#chuck it in the fuck it bucket

[the-immortal-restless]

Alright, *dusts off my book of random things I know about* who wants a fanfic/comic about my favorite crossover theory(Kai from ninjago is Spicynoodles baby)

Cause I’ve got some things.

Concept^^^

[hjbender]

Once again my art process is brought to a screaming, smoking halt by my coloring skills, which have not progressed in the past 12 years and may have in fact gotten worse.

[onelonelyghost0]

I constantly cycle between “I can’t let my illness make me ill, I should keep it from everyone and ensure that I act like a normal person even if it makes me push past my limits it’s ok bc I’m pretty and have good days so why should I let this define me?” And “I don’t give a flying fuck Debrah, I am ill, I’ll always be ill unless the chucklefucks running medical research finally get off their ass and find me a cure, and my illness is acting up, so therefore I’m going to stay in bed today bc moving makes my entire back hurt and if ANYTHING touches my stomach I’m going to throw up from pain. I’m over sharing so you leave me alone and I can do what I need to” on a consistent basis. Like it’s not even funny.

Anyway guess who had to reassure multiple people I didn’t need to go to the ER bc they can’t do jack shit other than give me stronger pain meds and I just need a day to stay in bed.

[phaedraismyusername]

Very tired of this constantly skint and mostly miserable shtick so decided to entirely rinse out my bank account to buy an all new skincare routine and a sale laptop *just* for writing so... yeah

[whimsysalesman]

listening to Anark's Modern Anarchism essays at work and boy howdy to i love giving so few shits about a job that i will blast anarchist theory out loud for anyone to hear if they walk in. what're they gonna do, fire me?

[mossangelll]

So hear me out….pregnant reader with Sevika’s kid. Sevika doting on reader. Bring home a weird craving reader has been having and talking to the baby telling them how excited she is to finally meet them.

I need fluff, I need pregnancy, I need it to be hers naturally.

Thank yooooooooou!

this is so cute i loved writing it! i just know sevika would be a great parent ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

sevika x pregnant reader headcanons

cw: pregnancy, slight innuendos, mentions of violence, veryyyy slight angst at the start

sevika never saw herself being a parent; not because she doesn’t like kids, it’s the complete opposite - she adores them

she felt it was selfish to want to bring a child into a fucked up world like zaun, full of hardship and uncertain futures

but then one night you tearfully turn to sevika in bed and her mind immediately goes into overdrive, are you hurt? is someone threatening you?

“sevika…i’m pregnant.”

you’re both sent into a still silence, unable to see each other but somehow feeling each other’s shock that much more

you’re worried that she’s upset or even mad at you, you know how she feels about having kids, until she’s gripping onto you with all her might, body shuddering from the force of her tears

sevika spoons you to sleep but she can’t fall asleep since her mind is racing about what this means for the future

she is overjoyed to say the least, albeit worried

from that moment on she dotes on you even more than she ever did, saying she needs to “look after my two favourite people.”

she rarely enjoyed pda but now you’re pregnant with her child, she can’t keep her hands off you - she needs to let everyone know that she’s completely smitten with you and the baby

sevika is constantly rubbing her hands on your baby bump wherever you go - just the sight of you and the baby calms her down

however she’ll only talk to the baby when you’re at home all safe and sound because this is when she admits her innermost fears

you stroke her soft hair as she whispers to the bump about how she’s scared she won’t be able to protect you both; after all, sevika works for the biggest crime lord in zaun and a child only provides more ammunition for enemies to utilise

sevika is also concerned about not being a good enough parent to the child but when you look at her building a crib from scratch, concentration furrowing her dark brows, with buckets of paint surrounding her from all the swatches you requested, you know that her worries couldn’t be further from the truth

every morning and every night, without fail, she kisses your forehead and baby bump as she rambles to you both about how excited she is for the completion of your little family

she dotes on you so much!

if you have a weird craving like pickle juice with sparkling water she’s forcing chuck to drop all his orders and make yours stat

if you’re craving some obscure dish that really shouldn’t exist sevika isn’t even going to question it

she’s in the kitchen whipping it up for you as you’re sat on the counter, humming as she prepares your meal

she does that thing where she puts the plate just in your reach but yanks it back again, laughing at how petulant you get

“what, you’re not gonna kiss the chef first?”

she gives it to you eventually, she could never make you wait for too long, and watches on with a goofy little smile and your lipstick marks all over her face as you contentedly eat the downright atrocious meal she made with love

sevika is always with you; call her overprotective or clingy she doesn’t care, she just doesn’t want to risk anybody hurting you or the baby

you basically get scary dog privileges everywhere you go

if your pregnancy hormones say the annoying store clerk that spoke to you in a condescending tone needs to die then sevika is on it right away

ok not really, she talks you down from your moments of bloodlust but she will deal with anyone that is rude to you

“you think i’m gonna let you get away with being an asshole to my dove, huh?”

lowkey shocked (and equal parts turned on) at how cranky your raging hormones make you 😭

sevika is incredibly attracted to you and your changing body even though you get insecure that she won’t like you anymore because of it

she takes her precious time every day just kissing the new stretch marks that appear and massaging your swollen ankles

you spend your date nights talking about baby names and you two even draw what you think the baby will look like

her drawing mainly consists of your features

your drawing mainly consists of her features

you two are so down bad for each other it’s sickening

silco has to force sevika to take more time off; she’s loyal and deserves to have more downtime with you as you prepare for your baby

he understands what it’s like to have a kid, how stressful it can be so he wants his dearest friend to enjoy the moment as much as possible

speaking of silco, he helps sevika host a surprise baby shower at the last drop and an insane amount of people turn up

you cry when you realise how loved and respected you are in the community

everyone is having the time of their lives playing games like blind diaper changing, who knows mum/dad the best, guess the baby, etc.

no gender reveal though she’s traditional in that regard and wants to wait until the baby’s born to find out

jinx is also very excited about the new arrival in the family

yes, she considers you and sevika to be part of her family and it’s very cute

she gets to be an auntie!

jinx spends all her free time making all sorts of toys out of softer materials because she’s considerate (also sevika warned her not to use scrap metal, or implement sharp edges, or even add teeny tiny smoke bombs - jinx scrapped all of her designs and had to start from scratch), for your baby with her signature graffiti of course

her and sevika probably work together to make some of the furniture for the baby’s room

sevika is very proud when people ask to feel bump

“yeah, this is our kid.” smug grin plastered onto her face and a strong arm wrapped around your midsection

you can’t help but roll your eyes when she does this because at this point who doesn’t know it’s your kid - she spends all day talking about it 😭

all in all sevika is honestly the best mother and wife you could ask for <3

masterlist

[chocobothis]

I’m at the point that Axe Woves now is a mix of human and Arkanian Offshoot. A little bit is because I want to diversify the Mandalorians from just humans. Mostly it’s because I spent too long developing him as Pre’s bff to scrap that now. 

Congrats bud. One of your parents was genetically engineered to live longer and age slower because the Arkanians created them for specialty work. Which honestly can explain part of the Axeness he’s got going on.

[ravensmadreads]

TAYLOR - I-

Chapter 6 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 9305

chapter summary: a honeymoon of sorts.

chapter warnings/tags: relapse, depictions of drugs/alcohol/actions under the influence, dubcon because neither character is sober, lots and lots of smut

a/n: this chapter is particularly bittersweet for me. so begins the continues the downward spiral. highly recommend reading this on ao3 so you can see the proper formatting for the text!

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“Refill on your whiskey, sir?”

His fingers hover over the keyboard on his phone. Her question broke his concentration, if there had been any at all. He has rewritten that last line at least three times now. 

“Sorry, what did you say?”

The flight attendant smiles at him, a tall brunette with a bob down to her chin. If she recognizes him, she gives no indication.

“Your whiskey, sir. Would you like another? We still have an hour before we land.” 

He rattles the plastic cup that’s mostly ice water now and then throws the remnants back. He nods.

“Thanks.”

She takes the cup and puts it in the trash bin in her trolley. She unscrews the bottle of Buffalo’ Trace before preparing a new cup. 

This early, the plane is mostly empty. The lights are low, the air is warm, and most passengers are asleep. The flight attendant speaks softly as the plane rattles in the wind. 

“Is this your first time visiting New Orleans?”

He nods.

“On your honeymoon?” She nods to the woman asleep in the seat next to him, her head on his shoulder. He spins the gold ring on his finger with his thumb. 

“Something like that.” 

She wipes the bottom of the cup with a small napkin before giving it to him.

“Congratulations, then.” She smiles brightly. “As they say, laissez le bon temps rouler.”

The trolley squeaks as she rolls down the aisle, gently asking those still awake if they’d prefer coffee or anything stronger. Beneath the half-closed window blinds, a strong pink light peaks through. 

His glance returns to his phone. He still hasn’t sent the text he means to. It won’t go through this high up, but he doesn’t want to look at it once the plane lands. 

He looks at the woman next to him. His heart swells. He kisses her forehead. He goes back to his phone, types the first thing that comes to him, and taps send. 

It’s not his problem right now. It’s not going to be for the next two weeks. Two weeks and he has to be back in Los Angeles to start touring for the press junket. He intends to make the best of it. 

He clicks the phone to lock it, and he slides it back into his jacket pocket. And without much thought or hesitation or anxious overthinking, he slides off his wedding ring and pockets that too. 

He picks up the sleeping woman’s hand and kisses her knuckles. She stirs in her sleep and he smiles. 

Maybe it’s the second glass of whiskey he’s had in two years, but he feels good about this.

His last text sits, waiting for reception. 

 

“Dieter, you cannot be serious.” 

He slips his hand into yours and kisses your knuckles. He can do that here. “I am.”

You let yourself be dragged, mouth agape, as he guides you past a cobalt blue swimming blue, lined by red brick. Your baggage bumps and clatters as it knocks over the ridges. He leads you through a green door, where the French Colonial style homes have been refurbished into individual rentals. Black metal railings puff and curl on the upper balconies. Pastel green shudders line white windows. Flowering dogwood trees bend and wave in the breeze from their stations in the courtyard between doors. 

He leads you down to unit 162, gold and embossed on the front of a green door. Grinning over his shoulder, he unlocks it with a comically large brass key. 

“Hey, now, I’ve seen Skeleton Key,” you tease. The humidity in the air makes his curls extra tight, scooping up the back of his neck. “This isn’t going to end badly for me, is it?”

“Depends on how you define ‘badly’,” he shrugs and shoulders his way through the door. 

Inside is a gorgeous kitchen that manages to straddle the old and new. Modern appliances tuck up against the wall on the right, while on the other wall sits a beautiful square kitchen table, with fat knobs and white molding. Above the table, the entire wall is made of chalkboard.

You frown at the French written there in an elegant hand.

“What does that mean?”

He shuts the door behind him, smiling. “It’s an old Creole saying. It means, let the good times roll.”

You smirk at him, eyebrow raised. “Expecting a lot of good times here, Mr. Bravo?” 

His hand takes a big squeeze of your ass as he pulls you into his chest. You giggle as his sharp nose trails along your cheek. 

“It’s certainly on the itinerary.” 

He can almost smell the desire that flickers within you. You bend your head to catch his mouth, but he turns away at the last minute. He runs his finger underneath the strap of your white dress. It's currently in the running for his favorite of yours, tied only with those fucking denim shorts. 

“Go look upstairs. I’ll get our bags.”

Your cork heels clatter as you bounce up the white wooden stairs. He smiles to himself when you gasp. He takes your bag and his and follows you up.

The white shutter doors are flung open to tempt some bayou breeze, offering the beautiful view into the courtyard below. From this cottage, you can see over the private wall, down into the street on the other side. You smell sugar and molasses, and you sigh. Inside is a white bed with a brass frame. The tan walls are offset by a single wall of red brick, similar to the pathway outside. Above you, a fan spins, a much needed relief to the humid heat. 

You stand out on the porch, clearly enjoying listening to the music that can be faintly heard from Jackson Square, hands wrapped around the railing. The breeze blows your dress and any remaining anxiety around the phone in his pocket is gone. 

He hasn’t heard from Chloe.

He hasn’t heard from Heidi. 

He’s made a decision. It’s time to fucking commit. 

Finally allowed to, finally where no one could see, he joins you out on the porch and tangles his hand into your hair. He thumbs the curls there encouraged by the humidity and with a sigh, he presses his lips to your hairline at the back of your neck. You wait until he pulls back, to turn over your shoulder to him, his arms ensnaring your waist.

“This is beautiful, Dieter,” you murmur as you nose his jaw, your hand scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know how you found the most perfect place, but you did.” 

“I want to take care of you, baby.” You smell like lemons and lavender, as he runs his nose against the length of your neck. “I want to show you how much I care.”

You stiffen momentarily before folding into his open arms even more. 

The cottage block is quiet, discrete, and rather empty of prying eyes. He intends to take you out, to let you wander as any other normal couple in the Crescent City, but not just yet. His hands rub up your sides, thumbing your exposed skin on your shoulders where the shoulder straps are tied together. The sweet smell of powdered sugar in the humid wind and the curve of your neck is making his mouth water. 

“Besides, I’m making up for my other decisions. One regarding an office and a very sturdy desk,” he whispers in your ear, delighting in the way you shiver from just his words. Delicately, he slides up the hem of your dress and squeezes your thigh as a reward. His hand travels up, then in, and his finger brushes the line of your panties. 

“I’m suddenly very interested in your apology.” You turn in his arms, the bunched up fabric of your dress running against the front of his jeans and he has half-a-mind to take you on this goddamn balcony in the open air. Because he can. 

“Hmm, it’s going to be very long.” 

He eases your legs up and around his waist and your arms glide over his shoulders. Your breath smells like the gum and champagne you bought at the airport. He swears he can see your pulse point flicker on your throat.

“Oh? And?”

“Very complicated.” 

He carries you back into the room and folds you backwards onto the bed. Your cheeks are flushed from the warmth outside as you slide your feet out of your heels and he positions himself in between your legs. You drop onto your back, fingering his belt. 

You mock-frown. “Complicated? Oh, I dunno if I can follow along.”

The two whiskeys he’s had are thrumming in his veins, wants to taste that biting sweetness off your mouth again. He takes you by the heel and kisses your ankle, his other hand diving under your dress and back up to your panties. Your eyes flutter when he finds the spot he wants. He drops your ankle over his shoulder and steps forward, closer. You’re losing the ability to speak –  he can tell by the way your mouth parts as his thumb rubs your clit through your underwear. 

“You won’t be able to do much of anything, once I’m done with you.” 

“Dieter–,” you’re already getting impatient. 

“Oh, don’t ‘Dieter’ me. What’s the saying, good things come to those who wait?”

“I like the other one more. Especially the part about things rolling.”

You grab at his wrist and, as if to demonstrate, roll your hips against his fingers, trying to angle them where you want. He smirks as he twists his hand and grinds the heel of his palm into your clit, his fingers stroking you through the fabric. He nearly loses himself when he feels just how wet you are. The thin strip of underwear you so foolishly decided to wear is hardly anything more than damp twine now. 

You whine as he gathers your slick with his thumb and crowns your clit with it. “Dieter, c’mon.”

“I told you I was gonna go slow. Maybe I need to be reminded of what comes next. What do you need, baby?” 

“Your fingers,” you huff, eyes half-lidded as you watch his forearm flex, not being able to see but instead, feeling exactly what he’s doing to you. Do you always close your eyes when you come? He wonders. 

“You have them.” He steps closer, your ass against his thigh. 

“I want them inside of me.” 

Grinning like the bastard he is, he drags your underwear off one hip, then the other, then he rolls it up your thighs – you gasp when you see just how completely destroyed they are, slick making them sticky – and he tosses them by the luggage. 

Your eyes drop shut when his warm hands return near to where you need them most, but not quite exactly. He’s kneading your thighs, your ass, dragging his middle finger up through your slick and sucking on it. He hums, lips all the way down to his knuckle, and you drip more at the thought of sucking him off. 

“What do you want?”

You swallow, mouth dry. “F-fingers. I want your fingers. Inside of me,” you clarify, as you learn how to ask him properly. 

There should be an award for the amount of restraint he shows by not flipping up your dress and watching as he slowly presses his finger into your pussy. He wants to watch, but he also wants you a little bit angry with him, teased to the point of frustration, so he explores you with his finger. And then a second one. 

Your walls pinch his fingers and your back arches. “Oh, yes, Dieter, that’s it.” 

He brushes and strokes and fucks you with his fingers. Slowly. Methodically. He follows every line of your face, every twitch of skin, as you frown with pleasure. Your nails bite his wrist, your other land flat out next to you, fingers clenching the blanket. If there are stories of the Legendary Dieter Tongue, there had to be fucking songs about his fingers. 

He groans and drops your ankle from his shoulder, pushing your thigh to the side and exposing more of you. 

“Do you like this, baby? How you’re spread out for me?”

You nod, bottom lip chewed beyond recognition. He curls his fingers and you moan, the sound stifled and muted. He gently presses down on your lower abdomen to feel himself fuck up into you.

“I’ve already opened your legs. Do I need to open that mouth too?” He leans over you, somehow getting even deeper with his fingers, the sound lewd and squelching. He kisses you on the corner of your mouth because he wants to keep your lips parted. “You have to be loud for me, okay?”

You huff, skin pink, and nod. 

“Let me hear you say it.”

“Yes, Dieter. I’ll be loud for you.”

“Good girl.” And he adds a third finger. The stretch is exquisite and you let him know with a moan that digs into the ceiling. 

“Told you you’d like it if I took it slow.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, voice strained. “But I want it rough later. I need it, Dieter.”

That intensely satisfies him. He beckons you towards the edge just for that. He thumbs your clit in purposeful, deliberate circles as his fingers curl and twist inside of you. “We’ll stay here as long as you need it, alright, baby? For as many orgasms as you can give me. And speaking of, I’d like one now. Please.”

Maybe it’s the low gravel of his voice– laced with need and want – or the faint tease of his mustache and beard against your throat, or it’s the final relief after a thousand denials. For once in your life, you listen to him and the orgasm sparks out from your core and up through your spine. Your back, hips, shoulders arch off the bed as that wildfire sends you into orbit. 

He should make you clean yourself off him, but he wants that scent, wants his fingers coated in you. He watches you ride your orgasm and he licks his fingers. His pants are unavoidably uncomfortable right now. As you spiral back down from your high, he takes you by the waist and pulls you up near the head board, to give himself enough space to lie down. 

“Fuck, Dieter . . .” 

“I hope you do,” he grins as he bends your knees, planting your feet wide enough for him to get between your legs. You do your best impression of exasperation while still trying to remember which room you’re in. Your skin is glowing from sweat. 

He knows he’s sweating too, feeling it in the valley of his spine, and he doesn’t want to overheat this quickly. While you finally center, he takes off his shirt with one hand over his head. He unzips his pants and your eyes widen, hips arching up, so eager and willing to take him.

He kisses your knee. “Not yet, baby girl. This next one is for me.” 

He peels down the hem of your dress and his mouth floods with spit. 

Your cunt is pink, swollen from the pump of his fingers. It’s wet and your curls are wet and he knows that is the only thing in the world he needs to drink when he’s so parched. You ache to be filled again. 

Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

He hums in appreciation and drops to his elbows between your legs. His bare shoulders up against the back of your thighs and his fingers pressing into the creases of your hip, he spares a glance at you. 

Your chest is flushed, breath hitching, and your hair has fallen down from its bun. You can feel his breath on your exposed cunt, the burn of his beard feeling as warm as though you held your hand out over an open flame. 

As an actress, you are confident, striking, and serious. 

Under him, you’re reduced to pathetic whines and humping the air. 

“Baby, please,” you huff, voice small as if truly uneasy. 

He licks one bold stripe up the length of your cunt, swallowing your slick like he would chase an errant drop of melting ice cream– and then he goes back for seconds. 

It’s not sweat-drenched whiskey. 

It’s better. 

“Oh, Dieter,” you sound on the verge of tears. He strokes as far as he can reach with his tongue, before sliding it back out to wrap warmly around your clit. He sucks once and your hands fly to his hair. He sucks again and your moan is strangled, coming deep from inside of you. 

He holds you to him, mouth and tongue wrecking every single sensitive part of you they can reach, his gaze on your face. He adds his fingers back in as reward for yanking so divinely on his hair. 

He doesn’t feel like he’s conquering, though he should. After all those fights, he finally managed to make you incoherent, but watching your face contort with pleasure, your moans making the heartbeat in his neck spike, he instead feels more possessive. This isn’t a stupid fuck for him. This might not even be to get back at Chloe. This doesn’t feel like backsliding. How he feels about you is entirely unique to any of the other fucked up shit in his life. This is different.

Mouth more attached to you than if he had fangs, he eats you whole. He grinds his hips into the mattress and the rough rub of the zipper on his hard cock makes him groan wet, damp air into your pussy. 

You vibrate against the sensation, as if you are overwhelmed. He drops his forearm across your hips like a steel bar. He’s not letting go until you rattle out a second orgasm. He tongues that one spot that made your breathing stop with his fingers inside of you. That white hot heat inside of you is blooming, the fires expanding every time you look down and make eye contact with him. He’s watching you with determination and focus as though you were an intricate puzzle he wanted to pick apart, its guts all exposed, and remake to hear it click. 

He’d rather be flung into the sun than take his mouth off you but he can’t talk to you the way he wants. He mouths the words in between licks.

You’re so fucking beautiful.

I can’t stand it when I’m not around you.

Your cunt is so pretty. 

I wanna fuck you on all fours but I know your legs won’t work after this. 

You’re not allowed to come for anyone else but me. 

He takes off his mouth for a moment, you hiss at the emptiness, and then he blows warm air all the way up your cunt before taking your clit into your mouth and sucking, adding his three fingers again.

Ecstasy makes black spots cover your vision as he carries you through another orgasm, pleasure sparking out from your core again, your muscles locked in sweet rapture. He swallows and laps up your release into his mouth, greedy and eager. Your hips jerk and he stays latched on, thumb rubbing what could be comforting smooth circles over the bunched up fabric of your dress – if his hand wasn’t so fire hot. 

He thinks you were close to squirting and he remembers that little spot on the left side for later. 

He leans back onto his heels, chin, cheeks and the end of his nose glistening, as you sink into the mattress, your legs and back muscles spasming slightly. 

In all your jerking and bucking, the strap on your shoulder became undone. The top of your dress is uneven. 

He finally lets himself picture what he only suspected earlier. You are absolutely not wearing a bra. He strains in his pants. He palms himself, knowing he’s not going to last but he needs to see those pretty tits of yours bounce. The last time he fucked you, he could only imagine. The time “before” that, they were bound with tape and he refused to look at them anyway. 

“Baby, can I?” 

You tear your eyes away from his swollen red cock, visible through his zipper. He’s fingering the other strap’s knot, waiting for permission. You nod, your irises swallowing the lovely color of your eyes. 

He plucks the strings loose and, pinching the fabric by your waist, he gently tugs your dress down. You arch as the hem drags across your sensitive nipples and he groans when your tits bubble up as the dress gets to your ribs. He continues pulling, his heart pounding in his ears, and then you’re naked for him. He takes in a breath and your cunt throbs at the sound of adoration. 

He feels it. His brain inhales this moment in a snapshot, a flash and a pop of smoke, before he’s ready. This moment will always be there. 

You’re scrambling to meet him as his fingers dig into your hips to pull you up. His arm digs around your back, pressing the back of your neck towards him as he kisses you desperately, wildly, as though some sort of apocalypse was minutes away from unleashing hell on earth. His forearm hooks around your low back as he pulls you into his lap, thighs tense. 

His nose and mouth run the length of your neck. He feels your pulse jump under his lips and there he finally uses teeth. He bites you and sucks just enough for your hips to jolt in his lap. Hickeys are not part of taking it slow but desire is rubbing itself up his spine, his cock so hard it was painful. He palms your breast, gathering the weight and flicking your exposed nipple. He ducks his head to taste the sweat as it runs from your throat down your under the swell of your breast. 

He slips his pants down and off, with your arms around his neck. The second he’s freed, you crowd him, hand dropping to his lap to squeeze him. 

“Don’t,” he hisses, “later. Need to be inside of you, now.” 

With shocking strength and dexterity, he picks you up by your thighs and hauls you to his chest. You reach back, finding him below you and slowly, slowly, slowly sink down. 

He was right. He took his time with you and now, with a single thrust of his hips, he’s inside you with barely any resistance. But –

“Fuck, Dee, the stretch,” you gasp into his ear, head tucked into his shoulder. He murmurs filthy secrets of desperation, mapping you from the flush of your ass, all the way up to the knot of your spine in his hands. He has you, you’re here. You want him. You want his cock. He tugs your knees around his hips, shifting him inside you. From collar bone to pelvis, you are skin to skin– your breasts pressed flat against his chest, your stomachs riding up against each other, you’re seated on him and he is fully inside of you. He grinds his teeth, his mouth pressed up to your shoulder, and then, his hips roll in and out of you, an inch at a time. 

Slow. Tense. Filthy. 

You whimper.

“That’s it. Take it, baby, take all of me.” 

It’s almost too much. You’re sensitive and sore from your other orgasms but just as the last one ebbs, another one is kindling, pleasure knotting again and again in your core. He fucks you almost like he’s bored– playing with a toy, a cock-sleeve, a place to rub one out. But it’s the drag, the controlled thrusts– he’s making sure you feel every slide and touch of his cock inside you. His pace is maddening. 

He pulls away from clutching you to him, pulls back to look you in the eyes. His hands slide and grip you by the hips, pushing you down so that his thrusts are that much deeper, almost painful. You tighten your grip around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck, the sweat and the heat radiating from him like a solar flare. He knows you need it hot and fast but he doesn’t want it to end yet. He knows he’s being mean, too much teasing, overstimulation. 

He fucks you like he’s trying to break something. Or fix something. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath ragged and mouth parted. He cups the back of your head, the smell of your hair making his eyes roll back in his head. 

“Tha’s right, baby, hold on t’ me. Grip me. Let me do the work. I’ll get you there. I’ll do it.” 

“Dee, please, move faster,” you moan. “I’m almost there. Just give it to me.” 

He tightens his grip on you again, easing you against his chest – he’s trembling, control slipping– but he doesn’t change his pace. It’s steady, it’s constant. Your orgasm is staggering, lumbering towards you, so large and all consuming you almost fear the weight of it. 

“I can finally-finally fuck sweet baby’s pussy the way I want to.” He puts a hand to your cheek, your jaw, upturning your face to him to kiss you. He thrusts lazily and you feel like you’re going to drown. His back is damp. He’s so warm. “I’m gonn-nuh— make it last.”

“Fuck– please. Please. Dieter, I wanna come. Please.” Your voice is wet, like you might cry.

He can’t resist begging. Or praise.

“Gimme one more like this and I’ll fuck you like you want, alright?” 

You squeeze your thighs around his ribs, the only sign you can give him that yes, you’re listening, yes, he’s wrenching another orgasm out of you– thank you, Dieter, oh God, Dieter – 

Just as you crest the wave, he shifts up onto his knees in a particularly brutal stroke, holding your knees to his waist, his other hand wrapped tightly around the curve of your shoulder— and starts jackhammering into you. 

It’s like he’s rung a bell inside of you. 

“Oh, shit—,” 

You can feel your body ringing. 

Your next orgasm nearly knocks the wind out of you. You call his name – “I’m here, baby, tell me what you need,” – and his fingers dig deeper into your shoulders. There’s no comedown, you’re still coming, as he rams his hips into yours. 

“I’ll give you anything you want – just keep saying my name.”

You aren’t sure you’re actually saying anything over babbling words of praise, his name, and some blend of it all. 

The puffy pain around your cunt makes you dizzy and now there’s wetness all over his thighs. You arch in his arms as your orgasm steam-rolls you flat, eyes rolling in the back of your head. The steady buildup then his new pace hits you like a train as the detonation in your core sends you into orbit.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it, baby—,”

Three strokes later, he tumbles over the edge after you with a gut-deep groan. 

You’re marked in his fluids and he’s marked in yours. 

He’s shaking as he lowers you down and your limbs slip off him, every ounce of strength and control seeping from you and into the mattress below. You’re both sweat-streaked and panting, the humid air nearly drowning you. With a care you certainly couldn’t have performed, he crawls back, and one more aftershock leaves you trembling all over. 

Dieter is red faced. He’s got crescent-moon indents on his shoulders and neck. It smarts but he’d leave that pain for days if he could. Though a little-light headed and desperate for water, he slips his cock out of you, his hand on your knee. He pushes your knee to the side, just enough to watch his cum leak out of you. He scoops it with his thumb and pops it into his mouth. His eyes close as he sucks. 

“Jesus Christ, Dieter,” you moan, flopping your arm over your eyes as if another minute of watching him will send you into another tailspin. 

He chuckles weakly and moves your knee to crawl into the empty bed beside you. He tucks his arms up under the white pillow and tries to breathe, his perfect ass exposed to the air. Your last few pants are louder than the spin of the ceiling fan. It might be several minutes, if not hours before feeling returns to your limbs.

“So why New Orleans?” You ask, only a little breathlessly, your arm still over your forehead. 

“Are you kidding me?” He lifts his head, the hair at his temples darker than the rest of it. He’s only marginally offended. “Sex like that and that’s the first thing you say?” 

“Well, there were other things on my mind,” you shrug against the pillow beneath your head. “That was the only thing that was coherent enough to voice out loud.” 

“Damn fucking right.” He kisses your overturned wrist before rolling onto his back with a groan so deep, you’d think he was restarting. “And I, uh, don’t know. I’ve always wanted to go see Jackson Square and I think I’ve been kicked out of my own house, so now seemed like as good a time as any. I just need to be in a place with a lot of people right now.”

You lift your head as if expecting to see a full orgy at the foot of the bed.

“Well, you might be off track there. With the tons of people thing.” 

He smirks and adjusts to his side. He cups your jaw in his hand, thumb on the other side than his fingers. With an encroaching dark haze in his eyes, he lowers his hand around your throat. Not squeezing. Not even putting any pressure. But just a reminder. A thought. A promise.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.” 

You press your chest up against his forearm, tilting your head back to give him more room. You’re not actually interested in more sex but it’s this game you play. Coin flip. See who can survive the longest. 

“You did promise to be rough with me next time.” Your fingers tighten around his wrist and at your hip, you can feel his cock twitch. 

His hand compresses once around your throat before he lets go and lets out a deep sigh. He pulls away, huffing, and collapses back onto the bed. 

“And people call me crazy.” 

You smirk, now completely satisfied. You stretch like a cat in sunlight. But then something he said earlier makes you frown. You roll up onto your elbows, looking down at him.

“I didn’t know you were kicked out of the house. Why did you say anything?” 

He takes the inside flesh of his cheek and worries it between his teeth. He’s not sorry, exactly, but this is not at all where he wanted this conversation to go. “Thought it was kinda obvious when I asked you to come with me to the airport at three in the morning.” 

You stare at him, something transfixed in your gaze, before you nod. You lean forward, a curtain of your hair closing off you and him from the rest of the world. His stomach flip-flops; rarely do you let anyone see this soft side of you.

“I’m glad you did,” you whisper as you kiss him, gently, patiently, sweetly. “It’s not like this with other people. For me.”

Beneath the curtain of your hair, it’s just the two of you. He strokes your cheek with his thumb, awe-struck that he finally has you. He feels it humming under his skin, his want for you, itching to dig his fingers in. It’s a high unlike he’s ever known. “You’re all I have, you know. Even when you don’t want me, I’ll still want you.”

“I always want you.” 

When you finally pull away, the light outside the window has gotten heavier, shadows forming in the corners. 

“Sun’s going down,” you say, the light of the (still) open shutter doors making the outline of your head glow. “Probably cool enough to wander the streets, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, in a little bit.” Looking up at you, he tucks your hair behind your ear. In the warm late afternoon light, you’re radiant and he is transfixed. Finally, all mine. “I think there was something about a promise in there.” 

Your eyes twinkle as he pulls you back down on top of him.

   It’s nearing ten o’clock when you’re finally seated at your table. The restaurant is dark, hidden away from the noise of Jackson Square and Bourbon Street. The only indication that anything existed inside of the low, squat building was a copper sign, a cut out in the shape of a Magnolia tree. But Dieter seemed to know where he was going, going on about having heard rumblings about the jazz music and grilled oysters. He simply walked into the unmarked building with all the confidence you’d expect from a man so boldly named Dieter Bravo.

The hostess seated you in the corner, each table designed with half walls, making them slightly enclosed like a carved out egg. The set of the man with the cello on stage in the front of the room ends and you clap softly, along with the rest of the room. Except for Dieter. He’s flipping through the bourbon offerings and has his hand on your thigh. A gentle hum grows in the room as its occupants return to hushed conversations before the next act arrives.

When he told you to bring a nice dress, he couldn’t have fathomed this is what you would bring in his wildest dreams. 

It’s long, gossamer, and so dark blue it looks black. The front is held up with a silver halter that connects around the back of your neck, exposing your sinful chest. But his favorite might be the back. Or rather, the lack thereof one. The material cups your chest, but drops like a chandelier down at the back of your ribs. It flows and pools at the base of your spine and the instant he saw you in it, he had you pressed up against the nearest wall to lick your shoulder blades. 

“Dieter, I will strangle you if you mess up my hair,” you huff breathlessly while at the same time digging into his own curls. 

“Why are we going out? Whose stupid fucking idea was this?” He rubbed the crotch of his dress pants up against the curve of your ass, as if he hadn’t actually had his cock in you from this angle less than an hour ago. After a bottle of champagne to celebrate, the shower to finally clean off hadn’t really gone as planned. 

“You made the reservations, dumbass,” you said before hissing as he sucked the soft spot below your earlobe.

He still can feel the bubble of the champagne under his skin, in his mouth. Still pouring over the bourbon selection, he mouths your shoulder, gently using teeth. He’s being overtly playful, the low lighting and single burning candle at the center of the table as the only nearby light source making him even more daring. But he knew he’d be admonished – it was too much in public and –

His breath catches in his chest when you lift your hand slowly from the edge of the menu and palm him over his pants. Like him before, your eyes don’t leave the menu, as if morbidly interested in the catch of the day from the Pontchartrain. 

“Don’t dish out what you can’t take, Bravo,” you say lowly, cupping the curve of his shaft before dragging your fingers back up to his crotch. 

“Th-that’s cheating,” he hisses, fighting the urge to roll his eyes back in his head. “I wasn’ even close to touching you anywhere n-ngh-near there.” 

“Well, that sounds–,”

“Is that fucking Dieter Bravo?” 

You retract your hand so fast, it bangs the table underneath, as you both look up to watch a young man with bright blonde hair, a blue suit, and an annoyingly punchable face approach the table.

He snags the chair from another table, twirls it around, and sinks into it like he owns the place. And judging by the Jaeger LeCoultre watch around his thin wrist, he very well might. 

Dieter blinks as his pale face solidifies in the half-dark. “Oliver? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Come now, dear boy, that’s no way to greet an old friend.” His posh accent speaks of boarding schools and yacht clubs. “Especially one you haven’t seen in ages.”

Those pale eyes slide to you and his lipless mouth drops open.

“Well, if I had someone half as stunning as you to keep me company, I too would fuck off and not look back. Oliver Hastings, madam.” He reaches out across the table and you take his hand, which he quickly presses to his lips. His blue eyes sparkle in a way that makes Dieter put an arm around you. You don’t look at him, but a small smile uncurls across your lips. 

“Pleasure to meet you. Where did you two meet?”

Oliver and Dieter exchange knowing glances. 

“A club in the Netherlands. My people knew his people,” Oliver says, simply. It was as close to the truth as time allowed.

“I never thought I’d see you in New Orleans,” Dieter says, genuinely surprised. “Didn’t figure this was your scene.”

“Oh, it’s not.” Oliver sniffs. “What are you drinking and can I have some?” 

He pokes a pinkie into each of your drinks, unimpressed.

“I’m here on business,” he continues and turns to wave down a waitress. 

“You don’t work, Oliver,” Dieter says, smirking. “You never have.”

“One of the pleasures of being distantly related to the Queen of England, I suppose,” he says when a waitress comes and asks for their drink orders. You gape up at Dieter while Oliver looks away. 

“That Queen of England?” You hiss at him and he grins.

“A bottle of your most expensive bourbons and three glasses. They do drink bourbon here, right? That’s a thing?”

Dieter nods, still grinning. For all his immediately off-putting mannerism, there was a charisma about Oliver that one could perhaps only buy. 

The waitress leaves to get their order and Oliver inches closer and wraps his arms over the back of the chair. 

“So, yes, on here for business, not that kind of business, but the other kind of business. The kind of business that the wealthy elites and ravers alike all fall over themselves to get.”

“I wonder if that sort of thing is hard to get through customs,” you smirk over the dredges of your red wine. 

Oliver stares at you as if seeing you for the first time all over again. And then he smiles wickedly.

“I’m sorry, I just cannot get over the fact how stunningly gorgeous you are. Did I already ask your name? You’ll have to forgive me if I’ve forgotten, I haven’t slept in three days.”

“I’m Natalie Lorraine. I’m Dieter’s co-star in an upcoming movie.”

“Ahh, well, that explains a lot of things, doesn’t it? American movie stars are rather quite fit, aren’t they? Much more than our old birds back home. Well, I can already guarantee that I’ll be first in queue to buy a ticket.” 

The waitress returns with the drink and glasses. “Thanks, love,” Oliver says and hands her a one hundred dollar bill. “I’ve got it from here.”

Shocked by the tip, the waitress nods and wanders off. 

Oliver uncorks the bottle and begins pouring out three fingers for everyone.

“Oli, you still haven’t told us what exactly you’re doing here in New Orleans,” Dieter teases. He runs his thumb nail lightly over your shoulder and in return you put a hand on his thigh. 

The British man smirks and caps the bottle. “I still haven’t told you what exactly I’m doing here in New Orleans. And I could. Or I could just show you.”

In a move that would have impressed the most skilled of card sharks, he coaxes out a small plastic bag from his sleeve with his middle finger. 

Inside are three gold dots on white cards. “They call it Stevie. Because it looks like gold dust when you rub it on your skin. Or put it in your drinks.” 

You sit forward and Dieter’s fingers nudge the knots of your spine. “What is it?”

“Bit like ecstasy, bit like Molly. None of the bad comedowns.”

Dieter snorts and chews on the leftover ice in his glass. “That’s what they all say.”

Oliver gasps softly and puts a hand over his white-collared chest. 

“Are you doubting my stock, Mr. Bravo?” 

Dieter rolls his eyes. “How long does it last?”

“Eight hours, twelve max.” 

You take the bag and hold it up in the low light. “And it’s new?”

“Originally started as a pain-killer that could be absorbed on the skin. FDA never approved it so the pharmacy that developed it went under. The blokes that made it tinkered to make it more of a party drug and here we are.”

You look over at Dieter, an excitement in your eyes that he hasn’t seen in weeks. He’d be offended if he didn’t feel the same sort of stirring. 

Oliver leans forward, his pale eyes looking up under pale lashes. By the upward tilt of his mouth, Dieter knows he knows he has you both. 

“C’mon, Dieter boyo, for old time’s sake. You should show lovely Natalie here how to have a good time.” 

He’s fine. He’s not hurting anyone. He’s having fun. He’s in control.

He can stop at any time.

You know he’s going to say yes before the words form in his mouth. You lunge forward and kiss him on the lips. 

“Alright-y then!” Oliver pops open the bag and on three fingers, he plucks up each of the gold dots. 

“To old friends,” he says as he dips a gold dot into each of their drinks, “and new.” 

Your eyes glitter as the three raise their glasses. 

“To friends.” 

And he drinks. The gold mist swirls.

   If the time he spent with you in New Mexico was slow, like molasses, dripping in sunlight, the rest of the trip in New Orleans is a blur. 

   He stands on the precipice of a mountain, the wind whipping through his hair and his cheeks. Lights unfocus and flash. There’s music and then there isn’t. There are sensations –

“Oh, God, Dieter, faster, harder, more – please, more,” 

Sweat flows down his neck, down his back, your nails digging into his shoulders. Your voice is high, breathless, as he drives himself deeper, deeper into you. You are warm and pliant beneath him and he thinks he’s going to choke on the taste of your neck under – 

– the paint is cool underneath his palms. He wipes streaks of yellow and red and green and blue up the side of the wall. He can smell the chlorine from the pool outside and the birds are singing and he thinks he can taste the yellow in the back of his teeth. The morning air is fresh and curls itself up in his bare chest and –

– he wants pastries, sweets, his mouth is tangy with the taste of your cunt –

– giants on stilts wander over his head, their pants gold and green and purple, you curl up next to him giggling and it's the most perfect sound he’s ever heard in the world. The crowd around you pushes you closer to him and he’s struck by you, by everything you are. He stops you in the middle of the street, the dark night sky arching above the streets, his hand up by your cheek, your beautiful eyes black and wide and tripping –

No, wait, I have to go back. Go back to her.

– The mural in the kitchen grows. It expands up into the ceiling, down onto the floor. The kitchen table and the chairs are thrown out into the brick courtyard. He paints and he paints. But he doesn’t know what it is yet – 

– the bed is a mess, blue paint everywhere. Your beautiful thighs are smeared with blue. His eyelashes feel heavy with paint but he can’t tell what color. His chest is cold and sticky. You’ve got one hand pressed up against the headboard, your thighs spread around him as he finds the missing warmth in the clutch in your cunt. Your tits, stained with purple, bounce and sway with the forces of his thrusts. The shutter door is open, fluttering in the wind, and it’s raining beyond the balcony. It’s pouring and he’s pouring out blue. He stains your cunt with orange, his thumb pressing up into your clit and you shriek. He can feel the white in him burst out and coat your chest and throat in his own paint –

– it’s quiet. You lay on the grass next to him in front of the St. Louis Cathedral. You’re pointing out constellations in the sky, a white powder near the corner of your mouth and the sweet scent of out-of-reach beignets hovers near your lips. As you talk, he reaches over and swipes the powder from your lips. You giggle because he’s only made it worse. There’s powder all over his hands –

You’re an artist. It rages in your blood.

No, it’s paint – 

– he wakes up and it’s quiet. 

The racing has stopped. The universe has settled. He lifts his head, barely able to comprehend where he is, but beyond grateful for all of it to end. He’s back in the cottages, on that white billow-y bed. It’s morning. The world is still quiet. He drops his head back against the fluffy pillow and sighs deeply.

But that smell is . . . it’s familiar. That sweet smell and . . . something else.

Girlsex. 

He glances down, suddenly recognizing a weight on his chest. 

Your back curves down his side. You’re covered in paint and powder and his own cum, but you rest soundly with your arm across his chest, the rise and fall of your breathing slow and deep. His cock actually aches from overuse. He picks up your hair and twirls it in his fingers, marveling at the way the light catches it. The way it smells like him. 

“Dieter Bravo,” you mutter into his clavicle. He smiles, his right leg hanging off the mattress. He skims his toes along the warm wood. “That’s not even your real name, is it?”

He can feel you grin against his chest and the drowsy, unused thing in his heart stretches. 

“Just as much as Natalie Lorraine is yours.” 

You both laugh quietly, too spent to really do anything else. You lift your head and purple is smeared by your cheek. He wants to lick it into his mouth. He feels like you are peeling him down to his bare essentials and he doesn’t know what you’re going to find. You’ll have to tell him when you do.

You kiss him, gently, as much as your aching body will allow. He hums. If he never comes again and can only kiss you like this, he’ll be satisfied. 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” you whisper against his lips. There’s only gold light separating you from him. 

“Okay,” he says, thumbing the apple of your cheek. There’s nothing he ever wants to hide from you. “Dieter Bravo is a stage name. My real name is–,”

– he wakes up again, just as your tongue slips a thin, square paper into his mouth. The air is moist and his jacket is too hot but the thumping beat of the music curls into the base of his spine. The building behind you shakes with noise and you’re next in line to enter the club. The crowd of people behind you vibrates with excitement. It smells like piss and vomit. 

“See you on the other side, baby,” you murmur into his throat.

   Music. Music music music. 

It’s in him, it’s grinding up in his teeth, he swears he feels it behind his eyelids. It’s coming out of him, leaking out of his pores and thrumming in his pulse. His heart — it slipped out of its natural rhythm and attached itself to the new beat, this new pulse — and he is everywhere and nowhere. He exists only in this sea of pumping, sweating bodies and never existed anywhere else. 

The only thing centering him, the only thing real, his living heart outside of his body, is you. Your sweat-streaked hair is in his face, the damp back of your neck is inches from his mouth, flooding his senses with the taste of your sweat, your scent. For a moment, he thinks he can see the electric blue synapsis of your brain firing in pace with the music, with the LSD in your body, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He wants to feel the threads with his fingers. 

He wants to bite through your neck and slurp your synapses up like noodles. 

“Baby,” you murmur below him, barely audible above the thunder of the music, “you’re squeezing too tight.” 

He blinks and the image is gone. He sinks his jaw over your shoulder, loosening his grip on your elbows and sliding his hands over your forearms. He tries to focus on dancing, swaying with you between his thighs.

“Sorry, darling, sorry.” He holds you to him, oozing back into that blackness with you as a warm light. 

Your ass, in that black leather skirt he bought you, moves out of sync with the beat, with the swaying you had both fallen into, and rubs him through his jeans. The light travels to his crotch. 

It’s like someone dripped honey all over his brain. 

“Fuck, baby.” He noses your ear and takes your earlobe into his mouth with the curl of his tongue. You moan and, with his hands over yours, he pushes the heel of your hand over your clit. His grip moves around your waist, to the bare skin between your skirt and your high-cut top. He can’t see in the purple haze of the twitching lights and thick, fluorescent fog but he can feel you. You are dripping with sweat, almost feverish. He thinks about the blue in your brain and his dick jumps. He laves the knot of your neck with his tongue. 

“I want you. I want you right now.” 

You lean back into his damp chest and clutch the back of his head in your hand. You draw his other hand to your thigh. Your breath reminds him of flowers, flowers pressed into a book, pressed until they aerosolized. He can’t find your eyes in the dark, in the haze, and in the pulsating light, your face looks blurred. “Then don’t wait. Fuck me here, baby. Right now.” 

In the beat, the cleft of your ass rubs his cock and he thinks he can see the blue in him. Glowing blue in his gut. He nods, frantically, hand leaving your thigh to undo his belt, then the buttons of his jeans. 

He rucks your skirt up, the leather sticking to your damp skin, and he adjusts his hips. You moan, feeling his cock hard at your back. He’s sure his dick is glowing in the dark. 

“Are you ready? I can’t get you wet like you need it–,”

“Baby, I am wet. Just need you. Need you rough.” 

He thinks he might puke blue but the blunt head of his cock rubs in between your sweaty, warm thighs and the pressure in his stomach collapses. If he doesn’t fuck you right now, he’s going to break apart. 

Your skirt clutched in his hands, he swipes your underwear to the side and slides up into you in one stroke – now you’re both blue, from the tips of your heads down to your toes. He doesn’t even move, it feels so good – he says this outloud. You whine loud in his ears, the music distant and far away. You’re closer than you were before, even if it didn't seem possible at the time. 

He grinds his hips and you throw back your head against his shoulder, gasping, nails digging into the backs of his hands at your hips. He throws his forearm around your waist, before grinding his hips back and forth – never leaving you. He wants to be this close to you forever. He can’t imagine ever pulling out of your sweet, hot cunt. He thinks of his cum leaking down your thighs and he groans low in your ear. He wonders if his cum will glow and everyone will see who you belong to. 

He wants his cum all over you. His hips jerk back an inch before slamming them up again. 

“Tha’s it, baby,” you whine. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly. “Keep going.”

He does. At some point, he hears the blood in his cock thump to the beat of the music, and he wants you to know.  

“Can you feel that, baby?” He slurs in your ear. He pushes your wet hair over your shoulder and presses his teeth into your skin. “You’re takin’ me. All of me. Wanna paint you blue.” 

His hand slides over your thigh again, his thumb diving in towards your center, then up. He hopes to find your clit but your entire cunt is hotter than a furnace and he’s afraid of rubbing up against metal. His hand ghosts over your clit and you cry out. 

“Fuck me harder, baby. Leave a bruise. I need you.” 

There’s a memory of being surrounded by people, but it’s not here. It’s not now. It’s ages ago. A lifetime ago. The only thing that ever existed was your cunt squeezing his cock. 

“I’m gonna fuck you up,” he hisses. There’s a chemical smell in the air and he thinks it’s from the lights or it might be from inside him. No, there’s only music inside him. Music he wants to share with you. Gift to you. Fall to his knees and lick up inside you.

You both only exist in blackness and there’s nothing to press you up against, but he tries. He adjusts his hips, his grip, and he fucks you deep.

Pretty thing.

Pretty girl.

Pretty cunt. 

Blue. Blue in your hair. Your eyes. Gonna paint you in blue. 

He wants to split your skull and live in your brain. 

Your moans are higher, airless, gasping, begging. The pressure behind his gut is a black-hole and he wants to fall, wants to drift. 

He braves metal burn and presses down on your clit with his middle finger. 

You are gushing blue. 

He fills you up a moment later, hips stuttering, thighs quaking. And that makes you come again. 

It’s never ending. It’s a cycle. It’s infinite. You’re infinite. If you ever leave him, he’ll die. Broken blue. 

“I love you,” he whispers in your ear in a voice so soft he purposefully won’t remember it the next morning. He drags you into his chest, to feel his heart burning for you. Only when he gets like this again, which is soon after, does he remember. When he’s sober, it’s only a feeling. When he’s out of his mind, higher than God, he has to say it. 

“I love you. I fucking love you. So much.”

When he’s this high, he doesn’t remember if you say it back. 

[sorcerous-caress]

I'm so jealous of Daniil. Having only played the Haruspex route so far in both game, each time I'm invited to the Bachelor's place I turn green with envy at how he resides at an actual proper house with a real room and a real bed.

A real bed with a whole bedframe. A pillow with an actual pillowcase!! His bed even has sheets!

He has WINDOWS. His house is in a nice neighbourhood, and his roommate is a very attractive woman. There is actual furniture in his room. Not one hint of fungus growing on the walls or rust!

Can you imagine living there as your lair? Spending the whole game knowing you have a real house with a real bed to go back to at the end of each night? Seeing Eva's face every day before leaving to do quests?

Meanwhile, Artemy is stuck in this dumpster room of an abandoned factory. Cuddling with rats on his makeshift bed, held by nothing but a wooden panel, some boxes and a dream.

A pillow so yellow it has its own ecosystem where bugs established real estate. Is that even a pillow or is it some random rock Artemy found and chucked in there? Is it a stale loaf of bread?? Why is it hard looking?

But no, you don't even get to keep the rock roach pillow because in P2, they take it away.

Fuck you Artemy, you had it good for too long. No pillow now because what are you gonna do about it?. Fold your mattress instead to have a resemblance of a faux sense of protection under your most vital organ during the long hours of death rehearsal that you call sleep.

Somehow, they made the bed even more unstable looking. As if that thin panel in the middle could hold Artemy's weight without caving in. Oh, and apparently, I ran out of boxes to use for furniture because the bed and the table have to share custody of the same box.

We have downgraded into barrels now, as you can see :) No, I don't know what they used to contain inside.

Waking up every day to Sticky's snotty face telling me not to spit in the wind and nagging me about cleaning up the week-old human organs thrown around that are stinking up the place.

THERE IS MOLD GROWING ON MY WALLS. RUST FLAKES FALL FROM THE EXPOSED METAL PIPES DOWN INTO MY CEREAL EACH BREAKFAST.

This single wall holds so much mold and fungus that they started crossbreeding and evolved into new, never seen before types of bacteria. Satan's asscrack is more hygienic than whatever biohazard plagues of Egypt this slab of concrete contains.

I live in the gutters. My only neighbours are an illegal gang of minors with a hatred for furries and another illegal gang but of adults this time who sell me bullets way above the market price. A dangerous neighbourhood where you can't have shit because SOMEONE STOLE MY BULL.

The basement I reside in has no windows, the smell is pungent and fucking vile down here. There isn't even a space for a bathroom.

This is my kitchenette/bathroomette/showerette/cupboardette/surgery tools disinfection stationette/sinkette/watercoolerette/toilette/fridge.

also my buckets yk.

One bucket for the makeshift bathroom, another for holding important organs and loose guts during surgery, a third one as a cooking pot for making tasty meat grub soup and the final one for murky water after sweeping the floor.

What do I use to tell them apart? Oh nothing :) I just mix em up every now and then, oppsie daisy.

Oh and the floors are CONSTANTLY wet for some reason. Yeah sticky slipped and almost broke his neck the other day so watch your steps.

There is also this eerie room with literal garbage and broken furniture right next to the entrance. Don't worry about it, sometimes I hear someone crying and screaming for help when I'm trying to go to sleep but it's just the factory being silly lol.

Now this? This is where the M A G I C happens. This is where Artemy the Menkhu makes his famous herbal remedies and natural mixtures. This is where the Panacea for the infamous sand plague gets made!

In a rusty empty food can.

Falling into a bucket with shit stains.

MEDICINE BABBYYY. GET YOUR WEAK SOFT BONED ASS BACK TO THE CAPITAL BITCH, THIS IS HOW REAL MEN MAKE REAALLL MEDICINE!! RAWRRRRR🦅🦅💥💥

Meanwhile, dickovsky has the view of the cathedral and polyhedron just around the corner from where he resides. He has a backyard with a lake, and all I have is a swamp behind my basement. I trudge through the mud each night, collecting weeds and herbs to mix and trade so I and the two orphans who adopted themselves into my life don't go starving.

Not to mention the gaggles of herb brides loitering outside and giving me a false bad reputation.

That dandy douchbag has a pharmacy, a grocery, and a tailor right next door. The closest establishment to my shrekcore place of resident is a dingy basement bar with shady drinks and no bouncer to check for ID, I saw two kids in there once.

Pov: a qt3.14 surgeon says his dad isn't home and invites you over.

[lanormie]

you bought anime figure!satoru a new friend! (read part 1 here)

anime figure!suguru who comes out of the box with realistic synthetic hair and a robe made from actual fabric cause the Etsy seller stepped. the. fuck. up.

anime figure!suguru who immediately gets poked and prodded by anime figure!satoru the moment he gets placed next to him on the shelf.

anime figure!suguru who remains stubbornly motionless despite satoru's relentless attempts at 'waking him up', including threats to hollow purple the man. "like it stopped him before," you mock, sliding a KFC bucket model right in between them, which satoru promptly picks up and chucks it right back at you.

anime figure!suguru who still hasn't moved an inch when you come home today, but his hair is in neat pigtails, the top of his head adorned with a pink bow that was obviously yoinked from your barbie three shelves over. looking around the room, you find satoru sulking inside one of your beanies, his long plastic legs poking out. "i'm going to draw dicks on his forehead if he doesn't wake up soon," he whines, voice slightly muffled by the thick wool.

anime figure!suguru who gets put in front of the computer screen per satoru's request. "time to bring out the big guns," the silvered-haired figure says, as he nudges you to open tumblr. walking over to the keyboard with hands in his pocket, satoru punches in each letter of 'geto suguru smut' into the search bar with the heel of his shoe. having established that he has no keyboard manners, he stomps on the 'enter' key.

anime figure!suguru whose first sign of life is a very audible gulp at a very thirsty fanart plastered fullscreen on your monitor. before he could think to step off the stand, he gets toppled over by a cheering satoru. the drama queen proceeds to latch onto his friend like a koala, and wastes no time showing him around like he owns the place.

anime figure!suguru whom you thought would be stoic and reserved, but turned out to be the Regina George to satoru's Gretchen Weiners. everything you do gets judged. your hair, your outfit, your movie choice, and especially, especially your dates.

anime figure!suguru who gets put in timeout (a.k.a. under an upside down laundry basket) for scaring off a boy you invited over by randomly knocking over stuff from the shelves and messing with the lights using the remote he'd pilfered from your nightstand.

anime figure!suguru who doesn't think it's funny when you get him a bunch of mini monkey plushies.

anime figure!suguru whom you later find sound asleep on your bed holding one of those plushies, his head resting on the belly of another. the beanie to his left softly rises and falls, quietly rumbling with satoru's sleepy murmurs. gently slipping under the blanket, you feel your phone buzz.

there are new listings from the Etsy seller.

[serxinns]

Ok sorry if I'm taking up some time but something related to a picture I saw has literally been on my mind and I need some sorta short fanfic about it 😭

So basically, Yandere Fantasy AU Bakusquad where they are all dragons (Except Bakugou being a Barbarian) and a traveler reader who is incredibly hurt so is under the care of them all.

I mainly want this because I recently broke my wrist (which is now healed up) and idk 😭🙏

The Lost Traveler

Yandere! fantasy Bakusquad x gn! reader

A/n: I kinda went off on this onw hehe but I hope it was worth the wait! I hope you enjoy!

Tw!⚠️: injuries, reader getting hurt, weapons, drowning, possessive and obsessive behavior, stripping off clothes (in a non sexual way ofc) nudity (if you count reader being in their undergarments, yandere behavior, and more don't read if you can't handle it

"After them!" You heard a man yell out to his group as they chased you, but you didn't look back you didn't want to look back your main priority was safety you looked around the woods to see if there was any hiding spot but to no avail, the men kept shooting their arrows towards you as you barely dodged them. You held on to your bag tightly you didn't know how you had come to this conclusion you just went into town trying to grab some things and these men tried to rob your mother's spellbook so you kicked one of them in the groin he released you from his grasp and you continued to run

"I got this" one of the men grabbed their bow and arrow, your eyes widened in horror as he aimed for your leg and you were getting ready to dodge untill a sharp pain hit you in your upper leg you screamed in agony and dropped to the floor clutching your foot the bandits all surrounded you chucking you grabbed the book tightly not wanting those monsters getting it

"Now, now, brat, why don't you be smart and give us the book, and we'll let you go"gt.he man had a devious grin on his facfaceu spat at him, "fuck you, you'll have to kill me 1st!" The bandits snicker and laughed "Very well then.." one of the men got a weapon and held itches towards your neck your eyes widen trying to squirm off from his grasp but he pinned you against the tree hard with a final attempt you kicked him in the groin with ur shoe his grasp became loose as he howled in pain now clutching his area kneeling, "you little shit..." the crew all held their swords at you you the began crawling backward with the book praying they'll be someone to protect you

You then began to slip on something; you quickly looked behind you to see a waterfall right behind you, you gasped, wanting to crawl back, but the bandits were in front. You were at a dead end "Nowhere, the run, little shit, just give us the book!" He sneered, you had to act fast for you and the book, you look at the waterfall again hesitant you began crawling closer and closer waterfall until you felt the cliff and the loud crashing water beneath you, one of the bandits snicker th t up to what you were about to do "don't do anything stupid ya hear just give us the damn book!" He shouted you looked at him with one last glare and let your whole body go holding the book tight while you fall

You closed your eyes ready for the impact and pain, you landed in the roaring water you desperately tried gasping for air using your good arm to swim back up for air but it'd currents were too strong you tried grabbing some sort of branch or rock but kept crashing into them hard your body began to feel tired and ur eyes droopy from all the pain and energy "is this how I die.." you thought as you slowly close your eyes surrendering to the wrath of the water as they took you

...

"Aha! Gotcha!" The dragon yelled as she caught a fish with her claws she examined the fish making sure it was big enough for her friends and place it in the bucket her stomach growled in hunger she looked down and then looked at the fish, "..one fish wouldn't hurt" mina looked both ways and all around when the coast was clear she grabbed a small fish and was about toneat until a voice called her "Pink scales you better not be eating our dinner like shitty scales!" The Man said angrily, "Ughh bakugo, it was just gonna be one!" Mina whined as she reluctantly dropped the fish

"One less of our dinner!" He scolded, taking the bucket and carrying it with him. "Plus, it looked like you already had some!" He looked at her with a hard glare as she smiled sheepishly the barbarian was about to yell at her until he spotted something floating in the water he shoved the dragon away to view it closer he realized that it was a human being floating around in the river katsuki quickly went in the river not caring about hid clothes getting dragging the human out of the water "it's that a human?! Are they breathing?" She shrieked looking worriedly and concerned

Katsuki then felt the human skin it was cold..katsuki then led his head toward its chest the heart was still beating but it was barely breathing.."Mina take the human to our cottage.." he ordered Mina nodded and quickly placed you on her back and transformed into her dragon form katsuki then hopped on her back and signaled her to fly, she then carefully launched into the air making sure nobody falls then soared through the sky

As they were soaring, Katsuki took the time to examine you; it seemed like you were not from here but maybe from another region judging by your clothes, and he didn't mention it, but there was a book in the human's hands. He observed it closely. It seemed like it was from a powerful being..but he didn't know where it was from, until then he may have to keep it for a while just in case for safety

Mina roared making Katsuki snap out of his thoughts when he looked up he realized that they were home he grabbed you and jumped off Mina while steam came out of her turning her back into her human form they carried the human to the house and placing them on the couch "Mina take off through clothes and check for bruises" Mina nodded she carefully took off your closes leaving you with only your undergarments on she blushed a but reminded herself to focus, the poor human was covered in red and purple bruises and had a broken wrist Mina gaze soften feeling pity for then poor human

"The human has a bunch of bruises and a broken wrist" Bakugo scoffed "that probably gonna take half of my healing power so I'm only gonna heal them on certain areas and patch up the others letting them heal themselves" bakugo then let Mina carry the unconscious human to give them a warm bath, bathing off the dirt and gunk in their hair and gently handling them with the best of her abilities the most she saw the bruises the more angrier she seems how dare someone could do this to a precious little thing when she was done she quickly wrapped them up in a towel and carry them in the bedroom where there were already a set of warm clothes for them to wear..

....

You were panicking all you could see was black you couldn't move your body it was like you were wrapped in something, it was suffocating, you tried to scream but you couldn't hear your own voice nor you couldn't hear anything just emptyness and eerie silence, you wanted to get out of here you wanted to see if you have that spellbook you wanted to survive, are you even alive anymore?! You were breathing rapidly wondering what did you do you be in this hell

Then a soft humming rang in your ear it sounded...familiar like something your mother would do to comfort you when you were feeling ill or had a very bad day, the humming made you calm..peaceful even, your panicking began to die down as well as your breathing you squirm around trying to break free from whoever or whatever is trapping you but to no avail, then saw some light in your vision it became bigger and lighter...

You slowly opened your eyes, all you could see was a blurry red figure hovering over you humming the same tune you heard back there you blinked a couple of times to get your vision more clear, and there standing above you was a boy with red scales forming on his shoulders and large pointy like horns with red eyes staring the back at you, with a yelped you tried squirming away but her strong hands were keeping you still "Please don't struggle your weak at the moment" he said petting your hair softly trying to calm you down

"Where am i.." the red hair chuckled as if that was a silly question to ask "your home can't you tell?" He answered softly as he continued to hum confused you were about to ask what did he mean by that untill another voice could be heard "did the human wake up yet" there revealed a another dragon with blonde hair and a black lighting strike on he turned his attention towards you and his eyes brighten "they're so small!" He has as he poked your cheeks curiously wanting to feel what a human skin felt like "they're also soft as well!" He giggled happily the red haired dragon quickly swat his friends hand away as the dragon whined

"They're still healing Kaminari be gentle!" Kiri scolded him The yellow dragon softly glared at him jealous from the red dragon hogging you "would you stop fighting infront them? the poor thing is barely gaining conscious" there appeared a dragon with black hair scolding at the 2 dragons "now come on the foods almost ready" he said as he gaze at you with a soft smile the headed back to the kitchen ok now you were confused who were these people? Why are they're saying this is your new home? Are you going crazy or what

Your thoughts were then interrupted again with Kirishima picking you up and carrying you to the kitchen and plop you down to your chair you awkwardly thanked him as he happily sat down at his spot, that's when smell of the food hit your nostrils it smelled so good you even drooled a bit which you quickly wiped off with your arm embrassed hoping nobody noticed that "heh someone's hungry" the dragon away you assumed to be Sero said smirking at you as your face lit up in embrassament you looked away

"Well I haven't eaten in a few days of course I'm gonna be hungry" you protested as the black dragon chuckled "whatever you say sweets" he shrugged laying against the chair patiently waiting for the meal "dinners ready!" A loud booming voice was heard a blonde male with orange eye "Guess the little shit is awake" he grumbled "Katsuki language! Don't call the human that!" Kirishima scolded katsuki scoffed

"Don't fucking tell me what to do shitty hair you ain't the boss of me!" He said yelled the two started bickering back and forth while Kirishima wrapped his Strong arm around you protectively you tried pushing it off but it seems like he was too busy to noticed or he didn't care "boys stop arguing when our human is awake!" "Yea I bet they're starving right about now!" A purple dark then came in along with a bubbly pink dragon skipping in the kitchen the 2 boys shut themselves up and they then fix yourself and themselves a meal

it was cooked fish with a side of veggies the aroma was addictive making you go wild, fish wasn't always your favorite meal but those last few days of living off of eating berries and small animals this was a actual proper meal for you you devoured the food in seconds not noticing how the others were cooing and just adoring how cute you were, after the meal you were about to head yourself out grabbing your spellbook and thanking the kind people for the care untill a hand grabbed you by the shoulder

"And where the fuck are you going?" Bakugo said with a stern tone "Uh I'm going out I need to get back home" "in this condition? Your still hurt pumpkin no way we're gonna let you go out exposing yourself to the dangers" you didn't noticed jirou infront of the door now everyone else gathered around you looking weirdly at you...

"Why don't you stay for a few nights atleast untill your injuries healed!" Kirishima suggested you thought about it for a moment the trip back home would take rather long considering that you barely even know your way back they then carried you off to their bed all cuddling next to you

You were their human now you were a gift for them and them only those monsters are gonna pay for what they done to their little darling~

[prodbymaui]

I Loved You (Dangerously)

drunk off that love, fuck my head up

PAIRING: lee jeno x reader

GENRE: infidelity

WORD COUNT: 1.8k+ words

WARNINGS: bulging kink, choking kink, strength kink (?)

SYNOPSIS: You're in a lovingly, domestic relationship with your boyfriend. Or so everyone thought.

A/N: first jeno fic, happy reading! please do leave your thoughts if you can! <3

Lively chatters, car honking, vendors selling. The sun has exchanged positions with the moon yet it is not the end of a day for the people of Myeongdong. The chilly breeze bites through your flesh, but you suppose you are to blame for not dawning a puffer jacket.

Steps quickening, your keys jingling in your hands as you head back to your apartment. Your phone pings and catches your attention, it displays an email from your co-worker but it's not what you looked at though. Eyes settling on the time, you glance where the picture of your lovely boyfriend smiling innocently and widely lies. A quarter after 8PM, he should be in his own apartment now.

Upon arriving, your doorknob twists easily, as though it wasn't locked. Did you forget to? You were certain you did before leaving. Carefully, you hold the door open, heart beating rapidly as fear creeps up on your spine. Am I about to die? Hopefully not. You have a lot of things on your bucket list and dying young isn't one of them.

The lights are on, and music fills the entire flat. That song is too familiar for you. Closing the door behind you, your eyes roam around, observing. Not even a minute and as if on cue, a man who wears the face of your boyfriend walks into your vision, seemingly fresh out of the shower. He then meets your eyes with no surprise.

''Great. You're home.''

You roll your eyes. Raking your eyes up and down on his body, heat burns your cheeks as you turn away, pursing your lips at the sight of water droplets dripping along his bare chest. You chuck your shoes off and head to the kitchen. ''Why are you here?''

You heard a scoff. Footsteps following your trace. ''Why not? I'm more comfortable here than at my own apartment.''

''Cut the chase, Jeno.'' You face him. ''What are you doing here?'' And when you only receive a grin from the man who's leaning on the wall, you sigh. ''Did you got fired again?''

''Ah.. you know me too well.''

Irritated, you shake your head and proceed to walk out of the kitchen but before you could, Jeno's already catching your wrist– preventing you from getting away. Tugging you closer, he offers a smile.

''Don't walk out on me now, babe.''

You click your tongue. ''Shut up.''

Chuckling, Jeno wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles his nose on the crook of your neck. ''So feisty.''

Jeno runs his palms on your side up and down as he plants sweet sweet pecks on the vastness of your neck. His kisses then eventually travels upwards where he connects your lips with his. What a lighthearted kiss turns into somewhat a desperate one, swiftly licking each other's lips before sucking on them.

''Fuck, I missed you–'' Grabbing the back of your thighs, Jeno carries you with ease as he transfers both of you to your bedroom, his body leading him despite the lack of vision. It's like telling him 'Worry no more about tripping, you've been here enough that I've memorized every single thing.'

Jeno is lying if he says it doesn't fuel the smugness in him.

He slowly settles you on the bed, hovering over you, gripping your hips as your legs circle his waist. Pushing his tongue in, Jeno licks every wall, every part that he can reach. A drool escapes the end of your lips as you share the messy kiss with Jeno, groaning when his boner rubs against your clothed core, putting pressure on your clit.

A string of saliva that connects your lips is the thing you see before your top gets taken off of you and your bra flies somewhere in the room, the only thing your mind could fully register is Jeno's tongue flicking over your nipple as he keeps his fingers entertained with the other. The air thickens, and suckles echoes in your bedroom.

Pleasure shoots up your spine as Jeno grinds, angle perfectly aligned for the head of his cock to nudge your clit. You whimper. ''Jeno, fuck...''

But Jeno's ears are shut the moment he takes your nubs in his mouth, eyes closed as he savors the delish before him. Tightening your legs, you move to press your core onto him harder, hands squeezing his biceps. ''Jeno, please..''

Jeno snaps out of his daze at the vulnerability. A music to his ears, his eyes darken, once again he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. You squeak, body jostling as your pants and underwear get ripped off of you, thrown carelessly.

His fingers trace the line between your pussy cheeks, dipping a little before bringing it to his mouth, licking your wetness– tasting you. Jeno moans, head cloudy. Jeno takes in the sight of you after opening his eyes that he doesn't even know had closed. 

''Please, Jeno..'' Breathing heavily, legs wide open for him, already looking so fucked out when he haven't even done anything yet. Jeno growls at the urge to eat you up, make you his.

Cupping one ankle, Jeno peppers kisses along your calves, eyes not leaving your figure. ''Tell me what you want. What exactly are you saying please to, baby?''

At this point, all your sanity had left you. Embarrassment? It was a thing of yesterday. Reaching up to Jeno, your next words snaps his patience. ''W-want your cock.. I want your cock in me.''

Smirking, Jeno pecks you again before going down on you, making out with your pussy as if it's your lips. His tongue wiggles, pulling out lewd moans from you, gripping the sheets in an attempt to prevent yourself from pulling his hair instead. Jeno flicks his tongue over your puffed clit.

''Fuck, Jeno–!''

A finger slides past your entrance, your walls engulfing the digit with warmth and velvetines. You're so fucking wet, there's little to no resistance. Another follows suit, Jeno scissors you properly all the while he enjoys himself in getting drunk from your essence and the music that is your explicit sounds.

Pulling his face away, his skin covered by your slick glistens under the bedroom lights. Jeno chuckles as your walls clamp around his fingers. He then curls them in an angle that prods at your spot sweetly, your back arches off the bed. Latching on your perky nipples, Jeno tugs his towel and gives himself pumps to tend his hard cock.

''Put it in..'' Jeno mumbles profanities seeing the desperation in your eyes as you stare at his angry leaking tip.

Before you could whine about the loss of his fingers in your, Jeno replaces it with his girthy cock, slipping inside as you moan in unison. Burying the rest of his cock, he presses your knees on your chest and starts a brutal pace that jostles your body to the headboard repeatedly.

''Jeno! F-fuck! So big.. it feels so good–!''

Jeno grips the top of the headboard as he madly drives his cock in and out of you, his eyes glinting with lust and something you couldn't decipher.

''When's the last time I had you like this?You're so fucking tight– you're suffocating my fucking cock. Look at that, baby. Look how your pussy stretches widely and sucks my cock inside. It feels good, huh?'' Jeno nudges your legs to a wide V, planting his foot on the bed as he gives it to you faster, harder, and deeper. 

Looking down, he notices a bump that continuously appears and disappears in sync with his thrusts, growling in realization that it's his fucking cock that cause the bump in your belly. Gripping your waist, Jeno slams your pliant body to meet the snap of his hips, your breast jiggles and Jeno will be damned if he resists the urge to feast on them. God, he's fucking crazy for them.

''Oooh shit! You're so big and so hard inside me– ah ah ah– fuck! More! More, please–''

Jeno hums against your ear. ''More? Does my girl want more?''

Drunk in pleasure, you nod absentmindedly, nails raking down Jeno's back, creating red lines all over his skin. He slams a couple more times before taking a pity on the headboard that hits the wall due to your vigorous fucking. Jeno groans, scooping you in his arms, and pins you to the wall before hammering his cock inside you. Biting the junction of your neck, Jeno laps the red beads that seeps past your skin. The graze of teeth on your skin itches in pain yet you crave for more.

Wet skin slapping bounce in the room, wanton moans escapes you as Jeno snaps his hips fiercely.

''Oh, god!''

''Yeah?'' Jeno licks your tears. ''You like that? You love getting stuffed full of my big, fat cock, huh?''

Pulling you away from the wall, your eyes roll to the back as Jeno's length digs deeper inside you, so deep that you could feel it at the back of your throat. You cling to Jeno, drools dribbling down your chin as carnal ecstasy takes over the entirety of your body and mind. ''I'm coming..''

Grabbing your ass, Jeno bounces you to meet his thrusts, parting your cheeks to slide even deeper. ''Come on my cock, baby.''

Strained moan leaves your lips as Jeno sucks the pathway of your drool, feeling himself get closer to climax as your walls clenches continuously around him, painting his cock white. Jeno pistons his hips violently, eyes shut close. And when your hand encloses on his neck and tightens just the way it sends him an irreversible euphoria, Jeno holds on to his strength as he shoots strings of white, filling you up to the brim.

Breathing heavily, Jeno brings you back to the bed, fetching the towel to wipe down your mess before laying beside you, hugging you from the back. His loving kiss on your shoulder is the last thing that registers in your mind before drifting to a slumber.

As Jeno combs his fingers through your hair, a smile unknowingly appears on his face. You look so beautiful like this. So peaceful. Sure, you can certainly protect yourself but it still makes him want to gatekeep you from the harsh world so that you're out of harm's reach. 

Though, Jeno knows it is impossible. The constant pings from your phone is a reminder.

JIHO: Hi, baby. I just got home! 

JIHO: Mom asked for help to look for Jeno because she received a call from his work telling to pay for the damages or sorts.

JIHO: Sooo sorry I didn't send you a text!

JIHO: Are you gonna sleep now?

But as long as you don't stop him from having you, Jeno supposes he can ignore the fact. 

The fact that you will never be his. And the fact that you're in this loving, domestic relationship with his twin brother.

[heylittleriotact]

⚰ＷＩＰ ＷＨＥＮＥＶＥＲ⚰

I've been tagged by @xxnashiraxx and love seeing their work pop up on my dash - thank you <3

The Soup du Jour is... smut! Plotless, pointless, porntacular, horny Emmrook smut.

We've got praise kinks, we've got flashing, we've got grinding, we've got trying-to-distract-this-poor-man-from-his-work, we've got Rook biting off more than she can chew when Emmrich calls her bluff. It is in this piece that I am (ultimately) going to make good on my threat of Emmrich reciting erotic poetry intimately into Rook's ear while he makes deeply passionate love to her, because that idea has lived rent-free in my head for days now and I need to manifest it. But first I need Rook to be a brat, and for Emmrich to... deal with that.

I was having doubts about this one because I am forever afraid of writing OOC, but honestly I'm just trying to chuck it in the fuck it bucket and have fun.

Tagging: @preciouslittlebhaalbae (you have TIME now MWAHAHAHA), @allofthebarks (don't hold out on me), @emmg (I know you're cooking 👀)

Under the cut because it is ✨EXPLICIT✨

𝒱𝒾𝓈𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃:

A funeral event where the prepared body of the deceased is reposed in the casket (open or closed) so that mourners may pay their respects, say their goodbyes, and grieve communally prior to the formal funeral service.

She knew exactly what she was doing when she pulled on the flimsy little camisole. She had very specific plans in mind when she slipped into the thin leggings that she knew were just a little too tight. There was a distinct reason she had chosen to completely forgo underthings. 

She tied her thick hair into a low bun at the base of her skull so her neck was clearly visible… as was the somewhat faded love bite from their previous encounter - the one that made Lace turn beetroot when she laid eyes on it at breakfast. The one that prompted Taash to reach over the table with a congratulatory high five. Emmrich had coughed awkwardly and subtly adjusted his own collar, clearly hoping the marks Amina had left on his neck in return were concealed.

She padded barefoot down the hallway to the laboratory, stomach fluttering and turning on itself in a not unpleasant way with the sheer anticipation of being in his proximity again. She couldn’t help but be drawn to him - his immense gravity could not be ignored; her need to be near him was insistent. She put little stock in the novelty of fate before Emmrich, but there was no doubt in her mind that there must have been some sort of cosmic ruling in which they were unwittingly sentenced by the stars to find one another. Her belly smouldered at the thought of such a thing… of such belonging.

She knocked gently on the door. “It’s me - may I come in?” 

She didn’t have to wait for an answer, nor did she have to turn the knob herself: she heard a chair scuff over the flagstone, the muffled jingle of gold - a sound that set her heart racing more often than not these days - and the door was flung open. Emmrich stood in the threshold, beaming affectionately down at her. 

“Of course, darling.” He took her hand and pulled her into the room, reaching over her shoulder to shut the door once she was inside. She might have been embarrassed that the sound of the lock clicking behind her made her breath catch solely due to its implication, but she was having a hard time feeling much of anything but barely restrained lust for the man in front of her. 

He drew her in close with an arm around her waist, still holding her hand between them, massaging her palm with his thumb as he bowed his head to kiss her sweetly. Her knees went weak when his lips met hers and his familiar scent filled her nose, rendering her brain incapable of anything other than inwardly chanting the same base sentiment over and over for as long as the kiss lasted: Home! Home! Home! Home! You’re home!

He straightened and looked at her, smiling as though he hadn’t heard the hungry little moan that had slipped from her, nor perceived the way she’d pressed as much of her body against him as she could during their embrace. “How are you today?” He asked, genuinely interested - as always. He knew. Surely he knew that she was positively bursting with need for him.

“Fine,” she breathed, returning the smile, watching as he started back towards the desk that was covered with books, inkpots, and parchment. “I’m well, thank you. Just thought I’d come say hello, see what you’re up to.”  

He pulled a chair over to the opposite side of the desk for her to sit on. She opted to remain standing instead, her eyes flitted over the pages of drying ink spread over the desk. 

“More letters home?” She waited until he was settled in his chair again, the quill back in his hand, and she bent at the waist to take a closer look at a recent anatomical drawing he’d completed. She could feel the cozy heat of the laboratory caress the exposed peaks of her breasts as the insubstantial shirt draped downward, offering a generous eyeful to anyone who might be sitting directly across from her. 

Her eyes flicked up from the drawing when Emmrich didn’t answer right away, a clever smile pulling at the corners of her mouth when she caught him red-handed; his eyes locked on the dainty swell of her breasts. 

He came to his senses when he felt her eyes on him and he comprehended the coquettish smirk on her face. “Yes.” He licked his lips. “Yes. Maintaining alliships and channels of communication is vital as we draw closer to our confrontation with the gods.” He swallowed and smiled again as Amina straightened and rounded the desk, settling against the wood on his side now.

“A fine plan,” she concurred, leaning back on her hands, her very visible nipples more or less eye level for the handsome academic to admire. “I hope I’m not distracting you: it’s so rare that I get a few hours to just relax these days.” She made a bit of a show of tilting her chin up and slowly rolling her head from side to side, stretching out the muscles of her neck and making sure Emmrich could see the soft plum-tinted bloom of colour he’d imparted on her skin as he sent her over the edge with his name on her lips, buried to the hilt between her legs as she clenched hard around him, her fingers curled tightly in his soft, thick hair. ‘You are incredible, darling,’ he had sighed against her tingling skin afterwards when they were little more than a tangled, panting heap of limbs. It had taken a good hour after that before she could walk again…

Amina squirmed against the desk a little at the thought, aware of the burgeoning wetness that was accumulating at the juncture of her thighs. 

Somehow Emmrich managed to maintain the discipline required to look back at the letter he was working on, his lips curling quaintly. “Not at all, my dear - quite the contrary in fact: I’m so glad that you’re finally taking some time to look after yourself.” He dipped the quill, tapped it once, twice, and then brought it to the paper.

She observed him in silence until he seemingly made peace with the fact that she was not going to sit on the chair he’d brought over for her, and instead pushed his own back slightly, pulling her down onto his lap where she perched gleefully, having gotten what she wanted. 

“I must concede that you are somewhat distracting, so I will need your assistance in proofreading these before they’re sent out - I do have an academic reputation to maintain, regardless of the beautiful woman on my knee.” 

“Is that so?” Amina purred, nuzzling into his neck, her lips barely ghosting over his skin that smelled organic and clean - crisp soap and freshly cut sage… a lingering hint of pipe tobacco and expensive brandy. 

Oh yes, she was going to be one hell of a distraction…

“She sounds like a real piece of work, this woman. It’s a marvel that you get anything done at all with her around.” She tilted her hips ever so slightly. Not enough for it to be claimed that she was trying to get a rise out of him, but enough so that the fingernails of his left hand dug into her side a little where he gripped her. A pleased smile took her lips at the feeling of him against her, already half hard: he could pretend to be aloof and composed all he liked, but she knew that there was only one possible outcome for this encounter. 

“I was just having a similar thought, as it turns out,” he murmured, breath catching slightly when Amina ground against him more deliberately this time. “She’s cornered me in my laboratory no fewer than three times this week, you see: my productivity has utterly plummeted.”

The way he whispered those words, his voice so sinful and cunning…

“Oh dear…” Amina tutted. “Well we can’t have that now, can we?” She moved to slide from his lap, fully prepared to at least pretend that she cared a whit about Emmrich’s ‘productivity’ of late. 

He held her fast though, keeping her on his lap with his hands and arms, and the sheer fact of his existence alone. She rewarded him with a satisfied hum and another agonizingly slow roll of her hips, suspecting that she was probably beginning to soak through her thin pants.

His hand dropped from her waist to her thigh and he palmed the expanse of hard muscle there, dragging his fingers towards her hip as he leaned forward and his hot breath washed over the sensitive shell of her ear, driving a small gasp from her as she flinched in his grasp: he had not been idly boasting during that dinner date about his anatomical prowess.

“I fear I wouldn’t have it any other way…” he confided, those artful, nimble fingers of his straying to her waistband and slipping beneath it. He sharply inhaled through his teeth and uttered a soft ‘oh’ when he found her waiting for him, slick and needy. There was a slight tremor in his voice when he said, “She is intoxicating, you see…”

She moaned encouragingly as he swirled a finger through her, clearly enjoying the experience of her arousal alone: she could distinctly feel his hardness against her rear now.

Oh how she longed to ravish him - ride him to completion on this very chair, or on the floor perhaps. Maybe against one of the many bookshelves that lined the room - they had dallied against one the week before, her leg hitched up around his thin waist, pulling him deeper as he set a pace that stole her breath from her lungs and hit angles that caused her to see stars. 

Or she could bend over the railing of the balcony upstairs and feign interest in the curious nature of their environs while he slammed into her over and over again, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips… 

Of course there had been the rather awkward instance a few days earlier where Manfred had wandered in on them both in a state of partial undress: Emmrich’s waistcoat hanging open, Amina dragging her hands through his hair, her own shirt piled in a careless heap on the floor nearby and Emmrich’s hand down her pants as she tried to kick off her high-heeled lilac slippers without removing her lips from his skin. Manfred had launched himself between the two of them with a consternated hiss, clearly interpreting their entanglement to mean they were fighting instead of well… the other thing. The following day, Emmrich gave his first in a series of many lectures to Manfred about the birds and the bees - and reiterated the invaluable virtue of always knocking before entering a room that might have someone else in it.

She was snapped from her musing at the sublime sensation of Emmrich’s finger dragging along the ridges of her walls as he slid the digit inside of her. She let out a small gasp at the intrusion and reflexively clenched around it, hips rocking against his once more. 

“... but I really must finish these letters.” There was a playful, coy edge to his voice as he slowly withdrew his finger and slowly pushed it back in. “This striking woman of mine will need to exercise patience today, it seems…”

Something about being his striking woman in particular sent a jolt of arousal straight through her very soul. She could feel the cool metal of his rings against her feverish skin as he cupped her sex, his thumb brushing almost tauntingly over her aching clit. 

“Please, Emmrich…” she whined, arching up into his touch, making her need plain. 

The demonstration of manners earned her a second finger, but her lover did not deviate from his task as he leaned forward, dipped the quill, and began to write once more. “In good time, my precious love,” he soothed. “Try to relax for the time being - I shan’t take long.” 

“It feels so good though…” 

“That’s wonderful, darling - I want you to feel good.” 

She fell silent, the wind in the sails of her desire to argue stilling as she let her head fall against the back of the chair and closed her eyes, allowing herself to exist in the moment - holding on tight to every emphatic response of her nervous system as Emmrich touched her with a capable familiarity that suggested he’d touched her a thousand times before; the erotic symphony of the quill scratching over the parchment mingled with the sound of his fingers moving within her… her breathy moans… his many bangles shifting gently with each purposeful gesture…

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured eventually - she had lost track of time - kissing her shoulder before returning to the letter. He had to be nearly done, hadn’t he? “So good for me… my sweet Amina…”

She whimpered at his words - the reverent praise tolling something deep within her that was starved and lonely. She writhed on his thigh as he placed tender kisses all over her cheek and crooked his fingers, stroking that euphoric place inside of her that made cognizant thought impossible and made her thighs tremble like she’d been in the training hall all day. He took her apart slowly, casually… effortlessly, and before long she was fluttering around him, cheeks and lips flushed a delicate pink, staring down an orgasm that was about to be everyone in the building’s business - she could feel it: the deep fire in her belly roiling and twisting on itself, going taut, so tense and eager that one more touch could snap it, yielding the most decadent release…

And then he was gone, the absence of his touch keenly felt as her walls flexed and tensed around the sudden nothingness. 

She glowered at him, though her stomach flip-flopped enthusiastically as she watched him taste her on his slender fingers with a dignified poise she should have expected. “That was cruel.”

“Is it cruel to strive to linger in a garden of untold majesty forever, even knowing forever is unobtainable?” He stroked those same fingers gently over her lips and she caught the tip of one between her teeth, flicking the very tip of her tongue over the fleshy pad of it. “I want to savour you, my dear.” He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled her scent. “Let me take my time.”

[dear-ao3]

I can't even begin to tell you how many assignments I half-assed in college (namely for classes like English or History that are important but not vital to my degree), and I still did fine. Good, even. College is not worth your mental health, and I support your decision to chuck it in the "fuck it" bucket and eat popcorn instead. I would have been a healthier person if I did that more often.

well due to a series of events im not actually going to finish this degree at all. im just kind of trying to make it through the semester

but for what its worth, i did very have this attitude in undergrad and it was wonderful. why am i busting my ass for a stupidly high gpa when i can still do well and not hate myself? a win

[miveras]

Drabble: Silent Treatment | JJK

Pairing: jungkook x reader Genre: established relationship, angst, fluff Word count: 1.6k Warnings: none

masterlist

---

“You’re so fucking lazy,” you scream, “Do you ever just look around and think to clean up after yourself once in a while?”

You pick up his worn, mahogany sweater off the floor and into the bucket you struggle to carry with only one hand. You resist the urge to chuck it at him, ignoring you with a scoff. 

You weren’t this angry to begin with, but you couldn’t help it after seeing his reaction to you. This was the second fight you’d had, and this has been the worst so far. He wasn’t listening to you at all, and you didn’t know what would make him finally cooperate. 

Though you shouldn’t fuel the flame, you keep nagging at him to get up and pointing out every one of his wrongdoings in the past few weeks. 

“Just give me a few days. You know I always clean on weekends since I don’t have time on weekdays,” Jungkook replies with a serious tone. You can see it in his eyes, his anger building up by the second.

“Well if you don’t have time, then why are you on your phone? Why aren’t you doing anything then?” you rambled.

He groans in response, obviously annoyed that you keep going back and forth with harsh blows.

After you guys dated for a year, you thought it’d be a good idea to start discussing the living situations. When he told you that his landlord was raising their prices, it posed the perfect scenario for you to invite him in.

Jungkook moved in just past a month, and sure, he was fine the first two weeks. He cooked for you, cleaned after himself, and tried his best not to make a mess. But recently, you’ve caught him being such a horrible roommate that now, you couldn’t stop the hurtful words coming out of your mouth. 

“Shut up…” he mutters in a quiet voice, avoiding your confrontation. He wished you hadn’t heard it but when he hears your feet dragging against the floor, he knew you did. 

But you didn’t choose to answer him and instead, you gave him the silent treatment. 

He enjoyed the short while that you left and came back with a vacuum. For the rest of the week, you guys cut off contact with each other, living in the same house but not saying anything. You even went as far as to eat at a different time than usual, just to avoid him. You weren’t giving this up easily– you wanted him to care, needed him to. You wished he found this just as important as you did.

Over the past week, all you focused on was your job. At work, all you thought about was him– it got so bad to the point where your work friends started questioning you about your sanity. You were constantly zoning out and the lack of sleep didn’t help at all. 

You asked for help from one of your friends: Ara. While writing a paper about the company’s statistical reports, you had a welcome visitor come in– just who you were looking for.

“Y/N! I haven’t seen you in a bit,” she whines, “I literally missed you so much.” She almost leaps into your arms as soon as she sees you. At least someone was happy to see you. She hugs you so tight you had to push her away for a bit, trying not to pass out from the lack of air.

“Ara, I missed you…” you pout. She notices the sadness behind your eyes, knowing that you’re not usually this affectionate unless you need it. Ara immediately knew something was wrong from the way you were reacting to her presence– though she couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

You fess up to her about everything, including the words you and Jungkook exchanged. It was pretty harsh, to say the least. Ara understood you, more than anyone else could (except Jungkook of course). 

Her advice to you was to communicate, but it was way harder than it sounded. You couldn’t do it, not now at least.

You tried your best to avoid him by doing literally anything else: going out to work, cleaning, anything. It was pathetic to anyone who wasn't either of you– everyone knew how much both of you guys loved each other, and everyone knows you guys belong to each other. 

You were too stubborn to admit defeat so you waited for Jungkook– who was probably the only person just as stubborn as you, to apologize first. Predictably, it’s been an ongoing problem for more than just a few days.

Whenever it was time to sleep, your heart raced faster than normal beside him. You had already promised yourself not to lean over and kiss him, admire him, or do anything with him as a form of his punishment. But now, it started to feel like your’s. 

Did he even care about you? Did he even miss you?

You hated the way your body couldn’t relax, feeling every nerve pulse throughout your body. You swallow, wondering how long it’ll take you to fall asleep considering your inability to when you’re not embracing something. 

You shifted slightly, missing the way he looked over to you with a worried expression but not having enough courage to do something about it. 

He sighs, turning the other way as well. He decided not to do anything– he was way too exhausted and stubborn to even face you. He wouldn’t know what to say.

---

The next morning, you wake up with the house all tidy– clothes in their right place, no food in sight, all the dishes clean, but you can’t seem to find the one who did it. He must’ve gone to school already.

The following days were all the same. He goes to school, then you, then avoids each other all day, then comes home just to sleep facing opposite each other. I was tired, no doubt. 

He’s stubborn and you’re stubborn. You’d think you were a perfect match until something like this comes along. It’s funny, you think. 

At some point, all you wanted to do was be in his embrace. To feel his warmth all over you. Oh, how you wanted to just kiss him all over and play with his hair until he falls asleep.

As you think about how much you miss him, you wonder how much or if he even missed you at all. You look beside you– suddenly feeling an overwhelming amount of sadness. You almost forgot how much you missed him. 

Unintentionally, your shoulders shake as you try your best to keep in your weeps quiet and breaths steady. Streaks of tears drop to your cheeks, entangling with your hair. You struggle to stop your sobs from coming out, covering your mouth and wiping your eyes to make sure Jungkook doesn’t wake up because of you.

It was truly your last straw. You couldn’t handle being away from him anymore. 

“Y/N…” he whispers, concern written all over his face. You freeze, not being able to comprehend anything at that moment. 

Still feeling groggy and dazed from his sleep, he rubs his eyes to see you clearer. Once his eyes set on you, a small rush of panic goes through his veins, worriedness taking over his body. He parts his lips in shock and slowly wraps his arms around you– not quite sure what to do. 

You feel his arms snake to your waist, kissing your head and muttering soft phrases to calm you down. You wallow in his embrace, slightly embarrassed about your outburst that had him waking up late at night. In a way, you felt ashamed of yourself and your feelings, suddenly feeling more insecure about yourself as Jungkook continues to hold you in silence. 

He felt wrong reaching for you when it was obvious he was who you were upset about. He had a clue on what was happening to you– what you were worried about, but he decided to stay quiet and bring it up later when you don’t look as hurt. 

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I love you so much..,” his voice trails off as he starts peppering kisses all over your face. You can tell that he felt extremely guilty just by his voice, and his expression sends confirmation of that. 

At this point, you had already stopped crying out of embarrassment, shame, and even comfort from Jungkook.

“I-I’m sorry too,” you sniffle, “I’m sorry for yelling at you.” 

“I didn’t get the chance to apologize sooner. I..I was just scared that you’d stay mad at me– then I wouldn’t know what to do” he explains nervously. Rubbing your arm comfortingly, he asks you to stay with him. “I’ll listen to you from now on.”

“Jungkook, I love you too. I hate fighting with you,” you confess. He only smiles in response, though you can’t see his face when yours is buried in his chest. You hug him back in return– both of you exchanging loving glances at each other. 

Jungkook kisses you in the temple one last time before closing his eyes and relaxing his body.

In a few minutes, you both fall asleep in each other’s comfort. You missed him so much even though you’ve barely been apart and he feels the same exact way. That definitely wasn’t the last argument you’d have, but it’d be the last one where he’d make you cry. 

Ara was right– all it took was a bit of communication.

[moutainrusing]

fairytale

608 words, @wolfstarmicrofic

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”

When the mirror displayed the face of her son, Sirius, Walburga slashed it to pieces with her nails.

“Execute him,” she ordered.

- - -

“Go,” James pushed Sirius towards the forest. “I won’t let the executioner kill you.”

“But,” Sirius pleaded. “James, come with—”

“No,” James shook his head resolutely, turning towards the castle gates.

- - -

“Everything is cool,” Sirius hummed, snapping twigs despite his attempts at silence.

“AHHH, SPIDER!”

- - -

Sirius wiped his forehead, sighing in relief as he leant back on a tree trunk, closing his eyes after his exhausting escape from a spider.

When he opened them, there was a knife to his throat.

“Hey, princess,” the huntsman growled.

“Oh,” Sirius mumbled shakily. “Hey, Remus.”

- - -

There was a long silence between them before Remus sighed, “So, are you gonna try to defend yourself? I can’t really kill someone who—”

Sirius kneed him in the nuts.

“Ow!” Remus hopped away.

Sirius smirked, and kicked him again. Remus’s knife flashed dangerously as he turned it on Sirius, and then…

Sirius ran away.

“HELP! HELP ME!”

- - -

“Fucking princess,” Remus smiled despite himself.

He chased after Sirius, and promptly tripped over.

“Ha,” Sirius grinned, picking up the knife he’d just dropped. “So,” Sirius twirled it. “I can’t really kill someone who’s not defending themselves.”

Remus glared. Sirius sat down next to him, knife gripped in hand.

- - -

“How much did my mother pay you to kill me?” Sirius asked casually.

Remus looked away guiltily. “My… my family’s struggling a lot. We have… nothing. She gave me a thousand.”

“Damn,” Sirius whistled. “I’ve never felt so precious before.”

“You… you are precious,” Remus mumbled.

“Says my killer,” Sirius pointed carelessly. But he cared. He cared so much.

Remus shrugged helplessly. He looked at Sirius, then away, then at Sirius, then, “She’s captured James for protecting you. They’re torturing him.”

Sirius got up immediately. “Well, then. We have to save him.”

“We?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, and hauled Remus off the ground.

- - -

“Townspeople!” Sirius hollered. “We all know Queen Walburga’s a conniving bitch—”

He smirked triumphantly at Remus when the entire town went up in cheers.

“To kill the Queen!” Sirius raised.

- - -

“James! Love of my life, I have freed you!” Sirius pulled him into a hug.

Remus shuffled awkwardly behind them, letting out a sound of surprise when he was tugged into the hug too.

“Okay,” Remus patted their backs. “That’s enough hugging, damsels. We need to kill the Queen.”

- - -

Remus spun his knife in one hand, parrying the guards with the other. Around him, townspeople were dropping buckets of dirty water onto guards’ heads, tripping them up with washing lines, knocking them out with metal pokers.

He grinned, manoeuvring himself to the Queen’s quarters.

- - -

Sirius screamed, kicking as the guards dragged him to the Queen’s quarters.

“Well,” she snarled. “If no one else can kill you, I guess it’s up to me.”

Sirius’s eyes widened as an apple materialised in the air. He felt drawn to it, a halo around it, he needed to taste it, the sweet, ripe flesh…

- - -

Remus drove his sword through the door, hacking it open furiously. He twisted back, flinging it open.

“SIRIUS!” Remus yelled, grasping the apple in both hands, feeling the urge to press it to his lips…

But then he tore his eyes away, fixating on Sirius. He would rather press Sirius to his lips.

Remus chucked the apple away, and it landed in Walburga’s gaping mouth. A crunch. She collapsed on the floor.

Seizing his arm, Sirius tugged Remus into a hug, face buried into his shoulder as he let himself finally break down.