#another profile i never posted but wrote

[gghostwriter]

Hey, how you doing? So I was wondering if you could write a one-shot where Y/N visits Spencer in prison and just like how when JJ visited him, Spencer doesn’t like the way the inmates are looking at Y/N, and when he gets back to his cell or when he is in the prison yard, he hears inmates talking about Y/N and gets protective. Saying stuff like “don’t talk about her like that, you don’t get to talk about her” or something similar.

I am unsure if there is a fanfic like this so just in case, I am asking ☺️

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Trope: Established Relationship; Protective!Spencer Word Count: 0.8k A/N: apologies that this took a while. I was feeling very hyper-critical and unsatisfied with anything I wrote so this collected dust in my drafts a bit—still do feel it if I’m being honest but I felt the motivation to revisit my rough draft and make some changes before posting. I hope you like it! Main masterlist

His. // Spencer Reid

Spencer hasn’t felt himself ever since his capture. If he was being honest, his descend to rock bottom started even before then but that wasn’t the point. No, the point was the accumulation of his lack of sleep in his single cell—only an hour at most, the constant alertness from keeping his identity as a fed hidden—his fashioned shiv always an inch away from reach, and the group shared meals—never knowing what other contaminants it has, all made him feel one step away from snapping. He was teetering on the edge of lashing out and like the unsubs that he used to profile in black and white typing, he only needed one stressor before all hell broke loose.

And that stressor was you. 

Visitation hours were always bittersweet. It soothed his soul to see your expressive eyes and beautiful face but dread always came after, knowing the minutes were counting down before you and him had to separate. He had always hated the idea of separation, hated not seeing you wholly and safe.

During the past cases, the bodies of each victim somehow always reminded him of you and here, locked in the confines with other criminals, made his hyper-vigilance of protecting you increase by a hundred. 

“Love, you don’t have to come visit me,” he suggested as the jeers from the other inmates about your looks echoed on the walls. Each whistle and vulgar mention of how your looks get their gears revving was a chip in his knightly armor and although he could see you trying to pay it no attention, it soothe no pain that he was the reason why you were exposed to all this sexualization.

“It’s fine, Spence. I can handle it as long as I get to see you,” you defended. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too,” the corners of his mouth lifting to a small smile. Four simple words that didn’t fully express the ache echoing in his chest. He could read in several languages but none of them could fully explain the loss that reverberates in him when it’s time to part ways.

You picked on the loose threading of his cardigan adorning your body. “I’ve been visiting your mom. She asks about you a lot. How you’re doing, how you’re being treated and uh—” your lips quivered from emotion “—she misses you too.” 

“Thank you for seeing her. Can you tell her I’m doing fine? I don’t want her to worry too much about me,” he uttered a lie. He wasn’t doing great and you could see that but having been together for so long, you understood the reasoning behind the fib without needing any explanation.

I’d like to get a piece of that, huh. Another crude sentence about you reached his ears causing him to snap his neck to the side and clench his jaw. With all of his vast intellect, Spencer never did understand the psychology behind men catcalling as a form of flirtation and expecting the recipient to react positively. But then again, men who perpetuate this behavior were more of animals in his eyes. Plebeian in thought and unappealing in form.

Maybe there was something in the stale air of prison that made him his hackles rise or maybe it was just his biological imperative to protect what was his. Either reason, he felt himself snap the next day during yard hour when a duo of inmates sat beside him to slobber about your beauty and body.

“Hey Twig, was that your girl the other day? That pretty young thing?” The one with the neck tattoo taunted. “Tell me, does she taste as sweet as she looks?” 

His bald headed partner sneered. “Man, I don’t think he can get her off, probably doesn’t even know how she sounds like in bed. With how skinny he is, bet he’s also pencil—”

“Have some respect. You don’t get to talk about her like that.” Spencer snarled out. He felt like an animal about to escape from his cage—gone was the logical ex-FBI agent and all that remained was a convicted, highly intelligent felon no longer afraid of committing a crime. Additional blood coating his shackled hands was nothing if done in your name.

They both snickered. “And what you going to do about it, huh?” 

He ground his teeth, saying nothing. Spencer knew the statistics of him winning in a fight specially 2 vs 1 was slim to none so he catalogued their faces and numbers in his vast mind and bid his time like a snake lying in the wait for his prey to settle in faux comfort.

“Thought so. C’mon man,” the one with the neck tattoo patted his back and started to stand with his partner. “I’lll see your girl in my fantasies tonight, Twig.” 

But before they were out of earshot, he turned and called back a warning—his last mercy before the execution. “You’re going to regret it.” 

They both hooted in laughter, unaware that Spencer makes good on his promises—threats really, anything to protect his girl.

And when he poisoned a group of inmates who were smuggling drugs inside the jail, he made sure that all those men who jeered sexual innuendos at you, counting in the two who confronted him in the yard, were included. His methods cold, detached, and impersonal—something he learned from the killers he had spent half of his life profiling.

There were whispers, of course, who caused the contamination. He wasn’t deaf. He knew it was what labelled him as a danger and almost untouchable in prison. An emerging alpha in this testosterone filled animal kingdom. The same status that extend to you, his chosen queen.

And so during your next visit when no cat calls reached your ears, you innocently asked about it and he just shrugged like it was no big deal. He didn’t want to taint your mirage of him any more than his stint in prison had done. You were his to protect, his to care for, and his to love.

To put it simply, you were his.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[olderthannetfic]

How do we feel about the "Um just so you know the person you reblogged this from is an [insert undesirables category here]"? When it's some random meme or otherwise uncontroversial post, and not some elaborate political opinion post with a bunch of dogwhistles in it.

Because I just got it from a fandom acquaintance/friend and it felt really fucking unsettling.

Aside from the mutuals that I know from fandom and interact with, most of the other content I interact with on Tumblr is more about what it says than about who said it for me. I don't ever pay attention to who wrote what or which other Tumblr users they had beef with or whatever, I just read the post itself and decide if I like what it says or not. If someone posts something I REALLY dislike, I block them and move on, more in the hopes of seeing less of that sort of thing than with the intention of somehow eliminating that specific person. I never pay attention to who my mutuals are reblogging from and if I note that one of them reblogged something featuring a poster who's famously unhinged, I just assume they don't know and move on because I know my mutuals are reasonable people generally speaking. I like the anonymity of Tumblr and the focus on the content of the posts and not on specific people. It's why I hang out here and not on one of the platforms that are all about influencers and the like.

So today I was going through the blogs of a couple of people I don't follow to find a specific post and in the process I saw a fairly uncontroversial post I liked, reblogged it, and moved on. Then less than an hour later I was met with a wall of text in my DMs accusing that poster of having questionable political opinions and describing the beef they had with another person where they threatened them etc. etc.

TBH I felt incredibly uncomfortable with the level of scrutiny implied in paying attention to who I reblog random shit from, as well as the level of presumption in coming to my DMs and lecture me about it. I know nothing about the blogger they were talking about, have never interacted with him, and will probably never even have the opportunity or the desire to interact with him. He wasn't even the AUTHOR of the post, it was just on his profile. It makes me want to never post anything ever again.

I just... don't see the point of this sort of behaviour in general? "You shouldn't be giving [bad people] a platform" - look, I genuinely don't think that reblogging a pretty landscape from someone who turns out to be a TERF or whatever is platforming those beliefs in any way. I'm sorry, but I just don't see how my behaviour leads to any material harm to anyone. Even if I follow the person, the moment they start talking about TERF-y shit I'm gonna unfollow and/or block. The probability of me throwing all my well-developed political opinions down the drain and getting radicalized through the slippery slope of reblogging "CATS ARE SO CUTE WHEN THEY SWAT AT THINGS" from someone with a dogshit take about Palestine is literally zero. If it's the content of the post that's wrong, just explain why to me, or point out the dogwhistles or whatever. I'm open to being wrong in my opinions. I'm not open to my online friends acting like the fucking Stasi.

Maybe I'm just too old for these newfangled social politics but it just feels like either pointless catty high school drama or an attempt at social control that I can't help but interpret in a hostile manner. Even if it's followed by - as it was in my case - something along the lines of "obviously I'm not accusing YOU of anything!! I'm sorry it came off that way!!" when I pushed back against it. It feels like 1950s conservative housewives making sure you're not even greeting any of the town Undesirables at the grocery store, because you wouldn't want to be Morally Tainted by saying Hello to a divorcee!

It's kind of similar to the whole issue about people still writing HP fic. Am I interested in HP fic? TBH not at all - the author had soured it for me with her behaviour even before it was obvious how much she hated trans people. Do I think the people doing it are somehow harming anyone or putting money in JKR's pocket? I honestly can't see how, and so far none of the people adamantly against it have managed to explain it to me in a satisfying way, so I'm just gonna let it slide off me as another random internet hobby I don't get or care about.

--

My reaction is "Do you understand how Tumblr works? Do you?"

We have enough trouble with people reblogging barely-hidden anti-kink or homophobic shit. Who has time for cootie-based problems?

[humblequestvinyl]

i'm not pretty

I’M NOT PRETTY, CONRAD FISHER X FEM!READER

APART OF THE ‘ANOTHER ON THE WAY’ SERIES

SUMMARY: while dating one of the hottest boys on cousin’s beach, and an accidental like on an old instagram post, singer y/n l/n realizes exactly what her relationship with the entails, and past girls she might have pissed off.

inspired by i’m not pretty by megan moroney

◀ ⏸ ▶

lowercase is intentional! wc: 0.7k

warnings: reader is blonde today (i promise this will make sense), belly being kinda a bitch!! (peace and love), use of nickname/relationship nicknames (babe)

a/n: guys this is not my best work but thats what i get for not writing since november

“UM, HEY CONRAD?”

y/n called out as she sat in the kitchen of the susannah fisher’s beach house, and the boy turned the corner, giving the girl he loved a wide smile.

“what’s up sunshine?”he questioned, resting his head on the shoulder of the blonde, and he could see instagram open on the girl’s phone, “who’s this?”

y/n pulled up a profile, with her face filled with confusion, and she heard conrad groan as soon as he saw it, “is it someone bad?”

“my ex girlfriend.”conrad told her, and the girls lips shaped into an ‘oh’, before tilting her head slightly.

“but i thought you and nicole were just a fling?”she questioned before conrad went back and tapped on the profile once more, “sunshine that isn’t nicole.”

“that’s belly.”

isabel conklin. the girl that had always loved conrad, and could never move past the breakup between the two. even now when she was interested in his brother, and conrad was dating y/n, the girl couldn’t move past the boy that should have been hers.

“yeah, that explains a bit of it.”y/n shifted back in her seat as conrad walked across the island, and raised an eyebrow at her, “what! you and i both know she wasn’t exactly nice to me the last time i was here while she was.”

y/n was right, belly wasn’t nice to her the last time the two were both at the beach house together. in the blonde’s words, the girl was a bitch. but she tried to be as nice as she could for conrad’s sake, knowing how much the conklins meant to his family.

“did she comment anything?”conrad questioned, and y/n shook her head no, “maybe she heard one of the songs you wrote and accidentally liked the post.”

the blonde gave the boy a look, knowing how wrong he was, “i love how naive you are.”

“i am not naive!”conrad argued as the blonde walked away, up towards the guest bedroom she had been staying in at the fisher’s beach house.

“keep telling yourself that babe!”y/n shouted before she climbed up the stairs, and into the room where her guitar sat, just screaming at her to write a song for her upcoming EP.

the girl had recently been signed to a record label, and while the inspiration had been there, the words wanting to be sung had disappeared from thin air. until now it was almost like a fire had been lit under her as soon as she got the instagram notification, all the words wanted to spill out of her.

it was almost hours before conrad finally peaked into the room, to see his girlfriend hovering over her song book, with her guitar playing and he could see himself in the background of her video.

“somewhere out there, my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend is scrolling through my instagram.”she sang, and a small smile crept up onto conrad’s face knowing this would make her ep.

“tearing me down, passing the phone around like there’s nothing better to talk about.”the blonde went on, playing what conrad would call a beautiful cord progression on her guitar, “zoomin out, zoomin in, overanalysing.”

“head queen of the mean girl’s committee.”

“but whatever helps, keep telling yourself i’m not that pretty.”she finished, before turning off her video, finally noticing conrad standing in the doorway.

“that’s going on the EP isn’t it?”he questioned as y/n stood up, wrapping her arms around the boy she adored.

she looked up at him with a wide smile, before nodding slightly,

“you know me so well, lover boy.”

[lynnlovesthestars]

Scars.

Pairing: Astarion x reader Genre and warnings: angst, lots of it, hurt barely any comfort, allusions to sexual assault, past trauma, graphic description of torture, kidnapping, blood, violence, set in act 3, mention of death. Notes: not proof read ngl, i wrote it after dreaming it, and i didnt even wanna read it again, i cried like a bitch cause it’s kinda like…. past experience projected? just yeah dont ask if im ok after writing this, the answer is no lmao... also just a side note since it’s the first time im posting on this profile, but english is not my first language so please be mindful about it. Edit 10/06/23: i finally went through it end edited it.. i hope i catched all the errors cause idk if i'll ever be strong enough to give it another read ahah

Getting so close to someone meant so much for Astarion, and the more he cared, the more new fears would swim through his brain. 

Since you arrived in the lower city, and his bed was no longer cold at night, a new nightmare snuck in.

The idea that Cazador would be able to get to you, and weaponize you against him, made his cold blood run even colder. Several nights you woke up to a trembling and sweating Astarion, as he was begging for mercy. He never explained too much about these nightmares to you, just letting you know it was about Cazador again and again, but he left out the haunting possibility of you getting hurt because of him. On the other hand you believed it was because you were getting so close to the Szarr palace, and Cazador knew about it just as much as Astarion did.

It was the middle of the night when the sound of a broken glass stirred you awake. You looked around you, Astarion still deep into his meditating state, while the others were asleep as well, none of them reacted to the sound like you did. Maybe you just had a light sleep, you thought, and someone in the tavern dropped a few glasses or something. It was when hands gripped your wrists that you jolted up, looking behind you. It was too dark to see, and all you could spot were the deep red eyes, like Astarion's, though they lacked the warmth of his.

A shiver ran through your spine as you realized what was happening, but when you tried to call for the others, you realized how deep in shit you actually were: no sound would leave your lips, like you were silenced.

"There's no need to be afraid, Tav." A deep cold voice whispered so close to your ear. "They can't hear you".

The voice chuckled at your failed attempts to call for Astarion, Karlach or anyone, as tears were starting to pool at the edge of your eyes.

Another pair of hands took hold of Astarion, magical shackles fastened around his hands and feet, just as they did to yours, and then they started dragging you both away.

The deep voice spent the whole travel taunting you with stories of Cazador, how cold blooded he was, and just how much he enjoyed torturing his victims. From one point of view you were already accustomed with such stories about him, but from the other, the idea of Cazador getting hold of Astarion again, made your blood freeze again. You were not going to let Cazador hurt him again. You were set on the idea.

When you reached the corridors of Cazador's palace, the silencing spell finally wore off, though Astarion was still not moving. Terror flashed through your eyes as you wondered if they had already…

"What did you do to him?!" You breathed out as you tried so hard to keep your calm in front of the spawns that were dragging and pushing you through the dark hallways.

The spawn scoffed as he pushed through and through.

"Don't worry, he's not dead" You could feel his eyes rolling at the question, like it was some dumb question you should have known the answer to. "..yet" he added at last.

You couldn't stop your mouth from twitching, between the state of rage that was slowly building up, or the terror of them hurting Astarion.

"What's going on? Can i know that at least?" You wanted so bad to cast a spell on him, charming him into freeing you, but without the use of your hands, you were useless.

"Cazador wants to give you a warm welcome into Baldur's gate" He giggled, as the smell of old blood mixed with the sour taste of the bile threatening to spill from your lips, and you couldn't hold it anymore, and your feelings started spilling out.

You couldn't help then to try and get Astarion free at least. You wanted to shake those hands off of you, to wiggle out of the shackles that bound your magic, but no matter how much you tried, you were like set in stone, unable to do anything but move forward, shed tears, and talk. Or more specifically, beg.

Beg them to hurt you, instead of Astarion. 

Beg them to keep you here, and let your star free.

Beg them to turn you if needed, but spare Astarion's life.

Anything, if it meant not hurting the man that stole your heart with a dagger to your throat.

Quickly you were tossed in a cage, adjacent to Astarion's, and locked in.

The shackles that bound your feet dissipated, as the cage started ascending upward.

It halted in front of an altar, you guessed, that directly faced into the chasm you ascended from. Other spawns, around twenty you were able to count, started taking seats around the edges, sitting all in religious silence on their knees.

Astarion was still passed out, cradled on the floor of the cage, both restraints still tightly bound to him.

"Please, please, please" You cried out as the last bit of your strength was going to be dedicated towards trying to get Astarion free, far away from this place. "Let Astarion go, i beg you" You repeated your plea again, as you saw all those spawns stir from their seats, they wanted to turn their heads, to face whoever was foolish enough to beg Cazador for mercy, to trade spots with Astarion.

Everyone in that room knew what was going to happen, he was going to show them what happens when you disobey, when you run away thinking you can escape him. Instead you were so foolish and blinded by love, that you wanted to take Astarion's place, unaware of the extent that Cazador would go to. Yet you didn't stop, you kept begging and begging until a voice, the voice, echoed through the altar's walls.

"Tsk you just gave me a wonderful idea" the man hummed as his scepter started glowing, and Astarion started stirring awake, he looked around him, his tired eyes quickly widening as the reality around him had set in his mind.

"Let her go, you son of a bitch" Astarion growled as he stood up so quick, and gripped at the iron bars separating him from Cazador. 

"Touch her and I swear I'll spill your guts right here" He spit out of the cage, a symbolic spit cause you were too far away to reach him.

"My, my, our dear Astarion has forgotten all the manners" He cooed as his lips smacked together, his voice so honeyed it was bringing you to the verge of vomit.

You wanted to reassure Astarion, let him know that you were going to do your best to free him, that you were both going to be out of there alive soon, but could you? Could you lie so much to the man you loved? Words were stuck on your tongue, making your throat drier and drier.

You guessed you zoned out for a few seconds as your head was flooded with thoughts, missing the hate Astarion was throwing at his master.

"Ah sweet Astarion, your dear Tav has given us a great idea though, it would be a shame to let it go to waste" He hummed, as the staff light up again, the lock on your cage fell down the chasm, as your trembling body was slowly being dragged out of the cage by magic.

"No, no, no, no" Astarion reprated as his eyes locked on you, falling on the long streaks of tears running down your cheeks as you tried to offer him a sad smile, your lips muttering an "it's going to be okay" while his body was about to give in to desperation, loud sobs echoed from him, as your heart broke at his sight: he was barely standing up now, his hand gripped tight as he screamed through the hall to let you go, to not hurt you, to stop. "This is just a nightmare" He fell on his knees as you were slowly dropped on the cold floor, barely keeping your head up as you realized you were still in his shirt, the one he loved on you.

"Oh dear Astarion" Cazador cooed again as he kneeled in front of you, his cold fingers getting ahold of your chin, to tilt your head towards his. "This is not a nightmare, this is real" His words were like cold daggers through your chests, you knew that whatever was going to happen, it was not going to be fun.

Before you could say anything, Cazador's hand slipped to your waist pulling on the shirt as you flinched away, disgusted by the touch of the vampire in front of you.

But he didn't care, he was swift in removing it, leaving you bare in front of dozens of eyes.

You could hear the rattling coming from Astarion's cage as he attempted to break free over and over again while his chest was about to explode.

He didn't have the right to undress you in front of everyone, he didn't have the right to touch you at all, not when he prayed every night to have the chance to see you bare, to hold you. His thoughts were swinging back and forth between desperation and deep seethed rage.

"My, my I can see why our Astarion has fallen for this little creature" Cazador's compliment almost made you retch as you stumbled back a little. "She even puts up a fight" He chuckled as he lunged forward just enough to grip at your wrist and whipping you on your feet.

Every inch of your skin was visible to everyone, from the battle scars you got through the years of adventuring, to the teeth marks on your neck, down to the stretchmarks that lived on your hips.

A shiver ran through your spine as Cazador’s fingers grazed over the two marks on your neck. “Mh, your blood seems to be sweet enough, right Astarion?” His cruel words hit Astarion through the chest. He was one word away from a breakdown as he couldn’t do anything but witness his nightmares coming alive, not his Tav, not when he would be so careful to cradle you and comfort you to his chest whenever he'd drink from you.

Whatever he was screaming was incomprehensible to you, as all you could feel was the way Cazador gripped and pushed you towards a plush chair, where he sat with legs wide open before dragging you on his lap. You felt so nauseous as he bent you towards the arm rest, making you face the cold grey floor.

You wanted to hear the taunting explanation of what he was going to do, but all the sounds were drowned by the thrumming of your chest and the desperation in your own thoughts, repeating over and over that you were going to find a way out, trying to convince your brain to shut off and dissociate as you were there, like you were just in a nightmare, and you’d be awake soon.

All you could gather was few words like “knife”, “mark”, reminder”, and then “Astarion”. He was torturing him through you, and you couldn’t do anything about it. The worst part in this, was that you were the one that gave him the idea, cause you wanted him to free Astarion, and instead he let it all out on you instead than on your Aster, as a punishment for you both. You cause you were so careless to offer yourself though you didn't know the risk, and Astarion for being reckless and disobedient. Right there, as the dagger pierced your spine, you regretted not whispering Astarion how much you loved him, while you were tight against his chest, when the world around you was asleep, and you had a corner of peace. You always knew what you felt for him, from that moment on the beach, at the shipwreck, and yet you just wanted to tell him in the right moment. But what was the right moment? You might never know, as a broken scream broke through your lips, salty tears flowing free, so much that you thought for a moment that you might have died of dehydration, if the knife wasn’t going to do it first.

He carved and carved over your back, intelligible lines and symbols as you finally understood what Astarion meant when he told you how he got his scars. How gut wrenching the pain was as he couldn’t move, and how Cazador didn't allow a break, and retraced the lines that were wobbly if he moved too much.

“You know?” Cazador asked, as everyone’s eyes were on what he thought was a work of art, your carved skin, while Astarion’s plea echoed over and over in the room. “Our sweet Astarion used to whine just like you” He hummed. “Just a pathetic little child” He spit out like venom as you could barely breathe out few words along the lines of “you disgusting monster”, though you were not sure you actually let them out until, Cazador’s laugh filled every corner of the disgraced altar. Your tadpole writhed as another line was cut at the height of your hips, before, Cazador started retracing the lines and pulling away the skin, exposing the deepest layers of your flesh, the pain was so deep your vision blurred, and you were so close to passing out right there.

You don’t know how long you sat there, you slipped between pain and numbness as Cazador slapped you back to consciousness whenever you'd slip away, you had to endure the agonizing scarring and remember every second of it. He decorated with bloody lines almost all over your body.

You didn’t know what was worse between laying on the raw scars of your back, seeing your own skin being peeled away or the cries and sobs coming from the man you loved. You had to find a way, you couldn’t give up, you couldn’t allow this monster to walk the earth again. You had to do it for Astarion.

You were not sure when he dropped you on the floor, your body barely able to hold itself together as finally you could look around you and towards Astarion. Every face around you was stoic, like they were used to witnessing such spectacle, and they knew what was going to happen next.

You wanted to reach for Astarion, to take him away from the revolting scene in front of his eyes, you wanted to take away his pain, give him the last bit of hope you had, but when you were about to link your tadpole to his to do it, you hesitated. Connecting your minds meant he would feel how dirty, wretched and lost you felt, along with the gut wrenching pain ebbing through your body.

You could barely make out the words Cazador said as his nails dig through your skin again, even when he pulled your eyes to his you could barely read his lips as he said words you just wanted to cancel from your brain. A broken sob regurgitated from your throat as he was going to take the last thing you had. You just had to let your brain go, right? To ignore the teeth dipping in your throat and the putrid hands slithering down your skin, taking away enough blood to barely keep you alive as he took you in front of everyone.  It was no longer just physical pain, it was the way you felt your own body being stolen away and used in way no one ever dared before.

Numbness was all that was left of you after a while, of your barely beating heart while more hands crawled their way through places were you never wanted anyone to touch, then, in that moment, you realized you were free of your shackles, because you were so drained and broken that you could barely do anything. You could barely by aware of your surroundings, of how many bodies were preying on you, as you could barely manage to move inches.

Your vision was all but clear, you could make out the outline of Cazador as he was buttoning up his blouse again. Then you could see Astarion, still caged, struggling to stay sane as he wanted just to take you away from the monsters abusing of you, abusing of the fact that you were powerless in front of them. His eyes were a bloodshot, he was so hurt that he resorted to supplicate for mercy, to let you go and just kill him, whatever that could stop the agonizing pain. You didn’t have much strength left, maybe if you put all of yourself, you could muster two spells before passing out again. 

It took all you had to even raise your hand towards the lock that sealed Astarion’s crate, you mustered all your willpower to cast that knock spell, just enough to let the damn lock fall down. Astarion instantly turned to you, to your teary form still being touched by unworthy creatures, noticing how your hand barely held up, as you tried to cast one more spell, just for him, before another broken scream echoed in the room, bouncing from wall to wall till it reached Astarion's core. The kind of scream that should never be drawn by someone, nevertheless by you.

The radiant dagger materialized in his hands, and for a moment he didn’t notice it as he was fixated on the broken look on your face, encouraging him to end his master, although you suffered right there, paces away. “I love you” You mutter barely, you wanted to let him know before you could draw your last breath, then everything blurred.

Everything was muffled, you couldn’t see what was going on around you, you just felt all the presences around you disappear, while Astarion’s voice was crystal clear through the excruciating pain.

"I'll kill you, then I'll bring you back, and kill you again.” He shoved Cazador on the floor, just like he did with you, to remind him how he hurt you, how he used you, how he touched the only person he should have never laid hands on. “I’ll do it over and over again until you have suffered a tenth of what you did to her. Then I'm going to gut you one more time, and paint this shithole with your putrid blood. The halls of this place will reek with your disgusting blood, to let the whole city be aware of your death and from which the hands it came from” His hands were shaky, but he had to do it. For him, but mainly for you. All that was left of him was you, and nothing could ever be enough to vindicate you.

The shiny dagger stabbed over and over again through Cazador’s chest, while Astarion cursed him, every thrust of the dagger through the heart earned a new mocking insult, a new reminder of what he did, while all of Astarion's anger was channeled into annihilating him.

You just laid there, all you could do was listen to the grunts and the hate slipping from your lover’s lips as he dipped that dagger in the gutted body. You didn’t even realized when he dropped the disemboweled body on the marble, you weren’t even sure you could breathe, at that point.

A pair of shaking arms wrapped around your drained body, Astarion’s shirt was used again to cover your skin, as he picked you up, trying to be as delicate as possible. His salty tears fell over your body as he carried away from the nauseating scene, you frail body barely shivering, and your chest barely moving. He was muttering something to you, but everything sounded foreign at your hear.

He had to move quickly, find Shadowheart or Halsin, or anyone to heal you, to keep you alive. It was in this moment that he wished he could beg a deity to keep you alive, but he didn’t trust anyone else to tend you. He needed to rush outside of this place and get you to safety. 

He didn’t expect to see everyone outside the locked ballroom door, as they fumbled to open the door. They were taken by surprise at the sight of Astarion cradling you to his chest, all covered in blood, while his eyes were a pit of pain and tears.

Shadowheart didn’t hesitate to heal you right there before they all guided you towards the tavern you've been resting. They all offered to carry you, to make Astarion breathe a bit while on your way back there, but he refused. “I can’t..” He mumbled. “I don’t want..” His voice was just a whisper, broken. “I need” He wanted to break down again with you in his arms, but he had to lay you down first, to let you rest in a warm bed, he had to bring you to safety again, away from anyone that could pose any harm to you. He needed to see that smile again, cause no power flowing through his veins could have replaced you. He failed you once, he was not going to do it again. You saved him, twice, he had to do it just once for you. He had to thank you, and he had to tell you how much he loved you.

[harkre]

I don't know where to post this—

But it isn't like she and her "group" can't drive me off the server—because I've long left it behind. And it was I who originally introduced them to "Minecraft" which I had made a realm and invited them alongside friends. However, when people were suggesting I made a server—I told them it would take me awhile to make one. Well—Niklos couldn't wait and took everyone off from my realm and invited them to 'their server' without inviting me which I had to third-party to get a invite because I didn't even know about it!

And many don't know the actually reason why I left Moon Guard—it was due to "Niklos Adamant" Guild Leader of the Remnants of Lordaeron and it wasn't due to the "Minecraft" incident. They are manipulative and most of this stems due to lack of communication from them and other people. The only person that really communicated to me about any complaints was the leader from the Residuum. Apparently "Niklos" had a problem with me for months but never communicated about it once despite our close proximity in-game and being friends in discord. They never contacted me to expression their complaints to me directly for "months" and when they did contact me about it—

Literally didn't communicated back with me for "months" via discord and accused me of "siccing" my friends after them. When I wasn't even online in-game for that and don't know the full context of what had happened. Just that I was doing a role-play that involved someone wanting to role-play with people from the Cathedral group and that wanted to be involved with my story. But something happened and it blew way out of proportion and was never given screenshots of what actually occurred from either party. But as you can see Niklos hadn't contacted me since December of 2021 and all the way until May of 2022 and /whisper communication in-game was non-existent.

And the screenshots in regards to the conversation that had with Hillsbradian below were originally shown to me by Niklos herself before I joined their discord back in 2019 when I had originally joined Moon Guard and was desperate for friends. I should have taken screenshots but I never thought anything like this could occur in the future with "drama"

Basically they whispered me this tinyurl link that they were "sad" that these screenshots were going around framing them in a bad way and that they were fake. And basically said something like this: "you know that isn't my discord profile picture and name" and I was dumb enough to believe them—because I didn't know better and was just desperate for a friend. However the conversation always hit me as fishy because—"you can change your profile picture and name" at any time!

I stumbled back on the screenshots here on tumblr and clearly other people seem to be aware of them and that they aren't "fake"

I've made even more people aware of them. For example: "Gnews" "Eveneah Rosewood" and some of the core officers and the leader for the "Residuum of Icecrown" are aware of the screenshots and if there is more evidence apparently this Maxen has them.

Including of Bishop "Tyragonfal" which the Residuum of Icecrown does have a document about them with evidence for why they are "blacklisted"

Tyragonfal also stalked my character from the Residuum of Icecrown various times until I had to join a voice chat for the "Midnight Repose" to tell them to stop parking themselves right nearby me in emote range. They would also metagame using their alt in the Residuum of Icecrown at the time called "Nightravens" and they are a 38+ female player who was sending inappropriate messages to the officers from the Residuum of Icecrown in a very "s*xuel matter" and seem to target young men for their "r*pe" kinks and even wrote an inappropriate fanfiction with them and another character without their consent. Eitherway "Midnight Repose" defends them and Niklos gave them a high role in their Remnant of Lordaeron discord.

[gildedneon]

That Which I Cannot See

That Which I Cannot See - Part 1 - Pure Imagination

Respectfully, you may not use my work, but you are welcome to share it. My work is only intended for those 18 and older as it contains explicit adult themes.

Summary: Basically A Star is Born but make it Sleep Token. A video of you singing Take Me Back to Eden gets attention online and you're invited to sing backup vocals at their next concert. Only, you end up doing a lot more than just that. The first in what will be at least a 3 part series.

Pairing: Vessel x Fem!Reader 

Tags: Hand stuff (for now), mask play, concealed identity play, obscured vision/partial blindfolding, is this a musical now?, shower play with the lights off, monster kink? if you squint?, spiritual cult leader Vessel, dirty talk.

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: I enjoy candlelit showers while blasting Sleep Token and inspiration struck one day while listening to Take Me Back to Eden. What if? So I wrote it. I have already planned out a part 2 & 3, so fear not, our journey has just begun.

Read on Ao3

-------------

So there I was, doom scrolling Instagram when *ping*

“Sleep_Token: We loved your video” My brows furrow. That can’t actually be their official account. Tapping the notification, I switch to my finsta, where I post anonymous videos of myself singing. I recently shared a clip of an acoustic cover of Take Me Back to Eden that got a decent amount of attention, but I didn’t think it got that much attention. The message thread opens just as another is coming in. 

“Sleep_Token: How would you feel about joining us sometime?” What the hell? 

I click their profile. Blue check mark. Holy shit. Shock has me so caught up I can’t even think of a clever response. Or any response for that matter.

What does ‘joining us' mean? Like for an orgy or going to a show? Because I’m down for both, but I only have tickets for one of those things. At least my brain is still cracking jokes. I stare at my phone and figure out something to say.

“Hi! Thanks! I actually will be at the show this Friday. I can’t wait :)” My heart does a little somersault as I hit send. 

“Sleep_Token: Perfect. Our manager will reach out for details. Bring something black to wear. We’ve got the rest covered!”

What the fuck does that mean? Reaching out for details for what? What is ‘the rest’ and how is it ‘covered’???

*ping*

The DM from the manager comes in. 

On auto-pilot, I go back and forth with the manager. Realization sets in… I’m going to be backstage at the Sleep Token show. I’m going to meet the Espera and sing with them. On stage. At the Sleep Token show. Friday. In less than a week. What the fuck.

Four days… I have four days to perfect my outfit. Immediately, I FaceTime my best friend. She answers on the second ring.

“Callie… you’re never gonna believe this.”

“Alright??… spill bitch”

-------------

My stride lengthens to keep up with the woman leading me through bright lit hallways. The week had flown by in a blur. Now it’s Friday and I’m being led backstage in sweats and a tank. I hadn’t fully wrapped my head around their invitation. But what I really hadn’t wrapped my head around was what had been developing since that night. Once I had gotten off the phone with Callie, I saw I had a DM request from a username I didn’t recognize.

“Hey it’s V” I think my brain had short circuited. It all felt like it came out of nowhere. I guess that’s the thing about change, it doesn’t happen until it just… does. We had started chatting  and it continued throughout the week, getting to know each other a bit, what we enjoy, what we don’t, our favorite colors, and even a bit of flirting. Another strange development in a situation that materialized all too quickly. But it was exciting. It has been a while since I’ve been truly excited about something or …someone. 

I think it helps that we don’t really know each other. Our identities are a secret. It’s sort of like getting to know the contents of a box without getting to know the box, if that makes sense. It’s hard to explain, but I like it. Being myself comes easier this way. There are less distractions.

My guide comes to a stop and knocks on a door. Anticipation grips me as it opens, a woman dressed in black greets us with a smile on her face. 

“Come on in! We’re excited to meet you.” The Espera, or the three female background vocalists, usher me into the dressing room and to a spot in front of the mirror. Their welcoming energy helps quell my buzzing thoughts. We fall into easy conversation as I work on my hair and makeup. The dress I chose is sexy but functional. Thin straps, square neckline dipping in a quick plunge, finished off with a thigh high slit. My hair tumbles around my shoulders and down my back in a lion’s mane of waves. My lips are painted the darkest shade of red, the only real part of my face that will be seen from behind the gold mask that lays on the counter before me.

The Espera give me a crash course in backup vocals. No pressure, just last minute winging it in front of 13,000 people. I still can’t wrap my head around this, even as they help fit the mask to my face. It looks just like theirs, intricate bronze scrollwork curling down my cheeks, leaving only my mouth and jaw exposed. The mesh panels over the eyes allow me to make out shapes and light. So I can see plenty, but it doesn’t feel that way. For me, I might as well be blind. It’s the feeling of being out of control, a vulnerability that leaves me a bit raw and on edge.

A knock raps at the door and my ears grasp at every little sound, attempting to make up for my lack of sight. The women gather as it clicks open. Their blurry forms disappear to the sounds of scuffling shoes. The door closes. My blurred vision watches as a dark figure slowly makes its way across the mirrored space. Fully blind I would know it was him. The magnetism of his presence is threatening to drag me in like the gravity of a blackhole. It’s supermassive…

I hold my breath as he surveys me. It would be a lie to say that I am not intimidated under his gaze. Despite the disguise, the feeling of vulnerability remains.

“This suits you. How does it feel?” He purrs his approval. The tension in my chest eases. 

“Thank you. How does what feel?”

“Your transformation.”

“Transformation? Into what?” My breath hitches, I can see his dark figure looming behind me.

“Your true self.”

“I’m not really sure what you mean by that. As excited as I am, I am also a little nervous.”

“What are you nervous about?”

“I’m not sure if it’s one specific thing. I just don’t know what to expect. I’ve never done this before. I know I’m wearing a mask but it still feels scary to have people actually watching me. This is worlds away from posting anonymous videos online.”

“I can understand. For us, the disguises are about showing the parts of ourselves that do not feel comfortable in our daily lives. Whether that is because we feel they should be hidden or we lack a suitable outlet. So it’s really not a disguise at all, but a revelation. By wearing this mask, I take off the invisible one I wear everyday. I embody the aspects of myself that I wouldn’t otherwise. So ask yourself… What would that feel like for you? Who would you allow yourself to be if you knew you were free from judgement?”

“I think it would feel freeing. But how am I supposed to figure that out tonight?”

“A lot can happen in just one night.”

Unsure of what to say, I sigh and tilt my head. A gentle tap on the side of my mask is his response. I stare straight ahead, looking upon our blurry reflections in the mirror.

“Envision yourself right now. A different version of you, a fantasy. Who could you be? How would you carry yourself? What presence do you bring? Take a minute. Close your eyes if you need. Think of the answer and then feel it. Become it. This is the transformation. It is first in your mind and then, in your being.”

I take a breath, close my eyes, and do as he says. I see the masked version of me, painted with black, a version of me that no one knows. Not even myself. She can be anything. I can be anything. This essence blossoms in my bones, radiating until it anchors itself into my being. Excitement ripples under my skin. I open my eyes.

“How does it feel?”

“It feels… different. I see myself but also… more.”

Vessel tilts his head.

“I saw paint. On my neck and it ran down.” Skimming my hands over my arms to illustrate my point.

“Stand.” I pray my knees don’t give out as I follow his command.. His proximity sends little electric waves skating along my skin.

“You know it’s true what they say. Depriving one sense, heightens the others. Close your eyes.”

I do as he says. Anticipation coursing through me.

“Touch, for example.” 

His hands skate up my arms, over my bare shoulders to my neck. His fingers stroke along my skin, pressing into the muscles and working at the tension. Other parts of me start to crave the same and the weight of arousal settles between my thighs. I exhale a sigh. His fingertips play along my skin, alighting little sparks. Just as I’m being lulled into a daze, he stops. Moving away from me, he leans against the counter, silently staring. The vulnerability isn’t as uncomfortable now. Security has replaced whatever fear I felt before. He reaches for something on the counter.

“May I? I have an idea for you with this paint.” 

“You may.” I tease lightly and I hear the sound of spinning plastic. 

The light of the room is dimmed as he steps closer. Both hands come around my neck and fear takes root in an instant. What am I doing? I’m alone with a man who is dressed like a demon god, his hands are wrapped around my throat, and we are in a room where no one can hear me scream…probably. Oh no…. Should I be worried about how that turned me on?

Instead of squeezing the air from my lungs, he works the paint onto my skin. His fingers splay as he drags his hands down both sides of my neck. His fingernails scrape over my collarbones, stopping just before the neckline of my dress. My eyes fall closed and I can’t help the sigh that escapes or the shudder that runs through my body. Nor can I help imagining what it would feel like to have his hands on my thighs. Leaving a sinful trail of evidence, as he explored more sensual areas of my body. Circling behind me, his hands clasp my arms, leaving one last mark.

“Look at yourself.” His deep voice jarring me from my haze. Even with my obscured vision, I can clearly see the twin trails of black that drag down my neck, stopping just before my breasts and the stark handprints on my upper arms.

“It looks like I’ve been marked by a monster.” I say, amusement clear in my tone. 

Silence. A brief moment of tension, then his hand wraps around my throat. He leans closer to me.

“Are you calling me a monster?” His teasing is mixed with tones of darkness. I shudder at the thrill. 

“No. Monsters are scary and I’m not scared of you” …Yet 

“Do you want to be scared of me?” His voice is low in my ear.

“Maybe a little” Maybe more than a little.

I see his head tilt in the mirror. I can’t see his eyes but I feel them flaying me alive, gleaning every dark desire snaking through my body. He releases me, putting a bit more distance between us. 

“As much as I would love to explore that, it’s about time we get ready to go on. You’ll be brilliant. If you get nervous just remember my touch and how it’s plain for everyone to see.” I could feel him wink at me as he said that. It wasn’t the worst suggestion. That would certainly distract my thoughts from wandering into anxiety, but it would distract me in other ways. Blushing, I step through the door he holds for me, and follow him down the hall.

-------------

Like a cutscene in a movie, suddenly I’m on stage and the show is taking off. The lights and sounds are overwhelming. I allow myself a few minutes to adjust. Slowly, I begin to pick up the swaying movements from the Espera. Taking cues from their hazy shapes. Then, I allow my voice to softly join theirs. The flashing mass of screaming fans mere feet away is difficult to tune out, but I let them blur into shapes through my mask and my voice rises to the music. With each song they play, my confidence grows, and I feel that vision of myself, from the dressing room, coming to life.

Well, I know what you want from me

You want someone to be your reflection, your bitter deception

Setting you free, so you take what you want and leave

Excitement strikes like lightning. Of course I knew this song was coming, but being a part of it? Dancing while every instrument reverberates through my body?  

Won’t you come and dance in the dark with me?

Tapping into that sensual side of me, I allow it to take form, my hips swaying to the rhythm. I trail my fingertips over my body, and pleasure ripples behind my touch. Hearing whispers of my voice wafting through the background is unreal.

Lipstick, chemtrails, red flags, pink nails

I once made a comment to Callie about how I fantasize about being in an orgy while this song plays because it never fails to turn me on. The way the beat builds and morphs, the lyrics on top of that, it feels like seduction. My voice vibrates through my being, sparking a dark desire that flares with the melody. My eyes fall shut as I remember our time together in the dressing room. I feel his phantom touch along my skin and surrender myself to the sensations.

You make me wish I could disappear

The music dies down, somber notes begin to rise. Recognition flutters in my heart. This is the song that first drew my attention to him… and his attention to me. My eyes snap open on instinct, despite my obstructed view, I see a dark figure approach me, blocking out the crowd. My heart begins to race. I tilt my masked face up at his towering form. He grabs my hand and leads me from behind my place in the background. There we are, front and center. I have no idea what he is doing or what he expects of me. My blood roars through my ears, beating against the tense curiosity of the all too quiet crowd. Curious cheers ring out, but my focus is drawn to him.

I dream in phosphorescence 

Bleed through spaces

My nails scrape restlessly against the fabric of my dress. I have no idea what he wants from me. We never talked about this. Am I just supposed to stand here? Am I supposed to sing a specific part or harmony? My thoughts race as panic begins to sink its claws into me. 

His finger curls under my chin. The gentle weight of him pulls me from the quicksand of my mind. 

I’m transfixed as he sings to me.

My, my those eyes like fire I’m a winged insect you’re a funeral pyre. 

A calm intensity settles in as I focus on the figure before me. Like a siren song his entire being draws me in until there is no one else. No crowd. Not even the band. Just him and me.

The music begins to build. I feel it in my chest. His hand lightly strokes my chin in invitation. The energy builds in my stomach and moves up my throat. God, it feels like it’s going to burst out of me. So I close my eyes and let it.

I will travel far beyond the path of reason. Take me back to Eden. Take me back to Eden

Our melody turns into harmonious wails. 

Take me back to Edeeeennn

My eyes open to a flash of white teeth as he grins down at me, the music continuing its heavy intensity. That grin against his mask and paint, looks every bit like the monster I mentioned. The music drops into a quiet tempo and he steps closer, leaning in as his hood brushes my cheek. 

“Stay.” He commands, before sauntering off, just as three chords are played. 

Well yeah I spit blood when I wake up

He crouches towards the swarming crowd as he recites the lines. Waving hands and screaming smiles line the front of the crowd. As I watch him move across the stage, I remember his painted marks on my skin. My cheeks burn as he approaches me again.

I need you to see me for what I have become

Long fingers wrap around mine, bringing my hand to grasp the microphone, joining him for the chorus. 

My, my those eyes like fire 

My voice is a sweet backdrop contrasting his, as we sing together until the beat drops off. The hand folded atop mine loosens, his arm falling slack and I let go of the mic. His free hand sneaks through my hair, cradling my head in his hand. The sounds of birds chirping flit around the notes of the piano. This intimate moment sets me ablaze as I remember there are thousands of people watching. Jealousy licks at my sides from the scrutiny of their gaze. I pay them no mind. 

His hands fall from my hair, as he lifts the mic, but sings to me.

I guess it goes to show does it not 

That we’ve no idea what we’ve got until we lose it

His words resonate through my chest. Understanding the opportunity tonight presents, I want to make the most of this night, of this connection, and just enjoy whatever is to come.

No amount of self-sought fury will bring back the glory of innocence

Sound pours from me as I join him singing once again. The music sweeps me along and I ascend with it.

We were tangled up like branches in a flood

What happens next takes me by surprise. Vessel loops an arm around my waist, drawing me in until my dress brushes against his belt. He screams the ending lines with such intensity I feel as if I’m being hit by a hurricane. I can barely make out what he’s saying. My heart seizes with another little thrill of fear. All I see is the fierce glint of teeth through the contortions of his mouth as the music fades out. 

Piano keys begin to play, as he leads me back to my place among the Espera. This is the last song of the show, Euclid. What a beautiful note to end on. I channel all the joy in my little heart into singing this final song. I know maybe the lyrics aren’t the happiest but I can’t help but feel light while singing it. Our voices fade out, as he brings things to a close.

The whites of your eyes, turn black in the lowlight

So give me the night, the night, the night…

-------------

We stopped by the dressing room long enough for me to grab my belongings and then he was leading me through more hallways. He holds a door open for me and I step into a gaudy locker room. Leading the way, I follow him through the space and into a long room. The harsh fluorescence glares off of the white tile lining the walls. On the left, is a mirrored wall of sinks and who knows what else. On the right, benches border each door frame, opening into showers. 

We walk a few stalls down, I hang my tote and arrange my clothes on the bench as he wanders away. Pulling out a hair tie, I twist my hair up into a messy bun. Butterflies twist through my belly as he returns to my side, hanging a towel on my hook. We’ve shared this entire night, this entire week, without seeing each other’s face, perhaps we’ve seen a deeper truth. Either way, I’m not ready for it to end.

Inspiration strikes and I stride back to the main door and begin to flick the lights off one by one until all that is left is the glow of the adjoining locker room. His masked face tilts as his attention focuses on me. Grabbing the door handle, I pull it closed behind me until only a necessary sliver of light shines through. Giving my eyes a second to adjust, I carefully make my way back to my bench. I feel another thrill of excitement at the atmosphere. The near pitch black, the silence all around us, almost like something you’d see in a scary movie. I hear clothes rustling from the bench he is at. I’m still working on undoing the straps of my heels when I hear the harsh splash of water against tile. Once all of my outfit has made it into my tote, I take cautious steps into the awaiting shower.

“I wanted to keep the mystery going but maybe it’s a bit too dark.” So dark, that I can barely make out the other person in my proximity. My hands feel along the cool tiles for support.

“Give it a minute. Your eyes will adjust.” He’s calm. Still. Giving me space to acclimate. No longer clutching at the wall, I can make out the shape of him easier. Barely, I see the steam from the water and pumps of soap attached to the wall.

“Will they adjust enough to be able to tell the difference between which is the soap and which is the conditioner?” I tease.

“Hmm might have to go with good ole trial and error on that” Our laughter echoes against the walls. 

Stepping closer, I let my gaze wander. The lines of his muscles catch what little light there is. My breath hitches, the difference in our height is exaggerated now that I am barefoot. The way he looms over me keeps his face masked in shadow. Again, the thrill of being alone with this strange, dark god shivers through me, bringing my awareness back to the arousal that has been burning all night.

“Well I will gladly volunteer as the test subject.” 

“And I will gladly accept. I didn’t want to assume…”

“I would actually prefer if you do assume.” I step closer to him. Even in the pitch black I can see his head tilt down at me.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

“I did.  I’ve never experienced anything like it.” I say almost reverently.

“Shall we keep the experience going then?” A shiver runs through my body

“Yes.” I breathe..

“Sing for me?” My brows jump up. Posting videos of me singing alone in my house and singing background vocals could not prepare me for this.

“What do you want me to sing?”

“Anything” My mind goes blank all for one song. I take a deep breath to still my nerves. 

Come with me, and you’ll be, in a world of pure imagination

Tentatively, I recite the words.

Take a look and you’ll see

Into your imagination

There is no life I know

To compare with pure imagination

His voice joins mine. 

Living there, you’ll be free

I stop, allowing him to finish the verse

If you truly wish to be

Courage is easier found in the dark I realize, when my hands begin to trail along his chest and I continue singing.

If you want to view paradise, simply look around and view it

Anything you want to, do it

My long nails gently scrape across his abs as his fingers trace the black paint along my chest.

“What a mess I’ve made.” The timbre of his voice sends desire rushing through me. Reaching back, he grabs something from one of the dispensers and lathers his hands. The creamy substance spreads down my shoulders as he begins to work out the tension in my muscles. His hands began to slip down to above my breasts. Working in slow circles. The combination of excitement and desire keeps my mind sharp despite the haze of lust. His thumbs swipe across my skin with a delicious pressure. Grasping the tops of my arms, he leans towards me and my lips hum in anticipation. His mouth grazes past my cheek. 

“I think… this is conditioner” He murmurs in my ear. I can’t help the surprised giggle that escapes me. I can feel his amusement even as he turns from me. The muted clicks of the dispenser can be heard over the shower stream. When he faces me again, the energy shifts. A thrill runs through me as he grabs the back of my neck with one hand.

“May I?” He echoes the familiar words he spoke earlier in the night.

“You may.” I breathe and his lathered hand begins running down my neck, as his other creeps up into my hair. My head tilts back. The glow from the distant light flashes off his sharp grin. His hand moves lower down my chest, as he works at the paint there. I’m not sure which is more arousing. Him painting me or washing it off. My nipples harden and a dull throb settles between my thighs just as his large hand sweeps over my breast. His fingers capture my nipple, flexing and rolling against my soft skin. I exhale shakily as he moves on to the other, giving it the same treatment. Grabbing my hips, he pulls me into the water, washing away his claim, his touch laying stake to a new one. Then he flips me around, I catch myself on the cool tile wall. As he steps closer, I can feel him pressed against me. 

“I very much enjoyed having my mark on you, clear for everyone to see.” His voice is low against my ear, as his lips drag over my neck, gently nipping at my skin. The hand on my right hip slides down my thigh. My legs tense in anticipation. His fingers begin swiping in teasing strokes, closer and closer to where I burn for his touch. 

“Tell me, what has you so wet for me?” I let out a whimper as his fingertips slide through the evidence of his claim. 

“Was it on stage? When I whispered in your ear?” Stay. I shook my head. That definitely turned me on but it wasn’t where it started. The memory of us in the dressing room, with his hands around my neck flickers through my mind. Just that quick thought stokes the already well fanned flames of arousal.

“Before the show in the dressing room” I say and receive a hum of approval. I’m rewarded as his finger dips inside me ever so slightly. His strokes are shallow, only increasing my need for him.

“What about it?” His fingers slow, urging me to respond. It’s hard to think through the fog of my desire.

“When you painted my neck.” Relief washes over me as he picks up his still too slow pace. His left hand moves from my hip, trailing over my fluttering stomach, paying brief attention to my breast, before sliding around my throat. My thighs clench around his hand before I can help myself, my body vibrating with anticipation.

“Ah so this is what you like?” His grip tightens as he speaks and my hips rock back desperate for more than this teasing. All I accomplish is grinding my ass against his cock. He inhales sharply but presses himself fully against me. 

“So eager.” He laughs. “Is this what you’ve wanted?” His fingers still move at a languid pace, but curl deeper inside me.

“Yes” I nod enthusiastically.

“But it’s not enough is it?” I shake my head. Because despite the pleasure I felt, the need was greater. The need to feel more of him, to have more of him. He obliges, sliding in a second finger. I cry out, my cheeks heat from embarrassment at the echo. I press my lips together, stifling my moans. His fingers still. He leans forward, his chest against my back, pressing me into the wall.

“Don’t stop singing for me now” He purrs and the rumble in his chest vibrates through my own.

“It’s just you and me. There’s no one else.”

I exhale heavily as my mouth parts. Right away, he rewards me with deliberate strokes of his fingers. The hand around my neck lazily works at the muscles there and waves of ecstasy shoot through me. My nails catch on the grout between the tiles as pleasure begins to coil tight in my muscles. I’m lost in the way my moans reverberate around us as his thumb carefully starts working my clit. It’s consuming. The stretch of his fingers, dragging over every sensitive spot inside me, playing my body like an instrument. His hips roll against my backside, grinding against me. I can feel the hard length of him, thick and hot against me. I begin to crave more and the thought alone of feeling all of him inside me brings me towards the peak. 

“Someday I will have all of you and you will have all of me. Until then I will have the memory of how wet and tight you are around my fingers. Wishing you were wrapped around my cock instead.” My hips rocked, practically riding his hand as the pleasure ramping up inside me spun so tight I felt it would snap at any moment. “Every time I look at my hand I want to remember how it felt to have you come on my fingers.” A ragged cry left my throat as his words pushed me over the edge. The tension inside me broke. Shattered shards of pleasure sliced through me as my body shook. His hand slipped out of me and I felt him work himself against my ass. Tremors skittered through me as I began to come down from my high. The cooling fire in my core alighting anew at the knowledge that he would soon follow. The hand around my neck had slid to brace himself against the wall.

“I want to feel you claim me again.” Shortly after those words left my mouth, I heard him groan. He shuddered against me as I felt hot spurts of him against my hip and back. His cheek came to rest against the top of my head. We stayed pressed against the wall as our breathing and heart rates slowed.

“Well I’m afraid I’ve made a bigger mess than when we started.” My body vibrates against his as I laugh. He pulls me back to the water and gets to work cleaning me off.

“Ves. Thank you, for tonight.” The nickname felt a bit strange on my tongue but appropriate given the standing of our relationship now.

“The pleasure was mine. Thank you for joining us and thank you for indulging me.” 

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“I’m flattered… We will see each other again, you know.” Now it’s my turn to tilt my head at his words.

“Will we?” The possibility hadn’t even crossed my mind. Everything happened so fast.

“If you would like… There is still so much left to explore.” Even in my sated state, the purr of his words spark arousal. 

“Oh I think I would like that very much.” Tension crackles between us. God if I don’t get out of here I’m going to be in over my head. Exhaustion was starting to creep into my bones. 

“I think it’s past my bedtime.” I say with a yawn. That gets a little laugh out of him.

“Well you run along home before I’m inclined to drag you back into this cave and never let you go.” Again, he’s teasing, but the edge in his voice promises something darker. “Or someone comes looking for us and turns all those awful lights on.” His hands grip my shoulders as he leans down and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “We wouldn’t want to ruin the mystery.”

“We sure wouldn’t” Reluctantly, I walk away. I dry off the lingering evidence of what just occurred between us, slip into my clothes, and return to the harsh light of reality.

[aphrogeneias]

stars shine like eyes — drabble

pairing: eddie munson x reader

summary: you and eddie share some confessions under the night sky.

word count: 613

warnings: friends to lovers. sexual tension. recreational drug use (the devil's lettuce). shotgunning. the munson charm.

author's note: this is a reupload of a fic i wrote last year. i was listening to the song that inspired it and felt like posting it again 🤍

The stars were shining brighter that night. Maybe it was just the substances running through your veins and making everything seem brighter, shinier than usual. Maybe it was the company you found yourself with.

There was something magnetic about Eddie Munson. Something about his strange charm and the way he effortlessly carved his way into your life, dragging you into his world, and then, you didn't want to be anywhere else.

It was a hot summer night, one of those where staying inside felt almost impossible. You had dragged his record player to his window, as far as you could, and laid an old blanket on the grass just outside his uncle's trailer. Faintly, you could hear his chosen Black Sabbath LP playing in the background, heavy bass and drums echoing through your ribcage, but you were too concentrated on the warmth of the body that lied beside yours.

You had gotten quiet as you smoked, conversation dwindling until an unspoken tension was all that was. Like electricity, it ran between you until you felt your head lull to the side, staring at Eddie's profile as he took another drag of the joint between his nimble fingers. You stared at the way his lips moved, blowing the smoke up to the air, feeling a sudden ache you couldn't quite explain.

As he turned to you, the world felt like it started spinning in slow motion.

"See something you like?" Eddie grinned, handing you the spliff. You felt heat slowly take over your face, but you didn't break eye-contact — more than that, for the first time, you were seeing his eyes up close, getting lost in the dark of his irises.

"You have beautiful eyes, did you know that?" It didn't even feel like it was you talking, the admission felt distant, and you fought the urge to giggle. "Like a baby cow. You have baby cow eyes."

His grin broke into a laugh, rich and earnest, "I think you had enough for tonight, sweetheart."

Instead of feeling embarrassed, you laughed with him. Eddie had a way to make you feel comfortable in any situation, even when you're probably making a fool of yourself. You didn't care, not when you got to watch something akin to tenderness fill his expression, inches away from your own face.

"No, I mean it! You have the prettiest eyes."

"Do you think a lot about my eyes?" He teased, but you didn't miss the expectation behind his words. Slowly, you watched from your peripheral, his hand rose to fall delicately on your cheek, smoothing his fingers over your skin.

"Sometimes…" He brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you breathed out another confession, "Sometimes I think about your lips too."

"Let me tell you a secret, then." He said, as he carefully stole the joint from where it laid, almost forgotten, in your hand. "I think about your lips all the time. It drives me crazy, actually."

Hypnotized by his low voice and the intense look in his eyes as he took his turn to confess, you watched him take another puff, and this time, he asked, "Open up, baby."

You didn't waste any time, lips falling open almost at their own accord, relishing in the feeling of his hand coming to rest on your chin, keeping your mouth open with a gentle grab. Eddie blew the smoke into your mouth, watching intently as you inhaled, letting it burn down your throat and numb your racing mind.

He kept staring at your lips as you closed them, breathing heavily in anticipation until he broke the silence, "Can I kiss you?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

[gluion]

serene (it’s what i hope for me) ➵ taesan

taesan (han dongmin) x reader

you should’ve known that taesan wouldn’t be the one.

genre/warnings ➵ angst, exes au, gender neutral reader, lowercase intended, shift between past and present to represent waves (hence the italics), the chilling realization of your suspicions always being right

word count ➵ 845 words

playlist ➵ california and me by laufey // you missed my heart by phoebe bridgers // oceans & engines by niki

a/n ➵ wrote this way back for eric, reread this drabble and rewatched niki's oceans & engines, and now i'm sobbing on the floor. mainly inspired by “california and me” by laufey. please listen to it! it genuinely resembles the feeling of ocean waves, hence the constant shift between past and present :3 and no, the ocean waves pics have no relation to this fic i just love ghibli aesthetics for the banner. i hope you all like this drabble! don’t forget to reblog and leave feedback!

it’s not summer where you are, but you stand where the season lives; sand in between toes, sea meets the shore. you bask in the sunlight as you look at the expanse of blue while the breeze comes and goes.

it’s serene here, beautiful—but it’s lonely; not a single sight of another person here to appreciate where summer continues to live amidst all seasons.

“i’m sorry.” those are the words that first leave taesan’s mouth once you two arrive at the han river, the first words to confirm your suspicions of tonight.

you hold your breath. “w—what?” 

“i know, i—”

“did i do something wrong?” your glossy eyes shine like stars under the moonlight; you almost hope they’re enough for taesan to take those words back.

“no, no!” he attempts to reassure you but they’re meaningless after what he told you. “it’s not your fault. nothing is your fault.”

seagulls flap their wings, croaking out sounds of their whereabouts, finding their flock they may have been separated from. as you hear a similar sound in the distance, you watch the flock rush off.

the ocean runs to kiss the land every time it has to go, regardless of how long the two are kept away from each other. the deep blue rushes to bathe the pale cream, reassuring they will always return.

and while the beach is heaven on earth, you grow bitter. surrounded by instances of one coming back—choosing to reunite with the other—you wonder if that’ll ever happen to you.

“i—i could call you every night, or morning! maybe i can—”

“y/n, no,” he cuts you off. “we talked about this before, remember? we can’t do long distance, we’ve always hated it.”

your lips tremble. “you don’t even want to try?” 

silence settles between you two.

“i would try to make it work for us, but you wouldn’t?”

a sigh leaves him. his hand reaches to rub his temple. “but it wouldn’t be fair to us.”

your phone rings. you look at it to see your best friend calling, so you answer it, putting it against your ear.

“y/n, i have to tell you something.”

a chuckle leaves you. “i know.”

“huh? but how? he only posted that picture an hour ago,” sungho points out. “do you still follow his instagram?”

you only hum in disagreement.

“did you check his profile again?”

as you look down at your feet that’s consumed by the sand, a sigh leaves you.

“i thought we agreed to not look at his socials anymore! do we need to talk—”

“no, sungho,” you cut him off. “i didn’t look at any of his accounts.”

“then how do you know? you knew exactly what i was referring to. how?”

you close your eyes, letting the heat of the sun and the coolness of the breeze consume you whole. “i just know.”

you look away from taesan, allowing your eyes to take in the sight of the river stream continuously flow as it reflects the luminescence of korea—city lights and stars all together.

such a beautiful sight but such a shame that it’s been soiled by his words.

“you’re right,” you find yourself saying. “we’ve talked about it before, we could never survive in a long distance relationship.”

you look back at taesan. his go-to smile and the sparks in his eyes—all vanished in one night.

“i just wish we could.”

“i know. i do, too.”

your eyes peel open, greeted by the sight of the serene once more. you wish it could stay like this—tranquil, lasting.

“i hope you’re okay,” sungho says on the other line. “i’m sorry that this is happening.”

you bite the inside of your cheek. “it’s okay, i’ll be okay.” it sounds convincing to you but not to your best friend. “i’ll call you later, okay?”

he hums for a moment. “okay, i’m here for you.”

you drop the call. you stare at your home screen for a moment until you decide to open up instagram.

you shouldn’t be doing this, especially after sungho’s reminder, but your best friend's words have cracked the dam that held the water from pouring out.

you type his user like a password, discreetly, one you still know by heart.

in a matter of seconds, you see his profile pop up as a top suggestion. your thumb hovers over it, unsure if you should proceed or save yourself from reality. but you remember that it won’t change anything—nothing will change if you decide to look or not.

so you click on his profile, and your eyes land on the most recent post. from the preview in his profile grid, you already know that you were right. a bitter smile settles on your lips.

you shut your phone close and shove it into your pocket. your eyes land back to the ocean, glossy once more like that one night. it’s still a beautiful sight, but it’s a shame that it’s been soiled by one post.

in the same way the waves come and go, he always goes back to her.

taglist ➵ @onedoornet @kflixnet

[haikyu-mp4]

As a throwback to the first fandom I ever wrote fanfiction for, I’m doing a small One Direction event! In the list below, you will find 10 songs, 2 from each of their 5 albums.

So! You choose a song and match it with the Haikyu character you want, like this: I would like to listen to Back to you with Oikawa<3 Then, I will write a fic with your chosen character based on the lyrics from that song.

Use the ‘make a wish!’ button on my profile!

Once a song is requested, it can not be ‘replayed’ with another character so I will cross it out on this post. That means there will be 10 fics in total, one for each song. It’s a first come, first served kind of event.

I mainly write in timeskip. If you want reader to be gender neutral, please specify!!

– Perfect played for Atsumu

But if you like causing trouble up in hotel rooms And if you like having secret little rendezvous If you like to do the things you know that we shouldn't do Then baby, I'm perfect Baby, I'm perfect for you

– History played for Hinata

You and me got a whole lot of history We could be the greatest team that the world has ever seen You and me got a whole lot of history So don't let it go, we can make some more We can live forever

– Illusion played for Fukunaga

No, baby, this is not an illusion I've really got my heart out on my sleeve Oh, baby, this is not an illusion There's magic between you and me

– Night changes played for Bokuto

Everything that you've ever dreamed of Disappearing when you wake up But there's nothing to be afraid of Even when the night changes It will never change me and you

– Right now played for Ushijima

Right now, I wish you were here with me 'Cause right now, everything is new to me You know I can't fight the feeling, and every night I feel it Right now, I wish you were here with me

– Better than words played for Bokuto

I don't know how else to sum it up 'Cause words ain't good enough I can't explain your love, no It's better than words

– Back for you played for Oikawa

Lately, I've been going crazy So I'm coming back for you Back for you, back for you, you

– I would played for Nishinoya

Would he say he's in L-O-V-E? Well, if it was me, then I would, I would Would he hold you when you're feeling low? Baby, you should know that I would

– I should have kissed you played for Asahi

How do you feel about me now? I can't believe I let you walk away when When I should have kissed you

– One thing played for Futakuchi

So, get out, get out, get out of my head And fall into my arms instead I don't, I don't, don't know what it is But I need that one thing And you've got that one thing

main masterlist

[venusrising91]

Cam-Boy

Pairing: Wonho x Male reader

Genre: Smut 18+ (sprinkle of plot)

Summary: Bunny_hunk_lee is the top OF performer in your state—he’s also the hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. You’ve been subscribed to his channel for months, and when a rare opportunity to breathe the same air as him presents itself, you leap at it.

Word count: 1,960 (about 2 pgs)

T/W: Forced urination, para-social relationship and power imbalance

“Bi_sexiboi93! Thanks for that generous donation. Much appreciated babe.”

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face at the sound of your username leaving Bunny_hunk_lee’s lips. You never missed a stream and tonight’s was spectacular. You shared an orgasm—through the screen of course.

Bunny_hunk_lee toweled the cum off his abs with a smirk and the sight alone was enough to push you over the edge once more. But you controlled yourself, and instead sent him another donation—double the amount of the last one. “Whoa, thanks again Bi_sexiboi93. You really love me don’t you baby?”

He spoke like this to all of his subscribers—it was nothing special, you knew well. But that didn’t stop the heat from spreading through you at the mention—at the acknowledgement.

After flexing his triceps and giving his cum-slick cock a few more pulls, Bunny_hunk_lee ended the stream. You sighed and cleaned yourself up, then slipped in bed, pulling out your phone for one last doom scroll before resting.

A new post from Bunny_hunk_lee appeared on your feed. He was wearing the same clothes he had on during the stream, except it was daytime. He must have snapped it beforehand. It was a shot of him face down on his bed, in a hoodie and shorts—plump muscular ass taking up most of the frame. You commented: wish i was under you👅

Already drowsy from the orgasm, sleep came as easily as breathing, and you drifted.

The next morning, you woke twenty minutes after your alarm had gone off, and that meant that you had to rush through your shower and breakfast to avoid being late for work. Thankfully you made it there in time for the weekly meeting. When it was done, you caught up on some emails and before long, your lunch hour rolled around. You took it at your desk and whipped out your phone while you ate.

You nearly choked as the notifications filled your screen. Bunny_hunk_lee replied to your comment: oh yeah? What state you live in babe?

He had liked all six of the photos on your profile grid. Most were selfies you’d taken at the gym and a few blurry food pics. Your heart began pumping faster when you saw the icon indicating two unread messages from him in your inbox.

ur hot.

wanna bottom for me on OF?

You stared at the words with your mouth hanging open. You typed out four replies, deleting each one. Your initial reactions were too cringey to send. As you tried for a fifth time, a green dot appeared next to his profile pic. Then:

typing…

Fuck. Why was your heart beating so fast? Before you could steel yourself, another message popped up.

forgot to add, it’s for pre-recorded content, not a stream so can blur ur face

Anonymity and a chance to be with him? Who could ask for anything more? You took a deep breath and wrote:

I’m down. When and where?

Your hands were shaking as you exchanged messages back and forth, arranging the time and place for the shoot. He sent you his health details and a clean STD panel. You did the same, luckily having just gotten your results back from your last physical a few days ago. The timing was perfect. And you even lived near his address. All this time, he was just a twenty minute drive from your apartment. 

The rest of the day was a blur. Hell, the rest of the week. You were riding on a high—one you didn’t want to come down from. The man you’ve been jacking off to every night not only thinks you’re hot, but he wants to fuck you too. You could hardly believe it. 

Later, he went live and you tried watching the stream but found that it made you jitter with nerves and so for the first time in two years, you skipped it.

When the day of the scheduled hook-up finally arrived, you could hardly take steady breaths. You wished the drive up to his place took longer so you could gather yourself. But you were there in a flash.

Once you showed up, he stood on the other side of the door, smiling down at you. He was taller than you by more than just a few inches. You hadn’t expected that. In person his muscles were more defined—his complexion even richer. 

“Don’t look so nervous—I won’t bite until you ask me to, come on in.”

He opened the door wide and you slipped past him with a shy chuckle, catching a whiff of his cologne. Tom Ford, expensive stuff.

“Nice place,” you said, taking inventory of his spacious, luxury condo.

“Thanks. Bedroom’s just through there. Need anything before we get going. Water? Bathroom?”

You shook your head and made for the room. It was three times the size of yours. A camera was pointed at the bed. He came in and stood behind it, fiddling with the settings before peeling off his shirt.

“Should I take mine off too?” you asked.

“Whatever makes you comfortable, baby. Speaking of comfort, got any boundaries? Anything off limits?”

“You can do whatever you want to me,” you blurted out in excitement before thinking. He chuckled.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He stepped from behind the camera and began palming your cock over your jeans, breathing minty breath over you all the while. He had you out of your clothes in seconds. 

“You gonna be a good bottom and stay hard for me the whole time?” he whispered as he gripped you, sliding his hand from base to tip and back again. You nodded, unable to find the words to form a reply. A small, helpless whimper escaped you as he tipped your head to the side and kissed the length of your neck. He made his way to your mouth. His tongue swirled around yours, warm and soft between your lips. The embrace was so intense that you had to pull away to catch your breath. As you panted, he put a hand on your shoulder, urging you onto your knees. He reached inside his pants and his thick cock sprang free. Quickly he took hold of it, slapping it against your face.

“Open your mouth for me,” he cooed, bottom lip caught between his teeth while he stared down at you. His head fell back as you swallowed him. “Just like that,” he added, groaning and fisting your hair. He let you give him head for as long as you wanted, praising you the whole time. The taste of his clean skin had you leaking onto the hardwood floors. He noticed the growing micro pool of it as he pulled you to your feet. “Crawl on the bed, all fours, ass to the camera. Gonna spread that hole and get you dripping even more.”

Once you assumed the position he’d asked of you, he struck an open palm across both of your ass cheeks. You gasped at the sting, then moaned long and hard as his tongue circled your entrance. He ate you for what felt like ages, teasing you here and there with tugs and strokes. You almost came as he pumped your rock hard cock from behind. Suddenly you jerked with the beginning of what would have been the most intense release of your life, but he abruptly drew back, sensing your orgasm and robbing you of it.

“Not yet, baby. Haven’t even given you my pipe. You want it don’t you?” You nodded, then he chuckled and slapped your ass cheeks again, driving away the sensation of your building orgasm and somehow, making you even harder than you had been. 

He took a break from spanking you to adjust the camera angle, leaving you feeling bare and exposed without the warmth of his body near yours. When he returned, you looked over your shoulder at him and caught a glimpse of his sculpted body. He was like an Adonis carving as he hovered over you. He winked before depositing a generous stream of lube onto your hole, spreading it around with his finger. He pushed one inside and you arched as it slid in.

“You’re tighter than I’m used to. I’ll take it slow,” he said.

He was true to his word, and took his time entering you. The stretch was like nothing you’d ever felt before. He had you fisting the sheets, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes as he gave you deep strokes. 

Over and over again, he buried his length inside you. Sounds of him pounding you echoed throughout the space. It went on for long, glorious moments. Soon, he slowed his pace, and the tip of his cock curved against your prostate as his balls hit your ass. He lingered there, grinding. The motion made your eyes roll back while he pressed himself deeper, rubbing his engorged head against your spot and making you leak all over his clean sheets. It took you a moment to realize he was getting close. He emptied a hot burst of cum inside you the next instant, prompting your release. It swept over you like a storm—you weathered it beneath him, ass stuffed full of his cock. 

The ropes came one after another, followed by sharp cries. You shuddered there under all his weight, until he wrapped his arms around your waist and chest, then lifted you off the bed. You hadn’t realized how much stronger he was than you. It was like you weighed nothing to him, despite being pretty stocky and muscular yourself.

“What are you doing?” you asked through heavy breaths as he lowered you onto his lap, both of you were at the edge of the bed now, facing the camera.

“Buying time,” he whispered into your ear, “No one’s ever made me cum that fast.”

Before you could beg him to give you a minute or two to recover from your high, his hand was around your softening, sensitive cock. He pumped hard. You shrieked, bucking and jerking against his firm body. He stilled you with even harder strokes and you stopped fighting as a strange sensation overtook you. 

Before long something began building up—a sharp pressure, not unlike the feeling of almost pissing your pants.

“Please s-stop,” you begged between shivers and breaths. “Feels like I’m gonna—gonna—”

“Piss all over yourself and my floor?” he asked, pumping you even harder, “I know—that’s what I’m betting on. It'll look great on camera.”

Your eyes rolled back for the second time in one night as he pinned you tighter against him, one hand stroking you, the other cupping your balls—which were empty. It was your bladder that wasn’t.

“B-but—”

“Shhhh, it’ll feel good. Even better than the orgasm I just gave you, and you'll probably cum a little more beforehand too. I Promise. Just relax, let it happen. You’ll see, there’s nothing like it.”

You were too overstimulated to protest—to speak—to do anything outside of let your body be led by his influence. He guided you along the path of your second high. You didn’t think it was possible to feel anything as intense as the orgasm you just had. You were wrong. You came again somehow, just like he said you would.

Then, without warning, he slipped a finger inside you. You clenched around it uncontrollably and braced yourself against him as the contents of your bladder came gushing out, hard and fast like a fountain. He milked you for every drop as you squealed and writhed in his lap with your back against his chest, panting and on the verge of collapse.

“That’s it sexy. Let it all out for me like a good bottom.”

More tight-fisted strokes sent you arching and spraying. You had never felt anything like this. The floor beneath you was soaked. Both of you were drenched now. He didn’t seem to mind, and pressed kisses into your neck. The wetter you made the place, the more he praised you. You poured like a water hose for a full thirty seconds (you watched the recording once it was posted and timed it).

When at last he drained you of everything, you lay sprawled on the bed, limp and tender as a noodle. He helped you clean yourself, then lay beside you.

“Fuck that was good,” he said, tucking both hands behind his head. “You down for another round. Maybe later this week?”

You rolled onto your side and rested your head on his chest. He stroked your back. 

“Yeah,” you said, “I’d love that.”

[queenshelby]

An Illicit Affair

Part 19: GATHERING EVIDENCE

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

Trying to do the right thing by his mother though who, by now, had managed to manipulate Max into trusting her more than his father, he picked up his phone and texted her.

"I think dad is having an affair again," he wrote, biting his lip nervously after hitting send but Danielle didn't reply immediately.

"I know," she eventually responded before taking a deep breath. It took her some time to fully grasp the gravity of the situation.

For weeks, she had suspected that Cillian was unfaithful, but neither could she prove it yet nor did she know who he was sleeping with.

Just 24 hours ago, Cillian denied her suspicion when she had confronted him, resulting yet in another fallout where Cillian prevented her from hurting herself again. After that, she chose to keep quiet, pretending that everything was just fine while secretly plotting her revenge. 

"Do you know who with?" Danielle then texted her son, trying to remain composed despite the anger boiling in her veins. 

"No, but whoever she is, she wears the same perfume as Y/N I think," Max replied honestly, placing his phone on the toilet seat.

The bathroom was warm and cozy, but his mind raced, consumed by the turmoil brewing outside.

"It smells like her," he added, feeling unsettled as images of a certain pair of eyes filled his mind. "But maybe I am just imagining it because she was here earlier to check up on him and redress his cut," Max typed, hoping to convince himself and ease his anxiety.

"Why did he not go to the clinic to get it redressed?" Danielle asked, her heart sinking into her stomach as her suspicions grew.  

"I think he doesn't want to deal with the hassle of waiting in line at the hospital," Max guessed before finishing up in the bathroom, following which Danielle sat down on the bed at her house, burying her face in her hands.

Surely, her husband would not be cheating on her with their son's ex-girlfriend she thought, not knowing what to believe.

She was paranoid, her thoughts racing wildly as she paced back and forth across the bedroom floor. She knew that accusing Cillian without solid proof again would only push him further away. So, she decided to find evidence instead.

Danielle felt a surge of determination course through her veins as she frantically searched through Cillian's belongings. She rifled through drawers, examined clothing, and even scoured his old phone, desperate for answers.

Then, she pulled out his lap-top, looking at his search and contact history. There was no sign of anything unusual, but she kept searching.

At one point, she saw that he had recently logged on to his old Instagram account which Max had set up for him years ago but which he never really used. He was still logged in and the first person who showed up in his recent searches was you.

Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at your profile picture, frozen in disbelief. Could it be true? 

Danielle read through your posts, scrolling past pictures of you hanging out with friends and she thought to think of innocent reasons as to why Cillian would look at your profile. 

She scrolled on and, eventually, stumbled upon a post from over a year ago, where you tagged Max in a photo of the two of you together, smiling cheerfully. It was an instant wave of nausea that washed over her as she remembered that time Max had introduced you to her and Cillian. That day, she had thought to herself that you were cute, polite, and smart, but little did she know that you would become her biggest enemy.

Meanwhile in London, Max shared some more dinner with his father Cillian before calling it a day. Being at university again, he had an exam the following day and needed some rest.

Yet it was difficult to sleep with the lingering thoughts of you nagging at the back of his mind.

He was lying in bed, wide awake, when he felt a familiar vibration. He looked at his phone and saw that Danielle had messaged him again.

"Do you still have the key to our apartment that I gave you?" she wanted to know urgently.

"Yeah, why?" Max answered quickly.

"Dad is out in the afternoon, shooting a commercial for Montblanc. Can you let the cable guy in at 2 o'clock?" Danielle asked Max and since his parents only recently purchased the unit, he wasn't really surprised by his mother's request.

"Okay, sure," Max agreed, typing the response on his phone following which Danielle thanked him for the help and wished him luck with his upcoming exams.

"Thanks Mum," he finally wrote back before putting his phone aside, not knowing that what his mother was really going to do.

She was going to have cameras installed in various places around the apartment to catch Cillian in the act.

To be continued...

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[lizardsfromspace]

Okay, this is the conclusion to my posts about Sophia Stewart. I'll never do something like this again

Everything I've posted is from her own book or her web presence btw. That's all I'm drawing from and if anyone tells me any information about her they gained any other way I'll block them immediately so uh, don't

Towards the end she reveals some of her other pitches. By showing she copywrote sequels to the Matrix and Terminator

Lots of strange details here - she wrote The Matrix 4 in 2000? They didn't even start filming The Matrix 2 & 3 until 2001. Also, we can see in this book that her pitch has nothing to do with The Matrix or Terminator, but she claims she wrote direct sequels to both?

(Her explanation for how both very different films are ripping off her work - a 1:1 copy, she claims - is, hilariously, that The Terminator plagiarizes it front to back, while The Matrix plagiarizes it back to front. What?)

But also she didn't write it. She registered copyright on a synopsis for The Matrix 4. She has concepts of a plan for a Matrix 4.

The book ends with a pitch for another...she calls it a book, but it's a movie pitch? And this, too, is just a synopsis for some grand epic series, light on detail of character and plot and heavy with lore and rants (in this case, primarily about God and Adam & Eve). Of course her exhaustively long but barely sketched-out epic movie pitch has a prologue, which is also full of Christian-tinged Ancient Aliens pyramid power woo.

Sophia Stewart is unimportant, bc she represents a class of writer. Writers who have Ideas. Who have outlines and plot points but no real story, bc they never write it. But they think just having Really Good Ideas is enough - that you should get credit for coming up with a good idea for a story, regardless of if you make an actual story out of it. They're a "writer", but they never write. Despite this they often have a deep case of Dunning-Kruger, churning out outlines that leave out basic details like "what happens in the climactic battle" and the personalities of characters while insisting that an inability to author anything shouldn't keep you from being praised as a genius author

If that type of person is lucky enough to have money, they become a studio executive or tech guy, both professions awash in the uncreatively creative, or they hire ghostwriters. If they're not, they become the type of person to file spurious lawsuits under the misapprehension they own basic plot concepts. It's the "I coulda made the majors!" of writing, except, you know. Baseball players who didn't make the majors still actually played baseball at some point. I assume from now on all those types will just pump their outline into ChatGPT and try to sell the gunk it slops out and then claim they 'wrote' it so uh, uhhhhhhhhhhhh

The only reason I made these posts was discovering the conspiratorial angle to her work, bc who cares if a major studio has to deal with a spurious lawsuit? That was the part that actually sucks. But also, she does a lot of press: profiles on news websites, podcasts, that documentary was even made by other filmmakers, who actually make films. It's persisted from blogs and chain emails all the way to podcasts and TikToks. All of this uncritically spreads her story, but I also have to ask: how many actual African-American science fiction writers do those platforms profile? How many of them get documentaries made about their work? How much air is being sucked out of the room by the decades long misinformation about the "true" creator of The Matrix? And why is that misinformation so persistent when it takes a trivial amount of effort to find out it just isn't true? It feels good to support the underdog against the big studio, but in this case it just isn't true.

The sad truth is a lot more Hollywood plagiarism cases look like this than are real exposures of wrongdoing, but people tend to accept them at face value since they feel like a little guy taking on a corporation, though in reality it's just two writers suing each other. Take The Holdovers case, where people immediately turned on it, but if you look into it, the two scripts have very little in common, and the accusing writer makes odd claims like a human character in The Holdovers being a ripoff of a billboard in his script.

Or look at Groundhog Day, which was accused of plagiarism by Richard A. Lupoff, writer of the story "12:01 P.M.". The two stories have nothing in common besides a time loop; in Groundhog Day he's reliving a day, in 12:01 PM he's reliving an hour. Groundhog Day is a romcom, 12:01 P.M. plays it for horror. Groundhog Day never reveals the source of its lop but it's clearly fantastical in nature, 12:01 P.M. is explicitly science fiction. In Groundhog Day he escapes the loop, in 12:01 P.M. he never does. You can't deny Lupoff felt personally slighted, but at the end of the day, a world where a writer could own the concept of time loops would be a dystopia where creativity and art would die.

But even though they were wrong, The Holdovers & Groundhog Day cases were based on real works of writing that existed. They were based on a real, if misguided, sense of violation from the writers. But in this case, we have a mere outline of a story with not even basic similarities to the stories she's claiming are a 1:1 copy of her work, and decades of media appearances based on exploiting a community college media student's mistake in 2004. Anyway seems bad

[yuly]

How about Hotch who rejects reader once they confess their feelings? But later on he comes to the realization he actually loves the reader!!! And he tries to win her back?? I know you’d write this so well 🥹

→ hi lovely anon, I love this idea! I wrote this with a shy reader who works in the BAU but is not a profiler/agent, I hope you enjoy <3 

cw: mentions of being insecure and self-doubt, angst and pain, Aaron's father is mentioned

Aaron Hotchner x shy!female reader

Time and Tide

A Lifetime

That's how long you’ve been a shy, out-of-the-way, quiet creature. You’re a diligent and skillful worker, but socially awkward and prefer to keep to yourself. You’re often unsure of what to say to strike up or even maintain a casual conversation. But your Unit Chief makes it easy. Your first year working with the FBI has been rocky but Hotch has been the most supportive and compassionate boss you’ve ever had. He is welcoming, always lending a listening ear, offering you advice and standing up for you. You quickly learn that he is an advocate for every member of his team and not just the few agents he works with on a daily basis. You find yourself admiring him from afar, daydreaming about him, and committing all of your interactions to memory.

A Year

That's how long it takes for you to build up the courage to say something to him. Having now established some semblance of a friendly working relationship, you decide to make your move. That move is to reciprocate his kind gestures for once instead of crumbling at the mere sight of him and fleeing from the scene. And it works.

You develop this tradition after cases where, after the official debrief with the team, Hotch has another, more intimate debrief with you. Your presence is a calming force, a sense of serenity he craves daily. He usually sits in his chair while you wrap up your work for the day in his office, often times you’re the one talking - about your day, the work you did, the latest office gossip, and the new boots you're saving up for. You’ve become truly comfortable in his presence, and he basks in it. Sometimes he’ll indulge you in his day-to-day with his son or a story from his days as a prosecutor. You listen eagerly, with an open heart, ready for the taking.You’ve fallen hopelessly in love with him and worry if the feelings will ever be reciprocated.

An almost fatal injury suffered on a case is what pushes you over the edge. The thought of losing something that was never yours to begin with breaks your eager heart.

A Month

That's how long you spend skirting around the words that occupy the majority of your brain space. For an entire month, you show up at his doorstep, food in hand, always offering him some company. More often than not, he takes you up on the offer. Your traditional post-case debrief sessions are now spent within the confines of his home.  Aside from the physical pain in his body from his injuries and the emotional pain in your heart from loving him, nothing much has changed. 

One Day

One day you finally make your move. Sitting side by side on his couch, eating tortilla chips, watching some documentary he’s been raving about all week. You turn away from the TV screen to face him.

“Aaron, I-I like you.”

He chuckles lightly in response, and a slightly confused look sits across his face, “thank you, I like you too, Y/N.”

“No, Aaron I like you more than a friend, I...I have feelings for you.”

The silence that follows your confession suffices. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, shoulders tense, jaw set tight. The energy in the room has shifted and you suddenly feel like an intruder in his home. 

“Y/N…..that’s not going to work.”

That's all he manages to say before standing from his spot on the couch, awkwardly eyeing the door.

You lift your jaw off the ground and clear your throat, “I’ll see myself out.”

If you could have one wish, it would be for the ground beneath you to open up and swallow you whole. His rejection stings worse than any embarrassing scenario your mind could ever conjure. You feel the familiar thoughts of self-doubt and disgust begin to swarm your mind. 

⋯⋯⋯⋯⊱⊰⋯⋯⋯⋯

You keep your head down at work, slowly reverting to your old shy and insecure self; you hate it. So when an FBI tech named James begins to hang out at your desk and bring you coffee every morning, you welcome it. You view it as a chance to rebuild yourself, to rid yourself of this heartbreak over a man that was never yours. And James is good to you, he’s sweet, doting, and totally enamoured with your being. You allow yourself to get comfortable, and receive love for once. And it feels good.

Hotch has made it a point to maintain his distance from you ever since your confession. That hurts worse than the rejection itself. He never looks in your direction, never speaks your name, and never makes any direct contact with you at all. It's like you never existed.

So when he stops by your desk one evening to extend a personal invite to the team’s Christmas dinner, you’re stunned and speechless. 

“You haven’t spoken to me in nearly a year,” your words are a soft whisper, spoken mostly to yourself, but he hears you.

“That’s not true-”

“It is, Aaron. You always push people away, I never thought you’d do it to me.”

When he looks into your eyes, he immediately regrets it. The memory of your friendship comes back to him in a rush, the stories you two shared back and forth, the time you spent in his office to keep him company, all the words of advice he’d offered, the 30 consecutive days you'd shown up at his doorstep with warm home-cooked meals. All of that was your testament of love, and he threw it all away without giving you a chance.

Aaron doesn’t say anything in response. He trudges back into his office, only looking back once, desperately hoping to catch you looking back at him. Instead, he’s met with the sight of your boyfriend kissing your cheek and gathering your things to go home for the night. Your hand slips perfectly into his and the two of you walk out together. 

The sight of you walking off with another man brings back a bitter memory of his father and a phrase he would often scold him with.

"time and tide wait for no man"

[ppenguinpperson]

canine girl in all her doggy glory!! already posted her design and profile the other day, but i updated her profile and i want all her images in one post.. speaking of her profile, warning warning for talk of violence there more on canine (+ lyrics?!! Woah!!) under the cut:)

canine girl is inspired/an au of my oc alík, but i don't think it'd be wrong to say she's a different character alltogether? while the things she struggles with are things that alík does, too, she's more like.. idk ❤️only i can understand this ...

as you may have guessed by her warning, canine girl has violent intrusive thoughts, and feels extremely guilty for them, even if she never acts out on them. her profile doesnt get too into this .. since she feels that guilt and shame, i don't think she'd wanna share the details online .. or with anybody ever.. you know how it is 💥

her design is smth i struggled with greatly .. her mask is this

and as soon as i saw it on alíks pinterest board i was set on using it and im sooo happy i did!! i think it works greatly..!!! other notable things about her design, that im happy with, are mostly to do with her hoodie. her hoodie-ears are actual ears, shes just hiding them:) and its made to resemble a service dog vest!

you can't really see it in the 'fake screenshot' art, the first one, but she's got a kind of belt (harness ?) around her chest !! its around her shoulders too.. and her chain hanging from that could be interpreted as a leash ig ?? idk 💥💥you'll never understand sinister minds inner workings... another design-y thing is !! shes got her arms around herself in the fake screenshot, which is bc she's hiding her claws from you 💥her eyes are also made to resemblea wolfs:)

her pants are just like that bc its alíks fashion sense 💥and bc i think they fit! and i like them!! a little treat just for me:)

another thing that i wanna talk about is her profile!! its so !! chill !! the colours are warm and inviting, her info there is silly, she invites you to talk with her if you're struggling, shes got fun blinkies.. !! shes just having fun on a site hanging out and chilling .. its like that bc i wanted to show, even if in a little way, that intrusive thoughts arent indicative of a persons identity. canine's intrusive thoughts don't make her a bad person, they don't make her a rabid dog like she thinks, they just make her somebody with intrusive thoughts. shes more than her intrusive thoughts, you know ??

anyhow! the lyrics !! i wrote lyrics for a theoretical song that she would have, but Wont, because im not a songwriter. i might make a silly littly tune for her one day, like a minute long at most, most likey shorter, so these lyrics are what you get !! and also it was my second time writing actual lyrics (first time was 10 minutes before when i was writing lyrics for another tptm oc, unknown girl) so Dont be meanies... Ok... treat me niceys... her voice for this would be kohaku merry btw :3

warning, again, more specified this time: themes of violent intrusive thoughts, talk of violence, vague references to generational abuse

That I’m just like a dog, I know Got the leash and collar to show Tug it one way, then another I’ll obey you like no other

But obedience doesn’t cut it With teeth sharper than a razor blade The only way to be is afraid That’s what I say, anyway

Can’t say I’m sorry, not to you That’d scare me, letting you know  About your mangled body on the floor Still just a fantasy, nothing more

(Violent thoughts suppressed) Ineffective muzzle helps little (Violent needs repressed) ‘Cause my razors make it brittle It’s not on purpose, just my spittle Can’t help my second nature

(BEAT ME, FLAY ME, LEAVE ME DEAD PLEASE DO YOUR WORST, I BEG IT WON’T BE UNDESERVING TO BEAT A WILD DOG SENSELESS

GIVE IT YOUR ALL, YOUR EVERYTHING WE BOTH KNOW I’D DO WORSE WERE I NOT A DOG BUT SOMETHING LIKE I AM NOW, JUST SHAMELESS)

The carpet floor’s forever stained A family heirloom of violence and hate Trying so hard to reject that norm Can’t help but feel it’s all I’m destined for

Gotta stop myself with only a collar Can’t be like my father’s bully father So as long as you hold my leash I swear I’ll hide my deepest needs

Even if it’s not real, I fear You’ll reach into me and see All these sinful fantasies Of your bloody arteries I don’t mean them, believe me It’s just that this is all I know how to be A mutt that doesn’t know any better Only to claw and dismember

(Violent thoughts excessed) Maybe it’s just natural selection (Violent needs processed) Can no longer deny this connection That I’m just like a dog, I know Got all this shame to show

Your hands are only ever kind A stark contrast to my mind It’s not real, just thoughts, I know Adrenaline still fills me though

My collar thins, soon it will snap Go away, don’t want you here for that Your kindness is naivety My impending misery Your outstretched hand is prey Don’t say I didn’t warn you  Here comes the prophesised day Where the hand feeds no more

(WITH MY LEASH AND MUZZLE GONE YOU MISTAKE FOR A FAWN YOU THROW MY COLLAR TO THE FLOOR I BEG, PUT IT BACK ON NOT YOUR FAULT, BUT C’MON DON’T BE SO CRUEL AND SHOW ME I’M THE ONLY VICTIM TO MY FANTASY)

[queercoshon]

I wrote another thing! This one has been in the works for a while. It is also posted on my deviantart. It's a little bit softer than the usual content I post. As always, please feel free to leave suggestions/ideas

‐------------

When I first moved into your spare room, I was definitely on the smaller side. Adult life had bulldozed me, and I learned quick meals and protein bars were the easiest way for me to eat. If I had to make something more complicated, chances are I would just forget to eat entirely.

You, on the other hand, loved to cook, bake, and create different cocktails. Every overindulgence in the past few years showed on your body, curves cascading down your back and flaring at your hips, and your belly often hanging over the waistband of your pants.

You quickly picked up on my food habits, and were quite frankly appalled.

"How can you not love food? Every flavour, every texture? Food is art to me. Have you had good food before?"

I shrugged, because, no, not really. My experience with food thus far had been boxed pastas, cans of soups and chilis, whatever frozen meals were on sale, and various boxed snacks. Eating them didn't bring me a fraction of the joy you got just from talking about food.

Thus began your mission of making me fall in love with at least one dish.

You really could have stopped at the first dish. The leek and potato stew blew my mind. I had never had leeks and found potatoes flavourless mush. But somehow you managed to make such mundane ingredients into a symphonious dish, tastes layering over one another. I could not get enough. The warmth spread from my stomach to encompass my body, and in my cozy bliss I just kept eating, chasing the high of this delectable experience.

I had eaten so much my stomach didn't even slosh when I painstakenly got up from the table.

Your first success spurred you into overdrive. You sought different flavour profiles and combinations, testing to see which ones would make me melt. Most of them did.

Most days I was coming home to the scent of dinner leading me down the hall, with an underlying sweetness hinting at dessert.

You tried a wide range of cuisines. Pot pies, various proteins with rice and veggies, curries from all around the world, and so many different types of pasta. Desserts include cobblers, doughnuts, pies, cakes, and a variety of pastries. I could not believe how much flavour was in everything, and was desperate to get as much of it as possible. Every meal ended with me breathing shallowly, hand caressing my overburdened gut, and you with a satisfied smirk on your face.

With your increase in cooking came your increase in eating. Slowly your body started to billow outward, filling out all your clothes, finally forcing you to look at specialty stores to restock.

My weight gain was not so slow. My body was so used to running on minimal to average calories, it didn't know what to do with the sudden influx, now having to process at least twice what I used to eat in a day.

The first place it was noticable was my gut. It only took a week or two before I had a cute little pot belly. It would push open the buttons on my shirt, and cause issues when buttoning my pants. The rest of my body followed suit. My thighs and ass started to swell, my arms felt constricted in my t-shirts, and a double chin was quickly noticable. I barely noticed. I was so caught up in a whirlwind of culinary pleasure that I paid no mind to my tightening waistbands and my gut starting to peak out of my shirt.

Soon you started cooking breakfast, too. The table would be covered in food, from pancakes to bacon, hashbrowns to quiche. Each day there was something different, and each day I gorged until nearly comatose.

Eating like this every day rapidly changed my body, I had put on 100lbs in 11 months, from the first time you made that stew. I had upgraded my wardrobe 4 times, and was needing to again soon.

And then is was December. The month of overindulgence. Holiday parties every weekend. Potlucks, cocktail parties, hearty meals, sometimes multiple events in the same day.

This was the first time I truly appreciated food; the tastes, the textures, and the stories behind each dish. I tried everything, and then I tried everything again. Most nights I struggled to waddle from the car to my bed. On the rare occasions I wasn't fit to burst, you sat me down on the couch and made me try your creations for the next party. On those nights, I was bound to pass out in the living room, eyes glazed over, gut too stuffed to think about getting up.

Despite all the socializing and gatherings, Christmas day was quiet, just the two of us. I didn't want to fly across the country to see my few relatives, and you were going to do a late holiday dinner with your family at the end of January, when work slowed down for your parents.

I received two sets of pajamas that year. One from you, plaid pants and a red flannel top. It was a little big, but we both knew that wouldn't be the case for long. The other pair I got was from a childhood friend I hadn't seen in person in over 2 years. The pants were baby blue with snowflakes, and the tank top had a cheesy graphic and the phrase "Let it Snow!"

When you went to go work on the feast planned for the day, I tried the second pair of pajamas on. Despite being incredibly stretchy, I could barely get the pants past my thighs. My ass was hanging out the back, and the drawstrings were instantly lost in the waistband. The graphic on the shirt was horrendously distorted, and I could feel a breeze on the bottom of my belly. I was about to change back into the first pair of pjs when you called me for Christmas meal. My mind now only focused on one thing, I stopped what I was doing and lumbered to the table.

You called it Christmas Meal, because it was past noon, but well before dinner time. With the amount of food you made though, we could be there well into the night. There was the traditional fixings; turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, honey roasted carrots, sweet potato casserole, and dinner rolls, but you also added a baked ziti dish, homemade pizza rolls, and cottage pie. Bottles of wine, apple cider, and sparking water lined the middle of the table. There was enough food for 10 people, and we were just 2. I could smell desserts being baked to perfection in the other room.

"This looks amazing! I've never had anything like this. I'm sorry I couldn't help..."

You patted my stomach and laughed. "The only help I need is getting it all eaten. Load up and dig in!"

I piled my plate high with everything I could fit. It would take me at least 2 plates to try everything, probably 3 with the portion sizes I was taking. I looked over, and saw your plate faced the same overburdened fate as mine.

You ladled me a generous glass of mulled wine from the crock pot.

"Cheers!"

And then we fell into a frenzied silence, only the cacophony of two gluttons enjoying a sinfully indulgent feast, and the tv still playing Christmas special reruns in the other room made noise in our tiny apartment.

I still don't know how you did it, but every bite I took had me holding back a moan.

My family had attempted to make a turkey once in my life, and it resulted in a tasteless hunk of disappointment, the bird so dried out that the white meat was somehow pointy and sharp. The one you made was opposite to everything I expected. It was nearly falling apart in my mouth, the seasoning from the brine and rub made it to every bite. Different levels of flavours washed over me, and my eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head.

Every dish you made was like this. Some of them I had equally dismal expectations of, like the green beans, sweet potato casserole, mashed potatoes, and pizza rolls, all things my family had made sacrilege of once. Everything else I either hadn't had, or only had store bought. Even the best store bought ziti bake didn't come close to yours.

I was put into a trance. There was not a moment where I was still, constantly chewing, swallowing, and reaching for the next bite. Everything was washed down with copious amounts of wine and cider.

My shirt was pushed up by my rounding gut, bunched up under my chest by the end of the 3rd plate, my cheeks were warm, and every gurgle my belly let out just pushed me to eat more.

Your clothes had given up containing your belly. It sat naked on full display, hanging out of your defeated shirt, pushing your thighs apart as it sank further. You were absent-mindedly rubbing the crest of your gut as you shoved another role in your mouth. I poured the last of the 2nd bottle of wine in your glass, and popped open the 3rd to serve myself.

It wasn't until just after starting my 7th plate that I realised how overstuffed I was. It all hit me at once, the bottom of my belly itching as my skin stretched around my stomach swelling forward, my breathe shallow and pained, my lungs given no room to expand, pushing out a burp with every other gasp of air. I couldn't lean back without getting a stitch.

You were in a similar state. Hiccups jolting your body shaking out burps, your hands gingerly massaging your gut which was red and almost shiny.

I don't know how long we sat there, just rubbing our guts and moaning. There was still food left, but maybe enough for 1 averaged-sized meal for both of us. Everything else was crammed into our bellies.

Firmly drunk now, the sensation of rubbing my belly was sending sparks along all my nerves. Between that and riding the high of the first Christmas meal I had ever enjoyed, I was lost in my own little world of bliss.

A harsh timer bell going off in the kitchen jolted me out of my stupor, unleashing a string of burps and a new bout of hiccups. You groaned as you got up, supporting your back and belly like you were 9 months pregnant.

You looked at me with a wine-soaked grin.

"Ready for dessert?"

[breezybangtanbebe]

Eye On You: Wonho❤️‍🔥

A/n: anyone ever sit back and think about how rich Wonho would be if he had an OnlyFan's account? Just me? 🌚 aw ok well....here you go🥴. I wrote this in like an hour so...

3.75k words

You never imagined you'd be the type to subscribe to one of these websites.

Hell, you barely liked forking over that $9.99 a month for Netflix and a small part of your soul died at the sight of that reoccurring charge on your bank statements.

But this felt different.

It was midday and you were alone in your room, writhing in bed as your body's reluctance to go to sleep frustrates you.

It wasn't as if you needed a nap but sleep was the only thing that could distract you from the insatiable ache between your legs.

So after scrolling on social media for a little bit, seeing enough of a particularly fine man's face and body on your timeline led you to fish out your debit card and open your laptop.

The cursor idles over the pixelated rectangle for what felt like minutes.

You've already created the account and input your payment information.

All you had to do was hit subscribe and an uncensored world of Wonho would be unveiled for your and 120,863 people's eyes only.

When you'd first seen him, you were amazed by the exaggerated definition of his muscles and undeniably handsome face.

Every Instagram post was either him fully clothed and candid, smiling or looking away as if he weren't aware of a picture being taken.

Or he was naked.

Ok, maybe not full-on ass-naked but he might as well have been.

Plump and pert glutes.

Thick muscled thighs.

Massive pecs that could easily fit in a d cupped bra.

Buttered Hawaiian roll-looking abs.

And then there was his....lower half.

No matter what he wore, there was never a reason NOT to look down at the sizable print that bulged in the most provocative way in even jeans or dress pants.

Him wearing a size smaller than his normal fit, no underwear, and sitting wide-legged in every picture didn't help either.

Don't even bother asking anyone what color his hair or his shoes are.

You damn sure didn't know.

All you knew was that when you realized this specimen had a Stream4You account, similar to OnlyFans, it only took a shameful 8 minutes for you to decide to subscribe.

The membership fee wasn't bad.

About as much as your Netflix subscription and you were sure to be much more entertained by this than the thousands of shows and movies you'd scrolled through.

Plus you could cancel any time so...

You click to enter the website and your eyes widen at the array of pornographic thumbnails from past streams.

"My gawd.." you gawk as you scrolled.

Well-lit 4K snaps of Wonho on his black leather couch.

Some of him alone, gripping his thick print in different colored boxer briefs.

Some of him with a woman in various sexual positions.

Doggy style with nothing but their naked torsos and legs in the frame.

Missionary with Wonho's massive upper body looming over a woman much smaller than him, their pelvis' pressed together.

Another with a view of the bare back of a woman kneeling in front of the couch and between Wonho's spread legs, his hand resting on the back of her head with his tipped back in ecstasy.

All of them different races and body types.

All of the gorgeous.

A pang of jealousy struck in your chest as well as deep within your clenching walls.

What an experience it would be to get fucked by such a magnificent man. You didn't even have to watch him in action to know he could fuck.

It was all in his aura.

You sigh, leaning back with your laptop resting on your tummy, scrolling down his profile with a pout.

Suddenly a notification bell pings in the corner of the screen, followed by a drop-down banner letting you know that Wonho was about to start a live stream in 5 minutes.

It's a shame how fast you clicked the link that led you to the waiting room which consisted of a black screen with a countdown, a sidebar with his past live streams in the queue, and a frenzy of comments popping off in a chat on the other side.

You immediately found the 'Turn off chat' option in settings because you didn't want anything distracting you from the main event.

After an agonizingly slow five minutes passed, the black screen shifts to an unexpected view of who you knew to be Wonho's glistening chest and sculpted abs.

He's leaning over the tripod, adjusting the angle from what it sounded like.

A second later, his beautiful face fills the screen.

"Hi guys...." he croons, smiling innocently in that way that reduced his eyes to slits and lit up his entire face.

His voice is deep and soothing, something you'd probably want to hear up close or in your ear first thing in the morning.

Wonho furrows his brow and tucks the soft pink tip of his tongue at the corner of his mouth as he goes back to fiddling with the camera.

"Bare with me a second everyone...I got a new tripod and I'm still figuring it out. This angle is not...ah..there we go." He huffs in triumph as he rights the camera in the way he intended.

He then kneels in front of his infamous leather seat. Not to be confused with his equally infamous black leather couch.

Wearing nothing but some black Adidas shorts and a smile, Wonho seats himself comfortably on the floor in front of the camera. He leans forward, squinting at it for a second before smiling and waving again.

"Can you see me ok? It's in focus?" He asks and you snort at the irony of him speaking so casually considering what he was setting the audience up for.

"Looks like I am. Anyway... Hi again. It's Wonho, your favorite. I hope everyone here is enjoying their day so far. I um....really have no plan for today's stream. I just got back from the gym and showered so I'm at home for the rest of the day. What are you all up to?"

Again, he was speaking to his audience as if they were coworkers or neighbors he say occasionally on his way in or out of his home.

It was...cute. Unexpected but cute.

Your brow crinkles in amusement.

Wonho smirks softly as he stared at what you assumed to be the comments, which were no doubt coming in by the thousands per second. His eyes squinted again as he read them, his smirk persistent at what his paying audience had to say. 

For a second you toyed with the thought of him asking you about your day with s genuine interest. He'd be looking at you the way he was looking at the camera now with expectant eyes and parted lips, hanging on to your every word.

" 'Just got off work.' Cool. 'Just had dinner..' Already? It's dinner time where you're at? I haven't even had lunch yet..'Hi, baby' Hi...' You're handsome' No you're handsome, whoever you are.." he chuckles cutely as he went through more similar comments before leaning back on his knees.

He lifts his arms and runs his hands through his hair, flexing his biceps and triceps unintentionally with the movement.

He then stands to extend his body in a stretch that gave you a godly eyeful of his body. Abs contract and quads flex as he stretched and your gaze falls to the plushy-looking hill that gathered at his crotch area.

He's not even trying.

After satisfying his muscles, Wonho exhales heavily and plops into the waiting seat behind him.

It groans under his weight and you could only imagine the things that chair had to endure being owned by this man.

On and off camera.

"Glad to hear all is well with you all. Thanks for tapping in." He says, resting his head in the nest of his interlocked fingers.

"As I said...I didn't really have a plan. I took a shower and had this urge to jack off but I didn't want to do it alone...."

Your ears perked up at the favorable turn of events and you reflexively push the laptop up to your chest.

"Oh..do tell," you mutter as if he could hear you.

"...So I figured I'd just get comfortable and do that while I chat with you guys until I cum. Or perhaps until you cum. Whichever comes first..." he jokes with a little chuckle.

His corny pun and little laugh alone should be considered a sin. How could a man so burley and huge be so cute at a time like this?

Wonho remains leaned back comfortably in his shorts that hung loosely from his tree trunk thighs, his hooded gaze fixed on the camera.

He lifts one of his hands from the back of his head to rub through his silky black hair again, mimicking the way you wish you could do the very same thing.

Beside him, an iPhone lays face down on the leather armrest and he picks it up, swiping his thumb over the screen a few times before focusing on reading the stream's comments from his own device.

Then he flashes that damned panty-dropping grin.

" ''Good plan' I know right? 'Deal.'  'Sign me up Coach. 'Cum first Daddy. I need frosting for my toaster strudel'...Wow. Nasty. And beautiful. You might have just inspired some future content with that one..." he says in response.

" 'Nice Tits.' Thanks. I work pretty hard on them so glad to hear it. 'Show us your dick please' Well since you're so polite.." he grunts.

Without wasting another second, Wonho lifts his hips to push down his shorts and underwear. They shimmy over his legs and drop out of view, leaving him shamelessly nude for the camera.

"There. That better?" He teases with a light-hearted chuckle.

As he continued to respond to comments, some funny and others nasty, your eyes fixated on the culprit of all of those damned likes on his Instagram posts.

Wonho's dick.

It sits lazily between his attractive man spread, not even erect yet but still impressive.

The fact that he's clean-shaven only allows you to appreciate his full size as you tapped the fullscreen icon in the corner.

Now filling your monitor, Wonho's muscular body and thick manhood captivate you entirely.

You'd never see a man so beautiful in your entire life and maybe it was your hormones leading you to exaggerate but...

"Shit..." you exhale, marveling at his size.

For a moment you wondered why he had so many subscribers. Beyond his good looks and entertaining content, you didn't think 120K for one guy doing normal amateur porn made much sense.

Until he took off his underwear.

Wonho's dick is gorgeous. Similar to his skin tone if he were blushing with a fat mushroom tip that looked like it had been kissed by lips stained pink.

Thick and surprisingly long to be flaccid. He reaches down to cup himself, ringing his shaft between his thumb and two fingers while his ring and pinky fingers rested over his balls.

Which looked heavy and smooth to the touch.

The thought has you nearly drooling on sight

Wonho slowly begins to stroke himself, the velvety smooth skin moving over his veiny shaft.

He readjusts his seating and spreads those massive thighs more for the camera, scooting forward so that the audience has a perfect view of all he was selling.

With his other hand, he holds his phone to read the comments. He smiles at whatever madness you imagined to be occurring in the live chat.

If you weren't already touching yourself, you might have been able to post a comment or two.

At some point the laptop materialized beside you on the bed, giving you the freedom to shuck off your underwear and caress your sensitive folds.

The pads of your fingers pass over your clit and you gasp, repeating the action in a rhythm mimicking Wonho's.

Slow and steady.

Teasing yourself just enough to arouse you more.

It's not long before Wonho's once drooping member is ramrod straight and standing up at its full length.

He's a grower and a shower.

My gawd.

Wonho pauses to reach for something on the floor and sits back up with a glistening glob of liquid from a dispenser off-camera. He drops the phone to clap the substance between his palms, warming the lube before reaching back between his legs.

His large hand encircles the shaft, twirling his wrist slightly on the upstroke that's now much smoother with the help of the lubrication.

Now his dick shined as if it were encased in glass, showing everything in greater detail. He jerks himself with the original hand, using the other to cup and tug his balls gently.

"Ah..shit.." he exhales.

His tongue runs over his top lip as he continued stroking, his chest moving with each breath.

Yours shuddered beneath your shirt as you rubbed over your clit in slow and teasing circles, but the wetter you become, the more stimulating your touch is.

A soft moan parts your lips and you spread your legs wider as if you were on full display for this beautiful man and not the other way around.

Wonho gets lost in his touch for a moment, not shying away from rubbing his perineum as he worked over his dick.

His head tips back and his eyes fell shut for a moment and you wondered what he saw when he did.

What did he think about when he touched himself? It's not like he didn't have a massive collection of savory images to recall from his past experiences.

You wondered what memories turned him on the most...

After a while of the same pace and some of the sexiest soft moans you'd ever heard come from a man, Wonho lifts his head and opens his eyes to gaze straight into the camera.

There was something different in his eyes now.

Long gone was the cute and funny guy with punny jokes.

There was now what you could only describe as a demon. The brown of his irises seemed black now and they hid halfway beneath his eyelids in a sultry stare that makes you clench around nothing with a pathetic whimper to follow.

"What the..." you pause, feeling as taken aback by his expression as you were by your body's reaction to it. 

A little smirk lifts at the corner of the demon's lips before he releases his ballsack. He does a quick wipe over his thigh to rid his palm of excess lube before picking up his phone again.

Wonho goes back to reading the comments, leaning over to rest his elbow on the armrest as he stroked his dick slowly.

His brows go up at something he read but he doesn't respond out loud, only sparing the camera a knowing look briefly with a sly smirk.

He then goes on to read more, his thumb strumming over the screen.

He laughs at something someone said and pauses to switch up his tactic for a moment, focusing just on the tip of his dick and stroking over it with a shuddered sigh.

This makes his eyes roll back and he curses under his breath.

By now, your clit was so hard and swollen that your legs twitched every time your fingers passed over it. Occasionally you'd slide them inside to stroke the ache away that grew from deep.

But you could only manage that for so long before feeling like you were about to cum.

And you know once you did that, it would all be over.

Wonho looks back at his phone and smirks.

" 'Stroke faster' Yeah? That's what you wanna see?" He asks breathily, his eyes never leaving his phone.

He then adheres to the request, most likely accompanied by a cash donation.

The tacky sounds of the lube slicking the motion of his hand kicked up as he jerked himself faster.

It must have felt really good because his smirk melts into him scraping his teeth over his plump bottom lip.

"Ah fuck...mhmm.." he moans, exhaling sharply through his nose.

You match his energy, strumming two fingers over your needy clit, hips rolling and back arching.

You moan louder now,  panting as the heat collecting at your apex mounts.

You were close and so was Wonho.

You could tell from the way he'd abandoned the phone to go back to sitting upright, the other hand groping his balls and rubbing under them. His dominant hand was doing what it did best, pushing him closer and closer with every upward stroke.

He cursed and moaned just as freely as you did and you only bit down on them so that you'd be able to hear him over yourself.

Not that it was an easy task.

Hearing him moan.

Watching his hips canting and his abs contracting.

Spotting the shine of pre cum dribbling from the hole at the center of his rock-hard tip...

You wanted him. You wanted him so fucking bad that it sparked tears in your eyes knowing it wasn't him fucking into right now.

Wonho's eyes lift and lock onto the camera as it had done a few times before and for a moment it felt as if he were actually looking at you.

Through you.

Straight to your soul.

"You're about to cum aren't you?" He asks and you hiccup amidst your moan in reaction.

You lift your head from your pillow and blink away the blurriness to inspect your screen.

"Yeah...Im talking to you. I've got my eye on you...I've had it on you this whole time.." he rasps, now stroking his dick as if her priming a weapon ready to fire at any moment. 

His mouth goes slack for a second and his eyes roll back a little, but he resists the urge to look away from the camera.

From you...

"Oh fuck..I wish I was there. I bet you feel so good..fuck I bet you look so sexy right now. Are you touching yourself for me? Hmm?" He continues, this octave lifting to a gentle coaxing tone that has no will to resist responding to.

"Yes." You whimper, rubbing and swirling over your bud with the sole intention of getting yourself off.

"Good....keep going. And don't you fucking stop until you cum, you understand me?" He commands with a lifted brow.

"Yes..yes. Oh god..." you cry out, tearing your eyes away from the screen to shut them.

"Yes, baby! Like that...just like that...Im about to..." Wonho grunts and you open your eyes just in time to watch the thick spout of pearl shoot from his tip. Some of it hits his chest, drizzling over his sternum as he kept milking his dick for more. It was like it would never stop.

Your mouth hung open in a silent cry as you give in to the impending explosion as it sizzled down your spine.

Your breath hitches and your fingers pause over your clit at the memory of his intense gaze and throaty moan of release, and it's enough to send you hurdling over the edge and into a heart-stuttering orgasm.

Your climax hits you like shockwaves, making your muscles tense and relax as it passed over your body.

Hooded and lust-drunk, Wonho exhales finally and slows his strokes to rid himself of any remaining drops of cum he had left before sagging against the coach.

"Fuck...that was good...shit..." he pants, talking more to the ceiling than to his audience.

You lay limp in your bed, staring dazedly at your laptop with your now exhausted hand resting over your pussy.

That was good. Better than you'd expected for sure. You felt that same liberating tingly sensation all over that you always felt after an intense orgasm.

But this felt different.

Even though this was what he did for a living and thousands of people watched him exactly as you had...

And even though you knew there was no way in hell that this man could see you when he looked into his camera...

In your own little bubble of horny delusion, he was looking at you.

And that is perhaps what makes him so popular. The way he connects with his audience. The way he just doesn't set up a camera and act as if no one is watching him. He engages and puts on a show well worth the $10.99 a month.

Knowing and feeling that made this monthly subscription feel less like an expense and more like an investment.

Wonho's hand still rested around his dick, which was still stiff in his grasp but not as erect as it was seconds ago.

He sighs and leans up from the back of the couch, the sound of his sweaty back pealing from the leather surface making him cringe.

"Alright guys...that was fun but looks like Im gonna have to take another shower.." he huffs humorously.

You watched him in silence as he reached off-camera for a small washcloth he must have prepared beforehand.

Wonho cleans himself casually, wiping his cum from his chest and abs as if he spilled food on his shirt or something, and it makes you smile weakly.

He then wipes his hands thoroughly before tossing the washcloth aside. The cushions squeak beneath his bare ass cheeks as he scooted forward, lifting briefly to detach the device mounted by the tripod.

Now carried in the hand he just used to jerk himself off, Wonho held his audience and lifted them so that he was looking up at the camera in selfie mode.

"I hope you enjoyed our time together. I know it was quick but I didn't want to interrupt your day for too long. I have a lot of cool content planned for the month so stay tuned. Subscribe to get notifications and become a platinum member for exclusive videos. Until next time. Come back and see me. Bye..."  he winks and gives the camera a quick wave before the screen goes black again.

And just like that, the stream was over.

I miss him. I miss his random IG posts of his bawdy. I miss his smile. I miss his laugh. I miss his dorky shimmy when he’s shy or embarrassed or happy over his food. I miss his daily vlives (dammit Vlive why’d you have to go!!? *waves fist)

*sigh* anywho..🌚 I think im gonna do more onlyfans wonho stuff