#it's something I've never seen talked about!

[flux1563]

FIRST OF ALL

tags : squirting, anal, pussy gaping, ass gaping, golden shower, kidnapping, gangbang

Words : 9k

Kim Minju was a picture of poise and elegance as she stepped onto the crimson carpet. Her heart raced in time with the flashing bulbs of the paparazzi cameras. She had spent hours perfecting her makeup and selecting the right dress, a delicate dance of silk that whispered around her legs with every step she took. The air had excitement, the kind that only comes from a night of glitz and glamour.

Minju's eyes searched the sea of faces, looking for her manager, Mr. Park. He was always there, guiding her through the labyrinth of smiles and small talk that made up these events. Tonight was no different; the award show promised to be a pivotal moment in her career. She had been nominated for Best Supporting Actress, and the buzz surrounding her performance was electric.

As the final award was announced, Minju felt a strange sense of calmness wash over her. It was almost as if the world had gone mute, the only sound being the rhythmic beating of her heart. Her name wasn't called. She forced a smile and clapped for the winner, her thoughts racing. Was she disappointed? Yes. But she also knew she had given her all. It was a learning experience, another stepping stone in her journey.

Mr. Park, noticing her expression, gave her a reassuring pat on the back as they exited the venue. The cool evening air was a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of the auditorium. She took a deep breath, the scent of her favorite gardenia perfume lingering faintly on the breeze. The car was waiting, a sleek black sedan, its engine humming quietly.

When Minju opened the door, she was shocked to find four men already inside, leaving only one seat for her. They were strangers, their faces unfamiliar and expressions unreadable. Panic began to creep in as she scanned the vehicle. One man, tall and broad-shouldered, took up the entire backseat, his arms crossed over his chest. Another, with piercing eyes and a sharp jawline, sat next to him, his legs stretched out, filling the space. The remaining two were in the front, both dressed in black suits, one driving, the other glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

Mr. Park's voice was firm, but not unkind, as he urged her to sit down. "Just for tonight, Minju," he said, his eyes holding a glint of excitement she hadn't seen before. "I've arranged something special to cheer you up." She hesitated, the situation feeling eerily wrong, but his assurance washed over her like a warm blanket, and she found herself slipping into the car, the door closing with a soft thud that echoed through her mind.

The man with the sharp jawline leaned closer and placed a cool, damp cloth over her eyes. "Don't worry, Miss," he said, his voice smooth and reassuring. "This will help you relax." The scent of mint filled her nose, and she felt a gentle pressure on the back of her neck. Her eyes grew heavy, and she didn't fight it. The last thing she heard was the soft rumble of Mr. Park's voice, promising that she'd be safe.

When Minju's eyes fluttered open again, the world was a blur. Her senses slowly returned, and she realized she was no longer in the car. The scent of the mint cloth lingered, but it was replaced by the faint smell of fresh paint and new carpets. She felt the cushioned leather beneath her, and the murmur of distant voices grew clearer. Her head swam with confusion as she tried to sit up, her body feeling weightless and disoriented.

The man with the piercing eyes and sharp jawline was the first to come into focus. He offered her a warm smile, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about the situation. "Welcome to your surprise, Miss Kim," he said, his voice now a gentle purr. The room she was in was dimly lit, with walls lined with bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes she knew she would never read. The floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the twinkling lights of the city skyline, a stark contrast to the cozy cocoon she found herself in.

"Where am I? What's going on?" she asked, her voice wavering with uncertainty. The men exchanged glances, and Mr. Park stepped forward, his own smile a little too forced. "You're in a safe place, Minju," he assured her. "We're just taking a small detour from the usual post-show festivities." The room spun, and she had to grip the armrest of the chair to steady herself. "But why? Where is everyone else?"

"Tonight, you're ours," the man in the backseat said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. He leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him, watching her with a hunger she couldn't place. "We've got a special evening planned for you."

Before Minju could protest, two of the men had moved swiftly and grabbed her hands, their grip firm and unyielding. The other two approached her from either side, and with a quick jerk, they began to rip at the delicate fabric of her gown. She gasped as the dress gave way, revealing her bare skin. The material fell around her in a pool of silk, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. A part of her wanted to scream, to fight, but she was paralyzed, her mind racing with the implications of this nightmare unfolding before her.

Her attempts to struggle were met with laughter from the men, their grips tightening around her wrists and ankles as they easily overpowered her. Despite her training in self-defense, she found herself utterly helpless. The man with the sharp jawline leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "You're not going anywhere, Miss Kim," he whispered, his fingers digging into her skin. Panic set in, and she tried to pull away, but her efforts were futile against their collective strength.

The AC in the room hummed softly, blowing cold air across her exposed skin. Goosebumps prickled along her arms and legs, and she shivered. The two men who had been holding her hands moved to her sides, each placing a hand on the clasp of her bra. The anticipation was palpable, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. With a flick of their thumbs, her bra fell away, leaving her bare and vulnerable before them. The cool air from the vent kissed her skin, making her nipples peak, and she felt a warm rush of embarrassment spread through her.

The man with the piercing eyes and sharp jawline leaned in and captured one of her nipples in his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive flesh. She gasped, her eyes flying open. The shock of his touch was like a bolt of lightning, sending a jolting mix of fear and a strange, unwelcome arousal through her body. The tall, broad-shouldered man on the other side of her followed suit, his mouth moving down her stomach to the edge of her panties. The warmth of his breath sent shivers down her spine, and she tried to squirm away, but the other two held her firmly in place.

"Please stop," she managed to whimper, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please, I'll do anything." The men laughed, their grips tightening even more as they continued to explore her body. The man at her breasts bit down gently, and she felt the sharp sting of pain followed by a warm wetness as he sucked. Her body responded despite her mind's screaming protest, and she couldn't help the soft moan that escaped her lips.

The man between her legs spoke up, his voice gruff with excitement. "It's getting wet here, are you sure you don't want to do this?" The question hung in the air, thick with malice and lust. Minju felt a rush of cold dread as she realized the gravity of her situation. Her body was betraying her, her arousal growing against her will. She knew she had to find a way out of this, to regain control.

With surprising strength, she jerked her legs up, catching the tall man off guard. He stumbled back, cursing under his breath. The man with the sharp jawline released her nipple with a wet pop, his eyes narrowing. "Feisty, aren't we?" He said, smiling wickedly. Before she could react, the two men holding her down had torn away her last shred of dignity, leaving her panties in their hands. They tossed them aside, revealing her shaved pussy to their hungry gazes.

The second man, the one who had been watching her struggle with a twisted smile, leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Wow, you treat your pussy so well, Minju. It's like a sweet, ripe peach." His words were like a slap in the face, a cruel twist to the knot in her stomach. She had never felt so exposed, so violated. Yet, she couldn't ignore the way her body responded to his voice, the way her clit throbbed at his words.

The first man's wild suckling grew more intense, his teeth grazing her sensitive nipple, sending jolts of pain and pleasure through her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, the taste of blood mingling with the mint from the cloth. The man between her legs chuckled, his breath warm and humid against her inner thigh. "I can see why they call it a peach," he murmured, his tongue tracing the delicate folds of her sex. She felt his rough hands spread her open, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to be anywhere but here.

Minju moaned "ahh..." as the second man's tongue replaced his fingers, delving into her with a fervor that made her toes curl. His expertise was clear, his touch calculated to elicit the maximum response from her traitorous body. Her hips bucked, trying to escape the sensation, but the men held her in place, their laughter echoing through the room. She could feel herself getting wetter, a betrayal that only served to fuel their excitement. The man at her breasts took his cue, his teeth nipping at the soft flesh before his tongue soothed the sting.

"I can't, please stop," she gasped, the words barely coherent. She felt the man holding her hand tighten his grip, his thumb stroking her palm in a mockery of comfort.

"Are you going to cum, Minju?" he asked, his tone a blend of amusement and demand. Her heart raced as she felt the pressure building inside her, the man's relentless mouth on her sex pushing her closer to the edge she desperately wanted to avoid. Her body was a maelstrom of conflicting sensations, each touch and kiss sending waves of both fear and arousal crashing through her.

"Noo," she whimpered, trying to pull away, but her body was a traitor. Her hips bucked upward, seeking more, and she could feel the wetness of her pussy smearing against the leather chair. The man between her legs took this as an invitation, his tongue swirling around her clit with the precision of a maestro. The sensation was overwhelming, and she knew she was going to come.

"It's so much, I can't take it," she gasped out, her voice trembling. The man's mouth was relentless, his tongue flicking and stroking with a ferocity that had her nails digging into the armrest. The man at her breasts took the opportunity to bite down harder, the sting of pain sending her spiraling into a whirlwind of sensation. She felt the first wave of her orgasm building, her breath hitching in her throat.

The dam broke, and she squirted, her juices spraying out like a fountain, drenching the man's face and soaking the chair beneath her. Her legs shook violently, and she screamed out her climax, unable to hold back any longer. The men laughed, their grips loosening slightly in amazement. The one who had been teasing her clit looked up, her fluids dripping from his chin, a look of triumph in his eyes. "Look at that," he said, his voice thick with lust. "Our little peach is ripe for the picking."

The room spun as Minju's body convulsed through the orgasm she hadn't wanted to give them. She felt their hands on her, touching her everywhere, their breath hot and ragged in her ears. Her mind was a tumult of thoughts, a mix of horror and unwanted pleasure. "You're such a squirter, Minju," the man whispered, his voice a mix of awe and disgust. "And a slut." The word hung in the air, a knife twisting in her gut.

Her legs felt like jelly, but they released her, and she collapsed onto the floor, her ass up and her face down. The cool leather was a stark contrast to the heat of the room, the heat of her body. She trembled, her breath coming in ragged gasps, the fabric of the chair sticking to her sweat-slicked skin. The men stepped away, giving her a moment of respite, their eyes still hungry as they took in the sight of her exposed body.

Minju's mind raced as she lay on the floor, her body still quaking from the forced climax. She knew she had to find a way out of this nightmare, but her limbs felt like lead. The sound of a zipper echoed through the room, and she felt the panic rising again. Before she could even process the thought, the man with the sharp jawline had scooped her up and placed her on the chair, straddling him. Her legs were shaking, but she felt the unyielding grip of the other man as he stood behind her, his erection pressing into her back.

The tall, broad-shouldered man took position in front of her, his own arousal evident as he unbuckled his belt.

Minju's eyes widened in horror as she saw the massive erection sprouting from his pants, the tip glistening with precum. He mustered a twisted smile as he took his cock in hand and began to stroke it, his eyes never leaving hers. The sight was overwhelming, a monstrous spectacle that made her knees go weak. The thought of that thing inside her was unbearable, but she knew she had no choice. She braced herself, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt the first man's hands spreading her thighs wider. The head of his cock nudged against her wetness, the sheer size of it making her quiver with dread.

With a cruel chuckle, he pushed the tip in, stretching her pussy to its limits. She bit her lip to hold back a scream, her eyes watering as the pain shot through her. The man's girth was unbelievable, and she couldn't fathom how much more of him there was to come. The room around her grew fuzzy, the pain consuming her, as he inched his way deeper and deeper. The stretch was agonizing, but she knew that the worst was yet to come. He took his time, relishing her discomfort, his hands gripping her thighs tightly as he watched her face contort in pain.

"Ahh, so tight," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. Minju's nails dug into the man back as she tried to push herself away, but the other men held her in place, their hands roaming her body. The man behind her leaned in, his breath hot against her neck. "You're going to love this, baby," he whispered.

The first thrust was like a punch to the gut, the pain stealing the breath from her lungs. She felt herself stretch around him, the invasion both terrifying and exhilarating. Her body trembled, her pussy clenching around the thick, unyielding intrusion. Yet, amidst the horror, there was a spark of something else, a flicker of the pleasure that had betrayed her earlier. Her mind screamed for her to fight, but her body was already responding to the rhythmic motion, her muscles contracting around him in a desperate attempt to escape and yet, paradoxically, to feel more.

"Already orgasm?" The man with the sharp jawline mocked, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and disdain. "We didn't even start yet, you're such a slut." His words were like a slap in the face, a cold reminder of her helplessness. He began to move, his hips rising and falling with a brutal precision that had her teeth gritted. Each stroke sent a new wave of agony through her, but it was tinged with a dark, unwelcome craving. Her body was a traitor, her pussy greedily devouring every inch of him as he pushed deeper.

Minju's mind was a battleground of fear and arousal. She didn't want this, didn't want any of it, but she couldn't deny the way her body was responding. Her voice, shaky and desperate, broke through the cacophony of her thoughts. "Please move, I want it," she whispered, the words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. The room grew quiet, the only sound the wet slap of flesh against flesh, the ragged gasps of the men holding her down.

The man with the sharp jawline took her invitation and began to pound into her with a ferocity that made her eyes water. Each thrust sent shockwaves through her body, the pain melding with the pleasure until she could no longer tell them apart. She felt the man's mouth move to her nipple again, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak before he sucked it into his mouth. The sensation was intense, a symphony of pleasure that washed over the agony of the intrusion below.

"Ahh, yess," she found herself moaning, the words slipping out despite her best efforts to remain silent. "So big, fuck..." Her voice was a hoarse whisper, a plea that she didn't even realize she was making. The man's hips ground against her, his cock filling her completely, stretching her to the point of pain. But it was a pain that she was beginning to crave, a pain that seemed to hold the key to some twisted form of relief.

"Suck my nipples more," she begged, arching her back as the pleasure began to build again. The man took the cue, his teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh before he took one peak into his mouth, sucking hard. The sensation was exquisite, a sharp contrast to the brutal pounding she was receiving. She could feel the man's erection pulsing against her back, and she knew he was getting off on her suffering. But she didn't care anymore, she just needed the release.

The second man's breath was hot on her neck, his hand moving from her hip to the small of her back. His fingers began to trace the cleft of her ass, teasing her puckered hole. The sensation was alien and terrifying, but it sent a thrill through her body that she couldn't ignore. He chuckled darkly as she tensed, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. "You're so tight here too," he murmured, his thumb pressing lightly against her asshole. "But we'll loosen you up, don't worry."

Minju's voice was a desperate whisper. "No, no, not there," she pleaded, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to ignore the way her body responded to his touch. The first man took a moment to admire the look of fear and need on her face before resuming his relentless assault on her pussy. "Please," she gasped, her voice hoarse with need. "I can't, it's too much."

But the man didn't care; he kept trying to push his dick deeper into Minju's asshole. His thumb circled the tight ring of muscle, applying pressure that made her body spasm. She could feel her own wetness mingling with his spit, the slickness of it making her skin crawl. "You're going to take all of us," he said, his voice a promise of more torment. "And you're going to love it."

"Ahh, it feels weird," she whined, her body tensing up as his thumb breached her ass, the sensation foreign and overwhelming. The pain was intense, a stark contrast to the pleasure still pulsing through her pussy from the first man's relentless pounding. She could feel the head of the second man's cock pressing against her, the blunt pressure a stark reminder of the new violation that awaited her.

But then, something strange happened. The pain began to morph into something else, something that made her toes curl and her breath hitch. The pressure grew, building into a crescendo that matched the rhythm of the man's strokes inside her. Her pussy tightened around him, desperately seeking more, and she felt her orgasm start to crest. "Ahh, no," she moaned, her voice a mix of agony and ecstasy. "I can't take it, I'm cumming again, ahh, ahh, ahh..."

Her body convulsed, her pussy spasming around the thick cock that filled her so completely. The man's grip on her hips tightened, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he felt her climax. She could hear his grunts of pleasure, the sound of his balls slapping against her ass with each plunge. And then, as if on cue, the third man grabbed her head, his grip like a vice as he pushed his own erection into her mouth. "You're talking too much, Minju," he grunted, his voice low and menacing.

Her jaw ached from the stretch, but she took him in willingly, the taste of her own juices mingling with the saltiness of his cock. The sound of her own slurps filled her ears, the obscene sounds of her mouth working his shaft almost as degrading as the pain in her ass. "Glukkk glukk glukk," she moaned around the thick meat, the words muffled but clear in their meaning. She enjoyed it, the feeling of being used, of being their plaything. The humiliation only served to heighten her arousal, a dark thrill that she never knew existed within her.

For what felt like an eternity, the three men took turns using her body, their rhythmic thrusts becoming a symphony of depravity. The man in her pussy pounded with a relentlessness that was almost soothing in its consistency, filling her up completely. The man in her ass took his time, stretching her open with each slow, deliberate push until she was taking his full length, her cries of pain muffled by the cock in her throat. And the third, the one who had claimed her mouth, fucked her face with a vigor that had her eyes watering.

"I think I'm gonna cum, Minju," the man in her ass grunted, his grip on her hips tightening until it felt like he was trying to split her in two. His words were a declaration, a warning of the impending climax that she could feel building within him. And as if on cue, the man in her pussy sped up, his strokes becoming more erratic, his breathing ragged. She knew she was close too, the tension in her own body coiling tighter and tighter like a spring about to snap.

The room was a blur of movement, the men's bodies a tapestry of sweat and power as they used her. The pain was a living thing, pulsing through her, but it had transformed into something else. Something that made her body beg for more. And when the man in her mouth finally came, his hot seed spurting down her throat, she felt a strange sense of accomplishment. It was as if she had been given a role to play, and she was playing it to perfection.

The man in her pussy grunted, his hips bucking wildly as he reached his climax. He pulled out just in time to shoot his load all over her stomach, the hot, sticky fluid spattering her skin. The sight of his release only made the man in her ass more eager, his thrusts becoming more demanding, more primal. He grunted and pushed in deeper, the pressure building until she felt his cock swell and throb inside her. And then, with a roar, he came too, filling her up with his seed, the sensation so intense it brought tears to her eyes.

Gasping for air, Minju felt the men pull out of her in unison, their cocks slick with her juices. The sudden emptiness was almost as intense as the fullness she had just endured, and she couldn't help the whine of protest that escaped her lips. The sharp-jawed man chuckled, stroking her cheek with a gentle touch that seemed almost tender in the aftermath of the brutal assault. "You liked that, didn't you?" he whispered, his voice a dark caress that sent shivers down her spine.

She could feel their eyes on her, their gazes raking over her trembling form, assessing her reactions. "But we're not done yet," he said, his voice a promise of more to come. "Each one of us gets a turn in every hole. That's the deal."

Minju's body felt like it had been wrung out like a wet towel, her muscles quivering with exhaustion. Yet, she couldn't deny the need that still thrummed through her veins. She didn't know if she could take it, if she could handle the onslaught of pleasure and pain that awaited her. The men seemed to sense her hesitation, their smiles growing more predatory as they looked at her.

The sharp-jawed man took a step back, his cock still glistening with her juices. "Time to switch places," he said, his voice a low growl. The man who had been fucking her mouth stepped forward, his own erection bobbing eagerly as he took position behind her. He didn't bother with any pretense of gentleness, pushing into her ass without warning.

The pain was immediate and intense, but she found herself pushing back, her body craving the fullness she had just felt moments ago. The man behind her took the hint, his strokes growing faster and deeper until she was crying out around the cock that filled her pussy. The man who had just her pussy come to her mouth, stroking his member as he watched the scene unfold before him. "Look at her," he said, his voice thick with lust. "Such a good little slut."

The second man's grip on her pussy was like iron, his thumb pressing against her clit as he drove into her ass. She squirted again, the force of her orgasm surprising her. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she felt the warmth of his cum fill her, his grunts of pleasure echoing through the room. And then, it was the third man's turn, his cock sliding into her pussy with a wet, gasping sound. She felt so full, so stretched, that she thought she might split apart.

But she didn't. Instead, she took it, her body moving with the rhythm of their abuse, her hips rising and falling as she was used in ways she had never imagined. The man in her ass began to spank her, each smack sending a shockwave of sensation through her. She could feel her orgasm building again, her pussy clenching around his cock, her ass tightening around the other. The sharp sting of the slaps only heightened the pleasure, sending her spiraling closer and closer to the edge.

And then, with a roar, the man in her ass came, his cum flooding her bowels, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. She felt his cock jerk inside her, the pulse of his release sending her own orgasm crashing over her. She screamed around the cock in her mouth, her body shaking with the force of it. The man in her pussy took his cue, his thrusts growing more frantic, his grip on her hips almost painful.

And when he came, it was with a snarl, his cum spurting out in hot, thick ropes that coated her inner thighs and dripped down to the floor. The man who had been watching stepped forward, his own erection now fully restored. He pulled out of her mouth, his cock shiny with her saliva, and moved to take his place in her ass.

The cycle continued, each man taking her in a different combination of holes, their pleasure becoming a symphony of grunts and slaps, moans and whimpers. She was theirs to use, to fill, to claim. And as the night went on, Minju realized she didn't just want them to cum inside her; she needed it. The thought of their seed filling her, marking her as theirs, was intoxicating.

With each new thrust, she felt herself slipping further into a dark, depraved world that she had never known existed. But she didn't care. All she cared about was the feeling of their hands on her body, their cocks inside her, the taste of their desire. And when the last man finally came, his hot cum spurting into her mouth, she swallowed it down greedily, her eyes never leaving his.

"Good girl," he murmured, stroking her cheek. And in that moment, she knew she was theirs. She had been broken, reshaped into a vessel for their pleasure. And she liked it. She liked it more than she could ever admit. The room was a blur of satiated bodies, their breaths heavy with satisfaction. But Minju's mind was already racing, planning how she could get more of this twisted game.

As she lay there, her body trembling from the exertion, she felt a hand on her chin, tilting her head up to look into the sharp-jawed man's eyes.

"How many squirt do you have for us today, Minju?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

Her eyes searched his, desperation melding with the haze of pleasure that still clouded her judgment. "I don't know... maybe 10 or 15... I can't think," she replied, her voice a soft whimper. The idea of being able to squirt that many times seemed impossible, yet her body had already proven it could handle more than she had ever thought possible.

The sharp-jawed man chuckled, his hand moving to cup her chin. "Good, because we're not done with you yet," he said, his voice a dark promise that sent a shiver down her spine. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "We're going to drain you, Minju. Every last drop of cum you're worth."

The fourth man, who had been watching the whole time with a mix of envy and anticipation, stood up from the couch. He was the most muscular of them all, his broad chest heaving with excitement as he unzipped his pants. His erection sprang out, thick and veiny, a testament to his desire. He stepped forward, the smirk on his face growing as he took in the sight of her used body, glistening with their cum.

Minju's eyes widened as he approached, her mind reeling from the sheer size of his cock. It was easily the biggest she had ever seen, dwarfing the others that had already claimed her. A bolt of fear shot through her, but her body, now a willing accomplice in her degradation, responded with a fresh wave of arousal. "No, no," she whispered, her voice a mix of fear and lust. "It won't fit."

The sharp-jawed man leaned in closer, his smile cold and cruel. "Just shut up," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "Because you can't run anymore." His words sent a chill down her spine, a stark reminder of her captivity. She was theirs, and she knew it. The fourth man stepped closer, his hand stroking the length of his erection as he looked down at her with a hunger that was almost palpable.

With trembling hands, Minju reached up and took the head of his cock in her mouth, feeling it stretch her lips to the point of pain. He was so thick, so much more than she had ever had before, and she knew it would be a challenge to take all of him. But she was determined to try, her need for their approval overriding any sense of self-preservation she might have once had.

Her tongue swirled around the tip, tasting the salty precum that had begun to leak out. He groaned in pleasure, his hand coming to the back of her head to guide her movements. His grip grew firmer, pushing her down further, and she felt the head of his cock touch the back of her throat. She gagged, her eyes watering, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she took a deep breath through her nose and relaxed her throat, willing herself to accommodate his monstrous size.

The fourth man's eyes lit up as she took more of him, his hips starting to rock gently, pushing deeper with each stroke. "Ur throat is so tight and wet," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. His words sent a shiver of excitement down her spine, the praise fueling her determination. She took him as deep as she could, her throat convulsing around his shaft as she fought the urge to gag.

The sharp-jawed man watched with a sadistic grin, his hand moving to fondle her breasts as he whispered, "Good girl, take it all." The words were a command, and she obeyed, her mouth moving up and down the thick length of the fourth man's cock. His hands tightened in her hair, pulling her closer, his strokes growing more forceful.

The pressure built in her throat, the taste of him becoming more intense with each passing second. She could feel him swelling, his cock growing even bigger, and she knew he was close. "Aghh, fuck," he groaned, his hips jerking as he buried himself deep into her mouth. "I'm gonna cum, don't you dare spill it out." The threat was clear, and she responded with a muffled moan of understanding, her eyes watering as she braced herself for the onslaught.

And then, with a roar, he did. His cum shot into her throat, hot and thick, filling her mouth. She swallowed convulsively, her eyes squeezed shut as she focused on not choking. He pulled out, his cock still twitching as he stepped back, panting. "Look at her," the sharp-jawed man said, his voice filled with amusement. "Such a good little cockslut."

Minju felt a twisted sense of pride at the words, her cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. The men around her chuckled, their eyes gleaming with lust. "Now, let's see if you can handle this," .

This one was different, she realized with a sinking feeling. His cock was longer and thicker than the others, a weapon of pure pleasure and pain. She tried to sit up, her body already feeling the strain of the previous assaults, but the sharp-jawed man pushed her back down. "No more games, Minju," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You're going to take him, and you're going to enjoy it."

The fourth man took position between her legs, his cock bobbing as he stared down at her trembling form. "Please," she whispered, her voice a hoarse plea. "I can't..." But it was too late. With a brutal shove, he plunged into her pussy, the sound of her wetness mingling with her whimpers of pain. Her body was so sensitive, so overwhelmed, that it was all she could do to not scream.

He began to move, his strokes long and deep, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Please, no more," she whimpered, her pussy clenching around his cock. But he paid her no heed, his focus solely on his own pleasure.

"You're too tight," he grunted, his grip on her hips tightening as he pushed in harder.

The sharp-jawed man leaned in, his hand moving to her clit, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You'll get used to it," he whispered, his thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves.

And then, with a suddenness that took her breath away, the pain disappeared, replaced by a wave of pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable. Her body arched off the bed, her eyes rolling back in her head as she came again, her pussy contracting around the invading cock. The fourth man took her through the motions, his strokes growing more forceful, more demanding. She felt like she was being split in two, the sensation so overwhelming she didn't know if she could handle it.

But she did. Each thrust sent her spiraling higher and higher, until she was a writhing mess of pleasure and pain, her body a canvas for their depravity. "Fuck me," she moaned, the words slipping from her lips unbidden. "Fuck me harder."

The sharp-jawed man chuckled, his eyes gleaming as he watched her degradation. "Look at you," he said, his voice thick with lust. "You're loving this."

The fourth man took her words to heart, his strokes becoming more punishing, his cock stretching her pussy to its limits. She felt herself climbing again, the pressure building until she was on the edge, her body trembling with the effort to hold back. "Agh, I'm gonna cum," she screamed, her voice raw and desperate.

He pulled out suddenly, leaving her feeling empty and exposed. "Do it," he said, his voice a demand. "Squirt on my cock." He stroked himself, his cock slick with her juices, and she could see the challenge in his eyes.

With a trembling hand, she reached down between her legs, her fingers finding her clit. It was swollen and sensitive, the slightest touch sending a jolt of pleasure through her. She began to rub it, her eyes locked on his, her breathing coming in ragged gasps. The sharp-jawed man leaned in closer, his hand moving to her hip, his grip firm and possessive. "Come on," he urged, his voice low and hungry. "Show us how much of a slut you really are."

The pressure grew, her body coiled like a spring about to snap. With a final, desperate cry, she let go, her pussy clenching around the fourth man's cock as she squirted. The sensation was like nothing she had ever felt before, a deluge of wetness that soaked the bed beneath her. The men cheered, their eyes alight with excitement as they watched her body convulse with pleasure.

The fourth man leaned in, his hand moving from her hip to her chin, tilting her head back so he could kiss her. His tongue invaded her mouth, tasting the remnants of the fourth man's cum. "Keep going," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "We want more."

Her hand moved faster on her clit, her hips rising off the bed as she felt the next orgasm building. The sharp-jawed man's cock was back in her mouth, his movements growing more urgent as he felt her body tighten around his shaft. She squirted again.

Her whole body was trembling uncontrollably now, the intensity of her orgasms threatening to overwhelm her. It was as if her body had taken on a mind of its own, the need for more pleasure an insatiable beast that demanded to be fed. "It's too much," she gasped . "I think I'm gonna collapse."

But the fourth man just chuckled, his eyes glinting with malicious excitement. "No, you can't," he said, his voice a dark caress. "We're not done with you yet." He reached down, his hand grabbing her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You're going to keep squirting for us, no matter what."

With a grunt, he pulled her to the edge of the bed and flipped her over, so she was ass up and face down. Her cheek pressed into the wet, sticky mattress, she could feel the coolness of the spilled cum against her skin. The sharp-jawed man stepped back, watching with a cruel smile as the fourth man took his place. His cock was still hard, still thick and demanding, and she knew what was coming.

He didn't bother with preamble, simply pushing her legs apart and sinking into her pussy with a ferocity that took her breath away. Her squirt had only made him hungrier, and now he was going to feast. The first few thrusts were so hard she thought she'd pass out, her body unprepared for the intensity. But she didn't. Instead, she felt her pussy stretch to accommodate him, her walls tightening around him as she took him in, inch by brutal inch.

The sharp-jawed man watched, stroking his own cock as he observed the scene with a sadistic smile. "That's it," he encouraged. "Make her squirt like the slut she is." The other men murmured in agreement, their eyes glued to her ass as it bounced with every punishing thrust.

The fourth man's strokes grew more erratic. With a snarl, he grabbed her hips, his cock slamming into her with a force that made the bed shake. "Do it," he grunted, his voice strained. "Give me your squirt."

And she did. With a scream that was equal parts pleasure and pain, Minju's pussy clenched around him, sending a jet of fluid shooting out, soaking the bed even more. He groaned, his movements becoming more frenzied, his grip on her hips bruising. The sharp-jawed man watched with a mix of fascination and hunger, his own hand moving faster on his erection. "So good," he murmured, his voice tight with his own need.

The fourth man's rhythm grew erratic, his hips slamming into her ass with a force that made her teeth chatter. She felt his cock swell, the pressure inside her building until she thought she'd burst. And then, with a final, guttural roar, he came, his cum filling her to the brim. She could feel it leaking out of her, running down her thighs, mixing with the mess that was already there.

"Yes, yes," she moaned, her body shaking with the intensity of her own orgasm. She had never felt so used, so completely owned.

The fourth man's cock twitched inside her, the final pulses of his cum filling her until she felt like she would overflow. The feeling was indescribable, a mix of fullness and satisfaction that she had never experienced before. Her pussy quivered around him, the muscles clenching involuntarily, eager to milk every last drop.

It's so full," Minju murmured, her voice muffled by the pillow she was face-first in, her body still shaking from the last round of brutal ecstasy. The fourth man's cum was still dripping from her pussy, leaving a sticky trail down her thighs as she tried to catch her breath. The sharp-jawed man took a step closer, his cock still standing at attention despite the depraved scene that had just played out. "Look at what a mess you've made," he said, his voice a mix of amusement and disgust.

The fourth man chuckled, his hand moving to her hip as he pulled her back onto her knees. "Don't worry, baby," he said, his voice a sickly sweet promise. "I've got plenty more where that came from." His grip tightened, his cock, which had only just begun to soften, now growing hard again with the renewed interest in her body.

The sharp-jawed man took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face. "You think you're special?" he sneered. "You think we won't use you up and spit you out?" His hand came down, slapping her ass with a wet sound that echoed through the room. "You're nothing but a cum dumpster to us."

The words stung, but Minju couldn't deny the truth. She was theirs to use, their toy to discard when they were done. Yet, the thought only made her more eager, her body begging for another round of their brutal attentions. "No," she whispered, the word barely audible. "I'm not... I can't..." But she knew she could. Some twisted part of her wanted to, needed to prove she could take it all.

The fourth man grinned, his eyes glinting with the thrill of the challenge. He bent down, his grip strong as he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he positioned his cock at her soaking entrance. The sharp-jawed man moved in, his hand reaching for her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "You're going to take it all," he said, his voice a low growl. "Every drop ."

With a roar, the fourth man thrust into her, lifting her off the bed as he began to pound her from behind. The sharp-jawed man held her hand, their fingers entwined as he watched the scene unfold, his own arousal evident in the tight grip and the way he licked his lips. She could feel the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes raked over her body, and it only made her more wet, her pussy clenching around the thick cock invading her.

"Ahh... yes," she moaned, her voice a desperate cry. "So good, I'm cumming again." The words were torn from her as she felt the familiar tightening in her belly, her muscles contracting as the orgasm built. It was a sweet agony, the kind that made her want to scream and beg for mercy, all while pushing back against the man inside her, urging him to go deeper.

The fourth man's grip on her hips tightened, his own hips slapping against her ass as he drove into her with renewed vigor. "That's it," he grunted, his voice strained with his own approaching climax. "Squirt for me, baby. Squirt like the slut you are."

Minju's body responded to his words, the muscles in her pussy clenching around his cock as she began to squirt uncontrollably. The sensation was overwhelming, her body seemingly having a mind of its own as it sought to please the men who had so completely claimed her. The sharp-jawed man's eyes widened in amazement as he watched the spectacle, his hand moving to stroke his own cock faster. "Fuck, look at her," he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "She's like a fucking fountain."

The fourth man's eyes glazed over with pleasure, his strokes becoming more erratic as he felt his own climax approaching. "Yeah, baby," he grunted. "Come on, let's do it together." His hand moved from her hip to her clit, his thumb rubbing the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts. "I'm gonna fill you up so good."

Minju's body responded to his touch, the sensation of his cock inside her combined with the pressure on her clit pushing her closer to the edge. She could feel another orgasm building, the tension in her abdomen tightening with each passing second. "Yes," she moaned, her voice barely recognizable. "I'm gonna cum again."

The sharp-jawed man's grip on her hand tightened, his eyes never leaving hers as he whispered, "Show us, baby. Let us see it all." His words were a command, one that she desperately wanted to obey. She felt her pussy clench around the fourth man's cock, her body begging for more, for the release she knew was just a heartbeat away.

"I think this is my last squirt," Minju gasped as the fourth man's cock swelled inside her, his cum shooting into her with a force that made her entire body shake. The sensation was indescribable, a mix of pain and pleasure that left her gasping for breath.

And then, with a grunt of his own release, the fourth man pulled out, leaving her pussy gaping and empty. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the floor, her body trembling uncontrollably. The sticky wetness of her squirt and their combined cum coated the floor beneath her, a stark reminder of her newfound role.

Minju's eyes had gone blurry, the world spinning around her in a haze of pleasure and pain. She felt like she was going to faint, the intensity of her orgasms leaving her dizzy and weak. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving with the effort to fill her lungs. The sharp-jawed man stepped closer, a look of dark satisfaction on his face. "Look at you," he said, his voice a mix of amazement and contempt. "So fucking pathetic."

The other men chuckled, their eyes glinting with lust as they watched her collapse. The fourth man reached down, his hand wrapping around her arm, and hauled her to her feet. "Come on," he said, his voice gruff. "You're not done yet." He tugged her along behind him, her legs wobbly and unsteady. She could feel the warmth of the cum running down her thighs, a sticky mess that seemed to cling to her skin.

They brought her to the bathroom, the cold tiles a stark contrast to the heat of the room she'd just left. The sharp-jawed man flipped on the lights, and she blinked against the harsh brightness. The room was large, with a claw-footed bathtub in the center and a gleaming chrome shower in the corner.

The fourth man held her up, his grip unyielding as he positioned her in front of the mirror. She looked at her reflection, not recognizing the woman who stared back at her. Her makeup was smeared, her dress torn and stained, her eyes swollen from crying. She was a mess, a shell of the glamorous starlet she had been just hours ago.

"Look at yourself," the sharp-jawed man said, his voice a mix of amusement and disgust. "You're nothing but a used cum rag now." The words hit her like a slap in the face.

Minju's knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold, hard floor. Her legs felt like jelly, her body utterly drained from the onslaught of pleasure and pain she'd endured. She lay there, her eyes unfocused, staring at the reflection in the mirror. She could see the bruises already beginning to form on her hips and thighs, the marks of their possession etched into her skin.

The men formed a circle around her, their cocks still hard and glistening with her juices. The sharp-jawed man stepped forward, his expression a twisted mix of amusement and cruelty. "Time to clean up," he announced, his voice echoing in the bathroom. And with that, they began to piss all over her. The warm streams of urine rained down on her body, washing away the cum and sweat that coated her.

Minju's eyes widened in horror, her body tense with humiliation. She had never felt so degraded, so utterly used. Yet, as the urine hit her skin, she felt a strange sense of relief, as if the sting of it was washing away the last remnants of her dignity. The smell was overpowering, the stench of piss mingling with the musky scent of sex that filled the room. She tried to look away, but the sharp-jawed man grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze in the mirror.

"Look at yourself," he said, his voice cold and mocking. "This is what you are now. A dirty little cum slut." His words sent a shiver down her spine, even as her pussy clenched around the emptiness inside her. It was as if her body had been rewired to crave their degradation, to thrive on their contempt.

As the last of their piss rained down on her, she felt herself slipping away, the world going dark around the edges. Her breathing grew shallow, her vision swimming as she teetered on the brink of consciousness. The sharp-jawed man stepped back, his smile fading as he took in her condition. "Looks like she's had enough for now," he said, his voice deceptively casual.

The fourth man chuckled, zipping up his pants. "Let's leave her here to clean up. Maybe she'll learn to appreciate her new role." The others laughed, their footsteps echoing through the room as they left, the door slamming shut behind them.

Alone, Minju lay on the cold floor, her body a map of bruises and cum stains. She could feel the stickiness between her cheeks, the result of the fourth man's merciless assault. The smell of piss hung heavy in the air, a humiliating reminder of her submission.

Her vision swam, and she felt the room spin as the last of her strength gave way. With a final whimper, she passed out, her body giving in to the relentless waves of pain and pleasure that had overtaken her.

When she awoke, it was to the harsh light of morning filtering through the bathroom window. The floor was cold and sticky beneath her, and she could feel the crust of dried cum and piss on her skin. Her eyes felt gritty, and her throat was parched, the taste of bile and semen still lingering in her mouth. She tried to sit up, but her body protested, the ache in her ass and pussy a stark reminder of the night's events.

With a groan, she managed to push herself onto her hands and knees, her head spinning as she took in the room. The bathtub was stained, the floor around it a mess of cum and urine. Her reflection in the mirror was a horror show, her face puffy from crying, her once-pristine dress torn and stained beyond recognition. The sharp-jawed man's words echoed in her mind, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of disgust and shame.

Mr. Park's voice grew louder as he approached the bathroom door, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor. "Minju," he called out, his tone one of forced concern. "Are you okay in there?" The sound of his voice was like a knife in her gut, a stark reminder of the betrayal that had led to her current state. She didn't bother to respond, knowing that her voice would only betray her.

The door swung open, and he stepped inside, his eyes immediately going to the mess on the floor. His expression shifted from concern to one of cold calculation. "You've made quite a mess," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. She could see the disgust in his eyes as he took in the state of her body, cum spurted from her ass and pussy like some grotesque art project.

Minju's eyes fell to the floor, unable to meet his gaze. She felt a tear slip down her cheek, the only sign of the turmoil inside her. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. But she knew that sorry wasn't enough. Not for what she'd done, and not for the way she'd let them treat her.

Mr. Park sighed, his eyes scanning the room before returning to her. "Look at you," he said, his voice a mix of pity and revulsion. "What have you become?" He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to touch her face. She flinched away, the simple contact feeling like a brand of ownership she didn't want.

"Don't," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I can't..."

"You can," he said, his tone firm. "You will." He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "This is your new life now. Get used to it."

Minju felt a spark of defiance flare up inside her, but it was quickly snuffed out by the weight of his stare. She knew he was right. She had no choice but to submit to their desires, to embrace the slut that she had become. With a heavy heart, she nodded. "Yes, Mr. Park."

The week passed in a blur of pain and pleasure, the men taking her whenever and however they wanted. Her body was a playground for their desires, a canvas for their depravity. Yet, amidst the pain and humiliation, she found a strange solace in her new role. Each time she squirted for them, each time she took their cum, she felt a sense of belonging, of purpose.

When she finally returned to work, she was a different woman. She walked with a newfound confidence, her eyes downcast in submission. The other employees whispered about her, wondering what had changed. But she knew. She was theirs, their little cum slut, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

One night, after a particularly grueling session with the sharp-jawed man and his friends, she sent a message to Mr. Park. "Thanks for that surprise," she wrote, her thumbs moving over the screen with surprising ease. "Right now, I know the truth about myself. I am a slut for a big cock."

The response was almost instant. "Good girl," he texted back. "Keep that in mind. We have more surprises in store for you."

Her stomach fluttered with a mix of excitement and dread. She knew she had no say in the matter, that she would take whatever they gave her and ask for more. And she liked it. The thought of it made her wet, her pussy clenching with anticipation.

The next week at work was a blur of meetings and shoots, each one more grueling than the last. But she never forgot her message to Mr. Park. It played on repeat in her mind, a constant reminder of who and what she was. And she liked it. The idea of being used by those powerful men again, of feeling their cocks fill her up and empty her out, was a thrill she couldn't resist.

On her lunch break, she found herself in the bathroom, her hand slipping into her panties to touch her still-sensitive clit. The thought of their next meeting had her pussy soaked, and she couldn't help but wonder what they had planned for her. Would it be more of the same, or would they find new ways to break her, to make her squirt for them?

The anticipation was almost too much to bear. But she knew she could handle it. She had to. She was their cum slut, after all.

[bbokicidal]

Maybe Our Last .:. SKZ [L.FX]

Genre : Smut Pairing : Lee Felix x Fem!Reader Warnings : DUB-CON, Tentacle penetration I don't know HOW ELSE to word it!!, Hentai-esque themes, Monster Fucking (essentially), Throat fucking (kind of)

Kinktober Day 6 of 10 : Monster fucking w/ Felix Kinktober Masterlist

Word Count: 3.8K

I'm going to write a small snippet here because I need this to be clear; There is no sex between Felix and the reader; Changbin is the character who becomes the tentacle monster so technically he's fucking them both lol, and both Felix & the reader experience a sort of aphrodisiac which is why this is labeled as Dub-Con. If you don't like this type of shit just DON'T FUCKING READ IT LOL - also I've never written anything like this before so if it's bad... oh well.

You’d caught his eye the moment you walked into the party; The outfit, the style you’d worn your natural hair in, the dramatic makeup, the contacts, the thigh highs, the cute shoes – 

Felix had seen that character multiple times before; A beauty from one of his favorite animes in the world and now it was like she’d come right to life in front of his very eyes in the form of your Halloween costume. 

If he was honest, Felix wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his composure around you that night. You already made his heart race before, your demeanor was always so pleasant and kind towards him any time the two of you had bumped into each other or conversed as your friends spoke with each other, and now he knew you were about as big a nerd as he was; Which made you 10 times more attractive. As if you could get any more perfect.

Hell - He wasn’t even sure how he got you to sit down and talk to him on the couch like this; Your legs thrown over his lap, his hands resting respectfully atop them while the two of you chit-chatted as if you weren’t sitting in the middle of a massive college Halloween party. Biggest one that happened on campus, actually; Changbin just had that reputation going for him; Couldn’t let his people down this year, could he?

Music blared around the two of you, people dancing and singing, drinking ungodly concoctions of Rum and juice and edible glitter and making out against the walls; someone gagging just behind at the smell that was slowly flooding out of the downstairs restroom and towards the kitchen. Though, it felt as though none of it mattered as you were in your own little world with Felix.

“Yeah, I mean - her basic outfit is just so boring so I guess I tried to recreate the ascended version; I just think it’s cooler.”

“Definitely.” Call Felix a loser. He can’t keep himself from staring over at you in admiration, awe rushing through his veins the more you talk about what you thought of the show and what your opinions on different arcs were. His replies remain short and sweet - and you try your best to keep the conversation going, you do, but it’s hard to focus when he’s just so… pretty.

With a pink knitted sweater tucked into light wash jeans, he’d managed to secure a small pair of white wings to his back. He’d buttered up his look by applying glittering hairspray to the platinum locks that fell down over his shoulders and framed his face so well, a chunkier rose gold glitter overtaking the freckles on his cheeks. It seemed to complete the look for the cutest pixie you’d ever seen in your life; Not that you’d seen many.

“So you know the guy who lives here?” You question, tone soft. You’d heard of him before but you’d never talked to him personally; You’d really only been invited to the party because he was a friend of a friend. 

Felix’s lips part before he nods, a shy and polite smile overtaking his lips. “Ah - Yeah. Changbin’s a close friend of mine. He’s pretty cool, I guess.” His eyes darted over to peek at said friend, Changbin’s head popping into the restroom as his hand secured its hold on the doorframe. He looks as though he’s investigating something but Felix hasn’t a clue what, so instead of fretting about it he turns his attention back to you. “You don’t?” Felix quips before continuing. “I mean - you don’t know him?”

You blink a few times, offering a small shake of your head. “Oh, no. He’s a friend of my friend, Hyunjin. They’re practically attached at the hip and I see him around every so often but I don’t think I’ve ever had a full conversation with him before, you know?” You smile, giving a shrug. “We just don’t really run in the same friend group I guess. No big deal.”

The hand that had previously been resting against your shin - which was placed in Felix’s lap as you lounged back on the sofa in Changbin’s living room - moved to instead gently grasp at your knee. Felix giggles, “You should talk to him sometime. He’s genuinely one of the nicest guys I know. I get that his physique can be kind of intimidating but he’s really a nice guy. Maybe after the party we can –”

“Oh my God,” A girl shrieking from behind the sofa causes your body to jolt in surprise, your leg pulling off of Felix’s lap. He selfishly misses the contact immediately but lets his gaze pull from you to the young woman standing just over your shoulder. She’s turned away, her hand shaking as she points to the bathroom doorway. Changbin was gone, but where his hand had previously rested was now an oozing trail of green slime. Like something had slapped against the doorway and left a puddle that dripped down the polished wood. “Changbin?!” She cries, free hand pressing over her mouth. “Are you okay?!”

Hyunjin pushes past a few people to get to the girl, his hand resting against her arm as he glances between her horrified expression and the bathroom doorway. “What -?! What? What’s going on? Why are you yelling?” He stares down at her, the girl trembling under his touch. Her face had gone ghastly white, her joints blushed with blood that tried to push through to her extremities that had long lost all sense of warmth.

“Changbin,” She gasps out her friend’s name, her fingers shaking horribly as they dig into her cheek in terror. “He was trying to figure out what that awful smell was but I just – I saw him get pulled into the bathroom by something! I swear, it was like a monster - It was –”

The atmosphere turns horridly tense. The air thickens with dread as people begin to back away from the bathroom and some even turn to leave, wanting to get out of the house in case something horrible had happened. What if it was another person and Changbin had just been attacked? What if there was a serious sense of danger in the house now? And as you listen in, your chest feels heavy enough to cave in on you. You didn’t know Changbin well but that didn’t mean you didn’t care about him. He seemed like a genuine guy and right now you could only hope that this was some sick, cruel Halloween prank happening.

By the time you push yourself up off of the couch to even move into action Hyunjin is already in the bathroom doorway. His rushed demeanor comes to a sudden halt as he stops where the door cracks open, his gaze settled behind it and directed towards the shower. Everyone seems so quiet now, waiting impatiently for Hyunjin to give them some sort of update.

The only response they get for at least five seconds is the color draining from his face. His jaw clenched as he huffs out a breath before his body turns back to the living room and he pushes himself to leave the bathroom as quickly as possible.

He points, throwing his arm towards the front door that isn’t too far from where you stand. “Get out!” His voice leaves his throat in a scratching scream, begging for people to run from whatever it was he had seen in the bathroom only moments ago. “Get the fuck out!” He cries. “Run! Fucking run!”

People scatter; Dust settled on a shelf for decades now disturbed and dispersing into the once pure air. Footsteps are loud and heavy as some book it for the upstairs area, their shoes thumping heavy against the wooden steps. Most head for the front or back doors, Hyunjin’s hands pushing people to move into action as screams and cries fill the house and drown into the music still playing from the stereo speakers. 

The bathroom door slides open and what emerges makes your blood run cold.

That wasn’t Changbin.

That was a monster.

With eyes pure white and veins pulsing angrily in his throat, the Senior exited the bathroom not on his own two legs; Maybe not of his own free will. His head lulled as if he was no longer present, the parasite within him pushing him to exit and begin to attack. His upper half looked as if it had been melted and glued to the body of an octopus - if that octopus had biohazard green tentacles and slime oozing from every orifice. It pushed out of the corners of his mouth as his expression turned into a heavy scowl, his head tipping in the direction of the people scrambling for the front door - one of the tentacles reaching out in a quicker manner than expected. It had taken him so long to reveal himself that you were sure he was sluggish when it came to movement, but the tentacle seemed to snap out and wrap around the closest person’s waist.

Hyunjin gasped in horror as the wet surface slid and soaked his band tank, grabbing onto him tight and curling around him a few times to ensure he couldn’t escape from its hold. The tip of the tentacle smothered his cheek in goo and he visibly cringed, pulling his head back as far as he could while it rubbed against his face.

You hadn’t even realized your own body had become frozen in its place until Felix had reached for you, his fingers lacing with yours to pull you back to him. “Hey,” He yells over the noise, gently tugging on your arm, “We’ve gotta go!”

Your eyes drag to Felix before you nod, surely out of it by everything you were witnessing. This had to be some horrible nightmare - surely. Changbin wasn’t some scary tentacle monster and Hyunjin wasn’t getting smothered in goo and this house party was not just taken over by some… alien octopus parasite!

Felix moves to guide you as far from Changbin as he can get you, which isn’t very far unfortunately. His attempt is futile; The moment he rounds the couch it’s already too late. A tentacle had wound around your ankle and begun to lift already, refusing to let you go while suspending you mid-air. Felix, also refused to let you go.

He cried out as his hand was ripped from yours, watching you be lifted towards the ceiling as you screamed and begged for him to find a way to get you down. “Felix!” Your gasps were slashes to his heart, the knife twisting and digging into the muscle, ripping it apart. “Felix - Help me! Help me!”

Though he’s no better off. A third leg had wrapped over Felix’s chest, slime oozing from what looked to be the suction cups of the tentacle - only open and gaping as they sucked and clung to his sweater tight. Felix’s mouth opens though no sounds escape, his body only reacting as it knows how to when he’s this terrified. His hands come down on the tentacle and he hates how smooth it is, how slimy and wet it feels against his skin. “Let me go,” He gasps out, his head turning to look over towards Changbin’s upper half. Not that he’s really Changbin anymore. “Changbin-hyung! Let me go! Let me go, I’m your friend!”

Felix’s head snaps in your direction instead as he hears your voice letting out soft whines. The tentacle holding you up by your leg had tightened its grip and squirmed down towards your inner thigh, still wrapped up against you so snug that it made the soft fat beneath it bulge under your thigh highs. He didn’t even bother to take in the way your skirt had flipped upside down to reveal the pink panties underneath - He didn’t care. He was instead watching a separate tentacle rubbing against your face as if it were nuzzling you, smearing a pale green goo over your cheek and towards your mouth that made you spit in disgust. The tentacle pushes lower instead and wraps loose around your neck, your eyes darting down to watch as the suction cups open and release what looks like a sort of gas.

Your gasps are immediate, the sweet scent filling your body as you cried, “What the fuck is that?!”

Felix barely even registered that the tentacle wrapped over his chest had done the same, and when he did he was dumb enough to look down right into it. The scent was… nice. Pleasant. It made his body hum with a pleasant vibration that made him feel so warm and fuzzy. A feeling akin to being drunk for the first time - feeling a little out of it, a little loose. It felt immediate, too. 

His body slowly began to relax as the gas fogged around his head, the cups closing shortly after to let the air around your bodies clear. His eyes slowly pulled back to you, and though you were a bit hazy now, you were still there. 

The tentacle wrapped over your neck slithered down towards your chest, wrapping beneath the swell of your breasts tight so the fabric pulled taught against your curves - and the poor pixie across from you couldn’t stop himself from looking. He didn’t even feel guilty about it at the moment either. In any other circumstance he would’ve been too respectful and shy to even steal a quick glance but now, something about it felt so shameless. 

The tentacle slipped lower to give your body more support, leveling you out so you could essentially lay as though you were in bed instead of being hung upside down. How kind of it.

Felix swallows hard as his eyes trail over. He watches the tentacle holding onto your leg adjust itself so your thighs push apart for it and your body seems to naturally comply, your head tipping back as you allow the creature that was once Felix’s best friend to bend your body to its will. He finds himself whimpering when the tentacle pushes higher, the tip of the appendage wriggling and squirming over your skin until it tucked under your skirt and pried at your panties.

Your lips part in a sharp gasp, a heavy blush coating your cheeks at the realization that it’s trying to get at the most intimate of spaces on your body. The appendage curls tight around your panties before it begins to pull back, though when they refuse to move from your hips because of how snug they are - it opts to instead rip them right open. The fabric falls like nothing from your body before the tentacle moves back to work, your skirt ruffling against your hips and thighs as it pushes over your slit and curls the very tip around your clit in an effort to make you moan. And it works, of course.

Felix’s cock twitches in his jeans at the sight of you being touched like this. He knows it’s gross - knows it’s dirty and knows you’ll no doubt judge him for enjoying nasty Hentai like this (if you even live to see the next morning…) but he really can’t help it. He can’t help that he’s getting hard at the sight of you like this. It’s like a scene right out of a movie he’d watched recently - The tentacles, your stupid Halloween outfit…

“Felix…” Your soft call of his name makes him snap back into reality - which isn’t far from his fantasies right now. His hands tightened down on the tentacle wrapped over his chest as he felt something push between his own legs; An appendage separate from the others had slipped up his left leg and prodded at the bulge in his jeans, curling slowly around the outline of his half-hard cock while he whined. His lashes fluttered and he squirmed at the feeling, the friction more than enough to make him chub up just a little bit more. 

He curses, whimpering under his breath. “Fuck,” Felix gasps, biting down hard into his lip to stop any other sounds from escaping from his mouth.

His gaze darts back to you just in time to see the tentacle between your legs begin to squirm back. The cups along the inner section of the appendage open slowly and begin to once again ooz the slime that had slicked up your face and soaked into your costume’s top. It dripped over your inner thighs and as you sucked in a breath, the tip of the tentacle pushed carefully into your entrance. It eased it’s way in until it was nearly five inches deep - though this wasn’t quite like having sex with just.. Some guy. First of all - this was a monster; Second - the tentacle was thick. 

It felt as though it was attempting to split you right in half, wriggling deeper before finally pulling back and pushing into you once more.

“Oh my God,” Your voice leaves in a desperate hum. Felix watches in both shock and awe as your head falls back at the feeling of your pussy being filled to the brim; The little suction cups kissing at your walls every time it pushed into you further, the tip squirming against the entrance to your cervix and begging to be let in - to fill you until you would burst.

Felix’s head swirls as his gaze drops once more. He stares at the tentacle wriggling its way into his waistband, his mouth dropping open to let out a moan that makes him feel disgusting. He’s enjoying this and part of him loathes himself for it. “Shit,” He whines, the appendage wrapping around his cock when it slipped into his boxers and smothering his length in slick, sticky goo. It soaked through to the denim of his jeans and caused a heavy, damp stain that made him embarrassed and made him whine in protest. His hands curled into fists, reaching down with both to try and rid the appendage from his waistband before another - smaller and thin as a rope - wrapped tight around his wrists at lightning speed. He trembles as his arms are pulled above his head, no longer able to defend himself against the tentacle wrapping around his cock and making him twitch and writhe in pleasure. “Fuck – Fuck,” He cries, his toes curling in his sneakers at the ache that forms through his abdomen. “Fuck –!”

Your eyes finally press open as you hear Felix whining across from you, your gaze settling first on his flushed and desperate expression before falling to watch as the tentacle below wraps around his cock and coats him in goo. You can’t see anything but you know it’s a delicious sight.

Though, the appendage previously touching Felix seems to realize something of its own - It can’t fill Felix like it can with you, so it would have to find another way to inject its semen into the man.

“Shit,” Your whisper is barely audible as you peek up, watching the tentacle drag over Felix’s chest before coming up and prodding at his lips. He barely has time to react as it forces it’s way into his mouth, pushing at the back of his throat and making him choke on a whimper as goo drips down the corners of his mouth. His gaze meets yours before you watch as his eyes flick down between your legs, watching the tentacle between your thighs pump into you quicker than before. Your shaky, unstable moans meet Felix’s ears and he hates that the mix of seeing you getting fucked and having his mouth used at the same time are what makes him coat the inside of his jeans in cum that mixes with the goo left behind.

Your gasps become frantic as the tentacle pushes further into you, stretching you as much as it can before it suddenly stops, burying itself into your walls and pumping something out of the cups that had once again opened. You can feel it; It’s hot and heavy, thick, creamy. Holding a promise of your demise.

It’s the same moment that the tentacle buried in Felix’s throat seems to release the essence, Felix choking and gagging and closing his eyes in embarrassment as it fills his mouth full. The tentacle retracts as quickly as it came, black leaking from the corners of the pixie’s mouth as he swallows and spits at the same time - trying to figure out what it is and what to do in his post-sex haze.

The appendage between your thighs retracts and as exhaustion waves over you, so do the rest. Your body falls from the air and hits the ground with a heavy thud, Felix’s following only moments later. You land on your side, eyes glossy with tears of fear and pleasure as you look over at where Felix lay on his stomach to your right. His eyes are closed, though it’s not long before they slowly flutter open and attempt to meet your gaze. Felix’s hand slowly shifts from his side, coming to meet your own. His fingers curl into your palm as he sighs out, his body giving into the exhaustion and slumping against the hardwood - his cheek squished against the floor and his brain shutting off.

While you remain conscious a while longer, your eyes slowly move around to what you can see of the room. Hyunjin sits slumped against the wall, black ooze dripping down his chin and throat. His mouth had been filled the same as Felix, though while it happened a bit earlier on after he was grabbed, his body had already begun to turn. He was no longer present, his lower half bubbling and steaming and his legs gone, four appendages already present and squirming as the others began to form. 

Your eyes slowly dragged back to the blonde laying beside you, your thumb swiping over his knuckles in admiration. You take in the way his hair falls over his eyes, the way his lips part and the way the chunky rose gold glitter on his cheeks only adds to the charm of the deep brown freckles painting his skin. Part of you was… happy, that he’d fallen asleep before he’d seen what had happened to Hyunjin; What would happen to him now, too. Though as you lay in exhaustion and attempt to fight the sleep, as your brain clears itself of the fog and begins to be overrun by the slime that had entered your body and taken control of every functioning system left inside of you, and the fear settles into your chest; The realization that this would be the last time you would be human, the last time you would see Felix’s face. So you fight the sleep a little longer, just enough to try and memorize every detail of the man laying across from you before he becomes a monster, too. Your head pounds with the need to rest as your eyes finally drop closed, your body slumping and going loose as your future ahead of you lay unknown. But again, holding the promise of your demise.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna @skzophreniic

@silly250

[lukolathoughts]

Miss Nicola - supporting LGBTQI rights

Dearest gentle reader,

I have been itching to write a blog post now for a few weeks, but not really knowing where to begin. There have been frenzied weeks and days of activity, but then silence and the fandom meanders like a lost boat at sea. We are often rudderless without the reassuring presence of our ship captains - Luke and Nicola. This also tends to get the sub fandoms spouting nonsense claiming to have seen Nicola in Birmingham or some ridiculous crap. I didn't want to bother her by asking for a photo! No photo, no proof my friend.

I'll talk about me for a moment. I had a week from hell last week. There was something so upsetting for me to deal with, I couldn't go into work as I was crying that much. Try to explain this to your manager: that nasty comments on YouTube made you late for work. Luckily, she is an understanding person and I have told her about my YT channel. Saying some things out loud to real life people make me sound barking mad. But it is the price you pay for being public on YouTube. It also makes me an easy target. I am used to online trolls and people who hate me for saying that Jake is gay and believing in Lukola, but when the stab in the back comes from a supposed friend, it really is the ten of swords. My phone blew up that much, I opened my eyes that morning genuinely thinking Lukola had launched. My hope turned to ash, when I saw what was really happening. I share this with you all because, I have had to have a reckoning with myself the last week. My online life and my real life are not the same. My real life is way more important and I actually need my job, so messing it up because I've got people I don't really know online saying mean things about me, that are not true, shouldn't matter. But it still hurts. But I also realise, they are trying to stop me sharing and trying to ruin my credibility and reputation in order to send me off into my discord crying never to return again.

Well think again. No one tells a Sagittarius woman what they can and can't do. I am made of stronger stuff. Love will always conquer hate. No one puts Baby in the corner, and I will not stand for it. I have scaled back most of my online life now. It had helped me cope with the last year and losing my friend, but sometimes you have to go back into reality. I'm never leaving the ship though. You'll have to chuck me overboard and I'll still jump back on like Rose from Titanic. "I couldn't go, Jack! You jump, I jump, right?"

Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk about Nic. I love Nicola by the way and nothing I say here is a criticism of her or her choices. I see what you're doing though, miss Nicola. I said in my last blog that the shit would hit the fan when Jake has to start press for his new upcoming BBC3 drama What it feels like for a girl. I will admit I have not read the book. Regardless of who Jake is playing, it is reportedly an all queer cast, a queer director and at least one queer writer that I know of. Why would the director of an all queer cast hire a straight man in a homosexual role? If this show is as big as It's a Sin, that aired on Channel 4 a few years ago, then there will be press and a lot of it. There will be press from queer magazines also. Jake is currently in an awkward position, because some press believe he is in a romantic relationship with Nicola Coughlan, a woman who is also 14 years his senior. So, what will Nicola and Jake do?

Jake is holding onto his cash cow with both hands and Nicola needs Jake to continue to pose as her boyfriend to stop the media digging. But honey, they know. It was clear all the press at the SAG awards knew exactly what was going on and they were not afraid to say it. The 'happy ending' comment levelled at them directly by a reporter, had Nicola stunned and Luke smiling like all his Christmases' had come at once.

Nicola knows what is going on. She knows there is a deadline and she knows if she doesn't extricate herself from the narrative she is dating a gay man, she is screwed basically. What is she doing? She's getting out her, I love gays!! T-shirt, hats, scarfs, sunglasses, whatever. She is doing it. Look at me, I love queers! I love her for this and I already know she is an advocate for LGBTQI rights. She has a ton of gay friends. The fandom knows this of course, but do the general public?

At the Neutrogena event on 27th March 2025, there was a very tall drag queen doing some MCing. We know Nic loves drag queens and has been to many shows, so this is nothing new to us. I'm not being overly cynical that the drag queen might have been there for a reason, right? Neutrogena is a product that is targeted at women mostly for their skin products. What has that got to do with a drag queen? I just found it odd.

Next up we have Nicola's Pink Pony Club Post that she shared to both her Instagram stories and grid last Thursday 10th April. The song by Chappell Roan is synonymous with the gay community and one that Jake danced to at her concert last year in a pink cowboy hat. "You guys, remember when my old flat was a gay hotspot!" Nicola, posts 4 polaroid's of her looking fabulous in pink and lays them on a pink blanket. What made you feel so nostalgic, Nic? Or are you sending a message? Look at me, I have loved my gay besties for donkey's years. Prominent gay friends such as JVN and Jack Rooke commented all in agreement, that indeed, Nic's flat was the place to be. And, no I do not think Nicola is coming out herself as gay. Get real, she is supporting her friends and peers.

Then there was yesterday's selfie of Nicola wearing her black - 'I just wanted to say if you are trans and reading this, I love you and so do all my mates' T-shirt. There a few other details in that post that other bloggers such as @toriaaniin have covered beautifully, so I won't go into it here. My eyes sprung wide when I saw this post. I know she advocates for the charity Notaphase.org and I commend her for doing this, but two queer posts in a few days seems to be a lot for Nic, when lately she hasn't been posting at all.

There is also the male hairdresser Halley Brisker in her Opalex video on her Instagram, They make a big deal of letting us know he flirts with male makeup artists. Nicola is clearly good friends with Halley and it is an endearing watch. But to me this seems like a lot of overkill in the last few days for the general public to look at her Instagram and instantly know, yes Nicola does love the girls, the gays and Luke Newton. (FYI Halley Brisker is married to a woman and has children, but to the general public this conversation is implying Nic is comfortable with these conversations).

This, in my opinion, is setting the stage for the final act. I can see Nicola doing some sort of article or interview where she clears a certain narrative up. If you notice, Douglas has also been quite forceful again in implying certain things about Jake and Jake himself does not stop others from posting suggestive posts and videos of him. Nicola must remove herself from this mess in order to move forward with her own career and life. Hanging onto old connections are no longer serving her personally and professionally. Her engagement on Instagram is down by a lot, so I'm told and she is losing followers. She has done all she can career-wise for Jake now, he has to make his own way.

If this does not happen and we remain in this weird heteronormative bubble, I fear the press for What it feels like for a girl, will be a shit show. The truth will come out eventually and it will drag both Jake and Nicola down with it.

[meazalykov]

accidental repost

esmee brugts x f!reader with features of the whole barcelona femeni team x f!reader

a tiktok repost sets the whole team into confusion and laughter

you wake up to the soft hum of your alarm, the sun filtering through your curtains.

honestly, things have been like this for awhile. you have another day of training with the team, and the cold brew you have brewing in your fridge is making you excited for the day.

you stretch, grab your phone, and scroll through your notifications as you always do. some of your teammates like salma, jana, esmee, and vicky have been blowing up tiktok lately, posting dance videos, lip-syncs, and random goofy content that has the fans going.

last night, you were featured in jana's new video. she wanted you to smile or blink depending on how much you liked a dessert from a tiktok audio. since you were tagged, you've been getting the notifications for it.

making a mental note, you go and turn off notifications for the app.

you are the quiet one on social media. your tiktok account, with your full name and a profile picture from a match last season, sits unused... at least when it comes to posting.

you’ve got a decent following, mostly because you play for barcelona fem and your teammates follow you, but you’ve never posted a single video. instead, you’re the queen of reposts.

your repost part of your page is a curated collection of funny skits, relatable memes, and the occasional football highlight from yourself or an idol that catches your eye.

the team loves it. salma’s always bringing up some random repost of yours that popped up on her ‘for you’ page from you, teasing you about your taste in humor.

“you’re the funniest one on the team but do not tell vicky I said that,” she’ll say, and you’ll just shrug, happy to stay in the background while the other girls do their own thing.

however, there’s one thing you’ve been keeping even quieter. it is you and esmee.

for two weeks now, you’ve been dating in secret. it’s new but chill since there are no grand gestures, just stolen glances during training, quiet coffee dates, and late night texts.

neither of you has told the team, not because you’re hiding, but because you’re both savoring the privacy. esmee’s been your heart, her calm presence balancing your more chaotic energy during training.

you’ve been careful, or so you thought.

last night, you were scrolling tiktok, esmee’s head resting on your shoulder as you lounged on her couch.

a fan edit of her popped up on your fyp. it was an impressively edited montage of her best moments on the pitch, set to a sultry, seductive audio track that made your cheeks flush.

esmee laughed when she saw it, nudging you playfully.

“I've seen that page before. they've made edits for you too,” she said, her dutch accent softening the words.

you meant to send it to her tiktok account, a little inside joke between you two but in your sleepy haze, you hit the wrong button.

you reposted it to your page and for others to see and you didn’t notice.

now, as you head to training, you’re blissfully unaware of the storm coming. you pull into the parking lot, your music blasting, and hop out of your car.

the catalan air is crisp with the sun climbing higher, and you’re ready to train for the upcoming semi-final game coming up.

as you walk into the locker room, something feels… off. vicky’s immediately grinning at you like she’s holding a secret. salma’s eyebrows are raised, her phone clutched tightly.

even patri, who’s usually too focused on her pre training routine, gives you a sidelong glance.

you frown, setting your bag down.

“what’s with the looks? is everything okay?” you ask, your voice light but tinged with suspicion.

vicky smirks, leaning against the lockers.

“oh, nothing. things are fine actually...just… you’ve been busy on tiktok, huh?”

you blink, confused.

“what are you talking about? i didn’t post anything.”

salma snickers, already pulling out her phone.

“you didn’t post, but that video you reposted.... it’s a good one.”

your stomach twists, a faint memory of last night flickering in your mind. however, you wonder if you reposted a joke that might have set some media trainers off.

you shake your head, trying to play it cool.

“i repost stuff all the time. what’s the big deal?”

sydney pipes up.

“this one’s different since... well... you should know since it is your repost.”

you glance at esmee, who’s across the room tying her boots. she’s biting her lip, her shoulders shaking slightly...like she’s trying not to laugh.

your heart picks up speed.

what did you do?

before you can ask, alexia walks in, her captain’s aura commanding the room. she takes one look at the group, then at you, and a slow, amused smirk spreads across her face.

you narrow your eyes at her, silently pleading for an explanation.

“ale, what’s going on?” you ask, your tone more desperate than you’d like.

alexia just shrugs, her smirk widening.

“you tell me, y/n.”

you’re officially lost.

the team’s gathering now, their warmup drills in the gym area forgotten as they circle around you like vultures. salma’s scrolling through her phone, and you catch a glimpse of your tiktok profile on her screen.

your blood runs cold.

“salma, give me that,” you say, reaching for her phone, but she pulls it back, grinning.

“oh, no, no, no. you need to see this on the big screen.” she taps a few buttons, and suddenly, your repost is playing.

it’s the esmee edit. the sultry audio fills the locker room, esmee’s best moments flashing across salma’s phone screen...her sliding tackles, her goals, her celebrations, all perfectly synced to the suggestive beat.

your face burns.

you look at esmee again, and now she’s covering her mouth, her eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter.

“oh my god,” you mutter, your voice barely audible.

“guys, I swear that was an accident!!!”

vicky bursts out laughing, clutching her stomach.

“an accident? y/n, you reposted an edit of esmee looking like a model to that audio and you’re telling me that was an accident?”

jana laughs,

"it takes a bit of buttons to repost something, love."

you sigh but patri’s grinning now, her arms crossed.

“you’ve got taste but why the hell is edits about esmee coming up on your page?”

sydney leans in, her voice teasing.

“yeah, y/n. you hiding something? you and esmee got a little… thing going on?”

your mouth goes dry.

you’re not ready for this and you do not know if esmee is too.

you and esmee agreed to keep it low-key, at least for now. you glance at her, and she’s still trying to hold it together. you’re screwed.

before you can respond, aitana steps in, her voice calm but firm.

“okay, enough. leave her alone, yeah? it’s just a tiktok. so it doesn’t mean anything.”

you could kiss aitana on the forehead right now. she’s always been like an older sister, stepping in when the team gets too rowdy.

even her defense doesn’t stop cata, who’s been quietly watching from the corner.

“i don’t know, tana,” cata says, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“that repost was pretty specific. y/n’s not out here reposting edits of me or you.... just esmee.”

the room erupts in laughter, and you groan, burying your face in your hands.

“it was an accident!” you insist, but no one’s buying it.

“sure, sure,” vicky says, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“so, when’s the wedding? I gotta be the one throwing flowers of course.”

you shove her off, your face flaming.

“you’re the worst.”

thankfully training starts, but the teasing doesn’t stop. every drill, every water break, someone’s got a comment.

salma hums the tiktok audio under her breath as she passes you. patri winks every time you and esmee end up near each other.

even kika, who is just watching while injured on the sidelines seems to sense the vibe, giving you a curious look during a passing drill.

you’re dying.

by the time training ends, you’re ready to bolt, but the team’s not letting you off that easily. as you’re changing in the locker room, vicky stands on a bench, holding up her phone like she’s about to make a speech.

“so, y/n,” she says, her voice dripping with mock seriousness.

“the fans on twitter are losing it over your little tiktok moment. care to explain to us or to them?”

you freeze.

“twitter? what do you mean, twitter?”

salma grins, pulling up her phone again.

“oh, yeah. it’s trending among the women's football girls. ‘y/n reposting esmee edit’ is, like, all over the barça fan accounts. they’re calling it a ‘soft launch.’”

your jaw drops.

“a soft launch? i didn’t launch anything!”

esmee finally speaks up, her voice steady but laced with amusement.

“okay, enough. you’re all acting like this is some big scandal. it’s just a tiktok.”

the room goes quiet. esmee’s rarely the one to shut down the teasing, and her tone is just sharp enough to make everyone pause. but vicky’s not done. she never is.

“just a tiktok, huh? then why’s y/n looking like she wants the floor to swallow her?”

you shoot esmee a look, silently begging her to help you out.

she’s smirking now, clearly enjoying your panic.

traitor.

patri steps forward, her arms crossed.

“alright, spill. are you two together or what because that repost was not giving ‘just friends.’”

you open your mouth to deny it, but esmee cuts you off.

“fine,” she says, her voice exasperated but firm.

“yes, we’re together. happy now?”

the locker room explodes. vicky’s screaming. salma’s laughing so hard she’s doubled over. cata’s chanting “i knew it!” like she’s won the lottery.

even alexia, who’s been quietly watching, lets out a low chuckle.

you’re mortified, but esmee’s hand brushes yours, a small gesture that grounds you.

“i meant to send it to her through the app” you mumble, your voice barely audible over the chaos.

“not repost it.”

salma wipes tears from her eyes.

“that’s the best thing i’ve ever heard. you’re a disaster, y/n.”

aitana, ever the peacemaker, claps her hands.

“okay, okay, let them breathe. you’ve got your answers and now let’s go home.”

vicky’s not done still.

“hold up. the fans are gonna eat this up. you two are, like, the new favorite couple among the millions in europes football.”

you groan, sinking onto the bench.

“i didn’t want to be anyone’s favorite couple.”

esmee sits next to you, her shoulder bumping yours.

“too late,” she says softly, her eyes warm.

you sigh, but a small smile tugs at your lips.

the team’s still talking about it and being nosey, but esmee’s right. the secret’s out, and maybe that’s okay.

you lean into her slightly, ignoring vicky’s exaggerated “aww” from across the room.

[theskeleton117]

Aw shit, here we go again

1. He was pretty young when he got the crown since he just kinda found it unlike the rest that had to wait until a certain age for it

2. His recklessness was what made the crown stick with him for the time that it did. Lamb actually was able to keep the crown because Narinder cooled down and Lamb didn't

3. He was pretty much the favorite child, but the bishops weren't really all that dysfunctional

4. Revival. He's the only one who knows how to do that in this AU

5. Dislikes a lot of their battle tactics, but he generally had a high opinion of them, even if he often rebelled against their decisions

6. So, immediately after the imprisonment, Narinder hates them, but with some hindsight, Narinder just misses them

7. Favorite was Heket since she'd occaisonally help him get away with things Shamura normally wouldn't allow. He doesn't have a least favorite exactly

8. A katana, a wakazashi (fancy word for shorter katana) and a scythe. The swords were just because Shamura used those and taught Narinder them. The katana was actually a gift from Shamura while the wakazashi was just something Narinder made. He lost the wakazashi upon being imprisoned, keeping the katana. Shamura later gave it back to him. The scythe on the other hand is a purely ceremonial weapon that he doesn't use

9. He created the 4 witnesses that the bishops use through constant revival, so those. To sum it up, those witnesses are mindless murder machines that just do what they're told without any thought

10. Yep. Lamb. I discussed this in my Lamb post somewhere

11. He cares about them a lot. That's just kinda it

12. I would assume so ig?

13. Lil scratch scar on him right eye

14. Nope. Just general cat. If I could draw him instead of just doing gatch tho I'd probably choose a specific cat type for him

15. I'd say it's kinda short but also kinda messy

16. Honestly I've decided upon reading this that it is now. Must alter his design now

17. I'd say like 7.5. Very ears

18. Had it from birth. Assigned 3 eyes at birth. He's A3eab

19. You know I actually never gave him the ones on his wrists. Never thought about that. Anyways, nothing notable from that wasn't already there or wasn't already expected

20. Nope

21. Maybe, but I don't know any that would make sense to develop after the imprisonment, but I might look into that

22. Weirdly. Normally slower but generally inconsistently

23. No blood relation, but Narinder was good friends with Forneus

24. I'd say he's caring towards them. He kinda acts similar to them as Shamura did to him when he was young

25. Rarely wears it. It's also ceremonial and usually used in tandem with the scythe. Not his style

26. It wasn't a prophecy, rather his own actions. The prophecy was only about the lambs and only showed up after he was imprisoned, had nothing about him

27. Since it wasn't a prophecy, I'm gonna talk about how others viewed it afterwards. To start, almost everyone knew that Narinder fucked up, even his supporters knew that. The real debate was in whether his punishment was too much

28. Question doesn't apply, see question 26

29. Here's something I've thought out quite a bit. So basically, he was practicing revival. I've seen a lot of people decide the reason thay was 'bad' is some arbitrary tradition from the bishops but in my case it's more serious. Revival directly damages the souls of those revived until they end up as husks of what they once were, at most only abel to follow orders. That's actually what happened to the witnesses. Narinder was doing this to try and find a way to stop Lamb's possible death as they had been hit with some sort of venom that would kill them slowly over time, and all that experimentation was thought to be too inhumane by the bishops, and even by Lamb themself

30. Mostly shame. Shame for the harm that he caused to get there. This shame often causes anger for him and that causes him to make more shit decisions

31. Yep

32. He certainly does, as he never wanted to in the first place. It shows in him occasionally helping them with things related to their injuries

33. Oh he fucking does. He's had a lot of experience with lamb culture from Lamb, and generally he liked their culture. That was one of his biggest regrets

34. Lamb was first introduced as his apprentice that he was forced to have, so obviously he was originally annoyed by them, but they were generally quite polite, if a bit timid. Narinder began to grow fond of them not long after, though

35. Narinder held out hope that this regeneration of Lamb would still somehow love him the way the other original did, so he, for the most part, never truly expected it. When Lamb decided he was done with Narinder's deals and chances, Narinder was crushed, even if he only outwardly displayed anger

36. Before imprisonment, yes. However this is clearly asking about after, and after imprisonment, it was always bittersweet. On one hand, it's still Lamb, sorta, and he still enjoys Lamb's company because even with the change in personality between regenerations, he enjoys Lamb's dumb ass. But on the other hand, Lamb reminds him of the version of Lamb that he knew and misses

37. Well, he has a lot of disagreements with them, but deep down he lives for the stuff that he gets to do with Lamb. Most fun he had in years

38. He doesn't understand why anyone would do it if there's other food around simply because "With most of them, there's no way to cook them that makes them taste edible"

39. Yeah so NariLamb actually ends after Lamb's regeneration for a while. Narinder takes on only two lovers, and both of them can barely be considered such. He had a slight thing going on with Goat, even if they were never really officially lovers per se. And then other than Goat, NariLamb started back up for a small bit but ended

40. It changes depending on when it was. When he furst joined, it was figuring out what he was gonna do with himself. Was he going to stay, leave, maybe rebel? By the end of that era, he had tried doing the last two before settling on the first. After that, it was struggling with his feelings towards Lamb and the lack of reciprocation of those feelings

41. He just uses he/him

42. He's just cis male for now (cuz he's boring /j) although I have considered maybe changing that for him but for now he's just cis

43. Similar case to Lamb where while I never included it in his design, I imagine he has a red moon necklace. In Narinder’s case, it's more of a way to memorialize the lambs that he was responsible for the deaths of

44. Oh definitely. I doubt all those meetings with Ratau and Forneus didn't have any drugs involved. I didn’t have anything prewritten but some crazy shit prolly

45. Sorta yes sorta no. He's doesn't tell anyone who he is, but Lamb occasionally does. It's not a secret, just not outwardly told. Regardless, plenty of people recognize him, even if it's not really a majority

46. Not great at that, but I can give examples of similar personalities sometimes. Before his banishment he was kinda like Anakin Skywalker from Star Wars (who he kinda shares a lot of other similarities to in my fic), and afterwards he's more like a lot more hardened and less cocky than he used to be

47. Definitely shy about talking about Lamb before their execution. In fact the topic is off limits to talk about to Lamb if they ever are able to bring it up. He enjoys talking about lamb culture and mythology even after their fall, because that was basically his special interest for a bit

48. He only really told Lamb to do that to free him. He doesn't consider sacrifice a good idea normally, but his desperation to get out of that hellhole was rampant enough to tell Lamb what amounted to "Just look out for yourself, fuck your followers"

49. You know on the Lamb when when this question was asked I answered French fries based on a random gut feeling based on the type of person Lamb is but I'm getting none of that for Narinder. I don't imagine Narinder’s favorite is fish, but he does like fish. No clue exactly what his favorite would be tho

50. I imagine Narinder’s general role in my fic, relative to Lamb, since a lot of side characters have something to offer to Lamb's character, is kinda the reverse of Ruri. The cat devil on Lamb's shoulder as opposed to the cat angel of Ruri. Narinder, while preferring Lamb doesn't *kill* followers, does support a level of manipulation. For example, I imagine Narinder heavily criticizes Lamb's choice on the level of transparency he has with his followers. Ruri and Narinder sorta balance each other for Lamb here and allow him to not skew to much in one direction of influence here for how he runs his cult

50 narinder questions

1. When did your Narinder aquire the Red Crown? Was he born into the role or did the crown choose him for a particular reason?

2. Why does the red crown find him worthy as a bearer?

3. What did his childhood look like? Did he live with the other crown bearers?

4. Does the Red Crown give him any unique powers such as the power of rot (a la TROD AU)?

5. How did he feel about Shamura pre-exile?

6. How about post exile?

7. Which sibiling was his favorite? Least favorite?

8. What weapon did he use prior to exile?

9. Do you have headcanons about who his witnesses or ‘bosses’ would be pre-exile? If so, who are they?

10. Did Narinder take any lovers before his exile?

11. How did Narinder feel about his priests, witnesses, and followers?

12. Does he have a dedicated meow button?

13. Does your Narinder have any unique features?

14. Is he based on any particular breed of cat such as a puma or a British shorthair?

15. Describe his fur. Is it unkempt? Well-groomed? Curly? Kept short?

16. Is, and I cannot stress this enough, his tail so, so fluffy?

17. How ears is he on a scale of 1-10? (This is not a typo)

18. Was he born with his third eye or did he gain it later from the crown?

19. Any notable scars post-exile other than around his wrists?

20. Did your Narinder have any disabilities prior to his exile?

21. Does he have any new disabilities upon being spared?

22. How does he pass the time in exile?

23. Are the kits, Aym and Baal, really his children?

24. How does he feel towards Aym and Baal? Ambivalent? Caring? Annoyed?

25. Why does he wear the veil? Or does he forgo it entirely?

26. How and when was the prophecy that he would rebel against the others revealed?

27. How did the others react to this prophecy before it happened?

28. Did he feel doomed by the prophecy? Relieved? Offended? Vindicated?

29. What exact rebellious act got him chained in the first place?

30. What are some of the biggest emotions he feels about being chained?

31. Deep down.. does he agree that it was necessary?

32. Does he have any remorse for harming his sibilings? If so, does he ever show it?

33. Does he care that an entire species and culture was ended because of him?

34. What was his first impression of the lamb?

35. When did he realize the lamb might turn against him? Was he blind to it until it happened or did he have a gut feeling long before then?

36. Does/Did he enjoy the lamb’s visits?

37. How does he feel about the lamb after being spared?

38. Does he support or partake in cannibalism?

39. Does he take a lover other than the lamb after being spared? If so, describe them!

40. What is his biggest struggle after being spared? Fitting in with the cult? Seeing the lamb’s face daily? Chronic pain?

41. Does your Nari use any pronouns besides he/him? If so, what ones?

42. Was he born male, female, intersex, or do you have no opinion on his sex?

43. Does he ever wear jewelry or makeup?

44. Has he ever used catnip? If so, what happened?

45. Is identity kept a secret from the cult? If so, do any of the followers recognize who he really is?

46. Describe his personality.

47. Is he shy about any topics? Does he enjoy talking about anything in particular?

48. Does he ever rethink the concept of sacrificing followers now that he is one?

49. Is his favorite food anything other than fish? If so, what is it?

50. Free headcanon space!

Back by… well no demand actually but 1400 notes made me think y’all might be interested, so come get your cat-lore-generating questions.

And please! If you reblog from someone, send that person an ask. It’s ask meme courtesy.

[riverbends]

SECRETARY AU (jack abbot x f!reader)

part one: the blouse | mdni | MASTERLIST

tags: sexual content, mentions of smut, power imbalance, age gap, angst, perv jack, perv reader, dubcon elements??, masturbation wc: 5.6k cat says: this fic is a deviation from the source material, although i will include some of the other characters who play different roles in the story. i also initially wrote the entire thing as an abbotmohan fic and i spent so long deciding if i wanted to keep it that way. i changed all the pronouns and verb tenses to see how it looked and now i can’t be bothered to change it back to abbotmohan but also i think im okay with this anyway. i've planned a different fic for them. i’m also pretty much basing this off of the film secretary and i’m not familiar with the american healthcare system (if that still...even exists today...) so I’m just drawing things from an australian perspective (yeah ew). thaaaaaaank you bye

Five days a week. From 7 AM until only God knows when. Supposed to be 5 PM. Most of the time, 7 PM. On the rarest occasions, 8 PM. If you didn’t get paid overtime, you’d complain about it more. Not to him, obviously.

You never really share anything with him, much less your grievances. Nor does he, save for a random but contextual anecdote from his life in relation to a patient he’s just seen or maybe a very brief retelling of an encounter he had with somebody on the way to the practice.

Apart from that, the two of you tend to keep to yourselves when he isn’t giving you tasks or instructions for correspondence. A few glances when he enters the waiting room, some tight smiles at the reception. No lingering, no small talk, no jokes (it rarely occurs to you that you might be the one avoiding any interaction possible).

Though, to your embarrassment, he does seem to foster a habit of saying something very normal and, arguably, platonic in such a way that sends an agonising heat searing through your belly. This is only an embarrassment on your part because it feels nearly impossible to hide the effect he has. The dewy, sticky mess he leaves underneath your skirt with only a few words in a warm, hushed tone.

He has never indicated any awareness of this apprehension—at least, not to your knowledge—but you fear the patients might catch your eyes lingering on his back as he walks away. Your mouth drawn in tight, eyes shining under furrowed brows as you endure a throbbing ache down south.

The same praises you whisper at night against your sheets while you work yourself up, and up. Fingers pruned, sore—

Fear they might hear your heart punching your ribs or, God forbid, the soft chafe of your stockings against your skin as you squeeze your thighs together.

Thank you, doll.

What would I do without you, honey?

A whole year of casual praises and brief compliments.

You swear there’s something tucked between those words, something that tears away all the lights and the patients and the furniture. Like his voice dissolves the waiting room, sponging up the sludged air until your blood runs in your ears. Only you, in your chair. Him, standing at your side, mere inches away.

Dr. Abbot Dr. Abbot Dr. Abbot Dr. Abbot Dr. Abbot

Perhaps, he doesn’t mean it the way you think he does and it only sounds different to you, and you unprofessionally engineer unspeakable fantasies when you shouldn’t be…and you are unfit for this job and maybe you need to leave for good and hopefully you’ll forget the smell of him whenever he leaned over your shoulder.

Robust cologne. Blade slicing through fruit; bleeding sharp, heady wine—

Your name is called.

Out of focus, your eyes flit up. Frank stands behind the counter holding a takeaway box over the top of the glass case displaying sandwiches, pastries, and cookies.

“Oh,” you stop fiddling with the button of your coat and step forward, returning the smile. “Sorry, Frank. Thank you.”

“No need,” he laughs as you take your order from him. “I’d be out of it too if I sat at that desk all day.”

Internally, you grimace. You don’t even really mind the desk job. The paperwork, the phone calls, the patients, the hospital correspondence, the tidying, the pay, the hours of nothingness. You are good at this. Well-rehearsed and comfortably attuned.

It’s the dread that pulls you into wanton lapses, into daydreams. No, ‘dread’ just gives the feeling an ugly suit. It isn’t so much dread as it is anticipation. The anticipation is ugly. For what, you don’t want to admit. It even borders on hope, and it’s pathetic.

From hopping on the bus with a flame in your belly to opening the practice at 7 AM while your head spins to waiting for Dr Abbot to appear at the door half an hour later to bracing yourself for his greeting to expecting a task from him to imagining how his thumbs would pry apart your labia minora, nice and wide, so he can slot his tongue—

To secretly hope for whatever you are secretly hoping for. Yes, you do feel quite out of it.

“It’s not so bad,” You smile, shrugging. “Although, I sort of envy you. I’d kill for free lemon slices after every shift.”

“Okay, you know I don’t get free stuff every shift,” Frank raises his hands as if in surrender, “but all you have to do is ask.”

Two months after you initially got the job at the practice, you were already a regular at the café off the corner. You know all the employees, but it’s always been Frank Langdon who's given you discounts and, of course, the occasional freebie. Maybe he flirts a little sometimes and maybe you flirt back. It’s fun, you can’t lie. You also can’t ignore his momentary glances slipping below your eyes, settling on the valley of your breasts.

The blouse was a bad idea. You knew it the moment you buttoned it up this morning. There must be some kind of dress code that warns against it, but you’ve been having little to no sense these past few months anyway.

The sweet, silken pink flatters the slope of your waist with seven magenta buttons stopping right up at the source of Frank’s inhibited attention. Your breasts aren’t on complete display but anyone with eyes can make out the soft cleave between them, despite your many futile attempts to tug the fabric over the middle of your chest.

(A deviant part of you wore it for Dr. Abbot).

“Will do,” you salute before heading for the door.

Dirty. That is the recurring adjective.

Dirty, old man, Robby had once playfully mocked Jack in response to the small and, in his opinion, insignificant confession about you. Jack didn’t even say anything bad enough to warrant that kind of epithet. Definitely nothing as bad as the things he thinks about. Only that, sometimes, the way you look up at him from your chair puts his stomach in knots. And that, of course, you are pretty.

He didn’t dare mention that the look—the gleam in your eyes when you peer up at him, as if you are lost; unmoored. Like you need guiding and, oh, does he want to guide you—sends him over the edge. That his pants suddenly feel taut over his crotch when your mouth parts ever so slightly. A few warm breaths away from his twitching cock.

Dirty, old man.

Jack harbours a medley of perverted reveries, all of which are the fruit of a desire that has burgeoned from the moment you walked in for the job interview a year ago. He remembers it like it was only yesterday.

It had rained that day. Heavily, and evidently. You hadn’t anticipated the bucketing showers. The bus stop was a fair walk away, so it made complete sense that your hair was dripping and plastered to the sides your neck. Drops of water trailing down your temple, slipping over your throat to settle on your clavicle. You apologised profusely for the state of yourself while Jack tried not to stare at the imprint of your bra through your soaked shirt.

You scrambled for any and all explanations for your late arrival when Jack simply said your name, mouth softening into a half smile at the sight of your stunned, wide eyes. Said it like he had known you for years. You shut up. He had already made up his mind.

It’s still a mystery to you, how you ever got the job in the first place. But you needed it too badly to ask why at the time. Your résumé had listed an odd number of administrative jobs you had worked over the years. Twenty-something and cautious. You were polite and well-dressed (from what he could tell, even with the rain-drenched clothes). It wasn’t like there were people lining up to interview for the job either, so he had to take what he could get.

The practice belonged to his late father. A quaint block in the middle of a strip of stores hiding a small staff carpark out back for everybody. Independent surgery with loyal patients and a dedicated secretary, Mary, who worked for his father for over three decades. Jack took over the place five years prior to your interview, leaving behind his old practice with Robby and Heather, who were now joined with two new providers.

Conveniently, the patients have adjusted to Jack quite well over time, the elderly reminding him every now and then about how it was sad to hear that his father had passed, and does he miss him very badly? Oh, and does he have anybody waiting at for him at home and, if so, what’s the lucky woman’s name? And doesn’t he long for someone and isn’t he getting older? And isn’t his secretary just so sweet and have you settled down yet? And are you really so young and where did he find you?

(And why doesn’t he fuck you senseless?)

So vividly, he can still remember the sheer pleasure ripping through him as he pumped his cock in his hand, picturing you drenched in water earlier that day. He was fond of the tremble in your lips too. You were shivering. Your nipples were probably hard as pebbles from the cold. He came, then.

It had been too long since he bothered to get off like this, a grunting mess in his bedsheets. That first time, ashamed after he rode out his high. Dirty, dirty, dirty.

Jack is ravenous, and he has mastered indifference with great difficulty. It is, however, thrilling to think that his depravity knew no bounds.

Months and months of deterring his want. He has found some kind of succour in your inadvertent touches, his wrist brushing past your shoulder or your foot knocking against his. Your knee just barely skimming his shin when you turn in your chair to face him. Anything, any kind of innocent contact in lieu of your warm, wet cunt milking him dry. He is convinced he can live with that, just the momentary sweeps and grazes. But he’s had to pace himself, stretch out the weeks and refrain from thinking about you every night. Hand wrapped around his base as the showerhead (perversely) baptises him in freezing water, chasing his spend down his thigh. He can get off on the scent of you alone.

There was a day, maybe six months into your employ, where you both ended up in the break room at the same time. Jack had walked in to find you, back turned, leaning against the countertop on both hands. Fingers tapping the laminate as you stared at the simmering kettle of water. The coffee pot he was looking for sat near your left hand.

The hot churning of water seemed to conceal the sound of his footsteps for you hadn’t acknowledged his presence. He paused for a moment, a few feet away from you. You had worn a pair of slim black tailored pants that day, and he thanked whatever God he could for the sight of your ass stretching out the fabric. Thighs perfectly sculpted and visible to him. Had to suppress a groan when he caught the strip of soft, bare skin revealing itself between the bottom hem of your shirt and the low waistband of your pants. His knuckles paled and locked around the handle of his stained, empty mug.

Without a word, he softened his footing and approached you, heavy-lidded eyes boring into your spine. Blade slicing through fruit—

He sidled up to you, a little to your left, extending his hand around your frame to reach for the pot. So menacingly quiet about it. The movement in your peripheral and the sudden murmur of a breath over your shoulder ripped a sharp gasp from your lungs. In an impetuous panic, you stumbled backwards into the wall of his chest, haphazardly trampling over his foot. Jack’s free left hand jerked back and flew to your hip. Both of you were too stunned to realise that his other had abandoned the mug to latch onto to the meat below your right hip and above your thigh, far lower than where his left was situated.

His fingers dug into your pelvic bone. Couldn’t resist the temptation to press further. He let the tip of his middle finger prod the crease between your inner thigh and your mons, swearing he could nearly feel the faint imprint of your panties. Jack had half a mind to shove an angry hand under your waistband and slide a finger over that velvety bundle of nerves—

The clash and shatter of the mug drew a memory from your childhood many years ago.

Elementary: third grade. A classmate of yours shared an unusual object for Show & Tell with everyone. You pictured the hunger of it now, flashing in the backyard of your brain. A slender green neck with a pink mouth, eagerly open for prey. Spindly teeth, splayed out like eye lashes. An unsuspecting, though crafty, insect swooping into its treacherous jaws in search of nectar. Treading carefully around the trigger hairs, thinking it had plenty of time before it was too late. You and your classmates watched, enthralled, as the jaws enfolded its guest. Snapped itself shut, like hands interlocking fingers, to squeeze its victim in a carnivorous embrace.

“It’s just me,” he whispered, pinching your flesh between his hands. You shuddered; it didn’t go unnoticed by him.

You could wager this was far more paralysing than getting caught in a Venus Fly Trap.

Jack’s iron hold on the curve of your hip steadied the both of you. But, for him, the heat of your skin burning through your shirt was secondary to the way your ass had rubbed against his crotch from the moment you stepped back. He thought his blood was aflame, the way it surged and swelled between his legs.

Neither of you moved for what felt like an eternity. You could only focus on the steady rise and fall of your breath while he burned his fingerprints through your clothes. It took everything in him not to fold you over the counter and fish his cock out from his fly. Drive himself into your pussy as he toyed with your puffy clit. He wondered if you’d even object.

Split you open, tickle your cervix.

“You can return to reception,” he murmured over your shoulder, stiff cock notching against the cleft of your ass. His breath was strong and hot against your neck when he, to your quiet dismay, released your hips. “I’ll clean up the mess, sweetheart.”

You thought you’d soaked yourself through your pants, but wasted no time to follow his instructions. Nodding and catching your breath, you stepped aside when he didn’t move and spun around to scurry out of the break room.

Neither of you could look at each other for the rest of the day. Didn’t say goodbye to each other either. That was the first night he had left at exactly 5 PM. You kept your eyes glued to your keyboard as he strolled past the reception in his dress coat with his bag slung over his shoulder. Out the door without a word.

Walked around the back to climb into his car and dry-fuck his fist like a madman. Barely spoke to you directly for a week after the fact.

(You, on the other hand, have opted to erase the memory of it entirely. If you linger too much on the phantom pinches and his fingertips almost teasing the place you needed him most, you fear you’d do something mortifyingly regrettable. You’ve gone as far as to convince yourself that the delusion only arose from the lack of coordination between you two. A defect in your recollection. The semi that hardened in his pants and poked your rear could not have been real.)

The practice has always been something you considered near ‘cosy’.

A waiting room with space for at least a dozen chairs. An intimate reception is nestled to the left corner against the wall. You face the opposite side of the waiting room where the small flat-screen is situated on the wall, the glass doors and windows kept to your right. Not to mention the play zone wedged between the window and the short end of your countertop. The children are usually well behaved, aside from a few screamers.

Sometimes, if someone’s tall enough, they’ll stretch on their toes and claw at the countertop to beam at you. Shiny doe-eyes blinking for your attention until you turn your head to the right and smile.

For this reason, you’ve always kept stickers and gadgets behind the desk as small prizes for them when the toys in the play zone aren’t enough. And, if their parents approve, you hold out a jar of candies for their eager choosing (although, this is usually a reward for after their appointment, you’re not opposed to breaking your own rules once in a while. Especially for those damn screamers).

It’s not so bad for the most part. You’re always kept busy and distracted enough to stay awake. There is this relentless creeping dread, though. Working for him will do that to you. Waiting with bated breath when he grows closer in proximity, your fingers itching to hold onto anything. Keyboard, mouse, paper, pen, throbbing cock—

The majority of the patients are easy and conversational, many know you by name. You do your best to keep your eyes on your computer and off the TV.

Very early into the job, you had once been quite visibly tense at the desk and he frowned down at you in his own sympathetic way.

“Just a small headache,” you smiled, your elbows pinned to the desk while you rubbed your hands down the sides of your neck. He didn’t hide his scepticism. How did Mary work in this horrible lighting?

“You sure?” He pressed, and you managed a nod. “You can come in and see me, you know that?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t want to?”

“It’s probably nothing,” you sputtered hastily, fearing he’d take offence to your hesitation. “I’m okay, really.”

A small headache was bad enough. Being in that office alone with him—his soft reassurances and his close assessment of you and his watchful eye and his thumb on your slack jaw—would’ve atrophied your brain.

He shrugged, still doubtful: “Alright. If you say so.”

In the following weeks, he had the harsh overhead lights switched out for softer canned lights, washing the waiting room and reception in warm off-whites and yellows. Whether or not he detected the source for your headaches, the gesture is still fresh in your memory when you open up the practice most mornings.

A rectangular, high-rise countertop frames your workspace like an L and separates you from the patients, leaving a walkable gap between the countertop and the wall where you or Dr. Abbot can easily move in and out near the corridor.

Said corridor leads to the treatment room on the right, while Dr. Abbot’s door is on the left. Only one wall separates your reception from his office, allowing you only muffles of conversations you cannot cognise. There are, of course, many times where you’re both in the break room at the far end of the corridor, but never for long. One of you is either entering or exiting (the incident from six months ago shivers like a ghost between the two of you).

When you unlock the clinic in the morning, you prefer to keep the lights off and blinds drawn, door locked again, so as not to leave an invitation for people to creep in before appointments are actually supposed to begin. This means that Dr. Abbot’s arrival gives you at least five seconds to prepare yourself for a greeting when you hear his key click in the door.

At 7:30 AM, you’re stood and leaning over the printer with a stack of pristine white A4 sheets when you hear that click. To your relief, the blinds over the door always conceal him. And you.

He turns the lock and pushes on the handle to find you refilling the printer tray. Everything feels like a balancing act in front of him.

“Morning,” he greets, calm and mellow, as he locks the door behind him.

You wear the same sweet but not-too-eager smile: “Good morning.”

Looking away from him, you still notice the pause in his step. As if his foot stopped short before a pothole. You tuck the slab of paper into its tray, eyes trained on sharp white, waiting for him to say something.

In the blurred corner of your vision, he rubs a hand back and forth over his jaw. But he regains himself after a moment. Leaves the waiting room and disappears down the unlit corridor. The sound of his door quietly latching shut tugs your head in its direction. Soundlessness fills the practice again.

He lowers himself onto his chair, unbuttoned coat still on and bag between his feet. His hands run slowly up and down his thighs. Dress pants burning electric under his palms. Closing his eyes does little to fight away the image of you and the low neckline of that slippery, salmon-pink blouse perfectly framing your tits. The printer faces the windows so he was able to see you head-on the moment he walked in. Low yellow lights bathing your chest golden.

If he let his index finger tug on the curved hem, he could probably pop one out. Had he lingered near you any longer, he fears that is precisely what he would’ve done. Walked around the countertop and cornered you against the desk just to hook his fingertip in your blouse. Give himself a glimpse of your stiff, peaked nipple under his breath.

Lean down and suck—

Jack can probably get off on the thought of it now, pathetic as he is. First appointment isn’t for another half hour. Not like he hasn’t found release in his office before.

Are you trying to vex him? Part of him (all of him) considers firing you.

By some miracle, he contains his urges. His coat feels tighter the longer he keeps it on, so he tugs it off furiously to relieve himself. Most days, he wears a plain, long-sleeved dress shirt underneath a sweater; habitually rolls the sleeves halfway up his forearms. Pale, freckled skin laid bare.

Jack’s standard consultations run for fifteen minutes at best, with maybe an average of twenty-five to thirty patients per day, many of whom have attended the practise for years and years. The absence of his father, to Jack’s awareness, is somewhat mended. Or, at least, the patients seem to think so. Initially, he had worried he’d find trouble filling the gaps and building over the relationships they had already established with his late father. His worries diminished within the first month as he developed a strong rapport with all the regulars.

The very, very elderly often fall into lapses of time and lost recollection where they confuse him for old Dr. Abbot, referring to memories and stories with which Jack is not familiar (though, he is quite fond of this).

He is also moderately aware of his…charm, however dry it may be. Particularly with the women that come in. There have been too many offers and flirtations to count over the years. He doesn’t mind it, and it’s never gone anywhere dangerous. He knows how to keep things separate. Tidy. Clean. Untouched.

Once divorced and quite content on his own (or so he chooses to believe). He won’t deny that his fist gets old, the way he can only forage for fading memories of you when he gets himself going. He’s all leaky when he remembers the press of your ass in the break room. Or a skirt you wore one day, a tad too tight and stopping halfway down your thighs. You had dropped a pen on your way to the door of his office after handing him paperclipped forms. He watched you leave, as he always does. Didn’t expect to see you bend over slightly, just for a moment, to retrieve the pen.

He fooled himself into thinking that if you had parted your legs and leaned forward a little more, he’d just catch a hint of the lacey garters of your sheer black stockings.

Dirty, old man.

Jack curses himself, alone in his office. That infernal blouse of yours is now slotted beside all of his other decadent memories. His own erotic memorabilia.

Throughout the day, he communicates with you as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. He speaks with you when he needs to, maintains steady eye contact (anything below your nose is marked as a hazard zone in his head). Takes your calls, accepts your paperwork, says his pleases and thank yous. Makes sure he stays flaccid and unaroused. Impossibly.

Some time during lunch, when the waiting room is empty, you hear Dr. Abbot before you see him, approaching from your left with a collection of referrals. He doesn’t get a chance to speak because the front door is suddenly pushed open to reveal none other than Frank. The both of you look up to your right where he stands frozen in the doorframe.

“Shit, sorry. Hi,” Frank pants, mouth splitting into an embarrassed smile. “Uh, am I able to make an appointment? With him? Soon, if that's okay.”

You don’t know why, but you look back up to your left, almost like you’re trying to gauge whether Dr. Abbot is okay with it. You don’t need to, obviously. It’s your job to make appointments for him. The man just shrugs, unbothered.

“Yeah, of course, Frank,” you laugh softly. Dr. Abbot shifts impatiently beside you as Frank walks up to the counter.

“Thank you, thank you. I burned my hand on the panini press pretty bad. Few minutes ago,” he raises his left hand, revealing the flimsy bandage wrapped loosely over and around his palm. “I wasn’t sure if you guys take walk-ins.”

“Not often,” you smile, searching the appointment book on your computer for an open slot, “but I think we can fit you in.”

Frank nods, sighing another ‘thank you’ before silence circles the three of you.

Dr. Abbot places the referrals on the desk, “Fax numbers are in that email from Peter’s mother, thank you.” He’s just about to step away when Frank perks up again.

“You working late tonight?”

The both of you look up at him again, but he’s very clearly beaming at you. His curiosity is endearing.

“I don’t think so.” / “Yes, she is.”

A nervous laugh bubbles from Frank while you and Dr. Abbot flick eyes at each other after clashing your answers. You hope to God he didn’t mean it.

Politely, you try to answer differently, “Maybe, depending on—”

“Y’know what, I can probably just see him now,” Dr. Abbot interrupts, quite gruffly, as if he has somewhere else he desperately needs to be. Taps two fingers on the desk. “He can fill out the registration form in my office,” he says, nodding his head in the direction of the corridor.

He slips around the counter, leaving the waiting room before you can say a word. Returning to Frank, you just smile again and hand him the clipboard of forms with a pen, “Here you go.”

“Is he alright?” Frank quirks a brow, accepting the form from you.

“He’s just tired,” you falsely reassure him, very unsure of why Dr. Abbot responded so bluntly. He can be dry in tone, but he doesn’t usually have such an edge with patients. “He gets like that sometimes.”

“Okay, then,” says Frank. “Thank you, again.”

“Any time.”

Frank chats you up at the reception desk ten minutes later, eyes twinkling as he nurses a freshly dressed palm with his prescription in his other hand.

Sometimes, when you really let it, a small consideration crosses your mind. Presumably desperation bred from a lack of…venery from someone you cannot have. So, naturally, you’d feel inclined to look at the options more available to you. And Frank makes himself ludicrously available any chance he gets.

You’re not unaware of it. The dragging glances, the sweet-talking he’s peppered in over the past year. Preening your platonic relationship into this hazy in-between where he hopes he can bribe you into his bed with free food and (arguably) innocent banter. There’s nothing stopping you either. You’re free to latch onto the bait, get his hooks inside you. Curling horribly.

Can’t fill you up nice and good like Dr. Abbot.

Appointments ended at 5. It’s 8 PM when he finally fucking decides to leave his office.

He rounds the counter, ruffling through his pigeon hole at the wall behind you. “I don’t wanna see that Fred guy again.”

“You mean Frank? Was everything okay?”

“Does he bother you?” He ignores your question with his own, straightening up when he finds pamphlets held in a rubber band. He’s never cared to read through them, so it appears to you that he is, for whatever reason, stalling. “He seems eager.”

“He’s friendly.”

“Oh, come on,” a laugh jumps out of him, which compels you to turn your chair in his direction. “The way he looks at you, he’s dying to fuck you,” he smiles and it’s so sickening. Like it amuses him. “Kid probably creamed his pants, seein’ your tits peek outta that blouse.” You’re frozen in your seat, barely processing the utter bluntness of his wording. Serrated knives. “Y’should put the poor guy out of his misery.”

In an attempt to brace yourself, you turn back to face your computer. Your clothes kiss your body uncomfortably now. It’s impossible to soothe the ache pulsing between your legs.

He flips through the pamphlets indifferently and sighs. “Anyway, I think I wanna cancel that meeting with the psych rep on Thursday. The ginger with the goatee. Spencer, I think it was? Doesn’t take any of it seriously. You won’t believe the shit he said last time, that ignorant fuck.” Then, he laughs bitterly, running a hand down his face after he tosses the pamphlets in the bin at your feet. You can only nod, acutely aware of the slick flooding your panties. Slippery clit longing for his hot mouth.

The room tips on its side when he gently squeezes your left shoulder.

“Good job today, yeah?”

You swallow thickly, struggling to look up at him, “Thank you.”

Releases his hand. Though, it feels like he almost rips the skin off your shoulder. Like the sheer heat in his touch had fluxed your flesh with his. Amalgamation. The grooves of his fingertips leaving cracks in the molten rock of your arm.

“And don’t wear that again,” he orders as he walks back around the counter.

Your brows pull tight in confusion. “Sorry?”

“The blouse,” is all he says, passing you and disappearing out the door.

One morning, too many months ago, you had rummaged through the storage room at work in search of decade-old vaccination files for a stubborn patient. Hopelessly, you dug around papers in drawers to find the last thing you were supposed to be looking for. Old prints of Dr. Abbot’s headshots for practice advertisements and pamphlets from two years ago...

At present, on your bed, you are kneeling back against your feet, thighs spread. Loose top hanging on your form, pair of cotton underwear. His crumpled photo, pinned to the sheets under the heel of your outstretched palm.

He looks exactly the same in it. White collar folding out of his sweater. Cropped ashen hair, snowy stubble. An indecipherable vacuum in his eyes (if you aren’t careful, you could sink in and deliquesce into nothing). No doubt, he probably cringed at the idea of getting his picture taken like this.

But one of them has been yours for a while now, always folded and tucked away in your bedside drawer. It rarely leaves its nest, but you can’t help yourself sometimes. When your thoughts aren’t enough, the photo acts as a crutch for an orgasm. Something tangible; real.

With shame coiling in your belly and your free hand wedged between your thighs, you screw your eyes shut to think of him. If you try hard enough, you can probably feel the ghost of his hand trapping your shoulder. His hands clutching your hips. His hands on the desk. His loins obtruding your ass—

—seein’ your tits peek outta that blouse.

Long breaths pour from your open mouth when you feel your core string itself tight, hole clenching around your sore fingers as you thumb your clit. Electric shimmers dot the abyss behind your closed eyes. You pull yourself forward to lean on your other hand while you aimlessly grind against your working wrist. The hovering and the sustained pressure of your thighs set your knees ablaze with overuse. Pain is easier to endure with the precipice of pleasure drawing closer and closer to you in every stroke you manage to thrust into yourself.

One of many fantasies you’ve fabricated, where he drags his flushed tip up and down the seam of your weeping pussy. Mixing his pre with your slick. Playing with you. It’s almost like a memory to you in the way that it shoves you towards climax and sends your eyes flying open to lock in on the photo scrunched in your clenched fist. A strangled cry catches on your teeth before tumbling from your lips.

You come hard, looking at Dr. Abbot’s paper face in the low lamplight of your bedroom.

[womanofwords]

Silver Swan (Part 11)

Neglected!fem!reader x yandere!batfam

You cooled it as Silver Swan while you were being watched. You weren't an idiot; you knew they were following you in the hopes of finding Silver Swan. You just had to stick to a routine while they had their eyes on you and then they'd lose interest.

"So this is the fabric store she goes to for so long," Dick said, disguised as a nerdy-looking guy in a sweater vest and large glasses. "She just walks straight in, and . . . stands at the counter?"

"She must work there, idiot," Jason scoffed.

"She looks happy there," Steph said. "She's . . . smiling."

"She never smiles at home," Duke said. "And Y/N never mentioned a job."

"Y/N never mentions anything," Tim scoffed. "Then again, we never talk to her. She's always up in her room, sewing little bears or whatever."

"Bears . . . just like the bears that Silver Swan was seen giving to people that was filled full of money she stole from the fundraiser!" Damian gasped. Cassandra hit him.

Give it a rest, she signed. You're obsessed and we're sick of it.

"Focus, guys." Barbara's voice came over their disguised comms links. "We have to see if Y/N comes into contact with anyone who could be Silver Swan. Make sure to watch for people in high heels, because any one of them could be Silver Swan in a civilian identity."

"She's probably waiting for someone vulnerable to seduce." Stephanie's stomach contents rose up her throat like mercury in a thermometer. "Y/N would be perfect for that. She'd give the clothes off her back. She said it herself."

"We just need to know a little more about her so she stops clinging to this idea of Silver Swan being so . . . perfect!" Duke said, vibrating with rage. "We're better than that lowlife! She just flies around looking kinda cool and had two high-profile stunts! What could she possibly know?"

"My identity," Damian said.

You could have heard a pin drop. "Silver Swan . . . knows who you are?" Jason hissed.

"She was so infuriating to go up against, and . . . I said too much," Damian admitted. "What if she finds Y/N because of me? I've doomed my only blood sibling!"

"What the hell did you say? When was this? Why would you engage Silver Swan on your own?" Dick yelled.

"I wanted to stop them!"

"And now Y/N's in danger! She doesn't even know what sort of danger she'd be in from Silver Swan because she's in some sort of dazed crush on her! We need to be her role models so that she can't be lured away from us like the little children after the Pied Piper of Hamelin!"

Your siblings spent the rest of the day watching you, growing more and more jealous with every second. You never smiled like that at them.

You never hugged them.

You never took the time to point out their hair being askew or buttons undone.

Damian began frothing at the mouth when he saw you scoop up a small child off the floor and guide him back to his mother. Why couldn't you be this gentle with him? Why did you not show such affection to him?

"You are such a sweet little boy," you said to the toddler. Damian wanted to throw that toddler into traffic.

You wandered into a cafe and ordered quickly, standing around waiting for your order once you had paid. Was that your regular order? Do you normally go here? Did you meet friends here?

"There'll be so much stuff for us to look at when we're at home," Tim said. "School records, tapes, maybe even a diary."

"I know," Stephanie said. "Just . . . let me keep watching."

"Sure," Jason said, as he watched you eat alone. "Just to make sure they're safe."

"Of course," Duke said.

*_*_*_*_*_

"Are you sure you want me to eat lunch with you?" you ask, as your siblings offer you a slice of cheese pizza. "I can make myself something."

"You shouldn't be alone, Y/N." Damian's voice was cold and clinical. "Humans are social creatures. Social interaction is vital."

"Are you feeling OK, Damian? You're . . . not being yourself," you said.

"I feel fine." Damian brushed off your concerns while being elated that you had worried about him. "Now, please eat with us."

You sat down and ate, perched on the edge of your seat. You could feel eyes on you, observant eyes that took in every detail of you.

If you were really going to have them on your back, they might as well be useful.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11 <- You are here

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Taglist: @tinybrie, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @simpingfor-wakasa, @kittzu, @simpingpandas, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @galaxypurplerose, @wisefuncherryblossom, @vanessa-boo, @deathbynarcisstick, @sirenetheblogger, @asillysimp, @toxicvoidsstuff, @kneelforloki, @trashlanternfish360, @tsxukikami.

[akira-dulbar]

The life you left behind

5/3: Building a New Beginning

Part1 Part2 Part3 Part4

Okay, this story was supposed to be in three parts, and now we're on to part five. What happened? Anyway.

Summary: You received a letter from Bruce Wayne himself. Apparently, he barely read your letters.

I don't think there's any warning. But I want to clarify something: I've never read Little Women. I prefer other types of books. So, why did I choose Little Women? Easy. I read a theory somewhere that Jason's favorite book would be Little Women, and I liked the idea, that's all.

Sorry for the translation errors, please let me know if there is anything.

-------

Jason had no idea how to talk to you. It wasn't like he could just stand on your doorstep and tell you everything. You'd be scared, too scared to be specific.

Then he thought of a more concrete idea: Bruce could send you a letter saying he was sorry for not responding sooner and if they could meet up to talk. It's perfect, right?

Nothing can go wrong.

-------

Everything was going wrong for you.

Let's take a few steps back. First, a project you'd finished ended up with errors you had to correct since the deadline was in a few minutes. Then, you were late picking up Peter. Then, you forgot the damn shopping for tomorrow.

That's why, when you finally got home with Peter and a pile of groceries in hand, all you could think about was dinner, then maybe a movie and then heading off to dreamland.

But you were pleasantly surprised to find a letter on your doorstep from Bruce Wayne himself, complete with his seal and everything. Very traditional, if you ask me.

You were panicking about the letter's contents. You'd never spoken to him before and had no idea what he'd say, so you thought it was a bad joke. That's why, when you searched the internet for the Wayne family seal, you almost cried when you saw the same seal on the letter. In any case, what he wanted from you was disconcerting.

You've never spoken, nor have you seen each other. Well, you've seen him, but he hasn't seen you, so it didn't make sense, especially a letter. Why not an email? An email was better than a letter, but you have to say a letter can work too…

Wait…

letter…

You looked over at the kitchen counter to see Peter watching a cartoon while waiting for dinner.

Oh…

Right, the letter…

The letter you sent him to talk about Peter…

"You've got to be joking…" you couldn't help but think as you looked sadly at Peter, then at the letter. You could feel your stomach churning and the sweat on your forehead, your hands slightly warming as you clutched the letter.

But what could you possibly think? At this point, he's answering you? After what? Six years? Please, this was frustrating, and all for what? To take Peter away? To see if what you were saying was true? What was he thinking?

"Mom…" You came out of your inner panic when you looked at Peter in the kitchen doorway. His blue eyes, just like his father's, stared at you. Sometimes you couldn't help but remember Jason in him, with his hair, eyes, and facial shape. It was hard not to see the resemblance, and sometimes, just sometimes, it hurt.

"What's wrong, honey?" You placed the letter on the counter as you knelt down to your son's level, then grabbed his torso and lifted him up with you.

"I'm already bored… read me a story," you snorted, typical, you thought with amusement. Just like Jason and his love of reading, that boy hadn't gotten anything from you. You couldn't help but think about your time at school when Jason was always bored with something or wasn't interested in something, always going off and reading a book. You remembered how sometimes you didn't like to read, that's why he would sometimes read to you while you sat by his side listening. It was only in those moments that you found an incomparable peace, how you had loved that boy.

"What would you like me to read to you?" You watched as your son frowned in concentration while you thought, really, why did he get everything from Jason and nothing from you? It was unfair.

"Daddy's book, Little Women."

"That'll be it, then." You carried Peter to the living room bookshelf to pick out a slightly worn book, obviously because you'd taken good care of it. You sat down with Peter on the couch to start reading.

-----------

You sat up in bed with the letter in your hand. You'd already put Peter to bed, and even though you were already very tired, you knew you couldn't ignore the letter, not when it could change everything in a minute.

Just looking at the letter made you feel like you'd aged about three years. Not even Peter tired you that much. You sighed as you opened the letter and began to read.

"Dear [your name],

I don't know where to start. I just discovered a letter you wrote me six years ago, and my world has turned upside down. I had no idea my son had become a father. I'm overwhelmed by a mix of emotions: surprise, sadness, guilt, and, most of all, curiosity.

I want to know more about my grandson. How is he? How has he grown? What has his life been like these past six years? It hurts to think that I haven't been able to be there for him, that I haven't been able to get to know him, hug him, watch him grow. I want to know more about you, too. How have you been? How have you handled all of this alone? I imagine it must have been very difficult for you, and I'm sorry I wasn't there to support you.

I want to meet my grandson. I want to know if he looks like his father, if he has his eyes, his smile. I want to know if he has inherited his passion, his energy. I want to be there for him, to support him, to guide him, to love him. I want to talk to you; I want to know more about all of this. I want to know if We can find a way to stay in touch, to share information about my grandson. I want to know if I can do anything to make up for lost time.

Please reply. I'm eager to learn more about my grandson and about you.

Sincerely, Bruce Wayne

Well, at least he didn't insult you or insinuate anything bad. You let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding. You felt a little lighter reading the letter, but more anxious about what would come next.

You noticed that below Bruce's name was a number. You imagined it was for communication, and all you could think was that to send him the first text, you'd have to suffer two nervous breakdowns.

(A sleepless night awaits me), you thought bitterly about the long night that would follow.

----------

Bruce was eagerly awaiting a message from you, and he wasn't the only one. His family too, especially Jason, who had been dying for a while. But even so, they couldn't get this far ahead of themselves. A message from you wouldn't arrive for a few days. Even if they sent the letter early, that wouldn't mean you'd respond right away; it would take a while.

(I hope you're at least better than we are,) Bruce thought, four days after the letter, while Jason sat on the couch looking at Bruce's cell phone to see if he had received a message.

(Spoiler: You're not.)

They were eating dinner in the dining room, and although Alfred didn't allow cell phones at the table, he knew full well that this time it was best to make an exception so as not to make the atmosphere any more tense than it already was.

Even so, there was a funereal silence; only the sound of forks and plates touching could be heard; it was exhausting. … ..

Tik Tik

Bruce wasn't surprised when he saw Jason jump onto the table to grab the cell phone next to him. He was Batman, for God's sake. In any case, he grabbed the phone faster than Jason did, so he wouldn't end up damaging it, which caused Jason to continue forward, shoving Tim into his side.

Their weight knocked the chair off balance and they both fell to the floor, making a terrible noise.

"Master Jason!"

"Jason, damn it!" Tim grabbed the back of his head while, with his other hand, he tried to push Jason, who was on top of him.

"What's she saying, what's she saying?!" Dick approached Bruce to check the notification on his phone.

"Grayson, we don't even know if it's her." Damian remained in his chair, not moving an inch. In fact, he seemed more amused by his brothers' fall than by the message.

"It's her." Bruce skims over the text you sent before being snatched away by his second son.

Jason begins to read the message.

"Jason, don't read it to yourself." Dick snatches the phone from his brother as he begins to read the message aloud.

"Hi, I don't even know what to say… I was so surprised to receive your letter after so long. I'm glad you want to meet your grandson, but I'm a little nervous. He's an amazing boy, so much like his father. He has his eyes and his smile.

I've been through all this alone, and it's been hard. I don't know what to expect now that you know the truth. I'd like to meet you, but I'm not sure I'm ready. Do you want to meet soon?

[Your name]"

----------

You didn't think much when you sent the message; it just came out as you thought. The only thing you omitted were the insults. You didn't have to start off on the wrong foot in this new relationship with you… Father-in-law? Your son's grandfather? You don't know the best definition.

They were at work, you had taken your break as a good opportunity to send a message, although a weekend would have been better. You decided you had to send a message four days after the letter; you didn't want him to see you as a bad woman.

.

..

Tik Tik

You were a little surprised when you immediately received a message from Bruce.

You were getting a little nervous, since even though you had sent him a message, you thought he'd be busy doing who knows what being the CEO of his company. Honestly, does he at least have free time, or is it just his secretary answering you? You didn't want to know.

You read the message quickly. It mentioned when a meeting would be convenient for you, that he was happy to have you contact him, etc., which seemed very normal to you, both formal and very professional. Where did this man get such elegance?

In any case, you quickly decided that the place should be private. You didn't want the news to talk about a meeting between the infamous Bruce Wayne and a woman who could easily be mistaken for his daughter, but since she was the mother of his grandson, for God's sake.

You decided it could be his office or something like that, that way there would be privacy and more comfort.

You quickly wrote a message and sent it to him. Then you thought about what you would wear to Peter's meeting. You thought it was best to bring him and have him play for a moment while you talked to Bruce about Peter, at the same time showing it to him as proof of your honesty.

"God, I don't want another sleepless night," you thought to yourself, imagining the night you would have because of the nervousness.

------------

You wanted to run away when you arrived at the Wayne Company offices. Even though there was no turning back, you still had the faith to run, right?

"Mom…" You lowered your head to look at Peter, who was holding your hand. His blue eyes looked back at you with that innocent look that characterized a 6-year-old boy.

"No…"

You couldn't run away. Peter deserved to meet someone from his paternal side of the family. Although he already knew your parents, he didn't know anyone on his father's side. What kind of mother would I be if I didn't let him meet his paternal grandfather?

You sighed as you looked back at the building's doors and started walking toward the building, pulling Peter with you.

You entered the building and continued walking to the reception desk.

"Um… Hi, I'm looking for Mr. Wayne." The receptionist looked at you for a minute, as if judging you, then started typing on the computer.

It wasn't the first time someone had judged you with their eyes. Many judged you for having a child so young, others because you weren't married, or others because they simply didn't have anything better to do, but even if it didn't mean it wouldn't hurt.

"Do you have an appointment? If so, please tell me your name." You gave her a forced smile as you told her your first and last name. Then the receptionist went back to typing on the computer for a few minutes, then turned to look at you.

"Top floor, and at the end of the hall in Mr. Wayne's office."

"Great, thanks," you said as you dragged Peter away from the reception desk to take an elevator that was near a column. You could feel the receptionist's gaze on the back of your neck, and it was becoming more uncomfortable.

As you arrived in the elevator and were about to touch the up button, a hand appeared in your peripheral vision and touched the first vote.

"Oh, thanks…" Your gratitude died when you looked up to find Tim Drake-Wayne, also known as Mr. Wayne's third adopted son, who was your son's grandfather, and therefore your son's uncle.

"Hello?" Tim looked at you while you looked like you were rebooting your system.

"Oh!…Yeah, haha, hello." You smiled nervously as you looked at him and thought about all your life-giving experiences.

"HELLO!" Peter shouted, cheerfully waving at the other boy.

"Hey, buddy, what's your name?"

"Peter! And you?" Peter leaned closer to Tim but didn't let go of your hand.

"Timothy, but everyone calls me Tim-"

"And why does he call you that? And why do you have such big dark circles under your eyes? Are you a raccoon? A zombie, maybe? What are you doing here? Do you have a meeting too?" Peter, like any 6-year-old, started his barrage of questions. Before Tim could answer, another question was thrown out, leaving him speechless.

"Peter…" You were interrupted by the sound of the elevator reaching the first floor and opening its doors.

Finally… you thought to yourself…

That was before you saw Dick Grayson step out of the elevator doors. "Don't mess with me, Fate," you thought pitifully.

"Tim, there you are!" Dick approached Tim to put his arm around his shoulders.

"I've been looking for you everywhere, oh?" Dick stopped talking to look at you and Peter.

You stopped breathing completely…

"And who is this little one?" Dick knelt down next to Peter as he shook his hand.

"I'm Peter, and my mom!" Peter shook his hand as he also pulled yours.

"Well, hello Peter and your mom," Dick smiled as he stood up and looked at you.

"Hello…" You didn't say anything else.

"Okay, Tim, we're going. We have to have lunch. Bye, have a good afternoon," he said as he walked away with Tim behind him.

You entered the elevator with Peter and let out a sigh. You hoped he wouldn't notice Peter's resemblance to Jason.

The doors closed as you watched them leave.

---------

"She seemed very nervous, didn't she?" Dick turned toward the elevator as it was already going up.

"Yeah, he looked like he'd seen a ghost. Maybe it wasn't a good idea coming to see them. He looked like he was going to faint."

"Yeah, it's our fault, but you saw him, right? He looked like Jason!"

"Yeah, when I first saw him from the photos Damián showed me, I was really surprised, but it's nothing compared to real life, right?"

"Yeah, right! A miniature mini Jason. Does he like reading books?"

"When I had to get DNA for the test, I saw a bunch of books in his room, so yeah, but I can't ask him today which one would be his favorite. He asked me so many questions I couldn't answer."

"It's normal. At that age, they're more curious about the world."

"I guess. Anyway, let's go to lunch. I want an espresso."

"Haven't you had 4 yet?"

"Does it matter?"

"Tim…"

-----------

You were in Bruce's office, as he'd asked you to call him. Peter was playing with Bruce while you sat in one of his chairs in his office, watching them play.

At first, the meeting started nervously, with awkward silence, etc., but thankfully, it calmed down and everything got better. They introduced themselves, talked for a moment, explained a few things to Peter about who the man was, and now they were playing, while Peter also asked him about his father.

Yeah… this might have been the best idea…

Then a man came in and called Bruce for a moment.

Bruce looked at him and nodded at the man, then looked at you, which left you confused.

"I'd like to talk to you for a moment about some things." You immediately understood where the conversation was going.

"Sure, I understand."

"If you allow Peter to go with my employee and you and I talk."

That left a bit of a bad taste in your mouth, but you understood that they couldn't discuss those topics in front of Peter, so you nodded.

Bruce guided Peter to the employee, who said something to Peter and offered his hand.

Peter hesitated and turned to look at you.

"It's okay, honey, it's okay. I'll be here if you need anything," you said encouragingly.

Then the door closed, and Mr. Bruce sat down across from you.

"How have you been?" Well, you guess he wants to set the mood for a more serious conversation first, so that's fine.

You talked about the past and present, how things were going at work, your parents, among other things. Suddenly, Bruce stops and looks at you with a serious, grave expression.

"There's something you should know," he says, his voice low and full of suppressed emotion.

You grow intrigued, your heart beating faster.

Okay, here we go, you thought, the conversation you've been waiting for.

Bruce takes a deep breath before speaking, as if working up the courage to say something he's been holding back for a long time.

"My son, Jason, didn't die that day," he says, his voice trembling slightly. "He's alive."

…

…

what?…

You gape, unable to believe what you're hearing. It feels like the floor has opened beneath your feet and you're falling into a bottomless abyss.

"How…?" you asked, your voice shaking.

Just as you were still trying to process Bruce's revelation, the doors open and a man enters the room.

You didn't have to be a fortune teller to know who he was, not when you always saw that face on your son's face, not when you kept a photo of him with you from your school years, not when you cried while pregnant with him and had no idea what to do, not when you kept reading the note he left in his book, not when…

no…

when…

not when you still couldn't forget him…

The man approaches you with a nervous smile and stops in front of you.

"Hi," he says, his voice soft, "it's me, Jason."

He doesn't look like Jason, you thought as you stared at him as if he were a ghost, not your Jason.

The Jason you remember and the one in the photo are thinner, not as muscular as an elephant. He had blue eyes, not blue-green, and he had all black hair, not a white streak.

What happened to him? What happened? You don't understand, you don't comprehend, you feel like you're not breathing properly.

"Why… Why?" is all you manage to say. You don't understand, you don't understand.

You feel overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. You're angry, sad, confused, and scared all at the same time. You don't know how to react to the presence of the man you've thought was dead for so long.

Bruce quickly explains that it was all a cover-up, that Jason had to disappear for safety reasons, and that he'd been protecting him this whole time. You feel like you've been struck by lightning, unable to process the information, you can barely process the conversation, you even feel like you're not fully listening, you even feel like he's saying the words as if they were a rehearsal, as if he's practiced them, but all you're doing is staring at the man who called himself Jason.

"Why?" you ask, tears in your eyes. "Why didn't you tell me the truth?"

Jason approached you, but you moved away, not wanting to listen to his explanations.

"I… I didn't know," he said slowly, as if he were talking to an animal, which you weren't.

"No… you didn't know?" You looked at Jason wildly. He didn't know. All the letters, the emails, the pleas for help you sent to the mansion were what? A joke? He thought those things were a joke? Desperate? What did he think?

"YOU DIDN'T KNOW?" You couldn't help but scream. You felt foolish, stupid, hurt, angry, you didn't feel well.

"I'm going to throw up," you spoke without thinking, which alerted Jason and Bruce, who quickly found a bucket for you.

But even when Jason approaches you with the bucket, you back away. You didn't want him around, you felt disgusted, but you'd rather throw up on the carpet of who knows how many millions than be near him.

Jason looked hurt when you walked away, but you didn't care, not when he didn't care what you did to him.

God, you were crying, you thought as you felt the tears running down your cheeks.

Suddenly, Peter enters the room, curious about the commotion.

"Mom?" Peter asks, his voice innocent. "What's wrong?"

You feel a lump in your throat when you see your son, who doesn't know his father is alive, standing in front of you, looking at him.

You walk quickly over to him, bend down, and hug him tightly, trying to protect him from the truth.

"Nothing, my love," you say, rubbing his back, tears in your eyes. "Let's go home."

You stand up and take your son's hand, not looking at Jason, whom you've thought was dead for so long.

"Wait," Jason says, but is quickly interrupted by Bruce, who places his hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Bruce says, his voice soft. "Maybe we should talk later."

You don't even answer him; without a word, you walk away with your son, leaving the shock and uncertainty behind.

"What's wrong, Mom?" Peter asks as they walk toward the elevator.

You don't know what to say to him. You don't know how to explain the truth, how to feel, what to say, nothing. You were blank.

But you only knew one thing…

You only knew that your life has changed forever.

-------------

end, goodbye

@mev-fizzah-writes @1abi @kkocho @winterelfqueen @yl90 @salvatt1 Thanks for reading. I don't know much English.

I'm tired

[differenteagletragedy]

i nEEEEEEED your take on emotionally sensitive reader watching a heart-wrenching show w simon riley. how do u think he'd react? remain stoic? cry a little? comfort reader? bawl? idkidkidk but I just finished watching when life gives you tangerines and the way i was BAWLING MULTIPLE TIMES PER EPISODE!!

i love your way of writing and how you humanise/domesticate simon riley, so i thought u might be able to do it justice. :333

thank u in advance!!!!

Anon thank you thank you, very relatable (love weeping constantly at literally anything), and soft Simon is my favorite thing in the world <3 <3 <3

Simon likes watching tv with you. He likes being with you in general, likes being at home even better, and there's just something so cozy about cuddling on the couch at the end of the day. It's so normal in a way he never imagined he'd get to experience.

Sometimes he falls asleep, and sometimes he's more focused on you than on whatever you're watching, but tonight, you're on the season finale of the first season of one of your favorite shows, one he'd never seen, so he's paying attention. It's good enough, though a little maudlin for his taste, and he's just about to crack a joke about the dramatics of it all when he hears a sniffle.

He looks over, and you're full-on crying, eyes glued to the screen while tears stream down your face. He glances around the room in confusion, because ... what is this? But he knows you well at this point, has studied you like you're both a person he loves and a lesson to learn, and he can see how invested you are in the show -- that's what you're crying about.

A laugh rumbles out of his chest, the tv forgotten, by him, anyway.

"You fucking serious?" he asks, not unkindly but amused. "You're crying over this?"

"It's sad!" you answer quickly. "Have you not been watching?"

"I've been watching, haven't seen anything to weep over though."

You scoff, pausing the show, and turn to him. He knows he's about to get a talking-to, and he settles in, smirking and excited to hear it.

"One, I'm not weeping, I'm showing natural human emotion to something very sad," you tell him. "Two, she is so strong and so brave? Three she's 16 and she thinks she's going to die, that's --"

"She's not gonna die, love, come off it," he interrupts you, still smirking. "There's six seasons left."

For some reason, that causes you to cry harder. You actually let out a soft little sob, your face crumpling. Simon feels a little bit like a dick for it, but he still laughs. Not because he's laughing at you, but because it's all just so damn adorable.

He tuts, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to his chest, "Come on now, sweetheart, that's enough of that. Don't like to see you crying, you know that."

He holds you for a moment before he reaches over and presses play, and the two of you stay silent for the rest of the episode -- until you cry again, then a third time. His arms stay around you, firm and solid, and he can't help but smile.

It's something about the knowledge that you're crying over something that doesn't matter, not really, and how that means that there's nothing more serious to cause you grief. It makes him feel like he's doing something right to make you feel comfortable enough to let him see you like this.

When the end credits of the episode start playing, he leans down to kiss the top of your head, and he says, "Think you got some snot on my shirt, take a break for a wardrobe change?"

"You're such a jerk," you tell him, but he can hear the smile in your voice.

"Ah, but I'm your jerk," he concedes, pulling you just a little closer. "I'll take that."

[thatcryptidinthesea]

So I've been thinking way too hard about the ISAT role!swap aus by @anxiousapplepie (hi! hope you don't mind the tag :]), especially the Housemaiden!Siffrin AU, and I was planning to draw fanart with my ideas but my university assignments have been looming over me *head in hands*. So in the mean time here's all my thoughts rambled out onto paper so maybe they'll stop haunting me while I'm trying to do work.

Starting with some HCs:

• Having depression is an inherently Siffrin trait, the different Sifs just deal with it differently. HM!Sif was able to get access to antidepressants due to being in the House of Dormont, but wasn't able to take them with him when he had to flee from the King's curse. So like OG!Mira, they had to go through their journey unmedicated. Isabeu and Odile's ractions to finding this out was something like

• All Miras are medicated for their anxiety, and most of them were able to have access to their meds throughout their journeys (OG!Mira and T!Mira I'm so sorry but you had to do it scared). F!Mira made double sure she brought her's knowing HM!Siffrin didn't have their's.

• Once T!Bonnie started warming up to and trusting the party, they'd hide behind the others' legs when they didn't want to be seen. Hiding behind Siffrin had the added bonus of being able to hide under his cape.

• When T!Bonnie has had a particularly rough night, they'll go sleep next to Siffrin because they know Sif WILL end up cuddling them in his sleep and it makes them feel safe. <- I imagine a lot of their sibling relationship was built on Bonnie going to Sif and just silently clinging and Sif just letting them and not forcing them to talk.

• C!Odile is the best fusion cook ever. This woman can take any two cuisines and mix them together flawlessly. Even things that arguably should never go together.

Ok now for a character ramble under the cut because Housemaiden!Siffrin is that one character I want to put under the microscope like a beetle. Argh. The angst of being the Universe's walking talking religious contradiction...

There's so much potential for HM!Siffrin's inner struggle with the Change belief. For one thing he doesn't really get to choose how he Changes much, he doesn't really have control over it. You can't decide how you'll be a different person if you have no idea who you originally were. Yet the Change belief has this whole thing about choosing to Change yourself and choosing to leave your past self behind. Can you imagine being Siffrin and being told you have to decide to be a completely different person when the only info you have about yourself are the clothes on your back, your accent and a love for malanga fritters? Meanwhile everyone else can choose to Change however they like because they know who they are and how they can be different, and they get to choose to get rid of the mementos of their past because they still ultimately have the memories if they ever want to go back for whatever reason.

And the fact Sif can't really choose to Change kinda shows in the ways he does decide to change because they're all physical changes. They recut their cloak into a cape, they dyed their hair and then let it regrow, they trade weapons or headgear with Mira. Those are all things that he can actually control, and thus can actually make choices about.

Which also makes me think about how he got the "worst/laziest Housemaiden ever" title. It probably felt to any outside perspective who knew the Change belief that Siffrin wasn't putting in any effort to Change and was instead skirting around the rules by just physically changing. So people started to say he's lazy and not following the belief right, and because Siffrin didn't have an identity he internalised being the Worst Housemaiden Ever as his identity and kind of stopped trying because why bother? Which SUCKS because can you imagine losing literally everything about your home/culture/language/family and then trying to make a new home and identity with another community only to be told by that community "hey you're terrible at this actually"? That's awful. Siffrin can probably never really feel truly, confidently part of the Change belief because they were alienated from it from the start.

And then to finally top it all off when Euphrasie chose him to save Vaugarde it's likely no one believed that Sif was the saviour because he's known across the Houses as the Worst Housemaiden Ever, why would the Head Housemaiden of Dormont choose him?!? Which probably only cranked up Sif's self-esteem issues because they'd also think Euphrasie could've picked better.

So yeah *head in hands* Housemaiden!Siffrin feels like a character locked in a constant feedback loop of "can't be part of the community despite their efforts because the system is inherently flawed for them" and "doesn't bother trying so the community disregards them".

[epsdoll]

Do you do imagine posts? Id like to hear what being Elvis wife would be like

Hii angel !! Thanks for your request <33 I just wanted to clarify that since you didn't give a specific era like 50s, 60s or so, I chose late 70s Elvis (my baby) but you can totally imagine whatever era you want or ask for another era. also this the first imagine i've ever wrote so y'all tell me if it's good !! xx

𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐈𝐒' 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 ?

It’s not what people think.

It’s not rhinestones and flashbulbs and screaming crowds.

It’s soft lamps at 3AM.

It’s his fingers brushing against your spine while he hums something you can’t place, lying awake beside you while the world sleeps.

Elvis doesn’t sleep at night—he never has, not really. His world comes alive under dim lighting, when the air is quiet and everything feels suspended. He’ll wake up after dark, hair messy, voice raspy, moving slow as honey while he finds you. Always looking for you first. Doesn’t matter who’s in the house. Doesn’t matter what the schedule says. His day starts when he sees you.

Some nights, you find him in the den, sitting cross-legged on the carpet with his nose in a book about chakras or ancient prophecies, incense burning low beside him. Other times, he’s pacing. Deep in thought. Rambling about something he read, or a dream he had, or how everything’s connected. He’ll talk until his voice gets hoarse, then just sit with you in silence, letting his hand fall into yours like it belongs there.

You’ve learned to follow his rhythm. Late-night peanut butter and banana sandwiches in the kitchen. Midnight drives. Curtains drawn during the day so he can sleep peacefully, your body curled against his under the heavy sheets. You’re his peace. His anchor. You didn’t ask to be, but he gave you that place without question. Like he just knew.

Some days are harder than others. You see it in his hands when they shake just a little trying to open a bottle. In the way he leans on you more than he lets anyone else see. The meds slow him down. Some of them make him tired, foggy, forgetful. But he tries—for you. He tries to take less, or take them later, or ask the doctor about changing things up. Because he sees the worry in your eyes, and it kills him. He says it doesn’t bother him, but you know it does. He doesn’t feel like himself sometimes, and that makes him feel like less of a man.

In the beginning, he was scared. Scared you’d want someone younger, stronger, someone who didn’t flinch at mirrors or dread mornings. He couldn’t touch you the way he used to touch women in his younger years. He couldn’t always feel what he used to feel. He cried once, thinking you were asleep—held your hand to his chest and whispered that he was sorry he wasn’t enough.

But you stayed. You didn’t need him to be the man the world saw. You just needed him to be yours. So now he kisses you softer, slower. He holds you longer. He asks if you’re happy and believes you when you say yes. Because happiness here looks like coffee at midnight. It looks like his head in your lap while you play with his hair. It looks like soft pajamas and gospel records and half-finished conversations at sunrise.

The boys—the Memphis Mafia—thank God for you more than once.

They don’t say it outright at first, not when it’s new and Elvis is still pretending everything’s fine. But over time, you catch it in the way Jerry’s voice softens when he says, “He’s been lookin’ better lately.” Or how Joe gives you that knowing nod when Elvis eats a real meal or skips a pill because you asked him to. Red jokes that he used to have to drag Elvis outta bed, but now? He gets up for you.

They see the way he tries. The way he holds himself a little straighter when you walk into the room. The way he reaches for water instead of another handful of pills. He still struggles, of course. Still has those days where the weight of everything gets too heavy. But they’ve seen what he was before you—how he let himself slip deeper into the dark. And they see now: he wants to stay in the light, if only to be the man you deserve.

Some nights are soft and sacred. You don’t need fireworks or grand gestures. Just him. Just the two of you. Sometimes, the world feels far away—shut out by blackout curtains and whispered “I love you”s under breath. You’ll make love slow and quiet, like you’re trying not to wake the house. Like time’s frozen around you. And afterward, he’ll tuck you against his chest, bury his face in your hair, and sleep through the whole day with your body wrapped in his arms. It's not just passion—it's safety. It's home.

Other nights, he’s all wide-eyed and playful, coming into the room with a sly grin and that little bounce in his step that only means one thing: he’s got a plan.

“C’mon, baby. Get dressed. We’re goin’ out.”

Out means he's rented out an entire movie theater in the middle of the night just so you and the boys can watch some old western or kung fu flick. Popcorn for everybody. Blankets just for you. He watches you more than the movie—smiles every time you laugh, kisses your temple during the boring parts. For him, your joy is the main event.

And then there are the quiet, thoughtful things he does that no one else sees.

Like the time he went into a little church while he was away—just wandered in after a long day. He found a rosary in the gift shop, held it in his hand for the longest time. Later that night, he gave it to you, eyes low like he wasn’t sure if it was silly or not.

“I figured… when I ain’t here, you could hold it while you pray. Think ‘bout me. That way I’m always with you, baby.”

You cried, soft and quiet, and he held you like the world could end right there and he’d still be content, as long as you were in his arms.

Being his wife means learning how to love a man who's seen too much and felt too deeply. It means patience when he's quiet, comfort when he's overwhelmed, and laughter when he forgets how to smile.

But in return?

You get a kind of love that’s rare. The kind that fights for you, even when he's tired. The kind that shows up at 2AM with a peanut butter sandwich and a kiss. The kind that holds your hand during gospel songs and stares at you like you’re something holy.

He’s not perfect. But he loves you like it’s the only thing he’s ever done right.

And maybe, in a way, it is.

Being Elvis’ wife means living in a world that turns upside down—where night is day, and love is whispered in the quiet hours.

It means seeing the man behind the myth: soft-hearted, haunted, trying his best. It’s devotion wrapped in silk sheets, gospel records at dawn, and a hand reaching for yours even in sleep.

It’s not always easy. But it’s real. Raw. Sacred.

And in the end, it’s this:

Loving him in the dark, and being the light he always comes home to.

[ladykyriaa]

I think one thing I'm gonna say to the people who are, in a way conflicted and/or waiting to watch the series is that you're honestly gonna have to be okay with grey areas. That's literally it.

KnH isn't going to explicitly show nor tell you how good/bad things are. it's an incredibly realistic story set in ancient China tackling its many issues; starting from societal problems, political, norms, gender roles, and so on. What might be problematic now isn't necessarily something the characters are going to think about more than twice.

I think a slightly controversial example would have to be abt the pedo emperor. YES, an incredibly horrible person and deserves to die in the most painful way possible. But KnH also tackled the issue that he had been human, all too pathetic and pitiful to rightfully rule the empire-never had the spine to talk to proper women thus resulting in him only talking and being attracted to (gag) little girls. You're not gonna see the characters talk ill of him more than necessary, they know its fucked up and frankly weird, but there's nothing to be done but to live with the consequences of his actions.

(Why I set this as a grey example is because I've seen people expecting the pedo to be this horrid-abusive person-and he is of course- but they certainly weren't expecting him to be depicted so pitifully and hurt, like he himself was a literal child still in need of protecting.)

don't also expect the characters to do one good thing after another just because you expect them to. Under different situations, different feelings, different place, their choices vary from one another depending on what's necessary. Don't even expect their relationship to be one linear from start to finish, thinking you can guess which way its gonna go.

in fact this is what maomao says when Jinshi questions her explicitly about their relationship

and i just think this genuinely applies to the series as a whole. Natsu Hyuuga isn't going to outrightly spell it out for y'all what Maomao nor Jinshi feels for each other, what the empress dowager feels for the pedo, what Ah-duo feels for the emperor and vice versa. She expects people to understand and come to their own conclusion.

She pieces together puzzles and expects you to fit them together, if you somehow got a different result from the way she intended then, well, that's on you I guess.

don't expect a "yes" or "no" answer to whatever questions you're about to ask. There's always gonna be a "but" and "however" to it, I think. At least from my experience of reading the novel and questioning the choices they've made.

People in this fandom throw away the word SA so easily, TOO easily I'd say. from here on out you're gonna read a lot more "problematic" things that other characters have done that they think are more or less for the good-whether that be their own good or other characters' sake.

The anime honestly does paint the series in a lighthearted way, and compared to other series it's certainly not as "dark". However I do think the strength of this series lay in its realistic choices and stories, how the characters feel so utterly human, not just driven by plot.

[lookingforuravity]

CHAPTER 9: SITTING ALONE

now playing ♫ not allowed by tv girl

word count: 910 words + text messages

series masterlist | prev chap. | next chap.

The universe had to be fucking with me. This had to be some sort of sick joke. Now that I finally admit my feelings to myself is it when stuff starts going wrong? It was just supposed to be a casual group hangout.

I don't want to hate on a girl just because I'm jealous. But when I'm actively being ignored? I think my feelings are pretty valid. And Aiko was gorgeous. I looked nothing like her. Her glow was so natural and unmatched, it was the type of beauty you'd see in those magazines. Where did she even come from? I think she was friends with Ochaco, but why was she here?

And why was she close to Katsuki?

As much as I tried not to stare, every time I even glanced over they were talking. Everytime she'd speak he'd lean over or straighten his posture. He looked at the same way he looked at me. The jealously hit me like a wave and I was drowning in it.

As the night wore on, I tried to ignore it but it was like a crushing weight I couldn't ignore.

I shouldn't be feeling this way though. I knew it was too good to happen and something was going to make him change his mind eventually. I don't get to feel possessive over him or hurt that he's spending time with another girl. He was never mine to begin with.

It didn't help that Katsuki barely talked to my throughout the whole night. He was so caught up with this new girl that he didn't even acknowledge I was there for the entire night. It felt invisible.

But I'm being silly, right? Am I just overthinking it? But no, I couldn’t be. I've seen this happen before. It's been my life story, where a guy I'm into picks the prettier girl. It's happening again.

I couldn't handle it anymore. My body was hot and I felt like I was sweating imaginary bullets. I was angry and hurt and I needed fresh air. I needed to breathe. I needed a drink.

I walked in the kitchen and opened the fridge, letting the cool air settle down anger and grabbed a cold water bottle before chugging it down. But the universe really decided it wasn't going to be on my side today.

“Oh, you're Y/n, right?”

Aiko.

I forced myself to put on a fake yet polite smile, turning myself around to face her. “Yeah. Hi”

“Hey! You're so quiet I didn't even notice you were here.”

Ouch.

I let out an awkward laugh and gripped my water bottle tightly. “I've been here the whole night… I just wanted water.”

Her arrogant smile was annoying me. I was fighting every bone in my body to not slap that little knowing smirk off her face. “You have to talk more often,” She told me “People are going to start forgetting you're there.”

If I talk to this girl any longer I'm going to kill myself.

“Anyways, spending time with Bakugou tonight has been really fun. He's actually sweet! But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?” She turned on her heel and then walked out of the kitchen.

Okay, now all my hatred is valid. Fuck this bitch.

I left the kitchen and grabbed my things. If I stayed any longer and continued looking at them, I think I'd throw up. I said a quick goodbye to Mina and the rest before heading to the front door. I didn't realize somebody was following me until my hand was already twisting the door knob.

“Y/n.”

I froze in my tracks as I heard that familiar, gruff voice call out my name. I was going to turn around and face him, but I physically couldn't. It was like my body was preventing me. “Uh, yeah?” I tried to not show how affected I was but my voice betrayed me as it shook slightly.

“Where are you going?” Katsuki asked, his voice that same gentle tone he'd always use on me.

“Just home,” I answered back. “I don't feel good.”

It wasn't a complete lie. I did feel sick. But it wasn't because I was coming down with an illness. It was because the sight of seeing him with another girl made me sick to my stomach.

I couldn’t see him, but I didn’t need to to know that he didn’t believe me. I already knew he was making that stupid face at me. “Okay. You sure?”

“Mhm.” I hummed, not trusting myself to speak any further.

“We are friends, y'know? You can tell me if something’s wrong.”

Right. Friends.

“I'm sure.” And with that, I walked out and shut the door behind me.

I knew it was too good to be true.

No matter how hard I try, I'll never be good enough to love and I know that. I've accepted it years ago. Now all of a sudden this guy comes into my life and I have hope again. It's pathetic. I'm pathetic. I'm a loser trapped in a teenage girl's body. Now all I can do is do what I do best.

Avoid.

TAGLIST [50/50]: @ditsyngel @bratzblondie @lotusstarr @katsulina @wonubby @kalulakunundrum @tamishadawn @bangersplusmash @erenjaegerswifeee @r9yri @aa-soo @shewki @rednicotine @jaguarthecat @katsuisbaby @snoozebun @h0ngh0ngh0ng @megumismyhusband @jazoewazoe @ac333s @ikissfade @icey-wonders @bakunianadecorazon @marvel-z0mbie @tjbfingfh @d4rlinxs @bokutosmeatythigh @harryzcherry @holobean @grim-reapers-wife @ahahadumbo @qyuin @happinessisabutterflie @bluepartywobblernickel @eternallyshifting @luvvwritess @saintcosette @ilovemushroomss @kodzubaby @straows @katsucookies @mikestuffffs @starrzzworld @ilovesoupp @nina-from-317 @sunghoonzzzz @acowboykisser @starlightanyaaa @stayp1ece143 @moochiwoochi

©LOOKINGFORURAVITY 2025 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other platforms!

[revelboo]

The fact that now tumblr is now censoring ya blog and others :')

I've recently got possession of Masterpieces Ironhide, Prowl and Bumblebee, $30 each, still in the box, cards, and all accessories, everything from the Facebook marketplace.

Have any updates for idw/g1 Ironhide, Prowl, or Bumblebee?

Ooh nice on the MPs. And yeah, several TF blogs are affected right now

Hold Me Down Pt 8

Ironhide x Reader

• Angry and defensive again. That seems to be your default reaction and he’s seen it before. Saw it in a youngling he’d found wandering the streets of Kaon so long ago. Barely more than a sparkling, but so terrified all the time under the anger, trying to protect his twin from an unkind world that had abandoned them. Venting as he grips the back of his neck, exhaustion spills through him. “You don’t have to trust me, but you’re safe here.”

• Snorting, you fight the urge to draw your legs up against yourself. Because looking vulnerable just makes you a target. Know that. And how many times have you found safe places that really weren’t? He’s not being kind, he wants something. Stringing you along until he gets it and then he’s on to the next toy. “I don’t trust you.” Because trust is dangerous, can kill.

• You’re so tightly strung, but he knows you won’t talk until you’re ready to. How long did it take Sunstreaker to stop looking for threats that weren’t there? To understand that he really was safe for the first time in a very long time? The kid never has opened up about what he’d gone through in Kaon. Doubts he ever will and he’ll probably always carry those scars. “You don’t have to,” he says, shrugging as your eyes narrow.

• What’s his game? What could he possibly want with you? Or is it the thrill of getting past your defenses? Winning you over and then betraying you, maybe? Fingers picking at the hem of your shirt, you turn away from him. Make yourself turn your back on him like you don’t care, like you’re not scared of him. And you’re so tired of being scared, being hungry.

• “I’m still going to look after you, though,” he adds. You’re his responsibility now and someone needs to drag you kicking and screaming from that path you’re on before you steal from the wrong person and get hurt. “And you’re going to be respectable, you little pit-spawned brat.” Glaring up at him, he offers you a smile. Because he’s walked someone away from that self-destructive edge before. Isn’t abandoning you whether you like it or not.

Previous

[cozymochi]

I've been really curious about your OCs for a while, and the ask regarding Silver and Cecil got me wondering, what's Nyoka's relationship with the Savanaclaw trio? I've got a faint idea about what he thinks of Leona though (he's a Leona glazer [simp/j] from what I based on that one answered ask). Sorry if this seems too much or a bother though ✌🏻

This took me a hot minute to compile but I think this is as up to date as I can muster. Featuring lore crumbs. [Majority Under Cut]

Nyoka Relationships

🍩+🫖

Ruggie + Nyoka

Ruggie sees an opportunity to make good money. Y’know, if Nyoka actually took his offers. He’s never met a cobra beastman until Nyoka, and the only thing he ever knew about them is that they live far away, they’re closed off, and RICH.

And this Nyoka guy is the richest out of them all.

Being the little opportunist that he is, Ruggie may sometimes ask Nyoka if he has any jobs he can do. The guy’s loaded, there’s gotta be something, and certainly a nice generous payment to go with it! Ruggie is willing to offer gofer services, anything for a rich up-and-coming lil’ mini celebrity.

Nyoka typically declines these propositions should they come up. He was mostly raised to be self-sufficient and pick up after himself despite his environment.

He might dig around Nyoka’s trash to see if he can scrounge up any valuables. Leona never gives a shit about tossing away perfectly fine things! So, maybe this other super rich guy does the same once in a while.

Besides, It’s not like Ruggie is scared of him to begin with. If Ruggie can handle someone as domineering and lazy as Leona every day, he can handle some stiff and possibly stingy cobra too. (Disclaimer: Only thinks Nyoka is stingy because he won’t let him do work/favors.)

The two are certainly not friends, but they have no issues either.

——

Nyoka doesn’t care for Ruggie personally, but he can understand how a scavenger is essential to pick up what’s left behind.

He mostly keeps his distance, as he would with anybody else. Ruggie is not bad company by any means if they do cross paths, but he would rather not engage. He can kind of sense that Ruggie has ulterior motives and can suss them out pretty quickly.

It should be noted that there are zero hyenas where Nyoka is from. And even outside of Sunset Savanna, hyenas don’t exactly have a great reputation. He never met any until attending NRC. Anything he does know about hyenas is from osmosis, and it is already skewed heavily against them, so he is somewhat guarded im response to that as well.

He did find it unusual that many texts at NRC about the King of Beasts mention hyenas quite a bit. Back home, they aren’t mentioned at all in legends. It’s mainly just reptiles. Curious.

The most Nyoka can do is observe his behavior and put a pin in it. He might carry a small prejudice in the back of his mind.

🐺+🫖

Jack + Nyoka

There isn’t too much to say. Jack doesn’t know Nyoka. In fact, he wasn’t even aware somebody like that was even in his own dorm to begin with for a while. Jack isn’t exactly chummy with the people in Savanaclaw, nor pays attention to what they say. Besides, talking with fists is the better alternative if any of those punks really have something to say to him.

Sometimes the sheer scope of Night Raven College and its student body continues to surprise him.

As far as Jack is aware, he’s never actually seen Nyoka. They don’t run in the same circles. If he has, he probably passed by him without noticing. Considering that Nyoka wants to mostly be missed within the dorm, this is probably ideal.

It’s possible they may eventually run into each other, but it’s hard to gauge if they would get along.

——

On the other hand, Nyoka is at least aware of Jack through osmosis since he appears to have gained some manner of infamy within the dorm. Some of the rougher guys tend to grumble and about how annoying, uppity and goodie-goodie that frosh Wolf Beastman supposedly is.

So, at some point those grumblings would reach Nyoka while he’s lingering around a corner or hear it through the walls. Gossip is not exactly of any interest to him, but he will store it in his system so he knows what to be aware of.

However, being a third-year on a completely different schedule, he and Jack do not normally cross paths at all. He doesn’t know Jack personally, therefore has not formed many strong opinions. He has seen him a few times, as Jack sticks out considerably for a freshman (both in appearance and behavior).

As of now they do not know each other directly. Out of all the main trio, this is the most distant relationship, in that there really isn’t any.

It’s not clear how they would interact. Though, it’s possible Nyoka would find Jack’s manners to just be deplorable due to his more brute way of solving conflict.

🦁+🫖

Leona + Nyoka

(Oh man not the Scar and Ushari of twst. So.)

Leona was already aware of Nyoka beforehand. If tangentially at first.

The royal family used to be in contact with the Wadjets, especially while Leona’s father was still active king, but that friendliness mostly dissolved when changes were made after some incident occurred. But, Leona was a kid when that happened and had nothing to do with him or Nyoka, so it’s mostly irrelevant.

Due to both of their statuses, they have been in attendance at the same events in Sunset Savanna over the years, but never formally met each other until attending NRC.

So when the Dark Mirror assigned Nyoka to Savanaclaw he wasn’t surprised by the choice at all.

He already knew Nyoka is a sole heir and that the Wadjets have direct ties to mining resources in their neck of Sunset Savanna. With this being a shared interest for Leona, having that person in his corner is only a net positive in due time. (Or would be anyhow if he had any say back home.)

Being the perceptive person he is, Leona knows it’s not really in Nyoka’s nature to be around others. Cobras don’t exactly run in packs.

He doesn’t give Nyoka any special treatment or anything, that’s not how this dorm works regardless of species. That being said… if the merciful dorm leader allowed him to clean out one of the junkie vacant rooms just so he could have his own burrow to coil up in, then maybe this studious guy could share some of that book-knowledge with the rest of the dorm once in a while. 😌 Everybody has their place around there.

Of course, he’ll let other students in the dorm prod the cobra, everyone needs a little roughing up every now and then. Thing is: if he bites back that’s on them.

Sometimes he finds Nyoka’s habits eyebrow raising at times, but he doesn’t comment on it. He chalks that up to him just being a cobra or something. It’s not like there’s a ton of those guys back in his neck of the savanna anyway, so what would he know?/s

That aside, It’s nice once in a while to have an actual intellectual person to test his methodical wits with on an equal playing field. Even if that field is mostly a literal impromptu game of chess when the mood strikes.

Leona almost always wins of course, but that cobra manages to keep games just interesting enough to where winning feels like an accomplishment.

——

Nyoka views Leona as Savanaclaw’s “king” just like the vast majority of the dorm does. With Leona actually being a prince he treats him accordingly right down to ONLY referring to him as “your/his highness” and bowing when in his presence. He regards him with courtesy, as one hypothetically should.

(Meanwhile, Leona just calls him “cobra.” Why not, he’s the only one in the whole dorm/school.)

Formalities aside… Nyoka idolizes Leona more than one would think.

He has a fascination with Leona that he’s drawn to like a moth to a flame. To Nyoka, every word and move from Leona is so calculated; with no energy wasted on under-stimulating or inferior matters. Even how he presents himself is an interest. He is fascinated by every single aspect of Leona to the point it almost borders on obsession. Nyoka might be distinctly inexpressive, but when around Leona’s “fire” as he puts it, his thoughts tend to fixate. At least nobody can hear what he’s thinking. There’s a certain atmosphere being in Leona’s presence, and especially when he finally lets out that ferocity.

Whatever Leona were to ask of him, he would be willing to do it so long as it keeps this proverbial “fire” burning. The last thing he would want is for Leona’s fire to burn out entirely. That would be such a shame.

Leona doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.

(Where Nyoka is from, stories of the King of Beasts say his spirit appeared in fire. So maybe that has something to do with it.)

Nyoka does not go out of his way to ever seek out Leona. He only arrives when he is specifically called. Nyoka makes sure that their encounters are meaningful, mainly via their chess matches. This leaves him plenty of time of observe and be a part of those mind games that Leona takes so much pride in.

Regardless, they remain on good terms with each other. Leona is arguably the only person within the dorm that he has any modicum of actual respect towards.

Nyoka can have one uncharacteristic oddity in his mind. As a treat.

[billiegabbysyd]

The evolution of Billie and reader’s relationship as seen through the vanity fair interviews

𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝒆𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒙 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒇𝒆𝒎𝒎𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕.

i hope y’all like it!

𝒄𝒘: 𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒆

interviewer: "billie, this is your eighth year doing the time capsule interview. today, we're doing something special by having your partner join us. how does it feel?"

billie: "honestly,it's feels weird in a good way. watching these interviews over the years has been like flipping through a diary. having my beautiful wife here makes it even more special because so much of my growth is intertwined with them. we met before i started doing these and i’m glad for her to be a part of something that is very special when it comes to my career."

the interviewer turns to you.

interviewer: “how does it feel to be part of this tradition?"

you: "it's an honor. i've seen billie evolve through these interviews, and being here now feels like a full-circle moment. i’m remember billie being so excited for the first one she did, so getting to be here means a lot.

year one – 2017

billie: "back then, i was just starting out. I had 257,000 followers and was overwhelmed by the attention. we had just met at a local music event a few months before. she complimented my performance, and we started talking. that was the beginning of a relationship i didn't expect."

you: "i remember thinking how genuine she was. i was there getting social media content for the company sponsoring the event when we had crossed paths. despite the buzz around her, she was grounded and kind."

year three – 2019

billie: "touring was intense. i had toured before with don’t smile at me but this was my first world tour. i felt like i was losing touch with reality being away from home so long, but my wife was my anchor. we'd facetime between shows, and her voice reminded me of home. we had been dating for a year at that time."

you: "i remember being so happy for b. it was challenging, but we made it work. our first year together, we saw each other almost every day, so this tour was definitely something that we worried about when it came to our relationship. communication became our lifeline."

year five – 2021

billie: "i was in a better place mentally. in the interview, i said i was hopeful and happy. a big part of that was my baby. she supported me unconditionally. we had just moved in together and had gotten engaged a few weeks before.

you: "we had grown together. our bond was stronger, and we understood each other deeply. moving in together and being committed to one another was a big part of that year."

year seven – 2023

billie: "we didn't release an interview that year, but we recorded one. It was a transformative year. we celebrated five years together, we had gotten married the year before, and our relationship matured."

you: "being married brought new challenges, but also beautiful moments. we learned more about each other every day in a more intimate way because we were building a life together."

year eight – 2024

billie: "this year, I said, 'i can't believe where my life has gone, and where it is now.' having my wife by my side has been the most consistent and comforting part of this journey. especially more than ever because she’s having our first child soon.

you: "it has been a journey and i am grateful to have billie by my side through it all. she has been my rock and i am so excited for this new chapter of being parents."

interviewer: "your story is inspiring. any advice for those navigating relationships amidst personal growth?"

billie: "communicate openly, support each other's dreams, and never lose sight of the love that brought you together."

you: "grow individually and together. celebrate each other's successes and be there during the lows. it's a journey worth taking."

-thank you for the request 🫶🏾