#and i thought well its not really pain its more discomfort

[softness-and-shattering]

Its normal to need rest after a big day ITS NORMAL TO NEED REST AFTER A BIG DAY

[usedpidemo]

Savior (aespa Karina)

“Someone help me. Please!”

“Scream as loud as you can, no one’s coming to save you, princess.”

“That’s right. So just be a good girl and give us your money.”

“Help!”

It’s at this point where, against your better judgment, you stop dead in your tracks. The damsel in distress’s right behind you, backed into a corner by two bullies. Her possessions are strewn all over the floor, purposefully kicked out of her reach. There hasn’t been much physical harm done to the girl, but she looks to be the delicate type—someone who’s bound to crumble and break after a few hits.

Looking over your shoulder, the two students spot you and turn their attention against you immediately, recognizing you as a threat. “Hey,” says the first student, stepping forward to intimidate you with his burly physique. “This has nothing to do with you. Run along if you don’t want to join this loser over here.”

“Yeah. Don’t go around acting tough just cause you got two other guys with you. Just keep it pushing,” says the second thug, lankier in figure, in agreement with his partner.

Standing your ground, you steel your resolve, having no intention to run. In fact, it’s the complete opposite: you’re down for a fight. Your two companions also follow suit.

“So you wanna be a hero? You’re gonna regret it,” the first bully says, cracking his fists, ready to swing. “Oh, you’re so gonna regret it!”

That is to say, he’s the one who’s about to regret his life choices.

Like a raging bull, the thug lunges toward you, only for you to swiftly kick his legs from underneath, sending him flying across the hallway before he violently lands head first on the ground, most certainly giving him a concussion. He’s done.

The second bully tries to throw a follow-up punch, but you stop its momentum with one hand. Twisting it sideways, the bones crack loud, immediately followed by a screech of pain from his lungs. He drops to the floor in agony, holding his bent knuckle with his healthy arm.

“Oh—oh God—oh fuck—fuck—” Tears flowing from his eyes, he grovels in extreme discomfort, unable to stand before you. “What are you—”

“Now run,” you order, and he promptly complies, hopping off the ground, then fleeing in the opposite direction.

All that’s left is the girl. She had been watching the entire time. She’s overjoyed.

“Y-you saved me,” she says, tone relieved and her spirits held high. “How can I thank you—”

“Don’t push it,” you tell her, already walking away with your companions, waving her off. You don’t help her as she gathers her belongings. “Don’t get yourself in danger next time.”

Part of you already has second thoughts saving this girl. Jimin, the name written on her ID, is undeniably pretty, but you have nothing to gain from this encounter—or from her. She’s only studying in this university on a scholarship, and it shows in her appearance: she’s not the cleanest, nor is as well dressed as everyone else on campus. At best, you’ll probably get called into the office regarding this incident, as well as getting another target placed on your back by those bullies.

None of which are worth a drop of your concern. You can study anywhere else; you have the resources and the connections courtesy of your rich family, and the two companions by your side are your trusted bodyguards that have been with you since childhood. You can honestly live out your whole life without even lifting a finger. Generational wealth is the ultimate lifehack.

And yet, you’re in college at the behest of your parents, who spend more time abroad than at home. This is you going through the motions, looking after yourself.

After the next class, right as everyone’s packing their things and exiting, you spot her again. Jimin’s natural beauty is a lovely sight for the eyes. It’s only now do you realize you’ve shared at least one class with her. Maybe more; you’re too oblivious to the world around you to really notice. You only care about the bell that rings at the top of the hour so you can finally go home.

“Hey,” Jimin suddenly calls out to you, having noticed you glancing at her every now and then. You attempt to feign ignorance, but she approaches you and seizes your hand, catching you red-handed. “Can I speak to you, please?”

She sounds too nice to turn away. You’d be in the wrong to ignore her.

Still, you won’t fully look at her, the glint in her eyes blinding. You can only pray this is a brief exchange. “Sure. But make it quick.”

“I just want to say thank you—for earlier,” she says, her voice warm and sincere. She’s shaking your hand in appreciation; you allow her. “I’m not as rich as everyone else here, as you can see.” She looks down at her modest wear, apologetic about her appearance for some reason, “So—I don’t really have much. I’m only here on a scholarship—”

“Right.” You interrupt her, trying your hardest not to sound annoyed or bothered, though some of that impatience permeates through your filter. “Anything else you wanna say?”

Jimin becomes flustered, seemingly aroused by your low voice. A brief glance reveals her cheeks flushed red, her body trembling anxiously. She can’t have her way with words, either. “S-sorry. I just wanna say if you need help with schoolwork or anything, my services are available! My grades are good, I promise! That’s all. Again, thanks and see you around!”

Before you can even say a word or call her name, she already has one foot out the door, along with her belongings.

—————

One look at the student database proves her point: Yu Jimin, nickname Karina, might be what she advertised: an academic genius.

Her grades are mostly in the mid nineties across the board, if not low nineties. She’s only a year away from graduating—alongside you. The offer lingers on your mind, positively tempting.

“Sir, this just seems like a waste of money,” your one bodyguard turned hacker tells you, swiveling his desk chair around to face you. “There are more reputable tutors with better qualifications we can fly in from across the country if you really need a personal tutor. Also, your grades are good as they are. You don’t seem to be struggling with any specific major or subject right now. There’s no reason for this.”

“Yeah, and whose money are we spending?” you reply, annoyed at his admittedly sensible comment. 

“What will your family say about this?”

“Did I ask to be enrolled in this university? This course? Besides, they’ve never shown up for any of my graduations! I doubt this will be any different in a year or so. Go find her number so I can contact her.”

Sighing in defeat, he eventually acquiesces. They have to. “Of course, sir.”

—————

The next day on campus, Karina’s seated at the dining hall with her friends. Her eyes can only focus on one thing, or in this case, one man: the person that saved her yesterday. 

“You’re serious? Him?” Ningning looks concerned about her friend. She’s glaring at him with plenty of skepticism. They all know who he is. Not Karina, though. “That guy’s no good at all.”

“What are you saying?” she looks at her, puzzled at her comment. “He really did save me from those bullies. Don’t you believe me?”

“Yeah, but like—he’s not a good person!” Giselle frowns at the man, hiding the bottom half of her face behind her hands. “He’s a chaebol kid. He’s seriously no good! I’ve heard he gets into fights often; that's why he has bodyguards to intimidate anyone who tries to oppose him.”

“Rumor says he’s in cahoots with some crime syndicate—or at least his dad is,” Minjeong interjects, more trepid than anything. “That’s how he got his money. Who knows what kind of evil they might be doing!”

“But he was nice to me yesterday! If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have tried to save me, you know?” Karina stubbornly pays no heed, insisting her case to them, despite their growing frustration and fright. “You guys are overthinking this way too much.”

“It’s just so he can gaslight you into believing he’s a good guy. Please, Karina, he’s not what you think he is.” Ningning implores for her to listen, but to no avail.

“We’re not saying he’s truly bad, but there are signs,” Minjeong adds, agreeing with Ningning. “We just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Look—if he’s actually a bad guy, I’m running, all right? I’m ditching him right then and there, no questions asked.” Karina reassures them, hoping to calm them down right as the man approaches their table. “He’s coming right now.”

While the others silently avoid any form of contact or communication with you, hiding their not so subtle disdain, she happily waves. “Hi. Did you think about it?”

“Yeah,” you tell her, nodding. “I’m interested.”

“Really?” Karina’s eyes gleam at the opportunity. “What do you need help with?”

“Lots. I’ll tell you after class.” Knowing her friends are evidently uncomfortable with your presence, you simply walk past her and through the cafeteria door. “See you around.”

“Bye!” she waves at you again, delighted that you’ve taken up on her offer.

When it’s clear that you’re no longer in sight, Karina’s friends turn to her in utter disbelief.

“Please tell me you’re not going to—”

“I will.”

“Oh, God dammit.”

“Karina, please.”

—————

Later that day, Karina’s waiting by the campus parking lot, holding on to the promise of you showing up. It’s been almost an hour since classes ended and there’s no sign of you anywhere nearby. It looks like you’ll leave her out to dry, until—

“Miss Karina.” A man calls out to her from inside a luxurious car. As the windows roll down, she recognizes the driver as one of your companions. One of the rear doors automatically swings open. “Please step inside.”

Without a second thought, she enters the vehicle before it drives away.  

During the ride, the bodyguard asks her a question. “Does Miss Yu have a drink preference?”

She’s slowly taking it all in, flustered at how you’re treating her so generously. It’s overwhelming at times. “N-no. I’m not really a drinker. W-where’s—”

“He has already gone ahead. He’s preparing the house ahead of your arrival. When we get there, you will change clothes before meeting him. At his request, I have been assigned as your personal assistant and driver.”

“Y-you? Assistant?” She can hardly believe it. “Wow…”

Karina is rendered speechless for the rest of the ride. She’s taken aback at her sudden change in predicament. It’s a Cinderella story through and through. The only missing element is some antagonistic force threatening to end this fantasy abruptly, but that’s the least of her worries. What’s more concerning is how she’ll compose herself before you.

Especially when she sees the scale of your house upon arriving. She’s never seen wealth this exceedingly open and grand.

There’s no time to admire the opulence, however. She’s brought inside hastily by your bodyguard. Inside, a team of stylists are waiting, rushing her upstairs and into one of the bedrooms for a complete overhaul. They’re careful to measure her hair, her size, her everything. Everything is done on the spot, with next to nothing in terms of personal input from Karina herself.

—————

You hear it. The gentle, careful steps of heels clicking. Karina’s ready. So are you.

Turning around to welcome her, you’ve got this whole speech practiced and memorized, with a card hidden in your pocket for good measure. Instead, you end up tongue tied; her presence proves overwhelming to the senses. You can only stare in awe. All black dress and matching heels aside, she looks like an angel descended from heaven. Without blemish, without any sort of imperfection. She’s unreal. 

Any less of a person you are and you would have fallen to your knees on the spot, groveling on the ground when Karina walks forward, ignoring how nervous she is as you. She modestly smiles, carefully twiddling her fingers. She doesn’t recognize how pretty she is.

It becomes all the more embarrassing when Karina makes the first move. “I knew you were rich, but not this rich.” Her eyes are glancing around the expansive room, admiring all the little details, thankfully dismissing how speechless you are.

“Mhm,” is all you’re able to blurt out, unsure of what to say. In her sight, you’re her hero, her knight in shining armor that can seemingly do no wrong. Meanwhile, you’re overcompensating your lack of social skills by hiding behind a shallow enigma and as much vanity as possible. “Not exactly my money, to be fair. My parents raised me like this.”

You’re trying not to look anywhere in her direction—whether that be her pretty eyes, her warm smile, or her shapely figure in that body-hugging dress. It’s the only way you can function normally without completely falling apart.

“So—you’re gonna introduce me to them?” she asks, her tone saccharine and innocent. 

“I wish,” you reply, sighing wistfully thinking about their absence throughout most of your formative years. She’s unaware; you’ll let the insensitive question slide. Only for her. So you immediately change the topic. “Let’s go outside. Our dinner is waiting for us.”

You reach out your hand to her, and she takes it without hesitation. In your mind, you’re already jumping around, performing cartwheels in celebration, with fireworks blasting everywhere. For the most part, you’ve been punching up, failing to impress girls unimpressed with your wealth and are far beyond your reach. Everyone else in that campus would kill to be in Karina’s position right now, but something about her caught your eye that no one has. 

The purity in this girl’s heart is something else. 

Outside, a table full of hearty food is set before you two, a candle lit at its center. Sitting her down on one end before joining her at the other, it’s only background dressing for conversation. She refuses to eat, struggling to make sense of all this. The appeal behind all this luxury is wearing off at an alarming rate.

“What’s up? Not hungry?” you gently ask, already making predictions of her answer. Your designated assistant for her is on standby for anything she wants.

“Not really,” she says, her eyes staring back, wide, accompanied with her innocuous smile. A direct attack on your heart. “I’m—here for tutoring first. I don’t know what this is all for.”

“Yeah. You are here to help me,” you tell her, your mind racing with a hundred different thoughts, already in a state of panic. “I’m just—” you swallow a sudden lump in your throat, “welcoming you since it’s your first time visiting.”

“Like, I think this is really cool! I appreciate what you’re doing, but I can’t afford any of this.” Karina’s trying not to put any more pressure on you, but it’s really doing the exact opposite: you’re already seeing signs of a terrible end. “I just thought you were nice because you saved me from those bullies, you know? That’s it.”

“Yeah. I know,” you reply, looking down as the awkward air between you grows larger and larger. See, she has a point: it was never about asking for help, nor was it ever about improving your grades. It was always about her. Something changed overnight. You simply don’t know how to directly convey those feelings. 

“So—let’s just keep things between us simple,” Karina proposes. She rises from her seat, walking over with a hand on your shoulder. “I’m here to help you with whatever project, research, whatever—you only have to pay for my services. Is that good enough?”

“Wait. Karina let me ask one thing,” you say, finally mustering the courage to look her directly in the eye. 

“What is it?”

“Your friends,” you rapidly blink, “What did they say about me?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you that.” Her answer is delivered bluntly, straight to the point.

“They think I’m a bad guy, right?”

“N-no,” Karina stammers. That’s where you catch her. “They never said anything like that—”

Suddenly dragging her by the arm down to your level, you whisper in her ear, “Don’t have to lie, princess. I’m not gonna tell anyone. It’s only between us. Promise.”

Karina’s unsure of what to do. She’s quietly keening, lightly sweating, looking around for an out. The points her friends made are starting to make sense, but there’s nothing substantial—not yet.

After taking a moment, she folds. “They think your dad’s working with a syndicate. That’s it! There’s nothing else—”

You lightly shove her away, immediately concealing your face in the opposite direction. You didn’t expect her to catch on quickly. Karina’s utterly shocked by what you just did to her, cupping her cheek.

Empathy overrides every other thought.

“Sorry. I just—” You immediately approach her with a handkerchief, immediately assessing the damages, what little they might be. Karina takes a step back, trembling with fear.

“So, it’s true after all.” Her eyes widen. Gone is that sweet innocence; taking its place is a heightened sense of panic. “You’re really a bad guy—”

“Wait, Karina.” You raise a delicate hand, your voice as calm and little as possible. “Please give me a moment to explain.”

“Go on,” she says, cautiously wary, readying herself to run at any given moment. “But say it quickly,”

Stretching your body out to pursue her, examining her every move, every muscle. It didn’t have to end up like this. Surely, there are safer, more inconsequential ways to explain yourself. What a first date you’ve gotten into.

“It’s—not exactly what you think,” you tell her. Out of all the things to begin your justification, you’ve picked the worst possible choice.

“Really?” Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t buy it. “What’s with the reaction, then?”

Hesitating, you’re scrambling to find a believable reason, only to find just one option: the truth. “I—well—your friends are right, but—my dad doesn’t have anything to do with criminals!”

“So it’s you who’s dealing with them?” she replies, her brows furrowing, glaring at you.

“It’s nothing really serious, though. And I’m not involved with anything either! Believe me, I’m not going to get you hurt!”

Throughout this tense exchange, you’ve both made your way back to the house, one big step at a time.

“Trust me when I say: the only reason why I helped you was because I didn’t want to see you hurt,” you continue, your voice cracking. “Goddamn it—this is why I shouldn’t have stepped in, fuck—”

“You did that because—” she pauses, “you cared about me? For real?”

“I guess so,” you say, nodding vehemently, both your hands still raised high starting to ache. “I don’t do that for anyone! My bodyguards tell me to ignore what’s happening, but I just can’t stand someone as pretty as you getting hurt like that.”

“Y-you think I’m pretty?” Karina blinks, coming out twinkling and doe-eyed at the sudden revelation.

Secret’s out. There’s nothing to hide anymore.

Pausing, you admit, nodding much less energetically, silently cursing yourself spilling your innermost thoughts so casually, “Well, yes. I think you’re beautiful. All the more now.”

Karina stops moving. Her wariness is turning back to more open and willing caution. “So—this was really all for me.”

You continue to nod, this time in agreement. She still has so many questions. About you, your family, your income, your secret dealings. Clearly, her friends are onto something, whether by luck or by some past experience; not a hundred percent, but at least five to ten. It would be rash and irrational to completely trust every word you’ve said. No amount of kindness can possibly make up for the worry you’ve given her—

“Come here,” she says, lunging forward to wrap you in a sudden, tight embrace. Before you can comprehend anything else, her lips are pressed deeply against yours, sealing your fate with a passionate kiss. 

That’s where it should have stopped. A better person would have pushed her away, taken things slowly, spoken her through the terms of engagement. Even Karina said it herself; this is a transactional relationship. But seeing as you’re taking lease of her back, as well as her waist, tasting her saccharine lips—it appears as if she’s reneged on her word. 

You feel her tongue slip between your mouth, humming these incomprehensible delightful sounds your ears want to hear. It isn’t accidental; the taste takes you by surprise. Can’t show a little weakness, even if you’re close to buckling under the rapid growing pressure. The way she pours herself into the kiss, how she pushes you closer inch by inch—you can tell she’s wanted this. To be treated like a princess, to be treated right. It doesn’t matter if it’s coming from the wrong influence, the only thing she sees is your willingness to take her with open arms.

The only thing pulling you away from her is the ceaseless ringing from a phone.

Karina pulls a phone from her skirt pocket, her eyes tilting down, fingers moving with urgency, furiously typing on the screen. Her cheeks burn a rosy red, ashamed of having to put herself first in this situation. She’s smiling innocently at you, a sight you’ve grown to love even more. You understand if she tells you she’s leaving; you’ve already got her ride home on standby.

“Sorry,” she mutters, pressing buttons, hearing the ringer beep as the message is sent. “I’m still living with my parents, so—” Looking around, she’s shaking her arms loose. “I don’t think I can spend the night here, or come home looking like this—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you cut her off, confident, if not a little smug. “Neither of those things are gonna happen. I’ll get your ride ready and your clothes taken care of. But it’s still a little bit early,” you say, glancing at your watch, grinning at the time. It’s barely past seven in the evening. 

“I told them I’d be home by around ten tonight,” she remarks, putting her phone away, her gaze returning to you.

“That’s all the time we need.”

—————

Like the gentleman she thinks you are, you escort Karina up the stairs, hand in tow, leading her to your bedroom. Once the door is slammed shut and tightly locked, you immediately drop the act, and you’re back to kissing her passionately again.

You can’t be any less patient. Only a few minutes have passed, and you’re already dreading the end. The feeling of letting her go, of having to go back to your normal life the moment she walks through that door. You can’t imagine interacting like normal students again. Most importantly, you can’t imagine being the bad guy in everyone else’s eyes.

Karina brings out both the best and worst impulses from you. Abruptly breaking the kiss, you shove her onto the mattress, issuing a simple command. “Take that dress off.”

It’s been the only thing racing through your mind ever since. This divine, angelic figure straight out of heaven—effortlessly shining, effortlessly wearing the simple piece like she’s meant to be a canvas to be painted and used.

Gracefully rising from the bed, Karina looks you dead in the eye. Taking one strap in her hand, she pulls it down her shoulder, then the other. Reaching around her back, gravity does the rest. The garment smoothly rides down her body, revealing inch after inch of her skin, until she’s reduced to only her panties. 

Kicking the expensive fabric aside, along with her heels, Karina’s near naked presence demands worship.

“Fuck,” is the only thing you’re able to say, and it’s apt—fuck is the only thing you want to do to her. Hard. Fast. Without care for comfort or concern. 

Your eyes have no fixed area to rest on. When it comes to Karina, every little part of her is a treat for the senses, whether it be her slim waist, her tummy, her slender legs. But nothing captures and retains the attention quicker than her well-endowed breasts. So huge, so pliable, you can only wonder in amazement at how she’s been able to keep them secret for the longest time.

“Something wrong?” Karina asks, snapping you from your mindless daze, her tiny voice a contrast to the sheer sexiness she’s radiating just by standing there in the nude. God, she’s so blissfully unaware that you’re oh so obviously focused on her tits only; it’s endearing and sweet.

“Nothing. You’re perfect, actually.” Try as you might, you can only linger on her chest, watching them stare back, inviting you to come closer. Her nipples are taut and rigid, ripe for the taking.

The comment makes her face blush brighter. “Thank you.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, your pants already halfway down, shedding them along with your boxers. You’re imagining how they would feel sandwiched between your cock; you can’t help it. You’re stroking yourself to hardness, made substantially easier thanks to the image before you. “Has anyone told you you have perfect tits, Karina?”

“I’ve heard it here and there,” she says, delivered so casually, like it’s something she hears everyday—as she rightfully should. “I guess people sometimes notice through my baggy clothing.”

Pumping your shaft till you’re fully erect, you rid yourself of the rest of your clothes. Button up shirt and coat thrown away carelessly and readily forgotten. Karina takes the hint and slips off her panties, putting you both on equal footing. Creeping toward her, you press your finger on her chin, nuzzling your forehead against hers, setting the mood with a quick peck of her lips. There’s so much you want to do, visualizing all the possibilities with a body like hers.

“I want to touch you,” you tell her, tone low, sultry. Your hand traces down her collarbones, pointing out where they want to be: on her chest. 

“Go. Anything you want, but promise me one thing,” she replies, mimicking your inflection. Any request sounds so much hotter in her voice.

There’s zero hesitation. “Anything.”

“Promise you’ll pour all that cum deep inside me. I’ve been in relationships before. Just—give me a good fucking.”

“I will,” you say, kissing her passionately on the lips, your hands firmly pressed on her tits, watching Karina’s eyes close and open in slow motion. Going down, you leave kisses on her neck, collarbones, before reaching your intended destination: her chest. Burying yourself between her breasts, clamping down on her rigid nipple, forcing a sharp cry out of Karina’s saccharine lips. “I love these fucking tits, Karina. I love them so—so—much.”

“Please.” She coos up to the ceiling, grabbing you by the hair, pressing you further into them, intending to suffocate you—which is a demise you’ll happily go out on. Gasping, panting, struggling to keep herself steady, you both collapse onto the bed, allowing you to fully drink in her breasts. Darting your tongue, sucking on her stiff tits, sloppily leaving wet marks on her otherwise porcelain skin. “So—fucking—needy—”

Karina’s right. You’ve got her pinned down on the sheets like she’s prey, devouring her like a hungry animal. Giving her tits equal attention, going back and forth til you’re satisfied—which will never happen. Not with breasts as delicious as hers. Muffled by her bosom, you can only grunt and groan in appreciation, forgoing your ability to speak to keep satiating your unquenchable need. You love how her skin folds, how they crush in your hands. Squeezing them like your personalized stress balls, making her squeamish and erratic underneath you.

Meanwhile, she can only stick her head out, keening and mewling helplessly as you drown yourself in the heat of her breasts, without care for her personal comfort or yours. 

It’s always been part of you—greed. It’s what you were raised on. How you selfishly desire something and will stop at nothing until it’s in your grasp, no matter how little it has in value or how many resources are wasted. Not Karina. She’s one in a million—a diamond in the rough. A treasure worth cherishing over everything else, and you’d give up everything for her without a second thought.

Kissing down her rather tiny figure, her tummy, until you reach the depths of her aching core, already in heat. Looking up at her, so wrecked, so utterly incapacitated, you sink further—and she cries out in pain and in pleasure.

Propping her thighs up in the air, spreading her legs that extra inch wider, Karina cries, cries, and cries. Your tongue sucks away at her sticky nectar, her quivering core, putting immense pressure on her most sensitive spots. Soaking up just how wet she becomes with each passing second, you’ll happily drown in her skin. You love how she clenches, how she throbs and moans a pitch higher with every pass, every lap of your tip against her pussy brings her ever closer to her end.

Had it been anyone else, you would have finished right there. Make them unwind and cum all over your face as you indulge yourself with their juices, then leave them out to dry right after. Instead, you muster up the willpower to restrain yourself, reemerging from the depths of her cunt, before kissing up the path you’ve marked along. You can never grow tired of admiring and worshipping Karina’s breasts. 

Brushing loose strands of hair aside to get a look at her pretty face, glowing brilliantly even under duress. Whispering against her ear, you tell her, “Gonna fuck you right now.”

“Do it,” she says, breathless, gasping—and heaving—for air. “Please give it all to me.”

“Always.”

Slowly dragging your cock between her folds, your usually stiff expression gradually disintegrates upon vicious entry, unable to endure how tight she feels. The pulse and flex of her walls pulls you apart in every direction, her cunt threatening to snap you with one wrong move. Every little bit of resolve counts. Your fingers intertwine with hers, holding her down in place, even though she’s nowhere close to fighting back. In fact, it’s the exact opposite; she wants to be taken and used.

The cry of your name escapes from Karina’s lips, delivered like a call for help. A plea. It bounces around the room, echoing repeatedly in your head, the imagery instantly seared into your brain. 

“You fill me so fucking well,” she says, breath hot and heavy, her jaw agape as you hover atop her head. Her eyes snap wide open, on the verge of tears, “Does my pussy feel good? Does it feel so tight around you?”

You’re struggling to keep yourself together, showing signs of falling apart. You’re breathing heavily, only nodding back in agreement. The inability to move your body, desiring to stay inside her warmth out of fear it’ll prematurely ruin the moment speaks volumes. It’s a clearer response than any word can ever answer. 

Karina lightly rolls her hips forward, the friction far too great to remain still. You can only draw back in painstakingly slow motion, as if pulling a piece out of a collapsible tower. Even so, the feeling leaves you dizzy and lightheaded, the suffocating sensation quickly overwhelming the rest of your functional senses.

This little push is more than enough to set you snowballing further down. Thrusting back inside her heat, her fresh wetness allows you an easier passage in and out of her quivering pussy. Between calculated, deep breaths, you watch Karina take every inch of your cock without any resistance, letting these profanities and praises slip from her lips instinctively, punctuated by the growing echo of your skin slapping skin.

It becomes effortless rather quickly. The slide in and out of her heat. The pace more than enough to let all the ecstasy sink in. How she immediately relinquishes any semblance of control to you. Karina’s glued to the bed by your hands, her body rocking with every stroke, her tits jiggling in a hypnotic rhythm that captures your eyes. So perfect. So right. 

Unknowingly, she’s driving you mad. A little bounce isn’t gonna satiate you at this point. One poorly timed blink and you’ll be punishing yourself for it. There’s no going back. You needed more of her. 

As the bed violently creaks below, so does Karina’s tiny figure. As quickly as you’ve found the perfect rhythm to pound her, you just as quickly abandon it. Something about her brings out the best and worst in you, and you clearly see why. It’s the bounce—that damned ripple of her breasts, swinging up and down forcing your hips harder against her, threatening to break her. Her words turn to loud cries—of pleasure, of pain, and everything else in between. 

“More—oh, baby, please—” she keens, her eyes still completely shut, her lips twisting and contorting, struggling to find her words. Freely offering herself to you no strings attached, she takes it—and takes it all. “Harder—I’m so fucking close—please—”

It’s a request you’re more than eager to oblige.

Taking purchase of her back with one hand, lifting her slightly, and grabbing her breast with the other, you’re hammering away at her hot cunt, gasping. Squeezing her flesh, hearing her whine, turning her usually pale flesh red while her arms find solace on your shoulder—anything to keep your rapidly dwindling resolve from dissolving entirely. The end is imminent; you can only delay it by mere moments, minutes at best. 

Karina is so dangerously close, as she said—and as much as you hate to admit, so are you. 

It’s a race that you don’t want to win. As much as you want to keep it together for longer, your body says otherwise. You can’t stop fucking her, no matter how hard you wish to try—and even if you did, why would you even contemplate the idea; your thoughts mostly comprise of how incredibly good she feels around your cock, how they pulsate and grip you with every thrust. Moving inside her is second nature at this point. You eventually lay her back down, only so she takes every inch of you when it eventually happens.

“Don’t stop—don’t ever stop—” she pleads, as if your own mind wasn’t enough to invalidate the idea. Her nails cling to your scalp and neck, barely hanging on for dear life. She’s trembling, uncontrollably jerking beneath. Even she herself doesn’t want it to end. “So good—oh God—”

A handful of thrusts later, Karina cums, with your cock buried in the crevice of her cunt. 

Once again, her voice shoots up to the sky upon impact, screaming your name, her head tilted far back as the sheets allow her to. Jaw widely slack, her neck and collarbone exposed, she can’t stop trembling through her climax. Writhing in your grasp, she lets out a prolonged moan till her vocal cords flame out, her chest heaving for much needed oxygen. 

It doesn’t stop you from pounding into her pussy, even as it overflows with her slickness. If anything, it only accelerates your own demise. The wetness overload coating your cock proves to be overbearing for what little spunk you have left. 

“Me too, Karina—” you blurt out, hammering into her, gasping, bracing for impact as well. “I’m gonna—oh fuck—”

Your own peak overtakes you, rendering you speechless. Everything comes to a standstill. All you can do is bury yourself inside the absolute depths of her pussy, make her take every load, every drop. 

Filling the air with a harmonious moan as it hits you, your cock throbbing achingly, full of all that repressed need, and then—release. 

Spurt after spurt of hot, sticky cum you pour into her womb, not wasting a single drop. Karina cries and moans with every shot, while you can only groan a deep groan from your lungs. She takes it up, milking you of all your worth till you can’t anymore. Even as she drains you empty, you can’t stop pounding into her cunt, slowing your movements back to a grinded out pace till your orgasm dies, and so does your strength.

“That’s it—that’s all I needed—so, so good—”

Karina sighs, her fingers digging deep into your neck, dragging them across your shoulders, then sliding down your arms right after. She can barely open her eyes, only to find you slowly crashing into her, leaning your head to the side so you can rest beside her. Even your hips stop moving. You only have enough energy to wrap an arm around her tiny frame before you finally collapse under your own weight.

“You still have to take me home,” she whispers, mindful of your ear directly next to her, delivered in that oh so saccharine tone. 

“I know,” you mutter through the sheets, eliciting a gentle chuckle from her. Karina’s the one coming out of this in a better state. 

“Can you do something for me? Please?” 

She didn’t need to say the word, but it certainly helps her case tenfold.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I need you to drive me home.” Karina dips her head at an angle to face you. “Not your bodyguards. You.”

Tilting upward to get a good look at her, you lift a curious eyebrow. “I don’t mind—but why?”

“I just—” she faces away, pausing, breathing heavily. She’s about to say something she’ll regret. “Think it would be safer, yeah? Besides, I wouldn’t wanna be caught by my parents just being dropped off by people in suits.”

“Oh right.” 

“I mean this is nice and all but—” Karina stops again, lightly brushing your arm away. A reminder that wealth does not equate to relationship. “I think we’d be better off if we kept things strictly professional. You didn’t have to do all this. You were kind to me and that’s more than enough.”

You roll onto your back, staring up directly at the ceiling. You can only hope Karina is doing the same. She shouldn’t see how deflated you look—after you fucked her, no less.

“Karina, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

You don’t know exactly what to say. You’re only thinking about the what ifs and the what could, expecting the worst. So you look away, unable to face her a second longer.

Moments later, you feel the sudden tug of her embrace, a leg wrapped around yours. The softest kisses on your shoulder. You can feel her soft smile pressed against your neck. She’s cuddled up on you, intent on never letting go.

“Just keep being kind.”

—————

In the days ahead, it was about saving face. 

Karina’s wish has seemingly been lost in translation and disregarded, as you’ve been putting distance from her. Any little sign that she’s around is your signal to leave. It helps when you have two extra pairs of eyes keeping watch and alerting you at once.

All this to reinforce the same statement you’ve heard from her friends: that you’re no good whatsoever. 

Cautiously eavesdropping on their conversation through your unassuming bodyguards, you hear Karina’s distress over your earpiece, lamenting to her sisters about your absence in her life.

“I seriously don’t understand you. Are you deaf? Are you stupid?” says Ningning, vindicated about her stance. “He ghosted you. They always do that! Not just him! Believe me, I’ve been through worse.”

“Please trust us. Rina, we’re worried about you,” adds Giselle, her tone showing more empathy and concern. “There’s no use in worrying about a man after you did—that.”

“No no. I want to believe,” Karina replies, insistent on you, ignoring all the red flags being waved around. “He really appreciates the affection I gave him. I have to. He seems like a good person in heart—”

“Ugh—here we go again with that good guy shit,” interjects Ningning, frustrated at her friend’s stubbornness. You hear a powerful thud, presumably from a table getting slammed in anger. “He isn’t a good guy! God, Karina, this is why you get bullied—”

“Hey, Ning. Let’s not go that far,” Giselle interrupts, her tone low. “Everyone’s looking at us.”

Dead silence follows, seemingly lasting an eternity. And then—

“Good job, Ning. She left and you made us look bad in front of everyone else,” Giselle adds, breaking the vast stillness, huffing before the audio goes quiet again.

“All the girls have left the cafeteria,” says your first bodyguard, the one you’ve assigned to Karina the first time.

“That’ll be all. Great work,” you tell them over the earpiece before disconnecting. 

You’re not hiding anywhere inside campus. In fact, you’ve been resting in the comfort of your own home the entire time. On your phone’s screen is Karina’s number, having been registered in your contacts since last week. Not once have you bothered messaging her, let alone call—yet you constantly return to it. With each passing day, the temptation to press that button grows stronger and stronger. 

You place your phone down on the desk, as if that’s gonna change anything. Seconds later, it’s in your hand, still on those 10 digits. Calling to you, as if her very voice is somehow playing through those tiny speakers. It’s all in your head, yet it feels vivid through your senses.

It all but confirms your own feelings: you can’t move on, and neither can she.

You’re looking around, even though not a soul’s in sight, convincing yourself to turn back before you fall further down. Seeing as there’s not a form of opposition, whatsoever, you pull the trigger, consequences be damned.

In the few seconds between calling the number and her imminent responding, you’re hoping she doesn’t answer. That she sees her friends’ points, to prove that you’re in the right by leaving her to dry.

All it takes is a few key words.

“Hey. I missed you.”

—————

There’s a lot to take in, but first—you swallow your own pride. This is your own doing, after all.

Looking out the window from your couch, it’s already night. Last time you checked, the sun had only begun setting; that was four hours ago, apparently. Meanwhile, Karina lies flat on the bed, every part of her mindlessly used, mindlessly fucked. Her skin gleaming, blemished in a sea of fiery red and sticky white. Her clothes scattered all over the house, their purpose rendered obsolete the moment she walked back in. You were standing there—waiting, expecting. Along with her body, came a simple request, in her words:

“Take me like you fucking missed me.”

Delivered straight to the point, Karina is something else. She’s twisted and cruel in her own way. To make such a demand in the sweetest voice possible—you can only chalk it up to witchcraft. And to think she was the one who wanted to keep things professional.

Any intentions to study and help with projects and research was a complete lie—it was more of a roundabout way for you to get inside her, over and over again. If anything, her body was the primary object of interest. 

All the ways you can fuck her, how she wants it—anything to get you to cum in her pussy. And that’s exactly what you did.

Spearing your hips against her frame, you find that Karina is so flexible, malleable to your every whim. How she complies without complaint or moment of hesitation, propping herself in whatever position your mind thought of in the moment, and there’s a few you were dying to try. On her fours, with her legs spread wide, on her knees, making an example out of her. So utterly shameless.

And God, she takes it all quite effortlessly, like it’s second nature to her. Milking you dry with her cunt, with her mouth, making you cum with some friction from her tits—everything is a little too easy. Taking just one look at her perfectly sculpted figure, it makes a lot of sense. Yet, Karina has to explain to everyone else why she can’t walk properly in the morning.

A week’s worth of repressed desires and wanton needs, completely gone in a few short hours. It may as well have been a year, maybe two, since you last met. 

You can only watch from a distance, from your couch, as everything falls apart. Even a single second that you’re at arm’s length and she’d be burying your grave deeper. As if it’s gonna change tonight’s outcome.

Like a reanimated corpse coming back to life, Karina rises from the bed, assessing the damage. It’s quite a lot. She’s an absolute wreck.

“I think I may have gone too far in some places,” you remark, observing her take your cum into her mouth with her finger. 

“I don’t believe that,” she says, taking another scoop and savoring the taste, flashing her pasty white tongue. You instinctively avert your gaze, much to her amusement.

“Christ—Karina, what happened to setting boundaries?” you ask, genuinely concerned. Even if it’s for one night, that’s all it takes for everything to snowball out of control. “I don’t think we can do this on the regular, even if I wanted to.”

“True,” she tells you, matter-of-factly, before stepping on the ground and pacing towards you, limping, barely recovering, “But I got nothing else except you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? You’ve genuinely changed my life,” she says, propping her hands to her knees to lean forward. “No one bullies me anymore. Because they think I’m your girl. I’m your possession.”

The way Karina calls herself yours gives you goosebumps. Your eyes widen in disbelief.

“This is what you’ve done to me,” she continues, tracing a finger down her drenched core, splayed and ruined—your handiwork—before rubbing her slick against your arm, eventually pushing it between your lips. You allow her. Her voice turns a pitch lower with each sentence. “I can’t express how much I need you right now.”

Sinking further back into your seat, you slowly tilt your face towards her, greatly alarmed. “You’re scaring me a little, Rina. We really should—”

She places that same finger between your lips, now to shut you up. Pressing herself forward, straddling on your lap, she makes sure her cum-soaked tits are directly in view of your face, threatening to smother you between them. Her smile is the cherry on top, inviting you to relax the senses and let yourself go in that familiar lust once again. “We can talk about this—on the other side.”

And before you know it, Karina’s riding you hard, with your face buried deep between her chest, worshiping her. You had no chance.

The next time you gain awareness, you’re back in bed, cuddled beside her. With her back against yours, she’s soundly asleep, despite the repeated calls from her phone and your supposed agreement to have her home by ten. 

It’s already half past midnight.

“Goddammit, Rina,” you mutter, eliciting a light shudder as your hot breath tickles her skin. “I can’t.”

“Just for tonight,” Karina tells you, as if you aren’t gonna be doing this again tomorrow—and the next night, and the one after. “My parents aren’t home,” she adds, clearly lying through her teeth.

“We seriously need to talk about this,” you tell her, rolling out of bed, scrambling for a fresh pair of clothes from the nearby closet. Meanwhile, Karina remains lying on your bed. She has no intention to leave. You have to reiterate again, “What happened to setting boundaries?”

Even the simple act of propping herself up draws your attention, more so in the nude, especially when she’s glistening in your sheen. The question amuses her; look at her teasing expression, ready to fire back. “You’re the one who called me here. So—”

“Jesus, Karina,” you sigh, working around the clock to get everything in order. Car’s ready, her clothes are in the wash. God willing, she’s actually telling the truth. “Why are you like this—”

She laughs—heartily.

—————

The next day on campus, you make it official. Sort of.

Karina’s friends are seated across the hall, their wary, foreboding gazes singling you out of the whole room. Intentions aside, you have no fight with any of them; it’s nothing personal. After all, it’s her choice. You’ll let them judge. You’re on your own for this one; you’ve told your bodyguards to leave you alone so as to make yourself look approachable in their eyes—even if there’s a negative chance they’ll ever buy it.

Then she enters the room, giving each one a kiss and a hug, as if they’re about to part ways for a long, long time. They’re overreacting; it’s not as though you’ll whisk her away and isolate her in some lonesome high castle.

You get a good look at her when she finally walks over. She’s wearing the new clothes you gave her last night. She makes your heart race with delight.

When she takes her seat directly opposite yours, you can’t help but silently remark, “They really don’t like me.”

She lightly chuckles. “Trust me. I’ve tried.”

“Yeah, I’m not asking them to like me,” you tell her, smiling from ear to ear, reaching out your hand, which she accepts. “I’m just—hoping they’ll see me one day as you do.”

“Sure they will. I believe deep down, you’re really a sweet guy.” 

You lower your head, unable to face her, but your face tells it all.

“Just to be clear, you’re not gonna make me actually sign a contract?” Karina asks, puzzled about the need to meet up on campus specifically to set your boundaries. The truth is, anywhere else that wasn’t school would be a distraction.

“Of course not,” you say, baffled at the idea yourself. “Dad usually did the paperwork, and that seems really weird.”

“So is having sex shortly after saving the damsel in distress,” she says, smirking through each word, mentally patting herself on the back for that remark.

Shaking your head in disgust, she laughs at your annoyed expression. That never gets old.

“Right—so what are we then?” Karina leans forward, grabbing your stretched out hand, her eyes widening. She’s looking to kiss you—at least that’s what her face is doing.

Ruminating through your next words carefully, occasionally giving the corner behind her a glance, her friends running through your mind, you reply, “Let’s just say I’m your benefactor for now. I don’t really want anyone to get surprised, and let’s just say, I’m not ready to handle everything just yet. But I want to stay close with you.”

“So we’re friends?”

“Yeah, if that’s how you want to see it.”

“Then there’s no need for this. Aren’t we already close?”

“Well I’m giving you money and clothes, in addition to letting you come over to my place once a week, so—”

Karina tugs your hand forward, interrupting you. “I don’t really need any of this. I just want you to treat me like anyone else. Like a friend. Just do that.”

You end up choking on your own words. Even when she’s admonishing you, Karina remains gentle in tone. And she knows how to bring the conversation around gracefully.

“So, what do you say we go out and have a snack later? After class?” 

With a lovely face and smile like hers, you’d be foolish to refuse her offer.

As the bell rings, you’re nodding in agreement when everyone stands up in unison, heading off to their next class. Karina leaves to regroup with her friends, but not without giving you a kiss goodbye as she walks through the door. You can only stare back—smiling.

Then you get a notification on your phone. A text from an anonymous number, seemingly demanding something urgently in all caps. Something about delayed shipments, but that’s the least of your concerns right now.

Paying no heed to the message, you’re cancelling your plans for today to make room for your first date with Karina.

—————

(A/N: Thank you for the commission! Was supposed to drop around Christmas, but then the holidays got busy, and then literally the day after Christmas, my dumbass just had to get food poisoned and hospitalized. Oof. Just poor timing all around, damn.

Fun little prompt, I was feeling a little edgy writing this, not gonna lie. Definitely left some clues for when I wanna revisit it. Karina is unfathomably hot, and I'm starting to like aespa a lot lately. They've probably had the best year of any girl group, and it's well deserved. Thank you for reading!)

[wishful-seeker]

Tips on how to avoid being unintentionally ableist

1. When a disabled person says they cannot do something, and you wish to offer solutions, do not make a solution that involves them powering through pain, or something thats not accessible to the disabled.

Example:

Disabled person: "washing dishes hurts too much and i cannot do it."

Abled person: "what if you did one dish at a time throughout the day?"

This statement is not respecting that this disabled person just said they "can't". Always respect that. No matter how simple the task would be for you.

Disabled person:" i think ill use plastic silverware so i don't make dishes."

Abled person: "plastic is bad for the environment!"

This statement shuts down the most accessible and disabled friendly option that this disabled person can actually do because of the abled persons personal beliefs. This is not helpful, and ableist.

Better yet, instead of offering solutions, ask them directly "is there anything you need that you do not have that would help you do this?" This allows the disabled person to think about what would work, and they will always have a better idea of what would work than you do.

To add on to this, when we say we have no more energy to solve a problem or do a task, or change our lifestyle, we mean it.

2. If you feel discomfort when a disabled person is talking about their health, good and bad, that is ableist. Your discomfort is coming from a place that deams disabled peoples very existence as a bad thing and you need to fix that.

For example:

Disabled person:" this week has been rough pain wise, ive been through a lot, felt like my body was on fire. Lucky i got new meds though and i think they're helping!"

Abled person: "can we talk about something else, this is a bummer."

Disabled people should be able to exist freely without worrying about your personal comfort. Do you really think its appropriate to tell someone in constant pain that their life is making YOU uncomfortable?

3. Do not treat disabled people as tragedies, do not romanticize their old life or put their current one down.

For example:

Disabled person: "yeah my life is pretty difficult sometimes, ive lost a lot but i still have happy moments."

Abled person: "it makes me so sad to see what disabled people go through :(. You used to love rock climbing and running, i would love to see you move around more again."

This statement is putting more value on the disabled persons abled past, and ignoring their life as a whole.

4. Do not avoid speaking to disabled people because it hurts to see your loved one disabled.

For example: my grandmother avoids conversations with me because it hurts her to see me in pain. While she has good intentions it leaves me being unable to be close to her. This is very isolating to the disabled.

5. Do not stop inviting your disabled friend/loved one out even if they are never well enough to attend. Unless we specifically ask you to stop asking if we can go out, good chances are we want to know you still care because again, disability is very isolating.

6. When a disabled person says certain things in their health have gotten better or worse, do not challenge this because you don't see a difference.

For example:

Disabled person: "yeah things are getting a little better"

Abled person sees disabled person using their wheelchair like usual: "i thought you said you were getting better?"

Better and worse are usually small changes only the disabled experience, its not like abled people healing from a broken arm. Better to a disabled person could mean they can stand for 10 more minutes.

7. Do not expect disabled people to ever be abled again, and again, do not put more value on an abled life.

For example:

Disabled person:"I have been using a wheelchair for 2 years."

Abled person: "oh you're young, im sure you'll be walking around in no time!"

This statement invalidates and ignores the disabled persons current life by hoping they get a more abled bodied life. Its fine to hope disabled people get better, but you don't get to decide what better looks like.

Hope this helps, stay punk.

[occamstfs]

What You Really Want

Milo mouths off about a man dating his long time crush before immediately learning the lesson that he should be less trusting of strange voices promising to fulfill his desires

Pretty standard straight to gay himbo/jockification! It will also be my final story for some time I believe, so I do hope you enjoy! -Occam

“It’s no fair that they literally have it all.” Like many a ‘nice guy’ Milo has spent an inordinate amount of time skulking social media and disparaging more physically gifted men as he stumbles across them. The root of his despair is not difficult to ascertain, his eyes burning with envy make quite clear the inner monologue of ‘girls always date assholes.’ He sneers as he comes across the most recent post of his friend and crush, Juliet. The jealous man of course knows next to nothing about the character of James, the jock-type now dating her, but judging by the gleaming smirk and the bulky arms of a killer hanging from his shoulders, the judgemental dweeb has more than enough evidence to speculate.

Delving into his memories, Milo’s face burns with embarrassment as he recalls mentioning his crush to Juliet, ‘Oh!’ her bright eyes shift uncomfortably and her cheeks begin to blush enough to match the pink tint she threw on this morning. Milo’s fist clenches as she almost giggles in her discomfort, ‘sorry Milo I guess- Well, I guess I just thought you were gay?’ After this Milo played it cool, he thinks. Hand scratching the back of his head as he asserts his straight identity and the two go on to have a meal far more quiet and awkward than usual. When new-boyfriend James comes to pick up Juliet, Milo forces a smile before staring daggers at his back as the pair walk away. 

This brings us to the present hate scrolling session in which Milo is more than absorbed. Lips curl into a sneer as he traces the impossible to ignore curves of this must-be dullard’s defined body. Milo scoffs as he sees the litany of women that must make up the man’s dating history. “Bet they won’t even last a week, ha! I mean judging by how much the douche spends in the gym I bet he’s just using her as a beard anyway.”

With this final rather homophobic assertion, the nerd’s phone flashes before going dark, “What the-” before he has to determine whatever caused this, he goes stiff as a strange voice resounds through his head. ‘Tired of all the big boys getting what they want, hmm?’ Immediately concerned he’s lost his mind, Milo gets to powering back on his phone to call for help. ‘Now now, Milo. Do not worry your little head. I am here to help. Would you not like the chance to be just like them?’ Just like them. Envy burns through his veins greater than anything. Sensing this immediately, whatever this voice is seizes upon his clearly fragile psyche, its laughter steely and alien, ‘Ah ha ha. I thought so.’

Dropping his phone once more, Milo tries to drill the voice, “Wh- what are you exactly. Are you a dem- hm, an angel?” The voice answers almost before he even finishes the thought, ‘It matters not what I am. All that matters are your desires. Now. Do you wish to be all you desire, all this James embodies? All that he is in your head.” Miles gulps and almost starts drooling at the idea, just like James. Women at his fingertips whenever he wants, a body sculpted by the gods while keeping a far better mind than that oaf could ever afford. With next to no hesitation or forethought, Milo nods and the world goes dark.

When he awakens the poorly mannered man finds it’s the next day. His phone rests in his hand and when opened he finds it zoomed in on a picture of James’ meaty bicep. Milo rolls his eyes and tosses his phone aside before going to stand. Making it halfway up he grunts in pain as he only then discovers morning wood more pressing and turgid than he’s ever encountered. Falling back down he clutches at the pain in his crotch from his cock being forcibly yanked by his underwear. Hands now grasping it he gasps as he finds it filling them far more than it has any right to. 

Well now, while they’re already down there he might as well have some fun right? After briefly struggling to get his waistband over his swollen package his mouth falls open in shock as he’s finally able to appraise the almost unrecognizable cock hanging from his crotch. It’s like none he’s seen before, not that he generally observes dicks of course. Far more impressive than he imagined a dick could be. His fingertips can scarcely meet his palm when he tries to grasp it, and as he begins rubbing it it feels leagues more sensitive than it has before now, as if nerve endings are multiplying. Looking to his awaiting phone he sees the photo of James and what’s her name as he begins masturbating outright.

Seeing a bulge in James’ strained pants he grunts as he returns to stare at his own suddenly substantial cock. More like him. The already thicker rod strains as he reflexively humps into his hand, forcing his grip wider as it expands to simply need more room. The new veins painting the length of his nascent ten inch dick surge higher up its length as he swears he can see them pulse and bulge with each racing heartbeat. Beneath his thrusting hands, bouncing as his hips continue to forcefully thrust with more strength than he has, his balls similarly grow heavier, larger as they send hormones flowing through him enough to metamorphosize and, more immediately, cause pre to stream and coat his fingers. 

Milo leans his head back as he is bursting with a need for release greater than he can understand. He shifts his jaw as it twinges with the pleasure of growth, widening and strengthening into one fit for titan. Below his newly defined chin, his neck thickens and moans grow deeper as an Adam's apple bulges out of his throat. Hearing his voice echo deeper throughout his bedroom, his heady pleasure comes to a head as he is struck with the bizarre urge to lick the pre off his fingers. Before he’s able to acquire or express shock and disgust, his eyes blast open and he is again staring at the image of James, more like- and he blows his load.

The moment of release may as well have shut him down once more, pleasure overloads him like a flashbang as every inch of his body feels at once. Drool drips from his plumper lips as his mind is fried and his hips continue to thrust without any input or awareness, sending stains across his wall and splattering into his darker hair as it begins to pull shorter and tint darker. Eyebrows thicken and cover more of his forehead as his brow hangs lower over his eyes staining brown and growing duller.

His whole form tenses as he finally achieves release, staring at the image of his, uh, competition. Arms flex as his hands crack wider, fingers stretch longer, skin grows rougher. For the first time in his life definition appears on his arms, biceps and triceps compete for which can increase faster, which can catch more eyes, which can rival those alluring arms of James. Beneath shoulders packing on weight are pits that darken with curls now thicker, a deeper brown nearing black as the forest strives to prevent any light from breaking the canopy. Similarly they moisten with the masculine heady musk that they are perfectly designed to disseminate, powerful enough to allure any twink towards his dick, or uh, huh.

Milo moans as this seemingly intrusive thought makes itself at home in his morphing psyche. Barely returning to sentience enough to realize the stray gay thought, he arches his back and stretches as if he were waking up. Mindlessly he wipes the cum staining his larger hands on the new dark treasure trail as it itches and slowly inches up from pubes unshaved. Feeling the hint of an Adonis belt he sits up with a shock, the feeling of something he has long envied bringing back his awareness.

Despite the obvious differences it takes far too long for him to be aware of, to truly notice what has become of him. He struggles to make sense of the effort it takes to move his new larger limbs. He grabs at his new hair and sucks drool through his teeth as he tries to understand how it’s changed texture and color so totally, did he dye it and forget or what? The gears in his mind slowly turn as his fingers move to scratch an itch under his arms, struggling through the dank jungle of curls. Thoughtlessly he brings his sweat-wet fingers to his nose and grimaces. “Fuck man, I smell like an, uh, like a, unnh-” he moans quietly as he’s unable to even finish the sentence, instead an image of James forces its way to the front of his mind and two now-malnourished brain cells spark together and strain to form a thought.

“Oh fuck I’m turning into a imbe-, an uh imbekle? Ugh, an uh- a dumb jock.” Milo bites his lips and flexes an arm to try and assuage his nerves, to get his attention focused on anything but his anxieties. Fortunately to this end, seeing his bulging biceps he feels his larger cock begin to stir. Some semblance of rationality knows ceding to his wanting package is probably what led to this encroaching fog over his mind. His skin begins to prickle as all-around it grows more sensitive. Beyond these skin deep sensations it also seems as if darker hairs are beginning to spread out wherever his follicles will allow.

Seeing hair beginning to prickle his chest and blanket his legs his mind produces images of hairy men he has leered at through the years. His neck twitches as whatever dregs of the pathetic skirtchaser he once was rise up and try to combat his new predilections. He’s straight, he’s always been straight. Right? His mouth goes dry as he tries to remember ever having dated a woman in the past. Barring that, only just able to recall that something is happening to him, only just able to remember that he is transforming into some alien self, Milo tries to produce an image of what he used to look like. And he cannot.

His mouth falls open as it often does whenever he struggles to produce a thought, making it almost his default state. Mouth-breathing mouth ajar he fully experiences the thick air of his bedroom as it fills with his new musk. The room around him begins to dissolve and reform into surroundings that reinforce who he is now, that prove this is who he has always been. Clean pressed laundry dirty and shift into unwashed gym clothes that help cloud the room with his stink. Posters of whatever movies and video games he enjoys corrupt into images celebrating the impressive male form, all distinctly stained from the years of hanging on Milo’s bedroom walls. He hears clanking outside of his bedroom as bookshelves collapse and reform into weights heavier than he would be able to lift.

Milo stumbles to his larger feet and ignores the hefty weight of his balls and cock bobbing in the air as he drags himself out of his bedroom to find a mirror. He leaves sweaty footprints larger than any shoes he owns on the tile of the bathroom as he bumbles in. Leaning over the sink his lips quiver as he sees a razor clogged with hair darker than he feels he should have. Sooner than the doubts arrive they vacate as a thick, stubbled beard rapidly bursts onto his face. Looking up he smirks as he sees a thick mustache surges over his upper lip, looking just like the ones he appreciates,  just like he has always been into. His eye twitches and he grunts as his hair retracts once more into something far more intentional and stylish. At the same time pecs suddenly bulge larger and hang lower as Milo leans heavier over the bathroom sink. 

His eyes glaze over as complex thoughts once more become too elusive in the face of his rising lusts. Muscles bulge larger as his back and legs creak, stretching him taller as thighs and shoulders widen and continue putting on mass. Feet spread like fins on the floor as his hands widen and sweatily slide on the ceramic sink. His mouth continues to water as he inspects all these increasingly masculine changes and his cock continues to throb. Milo bites his lip as new sensations arise from his cock once more, this time the change is apparent as his foreskin regrows, making his cock look even thicker as its head grows hooded and he struggles not to immediately break into masturbation at the powerful image of his own seductive form.

Milo’s barely functioning mind struggles to argue for any reason to not just return to the immeasurable delights of gratifying his all-encompassing urges. He stays his hands for a moment before the greatest horror yet rears its head. A monologue begins in his mind that is not his own, that cannot be his own. Dull laughter echoes through his increasingly vacant mind as a voice even slower and deeper than that which sounds from his new vocal chords, “Yooo broo come onnnnn. Give up, give in. This is what you wanted, ‘s what we wanted huhuhuh.”

He feels a pressure in his balls as they almost churn with the otherworldly need that seemingly always flows through him. He can’t help but imagine the men he’s going to bed with his new endowment, how many cocks he’s going to take in his new powerful ass. Drool trickles from his lips through the dense black stubble that coats his face denser with each second, with each breath. Spit continues down the length of his more defined face before dripping onto weighty, similarly furred pecs. His heavier hands slowly creep towards the hardening cock standing tall and long from the jungle of pubes. Before he’s able to assist his thrusting hips however, his lusty haze is interrupted by his phone chiming. His mind immediately thinks it must be James which fills him with conflicting emotions of rage and giddiness. “Ohh bro maybe he’s inviting us over. It’s been toooo long since we fucked huhuh-”

Milo pointedly tries to ignore his hairier, bulkier reflection as he stumbles out of the bathroom to check his phone. Unfortunately he catches a glimpse which makes it all the more difficult to ignore the throbbing weight dripping, almost pouring, pre onto the floor. Despite it all he stands strong, quieting this other voice as it urgently tries to convince him to give in before he’s able to pick up his phone. In a final act of resistance, or perhaps impotence, he has the lofty idea of calling for help before his mind goes completely blank and, seeing the notification, he instinctually goes to his messages to find who texted him. It’s Juliet! 

First his heart flutters before he’s absolutely confused at the sensation. She’s just his bestie? Weird. He shakes off whatever that was and gets on to reading the message, “heyy girlie- which of these do you want me to post? Oh ya and lmao, are you and james cool if I do the last one?” At the mention of James his pulse again races and there are butterflies in his stomach far more powerful than whatever bizarre feelings he had but moments ago. No time to dwell, Milo starts swiping through the images sent. They’re a photoset of their little group outing to a halloween party last week, the trio, Milo, James and Jules dressed up as a group, as X-men! Respectively dressed as Wolverine, Cyclops and Jean Grey.

He smirks as he starts chubbing up again thinking of how easily he was able to pass as the hairy beast. His eyes then return to see James’ bubble butt in trademark spandex, which only makes it harder to not lose control then and there, moaning as he imagines playing with that ass. Holding to whatever well of willpower remains within him Milo holds strong and keeps his hands above waist level. Finally he gets to the specific image Juliet mentioned, one of him and James messily making out on the dance floor. James yanks at the hairy Milo’s hair, visor half hanging off as Milo reciprocates by shoving his hand into James’ pants. Fuck that’s hot.

Without even touching his needy cock, without any pleading from the new voice in his head, without a single chance to hold back. Simply from seeing the steamy image of him and James, Milo’s mind is overrun with memories and desires of the new man he is. The man he ever was and always will be. And for the second time today, but not the last, he loses control. Cum splatters against his phone as his mind goes blank anew with rushing pleasure. Painting himself once more with his most-used utensil he laughs dumbly as he realizes how swiftly he just came. Almost with pathetic haste, though now he’s quite unfamiliar with any sense of shame. The voice that only just wormed its way into his head spills from his mouth as it fully and forevermore wrests control as the true Milo.

“Huhuhuh guess I should work on my hair trigger,” He grunts as he looks at his phone and texts back some variation of ‘girl that’s porn you can’t post that!!!’ he turns his mind where it goes more often than anywhere in his new life. He wonders what James is doing and immediately texts him. Waiting for a reply Milo heads off to the gym to get a pump in before presumably going to meet him, not worrying about cleaning up or covering his scent. The gym’s for smelling like a man right? He certainly wouldn’t mind if everyone else followed his lead huhuh. Milo bites his lip trying to ignore his hardening cock as he makes his way out of the apartment clad in too-tight, stained gym clothes. 

Before he even makes it out the complex he gets a text from James and promptly changes course. Immediately Milo’s racing down the street to his lover’s apartment. Cock already snaking down his shorts and creating a stain at its nadir, Milo hopes he can keep his needy cock at bay until he makes it. Thinking of the alternative work out he’s to enjoy in bed with James, Milo struggles to not moan obscenely as he waddles as quickly as he can into the lobby of James’ building. Heart racing with excitement he can’t wait to see James in person. Jittery with nerves, it feels like he’s going to meet the man for the first time. Hah! Milo promptly ignores the idea and starts to get some stretching in before their session. Trying to practice mindfulness with a mind thicker than mud he quickly finds himself possessed with memories of their countless times fucking in the past. Easy enough as the pair have been doing so for years. Still nerves assail him as his cock continues to strain his shorts. As the elevator doors click open he smirks as he was able to make it this far without blowing his third load of the day. His cock throbs with anticipation for its release soon to come, and impatiently awaits each and every similar session to follow.

[hajimeseyo]

You're staring, Izana notices. 

He has no idea who you are, really, but you've been trying (and obviously failing) to sneak subtle glances at him the entire time since he stepped into the convenience store. It's starting to throw him off, just a little. For all he knows, you could be a spy from an opposing gang. Not a very good one, though. 

Your gaze follows him as he walks towards the cashier and pays, and even as he walks towards the exit, plastic bags in hand. He pays it no mind as he feels it shift off him, the sound of the cashier greeting you the last thing he hears as he steps outside the store. 

It didn't seem like you were going to pick a fight with him, he might as well just leave it be. 

Besides, any gang that dared to come after Tenjiku would just be mercilessly crushed under his heel. A spy or two wouldn't change that fact.

The clouds above him rumble, dark and heavy, and he frowns, looking up at the cloudy sky. It would be a pain in the ass if it rained while he was in the middle of walking home. Maybe he could call Kakucho to pick him up. Or he could just buy an umbrella from the store right behind him…

The sound of footsteps snap him out of his thoughts, and he glances to the side to see you, head lowered and lips mouthing numbers as you take inventory of the things in your plastic bag. You don't seem to have noticed him, he notes in amusement.

His theory proves true when you look up, done from counting, and nearly jump at the sight of him staring straight at you. Your eyes are wide, the way you freeze reminding him of a prey caught by its hunter, and he can't stop himself from having a little fun. 

“You were staring at me quite a lot earlier, huh?” He says, relishing in the way your face flushes with embarrassment, and the way you instantly try (and fail) to school it into a look of nonchalance. “Is there a problem?”

You cough awkwardly, eyes suddenly unable to look at him despite being fully glued onto him just minutes ago. Izana watches you squirm, all too used to these shows of discomfort. Based on most of his past interactions, you'll probably come up with some lame excuse on why you were staring at him, then take the first opportunity you have to run away. Or get defensive, and aggressively deny you were doing anything of the sort. People always act the same when confronted with their actions. Izana's used to the same old song and dance. 

He wonders which route you’ll take.

To his surprise, you take neither of them. 

You seem to come to a decision, gaze snapping up to him, nervous but suddenly full of what seems like determination.

“There's no problem, I was just staring because–” You falter a little here, cheeks reddening a little again, before you pull yourself together with a quick shake of the head. “Because, well…your eyes.”

“Hm?” That response certainly wasn’t what he was expecting. “What about them?”

“They're beautiful.”

The words are said so plainly, without a trace of any doubt, and Izana is shocked speechless. 

While he doesn't deny that he's good looking, the word ‘beautiful’ and any part of him have never been together in the same sentence before. That he's heard of, at least. Even if any of his subordinates had the guts to consider him ‘beautiful’, they definitely wouldn’t have the guts to say it to his face. Granted, you probably don’t have any idea who he is, but still. This is definitely a first.

(And even so, the thought that something about him could be beautiful was something that had never occurred to him.)

“...Really?” The words come out in a whisper before he could stop himself.

You nod vigorously, and once again Izana is thrown off by the fact that it's something you're so sure of. As if the thought of it being untrue has never even crossed your mind.

His response seems to appear to you as an invitation to talk more, as you continue speaking, hesitation fading away with each word that comes out of your mouth. “They're just such a beautiful shade of purple, like amethysts. I've never seen anything like it before. And paired with your long white eyelashes and white hair, you look like someone's painting came to life.”

"I don't know if anyone's told you before, but you're really a sight to behold."

There's a light, pleasant feeling in his chest.

He doesn't know what it is. 

“Ah!” You suddenly slap your hands over your mouth. “I spoke too much! God, I must've sounded like a creep, I'm so sorry–”

A laugh cuts you off from your panicked rambling. Izana doesn't quite know why he's laughing, but seeing you panicking over saying the wrong things despite being fully shameless literally right before just seemed so funny, and well, there's such a nice warmth in his chest; indulging in it doesn't hurt, right?

(He doesn’t notice the stars in your eyes as you stare, almost in awe, at his laughing visage.)

“What’s your name?” You’re interesting, he’s decided. It would be a shame to let you just slip away.

“[name].”

He lets out a hum. “[name], huh…got it.” 

“Wait.” You call out to him, just as he turns and begins to walk away. “What’s yours?”

He doesn’t notice, but as he turns back, there’s a genuine, serene smile on his face that would’ve shocked even the noisiest Haitani twins into silence at seeing it on the face of the highly feared leader of Tenjiku.

“Izana. Don’t forget it.”

(He’s scolded nonstop by Kakucho when he shows up at home, soaking wet from the heavy downpour outside.

“It’s not like you to be so careless.” Kakucho huffs, drying his hair roughly with all the fierceness of an Asian mom. “You knew it was going to start raining on your way back, why didn’t you just call for one of us to get you from the store?”

Izana hums unconcernedly. “I was already walking away from the store, I couldn’t just stop and turn back.”

“Huh?? Why the hell not??”

“Don’t be stupid, Kakucho. I would’ve looked so uncool.”

“??????”)

(part 2 here!)

[meowzfordayz]

how they speak up for you — mitsuri, shinobu, kyojuro, sanemi, muichiro

Author’s Note: short and sweet, and hopefully a lil funny too. 😆

how they speak up for you — mitsuri, shinobu, kyojuro, sanemi, muichiro

Kanroji Mitsuri x Reader, Kocho Shinobu x Reader, Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader, Tokito Muichiro x Reader

Word Count: ~800

CW: explicit language, mild sexual content

Emergency Request Fulfilled: could you write comfort for when Their S/o like absolutely hates speaking up for themselves, like someone could be walking all over them and they'd be like "Oh, its fine" bc conflict= worst enemy? I would like to request Muichiro (love him sm) and Sanemi if that's okay, and the rest you can decide (-if you want to add more.)

~faqs~

Mitsuri will be all over the situation (in a good way, ofc 😌)

“Baby, didn’t you want your drink hot?” —> she’s already staring daggers at the barista who made your drink 😒

“Hm?”

You do your best to conceal the pinch of your eyebrows, as well as the goosebumps raising on your arms 🥶

“I thought cold drinks made you cold, and you don’t like being cold?”

… “Hm?”

She’s not buying your nonchalance 🙃

“That’s it.” Uh oh. “I’m getting you your drink made right.”

😳🫣🫠

“Nonono, Mitsuri, it’s fiiine.” 😭

Arms crossed, her lips purse, eyes narrowed as you weakly grin and take a big sip 😄

“If you won’t let me get you another one, then at least wear my sweater?”

🤯 “Okay!” 🤭

So maybe she’s wearing a cropped tank top underneath — you’re only a mere mortal after all 

— #oops my thirst made an appearance 😅

Short girlfriend = scary girlfriend

And that’s a compliment 😎

Shinobu doesn’t need height, bulk, or a dick to defend you

Her scathing tongue and unnerving stare are plenty

Not to mention, she’ll go full Karen if need be, but the more eloquent, calculating, deceptively sweet version 😌

She can make anyone feel like a complete idiot in 2-3 sentences, give or take 

Which does include you, but you don’t argue too often 😅

Basically:

It’s highkey hot when she speaks up for you 🤭

But it may or may not make you cry when her sharpness is directed toward you 🥲

Fortunately, you in distress is also one of few things that immediately softens her — at least, when she’s the reason for it 🥺

Kyojuro always tries to solve your problems for you

Not bc he thinks you’re incapable, and not w/o your expressed consent/prior communication

But he just hates seeing you unhappy, uncomfortable, unsafe — really anything that isn’t grinning and laughing

He understands there’s a time and place for more difficult and painful emotions, but why on earth wouldn’t he go out of his way to ensure those times and places are as few and far between as possible????? 🤨

So, obvi, he more than willingly goes out of his way ☺️

“Do you want me to say something?” his quiet breath warms your ear, softening the frustration growing in your chest

“I dunno,” you sigh, gesturing hopelessly at the person who’d just cut you in line, “We’re all going to the same place anyway.”

“True,” he shrugs, “But that was quite rude and noticeable of them.”

“Do you want to say something?” you tease, elbowing his side with amused fondness

“Not if it discomforts you.”

“It wouldn’t discomfort me,” you mumble, cheeks darkening nonetheless, “You’re so cute.”

Albeit, you aren’t sure whether to feel proud or embarrassed when he somehow intimidates the person who cut you into leaving altogether 😅

On one hand, you know Sanemi has your back ☺️

On the other hand, you aren’t 100% positive that that’s a good thing 😬

“I swear, does that bitch even know I exist?!” 😤

… 🫣

“I bet she doesn’t! Otherwise she wouldn’t dare treat you like-” 😤

“And this is why she doesn’t know you exist.” 🥲

“Pardon?” 😐

“Sanemi, I love you, and I so appreciate how ready to go to war you are for me, but-”

“Ooh darling, you have no idea. Go to war? I will be the war for you.” 😤

“So sweet,” your eyes roll, “How about you just let me handle it?”

“And how are you handling it?” he scoffs, “With smiley face emojis?” 🙄

…

“You deserve kindness and honesty. Not her manipulative bitch shit.”

“I’ll block her.”

“You what?!” 😳

“Would that suffice?” 😅

“Actually… yeah.” Sanemi is very surprised. Gushing now, “I’m so fucking proud of you.” 🥰

It’s kind of alarming when Muichiro speaks up for you

Bc you get a faint taste of what he was like before he’d really opened up to love 😕

And that Tokito Muichiro is sharp and cold as steel w/ a -139% tolerance for bullshit

Impossible to impress 😬

But your Muichiro hugs you when you’re feeling low, rests his chin on your shoulder while you do your best to draft a stern, confident text msg to your asshole “friend”, and is more than happy to tell you what he would do were he in your shoes

… you usually ignore his advice 😅

Buuut sometimes he reaches over and hits SEND before you can stop him 🫠

“MUI! I was going to delete some of that!” 😭

“Nah, it’s great as is.” 😎

[h0neysp1ce]

Hii

Sorry if this is weird but please can I request some headcanons with Kaveh, Alhaitham and Diluc (Also if you don't write Diluc, Tighnari is good instead) where the Reader has extremely painful period cramps, like to the point where they need to vomit and can't move 🙏

Not at all! here you go 💚🫶

˚୨୧⋆｡˚  Summary: ↑ How does he take care of his s/o when they have very bad cramps?

Characters: Kaveh, Alhaitham, Diluc, Tighnari Tags: Established Relationship (all Separate) Fluff?? Constellation: Head canons Warning(s): Mentions of Period symptoms, nothing graphic reader can be read as gender neutral or Female (Had no clue which one to put so I put both) ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ 

A/N: I tried my best, apologies if Diluc's and Tighnari's Parts are shorter, and hopefully I went into enough detail as you asked , also I hope I titled it in the most un akward way possible, This was my first time writing something like this so I hope its not to bad ^^"

sorta Proof read (will edit later)

Word Count: 1243

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა

Kαʋҽԋ 🎨

This man is worried about you the moment you start not feeling great.

There's no need to feel embarrassed or ashamed; he understands that this is something you go through.

It’s nothing new, really. You've been open with him about your cramps being bad, and he understands that.

The first time this happened, it freaked him out because he thought something was wrong with you until you told him what it was, and he calmed down.

Kaveh: "Alright, I'm back with the heating pad and snacks."

You: "Kaveh, aren’t you supposed to be out working with a client today?"

Kaveh: "Oh no, I canceled all my work for today. I’m not leaving you alone and unattended."

You: "KAVEH!!? No, don’t worry about me. You should worry about your work. I know it's stressful and—"

Kaveh: "No, you're more important right now. Please, let me take care of you."

If you end up getting sick, like feeling like you’re about to vomit at any moment, he’ll be there with you, holding your hair back if you're actively getting sick, rubbing circles into your back, and staying with you in the bathroom until you feel better and can get back to bed.

Knowing that you can’t move much in this state, he'll take it upon himself to get you things. Want food? He’ll make you some. Want cuddles? He’ll gladly cuddle you.

He’ll have medicine ready for you along with a glass of water and a heating pad.

This man pampers you 100%.

It pains him to see you hurting and not feeling your best. You won’t see it, but he tends to have a frown on his face when you're hurting. He’s doing everything he can, but he can’t take your pain away completely, and it makes him sad.

He’d take away the pain and discomfort from you if he could.

Most of the time is spent cuddling. It doesn’t matter to him; whatever makes you most comfortable and relieves at least some of your pain is what matters to him.

He’ll kiss your face all over, along with some hand kisses, giving positive affirmations that you’re going to get through it, that it’s going to be okay, that you’re very strong, and that it’s only temporary.

His voice goes soft when talking to you, running a hand gently through your hair. He’ll be looking at you often, always asking if you're alright or if you need anything.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა

Aʅԋαιƚԋαɱ 📚

He’s read plenty of books to know what you’re going through and the best treatments for it.

He knows what it is without even having to ask you, as you’re wrapped around the toilet suffering.

He’ll sit with you and wait until you feel slightly well enough to get back to resting.

He will be honest with you and say that he doesn’t mind or care; there’s no shame or embarrassment. It’s a normal thing you go through.

If you let him, he’ll use his hands to place them on your abdomen. He has warm hands, and he’ll keep them there if it helps relieve the pain and discomfort, even just a little bit.

He’ll pull off his cape and put it on you if that helps comfort you in some way.

If you’re lying down, he’ll make sure to pull you closer. Usually, he doesn’t like being so close, but he’s doing this for you because he cares.

You: "Alhaitham, am I burdening you?"

Alhaitham: "I've told you multiple times already that you’re not a burden. You just need help and assistance right now, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Now go back to sleep." (says this while reading a book)

He’ll carry you or pick you up and take you places since moving by yourself is a no-go.

He’ll be reading a book while you lay with him. In reality, he’s keeping an eye on you, not reading a page of that book, just pretending.

This man would take the pain away from you in a heartbeat if he could.

He’ll be with you the entire time through this tough period.

He’ll make sure you take your medicine every few hours as directed.

In a modern AU, he’d likely turn on a movie or something for you, and you two would stay in bed mostly. He’ll also get you anything you need, don’t worry.

He’s still able to do his job remotely from home as the Akademiya's Grand Scribe. What, did you think this man was going to work while you weren’t feeling your best? Nope! He’s going to take care of you because that’s what partners do.

Even if he shows little affection normally, he’ll make sure to give you some during this time.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა

Dιʅυƈ 🍷

He’s more than aware when he wakes up and finds you not up, as you’re usually up before him.

He’ll ask you, and when you confirm his suspicions, he’ll grab some things (food, whatever you want if you just ask him).

He’ll also make a quick trip to the Tavern and have someone take over for him for a couple of days since he’s going to focus on you right now.

If you allow him, he’ll heat up his hands with his Pryo Vision and place them on your abdomen to ease your cramps slightly. If you’re feeling sick at any point, just tap on him or signal him, and he’ll make sure you get to the bathroom.

He’ll always take one of your hands, pepper kisses all over, and look at you while the two of you are in bed as you relax.

This man is a gentleman (all the men are gentlemen).

Your well-being is a main priority for him.

He’ll shower you with affection and pamper you lots.

He’ll always talk with you and explain that if you need anything at all, just tell him. It’s no bother nor burden. He’ll always assure you that you’re his partner and that he cares about you, giving plenty of reassurance if you need it.

All his duties will be resumed once you’re feeling better completely, so don’t worry about him being behind or anything. He still manages things remotely from Dawn Winery.

Diluc: "Please do tell me if you need anything, anything at all."

You: "Of course I will, Diluc. I love you."

Diluc: "Love you too."

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა

Tιɠԋɳαɾι 🌻

He’ll brew up some tea or have you drink a glass of water first when you confirm with him that it’s that time.

He has plenty of medicine and herbs on hand to ease your cramps and maybe the nausea caused by them.

He’ll let you have snacks but will also make sure you have balanced meals, going for the healthy approach.

Don’t be afraid of your mood changes or swings; he understands. He’s not going to be mad if you end up snapping at him.

He’ll try to limit his job as a Forest Ranger so he can keep an eye on you and take care of you.

The first time it happened, he thought you’d come down with some sort of sickness until you told him what was happening. He understood and went out of his way to help you (though he did end up going on a ten-minute ramble about what you already knew and didn’t need to hear).

If you have back pain, he’ll rub your back for you. If you’re feeling any other discomfort, he’ll do whatever he can to help.

He also tends to give you face kisses and affection. He’s a cuddle person and doesn’t mind you being clingy (none of the men mind you being clingy).

Tighnari: "Now remember what I told you, [Name]?"

You: "Tighnari, we’ve been over this five times already." sigh

Tighnari: "I just need to make sure you’re retaining the information."

You: "This is going to take a while."

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ﾟ ｡ﾟ•┈｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | epilogue

Summary: Cry Baby went on a date? And, it was with Bucky?

Warning: Fluff. Mentions of John Walker.

Word Count: 977

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Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Book Two: Good Graces

A/N: And that's it, done. Thank you to every single reader of this story. Thank you all for your input, your comments, and your requests. I know you all fell in love with Cry Baby as much as I did and I couldn't be more grateful to you all. As you know, this isn't the true end of Cry Baby and I will be revisiting it (technically this is only the first draft) however, I will take a small break from these two idiots until August to work on my other stories. So, if you want to check them out too, please do! I love you sweethearts. - B

Tags: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport | @somnorvos | @cjand10 | @plasticbottleholder | @birdenthusiastez | @am-3-thyst

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @mrsnikstan

The next few weeks felt like a dream. You spent every available moment with Bucky, rediscovering each other. It felt as if you were meeting for the first time, yet, the deep connection you shared made you feel like you were home. 

On the night of your first official date, Bucky knocked on your apartment door. He stood waiting with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. Your smile grew as you saw him, his usual confidence mixed with a hint of nervousness. 

“You ready?” he asked, a playful twinkle in his eyes. 

You held the pink motorcycle helmet he had bought you, matching his grin. “Ready.” 

The roar of Bucky’s bike and the warmth of his presence made you feel at ease as you rode to the restaurant. Your heart sank, and your smile faltered as you saw which restaurant he had brought you to. The same one as John Walker had almost a year ago. 

Bucky noticed the change in your demeanor, reaching out, he placed a finger under your chin, lifting your gaze to him. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you took a deep breath, trying to mask the discomfort. “It’s just… this place brings back some memories.” 

“I know,” he spoke softly, his eyes filling with understanding. “That’s why I brought you here.” 

Confused etched its way to your face, clouding your gaze. “But why? Why would you bring me to a place with such bad memories?” 

His voice was earnest as his hand moved to cup your cheek. “I hoped we could create better ones, replace those memories with new ones, ones that we make together.” 

The apprehension you felt dissolved as your heart melted from the sincerity, and genuine hope in his eyes. “You really thought about this, didn’t you?” 

He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I want to turn all the places that once held pain into places filled with joy and love.” 

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you knew the verdict before he could ask. They were tears of happiness. “Bucky… that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” 

He took your hand, leading you toward the restaurant, stopping only to open the door for you. The ambiance felt different this time, the evening already felt lighter and full of possibilities. Bucky pulled out a chair for you as you both sat down.

As the night progressed, you immersed yourselves in conversation, sharing stories, and laughing as if you were strangers on a first date. “All I could think while he was talking was ‘I don’t even like steak, John!’” you exclaimed, recounting the details of that date with John to Bucky.

Bucky listened intently, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he leaned forward, reaching his hand across the table– interlocking his fingers with yours. “Well, we both know how that ended up for him, Sweetheart,” he chuckled, his thumb gently caressing your own.

“Do you remember the first time you called me ‘sweetheart’?” you asked, fondness sparkled in your eyes as a smile tugged at your lips. 

Bucky smiled, squeezing your hand gently. “Of course I do,” a small chuckle escaped his lips as the memory of that night entered his mind. “You were only eight years old, but you were terrified of the Ferris wheel… such a cry baby,” he teased, his smile turned into a playful grin. “You clung to my arm like your life depended on it.” 

You left out a soft laugh as he continued. “You looked up at me with those scared, teary eyes, and I couldn’t stand seeing you so frightened.” 

“You took my hand,” you began finishing his story, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “And told me, you would keep me safe, no matter what. And, you did, Bucky, you always have.” 

With a gentle look in his eyes, Bucky smiled. “Hey, wanna ditch this and go to the carnival now?” 

You nodded eagerly with a laugh. “Absolutely.” 

~

The carnival was a whirlwind of lights and waves of laughter. Once again you both rode the Ferris wheel, but this time, it was different. This time, you weren’t afraid. And, instead of closing your eyes when you reached the top, you gazed into Bucky’s for a moment before closing the distance between you and placing a gentle kiss against his lips. 

As the night came to an end, Bucky rode you back to your apartment building. You both content in each other’s presence as the ride was filled with comfortable silence and the city lights blurring around you. 

Bucky walked you up to your apartment, the carnival’s excitement lingered in the air as you felt a twinge of reluctance to part ways. 

“Thank you for tonight, Bucky,” you said softly, turning to face him after you unlocked your door. 

He smiled warmly, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Anything for you,” he replied. 

Without a word, he closed the distance between you as his lips found yours for another time that night. This time, the kiss deepened, wrapped in each other’s arms. 

As you broke apart, his eyes filled with unspoken affection as they met yours. “Good night, Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and husky with emotion. 

“Good night, Bucky,” you whispered back. 

Bucky watched as you closed the door, reluctant to let go of you. As he waited a few seconds, his mind spun from the whirlwind of thoughts, emotions, and the joyous turn of events.

Then, just as he was about to turn away, you opened the door again, revealing your smiling face. You pulled him back inside, without a word, your lips meeting his in a passionate, desperate kiss. 

And as you melted into each other, he guided you further into the apartment, his foot pushing the door closed behind the both of you.

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Book Two: Good Graces

[shaynawrites23]

Remus Lupin's Hands

i am having thoughts-

alright i bet Remus has really nice hands

he's got long fingers and his hands are really warm

and you just can't keep your eyes off the veins running from his arm to his hands

Remus knows this

but he doesn't know if you know he knows

it's not exactly a secret though

you hold his hand whenever you get the chance

all of Hogwarts can see you walking down the halls with your fingers entwined with his

or during class

your professors have made remarks about it many times

but you both always insist it helps you focus

its really not a lie

"Mr. Lupin, Ms. (y/l/n)! Trust me, you'll be much more capable in making potions if you have both hands free."

Remus looks up from the book he's holding open with his left hand, his right clasped in yours, and blinks innocently up at Slughorn. "But Professor, I do my best work with one hand-"

Professor Slughorn puts a hand in his coat pocket and glances between you and your boyfriend. You hide a smile by busying yourself arranging the ingredients by color, and you miss the miniscule upturn of your teacher's lips.

"Well, we'll see how your potion turns out. Mr. Black, perhaps you'd like to consider investing more attention in your potion instead of in your classmates' love life." With these remarks, he moves on to the next desk.

Sirius Black, ever the rebel, leans over and whispers conspiratorially with a smirk, "If you keep this up, you might even beat Marlene and Dorcas in being voted 'most likely to get marri-'"

He's cut off by Remus smacking him with the book in his left hand.

sometimes you also just use his hands as a heating pad

like when your own are cold

or when you're having period cramps

just grab your boyfriend's hands

he doesn't mind one bit

even if it sometimes results in... unexpected reactions

bonus though: it comes with cuddles

There's something about being snuggled up to your partner that eases the pain of periods. Maybe it's magic, maybe it's psychological... you don't know what it is, but when you're menstruating, Remus already knows he may be dragged over to hold you until you feel better.

That's how you find yourself in this position, sitting between your boyfriend's legs with his hands pressed to your belly, the warmth easing your discomfort just enough to have you sighing in content. Remus has his textbook open next to him, but turns his head every so often to press a kiss to your cheek where you rest your head against his shoulder.

"Moony, McGonagall said- woah! Lovebirds, get a room!" Sirius slaps a hand over his eyes the moment he sees how his friend's hands are up your shirt, a second too soon to notice said friend's deadpan glare.

"She's on her period, you twat. Get your head out of the gutter, Pads, what'd McGonagall say?"

"Yeah, yeah. Have fun, you two. Don't do anything I wouldn't. Or... anything Lily wouldn't." With a wink at the both of you, he's out the door again, ignoring Remus' deep sigh before he kisses you in apology.

another thing you love to do with his hands is kissing them when he least expects it

or anytime, really

just a soft kiss to his knuckles or his palm

you think its adorable how he gets flustered

no matter how many times you do it

he can never hide his grin

maybe you're a little in love with his hands

but he thinks he quite likes it

its cute to watch you tracing the scars over his hands

or to watch you playing with his fingers while you cuddle

so really

it works out quite well :)

[lets-try-some-writing]

It's so tragic how, in your Twins AU, Optimus had to do the Cybertronian version of plastic surgery to look more like his brother. He could have gone through his primely transformation and said he, as Optronix, got a new frame because of the Matrix. Instead, he went all out and changed his body. I can only imagine what the Decepticons will think when they see Optimus again and notice his different yet familiar frame. Megatron might think he's having work done to "wear the face of his brother" instead of work being undone so Optimus can be himself again.

More for the Twin Au? Aight. Parts One and Two here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Wearing Optronix's face was not easy at first. It ached. It burned. Insults and slurs, hatred and constant attacks... if not for the Matrix, Optimus would have given up long ago and let someone kill him. But he had his duty, and he would have to be cut down before he let himself fall away from his purpose.

He allowed Optronix to become as cruel as he did. He failed to stop his twin when the war grew worse. This was merely a natural consequence. The constant ache of his spark from the lack of its other half was ignorable. The never ending discomfort with his frame was negligible when he was busy planning or engaging in battle. And as centuries passed, he honestly noticed less and less. Optronix's frame grew to be his own. The bulky and boxy build became second nature to him, his spindly frame from the archives all but forgotten. The eternally in place battle mask was something he grew to cherish as it allowed him to hide his expressions when the pain in his spark grew too great. The heavy set blaster he carried, as his brother was known to do prior to his death, became a memorial of sorts.

He was Optronix, a corrupt mech who changed upon becoming Prime. Every single cycle he repeated his mantra.

"I am Optronix turned Optimus Prime. I am the leader of the Autobots. I was once a tyrant, but no longer."

Every time he saw himself in the mirror, repeating again and again... it grew easier to believe the lie. He stopped missing things from his time as Orion, at least dulling the ache. He missed the archives, but that void he filled with reading reports. He lamented the loss of his mentor, but that too he supplemented through teaching Ultra Magnus throughout the war. It only really hurt when Ratchet and Jazz fought him, but even that was easy enough to work around if he reminded himself of what he was.

He was Optronix. He was once wicked. And this was his penance.

Then, of course, the truth had to come out swinging. One wrong poisoning attempt and suddenly his reality was broken. He'd been poisoned countless times. It shouldn't have been as dangerous as it was with his immunity. But Ratchet on synthetic energon was nothing to scoff at, and simple fuel line drainage wasn't enough. They had to remove his mask to have him purge whatever was in his tanks as well. And that was when it all fell apart.

The team had their reactions. Optimus tried his best to be neutral throughout the whole process, letting them figure themselves out and acting accordingly. He continued his mantra, having had it long since become second nature. But one thing led to another, and Ratchet, ever Orion Pax's most loyal friend, was determined to bring back the mech he thought lost.

"We are giving you a reformat." Ratchet's servos were firmly planted on his hips, his expression dead serious. Optimus could only find it in himself to frown.

"We do not have the resources for such an endeavor. It would be a foolish waste of material." A hint of bitterness entered his tone, training to mirror his brother returning with a vengeance in the form of backhanded commentary. This was who he was now. There was no Orion Pax. Nothing to reformat back into.

"Sure, we don't have enough for a complete frame overhaul, but we can fix some things. Your face, your optics, maybe even your shoulders." Ratchet scanned Optimus's frame, his optics running with calculation. Optimus shied away from it instinctually, prior experience warning him against giving too much room for a potential attack.

"Ratchet... I'm not him anymore. I know I said I was Orion Pax, and I'm sure somewhere deep in my spark, he yet lingers. But that is not me. Not anymore." Ratchet, unlike how Optimus's anxious predictions portrayed him in dreams, did not scoff or come off as cruel. His expression softened as he came closer, reaching out to cup Optimus's face, the one thing he'd left unchanged as he gave the rest of his frame up reformatting to match his brother. The doctor's digits brushed over pristine faceplates, not a scar to be seen below the optics. It was... comforting.

"I believe my friend is still in here. And if I have to drag him out again, then so be it." In an act of intimacy Optimus had not had with anyone other than Bumblebee since he was but a mere archivist, Ratchet brought their helm crests together. The touch was simple, but the way their fields mingled and melded was divine, a cube of energon to a starving mech in Optimus's mind.

He couldn't fight back if Ratchet was this gentle with him. How could he?

"Let me do this for you." Those gentle words were all it took for Optimus to cautiously agree. And from that moment onward, Ratchet took his duty to spark.

"Mask off, Orion." Constant but gentle reminders rang out through the base frequently. Ratchet made it a point to use his old name, constantly urging him to grow comfortable showing his face again. Optimus scared himself more than a few times when he passed a mirror and saw himself.

He politely ignored the pitying looks he earned from the team after such reactions.

"Hold still. You don't need to be wearing this slag all the time now, so it needs to come out." Having tweezers in his optics wasn't all that fun either. But again, Ratchet was devoted. And to be fair to him, the moment the thick optical glass was removed, Optimus found he could actually see things he'd long since become used to having to squint at to view. The optics of an archivist were meant for data collection and analysis. Having them back was overwhelming at times.

He spent three whole earth days standing around simply watching things, learning to recycle his optics for optimal data collection. One night he spent up on the roof, admiring the stars for the first time since his arrival on Earth. As much as his instincts screamed at him to put the glass back in place, he found himself content to leave his optics alone.

They were familiar. He hadn't realized how much he missed them.

"You welded your data ports closed?" Ratchet gawked at him and the welds along Optimus's sides. He nodded without any additional reactions. It was yet another augmentation.

"I had to play the part not just in appearance and presentation, but also in functionality." Arcee winced as she saw the damage. Bumblebee looked concerned. Bulkhead, Primus bless him, seemed a bit sick to his tanks as he looked at the welds. It wasn't as if they weren't cleanly done, but every mech knew that there were certain components to various castes that made them unique, and often tended to be sensitive. Having those parts removed or damaged was abhorrent to them.

It was to Optimus once, many long vorns ago.

"We're fixing this. There is no way you haven't been going through mood swings without access to your datacables." Well, Optimus couldn't exactly deny that. Sometimes it felt like he was about to die if he didn't hook up to the console. During such moments, he tended to lean on the Matrix.

Ratchet, not having gotten any sort of retort, promptly got to work. Optimus marveled at the feeling the moment he found himself able to reconnect to his cables. They were difficult to manage after so long with them locked away, but just having them free was a relief he did not know he needed as sorely as he did.

"Not much I can do about your frame shaping considering our circumstances. But these, we can get rid of." Ratchet looked Optimus up and down as he hooked up to the console, restoring his long dormant archival subsystems through dutiful training through monitoring human websites. He hardly noticed Ratchet at all until the doctor took one of his servos and promptly began delicately removing the armored plating he had welded onto each individual digit.

The whole affair did not hurt. But when Ratchet was done, Optimus looked at his servos and saw... himself.

He saw Orion in the long and slender digits meant for swift typing, not battle or the handling of a sword. He saw Orion in the gentle tap of his digits as he typed again with them for the first time in eons. He saw Orion in the speed in which they moved, graceful in a way he had not been since he slaughtered his brother before their slumbering god.

Perhaps there was some Orion Pax left in him after all.

"OPTRONIX!" Megatron's shriek of outrage rang out across the battlefield as Optimus strode forward, hesitating only a moment as the warlord's sheer wrath. He was seething, his armor flared and his field a wild whip of anger and grief all wrapped into one burning wave. His blaster blazed with energy begging to be unleashed, his denta clenched so hard Optimus could almost hear them grinding from a distance.

"You dare wear his face! You dare take pieces of his frame as your own! Is this another way to torment me, you pit spawned heathen!?" Every word stung on a spark deep level. Optimus had long since learned to look past whatever Megatron said on the battlefield. it had been easy with his mantra because Orion was hidden. Orion was not the one being insulted or hurt.

But now? It was different.

"I will tear you limb from limb and rip that face right off your frame to lay my brother to rest! Do you hear me!?"

He heard.

He heard every single word.

And Primus, did it hurt.

[juniperdugong]

Perfection Pt.1; Awaken

Your soul is stuck in your corpse after your tragic demise...lucky for you the mortician who's prepping your body is a hopeless romantic willing to bring you back to the land of the living

Pairing: mortician!mingyu x corpse!fem!reader

Genre: Mortician!au, Horror!au || Fluff, Crack, Romance, Angst

Warnings: Mentions of death, corpses, and gore (Nothing in-depth and nothing intended to disturb) || Heavily implied suicide || Necro-romance, aka romantic attraction to a corpse. || Nudity || {Please let me know if there are other warnings you would like me to add}

WC: 2.4k

Songs that inspired this fic

Series Masterlist

If we can get our truths out now, you know exactly how you died.

This must've been the worst year of your life. The contents of it are blurry due to the effects of your soul and its current condition but you remember the feelings well enough. Although the memories didn't stick you remember the sinking pit that it felt like you were swimming in. Too far from the top to go back and too far from the bottom to see an end to what was an incredible amount of emotional suffering.

The one memory you do have is one of surrender. Relinquishing all your emotions and all the pain into a single, unforgivable action. There is no excuse but your room just felt so empty then. It had all your things in it but it didn't have you, you were not there. Your mind had wandered away with the joy, the joy that you were sure you hadn't felt in months maybe years. And the unfortunate thing about a mind that wanders too far from the body is that the body will do whatever it can to get its mind back.

This leads to the only reasonable-awful-but reasonable way to ground a person completely. Death.

For a split second before you did it, for just a moment before the full surrender, you thought "I wish I had someone to stop me.". At that moment, a really quick moment might I add, the thought of loving someone, the thought of someone loving you through all of the hardships and pain, it might've stopped you. But you didn't have anyone, did you? You had been lost and wandering for a while and it was time to come back home. You had no one to call you back so, yeah, you had to call yourself back.

And so you did.

The awakening process for a soul that has refused to move on, despite the wishes and through the confusion of the person themself, is an interesting one. It is almost like that feeling right before you go to sleep. You remember what you did up to a point and then you don't remember having actually fallen asleep. Or to be more correct you don't remember dropping dead. Then, with no prior warning or vision of heaven or whatever movies may have you believe this experience might be, you woke but you woke in a dark and cold space. An unfamiliar space. The laughter of a man could be heard from above you, you think. And in the middle of your reeling, you are met with blinding fluorescents.

The morgue.

For the sake of brevity and to not bore you with your own story I won't go into the processes that go on within the walls of a morgue. More or less it's identification, waiting, maybe an autopsy, and more waiting. Then you are shipped off in a body bag to either a mortuary or a funeral home. Lucky for you a mortuary was more than satisfactory.

Some amount of time passed before you felt yourself be lifted out of the car and onto some sort of table or stretcher. Now it seemed you were in the care of only one person. Quite strong as well to be able to handle the dead weight (no pun intended) of yourself. The sound of the zipper would've sent you jumping if you were able but perhaps more surprising was the visage before you.

A tall and handsome man, tan skin showing through what little you could see behind the protective gear he wore. Dark eyes studied you immediately and for some reason, you could feel them soften as they looked upon you. You didn't feel discomfort, in fact, a warming and welcoming feeling came to contrast the cold of-well-your everything at the current moment. The aura that came off the man was something like stepping into the home of the friendliest person you've ever met.

And he was oh so gentle with you. The way he was careful with his movements as he heaved your stretcher onto the main table. Your eyes followed him as he went ahead and gathered various things from around the room. Setting them on a smaller table next to you. A deep breath settled in him as he scanned your body.

You felt vulnerable in this state, not much you could do about it but still. He got a clipboard and read through it. "Y/n…" your name rolled off his tongue like a small prayer. He circled you, tapping gently at different parts of your body as he went along. Assessing your situation and what he would have to make "presentable" no doubt. Then he stopped. Pausing as he made his way back towards your head. Another sigh as he gazed at you.

"You were so pretty. I wish we had met under other circumstances y/n."

If a heart was in your body it would be beating so fast right now. His hand reached out and grazed your forehead. Is he moving the hair from your face? If you had working veins you would be blushing wildly.

This is crazy. You've decided that this is crazy. Your soul for some reason has decided to stick to your body instead of following the heavenly trumpets towards the pearly gates of paradise. And here you were, prisoner in your own skin, unable to move or speak or do much of anything. And the only thing on your mind is the man who is preparing your body???

Oh, Christ. What the actual hell is happening?

Also, why does it seem like the mortician is just as invested in you? Are morticians supposed to have organ jars in their preparation rooms? You suppose they do take care of those sorts of things, plus he's the professional in this situation, right?

"The more I look at you…The more I wish…What am I saying?" he shook his head with a huff.

Your eyes were open, not like you could willingly close them, but you were somehow able to see in this state. You could see the way the protective gown fell on his arm, very faintly outlining some sort of muscle. The way his breath caught on the mask, not shallowly at all either, a heavy breath. Almost like when he looked at you you had taken it away and he was grasping to get it back. The gloves that held snug to his big fingers, his warm hands, the ones that graced you gently with every touch. So caught up in memorizing his features you hadn't noticed that he was tracing your inner arm and staring right back at your lifeless eyes.

"Actually, you might be perfect and these might just be perfect circumstances y/n…" he tilted his head as he said those words, gazing deeply at all of you, taking you in like some person at the other end of the bar.

Why was he walking away? What did he mean by perfect? Is he walking over with one of those jars right now? Lord, you should've followed the trumpets you thought. And then the giggle came in. Like a wrecking ball to the heart, the man let out a sound of excitement and happiness. The confusion that writhed through you at this moment was unparalleled by anything experienced by anyone before. Not only are you dead but now you have some sort of weird mortician, handsome, but weird on your hands.

He came back, his arms full of the organ jars from the shelves. "Y'know some of your own should suffice for this little experiment but I always tend to keep extras…", he said this in haste as he set up a plethora of equipment around your body. For what it's worth you could listen to him talk about whatever nonsense he was on about for hours.

"I always was a fan of Frankenstein. It inspired me to do this profession, actually. I know strange but even stranger is my need for you at this moment. Sorry. Not in that way, not in a disrespectful manner at all if I am being forward. But your circumstance saddened me and well- it does not help that you are so beautiful. AH! I am getting ahead of myself. I must wait until I know that you are here and that you are mine, y/n. Forgive my rudeness."

He was frazzled and all over the place. His speech was punctuated by heavy breaths and before you can even begin to process his mess of words he is discarding the protective gear. The only things he thinks worth keeping on being his apron and gloves.

In the corner, although you cannot see it from this angle, sits a computer. Mingyu weaves around wires to get to it. His fingers work at a fast pace as he types. "I knew it. It's all just perfect. It truly is. I could just jump with joy!". Mingyu had confirmed his suspicions or rather confirmed if his memory was correct. There was a chance for a storm tonight and everything just kept lining up for him. As if a gift from god themself here you are, there the storm is, and here's Mingyu ready to conduct a risky experiment, one that he's been building up in his head for years, one that he honestly did not think would happen within his lifetime. It was just a hobby, a thing not meant to occur, and more than that it was probably illegal.

But he didn't care. He just knew, a gut instinct if you will, that you were the one. The person he was meant to be with. Love at first sight some might call it, he sure thinks it is anyway.

Hours passed as he continued with his ministrations of gathering items and setting them up. The sun began to set and Mingyu's confidence rose. The table where you lay was wheeled into the middle of the room, you hadn't noticed it before but there was a skylight in the ceiling. A large one at that. He centered you as best he could to match the opening and began to dig metal hooks into your skin at different points. Although gruesome in my wording these punctures did not hurt you. They felt like a pinch to the skin that left nothing in the way of actual pain.

He hummed and smiled as he went about this work. The last thing he did as he began to hear the pitter-patter of rain outside was give you another once over. His eyes were at their most intense. Taking great care in making sure all of your details were perfect. Fixing your hair in the way the picture he had of you instructed, moving your hands to be at your navel, and stretching out your joints which had been effected by rigor mortis many hours prior.

"Perfect. Really and truly." he tried to calm himself of the adrenaline rush that had been keeping him on his feet the entire time. He sat on the rolling stool near the computer using his feet to make his way towards you once again. From a lower angle, you could just barely see his figure from here. He gathered himself and a sad look overtook his face.

"God, what are you doing Mingyu? This is crazy. The probability is so so so low. And look at you. Sat here in front of the most enchanting person you've ever met and they're dead… If this doesn't work then what? I give up on love? I try to date again? Knowing that no one has set my heart ablaze so immediately as the one before me now? No. If this does not work I will just have to admit myself. This would be the heartbreak to define my life." He took in a big breath before allowing it to leave his lungs completely empty. He took off his gloves and rolled his sweaty palms along the length of his thighs.

"I have gotten this far, it is time."

Rolling thunder shattered through the night sky. Mingyu began to pull a chain and the skylight opened. Droplets of water started to saturate your skin. He turned his attention to the computer bringing up some program that allowed him to control the various devices he had set up. The whirring of machinery is all you can hear as he sets lighting rods to lift up at the top of the mortuary.

A crack of thunder whips through the air. 1…2…3…Then the lightning scorched its bright head in the sky. The storm kicked up, your body was at this point soaked in rainwater as the shallow table tried its best to keep the surface tension of the water at bay. WRSHKKK the thunder once again, 1…2…The lightning seemed all the more close as it flashed before your eyes.

Then time stood still, what was nothing but seconds stretched until you were almost sure you were outside of space and time. The water hits your face, seeping into your eyes because you cannot close them. Your view only being the sky but what you heard could bring you tears, thankfully the rain allowed your face to communicate your emotional intent as beads fell from your eyes like the statue of Mary. Amongst the chaos of the storm, a chant-like prayer is whispered as Mingyu makes his towards you in strides. Standing at your head, towering over you, he leans down and with the gentleness of a man defined by love that makes him soft, his lips graze your forehead as he says "Please y/n, please." repeatedly finishing each prayer with a peck to your cold, wet skin.

KRSHHK the thunder growled with ferocity, 1…The lightning finally answered the plea.

A forceful blast flung Mingyu back, leaving him to hold onto the counter behind him. Every device alight as electricity surged through their wires, all of them leading to you in a maze of information and metal.

And as that energy reached your body you were enraptured in pain and ecstasy and every single physical feeling a human could possibly feel. As if you were being held gently while needles pierced your nerves, like floating on a cloud of cotton as you were being burnt alive. Every sensation came online all at once and it was exhilarating. The rain on your skin felt cold and burning. Your soul and body finally connect with existential bliss as they reunite. You felt everything.

Then your lungs finally filled with air. Your chest began to heave as your heart caught up to the fact that you were here again. Blood coursed through your veins and warmed your skin.

With a jolt you were alive and awake.

…And also falling off the table.

A/N: It's out! I really do hope you all enjoy the weirdness that is this fic. I tried my best to not be too descriptive with the details of death and the body, trying to focus more on the emotional than anything. Let me know what you think and please reblog if you liked it and would like to see more!

{If you're interested in being on the Taglist for this series please let me know!!}

[teeny-tiny-revenge]

It's home cinema manufacturing time! 🏴‍☠️ Gonna put my pirate show on my shelf! (I'm doing an Arts and Crafts Project and I'm making it everyone's problem.)

After seeing how much they cost, I abandoned the idea of getting a Blu-ray writer for now. For the time being, good old DVDs is what it's going to be! My TV is old and not very big, so DVD resolution is gonna be fine.

It's been ages since I last burned a DVD. For the full experience, I'm gonna create nice menus and pretty sleeves for the boxes. Graphic design is my passion! Um.

Well. First needed to find a program to do stuff with. I'm a Linux guy, so I'm using Devede. (Which is free, btw. In case someone else wants to do a low cost spot of putting pirate show on the shelf.)

DVDs fit a maximum of 120 minutes of video. So, four episodes, I thought. But after a quick attempt, the program refused to do more than three (maybe because of the menu also taking up space, and four episodes cutting pretty close to the 120 min mark?). Anyway, three episodes per disc it is. It's a pretty nice runtime for watching the entire disc, IMO. An hour and a half, and then you can return to reality to realise you should probably eat something, or go to bed because it's midnight.

OFMD with its current two seasons has a total of eighteen episodes, which is divisible by three. You get the following setup:

Disc 1: Pilot, A Damned Man, The Gentleman Pirate - That's pretty good, Stede's introduction to piracy all on one disc!

Disc 2: Discomfort in a Married State, The Best Revenge is Dressing Well, The Art of Fuckery - All bangers. Great to watch together, our boys meet and shenanigans happen!

Disc 3: This is Happening, We Gull Way Back, Act of Grace - Many romantic moments, lots of great scenes, shit hits the fan at the end there. Alright!

Disc 4: Wherever you go, there you are, Impossible Birds, Red Flags - ... Pain and angst! What have I done!?! The disc of horrors. Gotta make sure to have tissues at hand when I watch this. But hey, it also has messy bun Ed! Small mercies.

Disc 5: The Innkeeper, Fun and Games, The Curse of the Seafaring Life. - Another disc with all winners. I love all these episodes so much! (You can watch this disc to recover from the trauma of the previous one!) But seriously, this one slaps.

Disc 6: Calypso's Birthday, Man on Fire, Mermen - Great combination again. Season finale! Love and excitement!

... Honestly, except for the psychological damage of putting all the most painful episodes together, this is coming out pretty cool. Says a lot about how good the show is. I actually really love all the episodes (yes even the painful angsty episodes of massive depression). Thinking about this little project really reminded me how much I love this entire show.

So, we got a tracklist, now menus, then we can burn this stuff!

I did the menu backgrounds in GIMP. Realised I have a big folder full of screenshots I took myself, screenshots someone else took and posted on Tumblr, official promo pics for the show, and I have no idea anymore where most of them are from, because I named the files according to what's on them. Which is useful for when you want to find pics (Need a picture of cursed suit Stede? I have files named that, easy peasy!), but not so great if you wanted to give credit to whoever took a given pic you used. (It's probably @sherlockig or @ofmd-ann or @blakbonnet. Please feel credited, your beautiful screens and gifs brighten my day, and some of them are now probably part of my DVD menus. Shrunk down and cropped, but, yeah.)

I originally wanted to structure my menus as having the title of an episode, then some pics from it, then the next episode, then pics from that, and so forth, but I couldn't convince the program to give me the necessary padding between the menu items, so I ended up just putting the episode images below the menu. Still like it.

Anyway, DVD menus can also play sound! Behold a crappy video of my beautiful creation (provided entirely for sound):

It plays Gnossienne N°5!

More crappy pics of my other disc menus:

Gonna make them some nice sleeves next. Some day. Gotta make sure they all work properly first. So. I'll be on my sofa, watching my DVDs. With menus! (Edit: here are!)

[thatanimeramenchick]

Yandere Lucifer x Human Sacrifice Reader Pt. 2

Part One

Word count: 2,755

Originally requested by @hazbinlove

---

Your body was still suffering from your injuries when you awoke two days later. While not as intense as before, you could still feel that itching, burning feeling down your entire chest, which was now wrapped in gauze. You were in a soft bed, mind still reeling a little from everything that had happened. If it wasn’t for how sensitive your entire body still felt, you would have written the whole experience off as an ugly nightmare. Yet here you were, somehow still alive. Your first thought was that you must be in the hospital, but the room looked more like a nice apartment room, in line with a hotel suite. Someone must have found you half dead outside after the attack. That odd angelic figure you had seen, it must have been a dream.

That was what you thought as you lay in your uncomfortable position. Not too much longer later, the door opens, and in comes a man that looks vaguely familiar.

He was short, or at least shorter than most men you were accustomed to seeing.

“You’re awake!” he said.

He came into the room, holding a tray filled with breakfast food. You felt your stomach rumble as you saw that is had chocolate covered croissants and a bowl of fruit that looked delicious.

“… who are you?” you asked.

“Oh, I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Lucifer,” he said.

“You’re… Lucifer?” you said, shocked.

Instinctively, you try to inch away as this sinks in your mind, but you don’t make it very far, only succeeding in wincing in discomfort. Your body was still fragile from the attack.

“Not what you were expecting?” he asked, with a small smile.

A feeling of fear stirred inside your stomach. This had to be a mistake. A trap. There was no way that this was actually the devil. Unless…

“Am I dead?”

“Dead? Oh, no, quite the opposite!” he said, “Somehow, despite everything that happened to you, your soul is still inside its original body. You’re alive.”

“Then why am I with you?” you asked, hoping that the horror you felt wasn’t too apparent in your voice and face.

“Well I couldn’t very well just leave you out there,” he said, “You were basically being tortured like that. You could have lost your mind that way, repeatedly dying and regenerating.”

You just stared at him in stunned silence for a minute. As you stare at him, you feel your memory aligning with the sight in front of you. You hardly remembered the sight you had seen, you had been in so much pain, but you had seen flashes of flame. A white, red, and gold figure, with an unnaturally eerie light. Was it really possible?

“How do you know about my… thing?” you finally ask.

“Well, the unasked for human “sacrifices” usually don’t survive that kind of stabbing. It seems that someone has put a spell on you,” he said, “It’s a seal of protection. No matter what happens to you, you eventually regenerate. Your body will heal any fatal injury, though, it appears that there are some remnants of the attack. Whoever cast it must not have had a lot of experience and didn’t really know what they were doing.”

The memories of your mothers tear filled yet hopeful eyes rushed back into your mind. Had she…?

“Is there a way to reverse it?” you asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said, “I suppose I would have to look through my grimoires, but it may take some time for me to look.”

He looks at you thoughtfully.

“You sure you want me to reverse it?” he said, “Most humans would kill to live on earth forever.”

“No. I haven’t even been alive that long, and I already know I never want to experience coming back to life after I die again,” you said.

He puts the tray down next to you on the bed.

“Understandable. I’ve had my own fair share of accidents and long recoveries,” he said, “I know from experience it can be quite unpleasant.”

As if to prove his point, you grimace as you sit up a bit more to eat. Your entire chest feels like it will rip back open if you’re not careful.

“I think you should stay here for a little while,” he said, fingers nearing your face. He stops just short of touching you though as he sees you tense, eventually drawing his hand away and behind his back. An awkward silence permeates the room.

“Anyway, you need time to properly recover after everything that has happened to you,” he said, “Get some proper rest. I’ll leave you to that.”

With that he walks out, closing the door.

---

“I have a little surprise for you.”

You had been bored as you slowly healed. After about a week and a half, you were able to get out of bed, but there wasn’t too much to do. Your “nurse” had provided you with some books to read and puzzles, but other than that, there wasn’t much to do but rest. Though, considering how tired the attack had made you, you supposed you shouldn’t be complaining that much. You were feeling much better now, and the dullness was setting in.

Today though, Lucifer had a certain look in his eyes as he sat on the edge of your bed. He closed his hands together. As he opened them, smoke pealed and a black cat curled out. The pretty little thing which slinked onto the bed and kneaded its paws on the soft fabric. You offer a smile at his attempts to cheer you up. You had to admit that there was a certain charm about him.

“You created that?” you asked.

“Well, technically no,” he said, “I can’t make anything out of nothing. But I may have borrowed him from somewhere else.”

He absently stroked the animal. Squirming a bit, your mind raced. He seemed to be in a decent mood. You had wanted to broach a certain topic in the last day or two, but you weren’t really sure how. You didn’t want to come across as ungrateful and upset him, but he seemed to be in a good mood. Perhaps now was the time.

“Um… so, I’m doing a lot better now,” you said.

“You are,” he said.

“And… I was wondering what you thought about me going back,” you said, “I think I’d be ok.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Unable to handle the awkward silence, you start babbling, rushing words out.

“I think I’d be able to handle it,” you said, “I can walk and take care of myself again. Thank you for all of your help, but I don’t want to bother you any longer.”

“You’re not bothering me at all,” he said, “I wouldn’t worry about that. Besides, I think it’s in your best interest that you stay somewhere where your safe.”

“Yes, but I can’t stay in here forever,” you said, “I don’t belong in here.”

While you had to admit he had been an attentive caretaker, you were tired of seeing the same four walls all the time. You needed to get out of here.

“…Perhaps not,” he said finally looking at you, eyes serious, “But I know that if I let you out of this building, some demon or other will get their hands on you and kill you. Or at least attempt to. And trust me, with the kind of sickos that end up down here, you do not want to end up in the wrong hands with an ability like that and no way to defend yourself. That will not be a fun time for you.”

“Er… I don’t mean out there. Can’t you just bring me back to the surface?” you ask.

He is again quiet for a long moment, a look on his face that you can’t quite place. He drums his fingers against his cane for a minute before sighing.

“Do you truly want to go back though?” he said, “You really think that’s a good idea? I mean, look what they did to you!”

He finally looks at you and waves his hand as if to dismiss your unspoken pleas, suddenly animated.

“You think no ones going to try something like this again?” he said, “That if that group finds out you survived, they’re going to be all huncky dory about it? That maybe they’ll just go ‘Oh, wowy, our little sacrifice went wrong. That’s a shame, let’s try a goat this time!’”

“Not all humans are bad,” you protest, “Plenty of us are good. I mean, you like me well enough.”

He scoffs at your words.

“Sure, I suppose some humans won’t try to take advantage of you, but just like down here, if the wrong one finds out about this little… gift of yours, and your best days on earth will rival some of the worst ones down here! Even well meaning humans might want to dissect you to find a futile way to live on earth forever,” he said.

“So what, you just want me to stay here forever?” you said, trying not to sound hysterical, “In fucking hell?”

“I mean, it’s really not so bad down here, as long as you’re with the right people,” he said, “And you couldn’t have better company. Eh?” You swear you hear a horn honk as he winks at you and shakes his elbow.

His attempt at joking optimism falls flat, with the horn sound making it only seem pathetic. The disappointment you feel must be showing on your face as he eventually sighs again and looks at you with condescending pity. It was the patronizing gaze an adult may give a child who is upset that they can’t have ice cream for dinner or an owner would give a pet that wants to jump out of a moving car.

Silly little thing. I’m sorry you’re so angry, but this is for your own good.

“I’m not a child,” you finally say, which only causes him to chuckle softly.

“No, you are not a child. It’s simply that I’m thousands of years old, and you’re what? In your mid-twenties, I would guess. It’s not as if I have more experience with the world or how humans work,” he said.

You glare at him.

“What? Don’t look at me like that! You know it’s true,” he said, “People with something special to offer tend to only attract the worst kinds of attention. Trust me, I know.”

“And I’m supposed to expect that your intentions are pure?” you said, before you could think better of it.

Rather than anger though, his face contorts to one of hurt.

“F/N, I’m sorry if I’ve ever done anything to give you the impression that I want anything from you,” he said, moving closer to you and resting his hand on yours, “I know you’re not thrilled about this situation, but you were left for dead as a sacrifice. I couldn’t have just let you suffer, it wouldn’t have been right. It’s only proper that I take responsibility for what happened to you.”

You just continue to glare at him, but a part of you hears a degree of reason in his words. You feel some guilt tighten in your chest. Perhaps you were being unreasonable. This only makes you angrier though, at him and yourself. You don’t want to concede to him.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he said, “I know what it means to go one and on forever, and there are things that are much, much worse than death. Trust me.”

He’s moved so close to you now that your noses almost touch.

“Please try to understand. I’m doing this because I truly care for you. I would hate it if something happened to you,” he said.

As he speaks, he traces the edge of your chin with his fingers, and you suppress the natural urge you have to pull away. No aggression is in his eyes, only a certain pity and tenderness. He stares into your eyes like this for a moment before unexpectedly, gently and softly, he presses his lips to yours.

Wait, what?

It’s so unexpected that you freeze up in a sort of shock. You don’t even push him off of you, just hold still as he caresses your mouth with his own. Seeming encouraged that you haven’t pulled away, he moves his hand from your chin to your hair, stroking it and guiding it closer to him. It feels… pleasant. Nice. You hadn’t noticed, but at some point he had brought his other hand to your side and was slowly drawing it up your stomach, up to the side of your breast, not touching anything too intimately. Somehow, this felt more forbidden than if he had touched you more sensually. Slowly, you allow yourself to open your mouth, as if to deepen the kiss, and your fingers reach up to his shirt and rest against his chest.

Until you remember that you’re kissing the literal devil.

When that sinks in, you shudder and wretch your face away from him. He looks surprised, but allows you to do so.

“What are you doing?!” you screech.

“Um…”

“What on earth?” you cry out, horrified, “Why did you do that?!”

He looks a bit baffled for a second, “Did you not like it?”

“Yes! I mean, no! I mean- I-I… Don’t do that again!” you said, “I didn’t like it.”

“… All right,” he said, “If you say so.”

You feel your face heat up as you break eye contact for a second, and while he moves away a little, as if to respect your space, you catch a bit of a satisfied light in his eyes at your blushing.

–-

Lucifer ignored the pang of guilt in his gut. It was easy to squish, like an ant beneath his outstretched finger. There for just a second, and then crushed with no hope of resurrecting. He’d had plenty of practice ignoring the things he didn’t want to pay attention to, and this was no different.

You were so naive. To anyone with a hint of demonic knowledge, they would know it would be quite easy for him to remove the spell. With a few exceptions, nearly every curse that was cast could be reversed one way or another, and yours was no different. It would be child’s play for him to remove the spell and return you to your home. He was the king of hell after all.

You didn’t need to know that though.

So long he had lived life alone. He and Lilith had parted ways long ago, and he hadn’t really found anyone else. The hellborn, while at times enticing, lived short lives compared to what he had. They weren’t eternal, and they often fell under the influence of the sinners. Too many times a well meaning demon had been led on a less than savory path.

Even without that problem though, connection was so difficult for him. There was a part of him that almost seemed to disassociate whenever he was around others, even those he cared about. Yet here, with you, things were so easy. You had been literally handed to him as a gift, and your helpless ingenue personality had rekindled the softer, more romantic side of him. Perhaps he was being selfish, keeping you like this, but it wasn’t as if he couldn’t recompense for whatever frustrations you were feeling.

Though for now you claimed that you didn’t like him, he could see the embarrassed desire in your eyes. Not that he would humiliate you for it. He would draw that desire out from you until it flowed from you as naturally as a river flows downstream. Already you were kissing him back, even if a bit shyly, and at this rate he was sure that he would soon have you acquiescing to more intimate expressions of his affection.

Yes, you were a little peeved now, but you’d get over it. It wasn’t as if you really knew what you wanted anyway. Humans were so difficult. Give them free will and let them do what they think they want, and they still screw it all up. They were so foolish, falling for delusions and falsehoods so easily. He couldn’t let that happen with you.

[woundedoves]

B, I, O, V, W for Blade? If it's not too much of a bother darling <33 I just love him so muchhh

(⁠｡⁠・⁠/⁠/⁠ε⁠/⁠/⁠・⁠｡⁠)

Congrats on 100+ followers sweetheart♡

NSFW Alphabet: B, I, O, V, W + Blade x Bottom GN!Reader

a/n: its no a bother! thank you love!!! <3 you can see the Alphabet List Here!

CW: Blade has self degrading thoughts about himself, not proofread

B: Body Part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For Blade, he doesn’t like any part of himself, he despises his whole body. Though if you were to ask Yingxing, or watch Blade for a little while, you’d see him gazing at his hands a lot, so I’d say his hands. His favourite body part on you would be your arms, the place he feels secure in at least for a little while.

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect of it…)

Oh boy. He is not great at intimacy or being romantic in the conventional sense, during sex he shows intimacy through making sure you’re comfortable and not in pain, he does not ask, his eyes search your body with a cold gaze to see any discomfort, he’s your boyfriend after all, he understands your body language very well.

Outside of sex, it’s the little things. Little things like your favourite drink being stocked the day after you almost ran out, like plugging your phone into its charger when you fall asleep forgetting to, checks your medicine drawer every day making sure you’re up to date with them, carries you to the bed when you fall asleep on the couch, just sitting by you silently as he puts his shoulder on yours while you game. Blade may never love again like he used to, but goddamn he’s trying his best.

O: Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Depending on the kind of day he’s had and what you want he doesn’t mind. He used to be slightly clumsy while giving head but after a few times he got really good at it… like real good, he loves the taste of you in his mouth more than anything. Prefers to sit when you give him head, trying to hide his slightly flushed face as he watches you with half lidded eyes, cock throbbing inside your mouth.

V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make.)

Quiet. Very quiet that sometimes you had to ask him if he’s okay when you first started dating but you’ve gotten used to it, his breathing gets heavier, hisses a bit when he bottoms out inside you, grunts when he’s about to cum and you’ve caught a quiet whimper of your name when he cums inside you a few times, it's pretty cute.

W: Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice.)

Doesn’t have many kinks but one thing he loves is when he’s fully clothed and you’re stark naked, he hates how he looks so I’d imagine that would be the best case scenario where you either ride that dick or he bends your body into the mating position, depending on the location of course.

[alargehunkofdebris]

the necessary anguish of the Good Omens 2 finale

Ah ok. So after 4 years of waiting post Season One and ten cumulative years of bookish fannery, I watched bonified New Content of Good Omens. And when those credits rolled, I sat there, not in my expected state of pleasant satisfaction, but in a state of abject shock.

I actually don’t know if I’ve ever had such a reaction to a show before. Or, rather, that I could still have such a reaction. I’m thirty, for goodness sakes – I was planning on being thrilled and charmed and entertained, not having my hands shake so much that it was hard to type a text. I wasn’t planning on losing an entire night of sleep because my heart wouldn’t stop pounding really hard, Neil. This was not expected. I had an estate sale to run the next day – by God, I needed that sleep.

 Anyway. These are my thoughts on the season, and on this upswell of mourning/unhappiness at such a gut-wrenching ending. As always, this are my dumb opinions and nothing more; take with a grain of salt, etc. 

I have seen a lot of suffering on Tumblr today. Everyone is in pain, and it makes sense. I, too, am in pain. But I might be in the minority, because I thanked God/Mr. Gaiman when things turned to pure pain in the end. Because narratively, despite the anguish we all feel, this is how it needs to be. And I was getting real worried there for a second.

When we have a mini-series (ie, a show with a set number of seasons) it can’t act the same as a series without a set end. We’ve got three potential seasons; therefore, they logically should behave like a three-act play, or the three acts in the standard Western movie/book plot. This middle season is the middle act, the second act. While it definitely doesn’t work exactly the same way, and needs its own story arc to work as a season, it is still functionally the middle part of one overarching plot.

And what usually happens near the end of the second act? All Is Lost, and the Dark Night of the Soul.

We NEED this to happen. This is what makes a plot delicious. If we’d had this perfect, lovely, romantic season where the stakes aren’t raised one bit and everything is fixed at the end, we would want for nothing and the gorgeous tension that keeps us waiting and watching would be lost. We wouldn’t feel that drive to create fanfics and fanart, we wouldn’t have the need to speculate or dream, because most of the tension was eased, and you just can’t have that if you want a highly anticipated third season. We’d have nothing huge and concrete to look forward to.

In fact, I was getting really worried once the Ineffable Bureaucracy started happening on screen, because I could see (I thought) past that bend in the road toward the end. I could see how this season might conclude, with big happy confessions of love and hugs and handholding (that’s all I expected, because I only expected the same chaste level of affection with both angelic/demonic couples) and then…then it’d all be over. What more could there be? I mean, there certainly could be more, but THIS is the main thing people waited for. The Happy Confession. The hug. The handholding. Whatever we got. And in my mind, having it now, at the end of season two, just wasn’t adding up – it did not fit. It couldn’t. No, we can’t have this now. It doesn’t work.

I get this peculiar thing that happens when things start getting too “everything is great!” in a story. I get the “someone needs to die” instinct. Instead of pure happiness that things are going great, there’s this feeling of intense discomfort, because I feel the weight of the shoe that’s failing to drop. I need it to drop, or else it throws off my entire standard-Western-narrative-trained brain’s balance. In the build up to The Scene, when things seem to be going swimmingly and heading directly towards the happiest and syrupiest of endings, I had to pause and pace my living room and roll around on the floor to alleviate the sheer build up of stress. Things can’t go this well. They can’t. There hasn’t been enough bad things, this is too sweet, too much. Can’t handle it. This can’t just be pure wish-fulfillment at this point; Good Omens shouldn’t work that way, it never has. We’d be happy in the moment, but then it’ll ultimately be a let down. No more danger. Nothing keeping them apart. No more tension, no more story. It was all too easy.

And then, finally, that shoe dropped. After a season of mainly getting along and being just thrilled with each other, they began to really argue. Things got horrific and serious, and I literally let out a breath of relief. I was able to watch without pausing every two minutes for a breather. Ok. Things weren’t over. This wasn’t the end. We had more to wait for.

And then it went on. The confession started, but in that gorgeously wrong way. And for the first time that season, I was actually feeling the stress of the story. Yes, there was danger throughout this season, but it was always layered with humour and wit. You didn’t get a demon scene without them doing something hilariously stupid. You didn’t get an angel scene without them being delightfully out-of-touch. The stakes were high, but they weren’t allowed to get EXTREMELY high. We never thought there was any question of them getting out of scrapes unscathed, because it was never all serious.

Never…until now. There was zero humour at this point. After 6 episodes of being pleasantly delighted, I was feeling the dread. However, I still thought I knew where it was going.  

See, I thought I had it figured out. If I had any extra money, I would have bet some of it. I knew that, whilst they’d likely have some kind of subtle confession of love and caring, and perhaps a touch – a hug, or a hand-hold (like Gabe and Beez) – I knew we couldn’t expect a kiss. This is a story thirty-three years in the making, and it’s always been in that grey area. They weren’t humans; they didn’t necessarily show affection that way. Besides that, we’ve had so many TV shows that get close, but rarely ones that go all the way to smoochville. OFMD was one of the very first, but it was new. It wasn’t an old, established story from the 90s like this is. It didn’t have decades-old fans waiting with bated breath for canon content. For Good Omens, we heard it time and time again in interviews; it’s a kind of love story. They had this kind of marriage. They cared for each other. They had a bromance. It’s close, but never quite there. So I thought I knew exactly how this would go, and would be thrilled with what we got. 

And then it absolutely didn’t go that way. It went exactly as far as so many hoped. And it went there like a knife to the gut.

And it was perfect.

Goddamn, what a season ending. Despite my lack of appetite and failure to sleep, I could not be happier with what Mr. Gaiman did. I am screaming crying throwing up and I’m thrilled about it.

The middle of a story is typically what drags; it never holds the highest stakes. Lord knows what we’re going to get in season three (knocking on wood), but I can only expect it to get bigger and heavier. And by God and/or Satan, am I prepared, in this deliciously painful purgatory, to wait and see.  

[feeling-pushy]

Journey to the Kingdom

Thank you to my anonymous commissioner for giving me yet another amazing commission with Mika! Love writing for her and this premise was a really fun one! I hope I'll get to write for again in the future!

~2k, fpreg, in the woods, alone in the woods, nsfw

The ancient forest enveloped Mika’s small caravan as it creaked along the narrow path. Sunlight pierced through the dense canopy, casting dappled shadows on the moss-covered ground. Mika, with her shoulder-length black hair tied back, looked out from her coach seat, her light grey eyes scanning the surroundings. Her hands instinctively rested on the gentle swell of her belly, a soft smile playing on her lips as she felt a flutter of movement from within.

The journey had been long and arduous, but the promise of gold and the honor of delivering the future heir of a distant kingdom had driven her to accept the task. Normally, she would have refused such a request, especially being in the late stages of her own pregnancy. However, the prospect of securing a prosperous future for her child outweighed the risks.

The rhythmic clatter of wheels over uneven ground punctuated the quiet, each bump sending a twinge through Mika's body. Her once slender frame had softened during pregnancy, a transformation she accepted with grace, knowing it signified the miracle of life growing within her. With a soft sigh, she shifted in her seat, attempting to find a more comfortable position to ease the discomfort  tugging at her lower back and hips.

Traveling alone was not ideal, but it allowed her the peace and solitude she needed to prepare for the task ahead. The forest around her was alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves.

"You're going to meet a little prince or princess soon." Mika murmured softly, her voice a soothing counterpoint to the rhythmic sway of the caravan. She placed a gentle hand over her belly, feeling the movements within. "We're almost there. Just one more days travel."

The caravan jolted over a particularly rough patch of road, pulling Mika from her reverie. She winced slightly, placing a hand on her lower back to ease the discomfort. Her hands rested lightly on the reins, guiding the sturdy mare along the winding path.

As Mika adjusted her position on the cushioned seat once again, her thoughts turned to the practicalities of the journey. She had packed all the necessary supplies, her medical instruments carefully wrapped and stored. She carried herbs and potions, remedies for pain and complications, as well as her own provisions. The caravan was modest but sufficient, providing shelter and a place to rest during the long nights.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over the forest. Mika knew she would need to find a suitable place to camp for the night. Aside from that, her back could use the rest, as the jostling of the cart had agitated it, causing her discomfort all day. She guided the caravan off the main path, following a narrow trail that led to a small clearing.

As she set about making camp, she felt a tight cramp ripple through her abdomen, squeezing her hips. She paused, leaning against the side of the caravan, breathing deeply to ease the discomfort. It had been a long day, and the constant jostling of the caravan had taken its toll. She waved the pain away, convincing herself it was just the strain of the journey as she got back to setting up the camp.

As darkness fell, Mika sat by the small fire she had kindled, the fire crackling and popping as she settled down on a blanket spread on the ground. The warmth of the flames and the quiet of the forest provided a brief respite from the day's challenges. Setting up camp had taken longer than normal, her having to stop now and again to ease a flare-up of pain in her back and hips, still sore from the journey.

But now everything was set up and she was settled. Mika closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment of peace as she let the warmth of the fire wash over her.

Just as she began to relax, a more powerful cramp seized her, doubling her over in pain. She clutched her belly, gasping for breath. This was different, much stronger than the earlier cramps. Panic flickered in her eyes.

"No... Not now." she whispered to herself, she placed a now trembling hand upon her abdomen, struggling to stay calm. Another wave of pain followed quickly, causing her to wince, eyes closing tightly as she focused on her breathing, just as she had counseled countless women before in their labors. There was no denying it now, she was in labor, alone in the middle of the forest, far from any help.

Her mind raced, assessing her situation. She knew she had to act quickly. The supplies she carried for others' deliveries would now have to be used for her own. Fighting through the pain of the contractions that now came in waves, she crawled to the caravan, rummaging for the necessary items. She found clean linens, a sharp knife, and herbs to ease the pain.

Mika set up a makeshift birthing area near the fire, laying out the linens and preparing for the task ahead. Despite the fear and uncertainty, her training as a midwife kicked in, guiding her actions with a steady hand.

As the next contraction hit, she gripped the edge of a nearby log, sweat beading on her forehead. The forest seemed to close in around her, the shadows lengthening as night fell.

As the contraction subsided, Mika eased herself down on her back, propping herself up on her elbows. The firelight flickered across her face, “You know, this isn’t the best timing, little one.” she murmured, her voice a mixture of pain and tenderness. “But I’m still excited to meet you. We’re going to get through this, together.”

Time passes, and the forest around Mika was now completely dark, save for the fire as it casted it’s long, flickering light. The contractions were relentless now, coming in waves as they squeezed and then released, and Mika could feel the pressure building inside her. It was a deep, almost unbearable force, pressing down with a sense of urgency that she couldn't ignore.

She planted her feet firmly on the ground, lifting her hips to rock and sway them, trying to relieve the mounting pressure. The movements provided some small comfort, a way to keep her focus amidst the waves of pain. She breathed deeply, in and out, her hands gripping the edges of the blanket beneath her.

“Come on, little one.’ she panted, her voice a bit strained, ‘We’re almost there. Just a little more.”

And then, in the midst of the turmoil, she felt it—a profound shift deep within her. With a small almost popping sensation, a gush of warm, clear fluid came from between her legs, soaking the blanket beneath her. Her water had broken, the sensation both a relief and a new source of anxiety, knowing that she might need to push soon.

Turns out, she didn’t have to wait long. As alongside the next building contraction Mika felt a deep, instinctual urge to push. The pressure was immense, and she knew she couldn't remain lying on her back any longer.

With great effort, she adjusted her position, shifting her weight and the blanket beneath her. She moved to sit up against a nearby fallen tree, the rough bark providing a solid support. The cool earth beneath her and the sturdy trunk at her back brought a measure of comfort amidst the intensity of labor.

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she braced herself, planting her feet firmly in the ground. The firelight flickered across her face, highlighting the determination in her eyes. “I’m ready now.’ she murmured to her baby, her voice a mixture of pain-tinged resolve, ‘Let’s do this.”

Another contraction surged through her, and Mika bore down, pushing with all her strength. The sensation was overwhelming, but felt heavenly at the same time as it gave her purpose. She gritted her teeth, her body straining with the effort, every muscle focused on bringing her child into the world.

Time seems to pass nebulously as Mika fell into the rhythm of childbirth, only aware of her body and the progress she made with each heaving push. The pressure intensified, and she could feel the baby’s head descending. She let a primal sound escape her lips, echoing through the forest.

Sweat streamed down her face, mingling with tears, as she soon starts to feel a bulging between her legs, growing a little bigger every time she bears down. This drove her to push harder, knowing it was the final barrier between her and the moment she had been waiting for.

She gripped her thighs, anchoring herself against the overwhelming pressure and weight. With a deep breath, she pushed with all her might, her muscles straining. Then she started to feel a little stretch, as her folds started to part. By the time the contraction breaks and she stops to catch her breath, it's starting to burn.

She reached down instinctively, her fingers brushing against the soft, wet hair of her child. The sensation filled her eyes with tears of pain and joy, “You're coming, my love.’ she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion, ‘Just a little more.”

Feeling her child’s head filled her with energy as she heaved anew, gritting her teeth as the baby's head emerged a little further, the burning sensation increasing. She could feel her muscles straining, her body stretching to accommodate the new life that was so close to entering the world.

Giving another big push, she felt the baby's head reach full crown, the pressure immense but exhilarating. Mika’s fingers brushed against the baby’s head again, feeling the soft hair. Mika panted, her voice filled with both exhaustion and triumph. “A-Almost here. You’re almost here.”

The next contraction gripped her, and Mika pushed slowly but firmly, feeling the baby's head inching forward. She could feel the baby’s head emerging, and her breaths came in short gasps as she paused. Mika then pushed again, guiding the baby's head out as she birthed the head fully. The baby’s head now rested against her thigh, the shoulders still within her. She could feel the slight movements, her child so close to joining the world.

Mika took a moment to breathe, her belly pulsing in time with her breaths. Mika then leaned forward and carefully supported the baby’s head with one hand, as she bore down once more, the pressure building as she focused on delivering the shoulders.

She pushed with all her might, feeling the baby's shoulders rotate and emerge one by one. The sensation was intense, but Mika stayed focused as with one final, fierce push, the rest of the baby’s body tumbled out, slippery and warm.

Mika’s heart swelled with overwhelming joy and relief as she scooped her newborn into her arms. The baby's first cries filled the clearing and echoed through the night. Tears streamed down Mika's face as she cradled the tiny, wriggling form against her chest.

“H-Hi Baby. Oh wow.’ she croaked, her voice choked with emotion, ‘You’re finally here. Welcome home.” The pain and struggle faded into the background as Mika held her baby close, the firelight bathing them in it’s warm glow.

Mika's journey had been long and arduous, but as she approached the castle, a sense of accomplishment washed over her. The towering stone walls of the kingdom’s stronghold loomed ahead, the castle gates opening in anticipation of her arrival. She cradled her newborn close to her chest, the baby swaddled snugly in a soft blanket, their tiny face peeking out as they slept peacefully.

As she made her way through the grand archway, she was greeted by a steward who bowed deeply. “Lady Mika.’ he said, his voice a respectful murmur, ‘The king and queen are awaiting you in the royal chambers. This way, please.”

As she was led to the chambers to meet the expectant mother, Her baby stirred slightly, and she adjusted the blanket, whispering soothing words. She had been through an incredible journey, both physically and emotionally, but now she was ready for the next chapter in her life and to assist in bringing another life into the world.