#but I def will be making more in the future it's something I really enjoy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fruittt-punchhh · 6 months ago

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(couldn’t find image source anywhere, if u know pls lmk!!)

Synopsis: Choso was one of your closest friends - you spent so much time together, others said you were ‘attached at the hip’. But when his curiosity blooms, you are the only one that can help quench his thirst for knowledge.

Characters: Choso Kamo x reader (about time)

Content: Minors Do Not Interact! smut, fem! reader, virgin! Choso (so virgin that he lives in a world where he has somehow at the age of twenty something never heard about masturbating or sexual intercourse), college au, link to prn audio, suggestiveness, cursing, mentions of female masturbation, male masturbation, maybe a tiiiiiny bit of voyeurism, pet/affectionate names, big (pretty) dick! Choso, just our sweet lovey boy Cho in his full glory tbh.

Word count: A solid 6k

Notes: AHEM! there is some spicy audio from twitter linked in this post as well as an SFW image at the end. you’ll know when you’ve reached that point, and it will be emphasized like this, accentuated with '*'. if that's not something you're down for, you can totally scroll past. if you arrrre down for that, i think you'll need to be logged into twitter beforehand for the audio. if you're on mobile, I'm not sure if you'll be able to hear the audio as you read (unfortunately), but if you can, you're in for a treat bitch.

More Notes: i finally have some of my own choso smut on this blog wtf. he is my guilty pleasure omg i mean literally who doesn't love him, more specifically him when he's an inexperienced desperate crying mess???? i really hope you enjoy this one, i have def enjoyed writing it. (side note - the songs i pick for these fics sometimes fit the vibe of what i wrote, and other times it's a song i can't get out of my head. both are the case for this one - i listened to this nonstop while writing so pls enjoy if that’s cool with u). there will be future parts, and if you want to be tagged in those and you’re not already, let me know!!! SORRY TO YAP ILY BYE

(I wanted to upload this at like 5p my time for engagement purposes but then I thought about all the bitches (me) that may work from home, read smut on the clock regardless (me), or simply don’t work rn, so I had to give you the goodness now)

“Y/n, c-can I ask you a question? Like.. a personal one?”

You and Choso were seated on the couch, eyes fixated on the rom com on the screen ahead. It was your weekly movie marathon night - the movie you two just finished was an action thriller that was right up Choso’s alley. It was your pick next, and you went with a classic rom com that had a few more spicy scenes than you anticipated. It left the air in the room feeling thick, both of you clearing your throats and glancing throughout the room as if someone’s parents were present.

You and Cho had been close friends for a while, and it helped that you shared a similar schedule this semester. Although he was a cutie, you had no clue if he shared a similar attraction to you. He was so shy, and while the shy emo boy thing has worked on you before, you felt like you’d do nothing but corrupt Choso’s innocent soul if you were to make a move. You let things play out naturally, enjoying the company he brought and your friendship - but if things went in a different direction, you wouldn’t be opposed in the slightest.

“Sure, Cho - what’s up?” You ask, noting the concerned look on his face.

“Have you ever.. done that before?” He asks, motioning to the screen, and your heart aches with how precious he looks. His eyes flick up at you when your hand rests on his shoulder so you can scoot a little closer towards him.

“Well, yeah.. yeah I have. What makes you ask?”

“J-Just the movie, I-I was just curious,” he blurts, trying not to sound as weird as he felt for asking.

“Well, what makes you want to ask me specifically, I mean,” you press, trying to read his expression through his shaggy hair and long lashes.

He blushes, making eye contact with you again before twiddling his thumbs in his lap.

“I just.. I’ve never done any that before, a-and I trust you, ya’ know? I didn’t know if I was weird for not doing that,” he says, his voice becoming shakier by the second.

“Ohmygod, Cho, no of course you’re not weird! Everyone discovers things at their own pace. There’s a whole lot of stuff when it comes to sex, so it can get overwhelming,” you say, rubbing his shoulder with your thumb to help calm his nerves.

Which was really doing the opposite. Your touch was searing hot on his skin and it worried him. He’s been touched plenty of times, even by you - but it felt like you might melt through his skin if you pressed hard enough. It felt that way on his outer thigh, too; your knee resting on his leg accidentally inching closer to the area he felt every blood cell creeping to.

“Y-Yeah, s’overwhelming for sure,” he says, shifting his position slightly further from you.

“I-I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Begin? Do you have someone in mind you want to do stuff with?” You ask, begging he says no. You felt a little weird for hoping, but you would hate for his first experience to be with the wrong person.

More blood rushes to his cheeks when he makes eye contact with you, quickly looking back to the TV when he sees a hopeful look in your eye.

“N-No, definitely not. I just want to learn more, f-for when that time comes,” he says, clearing his throat and hoping you don’t catch on to his half-lie.

Phew.

“Well it’s probably best to start with the basics, yeah? Just the simple stuff, then eventually you kind of.. figure out where to go from there, if that makes sense,” you add, and he responds with a simple nod as he turns to face you again, ready to absorb whatever knowledge you have to share with him.

“So… have you ever touched yourself before?” You ask, trying not to wince at how awkward you felt asking him something so personal. But you had to assess how much he really knew.

He furrows his brows in confusion and lets out a small laugh, “Um, obviously - see?” He asks as he pokes his stomach with his pointer finger, and you remind yourself to keep a straight face. You grab his arm to refocus him and he huffs a breath of half-laughter as he notices how the blood in your fingertips pulse against his wrist.

“No, Cho. I mean like.. down there,” you say, motioning to his crotch area with your finger - he still looks confused.

“You know? To have an orgasm..” you ask, hoping he will pick up on your hints.

“Orgasm?”

You sigh, trying to find the right wording to explain this without sounding belittling.

“So, when I said ‘touching yourself’, I was referring to masturbation. I’m not gonna’ teach you how to do that because a Google search will tell you all you need to know,” and he nods feverishly.

“When you do.. sex stuff - like masturbate, have sex, all of that, usually the goal is to have an orgasm. Not always, but most of the time. I don’t know all the science behind it, but when you repeatedly stimulate the nerves in this area,” you say motioning to your groin, “you can have an orgasm.”

“O-Okay, I understand. Is the orgasm weird? Sounds like it,” he asks and you smile.

“No, no not at all. It feels really good. You know how when you have to sneeze and there’s this big buildup, then bam, you sneeze? And you feel so relieved? It’s kinda’ like that, but a million times better.”

“Better than eating your favorite food? Or watching movies?”

He asks, eager to know more.

And you sigh again, “Well, it’s hard to compare it to stuff like that, but it is really pleasurable. It just makes your body feel good, I guess. It’s hard to explain it through words, but now you know a little more - if you’re interested in that sorta thing.”

“No, I think I understand better now,” he says, thankful for your instruction.

“Oh, and if you do masturbate, when you have an orgasm, some fluid will come out from.. down there. But it’s normal and happens to everyone.”

“Fluid? Even girls?”

“Yes, Cho, even girls. It’s different though for sure. For girls it’s more like clear.. slimey stuff? And for you it’s like a white.. liquid? I’m sorry, I’m so bad at explaining shit,” you laugh, rolling your eyes at how stupid you felt.

“No, y/n you’re doing a great job! I had no clue about any of this stuff. Question.”

“Shoot.”

“What is it called? The fluid,” he says hesitantly, still trying to wrap his mind around how making fluid come out of any body part was a good thing. He feels his crotch grow warmer and, out of embarrassment, shifts his pillow to hide his growing problem.

“Oh, well there’s scientific names for it, but everybody calls it cum,” you say as you will the blush to fade from your cheeks.

“Cum. Like ‘come here’?”

“Y-Yeah, pretty much. Just spelled different.”

“Got it. Another question.”

You nod.

“How do you know when to masturbate?”

You were hoping this was one he wouldn’t ask.

“Well kind of whenever you want to,” and his eyes widen, “Let me rephrase that. It’s kind of like using the restroom, right? Something that you do behind closed doors.”

“Y-Yeah, makes sense. But whenever you want to? How do you know when you want to?”

“Okay,” you start, “you know how people in movies talk about being horny? It basically means you’re.. turned on, you want to have sex, stuff like that. So when you feel that way you could do it if you want. For you it’ll be a little easier to tell.”

“How?”

“You know how when you wake up in the morning and your… area is hard?” You ask and he blushes, turning again to look at the television.

“Yes,” he answers simply.

“Well when it is hard, it doesn’t always mean you’re horny - it can just happen randomly. But whenever you do start to feel that way, usually it’ll get hard. But that doesn’t mean you have to masturbate whenever it is that way, you know? Just if you want to,”

He gulps as he shushes the images in his mind of you waking up in his bed beside him, still trying to understand all the information being thrown at him.

“O-Okay. I-I think that’s good, for now, to start at least. Thank you for telling me all of that,” he says with a smile as he tries to focus his attention to the tv.

“It’s no problem, I promise. You can always ask me questions about anything, you know that right?” You say, wrapping your arm around his shoulders to give him a quick squeeze of reassurance.

“Y-Yeah, of course,” he says, voice cracking as he finishes his statement. There was yet another passionate scene appearing on screen, albeit shrouded by covers and dim lighting. The discussion left him feeling hot all over, and the blood rushing southward had only increased. It didn’t help that you pressed your plush chest into his arm so sweetly when you hugged him. Although he had never seen a woman in that way in person before, he knew that if he had to pick, it’d be you. It always would be.

“Y/n, would you hate me if I had to go home? My tummy hurts for some reason,” he says with a grimace, rubbing his abdomen as he looks at you.

You chuckle, “Oh really? It wouldn’t have anything to do with the three pounds of candy you ate would it?” You ask, pointing to the empty wrappers he had shoved into the plastic sack they came in.

“You’re probably right, hah. I’m sorry, I just feel like I need to lay down,” he admits, wiping the sweat he feels accumulating on the back of his neck.

You shove into his arm, to which he responds with a fake ‘ow’. “Ugh, and right in the middle of my movie? You owe me one, Cho,” you say, sticking your bottom lip out for good measure.

He smiles brightly, crows feet decorating the corners of his eyes. “Duhhhh, we can just reschedule for the weekend. I should be free Saturday night if you wanna’?” He asks.

“I’ll have to check my schedule. Don’t leave much room in my calendar for traitors nowadays.” You say with a dramatic roll of your eyes. He giggles and pushes you back, sticking his tongue out before he gathers his things to go.

You reach up so he can give you your usual bye hug before he continues walking to your door.

“I’ll give you double next time, I-I don’t wanna get you sick,” he yells as he scrambles to unlock the door. You start to get up to demand your hug before you hear the door open with a rushed ‘see ya’ later’ as he shuts it.

He rushes out the door, fumbling for his keys before he sits in his car with a huff. He was throbbing now, but you said it was something to do behind closed doors. To be fair, he was scared to try. What if he didn’t do it right?

He wipes his palms on his pants, turning the key in the ignition before he pulls out of the drive. He had so much to think about - there was no time for music. He drives home in silence, replaying the conversation the two of you had as he tries to will his hardon to go away. But each time he thought about it, it would twitch in response to the images of you in his head.

You watch him leave from your kitchen window. He looked okay, maybe a little feverish. With how sudden it came on, you felt like it had more to do with the conversation you two had than the exuberant amount of candy. You did throw a lot of information on him at once though. You want to text him to get to the bottom of things, but he was notorious for texting you back as he was driving, not wanting to leave you waiting for long. You decide to wait until after the shower you so desperately needed.

You wrap your hair in a towel and throw on your previously laid out pajamas. You fan your face so your moisturizer can dry as you go to grab your phone off the charger. No texts from Choso, surprisingly. He usually always texted you when he got home.

‘just checking in, how you feeling??🤢’

You can’t even close your phone before a loud ding! echoes in your room.

The ride home was excruciating. Now that he knew there was a way to take care of things, he felt helpless not being able to now. At this point, he still didn’t even really understand how to… ‘stimulate the nerves’ - that could mean anything. The knowledge he had now plays on repeat in his mind as he pulls up to his apartment. He checks his phone - it reads a too-bright 9:33.

He goes inside and immediately lays on the couch, not having the energy to go upstairs just yet. He forced himself to sleep. He knew texting you would make him think of the way you smelled earlier, the way you were so suddenly all over him, how your chest pressed into him when you hugged him like you usually do.

It only made matters worse that he dreamed of you - his aching, throbbing problem seemed to be worse now that he refused to take care of it earlier. He rubs his eyes, reaching for his phone to see you texted him about thirty minutes ago.

‘I’m good! Just needed to lay down, sorry I didn’t text you!! I fell asleep when I got back😴🥱’

‘It’s okay bestie!!! Do you feel better now?’

‘Yeah a little bit! Thank you for talking to me earlier’

‘Sorry if it was weird’

‘ohmygooooooddddd dude I told you it wasn’t weird! I’m always down to talk about whatever silly butt’

‘I knowwww🤓I just felt awkward but I didn’t know who else to ask’

‘It’s okay I promise. Do you have any other q’s? Might make you feel less awkward yk’

‘Mayyyybe😟’

‘I’m waiting🙂‍↕️’

Your response made him anxious - he felt like he’d been hard for hours at this point. He knew it had something to do with you, though it was difficult to admit. He had always looked at you fondly, sneaking glances when you weren’t looking, finding reasons to come over, staying up late just to talk on the phone. But he was so new to everything he had no idea on how to take things further, if you even wanted to.

He did want to learn more about you, though - like he always did.

‘do you touch yourself?’

You did not expect him to ask anything like that. He was usually so innocent and coy. It could have been genuine curiosity, although your stomach was telling you something else.

‘ummmmm yes sometimes🤔why’

He did not expect your answer, either. Not that he thought you wouldn’t - you obviously knew enough about it to teach him well. But he also didn’t think you would, maybe he was even hoping you wouldn’t. Knowing that you do made him feel like he could combust.

‘I was just curious!! sorry if that was too far’

He types the message quickly, locking his phone before he headed upstairs. He was determined to learn more - he was so hard at this point it was hurting. He couldn’t keep his mind clear from the lewd depictions of you sprawled out for him so pretty.

He sits into his computer chair quickly, logging onto his desktop before he pulls up an incognito tab. He knew that porn was out there, but he wanted actual educational material.

It’s been only fifteen minutes and he feels like he's discovered an entirely new world. He knows even more than he bargained for and he’s seen enough instructional diagrams to last a lifetime. He feels like he has a decent grasp on how to masturbate and even some ways to please others, when that time comes.

He grabs his phone, worried what your response would be to his prying question.

‘no it’s okay! just didn’t expect you to ask but yeah, it can be a great stress reliever!!’

You send the message, hopeful you didn’t sound to forward.

He receives it and the tent in his pant twitches involuntarily. He puts his phone face down on the desk, taking a breath as he attempts to process what you said.

‘also not to change the subject bc we can still talk about whatever, but i really need help on the calc hw🙏😀’

He was too excited at the thought of you so expertly relieving your stress. He imagines you all red faced, panting and falling apart. How sweet you’d sound gasping and whining his name. The thought has him reaching for the waistband of his lose sweats, his long fingers making his abdomen tense when they move further, brushing the trimmed hairs at his base before they just barely wrap around his shaft. He pulls his sweats over his length, gasping at the dry stimulation. His cock springs forward, smacking loudly on his stomach as he winces. He’s been painfully hard for hours now - his angry tip was drooling precum, smearing it underneath his belly button into his happy trail. He grabs himself again, wrapping somewhat firmly around the base of his cock, careful not to squeeze too hard. The diagrams he studied said too much of a grip wasn’t ideal, but too loose wouldn’t provide enough stimulation.

He pulls his hand up slowly, the skin around his tip enveloping the curves of his cock head snugly before releasing it as he moves his hand downwards back to its original position.

‘f-fuck,’ he whines, already overwhelmed by the new sensation. It’s not like he hasn’t felt something similar before - but the new knowledge of what this was, what it led to, left his breath shaky from the anticipation. He moves again, gripping slightly harder as he brings his hand up further than before, almost entirely to the tip as more spurts of his essence leak from his tip to his fingers.

He continues, slowly increasing his pace. Each stroke elicited a noise from him - a gasp or a grunt, and downright pitiful whines that were ripped from the bottom of his lungs. He had never felt so close to nirvana before and he couldn’t help vocalizing* his pleasure as he struggles to keep a steady pace. He tries to stop his mind from drifting, but the snug grip he has on his length as he repeatedly bucks into his hand sends him to a place where every thought is infiltrated with your essence. The way your hands squeeze his shoulder, how the fat of your hips threatened exposure when you wore your favorite pajama shorts, how you were always so warm, how your hair smelled when he hugged you. He reaches his free hand up into his shirt, resting on his heart as he tries to match the erratic beating rhythm with his strokes. He’s nearly crying now, strangled noises leaving his throat so raw and sharp, voice cracking and heaving as he feels an unfamiliar pull in his groin. He’s whining out pitiful cries of your name now in response to the borderline overstimulation of his pretty, weeping cock. Sweat pools on his body as his hips come entirely off the chair to pump messily into his fist, chasing a release he didn’t know he needed.

You check your phone again, seeing a message that still read as ‘delivered’. Choso was usually so quick to text you back, almost like he left the screen open to your messages only. You were starting to worry that he may actually be sick with his unusually inconsistent communication. The calculus problem you needed help with was staring back at you on your laptop screen, still waiting to be answered.

You open up your discord to see his status as ‘idle’. However, when you open Skype, you see a little green dot showing he was active in the last hour. Might as well call him here if he didn’t have his phone.

Shit. His vision was turning white as he felt every sense in his body ignite before he is lurched back into reality when a familiar chime plays in the background, somehow perceivable over the dull ringing in his ear. The sound is hardly audible behind his pathetic whimpers as he tries to steady his breathing before he answers. He flips his phone over first to see a message from you from a few minutes ago, and he curses a long string of 'fuck, fuck, fuck'.

He answers the call, feeling so stupid for keeping you waiting again. He’s unaware of the state he appears to be in when the webcam turns on, bright desktop light illuminating his red, fucked-out face.

He stutters, still struggling to catch his breath as he wipes the sweat from his brow.

“H- Hi, Hi, y-y/n,” he says, choking out an airy laugh as he puts his head in his hand.

“Were you just -“ you say, putting the pieces together as you take in his image - splotchy, sweat-shined skin, hair stuck slick to his forehead, shaky hands, and bitten, swollen lips. It would explain the inconsistent messaging, the off-kilter questions from earlier, and most importantly, the state he was in now. He was nearly moaning on the call, still too caught up in his obvious state of pleasure.

“I swear, I wasn’t, hah,” he starts, taking a deep breath again as he finds a nearby towel and runs it through his sweaty, disheveled hair, letting out an audible 'fuck' to your surprise - he never cursed in front of you.

“J-Just got back from a run!” He adds with a smile, clearing his throat as he readjusts in his chair.

“I thought you were sick?” You ask, trying to adjust your laptop camera as you sit back into the bed. Choso gasped, barely detected by his webcam mic as your camera twitched downwards in your attempt to reposition. The camera flashed your waist, hugged tightly by your white tank top, which was followed by your full chest, nearly heaving out of the neckline - his breath hitched as he catches a glimpse of your nipples peeking through the thin material. All too quickly the camera is refocused by on your face.

He thought this would make it better for him, having the camera pointed away from your tempting figure. But your clean, soft skin shined so brightly on camera and made him feel like he could melt. He still breathes heavy, trying to find an explanation to your question.

“Yeah, phew - felt like I was getting a fever, wanted to run out the ick, ya’ know?” He says, chuckling nervously after he finishes. He looks down at his gray t shirt, now covered in sweat.

“Gimme’ just a sec’ - gonna change,” he says and you respond with a hesitant ‘okay’. You chose not to tease him although the thought was lingering - he was probably as embarrassed as he’d ever been getting somewhat caught in the act.

He reaches his hand up to his webcam, sliding the privacy shield to your right - only halfway. He doesn’t realize his mistake, his still shaking fingers betraying him. He stands from his desk with a huff, and your hand flies to your mouth as you stifle a gasp. For a brief moment, his pelvis faces the camera before he turns to find a shirt. He’s pulling his sweats up as you’re able to see just a flash of his crotch, light brown hairs decorating his pelvis that come to a head at the end of a sharp, defined ‘v’. In the few seconds, you were able to see a clear outline of his dick pressed firmly into the fabric of his sweats. It looked girthy and he sat so heavy and pretty - the rounded mushroom tip protruding where it rested in the left leg of his pants. There was a darker gray patch near his tip, signaling the problem you’ve suspected him to have since he left your place earlier. He unknowingly continues his show, pulling his ruined shirt over his fluffy hair, flashing his taught abdomen before your very eyes. You could tell he was built under his clothes, and a lot of his time outside of class and hanging out with you was spent in the gym. But the up close viewing on his toned figure was enough to send a heat rushing towards your core as filthy thoughts of him on top of you flash one after the other. He unfortunately turns to find a new shirt, coming back after he finds a white compression tee to smooth over his still damp torso.

He slides the cover left, smiling at the camera with a wave as he announces his return. You clear your throat, trying to refocus your attention to the matter at hand.

“Hey yeah, um - the homework, right. It’s number… 26 on the ‘limits’ assignment,” you explain.

“Read it to me,” he demands, breathing finally stabilized from earlier.

You read the equation, explaining the error you got each time you plugged it into your calculator.

His face lights up, “Oh, yeah! That one was tricky, it’s D though. I’ll explain it in class tomorrow if you want,” he adds, desperate to end the call. While he could look at you eternally, the sensitivity he was experiencing had him nearly ripping the wood from his desk topping with his fingernails.

“Awesome, thank you!” You reply, selecting the correct answer before you minimize the tab, wanting to set the call to full screen for a moment.

“Cho, can I come over tomorrow? I know you said we wouldn’t be able to until Saturday, but I can already tell I’ll be bored tomorrow.”

He’s shocked.

“M-My place? We always go to yours though -,” he answers, glancing around at the state of his room to be met with more of a mess than he remembered.

“Well yeah, but we never go to yours though! Figured it could be fuuunnn,” you add, hoping he doesn’t see right through your real intentions. The intentions you had of ensuring he was taught well, far better than you were able to earlier. You feel as if the dots connected before you - his permanent blushed cheeks he wore so proudly whenever you touched him, the longing look in his eyes as you attempted to explain the basics of self-pleasure, and how frantically he had to leave after said conversation. Even if you were reading into this incorrectly, it would be nothing more than another movie night, which you'd never turn down.

He smiles again, nodding as he says, "You know what? Yeah, yeah that would be fun. Just gotta' tidy up before then," he finishes with a laugh, trying to remind himself that asking you to come over right now might be a step too far.

"Oh you know I don't care Cho, I'll take you however I can get you," you say as you search for the blush you expect to appear - and it does.

"Oh, y/n, he sighs, and the slight desperation in his tone made your stomach drop.

“Um, I know I've already said this today but would you hate me if I got off the call?" He asks, not so subtly seeking your permission. "I need a shower bad, hah," he says, putting emphasis on 'need'.

You give him his sought after permission, waving a quick 'bye' before he does the same, leaving the call with a sigh.

You breathe deeply, closing your laptop screen with a huff as you decide to leave the rest of your homework until later. If you had enough sense, you figured Choso was still sat on the other side of his desktop, fingers reaching into his waistband to finish what he had started earlier. You enjoyed the thought, imaging how sweet he'd sound when he found release for the first time.

You knew you had plans to make a move tomorrow, but you didn't want it to fall on deaf ears. If Cho was anything, it was oblivious, you think, remembering the poke of his tummy from earlier when you asked if he had ever touched himself. Bless his heart.

You stand to your dresser, pilfering through the countless pairs of boring underwear and bras to find the stash you usually kept for special occasions. You pulled out a whopping ten pairs of panties, all adorned with different lace patterns, bows, and varying pretty colors. You find two of your favorites - a lacy white pair with a tiny bow on the waistband that's entirely see-through, and a pastel pink thong covered in little hearts. You make sure to grab the matching bras that were thankfully clean. You lay them on the bed behind to you, snapping a quick picture before you return everything to your drawer.

You search through a lower drawer, pulling out two random pairs of shorts and some shirts to match. You quickly throw two outfits together, taking individual pictures of each before you shove everything back into the drawer. You sit back in the bed, snuggling under the covers as you pull up your messages.

‘[Attachment: 1 Image]’

‘HELLPPP’

‘can’t figure out what to wear for tomorrow❗️’

He breathes deeply, steadying himself as he stands to his feet. He still had to finish what he started, and a shower probably wouldn’t hurt with the mess he felt like he might make. He strips his clothes, leaving them in the floor as he makes his way to the bathroom.

He makes sure to bring his phone with him, ringer on and volume fully up. He had missed too many of your messages tonight, and he’d be damned if he missed another. He sits his phone on the nearby shower shelf, double checking the ringer was on.

The hot water quickly fogs the bathroom mirror as he looks down pitifully at his swollen cock, still hard and desperate as it cries for attention. He pictured your sweet face beneath him on your knees, doing the few things he could now imagine clearly. He knew you were the expert between the two of you, and he needed you to be the one to teach him what real pleasure felt like when it was given by your deft hands. He wouldn’t dare think of how sickly sweet it’d feel to rut into your mouth, how earth-shattering it’d be to bully his length deep into the goddess between your legs.

ding!

He’s pulled out of his trance, grabbing his phone with a smile as he sees your contact name shine brightly on the screen. He reads your message, then reads the incoming three, trying not to pick the image with the shorter bottoms - but he truly can’t help himself.

‘ummmmmm lemme think’

‘definitely the second one, the blue is NICE🙂‍↕️’ he responds, trying to sound like a regular person that was not at all interested in how your curves would sneak out of the bottom of your shorts.

He steps into the shower, shoulders dropping at the relaxing warmth. He hasn’t stopped picturing your face since he’s been home, but you so graciously gave him more eye candy to gawk at with the silly slip of your webcam. The low neckline of your top burned bright in his mind as he reaches his hand down again, wrapping his fingers gently around his width, leaving his thumb pressed softly into the prominent vein on the side. He wanted to try to mimic what he thought your touch would feel like - the brief flashes he got of your pretty hands typing away at your keyboard gave him all the information he needed to work with. He started slowly, dragging his large hand up before he thumbed his dripping slit, whining your name immediately at the contact. He pictures you again with your knee sliding up his thigh, hand firm on his shoulder while you whisper what he wishes were sweet nothings. He continues his soft hold as he strokes himself so sweetly, just like how he imagined you would. The pitiful noises he made earlier are now increasing ten-fold, loud whines echoing in the shower as he chases his release. He didn't realize how close he was already from the previous edging session he just brutally experienced. His cockhead was spitting now, the over-abundance of precum falling in stringy lines to the shower floor. He feels the pull in his groin again, so much quicker than he did last time, and it’s like he knew this was it.

It’s almost like you did, too.

‘ding! ding! ding!’

‘[Attachment: 1 Image]’

‘but you’ve gotta help me pick the full fit Cho🖤’ you send, internally squealing as you put your phone face down on the bed, forcing yourself to not look at the time he reads the message.

He stills his movements slightly, maintaining your his soft grip, reaching with his free hand to his phone, careful not to soak it as he brings it into the shower. The screen recognizes his face instantly, giving him a sneak peek of the lewd images you so graciously sent him as he feels his heartbeat in his ears - his heart rate increases so dramatically, he sees each pump of blood in the outskirts of his field of vision. He pauses for a moment, tightening the grip on his cock before he starts pumping furiously, nearly drunk on the pleasure as he whines breathy cries of your name. He opens the message and his jaw falls open, his pathetic cries of ‘please’ ‘more’ and ‘baby’ reverberating off the shower walls. In a fleeting moment, his balls clench tight to his pelvis and the pressure he felt pooling in his groin now snapped as his hips lurch forward, painting the shower floor white all for you as he tries to stabilize himself by holding onto the wall. He looks down through his almost blacked vision, surprised at the sheer volume of fluid he felt was being ripped from him. He kept cumming even after his hand had stilled, sharp jerks of his cock overstimulating him with each searing hot pump of liquid. He finally finishes with heavy breaths that threaten to turn into cries as he remembers the messages you sent him.

In his daze, he finds his phone wet in his hand as he rushes for his towel, wiping the screen quickly. Your messages still waiting to be answered that were sent a whole… 4 minutes ago.

‘y/n’

‘thank gou’

‘um’

‘areyou really asking me topick?,?’

Thank you? Was he drunk?

‘thank you?’

‘and yes dummy I’m asking you to pick :P’

And his heart quickens again.

‘thank you for sending me that’

‘I likeit a lot’

‘sorrymy pgones wett’

‘the pink one. please.’

He responds, making sure to type the last message clear as day.

‘why is your phone wet you nasty??’ you respond, laughing to yourself at his tangible nervousness that was apparent even via text.

‘showerrrrr’

‘and I don’t even get a pic back? wowww’ you respond, trying to see just how far you could take this before you head to bed for the night. You expect him to respond with a message filled with emojis as he skirts the question.

He finishes his shower quickly, unwilling to ruin his phone in an attempt to take a shower selfie. He steps out and dries off in a hurry, finding a nearby pair of jogging pants as he rushes back to his bedroom, hair dripping cold water down his back.

‘[Attachment: 1 Image]’ *

The warmth between your thighs grows as you selfishly save the image to your camera roll. You expected anything but his forward response - compared to the previous dearth of knowledge of how he looked under his clothes, you felt like he had sent you straight-up pornographic material.

‘you really outdid me, Cho’

‘who knew you were hiding all that?’

‘I’ll have to think of a way to repay you tomorrow 🖤 you’re so good to me’ you dote, knowing his affinity for praise.

He blushes, smiling hungrily as he types his response, wincing at the feeling when his half-hard cock jumped in response to your words.

‘i literally can’t wait’

pt. 2 coming

#fruit punch #fpoc #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #choso smut #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso kamo smut #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso x you #choso x y/n #choso fluff #choso my beloved #my baby

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lotuzies · 2 months ago

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VAMPIRE REALITY 𖥔 pinterest tour

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ hello! you were just now invited to come and take a look into the reality where blood tainted fangs are more than just a myth. where one's biggest nightmare is another's purest love.

note: this is much better viewed in light mode

── .✦ overview :

O1. louise 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⊹ let's start with the basics, the star of the show — me! louise virelli-sanguis, daughter of lord lucien & lady seraphina of valora. my enchanting, almost hypnotic beauty is enough to strike through anyone's heart. now, talking about the actual face claim (@/lavbackpack on ig), she was the perfect choice! we are actually quite similar in terms of our features, so i felt like it wasn't too big of a change.

O2. boyf 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⊹ ultimate heartthrob, park sunghoon, the famous figure skater of the human kind. we met at a festival held in virethia, my birthplace, where the bond and harmony between vampires and humans is celebrated. he was wandering around, presumably lost, until he stumbled into me. love at first sight never felt so real, so right.

O3. poki 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⊹ my child. pets are common between vampires, such as black cats, owls or even bats. most black cats living in virethia are the ones neglected in the human world, that's why they're most of the feline population here. poki, the one gifted to me around 150 years ago, has been my trusted companion ever since.

O4. closet 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⊹ obviously, i am entitled to the best (and biggest) selection of clothes. cutesy outfits in dark color schemes for casual outings, grand show-stopper beautiful dresses for important ceremonies or parties, silk pajamas for a feather-like sleep and statement accessories for some spice.

O5. weapons 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⊹ some of the vampiric population volunteers to go on certain missions on the other side to ensure virethia's safety (and wealth). due majorly to boredom and lots of convincing from my friends, i decided to join this group of people. obviously, i don't own all of those weapons — as i prefer scythes and sickles — but the pictures are an illustration of the most commonly used ones by my teammates.

O6. belongings 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⊹ things one would definitely find if spent enough time rummaging through my bedroom. lots of make up, books and my diary, fuzzy stuffed animals, accessories, candles, perfume bottles... all things you'd expect a cliché teenage girl to own.

O7. valora 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⊹ valora, the land ruled by house sanguis is, for me, synonym of home. the most populated town, city of innovation, where the founders of virethia once resided. it's a gleaming city, really, bustling markets, massive factories, the oldest of monumental structures and wonderful workshops where revolutionary ideas come to life. think something close to... dark london streets.

O8. elysium 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⊹ the true beauty of virethia is the foundation of elysium, land ruled by house caelum. elymians are known to value art in its every form, such as painting, sculpting, philosophy, etc. ethereal gardens, opulent palaces, art galleries and libraries here and there, all places any artist could gather inspiration from. very similar to the streets of rome.

O9. noctis 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⊹ the eery land of noctis, ruled by house mortis, also popularly known as "the scary ones". full of secrecy involving everything about dark and sometimes forbidden magic, it's landscapes are the closest to what humans mostly assume as the place vampires would live — towering black spires, haunted forests and shadowy lakes accentuated with a thick and misty atmosphere.

── .✦ final notes : i love love loooove this reality with all my heart!!! and even though it was a pain in the ass having to use my laptop to make this post (stupid photo limit), i still really enjoyed this whole process. let me know if u want me to make my pinterest boards public if u need inspo/visuals for a similar dr (this is still a wip tho, i'll def add more pins and sections in the future). anyways, thank u if u reached this far! byebye & go shift ! ><

#.☘︎ ݁˖ izzy (vampire version) ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 #.☘︎ ݁˖ izzy's realities ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 #shiftblr #shifting #shifting motivation #shifting moots #law of assumption #loassumption #shifting blog #shifting community #loa #desired reality #shifting tips #shifting script #kpop shifting #shiftingrealities #reality shifting #shifters #shifting consciousness

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juliusxxxxxx · 2 months ago

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Bon Unappetit - The Hands of a Florist & No Future for Me

Part one here:

- Bad Boys AU, lots of gore and cannibalism.

- Joel is a nearly immortal being with an insatiable appetite for human flesh and the other two are more or less willing to help

- 6k words

- AU created by @exug and @mi3-14. Thanks guys!

The Hands of a Florist

“I don't know. The more I think about it the less I like the idea of trapping somebody in a marriage.”

He directed his attention toward the small TV situated in the center of their base, trying to catch a glimpse of the screen. The voice of the guest star sounded familiar to him.

“We’re just setting up a trap. He's a free citizen…”

“Jimmy, stop watching that stupid TV! Give me a hand!”

He reluctantly shifted his attention back to Joel, who was busy organizing the cramped fridge. Grian had mentioned that he got it brand new from a thrift store, whatever that meant. Now, the appliance was filled with items that Jimmy would rather not see instead of watching Karen Grassle.

“I thought you already had one in the fridge,” said the man sprawled across the entire 'brand new second-hand' loveseat in front of the TV. One hand clutched the remote control while the other was busy tossing a folding knife and catching it mid-air. “Or did you eat it last night behind my back?”

The unit still had only a single light bulb, which Grian had turned off so he could enjoy the TV show. Joel didn’t encourage him to get additional lamps, and now it appeared that Jimmy was the only one bothered by the dim lighting in their rented storage unit once the door was shut and kept all the sunlight outside.

“I didn’t eat it,” Joel muttered, pulling something out from under two plastic bags filled with random red items. He soon tossed it to Jimmy without saying a word.

“Wha—Joel!”

It first landed on his head, and Jimmy struggled to untangle its fingers from his hair. He grabbed the severed hand and stared at it for a second, suddenly realizing what he was holding.

He screamed, tossing it into the air.

“Tim?! Just how incompetent can you be?!”

It almost hit Grian this time, but he smacked it away with his remote controller just before it made contact with his face.

“It’s—it’s a hand!” Jimmy pointed toward the hand on the ground, his voice trembling. “Oh my gosh, it’s a hand!”

“Yeah, obviously,” Grian responded with an eye roll before reclimbing onto the loveseat, settling back into a relaxed position. “Just pick it up, Jimmy. And clean it too. You’re the new guy, so you really should take on more of the chores for us, you know?”

“Heat it up,” Joel remarked, still rummaging through the fridge in search of something, without looking back at the two. “I can't have it like this; it’s bloody cold.”

“Aww. Is it going to give you a tummy ache?” Grian taunted with an unpleasant grin spread across his face. “Poor Joel.”

Joel remained silent in response. Jimmy began to pinch the hand on the ground with his own. The hand was a bit off-color compared to normal skin tones, which was somewhat expected. It felt tough to the touch as well. After picking it up, he looked around for any heat source. He spotted a battered microwave on a shabby table by the wall, which Grian typically used to make his popcorn.

“No, Jimmy, no—!”

The owner of the microwave shrieked and jumped from the loveseat when he noticed what had just happened. Jimmy turned to Grian with a wrinkled nose and a roaring discomfort in his stomach. The microwave was operating just fine.

“My microwave! My brand-new microwave!”

Grian rushed to the table and pressed his face against the glass, watching the hand spin it around and around. He then turned sharply to the man standing beside him and spoke through gritted teeth.

“You—oh, you’ll be the next one in it, Tim.”

“What! What else should I do then?” Jimmy asked, stepping back with his hands raised defensively.

“I don't know! Use your body temperature!” Grian exclaimed as he leaned closer. “Is this how you’re going to repay me for saving your damn life?”

“You didn't save me!” Jimmy said, genuinely frustrated. “You just left me bleeding on the floor! What kind of saving is that?”

“Yeah, but you didn't die, did you?” Grian tilted his head, tossing the folding knife in the air once more. “How unfortunate. Let’s try that again and see how well that goes.”

“Bloody hell, shut up, both of you.” Finally, this prompted Joel to issue an apathetic order, which both obeyed simultaneously.

Grian turned to the man kneeling on the floor, who was still attending to the refrigerator without giving either of them a glance. He caught his folding knife in mid-air with a swift motion but didn't toss it this time. The black eyes looked at Jimmy first before a smile appeared.

He then swung his wrist and threw the blade toward Joel’s temple.

It didn't land on the target, however.

“Aren’t you tired?”

Said Joel, lowering the fist that held the blade, only inches away from his temple. A stream of blood dripped from the fist, but its owner remained unbothered.

Grian chuckled, “Of what?”

“Living.”

The blade shattered into pieces and scattered on the floor as Joel released it, glimmering in the cold light of the fridge. He then finally found the item he had been searching for and pulled it out with his blood-soiled hand. “Oh, here you are.”

Grian laughed harder and returned to his seat by the TV. Jimmy, however, stood there dumbfounded as he watched Joel open the plastic bag and take out its content.

A heart, that’s all—

Jimmy's expression twisted as Joel stood up with the heart in hand. Joel raised it, studied it through his sunglasses for a second while holding his chin, and then took a bite of it.

He ignored Jimmy's uncontrollable scream and seemed lost in thought as he chewed.

“Huh.”

“Does your tummy not hurt anymore?” Grian raised an eyebrow from the sitcom playing.

“It’s merely an experiment.” Joel kept his gaze fixed on the heart, now missing a bite. “God, do I miss apples.”

“Does it taste like one?”

“Kinda. It got crunchier in the freezer.” He moved next to the loveseat and nudged Grian’s leg aside to take a seat, munching on his new apple while enjoying the sitcom. Then, he turned to Jimmy and said, “Stop screaming. I can't hear a thing.”

Jimmy clutched his chest, struggling to breathe. “What are you doing?!”

“Social cue, Jimmy. Use your brain.” Grian kept his eyes on the TV screen while tapping the side of his forehead mockingly. “God, I can't believe you’re worse at socializing than I am. He’s eating, of course.”

“He—he eats it raw?!”

Joel shrugged with his mouth full of heart.

As Jimmy stood there, trying to process what had just happened, all three of them turned toward the microwave after hearing a muffled explosion. The glass surface of that thing was now covered in a mist of blood. The hand continued to rotate slowly, now with a piece of exploded skin on its back.

“How did you—how did you manage to mess it up too?” Joel asked, his sunglasses nearly slipping from his nose. “How useless can you be?!”

Jimmy remained silent as he turned back and forth between the microwave and the heart-eater. He felt the warmth fading away from his body.

After a cheerful ‘ding’, the microwave stopped. The door opened slowly, revealing boiled blood dripping inside and steam rising. A foul smell immediately filled the room.

“Alright, it’s Jimmy’s turn in the microwave then,” Grian said happily after a clap. “Get in there! Get in there!”

Things didn't go as Grian had hoped, however, as Jimmy covered his mouth and pressed himself against the wall.

“Ew—” “Jesus…”

Both of them winced as he gagged and emptied his stomach in an instant.

He sat on the stone railing of a bridge near some factories, feeling the evening breeze on his face as he stared at the murky water below. It was dark and muddy, and the air was growing colder. Despite this, he chose to remain where he was instead of returning to the storage unit. He had no idea where Grian and Joel might be; perhaps they were already back at their own homes. The thought of finding out didn’t appeal to him at all.

Grian was ordered to clean around their base, which prompted some horrific words from him. When Jimmy announced he needed some fresh air and left the unit, Joel didn't make a comment while Grian threatened to boil him alive once he had the guts to return.

He reflected on the past week leading up to this terrible day. Initially, he believed that witnessing the murder would be the hardest part, and he fainted when Grian repeatedly struck the dead man's head with his Glock, all while smiling. Then, he thought the dismembering part was the hardest to witness—and he passed out again when Joel ripped a leg off with a tug and a bored expression. In the end, he believed that doing his job was the hardest part, and he fainted once more when he saw the number of bones in that pit illuminated by the white moonlight. Joel mentioned that he fell into the pit, and he was relieved that he didn't remember any of it.

And, now this.

He buried his face in his hands, shaking uncontrollably.

The image that resurfaced in his mind was when Joel bit into a heart, savoring its flavor.

He’d never have another apple again, that’s for sure.

“Tim?”

He heard a voice, causing him to release his hands. It was the man he was trying to forget at the end of the bridge, who was approaching him while holding a paper bag.

“I—I’m sorry, Joel,” he mumbled. “I needed some time alone. Why are you—why are you still here, first of all?”

“Looking for you, stupid.” Joel sat down beside Jimmy without glancing at him. “Here.”

Jimmy accepted the paper bag that Joel shoved to him. It was stained with blood in some places, but the inside appeared clean. To his surprise, the contents were—

“Cookies?” he shouted in pleasant surprise. It was a bag filled with oat crisps, full of raisins. They seemed homemade rather than from a box, with each one having a significantly different shape and size.

He picked one up and immediately took a bite; it was as sweet and delicious as he had hoped.

“How does it taste?”

Joel asked quietly, keeping his eyes focused on the distant factories.

“Good,” Jimmy replied, his mouth full. “Very good. Still the same as—”

He halted his words, however.

Joel remained silent, allowing the breeze to blow through his hair.

“Sorry... Joel.” He lowered the cookie and stared at it. “Just forget about it.”

“I still got it, huh.”

Joel, however, spoke softly with a faint smile.

“I thought I could never make them the right way again. I guess I still have muscle memory.”

“You do,” Jimmy replied with the same smile. “Still as crafty as ever.”

“How does it taste?” Joel repeated the question, still fixated on the lights emitted from the factories.

“…Good?”

“No, Tim,” he turned to Jimmy this time, “explain it to me in all the detail your stupid brain can think of.”

Jimmy stared at him with wide eyes. After a moment, he took another bite.

“It’s chunky, first of all,” he muttered as he tried to decipher the taste.”The raisins are very sweet, but there's a hint of sourness to them. The oats are tougher than the rest; you can feel their edges on your tongue.”

“Can you?”

“Yes, and,” he swallowed, “the butter is always the best part.”

“Tell me about it, then.”

“You can't taste it, but you kind of feel it. You sense it through your smell rather than your taste buds. I love it. I love it very much.”

Joel laughed heartily. “I loved it too. I thought I used too much, but it turns out I didn’t. Props to me.”

“Props to you.” Jimmy nodded.

The air was silent afterward. Joel refocused on the view of the night sky.

“Is…uh,” Jimmy asked quietly, “your hand doing alright?”

Joel lifted the hand that had caught Grian’s folding knife earlier. There wasn't a single trace of a wound on his palm.

“It’s gone already?” Jimmy leaned closer and said with surprise. “That’s ready fast! You sure it’s the right hand?”

Joel nodded and placed it back on the railing. “That’s the only advantage to it.”

All quiet, once more.

“Do you… Do you…” Jimmy mumbled, but unsure if he should continue. “Still know how to…”

“I do,” Joel responded with a shrug. “Muscle memory, I said. I bet any flower stems would snap the moment I touch them, but I’m still better than you, believe it or not.”

“Of course I do,” said Jimmy, “they said you have a green thumb.”

Joel raised his thumb in response and glanced at it. “You know, what did they mean by that, Jimmy?”

“Yeah? You’re good at gardening?”

“Not just that,” Joel lowered his gaze, “it meant I gave them lives. I gave everything I touched life. Ironic, isn't it?”

“…Right.”

Jimmy smiled a little, kept eating his cookie.

No Future for Me

“Yes, absolutely!” Karen Grassle said with a bright smile, extending her hand over the desk. “We would be thrilled to have you on the team, Jimmy.”

“My pleasure!” He eagerly took her hand and shook it. “Oh my gosh, I just can't believe it!”

“Oh, believe in yourself,” Karen said kindly. “We believe that every employee has their own potential in our company. It will be an honor to work with you.”

“Thank you! Thank you! You don’t know what it means to me, Ms. Grassle,” Jimmy said, almost in tears. “I’ll try my best!”

“I’m so glad to hear that!” She glanced at the file in front of her. “Now, I’ll call our HR department to arrange a meeting to discuss your employee benefits.”

“Wait, I have benefits?!” He was completely in tears by now. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh…”

“Yes, absolutely!” she nodded. “I believe you’ll receive a free spleen every month.”

“A—?! What—”

A free spleen?

“And some leftover pancreas from Joel.”

Now Grian was speaking to him from across the office desk, drumming his fingers on the edge with a grin.

“Trust me, Timmy. We’ll treat you right—”

He screamed as he opened his eyes, staring at the concrete ceiling of the base. Panting heavily, he found himself beneath a blanket he had brought from his previous apartment, curled up on an old loveseat that was far too short for him. With no other options for sleeping, he had no choice but to make do.

He got up from the loveseat, his neck aching from the awkward position in which he had been sleeping. After a moment, he understood what had truly awakened him in the middle of the night. It wasn't, unfortunately, Karen Grassle suddenly turning into Grian.

As the rolling door was raised, it revealed two figures. Joel held the door open while Grian dragged a black suitcase inside, leaving a trail of blood behind. Joel quickly dropped the door, causing it to crash to the floor with a deafening clang that reverberated through the space.

“What the—why are you here?!” Grian shrieked as he turned on the light and found the man sitting on the loveseat. “Get off my loveseat!”

“I—” Jimmy attempted to suppress a yawn, “I have nowhere to stay! My landlord just sent me an eviction. You people don’t pay me anything!”

“Ah, so you’re homeless now,” Grian said, unimpressed as he dragged the suitcase behind him and walked past the loveseat. His cardigan, which featured horizontal lines in various shades of red and rolled-up sleeves, was even brighter with a splash of blood. “Whatever. I'm not paying for this place anyway.”

Jimmy glanced at Joel, who appeared uninterested in the situation. However, Joel had a much larger issue to confront that he seemed unaware of, which startled Jimmy quite a bit.

“Oh my God, Joel!” he yelled, covering his mouth and pointing toward the issue. “What is going on here?”

Underneath the collar, with his strings now untied, there was a wound—a literal see-through hole in Joel's black leather trench coat. It was located exactly where a lung should be. Joel followed Jimmy's finger and raised an eyebrow.

“For God’s sake—that’s why I'm running out of breath?” He seemed surprised, but not much. “Grian, why didn't you tell me?”

Grian shrugged, “I’m taking bets on when you’ll find out.”

“What—what—what happened?!” Jimmy asked, his voice shaking as Joel tried to stick a finger through the hole. “Joel! Stop that!”

“He shot me,” Joel tilted his head toward the suitcase but kept his hand inside his chest hole. “Oh, look. A piece of my rib cage.”

Jimmy winced and pulled his blanket over his face as Joel examined a small piece of bone in his palm with intrigue. “Can you—can you stop doing that?”

Joel tossed the rib chuck onto his blanket without a word and dusted off his hand as he reached for Grian and the suitcase. Jimmy lowered the blanket and stared at the chunk with wide eyes.

“Wait, you don't need that?! It’s your bone!”

“It’ll grow back.” Joel hurled the suitcase open, revealing what remained of a used-to-be human inside. He sighed out loud and turned to the man kneeling beside him. “Grian—where’s the other leg?”

“No way—he only got one?!” Grian gasped, reaching his hands into the mess and tossing organs around. “Oh man, poor guy!”

“…Grian,” Joel pressed his palm against his forehead and shook his head, “did you lose it?”

“I didn’t see it!” Grian exclaimed as he grabbed a head from the mess, tossing it between his hands. He appeared to be struggling to remember something important. The dead man’s mouth hung open, and his facial features were barely recognizable beneath the layers of dried blood and grayish brain matter. “Maybe he only had one to begin with,” he wondered aloud.

“You saw him standing on two legs! What the hell are you talking about?!”

“It was dark, alright? It’s not like I have the weird cat eye thing you’ve got going on!”

“But you’re not bloody blind! What if the cops find it? You’re trying to sabotage things, aren’t you?”

“Speaking from the guy who is busy tossing him all over the place! How is this a ‘me’ problem?”

“Oh my God,” Jimmy weakly slapped his cheeks. “Stop—”

“You always do this, Grian! Nothing is ever your fault, is it?!”

“Because I haven't done anything wrong! Who dragged the suitcase for you? Why am I doing it? Why weren't you using that freakish strength of yours?”

“I didn't ask you to carry it in the first place! You did it on your own!”

“I’m trying to be nice! Joel! You are an idiot!”

“How dare you! Take it back!”

“No, you take it back!”

“Please...” Jimmy buried his face in his hands. “Just stop...”

It didn't help much, however. Eventually, the three of them ended up squeezed together on the loveseat. Jimmy sat in the middle, with Joel on his right and Grian on his left. Each of them took an armrest for themselves, and they refused to talk to one another for a long time following the disaster with the missing leg and the dozens of name-calling exchanges.

Jimmy sat with his hands resting between his knees while Joel attempted to poke his fingers into the hole in his chest. He made a surprised face when he finally reached the leather surface of the seat back behind him. Meanwhile, Grian shoved a tape into his Walkman and put on his headphones. He must have been playing it at full volume because Jimmy could clearly hear the rock band playing.

“Can you guys leave?”

Jimmy murmured.

“I’m trying to sleep. It’s two in the morning.”

Grian pretended not to hear anything, while Joel simply yawned.

“Please, guys…” he said feebly, “go back to your homes…”

Grian pretended to cough, while Joel rested his chin on his fist.

Jimmy sighed to himself.

“Grian,” he nudged the man to his left, “just say you’re sorry.”

Grian started bopping to the music exaggeratedly.

“Joel…” he turned to the man to his right in despair, “tell him you’re not—wait, what are you—what are you doing?!”

Joel stopped his hand, which had been busy poking at something beating inside the hole in his chest. “What?”

Jimmy’s jaw dropped. “Stop playing with your heart!”

“Who are you, Grandma?” Joel shook his head and poked it again. “It’s mine. I can do whatever I want with it.”

Grian subtly glanced at the man over Jimmy's shoulder before quickly returning to his music.

“Can I…” Upon noticing the glance, Jimmy pondered a terrible idea that might work. “Can I touch it?”

Joel seemed to hold back a remark for a moment before leaning forward slightly to sneak a quick glance at Grian, “…sure…?”

Jimmy took a deep breath and shut his eyes tightly. It wasn't an easy thing to do, but he knew he had to. He raised his hand toward Joel's chest and slowly reached for the beating heart beneath it—

“Wait, I want to touch it too!”

Grian tossed off his headphones and shouted.

It worked like a miracle. Jimmy quickly pulled back his hand and took a breath in relief.

“Huh?” Joel looked at him over his sunglasses, feigning disinterest. “You do?”

“I—” Grian ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I can't let Timmy be the first, can I?”

“What does that mean?!” Jimmy shot him a glance but chose to remain silent.

Joel, on the other hand, seemed rather intrigued. “What’s the magic word, then?”

“Please?”

Grian blinked quickly.

“No. The other one.”

“Thank you?”

“No, no. The other other.”

“I love you?”

“What the hell?!”

“Oh my gosh,” Jimmy interjected. “Grian, just say you’re sorry!”

Grian rolled his eyes and sank back into the seat. “Fine. I guess I'm sorry.”

Joel let out a laugh, albeit with a hint of disbelief. “For what?”

“I…” Grian lowered his head and crossed his arms. “I think I know where that leg is. It might be somewhere in the bush further away. I didn't check because—”

“I threw it too far, didn’t I?” Joel sighed. “Well, I guess you’re right to some degree. We better find it tomorrow before the cops do.”

Grian hummed softly and tottered his head.

“Are we reconciling?” Jimmy asked as he looked back and forth between them. “Yes? Please?”

“Eh.” “Uh-huh.”

They both shrugged a little.

“Thank god!” exclaimed Jimmy. “Now leave—”

“So can I touch it or not?” Before he could finish, Grian pushed him aside and leaned toward Joel. “I’ve never seen one beating!”

“Why not.” Joel offered him a welcome, fairly well. “You’ll be the first since Tim’s a coward.”

“Oh man! Sucks for him!”

The man in question, now face down, grunted in dismay as he locked eyes with the head in the suitcase not far away.

“You lucky bastard,” he whispered to the head while the other two shared a both heart-touching and disgusting moment. “You have no idea what I’m going through.”

“Are you terrified, Jimmy?”

He could hear Grian’s muffled voice beneath the weight of the bulky helmet, carried by the wind.

“I—I—”

He struggled to speak over the deafening roar of the engine beneath him. The noise was overwhelming, and he felt certain he would lose his hearing if he didn't have his helmet on. It was a spare helmet from Grian, which he had reluctantly thrown to Jimmy at Joel's request.

As he thought about it, he turned to his right and saw Joel on his own motorcycle. Joel wasn’t wearing a helmet or any protective gear while speeding along at over eighty miles per hour. His sunglasses hardly counted as protection. He zipped up his black leather jacket all the way to the top, with each silver rivet on the sleeves and shoulders gleaming under the dim light of the cloudy sky. Jimmy remembered several times he had seen Joel putting on that jacket over his apron while closing the shop, but he had never truly understood what it meant until now.

“I–what?”

Grian turned to him over his shoulder, which Jimmy wished he wouldn't do as they sped through the street at a dangerously high speed.

“I don't want to be on a bike!” he shouted, his grip on Grian's torso tightening instinctively. “Grian—Joel—can you slow down?! We don't need to go so fast!”

“No way. That’s not happening.” He could tell Grian was smiling unpleasantly even with the dark dome obstructing his face. “But since you asked—”

Jimmy noticed that the handle was slightly twisted, and without thinking twice, he gripped Grian tighter. This turned out to be a smart decision, as their bike surged forward, overtaking Joel’s. He shouted a few unexpected words in terror as the buildings and cars around them blurred into an unrecognizable haze.

Joel, on the other hand, simply twisted the handle in response without saying a word. As he rode past them on his Yamaha, Jimmy noticed a pair of eyes that looked strange, usually concealed behind sunglasses. They retained the same shade of brown as the florist Jimmy once knew, but now the pupils were no longer round. Instead, they resembled slits, giving Joel’s gaze an animal-like quality rather than a human one.

They were soon hidden away once more as Joel drove in front of them. Grian cursed out loud while trying to catch up with him.

The same pointless chase continued for a long time until they found themselves in a completely different part of the city. When Grian finally stopped his bike, Jimmy realized where they had taken him. They were standing at the edge of a graveyard. Joel kicked down the kickstand and left the bike behind, as did Grian. Jimmy removed the helmet and gasped for fresh air, his eyes wandering around the tranquil graveyard beyond the short stone fence.

“Wait, why are we here?” He blurted out.

“That’s where we were last night,” Joel said, then jumped over the fence.

“You—you killed a guy in a graveyard?”

“Ask Grian where he got his stupid commission from.”

Grian, on the other hand, twirled his helmet on his fingertip and shrugged. Jimmy blinked at Grian's innocent expression a few times but chose not to ask any questions. He then redirected his attention on Joel, who had just carelessly stepped a heel of his Dr. Martens on someone's grave marker.

“It should be somewhere over there,” Joel said, raising a hand toward the peaceful greenery in the distance. “Grian,” he glanced over at the man, “don’t you forget my suitcase.”

Grian let out a loud grunt of protest as he reached for the suitcase that had been secured on Joel's backseat as instructed. It was a different one than Jimmy saw last night, and it seemed lighter. He was wondering what was in it, but the thought of some rotten flesh made him reconsider. The trio walked silently among the gravestones and markers. It wasn't long before Jimmy tried to break the awkwardness with a million questions.

“Why—why am I here? You don't need someone to dig a hole for you, right? We’re not about to rob a grave, r-right?”

“Ask Joel,” Grian said, dragging the suitcase over the untrimmed grass behind him. “He said he needs you.”

“I don't need him.” Joel continued his path toward the greenery without looking back. “I need one more person. That’s all.”

“For what?” asked Jimmy, but received no response. They continued their journey through the graveyard. Jimmy glanced around and found no living beings.

It was all too damn quiet and eerie.

Once they arrived at the greenery, featuring a small garden with wilting flowers in late September, Joel stopped.

“Alright,” Grian exclaimed as he dropped the suitcase and clapped his hands together. “Where’s the leg?”

Joel unzipped his leather jacket and reached for an inner pocket, saying, “It should be somewhere over there.”

The hole in his chest had mysteriously vanished overnight. Jimmy had learned to accept this change in silence as he spent each day with these people. However, what surprised him was when Joel pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

“…Are you sure about that?” Jimmy narrowed his eyes at the cigarette between Joel’s fingers. “In a graveyard?”

Joel lit it up and took a puff.

Before Jimmy could say anything more, a hand slapped it away.

It was Grian. The pair of black eyes stared intently at the sunglasses. His fists trembled at his sides. Those eyes rarely conveyed much emotion beyond total apathy, but now they did.

“Stop it.”

He muttered.

Joel flicked open his lighter once again. “I just got my lungs back. I’ll do whatever I please.”

“I said to stop it,” Grian spoke again, in a rare solemn tone. “Show some damn respect.”

Joel lit another cigarette in response, holding the burning tip before Grian’s eyes. “Stop me, then.”

Grian said nothing but stepped back, turned away from Joel abruptly and headed toward the bushes.

“…What’s the deal with him?”

Jimmy asked quietly as Grian aggressively yanked out branches and tossed them around.

“Not a clue,” Joel replied disinterestedly, exhaling smoke. “Not like I know much about him anyway.”

“You—you don't?”

Joel raised the cigarette as he spoke. “He came up to me randomly on the street one night and said he’s willing to help an amateur learn the way in his world. I told him I wasn't one of them, and he…”

He paused. Jimmy stared at him with wide eyes, anticipating for a follow up, unaware of the limb flying toward them.

“That’s better, I said.” Grian walked over the leg on the grass without bowing either of them an eye. “This is what I wanted, isn’t it?”

Joel ignored his words and picked up the limp. “We’re done,” he declared. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

Grian, on the other hand, walked through the small garden, trampling over the withering flowers without stopping. He headed in a different direction from the one they had come from. Jimmy watched him until he was out of sight, then turned to Joel, who simply took a drag of his cigarette.

“Should you do something?”

Joel titled his head a little. “Why should I?”

“Joel—you're supposed to be the leader!”

“I am?” He seemed surprised. “He’ll come back.”

“No he won’t!” Jimmy threw him an eye. “You just let him touch your heart! How can you—”

“Don’t say it like that!” Joel winced back. “He’ll come back… I think.”

“You,” Jimmy shook his head in disbelief, “you’re just as bad as him!”

“Bad at what?!”

“Socializing.”

Jimmy followed the man's footsteps into the graveyard soon after, without not adding another remark. "Stay where you are. Eat—eat that if you get bored."

“What the hell! Who do you think—”

He ignored Joel’s threat as he strode forward in search of Grian. That guy clearly knew where he was going, as he seemed to vanish into thin air. It took a long time to wander among the gravestones before he caught a glimpse of crimson red against the decaying gray. There, leaning against a black gravestone, was Grian. The name on the marble was unrecognizable and appeared to have been scratched off by something sharp; only the years could still be read.

1955-1971

“…Grian?”

He called.

Grian raised his head and gave him a sideways glance. “Ready for your long-awaited demise?”

“Wha—I’m trying to find you!”

“And? What do you want then? Mock me?”

“Of course not!” He stood next to Grian, staring at the gravestone. “Who is this?”

Grian pulled a smile. “I think you have that head on your shoulders for too long, Timmy.”

Jimmy shielded his neck and gasped. “N-no, I think it’s comfortable where it is, thank you very much.”

Grian laughed, resting a hand on top of the gravestone. “You’re funny, Tim.”

“So,” Jimmy spoke again, feeling he should do so as a social cue, “do you want to talk about it or not?”

“It’s…” Grian sighed out loud, lowering his hand. “It’s my dog.”

“…What?!”

“Quite impressive lifespan for a dog, don't you think?” Grian said quietly. “It was a good life.”

“You—you buried your dog here?”

“Yes," he said, pointing toward a gravestone not far away. "And that’s my cat.”

Jimmy followed the finger and discovered a gravestone with a similar alteration, where the name had been scratched off the surface.

1926-1971

A cat couldn't possibly live that long, but he chose to keep it to himself.

“And, and,” Grian tapped him on the shoulder and urged him to turn the other way, “that’s my pet hamster!”

1933-1971

“And that’s my—my—”

Grian spoke to another gravestone with a wide grin, but he couldn't finish his words.

1967-1971

Jimmy unconsciously held his breath. He turned his attention to Grian, who laughed softly to himself while putting his hands in his pockets.

“Your pet…horse?” Jimmy just nodded. “Oh…lovely.”

“Of course. Yes.” Grian let out a breath. “I had many of them. I had…many.”

Jimmy tried to think of something smart to say, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he chose to share the silence with Grian.

“I hate Joel,” Grian muttered, tossing a piece of lint from the pocket of his cardigan onto the gravestone. “I hope he dies.”

“You know how to?” Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “He seems pretty much unkillable.”

“I don't know. I hope that cigarette gives him lung cancer.”

“I don't think that's how his body works but I like the idea. Then what, what will you do?”

“Then I’ll tear out his lungs and toss them into an oil drum and—and drop it into the English Channel!”

Both of them shared a laugh.

“He’s not gonna breathe when his lungs are under the sea, I guess.” Jimmy said with an exhale.

“Uh-huh.” Grian replied happily. “I like the sound of that. Let’s—”

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a whistling sound. They both startled, not by the noise, but by the shattered gravestone that had once stood beside them.

“W—what—”

Jimmy stuttered as he turned back to the distant figure, tossing a baseball in the air nonchalantly and watching them through his sunglasses. A burning cigarette was held between his lips.

“Joel, you—”

“Joel!”

The man beside him roared and interrupted him. Grian lunged forward, but was stopped briefly by another baseball whizzed by, missing his ear by inches.

“Stop me, then.” Joel picked up another from the opened suitcase laid beside him. To Jimmy’s surprise, inside it were merely baseball bats and a boombox.

“Oh, I will.” Grian grinned widely as he took out something from the pocket of his cardigan. It was another folding knife, swirling in its owner's hand. “Do you know what you just did?”

“Of course I do,” Joel said, biting down on the cigarette as he threw another baseball toward a tombstone. It shattered immediately in an explosion, and a piece flew to Jimmy’s side.

-1971

But it wasn't at the top of Jimmy’s priority, as Grian just stabbed his blade into Joel's chest.

Joel remained motionless. He just pulled out the wrist holding the blood-stained blade, clenching it above Grian’s head. That hand shook, trembling, and so did its owner.

“You know what year it is?” Joel pushed him away.

Grian cursed as he held his wrist; Joel had left a noticeable bruise on it.

“Tell me, Grian.” Joel spoke once more. “Tell me, loud and clear, what year it is?”

“It’s 1981! What do you think it is, you moron!”

Joel ignored the screaming that echoed around, cracking terribly, and shoved a baseball onto Grian’s chest.

“So you know,” said Joel, stepping back and raising a baseball bat from the suitcase, “now throw it at me.”

“…Huh?”

Grian stood still.

“You seem like a pitcher.”

Joel placed the bat over his shoulder.

“Oh, do I!” Grian laughed while tightly gripping the baseball in his hand, “You’ll regret the day you were born—”

“I already did," Joel said with a shrug, flicking the cigarette butt onto a grave marker. "No need for you to remind me. Jimmy?" He called to the other man, who was still standing in shock. "Go pick them up. I don't have an endless supply of baseballs to throw around. I'm bloody poor.”

Jimmy immediately nodded. He was certain he didn't want to be involved in whatever was about to happen between them. As Grian watched Joel's head, looking for the most lethal spot for the baseball to hit, Joel grabbed the handle of the boombox and placed it nearby.

“And play the music for us,” he said to Jimmy as he lowered the tip to the side, waiting for Grian to take a strike. “The mixtape is somewhere in here.”

“Wait, are you two seriously going to—”

“Only this time,” Joel interrupted with slight displeasure, “I don't play team sports.”

Jimmy hurried over to the boombox, questioning the truth of the statement as he shielded his head while dashing past the pair who were glaring at each other. He caught a glimpse of a pair of black eyes meeting the reflection in those sunglasses, flickering with thrill. He grabbed the mixtape from the mess and realized it was the same one Grian had thrown into his Walkman after a quick glance.

He inserted it into the boombox as Grian threw the baseball at Joel with all his strength.

“God save the Queen!”

An ear-piercing 'ding' echoed through the graveyard under a cloudy afternoon sky.

“The fascist regime!”

The baseball landed on another unremarkable gravestone and shattered it. Jimmy prayed to God it wouldn't upset some grieving family member, but it didn't seem it would matter to them anyway.

“They made you a moron, a potential H-bomb!”

He ran towards the baseball, attempting to dodge Grian's arm swinging toward the sky.

“God save the Queen, she ain't no human being!”

“Jimmy! Quick! Give me another one!” Grian shouted excitedly, keeping his eyes on the batter. Joel lowered the bat once more, ready in position without saying another word. The metal bat was now slightly bent.

“There’s no future—in England’s dreaming!”

As soon as Jimmy handed him a baseball, he raised a knee and aimed it at Joel’s face.

“Oh lord God, have mercy, all crimes are paid!”

Another swing of the baseball bat connected perfectly with its target. It slipped from Joel's grip due to the force and crashed to the ground, but it was no longer functional anyway.

“When there’s no future, how can there be sin?”

Joel picked up another bat from the suitcase and got into position again. Jimmy searched through the remnants of a gravestone and finally discovered a slightly misshapen baseball.

“We’re the flowers in the dustbin, we’re the poison in your human machine—”

He threw it to Grian—

“God save the Queen!”

—who caught it with a beaming smile.

“We meant it, man—

There’s no future in England’s dreaming!”

He threw it to Joel with his bruised wrist.

“No future, no future, no future for you!

No future, no future, no future for me!”

#hermitcraft fanfic #life series fanfic #grian #joel smallishbeans #jimmy solidarity

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rafairenlvr · 2 years ago

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A Sloppy First With Carlos?

Pairings: Carlos Oliveira x Fem! Reader

Summary: You have been dating Carlos for quite some time and finally decide to let him claim you as his own, but it is more like some sloppy sex.

Cw. Smut (nsfw), p in v, praise, virgin reader gets their first time wit carlos, dom carlos?, some begging, needy/desperate reader, a bit body worship if you squint ur eyes just a bit, possessive & a bit of cocky carlos, relationship had already been established yet we skipping to the part of where he just gives u a sloppy first time just to enjoy every moment of him inside you! This man is gonna make you a milf after he’s done fr fr want u to be the momma to his kids. Some fluff at the end there is def aftercare but I got too lazy to write it….

A/N: I’ve never written for Carlos before, so this is my first time writing for him and feel free to give me feedback!

SMUT AHEAD!! MINORS DNI!

Carlos Oliveira is definitely a charming guy when it came to women, but that all changed when you came into his life. He became so tough and cocky around you and others that it made him the kind of guy who didn’t let himself be vulnerable in front of people. It also caused you to fall for him a little bit faster. That was exactly what you wanted. Someone strong, and not afraid of showing it. The only problem with your choice was that he wasn’t exactly someone to get along with very well and was even more of an asshole than he already was.

Not something you expected from a man like that. But if it meant you could feel secure in his arms, then so be it. You could live with any kind of attitude. If he just wanted to keep you safe then so be it. You wouldn’t mind at all, actually. You enjoyed being near him, even if it made your heart beat faster and butterflies flutter in your stomach. You thought his roughness was sexy, even if you were slightly scared of him sometimes. And as long as there wasn’t going to be too much violence in the future, maybe you would be able to handle things better. Just give him some time, yet It wasn’t like you couldn’t deal with the bad side of him.

I mean he could be a total dickhead at times, sure, but you could tolerate that, too. He still respected you, afterall, and that was what really mattered. As long as you were happy and satisfied in his arms. And you had been that all this time. All your years of dating with a guy like Carlos Olivera didn’t go wrong. He treated you right, despite your flaws and his ego.

His ego brings out the best in him wether it’s in bed or out of bed, so there is no doubt about what you saw with him in bed that night. He was absolutely gentle, but rough when he kisses you sloppily, his hands firm when they roamed your body, and he took his pleasure in making you squirm underneath him. His tongue is hot and insistent in licking every inch of your skin and his fingers are rough and warm when they caress your breasts through the thin cotton fabric of your tight dress. And his eyes. Oh, Carlos’ eyes looked as if they were dark pools filled with lust and possessiveness. Without hesitation he took off his pants dropping them to the floor, his erection already trying to poke out the side of his boxers. You tried to take his boxers off although he had prioritized in spreading your legs apart and placed his hard member between them, foremost, further apart.

Fingers had trailed straight under the waistband of your dress while his hands started ripping your dress off, and your bra followed. With quick movements he tore the straps and panties away leaving you bare beneath his gaze, completely naked from head to toe. His lips left yours. Carlos began to apply lube to his hardened and throbbing cock, before slowly inserting it inside you, setting a slow movement in and out of you in a way that was torturous in itself. You whimpered from the sensation, but his grip on your hips tightened making the pain go away momentarily. Sloppily beginning to thrust into you, his pace quickened until he hit a certain spot that made you scream with pleasure. “Oh, God...” you moaned breathlessly before closing your eyes.

You never felt that way with anyone else. This is not your first time to say the least, but definitely better than masturbation to say the least. It made you feel so incredibly sensitive that it left you weak, yet at the same time it made you feel powerful and desirable. “That’s my girl…” he growled in a deep voice, grabbing one of your wrists and positioning it over your head as he continued hitting your sweet spot with his thick shaft. You moaned again while tears filled your eyes from the intense pleasure he gave you.

Your breathing started becoming erratic as he kept slamming his heavy cock into you with such force. He held your face, placing soft kisses all over your exposed cheeks and neck, causing goosebumps to appear on your flesh. “You feel so good, baby...” he whispered against your ear. Soon following after with, “Fuck… I’m gonna cum if you keep this up...”

“Don’t stop...” you begged breathless, feeling a shiver go down your spine as Carlos continued pumping his stiffening cock inside you. He kept pressing harder, making you cry out and bite your lip hard to prevent yourself from begging for mercy. “Please don’t stop….” You could hear your own voice quiver slightly, almost like a sob. In a moment you lost your restraint, and threw your head back, arching your back as you screamed loudly. A loud moan escaped your mouth as waves of ecstasy washed over you, and your muscles started tingling from his relentless thrusts into you.

He was getting close, you could tell, and soon he won't hold himself anymore. “Carlos…” you murmured, unable to finish your sentence because your breath was short and labored, and your voice was hoarse from screaming out.

You needed him to get you to your climax and come, now, now, now, you thought.

“Please..please…” you whimpered, feeling your body shaking with both excitement and desperation. Suddenly, everything came rushing in.

The orgasm. Carlos.

Your surroundings. Carlos’ name coming out of your mouth, His scent surrounding your whole being. You felt as if you were being penetrated by a monstrous cock very sloppily, even though you were. His warm and hard cock rubbing against your inner walls in time with his frantic thrusts. “Almost there… ah- hold out a little longer, baby…” Carlos grunted out of breath, panting heavily, his entire body trembling. Your breathing was starting to come out ragged as well, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you climaxed once again. “That’s it, baby… Come for me…” The next few minutes passed by in a blur, each second passing with such intensity it was overwhelming you. Carlos finally stopped after a while, releasing his cum inside you.

Your throat was sore and raw from screaming and your muscles were tense and sore from all the stretching, while your back was arched which he forced you to do as your climax hit. Carlos laid beside you and pulled the sheets up around you as he kissed your temple. "Are you alright?" Your mind was fuzzy as you nodded and snuggled closer into his chest. "...Yeah," was your reply, barely above a whisper. Your eyelids were glued shut, as you struggled to stay awake.

Carlos chuckled softly. "Did I fuck you that hard?" You shook your head and mumbled in reply that you loved how wild he got. "Mmm...you're welcome." After a while you felt tired and sleep began creeping onto your consciousness. Carlos seemed to sense this and wrapped his arms tightly around you to keep you warm as he nuzzled his nose against your cheek. "Get some rest, baby," he said quietly. You hummed in response as you relaxed into his hold, letting yourself drift off to sleep.

You were so tired that you were able to ignore the sound of heavy breathing, but it eventually woke you up when the covers moved slightly. Opening your eyes, and noticing your boyfriend staring at you intently. "Hey...sorry did I wake you up? Go back to sleep..." he whispered kissing the top of your head as he ran his hands gently through your hair. You buried your face deeper into his chest, and let out a small sigh as you cuddled up to his chest. Carlos laughed again, running his hand through your hair one last time before turning off the light with his other hand and lying down behind you, holding you tightly.

"I love you so much..." he said softly, kissing the crown of your head gently.

"Goodnight..." you breathed out before finally closing your eyes and falling asleep, enjoying the soothing warmth of his embrace.

#carlos oliveria smut #carlos oliveria x reader #carlos oliveira #carlos oliveira resident evil #resident evil carlos #resident evil smut #resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil 3 #resident evil re3 #resident evil 3 remake #resident evil x reader smut #resident evil x you #resident evil x fem! reader #carlos oliveira x fem! reader #carlos oliveira x reader #carlos oliveira x you #resident evil 🚔

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lastoneout · 9 months ago

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Honestly, I don't say it often bcs I know how this site is but I really do think for a lot of survivors of abuse, especially abuse that went on for years and years, sometimes the message "it's not your fault, you didn't do anything wrong/to deserve this" while ABSOLUTELY TRUE* isn't actually super helpful. For a lot of us there's a LOT of guilt tied into it, and even if things were truly out of our hands we will not be able to accept that we are truly blameless, at least not at first, and maybe for some of us not ever. So being told "no dw you didn't do anything wrong <3 <3 you're innocent" feels...idk like some toxic positivity style lies. It doesn't make me feel better, because I still do feel like there were things that happened that were my fault, that were in my control, even an ethicist or god or whoever could look me dead in the eyes, weigh all the facts, and assure me of my complete innocence, and I still wouldn't believe it. (Tbh, you have to be ready to forgive yourself and trying to force it early does more harm than good.)

And I occasionally see movies and shows and stuff get roasted all to hell for having the audacity to go with a different message, to offer abused characters not a platitude about how they are innocent and should forgive themselves asap, but instead say "so what if it was your fault? so what if you fucked up? you're still alive, you still have time, your mistakes(or perceived mistakes) don't make you irredeemable scum who deserves to suffer, it's okay that you fucked up, what matters is what you do next, and even if the horrible thing was your fault in one way or another or you did actually hurt people, you still did NOT deserve to be hurt in turn" because people think that is like, admitting that the person in question is at fault when they almost always aren't....but as an actual survior, I'm sorry, you can tell me I'm innocent till the cows come home and I won't believe it. What I need to hear is that even if it was my fault I didn't deserve to be treated that way. I still deserve help. I deserve to keep going. I am not forever stained by my mistakes. I deserve a future free from this pain.

I think before we look at things in this like...grand moral way where we try to make sure we're sending the most Correct and Healthy Message Possible, sometimes it's worth asking if that message is actually the one the people it's about need to hear. I'm sure for some people it is very freeing to be told it's not their fault, but that kind of message does not resonate with me. And I, as well as people like me, deserve to expirience stories about us that are cathartic, that resonate, that make us feel seen, and to not have to see everyone and their mom throw a fit because what helps us is "problematic".

Anyway this has been mulling around in my head for a while and I def have a lot more to say about the way guilt manifests in trauma born of abuse, but yeah I just feel like this is something that should be talked about when we bring up abuse narratives and how well written they are and if they send the Correct Message, because the "Correct Message" is never going to be the same for everyone. And that's true of ANY demographic you could choose to represent!

Like some disabled people might enjoy the "magically healed" trope while others find it offensive. Some trans people like stories where transitioning is easy as drinking a potion or getting a fancy futuristic surgery and some find that that trivializes their struggles. Some queer people want stories where there's just no homophobia at all, others find that a world without it feels fake and patronizing. Some women do want to read stories about how keeping hearth and home is noble and empowering and others want read about women who have other jobs and never have kids or get married. For some of us "you're beautiful no matter what" is lovely and some of us just want to be told being fat and hairy and having acne and scars and shit is normal and fine. Or, like the last post I reblogged says, sometimes "you're not a burden" doesn't hit as well as "being a burden isn't a bad thing". No one type of representation is ever going to work for everyone, and that doesn't mean one type of rep is objectively wrong and the other is objectively right.

So yeah, the next time you find yourself angry because you think a story is sending the wrong message about a marginalized or harmed group, maybe stop for a second to ask yourself if it's actually harmful...or if you're not the person who the story is speaking to, and if there's someone it is talking to who desperately needs to hear what it has to say.

(*Getting ahead of this now: Do not put words in my mouth. I am not saying that any abused person in any way deserved their abuse or was at fault for it happening, that is not up for debate. The fault is always in the hands of the person who chose to hurt them. I'm just saying it's nuanced and complicated and guilt is a huge fucking issue that survivors have to deal with all the time and it's not wrong to acknowledge that some of us are always going to feel like we did something wrong and not be eased by being told otherwise even if the person saying it is 100% correct and/or means well. I do not have time for people who are going to willfully misinterpret me. You will be blocked.)

#ask to tag #media analysis #I guess??#cw abuse mention #idk what to tag this as #loo writes

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gyaruhana · 4 months ago

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Hai since you aren't taking actual fic requests right now and only headcanons I wanted to ask if you also do those rankings? If you haven't seen basically people ask a question like 'who would be the biggest gentleman in a relationship' and the person who asks either gives a few characters for the writer to rank and write a few sentences or let the writer choose which characters they think fit best

But yeah I've basically have been seeing this a lot recently and had to think of you and your blog because I think I'd be something nice and short to write when you don't wanna do hc's/fic's and could help with potential writers block !

And if you plan on doing that then here would be your first ranking request !! :3

So out of Thanos, gwi-nam and niragi who would be the most freaky and rough in bed?

(btw I know this is long and I hope this wasn't a bother to you, I just ramble a lot about things I'm interested in and I just love your blog and everything you've written so far and I hope you continue <33)

im in love with this ranking system thingy uhm oh em gee ?!?!?!?!

i will absolutely be ranking now it's such a cute concept😭😭

below is my personal ranking.. (also thank you for liking my writing it always makes me so nervous when people compliment me..)

No.3: Choi Su-Bong/Thanos (Squid Game)

Thanos is rough, yes. He likes choking you, he likes making you cry - not to mention he really enjoys edging you for as long as possible to watch your face contort in slight pain as you beg him to let you cum.

However, I'd argue he's not entirely the type to force you into anything if it makes you super uncomfortable. The only exception for this is when he's high and not really mentally present but most of the time he doesn't push you too far over the limit.

Of course, don't mistake this for me saying he's not rough! He totally is. But, compared to the others I'm ranking, he's def less extreme..

────────────────────────────────────────────

No.2: Yoon Gwi-Nam (All Of Us Are Dead)

This is pretty self-explanatory.. we've seen plenty of scenes with him and he does NOT play.

Again, he also likes seeing you cry and choking you and blah blah blah but he's more freaky than Thanos which is why he's number two on my ranking.

He's ONLY degrading. There's nothing nice about this man. Maybe he would've pretended to be a little nice but he drops all that when he's fucking you honestly.

However, he's still only no.2 because while, yes, he isn't above being violent toward you and man handling you - he's not quite as bad as who i put as no.1

────────────────────────────────────────────

No.1: Suguru Niragi (Alice In Borderland)

No.1 for a reason.

He's the roughest and the freakiest best believe it !! He really doesn't bother playing nice whatsoever. If he sees you and he likes you, he'll just claim you without a care in the world.

Just really kinky in my opinion!!

prolly into gun play, knife play - anything incredibly violent sorry not sorry. I mean.. we all know the typa guy he is so..

i'd argue he views you ENTIRELY as a doll for his pleasure. Not anything more honestly.

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CONCLUSION: First time ranking and I may have made it a little fancy set up bc i got excited at this concept..

But, yes - Niragi is No.1 on this list. I feel like he's just a real kinky and rough asshole. Although, I do totally see Gwinam being similar to Niragi in the future when he reaches PEAK dickhead-ness.

My king Thanos is only No.3 bc he's not totally mean at heart i feel.. he's just really rough when he's high but I don't think he'd be the same level of rough as Gwinam and Niragi.

anyway, hope my ranking was good !!

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(thank you sm for this idea i need more holy moly..)

#xaeinfinity #squid game #squid game 2 #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #thanos squid game #choi su bong #aouad #all of us are dead #gwi nam #gwi nam x reader #alice in borderland #niragi suguru #niragi alice in borderland #aib niragi

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prncssie · 1 year ago

Text

ever since you’ve became friends with hobie, he makes your insides feel all weird. he’s got to know what this feeling is. he can probably help you with it, right?

caution! mdni 6k wrdz, mentions of religion, reader is super sheltered, set in a college setting, black fem reader, fingering reader receiving, oral reader receiving, corruption kink mayb just barely, hobie is real gentle, everything happens on a desk, blushing is described but can’t be physically seen, unrealistic description of coochie juice we all know it doesn’t actually taste like that hobie is just obsessed, the smut section is a littleeee bit short but i def think i could expand on this in the future pls do not spam like my blog if you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me in the reblogs

hobie has been a good friend of yours for a few month now. it all really started at a party at the college you attend. with it being your first year, every experience is a new one. your sheltered childhood only further added to it.

it was easy, hobie always claims, to tell you didn’t belong when you stood in the room, eyes wide and frantic. not to mention, you were fully dressed in jeans and a sweater. he didn’t understand how you hadn’t passed out, yet.

he walks up to you that very same night. your panic only became more evident when he’s introducing himself. “you alright, love?” and he’s truthfully concerned. you’re nearly shaking, hands clasped together.

you explain to him what happened. that the group of girls you came with disappeared, that you don’t know anyone here, that you’re extremely overwhelmed.

it’s hobie who leaves the party early, despite enjoying himself. he escorts you back to your room and stands outside your door until it’s clicked shut and locked. he also leaves his number in your phone that night with the innocent promise to help you with whatever you need.

the reaction from your parents is expected when you tell them what happened. you receive a scolding for going to the party and indulging in secular music and sin, as well as trusting a man and allowing him access to your room. you can argue that you didn’t invite him in but your parents won’t and don’t listen.

you’re used to it, used to their lectures that you actually heed their warnings. all your life you’ve been living by their rules. no boys and no parties. church every sunday, home at nine. you’ve even accepted the routine phone checks every night with no back-talk. this has been your way of living since forever.

so of course the big, gentle, temptation himself intrigues you to no end when you’re presented with such an open gateway. you’re sure if your god-fearing parents saw him, they’d have a heart attack right on the spot.

six five and exactly what your parents warned you against. piercings galore, stick and poke tattoos decorating his skin. his hair is assorted into wicks, which you don’t mind but your relatives would have called him sloppy. not to mention the clothes he wears, decorated in spikes and chains. sometimes the gems in his belt catches the sun in just the right way and he glows like an angel.

hobie gives you butterflies and not just in your stomach but in other places as well.

you don’t know what to do about the fluttering in your pussy when hobie’s had grazes your thigh when he bends to pick something up. even the word pussy has your face warming up.

at first, you thought it would be a one time, unrelated thing. the wet mess in your panties shocked you after spending your evening with hobie. you made a mental note to stop by the doctors in case it was something serious and went about your night.

and then it happened again and every night since. coincidentally, you’re with hobie every night, only to return to the safety of your dorm and deal with the same heated feeling.

that’s exactly how you find yourself in this dilemma tonight. you’re as quiet as a mouse, strewn across his bed. the strip led lights cast a blue shadow on the room. hobie is across from you at his desk, clicking around in some music making site you wouldn’t even try to comprehend.

his headphones are over his head, stretched to the biggest setting to accommodate his hair and his fingers, nails painted black, tap against the wooden desk. hobie can’t hear you with the noise filling his ears. he hums softly to the beat.

you’ve been staring at him for a while, now. originally, you were working on some homework due that night but your gaze found him and his sharp jawline that’s just barely visible from the diagonal angle he’s sitting.

before you know it, your eyes have wandered downwards until you’re looking at his legs, wide and manspreeding. your downstairs area does that weird pulsating thing.

you lips form into a pout and you shift to remove the discomfort. you never actually made it to the doctor, having realized this is only something you experience around hobie. despite this unusual situation find yourself in, distancing yourself from him wasn’t an option. oddly enough, he’s one of the few people that didn’t make you feel other.

“come listen to this.” hobie swivels in her chair to face you. he pops the headphones off his head and waves you over. “was thinkin’ about submittin’ it as my project.”

you sheepishly shake your head. your cheeks burn at the possibility of him catching you. “oh, i don’t think you want me to.” it makes you nervous to partake in the creation of something so vividly can nonreligious. you're already laying in his bed, unsupervised and alone with him. all your teachings let you know it could lead to other things.

he tilts his head, dangling the headphones off his fingertips. you can hear the punk rock melody blaring from where you’re stationed. “you never wanna listen to my music. scared or somethin’?” he doesn’t wait for a response, already slapping the bluetooth headphones back over his ears and turning back.

hobie already knows the answer but he’s uncaring, regardless. he’s become accustomed to your thinking and even though he feels it’s distorted with reality, he doesn’t judge you for it. nor does he blame you.

you’re back to staring at him and the way his hands dance across the keys. his hands are so big, you think. each finger is slender and long and could probably swallow you whole.

you take your lips in between your teeth with a disgruntled sigh. all these impure thoughts are driving you up the wall. you can’t even blame him because he’s doing nothing to provoke it. you, apparently, just can’t control yourself.

with hobie’s back to you, you’re able to silently pack your stuff up. your laptop is tucked away into your bag and you grab your spiral notebook. he doesn’t notice you’re preparing to leave until you softly slide off his platformed bed and shove your feet into the soles of your matte mary janes.

“where are you going, duck?” he pushes the left side back until it’s no longer covering his ear, rapidly glancing at you.

“my room.” you grab your hello kitty lanyard off his desk. “i’m going to do my work in there. can’t do it here. i’m too distracted.” you sling your bag over your shoulder.

“shit, is it me? hobie pauses his track. he’s rapidly hanging his headphones on the stand and jumping to his feet. “at least let me walk you back.”

hobie stuffs his feet in his traditional black boots. he doesn’t care enough to tie the blue, ladder laced laces. he’s already grabbing that loud, extravagantly pinned vest before you have a chance to blink.

“no, you don’t have to do that.” you nervously fiddle with the blue ribbon tied at the base of your braid. “i don’t want to inconvenience you and it’s not the far from your room.”

he merely tsked and rests his hand atop your head, right in between the pigtails. “darlin’ there’s no chance i’m lettin’ you walk your little self back alone. you of all people? fuck no.”

“hobie!” you chastise, hands flying up to cover your ears. the keys dangle and bump again your cheek. your mom always told you that anyone who says adverse words is going straight to hellfire. you didn’t want to be apart of that.

he opens the door and motions you through, a hand on the small of your back. “you’d follow a man to his truck just ‘cause he said please.”

the warmth from his fingertips spread throughout the nerves on your spine and you feel like you’re on fire. you pout and it can easily be mistaken for your opposing opinions on your naivety.

“sorry but it’s true.” the door clicks shut when both of you have stepped outside it. hobie shoves his keys inside his pocket and begins down the hallway to the elevator. he hasn’t noticed you trailing behind him, teeming with explanations as to why your core throbs at the sight of him.

you do this all the way until you’re out the door of the men’s dormitory. you haven’t uttered a word, thumb rubbing against the warming metal of the cross dangling around your neck.

it’s not like you’ve ever felt this feeling before. not even around the other boys you’ve been around. granted, your hangouts were never like this. it was always under adult supervision, even in your older years, and you mostly saw each other during youth groups and summer camps. this, what you’re feeling now, is an entirely new and uncharted territory.

“hobie,” you start. the warm summer breeze ripples across your skin and leaves behind a chill of the promised winter to follow.

hobie lifts his head. the rock he kicked scattered off the sidewalk and into the grass. he hasn’t spoken to you. either. that’s the best thing about him. he doesn’t ask questions, letting you process things your own way. hobie is all too aware of your differences and has no problem letting you take your time.

“i have a question. it’s kind of personal, i think.” you take a brief pause before each word, meticulously picking them to match your uncertainty.

hobie is still silent. at some point, you would have begin to question if he’s even listening to you if it weren’t for the way he lazily shifted his gaze over to you.

“are you . . . have you ever gotten this feeling in your stomach? like a hot one.” you wet your lips. your heart is about ready to stop beating. how do you explain this to him? are you just supposed to tell him he makes your no-no square all fired up? do people say that?

“what are you goin’ on about, lovely? has my stomach ever burned? yeah, if i eat enough dairy.” he chuckles with a small shake of his head. unbeknownst to him, that is not at all what you’re referring to and you are too ashamed to ask him again.

“never mind,” you say with your head hung low.

it’s your parents fault and the way they neglected to teach you about your body. it’s not like you’re a complete idiot and you know sex can lead to children. however, you were taught that sex is bad and children are blessings so it’s fair to say you’re a bit clueless on the contrasting beliefs. not to mention this weird feeling a boy invokes. the boy that might as well be the son of satan himself.

you sigh, heavy and drawn, pulling your keycard out your lanyard. it scans and the lock beeps, allowing you both entrance into the girls dormitory.

hobie lifts an arm and holds the door open over your head. he’s confused. it’s obvious you’re mulling over something, putting so much energy into it that you don’t notice the weight of his eyes boring into the back of your head.

it isn’t until you’re standing in front of your door does he speak his mind. “what’s keepin’ your head so busy?”

your hand is steady on the handle but you have yet to turn it. you can feel the heat from his body standing so close to yours and just once you wish for him to reach forward and put his hand — oh no.

“m – maybe you should just come inside.” you yank your door open and pull him behind you. it’s a drastic decision on your part. never have you ever invited any man in your room, not even hobie. at best, he got glimpses of the shared living space but never of your room down the hall. he’s always walked you back, stood at your door until you were safe inside, and made his exit. always.

even when he’s come to walk you to class, your roommates would open the door and invite him in but he’d stay planted right at your welcome mat. hobie knows you, knows what silly boundaries you have but he follows them strictly because as long as you’re comfortable, he’s comfortable.

“hold on, look at me.” hobie finds himself abruptly stopping in your living room. he yanks his arm until you’ve spun back around and settles his hands atop your shoulders. his eyes fall on your lips, caught between you teeth and nearly knawed raw. he doesn’t miss your hands clenched into tiny fists by your side. “are you okay? this isn’t like you to act so . . . erratic.”

he has to stop his curiosity from getting the best of him and drink in the interior decorations you’ve done. out the corner of his eyes, he can tell just what you contributed, different nooks and crannies filled with pink trinkets and round eyed figurines. you’re the sweetest thing all worked up and making rash decisions. he doesn’t like where this is leading.

you give him a small nod of your head, eyes downcast and on the tops of his worn boots. the grime is welcoming. better than looking in his eye and having him see how unnerved you are.

as if you aren’t shaking under his grasp.

“dove, don’t lie to me. if there is somethin’ wrong, you need to let me know and i need to hear you say it.” his hands drop to your elbows, fingertips just barely touching your skin. hobie knows you’re avoiding him, avoiding addressing something big but welcoming him in your personal space. the contrast is enormous and it’s especially a big deal for you.

“i’m f – fine. i just . . .” you timidly shift your feet, sweatered arms going to wrap around yourself. you’re clutching your cross again, attention boring into the floor. “. . . can we please talk about it in my room. it’s not something i want to say here.”

he’s hesitant to let you go, drawing in a breath. you’re going to be the death of him, he decides, with the way you concern him but he’ll take your word for it. maybe, maybe just maybe you know exactly what you want.

he allows you to take him back to your room, pushing the door open. immediately, he gets a good whiff of the clean linen wax you have burning in your wax warmer.

your space is tidy, but not necessarily clean. you’re a bit of a maximalist, soft blankets and frills draped around your room. you have posters and paper hearts hanging on your wall, a my melody rug laying in the floor beneath your chair.

there’s a couple flower cushions strewn about and plenty of stuffed animals to go around. you have fairy lights across the wood of bed, casting the room in soft yellow lighting. there’s a rack in the corner full of lacey clothes that he assumes you’re planning on wearing soon.

you look so comfortable, fitting right in. of course you do, considering you decorated it yourself. hobie lingers at the edge of the room while you go through your routine of taking off your shoes and putting your bag by your desk. you’re putting your earrings in the strawberry shaped jewlery holder when you finally address him.

“you don’t have to stand there like that. you can take your shoes off and stuff,” you speak with your back turned to him. you know it’s weird, having him in here. it’s weirder when hobie acts as if his presence in your room will turn it into an active landmine.

hobie licks his lips, hands deep inside his pockets. he doesn’t even want to let his eyes linger too long on anything in fear he’s taint your purity, full of innocence and hope. “what am i here for?”

you rest your hand against the cool, light colored wood of your desk. you feel feverish, the topic making your palm sticky with sweat. the room suddenly gets hot and you’re clearing your throat while motioning for hobie to close the door. “um, well . . .” you trail off, tapping your manicured fingers loud enough to fill the silence with quiet clicks and clacks. “i have something to ask you.”

“ ‘nd you needed to bring me here to ask me?” his head tilts in deep skepticism. hobie leans against the white wall next to your door. he doesn’t want to go any further. he doesn’t belong here.

you’re irked, hands flying to wrap around yourself. the ruffles at the bottom of your dress rub against each other like flower petals in a spring breeze. “just listen! i have something serious to ask you and you’re being awkward. it’s making me awkward.”

hobie lifts and drops his shoulders. he’s tense when he crosses the threshold of your room and takes an uncomfortable seat at your desk chair. “sorry doll but we both know i’m not supposed to be in here. what do you want to talk about? make it quick so i can go.” he leans back as far as the chair will allow, eyes up and on you.

his question demands a straight forward response, one that you cannot provide. you don’t know what is happening, yourself. you’re back to your silence, grasping for words to form an explanation. “remember when i asked you if your stomach ever burned before?”

“not this again. i thought we already talked about –”

“no! listen.” you’re shouting at him again, lips pressed into a pout. you’re just barely working up the courage and you need to get it out before it goes away. “lately, i’ve been feeling like that but not in my stomach.”

you’re speaking so fast, hobie can barely understand you. he just catches your words, suddenly sitting up with his brows knitted together. “are you okay? sick?” he presses his hands flesh against your cheeks and forehead but your skin isn’t warm to the touch.

“n – no. not that i know of.” you nearly whine when his fingertips brush along your waist as they’re lowered back to his side. “it’s a little uncomfortable.” you rub your knees together in an attempt to satiate the ache between your thighs.

hobie has enough experience to recognize the little shuffle you do, accompanied by the needy glint in your eye. it startles him. not you. anyone but you, miss purity herself. he’s seeing things. “then what?”

he’s terrified of the way you look at him, eyes glossed over. the cherry colored blush dusted across your cheeks appeals to your cherubic state. this is his worst nightmare and best dream, that you would entice him like this.

it isn’t easy to ignore the chub of your ass that you’re unaware you carry and the softness of your breasts when you grab his arm and press your body against his. it especially isn’t easy to ignore the sweetness in your voice when you plead and chastise him for his vulgar words and behavior. oh how badly does he want to twist your brain but he won’t. he can’t allow himself to. you’re too good for that and that’s the problem.

“i feel weird inside around you, hobie. only you and . . . i don’t know.” you’re meek and quiet, face advert and back in the ruffled hem of your white socks. you cross and uncross your ankles to satisfy your need to stir and wriggle. “i wasn’t going to say anything but i don’t know how to make it stop and sometimes it hurts.”

you look so pitiful and pretty like this, almost begging for his help. it doesn’t take a genius to understand what you mean but hobie can’t bring himself to act on it. it feels so wrong on so many levels. he can’t take advantage of your unawareness like this.

“aw baby,” he has to curl his fingers into his palm to prevent himself from reaching out and grabbing you. that’s why you were so insistent on coming to your room. “you don’t want my help with that.” he keeps telling himself he has to be the bigger person, the one who thinks clearly.

“i do,” you insist, daring to take a bold step closer until you’re slotted between his knees. it’s a lot for you, coiling in on yourself to find comfort despite acting out your comfort zone. “i can’t take it anymore. you don’t understand.”

his hand comes up to rest against your cheek, following an empathetic shake of his head. “no, you don’t understand. you don’t even know what you’re talking about. what am i supposed to do if you can’t even tell me what you’re talking about?”

hobie stands, presumably to take his leave. he pushes you away from him by your waist. he’s stopped when you wrap your hand around his slender wrist, staring up at him with big, entreating eyes.

“please? anything? please, hobie. i’ll take anything just help me do something. tell me what to do, i don’t care. it’s terrible and uncomfortable and i can’t bear it anymore.”

he takes one look at you and is met with your waterline, gathering in tears of desperation. all his resolve slowly breaks until he’s cupping your cheeks with a soft sigh. “you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that? babblin’ about shit you don’t even understand.” he’s gentle, backing you up until your knees are knocking against your desk. he sits you up there, hands resting on either side of you.

“hobie,” you reprimand him again for his words out of habit, hands going to cover your ears again.

he stops them, much larger ones enscasing yours with a tut of his tongue. “don’t even. you don’t get to complain about me sayin’ shit and fuck and whatever else. not right now.” he presses your palm against his lips, piercings warm against your skin.

your mouth falls open, only to wordlessly shut. you don’t know what to say, what to do. all you know is you’re slightly overwhelmed with the future possibilities. what’s about to happen? what is he going to do?

“i don’t even know what to do with you. you sure this is what you want?” hobie doesn’t feel he needs to ask with the way you were begging him but he can’t help it. you’re such a sweet thing, asking him to do something about your aching cunt. you don’t even know what you’re asking him.

you nod, eyes widening when his hand falls over your knee. it’s a respectful distance but you’re anxious, already wiggling under his gaze. “you keep asking me.”

“i know darlin’ but can you blame me? just gotta make sure.” hobie ever-so-swiftly slides his hand up your thigh until his thumb is brushing against the front of your panties. he isn’t interested in beating around the bush and quite frankly, it would be so much better to just get the first touch done for. break the ice just enough.

your body immediately reacts, legs pressing closed as far as you can get them. your eyebrows knit together as your nerves crackle and pop with a sudden desire you haven’t felt before. “i’m s – sure.”

“never had this pretty pussy played with before have you? ‘course not. you’re a good girl.”

you hate the way he’s talking to you. it’s not quite derogatory but it makes you feel otherworldly in a negative way. as if you have no clue what he’s talking about. you don’t. and his words are so unclean.

“not gonna fuck you tonight. you’re not ready for that, yet.” he aids your legs back open with a firm grip, holding them in place. “you know what that means, yeah?” hobie doesn’t mean it as an insult, circling his thumb around your already puffy clit.

“mhm,” you’re wiggling again, lip caught between your teeth. you’ve heard the phrase in passing, understanding the word and its context. never have you used it, yourself. you’re clueless, not dumb.

hobie bunches your white dress up by your hips. he’s greeted with a view of your black panties, dark enough to conceal the dampening spot but he can still feel it beneath the pad of his thumb.

your glittery lip gloss has begun to spill over your plump lip and dribble down your chin with how much you quiver. he swipes the excess off, lightly chuckles at the way you fawn and fall over.

just over the clothes touching has you like this, mewling and hiccuping and doing your best to conceal it. it’s endearing, the way you try to maintain his level of composure.

he continues toying with you, a bit hesitant. it’s not like him but hobie knows he has to take his time with you. he can’t rush. he has to prep you thoroughly, get you used to his touches. this is what you want.

“and you’re not gonna act all shy when i take these off, are you?” his finger hooks through the leg hole, snapping the fabric back until it pops against you when it’s released. “or are you still trying to be a little angel?”

the thought of hobie pulling your underwear down and seeing what no one, let alone a man, has seen. your private jewels that you’re sure are soaping wet the way they are every other night. your cheeks heat up and you squeeze your eyes shut, knees trying to do the same. “no, i’m not.” you’re trying to be so brave, it’s cute.

“don’t worry, dolly. not yet. just gonna rub your cunt, just like this.” he pushes and pulls on your clit, hot underneath the pressure of his thumb. it has your hips shuffling in an attempt to rut against him. he doesn’t know if you’re aware, the way you stare at him like he hung the moon himself. “could make you cum like this, i bet. you ever done that before?”

a particular jerk of his finger has you gasping and grabbing whatever part of him you can get to first, his forearm and his shoulder. “i never –,” your chest heaves with a broken moan, partially restrained, “n – no. i don’t.”

as far as you know, premature sex and masturbation is a sin. you have never been tempted before even meeting hobie. not only would he be the first to touch you but he’d be the first to make you cum.

his boxers get increasingly more tight at the thought. you’re so pure and he’s so lucky, being the first, even before you, to dip his fingers between your folds. he can barely restrain himself.

hobie plants himself in your hair, his gruff groan vibrating your scalp. he can’t help the way his thumb jostles your clit. it’s nearly primal, how badly he wants to draw an orgasm out of you and he knows you’ll do it so easy with how pent up and inexperienced you are.

“you don’t gotta hide it, baby. let me hear you, dove. tell me what you like so i can make you feel good.” your hair smells of vanilla and shea butter. it makes hobie want to devour every part of you, his long cock leaking with precum but he has to remember to take his time. he has to.

“hobie . .” your weak whine fills the hazy spot in his brain that’s indulged so deeply in every part of you. you don’t have to tell him for him to know, it’s obvious in how you’re unable to be still, nails stabbing into his skin. “i f – feel weird.” you’re so wound up.

hobie pulls his head back. he feels heavy with need as he tilts your chin towards his face. he just wants to see you, that’s all. he just needs to see the expression you make the first time you cum. “don’t fight it, sweet girl. just let it happen. it’ll feel real good.” his thumb strokes your jawline, coaxing you to give in to the growing lust filled pit in your stomach.

hobie knows you cum simply because he can feel it. your pussy spams so hard, he swears he can hear it. he doesn’t even have to put a finger up to your entrance to feel the pulsating. it’s almost as if your hole is searching for something to suck in.

your mouth has fallen open in a tiny o, working your body into hobie’s through your experience. he was right. it felt so good, satiating the need and burn of your body. it’s almost addicting, the way your body reacts to his touch. your brain is becoming mush with each throb. “oh my goodness.” you speak in between breaths, finally releasing hobie and drawing back your nails.

he only chuckles, rubbing at your thighs. “that was good, wasn’t it? did it help your little problem?” he plays with the bottom of your dress, conflicted between pulling it down to set you free and suggesting another round. you offered a starved man a seat at the table.

you smile shyly at him. you don’t know what to say now, what to do. your friend just made you cum after you begged him to. how do people do this casually? “yes, thank you. i’m deeply sorry for being so forceful.”

at this, hobie laughs out loud. it’s genuine and booming against the walls. it seems he has yet to break you in but he supposed he was too hopeful. of course he couldn’t turn you into something like him just from rubbing on you a little bit.

“you’re all good, duck. you weren’t being forceful, at all.” he pulls out the desk chair and takes a seat, getting comfortable in the flower shaped cushion. his limber fingers are back to picking at the side of your panties. he’s a bit hungry, he thinks.

his eyes, dark and narrowed, do something to you. you don’t understand. you can still feel the sticky mess in your underwear but something is stirring inside you, again.

you both stare at each other in a heated silence, thinking the same thing but waiting for the other to say it first.

“you want me to eat you out?” hobie is the first to speak with his head tilted. he’s far more impatient and bold to play around. when he wants something, he’ll take it.

at first, you believe you heard him incorrectly. “do i want you to what?” you feel stupid having to ask but you’re truly at a loss. “i’m sorry. hobie, i don’t know what that is.”

hobie is the luckiest man in the world. if he could whip his cock out and slide it inside you, he would but having you on his tongue would be the next best thing, especially when you’re asking him what that is. “you’re about to find out.” he murmurs, pulling you to the edge of the desk.

you’re surprised when hobie yanks your underwear down, lifting up a hip at a time to get it down your legs and tossed across the room. both the cool air and his dark gaze has you snapping your legs shut. there’s too many things to hide from and you’re unprepared.

“no, no. don’t shut me out like that.” he has his hands hooked under your knees and props them on your shoulders. his excuse is that it would be better for you to manage but truthfully, he does it to get an eye to cunt view. he pulls you even closer until your lower body is dipping into his lap and you’re relying on him to hold you up. “you’re gonna like it, i promise.”

“oh, i don’t know about this.” you grip the edge of the desk, still sitting up and getting a perfect view of the carnal look in hobie’s eye. he actually licks his lips, flicking his attention up to you for only a second.

“just once. just try it once and if you don’t like it, we can stop. you have my word.”

you don’t know how much you can trust him like this but his warm breathe is just tickling you in all the best ways. it’s hypnotizing enough to have you nodding in agreement before you know it. “o – okay.”

hobie has enough sense, what little he has left, to put a hand in your tummy and pushing you down until your back is against the cool wood. he doesn’t have to tell you to stay there. he just knows you will, especially when you’re gasping at the feeling of his hot tongue on your cunt.

your sap is sweet and unbelievably so. like cherries and strawberries and mangos on a warm summer day. he’s delusional, drunk already and nose deep in your cunt.

his tongue finds your entrance as the source of the sweetness all to easy. he’s addicted to it, each suckle and slurp persuading more of your cream to pour out your hole.

it doesn’t take you long to start writhing, hand all in his hair, tugging in every direction. each swipe of his tongue and bump of his nose in your clit has your back arching. it’s better than you could have ever imagined. you can’t believe you were about to turn this down, or the fact that you didn’t allow yourself to experience such pleasure simply because of your parents fears.

you cry and sob, legs shaking on his shoulders. you can’t decide whether or not you want to tighten your legs around his head or open them wider to accept more of him. “hobie, p – please!”

hobie almost doesn’t hear you. almost.

your words just barely float around his brain but your pleas stick just enough for him to push your legs up by the bottom of your thighs. he keeps you hooked there so strongly, he’s able to grasp your hand and maintain his hold.

it sounds so wet that it’s humiliating. you can’t believe these sounds are coming from you, that hobie’s tongue is deep in you, that he has you folded like this. you didn’t know this was possible.

your body is all warm all over again. you’re fortunate there’s no excess clutter on your desk with the way hobie has you. your hands fly to the metal structure holding your bed together, mouth drying from how long you’ve held it open.

you swear it comes faster than it did before. it occurs to you that you’re a ticking time bomb. the previous orgasm has your clit feeling like each touch is a hot stone.

it’s as if hobie steals your breath with your growing cries at your approaching release. you don’t know what to do with yourself, where to put your hands. it’s overwhelming, your second orgasm and the first time anyone has ever “eaten you out”.

“feel weird again!” you say through broken sobs. you’re met with hobie’s acknowledging hands massaging into your skin. he’s coaxing, encouraging you without having to remove himself from his new favorite spot in the world, right between your thighs.

it gives you whiplash with how quickly your orgasm comes, pushing out of you as if the first one never happened. it’s just as strong, if not stronger. your body trembles with your spurts of cream. it’s weeks worth of sexual frustration to know end and a confusing search of a solution, all washed off you in one night.

you’re so sensitive, you have to push him off with your feet at his chest and chest heaving for air. “fuck, that was good.”

“did you just say fuck?” hobie leans over you, bringing the bottom of his shirt up to wipe your sheen off his face. he’s well amused, almost snorting at your response. that had to be his influence.

“did i?” you cover your mouth with quick regret. you didn’t realize it rolled off your tongue so easy.

hobie grins, pulling you to seating and then to your feet. he tries not to ogle at you too much. it’s difficult when your lower half is completely exposed and he’s still so desperately horny but he puts your needs first, closing his eyes and clearing his throat. “you got somethin’ to clean you up with? wipes or somethin’ until you shower?”

you open your desk drawer and pull out a pack of baby wipes. you present the package to hobie, who pops it open and takes one out.

he doesn’t ask you to move, merely just lowers himself to the ground and with gentle hands, wipe up the mixed mess of saliva and your juices.

you whine, presumably from the unavoidable ache that accompanies your sensitivity.

“i’m sorry, lovely. have to,” hobie tries to be as quick and harmless as possible, soothing you with kisses to your inner thigh. they’re well mannered and innocent, until you’re clean enough and he’s throwing the baby wipe away. “are you okay, though? you don’t regret it, do you?”

you watch hobie straighten out your dress again. his gaze is as polite as it can get, avoiding any look at your pussy, although its right in front of him. instead, he meets your eyes until he rises to his feet. “um, no.” you’re back to being quiet, hands clasped and fumbling with each other.

you’re suddenly aware of how close he’s standing but it’s short lived when hobie is making his way back to the door to put his shoes on.

“i’m gonna go because i’m sure you want to process that and get your space and whatever else, yeah? but don’t worry, i’ll answer your texts and your calls.” he does feel bad, as if he’s fuck-and-dashing you but in reality, if he doesn’t get out of here, he’ll be too tempted to try and actually fuck you. “i’ll be back tomorrow to walk you to class, doll.”

you’re speechless as you watch him gather himself to leave, grateful for the space because you could probably explode right now. you also miss your panties just barely peeking out of his pocket.

“and feel free me to ask me again if you ever need my help.” and with that, he’s gone with a soft click of your door.

#࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙#hobie x black!reader #hobie smut #hobie brown #x black fem reader #astv hobie #x black reader #hobie x reader #x reader #hobie x y/n

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pixie-felix · 3 months ago

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Last message for the night I promise. I'm so sorry for blowing up your inbox ;-; If this is bad I sincerely apologize. More better thoughts will come in the future

Dom!Innie: He may be the maknae and he def has a noona kink, but he likes taking care of you (as seen in previous conversations. It's giving service/soft dom. Turning off both your phones because you don't need that right now? Treating you to extra orgasms because you had a hard day/week?) He loves making you smile whether that means gifting you that dress you had your eye on or getting the dorm to himself for an at-home date. He does love having things to himself and that includes you most of the time. You're his sweet loving noona so it's unlikely you'll have to endure punishments. He's not one for edging, but thrives off your pleasure so he'd more likely be into overstimming you (he's confident you can give him one more). It fills him with pride that he can make you cum that many times, that he knows just what makes your legs shake, that you let him mark you up to his heart's content. He takes aftercare notes from you and you're the main person he enjoys skinship from so on long nights be ready for cuddles, kisses, and falling asleep with one arm around your waist locking you in place as the other traces your back.

--🍭

First of all, spam me. Spam me all day, every day, as much as you want. Every time I see your emoji in my inbox I do a little happy dance (very cool, I know) and find a quiet corner to huddle over my phone like some kind of smut goblin.

Secondly. You have never had a bad idea in your life. Stop such nonsense thinking. Or, just put your insecurities in my ask box so I can BEAT THEM OUT OF YOU WITH LOVE AND ENTHUSIASM BECAUSE YOU'RE BRAIN IS GREAT AND EVERYONE WHO IS COOL AGREES.

That was a little intense, I apologise. Threats of violence are my love language 🫶

Okay, so I've had this Innie headcanon in my brain for a while, waiting for the right moment to crawl out through my keyboard and into the wilds of Tumblr.

So, it seems in these scenarios we're making, we're basically poly with all of skz, right? The ballbusting one is my favourite so far. That is taking me places.

You remember how Innie (fuck it, I might start calling him Ayen too, that's such a pretty spelling, and it's accurate, I'm going off topic, shit) is your kiss and don't tell boy?

Well, there's one accidental exception to that rule.

Much like how Felix and Innie discovered about ballbusting because hyung line were discussing it?

Well, drunk!hyung line were discussing the inaccuracies of porn, and Innie isn't really listening because he's beating Lixxie at uno. So when a currently unidentified hyung starts bemoaning squirting as something that never happens in real life, I.N doesn't think twice before going "What are you talking about? Noona does that every time."

BOOM. ACCIDENTAL MIC DROP.

Chaos ensues. All the hyungs are pestering, nay, hounding Innie for the deets. Trying to figure out exactly. What. It. Is. that Innie does that causes the mythical squirting happen.

Felix is having a minor uno based breakdown, but tomorrow when he remembers the kerfuffle he might be brave and ask Innie about it. After all, they shared their first ballbusting together. That forms a bond, right?

Of course, Innie tells them nothing. And makes a point of never being around drunk!hyung line when they're discussing anything sexual henceforth.

Chan/Changbin/Hyunjin (+Han) are going to be going mad trying to figure it out. Hyunjin is definitely going to start "accidentally" walking in on you and the maknae a lot. Heck, maybe Chan will too. Suddenly, they're all doing your laundry for you, buying you silly little gifts, any little excuse to come into your room urgently.

Han: LOOK NOONA I BOUGHT YOU A CACTUS THEY'RE SO CUTE DON'T YOU LOVE HIM!? 🥰🥰🥰 (I feel like I read this in a fic or an smau, I'll see if I can find it to link up but yes hello if this is your fic/smau I've taken the idea from pls let me know so I can credit u 🫶)

Chan: Hey love, I tumble dried your pajamas. They're still warm so if you put them on now, you can be all cozy 🥰 Oh, hi Jeongin. Fancy seeing you here. Well, now that noona is getting undressed, who's up for a quick three way?

Changbin: I made you a protein shake now please may I bench press you 💪🙏🥰

Hyunjin: *bursts in* YANG JEONGIN YOUR SECRETS WILL BE MINE HOW DOES SQUIRTING WORK TELL ME NOW OR I'M GOING TO WALK INTO TRAFFIC

Lino "doesn't care". But he does start paying more attention to how you and Innie interact on a daily basis. For completely unrelated reasons of course.

Seungmin actually doesn't care. Because Seungmin is full of his own secrets... 👀 And because he's careful to never be around drunk!hyung line when they're horny. (I feel like there is a backstory as to why he avoids his drunk horny hyungs, but I currently have nothing for that.)

#🍭 anon #skz smut #i.n smut #jeongin smut #innie smut #ayen smut

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obsidianpen · 3 months ago

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Howdy! Awhile back you mentioned you weren't likely to get back to Enticed and asked if anyone wanted to pick up and write the rest, you could share your plot/plan with them... I'm no where near as good of a writer as you and couldn't do that (it actually terrifies me the idea of trying to continue a fic that you started tbh, you are one of my favorite writers). But I still find myself sometimes imagining what happens in later chapters of Enticed, for instance the big showdown at the end of OotP where Harry finally presents at the Ministry, and then in Year 6 when Harry as an Omega leads to some kind of huge Alpha fight (I imagine something like a massive chaotic bloody fight in the Great Hall where the Alphas are all triggering each other & beating each other to a pulp/dueling while the Omegas hide and Betas run for cover and teachers try to stop it). So, I wanted to ask if you wouldn't mind sharing maybe your general plot/key scenes with us just for fun? And maybe the endgame couples? If not, no worries! :)

sure! Spoilers ahead!

so yeah Harry presents as a delta (omega) during the whole ministry fiasco, ofc, and it’s about as dramatic as you would expect me to make it. It happens during the possession scene and so V is right there - like couldn’t be closer to it really - and loses all self control and sense of self, trying to uh, get Harry lol but Bella, also a delta, is there, and she and Harry’s dynamics actually revolt each other so she’s not affected at all. She manages to drag her lord away to safety (she is the only one who would be powerful enough to do this), where he otherwise would have been caught by Dumbledore.

Harry meanwhile is a mess, and it’s too late for any kind of repressing potion for him. He gets taken away by Dumbles (who has MUCH more self control than Voldemort btw) and is put into quarantine. Poor Harry, it’s not a fun time.

he eventually resurfaces and is told what all happened. He has a nice little chat with Dumbledore about the uniqueness of being a Delta, which Dumbles knows all about, because duh, Grindelwald was a delta. (He also learns ollivander is a delta).

year 6: Harry is getting all the stares. He’s finally able to perceive magic and now he GETS it. He and Ginny (also an omega) have insta-bonded. Hermione is protective and already planning future ministry legislation. Ron is uncomfortable but is still Harry’s best friend and ride or die.

Draco Malfoy keeps a great distance from Harry but can’t seem to keep his eyes off him. Harry gets it because he’s having the same problem with him and about six other alpha wizards. He still hates him.

Harry is no longer able to stay in the boys dorm. He now has to stay with the other omega girls in their special dorm room, which he finds mortifying at first, but then realizes how necessary that is, and grows to enjoy them quite a lot.

Harry is aggressively adopted by Godiva (self appointed Head Omega of the Gryffindor squad) and is forced to be ‘one of them’ (though he still escapes all the time and prefers to hang out with his ‘lowly beta’ friends). Godiva is upset when she learns his name is not Hadrian or Harrison. She calls him Hadrian anyway. In lieu of being able to give him a real proper lady make over, she and Fey (who has a muggle mother as I’m writing her) figure out Harry’s glasses prescription and get him some contacts ‘so that his lovely eyes can be admired properly’ and because ‘those glasses are hideous and you’re going to make us all look worse if you wear them’. Harry is sort of into it once he gets used to it. Snape kicks him out of class when he shows up without them with no explaination.

Harry becomes obsessed with Draco Malfoy. Hermione tells him it’s just because he’s an alpha and says be needs to go shag someone else to get over it. Ron is still uncomfortable. Harry says it’s def only because Malfoy is up to something Bad but he isn’t sure if he trusts himself anymore.

Harry (who has to be even more meticulous with taking repressants btw, because he’s not as predictable as a delta) thinks yeah maybe hermione is right actually but every time a bold alpha dude hits on him he panics and can’t handle it. Godiva sighs and makes it her mission to teach him.

the Myrtle bathroom scene with Draco goes very differently. Idk for sure how that would go but probably Malfoy has been forgetting to take his repressing shit what with how stressed he is and there’s probably some pretty intense hate sex, or at least very close to hate sex and plenty of hate snogging. Is this drarry? Maybe

the death eaters still break in, Harry still goes with Dumbledore, Dumbledore still dies

seventh year starts semi similarly, Harry is out with Ron and Hermione doing their thing and hunting horcruxes but they have a limited supply of the repressing elixir for Harry. Voldemort, being a bastard who still very much wants to kill Harry (perhaps more than ever now, because deltas are exceptional and this makes Harry more of a threat in some ways), puts insane regulations and safety measures around repressing elixirs for omegas, as well as any ingredient needs to brew it, making it impossible for Harry to get his hands on any without outing himself. They eventually run out when they’re out camping in the woods when Ron is with them and they have the locket.

he has no options. Hermione and Ron have to tie him up and help him suffer through a heat when one hits (they’re beta so they can’t help in the uh, other way). Harry is losing his mind halfway through it. The only thing that helps at all is the locket. He somehow gets to it and puts it on. Locket Tom reaches him in a dream and manages to convince a half-mad Harry to say ‘voldemort.’

the snatchers show up first. This includes Fenrir Greyback. He immediately goes insane upon finding Harry like that. But voldemort has been waiting for something like this to happen, so he shows up too.

big crazy alpha duel. V versus Fenrir. Hermione and Ron can’t get anywhere near the insane magic that’s happening, but Harry can. He’s having the wildest magical awakening of his life, and when he commands these two alphas (who he no longer sees as individuals in his current state) to kill for him, they do (or they try to anyway; Voldemort wins)

and then ofc Voldemort is supposed to kill Harry because that was the point of all this. But he sees his locket and Harry’s wearing it and that poses many questions and, well, if he’s going to kill Harry anyway he might as well enjoy him first. Somewhere in the middle of that much more intense and messed up hate sex, he realizes what Harry is, so of course he takes him ‘home’ (and don’t worry either he takes him away from hermione and Ron first or more likely Harry somehow banished them, idk the details there but I would not have them watching that lmao).

uhhhh yeah that’s about how far I had the plot going in my head!

#Enticed #harrymort

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s4ndg3m · 1 year ago

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I wanna know ur wallmark divorce headcannons so bad

okokok. i had to type these all up separately so i could organize my ideas. i have like more in my head but they're hard to put into words so this is what you get

cw for alchoholism and general relationship issues. putting it all under the cut. remember these are just my headcanons and thoughts, nothing concrete.

General issues

Conflicting ideals on future life- Wallter being much more of a city guy, while mark prefers a rural setting.

Communication issues- Instead of talking things out they get accusatory and defensive, which means most talks end up arguments.

Further communication issues- They geniunely cannot understand the other half of the time. Wallter will attempt to be subtle in his communication, dropping hints instead of just flat out saying what he wants. Mark cannot pick up on these. Mark's direct communication sometimes comes across as rude and aggressive to Wallter.

General conflict- They have some shared interests, but there's also a lot of things that are important to them that they don't agree on. Like building materials, however silly that might sound.

Mark's issues

Alcoholism- Bit of A drunkard. He insists it isn't an issue but it is when it interferes with plans he and Wallter already had. "It would be weird if I didn't have a few with the boys after a job well done!"

Short-tempered- Which causes even more arguments over small things. (Def not physically abusive toward Wallter, even when drunk)

Abrasive personality- Mark would be more likely to make jabs or meaner jokes because he thinks everyone can take it. He wouldn't understand why someone would get upset over a joke.

He snores really loud- To the point where Wallter usually can't sleep. It builds tensions between them cus either Wallter is sleep-deprived or they never sleep in the same bed.

Dismissive- Wallter will ask/tell him about something that bothers him or something he wants as a gift for a holiday, but Mark usually won't listen.

Oblivious- Won't pick up on hints that Wallter drops, no matter the context.

Wallter's issues

Grey stuff. Wallter loves it, Mark loathes it. They argue over it.

Petty- Incredibly petty. Will make snide comments at Mark when he's upset about something.

Silent- He doesn't help at all with the communication issue, because he just flat out won't say anything! Until it's a big issue, of course. He might make hints but Mark cannot pick up on them.

Insistent on his own opinions- He will often push Mark to think like he does, instead of accepting their differences. It gets frustrating for Mark when he's constantly having to defend his thoughts.

Pretentious- Would absolutely try and take the moral high ground during arguments. He thinks talking in a level tone and not shouting means he's in the right, when really he's the one instigating most of the arguments.

Jealousy- I think he'd be the jealous type. He'd interrogate Mark about his friends and question his honesty often.

I don't think there was one thing that caused the divorce, but a buildup of tension and frustration over the years of their marriage that was never managed. i think they both wanted it to work, even afterward, but neither of them are willing enough to see their issues and work on them. Even then, they kind of ruined the idea of a life with one another because of how horribly their marriage ended.

anyway these are just my initial thoughts on the two. enjoy!

#labyanswering #regretevator #regretevator mannequin mark #mannequin mark regretevator #mannequin mark #wallter #regretevator wallter #wallter regretevator #regretevator headcanon #tw alchoholism #relationship issues #marital issues #arguing #wallmark

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goatedgreen · 1 year ago

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Okay lets analyse this one for realsies. Im gonna go through each character in this tweet and go through reasons why i think they either would or would not be crying first, then im gonna put them in order of who survives the roast sesh.... join me on this wonderous journey.

Let's start with Atsumu.... where to even fucking begin. sorry to the Atsumu haters but i truly believe he would not be crying first. First of all he has known Osamu since he was born and while Osamu is the "nice twin" the bar is truly in hell and that motherfucker is mean to one person and one person only and that person is his twin brother Atsumu. This mfer has been conditioned since birth to roast and be roasted. Not only that but this guy was CANONICALLY hated by everyone in his middle school, and his only reaction to that information was "So?" HE DOES NOT CARREEEE. And, I will say, while the other characters shown here are bitchy, they usually target people in petty ways that make fun of their skills (with the exception of Daisho who would probs call Atsumu a single loser but he'd likely just get annoyed by that not cry) and Atsumu knows that his skills are too good for anything they say to hold weight., He has the ego the size of the fucking gym. he's fine.

TSUKISHIMA on the other hand.... dare i say it not the strongest contender ... I dont think FIRST. but this guy is wayyyy more sensitive to criticism than people generally give him credit for. LIKE YES BEFORE YOU JUMP DOWN MY THROAT, he absolutely has the whole "keep booing me it only makes me stronger" thing going on in the Inarizaki game BUT YOU FORGET SO QUICKLY how absolutely insecure this guy is. until yamaguchi kicked his ass into gear in the training camp, he was of the impression that trying to get better at something he enjoyed was fruitless because there was always going to be someone better than him. Someone insightful like Oikawa or Atsumu would def be able to pick up on that insecurity and target him for it. I think his strongest talent is of course provoking people so much that they cant see how much they're affecting him, so he gets a lot of points for pettiness that would keep him from crying first because theres no way he's gonna LOSEEEE to someone like Daisho or Oikawa. BONUS POINTS on his behalf though is he was the only one on the team at the end of season one who WASNT CRYING about their loss. And i think the only one on karasuno who we havent seen cry (as far as i can remember).

Now listen.... fanon Oikawa is for sure crying first because for some bizzare reason people characterise him as a pushover twink. Canon Oikawa told USHIJIMA to remember his worthless pride so he could crush him in the future. like... he's kind of taking names a little. i'll allow him a small slay for his efforts of being a bitch to Ushijima. Oikawa is SMARTTTT and has a lot of emotional intelligence, so can for sure target people's insecurities with pinpoint accuracy. He doesnt get SUPER easily riled up when he's "in the zone" and only lashes out when he's backed into a corner. he hangs out with what is probably a team of people scientifically designed in a lab to HUMBLE HIM DAILY, so he has built up somewhat immunity to being insulted and targeted for bully behaviour. LOSES TREMENDOUS AMOUNTS OF POINTS for being kind of a sore loser and someone who FOR SURE cries when angry or frustrated.

Daisho.... why is he even here (sorry to those who love him). Listen... this guy is petty, and he lowkey cheats, and he takes immense joy in riling people up for shits and gigs... BUT WHYYY IS HE HERE LMAOOOO. to be honest, i dont think he would cry first purely for the fact that he doesnt know these other guys well enough to really gaf about what theyre saying to him. on the other hand, that makes him kind of an easy target because he's so irrelevant to these other guys lives that they could probably make him feel like shit for that reason only. he gets bonus points for being the only one in a canonical relationship (oikawas girlfriend we never meet that he broke up with doesnt count, in fact it loses him points).

WITH ALL THAT BEING SAID. the final order i think is, Oikawa goes out crying first, not because he's upset but because he got sooo fucking mad at Atsumu's unbothered behaviour he had to leave and he was angry crying while doing it. Daisho is next because Tsukishima said some shit like "bro who even are you lmaooo irrelevant ass" and he remembered he sucks at volleyball and got upset, he's okay tho bc his gf is there to comfort him. Atsumu cries next but not because of anything Tsukishima says, he just gets so fucking bored of Tsukishima not giving him interesting reactions to his jabs that he starts doing weird shit like standing on his head and he ends up hurting himself and crying because he is a big baby. Tsukishima is the last one standing .

...

That is of course assuming that Oikawa doesnt kill them all first with his Super Triple Homo Spin Serve that killed all of Karasuno. People forget so quickly that he is the most diabolical anime villain of all time...

#haikyuu #suguru daishou #tsukishima kei #miya atsumu #oikawa tooru #SORRY SORRY I JUST WANTED TO DO THIS BC I FOUND IT FUNNY

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rei-ismyname · 8 months ago

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Is Magneto mistaken or am I taking this too literally?

Ambassador Magneto has a lot to say in House of X, especially to humans on the subject of violence.

All his dreams are coming true and he's not shy about expressing his feelings on the matter. At the Jerusalem habitat the other ambassadors (who are all intelligence plants) claim to be wary of military advantage Krakoa and the gates provide.

Let's fact check Magneto there. 'There has never been a mutant war.'

What's this then? It doesn't sound very good at first glance but can it be considered a mutant war? It's basically Magneto himself unleashing an EMP and making demands of the UN. A mutant sanctuary - one they gave him too - Genosha. Terrorist act? Yeah defs. War? I'd say no.

What else? Oh yeah, that time Magneto conquered Santo Marco, a fictional South American country. Spoilers for a comic from 1963.

Okay so shelling is bad, definitely a warlike action, though it's later said there were no casualties at all, mainly thanks to Mastermind's illusions. Still, really bad optics there dude. The fake soldiers are straight up goose-stepping. This is drawn by Jack Kirby too, who definitely had strong feelings about that kind of thing - not something he'd portray unintentionally.

You'll note Mags having pseudo telepathy at this point, mainly bc Stan Lee had no idea how magnetism works.

Let's be honest, there's a big Nazi vibe to this occupation. This is in X-Men #4 in 1963, over a decade before Mags was retconned into a Jewish holocaust survivor. I'm honestly not a big fan of the original X-Men run and I can see why it got cancelled. Magneto was their greatest foe, but he was a pretty one dimension Doctor DOOM expy with none of the pathos, willpower or consistent ideology Claremont would reinvigorate him with. Anyway, sensing defeat, Magneto arms a nuke to blow the whole country up. Yikes.

It's actually Quicksilver who solves that problem, deciding he's not okay with nuking a few million people. It's the start of his face turn proper, with only Wanda's 'debt' to Mags keeping her there, and therefore Quicksilver as well.

See? Not cool, Mags. Not cool. When it's all said and done though, his occupation of Santo Marco is very brief and news doesn't get out. I assume Chuck had something to do with that. Though the country refuses to accept Krakoa for 'ideological reasons' nearly 60 years later, so maybe not. I'm going to say it definitely counts as 'conquering their land and making slaves of their people ' though.

Honestly, Magneto has died a lot since then, had amnesia and barely aged in 70 years so maybe he doesn't remember. One could argue that the spirit of what he's saying is correct - Magneto the individual did a lot of supervillain shit but there hasn't been a unification of mutants who then warred upon humans. Indeed, the opposite is true. Most mutant conflicts that could be called a war were defensive after these events.

None of the 'ambassadors' took issue with past events or his record, instead focusing on future hypotheticals. Someone should tell them that if mutants united in world conquest they'd likely be very successful and humans wouldn't know until it was too late. Technically Magneto has been tried for his acts before an international court, and acquitted because he'd been turned into a baby and was considered a different person. Yes, really.

The conversation pivots to the emissaries being there in bad faith, with slick concealing a gun. (Not that it would be very useful.)

Magneto demonstrates why that's the case and doesn't budge on his position. I guess we could say Magneto was (technically) right, in this specific circumstance. A show of force is certainly needed to make them take Krakoa seriously. It's only fitting then that Mags acts as the stick to make the carrot more palatable. I've still got room for one more pic so here's the X-Men enjoying post-training birthday cake, cut by Cyclops and his POWER BEAM. The X-Men's first birthday as a group.

Note the contrast in vibes around the Brotherhood of EEEVIL Mutants' dinner table, with petty bickering, Mastermind being a creep (the X-Men have that too tho NGL,) and a very impressive tower of mashed potato. Good to know Toad has poor table manners and that Pietro is willing to punch on over it. Not to be mean, but Wanda's headgear looks super silly. Oh well, it was the sixties!

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b0ther · 2 years ago

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LOSER LOSER LOSER !!! YUUTA

it's your typical story: the bully and the loser. you don't mind, though. not when yuuta's taking you in this good.

pairing : okkotsu yuuta x reader (masculine pronouns. amab) rating : explicit, not safe for work (sexual content) type : headcanon & short drabble(s) hehe tags : reader is your typical BULLY and yuuta is your typical LOSER who gets BULLIED, depiction of violence (please be mindful of the tags), high school AU, yuuta gets off from the bullying, reader has a giant cock as per usual, yuuta displays some obsessive behaviours, usage of the words "slut" and "baby" and "whore" and "idiot", dry humping, blowjobs, spitting, anal sex, slight dub-con word count : 1,962

author's note : all my kings who believe in sub yuuta supremacy. . . this one's for you. also i wrote this half asleep. sawry. will def write more for this prompt in the future. love u ol 🫶

( masterlist │ ask/request │ ao3 )

♡ you have never really paid much attention to LOSER!YUUTA, of course. why would you? you have shinier friends and your reputation allows you to trample on people in his class. you don't need him—you don't need to know him.

♡ oh, but LOSER!YUUTA? he pays attention to you. he pays attention hard. he watches your strides, heading to the cafeteria or the bathroom or out the school gates. he breathes in the air every time he gets the chance to indulge himself from being close to you. his cock throbs every time you just so much as elbow his shoulder in malice.

♡ LOSER!YUUTA is such a nice boy—he crosses his heart and swears to himself that he doesn't enjoy seeing his peers getting their heads slammed onto the chalk walls along the hallway by your sturdy hands. in fact, he hates it so much that he would rather you kick his stomach and press your cigarette butts on his cheeks. the sacrifices he would make for his classmates are immeasurable.

♡ and soon enough, one of your friends would start pointing out how LOSER!YUUTA peeks at your direction constantly behind his book. his small and slender frame as if nonexistence between whatever the hell he is reading. you shake your head, laughing. "you can't name anyone in this school who doesn't want a taste of my dick," you wave your friends off, "especially not some fuckin' loser like him."

♡ you forgot about LOSER!YUUTA for a hot moment—ransacking school bags to find cash you can claim on your own; stepping on the feet of anyone who dares to tell you no. when everyone looks away, you find one pair of eyes occasionally stealing glances your way.

♡ curiosity, as curiosity does, eventually finds itself making its way to you. you love the attention, and when there is the opportunity to fuck something, what proper response are there but to chase it?

“Arent’cha curious of me?” You ask, backing him up against the wall.

Yuuta shakes as you tower over him, eyes darting back and forth between your face and the door that you won’t allow him to leave.

“Hey,” annoyed, you grab his jaw after taking a deep breath of the smoke between your fingers, forcing him to look at you. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

“Sorry,” he stutters out, almost as quick as the moment your sentence ended.

You scoff—Yuuta feels your hot breath on his skin. It smells like cigarettes, but mostly, it’s his first whiff of you. His eyes turn wide at his body’s awful timing of letting his cock go rock hard.

He prays that you won’t notice his cock practically peeking from underneath his pants. You never noticed his hard on, after all. But that day, in the cramped janitor’s closet, you are given no choice but to notice. Especially with his little grunt, clearing his throat like he’s slick.

“See,” you let go of his face, shoving his head against the wall. “I got you this hard, and what did I do?” You rub your leg against his crotch, intrigued at how his face crinkle in sudden pleasure. You killed the cigarette on the wall next to his head—Yuuta can hear it die, and he can almost feel the heat too.

He whimpers.

“Oh, quit being so whiny.” Your hand reached over to palm his ass, still rubbing your knee up and down his clothed length. “You like me this much? Show me.”

♡ LOSER!YUUTA is not proud that he came all over his uniform pants just by rutting his cock on your thigh. well, maybe he is. no matter how he feels about it, he manages to pique your interest and make you come back to him for more.

♡ you don’t pretend to hide it. you’d pull him over in the middle of a crowded hallway, arms snaking around his waist where the whole school can see. words begin to spread, but you don’t care. neither does LOSER!YUUTA.

♡ LOSER!YUUTA would have to work for your cock, though. you aren’t letting him get to you that easy. besides, it’s fun getting him to jack himself off under the showers as you watch him squirm like the pathetic slut that he is.

♡ you’d take him right then and there—the more you do this, the harder it becomes to resist him—but you control yourself. there’s gotta be someone on their right mind in this exchange, and with all his good grades and straight a’s, LOSER!YUUTA is definitely too dumb when it comes to you.

♡ it’s a surprise when LOSER!YUUTA lets you into his room for the first time. it was just how you expected his room to be—simple, plain, boring.

♡ “my parents aren’t home,” he says as he fiddles with the hem of his uniform, not daring to look you in the eyes.

♡ LOSER!YUUTA, eyes wide when you instructed him to suck you off. you snicker at his stupid expression, and nodded at your crotch as you sat on his bed. “go on, i’m not gonna cum on my own.”

♡ but he is so eager to please you. so so excited. he sits between your thighs and marvels at the size of your cock compared to his face. you do not disappoint.

♡ “aren’t you gonna suck it?”

♡ LOSER!YUUTA is so good at sucking you off. you should have made him give you a blowjob earlier. he is gentle at first, kissing the tips of your cock, slobbering up the rest of your length for his taking, before eventually using his hot throat to welcome you in.

You don’t even know where the fuck he learnt how to give a blowjob this good—who the fuck wants to get blown by a loser like Okkotsu Yuuta?

For some ungodly reason, he lets you in his room. And for some ungodly, too, he lets you place a pillow between your head and the wall as he sucks you off like he spends his days practising his jaws to accommodate your length.

He’s probably expected you to come on him like this, huh?

Both of his hands are squeezing the base of your cock, continuously pumping, and his pretty lips wrap themselves nicely around your tip. You watch the top of his head between your spreaded thighs as he drags the top of your dick in and out of his wet mouth.

“Yuuta,” you groan, gathering the strands of his hair with your fingers. All that you can hear is the sound of his chokes—at your call, he looks up at you under his long lashes, his cheeks hollow as he continues his slobbering mess. “Fuck,” you breathe, tugging on his hair tighter, “aren’t you pretty like this?”

His already flushed cheeks became redder—there is a sense of pride blossoming in his chest. You complimented him. Yuuta’s vision blurs as he becomes more dizzy—he just wants to make you feel good.

♡ you wouldn’t have guessed that if LOSER!YUUTA was to have a hobby, it was to suck you off.

♡ LOSER!YUUTA would never initiate anything first, of course. but a slut like him just needs a push—he’d beat your meat anywhere you want. the school rooftop, the karaoke room you took him to once. under a restaurant desk or in a hidden library corner.

♡ the vulnerability of it all turns LOSER!YUUTA on. and his neediness, his little whimpers and cries—he turns you on.

♡ you wonder how you never notice LOSER!YUUTA in his gym clothes: shorts and a shirt that is a little too tight for his body frame. he is full of sweat whenever he has to run the mile or throw some sort of lame spike across the volley net.

♡ eventually you find yourself fucking him.

♡ tight, tight hole. tightest hole you ever seen. you had to breathe to stop yourself from cumming when you first tried out his hole.

♡ you fuck him in the shower room, you fuck him in the gym storage, you fuck him on the teacher’s table on an empty classroom. he’s always bent over somewhere: ass up for you to take, and dick hard for you to jack off and leave him on the edge.

“Don’t— Don’t stop—” he begs, prettily. You’ve grown a soft spot for him by now. His moans titter like melodies, echoing in the empty classroom as you dick him down—you press both his hands on his back as you drill yourself harder into him.

“Giving me instructions now?” You grunt, and Yuuta whines. A chuckle escapes your lips as you raise your hand to give his full ass a hard slap. "Shut up and just take my cock."

♡ LOSER!YUUTA just wants you to kiss him.

♡ he reaches his arms around your neck whenever you press his knees over his chest, pulling you in.

♡ “no, no,” you chuckle, grabbing his jaw. “you don’t get to fucking kiss me, alright? i don’t kiss whores like you.”

♡ and LOSER!YUUTA knows how weak you are to his little whines. he claws at your chest, caresses the side of your face—”please,” he sobs, “kiss me, kiss— nghh—” your cock gets him so drunk that he can’t even finish a coherent sentence—he can’t even beg.

♡ his eyes roll back, nails digging into the blades of your shoulders. “i can’t, i can’t—”

“You can’t what?”

His little hole feels like it’s scraping your dick every time you pull out and slam yourself back in. He’s so wet, so messy, so tight, just for your cock and even after fucking into his asshole this many times, you wonder how he can still be so fucking tight.

“You’re t’big,” Yuuta closes his eyes, hand blindly grasping for your neck, desperate for something to hold on to. “I can’t—”

“Aww,” you coo, faking empathy as you grab his face. “Sure you can take it. You’ve done this a million times.”

Yuuta lets one of his eyelids fly open, and he is greeted with your lips, lazily grinning down at him.

“It hurts,” he cries softly, knees becoming sore as you continue to bend it over his torso. His dick aches at your lack of attention to it, oozing precum all over his uniform and on the floor where you were fucking him. “Fu– fuck. Please, please.”

You watch the way his hair sticks against his forehead with his sweat, cheeks billowed and chest heaving. He just doesn’t know the things he does to you.

“Little slut can’t take it?” You manage to keep your voice steady, as if you aren’t close to fucking his brains out. “Want me to kiss it better?”

As if he has his ears perking at your preposition, he shoots both his eyes open. Excitement flashes through his pupils, and between his grunts, he manages to ask, “Can… can you—?”

You laugh, “Of course not, idiot.” You let go of his face and stand on your knees, ready to pummelled into him even harder. “Here,” you lean down at his sweaty face, kissing the skin under his eye before spitting on his face, “You can have a taste.”

Yuuta squirms. You use the back of your hand to wipe the spit off your mouth and laugh again when you see Yuuta with his mouth open, tongue hanging out.

“God. Want me to spit in your mouth this time?”

Yuuta nods, wrapping his leg around your body as best as he can, and weakly tugs for you to lean down. Every taste of you is divine—he wants everything you offer him, and he wants so much more.

“You’re so hot, baby,” You rub his face. “Beg for my spit. Use your words. You can do it, right?”

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