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postracehair · 2 months ago

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a small request

max verstappen x reader | 2k

even world champions deserve love letters. after missing the mexico gp, you're determined to see max have a good weekend in brazil. maybe all it takes is a handwritten note.

cw: fem!reader, being in love, softness, a track-side kiss, love letters. and google translate, sorry to any dutch speakers.

a/n: was this inspired by that video from austin? yeah, it was! sue me! also, written/posted before the gp, so. no race details <3 xx

You miss race weekend in Mexico. It happens. You can't be there every weekend, much as you'd like to be. You're even more peeved about it after, considering you quite like Carlos and wish you had seen him earn what very well might be his last win with Ferrari. But you're mostly upset because Max, though he won't say so, could probably have used your support.

Years of experience have him calm, cool, and collected despite the team troubles. Flippant, some headlines say. Mad Max, others. But you know he's probably just tired. Tired of the media, of the FIA, of the churning conflict between him and Lando -- something you all knew was coming someday, but maybe not so suddenly. The longest season ever continues to drag and drag and drag.

"Twenty seconds was...Christ, Max," you say. You know what happened, of course. You watched what you could, saw the sharp moves around the corner and heard the radios. It never gets easier, watching him take risks like that. Usually, everyone else backs off, but McLaren can see victory on the horizon and won't let it go. You can't blame them, either of them, you just wish it was all a bit less tense.

"I know," he says, voice raspy over the connection. "I -- well, you know how I feel about it. Don't want to say anything in case the FIA is tapping my phone."

You laugh into your hand so you don't disturb the other people in the airline lounge, not entirely used to places like this, still. Max has told you over and over that it's absurd for you to spend your own money when you're coming to see him all over the world. When you told him you moved things around so you could come to Brazil, he booked you the nicest ticket, per usual.

"Oh, ha, ha," you say. "Don't give them any ideas, Mr. Community Service." You sigh. "Do you need anything? Be honest."

"Aren't you at the airport already? Your flight should be leaving in --" A pause, like he's checking his watch -- "forty minutes."

You glance up at the departures screen. He's right, but you don't give it to him so easily. "Know my schedule, do you?"

"Well, I booked your ticket, so I should think so."

"Your assistant booked it, you mean."

He hums and you picture him in his hotel room, maybe at the window, looking over the city. "I know your flight information. Don't be silly."

"I mean it, Max," you say again. "Is there anything I can do to make the weekend better?" It's a bit of a useless question and you expect him to answer with a snarky get me a new car or apply for the position of steward.

But he doesn't. He clears his throat.

"I'm just glad you're coming," he says, softly. "I've missed you."

You never doubt how Max feels about you, but he must be pretty tired to admit it like this. He's all about actions, this man. Making sure you have what you need when you're at the track, arranging your travel, remembering your schedule. He shows you how much you matter, and that's more than enough. He never wants to make you feel bad for having a life beyond being his girlfriend. And this doesn't, not really. It just makes you ache, fills your chest with the hopeless affection you've felt for him for so long.

"I've missed you, too," you reply. "But I'd like to be useful."

"Oh, I can think of a few things, then," Max says, all of a sudden all cheek. Such a boy, sometimes. A boy in love.

You can't help but laugh, face hot. "Hush, you!"

He huffs. A few beats of silence, the comfortable, well-worn kind. Sometimes, when he's halfway across the world and up late on the sim, he'll call you just to hear you breathe.

"Max?"

"I -- do you remember what you did for my birthday?"

He'd wanted something small, quiet. There was a lot of work to be done with the team but three weekends off meant you had a little time to yourselves. A few days hardly leaving his place, a dinner with some of the guys, a cake you made yourself, hand-delivered in bed. Gifts for a very wealthy man are difficult, especially since Max doesn't seem to want much.

"Oh, the pillow with my face on it?"

Max laughs. The lounge loudspeaker announces that your flight is going to board soon, so you gather your things but keep your phone wedged next to your ear.

"No, the other thing," he says. He clears his throat and summons some of that World Champion courage. "The letter."

You'd written him a fairly long love letter, thinking it would be a nice thing to carry to the races you couldn't be at this fall. It was tempting to be embarrassed about it when you gave it to him the morning of his birthday, but his cheeks had gone pink and he'd buried his face in your neck.

"Oh, that," you say. The airport is busier outside the lounge and you push your case in the direction of your gate weaving between. people.

"You could write me another, maybe."

Max is direct. He is honest, at work and at home, but this surprises you a little.

"You do know I'm about to get on a plane to see you, right?"

He huffs, and you imagine his cheeks pink, eyes bright. "You asked!"

"I'll write you another love letter, Max Verstappen," you assure him. "I'll write you a hundred."

"One is a fine start," he says firmly. "You should be boarding soon, and I've got to go to the press conference. Text me when you've landed?"

"Of course," you reply, eyes rolling though he can't see. "I'll see you soon, okay? Love you."

"Love you, liefje."

On the plane, you tear out some pages from your journal. You'd prefer to have some nice stationery like what you wrote on for his birthday, but maybe this is more romantic, more real. Making do with that you've got because he asked.

In the last one, you told him your memories of when you first met. How your stomach swooped when you made him laugh, how his blue eyes wouldn't leave your dreams. In this one you tell him about when you first realized you loved him. How absurdly early you were sure, how badly you wanted to tell him for weeks. The way you remember every second of when you blurted it out -- his face, his smile. His voice in your ear, telling you over and over, geliefde, ik houd van je, zo veel. I love you, so much.

"You're working hard on that," someone says. You look up at your seatmate, a woman a few decades older than you with a heavy accent.

You feel a little like you've been caught doing something illicit, but you just smile at her. "For my boyfriend," you tell her. "A love letter."

She flattens her palm over heart and sighs. "How lovely," she coos. "I hope he takes care of you, too."

We take care of each other, you want to say. You could tell her about how he sends you postcards from every country he goes to after you told him you like to put them on your fridge. You could tell her how sometimes you text him during his streams to make him laugh on camera. How he remembers your favorites, how he saves you his special team gear, how he sends you flowers all the time. How he likes to sit on the couch, your toes under his thigh, fingers around your ankle. How you've been learning Dutch and how he patiently corrects your pronunciation. You could go on and on and on.

"He does," you say instead.

The plane lands safely in Brazil, but the pilot tells you that there is no open gate and that you'll be sitting for a while. You text Max.

stuck on tarmac, will be later than expected! :(

He must be in media responsibilities still because he doesn't reply until you finally get off the plane.

go relax at the hotel. i'll see you for dinner!

You find your ride easy enough and take a deep breath. The letter you wrote on the plane feels heavy in your pocket, and you just want to see Max. To be near him again. To give him this small thing he asked for.

"Excuse me," you say to the driver. "Do you think we could go to the track, instead?"

You text Max's assistant to say you're headed there, hoping it's not too much of an inconvenience. You're told he's almost done, maybe an hour left, and when you arrive you're led to his driver rooms. His shit is everywhere, per usual. Max is quite neat except in here -- Carmen once told you that George is the same. Clothes strewn about, his race boots unlaced and left in the way, warm-up equipment in a pile. On the table are a few of his things -- his wallet, a notebook, some papers.

Wait a second. One of those papers looks...familiar. It's been folded in three, the envelope it came in nowhere to be seen. His name is scrawled on the blank side in your hand and when you tug it from the pile you can see that it's creased, the edges a little more worn than when you gave it to him a few months ago. Max Verstappen, three-time World Champion, actually carries around the love letter you wrote him. Brings it to the track. It's darling. You love him so much. You pull the new one from your pocket and set them side-by-side on the table where he'll find them.

You ask to be taken to the pit wall, please, so you can see whatever the drivers are doing on track. Some dedication, you're told. The timing ends up being perfect and you get there just as they're finishing. You lean on a gap in the barrier where, on Sunday, crew members will be holding timing signs as the drivers zip around the hot pavement. The crowd in the stands is loud, as always, and maybe you imagine it but it seems to get a little louder when you look out.

The guys are talking amongst themselves and a few of them wave at you. You spot Max as he turns away from Charles and you can't help but grin. His eyes meet yours under his cap and his entire face chances, softens, and he breaks into a jog. You lean out over the concrete ledge and meet him in a kiss that's more two smiles pressed together than anything else.

"This is a surprise," he says when he pulls away. Eyes sparkling, he shows no signs of rejoining the other drivers as they head to whatever their next thing is. Photos, probably.

"I missed you," you tell him. "I've left you something in your room."

"Oh?" He straightens the lanyard of your credentials with careful fingers.

You reach for him, palm on his cheek. His stubble tickles and he leans into it ever so slightly. It doesn't feel like there are thousands of eyes on you, not even a little.

"Yeah," you say. "As promised." Someone calls his name. "Go on, then. I'll be waiting."

He kisses you again, a quick brush of his lips on the corner of your mouth.

Later, you'll wake from your nap in the hotel room to those same kisses on your cheeks, your forehead. Max will gather you in his arms and tell you all the moments he almost told you he loved you, how he could hardly believe when you said it first. You'll tease him for how many times he's read that first letter and he'll cheekily say that's why he needs more. And you will write him more, you'll write him as many as he wants. As many as you can, for the rest of your lives.

But now, in front of thousands of screaming fans, he smiles at only you, boyish and pleased.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen fanfic #mv33 x reader #f1 fanfic #my writing #mv33 #fic: a small request #beep boop

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megamindsecretlair · 1 month ago

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Make Me Weak, Part 2

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Hair pulling, PIV, condom use. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: You followed Dr. Richmond’s instructions to the best of your ability. You spent so much time in your mind that willingly descending into your body was an experience that opened your eyes to how much you had neglected. Your second session forces you to confront more truths than what you were ready for.

Terry reaches some conclusions of his own as he tries to shake whatever is ailing him by disappearing between Tasia’s thighs. Yet his mind is on you, on your thoughts and words. During the second session, he can’t help but push you beyond your limit.

Word Count: 5,018k

Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3 Link

A/N: I'n back babbyyyy. I got so inspired reading so many lovely fics. Plus the encouraging asks really helped. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

Hot steam rolled out from the shower as you set it to your desired temperature. You faced yourself in the mirror, thinking over Dr. Richmond’s words. You supposed that there was some truth to what he had told you.

Most people did start by exploring their own bodies first. It must be so easy for guys. Close the door, grab some lotion, and rub one out. Girls on the other hand…your life was constantly spent in a state of panic.

Panic that anything on your person would make your mother snap. Harsh criticisms hidden behind “just talkin’ shit” that Black people liked to hide behind. You were too sensitive to jokey-joke with when you weren’t able to reciprocate. It’s not like you could talk about your mom. It’s not like you could throw insults back in her face and tell her to take it in stride.

Panic that you could be caught or exposed at any point. You were a grown woman, yes. You were also taught to believe that you needed to act as if someone was watching. You believed there was some kind of life after all this and so wouldn’t it stand to reason that someone or something would be looking at you? Or worse, someone would come flying through your door because your family lacked boundaries?

Panic that you didn’t know what lay on the other side of an orgasm. How would you feel? How would you look? Surely something like that changed a person. Feeling that rush of relief for the first time had to be special. Had to be amazing. Otherwise, why would anyone ever be obsessed with sex?

Panic that you’d never reach that peak and fall over. Never feel that rush of euphoria that everyone talked about. Porn, books, friend groups. You always felt left out and you didn’t want to anymore, dammit.

You watched yourself in the mirror as steam overtook it, inch by inch. Until you were only staring at your eyes and the disbelief written all over your face. Would this even work? Were you wasting your time?

“I need total, focused commitment from you.”

Dr. Richmond’s sultry voice skittered along your naked skin. Goosebumps raised on your flesh from the cold air moving through the house. You would be focused. You would be committed. This was something you wanted so badly, you were fucking desperate.

So you took deep, measured breaths using the Box method a previous therapist told you about. You inhaled for a count of four, held for four, exhaled for a count of four, and then held it for four. You repeated the process, doing a full body scan.

You focused on your head, starting with your scalp. You focused on your forehead, feeling the tension melt away and your eyebrows start to relax. You hadn’t even realized that you had it scrunched.

You brought your attention to your eyes, unfocusing them, and allowed them to close. You repeated the process, breathing the entire time, settling down into your body when your mind wanted so badly to escape. To flee. To leave the Horrors.

When you felt your mind drift, you didn’t chastise yourself. You continued to breathe, focusing on your breaths until you continued with your scan. Your body relaxed fraction by fraction. Your shoulders lowered from up around your neck. Aches and pains became more prominent.

Your belly expanded and you sighed. You hadn’t even noticed how often you clenched your stomach, never allowing yourself a full breath. You always had to be on edge. Never knew where the next danger was coming from. What new fresh hell you would encounter just around the corner.

By the time you reached your feet, you felt more relaxed than you had in a long time. Your body prickled with your newfound awareness. Steam caressed your bareskin and you quickly hopped in the shower, letting the warm water cascade across your body.

The water felt different on your body. Each droplet may as well have been a tiny earthquake, popping all over your skin and making you tingle. This…wasn’t too bad.

You lathered up your facial scrub and gently moisturized your face, soothing the stiff areas. Your jaw popped as it loosened and you moaned from the relief.

How long? How long have you spent outside of your body? A stranger to it? A foreigner to this vessel you carried around? Had you truly loved your body when you were so alien to it? Or had you just learned to layer on the armor and pretend?

God, you felt like crying. With one session, Dr. Richmond already had you re-thinking your entire life. Like the answer was there in your face the entire time and you just needed him to shine a light on it.

You rinsed your face while you grabbed a washcloth and lathered up with your favorite soap. You added body wash and then took your time trailing the washcloth around your body. Starting with your neck, you worked your way down to your chest.

You took your time feeling the rough cloth against your smooth, watery skin. You rounded the washcloth across your nipples and they beaded under the slow torture. Oh, this was new. This was very nice.

You were focused, letting the water act as a sound machine, lulling you into a further relaxed state. You followed the washcloth with your hand, moving over and under your areolas and nipples. You pinched your nipples and gave it a tug. You gasped from the responding tug in your pussy.

You moved on, remembering Dr. Richmond’s words about not making it sexual. But fuck, how could you not?

Heat flushed beneath your skin that had nothing to do with the hot water on your body. You washed your back and then moved lower, skirting your throbbing pussy and washed your legs and dug the cloth between your toes.

On the way up, your fingers glided around your mound, your hips pushing forward. Your breathing turned rapid, feeling yourself getting more and more excited. Your brain turned to mush, retreating from your actions. Like it wanted to picture something else. You shook your head, and started up with your Box breathing again.

You stopped mid-shower to reorient yourself and get yourself back into that zone of ultimate calm. If Dr. Richmond were there…

You focused on what he might say. There was no rush. There was no rulebook for this sort of thing. There was no reason to chastise yourself. There was no test to pass or box you had to check in order to achieve an orgasm. You just needed to relax, dammit.

Slowly, achingly slow, you went back to that calm. You continued lathering up your body and then rinsed the soap off. You repeated the process, adding more soap to thoroughly wash your body. To enjoy the feel of the cloth and water and soap on your skin. On your body.

“This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body.”

This was the only body you would ever have. It was time you stopped treating it like the enemy.

You turned off the water and then got out. The chill air hit the water on your back and you shrieked and shivered, quickly drying off. You went through your nightly routine, taking care of your teeth, face, and deodorant. You sat down on a decorated stool in your bathroom to apply your lotion.

As instructed, you looked at your body. Every mole, every scar, every bump, and every wayward hair. Being in your body was weird to say the least. You had to disassociate to survive your childhood and you never learned to drop those defenses. Your body never realized that it wasn't at war anymore. Or perhaps it was and this was battle fatigue. You were so damn tired.

You massaged the lotion into your skin and then slipped in your panties. You pulled on an ankle bracelet you got while visiting New York once and it made you feel extra pretty, so why not. You turned on your bedside light and pulled out a notebook.

You started a new entry and wrote about the sensations and revelations you experienced. Some of it you would discuss with Dr. Richmond and some of it was never leaving your grave. It felt good to get it all out, uninterrupted.

Sometimes, venting to someone else just gave them room to talk over you. To steer the direction back to them. Brooklyn was like that. In an effort to relate, she ended up taking over the convo and made it about her situation. Then you ended up comforting her about her issue and never feeling truly heard about yours.

In a journal however, you pretended that you were just relaying it to a friend. The type of friend who allowed you to speak. To get your jumbled thoughts out without getting mad or trying overshadow you.

Done, you collapsed against your bed as if every ounce of strength left your body. You breathed through it, allowed your body to rest for a moment. The hell kind of voo-doo shit did your therapist put you through?

Immediately, warning bells went off in your mind. Surely, you would be whisked away to some super important task around the house. Surely, your phone would ring with some awful accident you had to attend to. Surely…nothing. You were drained. You had nothing.

You had just enough energy to put the journal up, turn off the light, and drift off to the deepest sleep of your life.

Terry

Tasia bounced like a porn star on Terry’s dick and it wasn’t doing a damn thing for him. He felt himself getting soft the more Tasia shuddered with her pleasure. At least one of them was having fun.

Maybe he rushed this. Too intent on getting you out of his mind that he hopped immediately into Tasia’s warm heat and didn’t consider that there was no substitution. He knew it was irrational to be drawn to you so fast. After only one session. He was conflicted on that front, but it went beyond just looks.

Your case, your assessments, your willingness to try, and your obvious smarts was a cocktail shooting through his veins and turning his body liquid. The perfect sub was dropped into his lap and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

And as a man used to getting his way in the bedroom, it stuck in his craw that he couldn’t have you. That it wasn’t your pussy that his dick disappeared inside of. Would you moan loudly? Were you shy in the bedroom? Were you enthusiastic?

What would your mouth look like taking the full length of him? How far down could you suck him? Did that same determination translate to the bedroom?

Tasia grunted beneath him as his dick rose back to life, thoughts of you turning him harder than a brick. He could build a house with how hard he was at the moment, picturing the curves on your body. The natural handles in your waist for his big hands to wrap around. To hold.

He moaned, picturing it all so clearly. His thumbs would dig into your back. The sounds you would make. His hips jerked just thinking of pounding into you. No mercy. You weren’t some fragile flower. Your insightful thoughts were like a mirror to his own. He wanted to explore with you. And the fact that he couldn’t had him pulling Tasia’s hair back.

“Call me Dr. Richmond,” he commanded.

“Yes, D-Dr. Richmond,” Tasia moaned. It was starting to piss him off.

“Softer,” he said.

“Yes, Dr. Richmond,” she said, bringing her voice lower, softer. It was nowhere near your voice, but it’d do for the fantasy he concocted in his head. He didn’t have time for any extra tricks tonight. He just needed to get to the other side of his nut.

He closed his eyes and thought about your case. He wondered if you were doing as you were told. He wondered how well you would take commands in the bedroom. If he even had to give commands at all. If you’d instinctively know what he needed when he needed it. Tasia used to know that. Tasia used to have him out of breath.

Now…she was a beautiful girl with deep mocha skin, a cute face, and wide expressive eyes. She was like a little doe in a meadow somewhere. He was attracted to the overall softness of her and of her body. The natural way she seemed to know what he needed.

Perhaps it was him that had changed. His tastes. He was no longer interested in a casual sub-relationship. Perhaps he wanted a more permanent sub. One he could explore every single nasty fantasy with and never get bored. He was getting older, getting into his early-thirties without a significant partner.

And that was what he wanted. A partner. An equal. Someone he raced home to see or spent his days thinking about how he would break her and put her back together like a puzzle box.

Terry groaned and came into the condom, gripping Tasia’s asscheeks for dear life. It was one of the hardest climaxes he ever experienced. His release triggered hers, causing her to fall forward as her pussy gripped his dick.

He pulled out and immediately disposed of the condom, coming back to help clean up Tasia.

“That was…different,” she said, using the word in place of something else. He didn’t want his reputation to slacken in that regard, but hell, this whole thing had been a mistake. He still made sure she came twice before he did, but he usually put more oomph into his sexual exploits.

He usually had Tasia popping her pussy on his face, or contorting her like a pretzel. Now…he was just over it. Over trying to impress someone that wasn’t permanent in his life. That he couldn’t play with whenever he wanted. He was no longer excited at the prospect of making many women cum. He just wanted to make one cum over and over again. He wanted to collect each one like trophies.

Terry grabbed Tasia’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Forgive me. Tonight should’ve probably been a gym night,” he said. He smiled for good measure, but it was a close-lipped smile.

“Oh, I’m not complaining. That dick still know how to rock my world,” she said. She stood up, pulling on her sweats and sweatshirt, and slipping on her sneakers. He sat down on the bed and watched her, not feeling an ounce of desire.

She leaned over and grabbed his chin, making him look up at her. “You take care of yourself and whatever or whoever got you in this funk. And if you need more relief, you know my number,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with another close-lipped smile. Tasia had been one of his longest play partners, he’d be sorry to see her go. She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, showing herself out.

Terry sat in his fancy bedroom in his fancy house, staring at the empty archway Tasia disappeared through. His mind and body told him that he was ready for something more. Something tangible. Something he could hold and never let go. He only hoped he found it soon.

You

You clutched your journal to your chest as you sat in Dr. Richmond’s office. Nothing about it had changed except the man himself. He chose to wear a cream colored outfit. A soft, oatmeal colored sweater and khaki pants with white sneakers. His gold rimmed glasses flashed every so often from the light overhead and you couldn’t help catching every single thing about him. If only to distract you from your racing thoughts.

It was one thing to live in your body when you were in the comfort of your own bathroom. Your mind escaped once more, retreated to the safest place you knew. Your knee bounced with nervousness.

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. This is a safe space. It’s your space. You get to decide what we do here,” he said.

You closed your eyes to the sound of his voice. If he wasn’t so damn helpful, you’d ask for someone else. Literally, anyone else. But he was the first therapist to give you a glimpse of the other side. You wanted that more than you were embarrassed.

“No, I want to share. I need to share,” you said. You licked your lips and then cracked open your journal. You skimmed over things you didn’t want to reveal just yet. Too embarrassing for a second meeting, of course.

“I think…I think my mind is safer. I am constantly on alert that I’m “doing the right thing”, as opposed to what actually makes me happy,” you said.

When you didn’t say anything, Terry leaned back in his seat. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the golden brown of his forearms. Your mind emptied of any other thought until he cleared his throat. “Can you expand on that?”

You looked up into his eyes before heat rushed to your ears. You looked back at your journal, focusing on that rather than his lush, pink lips.

You told him more about how you reached this conclusion. That there was a standard for being Black that you never quite achieved. That at any moment, multiple mobs of people were coming for your Black card. Or, you were constantly trying to over-achieve at school. You had to work twice as hard, had to be the smartest in the class, because if you came home with a B, your mom went on a long rant about being stupid and never achieving anything real in life. Or how everyone praised you at work for going above and beyond and then got mad when you couldn’t sustain it. You were constantly on the lookout for someone else’s standard.

“I have so many fucking voices in my ear, telling me to do this or do that. And I fucking hate it. Which is wild considering that that’s what I seek in a sexual partner,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled and nodded. “Your mind is trying to re-contextualize your upbringing. Being submissive is actually about putting yourself in the position of power. A dom is only as good as how well he treats his sub. It’s about the ultimate act of trust on the submissive’s part,” he explained.

“Yes! And how can I trust that someone isn’t going to…take what I say or want and abuse that or make fun of me for it?” You asked. You played with the corner of your journal, not willing to look at Dr. Richmond. You didn’t need to see the pathetic pity in his steel blue eyes.

“You have to stand resolute in what you want. You have to recognize that pleasure and sex is about give and take. Trust and acceptance. The right partner isn’t going to make fun of you, abuse you, or rush you,” he said.

You sighed and leaned back on the brown sofa. You felt like you were chasing a unicorn. What kind of guy was willing to be dominant and care about your needs? Reassure you when you needed and took control when your body sent massive panicked waves at him? Took care of the trust you were placing in him to help you relax and cum? While also being physically attractive to you and have you be attracted to him; not a chubby chaser, not a creep, and not an abuser?

It was impossible. Hopeless.

“If you’re comfortable, tell me more about what you found,” he said.

You took your mind off of your dream mystery man. When the fuck was it going to be your turn?

You scanned your journal once more, noting the sensations about actually living inside your body. “I think when I feel an orgasm approaching, I get scared. And that could be part of why I’m blocking it, but even when I’m alone, I don’t know what it feels like. Or…”

“Or…?” Dr. Richmond prompted.

You grimaced. Fuck, this was so hard to put into words. Too hard to expose yourself like this. But did you want to reach your sixties, seventies, never having a true orgasm? Never finding your way to actual release?

“Or, there’s no way to control the orgasm,” you said.

Dr. Richmond nodded. “The goal isn’t to control it, you know,” he said.

“I know!” You groaned and stood up. You thought better on your feet. Or maybe when you had something to do, you were better able to regulate the jumble of emotions inside of you. No wonder your emotions were all over the place. You spent too long disassociating, too long in your mind and not enough in your body.

“What benefit do you get from being in control all the time?” The scratch of his pen on the notebook drew your attention to him. To his pretty face, dark eyelashes, and push lips. You watched as he wrote in his notebook. Watched the lines and planes of his gorgeous face. His short curled afro.

“If I’m in control, if I never look weak or stupid or incompetent, then I win. I win at life. And all my bullies, from school to home are all wrong. There’s nothing wrong with me because I know what to do. I know what to say. I’m not an alien,” you said, taking a deep breath at the revelation.

Whatever your insurance company was paying him, they needed to double it. You admitted things you never had in the past. Your previous therapists attacked your problem sex first, focusing on different methods you could try. Some wanted you to describe, in detail, whatever you did to get yourself off. Safe to say they weren’t practicing ever again.

“Do you believe there’s something wrong with you?” He asked. He leaned back in his seat, giving you an unflinching stare. His face gave away nothing, revealed nothing, as you thought through his question.

“All the fucking time. Why else do friends keep leaving me? Or guys don’t want me? Or my mom is…my mom,” you said.

“Have you considered that you aren’t the problem?” He asked.

“How could I not be? I’m the only common denominator,” you said. You flopped back onto the couch but it wasn’t that soft. It thudded under your weight and you took a deep breath. Fuck, you wanted to cry. Tears pricked your eyes, turning them hot and itchy. You refused to cry in front of this man.

This strange, quiet man who seemed to read you like one of the many books on his bookshelf. No wonder he had so many degrees. He could drag a full confession from a mute.

“That may be true. But, bear with me, consider that you aren’t the problem. If you take yourself out of the equation, what are you left with?” He asked. He leaned forward on his desk and the sudden intensity of the question made your mind blank.

You had…nothing. No explanation, no back up. You were used to making yourself the problem. The issue had to be you. If it wasn’t you…

You shrugged your shoulders and looked away from him. The silence stretched on, so quiet you could hear the quiet tick of the clock on the wall.

“Don’t shy away now, dig into it. If it’s not you, then…?” Dr. Richmond prompted.

The question only seemed to make you clamp up. Your tongue swelled. Your throat constricted. If it wasn’t you, then what? Everyone was incapable of giving you what you wanted? Everyone just had an agenda against you? Please, that was narcissistic as hell.

Dr. Richmond stood up from his desk and took off his glasses. He pulled out a drawer and retrieved a glass cleaner cloth. He cleaned his glasses and walked around the front of his desk.

“Consider, for a moment, that other people have deficiencies as well. That people congregate in groups because biologically, it’s safer. We seek groups to be in and when we can’t find one, we tend to think that we’re the problem. That we are outcasts, getting left out to defend ourselves. But all that means is that we haven’t found our group yet. You’re trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. You don’t belong with the squares, so no, you won’t fit in with them.

“The same goes for sex. Everybody has their preferences. People have their kinks, their needs. When those needs aren’t meant, society teaches us to look at our own deficiencies rather than someone else’s. Perhaps the man you need sexually is far different from the men you take to bed,” he said. He waved around his glasses as he spoke, drawing attention to his massive hands.

Seriously, they were huge. Like two lion paws that could strike down someone with one hit. He held his glasses by the frame, waving it around delicately as he spoke. You were still paying attention to his words, but fuck…he was unreal.

“But how do I find the man that I need sexually?” You asked.

Terry

Terry inwardly groaned as you asked him that. Plenty of suggestions came to mind, each too crass to suggest. How could he tell you to go into another man’s arms? How could he send you to another man to unleash that hidden hellcat within you and he wouldn’t get to experience it?

He needed to end this. End this before it even began. He placed his glasses back on his face and crossed a line that he never thought he would. “I think we have more work to do to adjust the way you think about sex before we get into how you attract what you’re seeking. In fact, I’d suggest you abstain from sex until we get deeper into this,” he said.

“Abstain?” You snorted and he fought a smile. Your face showed absolute disgust, like the mere thought was abhorrent.

“Abstain. From what you’ve told me and what’s in your file, you jumped from overcoming your initial thoughts and reluctance about sex right to jumping into bed. Without really, truly exploring yourself first. Kids explore their bodies all the time right? They grow conscious of themselves and start thinking about hey, my equipment is different from someone else’s equipment,” he said.

You couldn’t help but giggle and it caused him to smirk in return. Yes, it was silly. Talking about sex was silly. But it was true. “And as you start to notice people that you’re attracted to, you start to grow conscious of hormones in your system. Brain chemistry. All the fun stuff that goes into attraction. You start to touch yourself more, explore your preferences through porn or books or experimentation.”

You cringed when he brought up experimentation. He tilted his head. “Did you go through an experimentation phase?” He asked.

You closed your eyes and sighed as if it were the last question you wanted to answer. You completely fascinated him. He had no idea what would come out of your mouth next. How you would respond to certain questions or ideas.

He snuck a glance at the clock, he was nearing the end of the session. He flexed his jaw. This was so damn irritating. By the time you were willing to open up, it was time to end it. He wished he could carve out a month of sessions to get you to lower your defenses and let him inside.

“No? I grew up in the wrong generation. All everyone thought about was sex and while I did too, no one was checking for the fat Black nerds unless it was a prank. And I saw everything as a prank. I was always getting pointed at, made fun of, stared at. Jesus, being exposed fucking sucks! So, no, I didn’t experiment. There was no one to fucking experiment with.

“And it wasn’t like I could go ten feet from my mom without her up my ass about where I was going. Claiming she just didn’t want me to get snatched when all she really wanted was just to control me. To not let me end up like her. Young and pregnant,” you practically yelled, spewing way more vitriol than he expected.

He figured it was a sore spot for you by the way you grimaced, but he hadn’t been expecting…that. Again, he balled his fists thinking of every person that ever let you down. Every person that was supposed to uplift you, guide you, help you, all dropped the ball in teaching you about self love.

Every experience every kid was supposed to have was denied to you. Instead of being asked out with interest, with sincerity, boys treated it like a prank. He was wild in his youth, he wasn’t always nice to people, or he went through life like a little gremlin. But he liked to think he mellowed somewhat in high school. Treating everyone with respect. From the nerds to the jocks. He didn’t know what not trusting people’s words felt like. Like everything that someone said came laced with poisoned barbs ready to sting.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you whispered. Your lip trembled but no tears fell down your face.

Fuck, even now you were trying to hold everything in. Control a natural response to something painful. “When was the last time you cried?” Terry asked.

You stood up and snatched your purse and journal from the couch. “Session’s up, right?” You asked. You avoided looking at him as you rushed to the exit. The faux glass door clanged against the wall as you threw open the door and left, steps echoing on the linoleum flooring.

He stared at the door as it lazily swung back and he wondered. And he pondered.

Wheww, need more? The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1 | Part 3

Taglist: You guys, ya'll gon make me cry with this taglist! Thank you!

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@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

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@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

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@thegreatlibraryofalex @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh @becauseimswagman1

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bluetimeombre · 1 year ago

Text

: ̗̀➛ Call it what you want to

You're an up-coming star, staring in some hit movies like Hunger games Ballad of songbirds and snakes and now Wonka, along the Timothee Chalamet.

[i'm obsessed with my man and just need to ignore the fact he's dating someone that isn't me. anyway, you're an up-coming actress who stared in the new hunger games movie and now you're also staring in wonka, the people love you and maybe, so does a co-star of yours] not proof read. this was very fun to write so maybe i'll do more, if anyone likes it. or just for me

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

liked by... tayrussell, joshandresrivera, tomblyth, sadiesink_, tchalamet & others

yourusername: wonka press tour starts now!

809k likes. 304k comments

user: wait, you're in wonka?!

user: I LOVE YOU!!

user: mother giving us content, as always

tchalamet: now you've posted can you come up and help me

yourusername: no

tchalamet: pls!!!

user: omg she really said no to timothee chalamet, who does she thin she is?

user: slayyyy

user: isn't wonka supposed to suck

tomblyth: from one press tour to another, i see

yourusername: girls got to earn a living

tomblyth: she doesn't let the grass grow

user: say hi to timothee for me!!!!

user: omg how is she getting all the hottest guys in hollywood rn? gurl leave some for us

wonkamovie: 😍😍

balladofsongbirdsandsnakes: 😍😍😍

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

you were flicking through comments by your friends when your phone started to ring, the familiar picture of your co-star flicking up on your phone. quickly, you dimissed yourself from your assistant and took the call. 'yes?'

'I need your help.'

'Timothee, you're old enough to zip up your own jacket,' you tease, leaning on the wall.

'I don't know what jumper to wear, what are you wearing? we'll coordinate.'

you'd opted for something of your own style. a jumper with pinks and blues and a white flowering skirt with a ring almost on every finger. this was only your second big press tour and sitting next to timothee chalamet every day for it was enough to make you nervous. so nervous you woke every morning wondering if you'd throw up. it didn't help you were also surrounded by others you'd looked up to, like olivia coleman and hugh grant. how were you supposed to keep your cool for months. even if now you were considered just as big a star.

'don't you have a stylist for this?' you ask, looking at the crew around, ready to go but waiting for him.

'there's three options and i don't know which one to go for. can't you just come up.'

you could, sure. go to timothee's hotel room and see him probably shirtless. once you'd have dreamt of it, but things were different, now you just didn't have a silly celebrity crush. now he was your co-star and very off limits.

'option two now come on, please.' quickly, you end the call and pick up your coffee, heading to the room where you'd be sat for the next eight hours answering questions with timothee.

you were there first, shaking hands with the interviewer and introducing yourself to her. you took your seat, making little chatter before timothee chalamet walked in, calm, cool and collected. completely different to your flushed and smiling expression.

you watched as he quickly said hello to everyone in the room and greeted the lady who'd be conducting the interview.

timothee turned to you, arms out wide and waiting. laughing, you put your coffee down and stood up, giving him a hug. you shared small pleasantries before he took his seat next to you, shuffling around and settling in. only then did you realise how much your jumpers looked the same, both smudges of similar colours. you blushed more as timothee watched, silently wondering what could make you so red. as if he had no idea what he did to you just by sitting down next to him.

'I have had scrub scrub stuck in my head since seeing the movie,' she- charline, said as you and timothee laugh. 'do you guys have a favourite song you got to perform?'

'I mean, pure imagination was quite a surreal experience. you know, getting to sing something that was so ... iconic, it was-it was a lot of fun. and a lot of pressure, but, in a good way,' said timothee.

'you killed it,' you assure, casually.

'thank you,' he smiled.

'i really enjoyed you've never had chocolate like this number. that was just so fun, the dancing and all,' you say, timothee nodding and agreeing.

'for a moment was fun to, i guess,' added timothee. 'we got to dance.'

you grin at the memory. 'we did.' you remembered the a million takes, timothee singing practically to you while prancing around. it was your favourite scene to shoot because it was such an easy and happy scene. you didn't have to think about it, just held timmy's hand as he twirled you around the place.

'and i know we're here to talk about wonka but i just have to say-' she gestured to you, 'congratulations on hunger games, biggest movie in the world.'

you wave her off, thanking her as timmy claps for you. 'thank you, thank you.'

'i was wondering what was your favourite song to film there on that set and how does it compare to singing on this one.'

ranting about yourself or your achievements was always hard for you. your stardom and come so quickly with hunger games and wonka, so much so you felt like you didn't deserve half of it.

'i mean, for hunger games it was all live. i sang them there and then so that's daunting in itself, um. i loved filming pure as the driven snow, just because i got to- essentially- sing it to tom. it was just him and me and the crew, like for those shots there was no extra's so that was great fun. a special moment. and singing it to him made it a whole lot easier. whereas on this movie, luckily it was all like pre-recorded so, not so daunting. didn't have to sing in front of timothee chalamet,' you say.

he listened carefully to you, seeing your smile at mentioning tom blyth, your co-star from the hunger games. he'd never met the guy, he was probably lovely- from the amount you talked about him. 'you've got a great singing voice.'

'thanks man.'

'this cast is just so insane and obviously you two got close during filming,' says charline, gesturing to the two of you.

timothee nudged you with his head, like he'd done a thousand times before knowing how much you secretly loved it. just like a horse, as had been quoted.

'who's more british, olivia or hugh?'

'hugh, easily,' you say. you loved all of hugh's movies, but you'd never say that to his face.

'you know, i'm gonna go and say you,' says timothee, turning to you.

you drop you jaw, pointing to yourself. yes, you were british, but more so than than the hugh grant seemed impossible. 'me?'

'yea, i mean, hugh grant is like a walking union jack- and i mean that in the best way possible, but you seem so much more like british. you know, wicked sense of humor and the charm and- you love london,' he pointed out.

'i do love london,' you agreed.

'did you have fun filming in england, timothee?' she asked.

they want on and on to talk about filming the movie, answering questions in depth and it was sure the two of you had great answers, listening intently together and everyone could tell. your chemistry was there, your smiles and answers together were almost so perfect it was like it was practiced and the fans ate it up!

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

liked by... zendaya, mtv, kyliejenner, yourusername, wbpictures & others

tchamalmet: WONKA!!! coming soon

tagged: yourusername

1.1m likes, 609k comments

user: he posted! he posted!

user: we are getting FED

user: i just know this is all yourusername influence

user: not kylie liking...

user: statistics! statistics!

liked by yourusername

yourusername: bring back little timmy tim!

yourusername: out of all the pictures you chose that one

user: anyone else think her and timmy are getting too close

user: like fr she stealin my man

user: i love them!!!

user: i swear something is going on with her and tom blyth

user: she's just like us!

user: LOVE!!!!!

user: her and timmy >>> him and kylie

user: plssss, i love kylie

user: is wonka a musical

user: TIMMY I WANT TO HAVE YOUR CHILDREN!!!

user: fave bob dylan song?

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

liked by... tomblyth, rachelzeglar, tchalamet, hunterschafer, zendaya & others

yourusername: ballad of song birds and snakes is number one movie? more like i'm the number one most grateful person out there for this chance and being trusted with my girl lucy-grey!!! thank you, thank you, thank you!!

tagged: tomblyth

1m likes 477k comments

tomblyth: lots of love my dear !

user: pls the second picture was so unncesary she just wanted to post it

user: MOTHER

user: parents are parenting

user: I LOVED THIS FILM

user: tom blyth is honestly so hot like wtf

rachelzeglar: my luv <3

yourusername: omg my gf everybody!!!!

joshandresrivera: funny how you don't post a picture of me

yourusername: it's funny because i don't like you

joshandresrivera: tomblyth you gonna let her talk to me like that??

tomblyth: she's the boss

user: how is she so amazing in everything

user: wonder how she got this job? she's literally as plain as a plank

user: hi!

user: the film was insane, i'm obsessed

user: i need this film injected into my veins

user: she's so good at singing, get her on broadway!!!

tchalamet: very proud

yourusername liked tchalamet's comment

user: why would you post the second pic unless they're clearly dating

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

user: pls why do i ship them so hard!!

user: lol it looks like he's just refusing to answer questions without her

user: is nobody gonna talk about how they were basically wearing the same jumpers?

user: no because i thought the exact same thing

user: someone pointed it out in an interview and timothee said it was 100% planned, they're so cute

user: doesn't he have a girlfriend?

user: isn't she with tom blyth? they look like they're together?

user: they haven't confirmed it

user: they don't need to did you see her post on instagram?! it was all just him

user: no but the way she's just constantly blushing around him

user: so would you if you were sat next to the timothee chalamet

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #timothée chalamet #tom blyth #i need him biblically #timothee x you #wonka 2023 #timothee chalamet x reader #timmy #tom blyth x reader #the hunger games #wonka #actress #social media

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cripplecharacters · 8 months ago

Text

Does Your Scarred Character Have to Hate Themself?

[large text: Does Your Scarred Character Have to Hate Themself?]

(TLDR: no. literally no.)

A frequent topic that shows up around facial differences is the self-hatred, self-disgust, self-insert-negative-emotion that we must surely experience. I want to ask* writers without FDs - why? Why do you feel about us in such a way that that's the most common way of depicting us?

*- rhetorical question. I promise I know the answers, but I'm not sure if writers do.

It's frankly worrying to me. Is it really that common to assume that disabled people have this internal, never-ending hatred for themselves? The overwhelming majority of us don't. We hate inaccessibility, when people stare, or some symptoms when they get in the way, or how expensive being disabled is, but I find the concept of us being so completely disturbed by our own disabilities extremely strange. It’s “tragedy porn” intersecting “most basic ableism”.

“But trauma!”

[large text: “But trauma!”]

Trauma of what! People with facial differences don't have some sort of default trauma that we come with like it’s a factory setting. We are a group of people with tens of thousands of stories and experiences!

“Trauma of experiencing ableism/disfiguremisia” - that's better, at least this means something. If you're writing a story about this, please get a sensitivity reader with a facial difference. You can assume how we feel all you want, but in my experience these assumptions are often bizarre and unrealistic. Or just end up writing the same “disability so sad” sob story that everyone has seen a billion times. If you want to write about disfiguremisia, you need to understand the nuance and have more than just the basic level knowledge (which 99% of people don’t have either). If you can’t do that, don’t write about it. Simple as that.

“Trauma of the accident” - thankfully, the accident is an event and a facial difference is a disability. If you want to connect these two like they're one and the same, you're almost surely going to demonize disability. People with traumatic spinal cord injuries, acquired amputees, people with TBI, people with acquired facial differences - we participate in our communities, we have hobbies, we date, we play with our dogs. Disability isn't a death sentence. Media who make it feel like it is certainly don't help people who do suddenly become disabled, don't you think?

Here's a post by @blindbeta about blind characters becoming blind through trauma that’s better made than anything I could hope to write here. I heavily recommend giving it a read.

And, I can't stress this enough - most of us didn't have “the accident”, most of us are born like this! "Traumatic scars" isn't the only facial difference that exists, far from it, it's only one of thousands. It's 99% of our representation and "representation". If you want to make a character with FD - please consider that we aren't a monolith. Just like not all physical disabilities are "wheelchair user with paralysis", not all facial differences are "traumatic scar with somehow no nerve damage".

The overrepresentation of it is incredibly telling, and sometimes - or very frequently - feels like the writer doesn’t actually even want to deal with us. They want to use our disability as a way to cheap drama, moral metaphors, tragic backstories. Not to represent us as living people who are much more similar to you than you apparently think.

Now, I do have enough awareness to know that that's a big part of the appeal. “Horrific Thing #2456 happens” and boom, instant drama! Of course, it's a reasonable response that they would hide their disability for years, avoid talking about it in any way, and magically change their personality to be mean and reclusive, or at least be constantly soooo sad about how much it sucks to be disabled, right?

Do I really need to say that having your character becoming disabled be the worst thing ever is ableism 101? We have been talking about this for so long at this point. Writing about the process of adapting to a specific disability is better left to people who have actual experience in it.

To give an example that will hopefully resonate more with Tumblr users, I will use the fact that I'm also gay. It's not perfect by any means but probably much more familiar territory.

Imagine, let's say, a character. He's gay. The story he's in is supposedly progressive, certainly not trying to be homophobic. The character has experienced an incident, maybe an act of aggression or a hate crime, that happened because he’s gay, which was traumatic. Happens IRL, sure. So of course the character starts hating being gay. He talks about how gross and disgusting it is, he never lets anyone know that he could be “one of them”, certainly not take a stance against homophobia. You can't mention him without mentioning the accident, they're seemingly fused together. No gay love, joy, even basic happiness, he would actually choose to be straight in a heartbeat if given the option to and complains that he can't. This is shown as a neutral, obvious thing that a gay man would do, no one comments on it. He stays like this the whole time, unless there’s a plot twist in the last 10 pages where the world is now magically perfect ("we fixed discrimination, yay!"). This is the only LGBT character in the story.

Keep in mind that there are people similar to this in real life, living with extreme internalized homophobia.

Is this, in your opinion, realistic and thoughtful representation? How does it feel when written by a cishet writer, versus a gay writer who is recalling his experiences? Do you think that it's reasonable for the majority of media representation to be like this, or very close to it? How would it affect younger gay people who might already be uncomfortable with being queer? Are gay men the target audience, or are they not even considered as a group of people who read books? Is this helping or damaging the general public's idea of how it is to be gay? Why or why not?

The Masterpiece

[large text: The Masterpiece]

From 13 to 19 of May, we are celebrating Face Equality week (what a coincidence!). It’s important to me in general - and I wish it was more important to abled people, but I digress - especially its theme for this year.

“My Face is a Masterpiece”

Great statement, it represents the community well, I do enjoy how bold it is. Very cool stuff, I love the work our advocates are doing!

But why do I bring this up?

Well, to very non-subtly show that we aren’t a self-hating group of people. We are a community, a community saying “our faces are beautiful, look!”, we are saying “treat us equally, and do it now!”. Our activism isn’t about self-disgust. It’s about fighting your-disgust.

Why can’t writers keep up? Why are you still stuck decades behind?

Is this the only reason I bring it up?

The Call to Celebration

[large text: The Call to Celebration]

FEI, the org behind organizing it, asks a very simple question (emphasis mine):

“Why do we so often see stories about facial difference as a ‘tragedy’, when they should be about triumph?” “Calling all artists, allies, creatives, galleries. You can rewrite the story to bring about #FaceEquality and celebrate the unique artistry found in every face. Your participation this #FaceEqualityWeek will help to tell the real story, that there is a masterpiece in every face.”

Here. We are calling for you to stop. Directly from the biggest international advocacy alliance group that's out there. If you create, this is for you.

The last argument to not have your character with a facial difference hate themselves? Because we don’t want this. We are tired and frustrated. For me personally, I’m also offended by this kind of assumption. We aren’t tragedies or cheap entertainment for abled people to pity or be horrified by. We are people, and if you can’t internalize that, you have no reason to write about us.

For once, celebrate us. Happy Face Equality Week!

mod Sasza

#mod sasza #face difference #ableism #disfiguremisia #face equality week #my face is a masterpiece #writing guide #writing help #writeblr #writing resources #writing advice #writing tips #writing characters #how to write #writing disabled characters #writing disability

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ggidolsmuts · 29 days ago

Text

Single's Inferno - ARTMS Choerry

"Hey man, you ready to get the pants scared off you?"

"Sure sure, where are the others?"

"There they are!" You join your group of friends—it was right before Halloween, and they wanted to get the full experience and go through a haunted house attraction. Begrudgingly you agreed—you're not the fondest of jump scares.

"Yah, where's your date?" One of them asks.

"Date?"

"Yeah, it's a good opportunity to get to know someone, having a joint experience."

"How would I get to know someone in the dark when we're going to be screaming?"

"Look at Mr. Scaredy Cat here, I see why you didn't want to bring someone now," your buddy teases.

"Yeah fuck you, be glad I showed up. Let's just go in." Your group gathers at the entrance of the house, and a usher calls out.

"Okay guys how we doing tonight? For the best experience for everyone, you should be paired up with a friend, so pair off as needed and we'll let you in two-by-two, okay?" To your horror, your friends have basically paired off already—they came with their girlfriends, or brought their own dates. You would be going into the haunted house alone!

You would be going into the haunted house alone... Fuck, rather than being scared you're more sad than anything.

"Hey guys—" Before you know it your friends are already in line, every pair already locking arms. Some friends, hmph. You steel yourself and join the line, trudging along solo. You're on your phone when you hear a bright voice next to you.

"Hi! Are you going in alone?"

"Yes." From her tone you assumed it was an overly enthusiastic employee, but no.

"Can I pair up with you then?" You turn to look at your speaker—she's dressed simply in a fluffy sweater and jeans, but her smile is absolutely radiant, her eyes round and hopeful.

"Y-You want to go in with me?" You wouldn't say no of course, but she's way out of your league, and you had to double check.

"Mmhmm, is that okay?" You nod and she slides in right next to you—more than that, she slips her arm between yours. "Thanks, I'm Choerry!"

"Nice to meet you Choerry, you came to this alone?"

"No, but my unnies are all with their boyfriends, so they kinda just left me alone." She pouts cutely.

"Really? Same here, my friends ditched me for their dates too." You shake your head and Choerry laughs.

"That's great, let's ditch them then!"

"Sure!" Her enthusiasm is infectious. But as you get closer to the entrance, Choerry's hugging you tighter and tighter.

"To be honest, I don't like scary things, I might be loud, sorry."

"Why come then? You don't have to do this."

"No the unnies will make fun of me!"

"If you say so. To be honest, I don't like scary things either, hate jump scares."

"I can tell."

"What? How?" You're a little indignant, how did Choerry already chalk you down as a scaredy cat?

"You've been holding on to me since we got closer." You blink and look down—you've had a hand on Choerry's arm this whole time, and now you're not sure if she's been hugging you tighter, or if you've been pulling her closer to you.

"Oh, damn, sorry!" You hastily let go, but she stays close. If anything, she's even closer now.

"It's okay, good to know we're both scared."

"Enjoy!" You shake your head at the happy staff as the two of you walk through a curtain of dangling chains, loudly drowning out the shouts and screams ahead. It's dark and there's manmade fog everywhere, but you see an eerie green exit light across the room.

"I think we go this way."

"Oh, okay." The two of you walk forward into the fog side-by-side.

"Ahh!" The door behind you slams shut with a loud bang and Choerry is shouting already. "Sorry, sorry!"

"It's fine, I'm here," you reassure, hoping you sound braver than you are. You walk forward with her, dodging the hanging pig corpses—you were in a slaughterhouse.

"RAAAHH!" A huge man makes his presence known, wearing a bloody apron and carrying a cleaver. His boots squelch wetly, as if walking in pools of blood. "GET OVER HERE!" Choerry screams, clinging on to you tighter and burying your head against you.

"Oh shit!" You shout, quickly dragging her through, away from the menacing butcher. "Fucking hell!" You curse loudly. You blink as your eyes adjust to the new room, and your crinkle your nose at the new smell—chlorine and chemical cleaner. A brief spark runs through you as you assess the situation—Choerry pressed tightly against your arm, and the only way to describe that sensation is soft. But you shake that thought from your head as you gently rock her shoulder.

"Hey, he's gone, we're in the next room."

"Huh? Really? Thanks for getting me through."

"We don't have to do this if you're too scared, I can exit with you?"

"N-No! I'm not scared! Well, I won't be, if you'll guide me through the rest!" A spark runs through Choerry as she grabs your arm—firm, comforting, reliable, hot. But she's jarred out of it as someone starts shouting.

"Help me, help me!" In the far corner someone is chained to a chair, various needles seeming to stick out of them, connected to pipes. You're in a mad scientist's lab! A voice booms in the room.

"Ah, new test subjects, are you? Excellent, excellent. Nurses, get them!" On each side you see nurses step out from the shadows, pushing a gurney towards you two, complete with straps hanging off the sides.

"We should keep moving!" Choerry pulls on your arm, and the two of you hurriedly dash through a maze of dividers to walk around and curtains to pull open. The two of you never knew what horrors awaited behind each—you cursed at a single "person", their hands and feet on all the wrong limbs; Choerry screamed at an oozing "corpse". Somehow you manage to drag each other through the demented maze and into the next room.

The room is dim and jaundiced yellow, and you see white sacs hanging from the ceiling—cocoons?

"Oh no no no no no..." Choerry's hiding behind you, and she's shaking. "I can't, I can't do spiders!" You look again and indeed see a large spider perched on its web in the corner, numerous eyes glittering back at you menacingly.

"Stay behind me, I can stay in front." You intended to leave an arm behind for Choerry to grab, but instead she wraps her arms around you, hugging you from behind.

"Please, thank you!" She's warm on your back, and your hand finds its way over hers, and she gratefully grabs it. With her hugging you tightly you waddle your way through the cocoon obstacle course. The large spider hisses and screams at you.

"Oh fuck!" "Ahh!" Choerry screams and you shout when a large spider leg bursts out from a nearby cocoon, swinging away wildly, and the two of you hurry forward. You reach the exit with her, and as you take a deep breath to calm yourself your own nerves are shattered as Choerry screams again!

"Help, help!" Choerry slumps against you, and you whirl around to find her covered in what looks like web, but you take a closer look and realize what it was.

"It's not real, it's just silly string!" you reassure her, and you have to hold her still as you get rid of the string all over her hair.

"Really? I thought the spider was going to trap me or something..."

"I won't let that happen, okay? Hold still." Choerry's heart thumps as you pick out the last pieces of silly string—maybe it's beating quickly from the scare, but she felt attracted to you, taken care of, protected. She felt you trembling against her when she was hugging you, but yet you powered on even if you were scared. The other part of her also felt your midriff as she hugged you—not ripped or shredded, but solid and strong, reliable. A new spark runs down her spine as you touch her hair, trying to remove an annoying piece of string.

"There, all gone." You brush the last piece of string from her hair, and you find yourself stunned momentarily when looking right at Choerry. She is exceptionally pretty, cheeks lightly flushed from the frightening experience. Your fingertips tingle as you brush her hair aside, feeling the light sweat on her hair. Your hand moves down, wanting to cup her face, but you realize what you're doing and clear your throat to shake that thought.

"W-We should move on," Choerry says, voice a little hoarse, husky even.

"Right."

"Wait!" As you make to move forward Choerry grabs your t-shirt. "Sorry, my legs are weak." She was scared silly from the "attack", and you realize what you had to do.

"I'll carry you, we're almost at the end I think."

"Are you sure?"

"You can't be that heavy," you try to joke as you kneel down for her to get on your back. She gets on you gingerly, and her hair tickles your neck as you get on.

"Thank you," Choerry whispers in your ear, and you pray she doesn't notice your tremble as you grab her legs and get up. Meanwhile Choerry's hoping you don't notice her rapidly beating heart—you've literally swept her off her feet, and she's thinking back to her conversation with her unnies.

-----

"Haseul unnie, how did you meet your boyfriend?"

"Oppa? It was during COVID, I had to quarantine, we were stuck together, and then things just happened?"

"What just happened? Like did he ask you out?"

"Pabo, we couldn't go out, we were in quarantine!" Haseul blushes and continues. "We just kinda, ended up doing everything during that time together, and we found things compatible."

"Compatible? You mean— Wait, by everything you mean—" Choerry blushes, she can't believe her unnie would do something like that!

"Yeah, we did everything together! I just let things happen... Naturally." Haseul shouts initially, but plunges on, face red in embarrassment.

"But that's so random! It could have been anyone else!"

"We just had chemistry, you know, so I initiated. Like there's no reason, but it felt right, felt good to be together."

"And he didn't even ask you out, you just asked him?"

"What's wrong with that!" Jinsol interjects herself into the conversation. "I also asked oppa first too."

"Really?" Choerry's shocked by her other unnie.

"Yeah, he saw me as his best friend's little sister, but I liked him, so I went up to him and kissed him! I'd say the results are quite good," she adds with a dopey smile on her face.

"You're texting him right now aren't you?" Haseul jokes.

"Mmhmm!" The two of them bicker, leaving Choerry to drift off on his warm back.

-----

"Oh fuck!" Choerry's startled out of her thoughts as she's spun around. "I can't, fuck ghosts, I don't do ghosts." She looks at the way they have to go and sees a long corridor, complete with a few Sadakos, long hair covering their face, dressed in white gowns and hands outstretched—some sort of haunted high school concept.

"Huh? They're zombies!" she tries to make you think of them differently, but it doesn't help.

"Zombies, ghosts, same difference, I don't like them!" you mutter in a rush. Choerry hurriedly comforts you, gently brushing your face.

"Hey, it's okay. Do you trust me?"

"Trust you?"

"Yes, just look down at your feet, okay?" Choerry has a hand over your eyes. "Whatever you do, don't look up, just make sure you don't trip, and listen to me." You take a deep breath and whirl around.

"I'm ready."

"Okay, just walk forward until I tell you to stop." Choerry encourages you as you go.

"Yes, one step at a time, you're doing good."

"Take one step to the left, do not look up."

"Now like 3 steps to the right. Omo hello!" Choerry is surprised by one of them, but greets them happily.

"Choerry!"

"Sorry, sorry, we can just walk forward." You fill the images in your head from the sounds—the screech of nails on blackboard, the haunting laughs of children, the unyielding ticks of a loud clock. But Choerry's in your ear, noticing your fear and whispering comforting directions.

"We're almost there, just a few more steps." You only notice you're done when you feel Choerry tap your shoulder and tilt your chin towards her.

"We're done, we finished!" You're so thankful you could kiss her, and she's so pretty up close. Choerry notices the closeness too—you're pretty cute when scared and flustered, and kinda cute regardless. She's already moving closer when she catches hold of herself and blinks rapidly. "You can umm, put me down now."

"Huh? Oh, yeah." You let Choerry down, and when you think you can finally relax a booming voice is heard from behind you.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY? YOU BETTER NOT COME BACK, YOU BETTER RUN, RUN AND NEVER COME BACK!" It seems to grow in volume, as if getting closer and getting angrier, and you grab Choerry by the arm and run further away, clearing the fence surrounding the attraction. A generic voice comes through a much smaller speaker.

"We hope you enjoyed your time here, thank you and we hope to see you again!" The absurd contrast of the two messages makes you break out into laughter, and you hear Choerry's piercing laughter right next to you—you had pulled her along to the exit, and when you stopped you caught her momentum, wrapping her up in a hug. The two of you laugh and smile, happy to be done with the ordeal.

"Thanks for getting me through it."

"Thank you for carrying me through it," Choerry answers back, holding your gaze. The arms you have around her stay there, and she doesn't make any attempt to break out either. You feel your own heard pounding, or is that Choerry's? You meet her sparkling eyes, drawn inexorably to them, wanting to see them closer up.

But the next pair comes barging through, shouting and screaming just like you two were earlier, and the moment is broken.

"Oh! Sorry!" You quickly get out of the way, only to find that Choerry has stepped in the opposite direction.

"So umm, thanks!" You call out lamely.

"Yeah, thanks!" she calls back. Out of habit she checks her phone, and a few messages pop up.

*Choerry are you out yet?*

*It shouldn't take that long, did she just chicken out and leave?*

*Do they not let her in if she's alone? Is she still back at the entrance?*

She turns to look at you still standing there, on your phone too, and quickly fires a white lie to her unnies.

*Yeah, they didn't let me in, so I just went back, don't worry about me I'm already back home!*

With that done she puts her phone away. As she goes to tap your shoulder you're also turning around, slipping your own phone in your pocket.

"Oh, hey, you're still here?"

"Yeah, my unnies, they ditched me."

"Yeah, my friends too, ditched me as well." From the knowing smile you give each other you both know it didn't matter if any of that was true or not. But the two of you hang around, unsure how to breach the real topic at hand, and more couples come running out until Choerry decides to take the initiative.

"Hey, do you mind coming home with me? I'm still a little scared, don't want to take a cab alone."

"O-Oh, sure, of course."

Choerry's hand felt hot as you helped her into the cab.

"Safely home," you add pointlessly as Choerry unlocks the door.

"Yes, thank you. Please, come in." Daringly she pulls you through the door, and as she holds you close her initiative is rewarded—you're looking at her intensely, her eyes seeming to shimmer again with the sparks that are flying between the two of you. Choerry's heart is racing as you get even closer, and as you lean in head tilted, her own eyes flutter shut, letting the moment take over.

You're kissing Choerry, and her lips are every wonderful adjective you can come up with—soft, rosy, plump, sweet, juicy. You capture her bottom lip, gently sucking on it and finding her absolutely delicious. A little gasp escapes her, and you're cupping her cheek, pulling her back to capture her lips again. You wrap an arm around her, pulling her closer, hand playing with the hem of her sweater. A small hand on your chest stops you in your tracks.

"Sorry, I don't do this normally, or at all." Choerry can't meet your eyes, looking down at the floor.

"Right, I understand, sorry I thought— Yeah." You don't know what else to say, did you misunderstand the situation? Your hands fall away from her, abashed at your rashness. But immediately Choerry's pulling on your t-shirt and leaning into you, and you're feeling her lips on yours again. This time she is more passionate, throwing her arms around your neck, pressing herself fully into you, a hand running through your hair. When she pulls back both of you are breathless, and the spark in her eyes has become a fire.

"But it feels good, feels right, so..." Choerry takes your hands and has them rest on her hips. You press your forehead to Choerry's, watching her mouth hang slightly open when you move your hands slightly, going over the edge of her jeans and brushing circles on her bare skin.

"Okay, we go as far as you're comfortable with." Choerry's losing herself in the moment, feeling the hairs on your neck stand—you're just as nervous as she is, and she overcompensates with bravado. She kisses you again before pulling away—she pulls her sweater up and over her head, revealing her toned midriff teasingly before her simple white top drops back in place. Her voice is heavy with desire, the words thick in her throat as she tells you how far she wants to go in the few words she can manage.

"All the way."

You reply in kind, taking off your t-shirt, and your jeans get a little more strained as you see Choerry lick her lip subconsciously, eager eyes taking you in. You kiss her once again, hands sneaking under her thin top as her hands wander your shoulders and chest. Choerry parts her lips, sighing into the kiss, and you let yourself in, drawing a low moan from her. Your tongues dance and fight, and after a fierce battle both of you catch your breath—you take the chance to assure her of your intentions.

"Right there with you."

You're right there with Choerry, on top of her in fact, hungrily plunging your tongue into her mouth as she grips your arms. To Choerry her bed seems floaty, like she's barely laying on it—with how you're kissing her, sucking on her lower lip, it's like you're lifting her off the bed just off that alone! The muscles she feels on your arms only serve to turn her on even more, and the arousal is no more apparent than in the stiff nubs you feel as your hand brushes over her chest, making Choerry wish her top was removed already.

There is one thing Choerry wants to see removed more, and she reaches for your jeans, unbuttoning them and watching you kick it off, showing your desire for her.

"Your turn." Her breath catches as you reach for her jeans, right below her bellybutton. "Still with me?"

"Huh?" Choerry finds your questioning gaze, your fingers on her freshly popped jean button.

"You made a sound, like a squeak." Did she? Choerry's too engrossed in feeling you, unable to keep track of everything happening everywhere on her body, all at once.

"Just really sensitive, everything feels so... much."

"We can go slower." Choerry keeps her eyes locked on you, and you're looking right back at her as you slowly unzip her jeans—she has to remind herself to breathe, she's not sure she has ever been so turned on from such a simple act! You peel the tight jeans down her generous thighs and slim calves, revealing the simple black panties she has on.

"Wow." You let out a small laugh at just how lucky you are tonight, but Choerry tries to cover with her hands, long legs twisting, trying to hide from you.

"Don't laugh, I didn't think I'd be—" You shush her with a kiss, pulling her hands away and gently pushing her legs open with yours.

"No, it's a good wow, you're amazing." You push a knee up between her legs, and you grow even harder. "So sexy, so wet for me."

Choerry gasps, unsure which bolt of pleasure is stronger—your knee brushing against the apex of her thighs, or you saying that she's sexy. Soon it doesn't matter anymore as the constant friction between her thighs is becoming a burn, cauterizing and sealing off any idle thoughts. All she can do is focus on how good everything feels—your hot breath on her neck as you plant a mark on her, hands licentiously having their way with her underneath her top, your warmness both between her legs and on her lips as she leaves mindless hickeys all across your neck.

"Wait! No, don't..." You are halted by Choerry's breathless gasps, but it is a false alarm when you look down—her thighs squeeze around the one she's straddling, and she's openly grinding against you. "I-It feels good." Gone is the bright and cheery tone, replaced with something huskier, downright seductive.

"Okay, do what feels good." Choerry's hands are on your shoulders, and you watch her head sink into the pillow, tilted back as she loses herself in the pleasure. Her delicious midriff undulates as she writhes on your thigh, the little noises she makes causing you to stain your own underwear with precum.

"Mmph!" She's grabbing you by the neck, pulling you against her twisting body to use for leverage—she's bucking herself against you, and with your face pressed against her chest you hear her heartbeat spike, her lungs swelling to take in air—

"Nngh!" Any shout or scream Choerry wanted to make is snuffed out by the pleasure, but you feel her cum all the same, your thigh suddenly getting hot and wet as she rides out her orgasm. "Oh yes... Yes, yes, yes..." All she manages is a sigh followed by softer moans, her grip on you slackening as her entire body begins to relax. Your knee is sore from kneeling on the bed, and you slowly pull away, waiting for her to recover. Thankfully you're not left hanging for too long, and as she pushes herself up she looks at your own "wet spot" on your boxers.

"Sorry I took my time didn't I?" You don't even manage to reply as she takes off her thin white camisole before coming towards you. "I made a mess too, you felt so good." She wipes your shiny thigh with her top, cleaning it up and maybe ruining her top in the process. But both of you are too far gone to care as she discards the rag, fingers pulling on your boxers.

"Can I?"

"Y-Yeah, yeah." Choerry pulls your underwear down, letting your cock spring free. "Oh fuck!" you moan as she daringly wraps a hand around you, making a test stroke.

"Does that feel good?"

"Really good, really really good."

"But we can't end it early can we? We're going all the way." Choerry pulls away, propping herself up on her elbows as she looks at you seductively—for someone who's so bright and cheery, she sure knew how to entice you, and like a moth drawn to a flame you're on top of her once more, hands going straight to her panties.

"My turn?"

"Please." Your fingers tremble a little, but you get ahold of yourself and roll them down her hips, revealing her wetness, still swollen and pink from her orgasm earlier. Much like the rest of Choerry right now it looks delicious, and you're tempted to dive in, but she pushes you off with her feet, kicking her underwear off.

"All the way," she reiterates—Choerry wanted to go all the way, and she wanted to go all the way now.

"Stop me if I'm going too fast," you murmur, positioning yourself between her spread legs.

"No, I trust you." You start with just the proverbial tip, wedging yourself in her. "Wow, it's so big." Choerry blurts out, half-praise, half-concern. She's not wrong either—you feel just how tight she is right from the get go, see the way it must look to her, watching herself be split open. Yet she wants all of it, pushing herself down the bed, just enough to take another half inch of you.

"I want it all the way in me." Choerry holds you close, the pressure between her legs seeming to grow without end as you give her what she wants. Your groans are music to her ears, knowing that it's overwhelming for you too—just like the haunted house earlier, you're experiencing this together. A few seconds later you're pressed on her, and Choerry can feel you throbbing, in time with your heartbeat.

"All the way in... Fuck," you mutter—much like Choerry, you can feel all of her, how, despite her nerves, she's hungry for you, her body trying to draw you in, walls pulling at your shaft. You stay still, both of you breathing deeply, taking it all in.

Then she squirms. Much like she did on your thigh earlier, and it is your sign to move. You draw back, feeling Choerry shudder as you pull out, a balance of delicious friction and wistful emptiness. You push in, and this time her pussy yields easier, the slickness coating your cock making things smoother but just as delightful.

Now one more time, but faster.

"Ah!"

Choerry's yelp triggers something in both of you—she can't control herself, so you didn't need to either. This time you no longer stay composed, no longer measured in your movements; No, you're hugging Choerry and *doing what feels good*. With your face buried in her neck, you don't see much, but much like earlier, you don't need to—Choerry's whispering all the directions you need right into your ear.

"Harder, yes harder!"

"Faster, please go faster..."

"Right— Nngh right there, right there!"

Along with a few not-so-useful descriptions.

"You're so deep in me, no one's ever been this deep!"

"Y-You're stretching me, oh my god, please don't stop!"

"I'm so close, please, please!"

"Fuck I'm going to cum so hard..."

Your reply to Choerry makes her pop right away.

"Do what feels good."

"Oh oh oh I'm cumming, I'm cumming! Feels so— Mmm!" Choerry sucks on your neck hard as she combusts, wrapping her legs tightly around you. When she's done you're close yourself, and you need to do something to mix it up.

"You trust me right?"

"Mmhmm?" You sit up and get Choerry to sit in your lap. She thought you wanted her to ride you, but as soon as you're in her again you have her ass in your hands, and she's clinging on to your neck while you stand up.

"Oh god..." With gravity's help you're even deeper in her, and a jolt of pleasure goes through her when you make an experimental thrust.

"See, you're not heavy."

Choerry wants to say that that's not the point, that what is important to her is that you're fucking running your cock through her, kissing the very end of her warmth and making her toes curl.

"Mmph, hnngh... Ah, ah ah ah— mmm!" Yet that's all that comes out when you start thrusting, and Choerry dips her head, succumbing to the sensation of truly going "all the way" with you, your tip nudging against her cervix with every thrust. She's putty in your arms, hanging off you, powerless to do much more than cum, and she cums hard.

"Mmm, ah!" Choerry yelps and braces herself against you, unable to stem the tide of pleasure rushing through her. It starts as a warm wave of slick over your shaft, but as you keep thrusting into her it becomes a splatter against your crotch and your thighs. When she digs her nails against your neck you take that as your sign to stop, and like an awning after a storm Choerry's dripping all over the place, and her husky harsh heaves are loud in the room, the last howls of the storm that just ripped through her.

"Feels good to trust you."

"I'm glad, but I'm close."

"Good, I was wondering when I could make you feel good. Put me down." You let Choerry down, and she drops to her knees, grabbing your slick shaft and stroking you. You feel too good to notice the slight tremble in Choerry's hand—you had just given her the strongest orgasm she's had in a while, and yet she finds herself wanting more.

But she definitely wanted to repay your efforts first.

"Look at me." Choerry directs, and you listen. She's still incredibly pretty, but the large round eyes that twinkled as she laughed and screamed and whooped with you at the haunted house are now tinted with a shade of lust. Choerry looks innocent, but only innocent enough for you to stain. You're pointed right at her face, but you're quickly pointed to the back of her throat as she takes you in, distorting her beauty even more.

"C-Choerry..." you moan, meaning to tell her how good she feels or some such, but those thoughts fly out the windows when she starts ruining herself on you, tongue doing things that you never imagined she would do—around and under your shaft, swirling right over your tip. Your legs quiver and shake as it all becomes too much, and Choerry grabs your hips, pulling you deeper into her.

"Fuck!" The first two shots go right down her throat, and then you're out of her mouth. You're powerless in front of Choerry—eyes closed and hand stroking you furiously, all you can do is stand there and let her do it. You can't take your eyes off her, unable to hold back the surge of pleasure and cum that begins to cover her face. You let out a low moan of relish as she extends your orgasm, rubbing your tip and getting more makeup-ruining seed all over her as a reward. When she stops you're staggered and she's completely glazed, a particularly heavy blob sliding off her cheek.

"Oh shit... Uh hold on." You scramble to find her tissues, but given that you're in her apartment, she beats you to it with a soft laugh, beginning to wipe her face clean. The pretty and sweet Choerry reappears as she removes your load.

"There, all better."

"You umm— There's still a little bit." Choerry makes to wipe the little bit still on her lip, but she thinks better of it, smirking and making a show of licking it off, reminding you of what she can be just a moment ago.

"Mm, salty."

"Wow, you were amazing," you blurt out lamely—what else do you say when you've busted down their throat and covered them in cum?

"I'm glad you liked it, it was great for me too." She makes a show of cleaning up between her legs, slowly bringing the tissues up her creamy thighs and removing the slick shine off them. Cleanup is supposed to be awkward but necessary, yet Choerry makes it hot, showing you just how good you made her feel earlier. "I'll be right back."

As Choerry takes the soaked tissues to the restroom, her thoughts are a bit of a mess, much like the rest of her. She doesn't remember the last time she came that hard or that wetly, and as she flushes the tissues down she briefly brushes between her legs, gasping at her own findings—Choerry's still sticky, a gooey mess. She finally understands Haseul's drunken confessions.

-----

"How do you know oppa's the best you ever had? You haven't even been sleeping around! Or have you?" Choerry asks incredulously, not believing her unnie's declarations.

"Yah, of course I haven't!" Haseul looks around, and motions Choerry to get closer. "You know how when you do it alone, you're happy with one round?" Choerry blushes but nods, she knows what Haseul means exactly—the satiating satisfaction of getting herself off once is usually enough. "Well when I do it with oppa, I just... Want more. Want to be closer to him, want to, you know, receive more 'love' from him." Haseul replaces the crude 4-letter word in her head with something nicer. "But don't guys only do it once, how can you get him to do it again?"

"Choreo."

"Choreo?"

"Mmhmm, our choreo has sexy parts right? The ones where the fans scream because it's just a little too sexy but fine since it's only for a line or two? Just do something in those positions."

"I just bend over, it's mm... Easy to get him to do it again..." Jinsol mumbles, half-asleep already. Before Choerry could ask them more they both headslam the table, falling asleep in their drunkness.

-----

It is with those thoughts in mind that Choerry returns to the bedroom.

"You should umm, stay the night, it's late."

"Are you sure? I don't want to impose or anything."

"No, I wouldn't mind at all."

Choerry watches you put on your boxers and t-shirt, debating with herself how forward she wanted to be and what choreo she should use.

"Which side should I take?"

"Hmm? Whichever you want," she answers distractedly. It is a little later, when you have an arm around her, that she settles on Flower Rhythm.

Just as you are drifting into sleep, you feel the weight on your arm lessen. You take a peek and immediately start waking up—Choerry's holding a hairtie in her mouth, bunching up her hair behind before tying it off. Even that simple act is hot, and it gets even hotter when she bends over, getting on all fours right next to you. You're wide awake now, but Choerry only notices it when she pulls down your boxers and finds a half-stiff cock in front of her.

"Oh, you're up?"

"Only halfway," you manage to joke. "I felt you move, and then I saw you tie your hair and then now... Yeah, I'm awake."

"Let's get you all the way awake then." She takes you in her mouth again, but this time, more than her skills with her tongue it is the sight of Choerry bent over and wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and boy shorts that gets you harder than steel and eager to pump some of that iron into her.

"I'm wide awake, just stay there." Choerry reacts viscerally to your rasp—she felt just how hard you were in her mouth, and now you're going behind her to... She gets lower on the bed and curves her back a little more, pushing her butt a little higher—god she wants this so bad! All she can think about is you looming over her, grabbing her hips and—

"Ah!" Her shorts are yanked down unceremoniously, bunching at her knees—Choerry's forgotten that she's still wearing clothes, and in a flurry she pulls her t-shirt off and kicks her shorts away. She blushes a little at how eager and direct she's being, but she's grateful that you don't say anything; Or rather, she's grateful that you're already grabbing her by the hips, and that delicious pressure is growing between her legs immediately.

"Fuck yes..." you hiss, enjoying sinking yourself into Choerry for a second time tonight. Despite having stretched her deep and spread her walls once, she's just as tight as before, and you have to firmly push into her, drawing a loud moan.

"Ohhh yes! Ah..." Choerry's labored breaths give you pause, and you stop moving, letting her get used to you again, but she turns back to face you, beckoning you to lean over her. "Don't worry about me, you feel so good. Do what feels good for you." She emphasizes this by leaning forward and pushing back, making sure you feel her butt pressed against your hips. It's utterly unholy the way she's flush against you, urging you to hilt yourself deep in her.

Choerry braces as you grab her hips and pull back, but nothing prepares her for the sharp spike in pleasure when you snap your hips forward, and her arms give way immediately. She's wrinkling the bedsheet, biting it with her teeth and grabbing it with her hands as you pump into her. She's moaning into the bed, her muffled whimpers joining the solid smack of flesh on flesh ringing in her head. Each thrust leaves her gasping for more, and her body reacts with a mind of its own, pushing her cunt back against your rod, just to get you back in her faster, harder, deeper!

"Fuck Choerry... holy shit!" She feels like velvet and silk, trying to tug you deeper into her each time. The rest of her toned body is just as enticing—the way her shoulders flex when she pushes herself back at you, and you follow the slim line of her body to— Oh how her thighs ripple when you slam into her from behind! It's one thing to bounce her in the air on top of you, it's another to take her from behind, bouncing your hips off her ass, and you wanted more.

"Hnngh!" Choerry's moans grow louder in volume when she feels a hand on her lower back, forcing her to arch her back even more. You're taking charge now, and the new angle causes you to rub right against her g-spot, the pleasure tugging Choerry's eyes back, rolling them into her head. Her legs flex, trying to push her ass higher, to give you an even steeper angle to fuck her at. But no, you grab her hips and hold her down, seeming to fix her at the perfect height to pump down and forward into her.

Over and over you slam down on Choerry, striking at her g-spot repeatedly, numbing the rest of her body and replacing all of it with pleasure. At some point she begins to cum, her toes curling, teeth biting into the bedsheets to stop herself from screaming. A tidal wave of joy slams into her... And then another one, and then one more—there's no end in sight!

Now Choerry understands why Haseul does that move in Flower Rhythm so well, she must get fucked in this position so often, because it feels fucking amazing. Choerry doesn't even have to do anything, just lie there and take it and cum. And cum she does too, ecstasy consuming her thoughts as you fuck her silly. At some point she's no longer biting the sheets, and she's yelping and wailing, trying to swallow her screams and failing spectacularly.

"Feels so good Choerry, I'm close!" She keeps getting tighter and wetter, you're not sure how long you can last.

"I-I'm cumming!" It doesn't even come out right, Choerry wanted to say "I've been cumming!" But she's been trapped in her orgasms the whole damn time, cumming her brains out and barely coherent, a mess between her legs and her ears. Yet you still fuck her, pounding her until her whole body feels like jello. You treat her words as approval to finish, and the bedsprings creak loudly, the bed rattling faster and faster as you chase your own peak.

A small groan escapes her when you pull out, and the slick that should be coating your cock comes out as a small squirt against your thighs. Both of you moan loudly when you cum, the hot jizz all over her back just as satisfying for Choerry as it is for you. You fire large spurts all over her, covering her pale skin with your thick load.

"Damn! Shit!" You're left speechless as your legs go weak, forcing you to sit on the bed. Choerry similarly slumps forward, sighing as she lands on the bed with a thump. "Are you okay?" Both of you are silent for a while, gasping deeply to catch your breath and process the fuck that just happened.

"Yeah, feels so good..." She tries to reach behind herself, and you quickly wipe the cum off for her. Choerry turns herself around immediately, pulling you into a passionate, almost desperate kiss. She's sucking on your lower lip, tugging with her teeth, trying to draw you in deeper. You reply in kind, tongue pushing past her lips, wanting to suck all the oxygen out of her, to leave her breathless once more. You're stirring for a third round, but you recognize the lack of sparkle in Choerry's eyes—not dimmed by lust, but dulled by fatigue. It's time to call it a night.

"We should rest."

"Huh? Sure... my clothes, where?" From the sleepiness and pleasure rendering her brain earlier Choerry makes just enough sense, and you grab her clothes, helping her slip them on before she bundles under the covers. You manage to find your own boxers and put them on before joining her in bed. As you sidle next to her under the covers she shifts herself closer to you, resting her head on your shoulder.

"Good night," You murmur, and a smile is all she manages before her eyelids droop, and she's off to dreamland, a hand on your chest feeling your heartbeat. You just hope it doesn't wake her up.

That amazing smile.

You fall asleep eventually. When you wake up, you unfortunately don't see Choerry snuggling next to you, but you do hear the clink of cutlery on dishes outside.

"Good morning!" Choerry calls out cheerily as you step out of the bedroom. You rub the sleep from your eyes and blink—you blink very quickly. Choerry's dressed simply in a white singlet and powder blue shorts, there's a bit of red on her neck from where you left your mark last night, but she looks otherwise flawless.

"Something to eat?"

"Sure, whatever you're having there I guess."

She quickly gets you a bowl of granola and yogurt. There is a quiet awkwardness to the whole thing, and you wonder if you should have put on all of your clothes before coming out rather than just your t-shirt. Choerry's eating silently next to you, both of you thinking about the same thing.

What do I even say?

"So umm, I have to go to work later." Choerry states quietly.

"Right, let me get out of your way, let you prepare—"

"No! I mean, there's no rush. Please, finish your food. Oh..." She notices a bit of yogurt on your lip.

"What is it?"

"You have a little—" She points to her own lip, but you miss it, because for a second she looks so pretty you can't tell left from right. "No, let me get it" She leans in—

She's kissing you again. Choerry's smudging the yogurt, tugging on your upper lip, cleaning it for you. She often joked about how her unnies were always finding chances to steal away and be with their boyfriends, but she understands their actions a little better now, now she's just like them. The attraction is magnetic, and as soon as she's close enough she wants to kiss you, touch you, feel you against her body— Fuck she's wet again. Choerry's shorts land in a pile on the floor and she swings her legs across your lap, straddling you.

"One more time. Want to feel good again." Choerry murmurs. Now the passionate and desperate kiss from last night returns in full force. You drop your cutlery with a clang, and she's light enough that you can squirrel your boxers down just the right amount.

"Ch-Choerry!" Your tip is engulfed in her wetness almost immediately, and she's whining into your gasp, both reactions to just how needy and ready she is for you.

"Let me ride you!" She's asking, but not really, as Choerry's already starting to rock her hips back and forth on top of you. More and more of you slips into her, and her husky moans get louder and louder. You're buried in her neck, and Choerry let's her top slip down, an invitation for you to play with her chest.

"Mmm!" She whines when you kiss along her bust line, hands on your head urging you to do more. You make her slow down, steadying her so that you can take a nipple between your lips, gently sucking and licking it. "Yes, just like that..." The frantic riding settles into a slower but no less intense grind, as if you playing with her tits has made her tighten around you, and she's savoring every inch of your cock she's taking even more. You play with both of her breasts, and her moans get quieter and faster, her lungs struggling to keep up with the sinuous and sinful exercise she's putting herself through.

"Mmm, I'm cumming, I'm cumming!" Choerry flings her arms around your neck and crushes you against her. She buries her face in your hair to muffle her cry, the vibrations rattling you to your core. You help her along her orgasm, pulling her waist towards you each time she clenches around you, adding wave after wave of pleasure and extending her peak. When she finally recovers your connection is sticky, and Choerry is a bit of a wreck—top pulled down, hair mussed, a pale skin flushed with pleasure.

"J-Just one more..." she mumbles, beginning to ride you again. Choerry's not really "pent up", but her body's asking the question her heart hasn't put into words yet—"Where were you all this time?!" Now she's more surprised that the unnies spend so much time with the group—if she had a boyfriend like you she would be spending as much time as possible with you and not the group! She throws her head back and lets out a low moan, hilting herself and cumming again all over your cock.

"Fuck Choerry, I'm close, you need to get off!" You're throbbing hard inside her. If last night was Choerry losing it because of your fucking, today morning is Choerry taking charge, fucking you, and making you lose it—you're going to cum even harder than last night. She's sweating, her entire body just as hot and wet as her walls are wrapped around you. At your warning she seems to ride you even harder, her moans long and low.

"Choerry!"

"Do you trust me?"

"What?"

"Just do what feels good, trust me." Choerry's holding your face in her hands, begging you to say yes.

"Yes, I— Oh fuck! Trust you!" You can't form a coherent sentence either.

"Just tell me when, tell me when you feel good, last one!" Your hands settle on her waist, trying to steady her, but Choerry's movements only get more intense, borderline violent—her knees dig into your hips and she's bouncing herself in your lap, your thighs taking a beating against the chair.

"Want you to cum, please, please..." She's determined to drag you off the cliff with her, struggling to maintain eye contact with you as her chin dips down, her body bracing and holding off her own orgasm best she can. The way she calls out to you, moans for you, her walls clenching around you with raw need, it all becomes too much.

"Fuck, now!" you groan, and Choerry has a split second to decide if she should get off you or sink even deeper in your lap, but the only thought her in mind is—

Do what feels good.

"Fuck yes, oh yes, ohhh yes yes yes! Oh my god!" Her words and your moans ring loudly in the apartment. Choerry spreads her legs and lowers her hips, and your arm around her waist pulls her in on instinct, both of you making sure that she takes every last inch and every last drop of cum into her. The burst of warmth in her womb and surge of bliss rips through her body, tearing a scream from her as she loses control. Choerry tries to close her legs, as if it's too much to experience, but all it does is trap you in place, keeping you there as you continue pumping her full of thick seed.

"Ahh, it's so hot, so much..." And it quickly becomes too much, the flow of cum into Choerry seeming to reverse—a sinful mix of you and her leak out the sides, coating your shaft as the two of you tremble and shudder, tangled together in the heat of explosive intimacy. When Choerry manages to gather herself again she sees you still recovering, head tilted back and looking like a man totally drained. Only now does she wonder about her decision—was it reckless, was it safe, was it what she wanted? Yes, yes, and yes. But there is one question Choerry doesn't know the answer to—What would you think? Would you think less of her? She told you she doesn't normally do this, yet she just let you—

"Worried?" you ask, knocking her out of her reverie.

"Yes, I mean no, not about that, I'm umm, safe." How does she even ask a question like that? How does she even begin to phrase it?

Meanwhile you have your own worries. You wanted this to be more than a one-off, but Choerry is so far out of reach. From the waist up, blushing slightly as she fixes her top and hair, Choerry looked like a virtual angel. Yet she's in your lap, panties pulled to the side, with what's left of your morning wood leaking out of her freshly fucked pink pussy. What do you even say to someone like her, the perfect girlfriend and perfectly ruinable lover, to appeal to her? You settle for reassuring her for now.

"I'm with you all the way, whatever happens." Choerry opens her mouth to dispute, to tell you that's not what she's worried about, but as you brush her hair tenderly, she realizes you've answered everything she couldn't put into words. When she leans in, asking for a kiss with a pout, you realize you've said everything you needed to say, and you give her a kiss happily.

The magic ends when an alarm on her phone sounds.

"I need to leave soon, do you mind getting me some tissues?"

"Oh, yeah of course." You find her the tissues, and she does her best to quickly clean up. "Should I go first? I'll give you your privacy."

"No no, I'll be done quickly, the rest I can do at the salon. Here's your clothes." Choerry disappears into the bedroom as you get dressed in the living room.

"You go to a salon for work?" you ask her as she comes out fully dressed.

"Yeah umm for makeup, I'm an idol."

"Oh, so... we can't meet again can we?" You have a sinking feeling—after the best night of your life, you might be facing the worst day right after.

"No, we just have to be careful, go to less popular spots, or at odd times, stuff like that. I... hope that's okay?" Choerry holds her breath, praying that it isn't a dealbreaker.

"Yeah, no that's great, we can do that." Both of you breathe a sigh of relief internally as you enter the elevator. "I'd love to take you out somewhere quiet, one where we're not jumping out of our shoes every few minutes."

"Yes, no spiders and zombies."

"And ghosts," you remind her.

"Right, they're the same thing." Choerry realizes that the elevator is close to ground floor, that she's close to being in the public eye once again. She takes your phone and puts her number in, shushing your indignant sputtering about zombies and ghosts with a peck on your lips.

"It's a date then, don't make me wait."

She feels her phone vibrate almost immediately after she leaves you, and she's smiling at your invitation for next weekend as she tumbles into the van with the other members.

"Choerry yah, did you get back okay yesterday? I'm sorry they wouldn't let you in, you could've just stayed home the whole time!"

"Oh no unnie it was fine, I'm glad I went all the way."

A/N: Haunted house fic a month after Halloween lmao. Anyways been wanting to write Choerry for a long while but didn't have the best setup for it until now, so I kinda overcooked it with scenes and pics XD Hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading!

#smut #choerry #artms

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calisources · 9 months ago

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𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂, 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋, 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences have been taken from different media to be compiled into a list. This is not a meme for minors, the content here goes from mild to highly sexual, topics like dominance, submissive, bondage,praise kink and breeding are all present so discretion is key. Change names, pronouns, locations as you see fit.

You are perfect. And now you wear my mark, your ass is mine.

Tie me up, please…

Kiss me hot,heavy,wet & angry with that attitude like you do when your mouth yells it hates me but your tongue screams it can’t wait for me.

Let me undress your body, caress your skin and wetly massage your mind back into making love to me again.

They wanted her. They all loved her. And they wanted to keep her.

A little vanilla never hurt anybody.

If you have any sense you’ll stay away from him.

Touch me, like this, like a good girl.

That’s it, use your tongue.

I'd planned to have you on your bed the first time, but maybe I should take you here, by the mirror, so you can see how splendid we are together.

I’m not going to deny that I want to fuck you. I cannot do anything else, But I will say that I have plans for you if you say yes.

I’ll fuck you so good, for so long that the only thing you’ll crave is my hands on your skin, my cock deep in your pussy.

I want a second serving of you. I’m hard just thinking of your perfect breasts and hard nipples.

As much as I appreciate that, right now you’re all I want to eat.

Now will you please sit on my face already?

You are corrupting me, Theo.

But you like being corrupted, don't you, sweet girl?

The destruction of something beautiful can appear so entertaining.

If women were totally satisfied with their sexual and lovemaking experiences, women would welcome the lovemaking experience as much as men.

I want to learn from you. Teach me what you know.

Once I make you mine, you will be mine forever. I will call you and you will come, in more ways than one.

What have I taught you? Show me, sweet girl.

Use your thighs, ride like it’s your last day on this earth.

I been aching to be inside you since we met, you devil woman.

Hands braced against the wall, and open your legs.

You tasted sweet, like oranges, liquid sunshine in my mouth.

I need you. Every pore of my being is begging. This is what we do.

The things I want from you, darlin’, will give you nightmares, ones like you’ve never had before.

If you could read my mind, I’m pretty sure you’d either be traumatized, sexually aroused or both.

The nicer you treat her outside the bedroom, the naughtier it will get inside the bedroom.

Sex is a part of nature. I go along with nature.

That’s it. You can take a lot more, don’t you? Hold on to me.

If you behave, I’ll let your hands go and touch me.

I love your skinny legs, and what's between them.

I don't want words, but inarticulate cries.

All you have to do is beg, and I will give you what you want.

I want you splayed out on the table like my own personal feast.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

You make the sweetest little noises. But I need you to be louder, let everyone know.

It's like an itch, isn't it? You can feel it in your throat. You want to scream for me.

Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I've been here. Only me. You are mine.

I felt like an animal, and animals don't know sin, do they?

And ye whimper under me, and struggle as though you wanted to get away, and I know it's only that you're struggling to come closer, and I'm fighting the same fight.

I can help you with that.

Forgetting him. Moving on. I’m okay with being your rebound. I’ve already said that I want you.

You’ll give yourself to me? Let me take control? Let me send you over the edge of ecstasy time and again until you awaken?

Possess. Have. Hold. Enjoy. Control. Dominate. Pick your verb, Ms. Fairchild. I intend to explore so very many of them.

I feel claimed.

You’re so primed. I can feel that hot little pussy clenching around me every time I move a muscle or say a word.

Yeah, arch your back so I can look at you going nice and tight around my fingers.

Pet, I give you permission to be as vocal as you wish, because I am going to blow your mind in a few minutes and I want to hear how much you enjoy the ride.

If you want me to touch you, all you have to do is ask. It would be my pleasure - and yours.

Watch me make love to you.

I'd like to bite that lip.

I want you sore, baby.

I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you.

There is no room in my body for anything but you.

Eat me, drink me; thirsty, cankered, just take me as I am.

I live for sex. I celebrate it, and relish the electricity of it, with every fibre of my being.

I’m not wearing anything underneath. Want to see?

You will be staying here until I’ve deemed it safe for you to go back to your life. Do you understand me?

Dominate you? Yes. Master you? yes. Make you yield to what you want, make you surrender to who you truly are? Yes.

Why don’t you scream my name? Let every other man and woman who you belong to.

I don’t want to think, I just want to feel.

I taught you everything you know. Every man after me is just a shadow of what I did to you.

I knew you could be a good girl.

You were fucking made for me.

God is not gonna save you from me, baby.

My mouth wants you, I want to feel you in my mouth, way down in my mouth.

I am moist between the legs.

I came three times. During sex.

Do you know all the ways a Lady can be seduced? The things I could teach you?

You stay right where daddy puts you, baby girl.

Wait until you taste her. She is fucking delicious.

Lick my fingers and feel how wet you are.

Are there big, bad monsters in the woods who want to eat me up?

Right there, don’t stop. I can feel it.

Please come in me, I don’t care, I want to feel you.

Where do you want it, baby girl? Your cunt, your mouth or your neck?

Close your eyes and relax. One kiss. I don’t bite.

Seriously? In the morning, again?

You said to rest but I can feel you hard against my back.

You can do all the rest sweet, let me take care of you.

I want you to fuck me, Chris.

A little playful banter never hurt — or did it?

One should always explore something, before one goes in deeper.

Come here and undress me.

How am I supposed to do my job when all I can think about is getting back to you?

Someone could walk in on us.

Better be good and come fast, then. Or everyone will see you begging for more.

I can imagine my hands getting your fucking clothes off right now.

Do not shy away from the sensations I create, Cherry Blossom. Take pride in them, as I do.

Am I doing it good, baby? Just like you taught me?

Tell me I’m a good girl. Your only girl.

When I come, I come for you. Because of you and your mouth, hands, and insatiable little cunt.

My tongue, my fingers, my cum inside you. Just you and me, Eva. Intimate and raw.

How many have been with you ever since? Or no one compared? Tell me.

Show me then. I demand that you show me. That’s an order.

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #smut prompt #kink prompt #usft tw

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mywritersmind · 3 months ago

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DRUNK THOUGHTS - LN4

summary : He’s drunk and on a dock, nothing can go wrong. Except maybe him confessing his love to his taken best friend.

listen up : drunk lando! reader has a bf but no cheating involved!! maybe a pt.2 but prob not? i’ve kinda been unmotivated but if u have ideas my requests are open!

word count : 653

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I find him on a dock, his arm touching the water and his body laying down to face the stars.

I wobble down the wooden path, taking my heels off and pulling my dress down a bit. I’ve been drinking and dancing all night, yet my experience doesn’t even come close to Lando’s night.

He turns his head when he hears my footsteps, “Wanted to make sure you were still alive.” I look at his body, he’s in baby blue pants and a half undone shirt.

I left my boyfriend who was getting eaten alive by mosquitoes to come check on him, feeling a bit tipsy and more than happy to be alone with him.

“Y/n!” He grins and points at me, yup he’s definitely drank more than me, “Hi!”

I laugh and squat next to him, “Hi Lan. Fun night?”

“Oh definitely!” he giggles, his hand patting the place next to him. I sigh and lay down, looking up at the night sky. “You?”

“Very fun.” He’s looking at me still, I glance to him, a curl fallen into his face and his eyes are all soft and shaded from the lack of light.

It’s almost unfair, how beautiful he is.

“I like your dress!” He smiles, his hand gently running against the hem of it. It’s small and black and his touch makes goosebumps run through me.

“I like your necklace.” I reach over and run my fingers over his logo, “Very nice.”

“Would be nicer on you.” Lando’s always like this. Drunk or not, he’s a flirt.

“Ya think?”

“I know.” He looks back up like it’s nothing, “Would be even nicer if it was the only thing you were wearing.” the words come out so quick and easy that I almost think I hallucinated them. Lando’s flirty, sure, but my boyfriend is almost always around so he doesn’t mess around too much.

Apparently drunk him does.

I practically choke, “Oh?”

His head turns to me again, his eyes roaming my features, “You're so pretty.” He says softly, “Like really reallyyyy gorgeously you.”

“I- thank you?”

“Everyone thinks it. All the guys who stare at you but they don’t get it. Not even your lover boy.” He shakes his head matter of factly, “No no no. I do. I hate those guys.”

“What guys?” I laugh.

“You do not have very good vision.” He smacks his lips together, “Everyone looks.”

I laugh, honestly thinking he’s joking, “They’re always looking at you- the famous one.”

He shakes his head again, adamant I'm wrong, “No no pretty. They don’t give a nothing about me.”

“I think you do pretty well.” I raise a brow, “You were basically followed by a group of girls down here.” I’m not sure where they went but they were fawning over Lando.

He shrugs, “Bachelorette party. It’s basically my job.” I laugh and he looks offended that I did, “I wish you followed me.”

Suddenly his words aren’t funny anymore.

“But your bloody boy…” He makes a disgusted face, I thought he didn’t mind him. “Bleh. You’re better.”

“I didn’t know you disliked him.”

“Why would I like the bloke who’s in love with the girl I'm in love with?” His casual tone strikes again, this time stabbing me through the heart. We’re friends. We’ve always been friends. I thought my own feelings had gone long before this trip- before my boyfriend!

I can’t fancy Lando and he cannot be in love with me.

“You’re so drunk.” I laugh it off but he just stares at me. He doesn’t seem to know that he just said he loves me.

“Drunk words are-”

“Sober thoughts.” I finish for him, His body shifting to lay on his stomach, an arm across my waist. “Yeah I know.”

“You always understand me.” He whispers and it breaks me in two. “Thank you.”

“Let’s get you back, Lan.”

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #f1 imagine #lando x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #lando imagine #f1 fic

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reborn-readings · 5 days ago

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What does your mind need from you at this moment?

Tip Jar | Masterlist TBA

Hello everyone! This is gonna be my first Pick a Pile, I'm so excited! I hope it brings you joy and healing 💜

This is a group reading, so take what resonates and leave the rest. Don't force anything if it does not fit. Remember that the future is not set in stone and that other potential paths exist depending on your movement through the course of time.

Pile 1 (Left)

Pile 1, you are spiraling through a lopsided sequence of events right now. It feels like things are building, like trying to contain a windstorm completely out of our control. Change is happening, that much is for sure, but while change is life’s only constant, there are moments that make you ask “Is all this really necessary? Can’t we slow down a bit?” The answer is no, you can’t—the universe is so eager to put new opportunities in your hands that they feel like hurled curses.

In this chaos, what your mind needs is not a sense of relief or control, but the assurance that you are not powerless in the face of it. Life is giving you a wave—are you going to let it roll over you and send you careening head over heels, or are you going to ride it? Change is a good thing—we often forget that in order to build upon our foundations, we must change and grow. You are a caterpillar ready to weave your cocoon, and only you know the potential you have. Who knows what you’ll emerge as?

Your mind asks you to consider an opportunity that comes to you and to not guilt yourself for rejecting what you know is not helpful. Follow your intuition on that; don’t close every door that opens, even if it opened by the wind knocking it down. Consistent work will get you where you’re going. Fall back on your previous experience and build on it to bring it to fruition. There is an upcoming end to a material concern or success in a material goal, and it will bring opportunity for a new object of passion with it. You will create something wonderful out of this chaos—I feel the recognition as something making your chest feel full. The chaos may not subside, but with a new understanding of it, you will know how to harness and weather it.

Other messages - Out of chaos comes creation. Change is beautiful. Satisfaction with financial savings. Bring your all to whatever projects you decide to take on. Having gathered what was needed. Inbox never empty. Kudos for a job well done.

Symbols - Thick forests. Poured-out vessels. Circles. Insects or other bugs. Perches.

Pile 2 (Middle)

Oh, Pile 2, I see the winter in you. Others might look at you and see the throttling of the edges of autumn and spring. You are more than that, but it becomes difficult to tell when everyone just wishes that winter would be over already.

Perhaps you are someone young, or someone young in spirit. You have depended on others to help you make the right decisions, but when people tell you that they’ll help you make the right decisions, you often suspect that they want you to make whichever decision will be better for them. Masculine and feminine, withdrawn and social, intuitive or logical—these dualities have plagued you, proponents from each side calling for you to cast away the other. In particular, I see an overbearing masculine presence or ideal that interferes with your thoughts when you try to think about how to move forward.

Your mind needs to be its own. The reality is, you are a lot bigger and stronger than the people around you. You have a commanding presence that’s a little intimidating, and thus, the people around you want to know that you’re on their side. You should feel honored! But at the end of the day, you can’t leave everyone satisfied, and besides, what’s the point if you yourself are never satisfied?

I see you really benefiting from taking some time for yourself and your own pursuits. You have been wanting to study something or take a deeper look at something—your mind yearns to be enriched. It also yearns to use that information to take action. It wants you to have faith in yourself and your own decisions, and above all else, to finally make a decision. It may be daunting, but afterwards, you will be a sense of security and stability like never before. I have faith in you. Practice having faith in yourself

Other messages - A strong foundation will keep you safe. Take pride in yourself. Take honor in your choices, achievements, and actions. Stay focused. Sudden or unexpected changes brought about by you. Head into the vault and stay for a bit. Have some fun in the snow.

Symbols - Screen doors. Long tails. Something hanging from the ceiling? Searing cold and blistering hot at the same time. Roots in the air and branches in the ground. Blue sparks/light.

Pile 3 (Right)

Pile 3, you are the master of the mind…aren’t you? Or is the mind a master of you?

Keep on reading—it might seem unbearable to think that you do not have a cap on your emotions, your passions, your place in the world—but at this moment, your mind needs you to trust it. Think about it! When you’re using a computer or other piece of technology, you’re not the one going in and individually flipping each bit and byte to its correct position. It is the same with your mind—let it handle the secrets of itself, trust that it knows what to do to keep you being that same, wonderful you.

Has Cupid’s arrow struck you? Do you find yourself longing to be that perfect romantic that always gets the girl? Now you’ve got even more of a problem! How are you supposed to keep tabs on two minds?! It feels like everything’s going wrong, burning down, targeting you. To get past this, you must learn to see your mind not as an enemy, but as a friend that knows you better than you know yourself. Go ahead and follow your mind, just for one tiny, unimportant decision or impulse, and see how it turns out. If it doesn’t end up good, then oh well, but if it does, see where it takes you.

The world is a wonderful place when you open yourself up to its many possibilities, even if they don’t all seem perfect or ideal. Challenge yourself to take action and allow yourself to have reaction. You are a talented individual, and, if you let them, others will see you for that and want to be with you. Allow the rainbow of life to soak you in every hue and you just might find a matching color, someone so seamless and natural that you’ll wonder how you ever lived life without them by your side, that you’ll forget what it was like without them. And allow your mind to forget some things. It’ll just open you up to experience new wonders.

Other messages - Shed the old to embrace the new. Close your eyes to see more clearly. Work together. Touch each other’s hearts. A challenge that you can successfully manage. Recognition. Eternal work in progress (have fun working on it!) Love yourself.

Symbols - Song. Walk with flowers lining the path. Obstacles falling away. Clear skies. Meditation. Pink.

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Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

#pick a card #pick a pile #pac #pap #tarot readings #tarot cards #oracle readings #oracle cards #tarotblr #pick a picture #divination

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kiyo-cant-write · 13 days ago

Note

Heyya, I have comeback with an idea. I'm sure you'll like it too. Still I will bring this guy up, but you can add your favorite .

So Yuu got sick, heavily sick. The boys sometimes comes to visit and take care of Yuu. i also found out that when someone got sick, they crave sweet and carbs. So imagine Yuu heavily sick, walking down the stair of their own dorm craving sweet. Just to get sweet jam and bread and they seemed to be a brink of passing out, unless they got their sweet jam bread.

As always I bring Silver, but you can add your own favorite character too if you want.

- 🎵 anon

silver & malleus with a sick!reader ✧･ﾟ

Hello anon! I am so sorry this took me so long! My health and uni work always takes precedence but I do love writing for this blog even if I lack the time to do so... ^^

I like writing for Diasomnia, they're silly xD Malleus is my favorite but I love them all sm. I added Lillia as a guest star only but was tempted to make him his own scenario... Maybe next time.

Thank you for requesting!!!

Note for everyone that I have a few requests left from earlier to get done before the close of the year and then everything else sent from here on will not be posted until 2025 January. Please keep this in mind, thank you for supporting me!

Summary: The reader gets taken care of by Silver/Malleus when sick.

TW/CW: mentions of illness/symptoms

Notes: pre-relationship, the reader is Ramshackle Prefect/Yuu, they/them pronouns for the reader, Malleus' "incident" is from canon

Guest Stars: Lilia Vanrouge. Grim

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Silver

Silver has been sick a few times when he was young.

However, he quickly built a strong immune system from having to eat Lilia's cooking and train as a child.

The last time Silver was especially sick was when he was 8 or 9.

Because of his experience with humanity, he knows a bit about treating illnesses. Still, he would rather ask someone to be sure.

Unsure of whether the school nurse would be busy or not, he selects his father (Lilia) to ask. Father is very knowledgeable.

Between Lilia's advice and his own knowledge, Silver is prepared enough and manages to be a help not a hindrance.

He does get into a small spat with Grim, though, for invading Grim's territory.

Silver wasn't sure what was happening, but the pot hadn't boiled over even with his nodding off. Still, he was surprised that the kitchen was still usable. At first, he had planned to tough it out himself when [Name] got sick but he now had the help of his father and Grim (though Grim had initially tried to burn Silver for entering his esteemed territory).

"Isn't it easier to work together?" Silver asked, directing his question to Grim who huffed despite agreeing with the white-haired boy.

"Myaa, I guess so."

Grim's tail flicked in annoyance with the situation. He had become even more irritable since finding that he was not allowed to be a glutton with the soup they were making. It wasn't for him and Grim seemed offended by that fact.

"Silver," Lilia said a moment later, "Are you sure I can't add things to this? I know of some hearty things sure to get [Name] back to good health."

Lilia held up something that Silver trusted less than he'd trust Sebek with a chainsaw. It was a vibrant purple and somehow also a neon green and smelled strange, reminding Silver of the strange things he had eaten as a child whenever he was sick. Lilia cared, surely, but those plants were... bitter and sometimes nauseating to even imagine.

He shook his head. That could not be fed to an already-sick [Name].

They would get sicker!

"No, you know how I feel about your soup. I just needed help chopping things since [Name] might be sick for a while."

Lilia shrugged.

"More for me later then~" he told Silver.

Silver did not ask about that comment.

"Are they going to be okay?" Grim asked, pawing Silver.

"Certainly," the boy assured, "They just seem to have something that will take some time and rest to recover from."

"If you say so..."

Silver wished he was better with words and could reassure Grim of [Name]'s safety. However, he wasn't sure what to say or how to explain it. He was focusing so intently on the soup and on staying awake that little else could enter his mind.

The room filled with the gentle aroma of the homemade soup as the recipe was completed. Silver turned off the burner.

"And I can't have some?" Grim asked, whining.

"You can have some of my veggies~" Lilia told him with a smirk.

"NO! THAT'S POISON!" Grim shouted, ducking behind Silver for protection from the feared veggies Lilia held.

"Surely, it isn't. I promise," Lilia chuckled darkly.

"Father, don't harass Grim," Silver chided the old fae, "And Grim, you can have some but most of it is for [Name] if we want them to recover well."

Grim nodded slowly.

"Fine..."

Silver ignored the continued bickering between his father and Grim as he ladled soup into a bowl. It was warm and filled with all kinds of [normal] vegetables. It should help them!

"YOU JUST WANNA SEE ME GAG ON THAT PLANT!"

"No, no, it's good for you."

"IS NOT!"

"You won't know unless you try it."

Silver placed the bowl onto a wooden tray that [Name] had in a drawer in the kitchen. This would be easy to carry up the stairs to [Name]'s room. Holding a bowl of hot soup might... hurt. It was rather hot, but hot food was good for someone who was sick.

He considered asking Grim to come with him but when he turned to head towards the bedroom, both Grim and his father were gone. Where had they gotten off to? Were they fighting? If they were fighting he might try and stop them...

But he needed to focus on [Name]'s health.

He knocked on the door.

"[Name]? Are you awake?" he asked but he only heard some coughing in return, "Alright, well I'm coming inside."

He pushed the door open and walked up to the bed. There sat [Name], coughing softly with a flushed face and sweaty forehead.

"Hey, Sil," they managed after the coughing subsided, "Is that for me?"

They looked curiously at the tray and he leaned forward to set it on their lap, balancing it so it wouldn't spill and then pulling away.

"I made you some soup to quicken your recovery," he told them.

[Name] looked at the bowl and then at Silver.

"Aww, thank you," they said, coughing a few times because of the strain on their vocal cords, "That's really sweet... of you."

"I hope that it helps, I don't like to see you so uncomfortable."

"You made this for me so it'll help me for sure," they told him with a smile, "I appreciate this."

[Name] tried not to think of the implications of being cared for by someone like this... It was so domestic.

"Ah, well, I'm glad."

Silver offered them a soft smile which they returned.

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Malleus Draconia

Malleus thinks that humans are very fragile. Too much so.

He hates to think that an illness could take [Name] from him.

This fae is also unfamiliar with human illnesses and remedies.

He consults Lilia on the proper way to heal a human.

However, in his inexperience with human technology... some things are lost in translation and what Malleus ends up doing is far from what Lilia meant or what would have helped.

Malleus considers that he should have asked Silver.

[Name], sick as they are, may have to explain what they need to Malleus even if it takes them some energy to do so.

Once he has a clear explanation of what to do... he will do it.

Even if his crazy OP magic ability gets in the way somewhat.

Somehow, through this, Ramshackle is not destroyed.

Malleus wasn't sure if this was right. Looking at the kitchen around him, he feared he might have made things more difficult for [Name]. What would they think when they awoke? The kitchen was in utter disarray, there were pots in the sink and ingredients on the floor.

This was all because of that damned thing.

Truly, Malleus did not have any of the patience needed for these human contraptions. What in the world did they invent them for if they didn't work? He sighed to himself as he imagined how easy this might have been otherwise.

Still, he was a respectful fae and he had promised [Name] weeks before to follow one rule when at Ramshackle: no giant shows of fae magic. At first, he had been insulted, but [Name] (and Lilia) had pointed out that his magic was strong and he could destroy the dorm. It pained him to imagine making them sad, so he had agreed.

"I'd best contact Lilia..." Malleus said to himself, knowing he was the only person in the dorm besides the illness-ridden [Name], Grim, and the ghosts who seemed frightened of him still.

Malleus: Lilia.

Lilia: hmm? what's up, malleus? :3

Malleus: [Name] is sick. What should I do?

Lilia: You can try to make some soup for them.

Lilia: Soup helps when humans are sick.

Lilia: I used to make some fire ones for Silver when he was a boy.

Malleus: Fire? Flames?

Lilia: Human slang. It means "good."

Clicking the picture Lilia had sent of his hand-written list, Malleus noted that these were all what was deemed as "healthy." Was this all supposed to go into the soup? Malleus wasn't sure. Some of it seemed like it wouldn't be the best-tasting soup if it were combined with the other things on Lilia's list.

Pumpkin sardine strawberry liver soup?

As Malleus continued to look through the list, his phone shut the app he was using accidentally. It must have crashed. Fiddling with the phone, Malleus tried but was unsuccessful in bringing the list back up. His frustrations crushed the phone to bits.

Well, isn't that just great? Another one is dead. Always difficult creatures, cell phones.

But Malleus was not going to give up so easily. This illness would not take his Child of Man from him. No, it would not. Putting what remained of his phone into his pocket (he would bother Lilia and Silver about it later), he turned back to the messy kitchen (all his own fault).

"I will make soup or die trying," he told himself, "I promise."

A few minutes passed and an explosion rang through the house.

"Mal... Malleus?? What are you doing?" [Name] asked, standing in the kitchen doorway and coughing from a mixture of sickness and inhaling the smoke from the (minor, in comparison to last time) explosion.

"Making your wellness soup."

Malleus said this as though it was obvious.

"Whatever soup it is, it's probably burnt," they told him, coughing again, "Cooking from scratch is hard, it's why I just have the canned stuff like Grim's tuna."

"Canned..." Malleus echoed.

That might have been easier, at least.

"Yeah, it's microwaveable," [Name] said, walking into the burnt kitchen to find the canned soup from the cupboard.

"Oh, I'm not allowed to touch those things. Lilia's orders."

Malleus disliked remembering that time.

"...What?" [Name] responded head in a cabinet.

Did they hear him right?

"There was an incident," Malleus said as an explanation.

It was not a very good explanation.

[Name] chose to ignore it and sighed. Must be a fae thing.

Holding the can, they opened it quickly and dumped the contents into a bowl in one motion, trying not to cough too much as they did so. If Malleus was going to blow up Ramshackle, it was probably better that they cooked for themselves.

Malleus seemed to be pouting in the background.

"..."

"You tried your best, I appreciate it," they told him.

"I am sorry about your kitchen."

"It's fine, Grim did worse trying to make a casserole with the ghosts. Something about it only needing 3 seconds in the oven if it was a certain temperature?"

[Name] laughed.

If they were smiling like that... How could Malleus stay upset? Besides, there was more he could do to help the sick human, right? Malleus was not going to leave [Name]'s side. Not now, not yet.

"That does make sense though. If it was hot enough would that not quicken the speed?"

[Name] gave the fae prince a look.

"Malleus Draconia, don't make me make a rule about no dragons cooking in my kitchen..."

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Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Do NOT repost my writing/headcanons as your own >:c Check the top of my blog for the inbox status and read the rules before requesting. This is not a twst-only blog! ^^

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lovifie · 9 months ago

Text

Well, I Wasn't On That Tunnel ❤️

Masterlist - Taglist Form

All Chapters

Pairings: Ghoap x Reader.

Warnings: Poly relationship, rotating POV (mostly Simon's), panic attack, mentions of guns and war (this is COD so), mentions of cheating but it just three idiots not knowing what poly is ❤️

Soap gets thrown into action ridiculously quick, barely passing the psychological evaluation and he is ready to go back to war. It had costed you multiple fights with Price, even with Laswell, to try and keep him from going back.

It didn't matter how many times you debated it, or how solid your arguments were. If the psychiatrist decided that Johnny was ready.... He was.

Even if she contradicted herself, even if you said Johnny had forgotten half of his experience, even if you said he was still in physical rehab.

All of that didn't matter.

And no matter how hard you fought it, barely a couple of months after you returned to base, Johnny was putting on his uniform to leave.

Price wasn't the only one you argued with, the frustration of feeling like you were sending Johnny to the slaughterhouse caused you to be irascible and, even if you didn't mean to, to lash out at anyone who would disagree with you.

Even if Johnny was the one who was opposing you.

"Lass, I don't want to go away being in a fight with you." He began to say as he strapped on his vest.

"Then don't leave." You replied from the door frame and your arms crossed.

"Baby... We've been over this, please.... I have to..." She said, hands raised and voice soft as if speaking to a frightened animal.

And that's how you felt, like a dog being promised by his owner that he's not going to abandon him as he walks out the door with a target on his forehead.

Just like Johnny, you had also had sessions with the base psychiatrist; but unlike him, you had not been given a pass. You were more than ready to be discharged, but if they clared you, then you would have the power to say that Johnny was not ready to return.

So the amnesiac who two months ago could not walk was prepared to return to the battlefield. And you, whose only psychological damage was to see him dead, were bound hand and foot as you watched him go to almost certain death.

"No! You don't have to, Johnny! Don't you realize what they're doing!!!?" You burst out, once again, uncrossing your arms to express your displeasure with the situation.

"Of course I realize! I have amnesia, I'm not an idiot!" He responded in the same tone as you, causing guilt to build up in your opinion. "I'm still capable of making my own decisions so you don't need to make them for me anymore! Don't you realize I need to feel useful!"

Johnny didn't want to yell at you, or lose control and say something he didn't mean; but he was still human and frustration had gotten the better of him too.

Ever since he saw how Ghost had left you in your room, the fact that you had been together obvious; Johnny hadn't been able to help but compare himself to the blond.

At first it was physical, the time immobilized had left him thinner. When Gaz showed him a picture from before the accident he doubted that he could ever be as wide as he was before... Almost the same as Ghost.

But not now.

Now he was shorter, weaker, more inexperienced... He had nothing to beat him with, to compete for you. And Johnny knew it.

Besides, he was sure that you must have felt him as a burden. A big baby you had to take care of so he wouldn't choke if you didn't cut his food.

So when he was asked if he wanted to come back, he didn't think twice. Later, when he told you about it and saw how your expression changed to one of absolute panic, he regretted not asking you before agreeing. But his pride was hurt when he saw you arguing with everyone you could to keep him from going.

This was not your first discussion on the subject, and every time it ended you both felt like idiots; for hurting the other indirectly and for knowing that you were not able to convey your own feelings to each other.

And Simon has been the scavenger vulture that has taken advantage of each and every one of those discussions.

As soon as he realized that you had argued, Simon would go from one to the other.

"I'm worried about him too, love. But Johnny's still Johnny, nothing's going to happen to him, you'll see." He would say to you.

"I understand you, Johnny.... It's normal that you want to go back to the battlefield.... It's where you always shine the most..." I said to him.

And so on and so forth.

Simon wasn't looking to fuel any enmity between the two of them, it didn't make sense when he was the one who wanted to join the pair. But when he saw the small chasm that the argument created, he only strove to shape it into his own form; to pull the two of them into him once inside.

It was a turning point on his relationship with Johnny. In no way enough for the blue eyed man to like him, but now he answered when he talked to him.

He had managed to catch Johnny with his guard down a couple of nights ago, after what seemed like the biggest argument between the two of you. You didn't even let Simon in your room. But Johnny did.

They spend the greater part of the night talking, it was obvious that Johnny has been wanting to rant and would rather have somebody to do it that simply talking to the void. He had to do his greater effort to not take more than Johnny was giving him, to not get closer as he spoke; even if he mumble and could barely hear him. Not to hug him when he saw his eye shine with unspilled tears when he talked about making you sad. Not to lay him over his lap and beat his ass black and blue when he confessed some of the things he had said to you.

He pulled back, he stayed on a safe distance. And the next day he got his reward when Johnny finally spoke to him first.

“Morning, Lt.”

Like a ghost of his life before the accident.

It was your turn now.

The night before the flight to his new mission.

It wasn't meant to be a difficult mission, and even though he new there was always some risk, he wouldn't have allowed Johnny to tag along if he knew there was an actual threat.

He also knew that you couldn't see that, and he understood perfectly why. He just neded to think about how much time you were alone with an unconscious Johnny, everyone would have gone crazy in your situation.

Stranded, injured, taking care of an unresponsive person, that person being a loved one… he knows he wouldn't have been rescued. But you turned off that part of you brain, focusing on keeping Johnny alive and yourself by correlation.

Fear and despair are human emotions, and you can't have those if you turn yourself in a machine. And Simon knew that well.

He agreed with the psychiatrist up to a certain point, you had developed a link to Johnny during your stay that needed to be broken. Focusing on keeping Johnny alive kept you sane, when losing your mind or asking for help meant your death or Johnny's.

But that risk was no longer there, therefore you should have let go of it; but the rope is already under your skin to do so and now you panic even at the thought of it. The suppressed feelings too mixed and too tight inside of your mind to make sense.

That's how you found yourself now, curling on Simon's lap, hyperventilating as you cry your eyes out. The rope keeping you hanging over your feeling finally snapped, and you fell right onto his arms.

And if it weren't for the heartbroken way you were crying, Simon would have been happy to be the one you had looked to for relief.

Simon didn't try to talk to you, knowing you wouldn't even hear him over the sound of your cries, he simply hugged you and stroked your head; while you cried on his shoulder, his shirt getting wet with your tears, drool and snot. Completely crumbling after finally facingyour long neglected feelings.

The fear of dying in the tunnel, the pain of injury, the anxiety of a possible ambush at any moment, the constant tension that Johnny will suddenly get worse. All out, back into the world.

It's when you're choking on your own saliva, coughing and breathing tightly together causing you to gag, that Simon moves his hands to your arms, gently pushing you to see you better.

But his heart shrinks when he notices your hands gripping his shirt tightly as a whimper escapes your lips. Still, and with as much willpower as he can, he pulls your trembling hands away from the clothes, with them quickly grabbing his hand instead.

You are still hyperventilating, your head is lowered and Simon can only see the tears falling as your whole body trembles.

"What’s that sound?" Simon suddenly asks, and your too-curious-for-your-own-good nature betrays you by making you fall for his trick.

Because your cries gradually diminish in volume, to try and hear whatever Simon is talking about. But the short moment when you're just hiccuping, trying to breathe normally to hear better, is all Simon needs.

He grabs the tissue from the bedside table, bringing it up to your nose to blow your snot. A confused expression comes over your face, would he really blow your nose?

You take the tissue from his hand and do it yourself, asking him for a couple more before finally feeling your face dry from tears and so on.

"I'm sorry" You whisper, with Simon quickly quipping to you before you can finish.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. It was about time you got it out, love." He tells you, helping you to lean against him again.

You snuggle into him, your head resting on his dry shoulder and your hands pressed to your chest, making it easy for Simon to wrap his arms around you.

He knows you still have a lot more to release inside you, but he also knows it's not the pain you can vent in a single crying session. But the first step has been taken.

And more importantly, the next morning when you say goodbye to the two of them before they leave for their mission, you talk to Johnny again.

"You be careful, okay? And no more head banging, Johnny." You mutter, moving Johnny's head so his forehead rests on yours.

"Of course, bonnie. We'll be back before you miss me." Johnny replies, giving you a kiss on the cheek, right next to the nose wetting his lips with the single tear that escapes you.

In addition, once on the plane, Jonny watches him for a while before speaking again.

"You talked to her, didn't you?"

"Yes, last night."

"Thanks.”

Once on the battlefield, Johnny's attention is once again focused on Ghost. On the intimidating, terrifying lieutenant who at every turn turns around to make sure Johnny is still behind him, without a scratch.

Johnny is aware of the void in his memory of the last few years of his life. But he remembers perfectly the years of his adolescence when he doubted so much about his sexuality. How his eyes would run after every pretty girl he passed in the halls of high school. And at night, when he can't sleep; he still remembers the awkward erection when the captain of his rugby team tackled him during practice, leaving Johnny pressed against the ground.

It has been many years since Johnny came to terms with the fact that he preferred not to put labels on something he didn't fully understand.

So when in the middle of a surprise exchange of gunfire Simon grabbed his arm hiding Johnny behind him to make sure he didn't get hit and his eyes were fixed on the small space of exposed skin between the glove and the sleeve, and Johnny watched him for longer than would be considered normal.... He was not really surprised.

Johnny can see what you see in Simon. Especially because of the way he treats him, even if Johnny doesn't know. Simon cannot help himself.

In his Johnny the one at stake.

With anyone else, Simon wouldn't hesitate to let his nasty nature called Ghost, which he has cultivated to keep people away, shine through. But not with Johnny. Nor with you.

At least not when his goal is to find his niche between the two of you.

So Johnny sees for the first time, what if he were able to remember, he saw between the cracks of Ghost's mask after years.

And just as it happened to him before the accident.... Johnny can't help but feel the butterflies when Simon looks into his eyes.

"You alright, Johnny?”

Against all odds, but still not surprising to either of them, the mission ends up lasting much longer than they both thought it would.

This ends up working to Simon's advantage, as it continues to push Johnny towards him.

Their relationship continues to mutate by leaps and bounds, as the day before they boarded the plane Johnny could barely look him in the eye without hatred in his pupils.

This is why, when they finally start to mobilize to return to base and the two of them are assigned to return in a single car with no one else; that Johnny deviates from the road and parks on the side of the road.

"Can I ask you something, Lieutenant?"

And Simon questions for a moment if there really is anything Johnny could ask him that he wouldn't be willing to answer.

"Go ahead."

"Before the accident... What was the situation?"

"Elaborate."

"Between us... and with her."

And Simon knows perfectly well what Johnny is referring to, the scotsman is neither stupid nor blind.

"What would it affect how things were before the accident?"

"Everything!"

"Give me an example, Johnny."

"Whatever." Johnny backs off, jerking his hand to restart the car.

Except Simon is quicker and takes the key out of the ignition and out of Johnny's hand.

"Explain yourself, Johnny."

"No, whatever, we're late."

"Until I get there no one leaves, we can be as late as we want to be. Explain yourself."

Johnny puffs, running a hand through his hair, messing it up even more if possible.

"I feel at a disadvantage, okay?" Johnny admits, glancing at Simon for a second before looking ahead again. "I feel like everyone is aware of what's going on and everything that happened before the accident. And that everyone's talking over my shoulder as if instead of amnesia I was stupid. And I have feelings that don't make sense for me to have in such a short time, and the only thing that makes sense in my mind is that they were already there before the accident!"

The two remain in awkward silence for more minutes than is desirable.

"Do you have feelings for me, Johnny?"

"No!"

One more awkward silence.

"For her?"

"...I don't know."

"You don't know or you don't want to admit it?"

"I don't know!"

Simon is frustrated with myself, and is aware that Johnny must be equally frustrated. Two grown men too stubborn to admit their feelings.

Simon huffs, pondering his next move for just a few seconds before removing his mask. The move catches Johnny's attention and he turns to look at him, just in time to see Simon grab his face to crash his lips against his.

It's a peck. Nothing more.

But it's enough to make Johnny look at him like he's just grown horns on his head. Simon can practically see the smoke coming out of Johnny's ears, but he also sees his eyes stare for a millisecond at his lips again. And that's all he needs.

"Do you want to talk about feelings or do you want to show them to me, Mactavish?"

Johnny only needs a second to unbuckle his belt and grab Simon's vest to pull him closer to him.

Johnny knows this isn't the way, that they should talk, clear out everything, lay the groundwork for the strange triangle they're excluding you from for now by doing it this way.

But after the time spent together on the mission, every glance, every brush, every word exchanged. Johnny knows this isn't the right way to do it, but he knows it's the easiest. And for now, that's enough for him.

Johnny moves over the console to reach Simon; it's an awkward position with the gearshift lever digging into his thigh. But when Simon's hands travel to the back of his thighs and he sits him on his lap it all fits together like puzzle pieces.

It's an aggressive kiss, with both wanting to take the lead; teeth clashing, drool sliding down the corner of their lips and one's breath colliding with the other's.

It's Simon who gives in, letting Johnny enter his mouth, savoring the taste of the cigarette he smoked just before starting the car. A horrible taste that tastes like glory coming from the blond's mouth.

Despite the multiple layers of clothing, Johnny can perfectly feel Simon's cock harden under his weight. Johnny lowers his hand to Simon's belt, unbuckling it carelessly; parting the kiss to look down at what he's doing.

That moment Simon takes the opportunity to speak. "You're not going to let me fuck you, are you?"

Johnny laughs softly, shaking his head at the same time. "Didn't you ask me to show you my feelings, blondie? I'm going to show them to you, just as good as I showed her."

"Can't fucking wait." Simon declares pulling Johnny's hair to kiss him again once he manages to unbuckle his belt.

Johnny slips his hand into Simon's boxers, wrapping his hand around his member and pulling it out of the confines of the garment. Simon moans at the not very gentle maneuver, Johnny's calloused hand moving up and down against the dry skin making him groan.

Johnny notices the lack of lubrication and spits a heavy blob of saliva onto his tip, Simon sighing in relief at the much desired wetness.

"Now imagine if instead of my drool it was her pussy juices, Simon." Johnny murmurs, licking Simon's neck making Simon groan letting his head fall back against the headrest.

"That's a fucking dream, Johnny." Is all he manages to reply.

Johnny laughs, unbuckling his own belt with one hand as he continues to massage Simon's length with the other. When he manages to get his own member out he also positions himself as close as he can to Simon, cock against cock. Needing to use both hands to encircle both members as he moves them up and down, bringing them both fully to life; noticing how they harden between his fingers.

It is impossible for him not to move his hips against his hands, both moaning in unison at the friction between their cocks. The little droplets of cum that are born from their members helping to increase the mess of fluids.

It's only when Johnny decides that enough is enough that they change positions. Simon takes off his pants, limiting himself to removing one boot so he can stick one leg out; and Johnny tells him how he wants him to lie on the back seats.

The man is too big for the car seats, with his head resting on the hand rest by the door and his knees bent to fit. Johnny kneels on his chest, trying not to drop his weight on it so as not to suffocate Simon. With the hand he has on the base of his member, he moves it so that he slaps Simon on the mouth.

"Careful, Johnny" Simon warns him, trying to let Johnny know that he is in control for as long as Simon wants.

Johnny smiles, winking at him. Perfectly aware of the danger but unafraid of the consequences. "We don't have any other lube, Lieutenant. Ye better blow me good."

Simon grunts, parting his lips so Johnny can enter his mouth. Johnny begins to move his hips, slowly so the Brit can get used to the width of his member. Johnny moans as he feels the warmth of his mouth around his member, the muscle of his tongue caressing the underside of it causing a shiver to run up his back.

Johnny looks over his shoulder, dropping his eyes to Simon's member, taking a moment to admire it in all its splendor. It's long, easily over 7 inches, uncut, lying flat on the part of his abdomen exposed by his wrinkled T-shirt, slightly tilted to one side by his own weight and with a healthy amount of mouthwatering veins that make Johnny's mouth water.

But today, Johnny has a different mission. He slips two of his fingers into his own mouth licking them as he makes eye contact with Simon while continuing to move his hips; driving deeper and deeper into his mouth.

The hand that was at the base of his member moves to Simon's head, grabbing his hair and holding it still. The other, once satisfied with how wet his fingers are, moves it to between Simon's legs, brushing his member with his forearm as he does so and begins to press into Simon's tight entrance with his index finger.

Johnny notices him tense up for half a second at the sudden pressure before letting his body relax under Johnny's caresses and he pushes in to the first phalanx of his first finger. Moving his hand and hips in tandem.

Simon's jaw soon starts to ache, especially when Johnny begins to thrust forward; Simon's nose brushing against Johnny's pubes.

And yet, Simon moans when Johnny slips a second finger into his ring of muscle. They are both aware that Johnny's fingers are not enough to accommodate Johnny's girth, but in their perverted minds it only adds to the kinkiness.

Johnny finally pulls away from Simon's mouth, a trickle of drool connecting his lips to Johnny's member still. Mouth empty, Simon is free to moan as Johnny opens and closes his fingers inside Simon.

"I didn't know you were a singer, Lieutenant."

"Johnny... Shut the fuck up..." Is all Simon can reply.

Johnny pulls his fingers out, making Simon sigh, and moves to stand between Simon's legs, as comfortable as he can inside the cramped vehicle.

He thinks about it for a second before moving his hands under his officer's knees and moving them towards his head, easily folding him in half; the sergeant's strength taking him by surprise.

But what really surprises him is feeling the sergeant's wet tongue at his entrance, making him moan pathetically at the contact. It's a couple of mere licks, nothing more, before Johnny breaks away licking his lips; then spits a fat glob of saliva at the entrance.

The sergeant lowers his legs, sitting back up and Simon slightly blushing at the ease with which he has moved him to his surprise.

"I'll take it slow, okay?" Johnny suddenly says, a touch of gentleness amidst the strange scuffle that lets his true feelings show.

Johnny pushes forward slightly, both of them hissing at the tight feeling. Johnny's hand find their place on Simon's hips, with Simon's hand finding support on his wrists.

“Fuckin' hell, Johnny…” Simon moans whe Johnny has barely gotten past the puffy tip.

“You are going to choke my dick off, Simon” he moans, throwing his head back.

Slowly but steadily Johnny bottoms out inside of Simon, feeling his insides pulse around his length in a vice-like grip. Simon has never felt this full, feeling the weight of Johnny's shaft all the way back on his column.

Johnny slowly starts to move, painfully slow lo let the other finally adjust to the invasion. The moans and whispers growing in volume as Johnny starts to pick up the pace of his thrust.

And is not long before Johnny as a steady rhythm, hip slapping against his, Simon's cock slapping slightly against his abdomen with each thrust. Is when Johnny starts to snap his hips harder that Simon needs to move one his hands from Johnny's wrist to the door of the car to avoid getting a concussion with the hits of his head against it.

Simultaneously, and completely unaware of it, their minds travel to you. How would you fit in between them; would you ride Simon while Johnny rides him? Would you sit on Simon's face while Johnny rides Simon? Would they both fuck you senseless?

Johnny's free hand moves to Simon's shaft, grabbing it hard and tugging, forcing a whine out of Simon. “Shit! Johnny, that's- that's too much! Fuck!” Simon moans loudly, the double stimulation enough to make him throw his head back; hitting the door with the lack of strength left on his body.

“That's too much for you, Lt?” Johnny asks between grunts and moans. “And how will you handle her riding you while I fuck you?” The mental image making both moan.

“Once we are back… I'm destroying your ass, Johnny.” Simon manages to say through gritted teeth to avoid a moan from scaping his mouth.

Johnny chuckles at his threat. “Are you asking me on a second date, blondie?” He says, he bends down to kiss Simon again, and right before crashing his lips together he whispers “I can't fucking wait, Si.”

The new angle Johnny hits when bending down has Simon seeing white dots on his vision, and when Johnny tugs at his shaft again, thick ropes of cum spur on his abdomen pooling in his navel. He clenches down around Johnny's lengths, making him moan loudly and he barely manages to pull out before combusting over Simon stomach as well, the seed of both mixing together over his skin.

The car windows are fogged up as Johnny sits in the seat opposite Simon. Grabbing bandages from the first aid kit in his backpack so Simon can clean himself. Johnny readjusts, putting away his dick and buckling his belt; watching as Simon does the same once he manages to pull his pants back up and buckles his boot.

“About… about how we felt before the accident…” Simon breaks the silent, looking ahead. “We were never together… and I can't talk on behalf of her or you, but for me… I knew I felt things for…” Simon sighs, struggling to choose the right words. “I knew I used to feel things for the two of you… I still do.”

Johnny doesn't say anything, being able to tell that Simon still has more to say but needs a moment to regroup his feelings.

"Especially with you. The tunnel accident... It wasn't your first brush with death, Johnny. A couple of years ago, on a mission in Mexico, well, in Las Almas.... Things happened, and you and I got separated, we got... Uncommunicated... From each other and from everyone..." Simon narrates, recounting a mission that doesn't tug at Johnny's memory strings in the least. "On that mission I thought... I thought I'd lost you, Johnny. And it was in that moment that I thought I'd lost you that I realized they weren't just friends' feelings..."

Simon laughs dryly, rubbing his face with his hand before continuing. "I almost declared myself back then.... And several times after that but.... But then the tunnel thing happened and..."

The sentence is half-spoken, but neither Simon needs to say more nor Johnny needs to hear it.

"And... And you think I loved you back, Simon?"

"I'd like to think you did, Johnny.”

Taglist: @waiting-so-long @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @risingofjupiter @spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @soupinasock @marymustdie @arbesa-mind @cmbghost @multifandomheathenannie @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @ghosts-hoe @cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat @lunamoonbby @hatterripper31 @contractedcriteria @cod-z @jaguarthecat @savagemickey03 @fraserbraw @rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow @viisgrave @theloneshadowbat @loveandplanet @sobbingnshtting @dprmoon @simpsallthetime1997 @ladyxtiger @soapsmohawk-16 @nina6708 @katreintjie @sacvh @mothymunson @archenillo @thesinsoflust @sodavrr @yuki2129 @mikaronn

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juicedaloe · 1 year ago

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Mithrun and brain damage

I'm not sure if anyone is interested in this, but I wanted to make a post talking about why I think that Mithrun has brain damage from a traumatic brain injury instead of him being a representation of other neurological disorders or mental illness. I'm not that involved in the dunmesh fandom so I don't know how common this headcanon is, though I've seen a few people mention it here and there.

This is just my own opinion so if you disagree then that's fine. Some of this is just speculation and I can't say what Kui's intentions were. This post isn't meant to be that serious. I just wanted to talk about it and hopefully inform about how brain damage can affect some people in a way that I hope is interesting and relevant.

This will be kind of long because I like to talk so it will be under the cut. Apologies for the length and how much I ramble. Feel free to give input especially if I got anything wrong or if this is too confusing.

Okay let's go

Traumatic brain injury (TBI) is incredibly complex. The long-term effects of a TBI include a wide array of symptoms. Each injury is different, and some people can completely recover rather quickly while others can become permanently disabled, even for seemingly "minor" injuries. What I'll cover here isn't a definitive representation of the experiences of all those who have long-term effects from TBI, nor do I speak for everyone with brain damage.

Here are some long term symptoms relevant to this post:

Alexithymia (inability to process and name emotions)

Inability to process and name physical perceptions

Mood swings and emotional regulation difficulties

Communication difficulties

Social impairment

Apathy about caring for oneself

Lack of motivation

Alexithymia and inability to process physical perceptions

This one is rather obvious. While Mithrun is shown to feel emotions and have physical sensations (for instance, describing his location when he gets lost in the dungeon as "a cold place"), he is also apathetic to how this affects him. This means that his physical and emotional perceptions are reduced in some way. He says that becoming lord of the dungeon will leave someone "empty", showing he is aware of his dulled emotional state.

A good example of this is can be seen here in a bonus comic where he doesn't give much of a reaction to burning his mouth on hot food.

(I love these two a lot, by the way. Pattadol is really under appreciated.)

He is also not able to recognize bodily signals, such as hunger or when he is tired. Despite collapsing from exhaustion and not eating for long periods of time, he still insists he is not tired or hungry.

Mood swings

Mood swings in combination with alexithymia can be an especially disorientating experience. Those who struggle to perceive their own emotions can still feel them even if they don't know how to recognize it.

Individuals with brain injuries often experience drastic mood swings, particularly anger. To those around them, they can appear to go from 0 to 100 in an instant.

This is more speculation/headcanon on my part, as the strongest emotion Mithrun has for most of his appearances is anger. However one could interpret this as being unrelated as he is seeking revenge for a traumatic experience.

Communication difficulties and social impairment

Not only can naming personal experiences be incredibly difficult with a brain injury, but other areas of communication are often affected as well.

Mithrun is not able to set boundaries for himself even if someone is doing something he would not actually want them to do, which can leave him in a vulnerable position.

People with brain injuries can sometimes have a paradoxical experience when it comes to communicating with others. They can go from being very quiet to speaking at length about one topic, seemingly without regard for the importance of each bit of information. (I see it like Newton's first law of motion. It is hard to start speaking and it can be just as hard to stop.)

I really like this aspect of Mithrun's characterization. Usually, he is very quiet because he has no reason to speak. However, once he starts talking he is shown to be overly specific and goes on for long periods of time. Kabru has to spend multiple days figuring out his story.

In a side comic, Kabru tells Mithrun he should condense some of the personal details that Kabru finds irrelevant to the topic of the dungeon.

Mithrun shares many details about himself because his desire not to do so is gone. This mirrors the experience of many people who have brain damage to overshare and not understand how their words will come across to others. Sometimes they say or do things that are insensitive or inappropriate for the situation.

Caring for oneself and motivation

In the dungeon, Mithrun becomes reliant on others for self care. He also seems especially incapable of motivating himself to take care of his body when he is particularly focused on his goals.

In these panels, thus far he had been fairly receptive of Kabru trying to take care of him. However, he could sense that the demon was close and was too focused on that to care to eat.

Refusal of care and treatment is often an effect of traumatic brain injury. This can be for seemingly no reason, even if the person knows that this will help them. Sometimes people will lie about receiving treatment or doing things to take care of themselves, either so they can avoid it or avoid having someone take care of them.

He knows that eating regularly and not pushing himself too much will help him - he's been told multiple times on-screen - but he still has to be continuously told by others to give him that motivation to take care of himself. He's very apathetic to his physical state, even if it seems his only desire is for revenge and he should be doing anything he can to achieve that.

Other things of note

I wasn't sure where to put this, but while Mithrun's sense of direction is speculated by Kabru to be left over from his time as lord of an ever-changing, confusing dungeon, having poor sense of direction in the way he does could also be indicative of brain injury as well.

While the dungeon is confusing and illogical, he is known to have a poor sense of direction and to get frequently lost by those around him, even trying to exit an entrance he just came through. He is shown to be very intelligent, but memory is greatly impacted by brain injuries which affects a person's sense of direction and location.

Something that really stands out to me about Mithrun is how much the things that help him are particularly helpful to those with brain damage. He is physically capable of performing tasks, but he needs an outside source to remind him and get him started. He relies entirely on routine, and when that regularity is taken away he shows extreme difficulty taking care of himself.

Sometimes, the care that some people need is simply someone else to encourage them or to tell them when to do things. The care that he needs is pretty consistent with a person with a brain injury who does not need a full time caretaker and would prefer to have some independence.

Also, healing magic is specified to not work with brain injury unless the person is killed and revived. Mithrun had not been revived after his injuries, so it is entirely possible for him to have sustained a TBI. I don't think this matters that much because one is still allowed to have headcanons even if there is a magical explanation or isn't really possible in canon, but I thought it was an interesting detail.

In conclusion

Because of all this I don't believe that his lack of self care is due solely to mental illness. While mental illnesses like depression or PTSD can cause a decline in self care, the reasons why the affected individual is avoidant of these tasks differs. These disorders can also cause cognitive difficulties and emotional regulation issues, but not to the same extent or in the same way that brain damage would. I think that he does have both depression and PTSD (both are common after a TBI) but those are not his only disabilities.

And on a personal note, I just think that having a character with brain damage is really cool. Most of the time I've seen it the characters are not given very much respect and they are treated as comic relief and a joke. Regardless of whether you agree with this post or not, it is still nice to see a character with a disability like this.

Thank you if you read all of this. I hope it was easy to understand and I did not ramble too much. I don't have anything else to say but I've been wanting to write this out for a while.

Okay bye

#Dungeon Meshi #Mithrun

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lovelybucky1 · 1 year ago

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Smoke Me Out

Kinktober Day 3- Corruption Kink

warnings: female!reader, college!au, drug use (weed), slight age gap (everyone 18+), slight dubcon, sex while under the influence, childhood friends, brothers best friend!anakin, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, cum play, tattooed and pierced anakin, 18+ minors dni

masterlist

kinktober masterlist

you are half way through your first semester of college and you've never felt more uncool in you're entire life. you rushed for a sorority and you got into alpha delta pi, and though they have parties every weekend where you get drunk, you still feel like you're missing a key aspect of the college experience.

you want to get high. you've never smoked anything before and you're nervous to ask your sorority sisters or a frat guy to help you through your first time. you didn't know who else to ask to supply good stuff or even who to trust other than anakin.

you've known him forever. he's your brother's best friend and he was always around when you were growing up. you used to have the biggest, most hopeless crush on him when you were younger. now he's a junior at the same college you go to, but it's a state school, everyone from your hometown goes there.

when you finally decide to ask anakin to give you some weed, you text him, telling him you're coming over. no information or anything, just "omw".

you walked the mile or so to the off campus house anakin shares with your brother and a couple other friends. when you walk up, you see the porch light is on, illuminating the figure on the porch.

"your brother's not here," anakin says instead of a greeting.

"i'm not here for him," you say as you skip up the porch steps. anakin sits on a dingy lawn chair and smokes a cigarette, the pungent smell filling the air.

"so what do you want?" he asks, raising a pierced brow at you.

"well..." you start, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

"well?"

"i want some weed."

anakin lets out a chuckle. "you're not serious."

"i am! i wanna do it but i don't want to do it for the first time with a stranger."

a slight smirk forms on anakin's lips but he does not make a comment about your double entendre.

"that's cute."

you frown. "i'm serious, anakin. can't you help me out?"

anakin hums like he's thinking about it. "no."

"what? why not?" you whine. "i can pay, i have money."

"it's not about the fuckin' money," he rolls his eyes. "i'm just not going to let my little sister get high."

"i'm not your little sister," you huff.

"might as well be."

"i'm an adult, anakin! i can make my own decisions."

he picks up his foot and stubs his cigarette out on the heel, then tosses the butt onto the porch. he stands up and now, instead of being blow you in the chair, he has to look down to meet your eyes.

"and i can decide not to give you any."

you cross your arms and look up at him. you know it's a bit childish, but if he's going to treat you like one anyway, what's the harm?

"fine then. i'll just get some frat guy to smoke with me."

that seemed to get a rise out of anakin. "no you fuckin' won't," he says, voice gruff.

"i will. you know i'm in a sorority now. i have frat guys busting down my door. i'm sure i'd have a line waiting if i said i wanted to smoke."

anakin's frustration seems to grow when he sees the smirk on your lips. without another word, he grabs your forearm and yanks you, forcing you to follow him into the house.

"anakin!" you exclaim, but he ignores you.

he practically drags you up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom. you've never been inside it, only having seen it from the doorway of your brother's room by the stairs.

he marches you over to his dresser and you take in the sight of the room. navy blue sheets on an unmade bed, dirty clothes on the floor, a pair of panties you suspect aren't his at the foot of the bed. empty beer cans, some with holes in the sides, litter the top of the dresser. he has a small box of jewlery for his piercings, a poster of his favorite band, and a framed picture of him with you and your brother as kids.

the room is gross, not unexpected for a 22 year old, but it feels like anakin. evidence of his vices everywhere, but touches of personality shine through.

"you want me to smoke you out, huh?" he opens the top right drawer of his dresser and takes out a pre-roll and a lighter. "here you go."

you take it from him, but you don't feel as excited as you thought. anakin's attitude is kind of killing your vibe.

"are you mad at me?" you ask.

"mad? no," he says, looking at you with crossed arms. "just a little annoyed that you came here beggin' for weed and got all bratty and started running your mouth when i said no."

"i did not get bratty!" you whine, sounding very bratty.

anakin rolls his eyes. he turns and walks towards the window, pushing it open and sitting down next to it. you follow and sit across from him, the blunt and lighter in each hand.

"what do i do?" you ask.

"christ, haven't you ever seen a movie before? you put this end in your mouth," he points to the filter end. "and you light this end."

you do as he instructs, and attempt to take a drag. you end up inhaling too deep and you start to cough, eyes watering. anakin doesn't laugh at you, but he does give you a satisfied little smirk.

you take another hit and this time it goes better, you only cough a little bit. anakin reaches over and grabs the blunt from your hand and you frown.

"you're not smokin' this whole thing yourself."

anakin puts it in his mouth, right were a ring of your lip gloss is, and took a drag just like he taught you, but his was perfect. he didn't cough or choke, and the cloud he exhaled swirled out the window.

he gives it back to you and watches as you take another clumsy drag. when you hand it to him again, he takes a long drag but doesn't pass it back.

"hey," you whine.

"that's enough for your first time," he says.

"that was barely anything, anakin."

"it hasn't hit you yet. you wanted me to take care of you, right?"

you huff. "yeah."

"so shut up."

you roll your eyes but decide not to argue further. you and anakin sit next to the window, letting the slight cool breeze blow in on you. you feel yourself become more fuzzy as time passes. you're not very high, but it just enough to satisfy your curiosity.

"how do you feel?" anakin asks after some time of silence.

"good. fuzzy."

"that's good. means you're not too far gone." anakin takes a pause before continuing. "i can't believe you were gonna let a fucking frat guy smoke you out. do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

your eyes flick back up to meet his; you hadn't realized you were staring at his lips. "some of them are nice."

"nice," he scoffs. "they're only nice because they want to fuck."

"that's not true," you huff.

anakin takes a hit and when he speaks, smoke pours from his lips.

"jesus, you're so naïve. frat guys like dumb inexperienced sorority girls."

"are you calling me dumb?"

"yeah i am. you need to stay away from those guys."

"well it's a little too late for that," you bite.

anakin's brows furrow and his lip curls in disgust. "you didn't sleep with one of them, did you?"

"not just one."

anakin sighs loudly and shakes his head. "what the hell were you thinking?"

"i was at a party and we just had fun. don't act like you've never had casual sex before." anakin stubs out the blunt on the window sill and leaves it there to smolder. he gets up from the floor and walks around the room aimlessly. "why are you being so dramatic? are you jealous or something?"

anakin's eyes snap over to yours. "no, i'm not fuckin' jealous. no one's fuckin' allowed to touch you."

"why do you get to decide that?" you shout, feeling your blood boil with anger.

"because you're mine!" he yells back, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "i protect you, i keep you fucking safe from assholes like the ones you're just falling into bed with."

"i’m not a child, i don't need you to protect me!"

"i obviously haven't done a very good job. why would you even want a frat guy, they don’t know how to fuck.”

“and you do?”

you’re not sure why you said it. it’s irrelevant to the argument but for some reason it just slipped out. you can’t say you’ve never thought about how anakin would fuck before. you’ve spent many nights up late thinking about your older brother’s best friend.

“yeah i do,” he says, voice low. “i could show you what good sex is. it’s nothin’ like you had with those guys.”

your breath catches in your throat at the unexpected development. is anakin offering to fuck you?

“i thought you said i was like your little sister,” you say, suddenly timid.

“that's what you're hung up on?” he asks as he crosses the room in a few short strides. standing right in front of you, anakin towers over you. you have to crane your neck to look up at him, meeting his light eyes. "let me do my job and teach you something, huh?"

you shyly nod, none of the anger from moments ago fueling your actions any longer. desire burns in anakin's eyes, and although its odd that he is looking at you in such a way after being nothing more than platonic your whole life, it doesn't feel wrong.

"you want me to kiss you?" anakin asks. again, you nod.

he leans his head down and presses his lips to yours. it's not very tender, but you didn't expect it to be. his lips are slightly chapped and the kiss is rough. he's claiming you. anakin's hands grip onto your wrists and he pins them to your sides as he continues to explore your mouth.

when he pulls away, his lips glisten with spit and he's smirking down at you. he walks you over the bed and grabs the hem of your shirt. without saying anything, you raise your arms above your head and he takes it off, leaving you in your bra. anakin looks at your chest shamelessly, eyes drinking in the sight of you.

"anakin," you say, embarassed.

"what? you wanted me to fuck you and now you're getting all shy when i look at your tits?" he palms your breasts through your bra, watching them bounce. "how're you gonna react when i see your pussy?"

"don't say that," you whine.

"say what, pussy?" you nod. "aw, is that too dirty for you, sweetheart?"

he grins as he takes off his own shirt and tosses it to the floor. you ogle at his bare torso, acting like it's your first time seeing it. he has gotten more tattoos since the last time you saw him shirtless, and his left nipple has a silver bar through it.

without waiting for you to catch up, anakin undoes the buckle on his jeans and pushes them down to his ankles, kicking them off before removing his socks. now he's left only in a pair of loose plaid boxers that rest low on his hips, showing off the star tattoos on his hip bones. he then motions to you to do the same.

you kick off your shoes and socks, then more timidly, you take off your pants. you're left standing in your childhood crush's bedroom in your underwear.

"come on, take off your panties," he says, grinning. "let me see that pussy." you pout in response. he steps closer to you, putting his large, warm hands on your hips. "do you want me to do it for you?" you bite your lip and nod slightly.

he holds onto the waistband of your panties and pulls them down as he sinks to his knees. he lets the delicate fabric fall to the floor and he looks hungrily at the newly exposed area. he leans his face in and presses his nose to the joint of your leg and groin, taking a deep inhale of your scent.

"anakin!" you squeal, grabbing his hair and pushing his head away.

"what's wrong?" he asks, sitting back on his heels.

"don't be mean to me."

"i'm being mean? imagine how those frat guys would treat you. actually, don't."

anakin pushes you back on the bed and he crawls between your open legs, resting his cheek on your thigh as he stares at your pussy.

"what a pretty cunt," he smirks.

teasingly, he traces his finger over your slit, gathering your wetness. he circles your clit to gauge your reaction, delighted when you squirm.

"i bet most guys can't even find this. the most action it's probably seen is from you playin' with it yourself," he says, eyes flicking up to yours. "is that true?"

you squeeze your eyes shut and nod, evoking a laugh from anakin.

"this poor, neglected little pussy," he coos. "what do you think about when you touch yourself?"

"i-i'm not telling you that," you say, voice breathy.

anakin tuts as he pushes his long, slender middle finger into you.

"i bet it's not any of the guys who can't make you cum. is it a celebrity? what's the name of the actor you used to be obsessed with? i was so jealous if him."

"you, anakin," you whimper.

"what was that?"

"i think about you."

anakin grins and slides another finger into your pussy, curling them up to rub at that spot deep inside you.

"that's a good thing, then, because you're all i think about too."

"please fuck me, anakin," you beg, your voice sounding unfamiliar to your own ears.

"already? but you've only taken two fingers. are you sure you're gonna be able to handle my cock?"

as desperate as you are, you're growing tired of anakin's coddling.

"i'm sure i've taken bigger. just fuck me."

anakin raises his eyebrows and blinks at you a couple times, clearly offended. he gets up from his knees and pulls down his boxers, letting his long, hard cock slap against his abdomen.

"alright then, since you want to be such a big girl, i'll give it to you."

he grabs your lower leg and hoists it over his shoulder as he lines his head up with your entrance.

"wait," you stop him. "are you clean?"

he gives you an unimpressed look. "yeah, i'm clean. are you?"

"yes," you nod.

"i'm not gonna knock you up, am i?"

"if it happens, it happens." anakin freezes. "i'm joking, you asshole. i'm on the pill."

he rolls his eyes and presses his tip into you. you whimper at the stretch but you give him the okay to keep going, so he continues. he feeds his cock into you and it feels never-ending.

"is it too big for you yet?" he asks smugly.

"shut up," you breathe.

after going slow to start, anakin seems to get tired of waiting. he pushes in until he's fully seated inside you, filling you up more than you ever have been. he then starts to rock his hips, driving his head deeper.

"fuck," he groans. "never imagined this pussy'd feel so good."

you reach down to rub your clit as he fucks you, feeling yourself becoming closer as he continues to stimulate your g-spot with his cock.

sex with your previous partners truthfully had not bern very satisfying. but with anakin, you find yourself hurtling towards the edge faster than you get with your favorite toy. maybe its from years of pent up attraction to him finally spilling over. maybe he’s just that good at sex.

“just like that,” you say breathlessly.

anakin is looking down at you with half-lidded, lust filled eyes. his mouth hangs open as he thrusts into you, really putting his back into it to fuck you hard like you deserve.

“little cunt’s squeezin’ my cock. guess she likes me, huh?” he asks with a smirk. you bring your arm up to cover your embarrassment from his babbling. “don’t be such a prude, i know you like what i’m sayin’. you’re soaking me. it’s dripping all the way down my balls, baby. you made such a mess of me with that slutty cunt.”

you let out an unintelligible whine and anakin laughs. your fingers speed up on your clit as anakin fucks you harder, keeping up with the intensity of the stimulation.

“i’m gonna cum,” you say quietly, like you’re confessing a shameful sin.

“yeah?” he asks. “cum all over my dick, baby. ‘m all yours.”

after a few more thrusts, the tension in your stomach releases and your orgasm washes over you. anakin continued to fuck you through it, dragging it out longer than just a few seconds.

when you finally let yourself relax, the stimulation becomes too much and you whine at anakin, telling him to stop.

“your little cunt not used to it being that good?” he asks as he pulls out.

his cock stands against his abs, slightly curved and glistening with your cum. he strokes himself as he looks at your body, deciding how he wants to cum.

“get on your knees,” he says.

“i don’t wanna blow you,” you saw, furrowing your brows at the thought of your juices in your mouth.

“i wanna cum on your tits. get on your knees.”

you stand from the bed on wobbly knees and kneel on the ground in front of anakin. he positions his dick in front of your face, but too far to taste it. he jerks himself off, using your cum as lube to make the glide smoother.

“look up at me,” he demands. you do so, looking up at his face with wide eyes instead of at his cock. “those pretty eyes,” he mumbles.

you watch his abs clench and flex as he nears his orgasm. it’s almost mesmerizing to see the physical reaction he has to you.

“want you to cum on me, anakin,” you say.

maybe you’re playing it up a bit for his sake, but it seems to work, because suddenly he’s moaning and hot spurts of cum paint your skin. he continues to jerk himself off until he’s finished, and as he catches his breath, he admires his artwork.

“fuck, baby,” he sighs.

anakin drops to his knees in front of you and drags his fingertips through the mess on your tits.

“that wasn’t your pay of getting payment for the weed, was it?” you ask, giggling.

“fuck no,” he pants. “nah, i did that cause i wanted to. and now i’m never gonna let you look at another frat guy again.”

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