#i can make up for it this year and my overall grades can turn out well if i try super hard

[seraphirism]

Butler’s Cruise Vacation - Outfits.

[gallusrostromegalus]

I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.

-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a

~*Spiritual Experience*~

I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.

Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.

He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only BARELY enough space for the fireworks and certainly none for his truck.

So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand. This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.

He begins, and this is crucial to what happens next, by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it unsecured on his lawn.

Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.

His process for unloading the fireworks is to 1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls. 2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things. 3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed 4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup. 5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her. 6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house. 7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too. 8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate 9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed 10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.

Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man? Answer: Absolutely Not.

There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else. (This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual) Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally. Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.

I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.

However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up. and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop" And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."

For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."

I move under the eaves. "Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled." "Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not." "Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."

Sometimes, the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.

The Gods were not merciful today.

It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this, But I got to see it today. Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before. Oh. I realized as it got closer. That's RAIN.

Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say, five to tent square miles, is instead concentrated into an area of say, my neighborhood exactly.

So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.

The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel. Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge. Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.

My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp. They do not have a tarp. They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.

Which is when the hail begins.

"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy. "HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!" "OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"

I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic. The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor. Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.

So. I was raised Agnostic -but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.

---

(If you laughed, please consider supporting my Ko-fi or preordering my book of Strange Stories on Patreon)

[incidentallysunny]

I Was Never There.

Death Island Leon x Reader

Real!Dad Leon

Dead dove warning.

13k word count. Proof read 3 times until I got to around 11k then I stopped worrying and just skimmed. Critique is welcomed and my skin is thick for it.

I’d like to appear in the tagz pls so here’s a warning. My writing is not ever meant to be taken literally and is just for the sake of writing f*cked up content that I enjoy writing. If you do not wish to read this, please do not as my intentions are not to offend or make you intentionally uncomfortable but if you choose to read- don’t be hateful. With that out of the way, extremely sensitive content and dead dove material ahead.

Specifically blood-related incest, smut, suicidal ideation, mentions of grotesque imagery, light mentions of gore in a hypothetical scenario, daddy-issues, age-gap, overall disturbing topics.

As far as smut specifically: this includes talking of public sex, mentions of oral, fingering, unprotected sex, cream-pie (wrap your willy irl pls) praise, dirty talk, any probably some other irrelevant shit I’m forgetting my b.

PROCEED if you read the above, are okay with it, and are mentally unwell like I am. Happy reading, it’s a long one.

The drive from your college town to where your home had been all your life was as expected. Nostalgia and homesickness being mixed in your gut like a can of paint in one of those weird machines at the hardware store that your dad would take you to. Speaking of dad, you hardly remember him. He was present for a short while, your mom always excusing his absence with work this and work that. He really did get busy, though. Almost dying several times. You still remember your moms panicked phone calls, her countless prescription drugs for the same problems you now suffer from, and her late-night bathroom breakdowns. Apparently he couldn’t get out of this job though. Some real fucked up government shit he was tied to, your mom explained. All you know about him is that he saved the president’s daughter. Whatever.

So yeah- a perfect life with a perfect set of parents. One being mentally driven through the dirt and the other that you haven’t seen in 8 years or maybe more. You can’t seem to remember if the last few times you saw your dad were daisied dreams or reality. Bastard has never FaceTimed or video called you, either. Dunno if he even had a phone capable of that. Either way, it must be for the better, because your grades had been sufficient without stressors on your mind. And we all know a low-effort dad would definitely be one. But perhaps he’d rather just be there in person. Older people are like that.

You grunted, trying to drag your over-packed suitcase up the steep suburban driveway before sighing and standing in place. Sure, you didn’t need to bring so much shit home, but would you really want to risk some bitch at college stealing anything from your quad-dorm?

Before you could think and figure out how you’d even get the plastic luggage up the pristine, hand-painted porch steps and inside (without scratching them up and having your parents on your ass about their perfect house having a flaw) a voice called out to you. Unrecognized and not ringing any of the bells in your head. (If there were any left)

“Hey there, sweetheart. It’s been a while, huh?”

You turned to see a middle-aged man, similar to the last memory of your dad that had been printing-pressed into your mind for safe keeping. He was just emerging from the front door, broad chest accentuated by a well-fitted T-shirt. You immediately felt angry that his tits were bigger than yours. Would probably look better with a bra, too.

You didn’t answer.

Fuck- nerves were getting the better of you. Your palms were slick with sweat and you didn’t know if it was from the building summer humidity or anxiety. Was this normal? No the fuck it wasn’t.

“Uhh.. dad?” You queried- almost certain the gorgeous man at the door was just a hotter, older version of your dad and not actually him. The fuck is wrong with you? You’re getting this worked up over your father? Did college drinking really rewire your brain to be this fucked or is it all of the anxiety meds? Maybe both. Maybe you’re just overwhelmed. Maybe it’s because you rarely saw him and have zero attachment.

“Yeah, it’s me. Your old man. Missed you, kiddo.” There’s a pause for a moment- because you’re not sure why he’s talking so casually as if you see each other every weekend- like it hasn’t been years and years since you’ve seen him.

“Don’t remember me,huh?” He laughs satirically- like you’re supposed to be so sure. It makes you slightly furious and the feeling of anger bubbles up again- replacing any strange thoughts you were having moments ago.

No, my apologies dearest dad. I totally recognize you despite having met you enough times to count on almost two hands.

But the better part of you that managed to exist underneath the scores of problems you had just replied in jest- like someone without said scores of problems. It was best to keep the peace for now.

“You look a little different… sorry.” Is that all you can manage? It’s pitiful the state that your sullied mind is in.

He chuckles, though, like he knows your’re right. The sound is more pleasant and striking when it’s genuine. Makes you feel damp in other areas than just your armpits (thank you, heatwave).

“I suppose there’s truth to that. But It’s alright, sweetheart. I know it’s been a long time. People change, right?” His eyes scan you in an undecided way.

“But you, shit. You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman. College treating you well?” His words sound a little huffed then, he’s clearly beating around the bigger issue with a stick. But him calling you beautiful and being all fucking sappy makes your face feel hot and sticky like it’ll melt off. Got you wanting to rip the hair from your scalp to hear him say it again.

“Please?” You called out gently- gesturing to the suitcase and ignoring any other question. You were very much overstimulated- having overexerted muscles in your arms by being a weak bitch about a crammed carry-on. Just get your ass out here and help your daughter, thanks.

He shook his head- again laughing hotly while looking down as he stepped off the porch- his brown bangs were peppered with greys and they brushed his face on one side, his hair somehow pornographic on its own. Christ. He looked like one of those men you saw on Viagra commercials that obviously didn’t actually need it. Even the sight of your perfectly trimmed lawn and faux-looking home completed the scene. Where was the camera?

He walked over to you- there was a slight stiff in his stride; like he had a bad back or something. Maybe he did. Almost dying was the likely cause for that. Serves him right for leaving you with issues on top of issues. Maybe you should stop being mean, you’re the one getting hot over your own father. Again- because of him. Circle back to square one.

Leon towered over your frame as he hinged at the hips, picking up the suitcase with ease- the muscles in his arm flexed with each small movement. His face was a tinge of smug with a mix of something else…satisfaction? Maybe he was just pleased he was able to lift it without rupturing a hernia. Jesus Christ, his veins. You wonder if he has them anywhere else. No- maybe you should be wondering about taking your ass to an inpatient facility immediately. A few screws are loose and you don’t exactly have the tools to tighten them.

“I guess college did treat you well. You’re here in one piece.” He says- cutting you thickly from your thoughts and answering his own question from earlier. His blue eyes are sweet and gently lined with signs of aging. Which only makes him hotter- just like the fiery pits of hell that await you.

You scoff.

“Well, it’s not like I went to war or something.”

“Still. It’s nice to see you, sweetheart.” The word rolls off his tongue again. Your insides are trapezing around in their own miniature, fleshy circus- you’re wishing you could stab yourself in the stomach to stop the swarm of butterflies that don’t even feel metaphorical anymore. You’re sure they’re real now.

He continues, though.

“I know I haven’t been around much in your life- this fucking job and-“ You stare up at him- glossy doe-eyes and stupid look on your face. An apology- or even an explanation from your daddy might be part of what your scrambled brain needs.

“Work kept me away, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you every day. I’m sorry if I wasn’t there for you like I should have been. Shit… What I mean to say, is- things will be different. I’ve retired. Your mother wanted me to tell you over dinner later but I figured you’d be happy to know. I’m not the best at keeping secrets.” He jokes at the end, but how is that true in the slightest? He’s kept his job a secret for your entire life, so he clearly can’t be that horrible at it.

“Oh.” Leaves your lips quietly, ghosting over Leon and leaving him wondering if he said something wrong. But then he realizes it’s probably just overwhelming for you. The worst part of him thinks you hate him. A feeling overcomes you though, and you rush in to wrap your arms around his waist- hugging him tightly. You now wonder why he didn’t hug you to begin with. Maybe he wasn’t an affectionate guy.

He says nothing at first- he’s even more awkward than you are if it’s possible. But he’s trying. He sets down your suitcase before returning your hold. One arm comes around the back of you and the other is overlapped on top- a hand nestling on the back of your head. Seems he’s getting a bit emotional, too. The attention from him is nice, though.

When you make a small grunt as to wanting to end the hug, his hands linger on your shoulders and he smiles at you. You actually return to, not feeling anything horrid become of your thoughts right now. Whether it be anger or incestual lust.

—

Your dad pushes the front door open with one of his large hands encased on the knob. Hands you immediately find attractive, wondering if they’d feel nice scissoring your cunt open. You now begin to understand why your mom was getting suicidal over him possibly not returning home. You’d kill yourself over him too. But that’s too morbid- especially after the moment you just shared.

That’s already lost to you.

He shut the door firmly, sighing, then gestures to the stairs.

You went up first, self conscious about your backside being right in front of his view but he was your dad. Wouldn’t be looking at you that way. You’re just brain-rotted and have an ill opinion of men.

Your old bedroom still looked the same, basically. Just emptier and more hollow without your things. But the walls were still painted a babydoll-pink and lined with the few girlish decorations you left on the wall. No way you would have been caught dead with those in your dorm. Not unless you wanted to endure torment and bullying that’d lead you to jumping off the dormitory roof.

He sets your luggage down and takes a seat on your bed. A groan escapes him as he puts a hand on his lower back for a moment.

“I see this room hasn’t changed much, has it?” he muses, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Your mom and I had a blast putting it together for you when she was pregnant.”

Yikes. You almost feel guilt for both the incestuous thoughts and the fact you may have ruined your parents' marriage. Maybe that’s not true. It was his work- not you. After all, he’s insinuating how happy they were to have you brought into this world. Plus- they were fine. Never argued or anything.

“I’m sorry. I dont- I don’t know what to say.” You laughed awkwardly, throwing your hands slightly up by your side.

His face doesn’t drop, though. It seems he understands perfectly fine.

“It’s okay. We can start from scratch. Not talk about… your room or childhood stuff. I know it’s a sore spot for you, sweetheart.”

Wrong. It’s more like a festering wound with the rusted knife still wedged in it. The knife being Leon and the wound your daddy issues, by the way. And having no attachment to him as a father figure makes the attraction worse. Notably when he calls you any term of endearment. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

What the fuck. Was he sculpted by Satan himself as some kind of hell-on-earth punishment? Is this purgatory? Everything he did now was driving you up the wall like a roach- every movement and small flex showing a vein or bulge of muscle. And his arm hair didn’t help. Fucking Christ- shave it off or something. You don’t know how you’ll be able to stand it.

“Okay…. How does that work?” You cocked your head to the side a little, shifting your weight onto one leg. A nervous habit.

“Well- what do most parents do with their kids? We could go out for dinner, catch a movie, just… hang out. I’d like to spend time with my daughter, you know.”

Okay, so maybe he did care. That’s a start.

“Uh… all three?” You questioned, an eyebrow lifting along with the infliction of your voice towards the end of your sentence. You’re indecisive like your mom.

He smiled, lines and the corners of his mouth pressed. Happy. Something you heard wasn’t common for him, anyways.

“Of course. We can go out tomorrow, honey. Your mom just wants us to all have dinner together when she gets home. She missed you- not as much as I did, I bet.” He does that stupid fucking wink again. It makes you switch emotions and want to throw something at his head. Maybe your lamp. You feel bad, It’s not his fault you’re acting like a mental freak about him. You don’t even bother to fixate on the fact you’ll have to have dinner with your cunt of a mom. Okay, maybe that’s harsh.

“Okay.” You breathe out, looking around your room. Leon takes that as a cue to stand up from your old bed- the thing creaking from his weight and leaving an indent on your comforter.

“It’s a date, then. I’m going to start dinner. As much as I love your mother, she can be…scary.” He says, still rocking that pressed-in-cheek smile and cracking your door closed behind him. By the way, what he really meant was probably ‘bitchy’- not scary. But dad seems too kind to say that. He loves your mom.

You can breathe again without his presence. It was smothering, like you had to overperform. You find yourself rushing to your dresser mirror to check how you looked. Hair looks great, face too- though a little tired from college over-studying and then driving 4 hours home with no break.

You might as well write ‘whore’ on your mirror with lipstick. Or a marker- since that’s a more permanent reminder with the way you’re acting. But part of you wanted to know what he thought of you- how he perceived you. For now though, it doesn’t matter. Had barely been 15 minutes since you arrived. You turn your attention to your suitcase and push it over flat, unzipping it before the teeth give out and some of your things spill from inside.

You had less than a sufficient amount of energy to care about it being broken now- so you just put your things away quickly before plopping onto the bed and indulging your senses with the smell of the floral detergent your mom always used on your sheets.

—

It’s some time later when you’re abruptly awoken by your moms manicured hand shaking you awake by the shoulder.

“I can’t believe you’re sleeping when you could be spending time with your father. He was excited for you to be home.”

‘Way to wake me up.’ You thought. She was always having a stick up her ass about this kind of thing. Or anything, really..

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Besides, we’re going out tomorrow to do a bunch of stuff.” You argue sleepily, sitting up as your back aches with your vision still adjusting. She cuts on the lamp, sizzling your retinas.

Her face perks up but is pleasantly surprised.

“Oh, okay..” silence.

“I’m sorry, honey. It was just a long day at work and I’m just over-the-moon for you two to finally have some daddy-daughter time.”

You wrinkle your face in disgust, but not fully disgust since you were just fawning over your hot dad earlier. Maybe daddy doesn’t sound so bad.

“Ew- mom. He’s just my dad. I’m not five.” She laughs, waving her hand off at you.

“Well anyhow- come down for dinner, will you? He put in a lot of effort to cook something for us.”

You cursed under your breath and straighten out your shirt- hoping she wouldn’t bitch about it being slightly wrinkled from you sleeping in it. You seat yourself at the table- adjacent from your mother sitting at the end. She’s already changed out of her office clothes and sure enough, here comes your daddy dad from the kitchen with utensils.

“Sorry ladies- almost forgot these.” He laughs, placing down everyone’s set before seating himself next to you. Fuck.

“You know- your father has only been home a few months and he’s already shown the extent of his memory loss.” She jokes, giving him a loving yet teasing look that makes you want to vomit. And yet jealousy curls up like a cat in your lap, wanting to be lavished with attention from you. The metaphorical jealousy pounces off your lap as you’re met with your dad’s hand on your denim-clad thigh. It’s an innocent gesture but you want to his hand to go further than just sitting politely.

“She’s right, but I can be useful otherwise.” He’s bantering back with her- and you realize he’s making an innuendo when you look over at his face. But it’s weird that he’s saying it while his digits cradle your thigh so gently.

“Gross.” You take a bite of your food- momentarily shocked that a dad of any sort could make such a pleasant meal, especially when he’s spent such little time doing domestic duties.

“Oh honey- you’re grown. We’re just teasing each other.” Your mom nods to Leon, taking a bite off of her fork. His hand slides off of your thigh and he grabs his whiskey glass to take a proper sip.

Jeez, he drinks that shit like its water. No grimacing. No face was made when he swallowed it. Just a guy thing you suppose.

Dinner drags on- the both of them forcing you to talk about your less-than-thrilling college experience. No mom, no boyfriend. No dad, I’m not failing. No you two, I’m not having unprotected sex- fuck off.

After that eventful meal and conversation where your parents basically eye-fucked each other over dinner, you’re left to clean up the mess while your mom gets ready for bed. She has to leave for work early in the morning- as usual. Guess she’s going to take your dad’s spot for the absent parent now that you’re grown and traumatized full and proper.

-

Sleep came and went- leaving you to trudge out of bed and do your morning routine. It felt out of place trying to do it back at home- but it was also a sentimental feeling to be doing just that.

Leon is already in the kitchen, shirtless and cooking. Seems impractical, but holy fuck. You’d gorilla glue your eyelids open just to not miss a single second of what you’re seeing. Maybe that wasn’t needed- because you've been staring long enough that your eyes prick with tears. You remind yourself to blink and you seat yourself at the high-top, the stool swiveling slightly when your bottom meets the material.

“Morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?” He asks, turning to look at you over his shoulder. His traps are distracting you. You want to chew your fingernails past the nail bed- bite a finger off too. You can’t stand it. For a moment- the way he talks to you- you’re pretending you’re not his daughter. And then a moment later, you’re not being delusional anymore.

“Mhm.” You mumble sleepily- wishing you’d have stayed in bed longer. But piercing morning light, lack of blackout curtains, and the chirping of birds outside made that idea inconceivable. Leon chuckled to himself- turned away from you.

You decide to scroll through your phone for a moment’s time before he slides a plate to you from across the island.

“Breakfast a la Leon.” He says- clearly being silly. Corny as fuck, anyways.

“You’re old.” You snort, setting aside your phone and grabbing a fork to pick at your food until he turns away again. You didn’t enjoy the idea of having a hot, shirtless man watching you eat.

He shakes his head, sitting down next to you at the island.

Christ. Fucking go away. It’s actually enraging now.

You want to scream at him- it’s irrational and crazy- but you do. Screaming at him and being sent away to a ward sounds more appealing than the anxiety crawling up your spine like a horde of fire ants. Potentially- just like the butterflies- they’re real too.

He seems undisturbed as he settles- taking a bite. You do the same- trying to ignore the fact he's so close you can nearly feel his arm hair touching you every second or so. He breaks the silence after a moment.

“So- after this, I’ve got a whole day planned out. Mall, movies, and dinner. Sound good?” You nod, a soft ‘mhm’ reverberating on the roof of your mouth.

He finishes before you and makes his way upstairs- the occasional pain in his back unmistakeable every few steps. And yet he wants to take you to the mall to walk around? You didn’t even know how to feel about a day with your dad. What’s a dad? What’s daddy-daughter bonding? That’s lost to you- well- more like it was never even discovered. Not even Columbus could have ventured out and conquered it.

Since he’s no longer in the room, you hastily eat the rest of your breakfast before you discard the plate and fork into the way-too-elaborate dishwasher your mom had installed (you totally didn’t spend 10 minutes trying to turn it on).

Back in your room, you settle on a simple, totally not underlyingly slutty outfit. Shorts and a crop top. Can never go wrong with that. It’s just soft/core prom enough for an outing with your dad. When you leave your room- Leon is just headed down the stairs. He turns to look at you, his smile is as jovial as it has been since you’ve seen him. For a moment though, you think you catch his eyes landing on your exposed legs- but you know you’re just crazy. You’re the one lusting after him, not the other way around. Your dad isn’t abnormal like you. His head is on correctly- even if it’s been battered and spun on his shoulders throughout the years.

“Ready?” He asks, stopping in place to wait for you. You nod stupidly, breaking from your trance to follow him in a descent down the stairs.

He’s dressed similar to how he was yesterday- jeans and a t-shirt that should be considered indecent. If you were your mom, you’d beg him to wear something that doesn’t highlight every curve and dip of his chest. Hell, if you were your mom, you’d never let him go outside. Too risky. But you’re not your mom. You’re just unusual.

As a perfect man does, he opens the door for you. Then opens the SUV door, allowing you in before shutting it behind. You’re sure you've never met a guy that does that in real life, but maybe it was a ‘you’ problem and not the guy. Who knows.

When he gets in, he cranks the vehicle only for rock music to start playing from the radio- making the corners of his mouth dimple with a pleased look. Really are the simple things for him. As for you, you’re suffocated in a Hellish torment by both his presence and the expensive scent of cologne and leather seats combo.

The ride isn’t long, nor bad. Albeit you two only talk here and there so he can focus on the road- and so you can focus on not dying (he’s not a perfect driver, but not terrible either). Just enough to keep your nerves teetering between a light anxiety attack and full blown panic.

You’re relieved to get there alive. Maybe not. Your thoughts have you thinking suicide may be your only option for now disgusting they are. And it only gets worse when he helps you down from the step up of the SUV- a hand on your exposed waist and the other on your shoulder. It’s harmless. Just a dad being gentlemanly. He was shaped and carved out in that perfect, chivalrous image with only a mallet and hammer. No reason to make it weird.

Inside the mall is a tad busy- the perfect amount to be comforting. You feel a bit more at ease in a public setting since you can now focus on anything but your dad’s chest. As long as he doesn’t require eye contact or talk to you, that is.

He looks around, arms crossed. It’s almost whorish. He has to know his arms look good. Or that his everything looks good. The fuck.

“So…” He cranes his head to the side, bangs brushing over his nose for a moment. The way he looks around makes his Adam’s apple and neck muscles a little more prominent. A perfect, stubbled spot to attack with your lips.

“What do you feel like doing first, kiddo?”

You. Is what you want to say.

He looks back to you, smiling down amused. He seems genuinely happy to be able to take you out. But really- his face is making you nauseous. Obviously not because it’s bad. But because it’s good-bad. Too good it’s bad.

“Uhh… “ you look away from him, scanning the entrance area and looking at any signs. Almost like an escape.

“How about new clothes maybe? Seems like something got ahold to the other half of your pants anyways.” He nudges you with an elbow, gesturing to your shorts with his head.

So he probably did look at your legs earlier. Maybe not in the way you think, though.

You glare at him.

“Seriously?”

Leon puts his hands up in defense. He’s always on the defense in life anyways.

“Joking, joking. You’re…grown.” His forehead lines crease when he raises his brows. You did get rather annoyed at his comment, however.

“I could always buy some even shorter.” You spit sarcastically.

“Yes- because every father wants to walk around with their daughter who has her ass out.” He’s quick to remark, this time he seems grumpier when he talks. Sorta like he’s uncomfortable with the conversation. Or that he’s mad.

“Sorry my legs make you so uncomfortable. I guess I should’ve left them at home.” The back and forth here could go on forever between you two but he catches you off guard.

“Shit- no. It’s not that- ‘s just you’ve got nice legs. Can’t have these…shitheads eying down my little girl. I may be old, but I can fight when I need to.”

You know he meant his words innocently enough, but the fact that he said nice legs has you giddy inside. Same feeling when your crush calls you pretty. Yeah- that sorta feeling. And his little girl. It has a ring to it. Could even legally change your name to it so that he can call you by it more often. Maybe he’ll even let you jump on his dick right away.

Your face is pure rose-shaded. A perfect, neutral shade to make your embarrassment pop on your skin. You’re sure it’s visible to him, too. Your mom always teased you about how blotchy it would get when you were humiliated. Particularly when she would tell awkward stories about you at family dinners. Bitch.

“What’s wrong? Don’t be pissed at me, sweetheart. I was just teasin-“

“It’s not that.” You interrupt- heart thumping into your rib cage. If it doesn’t stop, or you don’t stop your word-vomit, it might crack a rib or four. Probably more. Better have hospital bill and therapy money ready, dad.

“Then what’s the matter? I just want us to have a good time together. I’m not trying to upset y-“

“You said I have nice legs.” You’re quick to cut him off again.

“And…?” He trails off, cocking his head to the side like he’s confused. Because he is confused. You stare off to the side- eyes glued to the fountain. Maybe you could go drown yourself in the penny-flavored water that you guarantee hasn’t been changed out since you were still the unlucky sperm in your dad’s ball-sack.

“I like that. You saying that.” You speak a little lower now- afraid someone will hear. Or because the tinnitus is so loud in your ears. What you’re getting at is almost clear now. Or at least clear enough.

Leon’s expression is taken aback but still confused to an extent because he’s not even certain what you’re saying. Though, he has an idea.

“Oh- uh. Okay. Sweethea-“

“Holy fuck- stop calling me that. You’re not making this easy. Wanting to fuck you. I know- I sound mental.” You spill it out, guts on the floor and the sword still in hand. Holy shit. Just told your dad you want to fuck him. You could have backtracked- fucking dumbass. You won’t be shocked if he packs his bags and leaves off again tomorrow.

He’s silent for a moment.

“Okay- clearly I wasn’t around enough. I get that. But I mean- fuck.” He runs his hand through his hair, looking around. Probably thinking the same thing about the fountain that you did. Still- he looked hot while having a crisis and contemplating immediate suicide. He paces while your nerves are being electrocuted in your body. Why couldn’t you just be normal?

“Just- sweetheart, no. None of that’s.. I can’t.” He starts, turning back to you. It seems he can look you in the eyes now. So maybe he’s not entirely disgusted by you. His face isn’t contorted with disgust, so there’s a chance. Yeah, you’re off your rocker now. You know.

“Look- let’s not talk about this. C’mon. Let’s go catch a movie like I promised.” He starts walking- leaving you standing in a puddle of shame and embarrassment for a moment before stopping to let you catch up.

Luckily- the theater is joined to the mall. It’ll be a short walk.

—

Leon is lax on the couch until he hears the crunchy sound of tires on concrete. You’re home. Despite his shitty back, he's huffing as he gets up fast and is already opening the door. The air is hot as it greets his skin and he watches you struggle with your suitcase through the heat-haze that spans over the distance.

He calls out to you- making your head snap in his direction. Your face is that of awe and confusion. You don’t seem to immediately recognize him- okay. He gets it. It’s been a while. Nevertheless, you’re beautiful. He’d seen pictures of you from your mother, but he’s in awe just as you are. Though, he doesn’t think that highly of himself so he often wonders if you’re even his kid. Couldn’t have made something that perfect, in his mind. He helps you with your bag and follows you to your room. But your demeanor around him is noticeably mousey. At first, it doesn't seem like much. You’re just getting used to him.

Plus, Leon knows he can come off intimidating. Sometimes. But for him, he’s got a good eye and his job has led him to being able to read even the tiniest bits of body language. Doesn’t take him long to see how you’re worming around shyly- subconsciously smoothing your hair down and biting at your lip. Same way your mom acted around him before they started dating. But again- maybe it’s just in his head. Leon’s been wrong a time or two.

A better man would have left it alone. Leon gets that. But an innocent thigh squeeze at dinner can help him test his theory. A thigh squeeze that’s under the guise of friendly, fatherly touch. You tense- he can hear your small, sucked in breaths as long as his hand is there, along with heat radiating off your body like a wildfire. If wildfires could be horny college-aged daughters with daddy issues, that is.

The idea disgusts him. Because he should feel disgusted and just kill himself. Where did these thoughts come from? He even has the urge to let his hand wander other places. Bets that you have a cute pussy. No matter what it does or doesn’t look like, it’s yours and he knows it's cute. He’d give you two thick digits in your hole (three if you allow him) and have his tongue kitten-lick your clit.

“There we go. Good girl.” Is what he envisions saying before diving back in for a mouth full of you. Girls like you love being praised. Especially by their estranged father-figure or a middle aged man. It’s all the same. He’d pry the daddy issues right out of you with his dick. It’s long and fat enough, and solves all of his matters properly. Your mom is in a bad mood? His dick will fix that. He can’t sleep? His dick will fix that. His daughter is a horny freak and begging for it? His dick will fix that, too- obviously.

It’s only when your mom makes some stupid fucking joke about his memory loss that he snaps back into reality and he loses the momentum he had going for an erection. Which is good. Maybe thinking about fucking your mom will make him normal again. So he drops a quip right back- something about… being useful. Yeah. Again, his cock is useful. Your mom bites at his words, but you’re annoyed and disgusted with his comment- especially with his hand on you while he says it.

Trust me, baby. Much rather be splitting you open than having performative, mandatory spousal sex. It’s like a switch flipped. He’s not interested in your mom. Should’ve had that realization years ago, even. Technically he did. He’s just now saying it in his head finally. Mostly he was exhausted because she had nothing to do with Leon even when he was home (unless it was for dick). Too bad he was a golden retriever following after her every step like a good doggy. Marriage did that to a guy. He just did what he was supposed to. Kept the lights on, blew out her back occasionally, listened to her complain, and took care of the lawn when he could. Easy enough. That’s what men do, right? He doesn’t really know what being a man is, honestly. Thanks, Major Krauser. Anyhow- he chokes down his food with a smile. The need to upchuck after everything he just thought up is a given.

He takes the liberty to fuck your mom later that night as promised per (faux) flirting over dinner. He has her face down-ass up, though. For… imagination’s sake. At least fucking a pussy and imagining you is better than his hand and imagining you. Or so he tells himself. Call it killing two birds with one stone, satisfying your mom and quelling his own desires. And it’s not hard to imagine any of it, because you look so much like your mother. He lies awake for a short while after- contemplating his existence and fucked up thoughts. He’s still holding back vomit and the urge to grab his gun from the nightstand and off himself all over the wallpaper, while in the process, traumatizing your mom. After an hour of this- he figures it’s fine, men think of perverted or weird shit sometimes. Jerk off to weird shit too. He hasn’t technically done anything morally wrong… sort of. It’s denial. At least he’s good at playing the part of a genuine, loving father. Because he is! He loves his family. Always has!

Spending time with you would make you happy, him happy, your mom happy. He loves you dearly. All is great. He’s swearing that his brain won’t be smoothied in his skull by tomorrow. It’ll be normal and function rationally.

But Leon wakes up with the thoughts being real as ever while he stretches an arm out to feel around for your mother- bed empty since she leaves at the ass crack of dawn. Leon had just missed her leave, he’s still getting used to sleeping in ever since he retired.

He gets up and heads downstairs- immediately starting breakfast to take his mind off his…mind. Breakfast is his favorite meal of the day, it makes him feel better to indulge in it right now. Though, he doesn’t bother putting a shirt on at any point- just rocking those generic, green and blue tartan patterned pajama pants. Cooking shirtless is weird- but he’s hungry and part of him wonders if he’ll get to see your priceless face when you walk into the kitchen. He shakes his head- telling himself that he just had this talk with himself last night. None of that shit.

He was right about one thing. God, he could make a killing in betting. He sees your reflection behind him in the small window above the counter but you didn’t know that. Just stood, gawking. It’s okay. He’s observative, you’re not. You’re his dumb little girl. Dumb in the way you shift in your stool next to him when he sits down, dumb how you hold your breath when he’s near, dumb how you can’t even eat next to him, and dumb how your thighs seem to wriggle when his arm ‘accidentally’ brushes yours. Oh, he’s definitely not wrong.

Still- he knows when to back off. He hounds down his food, before you even make a dent in your plate, and heads upstairs to shower. He’s analyzing every detail of himself, contemplating how he can get under your skin the most- his knuckles gripping the sink with distaste for himself. Because it’s wrong. He’s acting like a teenager. This is a date with his daughter, not his highschool girlfriend.

Leon skips over shaving his face. Likes to keep it a little grown out but not too much so. Just in case he gets the chance to eat (your) pussy or kiss (your) a neck. Then comes the Dior ‘Sauvage’ body wash he never failed to keep with him. He takes pride in smelling good if anything. And this particularly expensive wash, plus the cologne, was his lifeline for that. When he traveled for work- the D.S.O. better have god damned had some sent to his room as courtesy. Ever since Raccoon City- he’s adamant about not smelling less than great. He swears he can still smell the sewer on himself sometimes, even if it’s not really there.

His hair routine was even more extensive and involved a weekly hair mask. Hey- it wasn’t wrong for a guy to have nice hair. It paid off.

Heat protectant, blow dry, hot-comb to get any cow licks or fly-aways he might have- though it’s unlikely- and a little spritz of biotin spray to keep it healthy and shiny. All of that in reasonable time, too. And no- it's not weird for him to spend longer on his hair than your mom does.

Besides, you seem to appreciate the way he looks when you come out of your bedroom- watching him descend the stairs. Leon looks back at you- eyes on your legs momentarily then coming back up. He knows it was a quick look- quick enough to make you question it. You do. Very much. Still, taking you out in public wearing those shorts is less than ideal for him, but he’s the one who needs to be watched closely. Aforementioned, Leon’s great at pretending. Pretending to be normal. Pretending to not have ulterior motives. Pretending to not want your legs on his shoulders as he-

“All ready?” He interrupts himself here. Can’t let his thoughts keep going too far. Even if he does want to rest a hand on your leg while he drives. Or veer off the road and into a tree so that he can’t continue to be disgusting. He’d die with the image of being a good, wholesome dad in everyone’s mind. And if you did or didn’t die too, at least you would have died not having been fucked silly by your old man. He manages to not kill you both, though. He wasn’t planning to- his driving is just ass. He knows whiskey with his breakfast isn’t ideal but when you’re a recovering alcoholic plus post traumatic stressed failure of a father, it helps.

Can’t complain though since he gets to put his hands on you while helping you out of the vehicle.

Now you’re both in the mall- Leon questioning what exactly he’s supposed to do now. He hasn’t been to one since… he doesn’t have enough fingers for that. But you’re seemingly calm. Until he makes a stupid joke about your shorts. Sure. As much as he’s thinking about ripping a hole in the crotch to fuck you cause he’s impatient and stupid- he said it out of genuine concern.

He still has fatherly instinct. Some sick bastard could get a glimpse of your exposed legs and go jerk off to it or take a photo. Ironic coming from him right now. The call is coming from inside the house but the dad is too busy fiending after his own daughter to answer.

You’re royally pissed. He knows it. Women don’t like having it insinuated that they’re dressed like a whore. Big whoop, though. Someone has to say it. Then you blindside him. Big, needy eyes and saying you like it when he tells you your legs are nice. Then something about how you want to fuck him. Christ. What the fuck. He’s not sure if this is some kind of screwy set-up or you’re actually just so slutty that the only dick you’ll accept is your dad’s. He’s rocking a semi now. Would be a full hard-on if he weren’t in public but his head spins cause all the blood went to his loins too fast.

Leon doesn’t accept the advances yet. Not now, anyways. He’s mortified. He really thought he had himself going in delusion about how you were behaving- but he was actually right. And now being confronted with it… he’s fucking scared - that’s for sure. Hmm. Be a morally acceptable human or fuck your needy, whore daughter silly? He shakes his head and lets out an exhale.

That question needs some thought. No, it doesn’t. He knows better than to do any of that shit, right? He takes a moment to start walking while you follow along shamefully- the two of you headed to the theater. A movie is perfect. Don’t have to talk or anything. No interacting, really. But how the fuck is he just going to forget what you said? Sure, he’s been having questionable thoughts but they’re just thoughts. Your words, however, spoke it into existence. Like a fucked up, frankenstein’s monster of father-daughter reality.

Don’t mind us, everyone. Daughter’s got it real bad for me but I’m just going to take her to the movies and pretend it’s normal. Reality was distorted for him ever since the existence of zombies and BOWs anyway.

He lets you pick the movie- telling the attendant that he needs two tickets. It’s a horror movie. Of course. Something to trigger his PTSD, maybe. Then he could say anything he did after that was just accidental. A mental slip. He goes to fork over the $60 for tickets and popcorn- god, when did shit get so expensive? As he’s pulling out the cash, he sees you give him a look like you want to say something. His mind is racing looking at you- it makes him nervous.

“Uh.. what about candy?” You ask, looking away from him and at the display.

“What? Sour worms?” He questions you, laughing. Not in a mean way- but because it’s your favorite. So insignificant but he remembers. You were still a kid when he and your mom took you to see some milked out children’s movie that was a part of an entirely too long series. He bought you two boxes of sour worms then. You were a weird kid, though. The worms were split into two colors, and you’d always bite them down the middle and make him eat the side you didn’t like. But he’d do it. Gladly.

You nod, a little befuddled that he’d remember something like that. Cute. Too bad your weird ass just told him you wanted to fuck him about 15 minutes ago. So not entirely a cute moment.

“Oh- and two boxes of Sour Worms, please.” He adds, now pulling out a little more cash.

You both respectively grab your own drinks- Leon with popcorn in tow and you, your worms and cherry soda. His hands are full but he manages to flash the movie ticket between his index and middle finger to the usher, who then ripped it in half and pointed to the left end of the hallway.

You both don’t say anything, but you immediately race to the very top row like a child once inside the screening. Leon swears under his breath as he follows you like a geriatric snail. If a snail could have lumbar issues. He’s able to make it up the stairs to you quite some time after and takes the seat next to you that’s closest to the aisle. Safety and all that jazz.

Previews are already playing so it gives him peace of mind to not address the awkwardness between the two of you. Your soda is in the cup holder that’s separating you both, but you lean over to take a sip, cheeks hollowed out while you drink. Of course Leon looks over, fuck.

Pretty little lips wrapped around the straw until you pull off of it with a satisfied sigh. Cause you were thirsty from anxiety- like someone shoved gauze and cotton into your mouth.

He shifts in his seat and looks back at the screen. He doesn’t even know if you’re doing it on purpose. You’re not, however. He’s just a perverted dickhead.

Time passes and not a single soul has come into this screening. It’s Monday at 11am, after all. Who the hell would come watch a horror movie at this time? No one except two fucking weirdos. It’s making Leon’s nails dig into the armrest with the other set scratching at his jeans.

The movie doesn’t start off bad, to Leon’s shock. He’s actually enjoying it and you seem just as entranced, pulling open the box of Sour Worms without looking down. You do wind up looking down, however, to bite one in half because it just so happened to be a blue and orange combo, and you hated the orange side.

“Here.” Leon turns to look at you- your eyes coming up to meet his blue ones that are oddly blue enough to the point that any light from the screen makes them pop. Pretty.

“The orange half. I know you don’t like them.” His voice is husky and low since the speakers are blaring some generic string-quartet horror piece. He nods down to the half chewed candy in your palm.

You pinch it between your fingers, bringing it to his mouth as your cunt throbs. He was expecting you to hand it to him, but the way you confidentially yet instinctively brought it to his lips isn’t entirely unwelcome. The emptiness of the theater makes it that way. Allows room for incest of whatever. He opens his mouth for you, and you go to place the sour treat on his tongue. His lips gently close around it, before he grabs your wrist to hold your arm in place. A hold gentle enough to tell you that if you want to snatch your hand away- feel free to do so. But you don’t. And you won’t. He knows.

Candy in cheek, he brings your fingers to his lips and nurses your knuckles with a kiss before puppeteering your hand with his larger one, working each digit so that he can equally suck each one clean. You’re amazed, aroused, and alarmed all at the same time. Amazed because he looks so gorgeous sucking on your fingers. Aroused for the obvious reason. Alarmed because duh, he’s your father and things can only go further from here.

Leon places your hand back onto the arm rest between you, chewing the halved sour worm now. As if he didn’t just give you the most visually appealing form of sexual affection in the history of womankind. The dryness of your mouth returns and you take another sip of your Cherry soda. Maybe you can drown yourself in it. No, stupid. That’s what the public bathroom toilets are for.

Right before you set the plastic cup into the cupholder again, Leon speaks.

“Ah, ah. Put it over there.” You don’t even hesitate to listen. Record timing for you doing anything. You don’t even know why you followed his instructions so quick.

“Good girl.” His words send lightning of excitement down your nerves and straight to your clit as he pushes the armrest between you upwards and out of the way. Because that’s a thing, for some reason. It’s like theaters want people to fuck, give head, and spread their diseases everywhere. And why does he know they move? You don’t even want to question it. Maybe he’s just a knowledgeable guy.

“Come here, honey. Let daddy kiss that pretty mouth.” Fucking Christ. This can’t be real. Doesn’t matter, ‘cause again, there’s zero hesitation on your part. Leon likes that. A woman that can follow orders. He’s so used to taking them, not giving them. And your mom isn’t one to listen to other people. Either way, if this goes south, Leon can always just off himself. He wasn’t around much so what difference would it make if he was permanently gone? The reassurance of being able to log out forever gives him courage here. It’s rational.

You scoot over since you’re free from any barriers or restrictions, and he puts an arm over you. You swear you almost hear your skin sizzle from the contact. You’re not a witch- and as far as you know, he’s not water. Even if he gets you wet. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and swipe a thumb over your bottom lip- teasing you.

“D-dad.” You stutter a protest- cringing that you sounded the way you did just now. Maybe you shouldn’t be embarrassed ‘cause he’s your dad- but you are embarrassed ‘cause he’s hot. You can’t even figure out why you wanna back out suddenly. Probably because the idea was better than betraying your mom and knowing yourself as someone who fucks their dad. Anywho- didn’t he say something about kissing you? Cause he’s not even doing as promised.

Your dad leans in, his free hand is now on your neck and angling it just to show you how easy he can manhandle your body. He plants a kiss on your earlobe before saying anything.

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t go giving daddy blue-balls now. It’s not polite to start things you don’t wanna finish.”

Leon’s words simultaneously gross you out and turn you on in a self-deprecating, disgusting kind of way. Not to mention he’s literally contradicting himself since he would gladly eat the half of the sour worms you didn’t want to finish- therefore entirely enabling you to start things you couldn’t finish. Hm. That must explain a large portion of your life, then. And besides all do that, doesn’t the know blue-balls is some kinda stupid myth or whatever?

His thumb falls down your lip and traces your jawline with intentional slowness while his eyes look over your face appreciatively- but it also seems as if he’s looking for or at something specific.

You get the courage to speak, air sucked fully into your lungs.

“Sorry, daddy.” The fuck is wrong with you? You could have said anything but that. It’ll only spur him on. But you want that, obviously.

He smirks, lips pressed together as the corners of his mouth do that same, pitted thing they do that you like so much. Must go hand in hand with how his chin is also dimpled. It’s sexy. But little do you know, it’s one of the reasons he keeps his stubble. Doesn’t feel like having his butt chin on display to the world- even if every woman that’s ever laid eye on him sees it and wants it buried in their cunt.

“That’s my girl. Didn’t even have to be around much to teach you that, did I?” Leon queries, grabbing your chin to crane your head just so that he can plant his lips onto your neck. His other hand is on your knee, unmoving. You want it to move, though. God- you’re sure whatever higher power is in the great sky is throwing up right now, moments away from pressing the reset button. The same higher power will make a new rule on humanity.

No free will and absolutely no incest. Yeah. Probably should have written that into the books ages ago, one fears.

You fidget as he kisses your neck, stubble scratching your epidermis yet tickling all the same.

“Not gonna answer me, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your throat, the neck kiss he gives it uses a bit of tongue- making your body jolt. “I know your mother taught you manners.”’

You mumble something pathetically apologetic, hands gripping the fabric over his shoulders. Hopefully your mom won’t notice his shirt being stretched out there- cause she notices everything.

“N-no, daddy. I knew it on my own.” You huff, that hand you wanted him to move is slowly doing so- fingers dragging along your inner thigh as if everything he’s doing to you is purposefully meant to be some kind of forewarning. But for what, exactly?

“Such a smart girl. Get that from daddy, you know it?” Ok, cocky…

Leon kisses his way back up your neck, jawbone, and then your cheek. It’s sweet- if being lavished with saccharine, sexual and inappropriate attention from your dad could be sweet.

You nod, feeling his grip loosen from your chin and now sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair, threading it. He’s slow and deliberate- part of you wishes he’d not give you time to think about your actions. Not that you can really think anyways. Your heartbeat is muddled in your ears and the movie is still rumbling through the speakers while someone gets murdered on screen. Lucky them.

The hand on your thigh presses firmer into the skin just below the edge of your shorts, a silent telling for you to keep your attention on him.

“Sorry baby, daddy got distracted. Just so pretty.” He must be able to tell you’re impatient because he kisses your cheek (with an oddly dark undertone to it) before slimming the distance between your lips. He pauses right when they touch and you’re breathing in the taste-turned-scent of the sour worm you fed him earlier. Sugar and that weird orange flavor that is only specific to orange candy. You’re obviously not a fan, but it suits him.

You don’t get any time left to process before it’s a full on kiss- well, make out, actually. It’s slow. You can’t recall being kissed like this, ever. Normally it’s straight to tongue with guys, and not in, like, the good way. The ‘having an eel invading your oral cavity’ kind of way. Eugh.

But your dad’s tongue does brush yours, tastefully. You can actually feel the texture and it’s easy to tell there’s an erection fueling his actions- but not so much so that it takes over the whole kiss.

He uses your hair to pull you closer, teeth clashing momentarily. Not exactly the best feeling but everything else envelops your senses to the point that it’s only a flash of a moment. Your thigh is neglected by his touch, hand moving up and around onto your backside. He gives a squeeze to the fat of your ass and groans against your mouth before pulling you into his lap- legs folded on either side of his thighs.

You break the kiss, looking over your shoulder and to where the entrance is- the exit sign casting a nearby glow that gives you anxiety..

“Can’t- we’ll get caught.” You pant, that weird feeling that’s the grotesque love child of nervousness and excitement is swimming in your gut like a parasite before settling. The severity and realness of the situation sinks in.

Leon laughs low and mean, retracting his hand from your hair and moving to run it through the top of your scalp to push it back. He juts his hips upwards to prod his denimed erection into the cunt of your shorts. You mewl quietly, or maybe it was loud. The movie is just too deafening to distinguish which.

“Suppose you’re right, baby.” He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, leaning in to give you a light peck on the lips. “Told you you’re a smart girl, didn’t I? Can’t let me go around thinking with my dick, huh?”

His hand pats your thigh as if to tell you to get off.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Up.” He commands you with a huffed voice- not because he’s annoyed but because he’s a middle-aged man. Moving is hard. You ignominiously climb off of his lap, putting your bottom back onto the seat next to him. He’s looking at you, meandering a hand back onto your thigh just to rest in place.

You stare at the screen- but you can’t even register it because you’re too disassociated from what just happened. You almost want to beg him to fuck you right here- plead for forgiveness that you suggested stopping in the first place. And you can still taste that damned orange sour worm in your mouth.

Leon behaves, though. He’s good about that. Respectful. In the way of consent- not in the way of not tongue fucking his daughter in a public space. When the movie ends, he gestures for you to stand and you walk past him, carrying your empty cup and boxes of sour worms while the uncomfortable feeling of your slick clinging the gusset of your panties to your cunt. You look back at your father, the sight of him in the palely lit theater is a bit intimidating. He’s adjusting his pants for obvious reasons. You look away quickly and keep walking- a giddy feeling of satisfaction overcoming you. Shortly enough, you’re both back in the main area of the mall. You brush your shirt out and fix your hair- the thought occurs to you that maybe you look a little mussed and should have straightened up sooner.

But the daylight beaming through the sky roof brings you back to your senses.

“Hmm. What does my sweet girl want to get up to now?” Leon asks, intersecting his arms as he looks over you.

You think, mind fizzling as it short circuits. You almost smell smoke emanating from your head, too. How can you look him in the face right now?

“Uhh..” You really don’t know what to say. What can you focus on doing after everything that’s happened today?

“How about this? We can go home a little early and I’ll cook something up for lunch. The drive will give us time to work up an appetite.” He says, nonchalant. Right back to his same fatherly tone from earlier today instead of the ‘I want to split you open with my dick’ tone he had moments ago. Maybe he’s just being sweet and you’re overthinking.

You’re befuddled that he’s not saying anything else about… that. How can he so easily go from publicly groping you to acting cheery and normal? It’s frustrating. Disturbing even. Leon can see the disappointment on your face- but you don’t know that. You assume it’s well hidden, just like the fact you kissed your own father. He thinks it’s cute though. You’re just cock dumb for him. On the other hand, this whole situation is something he has to deal with.

“Got it.” You manage to say, walking a little faster than he does. This is the second time you’ve walked off from your dad, and it does irritate him because he can’t keep up like he used to. Displaced disc in his spine or whatever. Plus, he thinks you’re pissed. Which is worrying. Should have known better than to mess around with his own daughter, he supposes.

The drive back is silent and less terrifying than the previous, part of you thankful. Maybe he was only a bad driver in the morning. Unlikely, but not impossible. Maybe it was the fact that he drank whiskey with his breakfast. Hm. ‘Responsible’ in hindsight.

It’s still early in the afternoon when you arrive back home. The concrete is sizzling from the heat and the sun beats down way too uncomfortably for even a walk from the driveway to the front door.

Leon side-steps you to unlock the house before he urges you in. He may be morally reprehensible but he still didn’t want to let any cool air out- AC’s expensive. You plop down on the couch and he locks the door, walking past you and straight to the kitchen.

The tension is thick for you- but for Leon- not at all. You watch him disappear through the doorway as he goes to prep food. Why is it so hard to read his emotions? He’s like a fucking light switch. You’re annoyed- leaning back on the couch, until he calls for you. You’re quick to get up, scrambling into the kitchen.

“Hey, sweetheart. Mind giving me a hand?”

“Yeah. What is it?” You faintly cock your head to the side.

Leon looks to the side- directly at you. You’re cute when you’re confused. He can tell that all you’re thinking about is continuing where you two left off earlier. Shit, you’re no better than your mother. ‘S just that you’re not crabby and sour all the time like she is.

“Can you grab the saucepan from the bottom cabinet. Your old dad can’t exactly bend over too well.” He laughs- shaking his head. Yes, dad. I get it. I know you have a bad back.

You walk over to the cabinet where he’s leaned onto one hand which is rested on the marbled countertop. You feel a bit apprehensive to be close to him again. Mostly because you don’t trust yourself to not jump his bones, but Leon’s already ahead of you. As soon as you bend over, he pulls you back by the hips so that your ass is flush with his groin.

You’re taken aback but definitely not surprised. He’s a dirty old man, as you’ve learned.

“Gonna let daddy fuck this pussy now, or are you getting flaky on me?” He coos against your ear while he runs his hands up your sides and down again- creeping his hands to your front and over the buttons of your shorts- unhooking them through the slits.

“Yes.. want it.” You breathe in quick- the word coming out on its own. If god could hear you right now, he’d set your house ablaze with lightning.

“Need you to loosen up if I’m going to. You’re way too stiff.” Your shorts are the opposite of you, loose and unfastened fully so they fall to your ankles, and Leon nudges your feet apart with his boot. You realize he’s got a point as you feel his calloused hand glide down your hip and yank you in place. The other hand is spreading your pussy lips apart before finding that fleshy bud between them. A moan rumbles in your throat as your legs almost give out below you. He mutters a curse under his breath, and you realize his cock is now out while he rubs up against your ass- getting off on not only playing with your pussy but from dry humping you.

“Fucking christ. Got the prettiest ass, baby. Think daddy needs to see it bouncing on his cock.” You can practically feel that stupid, smug look as he grabs his dick- slapping it on your ass. It makes you cringe a little, but maybe you should be cringing at the fact your dad is the one doing it. You figure it’s just something he saw in porn, so it doesn’t leave your expectations high at the moment. Great. Leon adjusted himself back into his pants, for now.

His finger continues circling that bundle of nerves, your legs shaky as you’re being pressed into the counter, a hand is on your lower back to keep you down so he can do what he wants. You sound stupid- tears welling in your eyes as you babble nonsensically about wanting to cum. He moves his hand off of your back and sinks to his knees to be face level with you (even if it makes his back hurt a little), sliding his fingers up your inner thigh until there’s a digit prodding your hole, slowly pushing in.

He watches your cunt swallow his finger, barely able to fit it inside.

“Fucking shit, baby. Gonna have to stretch this pussy out if I want my cock in you, huh? Think you can let daddy do that?” He asks, breathy and sounding like he’s trying not to bust all over himself.

You eagerly shake your head.

“Yes, daddy. Need you to get me loose.” The words spill like a hot cup of tea from your lips, scalding Leon with desire.

“God damned. Such a polite fucking girl I’ve got. Might have to eat your mother out later to thank her for making you so respectful.”

You scrunch your face in disgust.

“That’s fucking gross.” You moan, Leon slipping a second finger into you, which should technically feel like four with how worn and big his hands are.

He tuts, planting a kiss to your asscheek.

“Now, didn’t daddy just compliment you? Could be a bit more grateful since he’s trying to make you cum” He grits, sounding a bit (terrifyingly) stern.

You apologize again.

“Sorry, daddy. Just don’t wanna hear about you and mom. Makes me jealous.” You admit, briefly thinking about their dinner conversation last night. Then about how fucking weird you are. You’re really hoping you get the courage to bash your head on the marble countertop and get amnesia.

Leon laughs, but in a way that makes you think he’s amused more than actually laughing.

“God. Want me to stop fucking my own wife just ‘cause you’ve got a needy pussy?” A third finger slips in, making an almost unbearable stretch as you feel a slight ache, but the previous two fingers already did enough work that it’s not completely unbearable.

“Maybe you’re not that grateful. Giving you three fingers here and she’s still too tight.” He twists his hand, letting the inside of you feel every inch of his knuckles and calluses. Your knuckles, however, are ghost-white as you grip at nothing.

“Maybe your fingers are just too small.” You say- mostly from built up tension and annoyance that you didn’t get to let out yet. But you regret the words.

He’s silent- which scares you. He pulls his fingers out of you- the stark contrast in emptiness is clear and the cool air stings you.

Leon groans as he stands up, kicking off his boots before yanking you by the arms to stand straight. He leans into your ear.

“C’mon. You’re gonna come sit on daddy’s dick, since you’re too fucking picky.” Goosebumps form all over you as he leads you to the couch. Leon leaves you standing there so he can get comfortable and discard his clothing, lying back with his hands behind his head. You make a mental note of how his biceps look with his arms bent in this position, even if you kinda feel like it’s lazy. But holy fuck, his toned stomach is perfect- sprinkled with a happy trail that will definitely lead you somewhere that will make you happy. Speaking of, his dick is nice. Fat. Not sure how big it is since you have not much to compare to, but you’d imagine taking it would be a bit of a proper challenge.

You step a little closer- crawling awkwardly over his lap- ass faced towards him so that you settle on his waist. It’s hard not to feel self conscious about your backside in this position, even considering the fact that he was just fingering you from the back moments ago. You’re mostly just upset you can’t gawk at his tits or stomach.

You grab him by the base, shifting yourself to hover directly over him, letting the tip graze your wet hole before slowly sinking down- a drawn out moan escaping you.

“Fuckkk. That’s it. Sit down on it. Take all of daddy.” You glance over your shoulder as you bottom him out; his eyes are half-lidded. Well, at least he’s got a pretty face while you’re fucking him. You almost failed to realize his hands moved from behind his head to your ass- gliding up your back and down again.

You take a moment to adjust, breathing shakily ‘cause his dick is so fat you think you might die. Or maybe you’re having a heart attack at your ripe age.

“Didn’t tell you to take any breaks, did I baby?” You’re annoyed at his pushiness, but you did have a bit of a sour attitude earlier. So you can only blame yourself.

You’re not sure how to entirely do this, but you move yourself up and down. Not at a fast pace, yet. Just that savoring your dad’s dick seems like a reasonable ordeal.

He doesn’t shut up, though. You’re learning just how much he likes to talk- as if he just wants to hear himself. Is he even getting off on you or the sound of his own voice? It makes you roll your eyes even if you do like hearing him say dirty shit.

"That’s my girl. So fucking good. Ride it nice and slow... Work that sweet pussy on daddy's cock.” You just might fall over dead hearing him say any of it- it’s disgusting but sweet Jesus are you eating it up. He must know it too because of how you clench around him involuntarily when he talks like that.

“You like when daddy praises you? Yeah, you love me telling you how good you are.” His words are husky and yet pleased with the previous tidbit of information.

“See how nice I am? Letting you sit on my cock after you made me wait earlier. Wasn’t very nice of you, now was it, baby?” His words have an underlyingly mocking tone, but you’d do anything to make him change it.

“No, daddy. Was really mean of me.” You whine pitifully, bouncing yourself on his dick like it’s your major in college and you’re trying to pass with flying colors.

“I know, baby. But daddy forgives you.” He murmurs, sitting up with you still on top of him. He’s flush against your back now- reaching in front of you to make those same tight circles on your clit. You both exchange your pitchy moans and his grunting and groaning- working up to a good point in both of your impending orgasms.

“Gonna cum in this pussy, got it? Daddy doesn’t like to pull out.”

You scramble a bit, squirming on his lap.

“Fuck, dad! You can’t do that!” You whine as his other arm holds you onto him- wrapped around your stomach. Your nails dig into his forearms, hopefully not leaving noticeable scratches.

“I think I can, baby. You’re squeezing me at the idea- I’m not fucking stupid.” He’s quick to be mean again, but you’d be a liar to say you’d don’t want him to cum in you. And you’re not a liar, that’s just deplorable- coming from someone who is literally fucking their dad with enough energy to power a small village for a month. And yet, you don’t stop riding him.

And your silence tells it all.

“Yeah- my baby wants a nice creampie.” He sounds more strained now, letting go of his hold on your stomach and using his hand to now guide you to roll your hips on him.

Sweat beads down Leon’s forehead, bangs sticking to his face as he watches your ass grinding against his lap.

“Fuck, baby. Just like that. I’m gonna cream this tight fucking pussy. Want that, don’t you? ‘Cause daddy’s gonna give it to you whether you want it or not.”

You should be a little more upset or concerned in any regard right now, but the last two days have made you into a proper whore to the point that you don’t even give a shit. Self respect crawled itself into a space shuttle and launched off of the planet, probably to never be seen again. Stuck in orbit, if you will.

You’re sucked out of the motions when Leon speaks again.

“Stop, stop.” He pats your bottom.

“Turn around, baby. I wanna see your face. Wanna kiss those lips while you’re on my dick.” Your stomach flutters with nervousness and a sickly sweet feeling. You lifted yourself from him with a trail of arousal to follow and maneuvered to turn around- this time he was holding his cock ready for you. Moments went by of you staring, getting a proper look of him since everything had been a quick blur so far.

“Come on, baby. Need you to mount daddy’s cock again. Told you I wanted to kiss you, didn’t I?” He exhaled, sounding a bit pent up. Jeez- seconds without pussy and he’s getting upset. Maybe he needs a therapist and anger management, not his college-aged daughter spearing herself on him.

You replied, yes, daddy. Sorry, daddy. Didn’t mean to make you wait, daddy.

You dropped yourself down onto him once more- only this time it was easier since you were able to get accustomed to his dick.

“Start moving sweetheart, make daddy cum.” He instructed, leaning in to take you in a kiss. It was more dirty than the last kiss, somehow. His tongue slipped between your lips- Leon lifted you with his hands on your waist before jutting his hips up to slam his cock snugly into your heat, groaning against your mouth delightfully.

His teeth nipped your lower lip- giving you a little further taste of just what kind of lover he is. Or maybe this is just the version you get. Either way, you can’t complain in any area. You feel lucky to receive even a sliver of it.

The familiar roughness of his thumb returns to your already throbbing bud- circling at the same pace he’s now moving at. Despite his age, he seems awfully enthusiastic to do strenuous work involving his hips. Bad back, my ass. Or maybe he’s able to put that on the back burner to please you. Probably worried if he doesn’t give you good dick then you’ll go tattle on him.

Leon didn’t break the kiss whatsoever while he pounded into you ruthlessly, he swallowed up every moan and noise you made like it was alcohol. ‘Cause that was his favorite, obviously.

When he pulled his mouth off of yours, a trail of saliva lingered- stretching out while you giggled on top of him. Something about you laughing almost made him nut immediately, but he held out just to prolong this and let it engrain into his mind for certain.

“Got the prettiest baby- look so good on my cock like this. Want daddy to bust in that pretty pussy?” He asked, looking for your approval.

“Uh-huh. Need daddy to knock me up.” The words came from god knows where, making even your eyes look bewildered for a second.

Leon laughed darkly at you.

“God, baby. Daddy’s so fucking close.” He muttered stupidly, almost like he was drunk. At least this could be an ego boost for you- but the fact it was your dad canceled that out. Dick only counts if it’s from someone that’s not related to you. His eyes did that half-lidded thing from earlier that you found so hot, and he pulled you down onto his cock one last time, spilling thick ropes into your blood-related hole. His dick pulsed as he let out a muted grunt, head lolling back and his adam's apple on full, stubbly display. You could bite it, just like a real apple.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He moaned. Jeez. He was a whore, honestly. The way he made noises and didn’t shut the fuck up was honestly… a case that should be studied. Maybe he had been turned out a time or two himself.

His cock didn’t soften though, nor did he not forget about you cumming. He lifted his head back up, looking down at where his thumb was. It was almost like he read your thoughts, not saying a word as he concentrated on making you cum. ‘Cause earlier he had been too eager to get in you and you were too eager to get on him.

Your nails dug into his shoulders (hopefully your mom wouldn’t notice any marks on him when she gets home from work later) and he gently fucked into you while you received proper attention on your aching clit. The combination of his dick keeping you full and the sensation of his digit sent you throbbing through your orgasm around him- low curses and other disgusting things coming out of both your mouths.

‘Cause you’re both disgusting.

[superhaught]

Sweetest Girl

Pairing: Regina George x Reader

Warning(s): slight reference to bad home life for reader?

Word Count: 1700, Part 1/?

Anonymous Asked: hello! I was wondering if I could request a regina x fem!reader fic where the the reader is known as the sweetest girl in school that everyone loves and regina is like “what’s so great about her” and just ends up falling in love with her

Part Two

Regina knew that she wasn’t excelling in her chemistry course this year but she certainly didn’t think she was failing. But the teacher asked her to stay behind after class and gave her a solemn look as she explained that with Regina’s most recent test score (which was, admittedly, abysmal), her overall grade in the class would drop from barely passing to failing. 

“Well, what am I supposed to do? I’m a senior, it’s not like I can retake this class!” Regina griped, beginning to feel her stomach turn over in panic.

“Calm down, Miss George. You still have time to improve your grade. I’d recommend that you start working with a tutor. One of your classmates is available for such an arrangement as it turns out. She’s a very gifted student who is doing quite well in this class. She will likely tutor you not expecting anything at all in return. Are you willing to reach out to her?”

Regina crossed her arms in front of her chest, “I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Regina’s teacher formed a thin-lipped smile, “No, Miss George. You don’t.”

Regina took the slip of paper with the tutor’s contact info scribbled on it from the teacher and left the classroom for her locker in a huff. 

Gretchen and Karen were waiting for her and immediately, Gretchen was hounding the blonde in concern, “is everything okay, Regina? What did the teacher want?”

Regina sighed, “I’m failing. I need a tutor, I guess.”

“Oh no!!!” Gretchen exclaimed. 

Karen tapped into the conversation in a brief moment of focus and said, “don’t worry, Regina. I failed chemistry last year and had to be tutored, too.”

Regina rolled her eyes, “yes Karen, and you fucked your chemistry tutor instead of studying.”

Karen smiled, “oh yeah!”

Gretchen chimed in, “well, it’s going to be okay Regina. I bet you’ll do really well if someone can take their time to explain the concepts to you. Do you know who will tutor you?”

Regina nodded, “yeah, the teacher gave me this name. Someone in my class.” Regina passed the slip of paper to Gretchen. 

When the small brunette read the name she made an excited sound, “oh! I know her, she’s the sweetest ever! You’ll like her Regina. She’s like, the nicest girl in the school.”

Regina narrowed her eyes and snatched the paper back, “why would I like the nicest girl in school? She sounds like a try-hard… What makes her so great?”

-

You were enjoying your lunch outside in the courtyard because it was a sunny day out. You scrolled through your phone and an email notification caught your eye so you opened it right away. The email read: Hey, I need a chemistry tutor. Teacher gave me your name. Can you? -Regina George

Oh, wow. You thought. Regina George wants me to tutor her?

You typed your response back and sent it off with a whoosh: Hi Regina, I’m happy to help! Do you want to meet to go over logistics today after school? I’ll be in the library if you want to swing by :) you can also feel free to text me if that’s easier

You sent Regina your phone number at the end of the email and in a few minutes, you got a text from, presumably, Regina. She said, “okay whatever” then another few seconds passed and she sent another text, “this is Regina, obviously.”

You responded, “haha yes, I figured!”

The little bubble that indicated she was typing popped up for a long moment and then disappeared. Then it popped back up and turned into a simple text, “k.”

-

Later that same day, you were sitting in the library doing your homework in the welcome peace and quiet. As you were working, you saw the blonde out of the corner of your eye. 

Regina walked down the half staircase into the library and flipped her hair over her shoulder, her tote bag hung from the crook of her elbow, and her other hand held an iced latte notably not from the student-run cafe but instead from the Starbucks down the road from the school. 

Regina approached your table and plopped her bag down on the floor and pulled out the chair across from you, “went to get a coffee before meeting you, hope you don’t mind. You didn’t want anything did you?”

You smiled and shook your head, “I don’t mind, and no thank you, I’m okay. I don’t drink coffee.”

Regina raised an eyebrow as she sat down, “you don’t drink coffee? How do you survive?”

You laugh lightly, “I guess I’ve never really needed it, and I prefer tea anyway.”

“Huh…” Regina didn’t seem satisfied with your answer but she dropped it, “so, do you just stay here to do homework after school?”

“Usually, yeah! I like to get as much done as I can before the library closes.”

“Why would you want to spend more time in this godforsaken school?”

You swallowed hard, “Oh, um… just ‘cause.”

“Kay…”

“So, do you want to talk about tutoring for chemistry?”

“Sure.”

“Okay great, do you know how often you want to meet or how many hours you want to do per week?”

“Christ, I don’t know.”

“It’s okay!” You assured her, “let’s just start with two hours a week for now. We can meet twice a week for one hour each and see if that feels good or if we need to work more or drop down to just an hour.” 

“Alright.”

“Does this time work for you?”

“Yeah.”

“And what about another day in the week?” You asked.

Regina shrugged, “Thursdays?”

“Perfect!” You jotted down a note of the schedule in your planner.

“Do you tutor a lot?” Regina asked, then sipped her coffee.

“Not super often. When I do, it’s usually because a teacher recommended me.”

“Are you like a teachers pet or something?” 

“I don’t know, I just like helping.” 

Regina was silent for a moment. She was considering you. Examining you. 

“So for chemis-“ you began.

“You know, it’s like weird how nice you are. Like, it’s off putting.” 

“Oh… off putting?”

“Yeah, ya know. Like you don’t have to be nice all the time, or for free. Not everyone deserves kindness.” 

“I mean, I disagree, but-“ 

“I can pay you, you know. For tutoring me, I mean.” 

“You don’t have to, though. I don’t need you to.” 

Regina scoffed, “you’re just gonna give me your time and energy for nothing?” 

“Yes. I just want to help. It’s not transactional.” 

“Oh, you sweet thing. Everything is transactional. Maybe you don’t want my money but you expect to get something out of this, don’t you? Otherwise, you wouldn’t.” 

You were frustrated, “how do you know that? You don’t know me or what I’d do!” 

“No one does anything for free. No one performs a service for free. No one is that nice.” Regina took another drink of her coffee. 

“Are you trying to ruin this?” 

Regina raised an eyebrow again but was quick to respond, “am I making you mad?” 

“You’re frustrating me. I’m just trying to do a nice thing.” 

“So you don’t want me to question your motives?” 

“No! I mean…” you huffed angrily, you felt your cheeks grow increasingly red and hot, “there is no motive.” 

“I don’t believe that.” 

“Look, do you want my help or not?” 

“I want to be tutored. What I don’t want is to owe you anything.” 

“You don’t owe me anything!” 

Regina’s expression turned into the slightest smirk as she stood up from the table and grabbed her tote bag off the floor, “I’ll meet you again on Thursday to review this week’s course materials. When I see you again, I expect an answer about what exactly it is you hope to get out of doing this for me.” 

With that, Regina turned and left the library, her hair swishing behind her. 

You hadn’t noticed until then, but you had crumpled up a piece of paper in your hand during that conversation. 

-

Thursday came around too soon for your liking. You had no answer for Regina’s demand, other than the truth, which you didn’t want to tell her. 

At 4:05 pm sharp, Regina waltzed down the stairs into the library once again, tote bag in hand, removing her sunglasses in an elegant motion, a drink carrier from Starbucks with two drinks in her other hand. 

You watched as Regina gracefully spit her chewing gum into a trash can on her way while walking up to your table.

She took one of the cups out of the drink carrier and set it down in front of you, “chai latte. Is that okay?” 

Your jaw dropped open a bit as you stared stupidly at the drink and then back up at her, “y-yeah… that’s really nice, thank you.” 

Regina didn’t sit down, “do you have an answer for me?” 

You sighed, “you really won’t accept that I just want to help you out?” 

Regina wordlessly shook her head. 

You looked down at your hands and saw that they were shaking slightly, so you hid them under the table in your lap and kept your eyes averted from Regina as you whispered, “I do what I can to avoid spending time at home.” 

Regina remained silent. 

You looked back up at her. Her jaw was set and she had a severe expression. You watched her exhale a heavy breath through her nose, nostrils flaring, then she sat down across from you and dropped her bag onto the floor. 

“Okay,” she said simply. “Let’s get started then.” 

-

You spent the next hour reviewing that week's chemistry lessons with Regina. 

When you decided to stop for that evening, Regina reached across the table and wrote something into your notebook. 

“There, that’s my address. You don’t have to check in with me, or anything, you can just come over whenever you want to.”

“Regina, are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. My mom loves having company to entertain, and there’s plenty of space in my room for you to be comfortable and do work.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“How about, ‘thank you?’”

You laughed and nodded, “thank you, Regina. Really.”

The blonde stood up and returned her notes to her bag, “‘course. See ya tomorrow in class.”

“See you then…”

Next Chapter

[slasherbvnnie]

Until We Found You | Part IV

Welcome back! This time we have the second ghostface smut. Part V will be out later tonight, but no smut! Just some pure angst and fluff. As always, heed the tags

Modern Day College Scream AU, Obsessed AFAB!Reader, Eventual Poly!Ghostface x reader, Eventual NSFW, All characters 18+, P in V, Fingering, Oral female!receiving, Overall smut

Part I Part II Part III  Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

 Word Count: 2673

You had a good five seconds on campus before someone finally noticed. Before you even made eye contact with her for the first time that day, Tatum let out the biggest gasp she had ever made and grabbed your shoulder. “And who did you spend your night with,” she asked as you immediately blushed, covering up your hickey with your palm. “None of your business, tate,” you said as Stu laughed and put his arm around Tatum’s waist. “Maybe Randy finally got his shot, I mean with how scared you must be about the killer, maybe he offered some protection for you,” Stu joked as Billy laughed.

 “Don’t get the dork all worked up, Stu, you might put one too many ideas in that perverted brain of his,” Billy said as Randy rolled his eyes. “I can confirm it was not me, sadly, one of us actually has a job instead of living off student loan refunds,” Randy said as the group put their attention back on you. “Well, whoever mauled you better show up at the mall after class today. I wanna see who gave you that, you know, to vet them or whatever,” Tatum said as Sidney nodded. “Yeah, and then we’ll get on their case for mauling you,” she added, making you laugh.

Your day was mostly spent around nervously tiptoeing around the girls questioning you on who you spent the night with. You had talked to other people on campus that didn’t include your little friend group but had never shown interest in them, so they questioned you on any and every one they knew to see who it was. “Okay, what about the guy who almost hit you with that football last week, Kyle? Kit? Kaleb.” Tatum recalled, “Kevin, and no,” you answered simply as Sidney took a stab at it. “Nah, it has to be Oliver,” she suggested, making you pause and show a gross look. “One of my biggest bullies in high school? No thanks,” you shrugged as Billy turned his gaze to you, Stu looking back at you through the rearview mirror. 

“Bully?” Billy questioned as you nodded. Throughout most of school you had been bullied, not really by one group in particular but there were enough to only leave you with Casey as one of your only friends until senior year. It stopped when college came around, no one cared enough to bully someone they spent one hour a day with. “Yeah, he always bullied me, ever since second grade. At first everyone thought he liked me because they thought being mean to someone was how you showed a crush but after this one time he faked asking me out in high school just to stand me up, it came kinda clear he hated me,” you explained with a little bitter laugh, going silent when you noticed the awkwardness.

 Billy’s face was stone cold, but you could tell in his eyes that he was angered. “It’s fine, I’m over it now, but yeah, definitely not someone I would let sleep with me,” you said as you looked away, not noticing the glance that Stu and Billy shared. “Is he still a dick to you?” Stu asked as you laughed, “I guess? I dunno, I find it more funny that he’s still got a grudge against me for some reason, but at least he doesn’t try to pull my hair anymore,” you said jokingly.

“How about we go in there?” Tatum suggested as you and Sidney both shared a laugh, “what? You have a mystery date and you might want a cute outfit for Billy sometime,” Tate said as you and Sidney looked to each other before looking at the boys. “How about you two run off for a bit instead of being giant pervs, we’ll meet up again at the food court,” you suggested as Billy and Stu were quick to agree. Their rapid head shakes made you all rile up with laughter, smiling and heading into the store together. 

“Sooo, what’s your mystery dates favorite color?” Tate asked as you smiled, “I don’t know actually, that’s a good question,” you hummed as you looked at the different choices of lingerie that lined the store. “I think they like any color really,” you said as you spotted a red laced set, it was a bralette styled top that had strips running down the side to connect to the underwear. Sidney noticed where your eyes lingered and laughed, “they’re kinky, huh?” She joked as you laughed and nodded, “really,” you agreed. You picked through the outfit to find your size, wondering if ghostface would like it, you guessed they probably would enjoy the blood red color of it.Later that night you were in your bathroom, glad that your parents had left to have dinner at your grandparents, which they did very hesitantly given the incident a few days ago. When you reassured that with all your friends only a few blocks away and access to cars, as well as the marvelous creation of phones to dial 911, they let you be.

You found yourself looking in the mirror as you checked yourself out for the 100th time in the lingerie you had bought. You blushed and wondered if your masked killer would enjoy the outfit, running your hand slowly across the lace fabric. You heard a noise from outside, quickly throwing on a tshirt- one you didnt care about if ruined again- and pj shorts before heading out into your bedroom.

You peeked over your window to see nothing, frowning to yourself before sighing and taking a seat on your bed. But when you were met with the back of the costumed body looking over your vanity you let out a small scream, making them turn to you. “Jesus christ you scared me!” You yelled at them before relaxing, “no window climbing this time?” You asked as they shook their head, continuing to look around the room. You noticed their little glances around the room, curious as to why they were studying it. They turned towards you once more, walking over to you and looking you over. They were less aggressive than last time, using two fingers to tilt your head up to them. Their fingers were warm, which caught you off guard, just yesterday they were cold to the touch.

“There’s two of you?” You questioned, their demeanor changing quickly as they grabbed your chin. “I-I don’t know who you are, i swear. It’s just- y-your touch…” you spoke quickly, trailing off as their grip loosened. “The last one was cold, kinda felt like a corpse,” you said jokingly, “and you’re warm…plus you keep looking around like you haven’t been here before.” You said to them, their touch going back to just gently holding your chin up. They moved away from you, going back to your vanity and grabbing a small black bag, bringing it over to you. You blinked in surprise, looking up to them before they gestured to open it. You reached into the bag, pulling out a piece of paper that was torn, giggling at the words that were printed onto it. ‘Sorry about the last guy :(‘

“See? I would have figured it was two of you anyways,” you said as they shook their head. You smiled, reaching back into the bag and looking at your two new Carrie shirts. One was in the style as your previous one, the other a different one but still in the correct size. “I didn’t think I would actually be treated to a new shirt,” you admitted, hearing a chuckle from them. You didn’t say it out loud, but your heart was filled with joy knowing these two masked killers, regardless of not knowing them, were being so kind and caring towards you. You swooned, noticing how different the two seemed. The other one scared you a little, not really knowing their true intentions, but this one seemed so much more gentle and sweet with you. “I um, I also had a little surprise for you,” you said, noticing how they perked up at your words.

A blush rose to your cheeks as you looked up to them, adjusting yourself before sitting up on your knees. “but you’ll have to take my clothes off first to see it, mr. ghostface.” you whispered out, which made them grab you by the waist and lay you down on the bed. They didn’t take out the knife, instead their hands darted to the hem of your shirt and lifted it up to reveal the red lingerie underneath. A small groan left them as they quickly worked on taking off your shorts, making you giggle at the rush in their actions. You let out a little whimper as they groped you, aware now of how unintentionally strong their grip was. They squeezed your breast that was covered in the lace, their other hand roaming up and down your side. The lack of their touch made you whine out, pouting up at them before they moved to grab the final thing from the bag. A new blindfold, one dedicated just for you. They were quick to tie it, making sure you didn’t see through it by waving in front of you.

All you heard was a little thump of the mask and them struggling to take their gloves off before you heard the rest of their clothing thump to the ground. Before you could even take in a breath you felt their hand already cupping your core, their lips attacking the part of your breasts that were left uncovered from the lingerie. They roamed around before their lips were now on your neck, creating a new hickey right above the old one. You moaned softly, a shaky hand reaching to grab their arm.You could feel their muscles contract and tighten at the touch but when you made no movement to touch elsewhere, they quickly calmed down and continued their lust filled attack on you. They teased you over the lace panties you wore, their smirk growing as you let out little huffs and moans. The bed lifted, their frame no longer causing it to dip and your hand was left holding nothing, a small pout made its way to your agitated frown as their touch left you. After a moment you gasped, feeling their hands spreading your legs apart as they placed gentle kisses onto your inner thighs.

It was the first time you felt the blade, but they didn’t trail it across your skin like the other, instead they used it to make you exposed to them. Another whine left you, “you owe me a new outfit again, this was brand new,” you whined, they responded with a nip to your inner thigh, not doing anything else before diving into you.Your back arched on impact, their tongue on your clit as they spread you open with their thumbs. “fuck,” you moaned out, your thighs closing around their head to lock them in place in pure instinct. They were skilled at this, eventually finding the perfect pace that had you shaking and squirming. Every time you tried to shimmy up and get away from the pleasure, their large hands wrapped around your thighs from behind and pulled you back down onto their face. You weren’t even aware of how many minutes had passed before your thighs were shaking, only being held up by their grip. “Wait, fuck, you’re-“ the breath was knocked out of your lungs as they entered their middle finger into you, their pace matching that of their tongue as they thrusted it in and out of you.

 A loud moan left your lips as you came, whines and whimpers erupting from your chest as their ministrations didn’t stop. “Please, please, ‘s too much,” you pleaded, clawing at your bedsheets as they just hooked their arm around your thigh and pulled you down back onto their face once more. It was practically like a scene from the Exorcist as you came again, your back arching off of the bed as you nearly let out a scream from all the pleasure. This time they slowly pulled away after you came down from your high, lapping at you one last time before pulling away and hovering over you. Your chest heaved as you did your best to catch your breath, smiling softly at the gentle kiss they placed onto you. You felt them snake their hand into yours, making you giggle as they wrapped their fingers in the spaces between your own. A smile curled onto their lips when they heard your laugh, growing even wider when you let out a moan as their free hand went back to your entrance. They still held your hand as they pulled back a little, your legs spreading more as you felt them running their tip along your slit.

 At every swipe to your clit you let out a moan, gasping when they entered you. Within a second their lips were attacking your neck again, earning whines and moans from every bite, lick, and thrust that they tortured your body with. The pleasure was dizzying, you had never really gone so many rounds with someone before, the recovery time was practically nothing with how fast your climax was building up again. They were more gentle, their free hand roaming over the bralette you still had on, teasing your nipples over the fabric as they littered your skin in love bites. You were already regretting Tatum’s and Sidney’s teases about them tomorrow but for now, you accepted your fate.

Their pace was quick but managed to hit all your sweet spots, their hand that held yours was gripping you so tightly their knuckles turned white, which only brought you closer to the edge. Their free hand found its way to your clit again, rubbing it in time with their thrusts to completely overwhelm you. Your orgasm washed over you hard, the seconds felt like they lasted a lifetime as you did your best to come down from your high, but their continued sloppy thrusts didn’t help one bit. A loud whine left you as they came, biting into your neck to cover up their moan. They pulled out slowly, letting go of your hand and kissing you once again. Unlike the other ghostface, they laid down in the bed with you, pulling you against their chest. You accepted the invitation, resting against their chest and listening to their heartbeat as you recovered from your orgasm. 

“Next time…do- uh,” you spoke softly, a bit shy to get your thoughts out into words. You felt their fingertips tracing your jaw, relaxing as their thumb ran over your lips. “Do you think the both of you could come by next time? You- uh, you don’t have to but…” you trailed off as they kissed you, feeling their head move in a nod. You smiled, heart fluttering with excitement knowing both of them would be alone with you. “And don’t forget the new lingerie set, please,” you requested with a little laugh. It was an hour later, ghostface gone and you freshly showered and dressed in your pajamas again. 

Your phone rang, seeing Sidney’s caller id and answering quickly. “Hey, have you seen any of the police cars pass by?” She asked as you looked out your window, “no, how come?” You asked as Sidney sighed. “Oliver, the neighbors said they heard screaming and shit breaking and when police got there they said he was dead,” she said as you frowned. “Do they know if it was the killer?” You asked, “yeah, neighbors said they saw him running off. They tried going after them but they couldn’t catch up.” She told you, you sighing and shaking your head. “That’s so creepy…” you said, thinking back to the conversation you all were having earlier that day. You couldn’t help but wonder if ghostface was stalking you, if they already knew you and your past. 

[cxvii666]

part 2 🫡

"so i take it you two have met before?"

"yes!"

"no."

ino takuma turns to you, with a irritatingly cute half smirk on his face as you pointedly focus on ignoring him.

"no? really?"

you resist the urge to roll your eyes and give nanami kento, your superior a tight smile.

"we uh, we were at the academy at the same time."

in a room full of your seniors and underclassmen you so hoped he wouldn't be here but, as always, luck was on your side.

you had left tokyo and moved to kyoto to begin training under utahime iori immediately after graduating, trying to obtain a grade one rank as a sorcerer. it had been a gruelling two years as utahime, while a mostly a sweetheart, was not an laidback teacher. which, of course was to be expected, i mean as semi grade one sorcerer she could be insanely harsh and uncompromising. this was great for your development for your cursed technique and overall control of cursed energy but not so great for, what had been, something of a blossoming relationship between you and ino.

you had gotten over him, mostly (not at all), but seeing him again, after he had grown out his hair and had a growth spurt and was smiling at you in that cute boyish way that he did back in the day-

MEANT NOTHING! ahem. didn't matter as you weren't here to see him. you were in tokyo on business.

utahime had been called in by some of tokyo's higher ups to deal with a the influx of high grade cursed spirits due to the presence of sukuna's vessel and had had you tag along with her as support.

'not that she needed it,' you thought to yourself looking around at those in the room.

you didn't doubt the current tokyo first and second years would out rank you had they enough field experience. paired with the presence of nanami kento and his 'apprentice', you were sure the tokyo sorcerers could have had this handled but the fact that utahime had chosen to bring you here amongst such high level sorcerers meant you had an opportunity to prove yourself. and you would not let a childhood relationship ruin that.

but ino, on the other hand was absolutely kicking his feet at the chance to see you again. as soon as he heard that utahime was going to be there with 'one of her younger associates' he'd asked (begged) nanami to let him 'assist him'. nanami had been skeptical at the time but he had just assumed that ino had wanted to show off to his underclassmen. but now looking at the two of you together he began to connect the dots.

......

"oh my god, takuma you gotta stop."

"you smell so good."

"fucking creep."

"you love it."

you stiffle a giggle as he works his nose up your neck, behind your ear and takes a deep inhale. fuck he missed you so much you have no idea. you sigh contentedly as his hands snake up the inside of your shirt and he starts leaving light kisses on the skin behind your ear.

ino has you pressed up against, you're not even sure, some wall of some corridor in one of the many halls of the tokyo's jujutsu high school, both of you buzzing with adrenaline after a job well done.

"you gotta stop before one of the students see us."

he closes his eyes as your hand snakes it's way up his back and grips his hair tightly making him whine quietly.

"fuck babe, i don't care, let them."

his kisses grow teeth and he grazes them across the lobe of your ear before sinking his teeth into your neck to hide a groan as you yank on his hair.

"yeah, what if your precious nanami comes by?"

ino lets out a sigh of dissatisfaction before retracting his hands from shirt and taking your hands in his.

"how long are you in town?" he asks you, biting his lip gently, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

you drop his hands, "i'm supposed to go head back after this-"

he starts to pout but before he can say anything else you cup his face with your hands and smile softly at him.

"but for you, i suppose i could stay the night."

big up to myself for always adding unnecessary detail, we love to see it 🙏🏾‼️

lol my first official tumblr drabble dedicated to my underrated king 😏😈

[vi-for-vendetta]

Anonymous asked:

if youre still taking requests, id love to see something written about some smug rich girl being turned into a milky cow

This isn't much to go off, so I'm gonna do my best lol. I wrote kinda bitchy wlw hucow transformation. Again, I wrote this in second person, I am sorry lol:

She wasn't always this way. When the two of you were younger, she had no desire to shove her closet the size of your house, or the designer purses, or the sports cars in your face. But the second you two went to college, she became a whole new person. Her whole personality revolved around her wealth. You assumed it was just because she wanted attention, but you always felt that it was the wrong kind of attention.

You hadn't spoken to her since orientation, now you were entering your senior year and you two managed to get stuck in a class together. Unfortunately, this was one of those seminar classes where you're made to work on the same project for the whole year with the same partner.

You've heard from some of the other people in your major that she's a notorious slacker, the kind of person who always just skates by, a real "C's get degrees" kind of gal. Normally, you wouldn't care about this, but because you're grade is on the line here, too, you were fuming at the thought of her just making you do the whole assignment by yourself.

You were going to set her straight. One way or another, she was going to pull her weight in this project.

You decided to invite her back to your dorm to brainstorm ideas, but you already had one. You just needed to wait for the inevitable.

The two of you sat down at your too small kitchen table and stared at your laptop screens.

You both affixed your gaze on a blank Google Doc simply titled "Ideas."

Well, you did. She just had it open and was instead focused on her phone. Now was your chance:

"So, any ideas you think could be interesting for the-"

She raises a finger to you, "I'm gonna stop you there. I know you're, like, way smarter than me, so you can just do it and I'll, like, make the PowerPoint pretty in the end. Okay? Just do whatever you want, we can, like, meet up for 15, or like 20 minutes every couple of days to make it look like we're working, but beyond that I don't care."

"Okay, but why do you have to look like you're working? It's not like we're being checked on."

"You might not be, but I am. These stupid professors have me on academic probation, so they need to know where I am all the time," she groaned.

"Got it." You knew the answer already, of course. Gossip is common throughout the school about the pretty little rich girl who always manages to come out on top.

"Yeah, so just do whatever you want," she said with a dismissing wave.

You nodded, covering your mouth with your hand, hiding a grin that cartoon supervillains would be jealous of. You clicked open a new tab with a fully set up paper outline and data collection page. This was going to be the perfect paper. You called it, "Creating a Hucow: How Lactation Supplements and Subliminal Messaging Can Turn Anyone into a Ditzy Cow."

Of course you needed IRB approval for this, but based on your partner's nonchalance and overall dismissive nature, you could surely get her to sign all the papers you needed without her ever noticing what she was agreeing to.

So, off you went. For months, you slowly dosed her up with lactation supplements, offering to pick up her Starbucks and spiking it before each 20 minute meeting. You'd talk to her about how gorgeous she'd look in cow print, how soft her skin looked. After a month, she was letting you give her hand and shoulder massages. After two months, you were able to comment to her about how heavy her breasts looked, how tight her clothes had gotten, and how the cow print would help to hide it well. She started to let you grope her under the guise of "just holding them up to help her back." Each time she let you do this, you slowly introduced nipple stimulation. Then the day came.

It was month three and she was practically putty in your hands. But there was still work to do, and you knew just how to get the next phase started:

"Hey, you know, during some of my research for this stupid paper, I found that breast pumping, like the stuff new moms do, can really help ease the pain in your tits."

"Really? I never, like, ever heard that before."

"No, it's true! Here, I knew you were having a rough time, and I don't wanna see you suffer, so I bought you one," you say presenting the best pump to her, "Wanna try it out? I can get it hooked up for you."

She looked at you, puzzled, maybe moreso tentative. There was a long pause as she examined the device, "Okay. What not."

Success.

You peeled off her shirt, and hooked her up to the little pump. After only a few seconds, milk started to leak from her nipples into the machine.

"Oh my god! What the hell? Why am I-"

You shush her, cutting her off, "Don't worry, it's normal. Sometimes this just happens to girls with big tits like yours. It's the price to pay for beauty like that. But don't worry, I'm here to help."

"Okay, if you say so," her voice trailed off, it's the most concerned she's sounded throughout this whole process. You'd be sure to note that down. "But okay, I trust you. Thank you for helping me."

"Any time."

With that, you convinced her to come over more often, twice a day for an hour each session. Each time you'd pump her, you'd touch her breasts, rub her thighs. She moaned at the mear sight of your hands now.

By month four, she would come to your dorm and stop down to nothing but a micro cow-print bikini, which she now wore under her ensemble of cow-print clothes each day, and her cow bell collar. She'd then let you rip off her top and pump her. You'd run your pussy and your own breasts as you touched her, and she would beg for your touch all the time now.

It was month five now, and the semester was drawing to a close. She was a wet, milky mess the second she laid eyes on you. She would walk around on all fours, pumping her tits as she slurped up your wetness. Her favorite activity was rubbing your tits together.

She was the prettiest little experiment you ever saw.

And today was the day you'd tell her what you'd done to her. In front of the whole seminar class.

Your class' collective jaw dropped the second you walked in with her on a leash, walking on all fours in her micro bikini, leaking milk down her swollen tits.

You began your presentation:

"This semester, I turned my partner, with her consent, of course, into a hucow. Here's how I did it."

You spent your presentation detailing every step in your manipulative process, and not once did her face drop that ditzy smile it had. All she did was nod, smile and beg to be touched by you throughout your presentation.

As your presentation drew to a close, now was the time to ask your coveted question: "Alright, cow, here's my final question for this study, okay?"

She nodded fast.

"Knowing what you do now about what I did to you and how, are you mad, and do you regret what you've become?"

Without missing a beat, she chirps, "Absolutely not! I'm so happy being your dumb cow! I just wanna be your little milky toy forever! Please may I be your toy?"

You look at your classmates and smile, "Why yes, yes you can."

She jumps up from the floor and kisses you, groping your tits in front of the class.

You had made the perfect bimbo cow and proved that it was a more than satisfactory existence. This was the life.

[vnamps]

THE GRADE AID. 001

next. |

overall summary: lee min-ho, your absolute academic rival, an absolute menace needs help to raise his grade before the semester ends, and who better to ask for help than you, the grade aid.

overall contents: minho is cocky, a bunch of teasing, angst, fights, mentions of injuries, good ending, lowercase

word count: 0.98k

lee minho, the school's most popular male, the son of a wealthy businessman, and your absolute rival in school. he was an absolute menace, someone who'd egg you on if you'd ever get even 1% less than him on tests, someone who didn't even have to make attempts to get a good grade, he was naturally smart and even if he wasn't, his father could still silver spoon him into good schools.

this same minho now sat at the table inside the chemistry lab, looking at his paper in pure horror. A big circular number on his paper read beside the percentage sign. and as if that hadn't been scary enough, the message below was even worse.

"I am disappointed in your efforts, mr. lee"

the words were intensely scary it was almost as if he could hear your voice saying it for some reason.

"zero? damn, that's harsh." he turned out to meet your face, peering over his shoulder with a grinning expression.

you made your way to a seat next to him, sighing loudly, reminiscent of all the times he did the same to you in a test.

"oh yeah? what'd you get?" he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest.

a smile appeared on your face as you slid your paper over to him, his eyes widening slightly but his overall expression the same.

one-hundred and twenty percent??

"I know you may be wondering, how does such a strong, intelligent, empathetic being get such a high score, minus the extra credit."

"I'm not wondering, I don't care." he was salty, you took note of that. you laughed a little to yourself as you felt victorious for once in your whole rivalry.

the whole rivalry started 3 years ago when you all got the exam results posted on a bulletin outside. whilst everyone raved on about how smart you were, minho felt jealous and decided he wanted to be smart as well

after that, minho would feel such high validation and get praise for being able to beat you in certain subjects, becoming the first topic when it comes to student intelligence.

It annoyed you. why would someone like him wanna take the one good thing you had? he had luxury, he had potential love interests, and he had a life made up for him. so why was it that he constantly felt the need to take away your progress?

it was a question both you and he constantly asked yourselves. one even jisung asked himself as minho ranted to him.

"they laughed in my face, jisung." minho emphasized as he rubbed his temples, sighing in disbelief.

jisung was scrolling through his phone, showing halfhearted sympathy as he lifted his head to look at minho. "well they're only giving you the same thing you give them." jisung reasoned which caused minho to sigh again.

as days passed, minho constantly saw a downgrade in his chemistry work, more messages filled with the word "disappointed". this went on for about 2 weeks before the teacher pulled him aside at the end of class.

"mr. lee" she starts off, peering up at him through her glasses before sighing and shaking her head.

he already knows what's to come as he approaches her desk, a worried look on his face.

"lately, I've been seeing some uh.. flaws in your work for the past few weeks and I've been a bit concerned." she brings out a slip of paper, handing it to him.

"this is a mini graph of your grades and how they can affect you going into college if you don't fix them.''

minho sighs, looking down for a second before lifting his head back up. "Is there any way I can fix them before the semester ends?"

her face lights up in a suggestive smile and minho feels the weights of his shoulders lift a little with hope.

"I like that you're not willing to give up, I'm proud of you," she states before bringing out folders filled with student applications.

"I have a few students who are doing exceptionally well in my classes and may be willing to help you." she opens the first folder, your picture is there as well as your tutor information. she lets out a small aha before showing minho.

"y/n l/n, they excel the most in my classes, I assume you'd know them?" minho's eyes widen once he sees the picture, a small sigh leaving his mouth as he looks away, muttering a small "yes''

"great! I'll get them to tutor you, starting tomorrow, the more time, the merrier"

as the day went on minho dreaded the fact you had to tutor him. he wished it was someone who liked him more, someone who'd guarantee his good grades.

the next day went by scarily fast as now he sat in the library, watching your figure make your way over to the table, an annoyed look on your face.

"do you intend on bothering me, lee?" your face was stern as you stared at him with widened eyes.

he sighed and rolled his eyes. "I didn't have a choice, I wouldn't have chosen you if I did."

you let out a harsh airy breath, setting your books on the table. "as if you couldn't have gotten a personal tutor instead of wasting my time. oh wait, I forgot you need daddy's money to afford that and of course, you wouldn't want daddy to think his little son wasn't perfect."

minho rolled his eyes once more. "right. if you're gonna keep talking instead of helping me, I'd be very happy to tell her that her perfect little ace isn't as generous as she believed" his head was tilted to the side, his eyes bleeding into you as he spoke.

you sighed in return, sitting down before opening the books, starting your first lesson.

[anonymousauthorsblog]

Turning Passions

chapter 3 • smile for the camera!!

lowercase intended

*there is writing sections in this chapter!”

symphonia IX - current joys

•.•.•.••.•.••.•.•.•.••.•.••.•.•.•.••.•.•.••.•.•.••.•.•.•

y/n pov..

y/n glances over her phone one more time to see the tweet toge reposted while maki is spamming her phone asking when’s she’s coming home and if she can relieve her from the torture that toge is forcing her to do. as maki would be entering the stream with him that night. she shuts off her phone before shoving it in her dance bag. y/n gets up and enters the dance room where her class is supposed to be. it’s always been routine for y/n to show up 20 minutes earlier before class to get extra practice in to make sure her ballet is on peak, before presenting herself to any dance teacher. this has been a routine for her since she was a young teen in determination to stay on top of her class and to push herself to become more flexible, more precise and overall perfect. But as she walks in she sees students already doing the same thing, many students at the barre, others practicing turns and overall dancers becoming better than her. she quickly finds her a spot at the barre a little more further from everyone with her head facing down so others don’t see the panic rising up. y/n realizes that this dance class isn’t normal from the ones she used to call home, she trembles as she lifts up into a relevè her feet getting shot with the same pain as usual- she sits in that position until it wears off. y/n suddenly understands the situation- in this class everyone is fighting to be the best, she continues the stretches until the teacher walks in, everyone then runs into a line waiting for instruction. y/n quickly follows behind standing in first position waiting to hear from the dance instructor. “welcome to NYSSU academy, you made it in first into the school and now into the dance program. i would say congratulations but the hard part starts now” boomed the small older mature lady walking pass the dancers, judging as they stand tall in perfection. the teacher continues welcoming in a younger looking coach around her twenties “this is my co teacher” don’t be mistaken she isn’t here to play around. the lady continues in a large demanding tone. “your practices are always a test, always be on your best performance- nothing will go unnoticed. But if you’re wondering what your actually graded on in this class is performances. we have big 3 events and one mini in the middle of the year, be prepared because each day is a drill to see if you can make it onto the stage”. hearing those words send chills across y/ns skin as she keeps her head forward, but her eyes are drawn to the teachers movement. y/n isn’t usually afraid of any teachers tone, words or actions- living and growing in the world of dance she’s already used to these types of teachers, even harsher. Instead she takes these as a challenge because how can you succeed without a little push? The teacher words continue- “our first performance this fall, we will be doing the swan lake, make today our first rehearsal. more information on parts and lead rolls will be announced later, but for now let’s start our class, as this is the closest thing you’ll get to a professional taste in the real cold world. I expected you guys already to be stretched and ready?” she asked, many replied with a small yes while others nodded their heads. “perfect she replied okay everyone on the barre.” Practice continues on with additional leaps, pointe work then finally turns- something that y/n excelled in. the teacher groups each student in a group of four before calling each group to do a sequence of turns the last step holding into multiple pirouettes as they can. y/n is confident and collected as the first group goes on- then finally her group is called. she enters the stage, then the teacher calls the counts “alright, 1, 2 3…” y/n tunes her out hitting each step until it’s time to hold the turns. she hits and hits for what seems forever trying to calm down as she assumes that the other 3 members are done. Until from the blink of an eye one person is still standing. it’s a competition in her mind, she turns and turns matching the pace of the other dancer, 5 turns done and the other girl isn’t giving up.

y/n is getting tired, she messed up by putting most of her stamina in the beginning portion making it harder to hit these turns clean. she tries to fight for dominance until the teacher slams on the wall “stop!” she yelled out, “what’s your names?” y/n, l/n maam” “kai, everdeen” the two dancers say. the teacher looks them up and down before saying in a loud demanding tone, “if you’re going to do turns like that for a long period of time, make sure you technique is on point” the teacher dismisses them away, then ends the class altogether. she speaks loudly “that was good for today, but you guys need to step up your game because what I saw today was a disaster waiting to happen, goodbye” with that, the words brought y/n back to reality. she feels her throat closes up realizing with this competition with her peer that in this class, makes her realize that she’s just an ordinary dancer in this world, nothing sticks out making her great or special. y/n feels flush and embarrassed getting called out in the class as she makes it through to the dressing room taking off her point shoes, tossing them in her bag. she quickly puts on her boots and makes her way out towards the door to leave. she runs out feeling her breath quicken, she doesn’t understand, she was supposed to be the best- she grows frustrated. to anyone else this simple call out and for how long the turns were going for it would be a simple okay, but to y/n this proved that she was getting farther towards sheer overall goal. scaring her that all this work and years she put in this sport was for nothing. she leaves and makes her way to her dorm, still fully dressed in ballet clothing, the difference is the strain of dance coming for her mentally and physically.

3rd person pov

Toge and Maki settle down in his room as he launches the discord call. “Yooooo Yujiii” he exclaims. “HEYYY TOG- who’s that” yuji replies. “oh that’s maki, she’s my friend/roomate and she’s going to join the stream if that’s okay” toge explains. “alright that’s cool, we’re just waiting on nobara and megumi and the we can start.” Not even a minute later both megumi and nobara join on and everyone introduces themselves again. After all the introductions and testing each camera and mic are finished, it’s showtime. toge and maki play on split screen, interacting with the fans and instantly clicking with the trio on the other line of the call. they play for thirty minutes and on the line of maki and toge they hear a knock. “Y/N finally”, maki sighs as she gets up waving bye to the stream, she walks up to y/n. when y/n finally looks up to maki she puts on a soft smile. “everything okay?” maki ask, “yeah!” y/n replies a little too fast for comfort, “okay, how was danc-.” maki is cut off by y/n yelling “oh toge your on stream??” he turns around from his desk and happy greets her “y/nnnnnnn welcome home come say hi. “hey everyone!!” she waves towards the computer screen, “smile for the camera!!” toge tells her. She smiles and starts looking at toge screen. maki grows suspicious but lets it be not wanting to cause a scene in the middle of a livestream. Behind the camera on Megumis side he widens his eyes, he scoffs recognizing the same person who ran in late to his statistics class. He then slightly curses at himself for making an expression over someone thats just in the same class as him. then panic overfills his head as someone who’s known for being expressionless and not very expressive just made a face for a random girl who popped on his screen. he tries to continue on, trying to cover up his mistake and focus on the game he’s playing on his computer. yuji suddenly pops up and yells “HI Y/NNN IM YUJII” nobara pops up as well introducing herself making it known that she will become friends with her. toge then pats the chair that once accompanied maki and asked her to join the stream, even though y/n is exhausted she agrees hoping it would take her mind on things. the stream continues on with nobara and y/n tag teaming toge, yuji and megumi each team destroying each others plots and taking each others treasured things. with almost an hour and half passing the stream ends with each player saying its farewells. Yuji bounces off his desk running into megumis room jumping off the walls. “that was fun megumi, megumi was that fun??” megumi looks up with an annoyed tone remembering about the homework he put off for this task. “yeah” he whispered. “i guess”.

megumis pov 3rd person

megumi found himself staring straight into his homework, he was assigned to direct an advertisement for his own made up brand due at the end of the week, assigned in class that day. he slams his fist down not being able to think of anything besides the problem he’s in with the world. after the stream he gained a lot of popularity finally making it to the 10 thousand club of followers. he groans as he starts to get stressed, streaming and posting on the internet was something he did for fun with the peer pressure of his childhood friend- he never thought it would grow to this level of popularity. every time he opens his phone now it’s a reminder of that new fame he has with new demand. with doing the math and thinking, he applies that in order to continue this support for his channel for not only himself but his friends, that means he has to upload a lot more. meaning more unwanted fame and more workload. megumi never really minded playing and uploaded as he thought it was fun and something to do in his free time, but now he’s rethinking his future and his channel completely. he grazes down to see the new “fan edits and ship names” created by his delusional fan base. this ship annoyed him a bit based on the sole fact that she’s in arm reach to him and she definitely knows about this new ship. he gets embarrassed because he has no idea who she is and where she came from. but after this scandal on the internet, she’s been in his mind the whole night. megumi groans frustrated as he turns away from his chair to settle down for bed, he doesn’t understand the complexity of the internet but he knows he’s becoming the middle of it. with many thoughts rushing in and out of his head he finally flips over to finally release the now throbbing headache he has, he falls asleep waiting for the troubles to attend to tomorrow.

Authors note: chapter 3…. a little angsty this chapter but MEGUMI AND Y/N FINALLY MET!!! in this chapter y/n took us along on her first day of dance… i don’t think she expected it to go like that tho… ANYYYYWAYYS i hoped you guys enjoyed this chapter and let’s see how the relationship develops. like always see you next chapter <3

fun facts:

• the gc was being a bit dramatic when they said his eyes “lit up” when he saw her, but at the same time it’s RARE for megumi to show any emotion on his face… maybe he saw something he liked….

• growing up y/n did many styles of dance her favorite being ballet because of how strict and demanding it is.

• nobara got pretty close to maki and y/n (new friendship #girlpower???

• megumi gets irritated when people on the internet ship him with other creators based on the fact that he doesn’t know them at all. making him a little uncomfortable

[xxsycamore]

⊰∙ LUDUS ∙⊱

╰┈➤ Napoleon is your highschool sweetheart, and despite how close the two of you are, you're yet to have your first kiss. Now that you're both out of highschool and even the stress of your college entrance exam is behind you, you can't help focusing on your boyfriend and the things you want to experience with him...

Napoleon Bonaparte x f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Horny Teenagers (they're 18-19 btw!); Modern Era; Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Aged-Down Character(s); First Kiss; French Kissing; Making Out; Awkward Boners; No Sex • wordcount: 3,243 • masterlist

a/n: Here we are. After a whole damn day of thinking about this dream I had, I turned it into a fic. This was also a great chance to explore this dynamic that I really like! Intimacy where nothing feels rushed, even when they are both needy and curious about where it could lead. I really liked the overall nonchalant vibe this whole thing had in my dream and I tried to convey it here as well. Enjoy!

Sitting at the desk in your room, you can't help this subtle feeling of academic responsibility that eats at you. Even if your final year at high school is over now, with your college entrance exam coming up, you can hardly catch your breath. You wish you could be more like Napoleon… He never loses his cool, seemingly breezing through it all just as you always remember him to be. Not that you can be mad at him, especially not when he's been helping you so much with your studies in the past four years. Even before you two started dating.

You've come a long way now, it seems. Your teenage romance started at the very beginning of highschool, back when he caught your eye pretty much from the get-go. He was hard not to notice, anyway, being practically everywhere. The student council, the sports team, the literature club, never not stopping to talk to someone in the corridors, he was not only extremely popular but also good at academics. His only flaw was being extremely late for first class, every single morning, but that never truly affected his grades. You figured it's only to be expected, a busy student like him must be finding it hard to catch up on sleep. Except, when you accidentally found his secret napping spot in the school's attic, he revealed to you that he actually never sleeps less than 8 hours a night. Huh. You'd apologized many times for your intrusion - you figured even social butterflies like him need some alone time - but he still didn't mind you staying with him. This is how you unexpectedly came to know him better, once it became a regular meeting spot for the two of you. There was also this guy, Leonardo, something right between a delinquent and a genius - he'd join you from time to time, going as far as inventing a makeshift detector that would wake you all up in the event of a janitor or someone else approaching your hiding spot. Once you joked about the three of you forming a "napping club", and Napoleon laughed so much he nearly hit his head on the low ceiling. You were surprised, to say the least. Not unpleasantly so, but… it was quite the twist to his otherwise spotless prince charming reputation. From there on, once you discovered how easy is to make Napoleon laugh, it became one of your favorite things to do. Even in inappropriate situations. Especially in inappropriate situations. The dynamic of your friendship slowly changed as his polite side cracked to reveal the devil incarnated underneath, one that ruffles the top of your head and makes a mess out of it every single day. Of course, you didn't back down to him one bit, like a never-ending game of cat and mouse. Until at one point everyone around you knew what was going on, everyone but the two of you.

You'd never seen him as nervous as when he asked you out, but from there on, things between you have been going as smoothly as ever - that's it, if you count getting used to his romantic side first. Napoleon is nothing short of the perfect boyfriend, one that you're still not quite sure you deserve. He's spontaneous, but could very well plan ahead if he wishes to, when it comes to dates. He quickly fills your bedroom with various plushies he gifts you, and never shies away from physical affection either - holding hands, hugging, or just holding you close every chance he gets. And once he caught up on your sweet cravings during your periods, he made it a habit to bring your favorite chocolate when he comes over during those days...

The only thing that keeps you from being constantly head-over-heels for him to the point of not functioning normally is how much of a menace he can be sometimes. An absolute bully. Once again, in the current moment, he's done with his own studies far quicker than you are, and he's messing up with you instead.

"Look up, this time for real. C'mon."

He's standing behind your desk chair, "helping" you with your entrance exam material, but giving you the answers right away seems to be too easy for him. You don't know why you rest your back in your chair and do look up towards him - you don't know why he's in your room, to begin with - and he leans down and kisses your forehead. Just like that.

The soft sensation of his lips against your skin gives you butterflies, and you feel giddy against your own will. You can't help it.

"Don't get distracted now, Nunuche, you almost got it."

His large hands are resting on your shoulders, cupping them, caressing them slowly in something like an encouraging massage. It's like he can't decide if he wants your attention or if he wants to be of genuine help here. You don't remember him being this…needy. But perhaps you shouldn't be so surprised. With the hectic way everything has been the past month or so, forcing the both of you to be serious and responsible, he must be dying to become more lax for a change.

The next time he puts a sneaky kiss on your cheeks, of course, you're again chuckling at him, letting him tear down your concentration bit by bit - maybe it is indeed time for a break - until you feel your heartbeat speeding up with a dangerous thought crawling to your head. It's very bold, and you're not sure how he'd react but…

"Hey, lean over again? Just a little bit more. A liiitle bit—"

Even if it ends up being sort of upside-down, you easily manage to align your faces, and your lips touch Napoleon's. The sensation is somewhere between feather-light and bold enough for both of you to fully register the other's presence lingering there for a second. It's you and Napoleon's first kiss. In the short time you've been dating, the playful friendship between you did come to include those romantic gestures, the dates, the hugs, but somehow it never came to this. Neither felt the need to rush things. It's always been so natural, so you figured he wouldn't mind if your first kiss happened without unnecessary grandeur to it.

Even though he leans right into it without moving for the short duration of it, once the brief touch of his lips is gone you see him hiding his face in the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Utter defeat. You laugh at him, letting the bubbly feeling in your stomach overtake the anxiety. Gods, now only if this prep work would take care of itself...

Time goes by, and at long last, you find yourself sharing the joy of passing your entrance exam, together with Napoleon. As a part of the celebration, you go to the movies that same night. For the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to relax.

But now that your mind is free of one brand of thoughts, it just wants to fill itself with another. It's a cloudy afternoon, the sky darkened in what seems to be an upcoming storm, and you call Napoleon over. This weather simply calls for a nap! Without your favorite attic slash club room, you have to make do with your…what, super comfy bed covered with many pillows and the plushies he bought you? Seems like a bargain. Not that this is the first time Napoleon has been in your bed, the cuddle monster he is, but you haven't taken many naps there yet.

You want to suggest something to him today… It's strange, how anxious you're feeling, looking in the mirror for the tenth time in the past couple of minutes now. You were nervous about picking up your clothes for your nap date too, and ended up with a cutesy spaghetti-strap tank top and a pair of orange booty shorts. Just as you adjust the clothing some more on your hips, the doorbell rings. You rush to it with your bare feet on the cool floor tiles (heck, you really need to warm those up against Napoleon's own feet later!) and practically throw yourself at Napoleon before he even has the chance to take a step inside.

He's so soft to cuddle once he's in your bed, with his cotton black t-shirt and black sweatpants. Like one big teddy bear. The only thing missing is your sleepiness and that is, well, fundamental for the nature of your date. But you know the reason for that fairy well, and you decide to speak up before your boyfriend can fall asleep without you.

"Napoleon, say…"

"Mmm…?"

"How about we… kiss for a little bit? I feel like kissing."

A pair of turquoise eyes stare at you. While he doesn't exactly wear his heart on his sleeve, he doesn't mask his feelings well either. So it's weird that you can't tell what he's thinking right now, as he looks at you. Then he lets out a laugh.

"What's gotten into you?"

So, does he want to do it or does he not…? You breathe in noisily and start to fiddle with the hem of the blanket you're both under.

"Nothing, I just liked it, you know. Kissing you that one time at the desk. I wonder if we could do that again. We don't have to stop at that, even. No, I mean—…!!"

This time fully going into a hearty laughing fit, Napoleon turns on his back and covers his eyes with the back of his arm. He keeps that position even after his laughter dies down.

"By going all the way, you mean like, kissing with tongue?"

"W-Why do you feel the need to say it out loud?!"

You see him peeking at you, head turned to the side. His mouth is still blocked by his hand but you can swear he's smirking. You're starting to regret your suggestion,  but not because you don't want to french kiss him, but rather… because you're not sure you can be as nonchalant about this as you planned to be.

"Sure, let's do it. C'mere."

He spreads his arms in invitation, like it's winter again and he's going to give you a nice warm cuddle. You're so used to his touch, his smell, his loud presence, yet you feel shivers when you nestle your head on his bicep. Napoleon tips your chin up, and your noses almost bump with how close you are. After simply staring into each other's eyes for a little bit, Napoleon wheezes and turns his head towards the ceiling again. You furrow your brows.

"Stop messing with me!"

"I'm sorry, Nunuche, it's just— snrk— you're serious about this, aren't you?"

Your legs start feeling restless under the blanket as your blood boils. He's the worst.

"You can just say you don't feel like it! Jeez!"

Before you can completely change your position, Napoleon captures your chin between his thumb and index fingers - firmer than what he did last time - and leans in for a kiss. It's another chaste one. But it's welcomed. It's exactly what you remember sharing with him, what you craved a taste of.

When you withdraw from each other, neither of you keeps their previous expression - no sign of mischief on his or of frustration on your face. You're back to staring at each other, with something akin to need. Something unexplored.

Napoleon's lips come near to yours again, but he waits for you to be ready to close the distance on your own. And you do so, without hesitation. You still want this as much as in the beginning, no, you want it even more now that he provoked you. Napoleon's lips part slightly. The drumming of your heart echoes into your ears as your tongue meets his, and- what are you supposed to do now?

Napoleon chuckles and the sound is so close to you, as if resonating inside your own head. He takes the lead, like he's always done for you - his tongue moving between your lips, prodding them open, caressing. His tongue feels… weird, but it's something you quickly get used to. You don't want to be passive, so you try imitating what he does. Why is he so good at this? Actually, you can't quite judge what's good or bad with your lack of experience. He pulls out, breathing softly while looking at you, checking for reactions from you. You use the chance to ask.

"Have you done this a lot before?"

"What, do you think I've fooled around like this with others? You're my first love, Nunuche, I think I've told you that."

You can only guess it's due to your heart already being put on racing mode that you don't die over his words, but then the realization makes your eyes widen.

"So how do you know what you're doing?"

"I don't. I just do what feels good. Here, let's try again."

You manage to nod before he dives into it again, a little excited almost. You're quicker to open up for him this time, and his warm tongue dances around yours again. While eagerly returning the gesture, your teeth accidentally clank into his. But neither pays too much mind to it, simply continuing. You try to breathe through your nose as much as you can, but you still end up letting out a small noise, a grunt, like you're out of breath. Napoleon always finds it hard not to touch a part of you while you're close - you're almost surprised he kept his hands to himself all the way until now, or maybe that means he's been extra concentrated on what he's doing. Either way, his right hand finds your shoulder, gently caressing it. It's only when he starts nudging you to rise up that you understand his intentions, and you oblige. It's indeed better when you're sitting up in bed instead of lying down. Finding the right position is a bit awkward as you thought you'd be alright sitting on your folded knees, but you need to be even closer, so you end up sitting in his lap. As if pulled by a magnet, you never withdraw from the kiss the whole time until you settle nicely into the new arrangement and it stops mattering altogether.

Napoleon tries something new, sucking on your bottom lip before tugging slightly on it using his teeth. It's playful, and he gives you a second of eye contact and that look in his eyes already makes you want to return the gesture - you've been copying him tit for that all this time, frankly. Exploring each other like that feels good, even if it's strange. Like skipping ten steps ahead, but also like you want to keep making progress. As if there's a secret new technique you're about to discover next, so you have to try it all. Your restless fingers run through the dark hair at the back of his head. You've always found this part of him attractive, and it seems very appropriate to caress him that way right now. He, in turn, grabs your waist with both hands, moving them slowly up and down. It feels nice. You're a bit sensitive, more so than when he normally pets you there and there. Something like a mewl comes out of your lips, and Napoleon sucks on your tongue. It's like he purposedly goes into it harder when it's about time to let go and catch a breath. Doesn't he know you'll just end up making more troubled noises that way…?

You initiate another kiss, all too soon, and his soft pants are hot little huffs of air against your lips when you capture them. He too, makes some noises, you've never heard those, not even when he's short of breath after a practice. Not when he takes you to the local manège on the weekends, riding on the back of his favorite mare there that he takes care of. Your fingers travel further up, where the strands of hair are longer, and you tug a little. Napoleon makes another noise, and your stomach sinks for some reason.

"Is that enough kissing for you, Nunuche?"

You blink your eyes into focus - realizing you had them closed for a few whole minutes now, and the room has gotten quite dark on top of that because of those clouds outside. There's a pout on your lips, even if you never planned to get so into it… But you gotta agree, it's getting a bit too much for your heart already. So you sigh, carefully backing out of his lap.

"Can't believe that got you feeling sleepy! No, don't tell me, I know… It's a five-star rarity type of weather for a nap, right? Can't miss on that."

"You're funny, Nunuche."

The comfort of your bed is welcomed after how stiff your muscles got during your little session. Okay, maybe you are a little sleepy. Or maybe that's because of how long you were out of breath, you must have gotten a little dizzy. Facing away from Napoleon is not too bad, especially now that you're a little shy to look at him, and you're craving for some more familiar kind of touch, one that doesn't make your heart explode. So you nuzzle back into him, nudging him into a spooning position. He seems somewhat hesitant, so you try again… and you feel something hard poking you in the rear. Your face heats up.

"Oh my god, Napoleon, you're—"

"I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

You feel bad about him apologizing, and worry about him getting the wrong idea because you instantly put some distance between yourself and him in the heat of the moment.

"Please, it's me who should apologize! I suggested this and didn't realize you'd get— um—…Y-You can leave if you want to, you'd probably want to—"

"It's fine, don't think about it, okay? As long as it doesn't bother you, I mean. Or if you want me to leave—"

"I don't! I mean, unless you want to! I'd understand if you need to— take care of it… you know…"

In a rare moment where both you and Napoleon are feeling awkward, not even looking each other in the eye, you don't expect him to laugh, yet here he is.

"W-What's so funny now! Honestly, Napoleon…!"

"Nothing, it's just… You can be so brave with your actions yet you feel shy saying some things out loud. I'm sorry, I just find it cute. Come on, Nunuche, just go to sleep already."

The pout is back on your lips, and in response, you just let out a small "hmph" noise before pulling the blanket up to your nose. Despite having a head full of racing thoughts, you soon find yourself dozing off. In the last moment before you drift to the land of dreams, you sense movement on the bed, and it seems like Napoleon is leaving it. He's out of the room, seemingly going in the direction of the bathroom…? You're not quite sure, because the sound of his footsteps gets lost together with your consciousness. When you wake up later, you wonder if he'd let you kiss him again. Do you have to worry about giving him boners every time you two kiss now? That would be such a shame, you really liked doing that with him...

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @kimi00twin @g-kleran @thesirenwashere @devonares @galaxyprison   @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh @natimiles @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @groovylita @nightvers @my-day6 Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[bluelocksource]

Kiyora Jin’s trivia

☆ Character color: Peacock blue.

☆ Birthday: 31st August.

☆ Current age: 17 (2nd year high schooler).

☆ Zodiac: Virgo.

☆ Birthplace: Fukuoka Prefecture.

☆ Family structure: Father, mother, older brother, himself, younger brother.

☆ Current height: 165 cm.

☆ Foot size: 26 cm.

☆ Dominant foot: Right foot.

☆ Blood type: A.

☆ Visual acuity: 1.2

☆ Grip strength: 55kg.

☆ Nickname: "Dance Battle Footballer"

☆ Motto: "Sharpen your blade, prepare for battle."

☆ Starts playing football: At age 2. “Before I knew it, I was playing soccer with my big brother.”

☆ Team before joining BLUE LOCK: Murasame High School Soccer Club.

村雨 (Murasame) means "village rain".

☆ Hobby: Breakdancing. "Come breakdancing with me".

☆ Favorite food: Candied grapes (budō ame). "I got addicted to its crunchy texture and juiciness."

☆ Food he dislike: Mizuna (Japanese mustard greens). “Isn't that just a leaf?”

☆ What goes best with rice: One stick of mentaiko. "Beware of overeating!"

☆ Favorite animal: Peacocks. "The difference between the moment they closes and opens their feathers are amazing."

☆ Favorite season: Summer. “It ignites my fighting spirit.”

☆ Favorite football player: Yuki Soma.

☆ Favorite song: "NIGHT DANCER" by imase.

☆ Favorite manga: Vagabond.

☆ Favorite movie: Fight Club. "Passionate film directing. Clever composition."

☆ Mushroom shoots vs Bamboo shoots: Mushroom. "I feel like bamboo shoots always win, so I’ll side with mushrooms."

☆ What makes him happy: Provocation "The thought of me crushing someone gets me excited."

☆ What makes him upset: Atrophy. "This is what makes me lose strength. Don't freak out, you pigs."

☆ What he thinks his strength is: Extremely competitive.

☆ What he thinks his weakness is: Tends to think everything is a fight. "Sorry, I can't change that"

☆ What made him cry recently: “I hit my head during breakdancing practice. I got 3 stitches.”

☆ Favorite/best subject: P.E. "I like competitive sports. You can really engage!"

☆ Weak/least favorite subject: Overall studying. "I aim for the borderline of failing grades."

☆ Ideal type: Someone who likes sports. Good at making up after fights.

☆ Number of chocolates received from previous Valentine: 7.

☆ At what age he experiences first love: 10 years old.

☆ The first time he got confessed to: “In the second year of middle school, I was confessed to by both of my twin classmates. I got confused about who was who, so I turned both of them down.”

☆ Fixation: Sweats. "I like people who are sweating."

☆ Average sleeping time: 8 hours (6.5 hours + 1.5 hours nap)

☆ How he spend his holiday: “I participate in dance battle events. Of course, I aim to win.”

☆ When taking a bath, which part he washes first: "My bottom. I loosen up while washing."

☆ What he usually buy from the convenience store: Red Bull. "I feel energized after drinking it."

☆ What will he do if he received 100 million yen: "I would return it. I want to earn it with my own hands. Money earned with blood and sweat is not just paper."

☆ At what age he stops receiving presents from Santa: 11 years old.

☆ What was his last wish from Santa: Weight training equipment. "To win fights against my older brother and younger brother."

☆ What will he do during his last day on Earth: Dance and play soccer. "I’d probably do it while crying, thinking it might be the last time."

☆ Favorite historical figure: Sasaki Kojirō.

☆ If he hadn’t encountered soccer, what will he be doing: “Breakdancing. I’d probably have won a gold medal”

☆ If he could only take one thing to a deserted island, what would it be: A sleeping bag. “I can't stand being cold.”

☆ If he had a time machine, would he go to the past or the future: The future. “I have no interest in the past. Living for the future is what it means to be human.”

note: i want to apologize in advance for any mistake made in the translation!

source: twt & vol. 26 & Egoist Bible 2.

Last updated: 28/10/2024

[omnomnomdomcaps]

Upstream - Remastered - Pt. IV

Finally reposting here, featuring the work of Bubblybuns, who you can find on JFF.

CHAPTER ONE

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Chapter Four: Placement

Vanessa hadn’t been so excited all year. 

She shimmied and twirled, basking in the flexibility of her new padding, and then lifted the front of her overalls so that she could look at herself one more time in the mirror. 

“All the kids at kindergarten are gonna be so jealous of my pullups,” she began, as her mother entered the room, “I bet they’re all a bunch of dumb diaper-wearing babies, probably never even sawed one of these before!”

“Oh, honey…” her mother tried to interject.

“I wonder how long it’s gonna take me to become their queen,” the girl rambled on, “a minute? A second? What’s faster than a second? A super-second? Ugh, I can’t wait to show them who’s boss.”

“Honey,” Vanessa’s mother finally stopped the girl, “let’s remember to play nice, now. And I got you those pullups to help you for your interview today, but if you’re going to keep wearing them, you need to let me know when you have to use the potty, okay? Do you think you can do that for me?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” the girl rolled her eyes.

Her mother sighed. “You say that, but you’re soaked,” she said, patting the front of Vanessa’s training pants, “when were you planning on telling me?”

The girl’s face reddened, and she coiled up into what her mother termed her grumpy pose. "Well, how was I supposed to know that!?" she exclaimed. 

The girl would maintain her crossed arms and pout as her mother tore off her sopping trainers and began pulling on a fresh pair.

"Prolly doesn't matter anyway," she grumbled, "not like they're gonna make me go ta school with those dumb babies. I'm just gonna ace today and then they'll send me up to the first grade and then the second grade..."

"And what comes after that?" her mother asked, in the voice of a kindergarten teacher.

The girl blinked a few times, then shrugged. "I dunno, what?"

"Well, that would be third grade," the mother chuckled, "might be good to know that for today." 

Vanessa rolled her eyes again. “Yeah, whatever.”

The girl’s eagerness only built as she entered the elementary complex, holding her mother’s hand. There was her old high school in the distance, where she had ruled so gloriously until this year’s sudden turn. There were the third and fourth- grade classrooms, where she had honed her craft of toying with the other children. There were the first- and second- grade rooms, which brought back memories of first imposing her will in the playground. And finally, in the very back of the building, there was the designated kindergarten, where a small crowd had gathered to await her arrival. 

As she walked in, finally releasing her mother’s hand, Vanessa observed that the desks had been stacked up towards the sides of the room, leaving a wide patch of open carpet in the center. Her friend Fiona was in the corner, giving the girl a wide smile and a thumbs up while holding a phone out in her other hand. A handful of teacher’s aides were standing around, some of whom the girl recognized as old classmates. And there was a cheery-looking twenty-something, with a long, blonde ponytail, sitting at the teacher’s desk. 

“Hello! I’m Ms. Henderson, the teacher here at the kindergarten. And you must be-” 

“I’m wearing pullups!” the girl blurted out, lifting her overalls to show off. 

“That’s… lovely, dear,” the teacher said, trying to shake the twinge of discomfort from her voice, “now I understand that you were at the high school last year?”

 “Yuh-huh! I was the popularest in the whole school! But then some weird stuff happened...” Vanessa drifted off. 

“And now you’d like to enroll in the kindergarten?”

“Yeah…” Vanessa answered, the energy draining from her voice, “I guess.”

“I think she means that she would love to,” her mother chimed in nervously. 

“MOM!” The girl’s face flushed red again.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” the teacher assured them, “we just want to find what level best suits Vanessa.

“With that in mind,” the woman continued, “we want to just make sure you’re kindergarten-ready. Is it alright if we ask you a few questions?”

“Okay,” Vanessa rolled her eyes, “fine.”

“Now then, no need to be grumpy,” Ms. Henderson began, her kindergarten-teacher demeanor coming into view, “why don’t you take a seat on the rug? Just right in the middle of our space here. 

“Yes, right there,” she pointed, “right on your butt. Can you show me your best criss-cross applesauce? Hands in front, back straight, face forward."

Vanessa fuddled around for some time, trying to keep the directions straight, but eventually managed to reach the desired position, taking a cross-legged pose in the center of the room. 

“Wonderful!” the teacher commended, before turning to her aide, “Mr. Thomas, could you please hand Vanessa the shape blocks?”

The man - who Vanessa recognized as a graduate of her old high school, from the class year prior to what used to be hers - did as he was asked, placing a tray of three blocks in front of the girl. 

“Can you show me which one the triangle is?” 

Shapes. Vanessa remembered them being brought up a few times on the shows she watched, but never paid much attention when they were. Still, she thought for a few moments before deciding on one she thought was prettiest. 

“No, I’m afraid that’s the circle, sweetheart.”

“Not quite. That’s the square.”

“No, I’m sorry, that’s the square again.”

“Oh, I'm sorry… why don’t we try something else?”

Vanessa tossed the block in her hand aside, happy to be done with the exercise. 

The teacher tapped her pen on her several times, scratching her head before turning it back up towards the girl. “Vanessa, sweetie, could you count to ten for me?”

“To ten?” Vanessa confirmed, as she tried to think how large ten was, “uhhhh… okay. Umm, one… two…”

The girl paused, looking at the ceiling for several moments. “Third?” she tried, unconvinced by her own answer. 

“That’s very close! But not quite there - would you like to try again?” the teacher offered. 

“Poopy,” Vanessa muttered under her breath, before losing her train of thought completely. 

“Ummm, what was the question again?”

“We just wanted to hear you count to ten, sweetie.”

“Oh, okay okay.” The girl puffed her cheeks out and concentrated as hard as she could. “Ummmm… one… two…”

Vanessa stared once more at the ceiling, trying to think what the next number could possibly be. Was it five? No, that didn’t sound right. Third? No, something about that felt off as well. Eleven?

Eleven. The girl giggled to herself at the silly-sounding word. That’s not a number. How did I even come up with that?

“Uhh, sweetie,” the teacher said uneasily after a few moments of silence, “why don't you draw us a picture?”

“Ooooh, a picture!” Vanessa’s attention jumped over immediately, “Yeah, I draw the bestest pictures, you’ll see!”

Ms. Henderson forced a chuckle. “That’s lovely, dear. Mr. Thomas, could you?”

The aide collected a thick sheet of paper and a box of crayons from the supply bin and carried it over to the girl on the rug. He had a strain on his face from holding back laughter, but Vanessa hadn’t noticed it at all. 

Instead, she was poised downward and hungrily licking her lips, eager to impress with this new activity. Moving quickly, she fixed the sheet of paper in front of her and then poured the box of crayons out onto the floor, grabbing the first black one she saw with such force that she could barely hear the loud rumble that came from her stomach as she did so.

Vanessa clutched the crayon in her fist and began to assemble haphazard shapes on the paper. First, there was a roughly made circle, and then a long line drawn down from it. Next, the girl added two uneven lines jolting out from the bottom of the long stick, and two uneven lines near the top. Finally, she added a makeshift smiley face inside the circle, and several clumsy waves around it to represent her hair. It was her crude self-portrait, but it wasn’t done yet. 

The girl tossed aside the black crayon and reached for a yellow one. After pausing for a few breaths, she began to add the final element, a crown for her stick-figure avatar. She started with a misshapen triangle, pointing far up and to the left from the top of the figure’s head. But as she began to make the motion to draw a second triangle, pointing up and to the middle, she was interrupted by a sudden urge. 

Vanessa scrunched her face, crayon still tightly in her fist, instinctively pushed her bottom upwards, and grunted. All around, there were gasps of shock and muffled bursts of uncomfortable laughter, as well as an audible “oh dear” from the girl's mother. Immediately, everyone in the room knew exactly what was happening. 

Everyone, that is, except for Vanessa. 

Vanessa let out a deep sigh as she thought back to that day at the kindergarten. It had taken several weeks for her mother to finally tell her the school's decision, but when she did, it hit the girl as both a shock and a revelation. Slowly, she began to piece together the mistakes she made, starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, she might have been a little too sure of herself. 

So when word arrived that the town preschool would allow Vanessa to join in the coming year, with no preconditions, she made sure not to take the opportunity for granted. 

The girl began to watch her educational shows more earnestly, trying to pick up all the lessons that she could. Most would still go well over her head, but bits and pieces stuck. At the very least, their frequent singsong and nursery rhyme elements gave her something to exercise her memory, with “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” quickly becoming a favorite tune. 

She also began to pry curiously about the sorts of classmates she could expect to have at the preschool, although her mother was initially hesitant. And when she finally did relent and tell the girl, it became clear why.

Vanessa listened in horror to stories of almost perfectly potty-trained children, capable of counting past ten and reciting their ABC’s, and wondered how she could ever be able to compete with such intellectual heavyweights.

“Just play nice,” her mother would say, “and they’ll play nice with you. Share with them, they’ll share with you, and they’ll help you when you need help. Show them kindness, they’ll be less likely to pick on you, and you’ll have more friends on your side if they do.”

As foreign as the idea seemed at first, it did look to Vanessa like her only real chance to fit in, and so the advice finally began to take. 

And now, at last, the day was upon her. After such a shocking exit from the top of the high school heap, after months and months away in infantile isolation, Vanessa was about to start her first day back at school. She tucked in her white shirt, adjusted her Hello Kitty backpack, and tried her best to get her short plaid skirt to cover her much-needed, thick, pink diaper. 

But there was one more thing left to do. 

“One…”

The girl closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to think back to an episode of Blue’s Clues she had watched the previous day. 

“Two…”

Excitement crept in as she imagined impressing her preschool teachers and classmates, proving to them that she truly belonged. 

“Three…”

The girl concentrated as hard as she could, sweat beginning to form on her furrowed brow. 

“Five.”

Vanessa exhaled and gave a soft fist pump, before opening her eyes and turning them towards her open door.

Briefly, the girl wrinkled her nose, wondering if a new smell in the room had anything to do with the growing feeling at the seat of her pants. But she soon dismissed the thought and strut forward, ready once again to take on the world.  

****

[foster-the-world]

Let's glow!

Last week myself and another mom ran ten glow parties for about two hundred kids. As most things with PTA, it was kind of annoying to organize but turned out to be totally worth it. The kids had so much fun. We got silent disco headphones - so I made sure to dance for at least one song during every party. All ages (1st through 5th) loved the parties. The bigger kids busted out their tiktok dances. It was fun to see the energy. I'm glad to know the older kids weren't too cool to dance. I'll be handing over my PTA exec board duties happily next week. I still plan to be very involved but happy to give up the meetings. I'll probably volunteer to manage teachers appreciation week and end of year parties, again. I have one more monthly newsletter to send out.

My husband went Upstate alone for the weekend. He came back happy and relaxed. I'm glad we made it happened. Baby boy's a lot - which was kind of sad to (re)realize. We normally manage him by splitting up duties. One of us takes him in the mornings and then the other comes in the afternoon or vice versa. So the extra-ness is much more manageable. My in-laws kindly came to get the girls yesterday around noon. They took them swimming at their condo pool. It was a like a light switch flipped with baby boy. The second they were gone he started playing by himself calmly. This was after nonstop unregulated behavior the 36 hours before. For the thirty minutes after they left he entertained himself. Then after his long nap he was calm again. We went to the children's museum. I didn't have to correct him once. I sat on a bench across the room must watching. This is unheard of for him. I normally have to be within six inches of him, with constant corrections, just in case. The museum was pretty empty. I was hanging out with all the (assumingly) divorced dads. Its making me think he's going to need a really small class size for kindergarten. Crowds are really his downfall. There is one DOE program with only 12 kids (8 Gen Ed and 4 special needs) but he'll need an autism diagnosis. Which I still am not convinced he has but think we could probably get. We also won't know if he will get a spot. Limited spots and from what I read the squeaky wheel gets the grease. We can also sue and have the DOE pay for private school. These special needs private schools in NYC essentially become entirely funded by the DOE as everyone, regardless of income, sues. Anyway, working on getting the neurological assessment booked. My husband is calling today to figure out what insurance will cover. Fingers crossed.

I saw graduation photos from the school that would most likely fit his profile. Maybe twenty kids were graduating. It made me kind of sad. It feels like it will benefit him to keep his world small (for now) but I want him to be a part of the big ole world. The girls school is small class sizes but much bigger overall. Anyway, no reason to worry about him graduating from 8th grade/HS. Let's get him through 4k, first.

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

A/N= I had this idea 5 or so days ago, and I can't tell you how much Professor Geto stuff I've seen since. I guess we're all on the same wavelength, and that's awesome. There needs to be more Professor Geto in the world.

C/W= P->V. Oral (giving/receiving). Lap riding. Masturbation (tiny talk of toys). Adult movie. Some cutesy shit. Some humor. Maybe a few other things. MDNI NSFW 🔞

W/C: 7k+some

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For Science! 👊

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"The pattern of the effectual relationship is more obvious in the decline of overall satisfaction. Do you all see how this corroborates with the suggestion that love and sex don't have to go hand in hand?" He looked at you when he said this. It made you shift slightly in your warmed seat.

Professor Geto was trying not to lose his students' attention in this lecture. But they were all idiots who were run solely by their hormones.

"She can go hand my cock!" Someone yelled from the middle of the auditorium.

"Yes. What a very clever hypothesis," Geto said. "Why, uh, why don't you all just head out. Winter break starts in ... 39 minutes. Just go. Happy whatever. I'll see you in the new year when we're back in session."

The same asshole yelled out, "You mean SEX-SION!" Him and his dipshit friends laughed all the way to the courtyard.

Geto, unamused, shook his head and adjusted his glasses as the rest of his students filed out into the snow. He began putting a gross amount of paperwork into his worn leather bag, and then he looked around to make sure everyone was gone before he locked up.

His eyes landed on you. In your heavy sweatshirt and jeans. You sat in the very last seat in the front row, farthest from the exit.

"Were you asleep when I told everyone to go? Fucking kids these days –" You cut off his complaint and asked him if he could go over one thing with you before you left.

"Oh, a legitimate question. I apologize. What about ....?" He turned his left ear a little to you, hinting at you to say what your name was.

You put your hand to your chest, "Y/n. It's y/n."

"Ok, y/n. What's your question?" You gathered up your laptop and scattered papers and stuck them in your backpack. Then you stood and walked over to him.

He immediately saw how beautiful you are, even hidden away under the navy blue sweatshirt and bulky jeans you wore. You pulled your hood off and let your hair pool around your shoulders.

It surprised him, you staying behind. Most of his students made a run for it as quickly as possible.

Professor Geto was no fool. In fact, he was quite intuitive. He'd run his course based on several factors; how the audience was reacting to him, how he was being perceived at different parts of his lectures. He was always aware of his surroundings.

You got to his desk and leaned your curvy hips against the edge of the heavy, dark wood.

"You say that scientists have long supported the idea that love and sex don't have to go hand in hand?"

"Mmhm." He nodded. Feeling the slightest rush of heat throughout his body while discussing this with you. Surely, he shouldn't feel like he was crossing a line. He was the professor of a very valid and increasingly important course. Plus, you approached him. It's not as if he asked you to stay behind to discuss your grade so he could bend you over his desk and fuck an 'A' next to your name on his computer. These things were typical discussion topics.

"Have these "scientists" done any studies of the effects of dopamine levels in two people that fuck —"

Both of your eyes locked with the other's. Uncertain if you meant to say that to him as he was your teacher or if you intentionally left the word dangling between the two of you in the emptied room.

"If you fuck someone enough..." you continued like you were, for the most part, unphased by his pause. "...and they're good at what they do, and they make you cu– I mean, climax often, if not consistently, then on a semi-regular basis, won't some sort of feelings develop over time? Like, there would be some sort of attachment formed. I know it would be hard for me to be fucking someone, to be so intimate with them and not have feelings bubble up at some point. Especially with all the hormones and shit involved. Some people just make you feel better. You can feign physical attraction. But a chemical one? I don't know."

He stared at you with a blank face. You looked right back at him, waiting for his answer. Your e/c drawing him in. Shifting your backpack from your right shoulder to your left, you cleared your throat.

"Um, shit. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked YOU this. I'll go talk to my family priest or something."

Geto laughed, "You have a priest?" You sat your stuff down and scrunched up your nose, smiling back at him. "Well, no. The only time my family talks to God is when their asses are in the air gettin' – no. Not religious."

"Did you have any other ideas about sex and love? How can you have them both, none, or merely one or the other?"

You were a little taken aback as to why he wasn't offering you an answer. You did, after all, approach him about this.

"What are you doing right now?" He asked you, hoping to come across as cool and apathetic as he always was. But his cock was beginning to ache for your undivided attention. And though Professor Geto was a master at driving people's attention where he wanted it, he could not seem to alter your ability to maintain eye contact.

You suddenly straightened your body at his question. "W‐what am I doing right now? I mean," for some reason, you wanted to come off as if you were in really high demand.

That was anything but the truth: Your mother and step-dad went to his family's vacation home in the English countryside a week before you were out for the winter. They offered to pay for your ticket. But you really didn't like Christmas anyway and told them you had a lot of studying to do.

"Do you have plans over the holiday with your family? Friends?" He waited what he thought was a healthy amount of time before he asked you if you were doing anything special with your boyfriend.

Your outburst of laughter was embarrassing. You haven't had a boyfriend since your junior year of high school. The guys you knew made passes at you, sure. But they were so fucking childish. You hated it.

"Sor- hahaha -no, sorry. I don't have a boyfriend waiting for me under the mistletoe this year. I'm just going to be in my quiet dorm room. Waiting for this godforsaken stretch of time to end."

He didn't find that funny at all, which made you feel like an even larger tool. "So, you're just, going to be alone this Chrismas?"

You lifted your hood over your hair and answered him smoothly. "Yyyyep. I guess I'll see you when we're back in sex-sion? Eh?"

At long last, you got a laugh from him. "So wait. You're telling me that you're capable of laughter!?" You said sarcastically.

"I'm capable of more than you can imagine, little one."

That was it, your cunt fluttered at his suggestive admission. Grasping at anything to break that spell he cast over you. Those were the words that spurred on your attraction for your Human Sexuality professor.

"Well, if you're not doing anything this week, there's a French film playing at the old cinema on 11th and Craine. We don't have to go together. We don't even have to sit near each o-"

"YES. I mean, yeah. I'd love to go. What time?" You interrupted him so hard that he jumped a little at your shouting. He smiled. It was beautiful. He never smiled in class.

"There's a showing to- ah, damn it. Let me check my phone for the times again. Sorry. Hold on." He pulled his phone from his professor-y blazer, and scrolled through the listing. "Yeah. Ok, so there's showings tomorrow night at 7, 9:20, 11:40, and 2am."

Your heart sank to the floor. "Nothing tonight, huh?" He looked at you. So small and absolutely let down. He wanted to comfort you over this absurd disappointment. But that is a line he shouldn't cross. You were his student. It was against the school's code of conduct for him to do anything more than teach you. But this was a loophole. He was fairly certain he could talk himself out of any infraction.

Oh my god, how he wanted to reach his hand to your face. To lift your eyes to his with the pads of his fingers under your chin. It was such a stupid blunder. He almost wishes he hadn't said anything to you about it.

"I – no. I'm sorry, y/n. As it stands, the only showings are tomorrow. I prefer to go to the –"

"Earlier shows, right?" You asked, not even trying to shield him from your growing frustration at having to wait.

"Eh, no. No, actually, I prefer the later ones. The later, the better. Despite being a teacher, I really try to avoid people as much as possible. My friend group is pretty small. Anyway. Here's my card with my personal cell on the back. Let me know if I should expect you, hm? If I don't see you, please have a nice break."

You wanted to protest from the rooftop to keep him there talking with you. But there just wasn't a reason to say anything else. So you said goodbye and walked out into the freezing air. And head back to your 1/2 vacant dorm room.

The way back, you replayed the conversation between the two of you. It felt like a really long talk. But really, it took no longer than 10 minutes.

You felt a little stupid for getting upset about having to wait a whole day to see him. Well, if you decide to go, that is.

For now, you would find odd things to keep you busy to better pass the time.

* ● *● * ● * ●

You woke up feeling FANTASTIC. You slept for 9 hours. Your dreams were filled with Geto fucking you until you couldn't walk anymore so he had to carry you to his bed and fuck you to the point you couldn't talk. It was the best night in you've had in ages.

Today was the day you were supposed to meet him at the old theater for the French film. You picked up the jeans you were wearing yesterday and dug around for his phone number so you could let him know you would be joining him tonight.

"Whe– Where the fuck is that card! Shit! How am I supposed to call and let him ... oh goddamn it all to hell." You sat down on your bed and tossed your hands into your lap. "The later, the better. Ok. No one goes to an 11:40 movie over winter break. Right? Ok! So I'll just get there at 11:30 and go sit in the theater ... and, and wait. Where is that fucking card!?"

You ripped your desk apart. Shook out everything you wore when he gave it to you. It was nowhere to be found. But at least you knew roughly what time he would be there.

* ● *● * ● * ●

It was 8 pm, and you were beside yourself with anticipation. You'd already gotten yourself off twice and considering a third orgasm to dull your nervous edge just a bit more.

Instead of trying to ease your anxieties a 3rd time that way, you tried a shower with your favorite aromatic oils. You hated how well this shit worked. "It's so cliché, mom." You told her when she brought you back a box of oils from India.

That all changed when you made your own sandlewood and vanilla blend. You never gave her any shit again. And when they travel, she will oftentimes pick up some new oils for you to test. There's literally an oil for whatever is ailing you.

You were lucky to be one of the on-campus residents to have a newer dorm with a shower in the room. You were fine showering in a more public space, but there were time restrictions in the shared bathing areas.

Turning the water on, you took off your clothes and stepped into the steam. There was a part of you that wanted to take a leisurely shower. To exfoliate and shave and deep condition your hair.

But you were too nervous to hold a razor to your body. The looks Professor Geto had been giving you all semester had finally amounted to something. Was this a date? "I need to stop this hyperfocus shit. Gotta cum again."

You cracked open the shower door and stepped carefully out onto the mat on the floor to dry your feet. You've fallen too many times to not take shower safety seriously. And if you fell tonight you'd never forgive yourself for fucking up this chance.

Your new vibrator was still in its box in your nightstand drawer. You opened the packaging like a child on Christmas morning and started button mashing the 3 at the base of it to figure out which button did what.

"Let's see just what this baby can do. Ok. This button – oh! Oh ... damn." You raised your eyebrows. "I ... may never ... be stressed about anything again."

You figured out the most basic settings; the bunny ears got you off really quickly. Truthfully, it was the in-your-head Geto who did the heavy lifting. But you felt a little better.

You shaved everything you wanted to shave and exfoliated everything that was safe to exfoliate.

The outfit you chose was simple, but seen by the right eyes, it could be considered sexy. It was a long, large floral-print pattern over a solid green background and a white tight-fitting t-shirt. You wore boots with thigh-high socks. This provided you with some warmth from the cold. The socks were thick and connected to a garter belt around your waist so they wouldn't slouch down. You made the conscious decision to forgo panties for the night.

"Ok," you said. "You smell delicious. You're soft and silky. You. Are. Ready. Ready to sit with him for 2 hours and 20 minutes."

"S'do this, y/n."

* ● *● * ● * ●

Friday 11:30pm

11th and Craine @ The Faux Devant Theater

Film: Ton sexe. Mon sexe. Notre sexe.

Translation: Your sex, My sex, Our sex

* ● *● * ● * ●

"There's just the one movie playing here tonight?" You asked, embarrassed that you were alone and buying a ticket for a movie that had the word sex in it 3 times, and you didn't know what the other 3 words translated to.

"Yeah, this is here until the end of the week, and then we dig up another one. Blah blah blah."

You laughed at their apparent boredom with the job. "Ok, uh, 1 adult for," you pointed at the poster of the naked people in a lovers embrace. "For this one, I guess." They gave you your ticket, smirked, and told you to enjoy the show.

You went into the dark room, and you were surprised to see how it was set up. There was no traditional theater seating. But there were couches and loveseats spread smartly across the floor.

You looked around for anyone else who might be in there tonight. It was totally empty. Even the projection room lights were off.

The movie was going to start in about 5 minutes. Where was he? "Oh god. Ohhh nooo. Fuck. He's standing me up. And not in a good way, either. God, to think that he would sit through some stupid French flick with me."

You sank down into the loveseat in the middle of the room as your heart sank deeper into your heavy chest. Settling in to watch a movie that you wouldn't have chosen on your own. You were hoping for the best and expecting the worst.

The opening credits started to roll, and the story began to unfold. And quickly, to your surprise. There were subtitles, but you wanted to watch the story rather than read about it.

You're fairly certain that it was about a couple of people who knew nothing of each other or about sex. They experienced all the feelings that come with arousal and wanting another's touch. But they'd never *experienced* it themselves. Not under their own hand or someone else's. It was a sheltered existence they had before moving to the city.

There was one scene that will always stand out to you: They met by chance at a café.They reached for the sugared cinnamon to sprinkle on the foam of their cappuccino, and when their hands touched, neither one of them recoiled. They knew they had to be together come hell or high water. It was cheesy. But beautiful.

It was like because of touching the other person's hand, they finally belonged to this life. They were grounded by this single brush of skin. They were meant to be together.

They explored, touched, tasted their partner's body, and came to find that the only thing they'd been missing from their lives was the other person.

In the scene where they fully dive into their sexual awakening, you thought you heard someone stepping into the room. But you couldn't see anyone when you looked around, so you just turned your focus back to the film and watched these people devour one another.

They both gave of themselves and received everything physically possible. Some things you took note of. If nothing else, you could walk away from this with a few new tricks.

It left you in a frustrated state. Your hands dug into the soft fabric of the couch, and you shifted your weight often. You wondered for just a second what would happen if you spread your legs and slipped your fingers up under the long skirt you wore.

The movie and your feelings were bordering on pornographic. But you've always been a curious soul, so it didn't bother to see this. You were surprised that your professor had invited you to such a thing, though. How was that not crossing into misconduct?

You really didn't give a damn and pushed the thought to the back of your mind. The whole thing was quite beautiful, actually. Despite your growing frustration at Geto for not fulfilling his commitment to you. But no matter. You were no worse for the wear. What could have possibly happened with you two anyway.

Once the end credits came on the screen, you were sure there would be a wet spot on your skirt. You felt yourself filling with that familiar hot tension. Again. As if 3 orgasms just weren't enough for you to chase off the burning need.

You stood from your seat and put on your jacket before you walked out into the freezing night. As you turned around, your eyes zeroed in on a shadowed figure in the corner of the big room.

"Oh shhh–! Oh my god! You fucking scared me, professor! What the hell are you doing here ... now? The movie just ended." He stood up and seemed to glide across the floor to you. Like a vampire or something. He looked dark.

His hair was down; hanging over his shoulders and just a little in his face. But all he saw was you, standing there, trying to explain away your flushed skin as merely the frozen air that had slapped against your face.

Even though that was nearly 2 1/2 hours ago. It was not a good excuse. Nor were you very proud of it. "I'm glad you stayed to watch this," he said in a low tone. "I knew you'd watch it whether I was here or not."

"You mean, you ... you were here? The whole time, too? Why didn't you sit by me? Or, oh gosh, I dunno, at the very least say something to me?" He could see you were getting pissed at him.

Geto knew it was a little dirty to play with you this way. But he couldn't help himself. You are an adult. A big girl, even though you weren't wearing your big girl panties tonight.

"I wanted to study your reaction to the film. And from the looks of your rosy cheeks and dampened spot on your skir– well, imagine my surprise when I saw you enjoying this.

"My skirt and how wet it is OR isn't, isn't really any of your business. Is it? Pro– Geto?" You stopped yourself from calling him professor and called him by his name. It made you two closer to equals that way. Not teacher and student. Just horny woman and sexpot man.

"Oh. I see. So you're saying it's possible that your little cunt was squirming throughout these last 2 hours? And tell me, pretty girl, just what was it you imagined could tame the burning between your legs? Hm? Was it the toy you fucked yourself with earlier but imagined they were me? How many times did thinking of me make you cum? 3? 4?"

He snapped a black band from his wrist and threw his hair up in a careless bun. "Oh. Fuck," you thought. "This man is obsessed with me and stalking me and, and ..." Your thoughts trickled off as you realized how stupid you sounded thinking this garbage. He wasn't interested in you.

As relieved as you felt at that conclusion, you were also hit with a brief sadness that you were just another student to him. He's probably invited all kinds of people to cinema. You were no more special than the last.

"Relax, sweetheart. I don't have cameras set up in your bathroom watching you or anything. That would be tacky. I just know your type. You're easily scared."

You laughed at this.

"You get off to relieve tension and stress."

"Yeah? So? Who doesn't?" You shot back at him.

"Fair enough, fair enough." He looked amused by your argument. "Mm. Well, this is all very interesting. But it's time, once again, to watch, so sit down." He pointed to the place next to him.

You openly mocked him for ordering you around. "'Sit down? Sit," your laughter was spiteful. "Sit down. Oh-kay professor." There was that word again. "I've already seen the movie, thanks."

Geto reached up to take your hand and place it against his soft lips. He held it there for a moment and said, "Yes, but you haven't seen it with me." He rooted his dark eyes to yours and stuck the tip of his tongue between where your index and middle finger met. And licked you.

"Sit." And you did.

Wet pussy and all.

The movie has started, and all you want to watch is Geto. The man is beautiful. It made you almost angry about how beautiful he was.

30 minutes into it. He has kept to himself.

45 minutes into it, and his breathing hasn't even changed. But you're feeling the slick between your legs becoming more and more prevalent. Your skirt is getting the worst of it. You're not sure why you do this, but you uncross your legs. Hoping against hope that the way they were pressed together, the way they forced your pussy to rub on itself, would stop.

You were going crazy from this man's indifference.

1 hour into it, and you feel him turn and look at you. He readjusts himself on the plush seat and puts his hand on your knee.

You looked at him, thinking again of how the sharp tip of his wet tongue felt between your fingers. Your breath hitched for just a moment, and he took notice of the change in your demeanor.

Your body is no longer languid on the wide cushion beneath you. Geto wants you to relax while under his watchful eye. He wants to see you come apart at his fingertips. He wants to put you back together, too.

"Is this ok, pretty girl?" Geto asks in an almost too-quiet voice. He looks at you as shadows dance around the room. The couple in the movie has just discovered going down on one another. You watch them with an unwavering focus because if you don't, you're afraid you'll climb on your companions' face and suffocate him between your thighs.

"Mm. You're not comfortable with this. That's fine." He started to pull his hand back from your knee, and you turned your attention to him. Ready to protest his withdrawal, you stumble for your words. "I, I neh–" You clear your throat and try again. "Fuck! I never said that I wasn't comfortable with your hand on my knee. We're not in middle school, Geto. Put your hand on my fuckin' knee if you want to. It doesn't make any difference to me."

He cocked an eyebrow. "No? No difference at all. You're a bigger pain in the ass than I gave you credit for." He shook his head. "I think it's best if I just go. Would you like a ride home?"

"A ride home? Are you fucking kidding me?" You pulled his hand over and sat it on your lap. About 5 or 6 inches above where he'd originally positioned it before. "It ... does ..." You nearly choked on your words this time. "It does make a difference. Ok? OK? Happy now?"

Geto scooched a little closer to you so he could relax, and his hand would stay where you put it. He smiled. "I am. Thank you."

His hand was a double entendre. It made you wonder how something so presumably light could feel so heavy. Such a calming gesture, making you feel so wild.

Geto's right index finger began to draw small but deep 8's over your skirt into your skin. He could feel how warm your body was getting.

You're breathing heavily now. He leaned up and got much closer to you and reached up to brush one of your stray hairs aside like it was the whole reason for the sudden lack of oxygen to your brain.

1 1/2 hours, and his hand is the only thing holding you to this earth. You could sprout wings and fly away. You feel lighter, somehow. Even though he's tethered you here. Tied you to this couch that's seen god knows what. Will it get a new viewing of its own tonight, perhaps?

A particularly graphic scene comes up as you sit there next to Geto. You try to look away, but his grip on your leg tightens. You feel a wave of dizziness as his piercing eyes lock onto yours. "I didn't ask you to the movies with me so you could stare at the wall. Watch this. Learn. Listen. Why do you think that it's impossible to keep love and sex separate during the course of a relationship? And I'm not referring only committed ones.

"A sexual relationship doesn't have to be anything more than the expression of appreciation for someone's physical beauty." He continued. "Love usually runs deeper. To a person's soul. I mean, if you believe that people have souls."

You rolled your eyes. "I hate to play the sexist card. But leave it to a man – a really fucking attractive man, no less, to downplay the closeness that can resonate during sex. Lovemaking. Fucking. Call it what you want. But that's about as intimate as you can get with another person. And I think it's a really vulnerable posit–"

Geto started belly laughing. He lifted his hand from you to hold his flat stomach as he cracked up at your expense. "Listen to you. You sound like a virgin who's grown up watching only movies where there's a happy ending. A true happy ending with a knight in shining armor riding in on his unicorn steed carrying a single white rose because only the best for his untouched bride." He laughed another hard chuckle and looked back at your unamused face.

"You can be a real asshole, you know that." You said. "Just because I think that love AND sex go hand in hand doesn't mean I live for Disney movies. I'm well aware of the harsh realities surrounding love and sex. The way that people are lulled into a false sense of security. They give themselves fully over only to be kicked in the teeth and left on a curb holding a sign that says, 'I'm broken, but give me a chance. PS I'm a good cook, b‐t‐dubs.' And furthermore, it's no secret that the more invested a person becomes in their S/O, the more they turn themselves over to th—"

Geto leaned in and kissed you so lightly on your lips that were moving a thousand words a minute . "Who hurt you." He asked after pulling back. His smile was like a corrosive gel that you could slather on the most tarnished surface to get the ugly off.

You were surprised at how gentle his lips were against yours. You always imagined your time with him would be, well, not that tender. "W–what was that for?" Goddamn it. Why were you always suspicious of people who showed you any interest?

He was silent. After a long pause, he finally spoke, "I wanted to see what it would feel like." You scrunched up your face without even realizing it and asked him if he's ever kissed anyone.

"Are you fucking dumb? Of course I've kissed people. Many people. Men. Women. Any adult on the 'human' spectrum." He rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. "Ahh. I wanted to see what it was like to kiss you. Ok?"

You thought about that for a moment before leaning over and kissing him again. Softly. Timidly. Sparingly. You were afraid to give too much of yourself to this man. Through kiss or otherwise. It would be too easy to become all consumed with him. You could see yourself vanishing in his wake.

"And that? What was that for?" He asked, staring at you through lustful eyes. You shrugged playfully.

You're not even watching the movie anymore. Really, there was not much point for both of you to sit through it again. You wouldn't forget about the story for a long while to come.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you closer to him. "Prof–professor Geto ... I ... I ..." Your words were desperate. They almost came across as whines. You hoped he'd only note the neediness in your voice and not the pathetic way you're so touch starved.

"Yes, y/n? Tell me. Just ... just tell me." You ran your fingers down the back of his head, eliciting a heavy shiver as you sat down, straddling him. You could feel the bulge grow beneath your spread cunt. He reached to cup your breasts in his slow hands.

You dropped your forehead to his, and for a moment, you wondered if he knew you were bare under your skirt, save for the belt and your socks. You pooled your skirt up around your waist, exposing your thighs and ass. He does now, you thought.

Geto's hands fell to your legs, and he rubbed the soft skin heartily. He leaned forward and grabbed up the most round part of your ass cheeks, and pulled you closer to him. You could feel the slick gathering on his pants. The fabric covering his zipper began to feel tacky.

"Wha– do you wa–want, y/n? Tell me what you want ... from me." You let out a moan as he massaged and held your breasts. He licked around your nipples and nibbled at the mounds of hot flesh.

Your movements on top of him were becoming more and more focused. It was all you could do to not reach between your balanced bodies and denude his cock from its cloth prison. He let out a low moan as you started stroking your pussy against him harder. Your body quivered with pleasure as he tipped forward, putting his mouth on the outside of your ear.

"Do you want ... this?" He sat you down on the couch again and got down on his knees on the floor before you. Geto kissed from where your garter belt stopped on your right leg all the way around. He stopped to lick at your slick opening a few times before turning his attention back to your other thigh, continuing to kiss you there until he was met with the clasps on the opposite leg.

His hands slid easily under your twitching legs as he pulled you to the edge of your seat. "Watch me, not the movie. Understand, pretty?"

You brushed rogue bangs aside to see his face better. "Mmm .... mmhmm." You nodded almost maniacally as he began licking your clit with the focused tip of his tongue. It was all you could do to not slam your head back. It felt so good.

There was a gradually growing wet spot underneath you on the loveseat (now you see that it was ironically named). Geto started to taunt your opening with the tip of his finger. Your body jolted whenever he retreated despite him not really even entering you.

"What do you want, y/n?" You wished that you could talk. That you weren't such a fucking blubbering mess after he'd been going down on you for less than 5 minutes.

"Ah, I wan' – fffuck." You can't hold your head up any longer, so you lay it against the back, still eyeing him. "I want you ..." You manage to say the words clumsily. If your eyes were daggers, he'd have bled out by now.

"You got it." He knelt in front of you and spread your legs and pushed his hands under the long skirt.

He passes the clips on your thighs with his roaming hand. You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as you try to concentrate. Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself of the hours of preparation. You'd be damned if you weren't going to be rewarded for all of it.

"Do ... do you think anyone will come in?" You asked, suddenly aware you're on display right now."

Geto didn't answer. "Muhh." He was too focused on you. Whatever kind of answer that was. It made you wonder if he was just being agreeable or actually listening.

"Get‐Oh shiiiittt. Oh my god, y-yes. Hmmm..." You didn't remember there were other people on the planet right now. His face was completely buried between your thighs. You see now that he couldn't answer if he wanted to. And from the way he was devouring you, you knew assuring you wasn't at the top of his to-do list.

He went at you like you were an iceblock in the most stark desert. Licking you and sucking you into his mouth. His tongue swirling around your clit had you squirming out of his grasp.

It wasn't that you wanted to break his grip on you. But the feelings were so intense. All focused on one ... tiny ... spot.

"Oh god, Geto, I need ... fffuck. I haf'ta ... " Your words were failing you.

He sat up, licking his lips, smiling at you. His hair disheveled from your fingers, finding their way onto his head. "S' sweet, pretty."

He helped sit you up and sat down next to you. His eyes drunk on your body as he looked at your lips for a minute. The corners of your mouth turned upward slightly as you inched your way over to him.

"Scoot back," you told Geto. You got on your knees on the small couch and leaned over, resting on your elbows. He was so hard. You just wanted him inside of you so badly.

You rested just above his lap as you undid his belt, button, and zipper. He muttered something and moved to help you. "Uh-uh. It's my turn now." You said, and Geto laughed a little. "Who am I to argue."

You pushed his pants down to his knees and then gently, like you were holding a priceless artifact, pulled his thick cock out from his boxers.

You couldn't help but gasp a little as you held it. The way he watched you look it over made you feel nervous. Like you had never seen something like this before. His gaze remained on you as you closely inspected each vein and all the characteristics of it.

You brought the head to your lips and kissed it, immediately dragging a moan from Geto's throat. You've never been with someone who so easily gave themselves over to the sounds. If it were at all possible, you were turned on even more at his vocalizations.

There was no hurry here on your part, so you took things slowly. You were also hoping he had nowhere to be at 2 am.

Adjusting your position so you could rest on his thighs and still utilize your hands, you slipped and felt him hit the back of your throat. "F.U.C.K." You thought. "Does he know I slipped or does he think I'm just amazing?!"

You remembered your roommate telling you the crazy shit her and her boyfriend do. "Yeah, it's really simple once you get your breathing under control. When you master that, you could choke back an actual eggplant." She told you one night after she stumbled in half naked. You promised to take her to coffee as a thank you for her invaluable advice on the subject.

"Ho– holy shit, y/n. That, that's – oh fuck." Geto was restraining himself from thrusting upwards anymore. You were doing well enough on your own.

Bringing your right hand up, you wrap it around his length and begin to stroke him. Your mouth still holding the tip, you lick him with a flat tongue.

"Y/n y/n y/n, fuck ..." He sounds and feels like he's close. You can detect the slight contracting in your mouth when you touch him a certain way or roll him around in your hot, wet mouth.

Geto reached down and cupped your face in his hands. "S-s- M'gonna, hah, ." You sat up, your skirt still somehow held in place at your waist. Your upper legs are shiny from sweat and your juices mixing around.

Geto was lifting his hips off of the couch, and the hand he had on the back of your head was becoming more firm and careless in its grip.

You started breathing heavily through your nose, preparing yourself for what you were about to do.

You took him so far deep, so suddenly, that he let out a noise you were sure was a staple in his infancy.

He leaned forward a bit and grabbed your shoulder with his right hand, and softly put his left on your ear.

"Fuck, y/n. Fucking h– oh, mmhhm, ffffuckkk!" You felt the heat hit the back of your throat and you instinctually swallowed.

You sat up and wiped your face with your forearm. It took him a moment for him to regain his composure, but he was smiling at you like you'd told him the secret to a happy life.

"Y/n. Why are you just sitting there?" The question caught you off guard. "Was – was I supposed to go?" Geto extended his arm to you, and you took it.

He pulled you up onto his lap, and you let out a little squeak at how easily he hauled you over. "Geto ... what'cha, what'cha doin'?"

"Calm down." He chuckled before he settled back into his spot on the couch. He sat you down, straddling him again, but this time, his pants were down.

"C'mere, sweetheart." He pulled you close into him, and he kissed you. Geto's arms wrapped around your waist, and his large hands kneaded the muscles on your back.

You kissed each other so deeply and slowly that you never wanted to stop. Your tongues twist around, leaving you both breathless but unwilling to be the first to pull away.

His bottom lip trailed from your neck to your collarbone, sending shivers down your spine. You let out a soft moan as his hands slid down your back.

You couldn't take the teasing you anymore. His cock was pressing into your wetness, practically begging to be swallowed up into you. "Geto ..." You tried to plead with his reasonable side. But he had no reasonable intentions right now.

Geto whispered in your ear, "You can have it all if you want." The temptation lingers to see how long you can dance over him like this. But ultimately, you sit down on him, taking his cock all the way inside of you.

Both of you throw your heads back, wildly different sounds erupting from your throats. Geto moaned deeply as you enveloped him. His skin was so hot to the touch. "Fuck Geto, ya feel s'good."

He raised your shirt above your chest and ran his thumbs over your nipples. "You're so fucking tight, y/n. Shit, I could – ah, fuck. I could cum right now."

You hastened your movements on him. The way his cock drags against your hot walls was clouding out the reality around you. "Mm–me t-to. Oh god, mmhmm. G'na cum!"

Geto slid his hand between your legs to rub your clit but he wasn't halfway with his reach when the two of you came together.

"Fuck, pretty girl." He lifted you up just enough to see him still inside of you. You looked down to see your body already letting go of the combined juices.

"Now, y/n. I have to ask. Do you love me? Or was that just sex?"

You laughed as your face turned a bright red. "I dunno. I think it's you who loves me."

Geto hooked his arms under your legs and flipped you onto your back on the couch. "Whoo! What're you doing!" You giggled and brushed his hair from his face.

"From a scientific perspective, I think this is going to require a lot of research."

You rolled your eyes, smirking. Geto lined himself up with you and eased his way in.

"For ... mm, ah ... for science!"

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[lilitusworld]

TW - Family Vent ❀ my past <3 pt.1

my step-mother

my parents divorced when i was in grade 4. neither my mother or father had dated (with my awareness) until grade 8. where my father had met a woman online, they had been on a few dates and became official before i had known.

at this time i was shared-custody between both my parents and was very excited to have another older female representation in my life, as in my early-mid teens my mother and i never got along. but who did really...

when i first met her we got along quite well, i was very excited to go to nail salons and shopping trips. however, walking into my fathers home after a week at my mothers the house was different.

everything changed, the living room, decorations, kitchen. it was like a different home. turns out, my step-mother moved in without my knowledge.

i felt a little pressure in my chest, but growing up i've learned to adapt quickly to environments so overall i seemed okay with it.

grade 9 came along... i fell into a chronic depression for 4 months. i couldn't bring my body to clean my room or myself. i wanted to d!e and i hated the world (typical angsty teen right??)

thats when my step-mother began to hate me... makes sense i was a horrible person when i was in this stage. it must have been confronting for her to never have a child than suddenly being thrown into the angsty teen stage.

i don't remember a lot from this period but i do remember yelling and screaming between us both...

ever since then she's hated me no matter how mature i tried to become. after a few years of trying to be kind just to be met with aggression i gave up and just avoided her at all costs. i still do to this day.

some significant moments i do remember that have impacted me (there are a lot more but they're insignificant i suppose) were:

17 - forgetting to wash my dishes (3 bowls and 2 glasses rinsed) before i left the house, i went to my friends apartment for a summer wine and swim. she messaged me freaking out. i called her in a panic and she responded saying "if you don't clean this by the time i wake up i will put this dishes on your bed, you're a dirty fucking pig". she had a 5am shift and i did not wake up... but when i did i woke up to my dishes in my bed with me.

ever since then i have had feelings of anxiety of forgetting anything in the household!

17 - as said previously i had been worried to be too much of a nuisance in the household. so i would time my washing with an alarm so i can hang it out before someone else uses it. i guess i timed it a few minutes late as i cam downstairs to my wet washing dumped on the ground in our backyard. it ended up ruining my year 12 graduation blazer with all the special notes from my friends and teachers.

18 - went upstairs for some water and she asked my to bring my plates from downstairs as 'half the kitchen was there'. i went downstairs and only had 1 plate and a glass which was mine that i kept in my room for decoration. i brought it up, washed up and went back downstairs. she quietly said "pull yourself together stupid girl" as i was closing the door but i heard her. I went into my room (i'm laying naked cause its summer and im hot hehe) and i can suddenly hear her footsteps running downstairs. i screamed that im naked and she yelled 'i dont care' and barged into my room. i could only cover myself with a pillow. she began screaming at me asking where the rest of the plates were and began rummaging through my room (she ended up breaking my MISS DIOR PERFUME WHICH HURT MY SOULL BROO i dont think it was intentional though) and couldn't find anything. turns out my dad was in the backyard with the dishes preparing for a dinner party.

i just don't know what to do guys. i don't know how to handle this. i've tried fighting back which just made it 10x worse.

i know she is not a villain and i haven't helped our relationship but i've tried so hard to not be in the way and to be respectful and mature.

i've tried being nice and it meant nothing to her. so now i just act like a monotone robot.

i have so much distaste i can't even look at her or communicate with her so i avoid it at all costs.

not to mention the amount of times she just walks into my room when i'm gone. i feel sick everytime i leave the house because i just feel she'll go through it.

i have no privacy and it makes me feel so emaciated. like i'm a disgusting bug on her shoe.

[jazeswhbhaven]

Hi, I'm not usually one to talk, I've had my account for years and never really posted anything. But I'm beyond annoyed about this freaking game. (I'm sorry I’m about to rant please forgive me 🙏🙏🙏)

Like how are you going to make a SEX GAME for 12 year olds? 12 year olds aren't even teens.....like at all to even begin with that's like 6th or 7th grade.....I haven't even really been playing the game that much just interacting with the fandom because this game gives us CRUMBS!!!! like cps should be called for what little food we are getting and at this point I'm like.....what is good about this game????? The only thing I can think of is the characters/character art and the CONCEPT of the game. There's barely a story, obviously favoritism between the Kings, already bad H scenes, bad gameplay, bad company communication with the fandom.... it's just so annoying to support them.....I heard that they have a bigger company behind them but I don't know if it's true but regardless if it is or isn't they seem to be bad at everything they have tried to do. I'm not sure how good their previous stuff was before whb but they should have thought more things out before releasing the game and made multiple things clear about how the game would work because this happening after only a year of nothing will tank this game. I only have the one on the app store (the more sfw one?) and not ero labs because I didn't know when it frost came out that they would have the app store one censored. Now I have the cards since the beginning of the game like Minnie's card and I was okay with not seeing 🍆 but now I won't be able to see or read shit or do shit with this mediocre game. I'm so annoyed cause I love the concept and the fandom and characters but holy crap do these people even know what they're doing????? Erasing everything that makes your game your game is absolutely stupid. I don't even know who to blame at this point, I'm feeling very resentful to the company for making me like the characters and having a good concept like why couldn't you just have a shitty ass concept and characters with your mediocre at best game with your even shitter management? Then I would have never even looked at this game. How do you think removing a core part of your game would affect the fandom? You will lose your core fandom just to have CHILDREN play your game? What about your other game??? Coming up with another idea??? LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE??? WHY EVEN MAKE IT A SEX GAME IN THE FIRST PLACE IF YOU WERE GOING TO DO THIS???? Obey me was good and it didn't have any of this if you started it out being sfw all together you would have been fine since you would be like every other bitch....just not as many players....why? BECAUSE YOU MARKETED A HORNY PORN GAME TO PEOPLE AND ARE NOW TRYING TO CHANGE THE THING THAT MAKES YOUR GAME DIFFERENT! WHERE DO YOU GET THE AUDACITY TO THINK PEOPLE WILL STAY AROUND WHEN THEY LOSE THE MAIN APPEAL OF THE WHOLE. FUCKING. POINT. OF. YOUR. GAME.???

Sorry for my rant I have no one to talk to about this, I'm just really upset to lose something that could have been so good but I guess corporate greed is more important than anything else 🫤 hopefully someone will rewrite it in a good ass fanfic or something ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I feel that you and many other players new and old feel the same about this company turning around to make something 12+ when it started off as a porn centered/adult only game.

They aren't the first ones to do this, and the other fandoms too had their issues about companies making a decision to turn a NSFW game into SFW even if they scrubbed it clean enough for a younger audience to play. This game and those games were never for minors and don't need to be. This space ain't for them especially given the themes and content that's in WHB just from the main story alone.

At the same time, my overall gripe about this game, is that what the transparency and expectations given to me from the company has been a huge let down. I don't think I'd mind the monthly NP's if we consistently had chapters out for the main story within the timeframe given and a good balance of cards available for the kings instead of the barely any for Satan but damn near double the amount of cards for Beel and Levi. If I were to compare this game to ObM which I don't like doing because they aren't remotely the same...is that I prefer WHB's story (collectively not just the main) whereas I only liked ObM's story up until a certain point. I only really stayed for the fandom and then I was like "yeah no" and left that fandom. Not that it matters that I left anyway because all of my progress on the OG ObM game was lost cause my old phone got damaged in the laundry machine 💀 Which brings me to the reason I don't like spending money on virtual things nor gacha. If the server shuts down, the app doesn't update with the new tech, or if an unfortunate thing happens like it did to me all of that money and time is gone. I could have invested that in something tangible/physical or just anything else.

With that being said, I've been slowly working on writing the H-scenes in my own way with my MC so there's that. It's been something on my mind for a minute now on doing...