#i never want to Make It About Me but i had so so many bad bathro experiences in high school bc of my gender presentation

[nymphomatique]

gold star student

professor!logan howlett x fem!reader

⋆·˚ ༘ * one bad grade is one too many, so you ask one professor logan howlett, phd. for some extra credit after class. inspired by this art.

cw: reader lowkey has undiagnosed adhd, u want that cookie so effing bad, oral (m & f), praise, some degradation, swearing (it’s logan), shaky power dynamics so it can be considered dub-con, non specific age gap, college aged reader, logan puts stickers on your face while you blow him, face slapping, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up!!), finger sucking, spitting on the pussy, grey streak logan cause if he ain’t greying im not staying!!!, this is just me being horny idk what else to say i’m sorry yall

wc: 8k

❤︎ a/n: this was…. a labour of love to say the least. i hate the ending but fuck it we ball. enjoy <3

Ever since you were a child, anything and everything that had to do with academia had been the bane of your existence. Sitting at a desk for eight odd hours in a day wasn’t only grossly unappealing to you, but a mental challenge as well. You had found it hard to grasp onto concepts and new materials as well as the other kids, unable to focus on whatever spiel of the day your teacher went on about and still found yourself struggling in higher education. From kindergarten, to elementary, to middle school, to high school, up until now in your college years, you find that not only has your attention deficit gotten worse, but so has your motivation in academia in general. 

A floater student is what you would consider yourself, showing up to class once in a blue moon, rather busying yourself with doom scrolling in your dormitory or shopping off campus at the mall, only showing up during exam time and barely passing. your prognosis would be one of the many hyperactive disorders, but you never bothered to diagnose yourself officially. In high school, your parents didn’t make a huge deal of your grades, thanking a graceful god out there that you even got your diploma to begin with. At this age however, with tens of thousands of dollars being poured into your tuition, your mother and father have seemed to coil up even tighter in terms of frustration with your nonchalant attitude towards school. 

A report card from your fall semester riddled with C’s and D’s, emboldened and italicized as if to taunt you silently, was the final straw, the cussing you received was enough for a lifetime. At your parents' discretion, before the start of the semester you consulted with your academic advisor in suggestion of a course schedule that wasn’t a twelve hour day, and professors who would accommodate you with in the case of your late assignments and missing homework. 

All classes but one would be easy- you had been told. Your world history class and its professor had been the only one where you had been saddled with a hardball teacher, rate my professor describing one Logan Howlett, teacher of Modern World History in the Context of Classic Literature, as a man with a foul mouth and harsh grading asshole— with an excellent curriculum but horrible grade weighting, as described by your fellow student body, the mandatory attendance and participation accounting for twenty percent of your grade alone pulling a groan from you as your laptop screen stares back at you, the blue light emitting from it seemingly silently taunting you with the course course outline. Get used to looking at my screen. Three hours in an auditorium, every Wednesday and Friday for twelve weeks at nine in the morning with this douchebag.

You mentally prepare yourself for the exhaustion of the upcoming semester, shutting your laptop closed with a huff of annoyance before laying in bed, mentally preparing yourself for this seemingly infamous professor Howlett.

After a rather inadequate night of sleep, a zero sugar monster energy (gotta give in for the sake of your health where you can) and a double shot latte, you feel something that briefly resembles yet still distant from awake, you find yourself struggling to get comfortable in the stiff chairs in your lecture room. You’re glad you tucked yourself away in a seat in the corner, four rows back from the front, embarrassed that your peers are silently mocking your struggle. 

It’s some odd minutes to nine on the dot, and you’re rather proud of yourself for being able to make it minutes early rather than stumbling in twenty minutes late like you’re prone to doing. Face resting on your hand, cheek squishing your right eye closed, your left eye flits around the room to the other people present, and you wonder if anyone else is stuck in your current situation: burnt out student who didn’t have a choice but to take this class at the least convenient time possible, simply for your graduation credits. Unfortunate kismet, you think, if anybody else in this room also had the privilege to have been born with the unlucky gene you possess. 

Your eyes are heavy, the seconds tickering away at the speed of minutes, and you can’t help it when the last open eye you have flutters close. You hum to yourself, relishing at the feeling of finally being able to rest some more. the quiet shuffling of your classmates feet and the soft scrapings of their chairs, clock ticking so quietly that it barely registers in your mind. The ambient noise is like a blanket to you. It’s not more than five minutes, just a micro nap— you tell yourself, counting the seconds of each minute down silently. 45, 44, 43, 42, what minute is this?, 30, 29, 28, so tired, 22, 21, time to sleep…

Your eyes shoot open when you hear the auditorium door slam shut, blinking away softly the sleep in your eyes. your heart sinks for a minute and panic sets in— did you sleep through the whole class? On the first fucking day? You look around, eyes wide, and immediately sigh in relief when you’re greeted with a full hall. Conversely, you see everyone’s attention to the front of the class with materials out, so you trail your eyes to the front of the room and that’s when you see him, finally. Not his face yet, the wide expanse of his back and tail of his coiffed head facing you all instead. Your eyes trail down his body to his feet, clad in a pair of black combat boots, you can’t help but quirk up and eyebrow, bootcut jeans that seem to be worn in well, seemingly like they’re tailored to his long, very legs, then you see his jacket, which now you catch in time to see him taking it off to reveal a black t-shirt underneath and your breath hitches a bit. You can only see his triceps flexing as he maneuvers his jacket off, but you can just tell he’s covered in rippling muscle, his arms straining against the fabric of his shirt. You can’t help but wonder what he looks like, wondering if his face is as captivating as the rest of him. Your eyes flit over to the girl sitting two seats down from you, and you can’t help but smile a little at her expression, teeth chewing her bottom lip and eyes widened slightly and blinking in slow flutters, seemingly thinking the same things about this Professor Logan Howlett as you are; He’s obscenely sexy even though I haven’t even seen his face.

When you focus your attention back to the front, your face warms immediately upon finally seeing his– Professor Howlett’s face and fuck, you feel stupid for even thinking that he wouldn’t be even a fraction of attractive. His hair, oh god his hair, styled as if he just rolled out of bed and ran his hands through it once, maybe twice even, streaked with gray at his temples, peppering down into his sideburns and disappearing in his scruffy beard. His eyes are an enrapturing shade of hazel, almost brown, almost green, you squint a little to see the mix of hues better, cursing yourself for sitting so far away. His nose, button-like yet poses so masculine at the same time. His lips look so soft and kissable, framed perfectly by his facial hair as if it’s screaming at you to kiss there, to taste each other, let your tongues touch and whisper your deepest secrets to one another-

Gravelly and deep, his voice rouses you from your rather indulgent fantasy. “Good morning. Lively bunch this semester,” he quips and a quiet wave of laughter reverberates and echoes around you. Your chest tightens at the sound of his voice and you want to smack yourself silly for it. “Gonna spare you all the pointless introductions n’ ice breaking crap, yeah? We’ll go over the syllabus and get this show on the road.”

He’s curt, forward, doesn’t bite his tongue, you deduce. Not the jackass his reviews seem to pin him as, though it’s only the first class. They didn’t seem to mention how ruggedly handsome he was as well, you think and pull your lips taut as Professor Howlett, continues to read off the syllabus. Two essays, three quizzes, and a final reading comprehension exam. Attendance is mandatory Your eyes quickly flit to the back of your skull as he reads off that point. No makeups. No late work. No excuses. 

You feel your heart hammer in your chest a little, a sense of anxiety bubbling up in you at how much this class demands. It’s nerve wracking, super fucking discouraging to say the least given your track record, but you know you have no other choice but to commit fully and pass this class, so help your parents. You suppose you can find the motivation in a hot professor and at the very least, make an effort to roll out of bed and be presentable on the days you show up to his class. You exhale softly, hearing the shuffling of books and closing laptops to rouse you from your thoughts. 

“And don’t forget, first five chapters of tulip fever for next class,” his voice booms in the auditorium, fighting with the noise of students desperate to leave and head to their next class or back to their rooms. You flit your eyes towards your professor, arms crossed and muscles bulging against his shirt, casually leaned against his desk. His eyes meet yours for a moment and your breath hitches immediately. His brow quirks at you silently and you’re sure you might disintegrate on spot. You feel your face heat up and you break away the eye contact to rush out of the lecture, both exhausted and perpetually embarrassed, not having enough energy to handle feeling both. In your haste, you miss the way Logan's lip quirks up for a split second at you, rushing out the door with Tulip Fever and streaks of grey on your mind. 

You find you can’t keep your modern history professor off the brain since leaving the lecture hall that wednesday, ever so flustered. You thought about his thick arms back at your dorm, and how they might feel wrapped around you in a warm embrace. You thought about those graying temples, and the picture it would paint with his head between your thighs. You thought about him in your humanities class as your professor droned on about morality and its many philosophical perspectives, but you tune her voice out and think of his instead, wondering what it would sound like whispering sweet nothings in your ear. The level of yearning you’ve reached is bound to get you in trouble, hell it’s gotten you in trouble already— completely neglecting to finish the first five chapters of Tulip Fever like Professor Howlett had assigned, losing yourself in the work from your other classes. Friday had snuck up on you and you smacked your forehead for being so forgetful, the beginnings of discourage and a knot forming in your stomach. I’m a failure, I suck at this, I should drop out, I’m such a fucking idiot.

The thought of letting down a man you barely know has you berating yourself even further. You need to get a grip and quickly— he’s your teacher for God's sake. You suck in a breath, finding yourself sat in the same lecture hall your vivid fantasies found themselves being born in, laptop open as you’re frantically reading the Sparknotes summary minutes before class is set to start. Today, you chose a seat in the second row, still far off to the right side. You weren’t sure you could stay coherent with his gaze on you so heavy.  You tell yourself you picked this spot for a better learning experience, closer seats meaning less of a chance you fall prey to your fantasies, but deep down beyond the denial you knew better than to convince yourself of a lie like that. You sat upfront because you wanted to see Professor Howlett better, to pinpoint the hues of his eyes you couldn’t make out yesterday from so far behind. You wanted to trail your eyes up and down his muscular frame, taking snapshots of the hair on his forearms, the freckles on his thick knuckles, the veins trailing his big hands—

“Good morning, everyone,” a gruff voice speaks and you feel a ball of energy sits itself deep in your stomach, it’s him. You've missed the deep baritone of his voice, you realize. “Hope you all read up the chapters, yeah? We’ll be discussing ‘em today, and I am the asshole who picks on students to participate.” There’s a soft wave of grumbles from some, but your panic is quiet and you hope to a God in heaven somewhere that he doesn’t pick you, god knows you barely retained any information from your flash round of Sparknotes earlier.

“Like any book, the first few chapters were mostly exposition, character and scene setting stuff. Tell me, what does Sophia’s marriage and lack of heir signify to us in these times?” Professor Howlett asks, and you immediately avert your gaze to the grooves and scratches in the table in front of you. Please don’t pick me, please don’t pick me, please please please— “Yeah, you,” your head snaps up, heart hammering in your chest when you see him nod his head at some girl, some girl with too much fucking chest out, you spit, her hand raised high and smile plastered across her smug little face. Your brows pull together and you barely contain the urge to roll your eyes at her enthusiasm. 

“Thank you, Professor,” This fucking bi- “I think that- that while Cornelius and Sophia are often representative of the way marriage was a lot of the times something more transactional, her being unable to have a kid being a main problem- shows how a lot of times a marriage with no evidence of, um, consummation, is seen as practically null and void.” Your fist tenses against the desk at her answer.

“Little long winded, but yeah, good job..?” his voice lilts off, and you smile a bit knowing he doesn’t even remember her name. “Oh, um, Amber,” she sputters out. He nods at her response and continues asking questions about the book. You feel a little bad as class progresses, your unprovoked and unwarranted jealousy towards another woman over a man who’s simply an authority figure to you both, no matter how attractive, makes you cringe. What is he doing to you? 

“Good answers, guys. Glad you all did more than skim the book,” Professor Howlett muses, turning his back to face you all as he digs through his briefcase. You take this time to admire how broad his back looks, draped in a black polo shirt today that practically has you drooling. “The rest of you I didn’t pick on today aren’t unscathed unfortunately,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. He turns around and presents the stack of papers between his large hands to you all and he smirks, “Pop quiz.” 

A myriad of groans come crashing from all over the lecture hall right down to your ears and you silently join, hands falling down against your desk. You sincerely hope these weren’t going to be graded, praying that Professor Howlett possesses some sense of apologeticness, knowing that the definite zero percent you’d get on this would completely fuck over your overall average for the rest of the semester, subsequently giving your parents ample reason to rip you a fucking brand new one. 

Row by row, he passes a stack of papers for each student to pass down and he stops in front of you, seeing as you so conveniently sat at the end of the second row. “Nervous?” he asks, brow quirked and smug fucking look on his face as you look up at him. You quirk your eyebrow right back at him, “Hardly.” A group of papers fall in front of you and he breathes out a laugh, leaving you to pass papers to the next row. You lied like shit, you were insanely nervous, knowing you hadn’t retained a lick of information from your mini crash course nor the class’ discussion prior.

“No tech, no cheating. You guys know the drill, don’t make me catch you and have to chew you out. Twenty minutes and I’m picking ‘em up.” Logan says, walking down the aisle and back to his desk, his hulking frame leaning against his desk and his arms crossed up against his chest so tight that his biceps practically bulge out of his shirt. Or maybe, he’s just that toned, that any movement, minuscule or major, would have him threatening to rip out of his clothes. You’re practically fighting yourself in your seat, tearing your eyes away from his thick arms and heavy pectorals and down to your paper. 

It’s one page, front and back, ten questions. It wouldn’t be so bad had you actually read the book, considering you can’t even remember the name of the main character in the book. You bite your lip, trying so hard to rack your brain for something that resembles a coherent answer to these questions that will give you at least a 75%, knowing it wouldn’t skew your grade average completely off. What does Maria’s role stand to symbolize in the context of 1600’s Amsterdam?. You clench your  fist so hard around your pen you’re almost amazed that it doesn’t break under the pressure. You didn’t even remember a Maria in the book.

Twenty minutes of writing later, grasping at straws for potential points that would make you feel better than getting a big fat zero on your first quiz in this class, in his class, you’re walking to his desk to place your quiz in a pile with the rest of your peers, just as he’d instructed. You kept your eyes down the entire time, feeling too embarrassed to look at him after that silly excuse for banter you had attempted earlier. Hardly. Yeah fucking right. 

After your quiz, you had been dismissed from class, and you felt the anxiety set in almost immediately. The phone call you had with your parents that weekend over your classes and grades so far only worsened, the stern and subtly implied threat of coming back home to learn at a local college looming silently above you if you didn’t keep your grades up. You had obviously avoided mentioning the pop quiz you had, choosing not to set them ablaze at the mention of the fact that you most definitely failed that pop quiz. The stress of your grades instilled a new found productivity in you, in which you took initiative to read ahead of the assigned chapters and annotate as well as take notes for your modern history class, hoping to be prepared next time he’d ask a question. Your stomach churns at the thought of his praise, Good answer. Very good, kiddo. Like that idea. you imagined he’d say to you. You bite your lip as you study your western civilization notes, maybe he’d even indulge in you, call you his good girl, his good little student, something that Amber would never have above you. 

Monday and Tuesday went by uneventfully, as you completed your labs and started on your assignments when assigned. Tuesday night however, you had been anxious almost, or maybe excited— you weren’t sure, but you did know you wanted to be prepared for this class, to prove to Professor Howlett that you could handle his class, show him that you wouldn’t let him chew you up and spit him out so easily. You took the time before bed on that Tuesday to prepare your books in your bag, organize your notes, and even pick out an outfit, neatly folding it and leaving it on your desk chair. Grades be damned, you were beyond ready to prove everyone wrong, yourself included. 

You sat in the front row again, enraptured in the world of Tulip Fever, but really you would rather focus on Professor Howlett. He was all you thought about these days, especially at night when it was only you and the dark of your dorm to entertain you before bed. You hear a giggle next to you and you snap your head to the direction of the noise. Amber. A deep rumble sounds in front of you, someone clearing their throat. You look forward again and see your professor and your face heats up. “Welcome back to earth, sweetheart,” he muses, humour painted all over his face. Your eyes widen at the pet name he’s given you and you feel like sinking into your seat. “I need you here next time, yeah? Not in that pretty little head of yours,” he says, quiet enough so only you and the front two rows can hear. Your head spins. Pretty. He called you pretty. He continues his lecture like nothing else happened, leaving you dazed at his affection. His eyes flit to you briefly and he smiles, before walking back to the front of the class. 

Little moments like these pepper themselves throughout your lectures with Profess Howlett in between the assignments and lectures and raised hands. You’d catch him looking at the juncture of your breasts sometimes as you wore low cut tops, his lilting voice calling you precious pet names, sweetheart, kiddo, sweets. They all have your face warming. Heated gazes, stolen smiles, one off banter, you were convinced you were being delusional. One particular moment after class where you had asked for details on an assignment had you reeling for days. You went up to him after class to ask your question. His face was insanely close, you could smell the mint off his breath from the gum he was chewing during the lecture, feel his words fan your face, deep rumblings and focused glares as you were only inches away from his face. His lips, oh God his lips… so close, so soft looking, so pink, you had been so caught up in him the entire time. And he had noticed, his fingers coming up to your chip to raise your gaze. He did it wordlessly, eyeing you as you eyed him. His look daring you to say something. Challenge me. I dare you. But you didn’t— you couldn’t, you had tried to focus on something else, his musky woodsy scent, his greying stubble, anything, as he continued to explain your question to you. You walked out of his class that day with jello for legs, replaying the moment in your mind. 

Next class you had seen him he had given the assignments back, adorned with little gold stars on those who had grades higher than a B minus. Your paper had come back to you with an A minu, a little gold star next to your grade. “Boosts morale,” had been Logan’s explanation when a student had asked why the gold star. You smiled. Cute. 

You had felt like you finally found your groove, despite the hiccup you had at the beginning. Your first test of the semester approached, and you weren’t nervous, in fact you showed up to class early, getting a chance to get a good spot and watch Professor Howlett walk in and begin setting up. You had waved, a meek good morning in your own words and he returned a wink back. Your insides tugged at themselves. He had waltzed over to you in your seat, starting up conversation. “Nervous?” he asks, curt and short. You smile, “Hardly,” using your own words once more. “I’m gunning on a gold star. I studied extra hard.” Professor Howlett hums, smile on his face. “I look forward to seeing your work. I enjoy reading it,” he says. He leaves you with those words as he walks back to his desk, more students beginning to pepper in the classroom as the test hour approached. You had been so sure you did excellent on your test, studying for days and days beforehand. So when you got back your test, a C Minus staring back at you with a gut wrenching empty space next to your grade right where a star would be. Tears prick your eyes as you look at the grade, feeling so disappointed in yourself. This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

You had promptly stayed behind after class to speak to him, and it seemed like Amber had the same idea, her body close to his as she spoke lowly. She didn’t spare a glance back at you as she spoke to him, hand grazing his bicep as she walked away and past you. Your eyes rolled in your head and you walked up to Professor Howlett next. He’s in the middle of packing up his papers in his bag when you come up to him, and he glances up in acknowledgment before going back to what he’s doing. You breathe out and his brown quirks as he pauses and looks at you. “Yes?” he asks. “I… I would like to see you after class if possible to discuss my grades,” you say, fist curling and uncurling with nerves. ”Tomorrow afternoon come see me at my office,” he says, arms crossing. “Don’t be late. Don’t get your hopes up either,” he quirks. You chew your lip before sighing. “I’ll be there. On time.” 

And true to your word, you showed up promptly and on time. Your heart was hammering in your chest cavity so hard you felt like it would burst through your ribcage. Your lower lip found itself between your teeth, chewing at it tenderly. You had been staring at the mahogany colored door, finished with a shiny golden plaque, L. Howlett, PHD. carved within the surface of the precious metal. His name posed just as intimidating as he did. You’d been standing in front of his door for almost three minutes now, fingers skimming along the hem of your plaid skirt. The accompanying white tanktop and white cardigan hand made your subconscious intentions loud and clear, as some part of you, a delusional part of you, had hoped this school girl-esque get up would grant you some sort of leniency with Professor Howlett as you begged for him to give you a retake, a makeup assignment, something for God’s sake.

Any moment more of hesitancy and you would be late for your two o’clock appointment time, so you bring your knuckles up to the door to knock, twice in succession, when the door swings open in front of you. Your knuckle is almost met with Amber’s face, her shock seeing you just as evident as hers. She doesn’t let it linger however, as she casts a glance over her shoulder and muses a “Bye Professor. Thank you so much, I’ll see you in class Monday,” before looking back forward and right back at you, holding your gaze as she walks right out the door and past you, making sure her shoulder doesn’t miss yours. You scoff. Bitch. 

“Right on time. Come in,” he gestures, refusing to get up from his comfy looking office chair. As you walk around his office you take in the interior briefly. The mahogany furniture, the lingering smell of cigar smoke, evidence of his nasty habit sitting on top of an ashtray on his desk, the glass bar cart, adorned with various bottles of whiskey and gin, and a mini fridge sitting on its bottom shelf— filled with ice and garnish you assume. You eye his book cabinet, shelves stuffed with various literary titles, old and new, classic and contemporary. You find yourself impressed, but you shouldn’t be, his teaching— albeit rough, brutish sometimes even— is a testament to his passion towards books and literature. You smile a little as you sit down in the foam lined chair in front of his desk. You try not to think of who sat in it before you as you feel the residual warmth of it against your thighs. You take in Professor Logan, black t-shirt and dark blue jeans— casual, but damn if he made it look good. You eyed his arms, veiny and bulging out his shirt, before flickering your attention back to his face, framed by those greying temples you oh so loved.

“So?” He trails, redirecting his attention from his desktop to you. You swallow a little and sigh. “Um, I know that you said no… no retakes or anything, and I understand your answer if it’s a hard no,” you say, pausing to look at him to try and assess what he’s thinking, but you’re simply met with a raised brow and crossed arms as he leans back further in his chair. “But I… I was wondering if- Well, my parents, they said that If I have a grade lower than an A on my report card this semester I had to drop out and transfer locally, and I don’t want to make this a pity story but I… It’s only this class where I’m having trouble. And I know what you said but my last test really fucked my average and I-” your nervous ramblings are cut off by him raising his hand. Your lips clamp and you watch him, waiting for his impending words. He makes you sit in the silence and with your words, instead opening his desk drawer, rifling between what sounds like various loose pens and papers before taking a lighter out. Small, sliver, zippo style and engraved with meticulous swirls. He picks up the already cut cigar out the ashtray, placing it between his pink lips, and lights it— two experimental puffs of smoke floating your way and you get dizzy. 

“You don’t mind?” He asks only now, and you try not to roll your eyes and that façade of chivalry. “No,” you shake your head. “Thought so,” he smiles, smug. He puffs from the cigar once more before he places it down on the glass ashtray once again before he speaks up. “As it stands now if you tighten up for the rest of the semester you can pass my class with a B something, which don’t sound too bad to me, sweetheart.” Your gut twists with tension. A B isn’t what you need. You brows furrow and you open your mouth to speak, but he continues. “I would love to help you sweetheart, trust me I would. But that wouldn’t be fair to all the other students who come waltzing in here dressed just like you, begging for an A,” he drawls, picking up his cigar again and slotting it between his lips before he stands up and your breath hitches. “Wh- dressed like me? I didn’t-” you begin, confused at what he’s implying. Your eyes follow his moving figure, his steps taking him around his desk to the side of your chair, conveniently eye level to his groin. 

“But you did, didn’t you?” he asks softly, thumb coming to your chin to direct your gaze up to his eyes. “I don’t understand…” you murmur, skin beginning to warm at the rather inappropriate contact and position. Your chest heaves up and down beneath your cardigan and he surely notices letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can put two and two together,” he continues, thumb rubbing softly back and forth against your chin before he drops his hand from you completely. Your eyes drop in sync to his limb, your mind racing a million thoughts a second. But… isn’t this what you wanted? What you needed? What you’ve dreamed of for weeks upon weeks? “Look at me,” he says, stern. And you do. “You listen so well,” he hums and you feel the makings of a fire ignite itself inside you somewhere deep. I’m being good. Good for him. “Kills you inside that you couldn’t get that shiny little sticker, doesn’t it?” he muses, looking down at you with mirth swirling in his eyes. You feel tears spring to your eyes at his words. He sees right through you. It did hurt. All you ever wanted to be was good for him. 

“We can fix that today. Tell you what, you be a good student for me, and I’ll be a good teacher to you, yeah?” he says, taking a puff from his cigar. “Nod your head like a good student.” And you do. Up and down, slowly. Your brain is fuzzy. This surely isn’t happening, is it? It couldn’t be. He walks away and back to his desk, propping his cigar down after asking it. He pushes a pile of papers from his desk, until he finds what he’s looking for. A sticker sheet. What is he…

“C’mere,” Professor Howlett gestures with a finger, simultaneously sitting back on his chair. Your legs are trembling under you as you get up and walk towards his side of the desk. Logan pivots his desk chair to the side as you walk over to him and you find yourself standing between his legs, quiet. “Take that off,” he says, flicking his head towards your cardigan. You let it drop off your shoulder promptly, standing only in your white tank top and plaid skirt. “Kneel,” he says, and you drop immediately. Pathetic. Your hands lay in your laps as you’re sat between his legs on your knees. Your breathing is as laboured as ever. You can’t believe this is happening— something that you spent nights dreaming of. Touching him, tasting him, feeling him. He reaches over to his desk and grabs the sticker sheet of gold stars, a fresh sheet of stars neatly arranged row by row. “You know what to do, don’t you sweetheart?” he asks, palm of his hand running against your face. You nod, reaching forward to the zipper of his dark denim jeans before his palm grabs your hand. “When I ask you somethin’, I want a verbal answer. Y’understand?” he says. Your voice feels caught in your throat. He’s so intense your head is spinning. “Y-yes,” you breathe. “Yes what?” he spits back and your heart hammers. “Y-yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he hums. He lets go of your hands, taking a sticker off the sheet and placing a small gold star right next to your left eye. Your face heats up at the praise and you almost let out a breath, but you don’t. Your hands go back to undressing Professor Howlett, fingers deft with his button and zipper. He lifts his hips up and helps you shrug his jeans down until they’re sitting on top of his black combat boots, clad only in black briefs. The heavy tent in his pants makes your eyes go wide but you persist, thinking of your grade on the line. With a tug at his boxer band his dick pops up over the elastic, and you pull down until the full sheath of him is bobbing freely. Your eyes widen a little at the sheer size of him, wondering how he could possibly fit inside your mouth let alone your pussy. He was long, eight inches you’d guess just by looking and insanely thick. He was heavy too— the length of him unable to stand up fully, bobbing haphazardly as he twitched from arousal. You looked up at him, and his gaze was steady. Expectant. You sucked in a shallow breath before grabbing his cock, warm to the touch. Your fingers barely touched. You’re hand jerked up once before Professor Howlett was grabbing your wrist, only to spit on his dick, the string of saliva landing on the shaft. “S’better. Go on,” he encourages, and you do— jerking him a little faster now with his spit lubricant, the sound of his slick skin making your pussy feel warm, wet. You jerk him faster, spitting in the palm of your second hand before you join your other, breasts bouncing up and down as you jerk him. Little grunts leave Logan, and it makes your tummy feel warm. You were making him feel— “Good, just like that, yeah. Use your mouth now,” he moans. You felt intimidated by his size, but you persisted still. You wanted to be his good girl.

You look up at him as your mouth opens, coy like a fish, and you wrap your lips around his tip. He inhales a sharp breath and it gives you some encouragement. Be good. Your head drops lower, lower and lower until your mouth his full and his tip is tickling your uvula, and you gag around him, sputtering spit all over him. You pull off his dick to cough and he chuckles at you. “Let’s try again together, yeah?” You nod, “Yes, Sir.” You reposition yourself, back on your knees in front of him. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out, open real wide,” he says, tapping your cheek. It felt soft slap more than a tap however. But still, you open your mouth wide, tongue hanging out. “Juuust like that, yeah…” Logan groans, slapping the warmth of his cock on your tongue. “Breath through the nose,” he says, before putting the length of him in your mouth and pulling your head down on him, fist clenched in your hair. He pulls you down deep, further than you managed to reach alone and you gag, spit everywhere, but he pays you no mind. His curses under his breath before standing up out of his seat, your head craning up as his fist pulls at your nape. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he breathes, thrusting his cock in an out of your mouth. Your throat feels rubbed raw, tears pooling in your eyes but you hold on, hands gripping his thighs. “Take it, fucking take it,” he grunts. His hand disappears before placing a sticker on your spit-covered cheek and you whimper around his cock. Logan’s brows pull together and he laughs. “That turn you on? You like being my good little student? You like sucking off your professor?” he laughs, fucking your face with a deep pace. You muffle a Yes, Sir around him as his spit soaked balls slap against your chin and he laughs. Sticker after sticker covers the expanse of your face, a juxtaposition to your debauched mascara-streaked-spit-covered face.

Your throat is raw, but you’re relishing in the attention, the praise, the intensity of it. “One more mouthful, c’mon,” he grunts, pushing your head down even further down his cock and you squeal around him. Your eyes snap shut, focusing on holding your breath as he brings his dick deep down your throat until your nose is buried in his greying pubes. “So fucking nasty,” he drawls, deep groan leaving his chest. “Take it, be good and take it,” he says breathless, before he’s spitting his cum down your throat, leaving you no choice but to swallow his bitter semen. Your eyes wretch open lowly, watch Logan’s face contort in pleasure as he finishes in your throat and you whimper, squeezing his thighs tightly. “Good student,” he coos, pulling his cock from your mouth and it’s a relief that’s long overdue. Your first unobstructed breath is a deep one, and you’re slightly dizzy from the oxygen after having it restricted for so long. You don’t think about it for long before a hand is pulling you up off the floor, and before you know it, lips are on yours, tongue finding tongue. Your eyes close by themselves and you melt into the kiss, Professor Howlett’s lips soft against yours, but kissing you so roughly. Your arms grip his biceps, desperate for something to hold onto, anything to steady yourself with. 

The kiss breaks and your mind feels hazy. Your eyes open and you see Professor Howlett staring back at you, hands roaming your body. “Pr-professor…” you moan out after a particularly hard squeeze at your ass. “Logan, baby,” he says, kissing your lips once in a peck, and again as a sloppy embrace, his tongue swirling in your mouth and you keen into him. His hands pull at the back of your thighs and you jump up in his arms, wrapping your arms around his thick neck. He walks you a few paces, still stuck in an embrace, until he puts on you down on his desk. He breaks the kiss between you two before pulling the front of your tank top down, revealing your breasts to him, nipples pert. He wastes no time kissing and licking your chest, and you throw your head back in a silent moan. He sucks on your nipples for a minute, pinching and toying with your breast until your chest is heaving and nipples are raw. “What a sight for me,” Logan hums, and you feel shy under him like this. “Lean back and spread your legs f’me,” he says low, kneeling as you do as he asks. He’s eye level with your pussy, only covered by your skirt and white panties. He lifts the plaid fabric up and groans, the little wet spot of your pussy a delectable sight. 

Logan leans forward and licks the wet gusset of your panties and you let out a shuddering moan. “P-please, Logan…” you breath, too wound up to wait. He smirks and indulges in you, pliant and needy. He hooks a finger in the crotch of your panties and pulls them to the side, hurrying his face into your wet and waiting pussy. It’s an enrapturing feeling, having him suck and lick and taste your clit and folds like this, groaning into you and he praises you for having such a sweet fuckin’ pussy, baby. He sucks your clit roughly, before pulling back to spit on your pussy, rubbing his nose against your clit before flattening his tongue against your gushing slit once again. The streaks of grey between your thighs sends blood rushing downwards to the center of your arousal and you can’t help but run your hands through his salt and pepper hair. He licks and tongues you until your legs go numb, teasing your orgasm from you time and time again until you’re nearly in tears for him, ready to cum.

 “Please Lo- Sir. Please, Sir. Wanna cum, I’ll be good. Just-” your begging is cut short as two thick fingers push themselves in you and you throw your head back at the stretch. “You’re gonna come for me in a little, sweetheart. Be good for now,” Logan coos, kissing your inner thighs. You’re heaving as he curls and scissors his fingers inside you in a way that feels so unfairly good that tears begin to streak down your face, gold stickers peeling and falling off your damp skin; scattering down on the desk and falling on your chest. “G-gonna… Oh my God, Sir,” you squeal, just about ready to… Until his fingers deftly leave you. Before you can whine about this, Logan’s thick fingers covered in your slick push into your mouth and you groan. “Hush, baby. You’re about to feel real good in a little,” Logan hums, rubbing his cock, now hard again, up and down your wet and sensitive pussy, the head of him hitching your clit so good it hurts. His fingers leave your mouth. “Beg for it.” And you do. You’re a babbling mess under him. “Inside, p-put it inside me, Professor,” you moan, and Logan's resolve snaps, thrusting into you in one fluid movement.

You see stars, no pun intended, at the stretch of him. Your stomach feels full and you shudder, laying back down against the desk. ���Tightest, sweetest fucking pussy I ever felt,” Logan coos, fingers pushing back into your mouth. His unoccupied hand grabs your leg and throws it over his shoulder and he begins to thrust in and out of you, knocking the wind out of you with every push in and out. Your intermittent moans turn into a symphony of cries as his pace increases and he’s fucking into you at a brutal speed. Your hands are grasped around the wrist of his hand that’s by your mouth, sucking his fingers to soothe the burning part of the pleasure. “That’s it, fucking take it,” he grunts, pushing your leg from around his should back until your knee was touching your shoulder. The new angle made the pleasure unbearable, every movement rubbing against your g-spot. Your eyes begin to close, your body shutting down seemingly as you begin to enter a pleasure comatose, the bubbling pleasure, the fingers in your mouth, it all feels like too much. But Logan doesn’t let you stay in that place for too long, his fingers leaving your mouth to slap your cheek, pulling back down. “I need you right here, know it feels good but I want you with me,” he says breathy, thrusts still never faltering. 

Without his fingers in your mouth your moans are free to be heard, your incoherent babbles of “s’too much,” and “so deep in me, sir,” floating in the air between Logan’s heavy breaths and obscene curses. You’re breasts jump with every thrust in you, your head bouncing up and down from the sheer force of his thrusts. “T-Tell me…” you stutter out, eyes fluttering. “Tell you?” he asks, grinding his hips up and deep, and you’re sure he’s grazing your cervix. You grip his t-shirt and keel. He gets what you mean. “Good girl. My good girl. You’re the best girl. You want another star, don’t you?” he breathes out, a hand moving down to your clit as he thrusts up and out, up and out into you. You whimper, his words and ministration’s overwhelming, “Yes, Sir. M’good. So good. W-want it. Please, can I have it?” you babble. You belly feels warm, and the heat bubbles with every brush at your swollen clit and thrust in your pussy. He lets go of the hand at your knee, spreading you open to grab a sticker from the sticker sheet. “Stick your tongue out f’me,” and you do, overwhelmed with this moment. You’re being good. You’re being good. You’re almost there, keep being good. He spits in your mouth and you moan holding it there and waiting for him to tell you what to do. “Swallow it,” he huffs, thrusts faltering. He’s close, you deduce. I don’t want it to end. Please don’t let it end. You swallow and stick your tongue back out to show him and he groans.

He puts the star sticker on your tongue, and he thrusts in you harder, tweaking at your clit as he does. Your body seizes and you melt into a fit of moans and grunts, and you finally cum, Logan fucking you through it. “Yeah baby, just like that. Kneel for me,” he says, pulling out of you. You lay up off the desk and fall promptly to your knees, watching him jerk himself to orgasm above you with your tongue out, gold star on the middle of your tongue. He grunts with deep Fuck! before warm ropes of cum spray your partially sticker-covered face and tongue. Your eyes close and you hum, relishing in the warmth. Logan wipes the cum from your eyes with his thumb and sticks it in your mouth, and you suck, no questions asked. “Good fucking girl.” 

The moments following are awkward. Logan tucks himself back in his pants, and pulls his jeans up and you’re left laying on the floor, coming down from your ecstasy high. The zip of his jeans breaks the silence and you’re looking up at him, soiled with cum, spit, stickers, tears and mascara. He walks to his bar cart and grabs the cloth hanging off the handle bar, and he hands it to you. You clean yourself up, and when you’re done you find his cardigan in his hands. You fix your tank top back over your breasts and pull the crotch of your panties back into place before grabbing it from him. “Thanks,” you say quietly. “See you in class on Tuesday,” is the last thing he says to you before you leave his office. Stunned.

On Tuesday, he hands you back your test with a new grade, an eighty, and gold sticker placed on it right next to the new grade. He glances at you as you look over your test, and smirks. You read the note he left in red ink on the back of the test, heart beating a little faster once you look back up at him. Good girl. 

send me an ask!

[diagonal-queen]

im basically back so i'm doing this even though nobody will read it lol (i dont even blame you because look at all that TEXT)

Do you have a good relationship with your parents? not really i guess? it's complicated so imma just say nah

Who did you last say “I love you” to? i think to my dog lol

Do you regret anything? i regret writing rpf as a kid 💀 i also regret smacking my little brother's butt to discipline him as a kid. it goes against my stance of 'don't hit children' that i have today and i do feel real bad about it, i just emulated the parenting techniques i knew at that age.

Are you insecure? HELLA lmao

What is your relationship status? single as FUCK boiiiiiiiiiii

How do you want to die? peacefully and in my sleep with my puppies laying next to me

What did you last eat? right now i'm eating crackers

Played any sports? used to be a bit of a discus prodigy as a kid, and was also not a half-bad sprinter. i danced from 2-12 as well and also enjoyed chess. nowadays i don't play any sports

Do you bite your nails? i do on occasion but i try not to

When was your last physical fight? i've never been in one. maybe with my sister when we were kids? idk

Do you like someone? kind of? if that makes sense

Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? no. but i've tried for sure lol

Do you hate anyone at the moment? yeah, but by now it's a dormant hate that just lingers

Do you miss someone? is it possible to miss someone you haven't met irl before?

Have any pets? two doggos!

How exactly are you feeling at the moment? neutral, but like a 6/10

Ever made out in the bathroom? i mean a lot of people pee in the woods right so technically yeah

Are you scared of spiders? i'm desensitised mostly, like if i see one i won't kill it (unless i KNOW it's dangerous). if the spider is on me it's a different story

Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? i literally always think about this lol. there's so much i wish i could change but at the same time, even though i don't like myself, i don't think i deserve to be put through all that again

Where was the last place you snogged someone? the gay bar

What are your plans for this weekend? moving lol

Do you want to have kids? How many? i would usually say 'i'm 20 i'm too young to consider it yet' but one of my classmates from highschool has a baby already so i don't know man T-T

Do you have piercings? How many? just on my ears

What is/are/were your best subject(s)? english and legal studies in highschool, and psychology now.

Do you miss anyone from your past? i reminisce but don't miss

What are you craving right now? a warm brownie would be great

Have you ever broken someone’s heart? HE said i did, i don't believe him, but even if i did he deserved it (trust me on this one. he deserved it.)

Have you ever been cheated on? not that i'm aware of, but i wouldn't be surprised if i was

Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? not that i'm aware of. i hope not??

What’s irritating you right now? the heat. i'm not having a hot girl summer at all T-T

Does somebody love you? i hope so

What is your favourite color? i like baby and dusty pink. and lilac

Do you have trust issues? i'm pretty sure

Who/what was your last dream about? last night i dreamt that i was in a relationship with pt4 jotaro. he was quiet, gentle and loving. this is weird because i am female

Who was the last person you cried in front of? i think my mother? if not then probably my bestie

Do you give out second chances too easily? yes, sadly

Is it easier to forgive or forget? it's hard for me to forgive someone if they don't at least apologise. so i guess forget

Is this year the best year of your life? it's february, but like hopefully yeah!

How old were you when you had your first kiss? sweet 16

Have you ever walked outside completely naked? no T-T

Favourite food? fried chicken, one specific chocolate cake, yellow nectarines and sushi

Do you believe everything happens for a reason? not in the way others do

What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? watched scott cramer

Is cheating ever okay? usually i'd say no. but there are rare instances where i reckon it's not necessarily a bad thing (as bad as that might sound)

Are you mean? i don't think so

How many people have you fist fought? none?? T-T

Do you believe in true love? yes

Favourite weather? dark and overcast (not raining), cool but not cold

Do you like the snow? i've only been in snow once and it was a good time. but i got ice in my eye during a snowball fight and it scarred me a little bit

Do you wanna get married? for sure i do! i know most people think of marriage culture as outdated and heteronormative (which i fully understand) but i do want to be a bride one day. i'd love that

Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? hm...when a girl does it i don't mind but when a boy does it it feels a little icky IM SORRY </3

What makes you happy? clowns, stuffed toys, colourful soap, poofy sleeves, tbh i'm really a six year old at heart and a lot of things make me happy

Would you change your name? okay so i wouldn't legally change my first name (i don't often like when people besides my family use it, but it's rare and pretty so i wanna keep it), but i would like to make Dia my legal alias that would be so sick. i would for sure change my last name though that shit boring asf

Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? no. i'd kiss her again she was nice

Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? i'd marry and adopt kittens with you @jesterph0bic

Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? refer to question 55

Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? my brother (hbd btw)

Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? my sister

Do you believe in soulmates? yes but not in the traditional way

Is there anyone you would die for? yes

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Epilogue

AN: You can blame Mexico and Onyx Storm for my delay on this one. But for those who are curious, here is our sweet little epilogue for Joel and Freckles. Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, shared, and encouraged me while writing this story. I love you, and so does Joel and Freckles. XO

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist

Five Years Later

“You wanna come,” he practically taunts, “Don’t you, sweet girl?” 

Every muscle in your body is weak, causing the leather cuffs of the St. Andrews Cross to rub at your wrists and ankles. He’s been teasing you for hours, stopping every time you’re about to shatter. 

This night has been a long while in the making. After five years with your firm you were finally given the lead on a big case; a case that your boss handed to you and said this was your chance to earn your partnership. You spent upwards of eighty to ninety hours a week preparing and Joel could not have been more perfect during that time. He’d often show up with food or coffee for you and your team of junior lawyers, interns, and paralegals. He never complained when you’d bring work home; however, every time you said something negative about yourself, Joel would mark it on the fridge. Over the three and a half weeks of prep work thirty ticks ended up on the small piece of paper that was hung with a Berkeley magnet. You didn’t have time to ask Joel what they meant, and truthfully, you didn’t really care; you trusted that whatever he planned to do with those ticks was for your own good. 

During the trial, another twelve ticks were added. When the verdict was announced and you had won your case, Joel was there in the courtroom, smiling warmly at you when you glanced back at him. When you got home that evening, after a celebratory round or two of cocktails, Joel made you kneel in front of him as he explained that each tick, all forty two of them, symbolized a denied orgasm, a punishment meant to remind you not to talk bad about things that Joel owns. Especially brilliant lawyers who win their first big case and secure themselves as partner.  

As he strapped you to the padded X shaped piece of furniture tonight, he said, ‘if you’re the sweet girl I know you to be, then you won’t whine when I stop. Instead, you’ll say “Thank you, Mister Miller” and I’ll count that as two. Forty two orgasms being denied is not going to be easy, so do yourself a favour and don’t whine; you don’t want to know what happens if you do.’

The only response to his teasing that you can muster now is a whimper and a nod. He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Use your words, honey.”

Your voice is almost silent. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

He walks behind you, trailing the small vibrator along your skin. “Such a good girl for me tonight. Saying yes to everything. Remind me, how many orgasms have I denied you so far?”

Your pussy throbs with the deep timber of his voice, this is truly torture and your safeword is on the tip of your tongue. “Twenty one,” you mumble.

“Poor, sweet girl,” He says from behind you, leaning in closely to whisper in your ear. “Did you learn your lesson?”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You swallow the dry lump in your throat.

“Should I let you pick how you want to come?”

He completes his circle around you and the crossing, stepping in close to you. He uses the little vibrator to gently tease your nipples. You can barely form a thought and just let a small ‘yes’ mixed with moans leave your lips as your sweat covered back arches off the padded back of the cross. The heat of Joel’s body this close makes you feel like you’re on fire. 

“Want to come on my fingers?” He asks, then easily slips three of them inside of you. Your gaze shoots to his as a strangled cry fills the room. 

“Yesyes - fuuuuck, please.” You feel your pussy tightening around his digits.

“What about my cock? You love being stuffed full of my thick cock while I strum your clit. Don’t you? My perfect little slut.” He teases you further by pumping his fingers forward once, revelling in the feel of you clenching tighter around him. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he continues.

“No, I know,” his fingers slip out from your pussy and you gasp, unable to protest in your weakened state. Not that you would protest; you know better than to do that, and he told you not to whine tonight. You are a good girl, you know that what your dom says is best. Plus, you need to come so badly that you think you might actually die if you don’t, and Joel is just sadistic enough to keep you like this for days. 

He gets onto his knees, his warm breath hitting your cunt as he speaks. “What if I put my lips around this swollen little clit? Huh? Suck her into my mouth and drink up every ounce of your cum?”

He uses his thumbs to pull the lips of your pussy further apart. He’s so close that your breath catches in your throat at the promise of relief. He blows cool air along your soaked pussy; you clench your molars together and focus on your breathing. You don’t come until he tells you. 

“Would you like that, my sweet girl?”

The restraints cut at your wrists when you try to push your hips to his mouth. “Yes. Yes. Please, Mister Miller.”

He stands abruptly, hand wrapping around the hair at the nape of your neck before he tugs to bring your gaze up to his. The pull of your hair relaxes the muscles of your neck and upper back and you melt into the padded cross.

His eyes darken as he asks, “You really would say yes to anything, wouldn’t you?” 

“Y-yes. I just need to come. Please.” He releases your hair, stepping back and crossing his arms. The veins on his forearms pop, the sleeves of his rolled black dress shirt tightening under his biceps. Since officially retiring, he’s had a strict exercise regime. He was sexy when you met him almost ten years ago, but like a fine wine, he gets better with each passing year.

The gravel in his voice returns, “But you’d say yes even if I told you we were done for the night and it was time to get dressed. Right?” 

Your eyes clench close, head falling back as the panic of not getting to come tonight races through your mind. You take a calming breath before whispering, “Yes, Mister Miller.” 

“Eyes on me, sweet girl.” You peel your eyes open and tilt your chin down to look at him. His hands are now buried in his pockets, and there’s a shift in how he’s looking at you, a slight softness to his dark eyes. 

“And what if I asked you to marry me?” His voice is shy and raspy.

He slowly pulls a ring out of his pocket and holds it up for you. A thin, gold band with a single, albeit very large, solitaire diamond on it sends sparkles all around the room. Tears line your lash line, mirroring his. He clears his throat softly.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, sweet girl. Listen carefully for me,” he pockets the ring and steps closely, wiping the happy tear that rolls down your cheek. The rough whorls on his thumb send goosebumps cascading down your body. “First, I’m going to make you come. Then, I’m going to untie you, get you all cleaned up, and get some sugar into you.”

You nod, leaning into his touch as cups your face. His eyes dart towards the bed as he says, “After that, we are getting to that bed so I can kiss you until neither of us can breathe.”

“And then,” he smiles sweetly, a tear rolling from the corner of his deep brown and honey flecked eye to his greying beard. “And then I’m going to ask you to marry me.”

[aajjks]

The Conqueror (XXV)

synopsis. He had conquered everything, anything but your heart.

pairings: yandere king!jungkook x fem!reader.

warnings: yándèrè, 18+ thèmès, hè is só hôrny fôr yn, néw cháráctèrs, dàrk thèmès, sèxüàl àttràctïón, pósèssïvènèss, dílèmmà.

note. Please share your thoughts on this and I really miss tc koo asks so please send asks for him and really share your thoughts with me always I know it’s weird to repeat myself, but I just have to make sure. Hopefully, I will update this soon and until then enjoy this. 👀💞

series masterlist

•••

It’s the day of the King of China and princess’s arrival and you are not looking forward to it.

It’s been almost a week since you’ve been married to that monster and— you don’t feel bad for rejecting him because you never wanted him in the first place, something has been bothering you for the past three days— his behavior.

His behavior with you for the past few days…

You would be lying if you said that it doesn’t bother you.

You used to think that it would be nice to not have his intense attention on you, you never wanted to be the focus of his attention, but now that you have been, it feels weird to not have him talk to you or acknowledge your existence.

He is a petty man.

The palace has been bustling, everyone has been so focused on the welcome of the king of China with his daughter, it’s like nobody cares about you.

Why would they care about you?

You are just lady yn. The wife of the king that never deserved to have that title in many of the people’s eyes.

As you sit in your chambers, a servant comes into inform you that the carriage has arrived.

“My Lady, the king is expecting your presence at the hall. The carriage of the king of China has been spotted and it’s expected to arrive within a few minutes, so I have been ordered to escort you there so you can be present for the welcome.”

You look at her, and sigh.

“Okay. Thank you for informing me.” without thinking you get up and follow this woman out.

You don’t really have a choice in this matter.

In your life, you have never had a choice.

You are just a puppet that belongs to jungkook, the great emperor of Goryeo, the conqueror, the person who has also conquered you.

And now you are his prize to show off.

•••

Jungkook stands tall, waiting for the arrival of the Chinese royalty, his posture is stiff and formal, as expected.

His mind, however, isn’t entirely focused on the event at hand. It’s on you.

Always on you.

He feels the tension building up inside him. Six days of marriage and not a single moment of closeness, not even a kiss.

It eats away at him, the hunger gnawing at his insides. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to touch you, but you haven’t let him.

Not yet.

And that drives him crazy.

The sound of the door opening almost distracts him from his spiraling thoughts. The moment he sees you, it feels like the room itself shifts.

There you are.

You walk in with that same grace, you have something about you that still has the power to steal his breath away, even after all these days.

He can’t take his eyes off you as you make your way toward him, the fabric of your gown fits perfectly, with each step, the colors rich and deep.

You’re still a lady, not a queen—yet… but Jungkook doesn’t need titles to see that you’re everything he ever wanted.

His eyes trace your every movement, a hunger starts building within him, like a flame that keeps growing, consuming everything else.

The way your hair sways with each step, the way your eyes are avoiding his nervously as you walk closer to him— it all drives him mad with desire.

God, you look so perfect.

He can’t help it. His thoughts are raw and urgent as he watches you.

His breath hitches, and he feels the ache in his chest, a deep longing that he can’t ignore.

The way you look at him, even from across the room, makes his pulse race.

There’s that faint hesitation in your gaze, that uncertainty, as if you’re still unsure of him, unsure of this whole thing, this marriage.

But to Jungkook, that only makes the attraction worse.

You’re so damn beautiful, even when you don’t try.

He notices how others in the room glance at you… admire you— but it’s different for him.

He doesn’t see just your beauty.

he feels the need to possess it, to possess you. His heart pounds harder, and he can’t seem to pull his gaze away.

He knows he has to remain composed. The king of China, and the princess are coming, and he’s supposed to be welcoming her. But right now, he only wants you.

You’re his wife.. he reminds himself, even if the title doesn’t feel real yet, not with the coronation still pending.

But you’re his, and that possessiveness gets worse within him, that feeling of ownership over you that makes him want to claim you completely.

The fire in his chest flares as you finally reach him, and he can’t stop himself from stepping forward, closing the distance between you.

The moment your hand brushes his, his pulse quickens.

He swallows hard, trying to steady himself. His voice comes out a little more strained than usual when he speaks.

“You look incredible,” he says, his eyes still locked on you. His mind races with thoughts, but he doesn’t want to admit the dark, almost primal urge coursing through him.

He needs you, he wants you, and every day it only intensifies.

He remembers the wedding night— the way you rejected him, the way you pushed him away.. and it eats at him.

You’ve been so distant, so closed off, and it’s driving him crazy. He wants you, but you’re not letting him have you, and that makes the desire even more desperate.

You’re mine, and yet you’re slipping away.

It’s the only thought that keeps repeating in his mind. He’s fighting the urge to take you right there, to pull you into his arms and claim you the way he’s been dying to since the day he first saw you.

But it’s not just about the lust. Not entirely.

There’s something deeper in him, something more profound than just physical desire.

The way he looks at you—it’s possessive, yes, but it’s also full of admiration. Full of longing.

The way you carry yourself, the way you hold yourself so regal, even as a lady, makes his chest tighten.

Jungkook takes a breath, his gaze softening slightly as he looks at you. But that hunger never quite leaves his eyes.

I’m going to have you, soon.

He can feel the weight of his desire… his obsession, with you building.

He needs you. And that need, that hunger, makes every part of him ache in ways he doesn’t know how to express.

“I certainly hope that you will behave yn. Do not even try to act cold with me in front of the king. I am not in the mood to be humiliated. Okay, baby?”

He looks at you and he feels entitled to your attention. You belong to him whether you like it or not.

You just have to make it so hard for him to hate you.

But before you can reply, there is an interruption.

Jungkook smirks.

The large doors of the grand hall open with a creak, drawing the attention of every person in the room.

The atmosphere shifts instantly, becoming more charged, more expectant.

The air is thick with anticipation as the king of China, regal and imposing in his own right, steps through first. His eyes are sharp, his presence commanding, but there is something about him that makes jungkook feel so satisfied.

He’s an old man.

And then, there is the princess.

She steps in next, Her long black hair, her high cheekbones and her gaze is sharp, taking everything in as she enters.

But it’s him, Jungkook… who catches her focus.

The moment her eyes land on him, her breath catches in her throat. The prince stands just a few feet away, but he might as well be the center of the entire universe.

His posture is perfect, shoulders broad, the sharp lines of his jawline and the defined muscles in his arms and chest accentuated by the royal attire that clings to him in all the right ways.

Her gaze lingers on him as she takes a step forward, utterly captivated. She can feel her heart race, a heat stirring inside her.

She isn’t quite sure what it is, but the way he stands there, the confidence radiating off of him, makes her feel a strange mix of awe and… attraction. She tries to shake the feeling, but it’s there, undeniable.

The king of Goryeo, is gorgeous and he is nothing like how she was expecting him to be.

She has obviously heard about him and she has heard how bloodthirsty he is and quite merciless on the fields of battle.

But she wasn’t expecting to see a man so attractive, standing in front of her eyes, looking so regal.

She had thought that he must be at least in his 50s. But this couple in front of her. He doesn’t look to be that much older than her.

She knows that she’s here to congratulate him on his marriage to you.

It’s obvious because you’re standing by his side.

Even though you are standing by his side, she doesn’t care.

His pure raw masculinity has her mesmerized to even notice you.

Her thoughts blur, and she doesn’t know whether to be mesmerized by his raw masculinity or embarrassed by how obvious her attraction is becoming.

The way his muscles flex beneath his royal garb, the way his hair falls just perfectly over his forehead… it’s like something out of a dream.

She quickly looks away, hoping no one notices the sudden heat creeping into her cheeks, but the effect he has on her is impossible to ignore.

The king, noticing his daughter’s lingering gaze, smirks to himself. He might be pleased by her admiration,there’s a slight sense of amusement in his eyes.

This is perfect.

Meanwhile, Jungkook, whose eyes flicker across the room, finally meets the princess’s gaze.

He notes the way she is practically undressing him with her eyes, the way her breath hitches. He feels the pull of her stare, but he doesn’t return it.

His focus remains on the king.. on the official duties at hand.

The princess might be beautiful, but he doesn’t care. He’s seen this sort of admiration before, and it bores him.

She’s just a little girl.

He watches her out of the corner of his eye as she shifts slightly, adjusting herself. It’s clear she’s trying to compose herself, but her flushed face betrays her.

Jungkook smirks.

He knows that he’s attractive, but she doesn’t have to make it that obvious.

He wishes the way she’s looking at him? You would look at him like that..

But he doesn’t care about her. His mind, his attention, is focused entirely on you.

When the princess finally speaks, her voice is clear and polite, but there’s an edge of uncertainty in it. “Your Highness,” she greets, bowing her head. “It is an honor to meet you.”

Jungkook simply nods, acknowledging her words, but his gaze never leaves you as you step forward.

He turns to the princess and the king with a soft, almost arrogant smile on his lips. “This is my wife,” he announces proudly, and her eyes are finally settle on you.

She’s Judging you.

He gestures to you, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm, feeling that brief contact like a spark. “My Lady,” he says to you, his voice warm yet firm, his eyes holding that possessive gleam that only you understand.

His pride swells, and though the princess might be in front of him, he’s not paying her a second thought.

You are his pride.

“This is my wife, the Lady Yn of Goryeo,” Jungkook says again, making sure his words are heard clearly.

His chest swells as he watches the princess’s expression change ever so slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing her face as she realizes who you are.

Jungkook feels a rush of satisfaction, something almost primal, knowing that the princess now sees the bond between you both. She can admire him all she wants, but you are the one he claims.

The princess’s attention is still divided. partly on Jungkook, partly on you.

She’s intrigued, perhaps even fascinated by the lady standing next to him, by the quiet authority that you carry with you.

But Jungkook, in his quiet pride, doesn’t care about the princess’s shifting gaze.

His eyes are only for you. He watches you carefully, knowing exactly how the princess is reacting to him, but he’s too focused on you to care.

In that moment, it’s clear: he is proud of you. Proud of the wife he has. And the princess doesn’t even matter.

“Come inside. I am really honored to have you and your daughter as my guest. And I will really like it if you guys will honor us even more by staying here for a few days.”

He turns his attention back to the king as he invites him to stay in Goryeo for a few days.

Jungkook has some ulterior motives and in order to make sure that he gets what he wants, he will need to play sweet.

“We would be really honored, as we are here to congratulate you on your marriage and I sincerely apologize that my wife couldn’t accompany me on this journey since she’s really sick. But I have brought my daughter with me. Please meet Meilin..”

Jungkook leads Princess Meilin and her father, the King of China, through the grand hallways of the Goryeo palace.

The air thickens with each step, and the atmosphere is heavy with expectation, but Jungkook remains calm and collected.

His eyes flicker briefly between Meilin, who is still caught in her silent admiration of him, and the king, whose regal presence matches his long years of rule.

But too bad he’s old now and Jungkook isn’t really in the mood to go to war since he’s just gotten married to you.

As they walk, Jungkook feels a sense of satisfaction settle over him. The king may have come to Goryeo expecting nothing more than a courteous meeting, but Jungkook has bigger plans.

His thoughts are consumed by his ultimate goal—conquering China.

He isn’t about to rush things, but this visit is the perfect opportunity to move forward with his agenda.

They arrive in the grand dining hall, the flickering light of the candles casting a warm glow over the space.

Jungkook turns to the king and his daughter with a welcoming smile.

“It would be my honor to have you both stay here for a few days, in the Goryeo palace,” Jungkook repeats himself, his words are measured.

“This is the least I can offer after such a long journey.”

The king, caught off guard at first, meets Jungkook’s gaze and nods slowly, his expression softening. “We would be honored to stay, Your Highness,” he responds, clearly impressed by the Goryeo king’s hospitality.

They don’t even know how to properly address him and it’s pissing him off.

Jungkook shifts his attention to Meilin.

She can’t hide her attraction and it’s almost making him uncomfortable.

She’s still watching him, her gaze full of intrigue, but she quickly averts her eyes, maybe realizing how obvious her admiration has become.

Jungkook notices but doesn’t acknowledge it.

“I hope your stay will be pleasant,” Jungkook says, addressing her now, his voice low and inviting. “And I sincerely hope that your wife, the queen will be healthy soon..”

“We have prepared rooms for both of you. I trust Goryeo will offer a much-needed rest after your travels.”

Meilin nods, offering a polite smile, but her thoughts are clearly elsewhere.

She can’t help but notice how close she is to Jungkook now.

His presence is overwhelming, and she feels the effect it has on her intensifying by the moment.

As the king and his daughter are escorted to their rooms, Jungkook feels a rush of satisfaction.

This is only the beginning. He’s patient, playing the long game.

China is the prize.

But as they move through the palace, his gaze drifts to you—Yn of Goryeo. You walk beside him, and Jungkook feels a sense of pride surge within him.

His mind may be focused on his grand plan, but you are always in his thoughts, always by his side.

Though the princess and her father are staying for only a few days, Jungkook’s attention is elsewhere.

He isn’t concerned with them, not really. His mind is set on his greater goal, and China is only a matter of time.

The palace is his domain. And this is only the start of the game.

“Good girl. I am so proud of you for behaving. As I expect you will be in my chambers tonight since I don’t want the king to think that you and I stay in separate chambers.”

He looks at you in a way that makes sure that his message is sent across.

This is not up for debate. You will have to stay in his chambers as long as the princess and the king of China stay here.

And jungkook intends to take advantage of that fact fully.

Starting from tonight.

[cheerysmores]

My wife once told me she would never play Baldur's Gate 3 because 'it's that slut game.' One year later she finally caved and did her very first playthrough.

May I present: Mrs. Cheery's chaotic gremlin adventure to Baldur's Gate.

Act 1

Our hero is the drow fighter, Lady Coolio. To this day we do not know whether Lady is her name or her title. She has a big sword, big tits and one goal: get to The Baldur's Gate with no distractions.

Escaped the 'Meat Bus' (Nautaloid). "Right how close am I to Baldur's gate? Like three hours?"

Sold her camp clothes by accident and was very sad that all she had to run around in was a grey hobo sack. (No mods. Sorry wife)

Asked if Withers was Solas's Dad.

Lady Coolio calls Astarion rat boy. In Wifey's words “he told me ‘when I was a little lad Cazador made me eat rats.’”

To be fair she isn't great with names so Halsin = Hoisin Sauce, Lae'zel = onion lady, Volo = Volvo, Cazador = Calzone (sometimes)

In camp: Gale "I'd like to show you something rather magical". Lady Coolio: "I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR MAGIC PENIS"

“There are so many dead bodies everywhere this entire place has got to stink” (just act 1 generally)

Act 2

Ran into the shadow cursed lands very under levelled and Last Light inn instantly got sacked. Bad news as she was romancing Karlach and now can’t get her second upgrade. Lady Coolio firmly blames Isobel for "triggering like three opportunity attacks when she could have... not done that."

Died to the shadow curse a LOT. Her: “Why is everyone dying????” Me: “Remember the moon lantern?” Her: “The what?” Me: “… that thing with the swearing pixie in it” Her: “ I still have to use that????” Me: “ yes, because Isobel is dead” Her: "WHY IS SHE STILL CAUSING PROBLEMS."

Hates the Gauntlet of Shar. Asked Shadowheart, “Is Shar the only goddess with an Olympic qualifier to join her religion?”

And now a series of comments on the Dead 3's chosen: “so the bad guys are evil undead Santa, Lady Gaga and the ugliest man I’ve ever seen?”)” “Is Gale… horny for that crown??” “Maybe Myrkul would be more threatening if he wasn’t standing in an giant toilet and not moving”

On discovering the Emperor) “wait my fairy god mother is a SQUID??? oh :( ”

She did however become half illithid but hated that she ended up with varicose veins on her boobs.

Gale and Astarion then graduated to “those weak pudding men” because they kept getting stuck halfway across the map by missing jumps. Act 3

Said “Brexit means Brexit” every time she met someone who was complaining about the refugees.

Went to see Raphael at Sharess's Caress. Didn’t sign his contract “ I trust neither Lord Farquad nor squid man but I’m not selling my soul to someone who has such bad vibes.”

At Gortash's coronation. "I thought he was popular? Like seven people turned up to watch it. Is it because he's really ugly and smells like Lynx (Axe) body spray?"

She wanted to eat Orin's outfit because it looks like delicious bacon.

Walking around the city: "so where do I go??" "Anywhere you like." "I hate this."

She would not stop stealing things. I think she murdered the entire battalion of flaming fist in the lower city because "a lady's gotta eat." She also killed everyone in sorcerer’s sundries including Rolan.

Had the prototypical stress aneurysm while doing the iron throne but somehow managed to get ALL the hostages out.

Lae’zel was kidnapped by Orin for 9 in game days . When I asked about this she said “FINDING CLOWN MEAT IS MORE IMPORTANT.”

“Why does every door here lead to the sewer????? And why are there so many live mines in the sewer??”

(in the basement of the elfsong) “soo because the Emperor has a shitty basement I’m supposed to be best friend with him now? This soup recipe does not make me trust you squid man”

Halsin “nature used all its powers when crafting you” Wife “well it also crafted bacon lady (Orin) so swings and roundabouts”

Astarion stayed a spawn and she convinced Gale not to use the crown. “No one is becoming ultimate bitch on my watch”

Despite her distrust of the Emperor she still allied with him in the final fight. Because, and I quote, "Lady Coolio's goal is to stop the Absolute. The Emperor has the same goal. I don't know when I became everyone's therapist and in charge of them making better choices but I'm putting my foot down at replacing dehydrated onion queen with baldy prince king over here. The Gith's religion is not my problem."

In her canon Lady Coolio and the Emperor high fived when they won.

85 hours later and Lady Coolio is the hero of Baldur's Gate. Please enjoy this picture of our heroine.

[endiness]

Sorry to randomly go off on your reblog, person I am reblogging this from, but I am compelled to correct the disinformation campaigns surrounding the show, so: The OP is an alt-right account that made this post to incite people against Lauren and the show. The headline itself is a misleading, clickbait headline that was also meant to incite people against Lauren and the show. In the original article by Vulture, Lauren states that Henry was annoying because he was bugging her for the role before scripts had even been written yet — and even Henry Cavill himself admitted he was being annoying.

Henry Cavill also massively over-exaggerated how much of a fan he was of the franchise and how much he knew of it. He hadn't even read the books when he first sought out the role because he thought they were based off the video games, he only read the series once back in 2018 after Lauren told him about the books and that the video games were actually based off them, and he's really only played the third game — which he hasn't even played the DLC for.

By his own admission, he also didn't actually do any research or preparation for the role:

“I asked my agent to put me on the spot and wanted to meet Lauren as soon as possible. I didn’t even need to prepare specially for the role. Because I breathe, I experience this universe every day. I’ve already had many opportunities to think about this character when I was playing the game. My preparation was already done before the casting even began!”

(Just for comparison's sake: Joey Batey's read the books 3 times as of 2023 and Therica Wilson-Read tries to go back and reread the series before each season, she watches video essays on youtube to refresh her memory, and she's played the games — and both actors have had their co-stars come to them with questions about their characters and storylines and everything because of how knowledgeable they are about the series.)

Henry Cavill also started the whole narrative about how much he cares about the source material and adhering to it in the press for S2 to deflect from how he cut Geralt's lines in S1, making his characterization inaccurate to the books — which he also lied about by trying to act like Geralt was never originally written as being verbose when he was, he tried to blame Geralt's lack of dialogue on Yennefer and Ciri's prominence, and he tried to act like the lines he was cutting weren't even that important anyway so it didn't really matter that he was cutting them.

(He was also directly responsible for, or at least had a hand in, a lot of other deviations from the books. By his own admission, he didn't want to play Geralt and Jaskier as being as friendly as they are in the books. He didn't seem to understand Geralt or Yennefer's characters or their relationship as he cut a sex scene between them because he didn't think it'd be in character of them to have sex after reuniting even though it absolutely would've been. He nixed even the idea of Geralt and Triss just platonically finding comfort in each other even though that's what happens in the books. He didn't want to play Geralt struggling with fatherhood in any way in S2 or, really, with any character flaws and only positive character traits which led to the domino effect of the most controversial changes from the books in S2 such as Yennefer's betrayal, Eskel's death, and Voleth Meir being the big bad of the season.)

Henry Cavill also started that whole narrative about how important the source material is to him as if the source material and Lauren's vision of the show are some at odds with each other because he was mad that he was co-lead with two women and that the show focuses on women so much.

Also, granted, the following falls into speculation and rumor, but.

There is far more evidence to support the theory that he was fired for being sexist than there is for the idea that he was either fired for caring about the source material too much or he ragequit because of that — especially as he was responsible for many things that went against the books in the first place; he started the whole narrative about how important the books are to him to cover up that fact, make himself look better, and make Lauren, the writers, and the rest of the show look bad; he was mad about how prominent women are in the show even though women play key roles in the books; and S3, his last season, was the closest adaption of the books so far anyway.

Tells you everything you need to know about the people making these adaptations.

[thebramblewood]

Who knew window shopping could lead to so many revelations?

Previous / Next

All credit to @moonwoodhollow for Exerzierplatz, where you can find the bookstore, and @its-opheliasgarden for Umbra Boulevard, where you can find the antique shop, both of which are only one small part of these incredible builds!

Caleb: You’ve grown awfully comfortable with her.

Helena: First of all, you have no room to judge. [mockingly] Oh, she’s my sister and I loathe her! But I’m too much of a coward to move out.

Caleb: I’ve certainly never uttered those-

Helena: Secondly, being angry is exhausting. Holding an eternal grudge requires too much energy. And she can be fun — in her own way.

Caleb: You mean the way that’s fun until it isn’t? Not long ago, she had you on the verge of murder. Your memory can’t be that short.

Helena: We have our differences. But she respects my limits now.

Caleb: She’s being careful, but I know her too well to believe it’s for anyone’s benefit but her own. She’s only biding her time until you let your guard down.

Helena: God, you’re cynical.

Caleb: I’m realistic. For a long time, I held out hope she would turn back into the Lilith I knew. But there’s a point of no return, and she’s far past it. I just think you should tread carefully.

-

Helena: Why do you really stay? Is she holding something over you? Are you a masochist?

Caleb: I’ve told you. It’s complicated.

Helena: Have you ever even tried to leave?

Caleb: Helena-

Helena: Who’s Morgyn?

Caleb: [uncomfortably abrupt silent]

Helena: I heard that name in your head just now, not for the first time. I didn’t want to pry, but it must be someone who means a lot to you.

Caleb: Meant.

Helena: Did you have a falling out or-

Caleb: [flatly] They’re dead.

Helena: Oh. I’m sorry. [softly] Caleb, were you in love with them?

Caleb: Something like that.

Helena: What happened? Don’t tell me Lilith-

Caleb: [insistently] It had nothing to do with her. They were a spellcaster, a very powerful one. They wielded influence. They had detractors. One of those detractors killed them.

Helena: Oh my god. That’s awful. Could you tell me what they were like sometime — when you’re ready?

Caleb: [faintly] I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Helena: Caleb, look! I haven’t used one of these since I was a kid. Do you think they’ve got film for it?

-

Caleb: Come on. Don’t waste it on a picture that won’t even turn out.

Helena: What’s the deal with that anyway? I saw something about silver online, but-

Caleb: Anything you read on the Internet is conjecture and myth.

Helena: Is it because we don’t have souls?

Caleb: [bemused] What does that even mean? Do you feel as though you’ve lost yours?

Helena: Yes. No. I don’t know. I guess I feel the same… mostly.

Caleb: Countess Flores has a theory that we innately shroud our physical selves in images, just as we veil human minds, that we could appear if we willed it. But that remains pure hypothesis as far as I know.

Helena: I think I’ve attempted enough desperate selfies to safely debunk that one. You know, I wonder… [trails off distractedly]

Caleb: Helena?

Helena: Maybe it’s not such a bad thing. I used to want to capture every moment, but now the pictures make it impossible to forget.

Caleb: We both know it’s not the pictures that keep the memories alive.

[ldydeath]

Let's Make This Count | Kang Dae-ho

Summary: You've entered into Squid Game to help pay off some debts, not expecting your best friend, Daeho to be there. You both will do anything to proect each other, no matter the cost.

Warnings: Typical squid game stuff.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing Dae-ho. If you'd like to be tagged in future fics of his, please let me know.

Life has been hard lately, which is why when you’d been presented a chance at fixing at least one of those things, you’d jumped at the chance. You however, hadn’t been expecting this to be a game of death. You’d heard player 456’s cries to listen to him at the start of the game, but like everyone else you had ignored him. That was until that girl moved during red light, the chaos that had ensued after that had you praying to gods you didn’t believe in to keep yourself safe. You’d been in Squid Game for a few hours now and already had the blood of your competition splattered over you. You were definitely in over your head and needed to get out. 

Thankfully, the pink suits had announced a vote and you prayed everyone would agree to send you home. You’d been standing for what felt like hours waiting for your number to be called, listening to play 456 plead with everyone to leave the games. He’d been here before so you were definitely going to take his advice. Once your number was called you made your way quickly to the front, voting to go home. You may have needed money, but you’d find another way. You weren’t going to die over some debt.

As you were putting your x badge on your jacket your eyes caught sight of a familiar, gorgeous face and your breath caught in your throat. No. He couldn’t be here. Why was he here? Daeho’s eyes met yours and his brows crinkled in confusion. You shook your head and made your way to your spot. There were too many people around to talk comfortably yet and you weren’t exactly sure it was safe to announce that you knew someone else in the games. That mother and son duo seemed to be the only exception to that rule, and you weren’t about to chance it. After play 001 voted, the pink soldiers announced that there would be another game in the morning, panic rising in your body.

Trying to act normal, you turned to head towards your bunk when you felt a hand on your arm “don’t touch-“ you let out a breath, thankful you didn’t have to fight for your life when you came face to face with your best friend. “What are you doing here?” He hissed, panic in his eyes. You shrugged out of his grip, crossing your arms defensively. “I needed money. What are you doing here?” 

His hand went to his hair, fixing the bun that sat on top of his head and nodded in the direction of some empty bunks.  “I also needed money, why else would I be here?” You raised a brow as you followed him towards the private spot. You wanted to know what he could possibly need money for, but Daeho was so private you knew you’d never get that answer. Even if you were his best friend. “You shouldn’t be here, Dae.” You sighed as you leaned against the wall. 

You couldn’t protect your best friend, not from this.  After Daeho enlisted in the Marines you had a never ending supply of worry in your body for him. Constantly fearing the worst, him being here was going to distract you from staying alive. Your heart raced at the thought of either of not making it out and your eyes found his. “I can’t lose you.” It came out as a whisper but you knew he’d heard you as he moved closer to you.

His hand moved to cup your cheek, “Come on, I’m a Marine, I’ve got this. And I’ve got you. We’re going to get out  of here. I promise.” You nodded, moving to lean your head on his chest. You knew it would be bad if anyone caught you panicking but as Daeho's hands wound around your body you allowed yourself to take a few minutes to collect yourself. Perhaps it wasn’t normal to feel so much comfort from a friend, but you weren’t ready to dive into those feelings, not yet. “We don’t die.” He murmured against your hair. “We don’t die.” You repeated. He grinned at you before walking you over to your bunk, making sure nobody messed with you as you got sleep. 

The next game was a team game, Daeho took the lead in finding you a group, being the friendlier person in your duo. You’d somehow managed to end up with player 456 and player 001. You said a nervous hello and stuck close to your best friend. After you completed your task perfectly, the team cheated, Daeho pulling you in for a quick side hug as you marched forward. For a second, with his arm wrapped protectively around you, you almost forgot that you were fighting for your life inside these games. 

After the game had ended you stood with your newly found team, waiting for the next vote. You had all agreed to vote to go home again so when it was your turn to vote, you proudly hit that x and put the badge on your jacket. Almost as if on instinct, Daeho moved to stand next to you as you awaited the rest of the votes. As the final four players made their way to the front, your hand reached out, grabbing his, he gave you a squeeze in response. Your heart raced at the touch and you looked down at your entwined hands before meeting your best friends’ eye.

So, maybe you had a crush on your best friend, maybe that was why you were so afraid to lose him. Either way, this wasn’t the time to start admitting your feelings, so when he smiled at you you smiled back and pushed those thoughts down, hoping that these votes would go in your favor and you’d be able to go home. A groan rang out amongst your peers and you looked up to see that there was only one vote left and you’d lost. Your mouth hanging open in shock as you turned back to Dae.

Another game? Why would anyone want to stay here? “Let’s Go!” someone shouted from across the room and you looked around spotting the purple haired man high fiving his friend. Of course he’d be excited to stay. “Hey, look at me.” Daeho’s hand was under your chin moving your gaze back to him, your heart racing as you locked eyes. Daeho had always been in tune with your mood, and would do anything in his power to keep you calm and safe. You were the most important person in his life and even in a game of literal life and death he was going to do whatever it took to make sure you weren’t living in constant fear. “We’ll get through this one together too, okay?” You swallowed the lump in your throat refusing to let the rest of your team see you so defeated and nodded. “Yeah.” You agreed. 

“Let’s go get some food and talk strategy for the next time.” He held his hand out for you, a reassuring grin on his face and you eagerly took his hand following him to your new found team. You weren’t sure you wanted to be close to anyone else in the game, but you also knew you couldn’t keep Dae alive without some help so you were going to do whatever it took to keep him alive, even if that meant making nice with people who all had one goal in mind. You scooted closer to Daeho, your hand resting on his leg and he grinned at you as he started eating his food. You didn't care if you made it out of here or not, so long as he did.

[covenofagatha]

just realised that on Saturday supposedly the FFF (finger free february) started so now I'll make it my own personal goal to not touch myself for the whole month (ignoring the fact that I already lost the challenge lmao) and its gonna be so hard because you'll be writing and posting so many delicious filth and its gonna ruin me

ALSO, would you THINK reader would make it until the end of the month with g!p Agatha teasing them and making them squirm... 'innocently' brushing he cock against reader's ass, pressing gently against her and making her hiss almost in pain

Or also just being horny and dirty talking all day, for example during breakfast as they both take their coffee and maybe Agatha says "do you like how I made your coffee dear" and reader's like "of course, did you add cream today? It tastes a little.bit different?" And Agatha is smirking and shes smug and her eyes scream i need to bend you over the kitchen island while she says "yeah added MY cream" and you see her palming her cock though her pants and you just gulp and whine as you rub your legs together to get some friction but Agatha puts her hands firmly on your thighs and tuts "oh no darling, you're not supposed to touch yourself, in any way. First of all, it's because we both know that is only mommy's place to touch; second, it's February and it was you who told me you wanted to do this challenge"

She says all that as she gets up from her seat and nears you and whisper in the ear "You told me, no begged me to let you go through this, but never said anything about me teasing you to make you break. And I will break you. Like I always do, cause your role is just to be a whiny little puppy for mommy to use, isnt it?"

And then she just kind of lean and sucks a mark on your neck

btw this is not a request ask, I'd love to know if you had any headcanons about how this ^^^^ could work, because I personally think it would be so hot and frustrating and would be a clear example of how edging worksss and why it is so used

- ✒

I didn't know FFF was a thing (have we all failed?) but I absolutely love this idea and I would be MORE than happy to add some thoughts

It's January 31st, and you're scrolling on your phone in bed after Agatha just thoroughly fucked you, and you see a post about Finger Free February. Before you can think about it, you show Agatha and ask, "Think I could do it?" Agatha smirks and says there is no way you could last an entire month without her touch, so of course you have to commit

However, just the next day you come to regret it when you wake up and find Agatha jerking off next to you, staring at you. You can't resist trying to slide a hand into your pants to relieve some of the heat because watching her touch herself is just too hot, when she tuts and reminds you of the challenge. It's fucking torture when she has you take your shirt off and cums all over your tits and licks herself off while you're squirming underneath her and wondering if it counts if you cum without being touched

It seems like Agatha is just being mean on purpose now, grinding her cock into your ass each time she steps behind you (even when there is MORE than enough space where she doesn't have to touch you at all), pinching your nipples, sucking on your neck and whispering how much mommy misses your cunt in your ear

It's about eight days in when you start purposefully moving away from her whenever she comes near you because you physically can't take it anymore, and of course Agatha is by no means okay with this, so she bends you over her knee and spanks you until you're a sobbing, wet mess and apologizing profusely

"That's my good girl. I'm sorry that mommy is trying to get you to break - I just need you too bad. Come on, honey, let mommy touch you," she purrs and you almost give in right there, but you're ultimately too proud and too stubborn to give in

Not having your cunt available whenever she wants it is making Agatha really struggle too, so she ramps up her efforts to get you to break because at this point, she is also too horny that she can't think straight

She begs you while stroking her cock in front of you, telling you "Look how hard mommy is for you, mommy's cock needs you so bad, baby, please" and fuck, you've never been more wet and needy in your life but you're determined because it's been over half a month and you can't give in now

So you suck her off and she cums down your throat with a loud grunt and you should just throw out your pair of underwear because there's no coming back from how badly you just ruined them

The closest you come to breaking is when you're in the shower with three days to go (even just the thought of Agatha now has you soaked and aching to be filled) and she gets in too. You gasp, already dizzy with need at the proximity of her naked body and hard cock, and she pins you against the wall and kisses down your body and slides her cock in between your pussy lips to just grind her length against you and you think you might just be able to cum from how it feels to have her sliding against your clit and opening

Just before you give in and let your orgasm wash over you, she pulls back and you actually cry out. "You're so close to the end, honey. You can't quit now," Agatha says with a wink and frustrated tears sting your eyes.

On the 28th (thank god it's not a leap year), you start a countdown with a minute until midnight and the moment the clock strikes 12 on March 1st, you practically pounce on Agatha, who has also been eagerly waiting. She shoves two fingers inside you and strokes your clit and you instantly cum, having been on edge for an entire month

She makes you cum until you have to beg her to stop, and then just one more time for good measure because it's been too long and she wants to make sure that you're completely satiated

"Think you'll do it again next year?" she asks teasingly and you shake your head immediately because you know there's no way you could survive that long without her touching you again

But you absolutely cannot wait for No Nut November to turn the tables on her

[lvrgirl-inc]

Breakfast

&

୨ৎ Head ୨ৎ

pair. Gamer Husband!Satoru x m!reader

wc. 2.6k

genres. House husband, comfort(?), eating “motivation”, edging, whiny reader + Toru, “thank you for the meal” backshots, domestic, soft—mostly, finale. [I suggest a slight content warning given the eating discussion, though it’s not dark, I did want to give the disclaimer..!]

Gamer Husband!Satoru mlist

𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵

Gamer Husband!Satoru who’s missed breakfast more times than you can count. Constantly with the, “I’ll make some cereal later”, “It’s not that late yet—in a bit, babe.” that would earn a lecture of varying lengths from you each time.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who you’d actually had to sit down and talk to about this bad habit of skipping meals. Hand over his in a sit-down at the dinner table after you’d gotten home from work late one evening. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who was simply over the moon for your return—treating every “Honey, I’m home” as if you’d just come back from war. Only to find out that he was, in fact, not getting that oh-so syrupy love talk that you shower him….but another lecture on his worrying eating habits.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who—if he had ears and tail—almost looked like a kicked puppy when you’d expressed your concerns. A gentle, “I know you tend to…forget. But, my love, the gas station is not a valuable source of nutrients.” Damn. Following that, he might as well have whined

Gamer Husband!Satoru who just might’ve if it weren’t for the security of your fingers giving his hand a gentle squeeze. The look of endearment he gave you wasn’t even voluntary but instinctual for whenever he caught you sticking up for him—even if it was often against his own uprooting of his complete success.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who looks at you through those snowy lashes, batting them twice, thrice in your direction before officially meeting your firm gaze. He knows you’re serious about this and that only spurs on a stronger protrusion of his bottom lip. A mumbled, “You..usually do all the cooking. I don’t really…like eating without you,” and you knew it was true. “Makes the food taste bland, every chew seems to take forever and on because all I can think about is…how you’re not there.”

Gamer Husband!Satoru who you think might have heard the way your heart skipped a beat at those honest words. Sure, you two were only talking about eating properly and not stocking up on too many empty calories, but with how he phrased it—the tender on his slight lilt as he peered in a bit closer to you—it felt like..everything.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who took his hand up from both of yours, brushing back the tresses to settle behind your ear, letting his fingers linger there before sliding them along the crest of your jaw. A dreamy breath resting on his lips as he tried his best not to just stare at you for God knows how long. It was something he did often—just observing you in complete silence. Oh, you’re inquiring the reason? 

Because your presence was loud enough to him.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who has you flush-faced and swallowing down nervously amid a reluctant, faint smile. “.. ‘Toru…you’re not focused…” you rationalized, even as your eyes were unable to keep off his. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who gives you the doofiest quirk of his mouth corner, smiling at the obvious effect he was already having on you. “Me? Not focused? Come onnn, that doesn’t even sound like me…” he’d purr, leaning in to steal a kiss, only for his lips to make contact with the palm of your hand instead. Did he really think he was getting off that easy?

Gamer Husband!Satoru who you’d had to eventually have another, deeper conversation about the matter—or went over negations more like—winding up with the following arrangement: If he could manage to fill in the rest of the meals for himself, you’d make a point to share at least one with him.

Gamer Husband!Satoru whose idea of compromise concluded with a morning that you’d never soon forget—nor really wanted to. Sunlight dashing the bed as you lazily and groggily woke up beside your husband for once, having convinced him to sleep in with you since he typically ran off..what? Four hours? Yeah. 

  Gamer Husband!Satoru whose fluffy platinum white ruffles were always fun to scan your fingers through in such peaceful scenery. Eventually, you got up, letting your deep sleeping beauty catch an hour or two. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who didn’t stir even as you climbed out of bed, stretching your limbs and yawning quietly before rubbing tired eyes on the way to the bathroom. From there, doing the basic cleaning routine, you made your way to the kitchen. It wouldn’t be too bad to have your first day of the deal be breakfast. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who you eventually decided would benefit from it anyhow and then went on to unpack varying ingredients out of the fridge to prep a perfect meal to start off the day. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who always goes for sweets. Call it fast metabolism, workout routine or what—that man could eat. So, you, as his all-knowing spouse went ahead to make him a guilty pleasure of puffy pancakes, sidelined by a tropical fruit assortment, diced nicely. Humming sleepily and waking up as you went, you prepared that, along with a small smoothie from whatever didn’t make it into the mix.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who you, after a while, assumed would be up since it’d been a tad since you started the cooking process. Easily assembling the plate that you two were inevitably going to share and deftly cleaning up behind yourself as quietly as possible just to be sure that you wouldn’t wake him if he was still asleep.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who actually had just been joining consciousness when you walked in, feeling around the empty space beside him before seeing your face and caught the aroma wafting off the tray. “You..spoil me too much..” a half-awake Satoru mumbled in that slight snag that came with his morning voice.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who definitely didn’t expect this when you’d replied to that with, “Let me spoil you some more, then.” This, referring to being leaned up on the headboard, shakily holding his fork up to his mouth, sliding the plump, syrup-coated batter off the metal with his teeth. All the while with you just underneath the sheets with a mouth stuffed full of him.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who can feel how your lips stretch around his shaft, working hard to keep up the pace that was making that delicious, wet, slurping along his throbbing shaft. Making breathy moans fall from his lips in between his chewing. “F-fuck, babe..~”

Gamer Husband!Satoru whose shirt you pushed your fingers under, splaying them out across the smooth expanse. You could feel how his stomach was fluttering in time with how he throbbed on your tongue. Mumbled carefully, pulling your hair back a bit to look up at him—cheeks still stuffed full of him in the most erotic sight he’d ever seen, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, ‘Toru..~”

Gamer Husband!Satoru who can’t do anything but whine at your muffled gibe, mostly because your moans and voice created such sweet vibrations around his already-dripping cockhead from the back of your throat. He knows you were quite literally being a hypocrite, seeing as. Not a complaint fell though. All he could do is grip the sheets that lay beside him, trying his best to stay focused on the delectable meal and not the delicious feeling of your tongue becoming reacquainted with the powerful throb that now distracted him as he picked at his food some more. Eating was clearly the last thing on his mind.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who gets a bit too close, a bit too fast. Easily leaving you to pull off with a wet pop! When you felt the telltale way his balls started to draw up close to his body, how the stream of pre had only gotten more coarse when you started to deepthroat him properly. Poor thing, he was just simply shivering from your ministrations, obviously pouting strongly when the sensation had been lost just as he was inching his way closer to an orgasm. Only for you to take his cock up into your hand, giving it lazy strokes that were a glide, thanks to the efforts of your trachea. It was so nasty. So loud. Sticky shluck, shluck, over and over as the ring you’d created with your index and thumb ran from his tip to base in that agonizingly slow pace. “Ah, ahh. Come on, ‘Toruuu..y’know you’ve gotta finish your food before you can try to get any type of reward.”

Gamer Husband!Satoru who noted your emphasis on ‘any’ from a mile away. It was a double-edged sword, referring to the actual dessert that you’d had made and well…being able to cum. But oh when he rushed to finish, swallow down the last bite and lick the plate clean—that, he held your eye contact for—all while your fingers kneaded his swollen sac in one hand and the other was still pumping in earnest as you watched him. Though, maybe you should’ve been working more on getting him to calm down from his previous denial because boy did the payback hit different when he finally set the dish down on the sheets and proudly announced, “Alll donee.”

Gamer Husband!Satoru who decided to thank you for the meal in one of the best ways he knew how—gifting you with a niiice arch in your spine, pillow prince treatment and the good length of his dick sunk into your tight heat as you needlessly poured out his name over and over. Oh my, if you had predicted he’d treat it this way, you probably would have just microwaved a corndog or something. Though, you had much bigger ‘n better things on your mind right now. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who felt like he got bigger every time you fucked him. He didn’t but damn. With your own recoil and how you were being fucked stupid just from him leaning back a bit and pulling you back to meet his hips each time. Slick of lube dripping and making a spread between the fronts of his meaty thighs and the backs of yours, you didn’t even know what to do with yourself. And especially not when he was leaning down to press his sweaty chest against the similarity of your back.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who changed up his thrusts for a bit, driving you wild as a hand came up from your navel, past your chest and up to your throat—not choking, no, just holding you there and lifting your face up out of the silk pillowcases. Moaning into your ear, rutting into you with a deeeep grind against your prostate that had you gritting your teeth and shuddering whenever he hit it just right. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who’s never been afraid to show his gratitude nor his submissive side. Borderline fighting for his breath as his cock took its sweet time mapping out your ridged insides in a way that had you breathless, scratching down at sheets with broken pitches. He was just so grateful for you. For making him food, for motivating him to eat properly, for taking him sooo well. Oh, he just simply adored you. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who hasn’t shied away from talking you through it, licking a stripe up the column of your neck as he continued that sensual grind that had you seeing stars in no time. “Haah, thas’ it..uhuuuh..f-fuck, mhn..” groaned out between his thrusts in an effort to encourage you the best that he could. “My sweet fuckin’ hubby, makin’ me such..mmf- goood food to wake up, lettin’ me fuck this even sweeter ass..fuck…” the last lament before he was speeding up his pace again.

Gamer Husband!Satoru whose balls slapped up against your taint at a quicker pace as he worked you both toward climax. “T-there you go, yeahhh, yeahh, that’s the spot? Mhm? Oh, I knoww, baby..” he’d coo along, feeling how you tightened up noticeably around his cock when the crown of it swiveled its way right into your sweet spot repetitively, seemingly aiming for it. 

Gamer Husband!Satoru who most likely doesn’t even know the effect that he has on you, how he made your knees buckle and your jaw go slack, teetering on the edge of a shaking orgasm as you let out little “Right there”s and “I’m so close, so close”s. That was all the motivation that he really needed, that he’d ever really need from you to do anything. But right now, he took it as a sign to use his free hand to wrap around your underside, stroking your neglected, weeping cock in time with his thrusts that were becoming erratic and uncoordinated as his own release fast-approached.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who always likes finishing inside and who knows you love it just as much as him. Something about marking you up from the inside out that got him going real bad. So he made no effort to try and pull out, driving it home as he was ravaging your narrow channel with wild abandon, pounding you straight into the mattress and into climax. “.. ‘Toruuu, fuckin’ guh-! Cumming, ‘m fuckin’...mhn..!” weakly mewled out as your body finally tensed up, a few full-body quakes before you were finally spilling your load out over the sheets without a care in the world for the mess that you would have to clean up afterward.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who took the feeling of your cum spurting from your swollen tip as a sign that he could follow suit, going as far as to push you from a doggy position and down into a full prone bone. Completely seating himself in your boycunt as he let himself reach that pinnacle of pleasure inside.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who ground his pelvis down into you, furthering the intensity of your own ongoing climax as your fingers got a claw on the sheets beside your head. There would’ve been cartoonish swirls in your eyes had this not been your reality, so instead, they fell at a cross before rolling up and to a close.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who’s just so generously dumping ounce after ounce of his foamy strands into you, hips stuttering as he leaned his head back, letting the relief fully wash over him.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who got to listen to your needy whining come up as breathless and airy successions that gradually calmed down. Then came his least and most favorite part about your coupling—pulling out. Softened cock sliding inch by inch out of your sore hole before finally breaking away, dragging a connecting string of cum along with.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who’s just marveling at you, to which you pipe up. “Are we gonna..haah…do this every time..?” somewhere between a genuine question and a rhetorical at the same time.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who cocked his head off to the side, casting you an impish grin as he came to lay down next to you. Leaning in to kiss up on your neck, shoulders, all the way down your arm and stopping at your hand. More specifically, your ring. Placing rows of the tender contacts to the precious stone that adorned your finger.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who finally gives up an answer, “If anything, this arrangement would be sooo much better if we ate afterward. How do you feel about me cooking dinner tomorrow night?” a hopeful smile accompanying the innuendo that was too tempting to let up.

Gamer Husband!Satoru who winds up laughing in a small victory upon your murmured agreement, tugging you into his arms and peppering your face with even more kisses.

A little sweet tooth pampering got you far. Having a husband who would die for you twice over doesn’t hurt, either. At least you know he won’t be skipping any meals after this���

𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵

A/N: Hiya, this has been pretty fun to debut with, lol. Satoru is a personal favorite, obvi but I’m so dearly excited for the next after a hiatus. Head over to this guy @lvrboy-inc , heard he’s crawling out from the ground to deliver some more fetching works while I take to B.T.S. ‘Till next time~

[esotericfaeryfeminism]

I do think women tend to look strange (like aliens) or ugly with makeup on.

What I find really sad, is the ones who are so used to wearing it all the time, that they've destroyed their skin and now they wear makeup to not look like they're wearing makeup.

Young women, please just don't wear makeup in the first place. Don't start yourself into this obsessive, expensive habit of pandering to patriarchy, and giving yourself health problems that go beyond bad skin. Men aren't worth that, and you're worth so much more.

Most men (even if "only" subconsciously) view women who wear makeup as performing for them the way porn actors and prostitutes do.

I'd rather be considered ugly to everyone, than a desired rape victim.

While of course all of the blame for all rape lies with the rapist, that doesn't mean we have to make ourselves look like we're trying to attract them.

And, not that I would ever recommend that even straight women should take a chance on creatures with such high crime stats, but if you're going to keep dating them, cultivate your confidence in other ways. Learn new hobbies, sports if you want (but definitely self-defense) & muscle up. Read books or listen to podcasts about whatever interests you, to grow your mind too.

Do it for YOU primarily, and learn all of the red flags. The first time a red flag appears, don't be like me for decades and try to justify it with stuff other women have told you about how, "men are just like that".

Get toys if your hands bore you, and fantasize about fictional men. Your pleasure is always more important anyway. One of many reasons for why women are superior is that we're blessed with the easy ability to have multiple orgasms without penetration. There's never any need to deliberately risk pregnancy, as condoms break.

Before I realized I was (the original and real definition) of asexual (for those who think it only happens due to abuse, I have secretly known I had no real sexual attractions to others before I experienced sexual abuse), I felt deeply flawed because I wasn't attracted to anyone. I spent years trying to fake it til I made it by having a few relationships with men. Because that's what all people are brainwashed from birth to do. This is similar to how lesbians and gays have beards, because society is not designed to meet their needs with the equal compassion which they deserve.

However, as we're living in a world of people with sex drives which are aligned towards others, my view is unique in that I naturally (and healthily) lack the drive to attract a partner.

I do appreciate that most women are not asexual, and so there are more driven and easily programmed reasons for why many continue to pander to patriarchy, or mask as non-radfems by wearing makeup.

I think as women we should all try to consider that people may have valid reasons for that behaviour. Maybe where they live they get less (or no) unwanted male attention for masking through wearing makeup.

Makeup-obsessed girl: You have nice skin. What's your routine?

Me: Hot water and soap.

Makeup-obsessed girl: ...Oh. Have you ever thought of just using eye makeup? I can show you the best type of concealer and best colours for you.

Me: No thanks.

Makeup-obsessed girl: Come on, are you sure? You said you're single, well, you want to stand out, right?

Me: No. I'm happy single.

Makeup-obsessed girl: ...What about your eye-brows? I know a quick -

Me: I said no thanks. I think everyone looks better without makeup. Wear it if you want, even though it's unhealthy because it ages skin and contains harmful chemicals linked to health problems. I see no reason to be ashamed of my natural face, and I don't care that some people think I'm ugly. Nature is beauty and as a part of nature, I'm beautiful.

~

The brainwashing to tow the line for patriarchy is sad in all kinds of ways. Usually when I have this kind of conversation, the other woman reacts as if I'm being rude for stating a preference and trying to prompt her to research the harmful effects of makeup.

And if I thought it was a friendship that was developing, then it goes nowhere.

The wild animals who coercively rape them are fawned over, yet the rest of us women who don't sacrifice our own dignity to fit in and put our throats up for men to slice, are discarded.

[luigifan1998]

Hey idk where u manifested from but i love ur blog and i love u. Ur writing for wife hc’s left me devastated, 1,000% agree with all of it. That man is a fucking mess who wants to crawl under ur skin and it’s so sexy.

Thought I’d love for you to entertain: College Lu pining over u, the prettiest girl in one of his lecture hall classes. Him being so pathetically down bad for you he’s stalking ur social media desperately to find out more about u as a person, trying to see what direction ur off to after class, looking for u all around campus. Not knowing ur going insane doing the exact same thing in regards to him, because i am also willing to die on the hill that this man NEEDS to feel intoxicated off a mysterious gorgeous deviant mentally ill girl he’s plotting to speak to any day now.

this is so sweeeeet smooches you

you get the vision. growing up in such a prestigious family, an italian one at that, has instilled a fatal flaw within him. hes a morbid longer. source: trust me

morbidly longing for something he cannot find, did not find in high school, failed to access in college, could not obtain in maryland, hawaii, japan. hes soooo "its not a metaphor, this ache". much of his life has been about perfection and following rigid societal practices. he wants something disgusting and consuming and nauseatingly complex. my sweet im your man by mitski boy

in regards to the second part, his infatuation for you is anything but cathartic. hes losing sleep, losing focus. he cannot string a coherent thought together, much less engage in banter with his social circle. he pulls back and into the recesses of his mind that allow the perverse nature of his adoration to overtake him. his friends are relieved, assuming hes finally succumbed to the exhaustion from making himself available to everyone. theyre happy he can find rest. they dont know that the nauseating and near animalistic drive to check your internet presence is something hes sodden with shame over. he feels like a fraud for writing about the importance of divorcing ones self from the modern cellular device. despite it, the practice of poised fingers as to not alert you of his invisible attendance is something his resilience in the protest of social media has become soft to. knowing its wrong, pathetic, inappropriate, he feels like he has to punish himself in some way. in the ever-rare moments he finds himself alone, he touches himself and he doesn't allow for completion. invites the pressure build within, increased sensitivity and a gnawing desperation for release. he doesnt let himself be reduced to the inability to control himself from spilling into his cupped hand and down his cotton briefs until hes seen you in real life. a gift to himself. walking to class, talking to a mutual friend, swaying back and forth as you wait in line in the dining hall. this reverence is not sustainable without more give, and he is wearing like loved linens

hiding the way you feel for him is, in many ways, easier. you escape into buildings for majors you have never heard of when you spot him walking in your direction. you cherish the blessing of being able to use your hair as a curtain in which to protect yourself from the prospect of being perceived when in close proximity to him through your mutual friends congregating sporadically throughout the campus. you blame various ailments for reasons as to why you cannot go to gatherings you had previously agreed to attending. its heavy, this curse of needing. you want to drop to your knees and crawl to him, taking his fingers into your mouth and letting the love-conditional curse break, but you dont. cant. wont let it. it feels too good to have this private affliction be something you own. darkness on a leash, locked into a tower only you have access to. when nobody knows how you feel, not even him, he can be yours

[ghostofreach]

IM NOT DEAD🔥🔥🔥

I’m not sick and dying anymore so I’m getting back on the grind🙏🙏🙏 have an old ref sheet of my diluc redesign (with some minor changes) that I just finished (finally lmfaoooo)

This is actually bad news for me because now I don’t have an excuse to draw him inconsistently 💔💔

Ignore the misspelling. NEOW……

Anyway I’m gonna talk about his design because i can 💯

Major points/changes

- he is no longer a twig. Very self explanatory this guy has a big awesome claymore I cannot convince myself that he doesn’t have the means to swing that thing around (one handed no less)

- I darkened his color palette, but I also made it a bit warmer in nature. The pure white right in the middle is a bit distracting and I don’t think it does much to communicate his personality. It just breaks up his design in a way I don’t like.

- scars, yes, but also stitches on his face. I imagine it’s new bruises, stitches, or scabs every week. I know it makes his face just a taaad busy, but idk. Ive been drawing that headcannon for forever atp so I try to accommodate that busyness with lots of flat color by the face to balance everything out

- Just a hint of embroidery here and there. It implies culture and adds just a bit of softness to the design (most of it is on the shawl underneath the fur)

Specific details I want to talk about!

The white fur shawl/scarf/neck warmer/make up a word idk💔

- this serves multiple purposes both thematically and visually

- it creates a ‘barrier’ around his face, not unlike the protective walls that border Mondstadt. It serves to imply his personality without dialogue, a bit closed off and skeptical at first. Almost as if he is trying to shield his peripherals from oncoming foes.

But it is still a soft barrier, and can be easily peeled away to reveal a very kind person at heart.

- it emphasizes the square shape. Not much to say there. Makes his shape language a bit more interesting as well by introducing a softer shape near the top.

- looks a bit like snow, no? Almost like snezhnaya still weighs heavy on his shoulders.

- underneath the fur is a faded red shawl from his mother. The only parts visible from the outside are those golden tassels. I like this bit a lot because it implies that (in reference to the point above) he doesn’t really know a whole lot about his mother or father- it’s buried under mounds of snow. The only thing he has truly been left is their wealth. He’s gonna have to dig if he wants to know their true nature.

-it contrasts very well with the Fatui. Where the harbingers have their signature white coats with black fur, Diluc wears a black coat with white fur

The coat

- it’s wind resistant for sure but also a bit… warm. It’s very thick and long and you can’t actually see a lot of what’s underneath. He’s only showing the viewer a sliver of what’s underneath. Under the rest of the coat? It could be anything. Knives, his vision, maybe even a gun? (Correct assumptions)

-it leaves the average onlooker with a lot of questions but is also very convenient in a fight. Can’t block a surprise knife to the liver if you never even knew he had one on his person.

Miscellaneous

- layers are super prevalent in his design. Especially on his face. From the makeup to the contact, he’s trying really, really hard to convince everyone he is fine (WRONG‼️) the people closest to can tell something is off, but… who are they to say anything?

- the nail polish was initially added because I thought it was funny but I also think it could be effective as a last resort in a fight. Imagine you’re in a fight with a guy and he ignites his fingernails. Scary af.

…I realize that’s probably not possible but it’s really cool so I’m just gonna suspend my belief.

Here’s some hair stuff. I wanna write about mondstadt hair lore in my au/rewrite bc it rots my brain but I have so many wips I gotta do those first

[awriterinthenight]

"Well I Missed You Too."-Megumi Fushiguro

words: 946

warnings: kissing, megumi makes reader sad, that's it also i'm trying writing for a new fandom so enjoy

summary: How Megumi changes how he shows affection to you

Whether it was kissing, hugging, or even just holding your hand, Megumi was always too shy to show you affection in public. He'd do small acts like buying your favorite snack from the vending machines, or grabbing something out of your reach. But never did he do anything that involved touching you in any way, since it made him blush, and he didn't want people, especially Gojo, teasing him about how red his face got.

You'd first learned about his aversion to PDA when you first started dating. You were training with the 2nd years, when Itadori had taken a nasty hit from Maki. While you knew he was fine, it still worried you, so your hand instinctively grabbed Megumi's without thinking. When you were in private he always held you in some way, so you thought he'd be ok with this.

Instead of him grabbing your hand back or squeezing it comfortably. He immediately froze and stiffened at the contact, his face turning bright red. He dropped your hand, turning away so you couldn't see his face. You were left confuse as to what you did wrong. Maybe he just didn't expect it, or maybe he didn't think you needed to grab his hand. Either way it brought down your mood for the day.

Megumi knew you weren't ok, no matter how many times you said you were fine. He knew that wasn't a good sign. So there Megumi was after school standing in front of your door knocking. After a minute or two you swung your door open, Megumi speaking before you could.

"Did I do something?" he asked, his head hung low, surprising for someone usually so stoic.

You were shocked for a moment before regaining your composure, letting Megumi into your room, and closing the door behind you.

"Yes, well no," you stumbled, unable to find your words, "It's just, when you dropped my hand I-I felt bad. I thought I did something wrong," you admitted.

Megumi let out a breath, taking a step closer to you, "I didn't mean to make you feel like that. I like holding your hand, I swear. I just don't like being like that in front of people."

"I understand that," you said, nodding your head, "I just wish you'd told me, so I wouldn't have felt so embarrassed."

Megumi placed a kiss on the top of your head before he spoke, "I'm sorry, and I promise I will from now on."

Affection from Megumi shifted a bit the more you knew each other. Of course really all the kissing took place in private, or anything really affectionate. But slowly Megumi didn't mind holding your hand in front of your guy's friends, or placing a small kiss on the top of your head.

Megumi started to grow into the habit of either placing his arm around the back of your chair, or keeping his hand on your thigh. The more he was with you, the more he liked knowing that you were with him.

Recently he seemed to grow out of his shy shell. Before training started he would sometimes come up behind you, placing his hands on your waist, then planting a kiss on the top of your head. Sometimes he'd casually walk up behind you when you were talking to someone, and he would snake his arm around your waist.

Today he'd come back from a mission with Itadori and Kugasaki. You'd been forced to stay behind, recovering from an injury of a past mission. The second he saw you, he pulled you into his arms, burying your head into his chest. He'd missed you so much on the mission all he thought about was going back to you. His hand slid through your hair, the other holding you tightly against him.

"Is everything okay? Did something happen?" you asked, concerned since he never showed this much affection in front of people. Gojo was only a few feet away, and usually Megumi hated showing affection to you in front of Gojo, since he always got teased for it.

Megumi shook his head, tilting your chin forward, "No, nothing happened. I just missed you," he confessed.

"Oh," you exclaimed, surprised he was like this from just missing you, "Well I missed you too."

Unfortunately Gojo's loud voice ruined the moment when he shouted, "Get a room," before practically skipping over to the two of you. Megumi scowled, while you shook your head, finding his antics funny.

"So, I was thinking," Gojo said, swinging an arm around you two, and walking with you, "Why don't I treat you guys to dinner. By that I mean you two can go out and I'll pay," he offered, chuckling a bit for some reason no one understood.

Megumi rolled his eyes, "I don't need you to pay. I'm staying in tonight, I'm too tired to go out."

"I try to do something nice and I get denied. If you don't want me and my money I'll just leave," Gojo muttered, walking away from you too.

Megumi slid his arm around your waist, leaning on you a bit. He was tired and just wanted to sleep and rest. Eventually you and him got to his dorm, lying down on his bed.

It was quiet till Megumi broke the silence, "I'm too tired to take you out tonight, but I'll take you on a date tomorrow," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "I really did miss you."

You snuggled closer to him, wrapped up in his arms, "I missed you too, and I can't wait." You gave him a small kiss before falling asleep to the sound of his breathing

Ask to be added to taglist, I'm keeping this one separate from my other one

[copperbadge]

Hi CB! I've followed your work for a while and I'm curious - I've seen that you do many times on a repetitive and consistent manner.......how? By the love of gods, how? What is this magic? Is it inherited? Genetic? Signed, please-halp

Hey, thanks for reading! I think you may have missed a word in the ask so I am taking a best guess at what you were inquiring about, but I'm guessing you were asking about consistent and repeat ability to write and post fiction? Gosh that sounds egotistical of me but I used to be known for being prolific and I think I'm still known for, if not having the BEST prose, at least having the ability to be of consistent quality. :)

The good news is that it is neither magic nor genetic, and one of those things that anyone can achieve -- it just takes time and a bit of effort. The secret is that I wasn't always even a good writer; what I have always been is a passionate writer. My early fanfic, from fourteen to eighteen, was actually very bad. But I did it a lot. It's hard to get truly good at something if you aren't passionate about it because you won't want to do it so often that you get good at it, but fortunately I fell in love with it. And once you're good at something you do want to do it all the time!

In my teens I wrote absolutely tons of fanfic, and if you were to read it (you can't, it's not under my name and some of it is lost to the ages) you could actually see me improving, because I started out so terribly bad. We're talking "Multiple people speaking in one paragraph" bad. But I kept writing and took feedback and when I went to college I took classes (I had a kind of unofficial minor in playwriting, including having several short plays produced) and when I came back to fandom after college I was...decent. And this you can trace, if you start reading at the start of my AO3 account where all my fanfic since 2003 is stashed; you can see I used to be more awkward in my prose, my pacing wasn't as good, what I considered relevant to include for the story wasn't as polished as it is now.

So, there are almost five million words on my AO3 account, which doesn't include anything I wrote before 2003; I'm forty-five and started writing when I was just shy of fifteen. This will be my thirtieth year writing fiction in April. If you spend that much time writing, even if you don't necessarily TRY to improve, you will learn and grow. And you learn how your own creative process works and how to wrestle with that, so you become consistent simply because you gain a kind of mental muscle-memory.

The thing is, quality and consistency is nice, but it's not necessary to enjoy either fandom or fanfic, or even writing. If you love to write, that's the best thing; you will bring yourself joy. It's one reason I never even considered making a career as a writer, because I didn't want my joy to become my job. That's not to shit on professional writers by ANY means, I have several as friends and of course I admire many well-known authors. But for me, it was important to preserve the parts I loved best, and I didn't think I could do that and still try to get a paycheck from it.

So the trick of quality, consistent writing is to love it enough to do it until you develop your skills and grow as an artist. But the real trick of any artistic expression is to love it for itself, to put heart into your work, and to do everything you can to protect what gives you pleasure. Quality and consistency are nice but if you love what you do they really, eventually, cease to matter. :)

[shaymincafe]

Ask Karma

Okay so since we're dispensing advice into the community for our newer members, I thought I'd throw my hat into the ring with an ask blog etiquette item that I think people have somewhat neglected recently: ask karma.

Ask karma is the practice of sending asks back to people who have sent you one. When someone sends you an ask, it is generally expected that you will send one back in return. It is to your mutual benefit to do this since now not only do both of you have asks in your inbox to work with, but it also exposes your blogs to each others' followers and can potentially gain you new readers.

Ask Calls are a Two-Way Street

Generally speaking, when someone makes an ask call, you should view it as a quid pro quo situation. Unless the person explicitly states in the post otherwise, they usually wants asks back in return for the ones they're sending out. While this is not always the case, like with me where I have way too many asks already and don't need more, more often than not, this is the expectation and it's bad form to not do so.

It's the equivalent of borrowing someone's pencil in school and never giving it back. At the end of the day, it's not super consequential, but the person whose pencil you just took isn't going to be super happy that they gave that to you and got nothing in return. You feel me?

This is especially true for written blogs, who I have noticed tend to get hit by this the most. Written blogs can get through their posts a lot faster than most art blogs and therefore need asks more often. But they also tend to get a lot fewer asks!

I experienced it myself during the PokeAskMagi event where I sent out around 20 asks from @askthewhiterocket and got back 7 in total for the entire event. By comparison, Shaymin Cafe also sent out around 20 asks and got approximately 12 in return. Not a lot more but it's still a better ROI especially consider Shaymin Cafe was the far less active of the two blogs during the event.

Everyone who sent an ask to Ask the White Rocket also sent one to Shaymin Cafe, despite the majority of the blogs I interacted with getting asks from BOTH of my blogs. In addition, during my final ask call for Ask the White Rocket, I got 1 ask in return for like 5 sent out, even after explicitly stating that the inbox was empty and I wanted asks.

I realize Shaymin Cafe is a popular blog and since I had two blogs, people probably ended up just sending an ask to the more popular blog of the two since Shaymes is a fun character and such. But the same thing happened last year when Shaymes wasn't even an active character and I was really only answering asks from Kyo's blog. To be quite frank, that's unfair to the written blogs, and unfair to me too.

It takes time to send asks. Ask hints make it easier, sure, but not everyone has them. Additionally, not all ask hints are incredibly straight forward. Some require you to read a bit in the blog's backlog if you aren't familiar with it to craft an ask that a person can work with (this is why I tend to link stuff with my ask hints). Some people might also want to double check the rules of a blog first or read up on the characters to ensure they're not sending a human character to a blog that doesn't allow them, or a Gengar to a character with trauma from ghost-types without expressed permission from the creator first. This goes doubly so when you're sending asks out from multiple blogs, like I was during the event.

That effort should not go unrewarded, so the least you can do is send an ask in return! It's just good manners.

This also goes for Munday asks

Admittedly, I am pretty bad about this myself, so we're going a little pot calling kettle black, BUT it's generally good form to also send Munday asks back to people who send them to you. Now if they're not open to Munday asks or w/e then no sweat it's fine, but let's be real, we all like to yap. We all like to talk about our characters. We all enjoy answering Munday asks, so spread the love and send asks back to people who send them to you.

Part of the reason I don't really make the effort to send out Munday asks much anymore and part of why I don't open for Munday as frequently either is candidly I got very tired of sending out like a dozen Munday asks to everyone I saw open for Mundays and then getting like... 2 in return. There were a couple weeks back in like July-August were I quite literally got 0 Munday asks, and it was incredibly disheartening. Like, don't get me wrong, I enjoyed coming up with questions for other people, but it was also a total downer to sit there the entire day waiting for asks to come in and then never getting any. Not even one asking how my day was or how my weekend went. Total and complete silence.

And sure, thinking of questions is hard, I get it! You wanna know my secret? When I was sending out Munday asks regularly, I googled first date questions or improv icebreakers. There's so many great questions to ask people from those. Sure, they can be be incredibly shallow and I'm sure any veteran ask blogger whose been at this a while has probably asked and answered whether they like coffee or tea better. But I'd rather answer that ask for like the fourth time than get nothing because then I'd at least get the opportunity to talk about my thoughts on both for a minute.

This also goes quadrupley so for the memes. There are times where I see people reblogging memes and going the whole day without any interaction because they're a smaller blog. And I'll admit, I straight up have sometimes gone on anon and sent them like three asks back to back because I didn't want them to feel like no one cared about them or their characters. They deserve to get a bunch of asks too, that's part of the fun!

And I think with memes the not sending asks in return is far less excusable because usually there's emojis or numbers that you can literally just copy and paste into the ask box. I cannot tell you how many times I saw blogs I'd never met before reblogging a meme post and it took me all of five minutes to go pick a random emoji and a name from their cast page and drop that into their inbox. It is quite literally that easy.

You should also, generally speaking, send an ask to the person you got the meme from too. Whether they were the one who created it or simply just brought it into popularity, sending them an ask for the meme is a nice way to say thank you for letting you use it too. It took time and effort to create and/or find that meme, and I guarantee you they did not do it simply because they wanted other people to use it on their own blogs. They did it so THEY could answer asks from it on their OWN blog. So give them the opportunity to!

FAQ

The blog I want to send an ask to has (insert species of character) and my blog doesn't interact with that (or vice versa).

That's fine! You don't have to send an ask in character if you don't want to. Sure that's the norm, but if the casts of your blogs are incompatible for some reason, then by all means just don't send an in character ask.

The blog I want to send an ask to doesn't have readily available/up to date asks hints.

You have a couple options here. You can read back through the blog to see what has recently happened to get a feel for what might be a good ask. If you're lucky maybe they'll have a taglist somewhere that'll make backtracking easy. But if not, skimming is fine too. Otherwise, just directly DM the blog and ask them what kind of ask they want. I've done this several times and that can be a great way to get a blog exactly what ask their looking for.

The blog I want to send a Munday ask to is doing a meme I don't want to engage with.

Send them a normal question then! I guarantee you they wouldn't be opposed to answering something opposed to the meme, and even if they don't respond, they'll at least know you tried to return their ask.

The blog that sent me an ask said in their ask call they don't want asks in return.

No need to send one back then! If they said they don't want any, then they aren't expecting any in return. I do this all the time! Sometimes we just like sending out asks for fun and that's a-okay!

The blog I want to send an ask to has closed their inbox.

That's okay! In this instance, it is perfectly reasonable to not send an ask in return. If they've closed their inbox, they're likely not expecting asks back. So you're totally in the clear to not send one in return. No need to go crawling through their submission box to send one in (people actually don't usually like this). Just maybe keep an eye out in the future for if their inbox reopens!

Unless they like explicitly made a post asking for asks within like the last day. In that case please tell them because they probably forgot to open it again (happens more often than you think).

The blog I want to send an ask to doesn't have an organization system making their story, characters, hints, and other materials used in ask crafting difficult to find.

In that case, the burden lies with that blog, not you. Organization is EXTREMELY important. Skins covers this a bit in their ask blog advice post. Having easily accessible tag lists, ask hints, and casts pages can really help with getting asks sent your way. In the same way it isn't fair to someone to not send asks in return, it's equally unfair to make someone scroll through a bunch of meme reblogs just find materials to send an ask with.

The best you can do in this situation is message the blog to ask them for what they want. But if the materials to craft the ask aren't readily available to you, that is on them not you.

In short, please exercise Ask Karma. If someone sends you an ask, please send one back! Thank you!