#i have one that has 2 layers of holding and it was perfect

[dutchs-paisley-vest]

Been thinking about Hosea a lot as I write this analysis on Dutch and Micah.

Maybe I’ll eventually whip something up about him, but for now I’m left with thoughts about knowing that not only is Hosea just as guilty as Dutch when it comes to how their boys were brought up (and continued to be treated through adulthood and ultimately up to their deaths), but also the way the two irreparably damaged John and Arthur’s entire lives beyond even their own comprehension. FURTHERMORE, they set forth a viscous cycle of familial violence and neglect that maintained momentum into the next generation. (See: John and Jack.)

The way Hosea’s action, but more importantly his inaction had in part led to… well, [gestures vaguely to RDR1 + RDR2].

Hosea might have been gentler than Dutch on the surface, but he saw it all, and at times both implicitly and explicitly encouraged it through the meticulous timing of his decisions to remain a “silent watcher.”

Yes, refusal to mitigate the violence makes him complicit, but the matter of the fact is… Hosea can’t even feign partial innocence as a third-party bystander because of how calculated he is in nature.

Additionally, there is no “third party.” Dutch and Hosea are a single unit. They occupy the same space even as two separate individuals in John and Arthur’s lives.

The deliberate nature of Hosea’s inaction puts him in the same position as the “perpetrator” because he isn’t just a watcher, he corroborates directly with Dutch and agrees with what he is doing on principle. He reenforces it in perhaps more subtle ways, but that doesn’t make him any less responsible for the outcome.

The only difference between the two is that while they’re dealing different cards, they are playing the exact same game.

[bluebeads-art]

As the flash hits your eye, you feel something crashing into you from all directions. Below you is obvious, Bonbon situated themself to bump into you while the picture was taken. You look to your right, and Mirabelle’s cheek is pressed up to yours. On your left, Isabeau’s sheepishly hugged you to his side. There’s a hand in your hair, too, and it feels like Madame Odile. [...] “We need a souvenir of this trip,” Mirabelle adds. She rushes to the ground to pick up the picture and snort-laughs as she looks at it. “Oh no, Siffrin looks like we’re holding him hostage!” — Curtain Call, Chapter 9, by @openphrase123 (Link in the replies)

2024 October 22nd

Fanfic fanart fanfic fanart!! When I read the "hostage" line, it invoked such a clear image in my head of Siffrin tensed up like a startled prey animal that it got added to my list of things to maybe draw immediately.

Dooon't think about the words 'left' and 'right' in that quote too hard. I know how to read I prommy. :) (I did Not process those words and lost the coin flip in the composition phase...)

Close-up and ramblings about the cans of worms I unleashed upon myself under the cut

Time taken on this was [head in hands] 48 hours and 37 minutes.... That bloated number has two culprits:

1) I got a new tablet! My old one was 10 years old. Its plastic was melting and the electronics had ghosts in 'em, so it needed the sweet release of retirement. However, I had just gotten to the line art phase when the switch happened. Clumsily getting used to the new one during the most precise phase of the process did devastating things to my perfectionism.

2) I made a GRAVE mistake with how I chose to color this. I wanted to keep the grayscale layers for accuracy instead of just slapping a B&W filter over the colored version, so all the colors come from gradient maps, color balance layers, overlay layers, and raster layers clipped to other layers. Listen. I'm used to working with lots of layers. I like keeping things separate so I can edit them more easily. But this is the worst layer system I have ever created. Going from color to B&W requires toggling exactly 20 layers & folders on or off. There are 87 visible layers total. This file lags when you edit it. I've never wanted CSP v1.13 to have layer comps more in my life.

Not helping matters was Isabeau. I said he was the easiest to draw in my last post, but he took that as a challenge, apparently. It's a simple fist-on-hip pose, why was that so hard!?! His face gave me grief too.

Odile's lil' wave got added at the end of the line art phase. I've never added to a sketch that late in the game before, but I felt bad about how little screen area she got, haha. Girl, I tried, but this composition was not kind to you.

Giving Isa, Odile, and Siffrin skin colors felt cursed. Well... "color" is maybe a stretch for Sif. The pallor from being affection-jumpscared isn't helping. In the dev's nose reveal post, they said that Siffrin isn't white but is white-passing, so BOOM albinism headcanon. Like c'mon, they wear a big hat and have most of their skin covered because the sun is a deadly laser when you have little to no melanin and idk if sunblock exists in-universe. Heck, maybe most Islanders have it, their whole religion is about the night sky so maybe they're nocturnal. This makes perfect sense. :)

[cloudtransprncy]

Dumb/Problem pt. 2

Kim Chaewon x Male Reader ft. Eunbi Pt 2 of Dumb. Tags: cheating, light bratty elements, backshots, reckless decisions, tension, guilty pleasure, hooking up at a party, I like chaewon more im sorry

Being a good boyfriend at a party? Boooring. Letting your girlfriend’s best friend drag you upstairs to fuck? Awh shit here we go again.

Her lips stretch around your cock, wet but controlled. Perfect, but not desperate. No mess, no frantic need to take more than she can handle. Just slow, deliberate motions, the kind that look good in the mirror she angled herself toward before she started.

Fuck, why can't she just let go for once?

It feels good, you admit, but not as good as it could. Not as good as it should.

Eunbi keeps her hands to herself. No stroking, no slick trails of saliva over her fingers. Just her mouth, just the steady rhythm of her tongue gliding against your shaft, the soft press of her lips forming a seal as she bobs down, then up again. It's careful. Too careful.

You want to tell her to stop thinking about how it looks. To stop being so fucking pretty about it. But you don't.

Her room smells like fresh laundry and vanilla lotion. The soft cotton of her bed sheets beneath you feels clean, untouched, like everything she owns. The dim light from her nightstand lamp casts a glow over her skin, making her look softer, younger. Her sweater is slipping off one shoulder, delicate pearl necklace resting against her collarbone—a birthday gift from her parents that she never takes off, even now.

She looks like she belongs in a romance movie, not on her knees with your cock between her lips.

Everything in her room is carefully arranged, intentional. Cream-colored sheets, layered blankets with knit textures, a few decorative pillows placed neatly against the headboard. A woven rug spreads beneath the bed, soft against your feet. No clutter, no mess. A single shelf above her desk holds a couple of books—her worn copy of "Pride and Prejudice" with color-coded sticky notes peeking out, her planner filled with perfectly-lettered assignments and deadlines, a small potted succulent she waters every Sunday, and a framed photo of her and her friends at homecoming—perfectly centered.

Not a single thing out of place. Not even when she's doing this.

She has plushies, but only a few, lined up neatly on a chair in the corner rather than scattered around the bed. The Rilakkuma bear you won her at the fair sits front and center—a trophy of your relationship, displayed like evidence. The walls are warm-toned, decorated with woven macramé and string lights draped just right, giving the room a soft, effortless aesthetic. Everything in here feels curated, thought-out, a space meant to be calm, peaceful. A room that doesn't belong in the same world as you know who.

She looks good like this. Hair neatly tucked behind her ear, cheeks hollowed out in a way that makes her look like some perfectly curated fantasy. The kind of girl you bring home, not sneak around with.

This should be enough. This should be all you want. So why isn't it?

She makes it look effortless, makes it look like something out of a scene meant to be remembered, meant to be admired. But that's the problem. It's pretty—too much so. Like she's thinking about how this looks, not how it feels.

You want to grab her hair, push her down, make her take more—see if she can let go for once. But you already know she won't.

She's kneeling between your legs, jaw working as she takes you in again, but there's a hesitance. A limit. She won't spit. Won't let it get messy. Won't let it drip past her lips or smear across her chin. Won't use her hands, won't pump you in time with her mouth, won't let her own arousal turn this into something real.

It's a performance. A perfect, practiced performance.

She's soft. Gentle. Controlled. Not like her.

Not like Chaewon, who'd already have you up against the wall by now, who'd have spit running down her chin and wouldn't give a single fuck.

You tell yourself it should be enough. That it feels good. That you should just take what she's giving you. But some part of you—some selfish, impatient part—already knows where your mind is going next.

She just wants to be good at it. Not filthy, not desperate—just good. And that's the problem, isn't it?

You're frustrated.

"Come on," you murmur, voice thick, pleading. "Just a little deeper."

Your fingers sink into her hair, gentle but insistent, urging. Not forcing—never forcing—but hoping she'll listen, that she'll feel the way your body aches for more, that she'll give you more.

Eunbi shakes her head. A small, simple movement. No.

Your stomach tightens. "Please?" You swallow hard, trying again, voice quieter this time. "Just for a second."

Jesus, you're practically begging now. Has it really come to this?

She doesn't stop, doesn't even pause—her tongue moves over you, warm and slow, dragging along the underside, circling the tip, keeping her rhythm neat and measured. She kisses the sides, lets her lips glide over your length, keeps her pace controlled. Too controlled.

It's good. She's good. Gorgeous, poised, deliberate—like everything about her. Her dark lashes flutter as she looks up at you, the golden light from her bedside lamp soft against her skin, casting her in something warm, something that makes her feel untouchable. Like she belongs on a canvas, not on her knees.

But it's not enough.

You let out a breath, low, shaky. "Eunbi, please," you whine, shifting, trying not to thrust too much into her mouth, trying to keep still, trying to let her set the pace. "I need more. Please, just—"

"I said no."

Her voice is quiet but firm, steady, like she's not even considering it. Like it's a boundary so deeply ingrained she doesn't even feel the need to explain. No.

She pulls back slightly, looking up at you with those doe eyes that normally make you melt. "I don't like when you push like this," she adds, a hint of disappointment in her tone. "You know that."

Fuck. Now you feel like shit for even asking.

You groan, tilting your head back against her pillows, burning with frustration, trying to fight the desperation curling inside you. She's so beautiful. The way she looks like this, her lips wet, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulder, the way her touch is careful, precise

—

But it's not dirty. It's not messy. It's not what you need.

What's wrong with you that this perfect girl isn't enough?

She stops before you finish.

Just pulls away, composed, dabbing the corner of her mouth with her thumb before smoothing a hand over her hair, like she's fixing herself in a mirror, like she's resetting.

You let out a breath, half a groan, running a hand over your face, still aching, still tense, still fucking needing—

"Can I at least fuck you?"

It comes out rough, raw, too exposed, but you don't care. You need it. Need her. Need something.

Eunbi exhales, standing up, brushing invisible dust off her sweater, already moving on. Already done.

"I need to study. The AP Bio exam is next week, and I still haven't gone through the last chapter." She gestures to the color-coded study guide on her desk, sticky notes and highlighters arranged by subject. "You know how important this is for my scholarship application."

Like it's obvious. Like it's the only thing that matters now. Like you weren't just in her mouth, half-delirious, seconds away from losing it.

Right. The perfect student. The perfect girlfriend. Never lets anything get in the way of her future—not even you.

You stare, blinking, trying to catch up, trying to process how she does this—how she always does this.

Your head falls back against the bed. A groan rumbles from your throat, frustrated, unsatisfied.

"We haven't fucked in days," you mutter, half a whine, half an accusation.

She glances at you, unimpressed. "Maybe you should be studying too." She pauses, softening slightly. "Your Calc grade isn't exactly where it needs to be for State, is it?"

Low blow. But she's not wrong.

Then she picks up her laptop, flips it open, and just like that, you're forgotten. The light from the screen illuminates her face, highlighting her focused expression—the tiny furrow between her brows that appears when she's concentrating. Even frustrated, you can't help but notice how pretty she looks like this, how dedicated.

Your breath comes slow, heavy. You stare at the ceiling, still pulsing, still hard, still aching with nowhere to put it.

This isn't working. Not today, not anymore.

Then—

Your phone buzzes.

You reach for it, thumb sliding over the screen, hardly thinking, barely hoping.

A message.

From her.

But not under her name. You're not that dumb.

Your stomach tightens, pulse kicking up.

Chaewon.

"You and Eunbi are coming to Yena's party, right?"

You hesitate, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you finally type, "Idk, Eunbi's being lame."

Fuck, that feels disloyal. But it's true, isn't it? You almost laugh at the absurdity—worried about a text when you've had your cock inside her best friend. Your moral compass is seriously fucked.

The reply comes fast.

"Awh, what? She didn't give you what you wanted again?"

You don't answer. You don't need to. Your silence is enough—it always is with Chaewon. She reads you like a book, knows you in ways Eunbi never tries to.

A moment later, another message from her.

"I always give you what you want."

The frustration lingers, simmering under your skin. But now, it's shifting—turning into something else entirely.

You shouldn't answer. You should put the phone down. Focus on Eunbi. Be better.

But your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and you know exactly what you'll type next.

Chaewon is already on her knees. Mouth open, spit trailing from her lips.

This isn't a performance. This isn't careful. This is fucking chaos.

It's messy. So fucking messy. Drool pools at the corners of her mouth, her throat taking your cock fully. She doesn't just take it—she devours it. Not one controlled motion, not a single thought about how it looks—just raw, desperate need.

So different from Eunbi's careful rhythm, her pristine technique. This isn't romance. This is hunger.

The bass from the speakers rattles the walls, the muffled sound of people shouting over music bleeding through the door but distant—because you're upstairs, in Yena's family bathroom, the one she reluctantly said people could use if they absolutely needed to. "Just don't go in any bedrooms," she'd warned everyone at the start. "My parents would kill me."

Downstairs is chaos—bodies pressed together, drinks sloshing, someone shrieking with laughter while Yena yells over the music. An hour in, Chaewon caught your eye from across the room, a slow, knowing smirk curling at her lips. She tilted her head toward the stairs, eyebrow raised in silent question. You didn't hesitate. You followed, slipping up the forbidden staircase when Yena wasn't looking.

Eunbi would never. Not at a party. Not with people around. Not in a place you weren't supposed to be.

And now you're here.

Her hands stroke your cock in time with the bob of her head, tight and slick, not caring where the spit lands. It drips from her fingers, slides down her wrist, pools on the floor beneath her knees. She fucking enjoys this. Loves the way your cock twitches in her grip, loves the way your breathing turns ragged as she ruins you with her mouth.

You watch, mesmerized, as she pulls back to the tip, lets saliva gather on her tongue, then sinks back down in one fluid motion. The contrast of her lipstick—still perfectly applied, dark against her skin—makes the whole thing feel filthier somehow. That perfect makeup, ruined by what she's doing to you.

She moans around you, the vibration sending a shudder up your spine. Her eyes flick up to yours, holding your gaze as she takes you deeper, deeper than anyone should be able to. When she reaches the base, she swallows—her throat constricting around you in waves that make your vision blur.

Where Eunbi keeps her hands to herself, Chaewon uses everything—fingers, palms, nails dragging just hard enough to make you shiver. No limits. No hesitation.

Your jeans and boxers are shoved down to your ankles, forgotten, useless. You're exposed, vulnerable, and fuck—she knows it.

She pulls off you with a wet pop, her lips slick, cheeks flushed. Then, with that wicked little smirk, she grips your cock and slaps it against her lips, her tongue flicking out between each tap. The sound is obscene in the quiet bathroom—wet, needy, filthy.

"She doesn't do this for you, does she?" she murmurs, voice wrecked, lips glossy with a mix of saliva and you.

The way she says "she"—like Eunbi is a concept, not a person. Like she's something to be pitied for not knowing how to make you fall apart.

You can barely think, barely breathe, but she doesn't give you time to recover.

"I missed your cock," she purrs, stroking you slow, teasing. "Forgot how fucking big you are."

Her thumb circles the head, spreading the wetness there, toying with the sensitive spot just beneath it. Your hips jerk involuntarily, and she laughs—a low, satisfied sound.

She leans in, but instead of taking you back into her mouth, she runs her tongue along the underside, tracing the vein from base to tip in one long, slow drag. When she reaches the head, she swirls her tongue around it, then blows cool air against the wetness, making you hiss through clenched teeth.

Eunbi would never talk like this. Would never say the word "cock" like it's candy on her tongue. Would never play with you like a cat with a mouse.

You thread your fingers through her hair, not pushing, just holding on as she continues her assault on your senses. She responds by taking just the tip between her lips, sucking hard, then releasing it with another obscene pop. Again and again, she does this—never giving you the full warmth of her mouth, just teasing, edging, driving you mad.

"You want more?" she asks, letting your cock rest heavily against her cheek, leaving a wet smear across her skin. "Tell me how badly you want it."

Your breath catches. Words fail you. She waits, patient in her cruelty, one eyebrow raised.

"Please," you finally manage, the word raw and desperate.

She rewards you by taking you deep again—so deep you feel the back of her throat, feel her gag slightly before adjusting. But she doesn't pull back. Instead, she stays there, swallowing around you, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes from the effort. The sight alone nearly finishes you—Chaewon, kneeling before you, taking you so deep it hurts, mascara starting to run.

She lowers her mouth again—but not where you expect.

You thud back against the counter as her lips part over your balls, warm, wet, sucking soft before her tongue drags slow and filthy along the skin. You choke on a moan, hands gripping the edge of the sink, barely keeping yourself upright.

You'd never even dream of asking Eunbi for this. The thought of her perfect mouth anywhere but where she decides it should be feels impossible.

The risk? Insane.

Eunbi is downstairs. Completely oblivious, probably sipping whatever drink Yena handed her, scanning the room for you. Probably checking her watch, wondering if you're just talking to someone. Trusting you, even now.

Your moral compass isn't just fucked. It's shattered.

A burst of laughter outside the door—someone else who snuck upstairs. Footsteps. Then—a knock.

You freeze.

Your stomach drops. Chaewon? She just grins. Breathless, messy, still on her knees.

"Occupied," she calls out, voice sweet, almost sing-song.

Where Eunbi would panic, straighten her clothes, check her appearance—Chaewon thrives on the risk.

A pause. The shuffle of footsteps. Then the voices move away, back toward the stairs—likely another couple looking for privacy in the off-limits zone, disappointed to find the bathroom taken.

She presses her hands against your thighs, digging in just enough to ground you, before tilting her head up. The bathroom light catches the deep brown of her hair, the strands sleek and polished where they frame her face.

A weeks ago, the blonde had made her look sharp, dangerous—but this? This soft brown, paired with the glitter dusting her collarbones, the sequined dress clinging to her body, the way she looks up at you with that expression—

She doesn't just turn heads anymore. She kills.

And she's about to kill you, too.

Suddenly, she takes you even deeper.

Your head slams back against the mirror as she forces herself down, throat tightening, swallowing around you until her nose brushes your skin. She stays there for a moment, the heat, the pressure, unbearable—before pulling back just enough to suck in a desperate breath, spit dripping from her chin. Then she does it again. And again. Wrecking you.

Her hands are everywhere now—gripping your thighs, sliding up to your stomach, tracing the line of muscle that disappears beneath her lips. She moans around you, like she's getting off on this too, like having you in her mouth is as good for her as it is for you.

The wet sounds fill the bathroom—obscene, filthy noises that would make anyone flush with embarrassment. But not her. She revels in it, makes it even messier, even louder.

Everything Eunbi wouldn't do. Everything you begged for earlier. Everything you needed.

Your legs nearly give out, knees weak, hands scrambling for something—anything—to hold onto. You fist her hair, not to control, just to survive.

She pulls back just enough to take a breath, your cock still resting on her tongue, before diving back down. She establishes a rhythm now—brutal, relentless, taking you to the edge and keeping you there. Each time she reaches the base, she swallows, throat constricting around you in waves that make your vision blur.

When you're close—so close you can barely stand it—she feels it, knows it from the tension in your thighs, the way your breath hitches. And she pulls back, letting cool air hit wet skin, making you gasp at the sudden change.

"Not yet," she whispers, stroking you with a tight grip that's just shy of enough. "I'm not done playing with you."

Before you can protest, she's sucking at the head again, tongue flicking across the slit, gathering the wetness there. Her free hand slides lower, cupping your balls, rolling them gently between her fingers.

The dual sensation has you seeing stars, biting your lip to keep from crying out. Your hips jerk forward, seeking more, but she controls the pace now, keeping you right at the edge.

Chaewon pulls off with a gasp, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth, a strand of spit snapping between her lips and your cock. Her gaze flicks up to yours, dark, knowing. Smug.

"I want more," she murmurs, voice rough, fingers curling around the waistband of your jeans. She pulls them up for you, tugging your boxers into place, smoothing the fabric down over your still-hard cock.

Not "I need to study." Not "Maybe later." Just raw, honest want.

Then, like nothing happened, she turns to the sink. Washes her hands, pats her lips dry, eyes catching yours in the mirror. That smirk still lingers.

She doesn't ask if you're following her. She knows you are.

With Eunbi, you follow rules. With Chaewon, you just do.

Chaewon grabs your wrist and pulls you toward the door, slipping out of the bathroom like a ghost. The upstairs hallway is empty—everyone else obediently staying downstairs like Yena instructed, the music and voices a distant roar beneath your feet. Up here, it's just the two of you, the dim light causing the hallway to be bathed in shadows.

The forbidden zone. Where you definitely shouldn't be. Where Eunbi would never go.

She finds an empty bedroom—one of the guest rooms, judging by the neutral decor. Pushes the door open. Steps inside.

And you go with her. Even knowing Eunbi is somewhere downstairs, even knowing what this makes you, you follow Chaewon without hesitation.

Because Eunbi gives you what you should want. But Chaewon gives you what you need.

The door clicks shut behind you, sealing the two of you away from the chaos downstairs. Neither of you bother with the light switch. The only illumination comes from the moonlight cutting through the blinds, painting soft silver lines across her skin. It's enough. You see her clearly. She sees you. You both know exactly what you want. The music is a distant thrum beneath your feet, the muffled sounds of voices and laughter nothing more than background noise.

Chaewon doesn't wait. She shoves you back onto the bed, her hands pressed against your chest as she straddles your lap, her weight sinking onto you like she belongs there. Her mouth crashes onto yours, all heat and urgency, a clash of lips and teeth, her breath warm and sharp with the faint taste of alcohol.

She kisses like she does everything—reckless, unrestrained, like she has something to prove. Her tongue flicks against yours, demanding, teasing, making you groan against her lips. Your fingers find her thighs, gripping, kneading the soft skin before sliding up, tracing the curve of muscle until they meet the hem of her dress. You push it higher, inch by inch, the sequined fabric rough against your palms, a contrast to the impossibly smooth skin beneath.

She doesn't stop you. She only presses closer, grinding against you in a slow, deliberate roll of her hips that has your cock straining painfully against your jeans. The heat of her is everywhere, suffocating, intoxicating. You can feel the dampness of her through the layers of fabric, her body already responding, already wanting.

Your bodies remember each other. Like muscle memory. Like addiction.

Your hands drift up, slipping beneath the fabric, palms mapping the dip of her abdomen, the delicate ridge of her ribs, the smooth arch of her waist. She's warm, taut, her body tight beneath your touch, and fuck—you've wanted this, wanted her, for far too long. The softness of her skin contrasts with the firmness of muscle beneath—every inch of her body a testament to perfect discipline, now coming apart under your hands.

"You fucking love my body don’t ya?" she whispers, arching into your touch. "You must love how tight I am."

The kiss breaks, her breath fanning against your lips, both of you panting. You lift a hand to your mouth, never taking your eyes off her as you drag your tongue over two fingers, wetting them slowly, deliberately. The moonlight catches the gleam of saliva on your skin.

Her gaze drops, watching you, pupils dark, mouth slightly parted. She doesn't say anything, but the way she looks at you, the way her hips press down just a little harder, says enough. Her breathing changes—shortened, expectant—a minute shift that only happens when she knows what's coming.

You reach between her legs.

Jesus Christ.

Your fingers find lace, the damp fabric clinging to her, heat radiating through it. You push it aside, and the moment your fingers slide over her, you feel it—slick, dripping, obscene. The wetness coats your fingertips instantly, spreading as you press in, parting her folds. The sensation is electric—soft, swollen flesh giving way beneath your touch, the slickness making everything frictionless, perfect.

A filthy squelch fills the air, louder than it should be, and your stomach tightens. She's so fucking wet, soaking for you, sticky and warm, coating your skin like she's been waiting for this all night. The evidence of her arousal is undeniable—a primal, visceral response that no amount of performance could fake.

A groan rips from your throat before you can stop it. "Fuck."

Chaewon smirks against your jaw, lips dragging over the sensitive skin there, breath hot and teasing. "You hear how wet I am for you? Nobody gets me this fucking soaked."

You push two fingers inside her, easy, effortless. She gasps, her walls clenching tight around you, slick and needy, sucking your fingers deeper. Her hands grip your shoulders, nails biting into your skin as she rocks against you, fucking herself onto your hand, chasing more. You can feel the flutter of her inner muscles, the way they grip and release around your fingers, drawing you in deeper with each pulse.

Each roll of her hips makes it filthier, makes the sound of it wetter, the obscene noise of her arousal filling the dimly lit room. The slick noises of your fingers moving inside her cut through the distant bass from downstairs, somehow more real than anything happening at the party. There's something primal about that sound—wet, hungry, honest.

Her lips ghost over your ear, voice rough, desperate. "Been thinking about your cock stretching me open all fucking night."

Your cock throbs painfully in response, stiff and aching, pressing insistently against the confines of your jeans. She feels it, of course she does. And then—

She reaches down.

She pulls you out, fingers curling around your length, slow and deliberate, stroking just enough to tease but not enough to satisfy. The contrast of her small hand wrapped around you, her grip firm but playful, makes your stomach clench. She watches your face as she does it, reading every twitch of your brows, every sharp inhale. She knows exactly what she's doing to you. The cool air of the room hits your heated skin, making you even more aware of how hard you are, how desperate.

One touch and you're already at her mercy.

Your hand is still between her legs, fingers coated in her slick, but before you can push deeper, she bats it away, shaking her head. She wants control, and you give it to her, because there's no other option. You're completely at her mercy.

She drags the tip of your cock against her folds, rolling her hips just enough to spread her arousal over you, painting you with her wetness. The sensation is maddening, teasing, an unbearable heat that has your fingers tightening on her hips, clutching her like she's the only thing tethering you to the earth. The silken glide of her against you, the warmth, the slickness—it's a cruel preview of what waits just beyond.

The way she uses her own wetness to slick you up. No hesitation. No shame. Just raw fucking need.

She hums, pleased, as she does it again. Slow. Excruciating. The head of your cock catches against her entrance, almost slipping in before she pulls away again, denying you both what you want. The tease is calculated, precise—she knows exactly how to wind you up, how to make you desperate.

You groan, forehead dropping against her shoulder, breathing hard. The teasing is torture.

She giggles, dark and amused. "You always get so needy for me." She grinds against you again, coating your cock with her slick. "Bet she doesn't fuck you like I do."

Then, in one smooth, fluid motion, she sinks down.

Your breath stutters, a guttural moan ripped from your throat as she takes you to the base in one go, her walls gripping you like a vice, hot and suffocating, squeezing you so tight it borders on unbearable. The sudden engulfing heat is a shock to your system—going from the cool air to the burning, tight clutch of her body in an instant.

"Fuck," she gasps, voice breaking. "So big. You stretch me so fucking good."

Your head falls back, eyes locked on where your bodies meet, watching your cock disappear into her slick heat, swallowed by her perfect, tight body. The visual alone nearly makes you come—the contrast of her against you, the way she stretches around your thickness, the gleam of her arousal coating both of you. There's something hypnotic about the junction where your bodies connect, something primal and satisfying about the visual proof of your joining.

Chaewon trembles, her thighs flexing as she adjusts, muscles taut, abs tightening as she takes you fully, stretching around you. Her mouth falls open, breath hitching, a choked moan slipping free. The moonlight catches the sweat beginning to form along her collarbones, making her skin gleam like she's been dusted with silver.

She bites her lip, eyes hazy as she exhales slow, feeling every inch of you inside her. "oh my god," she whispers, nails digging into your chest, anchoring herself against you as she shudders, as she finally lets herself feel it—the fullness, the way you stretch her open.

You barely hold yourself together. She's so tight, so warm, so fucking perfect, gripping you like she was made for this. For a moment, neither of you move. It's too much, too good, too fucking overwhelming. You can feel the subtle pulsing of her inner muscles as they adjust to your size, the minute tremors running through her thighs as she holds herself still.

Then she does.

A slow, torturous roll of her hips. Making sure you feel every inch of her. The movement causes a ripple effect through her body—the subtle flex of her abdominal muscles, the shift in her posture, the way her breath catches when you hit a spot deeper inside her.

The way she works her body. The absolute control she has. Like she's been studying exactly how to make you lose your mind.

Your fingers press bruises into her skin, trying to ground yourself as she starts to move, her control unwavering, her pace teasing. She isn't rushing—this is for her first. The slow drag of your cock inside her, the way her walls flutter each time she lifts herself just a little before sinking back down, inch by inch, stretching around you over and over.

Her nails rake over your neckt, leaving faint red trails in their wake, legs trembling slightly as she builds her rhythm, grinding first, then lifting herself higher, letting herself adjust before coming back down, harder. You can see the concentration on her face, the focus as she finds the angle that works best, the depth that makes her breath stutter.

"Shit! You feel so fucking good inside me," she breathes, voice breaking with each thrust.

Then she lifts all the way up, just enough that only the tip remains inside her. And then she drops.

You groan, your hands flying to her hips, helping, guiding, lifting her before dropping her back down onto your cock, bouncing her, feeding her exactly what she wants. The feeling of her coming down around you again and again is almost too much—each time she sinks onto you, her pussy seems to grip you tighter, wetter, hungrier. The impact of her body meeting yours sends shockwaves through both of you, the wet slap of skin on skin adding to the symphony of sounds filling the room.

She cries out, her head tipping back, letting herself get lost in it. Her thighs flex, her abs tightening each time she slams down, using the strength in her body to fuck herself onto you harder, faster. You feel everything—the tightness, the heat, the sheer hunger behind every movement. The sequins of her dress catch the moonlight as it shifts around her body, like she's wrapped in stars, coming apart in your hands.

This is what sex is supposed to be. Not careful. Not controlled. Just fucking animal.

The rhythm builds. She grinds deep in between, tilting her hips, rolling against you to hit just the right spot, her moans turning into high, desperate whimpers. The sound of her getting closer to the edge makes your cock throb inside her, makes you want to flip her over and take control, but there's something hypnotic about watching her use you like this—the pleasure on her face, the flush spreading across her chest, the sweat making her skin gleam in the half-light.

Her breathing turns ragged, her voice dissolving into gasps, unrestrained, loud enough that if anyone was standing outside the door, they'd know exactly what she was doing to you. And she doesn't care. Each exhale carries a moan, each inhale a gasp as she works herself on your cock, taking exactly what she needs.

"Bet she never rides your cock like this," she pants, voice raw with pleasure.

Downstairs, people are dancing, drinking, talking. Up here, the world's ending. And you're both happy to burn.

You don’t respond, all you can do is grip her harder, guide her movements, lift her higher, bring her down faster, lose yourself in the feel of her. Her pussy is fucking wrapped around around you, slick and hot and perfect, squeezing with each movement like she's trying to milk every last drop from you. The heat between your bodies grows, sweat making your skin slide together, the air in the room thick with the scent of sex.

She moves faster. Filthy. Unapologetic. Fucking you like she owns you. Her movements become less controlled, more desperate—a frantic search for release that has her grinding down harder, taking you deeper, her entire body tensed and trembling as she chases her pleasure.

The bed creaks beneath you, the frame knocking against the wall, the bass from the party downstairs pulsing through the floor, through your bones. The rhythm of the music below seems to sync with her movements, like the whole night is building to this collision. The distant thump of bass is a counterpoint to the wet sounds of your bodies joining, creating a soundtrack to your recklessness.

Every sound outside makes this hotter. The risk, the recklessness—it fuels her, fuels both of you. Knowing that just a floor below, everyone is oblivious. Knowing that at any moment, someone could come looking. Knowing that what you're doing is wrong in all the ways that feel so fucking right.

"I'm the only one who knows how to take this cock," she moans, her movements becoming more erratic, more desperate.

This is what you needed. Her body. Her.

Without warning, she leans forward, her hands pressing against your chest for balance, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Then she shifts, twisting her body until she's facing away from you, her legs tucking neatly beneath yours, straddling you in reverse cowgirl.

Not just a new position. A fucking display.

Your cock slips free from her dripping cunt, the sudden loss of warmth making you groan. The head catches briefly on her swollen lips before it slaps wetly against your stomach, coated in her juices, gleaming in the dim light. You're drenched in her—your cock, your balls, even your thighs sticky with evidence of how fucking soaked she is for you.

The moonlight catches every bead of sweat on her neck and shoulders, highlighting the dip of her spine, the perfect curve where it meets her ass. Her skin is flushed pink where your fingers gripped too hard, already bruising—marking her as yours.

She reaches down between her legs, fingers slick with her own arousal, and wraps them around the base of your cock. You feel the squelch as she grips you, her fluids making her grip slippery. Her thumb smears through the mess at the base, mixing your pre-cum with her slick in a filthy cocktail.

Even her hands are fucking dripping.

She angles your length against her entrance, rolling her hips, dragging the tip through the wetness that coats her inner thighs. You can see it in the moonlight—her arousal literally dripping from her cunt, trailing down her thighs in glistening rivulets. She's so fucking wet it's obscene, her pussy swollen and red from the pounding, lips puffy and spread.

Then, slowly, she starts to sink down. You watch, mesmerized, as her cunt stretches around you again, the pink flesh yielding, spreading, taking your girth inch by inch. The sight of your cock disappearing into her is hypnotic—the contrast of her tight hole struggling to accommodate you, the way her body swallows you up.

She sinks down, and this time you can see everything. The way her asshole clenches reflexively with each inch she takes. The way her pussy lips stretch thin around your shaft. The way her thighs shake with the effort of controlling her descent. You can even see where you're splitting her open, where she's stretched to her limit around you.

The moment she bottoms out, taking you to the base, your hands fly to her waist. Your cock is buried so deep you swear you can see the faint outline of it pressing against her lower abdomen, distending her slightly from the inside.

You're rearranging her guts and she's fucking loving it.

Your jaw clenches, a low, wrecked groan spilling from your lips as you take in the sight before you. Her ass—round, perfect, jiggling slightly with each small adjustment. The dimples at the base of her spine. The way her pussy grips the base of your cock, her arousal seeping out around it, making the junction of your bodies a sticky, filthy mess.

Her ass bounces against you as she starts to move, the wet slapping sounds echoing in the room. Each time she lifts up, your cock emerges glistening, coated in her cream, only to disappear again as she drops back down. The suction of her body creates obscene noises—squelching, slurping sounds that should be embarrassing but only make you harder.

Your eyes trace lower, to the tight, puckered rim of her ass. It winks with each movement, clenching and relaxing as she works herself on your cock. A thin trickle of her own arousal has traveled up from her pussy, making it glisten invitingly in the dim light.

A rush of heat surges through you. You lift a hand to your mouth, gathering saliva, making sure it's wet enough, filthy enough. A long strand of spit trails from your lips to your thumb as you pull it away.

Then you press it against her ass, rubbing slow, teasing circles around the tight pucker. It's damp from her own juices running down, making your thumb glide easily against the sensitive skin. You feel her whole body jolt at the contact, her pussy clamping down around your cock in response.

She almost screams, her back arching sharply. You push your thumb in deeper, past the tight ring of muscle. The heat inside is scorching, the pressure intense as her body struggles to accommodate the intrusion. Her asshole grips your thumb like a vice, pulsing around it as she adjusts.

Two holes filled. Two ways to own her completely.

"Fuck—" she gasps, voice breaking into a whine. Her rhythm falters as her body processes the dual penetration, the overwhelming fullness of being stretched in two places at once.

You can feel your own cock through the thin membrane separating her passages—feel the rigid hardness of it pressing against your thumb. The knowledge that you're filling both her holes at once, stretching her to her limits, sends a primal surge of satisfaction through you.

She's dripping now—literally dripping. Each time she lifts herself up, a fresh gush of her arousal spills down, coating your balls, soaking into the sheets beneath you. The bed is getting drenched, the spot beneath you growing dark with the evidence of her need.

You take your other hand and trail it up her body, over the sweat-slick plane of her stomach, feeling the muscles jump under your touch. Her nipples are hard enough to cut glass, poking through the thin fabric like pebbles. You pinch one roughly, rolling it between your fingers, feeling her whole body clench in response.

She leans back against you, her spine a perfect arch, her head falling onto your shoulder. You can see the veins in her neck straining as she gasps for air, see the flush spreading across her chest, turning her skin a deep rose. Sweat drips from her hairline, tracing glistening paths down her temples, her neck, between her breasts.

Her nails dig into your thighs, breaking skin, leaving crescent-shaped welts as she uses you for leverage. She starts to bounce harder, faster, her control slipping. Each time she drops down, the impact forces a grunt from her lips, a primal sound torn from deep in her chest.

You can feel it—the way her walls are spasming around your cock, gripping erratically, her body starting to lose rhythm as she approaches the edge. She's soaking wet, her arousal making obscene squelching noises with each thrust. The sounds are pornographic—wet, sloppy, filthy—the soundtrack of two bodies using each other without restraint.

Your thumb presses deeper into her ass, timing the thrusts with the bouncing of her hips. Each time she drops down on your cock, you push in with your thumb, ensuring she feels stuffed from both ends. The double penetration has her babbling, incoherent sounds spilling from her lips as her brain short-circuits from the overload.

Her moans grow higher, more desperate. The pace is frantic now, almost brutal—her ass slapping against your thighs hard enough to sting, to leave both of you marked. The wet sounds grow louder, sloppier, as her body produces more slick, preparing for release.

She's going to flood the fucking bed when she comes.

The pleasure coils tight inside both of you, unbearable pressure building at the base of your spine, in your balls, making them draw up tight against your body. You're fighting it, gritting your teeth, determined to feel her break first.

Your grip tightens, fingers digging into the sweat-slick skin of her waist hard enough to leave bruises, marks that will last for days, reminding her who did this to her.

"Chaewon, I—"

She doesn't let you finish.

Her hands fly back, fingers wrapping tight around your wrists, pinning them down. She slams herself down onto you one final time—forcing you impossibly deep, grinding her ass against your pelvis in tight circles, making sure you feel every ripple, every clench of her inner walls.

A wrecked sound rips from your throat as your control shatters. Your cock pulses violently inside her, the first spurt of cum hitting deep, painting her insides. She feels it—you know she does, from the way her breath catches, from the way her cunt clamps down even tighter, milking you, demanding every last drop.

She gasps, her entire body seizing as her own orgasm hits. Her pussy convulses around your cock in rhythmic pulses, squeezing, releasing, each contraction drawing another jet of cum from you. Her thighs shake uncontrollably, her abs tightening so hard they cramp. Her asshole clenches rhythmically around your thumb, synchronized with the pulsing of her cunt.

She's cumming. Hard.

A gush of wetness floods around your cock, her release spilling out, soaking both of you further. It drips down, adding to the mess between your bodies, the evidence of her pleasure impossible to contain.

"F-fuck—" The word shatters in her throat, dissolving into a high, keening wail as another wave hits her, her body jerking like she's being electrocuted.

She's not just coming. She's fucking breaking.

Your vision blurs, tunnels, focuses only on where your bodies are joined, on the sight of her stuffed full of your cock, taking your load deep inside her. Each pulse of your release triggers another aftershock in her, creating a feedback loop of pleasure that seems endless.

You're emptying yourself into her, filling her with rope after rope of hot cum, more than you thought possible. Your balls ache from the force of it, your entire body trembling with the intensity of release.

Chaewon moans through it, her walls rippling around you, milking out every last drop. She's insatiable, greedy, her body designed to take everything you can give and demand more.

She takes all of it.

The only sounds in the room are ragged breathing, the wet squelch as she shifts slightly on your still-hard cock, and the faint dripping of her arousal onto the soaked sheets below. The air is thick with the musky scent of sex—sweat, cum, her arousal, all mixing into a heady cocktail that makes your head spin.

Finally, she exhales, stretching like a satisfied cat. Her back arches, pressing her ass more firmly against you, causing your still-sensitive cock to shift inside her. The movement squeezes a few final drops from you, adding to the mess already filling her.

She breathes out a satisfied sigh, lips curving into something dark, smug, victorious.

"I'm keeping it inside," she murmurs, voice low, syrupy, ruined. Her internal muscles clench deliberately around you, making sure not a drop escapes.

Her hips shift—a slow, final roll—grinding down, sending another wave of overstimulation tearing through your body. You groan, oversensitive to the point of pain, but unable to pull away. She's got you trapped, her body still locked around yours, refusing to release you until she's ready.

She doesn't care about your discomfort. She loves it. Loves knowing she can push you past your limits.

"For the rest of the party," she purrs, squeezing around you one last time. You can feel your cum inside her, hot and thick, adding to the slickness each time she clenches. "Walking around downstairs with your cum dripping into my panties. Right in front of everyone."

Her ultimate victory. Carrying the proof of what you've done together while looking Eunbi in the eye.

---

The bass pounds through the floor, vibrating up through your feet as you lean against the wall, nodding along to whatever Eunbi is saying. For the past thirty minutes, you've been following her through the party, a dutiful boyfriend with a plastic cup of whatever Yena mixed, pretending you're fully present. Pretending you can't still feel the ghost of Chaewon's body on yours. Pretending there isn't a hollow ache in your stomach every time the crowd shifts and you catch a glimpse of brown hair and sequins across the room.

Eunbi takes a sip of her water—she stopped drinking an hour ago—and checks her watch for the third time in ten minutes. The party has hit that point where the music gets louder to compensate for the thinning crowd, where people are either leaving or getting sloppy. She doesn't belong to either category.

"I think I'm ready to go," she says, leaning in so you can hear her over a particularly aggressive bass drop. "I'm getting tired."

The way she says it—gentle, apologetic—makes the guilt twist deeper. She thinks she's the one inconveniencing you. She has no idea.

"Yeah, of course," you reply, finishing your drink in one long swallow, needing the burn in your throat to ground you. "Let me just grab your coat."

As Eunbi gathers her things, you scan the room, knowing you shouldn't, knowing you can't help it. You find Chaewon by the drinks table, hair slightly mussed despite her efforts to fix it, lips still swollen from your kisses. Your eyes meet across the crowd, and the corner of her mouth lifts in that familiar smirk.

You look away first.

"Ready?" Eunbi asks, coat draped over her arm.

Before you can answer, Chaewon materializes beside you, as if summoned by your weakness.

"Leaving so soon?" She directs the question at Eunbi, her voice innocent, her eyes anything but when they flick to you.

"Yeah, I'm tired," Eunbi says, smiling at her friend. "Great party though."

Chaewon laughs, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "You barely participated! Next time I'll make sure it's more your speed."

She hugs Eunbi, their cheeks pressing together, their perfumes mingling. Over Eunbi's shoulder, Chaewon's eyes lock with yours, dark and knowing. Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, and you know she's thinking about what you did, what you released inside her—still there, still warm.

"Text me tomorrow?" Eunbi asks her as they pull apart.

"Of course," Chaewon nods, then turns to you. "You take care of her, okay?"

The double meaning hangs in the air between you. Her hand brushes yours as she steps back—a touch so brief Eunbi doesn't notice, but enough to make your pulse spike.

As you lead Eunbi toward the door, you feel Chaewon's eyes following you. You know this isn't over. You know that on Monday, when you see her in class, when you sit across from her at lunch with Eunbi between you, the game will continue.

You know you've made your choice, even if you won't admit it yet.

The truth is painfully simple: Eunbi is smart, perfect, and right.

But Chaewon's still hot as fuck, and that's the problem.

[moonreader1010]

Things about you that will have them hooked 💋🧿 (18+)

-by Valerie

Pick one of the following piles:-

Pile 1. Pile 2.

Pile 3. ^

Note:- the pictures used don't belong to me and all the rights go to their original owners.

-This is for entertainment purposes only. Take what resonates.

-minors DNI.

-take a deep breath and pick the pile that calls you.

Pile 1.

The Soulful Romantic

Cards Pulled: The Empress, The Moon, Ace of Cups, The Lovers, King of Pentacles, Seven of Wands

This person will be drawn to the divine sensuality you radiate. The Empress speaks of your natural beauty and allure—there’s something about the way you carry yourself that exudes confidence and an untouchable, goddess-like energy. When they’re near you, they feel like they’re stepping into a dream, a mystery they can’t unravel, as shown by The Moon. Your ability to reveal just enough while leaving so much to the imagination keeps them utterly captivated. With the Ace of Cups, you’re like a refreshing oasis, igniting a deep emotional connection that they haven’t felt with anyone else. The Lovers shows that they see you as their ultimate partner, someone they’d risk everything for. Meanwhile, the King of Pentacles hints at how grounded and self-sufficient you are, which only intensifies their desire to prove their worth to you. Yet, the Seven of Wands adds a layer of challenge—you’re not easily won over, and your resistance only makes them want you more.

Visionary Scenario: Imagine them watching you laugh softly in a dimly lit café, the glow of candlelight playing on your skin. They’re hooked on the way your eyes seem to hold a thousand secrets, the way you sip your coffee like royalty. They’d sit across the table, leaning in, mesmerized, while their heart races, thinking, "How do I convince them to let me in?"

Pile 2.

The Adventurous Spirit

Cards Pulled: Knight of Wands, The Star, Nine of Pentacles, Two of Cups, The Tower, Page of Swords

This person is a thrill-seeker, and your fiery passion lights a spark in them they can’t ignore. With the Knight of Wands, it’s your boldness and unpredictability that leave them intrigued. You’re not afraid to take risks or live unapologetically, and that’s a magnetic pull for them. The Star reveals that you’re like a beacon of hope and inspiration in their life. They’re drawn to your optimism, your dreams, and how you’re unafraid to chase after what you want. The Nine of Pentacles highlights your independence and elegance; they see you as someone who has built a life of richness—both externally and within. When the Two of Cups appears, it suggests that they feel an undeniable emotional and physical chemistry with you. The Tower, though, adds an element of danger. You shake up their life in the best way possible, forcing them out of their comfort zone. With the Page of Swords, they’re constantly trying to figure you out, hooked on your intelligence and the way you keep them guessing.

Visionary Scenario: Picture this—on an impromptu road trip, you’re laughing as you tease them, wind blowing through your hair. They glance over at you from the driver’s seat, utterly hypnotized by the way you radiate freedom and excitement. In that moment, they think, "I’d follow them anywhere."

Pile 3.

The Intellectual Dreamer

Cards Pulled: Queen of Swords, Temperance, Three of Pentacles, Ten of Cups, The Devil, Eight of Wands

This person admires your sharp mind and wit, symbolized by the Queen of Swords. You challenge them intellectually, and they’re obsessed with how you always have the perfect comeback or insight. Temperance reveals that you have a serene balance about you—you’re the calm in their storm, a grounding presence they crave. The Three of Pentacles shows that they’re drawn to how you collaborate with others, your ambition, and your ability to inspire and lead. The Ten of Cups makes it clear that they fantasize about long-term happiness with you; you embody their dream of an ideal partner. The Devil, however, spices things up—you have a seductive side they can’t resist. It’s the way you make eye contact just a little too long, or how you subtly hint at something more, that drives them wild. The Eight of Wands speaks of your ability to make things happen quickly and passionately, leaving them breathless and wanting more.

Visionary Scenario: Imagine them meeting you at a gallery opening. You’re discussing art with effortless eloquence, your voice like velvet. They’re hooked on the way your words tease their mind while your presence tantalizes their senses. That night, as they lie awake, they’re consumed with the thought, "How can I be the one to unlock all their layers?"

[cyber333angel]

thinking about gamer!violet x reader.. how cute she would be when she explains the lore of yet another game play that has a larger meaning to human life, and how game 2 was extraordinarily better than game 1 by many points including the change in graphics. she has you sitting in her lap on the game chair with her kitty ear headset on, that you made for her and is now the only one she will ever use, and playing on the matching pink controllers you both gifted each other on your anniversary. vi loves you, without a doubt in the world she would do anything for you but sometimes your girlfriend can just get so.. immersed in the game that she doesn’t pay any attention to you, leaving you to whine for her to notice you. “vi how much longer are you gonna play? m’bored and it’s been hours by now..” you say with a huff, straddling your girlfriends lap as you look at her. “i know, just one more round yeah? i promise baby” she says as she gives you a kiss on the lips, with the same excuse she used and hour ago. you get annoyed, all you want is to have her attention on you and she won’t even give you that. as if a light bulb appeared above your head you slightly perk up, coming up with an idea that will definitely catch vi’s attention.

“yeah im coming around the back, cover for me.” she says, oblivious for only a moment longer as she talks to her teammate. you were only wearing a pair of short n soft night shorts while in your girlfriends lap, which coincidentally made perfect for easy access to touch yourself. so you moved to have your back rested on vis chest, ass pressing against her lap.

you spread your legs a little wider and stretched the thin fabric to the side, other hand reaching around to rub around your clit. naturally this caught your girlfriends attention making her eyes widen like she had seen a ghost, “what are you..doing right now?” she moved her eyes from the game back to what was sitting in her lap back and forth. but no, she couldn’t give you attention before she doesn’t need to now. “it’s none of your business vi..” you panted out of breath as your fingers started to linger deeper into your cunt, index finger that was holding your panties circling your bud. “pay attention to your game!”

at this point vi could feel herself getting wet in between her legs, slightly fidgeting around under you as her focus on the game became faint, the character in her game going idle and her teammates wondering why her mic went mute all while she watches you like a needy puppy. “im done now! please let me help you..” she sounded so whiny with her hands not knowing where to go, she couldn’t put her hands where she really wanted to and she couldn’t rub one out even if she wanted to. you were sitting on top of her. it was basically torture to make her sit and watch her sweet girl play with herself like that.

“s’too bad vi, shoul-shouldve played with me when i asked..!” and boy was she regretting it now, her eyes were glued to the inside of your thighs, messy pussy glistening from how wet you were and all your girlfriend wanted to do was dip her hands there and taste it. she knows how sweet you taste, god this was so cruel. “fuck..babycakes just let me touch you a little. hm? please i need to so bad.” the least you allowed vi to do was kiss and suck at your neck, dark spots forming and adding to your pleasure. her pleads might have worked earlier because she just sounded so cute but it was to late. you were already cumming, a thin layer of slick was on your fingers as your thrusted in and out of your cunt, messy hole clamping your fingers down while your legs quiver on vis gaming chair.

“f-fuck vi m’cumming!” and you do, with a cry as you rub your clit furiously and close your legs unconsciously from the overwhelming feeling. without a doubt vi was soaked by now and neglected. “that wasn’t fair..” she looks so cute when she pouts that you can’t help but give in, getting up from her lap to straddle your girlfriend face to face. “I didn’t mean to bully you vi, we can go again! hmm?” you say covering her face with kisses as vi rest her bandaged hand on your ass, nodding with you.

yeah no she was definitely getting you back for that.

[ddejavvu]

Hi, i hope youre doing well ☺️

Could i request another part to animagus cat reader where reader cuddles with Remus during winter instead of Sirius because its cold and he runs warmer?? Like he'll be in the common room reading in an arm chair while reader catnaps on his lap while being pet and Sirius tells him to stop stealing his gf and James is jealous/whiny that he doesnt get to have cat snuggles.

part 1 / part 2

--

Despite the two blankets layered in an inviting nest on Sirius's lap, Remus is the warmest person in the room. The fire crackes on its logs, offering scorching heat, but what you seek is gentle warmth, and you've found it between Remus's sweater and his undershirt. You're splayed over his chest much like a baby would be, your paws stretched out against his shoulders and your head pressed face-first into his chest. His sweater is tight enough that it holds you in place, and you don't have to worry about falling. It means that you're able to fully relax, and Sirius can hear your rampant purring from where he sits on the couch with a sour scowl on his face.

"If you just wore warmer clothes, you wouldn't be pissy right now," Remus muses, not bothering to grace the man with a glance away from his novel, "She only likes me 'cause my sweater is warm."

That's not entirely true. While Remus does tend to dress for comfort, and Sirius for style, Remus runs naturally hotter than your boyfriend. You don't have the heart to tell him that, though, so you mewl in agreement to Remus's statement.

"Sweaters are dumb," Sirius spits, and no one bothers to mention that he has a small collection of them for the snowy days on the grounds, "I look better in leather."

"Your loss," Remus shrugs, and to add insult to injury, reaches up to scratch a spot behind your ears that only makes your purring louder.

"This is bullshit," Sirius finally huffs, breaking his facade of gloomy indifference, "Prongs, get over here."

James, all too eager to help out his friend and soak up affection to boot, has no problem tipping over sideways to lay in Sirius's lap.

But the man lifts James's head out of his lap by his curls, "No, no, no, not James. Prongs."

"You want me to-?" James asks, but doesn't dare finish, because the prospect of transforming right in the common room sends a shiver of mischief down his spine that he'd be a fool to question, "On it."

"Yeah. Yeah, yeah," Sirius nods, sneering haughtily at Remus, "You're not the only one that's good for a cuddle, Moony. Look at this," He gushes, as James begins his transformation, skin giving way to tight, short fur and enormous antlers that nearly grate against the stone walls around you.

"Oh, he's a perfect fit." Remus nods resignedly, content to continue rubbing at your ears rather than chastise his friends for trying to fit a stag on a loveseat, "Yeah, that'll work nicely- ooh, careful Sirius, almost got stabbed there."

Sirius dodges a prong off of James's antlers, taking them in his hands and holding James's head steady as the oversized buck folds his knobbly knees into Sirius's lap. The back two can't make it, but James fits them clumsily onto the cushion, maintaining his balance out of dramatic willpower rather than the laws of physics.

You decide once they settle that they're no longer in need of your attention, so you turn your head back towards Remus and burrow your face back into his warm chest. You feel it shake with mirth beneath you, presumably at an overdramatized reaction from the two boys opposite you, but you can't bring yourself to care; sleep is at the forefront of your brain in this form.

"Yeah, get real cozy!" Sirius insists, calling so that you can hear him through Remus's thick sweater and beneath the weight of his hand on your ears, "Whatever! We're cozy over here, too, 'never been more comfortable- ah! Prongs, watch the hooves!"

[gamorahww]

Why Fiyeraba Are Perfect for Eachother, According to science MBTI

Through their differences, authenticity, sense of what's right, and just overall being well-meaning people, these two are a great example of how you can lift someone up, just by being your most authentic self and holding space for them to do the same.

Hello, this is a Fiyeraba analysis no one asked for. It doesn’t contain any spoilers for Wicked: Part 2.

Disclaimer Regarding MBTI: I know many people think MBTI is bullshit and even a bit limiting, when we talk about real life, and the people inhabiting it, but in the case of well-written, consistent fictional characters (which applies to both Elphaba and Fiyero) I think MBTI can be used without worrying about negative effects. That being said, enjoy the analysis of Fiyeraba through this lense!

I.) Context, If You Are Not Familiar with MBTI

When it comes to MBTI, there are two angles of looking at the types. One you are probably familiar with is the four-letter abbreviation (ENFP, INTJ, ESTJ, etc), but there is a deeper layer, where we are looking at those cognitive functions that each type uses. There are 16 variations of the four-letter types, but only 8 functions, that vary in order, and preference in each type. 

We identify four main cognitive functions in each type. Introverted types (their four-letter type stars with an I) are most comfortable using their introverted functions, and extraverted types (their four letters start with an E) are most comfortable with their extraverted functions. However as a person grows up, goes through life and evolves, they learn to harness their initially weaker functions better, and this gives them a more well-rounded personality, and a more healthier way of living in the world and be their authentic selves.

The order of the functions is also important, so whatever is in first place is their strongest function, and whatever is their last is their weakest.

You may be looking at this thinking “I didn’t ask for this”. And you are right, you didn’t, but bear with me.

So, lets sum it up: Each four-letter type has four main functions, and the extraverts are good at extravert stuff, while introverts are good at introvert stuff. Got it!

Now that we have this nailed down, lets look at these beatiful idiots then.

II.) Fiyeraba and Their MBTI Types and Cognitive Functions

Elphaba is an INTJ. INTJs are nicknamed “masterminds” by some people, because they are really good at big picture stuff. Ironically more often than not, if a story requires a villain with a large plan, they do tend to be INTJs. INTJs make for great villains in people’s eyes, with their no-nonsense way of going around in the world, and in a society full of rules and norms, they stand out, no matter what they do. Some people like to see Elphaba as an ISFP, that would mean that her introverted feeling is stronger than her intuition, but I think those people are wrong lol. Just look at the matter of seconds it took for Elphaba to realize that the Wizard is a fake once she was face to face with him, and then making a plan, and running away. Also, the trope of "you see me as a villain, so I will become your villain" is a common INTJ character trope, and applies to Elphaba super well.

Fiyero is an ESFP. ESFPs are nicknamed as “performers” or “entertainers”. They are usually popular, bold, original, and very observant. They are often considered as shallow, and superficial, which they can be, if they don't focus enough on developing their inner world, their intorverted feeling and their intuition. They are often impulsive, seeking newness, but they can easily fall into this superficiality as a routine, if they are not challenged.

Elphaba - INTJ - cognitive functions: Ni-Te-Fi-Se

(Ni) Introverted Intuition: Dominantly seeks deep patterns, long-term vision, and abstract connections for strategic planning. - Elphaba is the only one who intuitively sees Fiyero being unhappy. Later, as soon as her blinders of false hope are lifted after changing the monkeys, she almost immediately puts two and two together.

(Te) Extraverted Thinking: Structures external environments logically, focusing on efficiency and execution. - From information fragments she gathers at Emerald City, with her thinking supported by her intuition, she puts together the Wizard not having any powers, and seeing through his scheme. 

(Fi) Introverted Feeling: Prioritizes internal values and authenticity in decision-making, though less visibly. - She has a strong sense of what's right, and would never chose what is good for her over what she thinks is the morally right thing to do.

(Se) Extraverted Sensing: Engages with sensory experiences and the present moment, though it’s less naturally prominent. - Once she decides she will fly, she does. She is very graceful, knows how to use her environment to her benefit, although she is a bit slow to take action.

Fiyero - ESFP - cognitive functions: Se-Fi-Te-Ni

(Se) Extraverted Sensing: Focuses on real-time sensory details, enabling adaptability, spontaneity, and a hands-on approach to life. - He's obviously an amazing dancer, and finds joy in the sensory experiences around him. He has no problems balancing on books, jumping off places, dancing, having good old sensory fun.

(Fi) Introverted Feeling: Guides decisions through personal values and emotions, fostering empathy and authenticity. - This function is somewhat dormant in him, although you can see that he cares very deeply for the animals, and feels the need to let Elphaba know that she doesn't have to be "galinda-fied". He appreciates her authenticity and it makes him work more on his own.

(Te) Extraverted Thinking: Organizes actions logically and efficiently to achieve tangible goals. - He is not booksmart, but streetsmart, he recognizes when it is safe to do something, and considers his environment before doing so. 

(Ni) Introverted Intuition: Recognizes patterns and long-term possibilities, offering introspection and strategic insight when developed. - Him calling out Elphaba on her defense mechanism is a very good example of him tapping into his intuitive side, although he doesn't do it very often.

Elphaba and Fiyero have the exact same cognitive functions, but in a completely reverse order: Elphaba: Ni-Te-Fi-Se Fiyero: Se-Fi-Te-Ni I highlighted their strongest functions as seen above.

Now, as I mentioned earlier, whatever function is in first place is the strongest in a person, and whatever is last is the absolute weakest. And while the first and third functions are more easily accessible to everyone (due to them being extraverted functions in an extravert, and introverted functions in an introvert) the very last one, well, it’s difficult to learn to use.

For Elphaba her weakest function is (Se), that Fiyero is amazing at. (Se) can be used to assess your environment on a sensory level, to see and hear what is where, to notice details in how things look. People with well developed (Se) are great at the physical things, like doing your stunts, or dancing, jumping etc.

For Fiyero, his weakest function is (Ni), that Elphaba is just a natural at. (Ni) helps you see patterns in the world around you, and it has been described lovingly by people online as “being able to see the future” (does that ring a bell?) but also by recognizing patterns, seeing a big picture, usually noticing things that other people don’t.

So obviously those are two functions, that one of them learns from the other, right? I mean they just learn how to tap into them. Although they probably don’t as much learn from eachother, but see the other using it, and it makes their own relationship to this under utilized part of themselves change, and improve because of it. But while that is amazing, and will come very helpful to them in act 2/part 2 that is not the aspect that they connect through. What I really want to talk about is…

III.) Connecting Through Authenticity and Values - Introverted Feeling aka (Fi)

Look, you read those two words, you may think, okay, so it’s about people feeling things, like that’s normal, right? Everyone has feelings, so what’s the big deal? No, that’s not what it’s about. (Fi) is about what is _right_. It’s your values, that you hold so deep, that you can’t and won’t cut it out for anything or anyone. It what makes you you, and it is people with (Fi) that usually speak up for marginalized groups, and do the right thing, even if it comes at a personal cost. Introverted feeling is integrity, and it’s authenticity.

And as you can see, Elphaba has this in third place, and Fiyero has it in second. Fiyero should be amazing at this, but his integrity? It’s actually a bit… asleep. Why?

Looping is a phenomena that we call when an introverted person uses only their introverted, or an extraverted person uses only their extraverted functions. It’s a stress response. A defense mechanism. It’s unhealthy, and painful, because yes, your second (and fourth) functions are difficult to develop, but  they are part of who you are, you can’t just shut them out, without cutting pieces out of yourself. Kids live with their first and third functions, and then it is believed that throughout teenagehood, we start to engage our second function more. But when something bad happens to us, we sometimes turn this second function off as adults or as teenagers, reverting back to childish behavior. It’s not for fun, and it never makes us satisfied.

Fiyero is looping, and the mindset he presents in Dancing Through Life is the textbook version of an ESFP in crisis. It is literally a song about that.

“Mindless” and “brainless” are not there to reflect on his lack of intellect, but the fact that he is not integrating these important parts of himself that he should to assess what is right, and he choses not to think about the world around him. He is skipping over that (Fi) as if it was another hurdle in his way, because probably, at some point he realized that his integrity and authenticity doesn’t really matter to the world around him. His values nobody cares about, despite him having everything handed over on a silver platter. 

Escaping the Loop. When Elphaba steps into his life, and he sees her standing up for the animals, that’s the moment, she jump-starts this part inside him. He’s been literally sleepwalking through life up to that point. It is on the levels of authenticity that these two characters are allowed to truly connect, and it is this authenticity and integrity that allows them to see past everything else. (“It’s not lying! It’s looking at things another way.” IYKYK)

IV.) Growing While Lifting Eachother Up

For Elphaba, her personal journey is a strange one. She literally grew up in another bubble, but her integrity has developed. She is well in touch with her cognitive functions, but she is living in a lie, so her bubble is a lie. The fact that she could go through life for so long, not realizing that something was broken in the world, apart from how she was personally treated, goes to show you, what a good job the Wizard did with his manipulation.

Once she really first sees the problems in Oz is with the lion cub in the classroom. You can see her trying to fight for it, raise her voice, ask others to join in, to help and nobody responds, only Fiyero engages with her, asking “I’m sorry, we?” See how Fiyero immediately takes it upon himself, although he was not addressed directly by name, or in any other way. She looked in the general direction of her friends, and he was the only one who responded at all.

Elphaba, tries to solve the situation with her tried and true and tested intuition, integrity, thinking, but she lacks something. She bursts out emotionally, putting the class to sleep, safe for one Fiyero. She needs someone to show her how to take action in that situation, and Fiyero steps in. By that time, Elphaba helped Fiyero engage his values again, so he jumps in to help, and almost literally drags her with himself, moving her out of her comfort zone and out of class.

Up to this point Elphaba was told by Morrible to harness those emotions, but she also put a limitation on Elphaba with those classes. She thinks acting on those feelings is not always right, but these are not just emotions, these are beliefs and values and things that are actually important to her, so keeping them quiet is not the right path. But these two characters complement eachother, and bring out the best in the other, without pushing down anything in each other.  They make eachother stronger and more capable. In the class, Fiyero pulls her out of the limiting mindset she put on herself, and other put on her, and they actually save a life together, and after this neither of them are the same again.

Fiyero starts thinking about what’s right. About the day with the lion cub, and the person he shared it with. He spends more time "inwards" and gives less care about the physical world, and what he thought was important before.

Elphaba leaves to Emerald City with Glinda, not realizing she will be tested, in more ways than she can imagine. And when, at the end of the day she faces a situation, where she needs to take action against the biggest odds she has ever faced, and with Morrible on the loudspeakers disparaging her, she doesn't listen. She doesn't allow those limitations back onto her, she just closes her eyes and leaps.

And when she does, Fiyero jumps on his horse, as the entire world is starting to close in around Elphaba, and goes to look for her.

I guess you could say that together they are actually unlimited.

[pizzaapeteer]

Ignited Reunion

Mattheo's the only one you can call after a small slip up on your vacation making for a palpable reunion with your brother's friend.

Warnings: NSFW 18+, fem reader, swearing, yelling, oral receiving (fem), throat grabbing, daddy kink, edging, spanking, fucking from behind, one use of y/n, angel pet name. Voldemort doesn't really exist in this, Mattheo is one year older than reader. wc: 6k

An: longgg overdue, this was supposed to be for week 2 jinxed july but since I was so delayed I adapted it a lot. Enjoy, I lost sleep over this filthy piece. Ty to my pookies as well @slytherinslut0 and @fuckaperioddrama !

A defeated sigh leaves your lips in your attempt to gain comfort from the feathered padded seat, giving up with your distressed shuffling the efforts failing to provide any. A thin layer of chills rises, shivering over your skin at the contact of the icy wall you slump back onto. Your gaze flickers around for the billionth time in hopes of finally finding anything remotely interesting contained within the dreary enclosing holding cell. 

The anticipation is even worse with boredom while you sit, having only been there probably an hour, waiting - hoping he’ll come. There are a few reasons you can think of, for him not to. The most obvious being - you were his friend’s little sister, most likely a mere inconvenience to him at this hour. 

Not to mention it’s unlikely he even has the time to come pay your bail and release you. He’s far too busy living out in the real world since he finished at Hogwarts. But then again, you had always been an exception to Mattheo. The two of you, sneaking off, living behind closed doors - a hidden vice that had left you feeling empty when he finished last year. 

Sometimes you’ll find yourself daydreaming about the late night meetups, sprawled out in the room of requirement, tangled amongst the warm embrace of his golden touch under the bedsheets. The harmonious sounds of laughter slipping in between the slight breaks of breathless kisses. He was a perfect escape from the hoards and pressure of your family. He became a happy convenience to let loose, and what unravelled from that remains still unknown to you. 

But how foolish you were to create an expectation of false hope that your brother’s leave from school would make a difference, the hope that you might finally shine out from underneath his shadow. An ideal spotlight illuminating right on you, for your mother’s gaze that ultimately fell short with the success that followed him out in the real world.

There was no escaping from the comparison of someone like Blaise Zabini. 

Blaise was nothing short of perfection. His reserved nature served him well as he observed everything with intellect, caution and a level of superiority that he proudly wore on his chest. No cracks creased through his unblemished structure. A man with unbelievable patience and politeness that appeared in times of need, someone people acknowledged, had their shit together.

Though there remained an uncertainty about him in his secrecy of one’s opinions, on whether you impressed or disgusted him to himself - leaving many walking away from an interaction with an uneasy pleasantness. He still remained a golden man, not only in looks but amongst his classmates, despite being dressed in the lush fabrics of green and silver, everyone simply recognized him to be one of the more favourable snakes out of the Slytherins. This continued onto the reflections of your own home walls.

There was no need for competition in who was winning the clasp of your mother’s attention in the fight for favourite child. It didn’t help that he inherited all her beautiful looks, a spitting image of her and when you’re as vain as she was, looking at him replicated a reflection of herself, which brought happiness in unimaginable ways.

The pressure that came with being Blaise’s sister was tough. He was strict - a guiding leader expecting you to follow in his footsteps. With the whispered theories amongst the rats in the sewer of so-called ‘friends’, it was hard not to notice the Zabini household reputation sinking silently. How fascinating that your mother cryptically lost all seven husbands and inherited a wealthy fortune. Blaise and you never knew the full truth, but she was a powerful and wise witch. It was in both your best interests to stick with her word. 

Despite the rumors quieting down throughout your years at Hogwarts, you knew they still swarmed and lingered outside of it. It was therefore of great importance that you pursued a similar mindset to Blaise, who proved also to be a gentle, comforting and supportive brother when you felt down, reminding you, ‘I only want the best for us.’

And so, you followed Blaise’s guide, in every step like a clone, a perfect soldier. Kept your head down, study hard and stay on course, mostly. You grew ambitious to prove yourself as something, to make something new for your tainted surname. 

A clang of metal alerts your senses, breaking your distant mind drift with the relief filling words of the officer. With eagerness, you scramble to stand following behind her out into the hall, the earlier anticipation bubbling in the pit of your stomach. ‘Free to go, your release is here.’ He’s the one you risked your one phone call on, left with no choice. Your family wasn’t an option. 

Turning the corner, arms wrapped protectively around your waist, he’s hard not to miss. Tall, he looms with an electricity of power that is channelled down onto his intense and agitated expression. Mattheo stands waiting by the cop’s desk, his hands buried in the pockets of his fine suit, a clear indication you had interrupted him in the middle of something important. 

Easing towards him with timid steps, he acknowledges you with nothing but a nod and turns, expecting you to follow. A deep pit of shame floods your gut, along with a sense of disappointment, and you trail behind like a kicked puppy. His coat flares up with the increasing force, his legs storm out of the station, curls tousling in the sweep of wind that hits him when you breathe in the balmy night air. 

The thinly distributed fabric of what you called a bikini, had earlier made you feel confident and hot, the night static with hopeful promises of capturing someone’s eye - now disintegrated into disgrace and embarrassment as you stand before an unimpressed - and fully dressed - Mattheo.

He senses the uncomfortably your displaying and shrugs his coat off, sliding it around your shoulders watching how the fabric bulges clearly lacking the muscles to fill it out. He tightens the strings tautly using a strength that reflects his irritation, jolting you forward, stumbling into his rigid chest. 

The feel of your bodies pressed together ignites a sense of amenity, a rush of nostalgic memory arising briefly. It’s quickly interrupted by the harsh reality when Mattheo takes your hand with a tight grip, his face not showing any signs of matching your remembrance of the blissful memory.

Leading you around the corner into a narrow alley, hidden from the prying of muggle eyes, he finally speaks with a tone that has you wishing for the silent treatment to come back. “A muggle jail, really y/n?” His voice holds a sharpness of disbelief and disgust, and you’re unable to think positively about your reunion - clearly he had better things to do than bailing his friend’s sister out of jail.

He doesn’t wait for an answer, his hold still steady on you as the two of you apparates. The twists and turns of teleportations whirl your senses, though having done it many times, it still manages to throw you off. You take a moment to regain your footing, following behind Mattheo into the dark apartment.

It’s exactly as you would have imagined, tidy with little clutter, warm tones of brown and black cover his walls with touches of sophistication. He’s quick to enter the cozy nest that is his abode, heading straight for the booze, a thirsty sensation he needs to clear his head. One sip, another and then a slam of the glass.

“What were you thinking?! Oh, that’s right, you fucking weren’t.” There it is, the burst of anger unraveling. “Using magic for party tricks?! Illegal party tricks might I add in both muggle and wizarding worlds.” He pours another glass and downs it, barely wincing, before his eyes shift, hardening their gaze with a dark intensity, and he moves towards you. 

The truth was, you hadn’t been. Caught up in the highs that spring break had revealed to you, living off the excitement of new friends, had been responsible for your adrenaline at the moment. If you had known the offer from the new Ivermorny transfer would lead to your arrest in an American muggle jail, you never would have gone. 

But the prospect of Spring Break had widened your mindset, too good of an opportunity to waste - it was the epitome of summer fun. It had only meant to be an escape from the forthcoming of your future, a few weeks of fun before you prepared for your leave of Hogwarts and back into the shadow of prestige beside your older brother. 

“You’re a right fucking menace making me clean up your shit, ya know that.” Stalking forwards, his figure feels increasingly taller, feeling small under his usual comforting gaze. You nod, knowing he’s right, left with no words to defend yourself. ���What the fuck happen to you since I left?” His words leave his tongue with venom, the bitterness hitting you like a slap to the face. 

Mattheo’s anger is as expected, but it hurts nonetheless - you went to him because there was no way you could tell Blaise. Or your mother. The disappointment that would sit staining your shoulder wasn’t something you needed or feared you could handle. You needed him to understand. It had been an accident, a moment of stupidity. You wanted him to hold you, tell you it was okay.

It had been so long and seeing him before you; it hurt that he was only expressing anger. You needed any other emotion right now, comfort and excitement. Wasn’t he at least a tad bit happy to see you?

Your tongue burns with dryness, no words, not even an apology tickling your senses. He corners you against the wall looming over you, his hand comes to rest trapping your head. “Better start apologizing soon before I really lose my temper.” A whispered threat, you know, is best not to come true. 

“I’m sorry you were the only one I could call-“

“I don’t care about that,” he cuts you off quickly, shaking his head frustrated, though subtly his words reflect his care and protectiveness over you. “Vandalizing a boat with magic! You’re lucky no one saw you and were all too wasted to realize any differently.” His voice scolds, leaving you feeling worse than if it had been your brother. 

“I know I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just got caught up in the atmosphere.” He quirks a brow at your shitty excuse. 

“Trying to impress your new muggle friends?” He sneers, his fingers pulling at the strings of the coat, exposing your revealing outfit. His eyes flicker down, and he holds back a low whistle as he takes you in, not exactly in the mood to appreciate your choice of clothing. He tuts instead, “Seriously?”

An embarrassed heat flashes across your face under the weight of his examination, and you move to close it, but he stops you. He pins the coat down, opening it fully, “feeling shy, are we? You weren’t too shy when you were vandalizing people’s property and getting yourself thrown in jail.” With a push off your shoulder, the coat slides down the wall to the ground with a scrape. 

Your brows furrow as an underlying anger begins to bubble and you roll your eyes, getting sick of how superior he’s treating you, like your a little kid. “Yeah, I get it, Mattheo! I don’t need a lecture.” You say exasperatedly.

“Clearly you fucking do. Think spending a few hours in a cell will teach you a lesson. You called me now. You have to deal with what I say.”

Gritting your teeth with narrowed eyes you strain, “I said, save me the bloody lecture. Stop acting like my fucking brother.”

“Watch the way you speak to me, baby. Especially if you don’t want me to call that dear brother of yours, my friend, if you hadn’t forgotten.”

Frustration rises within you. He’s got to be bluffing. He knows how important your relationship with Blaise is and the importance of your family’s reputation. A scoff falls from your lips at the fucking audacity he has to threaten you. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Don’t test me sweetheart, I’ll do whatever the fuck I please. I bailed you out, remember? I’m calling the shots!”

You flinch at his voice raising and can’t help the bratty attitude that slips out. “Yeah, I know…look at Mattheo all high and mighty.” You sneer at him mockingly. “You never could say no to me, could ya, Matty?” It’s a low blow. You know he’s always been strong in his protectiveness despite your hidden fling. 

He rolls his eyes at your snarky tone, “This is different. This isn’t you.” 

“Oh please, don’t give me that crap. You’re the one who was always telling me to break out of my shell.”

“Oh, fucking Salazar! - don’t tell me you did this for me.” He gives you a look of disappointed disbelief. “Not that desperate for my attention, are you? That would be pathetic, even for you.”

“Alright save the fucking arrogance for someone who gives a shit. Of course, I didn’t do this for you. Not everything is about you.” You mutter the next part under your breath. “I just wanted to have fun.”

“Fun?!” Curse his fucking surprisingly good hearing. “You could have ruined your life! Your future!”

“But I didn’t! No one else is going to find out.”

“You don’t know that! What if I couldn’t have come?” 

“I don’t know. I would have figured it out! Because I never would have called you in the first place if I knew you were going to act like Blaise.” 

“Oh really? Yeah, I highly doubt that.” You sigh, taking in the reality of his words, knowing he’s right. 

He looks at you, his anger simmering momentarily in his complementation of what to do. You’re not his responsibility. He knows he should let Blaise deal with this, that’s what Blaise would tell him.

In fact, he’s sure he’ll get soldered for even having debating this. He can make out the sounds of Blaise’s deep voice admonishing him, should have called him as soon as he bailed you out. Probably could have made up some bullshit lie about how you two crossed paths, keeping your correct actions secluded from him.

He sighs, reaching into his pocket for his phone, “I should really call your brothe-“

You lean forwards, grabbing his wrist as you plead with him, “No! Mattheo please! Blaise can’t know! It would devastate him!” 

He bites his lip, hesitating, his inner turmoil tussling, and he can’t help the small bitterness that slips out. “Really? What’s the big deal? You were just ‘having fun’, right?” His eyes hardened on you, a small part of him still furious and disappointed in your behaviour. 

“Mattheo, please, you know how Blaise is!” 

“Yeah, I do. Maybe that’s why I should call him. I’m sure he’ll actually get through to you.”

“Mattheo, this isn’t a joke!”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?”

His words pause your attempt and you take a step back, pressing your lips together in a thin line. You consider his words, sensing his rhetoric and serious tone. “No.”

Groaning, he sighs again at the situation, and rubs his eyes, agitatedly. He knows what Blaise is like, always striving for perfectionism and the morals he threw down on you. There’s no way he could call him, the consequences you would face wouldn’t end well. Not to mention you'd never forgive him, and despite spontaneously getting you back in his life, he doesn’t want to let you go yet. Maybe it’s partly selfish, but this could be his only time to spend it with you again after so long. 

“I just want you to understand that actions have consequences…you’re supposed to be a good girl.” He gives you a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. He doesn’t want to fight with you anymore. 

“What if I’m tired of being the good girl? What if I’m ready for something different?” 

Mattheo’s eyes flicker over your face, searching for any sign of playfulness and that you’re not just trying to pull his leg. “Good’s always looked best on you, angel.” He uses the old pet name in a more sweet and less condescending way, his face softening as he takes in your deliberative expression. He cups your jaw with a nostalgic gentleness, tilting it up.

You sigh in defeat, knowing it’s useless to change who you are, a fate perfectly created for you. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. I’m just so fucking stressed - just wanted to have some fun, let loose before I finish school.” The confession flows out of you finally with ease, your words soft and hold a heavy weight of tiredness. 

Mattheo exhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose as he runs a hand through his hair, feeling for you sympathetically. He understands the position you’re in from a certain point of view. His whole life has been built around expectations and pleasing elders, continuous pressures that come with following in a legacy.

“I know, sweetheart, and you deserve that. I wish I could take that away from you.. all the pressure and expectations.” He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes closing for a moment.  

His eyes open, lowering down on you and he pulls back, muttering a soft, “What am I gonna do with you?” His mind filters through ideas. He can’t tell your brother, you don’t really deserve to be lectured or yelled out - it’s clear you understand the severity of your actions. 

“I just wanted to have fun.” Repeating your words for added effect, your eyes gaze at him with pleading, apologetic arousal. The air feels cleared from all past anger and just leaves behind unresolved tension. Your hand reaches out to touch his arm softly, coaxing out a reaction. “I’ve just been so stressed since you’ve been gone, Matty…I don’t have any distractions or stress relaxers.” There’s a slight connotation in your tone showing you’re referring to something other than your studies. 

His mouth clicks with intrigue and desire unwrapping your words, and the feel of your light touches tracing over his forearm. As his initial protectiveness and concern simmer down, his eyes drop their gaze with scrutiny, his tongue swiping along his bottom lip, wetting it slowly while he acknowledges completely the full extent of your outfit. More skin is revealed in his downward scan, and it only assists in his pants, increasingly uncomfortably constrict themselves.

“Been lonely, huh baby?” He mumbles in a hoarse whisper, a hint of surprise slipping through his tone. The idea quickly registering that you haven’t been with anyone since him and fuels him with a familiar sense of possession. He’s finding it hard to contain himself as the thought develops, overgrowing in his mind, of you pure. Untouched in months that you didn’t want to find a replacement to help relieve yourself. That you are and have always been truly his. His breath thickens, lips pulling up into a sweet smirk, “You’re tense huh? All tight?” 

Your gaze never wavers from those sweet brown eyes, now holding an intensity that has your stomach swirling, a tightening sensation building that leaves your cunt dampening. Giving a simple nod to his question, you add speaking with soft feigned innocent tones, “yeah and you’re right.. I am a good girl. I’ve been focusing so hard, keeping my grades up.”

Delicate fingers graze, tantalizingly up his toned arms compressed in the button-down shirt he’s wearing, and maneuver slowly up to loosen his tie. “I think I could use a break, a treat if you will.” 

He continues his own touches, keeping them to light brushes tracing the sides of your breast where the bikini is too small to cover. The tender slowness in which he moves sends waves of goosebumps igniting over your skin, his lips curling into a satisfying smirk at the reaction. 

Dragging his hands up further, skimming over the delicateness of your collarbone before his touch switches to one of stridence and dominance curling around your pretty neck. “A treat you say?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, his tone laced with deep attentiveness and interest. 

Hands still holding his tie freeze at his firm gasp, your immediate attention halted under his teasing stare. The demanding pressure against your throat causes a small gasp to exhale, the hair at the nape of your neck rising in trepidation. His thumb rubs along your jawline, sliding his hand further behind to clasp your cheek, a wolfish grin stretching wider at your innocent expression. “I’ll make sure I give you a good break, one that leaves you on bedrest for a few days.” The innuendo slithered between his words doesn’t go unmissed.

He leans, capturing your lips finally with an eager energy, his hands tangling, pushing their way into your locks. The sweet tang of liquor seeps onto your tongue at the merging of lips in a clash of dominance. One he wins in little time, pressing you further into the wall, lips continuously messily crushing on top of one another, the buildup of a year’s worth of yearning and desire. He groans, having missed the taste of you, nothing quite like the sweetness of your lips to send him into a flurry. 

Greedy touch starved words mumble out as he peppers heated kisses up your neckline, desperate to mark you once again. Fingers mingle amongst the lusciousness of your hair and tugging at the strands, exclaiming a breathless yelp from you, igniting him further and his teeth sink deeper into your skin, creating purple blemishes. 

Breathless moans pant from your parted lips, your nimble fingers attempt to focus on unbuttoning his shirt and are quickly met by his assistance, his hands replace yours with his moving fast to rid it. He enjoys the hurry in which you push it off his shoulders, revealing his tanned, toned and ultimately battled skin, his breath hitching at your needy but still tender touch roaming over his chest. He grasps your ass, squeezing it with a stark contrast harshness, making you moan, before he lifts picking you up. 

He moves with ease, striding towards the kitchen island, laying you down spurring a whine of protest from you at the cold marble and unhygienic location. He chuckles, his hands groping your thighs, spreading them wide for him to slither in. “Relax, I’m about to eat, gonna devour you, baby.” His head lowers, peppering kisses along your inner thighs, relishing in the quiet whimpers you pant. 

His eyes light up at the way your body reacts, already squirming around, back arching under each sensitive kiss he plants, easing closer to where you want. His fingers brush with teasing touches, leaving your skin burning with a fiery trail, as he discards your shorts. Eyes widening with appetite at the matching and equally skimpy bikini bottom, revealing the adorable soaking wet patch.

He grows restless when he’s hit with your familiar scent and groans deeply, not waiting a second longer before tearing the strings snapping the material off you. His cock strains harder in his pants at the exposure of just how turned on you are. 

Like the starved man that he’s become, he delves right in, flicking his tongue out, embracing the taste of your arousal. His hands find comfort wrapped around each of your thighs as he happily buries his face deeper into you, his ears melting at the sounds of your breathless whimpers.

An iron grip tugs, coiling your fingers in his curls, legs already twitching as he assaults your clit with his proficient tongue. A pleasurable moan erupts out of him and he instantly becomes mesmerized by the memory of your taste. Unable to teer his lust blown eyes away, he peers up, drowning in the contradicting angelically sinful view, an overwhelming high washing over him. 

“Fucking hell baby…I missed your pussy,” he groans, sending vibrations against your needy clit, making your hips jut to seek more friction. Tightening his grip, he presses your hips down harder on the cold surface, “good girls don’t get greedy.. sit still or I’ll stop.” A desperate whine greets the air and you whimper, trying to keep your squirms still, as he relentlessly laps at you. “that’s it, be a good girl for’me.” 

A continuous of broken whimpers cascades from your lips, your brows still furrowing at the agonisingly good pleasure he lavishes you with, tugging on his hair for more. The constant pressure his tongue is installing on your now overstimulated clit clouds your mind, blurring your eyes with an overpowering sensation as your legs squeeze around his head. “Ah.. ah ah fuck Matty-gonna cum oh god-” 

He responds by shoving his tongue deeper within you, flicking and sucking in order to get you to fall apart quicker. “That’s my girl.. come on baby.. cum all-” He doesn’t get to finish before your back arches and you yank tight on his hair, a deep cry screaming out as you unravel in ecstasy. 

He welcomes your climax with an open mouth, savoring every drop you release. He lifts his head, licking his glistening lips and looking at you with lust blown seductive eyes. His body shifts leaning forwards over you, cupping your cheek, and he smashes his lips on yours in a sloppy kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on his tainted tongue. Groaning at the notion that this is all because of him and his cock twitches ridiculously hard in his trousers, growing impatient. 

He pulls his head back, grabbing your hips to maneuver you off the counter, flipping you around and pressing you up against it. His eyes glaze enticingly over your exposed rear and instinctively, he lands a sharp smack on your backside, watching the recoil of your skin. You moan at the unexpected action leaning down on your elbows, waiting patiently for his next move. 

He bites his lip grinning and repeats the action, relishing in the darkening of your skin, followed by taking a firm hold on your ass cheeks. His fingers spread them apart to get a better look at your pretty glistening pussy, unable to hold back the hoarse groan at the new dampness you’re creating. “God, I can’t get enough of you.” 

The comfortable silence lingers in the room while you take the time to catch your breath, still feeling worn out from his last ministrations. Taking his hands off you, he finally removed his painfully hard cock from his restraints, sliding it on your lower back. He leans down to pepper kisses on your back, creeping up near your ear, nipping at the shell. “Think you can still take me? Been a while.” He teases your entrance, dipping the tip between your folds, smirking at the way your pussy tries to suck him in impatiently, and he hisses out a sharp breath. 

“Yes! Yes, I can take you.. I’m still your good girl.” You whine, pressing your ass back to get him inside quicker, and are met with another harsh spank in retaliation making you squeal. 

He presses a hand lowering your chest to the counter tutting, “So impatient sweetheart, maybe I should make you wait.” He nudges his tip in teasingly, even just the amount has you stretching out and he releases a small groan, his other hand gripping your hip to keep you still. “Don’t know if you deserve me to move yet.” His words are strained, leaving you unconvinced that he’ll follow through on his words.

“Fuck-” Proving you right, he holds your hip and head tightly, easing in at a treacherous pace, relishing in the needy whine you make. You lay there letting him fill you up torturously, your pussy aching for friction, for movement, for anything more. It squeezes around, his thick cock clenching, and he hisses with a low groan. “Such a needy little thing for me, aren’t you. Can feel you clenching down on my fucking cock.”

He pushes forward further, bottoming you out till his hips hit your ass, and he leans down to kiss your shoulder blades, connecting your bodies together as one. He’s balls deep and his head falls resting on your back momentarily, making brief grunts of pleasure as he gives you a moment to adjust, though it’s really for him as he has trouble focusing on how good you feel. “God you’re so fucking tight baby… I can tell you haven’t let anyone for a while, have you?” 

He stubbornly stills, fighting off his own urges for the sweet need to hear you beg for him, his cock twitching agonisingly inside the depth of your snug walls. He reaches down, yanking you back by your hair up to his chest, allowing him to kiss along your neck, enjoying the way you whine and mew at the sensations - desperately needing, wanting him to move. “Matty, pleaseee, I told you I’ve been good.” 

A deep satisfied chuckle vertebrates against your ear and he smiles against your skin, “That’s right you have.. fuck, you’re so perfect, so patient and good.” Your breathing shallows in frustrated whines as he still doesn’t move despite the praise. 

He pulls at the back strings of your bikini top speaking in a low, disappointed tone, “But that’s not my name now, is it, baby.” His free hand moves to pull at the front part, still tied and snapping it, freeing your tits, his eyes drawn to how they bounce out of their security.

He kisses more against your neck, leaving sweet marks along your skin, his hand groping your breast, toying with the nipple. Relishing in the way you squirm at the overstimulation, your pussy continues to clench around his stilled cock. He groans, his patience and temptation pushing at its fucking limits, and he’s genuinely impressed by his ability not to fall apart yet. “Come on sweetheart, I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re acting forgetful.” 

The intense feeling builds even without the movement of him and you swear you’re descending into insanity in this agony, brows furrowing as you whine. His hand re-wraps around your neck as he whispers his voice hoarse with need, “what’s my fucking name angel?” 

“Daddy...Daddy, please i-i need you to move.” He can hardly take it any longer at the desperation in which you plead the words he craved, needing so badly to hear. He loosens his grip on your hair, allowing you to fall forwards against the counter before he pulls back with little warning snapping back into your cunt. 

“Oh fucking merlin-,” He groans, his body reacting instantly to the warmth and familiarity that your tight pussy envelopes him, squeezing around him with every thrust. His pace increases with rapid speed, rigorously pounding, unable to contain himself as his hands grip tightly, digging into your hips. It’s been so long since he’s felt this good and he fears he won’t be able to last that long. 

He savours the loud moans and whines you sprawl filling the empty room off his kitchen, sounds he missed so badly. They sound just as good as he remembers, having thought about them a lot - but to have you actually underneath him squirming, moaning for him fills him with a deep satisfaction and pride. “Feels even better than I remember..baby,” his brows furrow, eyes falling to watch the way his cock slides in and out of your dripping hole. His hips thrust vigorously, bringing him intense amounts of pleasure and relief.

“Daddy, fuck omg,” the pleasure the rushes through you forces your eyes to shut, squeezing tightly, hands aimlessly searching around for something to grab, reaching back to dig your nails into his waist. The pleasure is so overwhelming, your stomach turns with how deep he’s filling you up. “Fuck- so good, so deep ugh.” 

He grins, “yeah feel good sweetheart, you miss me, fucking you so deeply?” The two of your bodies sweat and move together, rocking, your hips bruising against the cold marble. He lifts your left leg, bending it up onto the counter, causing his cock to slide deeper and graze hard into your cervix. “This is just for me isn’t it, this fucking pussy..all mine no matter how long apart we spend.” 

The combination of his possessive words and hips brushing intensely on your g-spot has you babbling incoherently, reminding you how quickly you’re able to fall apart under the touch of this man. “Yeah-h, yeah yeah- fuck, Matty.” Nails digging in further to his skin for the needed stability as your mind breaks apart, mouth caught in a constant parting as high moans continue to tumble from you. 

He laughs breathlessly, his voice hoarse as he feels himself edging the line of tipping over, “that’s fucking right,” his hips continue to shift driving further into you, “such a good girl for me always.” He doesn’t last a second longer, his hips jutting sloppily, “fuck- baby need you to cum.” 

Whining a desperate broken sound, you don’t need to be told twice, allowing your forehead to fall onto the counter at the break of your orgasm ruptures through you. Twice as hard as it’s ever been, twice as loud - you don’t hold back, screaming - crying his name in a harmonious praise. 

He’s never felt more aroused than from the words falling from your precious lips, before he sputters his cum deep inside you with a choked husky moan. Panting heavy breaths, trying to calm his beating heart in the aftermath of his ecstasy, rubbing your leg soothingly before releasing it from its perched position. He pulls back, quickly tugging his briefs back on, watching your slumped body stay stagnant against the marble. 

“Angel, you okay?” A small hum follows, acknowledging his concern, and you sigh pleasantly when he scoops you up, carrying you down to his bedroom. He kisses your temple before laying you down and fetching a warm cloth to tend to you. You lay recovering in euphoric bliss as he tidies you up, pressing delicately tender kisses to your inner thighs. 

A cluster of thoughts swirl like leaves caught up in the wind blustery inside your mind, and you speak, wanting to ponder one aloud. “Matty..?” 

He looks up at your soft, drained voice. “Yeah?” 

“Why did you come?” It’s been boggling your since you saw him in the police station, and there lyes a hint of vulnerability in your question. 

He shifts, straightening up in order to look down on you fully. He doesn’t mean to stall the question, but gets lost in the sight before him. You always were too beautiful for him, of course, being a Zabini that came naturally. His eyes warm as he flickers his gaze down on the uncertain expression your face holds. “You called.” 

It’s a simple answer, but it holds so much depth within it, causing a stir inside your chest to churn. His words reveal to you any uncertainty about the relationship you two held, he cared. More than you had expected too. Meeting his gaze, the two of your breath hitches in this moment of intensity. 

He leans down, hovering over you coming closer so that you can now feel his shallow breath, “I’ll always come, no matter what happens between us.” Trying not to open up too much the hanging weight of the situation still perching on his shoulders. The notion that you still are Blaise’s sister, a forbidden fruit, always pushing tempting on him. You had been right, he couldn’t say no to you, his control always becoming a crumbling mess under your touch. 

He smiles matching your own, unable to ignore the way his heart pounds harder in his chest at how your entire face lights up. With gentle hands he cups your cheek, “you’re a godamn dream y/n.” 

His words hold a somber meaning, with hints of honesty and yearning that you distinguish. Offering a small understanding smile back, you slide your hand over his, feeling his warmth, “I’m glad I can always count on you, Matty, no matter what.” 

He nods, too overwhelmed to say anything else, and presses a kiss to your forehead, nose and lastly, those pretty lips. The kiss radiates a different fresh energy than earlier. A recurring emotion you hadn’t felt from anyone other than him taking you back to your days together. There is heart and craving mingling amongst the tips of your tongues, encapsulating the passion you share for one another. 

“One day…I promise to make it come true. I won’t give up on us. I know we haven’t even begun our own story.” Your smile at his determined words, any hints of vulnerability evaporating and replaced with a blossom of affection and fondness for him. 

His eyes gaze lovingly at you as he falls laying beside you, arms pulling you closer till your head rests over his heart. The girl who he holds tightly now, had reignited the fire within him - an old flame - and he couldn’t help but want to burn alongside you, no matter the danger. To catch fire with your energy and dwindle down the wax together as one. 

⤷ navigation. ⤷ masterlist. ⤷ mattheo masterlist. All work is my own and is not to be copied, claimed or stolen. ©️pizzaapeteer 2024.

[kanekisfavoritegf]

PERFECT LOVER: The Life of Nanami Kento the 35 Year Old Virgin

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: Kento Nanami, a 35-year-old introvert with a tendency to avoid social interactions, has made a conscious decision to steer clear of romantic entanglements. However, everything changes when he meets a new colleague at his birthday party, (Satoru's Idea). From the moment they meet, he is mesmerized, finding himself increasingly unable to resist her magnetic presence. Like taking a bite of forbidden fruit, he becomes ensnared by the allure, delving into a realm of infatuation and finding himself unable to break free. As he delves deeper into this newfound connection, Nanami begins to realize that he craves more than just a fleeting experience and yearns for more than just a fleeting taste of what she embodies.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 1.8K

Part 2 1/2 was added to the beginning! So if you have already read it, skip to where it says “TWO DAYS LATER.”

CHAPTER THREE:

The drive from Kento’s apartment was short enough to make you consider walking next time. If there was ever another situation in which you’d be leaving Kento’s apartment in the morning.

“And where the hell have you been?” You practically jumped out of your skin at the sound of Yuki’s voice. You turned around to meet her smug face from across the hall, smirking like she knew something you didn’t.

“Such a warm welcome from my favorite neighbor,” You quipped, unlocking your door.

“You were at Kenny’s, right?” 

“Kenny? Who i– Oh! Kento. Yeah.”

Yuki followed in after you, her eyes lingering on the clothes you threw into the washer. It was only then that she realized you were wearing her university’s graphic tee. This might have been an ordinary occurrence any other day, but not when you spent the night at her old university friend and coworker’s house, especially not Nanami’s.

“You didn’t sleep with him, right?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good.” Yuki sighed.

“Good? Is he dating someone?” You felt your breath hold as you wondered aloud, only releasing it once answered.

“No, he doesn’t date.”

“Like at all?”

“Nope.”

“Is there a reason?” 

“It's not my story to tell.” Yuki shook her head. “He is touchy about the subject.”

You only nodded.

“Not even casual hookups?”

“Hey! No.” You would have been offended at the harshness of Yuki’s voice if her expression of horror had not been so amusing, “He is off limits.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is the lonely virgin; one hookup with you, and you will ruin him.” It was a little surprising to hear Kento was still a virgin, but not because of his age, but his demeanour. The way he carried himself. Indeed, he must have had someone he wanted to be with that intimately; surely someone would want him so intimately, but then again, you only knew him for a few hours; who knows what he is actually like.

“You make it seem like I am some succubus.”

“You might as well be Y/N.”You only rolled your eyes at her. “Listen to me, Y/N,” Yuki’s hands cupped your face like a child needing grave warning. “You can not deflower poor Kento.”

“He isn’t a child.”

“I know, but–” Yuki lost the words on her tongue, knowing no explanation would do it justice. “Just don’t. He isn’t Satoru or Suguru. He is a decent man, and if you slept with him, hell, if you kissed him, it would lead to places I don’t think you’d want to go to.”

“You hummed a sound of agreement and went to your bedroom to change. Thoughts of Kento are still in your mind; the more Yuki speaks about him, the more you want to pull back each layer of him to see what exactly makes him the way he is. 

Yuki’s words still echoed in your head as you showered “hell if you kissed him, it would lead to places I don’t think you’d want to go to.” But it was already too late. Kento Nanami was undeniably curious about you, just as much as you to him.

TWO DAYS LATER

“Hello, Mr. Nanami! If I read my email correctly, you are supposed to be showing me around today.” 

This was the first time Nanami had been caught off guard. For some reason, you stood in front of him in business attire, a skirt cut just above the knee, black stockings and a white dress shirt hidden beneath a black cardigan.

 He stared down at you as you stood before him, a nervous smile painted on your face as he did so. His expression was even more blank than he had given you three days ago. It almost seemed like he was angry, but the more he stared at you quietly, you couldn’t help but feel as though he may have just forgotten you. And the very idea of Nanami forgetting you made you slightly (very much so) annoyed. 

Was kissing strangers after housing them in his very nice, very clean apartment a common occurrence for him? Was walking around in shirts too tight around women clearly captivated by him an everyday experience for him???

Okay, you understood it wasn’t technically a kiss to be written in the history books and that it was you who kissed him. But that didn’t take away the feeling of aggravation snaking its way up your spine.

“I’m Y/N.” You stated.

“I know.” Was all he said in return, turning to his desk and logging into the company computer, leaving you standing there awkwardly as he faced his display screen.

You peered over his shoulder, letting a few braids dip down and lay across his chest as you watched him. 

Nanami only let out a shaky breath as you did so, doing his best to ignore the heat that came off of your body as you pressed into him from behind. It didn’t help that you smelled like vanilla and chocolate; whatever perfume you wore was slowly snaking its way around his neck and choking him.

Choosing not to acknowledge your closeness, he focused on your name, typing it in slowly as he waited for an email mentioning you. When it failed, he then searched the word intern, and sure enough, it popped up. In his spam, a place where all emails specifically from Satoru Gojo were sent.

NANAMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII, I need a huge favor: babysit the new hires and show them around the office. I missed the flight yesterday, so I’ll be back next week.

Thanks!! 

Satoru.

“How does one miss a flight and choose to return in a week, not the next day?” You asked, a small giggle escaping you. Kento only shook his head, huffing slightly, before turning back around to face you.

“I’m Kento Nanami.”

“I knew that.” You replied shortly, and if Kento could kick himself in the knee, he would ten times over.

“Yes.” 

“Yes?”

“Yes,” he repeated bluntly. Stay here one moment. When I return, I will give you a tour of this department. I shouldn’t be over ten minutes.”

Before you could even respond, he had vanished, disappearing down a corridor and around a corner, leaving you standing there, slightly bewildered.

Kento silently cursed himself in the supply closet. 

He was hiding.

 In a closet.

 Kento Nanami, the 35-year-old virgin, was hiding in a closet because a pretty woman smelled nice. It didn’t help that you had said his name the way you did. 

Smooth and slow and utterly… normal. Kento knew he couldn’t blame all his perverted problems on the object of his desire, no matter how much he wished to.

He sighed heavily, knocking his head into the door in front of him before opening it and emerging once again into reality. 

All he needed to do was keep himself calm and composed, not let his eyes drift to your lips, preferably avoid all eye contact, and not mention last weekend under any circumstances.

When he approached his desk again, you weren’t alone. Suguru stood over you as you leaned against his desk for support.

“Oh, it’s Mr. Nanami!” You pointed out, bringing Suguru’s attention to Kento as he approached you.

“Mr. Nanami?” Suguru smirked at you with a tilted head. 

“Should I not call him that?” You panicked for all of 3 seconds before Nanami cut in.

“No, no. It is fine.” Letting out a shuddered breath, “Call me whatever you want.” A weak smile went with his words as he twisted to meet the other man.

“Don’t you have a meeting to be in? Where is Yuki?”

“She is already in there stalling. I thought I’d welcome the new hire once again since Satoru has decided to skip his duties. Geto shook his head at the thought of Satoru sipping on mimosas and eating fresh fruit instead of doing his job, his very well-paying job.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you anymore. We can grab lunch or something later!” You suggested before sliding your way to the blonde man. “And you.” Nanami held his breath as you pointed his way, “You owe me a tour.”

“That I do.” Kento said, throwing a tight smile at Geto, trying to mask the ridiculous feeling of jealousy that began blooming in his chest. All Geto gave back was a knowing smile, a smile that you and Kento alike mistook for one given to yourselves, adding to the tension in the room.

***

Walking through the office was probably one of the most awkward experiences of your life.

Whenever you tried to open a conversation, Kento quickly shut it down or stirred it toward work. 

This would have been fine had he looked you in the eye at least once as he showed off every inch of the new environment.

“This is our break/rest room. A couch, blankets, pillows and noise-canceling earphones are stored away for when you need to sleep.”

“Ooo, that sounds amazing.” You peered inside since no one was currently rested. 

“Yup. All you need to do is flip the card to the red side, lock the door, and then, for at least forty minutes, peace is yours.”

“We pull many all-nighters here as the marketing team; with such a small group, taking forty minutes to one-hour breaks is pretty common.”

“Do you often sleep here?”

“No,” was all he said as he glanced over you, making his way to the kitchen, assuming you’d be following behind him promptly.

With each passing second, your patience wore thinner, and you couldn’t help but huff in annoyance.

As you stood in the final room of the floor, Nanami continued to drone on about the new kettle and fridge space, practically facing the wall opposite you.

“What is your problem?” You snapped at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Why aren’t you looking at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

“I am not talking about now; I am talking about this whole tour, or better yet since I approached you this morning.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You won’t look at me.”

“Y/N–” Kento started.

“You can call me Miss L/N,” You corrected, “I was nervous at the idea of starting a new job in a higher position than before, especially with all of you guys, who already know each other so well, so to be shown around by someone I “knew” it gave me a little bit of comfort. But if this is a problem for Mr. Nanami, then I can wait for Sugu- Mr. Geto, or Yuki to show me around after their meeting. “

“No.”

“No?” You repeated back at him.

“I am sorry.”

“Okay???”

“I struggle talking with women.”

“And looking them in the eye?” 

“Yes. To women I am attracted to, I struggle.” He now faced you fully, the tips of his ears burned bright red. You would have found this cute, had it not been utterly shocking.

Oh.

“It is ridiculous, I know, but I am trying to get it under control, so don’t worry about me. I am sorry if I have made you uncomfortable in any way.” And before you could respond, Nanami was back at his desk. Leaving you gobsmacked in the middle of the office Kitchen.

“Oh.” You whispered to no one, hand reaching out and touching your lips.

Preview...

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"CHAPTER FOUR" UPLOADED

[zivazivc]

Not exactly a character sheet but something akin to it... an all around sound reveal/analysis for my punk funk guy

yapping on top of yapping under the cut:

Les's musical style is a wide range that typically leans heavily into funk metal or punk rock, or both!, although he is quick to get inspired by other genres too. In general he likes music that sounds at least a little droll and unexpected. I hope the selection of albums I compiled can paint you a good idea of it (because I sure as hell don't know what I'm doing!).

He is, first and foremost, a bass player and he's very good at it. Heavy funky slapping and popping is prominent in his music as is usual in funk music in general. He's got an old (ugly) second-hand bass guitar, that he cherishes like it's his baby. He could probably save an get a cooler-looking one for the stage but that in itself is uncool in his book.

He's also not so bad with the trumpet too, doesn't own one though, so he only plays it when he gets a chance. He learned to play it from his uncle Adewale.

Singing on the other hand is not his forte; he doesn't have super impressive vocals plus he's holding himself back. His singing style sounds droll and kind of jaded (often even deadpan and monotone although thought out and not lazy in any way), and closer to speak-singing. Big reason for that is that genuine honest singing makes him feel vulnerable in an uncomfortable way he's not willing to face, and it hints at a possibility for emotional release he very much prefers to not see happen. Y'know, singing is therapeutic and he doesn't want the therapy. 🥲

He typically balances out his singing with sarcastic/dramatic lyrics or unusual storytelling that keep his true thoughts and feelings well encrypted under layers of metaphors and allegories (subconsciously or intentionally) — which funnily enough makes him a very clever lyricist. But he doesn't put any of it down and has no interest in joining Hed and Floyd with writing songs for the band.

His singing VA is John McCrea from Cake, and when I say this I mean from the sound of his singing voice, all the way down to how he delivers his lines and the lyrics themselves. ':) More examples: 1, 2, 3. (I put only two of their albums on the drawing but honestly Cake has so many good Les songs.)

NoMeansNo is a close second when it comes to lyrics, but they're more like vent songs for Les, when you catch him in a weird angry/depressed mood. I also really like that band's prominent use of the bass, it's not very funky but it scratches my Les itch very much.

Butthole Surfers' songs have good Les lyrics too, although those are more "him singing about weird hallucinations while high out of his mind" or when he wants to be shocking for the sake of being shocking. That band is just weird overall, I like the singers southern drawl though. I'm still on board the idea of Les and Hed having a bit of a southern US accent.

Incubus is an amazing band overall but their first two albums are such a good flavor of funk metal and early band experimentality. Their singer is really good in regards to the word intonation I imagine Les having, he's too skilled for Les to keep up with in some parts though. 😅

I think the perfect Les sound would be some kind of chimera of these four bands... or maybe not, maybe that would sound terrible. XD

But still, to get a feel for Les's sound overall you have to give all of the examples below a listen, or at least the ones I put in bold.

- The albums featured in the drawing ↴

Incubus - S.C.I.E.N.C.E.

NoMeansNo - 0 + 2 = 1

Cake - Comfort Eagle

Incubus - Fungus Amongus

Beck - Odelay

The Damage Manual - The Damage Manual

Primus - Sailing the Seas of Cheese

Cake - Motorcade of Generosity

Fungo Mungo - Humungous

NoMeansNo - Wrong

Butthole Surfers - Electriclarryland

L.A.P.D. - L.A.P.D.

Bonus "Lena" album:

13. Jack Off Jill - Clear Hearts Grey Flowers

[jinx-xxed]

Wriothesley Headcanons

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A/N; Something simple while I work on pt. 2 of “sweet mornings” (and some other ideas lol)!! I hope everyone’s pulls went well :)

Content; NSFW 18+ headcanons included

Wc; 1.6k

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☆ Outside of the Fortress, Wriothesley refrains from big shows of PDA, always concerned somebody may target you because of it, because of him. Even if you can handle yourself, he can’t help being too careful.

☆ He’ll always hold your hand or take a quick kiss on the cheek though.

☆ When you’re in the Fortress, Wriothesley can’t seem to leave you alone except for when he’s working. If he has any free time, he’ll immediately come find you and be all over you. Unless you’re the one working of course, then he’ll merely sit nearby and enjoy your presence.

☆ If you visit him while he’s working, you’ll usually find yourself in your comfortable spot curled up in his lap. Wriothesley certainly doesn’t mind, it’s quite easy to keep reviewing and signing documents while you doze off with your head tucked nicely beneath his chin, one arm wrapped snugly around you.

☆ You spend every meal together, either in his office, in the cafeteria, or out in the overworld when you two can sneak away for lunch. It’s something he always looks forward to, those simple moments with you where he can set aside his duties for a little while.

☆ Wriothesley can read you like a book, no matter how well you think you’re hiding your emotions. He’s gotten a knack for it after having to read the faces and body language of all the prisoners that come through the Fortress.

☆ That’s why he finds himself able to trust you more than anyone else. He feels inexplicably at ease around you, your honesty in all senses calming something within him.

☆ It took Wriothesley almost a year of knowing you before he let you finally investigate his gauntlets after your incessant asking. You’d said you were fascinated by the machine work and whenever he brought them out you were always staring with wide eyes. The ecstatic grin you gave him when he agreed at last is something he won’t forget.

☆ Wriothesley loves to listen to you talk, your voice is one of his favorite sounds. He thinks it’s adorable when you get excited about something you’re passionate about, going on and on about it with this sparkle in your eye. You always share new discoveries in your research or the plot of the latest book you’ve been reading (he never has time to read so he likes hearing you tell him the story instead), and it couldn’t make him happier.

☆ Sometimes old memories get the better of him. Sometimes he’ll wake with a start, his heart beating too fast and a thin layer of sweat on his skin. When that happens, you’ll brush his hair out of his face, tell him he’s okay, and take him upstairs so you can make him some tea. You’ll sit with him in silence until he feels better, until his mind has calmed and those dark memories are beaten back to where they came from. You know he’s alright when his hand finds yours, a whispered thanks falling from his lips.

☆ Wriothesley comes to bed late most nights, slipping under the covers so carefully to try not to disturb you. It’s usually futile, your brain subconsciously waiting for him to join you and so when he’s finally there, you immediately cuddle into him. He’ll put those strong arms around you and it makes everything right in your world. You both are out like lights a minute later.

☆ He’s in constant disbelief that you’re his. He never expected to find someone like you, someone who fits with him like his missing puzzle piece. You’re so perfect that he sometimes feels guilty about it, about keeping you down in the Fortress with him, deep under the sea. You’re always quick to reassure him, promising you’re there purely of your own decision. You’ll tell him how much you love him again and again until any trace of doubt is washed away for good.

☆ You adore caring for Wriothesley, when he’ll let you. You can tell he’s been independent his whole life, eager to do things by himself, so you try to help with the small things. Brewing the hot water for his tea, delivering paperwork, fixing up any kind of busted machinery. Then, in the later hours, you’ll hold him close and run your fingers through his black and silver hair, reveling in the way you feel his body relax against yours, his content sigh tickling your skin.

☆ Wriothesley is always holding you at night, your warmth being the best way to chase off the cold he feels creeping in his bones. He enjoys when you snuggle right into his side the most, not even a hairsbreadth of space between your bodies.

☆ Sometimes he’ll stop by your office just to see what music you’re listening to. You always have something unique playing, something he hasn’t heard before in any of the operas or shops around Fontaine. It’s vastly different from the classical he has playing in his own office, but he’s quickly come around to the pumped up beats and vocals.

☆ Sigewinne is beyond grateful that you showed up in the Fortress. She’s never seen the Duke so consistently at ease and she knows she has you to thank for that. She’ll giggle to herself over the way he follows you like a dog sometimes.

☆ You’re very flexible with his work schedule, knowing how unpredictable or brutal it can be some days. There’s been a few instances where your dates have consisted of just sitting quietly in his office while you both work, enjoying each other’s company. Wriothesley thinks himself unbelievably lucky to have found someone like you who’s actually happy simply working beside him when the papers pile a bit too high.

☆ He’s always sure to take you someplace nice after days like those.

☆ You box together! He originally scoffed at the idea when you suggested it, but decided to humor you after seeing you were dead serious. He tried to go easy on you, holding his strength and thinking this was just something for you to get out of your system, but very quickly had to switch up when he realized you were extremely intent on knocking him on his ass. Now you two go blow for blow without a second thought, much to Sigewinne’s dismay.

☆ Your boxing matches are a great way to release tension or to get warmed up. More often than not, they result in you pinned under Wriothesley after he got a little too hot and bothered by your sweaty body and displays of strength.

☆ Being in your arms is Wriothesley’s safe space. When something’s troubling him, or he’s had a rough day, or when he just needs you, that’s where he’ll find himself. It washes away all his worries, even if for only a little while.

» ☆ «

NSFW

☆ Wriothesley very much enjoys using his full body weight against you, pressing into you and pinning you to the bed so that all you can feel is him.

☆ Trust that he will be using those sharp canines. He loves to nip at your skin and hear the noises you make.

☆ He’s put his handcuffs to use more than a few times. It all started when you offhandedly asked about them, trying to be sly, and as a response he locked them onto your wrists and watched as your face turned red. It was a long while before they finally got taken off.

☆ Morning sex is one of his favorites. Fucking into you first thing is a great way to start his day and keep him going, your quiet moans and soft body so perfect for him.

☆ Wriothesley is big on praise, giving it to you whenever he can. Saying how good you are, how well you take him, how much you were made for him, how much he loves you. He can’t degrade you unless you ask, but even then he has to make up for it with plenty of kisses afterwards.

☆ There’s times where he’ll tease you relentlessly, bringing you up and down again over and over until you’re begging and in tears. He can’t help it, you look pretty when you cry.

☆ If you’ve been gone for a while, like on a trip for work, it’s impossible to get him off you. He’ll take you wherever he can; in bed, on his desk, on the couch, in your office. He can’t get enough of you and he missed you so much. His nights were so lonely without you, spent with his face buried in your pillow while he rutted against the sheets, having to use his hand to get off.

☆ Wriothesley is very cuddly after sex, pulling you in and encasing you with his big, warm body. Even if he has somewhere to be, he’ll take at least a few minutes to just bury his head in the crook of your neck and breathe you in. You think he does it to ground himself.

☆ He’s always ready to try new things with you when you suggest it. He’s eager to please you, to let you use him the way you want. Seeing you lost in your pleasure is something he takes great joy in. It’s a two way street of course—you always return the favor.

☆ You’re constantly amazed by his body, his strength and all his scars. You see that and think of how gentle Wriothesley is despite it all, how much he cares for those around him, your wonderful man. On quieter nights, you’ll take your time kissing each of his scars, of which there’s many. You love doing it because it’s the one thing that makes him flustered, a pretty blush on his face when you’re only halfway through.

[reidsdimples]

The Learning Game

Spencer Reid x gf!reader

18+❤️‍🔥MDNI ‼️

Inexperienced Spencer Reid (ssn 2) has his first sexual experience with you.

“It’s okay, we’ll take it slow,” you whisper to Spencer. He’s looking down at you with furrowed brows. His breathing’s hitches when you took on his tie, strands of hair falling over his glasses.

“I mean I know what to do I’m just…” he clears his throat when you toss his tie to the floor. He’s stammering over his words and he can’t think straight due to your hands on him. “I just want to touch you so bad,” he whispers so low you almost miss it.

You’re in his apartment, in his kitchen specifically where you two were just going to have some coffee. You had been dating for two months. You had experience, but not much and he had none.

You lace your fingers with his and lead him to the couch where you push him to sit, his button down now falling open. He sweeps his hair back and looks up at you. He’s unbelievably sexy like this, messy hair, breathing hard, eyes blown wide in anticipation, and his body… your pussy clenches.

You lean down and bring his hands up to your ass, he swallows hard. But he palms and squeezes at you through your thin shorts. The sensation of his hands there winds a knot in the pit of your stomach. You step closer, between his legs.

He burrows his head against your stomach, pushing your shirt up and pressing kisses on your skin. You run your fingers through his hair, reveling in the feeling of him groaning into the softness of your stomach.

“Is this okay?” He looks up at you as his hands trial under the hem of your shorts, right against your ass.

“Mhmm,” you bite your lip.

He digs his nails into your flesh, kneading into your ass with soft whimpers as he kisses your stomach. You sway in front of him as he follows his urge to spread your cheeks wide. You feel your arousal separate within your folds at the motion.

He runs his hands down the backs of your thighs and up your hips like he needs to take in the feeling of your creamy soft skin.

“Your hands feel so good on me baby,” you tell him.

You grab his hands and bring them up under your shirt until he’s cupping your breasts, your hands over his. He looks at you with his mouth partially open as he drags his tongue over his bottom lip.

You push him back and straddle him on the couch but he doesn’t release his needy hold of your breasts. You lift your shirt and discard it with a playful smile.

“Wow,” he whispers as he takes in the site of you before him.

You place your hands in his hair and lean forward.

“Go ahead,” you prompt him.

He gently kisses the swell of your breast, trailing down to your nipple where he can’t help but circle his tongue around the hardened peak. You let out a hushed moan for him until he brings his other hand up to your other breast. He plays with and pinches that nipple while he begins sucking on the one in his mouth. You throw your head back, fighting the urge to rock your hips against him.

“So good baby, you’re doing so good,” you praise him. You pull his hair hard enough for him to unlatch from your tit with a popping sound and he looks back up at you. He’s desperate, panting almost, with need. You’ve never seen this look in his eyes.

You kiss him hard, his strong arms wrap your frame and hugs you close. Your tongues push back and forth, sinfully stroking each other as you let your hips start to move.

You feel his erection through his slacks, pushing up against your pussy. There’s too many layers of clothes but he groans at the friction, a small whimpering into the kiss which drives you insane. He’s so sensitive to the smallest touch, twitching and writhing beneath you as you grind against him.

He’s a whimpering mess by the time you shift yourself back just enough to pull his cock free of his pants. He tries to read your reaction but he has no idea how perfect he is. The head of his cock is pronounced, his shaft longer than you would have expected and the girth… that’s going to stretch you out. You moan and bite your lip, pleased.

You look him in the eyes and grip his cock tight and then you start pumping it.

“Oh god,” he huffs and rolls his head back on the couch.

You can’t help yourself, watching him moan and revel in your touch literally takes you to your knees before him. You want to taste him, to make him feel good.

He looks down at you in awe, somehow shocked at what you’re about to do.

“Is this okay?” You bat your eyelashes up at your boyfriend who can barely speak.

“Please,” he begs.

You drag your tongue up his shaft, palming the other side of it in your grip. He sucks air through his teeth when you swirl your tongue around the tip. You taste his precum on your tongue, sweet. He furrows his eye brows and pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he watches you. Another hand pushes his hair out of his face.

“You’re such a good boy Spence,” you praise because it drives him crazy and then take his cock deep into your mouth.

The sound that escapes him is unrestricted, needy, and pitiful. You fucking love it and shove his head down the back of your throat until you’ve got every inch of him in your mouth.

You hum and gag around him, soaking his cock as you reel your head back up- pumping what isn’t in your mouth with your hand. He lets out a whimper through pursed lips as you hallow your cheeks and pay special attention to the head.

“So pretty,” he moans as he watches you. He nervously brings his hands into your hair. Pulling it back from your face as you bob up and down on him.

The apartment fills with lewd, sloppy sounds as you greedily please him. Every moan, every time he pulls your hair just eggs you on.

“Buck your hips, do what feels good baby,” you urge him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he reasons.

“You won’t,” you shake your head and take his cock in your mouth again. His silky smooth skin is sinful against your tongue.

After a moment he starts to meet your rhythm with his hips, shoving his cock into the back of your throat, keeping your head still with his hands. God he had no idea how fucking hot he was.

You open your mouth wider as he starts to rut into your throat, whimpering so prettily as he approaches his climax. You squeeze your eyes shut, tears from the face fucking slipping out, it’s amazing.

You want him to come so bad so you begin twisting your tongue around his length, even writing his name with your tongue as you bob up and down and stroke his cock all at once.

He can’t pump his hips anymore, he’s throwing his head back and groaning. Then he tenses.

“Ah!” He moans and you feel hot cum shooting into your mouth. The sweet and thick substance pours into your throat in ropes as his throbbing cock is emptied into it.

You moan and stroke his cock a few extra times to ensure you got it all. You run your tongue over the sensitive tip, taking the last drops of him. He watches with heavy eyes, spent.

“You did so good,” you climb back into his lap and kiss him.

At first he hesitates but gives in hungrily.

“I thought you wanted to have sex?” He asks.

“I do and we will soon,” you smirk. “I’m going to teach you everything.”

You’re so happy that the two of you have crossed this threshold. Next you’re going to teach him how you like to be touched and then you get to teach him how to fuck. You’re so excited.

“Thank you,” he whispers and kisses you again.

“Don’t thank me. You’re going to have to fight to keep me off of you now,” you joke and you both laugh.

[ineffectualdemon]

Btw tbc when I say that Mobei Jun is a hopeless romantic and dreams of being a trophy husband or of being a romantic damsel in distress it is mostly silly headcanons

But there is a grain of canon in there

1. We know he tries to romance Shang Qinghua in a very noble weirdo demon way. (I still think that when he surprises Shang Qinghua on An Ding after their meeting the beating and stealing his bed and calling it his was him flirting like fuck.)

2. We know that before his uncle abandoned him as a child, which led to him being terrorised as a toddler by Huan Hua Palace, he was a very trusting and loving child who adored his uncle and that he only became cold and distant after that.

That's a trend in PIDW. We see many characters who are trusting and hopeful (to an extent) when younger growing a cynical protective outer layer and, most importantly, burying that seed of hope and trust deep inside.

We see that with Bingmei who tries to have the facade until crumbled and shows the desperation for love inside. And with Bingge who goes from the white lotus bright eyed child to the demon emperor who yearns for what his other self has. Shen Jiu was at least capable of trust and hope at one point but buried it too deep.

And Airplane himself was probably hopeful and trusting at one point. And he buried it under cynicism and self depreciation. Of course his ideal man has the perfect cold "I don't care about anything you do. You can't hurt me I'm already dead inside" outer attitude

So there is reason to think that inside Mobei still holds some desire for love and softness and devotion. Which makes it entirely believable that he can keep up his icy facade because he daydreaming of his crush nonstop to sustain himself. And Shang Qinghua was very good crush material! He was loyal and devoted and took care of him when he was ill

So yeah I'm mostly just making up shit to amuse myself but I think there are at least seeds of something in canon

[red-garden]

Dad jiu AU where Shen jiu molds/trains Binghe into being Shen Yuans bodyguard/protector.

But SJ and LBHs relationship is similar to the one pearl had when she first began training Connie.

If you haven't watch Steven universe basically when Pearl first began training Connie to sword fight she made Connie believe that she was only built to live for steven. To risk her life for steven no matter what. Essentially made Connie believe her life didn't matter unless she devoted herself fully to protecting steven. Which was the relationship pearl had with Rose quartz. Even when Pearl's relationship was unhealthy with rose because Rose kept on leaving Pearl for other people, Pearl stayed because what was she made for if not protecting Rose?

Every time he talks about Binghe living for Shen Yuan, he references his own devotion for Yue Qingyuan.

Anyways instead of making a perfect body guard for Shen Yuan, instead Shen Jiu just promotes all the unhealthy things that make Bingyuan. Making Binghe believe that he is a failure if SY disapproves of him/he can't protect SY.

And it's not like SJs training was purposely abusive. Infact he had good intentions he wanted someone to protect his son. But it just ended up being abusive because of SJs own traumas accidentally projecting onto Binghe.

Now listen to the song "Do it for her" since it's about this.

Beloved mutual I have binged Steven Universe at least three times and let me tell you: I have been waiting for this.

EXTRA LAYER:

Let’s have SY be a magic baby that was conceived with a bit of YQY’s dna SJ pilfered. Because I can’t bear to make them too sad, YQY is still alive and everything, but SJ is 100% sure he can’t have him and his son is the only way to hold on to a little piece of YQY.(extra Pearl flavor)

EXTRA EXTRA LAYER:

Bc of SY being conceived with magic, he’s technically a kind of demon. Yada yada Bingles and Yuan can fuse Stevoni style. And SJ, who can’t help but see SY as a little bit YQY 2, freaks the fuck out because THAT BEAST HAS THE NERVE. (He wants so bad to be able to fuse w YQY and be so close they couldn’t be cleanly separated into 2 people)

EXTRA EXTRA EXTRA LAYER:

The sword SJ trains LBH to wield is Xuan Su. Idk how it would work but the parallel to Rose’s sword is simply too good

[sporkarts]

Rio and Subtext

I'm pretentious and I love media analysis so I wanted to break open the scene where Rio and Agatha fight, right after Agatha has broken out of the spell. The fun part about media analysis is that I could be 100% wrong!! and that's okay lol

SO! AAA uses something called re contextualization, where almost every interaction has a layer that is given a greater context later on and i LOVE it. It's not 100% perfect but the biggest moments work so so well. I think one of the best examples of this is the first fight between Agatha and Rio. Looking back, especially during eps 4 and 5 it's really hard to see what the hell Rio was even doing there. But I firmly believe that Rio showed up to warn Agatha that the seven were coming. YES OBVIOUSLY her showing up was also a vehicle for exposition, but diegetically, I think it was Rio's way of warning Agatha.

Sources:

The beginning of the fight, it's obvious even from a first watch-through that Rio is holding back. She easily overpowers Agatha multiple times and at first we're meant to interpret this as someone 'playing with their food' so to speak. On a larger scale, I believe this is a test. "oh hey, you really are out, but you're also so vulnerable"

next, Agatha yields, something I think Rio isn't used to seeing her do. It's here where Rio confirms that Agatha 1. has no power and 2. has no idea what's been happening while she's been trapped.

Then, Rio concedes. She can't kill Agatha, but the Salem Seven can. On the first watchthrough, it sounds like she's tangentially related to the Salem Seven. She's dressed similarly to them, she's the one that mentions them, and she also specifically says she'll "tell them where to find you"

However, in Episode 5, we get context on a few things.

Who the Salem Seven are

Rio is very defensive of Agatha ("when her own mother tried to have her executed" "where is she?")

Rio doesn't particularly like the seven, in fact she seems to, at least in part, dislike them ( "they became a feral, hive-minded coven bent on revenge")

Rio doesn't like Evanora Harkness ("yeah well, her mother can't have her")

At no point is Rio ever shown to command or work with the salem seven, but she is shown protecting Agatha (verbally) from anyone who tries to take her away

When Rio is revealed as Death, it re-contextualizes a lot of the rest of their interaction. Rio cannot kill Agatha because it's against the cosmic rules (which we also learn she follows STAUNCHLY) but she also cannot directly save Agatha. If the Salem Seven were to attack her, Rio could not save her from dying. This also puts a lot of emphasis on their final battle, wherein Rio is so distraught that she's more than willing to break the rules of her existence just to bring Agatha closer to her.

SO!

her parting words from ep 1

"I am not the only one who wants to see you dead. Wants to see you burn, or hang, or drown" ... "Okay Agatha, but I'll be sure to tell them where to find you." ..."the worst of them, the Salem Seven, I expect you'll see them at sundown. After all these centuries, Agatha Harkness will finally meet her end, it really warms the heart" ..."yes I do, it's black and it beats for you"..."te veo"

translation: I love you. I cannot kill you (because of rules), I'm upset with you, but I cannot kill you (because it would kill me). And I'm obsessed enough with you that I cannot let anyone else kill you, but I cannot save you. So I am warning you, they aim to kill you and they can kill you. They will not hesitate and you cannot escape this if they find you, so find another solution. I love you so much my Very Being is devoted to you. I love you, and I see you.

again, yes, so much of that is exposition (antagonist setup, inciting incident etc) but I really and truly believe that this was a warning above all. feel free to disagree! i just love love talking about the deeper meaning behind things :3

[whumpster-fire]

Yet another reason T. T. Sutherland is a coward and a fool for going "Peril has never been touched in battle before, the dragonflame cactus was her first time experiencing real pain" and I refuse to accept it as canon:

Cooler Headcanon: the reason Peril immediately had the idea of burning the venom out of Clay's wound when he got bitten by the Dragonbite Viper was because she's had to do that to herself after getting puncture wounds from sandwings that injected venom past the superheated layer of skin. It didn't do as much damage to her as it did to Clay because Peril's pretty much completely fireproof even under the skin, so the scars are pretty small and not that noticeable, but she does have a few.

The couple times she de-venomed herself during a battle were pretty much the most metal thing ever to happen in Scarlet's arena. A dragon getting an apparently mortal wound, jamming her claws right into the open wound, writhing on the sand in apparent death throes, and then after like a minute getting back up with "smoke" rising from her eyes and nose as well as the bloody, sizzling puncture, and proceeding to limp across the arena and utterly destroy her terrified opponent.

The dragons she was fighting didn't try to finish her off because they'd already severely burned their tail barbs and probably talons and wings doing it and weren't going to risk getting hurt even worse by a dying dragon. Then of course when their one hope of killing her turned out not to work they kind of lost the will to live.

This contributed significantly to Peril's reputation as an invincible monster, but on the other hand seeing the queen's champion curled in a fetal position, screaming, sobbing and obviously trying not to pass out, made some of the spectators present for those fights somewhat remember that this was a 2-3 year old dragonet being thrown in the arena with full grown adult enemy soldiers, which was pretty messed up even if the small child kept winning. These feelings of sympathy were often diminished a bit by what Peril did to her opponents afterward, but Queen Scarlet was still not pleased, and after it happened two or three times she got a supply of the antidote cactus for "if a guard accidentally gets gotten by a sandwing prisoner" purposes.

Ruby absolutely never saw this because she made a point of watching fights in the arena as little as possible, especially Peril's for obvious reasons.

On the other hand I just thought of the perfect explanation for why Carnelian was like "I wonder if she remembers me?" when Peril showed up at JMA instead of freaking out like most of the dragons there. At some point, early in her career as a child soldier before she ended up in Ruby's unit, she was working in the palace and got voluntold to help out during an incident when Peril got stabbed in the shoulder or something where she couldn't reach with her claws so somebody had to very carefully burn the venom out with a red hot nail and a pair of tongs. Carnelian's actual job was probably something like holding a bucket of water and pouring it on the spear haft a third dragon was holding Peril's wing closed with, but she met Peril in a vulnerable state when she wasn't trying to perform for the crowd, and also saw her trying really hard to avoid accidentally injuring anyone, which led to her being one of a small number of skywings who are capable of being normal about Peril.