.

Not this time.

“Durere! Sedere!” Orlok commanded and the wolfhound stopped, turning to face him.

The two locked eyes as if challenging the other. Durere would try, but Orlok always came out on top whenever he was aware of his tricks. During moments of awareness. He was master right now…

The wolfhound’s ears flattened and he practically crawled back towards his master. Durere put his head under his extended hand. For now, the wolfhound conceded defeat.

“Why…why do you call them those things?” Ellen’s voice cut through his thoughts and Orlok turned to her.

“You’re awake” he noted.

She nodded weakly. “Barely…I think”.

“You’re weak from how much I took from you. You need to-”.

“Why did you name them that way?” she asked, ignoring his concerns.

“Ellen…Micul Suflet…They’re just names” he told her.

“No, no…something tells me it’s more than-”.

“You need to rest. I took too much from you. You’re thinking of things that aren’t important”.

“Stop…Orlok…please stop. Stop hiding. Talk to me. Trust me”.

“It isn’t a matter of trust, little one. You are not thinking with a clear mind”.

“No, I am. If they are truly just names, why are you so defensive about them? Would you prefer to talk about what I saw? What I found down there? Who was she? Who was Mirela?” Ellen sat up.

She wasn’t trying to be forceful, but she knew something was going on here. Something she had an idea of but it was just that: An idea. Only he knew the truth. Ellen needed to know what was going on. What was this place? Why were they here? What were those things that attacked her back there?

Orlok growled but Ellen put her hand in his. “Please…I have questions and I think only you know the answers. If I’m never going to know anyone or anything else, I want to know you at least”.

He looked at their hands, now loosely entwined, and Orlok felt his heart lurch. It didn’t feel right, keeping things from her. For all they were to each other, for all they went through. But the Count had no desire to burden her, even if she was volunteering to take on said burden. Ellen looked at him with those soft eyes, those eyes that were among the last things he ever saw in the world of the living. Eyes he both loved and hated. Adored and despised…

“Please…you didn’t hide from me before. Don’t hide now” Ellen pleaded.

How tempting she was…How he wanted so badly to tell her everything. But again, not wanting to let himself be vulnerable, Orlok kept his guard up, pulling his hand away from her sharper than he intended.

“When you’re better rested we’ll talk” he told her, “Starting with why you were down there”.

“Are you then to reprimand me?! Like I’m some child?!” Ellen demanded.

The count snarled and turned to her again. “I just saved your soul! Do NOT make me regret it, little Sylph. I came when you needed me…Like those hounds you have at your feet! And this is how you repay me?! By questioning me?! By claiming to not know me?!”.

“I don’t know you! Not how…how I’d like to…”.

For a moment, Orlok was stunned into silence. She wanted to know him, despite everything he did. She wanted to know him fully, truly. For all of a moment, he was touched in a way that he hadn’t been in a long time. But once again, pride won out.

“You know only what you need to know. Nothing more”.

Ellen frowned. “You don’t trust me”.

“It is not a matter of trust, as I said-”.

“It is. We won’t last, not like this. If we’re to make it through this somehow, if we’re to co-exist, we need to trust each other. You know everything there is to know about me! But you can’t grant me the same courtesy?! Why? What are you afraid of?!”

“I fear nothing!”

“Then prove it!”

Orlok snarled. “I’ve proven myself more than enough, have I not?”.

“Please…” she got up and came right to him, taking his face in her hands, “Please, trust me. We need to trust each other. It’s the only way. We won’t make it otherwise…” Ellen looked up at him, “You trusted me once. You loved me once. What has changed? Tell me”.

He hesitated. “This world is…different. A place made up of memories, or at least, fragments of memories”.

“Memories?” Ellen cocked her head curiously.

“Haven’t you noticed? There are things around here that once were yours, and others that once were mine. Fragments and pieces of who we once were, all now merged into one place”.

“So this isn’t the afterlife?”.

“It isn’t THE afterlife in the way humans think. We were not human when we died. Their afterlife isn’t ours”.

“So then it’s an afterlife then? One designed specifically for us?”

“Our own creation. An amalgamation of all we have ever been, whether together or not”.

“Pieces of our lives all together in one place. But why?”.

“Some things we hold on to far too tightly we carry them in death. They follow us into this world. It’s how it is created. For example, your wedding bouquet is downstairs on my dining room table. I’ve tried to burn it countless times. And it keeps…coming…back” Orlok growled, saying it through gritted teeth.

“Wait it’s downstairs? My actual-”

“Yes”.

“And you’ve tried to destroy it?!”

“Also yes”.

Ellen glared. “Seriously?! Why?!”

“Because I don’t want any trace of your marriage to that useless mouse anywhere near me!”

“He wasn’t a mouse, he loved me! Thomas LOVED me!”

Orlok growled and shook his head. “You may think he did, and perhaps to an extent it’s true. But he didn’t love you the way you wanted. The way you needed, Micul Suflet…”

He leaned in closer, their heads almost touching. Ellen felt his long fingered hand caress her cheek. The texture was rough, but not in a painful way. Rather in a way that just simply made her senses writhe beneath the surface, like a ball of unsettled serpents. Despite that, Ellen couldn’t help but lean into his touch, cool and oddly comforting. It felt like he was touching not her face but her very soul, as though he could sink his claws in and rake them down the very fabric of her being.

But he didn’t.

No. That wasn’t who he was with her. Not with her. Ellen knew that. His claws didn’t even break skin. In fact, they never did. Sure she had a few scratch marks after their otherworldly encounters, but he never made her bleed until the last. For a moment, she remembered that. He never, ever made her bleed.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t hurt her. He was always a bit of a rough lover. He always was. Even more so just before…

“You abandoned me” Ellen said feeling his lips come closer to hers, “Why did you abandon me? I needed you and you-”.

Orlok cut her off with a passionate kiss, not wanting to focus on that right now. So many questions his little sylph had…none of which he wanted to answer at the moment. All he wanted was for her to rest and leave his own troubles to him. No matter what, he would not burden her. His pain was not hers to bear…

He released her, leaving Ellen soft, like she was floating back into Chaos. Her mind clouded a little and all she could think of was him. His eyes on hers, his hands on her. Ellen gently ran her hands down on his chest, feeling the ever so faint beat of his heart where once there wasn’t even a single one. How maddening was it that he was more alive in death than he was in life, at least when she knew him?

“I’m sorry…I did this to you. I turned you into this…this thing” she told him, her eyes sad.

“No, No it wasn’t all you-”.

“You said so yourself. I was your affliction…and it appears I still am. I always will be…” she slid her hands away from him and turned away, “Perhaps that’s why you left me…”.

“No…No little sylph. That wasn’t-”.

“Then why?” She asked, “You could’ve stolen me away any time. Anytime after my papa died and you…you didn’t. You let me marry Thomas”.

A flash of hurt reflected in his eyes at that. It was true, he could’ve had her years ago, and avoided all of this mess. He could’ve had her repledge her vow at any point after her father’s passing. But he didn’t. He knew why…And he was surprised she didn’t realize why.

He didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to admit it out loud…but for her sake, he had to….

“I am what I am. And you could not love me for all I was, nor was I willing to curse you like I was. My anger was my greatest fault, and you were falling victim to it as well. You don’t hurt someone you love…”.

Ellen turned to face him again at that only to find he was gone, vanished as if he was never there. Left alone with the dogs and her thoughts, all Ellen could do was shake her head.

“Orlok…”

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[webanglikethat]

«The taste of your lips is my idea of luxury.»

🎶 — Summary: Jaynie just wanted to enjoy the party, not play bartender in heels. Between dodging partygoers, exchanging jokes with Tristan, and dealing with James’ last-minute crisis management, the night takes a turn when Avery shows up, looking unfairly good. Jaynie's heart stutters, her breath hitches, and suddenly, serving drinks isn’t the most dangerous thing happening tonight.

📜— Word count: 5030.

Jaynie hadn’t thought she would resort back to needing her waitress skills so quickly. With the budget given to her by the school administration and the sum she’d saved up over the summer (thanks to the jobs she’d taken), she had hoped for a rest — a well deserved rest if she may so add! But here she stood now, balancing drinks on plates, sweat descending a trail on her face till it reached the edge of her chin, all while trying not to stumble across the barricades of tables in the living room. In a ballgown. Surrounded by drunk and sweaty college students. Could it get any more ridiculous?

When Logan had asked for her help, she didn’t think she’d be chained to work instead of hanging out with Lilian all night like they had organized. Not even in her designed fantasies could she get away from their mess! The guys had planned yet another party — the last one’s remains still lingered in a corner somewhere in the kitchen —and the theme was ‘ballroom ballads and artists’ — whatever that meant. She had spent the day sitting on Lilian’s bed, going through the latter’s closet to pick the perfect gown to adorn her body. With such short notice, she had started to panic — but that was the advantage of knowing her, Lilian had said! Jaynie had chuckled, watching her talk about what kind of colour palette looked the best on her and where to get sustainable materials for dresses (turns out, the fibres of pineapple leaves could be used to make piñatex! Lilian took her hand and pulled her straight down the rabbit hole of this topic), while also offering her a crash course in sewing. Where Tristan – at times – was duplicitous and cunning, Lilian’s movements spoke of her idolatry for fashion with her fountain-like love for life itself — unbounded and free flowing. If the older was the cloud, picking when and how to spawn, she was the sunlight that filtered through every gap. And where Jaynie held her cards tight to her chest, Lillian’s laid open for her to see; a museum of sorts. 

Two hours later, and many, many outfit changes later, she’d been ready for the storm (aka — the party, as Lillian jokingly called it because of its quick unnoticed arrival). As they walked over to the Rosewood House, the light of the moon was entrapped, rotated and mirrored by the jewels on her neck. She felt powerful. Her vanilla-like ballgown perfectly matched the light yellow diamonds, drawing attention to her chest, where a sweetheart neckline revealed just enough to draw the matches of desire. In short, she looked beautiful, titillating, and she loved it. She made a quick mental note to thank Lillian again after the party, as they would probably lose sight of each other in the sea of people. When they entered, they were immediately met with the fog, courtesy of the machine bought by Jasper. Logan had once again been tasked with the role of bodyguard, and so he stood there, smiling as usual. He had complimented both of the girls’ gowns, admiring the trail of flowers on Jaynie’s gown and the way Lillian’s sparkled when she twirled. Jaynie had thanked him and taken Lillian’s hands so as to not lose each other, and with a laugh, Lillian had called her ‘captain’. She’d rolled her eyes, smiling as she pushed through bodies of people. Seriously, how could so many come with such short notice? If she didn’t live here, she probably wouldn’t have heard about it till it was too late to start panicking about the dress code. Having mastered the art of dancing around drunk custom people (she silently thanked her experience as a waitress, never thinking her old off-putting workplace could ever be breathed in the same air as a compliment — she would have to tell Ray later about this miracle) her and Lillian had reserved a place in the corner for themselves. After they’d finished talking about their days, groaning about how they’d both underestimated biology class, Jaynie had gotten a few texts from Logan.

Logan: Jaynie!!!

Logan: Are you still here??

Jaynie: Yes.

Jaynie: Why?

Logan: Oh thank God!! I need your help

Jaynie: ?

Logan: Kaeo is sick and we are a few hands short…

Logan: I need to stay here to watch who enters, and Grant is still sick from the flu

Logan: James is stressed out, saying this will ruin his reputation and Jasper….you know how he is

Jaynie: Too high to care?

Logan: Yup

Logan: Tristan is already on duty :(

She had sighed, only then noticing that Kaeo, the new girl that was hired, wasn’t there. Her eyes had scanned their way through the crowd till they met the tall — unmistakable even in his tuxedo — figure of Logan typing nervously on his phone. Another ping later, followed by praying emojis, and she had accepted to help him. She could never say no to Logan, and perhaps that was a problem of its own she had to untangle later. 

Now though, she was balancing seven drinks on two plated, all while walking through the crowd. In heels. If this wasn’t a cassandran sign telling her this had been a bad idea, then she didn’t know what it was. But alas, trojan spirit must have resided in her, for she simply ignored the discomfort hatching on her ankles and kept walking, complaining all the while to Tristan, who too was upset that his plans had been changed so abruptly. When asked, though, he glanced away for a second, as if fearing his face might give away the answer. Mh, interesting, she thought with a smirk. She didn’t know whether it was the reflections of the party light, but she could’ve sworn sweet dahlias had bloomed on his face, pink contrasting the pale skin. He quickly remarked, ‘I was upstairs, with Grant. His flu has gotten worse, he’s already thrown up twice, and I was watching over him’, and then rolled his eyes, ‘that was until James came knocking on his door, telling me to help him out. He almost woke up Grant’. She let out a theatrical gasp, ‘James? Our James? Asking for help? What a scandal!’. Tristan laughed, icy eyes melting into snowflakes as he shook his head, ‘You should’ve seen him. You’d think the president would’ve been at our doorstep by how angry he was’. Jaynie laughed, offering another drink to a student; Eliya, who was part of her biology class. ‘If the president were to enter that door right now, would you help me throw these drinks at him?’, she asked, while handing him a plate, and he nodded solemnly, as if vowing at an altar. ‘If the president were anywhere near me, would you?’, he threw the question back, to which Jaynie mirrored his face, causing a laughter to be evicted from his lips, ‘I do not look like that!’, ‘yes — yes you do and yes I would’.

Before he could reply, she felt warm hands covering her eyes, and a deep voice behind her, ‘Guess who?’. Long fingers moved across her eyes, tickling her eyelashes and in between chuckles she declared, ‘oh, it’s obviously my favourite golf player; Jack Nicklaus’. She could hear him scoff behind her, and soon she regained her eyesight. ‘You know, I can’t even be mad; Nicklaus is a badass, so I’ll take it as a compliment.’ She laughed as Avery’s figure finally was revealed to her and …Oh. His curls were tussled, as if the wind itself had decided to come down and stroke it, giving him that boyish look she rarely saw. A tight, beige coloured vest fit onto his body like it was made for him, and the trail of flowers that started from the hem trailing up his chest till it reached the collar gave a sneak peek of the body beneath it, and her breath hitched. God, that body. She knew he was athletic, a trophy from his professional golf days, but she would be committing perjury in the trial of her own mind if she said she hadn’t spent nights imagining what laid beneath it, what could lay beneath her. Tristan noticed her look, flushed cheeks matching the pink of her lips, and smirked, taking enjoyment in the knowing look Jaynie shot him. ‘Tristan, are you alright?’, she asked, suddenly grabbing his arm, ‘You look kinda pale…perhaps Grant has infected you!’. At that, Avery took a step back, holding up his hands, as if excusing himself from Tristan’s presence. Tristan looked at her for a second and then nodded, ‘Yes. I’m feeling sick. But the party and James…’. Avery watched the two conversing, and then said, ‘If this is about the catering situation, I can step in. I need to move anyway.’ Not needing more information, Tristan turned around, facing only Jaynie, who smiled at him, ‘Go take care of….yourself. I know you want to’. With a nod and grateful smile, Tristan walked past her, till he disappeared behind the crowd, as if the darkness had swallowed him. Huh, that was interesting, she would have to interrogate Grant when he felt better, she thought with a smile as she looked back at Avery, who now stood closer to her.

‘So, who got you?’, he asked, walking with her down the room, stopping occasionally to smile at people. She hadn’t noticed how popular he was, although, could one really count polite smiles as fully fleshed bonds? Perhaps not, or perhaps she told that to herself because of the small green creature growing in her chest when he saw him stop to talk to some cheerleaders. ‘Who roped me into this cult? It was Logan’, she answered, smiling as she watched Lillian and Chloe (in a costume, as usual) in a corner. Ever since she’d accidentally introduced them, they’d been hitting it off. It was Avery’s chuckle that brought back her attention onto him, and he’d been studying her expression. ‘And here I thought the first step of the cult was entering this house. Turns out it’s working’. She smirked at him, replying with ‘Working being propaganda for cults? Now this is finally getting interesting!’. 

They were so engrossed in their banter that she hadn’t noticed a guy coming closer, till his elbow hit her stomach and Kentucky bourbon decided to have a vacation on her bodice. ‘Hey! Look at where you’re going’, Avery said, stepping in front of Jaynie, staring down at the guy, who now looked afraid — or well, as afraid a drunk man could look. He slurred some words, talking about how the sun was vanishing from the world and he couldn’t see anything. Ah, strike two — the man was high too. Jaynie sighed, shaking her head at Avery, resentment filling her lungs as she imagined how pricey his drunk mistake was. She’d borrowed this from Lillian, who in return had stitched this together with her stylist, so she felt guilty. Avery, on the other hand, didn’t let it go, and stopped the guy from walking off. The not so sane part of her mind, the one not preoccupied with the dress, took the chance to glance at his broad shoulders, the fuzzy hair at his nape and the way that vest only showed off his back muscles, as if she wasn’t being tortured enough tonight. ‘Thomas, was it? You owe the lady an apology’; the sentence in itself was calm and if one hadn’t seen the way his eyes squinted and how he crossed his arms, standing unwavering, perhaps even too polite. Thomas shook the drink in his hand, raised it up and declared loudly, ‘To Lady Jaynie! I herebbby apologiizzze to youuuu’. His words were slurred and dragged, but that would be the best they’d get from him tonight. Thankfully, the noise of the party was enough to suppress his sudden burst and Avery glanced back at Jaynie, who smiled at him and nodded. His shoulders relaxed, and he told the man to go away, which he gladly did. Thomas’s back bid them farewell and then, it was just them again.

‘You didn’t need to interrogate him’, she said, a smirk growing on her face as she watched the annoyance dissipate from his eyes, being replaced by something else, something she couldn’t name, something that made her pulse quicken. He leaned in closer, ‘I know. I know you’re capable of standing up for yourself. I was there when you first entered this house, after all. That doesn’t mean I won’t allow some intoxicated tippler to just trip all over you and think he can blame it away on his inebriation. I despise such people.’ She nodded, watching how his face relaxed now that she stood closer to him, as if the mere presence grew lavender on the knots of his chest. Wishful thinking, she reprimanded herself. He noticed the stain on her bodice, and she felt her cheeks flush at the gaze. It wasn’t sexual, nor was it imposing, he simply assessed the ‘damage’ left behind. She could almost see the neurons in his mind running to find a solution. She liked that about Avery; he was solution oriented, even if the solution was ethically questionable. Perhaps that’s what had attracted her to him in the first place. Spymasters’ webs bound them together. ‘Come on, I know how to remove stains’, he laid down the plates on a near-by table, took out his phone and sent a quick few texts. ‘But James and the party–’, she argued before he interrupted her, ‘Yes. That’s why I asked someone else to come here’. She smirked, putting down the drinks and the plates, relief slipping from her lips as her shoulders finally felt lighter. ‘You really do think of everything, don’t you?’, she teased, watching him look over the crowd, probably searching for his back-up plan. ‘Mh’, he hummed, and then he looked back at her, ‘Let’s go?’, he asked, to which she nodded. Together, they made their way through to the kitchen, judging the dresses worn by others, and once the brown walls of the scullery greeted them, he took a bar of soap and a bottle of Dawn Soap. ‘So…We could do this two different ways; we can try the normal traditional route’, he pointed at the dish soap, ‘or we can try a bar of Fels Naptha. I’ve read somewhere online that it goes well for erasing stains’. Jaynie pondered for a second, admiring how his hands held both things, imagining how it would feel to be touched by him, to have the tip of his fingers explore the valleys of her body. He’d surely take his time and …. She noticed his curious look and snapped herself out of these thoughts. Seriously, what was up with her? He was just a man. A really, really infuriatingly good-looking one. She pointed at the dish soap, ‘We don’t have the luxury of risking’. A fleeting smirk appeared on Avery’s face and he nodded. A part of him was feeling a déjà vu, transported back to the conversation they’d had weeks ago about not fitting into the precious, luxurious society of this college. He swept the thoughts away, took a bowl and filled it with water. He pointed to the door and soon, they were back into the living room.

She could’ve sworn that more people had joined since they’d first left. Walking through the crowd turned out to be a challenge, and soon, she was pushed straight into Avery’s chest, as he had turned around to check on her. Oh. They were close, too close. She shivered, instantly responding to the newfound proximity of his body’s warmth. From here, Avery could watch every eyelash on her eyes – how they rose quickly, and laid to rest softly; the way a petal would open itself for spring. His perfume was intoxicating, cologne wrapping itself around her as he wrapped his hand around her. ‘Come on, it’s easier this way’, he argued, stepping closer to her ear so she could hear him better. He was closer, so much closer. She could feel his breath on her neck, and when he looked at her, awaiting an answer, he was almost at eye level with her chest. His breath, on her neck, her chest; his hands around her own, his eyes searching something in her own. This was a bad idea, a really, really bad idea. But she nodded, bereft of words. She held his hand as he led her through the crowd, fingers fitting into the gaps of her own perfectly, and then up the stairs, till they arrived in the hallway. He hesitated for a moment, and she pointed at her own room, teasing him with a smirk, ‘Do I need to invite you in, vampire dearest?’, which stole a laugh from him. She felt the waves of it hit her, warming her chest; what an aliferous feeling a simple sound could give her. ‘How did you know?’, he asked as she opened the door, leading him in. 

He took in her room, carefully observing the walls, the decorations, taking a closer look at the posters on the wall and the photos printed out in a collage, depicting her, Tristan’s sister and Simon hanging around; sometimes on the floor, some in the kitchen. ‘Me, Simon and Lillian made those! We scrapped and glued everything together’, Jaynie exclaimed, smiling softly at the memory. Avery almost thought the memory somehow turned into a needle and injected happiness straight into her body by the way she was smiling; so warmly, so freely, in a way he wasn’t used to seeing. Something tugged at his chest, something rising, faster and faster. He wondered how she’d felt that day, what had led her to seek Simon of all brothers. Where had he been? Why had she not texted him? But he bit back the words and sat on the bed, patting the space next to him. The scene was quite funny to Jaynie, it reminded her of when Ray had bought a new mattress and grunted like a father and patted it to test it out. ‘Is there anything else you need?’, she asked, to which he replied that he needed a clean towel. She nodded, walking over to the bathroom. In there, she took a quick glance at herself, asserting how she looked. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her hair had gotten frizzy, but she still looked beautiful. If there was one thing she was confident in, it was her beauty. Jaynie was a fountain of allure, her every line a masterstroke only comparable to the beauty depicted by artists. So she reapplied her makeup, bubblegum pink replacing the fading stains, and she told herself to stop worrying. Or perhaps worrying was the wrong word; it was like standing in a pool of water but not being allowed to drink it. That was how being so close to Avery felt. 

It wasn’t easier for him either. The man left behind let out a sigh as he wondered just how the hell he had gotten himself in this situation. He was in her room, on her bed, surrounded by her things, her smell, her pillow dented still remembering her figure and her black glasses on a stack of books on the drawer. If he closed his eyes, squinted enough, he could almost sense her, watch her life progress in front of his eyes; from the trails of night to the waves of the morning. The wind escaped from the garden into the room, and wrapped its cold around his, and for a second it felt like her. He shouldn’t be here, he really shouldn’t. But there were so many things he should and shouldn’t be doing; couldn’t he be Eve for one night? Before he could let his inner monologue erode his mind, she stepped out of the bathroom, cloth in hand. Her lips shone brighter, he noticed. She sat next to him, handing it to him. He nodded, dropping some of the soap into the water, and then onto the towel. He raised the cloth till he realized what he was supposed to do next. 

Dab at the stain. 

Dab at Jaynie. 

Dab at Jaynie’s bodice. 

Dab at her chest. 

Oh.

Oh.

He saw the realization bloom in Jaynie’s eyes too, cheeks flushed and eyes darting back and forth on his own face, as if seeking an answer. Almost daringly, she sat upright, and asked, ‘So? Have you forgotten what to do, Marks?’. He looked at her, analysing her face, as if the flutter of her eyelashes and the way her lips parted could somehow make him unscramble his brain and finds words. What to do… Yes. Avery remembered. Of course, he did. Dab the dress, take different corners, do it again. Yes, it was easy. This should be easy. ‘I’ve never failed a chemistry class before, nor have I never lost against a stain before. I know what to do, Monroe.’, he remarked, watching as her smirk grew wider, like the fire in his own chest. Dull it, erase it, he told himself. But what was he meant to do when she stood so close, so dangerously close? So he raised the cloth, and hesitantly, reached for her dress. He started with the lower stains, and cursed himself. He could’ve just asked her to take the dress off, and then explained what to do. He could’ve left, could’ve gone down and forgotten this. Pretended nothing had been ignited in his chest, pretended that the words locked inside the vault of his mouth hand’t been dangerously close to being spoken. What could have possibly warranted this? His own selfish desires — of course he knew that. Before he could mess up, he started explaining the chemistry behind it to her, ‘Dawn contains surfactants that help break down oils and grease, making it pretty effective for stain removal. Surfactants work by reducing the surface tension of water, allowing it to more effectively dissolve and lift substances like oils or dirt.’ He expected her to be weirded out, to ask him what the hell he meant, but she simply nodded, looking down at him. ‘That makes sense’, at which he nodded. His hands graced the dress over her abdominal area, and she shivered, the contact being too much, not enough. She unconsciously pressed against him, the friction not enough. God, this was so wrong. So, so wrong. She was supposed to be down, lost in a crowd, till Lillian found her and got drunk with her. Not whatever this was. But just the thought of it pulled at the strings of her mind, cursing her. So she watched him continue, hands shaking as the cloth trailed up the flowers, inching closer and closer.

‘Do you know what these are?’, he asked, words coming out strained, almost breathless. Jaynie nodded, ‘Well, you clearly recognize the red roses, and these,’ she said, while pointing somewhere in the middle of her abdomen, ‘these are red baby breath, and those…higher are pink peonies’. He nodded, carefully looking at each of the flowers, as if missing even a simple petal could ruin something. The way he was studying her, like a treasure unveiled by sand, only made her want this to stop, want him to do more. He folded the towel over, using a fresh corner, and raised it again. It was a constant pull and push that they were playing, the arsonist and the douse, the king making his steps and the queen with the power to change the course of the game. When his hand reached the bodice’s upper hem, fingers slightly grazing the area near her chest, she let out a soft moan, unconsciously. It wasn’t until she noticed the look in his eyes that she’d realized she hadn’t been quiet enough. Her face felt on fire, gasoline poured on her eyes and swimming in her lips, unable to move. He parted his lips, ready to speak, but before he could say anything, she leaned in closer, till the only thing separating them was his arm, still resting on her bodice. ‘Jaynie… what are we doing here?’, he whispered, breathlessly, eyes dropping from her own to her lips, and lower. ‘God, I have no idea’, she breathed softly, so close he could feel it on his lips. Brown eyes, dripping honey, golden rays; the trap was laid.

One.

Two.

Three.

And the dam broke.

Suddenly, his lips were on hers, and his hand, god his hand, squeezed her closer, inching higher and higher, till it found its desired objective. He squeezed her breast, soliciting a sweet moan out of her, and with the other hand he pulled her closer and closer, till she now saw on top of him, legs at each side of his waist. Still straddling him, she kissed him back, stronger, harder, as if this was the last kiss she was allowed to have on this earth, as if she could never taste heaven again until her death. She’d gladly kill for this taste. It wasn’t her first kiss, but it was the first to ever make her feel so much. He was an artist, and her body his canvas. He kissed her as if he knew the blueprints of her desire, as if he had studied for months, a mastermind of her life. She closed her eyes, savouring the sensation of him. His toned body fit perfectly against her softer one, and she cursed herself for not doing this earlier. God, it felt so good. He brought his hand up to touch the hair at the nape of her neck, caressing it, just to then drop it again, lower, and slower, like a snake discovering the body of its prey. He was reading her lines, the moles on her cheek, the secrets behind her neck, the salvation on her lips. The altar of her body, he had discovered, was a religion he could stand behind. There was divinity in her taste, enough to undo him.

He held her tighter, as if she could disappear if he didn’t, as if this was a mirage of water and he, a parched soul. His fingers dipped into her waist, thumbs moving up and down, rotating in treacherous temptation. His mouth caressed her collarbone, leaving fleeting kisses causing her to giggle, interrupted when he bit her neck. God, her moans, he thought, how could one hear them and don’t want them as morning alarm? His hands travelled lower down her spine, cupping her into him, and she dragged her fingers across his neck, his collarbone, watching him shiver beneath him. Checkmate, she thought with a smirk, as her lips dropped lower, already feeling the absence of his, kissing his neck. He moaned softly, leaning further back, allowing her easier access. Pink petals stained his neck, and she whispered, ‘Now you have a necklace of your own’. He laughed, grabbing her again by the waist, hands still exploring her body.

Her soft legs against his drove him insane, her hips moving against his, as if daring, bidding. She pushed him on his back onto the bed, one hand on the back of his head, as if her mattress could somehow hurt her. He let out a breathless chuckle, eyes widened slightly in surprise, admiring how she stood over him, how her lips were smeared, an artifact of his kisses. Gathering himself on his elbows he watched her come closer, and closer, her lips finding his again, the stain on the dress long forgotten, the cloth abandoned on the floor. He played with them of her skirt, barely holding back as his fingers circled her nipples, squeezing ever so slightly, watching her arch in pleasure, coming even closer, as if wanting to melt their bodies together. There, he thought with a smile as another sigh left her lips. He loved watching how she reacted to him, finding the map of her body and discovering her likes and dislikes, finding the tassels that made her slump into him. His hand found its way behind her neck again, pulling her in for another kiss. He couldn’t have enough of her taste. Fuck, how could he ever have her now and never again? ‘God’, he moaned as she tormented his neck with more kisses, sucking till she couldn’t tell if the pink marks were hickeys blooming or stains of her lips. ‘Are you praying to me, Avery?’, she teased, and he simply nodded, unable to think properly. How cute, she thought, before leaning back to look at him. His hair was tousled, locks falling freely onto his front head, the way pleas fell from his lips. Once the flames of desire had been stoked, she didn’t know how she could ever stop them. She remembered the theme of the party — ballroom ballads and artists, and the way he looked now, lips apart, hands digging into her waist, glitter from her lip gloss on his chest, a necklace of pink and purple petals on his neck, she thought she had truly nailed it. He was her canvas, just as much as she was his. 

She leaned in again, but a loud noise stopped them, freezing them in their tracks. Avery took the opportunity to study her face, her gaze, her smile. She looked gorgeous; even with her hair messily standing on her shoulders, half of her lipstick gone, and the dress too wrinkled by their actions, she was the most beautiful he’d ever seen. Had he been a sculptor, he’d have made her immortal. 

Somewhere outside, in the alleyway, Jaynie could hear James’ voice, loud as usual, demanding Tristan to tell him where they’d gone. Jaynie looked down at Avery and chuckled, falling softly against his chest. He held her closer, smiling to himself. ‘Capitalism wants its workers back’, she whispered against his chest, stealing another kiss from him. He ran his hands through her hair, fingers playing with her locks, and he nodded. ‘We don’t have the luxury of risking’, he muttered against her shoulder, leaving one last kiss.

Perhaps risking wasn’t so bad after all.

[killerzys]

Should probably post this on my venting account..oh well

[DO NOT ATTACK ANYONE THAT WAS MENTIONED]

Tw mentioning of cutting, say kill yourself, and F1zzyst4r

Please don't center me around this drama I'm not the one who needs the support Wenni is they have been a victim of F1zzyst4r for a year now I just want to simply explain.. how this has affected me.. but please show some support to Wenni and not me

More in the undercut

So there has been a lot on my mind been gone a few days so it feels a little bit more clearer

I do not want to meet the situation about me since I'm not the one who's being harassed Wenni has and I don't want to make the situation about me even though I am also being affected by it. Just not the way Wenni has been, that's why I have been scared to talk about how I'm feeling about Skittles.. and everything but uhh just because I don't want to make it about me I'm not the let's say main victim.. yes I have been harassed I don't know if was one of skittle's friends that told me this in my ask box but someone recently told me to kill myself and it threw me off

And for a while I felt forced to be friends with him (Skittles) I texted him before I blocked him that hey I felt forced to be your friend and it's making me uncomfortable.. I didn't say this part but the tracing also made me uncomfortable.. especially when it was clear that you copied someone else's design and is tracing someone else's art without credit or say oh yeah I make expired by this person inspiration, and now don't come attack me and say oh there's a few times that you didn't credit someone but as soon as someone say hey by the way maybe credit the person that gives you inspiration you @ them and I have I go back and edit pic or post and @ the person there is just sometimes where I get so excited that I forget but Skittles even after being called out and you're saying hey dude by the way maybe just give credit to the person that you take inspiration from Skittles is like erm actually they're tracing me!!

That's my point of view of how I see it and those other parts but I don't want to make this really long and boring to read

But I just mainly wanted to say how I've been infected by everything, after becoming friends with Skittles I thought they were kind and sweet they were to me but that's before I knew the full drama I did follow wenni on Pinterest for a while and seen little glimpse here and there last time I seen before I became friends with Skittles is that Wenni and Skittles were on good terms.. so I thought it was all right to be his friend, this whole friendship started because I made my old reference sheet of nighty, based off of on of wenni's old ref.. Skittles was like hey by the way maybe not copy me and I simply told them that I took inspiration from someone else that I didn't even know they were on the board, we became friends on Tumblr and talked, then I started getting targeted not targeted that's not the right word to say involved in drama that simply I was just watching from behind.. never had any attention to get involved with any of the drama but with my luck I somehow got into it because I was friends with Skittles.. I'm no longer friends with him and I feel free I feel safer now but I keep seeing the excuse of like his friends in my inbox "he made art for you and everything, he thought you guys were friends" just because you simply made art for me doesn't really mean anything I'm sorry? Like I make art for a lot of people doesn't mean I'm their friend I just think whatever OC or design I did was really neat and I wanted to draw it myself.. in the friend part I did see each other as friends but we never really communicated like we were friends.. we would talk to each other about the drama and I remember at some point I said whoever is tracing needs to own up to it now so this drama could be over and no one can get hurt or go through more mental health problems... But it seems that he didn't take that advice but oh well but other than talking about the drama and stuff we vented it to each other, there were a few funny moments but it's wasn't really friends? It was like that one buddy you see crossing the hall and you talk for a minute before going back to your class and then you don't see them for the rest of the year that's how it felt and before everything that happened I will admit I had a tad of a crush on Skittles but over time it started affecting me not in the greatest way... And I just lost all feelings when I got with my partner... And then at some point he would call me dear or something ? And sweetheart saying I'm sorry I think someone hacked my account acting all flirty with me which made me uncomfortable...

But besides that uhh he has now decided to text my mutuals or get his friends to do it I believe he's doing it because they are all anonymous and him or he got his friend to send something one of my mutuals inbox say hi by the way uhh river faked being friends with Skittles like a few times something something quite frankly I don't think you should be mutuals with them no more

Ok ok Skittles I see I see going to my mutuals telling them, that they should stop being friends with me because I stopped being friends with you because you're traced someone's art and copied many people's designs and when I tell you that I felt forced to be your friend and felt so uncomfortable and I unfollowed you which is a valid reason saying that I was uncomfortable and blocking you you're going to resort to going to my mutuals and basically harass them saying you should stop being friends with River, river is a bad friend you shouldn't be friends with them

Okay buddy like what? I've been trying to stay serious but the more I text this sentence the more I'm getting mad and the more I'm realizing the red flags that I should have realized from before... Honestly Skittles I hope you get help I hope you get therapy or something I'm not going to wish upon your death because honestly that's against what I believe which is nothing but like I don't believe in telling people they should kill themselves just because of certain actions I feel like they should get help now let's say if you were a pedophile now I would say kill yourself but does drama could have been resolved a long time ago if you just figured out your own art style who you are and stop copying someone to the point of copying that Wenni saying you have anger issues and trust issues ?

Wet Skittles I do wish that you get some therapy help mental help hell go to a mental asylum I don't care get help...

Now onto more stuff that like other things I've been thinking about

So basically going to my friends and harassing them

Having people go in my inbox harassing me saying like why did you stop being friends with Skittle kill yourself

It feels like you're using the fact that I used to have a crush on you against me and saying that we were friends because sometimes we made art for each other?

That's really it? Uh yeah I don't know this entire situation has just had me stressed about everything.. to the point where I'm having a hard time even drawing.. communicating with people talking and everything...it's really unbearable.. a few days ago I lost my streak .. because of this. The stress got so much that I took it out on myself I was almost 2-3 month clean..

[s0fter-sin]

rewatching s1 and in ep2 w*ndigo, dean makes a joke about not bringing provisions into the woods just to pull out a bag of peanut butter m&m’s and stick with me here, it’s why the later seasons’ “goofy dean” loses me

this moment is clearly a joke but if you think about it too much, it also makes some sense; a family size bag of peanut m&m’s is calorie dense and even the high sugar is good to keep you moving which they need on an overnight hunt. it also shows how due to their upbringing, they’ve had to eat lower quality food, things they always had access to that was cheap and also in bulk

what does dean eating ghost pepper jerky then tipping water on himself exist for other than to be a cringy joke? what does smelling old chinese food, testing to see if it's still good then shaking his head with cabbage hanging out his mouth when it isn't serve? it's just to make him look stupid and contrast sam's healthy/clean diet (and superiority but that’s another conversation) which has always existed but it used to be nuanced and natural

we see dean as a child give up the food he wanted to eat so sam could eat it. (“i’m sick of spaghetti-os,” “you’re the one who wanted them,” … “i want lucky charms!” “… there’s only enough for one bowl and i haven’t had any yet!” proceeds to give them to sam, 1x18) we know he hustled and stole food to ensure sam ate. (“so, what’d he take?” “get this- peanut butter and bread.” 9x07)

we also see throughout the early seasons dean teasing sam about his salad or healthy choice while he eats some form of burger or other fast food (or notably, cheerfully eating prison food that sam won’t touch, 2x19). it's typical sibling teasing but it also shows that it isn't new for sam to eat like that and for dean to know he eats like that

sam being picky isn't just a character trait they chose for him, it's a result of how dean raised him; he raised him to like and want healthy food and be food secure enough to reject food he didn't want

but dean eats anything he is given and seeks out unhealthy - cheap, plentiful, filling - food

he is the opposite of picky to the point of it being a consistent bit; they show him multiple times eating when it's socially frowned upon to do so eg. questioning a grieving victim when they're trying to be discreet (1x14, 2x15, 2x18)

a similar moment to the chinese food is in 4x19; dean wakes up in the car while sam brushes his teeth outside and is hungry. sam says there's a sandwich in the backseat, dean smells it and recoils bc it's an old tuna sandwich. the moment is funny on its own but it also exists as a comparison of their lives to adam's; he has a loving mother, goes to school and importantly, a steady stable childhood

it’s a joke with a purpose

it also supports dean's food insecurity; he wakes up and is immediately hungry, enough to complain about it and seek out food before anything else

dean is always hungry bc he never has access to nutritionally rich foods bc he got used to using the money he earned to buy sam's more expensive food. he got used to his cheaper, denser foods and grew up with (and continues to live with) intermittent access to said foods. think of how long it takes to drive from one state to another; how many hours it can take to see another town that offers food, if you arrive at a reasonable enough time for anything to be open. also think how they can’t keep any food beyond what fits in an esky; nothing that needs defrosting, nothing can be heated up. it’s bags and jars and take out for as long as they can trust it

then they get the bunker which has its own kitchen

dean even describes himself as "nesting" when he decorates his room, something he hasn't had since he was four years old, and he uses said kitchen to cook a burger from scratch that he is proud of. he is food secure for the first time in his life and it shows in how often he cooks for both himself and sam

so these moments where they have him acting goofy regarding food are no longer character driven and only exist as a joke which is why they come across as cringy and out of character compared to similar earlier moments

a lot of my issues with dean's characterisation started when they introduced the bunker. the argument can and is made that the reason these jokes happen is bc he feels safe in the bunker, that bc he now has a home he can relax and unmask but that still doesn't feel sufficient. they crank up these sillier moments for both of them, giving them a sort of playing house comedy vibe of two roommates with completely different personalities but it doesn't feel like an authentic progression. it feels forced; an attempt at humour for humour's sake

food stopped being an informed part of their characters and their trauma and instead became flanderised; sam is the judgy vegetarian health nut and dean is his borderline slovenly carnivore counterpart

[simcardiac-arrested]

an artist’s struggle

[mildcicada]

[snekdood]

bitches prolly out here psychoanalyzing my old art on behalf of my abuser to cushion their belief that im a Horrible Person but then dont see the irony when I point out the shitty things my abuser has drawn and how I see it as clear evidence of their mindset and beliefs (of what's okay to do and how to treat people) descending and pairing that along with everything else they've done and it paints a clear picture of how this person got to the point of thinking it was okay to abuse me the way they did and then the people looking for reasons to hate me through my art will act like "they're just drawings !!!" about their art. which one is it. does someones art say something about them or not? or does it only say something about them if you hate them?

[nanaslutt]

!! minors and ageless blogs dni, you will be blocked !! 18+ only !!

virgin!sukuna who makes you sit on top of him and take him yourself for his own entertainment because he knows how big he is compared to your hole, but what he doesn’t expect is how insanely tight and hot it is inside you when his tip pushes in

his expression would give nothing away, he would want you to think you’re the one getting tortured by this, but inside his brain completely blank and his eyes are transfixed on the way your tiny hole stretches around him and swallows him up so greedily. bliss like he’s never felt tickles down his spine, and his balls draw up, already preparing to cum inside

he’s secretly grateful you need a break once you get it all in, disguising his own impending orgasm by chastising you for needing a break saying, “you are such a weak human” and “that’s all you could take?” when really, if you so much as rolled your hips down on him he would blow his load

he takes the opportunity to rub your clit while you stay sitting on him, once again trying to torture you with the intense pleasure, but he’s just trying to get you to come first in case he isn’t able to hold back when you start moving. once your orgasm crashes over you and he feels your walls squeeze around him and your insides somehow get softer and wetter, he realizes his jaw is seconds from cracking from how hard he’s biting down on his teeth trying not to explode at the most immense pleasure he’s ever felt

[lqveharrington]

The Alchemy | D.M.

summary: Although Draco promised that he would keep your relationship a secret just for you, he can’t contain himself after winning the Hogwarts quidditch cup.

pairing: draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader

includes: FLUFF, established relationship (and a last name of Evergreen for the reader)

a/n: inspired by the olympics recently ❤️

When Draco asked you out in fourth year, you thought it was a joke. Sure, you were both acquainted due to your pure wizardry bloodline, but you were in Hufflepuff. The only time the other houses thought you were useful was when they wanted to sneak into the kitchen. So when he came up and sat down beside you when you were studying potions, you were disheartened.

“Malfoy, please don’t do this.” You sigh, rubbing your forehead. You were just starting to understand what ingredients made a truth serum.

“Do what? I’m asking you if you want to go to Hogsmeade together this weekend.” He spun the Malfoy signet ring adorning his hand.

You look up at him with tired eyes, “Did someone put you up to this?”

“What? No no, I—“ He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks warm at how you were able to fluster him with even a small glance. “I’m really asking you to go on a date with me.”

You search his face for any indication of a lie, before biting your lip softly and looking down at your parchment. “Are you really?”

“I am.” Draco dropped his hand onto yours to stop your fidgeting with the quill.

You felt your own face heat up at the notion. He thumbed your palm softly as you stayed quiet, not minding his closeness. Finally, you looked up at him, “You have yourself a date, Malfoy.” He sent you a soft smile but before he could say anything else, you interrupted. “Please don’t let me down.”

Draco never let you down. Despite your earlier doubts, you saw how kind and thoughtful the Malfoy heir was underneath his hardened shell his father had built around him. In private, he was always attentive, loving, clingy — there wasn’t a moment where he was separated from you. In public, he had to rein in those feelings just for you.

Even when you started your seventh year at Hogwarts, you were still terrified what others at school would say about a Hufflepuff dating the Slytherin Prince. Sure, his parents and your parents knew, but not the entirety of Hogwarts. You had asked Draco to keep your relationship private until you were ready to face the reality of your relationship to the rest of the world. He begrudgingly agreed, respecting your wishes; but the need to kiss you in front of the entire student body to rightly claim that you were his was wavering.

Especially when it had been three years since you first started dating. And right now, you were currently hiding below the stands together as you greeted him with good luck kisses for his final quidditch match as a student in Hogwarts.

“I.” Kiss. “Love.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss. You say softly as he holds you close by your hips — smiling into all your kisses. “Good.” Kiss. “Luck.” Kiss.

“You’re killing me here, love.” Draco murmurs against your lips. He pulls away gently to look at your ever so loving gaze. He draws small hearts on you hip, “You done?”

“Never.” You kiss him again, hands cupping his jaw. “I want you to be stuck with me forever.”

He hums into the kiss as you thumb his cheeks softly, “I will after I win this game, my love.”

You separate again, grinning like a lovesick puppy. “Good luck, Dray. I’ll see you later.” You press one last kiss to his lips before leaving his arms and running up the Hufflepuff stands to cheer. You couldn’t deny that even after all these years he still made you giddy and red.

Draco shook his head with a soft smile only you could coax out of him. He walked out from the stands and hopped on his broom, ready in the air for his final match as Slytherin’s seeker. Cheers filled the stadium as the players took their place, captains shaking hands.

The final match for Slytherin and Gryffindor was probably the most anticipated all year round. Since it was also Harry Potter’s last game as seeker, and the two seekers were known as rivals, it was hyped up to be one of the best end matches of the season.

As the game progressed, Slytherin and Gryffindor were constantly tied. It was really up to the seekers to find the golden snitch to determine the winner. There were bets taking place in the house stands, mind fixated on earning a few galleons for the last time. For the Hufflepuff stands, they were a house divided. Many cheered for scarlet and gold while the other half cheered for green and silver.

You didn’t mind the division between your house. After all, you only watched the games for Draco. Your friends were cheering for the Gryffindors whilst you carried the small Slytherin flag in your hands — eyes trained on the blonde high above the game itself. The second you blinked from the blazing sun, Draco was soaring after the golden snitch, Harry close behind and eventually flying right next to him.

The shouts from the stands only fueled the seekers’ attention to the flying gold. Draco and Harry were chasing in circles after the snitch, attention focused on nothing else even as the bludger zoomed past them.

You held your breath as they both reach out for the snitch. Your friend held your shoulder in anticipation, watching the two closely. Before you could register what happened, she gasped and shook your shoulders in frustration.

“I lost ten galleons to that!” She sighed heavily as Draco flashed the golden snitch in the air.

The rush of the win made you scream happily with the other Hufflepuffs and houses cheering for the Slytherin team. You wear clapping your hands as the team began flying around in victory. You watched as Draco flew around the stands more as the rest of the Slytherin team settled on the grounds. His eyes scanned the stadium until they lit up when they saw you at the very front of the Hufflepuff stands — waving your Slytherin flag with pride.

“Seems like Malfoy is off showing the last snitch he’ll catch for the Slytherin quidditch team! But we all want to know where the trophy is!” The third year announcer spoke, voice casted across the stadium.

You smiled at Draco softly when you finally met his eyes. And before you knew it, he flew right over to you and cupped your face, kissing you senselessly. You grinned into the kiss as you held his cheeks, the shouts and screams from your housemates blending in your ears.

“Aw, quite a beautiful way to celebrate the win. Don’t you think so, McGonagall? Honestly, I wasn’t expecting Malfoy and Evergreen— Ow, sorry.” The third year announcer spoke once more, rubbing the spot the professor lightly hit them with a newspaper.

You part from Draco with a blinding smile, “I think I agree, this is a beautiful way to celebrate.” You say quietly only for him to hear, pressing quick kisses to his lips.

“I’m proud of you, love.” Draco nudges your nose with his to gently stop your kisses for a second — even though he did want more.

“Me? You just won the quidditch cup for your house!” You laugh while wrapping your arms behind his neck, careful in trying not to pull him off his broom.

He rubbed the apples of your cheeks, “You just let me kiss you in front of the entire student body… I think that’s more important.” He pulled you in for another mind searing kiss, making you smile helplessly.

“AGAIN?” The third year announcer shouted into the microphone once more. “Is there—“

“Alright, we’re done announcing, boys and girls.” Professor McGonagall spoke and shut the speakers off; although she was quite happy for the couple.

You giggled as he pulled you into a hug. “I love you.”

Draco pressed kisses to your cheek repeatedly, “I love you more.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[sloaneispunk]

“friend or foe”

soft!frontman (hwang in-ho) x you

when frontman joined the games, he thought it was solely to see gihun fail, but his intentions shifted when a certain player number 455 caught his attention…

⋆♱✮♱⋆ ──── 〇 △ □ ──── ⋆♱✮♱⋆

part one

after the first round of voting, half of the room was left speechless, how could majority have voted to stay? the games were inhumane and above the top, was the money worth it anymore?

you headed up back to your bed where you could see everything clearer. the ‘o’s cheering loudly while the ‘x’s stood still as the air hung heavily upon them. then, you saw the player that had caused the majority to overule the ‘x’s… player 001.

he was a tall middle aged man with astonishing features. his hair somehow still styled neatly on his head, leaving only a few strands out of place. his lips curled into a small smirk as he walked past the crowd and seemingly back towards the bunk beds.

you must have been staring for too long because 001 suddenly halted, causing you to lean further down to see what had caused him to stop in his tracks. suddenly, his head snapped up, looking right up at you with that same expression on his face.

‘shit’ you cursed as you threw yourself back onto the bed, back hitting the cold mattress within seconds.

suddenly, a face appeared at the side of your bed, causing you to let out a scream as your hands flew to your mouth, shufflig towards the other end of the bed.

“hi there.”

there he stood, right there at the other end of your bed. player 001’s brown eyes looked so innocently into your own, he now had a bigger, more geniune smile on his face as he waited for a reply.

“you scared me.” you breathed out, still not moving from the edge.

“i��m sorry i didn’t mean to. i noticed you were alone earlier, i hope you don’t mind if i join you since we’re both by ourselves in here.” 001 said with a calm and gentle voice.

“uh.. yeah-”

“i apologise if i’m being too pushy, i just thought a young, pretty girl like you being here alone could be risky. i wanted to make sure that you were alright.” he interrupted. “my name is young-il.”

he stretched out his hand towards you, waiting for your hand in to shake his.

“i’m y/n, nice to meet you.” you replied, still skeptical, but nevertheless you showed your appreciation with a handshake.

oh, right then and there. with your hand in his, the frontman in disguise was heating up. he craved so much more then merely your hand in his. he wanted to touch every part of you, leaving nothing that he had not savoured.

he was brought back into reality when you pulled your hand back, staring at him, waiting for the charismatic man to say yet another inviting sentence to draw you in more.

“i’m afraid i didn’t notice you during the first game.” young-il said.

you shifted on the bed, moving towards the headrest as you beckoned him to the empty space in front of you which he gladly complied.

“during red light, green light?” you asked and he nodded. “i was at the front, guess i didn’t want to take the risk of lagging behind.”

“you must have completed the game pretty fast then.” he stated.

“i had a few minutes left, i spent it trying to help those who were falling behind.” you shrugged.

there it was. that kindess, that compassion. it was exactly what he was looking for. right now he was the big bad wolf licking his lips as he sat watching his prey.

“you have a kind heart, y/n. how did a girl like you end up in this place?”

“just mixed around with the wrong people i guess, i plan to start a new when i get out of here.” you said, full of hope, making him grin.

the two of you spent the night talking, getting closer with every hour that passed. the more young-il talked to you, the more he felt the need to dive deeper, there was so much he wanted, no, needed to know about you. all he needed was time to earn your trust and he would have everything in his control. when you had fallen asleep, young-il checked the surroundings, ensuring that everyone was fast asleep before he walked up towards the masked guards.

“make sure every single one of you nutjobs get this message. whatever you do, do not hurt player 455. if i find a single scratch on her, i will kill you all myself. is that clear?” young-il whispered but was still somehow stern enough for the guards to be taken aback with fear.

things were starting to change with the frontman’s plan, but he could adapt to change right?

⋆♱✮♱⋆ ──── 〇 △ □ ──── ⋆♱✮♱⋆

part two

the next day you were awoken by the cheerful song being played on the speakers.

“good sleep? you dosed off halfway during our talk last night.” young-il, chuckled, sitting on the edge of your bed, extending his hand out for you to take.

“were you here all night? my god, you should’ve went back to your bed! you didn’t sleep?!” you scolded as you took his hand.

he let out a laugh and helped you onto your feet.

“it’s no worries, y/n, i wasn’t tired.”

“so you watched me like a creep while i slept?”

“i- y-yeah, no! i mean n-no-”

“i’m kidding.” you cut the poor man off, “thank you.”

“yeah, of course.” he replied. “c’mon, let’s see what game we’re playing today.”

“ladies and gentleman, please follow in an orderly fashion to your next game.”

as you and young-il followed the crowd into the colorful, long, windy staircase.

“what if the next game is difficult, young-il?” you asked, following behind as he kept you close even when walking.

“hey, it’s okay, nothing will happen to us. i’ll make sure of it.” he smiled, pausing in his steps momentarily for you to walk beside him.

⋆♱✮♱⋆ ──── 〇 △ □ ──── ⋆♱✮♱⋆

part three

when you entered the room, you realised it was much smaller than the room for ‘red light, green light’. this one however, had two large rainbow circles on the floor and 5 tables spaced equally around.

“this game will be played in groups of 5, the game will commence in 10 minutes.”

your eyes shot to young-il. before you could say anything, 3 men came up to you and young-il. “hey man, would you want to join our group?”

3 men stood behind young-il, player 390, player 388 and player 456.

“why not? me and y/n can-”

“oh… we were looking for a team of men.. i’m sorry but your friend can’t join us.” player 390 interrupted.

“no.” young-il said sternly. he wasted no time arguing and instead took your hand and walked away.

after searching for other groups that would take you both in, you realised it was useless. no one really wanted a girl in their group and you couldn’t blame them. you stopped and sighed, causing young-il to turn around.

“young-il, it’s useless. you should join them. i’ll find others, we don’t have time.” you sighed, beckoning him to leave before time ran out for the both of you.

“no. i can’t garuntee your safety that way.”

“you don’t have to. it’ll be fine i’ll see you when the game is over.”

“c’mon, y/n i-”

“miss?” a voice said from behind you. “we need one more person for our team, would you want to join us?”

it was a sweet old lady, behind her stood 2 girls, player 120 and player 095.

“mom did you find someone?” a man jogged towards the old woman. “oh great, okay just in time.”

“come dear, who says women can’t win this stupid game.” she grumbled, taking your hand and leading you towards her group.

“i’ll be fine.” you smiled, leaving young-il standing alone with worry in his eyes. with much hesistation, young-il let you go, joining the team of men without you.

“you, hey! come join us! let’s win this!” player 456 cheered, inviting young-il back into the group.

“time is up, please sit down in your groups… this is a six legged race where you will have to complete 5 mini games individually while being chained to each other. the games played will be ddakji, flying stone, gonggi, spinning top and jegi. please order yourself in which you will be playing the games in.”

a sense of unease set in in young-il. he searched the room to find you. even if he was worried, he couldn’t show it on the outside, it would be too risky for you and for him. he remained calm as he scanned the room for you, eyes eventually landing on your face from across the room.

⋆♱✮♱⋆ ──── 〇 △ □ ──── ⋆♱✮♱⋆

part four

“we’re lucky we have many girls in this team! which games are you familiar with?” the old lady asked, looking at you.

“oh i’m not really sure, why don’t you guys pick first?” you replied embarrassed, an awkward smile plastered on your face.

as the others discussed which game they were going to play you looked around, searching for young-il once more. when you finally spotted him at the far end, you gave him a small smile and a wave, seeing how he was already looking at you.

“so i’ll play ddakji, your son will play flying stone, ma’am you’ll play gongi, ms 455 will play spinning top and ms 120 you will play jengi. is that alright?” player 095 said, looking around for approval from the group.

when the game started, your team was the first. you took your place on the rainbow with your team, all equally as nervous as you were.

“hey we’re gonna be okay, we’ll win easily.” you said offering a smile to the team.

“yes! we can do it ladies! oh and you too son.” the old lady said.

a gunshot fired in the air, indicating the start of the game.

“hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!” every grunted in synchronicity, moving rather quickly to the first station.

the other players were up on their feet, following around the circle as they cheered.

1. ddakji

player 095 closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

piak!

the sound of the paper slapping on the ground echoed through the room, she opened her eyes and looked down. it flipped.

“first try! let’s go!” player 120 cheered.

“pass”

“hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!”

2. flying stone

“son, just imagine. that rock is the face of the dealer that screwed you over.” the old lady said to her son making the rest of you snicker.

“you son of a bitch! give me my money back!” the man yelled as he threw the rock. without even trying, he managed to hit the other rock down.

“pass”

“holy shit! you did it!” you exclaimed. “let’s go! quick!” you exclaimed practically jumping in place.

hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!

3. gonggi

“come, come! sit down everyone, i need to concentrate.” the old lady said.

she picked up the first few pieces with ease, but couldn’t catch the last one causing her to start over.

that must have struck a nerve because every try after that was not a sucess.

“mom. you said you played gonggi with bullets in the korean war, you can do it.” her son said. “picture it as dad’s face-”

“you imbecile!” she yelled as she picked all the pieces up again, putting them down and picking them up once more with ease.

“pass”

4. spinning top

young-il cheered like the rest, maybe even more. he was holding his breath with every step you took. even as the frontman, he wasn’t sure why he was anxious for a player like you to win. it was very unlike him but he had to admit it felt good.

he watched as you coiled the rope around the spinning top. he could see your hands shaking as everyone’s eyes burned holes into you.

with two minutes left on the clock you trusted your instincts and drew your hand back, carefully flicking your wrist. the spinning top flew through the air, with a soft bang it landed on the ground, spinning perfectly.

“pass”

“she did it!” young-il shouted, causing a roar of cheers to erupt as your team moved towards the last and final game.

hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!

5. jegi

“can everyone look away? i just need some concentration.” player 120 asked. everyone including your team turned to look away, even with the time left, you were shaking with fear. one wrong move and you could leave this game as easy as you came in.

everyone remained quiet as you listened for the sound of the shoe and jegi coming into contact.

“one.”

“two.”

“three.”

“four.”

“five.”

“oh! we did it! that was five!” the old woman shouted.

you looked up seeing the guard makinga circle up with his arms.

“pass”

“let’s go! let’s go!”

with that, your team was let go. relief overwhelmed you as you passed the finish line. as the guards unchained your legs, you turned to the crowd finding young-il easily.

you offered him a smile and a little wave, making him do the same.

⋆♱✮♱⋆ ──── 〇 △ □ ──── ⋆♱✮♱⋆

part five

when it was young-il’s turn his team took place at the start of the line.

“well, it’s a little sad that we don’t have an audience.” player 390 sighed.

“no, it’s good. we don’t have distractions.” player 388 replied.

throughout the game, there was one thing on young-il’s mind, getting back to you. he couldn’t wait for another of your late night conversations. the stupid smile you had when he cracked a horrible joke.

he knew that the game was designed so that there couldn’t be many mistakes made each round. when he joined it was merely for the thrill of it, also the fact that he wanted to see player 456 suffer. but now he knew he had to play the games thoroughly and right, he knew he had to do this to keep his promise to endure your safety.

⋆♱✮♱⋆ ──── 〇 △ □ ──── ⋆♱✮♱⋆

part six

you waited anxiously on your bed as more groups came in, but not young-il. it was nerve wrecking, with every group that came in, somehow the number of player became lesser. it was made clear that not everyone was made to pass.

a few minutes later, the metal door swung open again.

the final group walked in, player 456, player 388, player 390, another player you hadn’t seen before player 222 and young-il.

young-il didn’t waste any time, he jogged back to your bed, seeing your smile widen as he came close. before he had the chance to say anything, you pulled him into a hug, wrapping your hands around his neck tightly as he bent down onto your bed.

“oh my god, you did it! i was so scared, i-i was so worried-”

“hey, it’s okay. it’s okay, i was worried sick too.” he chuckled, taking a seat beside you on the bed.

“i thought the team didn’t want a girl? how did she manage to get in?” you asked, pointing to player 222 who was now with the rest, talking and laughing.

“she was heavily pregnant. we didn’t have a choice, i’m so sorry they didn’t take you in.” he apologised as you shook your head.

“it’s okay, i understand. don’t worry. i’m just glad you made it.” you said, leaning so close that you could feel his bodyheat.

“you know… when i was playing the spinningtop, i couldn’t for the life of me figure out how you did it in one try!”

“of course, an old man like you comparing yourself to me?” you gasped sarcastically, making him laugh.

“yea right, come on says the one who’s almost lying on me.”

you jerked back, you hadn’t even noticed.

“i’m so sorry, are you uncomfortable? i can mov-”

“hey, i’m playing around. come back, you can do whatever you want. i’m just a makeshift pillow for you.”

you sneered and laid your head on his shoulder, legs tangled together on the bed as you could feel the rhythm of his breathing match yours.

“thank you, young-il.” you whispered, your hand finding his, squeezing it to show your appreciation.

young-il looked down to your hand in his and raised it to his lips, giving it a gentle peck. “anytime, y/n.”

whethere he liked it or not, the game had hit a big obstacle. as the frontman he needed to balance between running the games and keeping it safe for you, and preventing player 456 from infiltrating.

even so, he knew the dangers of the next game. ‘mingle’ was one set out to kill, his plans were all falling apart. frontman realised that keeping you came with a cost, and it was one he was willing to pay.

[missdynamighttt]

i wholeheartedly BELIEVE that bf! katsuki would make you sit on his lap and help you do your eyeliner when you struggle with it sometimes.

you were sitting at your vanity, getting ready to go out with katsuki to meet some friends. but you were struggling with your holy grail: your eyeliner. normally you'd be able to do it perfectly but something just felt off about today.

no matter how many times you tried, the pen (or maybe your hand) just wouldn’t cooperate. the wing was either higher or thicker than the other, and it seemed noticeable.

you wipe what feels like the umpteenth failed attempt with a sigh, catching your boyfriend's attention as he lounged on your bed.

katsuki noticed the frustration on your face, silently watching as you rubbed your eye for a few seconds before finally speaking up.

"havin' trouble?" he asked, his voice monotone as usual. from his spot on the bed, he could see just how annoyed you were.

you let out a frustrated sigh as you glance at your reflection in the mirror. it morphs into a pout as you attempt your eyeliner again, determined to perfect it. "uh-huh..."

katsuki chuckled at your pouty face, getting up and approaching you from behind. he looked over you, watching the failed attempts closely as his hands brushed your shoulder.

with a sigh, he offers a hand to you. "give it here. let me do it."

you contemplated, but then you recall how katsuki's eyeliner always looked flawless. your thoughts drift back to your days in ua, remembering how he would wear his hero costume with his eyeliner to fill in the gaps of his mask.

it was always sharp, precise, you fawned over him whenever he chose to do a cat-eye that day. it didn't fail to make him look a hundred times hotter.

"alright," a soft smile spreads across your lips, handing the eyeliner pencil to him. you looked up at him, waiting for him to start tracing.

but he had other plans.

katsuki instructs you to stand up, squeezing your shoulder. "get up, sweetheart," he says, his tone gentle but firm. "i'll take the seat and you can sit on my lap."

"oh, is that so?" you grin with a hint of suspicion. "i'm starting to think you have an ulterior motive, katsuki."

despite your teasing, you comply and get up from the chair, crossing your arms as you watch him settle into the seat.

katsuki rolled his eyes, a frown on his face from your comment. "hmph. maybe i just wanna help my girl out. poor thing can't even do her eyeliner." he looks up at you, his expression softening, and pats his thigh.

"now... c'mere, sweets."

you bite your lip and nod, moving to settle, straddling him on his lap. you can feel the firmness of his thighs beneath you, his hand on your hips, steadying you as he holds your eyeliner in the other.

katsuki scoffs as a subtle blush appears on his face, watching as you settle yourself on top of him. he wraps one of his strong arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

he was pretty close to you, reaching up to brush some hair out of your face. he hummed, gently angling your head, positioning your chin to get a better look.

"so..." he mumbles, studying your face for a moment, as if imagining the art he would put in his canvas. "stay still. i need to focus."

"or what?" you'll get a boner?"

"shut it, brat. you want me to do this or not?"

he scoffs as you nodded up at him with a cheeky grin, taking hold of the pen and bringing it up to your eyes.

"tch. remember what i said. stay. still."

katsuki carefully starts drawing the line, using his free hand to gently hold the skin around your eye.

he really does try his best to keep his cool. but its hard when he can feel your breath on his face, the warmth of your body, and your gaze. it's distracting as hell, but he keeps himself focused on the task at hand.

he's determined to perfect your eyeliner.

you couldn't help but watch him. the experience felt oddly intimate, despite doing way more explicit stuff with him. he's so focused, a look of intense concentration on his face as the eyeliner glides across your eyelid. it was kind of cute.

katsuki bites his tongue as he moves onto the other eye. he notices you staring at him, but he tries his best to ignore it. he doesn't want to mess up this eyeliner because of a simple, silly distraction.

but he would be lying if he said his heart didnt skip a beat. he takes a deep breath and continues, trying to steady his hand.

"quit starin', sweetheart."

"i'm not! where am i even supposed to look?"

you scoff, but make a conscious effort to keep your face still, avoiding any sudden movements so katsuki wouldn't suddenly smudge his work.

he huffs, adjusting you in his lap, inadvertently pulling you closer. your scent was driving him crazy, and the feeling of you on his lap was starting to get him worked up. it was becoming difficult to focus.

"anywhere else. pay attention to somethin' else."

"likeeeee?"

katsuki lets out a sharp breath and tries to distract himself. but it wasn't working.

the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to bend you over on the vanity and do unspeakable things to you. but no, he couldn't. he needed to finish this damn eyeliner first. and go out with a few friends before he has you for the rest of the night.

"i don't know. the ceiling, the damn wall... just somethin' that isn't me."

"aww, how come? you're not getting distracted from this, are you?"

his breath hitches as you tease him again. damn it. damn this woman. he was doing good on keeping it together until you started talking, but now it was getting difficult.

katsuki doesn't respond right away, he's too focused on your goddamn eyeliner, trying to ignore the feeling of you in his lap. he focuses intently on getting it right. but he could feel the heat starting to pool in his pants. he's not sure how much more of this he can take.

a tiny smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but you suppressed it, holding back the urge to annoy katsuki further. you waited patiently as he continues to draw the line, the pen gliding smoothly on your eyelid. you were super eager to tease him more.

katsuki finally finishes the last stroke, his hand shaking slightly as he puts the pen down. he tries to keep a neutral expression, but the heat in his face betrays him. he lets out a shaky breath and looks up at you, his eyes darkening as he locks eyes with you.

"there," he mutters, his voice hoarse. "finished it."

your eyes twinkled with appreciation as you looked at yourself in the mirror, running your fingers through your hair as you looked at his handiwork.

his work never failed to amaze you. his hand always such precision that made it great for things like this. you spun around to face katsuki, a giddy smile on your lips.

"oh my god, katsuki! you did an amazing job. holy shit, i look like a million bucks!" you leaned in and planted a big, sloppy kiss on his cheek, grinning widely. "seriously, i'm like, ten times hotter now! you're a genius!"

katsuki lets out a soft gasp when you kiss him, his blush deepening. he was relieved to finally be done with the eyeliner so he could put his focus elsewhere. he was happy you're happy. but now he has an entirely different problem... "yeah... i know. you look gorgeous, sweetheart. always do."

he swallows hard, his eyes focused on yours. he doesn't say anything at first, letting out a shaky breath as he processes how hot you look right now. all he wants to do is fuck you right there, show you how much he likes your eyeliner, but he's trying to hold himself back. he's not sure how long he'll succeed, though.

you notice katsuki staring off into space, head titled as a hint of concern crosses your features. you called out his name gently, voice laced with a note of amusement. "katsuki? baby, you with me?"

katsuki hums in response, his hands gripping your hips a little harder. he can feel himself getting more heated, your voice making him feel almost dizzy with desire. "mhm?"

as katsuki shakes his head and snaps back to reality, your can't help but bite your lip, suppressing a smile.

"you okay? you looked like a deer in headlights."

he lets out a sharp breath, letting his head fall to the crook of your neck. he knows you've noticed how riled up he is right now.

this is going to be harder than he thought.

"m'fine. just... just give me a second.."

a soft chuckle escapes your lips as you brush your fingers through his hair, affectionately playing with the strands. you smirk at his question, a hint of playful sarcasm lacing your voice.

"okay... for what, though? what you thinking about, tough guy?"

katsuki lets out a shudder at your touch, his grip on your hips tightening a bit more. you're a wicked, wicked woman to him. he lifts his head up to look at you again, his eyes roaming your body.

he can't even form a coherent thought, your touch sending jolts of heat straight through his body. this was not the time for you to play coy.

"you.. god, you.. need to stop that."

"stop what?"

he can feel his patience thinning rapidly. you're driving him wild, he has to do something about this.

"stop.. touchin' me," he mutters, his hand moves to grip your wrist, gently pulling your hand away from his hair.

you feign disappointment, lower lip sticking out in an exaggerated pout. you looked at him with a feigned look of dejection, gently shifting your weight as if preparing to leave his lap. "aww, okay. i guess i could get off your lap... but i was getting comfortable, y'know..."

katsuki immediately grabs your hips, anchoring them underneath him, stopping you.

"no. stay."

he lets out a shaky breath, his eyes looking up at yours. he's desperately trying to keep his cool, but his eyes are practically filled with lust. his body is aching for you, the heat in his stomach is slowly becoming uncomfortable.

he buries his head back in the crook of your neck. his hands rub your hips, squeezing the flesh softly, but with a firm pressure.

"i just need a damn minute."

you let out a soft, playful chuckle, enjoying how flustered he looks as you shift your weight in his lap, grinding against his crotch a little.

"for what? for it to go down?"

katsuki lets out a low, guttural moan against your neck when you do that, his grip on your hips tightening as his body responds to your touch. his head is clouded with a fog of lust, and he honestly can't think straight.

"shit.. stop that, jesus..." he whimpers out, his hands grabbing at your hips and holding you in place so you can't move. "for the love of god, stop movin' like that or i'll.."

"c'mon, katsuki.." you giggle softly, your voice is soft and sultry as you lean in, hot breath tickling his ear. "can we have some fun?"

your hands trail down his thighs, your touch sending shivers down his spine as you rubs and caress his legs, hands dangerously near his crotch.

katsuki shivers from the touch, his thighs muscles tensing under your touch. he lets out a shaky breath, trying desperately to find the willpower to resist you. but he's losing the battle faster than he knows.

he's completely at your mercy.

"we... we can't.. we have to leave soon.." he groans, his hands slowly traveling up your side and to your chest, his fingers rubbing against the soft flesh. "sweets, we're gonna end up skippin' the whole damn thing if you don't cut it out.."

you look up at him, biting your lip in anticipation. your hand dips beneath his waistband, fingers teasing along the sensitive ache in between his legs.

"can we be a little late, katsuki? please...?" you purr, your other hand tracing lazy circles across his chest.

katsuki lets out a deep moan as you touch him, his hips bucking slightly into your hand. his head falls back as you trail kisses down his jaw, his self-control starting to break. this is torture. pure, blissful torture.

your hand moves lower, gently fondling his length through the fabric. "just a few minutes..."

katsuki's breath hitches at the contact, he lets out a loud gasp and throws his head back at the feeling. his fingers dig into your side slightly as his body tenses up. he can barely focus on anything else besides your touch.

"goddamnit... f-fine, but only... only for a few minutes."

that was what katsuki said before he bent you over your vanity. needless to say, it wasn't just "a few minutes".

you were 2 hours late.

but even with your sex hair™, your clothes wrinkled and your disheveled look: your eyeliner still looked flawless.

and you had your boyfriend to thank for that.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ super self-indulgent as an eyeliner girlie oml 😞😞 sorry for the lack of smut, been struggling with school lately and i wanted to feed you guys!! to the people requesting, pls read that i cant accept them rn 😭 tysm!!

[ireverie]

sexcapade

pairing ↠ co-worker!sunghoon x (f) reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, professor!sunghoon x professor!reader, infidelity, unprotected sex, sensory deprivation, overstimulation, almost getting caught

summary ↠ with things in the bedroom getting stale with your husband, you start searching for excitement and your co-worker, sunghoon, is more than willing to provide it for you. on campus, you barely acknowledge each other, but in the sheets, you can't stop calling out his name.

wc ↠ 2.2k

a/n ↠ originally posted on my blog revehae, i am not plagiarizing myself. part 1/3 of the in my blood series. as always, feedback is appreciated!

don’t like it, don’t read.

it started in the spring. like there was pollen in the air, too there was lust, gentle breezes seemingly sweeping you flush against sunghoon’s chest where you could never not inhale the manly scent of him; never not leave with it clinging to you.

you were very aware that it was wrong. matter of fact, every time you laid eyes on your husband’s face and looked into his, saw how they twinkled at the sight of you and how they were bewitched by the charm of your soul, guilt ruptured your heart with an angry, unmistakable pang of ire.

so you did not think with the throbbing inside your chest, but the throbbing between your thighs.

a woman needed excitement in her life, a kind of which sunghoon was more than glad to offer. sex quickly got boring in the bedroom after so many years of unlively routines and you taught molecular biology to a class of undergraduates that couldn’t wait to get the fuck on with their lives. to say nothing of the long nights spent sifting through overdue assignments. you were allowed to have fun sometimes. after all, you were only in your early thirties. you still considered yourself young.

like many other women, specifically younger ones that found him attractive for an older man, you noticed that sunghoon did not wear a ring on his finger. upon further discussion, you learned that though he was no longer married, he had a twenty-something-year-old son who took your class. apparently, his son spoke delightfully of you, which was flattering, but you’d always been more interested in what sunghoon thought.

and you quickly found out.

“had enough?” sunghoon asked, poking his head through the doorway. 

not that you could see. there was a blindfold taut around your face, hindering your vision for the past forty-five minutes. to you, it felt like an eternity. the toy between your trembling thighs buzzed, inducing orgasm after orgasm, a number so great that it had tears slipping down your cheeks past the fabric of the blindfold.

speaking of orgasms, you couldn’t stop the cry that parted your lips as heat unfurled throughout your body for the umpteenth time, spreading from between your thighs to your head where there was nothing but empty thought and faintness.

“that was beautiful,” sunghoon remarked, only watching.

“please,” you croaked.

sunghoon played dumb with you. he had a penchant for it, drawing out your agony by pretending as if he were oblivious to your needs, when in reality he was the most attuned to them. “you want more?”

“no!” you exclaimed, desperate. you couldn’t even feel your legs if you tried, that was how long he had left you here with yourself - and this fucking toy. “please, no more. it’s too much, sunghoon.”

“but baby,” sunghoon started, donning his sweetest tone. “you wanted this. remember?”

that was true. you knew when this affair first started that sunghoon was available to open you up to new, exciting things, because your bedroom experiences with your husband could all be described the same way. though with sunghoon, there was room for variety.

it was just overwhelming sometimes. sunghoon could be so harsh under the guise of merely giving you what he wanted. you knew that it was what he wanted if anything, that you were just his lab rant to experiment on, but you never admit that you liked it that way. nor would you admit that you would’ve also liked to be a little more. 

but sunghoon knew that. he never mentioned a word of it, because it didn’t need to be said. it went without saying that you were his to do whatever he pleased with.

“sunghoon…,” you trailed, your voice shaky.

sunghoon, ignoring you, asked, “how many times did you cum?”

you gulped. racking your brain for an answer, you ultimately came up empty. by the third one, time lost all meaning and so did thought. “i… i lost count.”

“then, you know what that means, right?”

you gasped when the toy was moved. not at the action itself, but because you didn’t realize he’d gotten so close. his footsteps were so quiet.

“but…,” you started. 

“but nothing,” sunghoon said, snatching the blindfold off of your face. you blinked a couple of times, adjusting to the brightness. the cuffs around your wrists were next. “you know the rules, don’t you?”

you whispered, “yes, sunghoon.”

“hands and knees.”

you didn’t hesitate to crawl into the said position, regardless of the exhaustion weighing down your body, because you knew what to expect if you didn’t comply with whatever he wanted. there were times were sunghoon was generous enough to let you cum, times where you didn’t deserve it, much like now. you wanted to get around punishment, but it would never happen if you didn’t satiate him.

the bed creaked when he raised himself atop of it from behind you, the sound of him fumbling with his belt making you wetter. once upon a time, you didn’t even think that that was possible, but you never stopped dripping when with sunghoon. somehow, he made even simple things like the anticipation arousing.

sunghoon dropped his shirt, followed by a toss of his pants. he had no need for them anymore. for the forty-five minutes that you’d been ruining his sheets, weakened by the overstimulation, sunghoon had been in his study trying to shake the thoughts of you while he attempted to grade papers. he was already hard from his imagination and the memories of stuffing you full of his cum, but seeing you in front of him, waiting for him, your pussy soaked for him, it did unfathomable things to his cock.

you released a shaky breath when you felt him lubricating himself with your arousal, slipping between your glistening folds, and writhed from the sensitivity. “sunghoon, it’s too much,” you whimpered. 

sunghoon chuckled. “baby, i’m not even inside you yet.”

your face burned. you could feel yourself dripping and it was humiliating, because you only got like this for him and him only.

“so fucking wet,” sunghoon cursed, having fun teasing your folds. “just for me.”

you cried out when he suddenly slapped your cunt, mouth parted as you gasped out, “sunghoon...”

“fuck, you always get so wet for me. isn’t that right, baby?” sunghoon asked, enamored with you. it was magical how he could pretend as if you meant nothing to him at work and become so addicted to you when nobody was watching.

you bobbed your head. “yes, sunghoon. just for you.”

that must’ve did it for him, because the very next second, you felt sunghoon finally start to roll inside of your cunt, mumbling curses under his breath. you almost collapsed then, almost slumped and gave out just from the tip of his cock, but you resisted because you had something that you needed to prove.

sunghoon was slow, but his cock slipped right inside you with ease, it was almost pathetic. not to mention that he was bigger than anything you could’ve imagined taking, so much that you always found yourself gasping when you realized that he wasn’t completely buried inside of you yet. you couldn’t believe that he had so much to give.

“oh my god,” you moaned, eyes rolling back from how full you were. no man had ever satisfied you like this, and sunghoon was just getting started.

not only were you filled to the hilt with his hard cock, but also the ache for him to fuck you until your entire body went numb like he’d already done countless times. sunghoon gripped your hips, using them as an anchor. when you felt so good as you did, as tight as you were, it would be dangerous not to ground himself.

sunghoon grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling just tight enough to let you know the trip was there. you were basking in his warmth and being crushed underneath his weight while he balanced your hips in one hand and the grip on your hair in the other. he smacked your ass and hissed, “so fucking pretty.”

sometimes you wished that he was yours. you could imagine coming home with him day after day, singing to music in the car together while his company made minutes feel like hours. you didn’t mind that he had a son, either. you always wanted a child, though not one that would be the product of shitty sex and a broken marriage.

the liking you’d taken to sunghoon went beyond sex, though the endless orgasms and fulfillment he never neglected you of definitely encouraged those feelings. moments like now, when he was balls deep inside you, you were more than willing to risk it all for him. you would get a divorce. you would move in. anything he wanted, just as quick as he said the word.

i am out of my mind, came your thoughts, though your grip on them slackened the more sunghoon fucked you into oblivion. 

“it’s so… deep,” you gasped, marveling. 

sunghoon chuckled. though you had never said it outright, your constant fascination with how big his cock was or how deep he could fit inside you, stretching out your velvety tight walls, was more than enough of an indication that your husband was not exactly packing like he was. you made it a point to mention that sunghoon was huge.

“yeah?” sunghoon asked huskily, wanting to suck a bruise onto the side of your throat, but he willed himself not to.

“mm-hm,” you mumbled. “can feel you in… in my stomach.”

“where?” sunghoon kept one hand at your hip but dropped the one at your head, wrapping it around you, and reaching for your stomach. “here?”

you bobbed your head. he could feel it too, and it elicited a deep growl out of him, one that had you clamping involuntarily around his size.

sunghoon could fuck you for hours if you let him. the same way that he was the best you’d ever had, he simply couldn’t get enough of you. there were times throughout the day where his mind would only flicker with debilitating thoughts of you, memories of your face and how you tasted. at times, you made it difficult to move on.

“dad,” came a voice from down the hall, one both of you were very acquainted with. 

“shit,” sunghoon hissed, irritated, and clamped his hand around your mouth. your cries and whimpers were muffled into his hard palm and your breath was cut off, because it was so difficult to breathe solely through your nose. “be a good girl and keep quiet.”

“dad,” sounded jake’s voice again, just outside the door. 

your heart was racing. your eyes were wide, the fear and excitement of getting caught fighting for totality in your icy veins. his son was one of your students and students talked. if it got out that you were having an affair with sunghoon, this could destroy you, but there was something so arousing about the thrill.

“i’m in here. don’t open that door,” sunghoon said, breathless voice betraying what was happening behind that door. 

his son was far from stupid, that you knew all too well, and retorted, “dad, are you getting laid? is it the hot nurse you were flirting with at the hospital? tell her i said ‘hi.’”

you frowned.

before sunghoon could even get a word out, his son added, “i’m leaving. you two have the house to yourselves again.”

“bye,” sunghoon huffed, dropping his palm from your face. 

you inhaled sharply. you could finally breathe again.

sunghoon kissed the back of your neck, nibbling at your ear. “you did so good,” he whispered, voice gentle and sweet as ever. “if you beg good enough, i’ll change my mind and let you cum.”

you hopped at the opportunity like a ravenous pack of wolves starved through the winter, begging with the utmost desperation, “sunghoon, please. please let me cum. i’ll do anything, oh my fucking god, i need it. i need you.”

“you need me?”

so fucking bad. more than anything. “i need you,” you repeated, whinier. needier.

“cum around my dick,” sunghoon commanded, voice deep and throaty and just the way you liked it. you would steal a soul for him if that was what he wanted.

it wasn’t very long before one final cry of his name escaped you, pouring out of your lips like honey as you stuttered around his cock, heat spasming between your legs. tears trickled from your eyes, the stimulation from all of the orgasms you’d had in one night alone, and you couldn’t stop yourself from convulsing. your muscles slackened and your limbs went limp to your sides.

sunghoon was directly behind you, spurred on by the sight and feeling of you coming undone around him, and you knew when his hold on your hips tightened and that lethal growl parted his mouth that he had met his climax, the feeling of his hot cum seeping into your cunt being the unnecessary confirmation.

“good fucking girl,” sunghoon praised, still sweetly in your ear.

you sighed contentedly when he flipped you onto your back, sweeping you into his arms and kissing your lips as a treat. he wiped the tears out of your eyes, watching you still shudder.

“stay the night,” sunghoon said, looking into your hazy eyes. 

you blinked, breathing heavily to catch your breath. “sunghoon, you know i can’t do that. my husband will...”

“i wasn’t asking.”

“well,” you replied, quietening. “i guess i can come up with something.”

sunghoon smiled triumphantly, smashing his lips against yours again. you sighed again, still content, though there was a thought lurking on your mind. i don’t know what i’m going to do.

[anisespice]

“ accidents happen ” || tokyo rev.

cont. two

synopsis: in which they discover you had their child and kept it from them all these years later.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, angst (if you squint really hard), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be errors lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: i just want the drama >:) may make more parts, and even extend said headcannons into longer fics in the future, but wanted to post something quick for mother’s day. hope you enjoy!

When you disappeared off the face of the earth, MIKEY had never been the same. One fight. One argument that spiraled out of control, and you were just gone...

He had people looking for you for about a couple years, the trail ran cold after a while and he had half a mind to think you were dead. Up until he got intel of your whereabouts one morning during a meeting.

That man got up and left immediately.

He wasn’t accompanied with any of his men, only because he didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention in the broad daylight. Sure, him wearing a black hood, ball cap, and mask in a park didn’t really help him look inconspicuous but it at least concealed his identity enough for him to blend in. Mikey sat on a bench for a good forty minutes, anxious, making anyone who passed him shiver from his intense aura alone; even birds walked around him. After almost an hour of waiting, he began to feel frustrated. Perhaps, the intel was false. Just as he went to stand, already conjuring up ways to have Sanzu execute the idiot who wasted his time, he heard it.

Your voice. Seizing him, like a siren’s call.

His eyes were alert, darting around until they landed on your figure, spotlighted by the sun, like an angel descending from the heavens. You looked good, healthy. That was good. An array of emotions fought for their turn in Mikey’s heart—Relief, distress, anger, nostalgia. He couldn’t just pick one, especially when it came to you. As he watched from his spot, doing his best to not seem suspicious, he clocked the people you were approaching with excitement, your peppy stride as you waved at, what he presumed, to be mother and daughter.

However, his entire world turned upside down when the little girl extended out her arms towards you, and said “Mama!”

“Hello, my darling.~” You cooed, taking her into your awaiting arms from the woman, embracing the toddler tightly. “Mama missed you so much.”

“Missed you, mama!” was the child’s reply, followed by her giggles.

A bucket of cold water would’ve been better than this. Watching you converse with who he now assumes to be the babysitter, Mikey felt faint. Vision blurring, head pounding, heart clenching. You…you…no. There’s no way. You wouldn’t have moved on…you couldn’t have, not like this, not from him. You loved him, didn’t you? You still love him, didn’t you?

How could you…how could you?

Before he knew it, he started to follow you around. From the park, to the store, all the way back to your apartment. He already phoned some of the executives to start working in on the babysitter, and anyone else in your new found circle for information. He wanted answers. He needed them.

By the time you began fixing dinner, with your daughter laid down for a nap, you receive a knock at your door. Who could that be at this hour?

RAN was chilling outside the rendezvous spot for something the boss and a few other execs were participating in, having a smoke, minding his business, up until he sees a little girl with pigtails wearing a school uniform approaching, standing before him and just…staring. She barely came up to his thighs, could've been no older than seven. She was practically staring into his soul with bright lavender eyes that scarily reminded him of Rin’s when he was that age.

He stared back, head tilted as he blew out the smoke from the corner of his mouth. The hell was a kid doing on this side of town?

Then, after an uncomfortable staring contest, the little girl points at his cigarette. “My ma says those things are bad for you.”

Ran raised a brow, “Does she now?”

“Mmhm! She says it makes people unhappy.”

He offered a thoughtful nod, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Mm. Do I look unhappy?”

The girl looked at Ran for a minute, eyes squinted. Eventually, she shook her head. “No. But, ma also says people who are always unhappy get better at hiding it.”

Ran’s grin faltered. Her unwavering stare started to unnerve him, especially after hearing such a heavy statement come from such a small package.

After a brief moment of silence, he chuckled softly, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it away. He exhaled. “Smart woman.”

The little girl beamed, “Mmhm! My ma knows a lot of stuff.”

“Tsk. But not ‘Stranger Danger’, apparently.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Huh?”

“You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself, let alone approaching someone you don’t know. ‘s not safe. Especially for nosy little girls who stick their noses in other people’s business. Your ma never taught you that?”

The little girl rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. “Duh. Of course she did. Everyone knows that rule,” she exasperated. Ran snorted, but yielded when she squinted at him, pointing as she sassed. “And I do so know you, so you’re not a stranger.”

This time, Ran couldn’t help the incredulous laugh. “Oh, you know me, huh? That’s not good. ‘m supposed to keep a low profile. Say, you ain’t a cop are you?” He teased, earning another eye roll.

“No. Too small to be a cop, dummy.”

“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t notice. Where do you know me from, then?”

The little girl pointed over to the building..where the executives were having their meeting. She beamed, “Ma’s works in there. On important people days she can’t get me from school, so she tells me to come straight here, and to not talk to the purple man that stands near the building. She says you’re mean.”

Ran smirked, then gave a half-hearted shrug.

“She also says you’re my pa. But, I never believed her. You’re too old.”

Ran’s smirk dropped.

Whether more from the first comment or the last, you decide. But, one thing was for certain: he needed another cigarette.

SANZU cackled watching some guy struggle to round up a couple of rowdy twins at the convenience store. One was knocking shit off the shelves while the other ran circles around the guy. It was what he needed for his bitch of a hangover, a good laugh to distract from the ache in his skull.

However, he wasn’t laughing for long when you came around the corner of the isle, holding a few items with a smile on your face that soon faded once you saw the scene unfolding before you; the pinkette thought he was still tripping balls. Blinking a few times to allow any after effects of the drugs to clear up, when you didn’t disappear he used his long legs to swiftly yeet behind one of the shelves, peering around it like some paranoid stalker. The last time you had spoken, you had threatened to castrate him with your teeth if you ever saw him again.

And he’d be damned if he tried your bluff.

He watched in awe as you straightened those twins up quick. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought they were trained to obey you, and only you. Any other authority be damned. While the guy was putting all the stuff back on the shelves, sweaty and out of breath, you gently reprimanded them for causing trouble. You still made that cute pouty face you always did whenever you were mad at him…

“What did we talk about earlier? Hm? Mr. Satoru was very kind to help mama today, you know. You two promised me you’d be on your best behavior for him.”

Sanzu gagged. This was the rebound you let nut in you? This huffy moron who can’t handle a couple of ankle biters, this was your king? He had half a mind to just gut the guy to put him out of his misery from that pathetic display from earlier, alone. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be back home. He remembers when he was that age—Rowdy, reckless, the Antichrist. Adorable, but deadly. God bless that poor bastard’s soul.

Wait…Mister? Not…dad?

The first twin whined, stomping their feet. “He’s too boringggg!”

Come to think of it…if Sanzu squinted…the longer he looked at the little family…he swore the more he saw the resemblance of himself in the tiny gremlins. From the hair, to the eyes, all the way down to the mannerisms…Hang on. When had been the last time you two fucked? Three…no, was it four years ago?

The second twin huffed, pointing at the man. “Yeah! And he’s jus’ being nice so that he can sleep in your bed, mama!”

You flushed, nervously chuckling as you looked around to make sure no one heard. Sanzu ducked behind a bag of chips, now nothing but eyes peeking through the gaps of food on the shelf.

So…that loser’s not the father? Then…could that mean..?

“He’s mama’s boyfriend, remember? He’s allowed to do that. And he’ll be around for a while, so I want you two to be nice, okay?”

“…okay, mama.” They grumbled.

Sanzu almost popped a blood vessel, fist clenched around a bag of Lays and nearly busting it. He chuckled darkly, “Oh. We’ll see about that.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved.

likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[gloomwitchwrites]

Need 141 with a virgin reader 🙏

Virgin reader? Having sex for the first time?? On it. Another popular request with several people asking for it. Decided to combine it all into one large post. And, since this is just an excuse to write smut, that's exactly what I did. I hold no shame for that. I had a blast, lots of cackling as I was drafting. Have fun, y'all!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: oral sex (female & male receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, missionary, vaginal fingering, loss of virginity, rough sex, sex toys, doggy, spanking, just married, hand job

Word Count: 3.1k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

You were told to stay away, to not chase after him. But you love danger, even though you’ve never truly tasted it.

“I won’t go easy on you because you’re a virgin.” John’s voice is poisoned sin. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip. It drags on it a bit, drawing it down, showing him your teeth. “You’ll fuck the way I tell you to.”

John retreats, your lip popping back into place. He sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread, completely dressed. It’s the opposite of your current state. Kneeling before him, you’re entirely bare—exposed.

You signed up for this—wanted this.

On the floor between John’s booted feet is a dildo. The base is a flat square and suctioned to the floor. It juts upward with a slight curve to it, the shaft ribbed. John pops open a bottle of lube and holds it out. You immediately present your hand. The clear gel is cold when it makes contact with your palm. John caps the bottle.

“Do what I told you.” John nods toward the dildo. “Show me how’d you’d touch me if that were me.”

You do as he says, wrapping your hand around the dildo, the lube spreading to coat the silicone as you move up and down in the way you think you’re supposed to. There is no experience to lead your hand. John watches silently, face stoic and vacant of emotion. It isn’t until the dildo is coated in lube that John leans forward and grabs your wrist.

Turning your palm upward, John lightly tugs. It’s a command to come to him.

Placing your free hand on his knee, you shift forward. Still kneeling, you settle between his spread legs, the lube-coated dildo rubbing up against the inside of your thigh.

“If I were to fuck you right now, I might hurt you.” John’s gaze drops to the dildo. “You’re going to sink down on that. Take your time. Ride it a bit. And once you’re prepped for me, I’m taking you how I want.”

His words freeze your limbs. You are unable to move—unable to think.

“Go on, love. Show me.”

John’s voice is the coaxing tease that pulls you from your vacant lull. Licking your lips, you sit up on your knees, spreading them enough to angle the head of the dildo and your entrance. You’ve never been penetrated before, not even with a toy or fingers.

But he said you could go slow. Go at your own pace.

With fingers digging into his knee, you start to come down, the head slipping in. As more enters, you whimper, the stretch stinging a bit.

“Slow,” murmurs Price. “Breathe through it. That’s it.”

You listen to his soothing words, sinking further and further down until you can’t take any more.

“Come back up. Like that. Good. Now, down.” As you start to descend, the dildo starts to vibrate. You gasp, and then moan loudly as the vibrations stimulate a sensitive spot inside.

“Again,” growls John.

You move in earnest this time, not caring if your movements look weird or if it’s messy. John is staring at you with hunger in his eyes, and you’ve never felt more wanted.

With his free hand, John undoes his belt and then the front of his pants. His cock emerges, already dripping and hard. He brings your lube-coated hand to it, and you enthusiastically start pumping him the way you did the dildo even as you rock back and forth. It’s only a few strokes more before your hand job slows, the vibrations from the dildo building up the first orgasm of your life. It doesn’t seem to bother John in the least, not when your eyelids flutter and you grind down, almost crying as you fall apart.

The dildo is still vibrating inside you when John stands and hooks his hands beneath your armpits. He helps you off and onto your feet.

“My turn, love.”

You only nod, breathing heavy as John guides you onto your hands and knees on the bed. There’s a shuffling and then John’s hand is on your upper back pressing your front into the bed, leaving your ass high in the air. As the head of his cock enters, his hand slides upward to your neck and then to your head. There, he presses, pushing your face into the bed as he thrusts forward, sinking into your body.

You cry out, fists clenching the sheets. The dildo might have helped but that was you doing the work. This is all John, fucking you savagely, skin slapping against skin as you’re drilled into the bed. The hand not at your head is on your ass, pushing your hips higher, opening you wider for him to hit deeper.

Every few thrusts that hand comes down on your ass with a sharp slap, bouncing your cheek and stinging with each strike. All you can do is take it, but it’s deliciously devilish.

You wanted this, and you can’t help but smile.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Is that okay?”

You start to curl into yourself, sinking further into the pillows behind you on the bed.

Johnny’s head tilts slightly. “Course it’s okay, love. Think I care if you’re experienced or not?”

You shrug. “Some men do.”

He shakes his head, the hint of a laugh on his breath. Leaning in, he seizes your mouth with his own. The kiss is sweet—welcoming. You melt like softened butter. With your surrender comes an intensifying need, an electricity that buzzes between your bodies.

Johnny offers more: a deeper kiss and strong hands trailing along your body. Your legs fall open of their own volition and Johnny slots himself between, pressing you deeper into the pillowy softness beneath you.

Every touch is tinged with desperation. You find yourself clinging to him, fingers digging into the muscles of his back, pulling him closer though there is no room. Johnny matches your hunger, the two of you a tangled nest of limbs and want.

You’ve explored, you’ve been kissed, and yet you’ve never gone all the way with anyone.

But with Johnny, you do.

Johnny breaks the kiss, the two of you gasping for air. He descends, nuzzling your neck, lips tracing along the pulse point there.

“You want me to continue?” he asks, voice raspy.

You hook a leg over the back of his thigh in answer.

Johnny’s hands move up and down the sides your body, squeezing and groping as they go, leaving nothing untouched. His lips descend, finding your shoulder and collarbone, then the curve of your breast. His tongue circles a nipple, and then lightly sucks it into his mouth.

You gasp, back arching, unable to comprehend the sensation. Playing with them yourself is nothing compared to the way Johnny worships them, how he takes his time, cupping each one to kiss and suck and lick.

Johnny brings the nipples to stiff points, and still, he does not cease—not until you’re wiggling, wanting more than this.

“Johnny,” you whimper, wanting to feel him everywhere, to feel him inside.

He glances up from between your breasts, a small smirk on his face. “Keep going?” he asks.

“Please,” you beg, because it’s all you can muster.

Lips trail over stomach and pelvic bone, each leg draped over a shoulder. Johnny tenderly kisses your inner thighs.

“Am I the first to taste you?” he asks, one finger gently sliding over your sex. You’re dripping—needy, pussy clenching with every touch. You nod, and Johnny’s smirk becomes a full grin. “An honor then.”

He spares you nothing. Johnny isn’t interested in coaxing you anywhere. There is no softness, no gentleness since this is your first time. Johnny is ravenous, drawing his tongue up and down your pussy, dipping inside before swirling up to tease your clit. He plays with you until your thighs shake and you push on his head.

It’s too much, and still, Johnny persists.

When he slips one finger inside, and then a second, that is when he lifts his head. He pumps lazily, eyelids heavy, lips and chin wet.

“I’m making camp here. Don’t expect to be leaving soon.”

His mouth returns to your clit, and you completely forget yourself. You lose words and thoughts, becoming numb and weightless, as if you’ll float upward like a balloon. Just because you’re a virgin, why did you think Johnny would spare you? That he would go slowly?

Johnny ceases only when tears run down your cheeks. He licks them up, and then kisses you with your release painting his lips. “Gonna fuck you now,” he murmurs, the head of his cock pressing against your sex.

His large, muscled arms press into the pillows on the either side of your head. Hips shifting, Johnny starts to sink in. There’s a brief flicker of resistance and then nothing, just all pleasure, and Johnny stretching you. You gasp, and Johnny groans loudly, head falling back as he settles in to the hilt.

“Fucking hell. You’re tight. Fuck—”

Johnny continues to swear, to mutter expletives under his breath as he slides out and then back in. Two more thrusts and Johnny is shaking his head. “I’m already—fuck, love. I’m gonna come.”

Johnny becomes a boulder, nearly flattening you against the bed as he thrusts once, twice, and then holds still, the muscles in his body stiffening slightly and then relaxing. A little shudder runs through him, and a new, warm wetness fills your pussy.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The gold wedding band on Simon’s finger shines in the low lamp light.

This man is all yours. Forever. Til death do you part.

And yet, you’ve never slept with him, never shed your clothes and become one. Not that the two of you have been entirely celibate your relationship. There were desperate moments when the two of you came together in the dark, but knowing that you didn’t want to have sex until after marriage, Simon made the effort to steer you away from breaking that promise.

He didn’t have to. He could have taken advantage. It’s what plenty of other men would have done. But Simon isn’t just any man. You told him what you wanted, and even in your most desperate moments when you begged for him, he kept you to it.

Now, the ceremony is done.

The two of you made a quiet exit after the dancing started. You thought you’d be exhausted, that the two of you might order some pizza and fall asleep to some reality show playing in the background.

But Simon is removing his tie, unbuttoning the front of his white shirt, black suit jacket tossed to the side. He glances over his shoulder at you, and you see a hunger there. There won’t be pizza or a reality show marathon.

“Come here,” he says, and your feet move without hesitation. His arms are powerful, ensnaring you the second you’re close enough to reach for. Simon’s fingers brush over the fabric of your wedding dress, tracing the beadwork and detail. “Need help with this?”

You don’t, but you give him your back anyway.

Simon takes his time, unzipping the dress like you’re a delicate present. The moment there’s bare skin, he leans down and places his lips there. A little shiver runs through you, followed by a growing ache.

Hands sliding beneath fabric, Simon eases it over your shoulders, down your arms, and to your hips. You join in, helping it over your curves to pool at your feet on the floor. Simon caresses a line down one arm before backing away.

As you turn, he loosens his belt, opening it up to unzip his dress pants and popping the button. He walks backward toward the bed, easing down to the edge of the bed. Slowly, he falls back onto his shoulders, stretched out and a bit disheveled.

“Go on, love. Do what you want.”

All this time, you’ve talked a big game, begged him for sex, described what you want from him when the time finally comes. It’s here, and yet you’re frozen to the spot, gaze fixed on his muscled stomach.

“I’m all yours.”

Slowly, you walk toward him, placing one knee on the edge of the bed. Simon’s hand promptly reaches for you, resting against your thigh a moment before sliding up and squeezing. Though Simon appears in control of himself, you notice the way his chest heaves with every breath he takes.

Swinging your leg up and over, you straddle his lap. Both of his hands are on you now, groping and touching, dragging you closer to him until your bodies are sandwiched together.

“Simon,” you sigh, leaning in to brush your lips against his.

“Fuck it,” he growls, scooping you up in his arms, and flipping you onto your back.

Pinning you beneath him, Simon claims your mouth—devouring you like it’s his due. And you are not immune, wanting him just as much, pulling at his dress shirt to reveal more of him. Simon doesn’t undress you, leaving the white bra, thong, and stockings untouched. Instead, he pushes the thong to the side, fingers seeking your arousal.

He drags his middle finger up and down your sex, groaning against your throat as he does so.

“Need you,” he groans. “Need to be inside you.”

You reach for his pants, shoving at them hastily, needing the same.

“Take me, Simon. Please. Want to feel you.”

Simon joins in your hunger, pushing his pants down enough for his hard cock to emerge. You’re already grabbing at him, already guiding him to your entrance. You don’t care that it might hurt, that you could be wetter—slicker. You just want Simon inside you. You want him everywhere.

With a low groan, Simon urges your legs wider, and then he’s easing inside. You gasp at first, the stretch of him a bit painful.

“You can take me, love,” he murmurs.

Fingers digging into his shoulders, you burying your face against his throat as Simon’s hands slide under your ass to prop your hips up. It gives him a better angle to drive home, to fit your bodies together until you’re flush against him.

“Mine,” he murmurs as his cock slowly slides out. “Mine,” he repeats, this time growling as he thrusts forward.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“We’ll go slow. There’s no rush.”

Kyle’s words are a comfort, a soothing balm against the anxiousness. You’re excited, eager, but nervous all the same. You love this man. You want to be with him in all ways, especially this.

His kiss is slow and languid, just as comforting as his words. It is easy to trust him, to allow his presence to chase away whatever trepidation you hold. He cradles your face and your body, taking his time, showing you with his actions that his words have meaning.

Between kisses, Kyle’s hands roam, caressing and exploring. His touch is electric. Wherever his skin touches yours sends a small shiver through your body.

“All good?” asks Kyle, pausing his delicious kisses, gaze roaming over your body.

“Yes,” you breathe, leaning in for more.

He opens up, offering his own greed in return. When his hands start to work at your clothes, you happily help him, reaching for him as much as he’s reaching for you. Clothes are discarded, but Kyle doesn’t faulter.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, fingers dancing across your bare body. “Do you want to touch me?”

“Touch you?” you giggle, because you’re already touching him.

His smile is soft as he takes your hand and guides it to his erection. “Here,” he groans as your fingers find him.

Kyle does not instruct, he simply gives you permission to explore, to run your fingers along the length, to brush your thumb over the slit where a pearly bead blooms, to bring that thumb to your mouth to taste him.

“You’re a bit salty,” you murmur, and Kyle chuckles.

Curiosity gets the better of you. As you press on his shoulders, urging him onto his back, you wiggle downward, intent on licking the next drop up from the source.

“Wait,” groans Kyle, grasping the back of your neck. “Don’t.” You glance up, not understanding. He shakes his head. “I’ll be done in seconds if you do that.”

He urges you back into his arm, and then Kyle is kissing you again, the two of you exploring with your hands. As Kyle delves between your legs, you open for him, sighing with pleasure as the tip of one finger circles your clit.

“This okay?” he whispers against your lips. You hum with contentment and Kyle shifts that finger down to your entrance, slowly sliding it in. “What about this?”

His palm presses against your clit as he penetrates you with a second finger. Your back arches, hips rocking forward to take more.

“That’s a yes, love,” he croons. “Ride it. Take what you need.”

You don’t care if you look ridiculous, you only know what your body wants, and seeking it out. Kyle stays perfectly still, watching you ride his fingers, watching where his fingers disappear and reappear with every rock of your hips. The flat of his palm perfectly rubs against your clit, and it takes only a minute before your pussy clenches around his fingers.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing your jaw as your orgasm rockets upward and explodes, splitting like an atom bomb.

You don’t even realize he’s withdrawn his fingers until he’s sucking them clean and pushing you onto your back. The head of his cock settles, and then presses is. You gasp at the brief resistance.

“You can take me,” whispers Kyle. “Relax. Breathe.”

He doesn’t move, just waits, and when your breathing begins to slow, he gives you a bit more. The resistance is gone, leaving only a delicious stretch that makes you feel utterly full.

Kyle’s rhythm is a soft rocking. You feel every inch leaving and then returning.

“This is the pace. You tell me if you want more.” Kyle’s voice is rough—laced with lust. You can tell that he wants to be a bit rough, that he’d love to hold you down and fuck you senseless, but he’s purposefully being gentle to not rush you—to make you feel loved and safe.

He kisses you as he thrusts, looking into your eyes, murmuring sweet words.

“More,” you murmur, sensing the growing orgasm. You want to chase it, to find your end with him.

Kyle smiles, and urges your legs wider.

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[trans-axolotl]

also in regards to that last article about varied ways of thinking about psychosis/altered states that don't just align with medical model or carceral psychiatry---I always love sharing about Bethel House and their practices of peer support for schizophrenia that are founded on something called tojisha kenkyu, but I don't see it mentioned as often as things like HVN and Soteria House.

ID: [A colorful digital drawing of a group of people having a meeting inside a house while it snows outside.]

"What really set the stage for tōjisha-kenkyū were two social movements started by those with disabilities. In the 1950s, a new disability movement was burgeoning in Japan, but it wasn’t until the 1970s that those with physical disabilities, such as cerebral palsy, began to advocate for themselves more actively as tōjisha. For those in this movement, their disability is visible. They know where their discomfort comes from, why they are discriminated against, and in what ways they need society to change. Their movement had a clear sense of purpose: make society accommodate the needs of people with disabilities. Around the same time, during the 1970s, a second movement was started by those with mental health issues, such as addiction (particularly alcohol misuse) and schizophrenia. Their disabilities are not always visible. People in this second movement may not have always known they had a disability and, even after they identify their problems, they may remain uncertain about the nature of their disability. Unlike those with physical and visible disabilities, this second group of tōjisha were not always sure how to advocate for themselves as members of society. They didn’t know what they wanted and needed from society. This knowing required new kinds of self-knowledge.

As the story goes, tōjisha-kenkyū emerged in the Japanese fishing town of Urakawa in southern Hokkaido in the early 2000s. It began in the 1980s when locals who had been diagnosed with psychiatric disorders created a peer-support group in a run-down church, which was renamed ‘Bethel House’. The establishment of Bethel House (or just Bethel) was also aided by the maverick psychiatrist Toshiaki Kawamura and an innovative social worker named Ikuyoshi Mukaiyachi. From the start, Bethel embodied the experimental spirit that followed the ‘antipsychiatry’ movement in Japan, which proposed ideas for how psychiatry might be done differently, without relying only on diagnostic manuals and experts. But finding new methods was incredibly difficult and, in the early days of Bethel, both staff and members often struggled with a recurring problem: how is it possible to get beyond traditional psychiatric treatments when someone is still being tormented by their disabling symptoms? Tōjisha-kenkyū was born directly out of a desperate search for answers.

In the early 2000s, one of Bethel’s members with schizophrenia was struggling to understand who he was and why he acted the way he did. This struggle had become urgent after he had set his own home on fire in a fit of anger. In the aftermath, he was overwhelmed and desperate. At his wits’ end about how to help, Mukaiyachi asked him if perhaps he wanted to kenkyū (to ‘study’ or ‘research’) himself so he could understand his problems and find a better way to cope with his illness. Apparently, the term ‘kenkyū’ had an immediate appeal, and others at Bethel began to adopt it, too – especially those with serious mental health problems who were constantly urged to think about (and apologise) for who they were and how they behaved. Instead of being passive ‘patients’ who felt they needed to keep their heads down and be ashamed for acting differently, they could now become active ‘researchers’ of their own ailments. Tōjisha-kenkyū allowed these people to deny labels such as ‘victim’, ‘patient’ or ‘minority’, and to reclaim their agency.

Tōjisha-kenkyū is based on a simple idea. Humans have long shared their troubles so that others can empathise and offer wisdom about how to solve problems. Yet the experience of mental illness is often accompanied by an absence of collective sharing and problem-solving. Mental health issues are treated like shameful secrets that must be hidden, remain unspoken, and dealt with in private. This creates confused and lonely people, who can only be ‘saved’ by the top-down knowledge of expert psychiatrists. Tōjisha-kenkyū simply encourages people to ‘study’ their own problems, and to investigate patterns and solutions in the writing and testimonies of fellow tōjisha.

Self-reflection is at the heart of this practice. Tōjisha-kenkyū incorporates various forms of reflection developed in clinical methods, such as social skills training and cognitive behavioural therapy, but the reflections of a tōjisha don’t begin and end at the individual. Instead, self-reflection is always shared, becoming a form of knowledge that can be communally reflected upon and improved. At Bethel House, members found it liberating that they could define themselves as ‘producers’ of a new form of knowledge, just like the doctors and scientists who diagnosed and studied them in hospital wards. The experiential knowledge of Bethel members now forms the basis of an open and shared public domain of collective knowledge about mental health, one distributed through books, newspaper articles, documentaries and social media.

Tōjisha-kenkyū quickly caught on, making Bethel House a site of pilgrimage for those seeking alternatives to traditional psychiatry. Eventually, a café was opened, public lectures and events were held, and even merchandise (including T-shirts depicting members’ hallucinations) was sold to help support the project. Bethel won further fame when their ‘Hallucination and Delusion Grand Prix’ was aired on national television in Japan. At these events, people in Urakawa are invited to listen and laugh alongside Bethel members who share stories of their hallucinations and delusions. Afterwards, the audience votes to decide who should win first prize for the most hilarious or moving account. One previous winner told a story about a failed journey into the mountains to ride a UFO and ‘save the world’ (it failed because other Bethel members convinced him he needed a licence to ride a UFO, which he didn’t have). Another winner told a story about living in a public restroom at a train station for four days to respect the orders of an auditory hallucination. Tōjisha-kenkyū received further interest, in and outside Japan, when the American anthropologist Karen Nakamura wrote A Disability of the Soul: An Ethnography of Schizophrenia and Mental Illness in Contemporary Japan (2013), a detailed and moving account of life at Bethel House. "

-Japan's Radical Alternative to Psychiatric Diagnosis by Satsuki Ayaya and Junko Kitanaka