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starkeygirlposts · 5 months ago

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Goosebumps in my Sleeve IV

Summary: You've been dating Rafe Cameron for 3 years, and one day Ward and your mom tell you they're getting married.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Trigger warnings: stepcest, drugs, pregnancy, swearing, pregnancy, no smut in this chapter, strong depictions of abortion and aftermath of abortion, swearing, domestic violence, idk what else lol

18+ mdni

PREVIOUS PART

His lips break apart from yours but his forehead rests against your own as he breathes deeply and takes your hands in his.

“Rafe, look at me.” You request, tightening your fists and finally his head breaks away from yours, but he doesn’t give you much room to crane your neck up to meet his eyes, but when you do you see a softness you’ve been missing for over a year. You can see the boy you loved at sixteen hidden behind his dark glazed eyes and you hope it isn’t your mind playing tricks on you. You find your fingers absentmindedly ghost up his chest to find both of his cheeks, cradling his face to lure his attention to what you’re about to say.

You lock eyes with him and silently plead quietly telling him “...We need to give Pope the cross.” You breathe deeply, knowing he’s surely about to cut you off so you hastily continue, closing your eyes, "I know you think this is the only way! - But it…it isn’t!” You tell him, your nerves wound tight, bracing for him to lose it. But he doesn’t. He’s staring at you and you start to wonder if he was even listening. But then his nostrils flare with an inhale and he closes his eyes before speaking.

“Alright. Yeah, alright, alright. We give it back…say we give it back. How, how am I supposed to protect you with nothing, Y/N? You want a roof over your pretty head?” He asks you the question laced with trickery, his fingers ghosting to brush your hair out of your eyes before continuing "With what money? You got some secret stash you haven’t told me about? Once we leave, my dad will drain every account. I can’t just walk into the bank and take that money. My accounts are all in his name. You think I haven’t thought this through in my head? You think he did anything before thinking about something like this? There’s a reason nothing is mine, Y/N. This is the only way, baby.” He tells you, the reality clouding your mind and you start to shake your head, feel like you’re panicking, your heart racing and bile turning up in your gut. You can’t help but cringe and close your eyes to revel in disbelief before tugging him closer to you by the fabric of his shirt under your fingertips. You can’t afford to lose him this far in. You know you have a good argument, but even so, he’s right. How were you supposed to get anywhere with pennies in your pockets? The world stops for a moment and you call his name again, his eyes locked in on yours and you drag his face close to yours.

Your lips ghost his, his nose brushing yours while you murmur “You know where the gold is, don’t you? Ward took you to the Bahamas.” You tell him, and all he wants is to kiss you. To hush your pretty mouth with his. His eyes are alternating between your own, your lips, back to your button nose, and he’s everywhere all at once. He scoffs and starts to shake his head because you just dont get it do you?

“It - It’s more than enough, Rafe. Isn’t stealing from your father better than stealing from someone who’s done nothing to deserve it?” You ask quietly, practically begging and you hope he sees this the same way you do. He doesn’t answer you, so you add “If you don’t want to do this for me, do it for her.” You blink cautiously, searching him for the flip of the switch. But his eyes flutter closed, heavy with tears and he only listens. "She doesn’t deserve a thief for a father, Rafe. Please…you have to do better for her.” You beg with a shaky breath and he opens his eyes back to look at you with such uncertainty as your words weigh heavy. After what feels like an eternity, he moves closer to you and quietly says “He’d tell them I killed Peterkin.” You can feel him shutting down, palms trying to pry your hands off of him before you shake his head slightly trying to get him to focus. But before you can say anything, Sarah’s voice cuts through the air and you almost forgot she was there.

Her voice is quiet, the moment tense “I’ll tell them he’s lying. I - I’ll help you…whatever you need from me…I’ll do it. Just return the cross to Pope, Rafe.” You look behind him to meet eyes with her and she nods gently, stepping back while Rafe begins to turn his body to face his sister. His body os suddenly tense again, your hands flying out to catch him and stop him from straying too far. But you’re not quick enough, your boyfriends words flying hot out of his mouth.

“You - You think I believe you?” He sneers, and you quickly reach out grip onto his bicep, trying to drag him back to you before he can move any steps closer to her. His arm flexes, the muscles under your palm firm and corded, anger bubbling there.

“Rafe! RafeRafeRafe.” You tumble out, desperate. “She means it, babe. She does! I - I believe her!" You say, and he turns his head incredulously, brows shot up to glance at you and laugh, void of humor. He’s looking at you like you’ve betrayed him and he thinks maybe you have. Incredulously, he asks; “What’s she ever done for you to make you believe her? Come on baby, I know you’re smarter than that.” He tells you, turning his body to meet you halfway. “You tried to drown her, Rafe.” You level with him, "I think the playing field is even. You can be angry but this is your best chance to do better.”

He breathes deeply and grips the bridge of his nose between his pointer finger and thumb, eyes clenching shut trying to gather himself. Your hand tightens around his arm, not realizing your nails are digging craters into his skin.

He’s nodding his head tauntingly, “Do better…me, do better.” He scoffs. "What happens when she changes her mind? In a week…in a month…in a year? You ready to live every day like..” Sarah cuts him off by quickly rushing out “I promise! I want the same thing you do. I want to be free of dad, too.” She says shyly, looking at you while she says it. “I also want better for my niece than what we had.” She says, and it makes you want to cry. You can’t help the hitch in your breath at her statement, because god…so do you.

“Rafe please...” You beg him, tugging his hand with yours and you can see the struggle in his mind. Your heart races because this decision decides so much more than just one thing. It also decides so many things for you and the baby inside you.

He huffs, defeated when he finally looks at you and almost silently says “Okay."

THEN

Your body is rigid as you realize two things.

One, you don’t need to feel unsafe. You are unsafe.

Two, the exact thing you’d been dreading, the idea that you tried to push out of your mind over and over rather than manifesting to fruition had come true.

You couldn’t trust him.

He’d chosen his father again, even though you’d been holding out hope - praying that the idea of his own flesh and blood might be enough to finally cut the tie. No such luck though as Rafe stands next to you, and you no longer feel the warm comfort of his body but instead an ice cold hardness as he extends his hand to you, offering you to take it. You can’t help but look at it, regretfully following the raised cords of his veins running up his forearm, past his bicep and up to his face. Your cheeks are stained with tears, your eyes pleading and you can’t believe that this is actually happening. You glance over to your mom who stands with Ward, her body wrapped in his arms like he’s trying to console her. You can’t help the humorless laugh combines with a sob that escapes your lips as you look at them and then back to Rafe. You ignore his outstretched limb, instead getting onto your own two feet.

You’re irate, shaking with anger and fear. “Y - You can’t make me do this! Any of you. I’m going to go live with Dad.” You shake your head and say, and your mother’s eyes widen before Ward interjects.

“Y/N, do you really think I’m going to allow the Cameron name to have incestuous ties to it? Do you have any idea what would become of any of this?” He outstretches his arms to motion around him. “You can try to go and live with your father, but regardless of where you’re living, you will not be doing it with a child.” He states matter of factly and you blubber on another sob before begging. “Please, don’t make me do this…” You plead, not caring how humiliating it may be to beg a man who didn’t care about you, but what choice do you have? When your own boyfriend - the father of the baby in your belly couldn’t stand up for you.

Ward looks beside you at Rafe and stoically says “I’m trusting you to see this followed through, son.” You glance over at Rafe to see him nod curtly and you can’t help but crinkle your eyes and scoff. Fucking pathetic. "This is insane! Rafe! Say something!” You shriek, and you don’t know how you’re not dreaming…or having a nightmare. He doesn’t deserve the title of father. Reality socks you right in the face in that moment - that you truly had no one. But you had the baby under your heart and that baby didn’t have anyone except you. Not even the other person responsible for their existence.

It’s a flash of motion before you’re kicking against his body as he throws you as gently as he can into the passenger seat of his truck. The entire time, your clawing at his arms, hurling curses at him. You can’t help but scream when he slams the door on you and tells you not to move. You grab the door handle without thinking and throw it open, dropping to your feet on the ground and shoving at his chest with your hands, telling him to “get the fuck away from you”, but his hands fly back onto your biceps, pushing you back against the open truck. He tilts his head down to yours to try to press his lips to yours, and fortunately you have enough sense to push against him with your chest and you spit in his face. You’re breathing heavily, crying now and twisting in his grasp as you mumble out a quiet and defeated “How can you do this to me?”

It’s then that he truly looks at you. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, too repulsed by his inability to be a man. So you let your resolve wilt and your shoulders slump as your body racks with tears.

He cautiously and carefully helps you back into the truck, your will crumbling as you continue to sob.

You watch with hatred and try to calm your breathing by taking deep audible gasps to see him round the front of the truck and climb into the drivers seat. He looks over at you and you start in immediately. He doesn’t even have his buckle on before you tell him how disgusting he is.

“You’re such a pig.” You say, tiredly. "You can cum inside me but then you knock me up and now this is your call too?” You seeth, not breaking your gaze on him. You reach out, taking his hand in your own and tugging it to land on your stomach. “You’re going to make me kill our baby?” Your insides feel like they’re on fire, a burning in your gut and you don’t plan on stopping.

He’s watching you back before tugging his hand back to land on the center console, throwing the truck into reverse.

“You’re a pussy and I can’t believe I ever let you have mine. I regret ever even meeting you.”

“I won't even call you a man, you’re not a man. You couldn’t even stand up for me. You’re so fucking pathetic."

“Gonna let your daddy make every decision for you? When are you gonna grow up?"

The entire car ride is filled with nothing but your own insults, and you wish he’d fight back, say something. But you’re tired - so tired but you’re so betrayed and you really don’t think you’ve ever felt this much hatred toward another person. It makes you sick, bile filling your esophagus. He tricked you over and over, and you were stupid enough to believe it each time.

“I fucking hate you and I regret ever loving you.” He finally looks over to you, and you meet his stare to say

"I will never forgive you for this."

He’s barreling into the parking lot, throwing the truck into park before reaching over to grip your jaw in his hand. He shakes you to look at him, and you swear there’s steam coming off of you as your eyes meet his. His breath is fanning down your face as he covers your lips with his own, kissing you with such force that you’re not able to push him off, so instead you groan in reject, before biting his lip. He pulls back like you stabbed him and your palm connects hard with his cheek in a cracking slap. His eyes are dark and he finally says something.

“We’re going in there and we’re going to make everyone believe you had an abortion. Kay?” He searches your eyes before asking again, “Okay?” He asks, head tilted as if he’s trying to hear your answer and your lip wiggles up in repulse. You don’t know if you heard him correctly. You surely couldn’t have. How could he deceive you like this?

“W - What?” You ask, confused. “What the fuck does that mean, Rafe?” You ask again, and he pulls your face back to his again and kisses you once more, but this time you don’t have the will to fight back. So you go limp in his hands, your body trembles from nerves. His hands find your shoulders to steady you before breaking apart from your lips and muttering a gentle “I’m so sorry, baby."

You can’t help but bring your hands up to his chest to shove him off of you and ask again “What the fuck do you mean?! What the fuck are you saying?!” You’re shouting at him and hot tears spring back to your eyes as you swat his hands away that are trying to find you. “No! No! NO! Don’t fucking touch me! What are you saying?” You’re trembling with full sobs now, screaming and crying at the same time, because he can not be doing this to you. “What the fuck?” You shout, eyes blown wide.

His face is contorted in emotional turmoil as he hastily grabs your hands to hold in his, tugging you closer to him and you don’t fight him when he tucks your head under his chin, pulling you closer to him.

“Baby girl…please take a breath. They needed to believe it. You needed to believe it, I couldn’t have made myself drive here if you didn’t. I’m so fucking sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, baby. You’re okay, please tell me you’re okay.” His own voice is shaky now, eyes rolling over you while rocking you without being totally aware he’s doing it, the both of you crying. You’re so numb, you don’t even have the ability to form words together to say anything to him, but you’re so checked out at this point that whatever you could have mustered up wouldn’t have done what you’re feeling any justice anyway.

You’re sickened by this entire thing, by him, by yourself, by your mother, Ward…and you quickly shove Rafe away from you before throwing the car door open to retch into the parking lot. You’re scrambling to get out as fast as you can, throwing yourself out to bend over. You’re faintly aware of Rafe suddenly next to you, quickly gathering your hair behind you, grabbing your arm to steady you as he whispers in your ear “I’ve got you.”

----

Your hand was in Rafe’s, your side close by his as the two of you walk back through the threshold to Tanneyhill, both of you silent when you were met with Ward and your mother, standing clearly waiting for you to return. You couldn’t meet your mothers eyes, so instead you looked to Ward who was only looking at his son before stepping forward and grabbing him by the shoulders tightly, his palm holding the back of his head. Your hand still tightly gripped in his, Rafe stood stoically, not returning his father’s embrace, and you glanced up to see his eyes staring straight ahead, emotionless. The two of you had been through hell tonight, mentally and emotionally drained, the bother of fake emotions too much to even try to facade.

“You’re okay, son.” Ward says to Rafe, kissing the side of his head and you think you’re going to vomit again. You can’t help but tug on Rafe’s hand when your mother approaches you. You don’t dare to look at her, instead keeping your eyes trained on Rafe, your heart clenching when you see tears stream down his cheeks and you hear him tell Ward “I’m not okay dad, She’s not okay.” He states it matter of factly but your step father is quick to brush him off, telling him he is okay, that he’s fine, that he’s going to feel differently in the morning. It’s then that you choke on a sob on its way out of your mouth, because how can this man be so okay after the idea that you’d just murdered his first grandchild. That he’d forced you to have your baby torn out of your body, the baby that was made out of love between you and his son. It makes you positively sick and you’re truly not sure how you're managing to stand on your feet.

Your both crying now when you feel your mothers warm hands on each of your cheeks, pulling your face to look at her. Finally, you meet her eyes and you just truly can’t. How the woman who birthed you was about to console you over the thought of not being able to do the same to your own child. It was sick, twisted, horrific. She pulls your body into hers and you fight as much as you can, which isn’t much. Your hand is being strangled by Rafe’s grip, but you’re squeezing back just as tightly because it’s the only thing keeping your body upright and your mind knowing that it’s not real. That it didn’t really happen - not what they’re thinking.

“You did the right thing, baby. Thank you.” Your mother tells your eyebrows furrow in regret and upset, your body pulling back, desperately trying to wiggle out of her grasp, her hands around your shoulders. You’re grunting and blubbering in frustration so deep it feels like you’re suffocating. You manage to look over the arm wrapped beside your face to see Rafe staring at you with the same defeat in his eyes that you feel in your own. “I love you.” You gargle out, voice thick with sadness. You don’t care what your mom or Ward have to say or think about it but you tell him again, but this time adding his name at the end. “I love you Rafe.” And you finally manage to shove your mother off of you, her feet stumbling back and she calls your name. You look at her and tell her “I hate you. You’re a disgusting excuse for a mother and you will never hear me call you that again. Looking at you makes me sick. I hope one day you feel the pain I feel inside of me right now, because you deserve it and so much more.” Your sneering, your top lip curled up in disgust as you spit through your teeth, finally looking over to your step father.

You take a deep breath before saying “I love your son more than you will ever be able to imagine that you love him. You choosing to deprive him of that love shows how disgusting of a father you are."

You take a deep breath and close your eyes tightly, tears streaming down as you tearfully add

"He would have been the best dad.” You nearly choke on your sob as you say the words, your voice raised an octave through the pain of the tears shaking through your body. You’re watching your boyfriend as you say it and the cringe on his mouth and look in his eyes hurt you worse than you expect. His usual demeanor, his nature to protect and defend is void, leaving a vulnerable boy who you don't recognize, and it physically hurts to watch him like this. Imagining the alternative outcome of tonight was too close, the idea that your uterus could be working to evict his baby right now all too real and Rafe immediately starts to sob. Your nerves are wound so tightly together, you’re shaking.

Ward is emotionless, still holding Rafe to his body, too emotionally spent to try to relent. But somehow he manages to tell you “It’s okay” and “I love you so much”, and his heart is swelling in his chest but his stomach is wound up in knots just like yours. What do you have to lose now? To everyone else, they’ve kept you from each other, forced you to become strangers, and now evacuate your body of the one thing it did right.

NOW

You’re sat in the middle seat of Limbrey’s truck, Rafe in the drivers seat and Sarah in the passenger. It’s quiet, your bags and Pope’s cross in the bed. Sarah texted John B to set up a meeting point to meet the Pogues to return the heirloom, and the tension is turning unease in your gut.

You break the silence by taking a deep breath and grabbing Sarah’s hand and quietly muttering “You don’t know what we’ve been through. What he’s been through.” You say regretfully, shutting your eyes in remorse before continuing, wanting to tell her everything. You hadn’t been able to confide in anyone and it was exhausting.

“I told you that your father thinks the baby is gone. He found out about her and his first thought was to take her away from us.” You say, tears unable to be kept at bay. Her hand squeezes yours and Rafe calls your name.

You tense, continuing. “No, Rafe. She needs to know.” You say, not bothering to look at him.

“Rafe drove to that clinic at 10 o clock at night and he paid people off so that they would lie and say they aborted a baby. They gave me papers that had details on what to look for in the adult diapers I would've had to wear that would have been the remains of our baby. Can you imagine what that was like? Sitting in a room where we found out I was 11 weeks pregnant and know that I was there so that the result of the love between me and your brother could be taken out of me just because your father and my mother said so?" You scoff before continuing.

"11 weeks is past the time they can give you a pill to terminate a pregnancy. I would have had to have her physically removed from my body." You furrow your brows because it's painful to talk about, but it's your reality. Rafe is silent next to you, so you sneak your hand over to his thigh to give him a reassuring squeeze. You know this isn't easy for him to relive. "I don’t know how to come back from that. We don’t know how to come back from that.” You tell her, your hand squeezing the life from hers.

She’s looking at you in horror, maybe even disbelief and it's then that Rafe's hand moves from under yours to snake around your waist and palm your belly. His fingers clutch at you in reassurance and protection as you glance down and cover it with your own before breathing in deeply.

“So Sarah, please help me understand...because I don’t know how we’re supposed to be okay anymore."

NEXT PART

Please interact! It’s pretty much the sole reason we as writers continue to write. I’d love to hear from you guys what you’d like to see in this story via ask box/requests. I will answer any and all submissions! NOTE that I will NOT add you to the tag list if you are only commenting to add to the list.

Please repost, and leave a comment so I know you like the story!

See y’all soon!

#drew starkey #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron pregnant #dark!rafe cameron #obx rafe #drew starkey x reader #toxic!rafe cameron

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sour-ggrapess · 2 years ago

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WHAT ARE YOU DOING BIG BRO? ⋆ ˚｡🐇💗 ⋆୨୧˚ Big step bro shows you how much you're his favorite little princess.

Step!brother!tae x fem!virgin!reader

✧˖° Warnings; Virgin reader, force fuck, unprotected sex, 7 year age gap, daddy kink, semi public sex, boob play, fingering, crying, impregnation, forbidden sex, slight ddlg, oral (f), service top tae, impregnation kink , just nasty asf😩

GO READ MY WATTPAD STORY @kook-net

⊹˚. ♡taglist - @chimmy-licious @shescharlie

THANKS FOR 207 FOLLOWERS!!

Taehyung met you on your seventh birthday when he was 12. He took liking into you very fast, the way you were so bubbly and cheerful made him love you. Tae never treated you like you were his little sister, he never called you anything mean, play fought with you or ignored you. He always wanted to be around you no matter what.

He did everything for you and with you making him like the dad you didn't know. He moved into your moms house with his father that didn't really care about you 'because you were too old to think of him as a father'. When you started hitting puberty he felt as if you were his and he needed to protect you, he bought all of your pads and told you about what was happening to you. He showed you how to shave and how to use a pad, he was one educated man and it was just for you.

Once you hit 18 the sexual tension started to build as you would catch him eyeballing your tits and ass as you walked around and how mad he had gotten when you told him about your first boyfriend.

Summer is near, its 90 degrees outside and you had things to do. Your pink sundress that was skin tight and your boobs spilled out of, your peach perfume lingered off your skin and your black shades fell on the bridge of your nose.

You still weren't sure why Tae had still lived with you and mom but he did at his grown age, you wanted to go to a fancy university but tae just gaslit you into going online and giving up on the collage experience but as long as he was happy right?

Small foot steps you didn't hear came up behind you as you dropped your sun glasses, bending down to pick them back up but before you could even grasp them a pair of cold hands run down your semi exposed ass. Chills run up your spine and wetness grows in your pink lacy panties.

"You look so pretty today princess" It was tae, his voice was raspy and you could hear the horniness in his voice as he spoke.

"W-what are you doing?"

"Let me make you feel good doll face, I know how bad you want it" arousal decorated his words. Taes plan wasn't to fuck you without consent but in the most respectful way he knew you were easy and knew you would say yes no matter how much you denied him.

"Cmon princess, I hear you at night and what you do with your little pink bunny."

His fingers moved down as they teased over the wet spot, shivers rolled over you. "Please d-don't" you whimpered as his fingers rubbed over your clit, "Let me be your better bunny. I can give you affection and I can make you feel even better than your other bunny. Please trust me" He pleaded with you and the offer sounded like a million bucks to you.

Soft whimpers left your mouth as he started to rub on your soft bud making the lace underneath you drenched. "I can feel how much you want me, your dripping through these cute little panties"

"Ive n-never done this before" you exhaled with a shaky breath. That's when he knew he won, he knew you gave in to him and now he could have you all to himself. His large hands grasped you and took you over to the couch.

"Im gonna make my little princess feel so good" He promised as he moved his face in between your thighs. He slid the ruined panties down your legs to see the strings of wetness that stuck to your clit and the underwear, "This pretty chubby cunt, so pure and wet for me." Tae groaned before he dug on your swollen clit, his hands held your chubby lips apart as his lips made contact with your clit. Your hands took grasp in the couch fabric as your back arched off the couch making your clit rub on his mouth even more.

"Dose my little princess like the way my tongue licks her cute virgin pussy? Tae groaned in between licks on your clit. "Mhmm, I love it" A high pitched moan escaped from your lips, Sudden shock washes over you as his middle finger slid into your tight pink hole. It sucked his finger in as if you were clenching your walls.

He never felt any pussy like it even the virgin ones hes been in. A burning feeling deep in your pussy every time he entered his finger in, "Take it out please i-it hurtsss!" You exclaimed as you tried to push him away.

"Its gonna feel better soon baby, I just gotta stretch you out if you want my cock, baby doll" His pace fastening as your moans got louder. "Shh, you don't want mommy to hear us do you?" His tongue dived into your hole and lapped up your juices like a man stranded on a desert for months, nails digging at light blond strands as your body contorted all ways anyone could think of. His tongue back to kitty licking on your clit as 2 fingers entered your hole, feeling of your high getting closer made strings of his name and moans escape your mouth. "I-Im gonna p-pee, stoughhh" you almost yelled as your cum flowed out on his fingers and slightly in his mouth. Mr. Bunny got you close and made you feel good but never good enough to make you cum.

Your cum on his fingers made him go wild, he tried his best to not lick it off. He brought his fingers to your mouth. "Lick it princess" he demanded, your tongue swirled around his digits tasting every little drop he gathered. He pulled his fingers out with a groan.

he inched forward with him now hovering over your boobs right before ripping your dress and popping one in his mouth with whimper. Shaky deep breaths leaving as you tried to control your moans, his tongue licked around the bud as his fingers played with the other.

"You taste so funking sweet, my little princess" He praised while taking his jeans off along with his boxers, his big cock sprung up with his pink tip leaking pre-cum all down his base down to his balls. You felt as of you were gonna throw up, you felt like a dirty whore and his cock was massive when you couldn't even take 2 fingers.

His hand takes grip of his cock and strokes it as more beads of pre-cum fall out his now sticky tip, "You gonna be a good girl and take this dick, hmm?" He cooed in a tone that was mocking the way you whined. "Y-yes, please go s-slow", he sat on the couch and placed you on his lap. "Ride this cock like you did mr. Bunny"

He was making you feel dirty and embarrassed and not to mention how nasty you felt about him but your pussy said otherwise as it dripped all over his thighs and the couch. Tae lifted his hips up as he took his cock in his hand, he slapped his length all over your clit making you jerk your body and try to move but his grip on your shoulders forced you down. "J-just put it i-in daddy" Was all you could say as tears rolled down your eyes at how frustrated he was getting you.

The nickname put him in a trance as forced you down onto his dick and started at a brutal pace not caring about the waterfalls of tears and the scream and squeals that bursted from your mouth. "T-take this cock like a g-good girl and stay still. " He groaned out, anyone with that had sex before would know your pussy was good the way he was moaning.

His balls slapping against your ass as he slammed you down on his cock with each thrust. The burn faded away as you started to feel the best feeling ever coming back, "G-gonna fill this little chubby cunt with my f'kin cum". You felt him hitting all the spots you needed to be hit and even the spots you didn't know you had.

"F-feels so g-good daddy...." was flying out your mouth left and right as you felt his cock punching your womb. You feel hot liquid spraying out making you snap out of your high when you realized you squirted all over him, Legs shaking and your walls clenching."Fucking shit" His last words before he slammed you down and shot his load right in your womb.

It had to be the hardest hes came in all his life. You felt full and bloated like a water balloon.

"My nasty little princess has the best pussy ever"

#bts smut #bts x reader #🦢 kook net ｡･:*˚:✧｡#smut #taehyung smut #bts taehyung #tae smut #v smut #v x reader #taehyung #taehyung x you #fypppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp #200

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meltedbluecaterpillar · 5 months ago

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Hemophiliac

you are here - ch. ii - ch. iii - ch. iv

A/N: This is a commission for @twisted-desires . I am a big fan of vampires and this will be another male!reader. The AU is... It is a little modern... But more... A form of the 50's or 60's in a way. Don't think too hard about it...

tags: vamp!male!reader x noble!riddle rosehearts, aged up au (Riddle is 20+, reader is 200+) wc: 1k+

Riddle sobbed quietly, stuffing some of his clothes into a small leather suitcase. Big round tears rolled down his cheeks as he wiped at his face with a pale shaking hand. “She’s so… Just so awful to me…” He whispered under a croaked breath. Hiccuping softly he crossed the room to grab his coin purse from his vanity, adding it to his suitcase as well. Riddle Rosehearts has always obeyed his mothers wishes. He has always done what she asks of him even if he didn’t want to. But this was something he would refuse to do.

His mother is the most well respected doctor in the country. Especially being a woman in the field of medicine while his father was off in another country for reasons he couldn’t get answers to. He wondered if the reason his mother arranged a marriage without Riddle’s knowledge was because of this. Just telling him over lunch this afternoon that he was set to marry a woman he has never met before. “Just because I’m twenty years old doesn’t mean I want to marry… She married when she was twenty three… Maybe I want to wait…” Riddle grumbled bitterly to himself as he zipped the suitcase shut and looked around his large bedroom. It was illuminated by a yellowing gas lamp chandelier high above him.

Everything he owned was selected by his mother. Clothes, books, the very bareboned decor… Even the cream and olive colored wallpaper with fern lace. He had nothing of his own that he could truly feel attached to in this large and lonely manor. It was hardly a home. It was just a place he lived in. That is why it felt so much easier to run away under the cover of the gray, cottony clouds and the blacked out moon. He sniffled away one final time before grabbing a thin necklace with a small silver cross, and his thick, red, traveling cloak. The sky was starting to rumble, and the delicate tap of rain pelted against his bedroom windows.

It was dark. The moon had vanished as he slipped past the servants quarters, down the marble stairs, and out the heavy doors of the manor. He held tightly to his leather suitcase, keeping it protected beneath his cloak as the rumbling grew louder and the rain fell harder. Riddle cautiously avoided the puddles as he raced up to the iron gate. His body was thin enough for him to slip through, but his bag was the problem. He pulled and grunted, attempting to yank the bag through the bars before slipping and landing on the soaked ground. His bag tumbled into a large mud puddle on the other side. He would be traveling even lighter than expected.

Riddle despised the dirt, but he had no time to complain. He had to leave now or be trapped in a loveless marriage with a woman he didn’t know. The young man kneeled in the softened earth, sticking his arm through the water soaked bars to pull his bag close enough to dig through. Riddle would only take his coin purse and abandon the rest. It didn’t matter. All of his clothes are things his mother bought him. Riddle rose to his feet, the small purse tight in his icy fingers as he began to walk down the lonely dirt path. No destination in mind. Only the rain and cold kept him company as the manor shrank behind him. Riddle had never done anything like this. He had fantasized about running away. Of vanishing into thin air with no traces of him ever existing. But everyone reaches a breaking point. This was his.

It was exhilarating,

This newfound freedom to wander the world as a proper adult. No one would tell him what to do. Riddle could live in the forest among the deer and the little bluebirds. He could bathe in the rivers and nap in a patch of clover. All very idealistic despite the stormy weather. But that would be for the future when he abandons the modern world for a life among the trees. For now he needs somewhere to hide from the rain. “If I seek shelter from Trey… My mother will surely find out. Pinkā is completely out of the question.” He murmured as he found himself nearing a wooded area. If he camped out in a cave for the night he would have better luck in the morning. With the moon and stars hidden it was impossible to see anything. So he would just have to pray. The foliage was thick, branches swatting against Riddle’s legs as he continued his trek. His boots continuously became stuck in the soft soil, and it became harder and harder to walk among the dark trees. Riddle didn’t mind. He actually was enjoying himself.

For the first time in his life he was able to go somewhere alone. Even if he had no real destination in mind, his mother wasn’t holding his hand. Riddle is an adult and he wants to be seen as one. As he walked, he made it to a clearing. One he couldn’t recall ever seeing near the manor in the past. A small manor, appearing ancient and gothic with its architecture. A large iron gate surrounded the area but Riddle was confident in his thin frame to squeeze through the bars. The cobblestone path clicked beneath his heels as he avoided the larger puddles. The plants all looked dead, yellowing and bone dried under the sun. Riddle walked closer and closer, feeling the chill from the sleet starting to settle into his bone marrow. Maybe the place was abandoned? He now stood at the doorstep, staring at the heavy oak double doors with a trembling fist. He would knock and announce himself. If no one answers he will just let himself in. It isn’t a crime to break into an abandoned building. Riddle will just say he was sleepwalking.

Before Riddle could muster any more courage, the door suddenly opened and a masculine frame greeted him. But something felt wrong. Riddle just hasn’t pieced together what.

#absolute commissions.#ch i #vampire au #male reader #riddle rosehearts x reader

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 2 years ago

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We bleed tonight IV

Previous chapter

a/n well I return from the dead to give you the last and final chapter of this unexpected series. What a journey it has been huh...

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Adapting to Day Court was quite a challenge. The months passed, but you felt nothing but an imposter. You knew you were safe, but no matter what you did, you just felt off. Afraid that the peace and quiet would be ripped away from you any minute. Still shivering at the sound of footsteps and at the shadows draping over corners of the room.

Helion, as much as he tried, didn't feel like a father to you. You appreciated that he never pushed it. Nor did he expect either of you to call him father. He was attentive and always showed up for all the meals. There was no forced bonding. If the conversation didn't flow, Helion never pushed it. Yet you had caught his hopeful eyes more than once. Watched him lean in and stagger back out of a hug. He yearned to have his kids back, but time had worked against him.

Helion talked endlessly about your mother. Madelain was a part of the conversation almost always, and it didn't surprise you, considering that he, Eris, and Lucien had been working on getting her out of Autumn. And back to where she always belonged: in her mate's arms. It was fascinating hearing Helion talk of her as if she were everything. As if all those years apart had done nothing but ignite more love between them. And you truly couldn't help but wonder if that's what a true bond felt like. Something that can't be ripped apart no matter what. No matter the distance. No matter the anger. Wrong choices. Pain caused. Always there. Always bounding two souls.

Your body hit a firm muscle wall, causing you to quickly draw your head up. "You're distracted, my lady", the familiar voice said, holding onto your hands to steady you. "My apologies. Head's all over…", You moved your hands quickly over your face, gathering your thoughts. Bringing yourself back to reality. The male smiled; his long black hair frown into a messy bun, and a smile painted his lips. "Could I offer you a walk through the gardens? Fresh air might help", he said gently, his hand suddenly moving to twist your curly hair around his fingers. Your face flushed crimson as you only found yourself nodding.

Arlo, one of the scholars who lived under Helion's protection made it all that much more bearable. You had been slumped in the library for over a week by then. Trying to distract yourself from all the chaos. The yarning in your soul. You would flip open a book. But the page wouldn't turn for hours. Unable to concentrate on anything but the voices in your head. "Pick a book, and I'll tell you what's troubling you", he had said then. Mother, did your heart skip a beat when you saw him for the first time? He was truly a handsome man. Strongly built. And with that mass of muscle, you would never even suspect him of being so soft. But even his moves were laced with a thread of gentleness. That softness that simply embraced you.

Arlo gave you a glimpse of what you wanted the most. Satisfied that longing for being no one again. Not a Vanserra anything but that. A chance for freedom once more. Nothing that promised the same highs or brought you the same lows. No, because he wasn't the man that you were chasing. Wasn't it the soul that your whole existence cried out for at night. Even with him moving between his legs and your back pressed against one of the statues in your father's gardens, you couldn't help but picture Azriel there, and you hated it. Hated that you couldn't escape the shadow singer.

Hated that the highs wore off faster than you would have liked. Because Arlo was so sweet, Mother knew how kind and caring he was, but the light he bore blinded you. It was too perfect. Too smooth. It made your damaged parts ache because you were nothing but an imperfection next to him. And that's what weighed on you. The darkness. The darkness that lingered, the darkness that was a part of you. A part that you couldn't rip out. It was there, and it was suffering between these perfect white walls and crystal chandeliers. Because this wasn't you. It had nothing that made you feel like yourself. It was a true state of static nothingness, and for that, you couldn't settle because it was leaving you lonely.

Night after night, Azriel woke up drenched in sweat. Night after night, he saw you. He felt you. And it drove him crazy. He could swear he saw glimpses of your days. He saw you. He saw that you weren't alone. He felt the sadness that twisted you. He felt the pleasure that your body scoured into. Brought by another male. Making Azriel roar at the pain and suffering it brought him. What a strange thing the band was! As if it too was blaming Azriel. Torturing him on its behalf. He saw you smiling, but he knew that your smile no longer belonged to him. No, it was brought by the male, whom you looked at as if the whole world turned around him. You looked at Azriel like that once, and now… Now, he wished he could just rip his heart out.

"Uncle Az, Uncle Az, you came", Nyx messily flew into his uncle's arms, wrapping himself around his neck. Azriel caught the boy quickly, pressing him closer to his chest. Managing to draw out a tight smile. The boy looked over his uncle's shoulder and asked, "Where's Aunty, Y/N?", the pang in Azriel's heart twisted. He hoped you would show up. You loved Nyx and the boy, well, he was fascinated by you. "She…", Azriel trills off. He never even thought about this. He never thought about how he was going to tell the people who didn't know about what happened. How he would cover up the fact that you were no longer together. That you weren't together because of him. Because Azriel lost control over his emotions and hurt you. He was one of those men. Not any better than Beron himself.

"Is she playing hide and seek?", Nyx twisted in Azriel's arms, "I need to go protect the cake". The boy quickly padded away, and Azriel caught Feyre's eyes from across the room. She held the shadow singer's gaze until a shien of sadness painted over them, and she shook her head. You weren't coming. The empty chair looked almost jarring. So out of place. So empty.

"Could I?", Azriel goes back to one of the first diners you all had. He had caught onto your sleepy frame. You tried to stay awake so hard, keeping eye contact with Cassian, who was so deep into the story that he was telling. Until Azriel spoke, and you instantly turned to him, "Could you what?", you asked, "Hold you.. I mean…", Azriel quickly cleared his throat, "Would you like to lean against me? This doesn't look too comfortable". And it wasn't. Your hand was going numb, and your wrist ached. You smiled up at him shyly. Back then, a part of him was sure that you would reject him. But you didn't. You leaned right into him, arms crossed over his neck, as you pulled yourself closer to Azriel's chest. Now his arms were empty. Cold and truly discussed him.

"Are you busy?", you cracked the doors to Lucien's office slightly. The hours were late, and the chance of him being asleep was high; however, the dim lights from beneath the door left you hopeful. "No, come in", his smooth voice rang out. Lucien quickly put his pen down. All of his attention was now set on you. You loved that about him so much. Well, learned to love. That when you needed him, he was there fully. It wasn't just a pinch of attention. He was there. Always ready. Always willing.

"You should be sleeping, missy", Lucien stated, the corner of his lips tilting upward as you frowned. "Oh, don't you start parenting me around", you padded towards his chair, opting for the little ottoman that stood close by. "What's keeping you up?", the velvet sound of Lucien's voice pierced the silence once more. Your sad eyes hurt him too deeply. Hesitation filled your senses. You didn't talk much about the past. It felt as if it had all been blurred out and painted over. And you hoped you had managed to paint over your emotions, but Lucien leaned in to read you. And within a couple of months, you were an open book to him.

"Do you miss Velaris?", your voice was almost a whisper. Lucien knew that tonight would be hard. Hence, he too opted not to go to Nyx's birthday. Leaving you here seemed wrong. And he knew that no one else around the palace would understand the sorrows within you. "Not necessarily…", the fireling trailed off; however, you quickly specified, "You miss Elain?". Lucien froze for a second before a deep sigh left his lips. "I feel too sober for this kind of conversation", you chuckled. Yet it wasn't a happy chuckle; it carried worries and sadness. The almost bitter one left a tingling loneliness. "I miss her, yes. But not seeing her makes it easier in a way," Lucien replied. His eyes were now as distant as yours as he watched ahead of himself. Without a doubt he pictured Elain.

The silence surrounded you two. Draping the mystery of the unknown all over the office, you two let the pain you hid come back to the surface. However, the next words made you stagger, "Do you think of him?" It was almost funny how no one spoke Azriel's name around the place. It was always him—the man, that guy. Helion left him out of the court meetings that were held there. A part of you was thankful for that. Until you started missing his eyes. Hoping to see them. Hoping for at least a glimpse. Because your mind was so torn.

That was the man who showed you love first. Who saw you first. Who empowered you first. He gave you a voice when no one else listened. He made you his everything. And freefalling with him was the best thing that had happened to you. But then he was the one who ripped through your happiness. Stomped on it and shredded it to pieces. You tried to justify it. You did. And it was true, that Beron was to blame. He was the one who planted the seed of doubt, but…

"There are a lot of what-ifs in my head", you admitted, pulling your legs closer to your chest. Letting your dress pool all around you, "I try to drown them out but…", "The nagging voice doesn't stop?", you only nodded your head. His shoulder sank slightly because he understood. Lucien understood.

"It was like that with Jesminda", your eyes instantly grew wide, "You don't have to", you reassured him. Knowing full well the tragedy of the story. The loss. The pain. That twisted it. "It happened long ago; it's okay", Lucien smiled sadly, running his fingers through his hair. Allowing himself a moment of silence. "We had this one big fight, and we cut it all off. I said many things that I regretted, and so did she", you watched how his expression turned sadder with every word that he spoke. "I ended up not seeing her for months; pride was too big. Until I felt like I was going insane because all I could think of was her", and you did know because that was how you felt. Because it felt as if there was a growing ocean between you. One that spread and got deeper with every passing moment. And a part of you wanted it to grow, but then there was that small version of you that cupped the water with your raw hands, trying to make the void smaller.

"But that's how you know it's love", Your eyes shot up to look at Lucien, who had been watching you this whole time. You bit the inside of your cheek as the memory surfaced.

"Why are you being so sweet?", your fingers pushed through Azriel's messy hair, "Because I love you." Azriel watched you for a heartbeat. Your hopeful eyes had been glazed with a shine that glimmered in the morning sun. As if his words had just broken a curse. As if you had never imagined anyone saying those words to you. "I love you. All of you. Had for a while now", Azriel admitted right as your arms and legs wrapped around his strong torso, bringing him closer to you.

Your eyes welled up with tears, and you quickly turned your face to the side. Hating the fact that you were crying once again, "It sucks though…", you shook your head, brushing your fingers under your eyes quickly, "Because I'm starting to think that's not enough".

The wind rippled through your hair, and the skirt of your dress fluttered behind you. The sky was pitch black. The darkness soothed the pain, and the cool nibbles of wind made you feel more alive than ever before. The sound of the fast stream beneath you chimed more like a lullaby. With hands wrapped around you, let yourself feel the sorely missed sense of belonging. There was no light; only nightfall surrounds you.

Yet your eyes seem to have opened up on their own. And there it was. The image you feared the most. One you had never pictured before, and yet it resembled the worst fear in your life. Your heart skips a beat. Right there in front of you, stood the figure you could've identified no matter where you were. Either in the brightly lit room or the darkest corners of the Earth. You wouldn't need to see it to know. All you would have to do was feel.

"No", you said under your breath. The male stood at the edge of the cliff, shoulder-slumped, his head hanging low. He was done. He was simply done. There was no sense of life about him. A shell of a soul that has given up on everything. "Don't you dare", you said a bit louder, trying to cross the distance between the two of you. The hills now seemed impossible to cross. All the sharp edges seemed to intensify. Your hands slipped alongside your feet no matter what you did; no matter how hard you tried to crawl toward him, you simply couldn't.

"Azriel, don't you dare jump", you shouted at the top of your lungs, screeching as you watched him step closer and closer. Merciless waves crashed beneath him. He was muttering something under his breath, something so distant, and it felt impossible that you could hear him, but he was calling your name and muttering as a prayer, as a cry for help. You did the same, calling and calling to him, hoping to catch his attention. His eyes filled up with tears, as helplessness tore through you, and then he jumped. That was it; he was falling, and you couldn't do anything. The most painful scream escaped your lips as you washed his body and submerged it in the cold water.

"Azriel, Azriel", you roared, falling to your knees. "Azriel", your body jolted upward. Your hands clenched the sheets beneath your body, body soaked in sweat. Your breaths were shallow. They didn't seem to want it to linger in your lungs. And then you were up. Pulling the first thing over your body. You could feel your heart pumping in your throat. Those same angry tears were now streaming down your cheeks. You stilled for a moment. Closing your eyes and clenching your fist, you felt the now familiar sense of darkness surround you. You didn't know where to go. But you trusted your heart to get you where you needed to be.

"Azriel", you muttered your mantra as the spinning stopped. The familiar scent filled your senses, subsiding your anxiety, yet you knew that you were not going to rest until you saw him. "Y/N?", it was more of a question than anything else as he stepped out of the shadows as if you were just yet another of his hallucinations. Afraid to step any closer because he might just chase you away.

Here he stood. The male you haven't seen in months. He wasn't drowning. He wasn't at the bottom of Sidra. He hadn't jumped. You let out a shaky breath. "You…", you muttered, stepping closer to Azriel, eyes still lingering all around his frame. "You jumped…" Azriel frowned; equally as much concern now laced his features. "Jumped?" You nodded your head, still fighting for air. "I saw… you…", Azriel's hands pulled you closer to him. And his warmth poured into you. The shouting in your head died down. It's all settled. "It's just a bad dream, a nightmare", he said softly, pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

You pulled away ever so slightly so you could see him. Look at him. Watch him say, "Your eyes…", you almost gasped when you noticed the dark circles beneath them and the slightly red tinge all around. "Sleep is not on my side as of lately", he chuckled slightly, but you could feel the pain there. That same pain that you've been sharing for months now. Had he been aware all this time? Had he looked after himself at all? "Don't cry, please, love", Azriel gently wiped away the tears that you didn't even know were streaming down your cheeks once more, "I caused you enough pain". Yet you shook your head at his words, reaching up to cup his face, the need to pull him closer awakening inside you. A need to feel him almost like your skin.

"Azriel, I've been thinking…", but you never got to finish as Azriel stepped back, pulling you away from his embrace. Yet still clasping your hands, he whispered, "Don't…", and you could hear the shaking in his voice, "Don't forgive me". A sob slips past your lips as you watch him. Watched as Azriel fought the sting in his eyes. How he tried to steady himself but failed. "Truth be told, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. I don't think I was alive until you came into my life", he continued, now allowing his thoughts to flow. Followed by the touch that stung him. Because he knew it was one of the last. That he couldn't bask in it. That he couldn't let himself enjoy the warmth of your skin. Because you would fade away eventually.

"And mother, did I fear every day that you would disappear. That I would have to find out what living without you feels like", a cry slipped past his lips. "Az…", you muttered, biting your wobbly lip, but he shook his head. "I just want you to know a few things", the shadow singer cupped your cheek, and you leaned into it. Lean into the touch that your body has been craving this whole time. "I'm sorry; I'm so sorry for what I did, and believe me. Even on my dying bed, I'll be cursing myself for it", he muttered, pressing his forehead to yours as your nails dug into his shoulders, "And I love you. I love you so much". You didn't trust your words, so you never gave him an answer. And he never got to know that a small part of you forgave him. That in the future, your paths may cross, and maybe just maybe love will be the only emotion there. That it was now. That your heart beats for him and him only.

And no, this love wasn't perfect. But neither were you two. Perfect wasn't a thing that could exist in this world. Perfection belonged in museums and exhibitions but not in day-to-day life. And maybe letting yourself bleed for the night in each other's arms was better than not bleeding at all. And maybe ripping that golden thread from each other's souls was the best thing you could've done for one another that night.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

All acotar writing taglist: @brekkershadowsinger @cityofidek @baebeepeach @lucyysthings @hideing @urfavbrunettebish @historygeekqueen @marina468 @courtofjurdan @bubybubsters

#azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel x you #azriel #shadowsinger #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you

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briannysey · 25 days ago

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A news article discussing the Mangione case has like tens of thousands of comments and the top ones for as far as the eye can see are all stories of either losing loved ones bc insurance is jerking people around, or almost losing loved ones because of insurance. The nature of half our industries nowadays is a racketeering structure where a few companies killed all competition until monopolies and oligopolies/cartels rule the industry and have the power to deny life-saving care, access to education (through textbooks), access to telecommunications, access to housing, and in many communities access to electricity (and thusly heating or cooling) or access to water.

This is part of why I get so frustrated by conversations around “all americans living in the imperial core and thus benefitting from it,” no the fuck we dont!

Full disclosure Im in a much more secure health and financial state now than Ive ever been and im benefitting more now than I ever have. I know the imperial core is wider and deeper than many Americans believe but if you think it’s the whole nation then you dont have a clear picture of what it’s like here.

Like are the homeless people I pass by everyday on the way to work or school benefitting from living in the imperial core? Are the folks who drop out of highschool to support their families (or themselves bc they got kicked out while underage, often for being queer or disabled) benefitting from living in the imperial core? Are my siblings who live in an old coal town bc they cant afford anything better, and everyday breathing in winds laced with heavy metals from industrial waste, benefitting from living in the imperial core.

The US is huge. Certain states and cities are responsible for their own systemic violence siphoning wealth and rights from people around and within them, much like the nation as a whole has done to the whole world. I dont hold any illusions about that. But there are people and places in the US that are experiencing that same thing locally, and that wealth built out of destruction to someone else’s environment, through the plundering of natural resources, through the control and exploitation of others’ labor, through permanent systemic disadvantages to many, have all been built off of violence both here and farther away.

And the middlemen control access to care and medicine so that countless Americans go bankrupt, have their wages garnished, and avoid meals for their families multiple times a week because one of the kids did something as normal as falling while playing and breaking a bone. And the tops of these middlemen institutions get to go on being wealthy and powerful at the expense of our bodies and souls, while the rest of us have all control over our health and our lives slowly consolidated into the hands of the few

The imperial core exists. And its proportion of the population shrinks every year as the same landed elite who’ve held property and colonial power for centuries in the US claws more control over and power over the rest of us. And its the same ultra-wealthy, protestant Christian, white supremacists its always been.

#my posts #uspol

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biohorror-human · 26 days ago

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random community college english assignment just forced me to realize the 3 most formative moments of my life were:

Being so close with my best friend in the freshman year of high school that our souls practically merged as we just spent hours talking each other through the difficulties of high school, dealing with traumas, growing up, sexual maturation, and gender identity. We got so close that our friendship just naturally became a gay relationship

Learning about the MKUltra experiments and obsessively researching its history so much that my knowledge about and hatred of the CIA became one of my most defining traits throughout the first 2 years of high school.

Realizing corporations are all evil from my best friend in my sophomore year of high school. This would become my 2nd huge obsession that I incessantly researched and possessed so much knowledge and hatred for that it became one of my most defining traits though the last 2 years of high school. This friend (different friend from the first one) I also became so close with that our friendship just naturally became a gay relationship

Secret 4th thing that I'm kind of just realizing: both those friends I dated ended up coming out as trans. so did all four of the other people i've dated. all either trans at the start, or eventually came out as trans during or after our relationship. I also never asked any of these people out. Trans people just gravitate to me. I'm not a chaser, I am the one being chased. What does this mean for me. No I'm genuinely kind of losing it right now why do trans people have this affinity with me.

I'm also now in the process of realizing that the reason I have been avoiding thinking about my own gender identity is because I've been insanely busy in college. But literally the one time I did think about it I got nothing done because I spent days just locked in my own thoughts watching back every single one of my memories with the lens of "what if this was gender dysphoria" and realizing that every memory relating to gender I have is laced in some degree of disdain of being born as and treated like a man. OH SHIT

I have a dissociative disorder. when I'm super stressed out it makes me dissociate and this can create huge gaps in my memory. That's why I "stopped" thinking about my gender identity. i DIDN'T stop thinking about it I just don't remember it. I can't remember almost any of October or November other than Halloween and thanksgiving. My most recent tangible memories start from the day the CEO got shot because that moment was so important to my beliefs about corporations being evil that it grounded me and took me out of a huge dissociative episode. THAT'S WHY I WAS SUPPOSED TO BUY A NOTEPAD. TO WRITE DOWN MY IMPORTANT THOUGHTS AND TASKS.

I've had my egg cracked and then partially resealed. I have to think about my gender identity again.

hey. sorry this post is all over the place. I'm realizing that Ive basically been doing 12 hours of college work every day for quite a few days now and the burnout and stress has been making me dissociate, which is making me forget the things Ive worked on and thought about. this post is all over the place because im piecing together those memories live.

this post has the potential to have way too many tags so I'll just remove all the non LGBT or rant tags because that seems to be the main essence of this post at this point

#trans #queer #gender identity #bisexual #rant #personal rant #rant post #transgender #egg #egg cracking #dissociation

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karikarasuno · 2 years ago

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sonder ch. iii

Pairing: Erwin Smith x Fem!Reader x Levi Smith

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Angst, Smut (18+ Only), Oral Sex (m!receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Regret after Sex, Alcohol Consumption, Awkward Tension, Arguing, References to COVID Lockdown

Word Count: 10k

song(s) for the chapter: pretend by eloise, jaded by miley cyrus, breaking point by leon thomas

a/n: this chapter took me what feels like forever to write. i had writers block almost 100% of this chapter lol but it’s done at last. it’s pretty angsty though so strap in.

chapter ii | chapter iii | chapter iv

“What are you doing here?” You were positive you were having some kind of hallucination. A delusion brought upon by your temporary forgotten loneliness. To remind you of the guilty conscience that was never far away from you. But he was here, you knew in the crease between his eyebrows that manifested after years of concentration. And in the hopeful laced defeat in his dark eyes. It was real and you couldn’t wrap your head around it because it seemed unfathomable. Because, “how did you find me?”

The only person who knew where you were was, “your mom gave me your address.” He tightened his grip on the strap of his duffel bag as you didn’t make any move to let him in. Still confused. Still partially convinced he was conjured up by your deluded imagination.

“Why?” was all you could manage. You were still tipsy from the wine tasting. Your heels still strapped around your ankles and the balls of your feet ached as you applied all your weight to them. You were woefully unprepared for this. Slightly terrified of the universe’s ability to shock and punish you as soon as you felt some semblance of contentment.

“Not too sure why she gave it to me. Probably because she wanted us to talk as much as I do.” He shifted uncomfortably. And while there was a pleasant breeze this evening, it was still warm. Too warm to be out in his hoodie and jeans.

“No,” you said, before you could think of saying anything else. “I meant why are you here?”

There was judgment in your tone that you hadn’t meant to apply. And he flinched which caused your body to soften with sympathy. “Can I come in?”

Your hand tightened around the doorknob, but you moved to the side. And now he had a clear shot into your home. It was in slight disarray. Your work bag was thrown on your sofa and a blanket was bunched up in the corner. You left your coffee mug from this morning on the table and mail that remained unopened littered your island.

He took it all in. Remnants of only you to be found. Which left a pitiful feeling in your stomach at the realization that your house together back home was probably littered with reminders of you. You left almost everything behind. Including him. And a shattering that you had poorly taped together beneath your sternum was beginning to unravel.

He dropped his bag on the floor by the dining table. You bought it from a thrift store a few weeks back. It was small and round, worn with age but charming with the designs etched into the wood around it. You centered it in front of your bay window, perfectly snug by your bookcase.

He glanced over half filled shelves, new books and old ones were placed haphazardly there until you decided how you would organize them. So far that was left on the back burner. He grabbed a novel you recently published. A mystery novel by a young author who you spent weeks trying to convince to take your publishing deal. Annie Leonhart was talented and you knew if you didn’t nab her someone else would, but she was particular about many things. She made Nile’s life hell for months, but it was worth it seeing the rave reviews as she slid onto the bestselling list with ease.

“I read this on the plane,” he said, thumbing through the paperback. “Really good. I didn’t see the ending coming, even though all the signs were there.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, locking the door behind you but not moving towards him. Distance was your only safety net at the moment. “I was a little mad that I didn't put it together sooner.”

“So was I,” he said, finally looking at you. And you sensed something deeper. His roundabout way of saying he was angry with you too. Which you couldn’t blame him for. You didn’t exactly leave with a warning after your fight about your job.

“I miss you,” he added, tossing the book onto the dining table. Two steps towards you. You locked your knees though, blocking your ability to meet him halfway. Tired of always having to meet him halfway. But you didn’t have to this time. Because his hand was on your cheek soon enough. Warmth radiated from his palm. Your heart skipped and then slowed, a familiar sense of relaxation numbing your limbs because you missed him too. You thoughtlessly pressed your cheek into his hand, eyes fluttering closed and you were smacked with a wave of emotion. Tears built in your throat, but you swallowed around them, blinking them away from your lash line when they stung there for a brief moment.

“Onyank–”

“No,” he placed his other hand on your other cheek and forced you to look at him, “I miss you. Just say you miss me too.”

Your lips parted but nothing came out, your mind awfully blank and you couldn’t bring yourself to say it back. Your throat was closing around nothing and his eyes pleaded with you. But you couldn’t do it.

“Please.” You’ve never heard him sound so small, like a child. Suddenly the six years you had together were lost and the only version of him was when you first met. Youthful, hopeful, and tired. Your hands rose to grab his wrists, securing him against your skin and squeezing. “I missed you too.”

There was a long moment of just the two of you staring at one another, neither of you knowing what to do or where to go. For so long, things between the two of you were natural and seamless. You never had to worry about overstepping or crossing boundaries. But with the familiarity running so deeply between the two of you, it felt strange to be so hesitant in a moment like this. To be afraid of how the other might react.

“Why did you leave?” His hands moved down to cradle your neck, his fingers sifting through the hair at your nape.

“Not right now.” You closed your eyes again, incapable of gathering the words to even explain to him the emotional turmoil you’ve been going through for the last two years. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” he said, grip tightening as if he were trying to make sure you were real. That he actually found you after you virtually ghosted him for months. You never answered his calls or texts. Just cut him off completely as if you never existed to each other. “Fine, we won’t. Not right now.”

You could only nod, stepping towards him, suddenly needing to feel him against your body. He was always so warm. You never understood how someone could run so hot, but he was perfect since you always seemed to be nothing short of freezing. He pulled you against him at the same time as you shifted into his arms. He tilted your face upwards, thumb pressing beneath your chin. You knew what he wanted. What he was silently asking for. And the alcohol that riddled your body stopped you from thinking rationally. That paired with your heightening emotions had you leaning upwards, so that your noses brushed one another. This wasn’t a good choice, a sane one, given everything that has happened. But you needed him in that moment. Needed to remember one of the reasons you fell so deeply in love with him in the first place.

The distance closed between the two of you, but it felt like time was halting as soon as your lips barely touched his. They were just as full and soft as you remembered. He always kissed you like he knew exactly what he was doing and how to have your knees faltering and your lungs devoid of your own air. And suddenly, everything was rushed and hurried. You clung to him with desperation, your hands twisted in the thick fabric of his hoodie and you glued yourself to him. He wasn’t expecting your sudden need, so he stumbled and caught himself on the wall behind you with a hand as your back fell against it.

“Wait,” he breathed, breaking the kiss before you could deepen it. Just breathing against your lips in gentle puffs of air. Your head rested against the wall, his hand slipping from where it was tangling in your hair to rest at the base of your throat as he tried to keep you at a somewhat safe distance. “We shouldn’t.”

“No,” you agreed, regaining some of your breath, “but I want to. I want you.”

Your hands drifted down his abdomen, bunching up his hoodie where it stopped above his waistband. There was a peek of his underwear. Calvin Klein. After he started making more money, it was all he bought for ages. You traced the elastic with a fingertip, outlining each letter until you stopped at the button of his jeans.

“Tell me to stop,” you said, pinching the denim and waiting for him to stop you. But he dropped his forehead onto your shoulder instead, using his lips to guide his way up the curve of your neck to your ear.

“I won’t.” He kissed the space below your ear, his hand finding your waist and tugging the fabric of your dress into his fist. You took that green light without hesitation. You fumbled with it at first, hands suddenly shaking with anticipation. But he kept leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck and shoulder as you unzipped his jeans. He was hard, his erection pressed into your palm as you slid your hand beneath his boxer briefs. He groaned against your skin, the sound so guttural and deep that it made your knees weak.

You dropped to them as soon as you felt your weight give. The wood dug into your skin sharply, but you didn’t seem to care or notice. Not when you tugged down his clothes and exposed him. He was thick and long, and it was always difficult for you to take all of him into your mouth. But your mouth immediately watered with the memory of him. It’s been a while since you’ve been touched, even by yourself, and so your thighs clenched at the idea of being full again. The two of you fell into an easy rhythm. Your lips wrapped around his head, using the spit that gathered beneath your tongue to make the glide easier. His breath was falling from his lips in stuttered gasps, and when you glanced up at him he held his hoodie beneath his chest. Allowing you the perfect view of the flex of his abs whenever his breath got caught in his lungs.

You hollowed out your cheeks, eyes closing again to focus on not choking when you fit more of him into your mouth. There was a gentle guiding hand on the back of your head resting there but heavy. When he pinched at the base of your neck you knew he was close, and he wanted you to pause. To give him a second. But you ignored it, pressing down further until your nose hit the base of his cock and he made a choking sound in the back of his throat when you swallowed around him.

Instead of giving you another warning, he just pulled you off of him, using his grip on your neck to tug you backwards and you breathed out a relieved sigh you hadn’t realized was stuck in your chest.

“Where’s your room?” It was a weird question to ask. Because you forgot he had never been here before. Momentarily forgotten that this wasn’t like any other night between the two of you. And that he was a visitor in your home and not a permanent resident. Where he shared a bed with you and half of a closet. You didn’t have his toothbrush in your medicine cabinet, or the wave brush he used every morning beside your perfume. It felt strange, this gap in time that you couldn’t account for accurately.

But still, you rose to your feet, hand finding his wrist and telling him, “it’s this way.”

Your bed was unmade with your pajamas thrown at the end when you got dressed this morning. That seemed like years ago when you were debating between one shoe and another. When you paused at the side of your mattress, Onyankopon was behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His lips found your ear, his voice nothing but a rasp when he said, “sit down.”

He helped you turn around to face him, fingers at the hem of your dress and dragging the fabric up your body and over your head. He threw the dress to the floor, splaying a big hand across your abdomen as he pushed you onto the bed. You bounced carefully from the impact, your hands keeping you from falling straight onto your back. He placed a knee between your open legs forcing you to scoot backwards. And he started at your feet. His fingers skillfully unclasped your heels from each ankle, letting them drop to the floor with dull thuds against the fluffy rug you had there.

His fingers danced up your thighs, massaging the fat of your hips in his hands before discarding your underwear easily. He took little time undressing himself. Eyes trained on the contours of your body the entire time which had your skin heating up under his scrutiny. When you moved up the bed to allow him more room he followed after you, crawling between your spread legs and grabbing your ankle to drag you towards him. Your head fell flat against the mattress, eyes focusing on your fan overhead before he used two fingers to press at your slit and dragged them upwards until he found your clit.

“Shit,” you hissed between your teeth when he rubbed gentle circles against you. You felt yourself dripping and he played you effortlessly until you were writhing and pleading for more.

“You always got so wet for me,” he groaned as he inserted one finger and you clenched around it. “God, I missed this.”

He pumped his finger in and out, taking his time before he inserted a second. He directed his focus to your g spot, using the angle to bully the sensitive tissue there until your heartbeat was in your throat. You immediately reached between your thighs and gripped his forearm. You pushed at him, but he was stronger than you and he wanted you to come on his fingers. You could tell he was determined to make you finish like this first. “Just fuck me, please.” There were tears springing from your tear ducts and you whined when he pressed his thumb to your clit.

“Just gimme one, baby, and I’ll fuck you just how you like it.” The thought was dizzying, and the pressure from his fingers toying with you had your legs shaking. Over and over and over until you were drooling into his hand and the sloppy sounds of your pussy were the only thing accompanying your increased pitch in moans.

“Fuck yes, that’s it. So pretty,” he groaned when you finally came with a gasp. Your hands scrambled to fist the comforter. You were drifting, his rambling was distant as you attempted to control the rush of endorphins flooding your system. He worked you through it, slowing down his motions until you melted into the bed and you could only blink up at him tearfully.

He licked his fingers clean after he retracted them from your spasming cunt. Your sweat was cooling on your skin and the fan circling above your head sent goosebumps down your body. But you didn’t have much longer to regain your senses. Not when he took both of your thighs in his hands and folded you easily. His face was right above you, gorgeous as ever with his pupils dilated and his bottom lip secured between his teeth. It was always so insane to you how stunning he was. How effortless his beauty always seemed to be. And he somehow chose you. Until he didn’t.

You were sore as hell when you awoke the next morning. Your thighs tightened whenever you turned and your muscles screamed every time you tried to stretch beneath your covers. The sun slipped between your blinds, which only reminded you of how you needed to invest in blackout curtains. Your internal clock always woke you up with the sunrise, regardless of how much – or how little – you slept the night before.

Last night felt like some vivid dream. You would’ve sworn that it didn’t happen and it was just a product of all the wine and exhaustion you were experiencing if it weren’t for the arm draped over your waist and the soft snores filling up your usually silent bedroom. You froze, suddenly wide awake.

That was a mistake. A really big one. And he warned you too. To stop before you got too ahead of yourselves, but you had so little self control. You just wanted him so badly, your brain clouded with yearning and lust. It was hard to say no, not when he looked at you the way he did. Or touched you so tenderly. It brought back all the things you used to feel when you were with him. Before he proposed, and before he started to choose his career over you.

He was a heavy sleeper. So slipping from out of his grasp was easy enough. Your thighs burned when you stepped into the shower. Muscles so tight and achy. But it was a good ache, the satisfying kind that if you weren’t so caught up in the implications of it all, you would be basking in it. But instead you were all too aware of the questions he would have when he officially woke up.

Why did you leave? Why haven’t you answered any of my calls or texts? Where do we go from here?

You didn’t know. But that wasn’t a sufficient enough answer, especially given the circumstances of everything. You didn’t know how to tell him that you drifted apart. That your dreams were no longer in line with his and that the paths that life was stitching out for the two of you were just heading in vastly different directions. It seemed like not enough reason to get up and leave from one day to the next. And that you would sound crazy for it. You already felt crazy enough on the inside, but voicing that out loud would make you feel certifiable. You weren’t sure he would even understand. Because he seemed so happy with the little life you created so far. Without even realizing that he was the one leaving you behind.

The water was lukewarm by the time you stepped onto your bath mat. There was movement from the other side of the door that you could hear now that the water was no longer running. You were very much aware of the predicament you made for yourself. But you wondered, if under a different set of circumstances, you wouldn’t have let him stay. Or slept with him again. You believe it would’ve turned out this way anyway. Because as much as you tried to avoid it, you still loved him. And you missed him so desperately, that even if you hadn’t drank for most of the day before you would have still let him in and led him to your bed.

You slipped into something casual. Fitting over your head an oversized t-shirt and some slightly ripped jeans. He wasn’t in bed by the time you came out. Instead, you found him in the living room looking through the duffel bag he left there the night before. There was palpable tension circulating the two of you. Neither of you knew where to start or what to say. You knew that he wanted to talk about it. And all that it encompassed, but that’s not how you wanted to start off your morning.

“Breakfast?” You asked, stuffing your hands into your front pockets and waiting.

“Hm?” He was still groggy with sleep, eyes blinking at you almost confused and a little glazed over from having just woken up.

“Do you wanna go out for breakfast? There’s this little diner not too far from here. They serve chilaquiles,” you said hopefully. You dangled the idea of his favorite breakfast right below his nose. He hardly ever passed up the opportunity for it whenever you suggested going to the Mexican restaurant back home, especially after a late night. And you were also hoping he didn’t see completely through your attempt at steering the day away from why he actually came here. Away from feelings and questions and difficult conversations. So you were grateful when he said, “yeah, that sounds good. Let me go get ready.”

You waited curled up and tense on a corner of your couch. You couldn’t stop fidgeting with your hand, primarily with your empty ring finger – massaging the knuckle right below it. There were texts on your phone. One from Moblit, a link to an article this author you and him particularly enjoyed shitting on. You weren’t surprised that some old tweets of her were dug up that only confirmed your previous suspicions of her being controversial.

You sent a quick: I knew I hated her for a reason, just didn’t think it would be this bad

And he quickly responded: Can’t say that I’m surprised though

You left it at that, hearing Onyankopon turn off the shower and move around the bathroom. You opened the groupchat with Erwin and Levi next. There was a singular text from Erwin about twenty-five minutes ago asking if you were up to get breakfast. A part of you wanted to ignore the text and pretend you were still asleep. Using sleeping in as an excuse to avoid them. Another part of you despised the fact that you even wanted to lie in the first place. They didn’t really deserve that when they have been nothing but friendly and honest with you.

You settled on: Something came up, rain check?

Before you could wait for a response to come through, Onyankopon stepped into the living room smelling just like he always has. For some reason, you would’ve expected that part of him to change. The part that always wore that rich, musky cologne. With a hint of vanilla.

“Ready?” You asked, legs still folded beneath your body, hesitant to move.

“Mhmm,” he hummed. You slipped on your sneakers where they had been left by the door from the other day and grabbed your tote bag from where it was laying on the opposite end of the sofa.

The morning walk to the diner was done in silence. It didn’t take torturously long to get there but with the tension as thick as it was it felt like a millennia before the green door of the restaurant came into view. It wasn’t as full as you expected it to be and you were seated as soon as you greeted the hostess. A little table for two right by the window. The sun was on the opposite side of the restaurant so it wasn’t unbearably warm where the two of you were sitting. You ordered a cappuccino when your waiter came around. And Onyankopon ordered a regular coffee. Black with two sugars.

“How’s your new job been going?” He asked it through a tight jaw and he wasn’t looking at you. Just at the way his spoon spun in his mug after he mixed in some half n half from the container by the ketchup.

“Good,” you said, shifting in your seat and fidgeting with your hands in your lap. “Really good, actually.”

“You like it so far?”

You nodded, chewing the inside of your cheek and saying, “It’s exactly what I wanted. It’s been…satisfying.”

“That’s good to hear.”

The waiter took your orders. He ordered the chilaquiles like you knew he would’ve and you got the smoked salmon omelet. Afterwards, sticky silence was what you were left in. The two of you were being cordial. Very much unlike who you were as a couple. The genuine fluidity between you was gone.

“I’ve been writing a lot since you left,” he said, staring out the window. “A few things here and there, but nothing complete.”

“You writing for anyone in particular?” He usually wrote for artists, and helped produce a lot of music in general. He was seemingly a genius when it came down to it.

“No,” he shrugged, finishing off his coffee and sliding it towards the center of the table. You shifted awkwardly in your seat, nerves sliding up into your chest and filling you with discomfort. Words were trudging like mud up your throat. Thick and difficult to wade through. He seemed to be just as uncomfortable, with both of you knowing what you should be talking about but neither wanting to be the one to broach the topic first.

Last time you were together you threw your engagement ring at him. The tinkly clattering of it still resonated around your skull when you thought back to it. He was just about to leave for another business trip. The argument started when you made an offhand comment about how he was never home because he must have a secret family on the other coast. His reaction was unexpected, the sudden outburst accusing you of being inconsiderate of his job and all the time and energy it takes to be successful. That one in particular stung because it felt like he was insinuating you weren’t successful. But it didn’t hurt as much as when he said, “the reason we have this house is because of me. Your ring, that you love so much, is because of my work and what I do. So maybe don’t throw around shitty accusations like that when you know better.”

You could reason that he was having a particularly bad day that day. Long hours spent in the studio because one of the artists he worked with was known to be quite difficult. And maybe you weren’t enthusiastic at the idea of spending another week alone. Because what good was a house when you were the only one in it. Not when it was meant to be shared.

So when he boarded his plane the next day– after you told him he could keep the ring– you boarded yours two days later. The entire time he was away neither of you reached out to the other. It was radio silence on both ends, so you could only imagine his surprise when he returned and you were gone. Besides the ring. That sat on the dresser in your bedroom with a note tucked beneath it.

The server slid the food in front of you, warning you that “the plate is hot, so be careful.”

Conversation was stiff and uncoordinated the entire time you ate. You danced between topics, and stumbled into abrupt lulls when you weren’t sure how to respond. But at least the meal was good, delicious even. You cleaned off your plates, sliding them to the side of the table and stacking them to indicate you were finished. When the server came back with the check, neither of you having asked him to split it, you both reached for it. Just three hands extended towards each other in a very awkward moment. But you dropped yours first, if only to stop the moment from continuing.

Onyankopon paid. Much like he always did. You didn’t argue it either, fearing that if you mentioned anything remotely close to the fragility of your relationship that it would devolve into a depressing confession of feelings– the ugly ones. And you would rather not begin to cry in a restaurant or in the middle of the sidewalk surrounded by way too many people. That was too mortifying to even think about.

The afternoon had warmed considerably by the time you walked out, but there was still enough wind cutting around the corners of the buildings for it to be bearable. You were reluctant to go back home, though. Despite the creeping heat, you wanted to stay as far away from home as possible. Because you knew what would happen as soon as the two of you were alone behind closed doors. And you weren’t ready to ‘talk things out.’

“The pier isn’t too far from here,” you offered, tugging your bag further up your shoulder. “We can hop on the train or even walk if you want.”

His hands were stuffed deep into his pockets, muscles tense and flexing in his arms which gave away his discomfort– even though his expression remained neutral. You stood beside one another in stiff silence as he contemplated your suggestion. He knew you better than anyone else, so he could tell all you were doing was deflecting and avoiding. It was your default when it came to situations that were tricky or overwhelming. But instead of confronting it, like he usually did, he just said, “that works.”

Work was at the forefront of your mind as you fell into step with each other, and whether it was worth it. This torturous process of falling out of love with someone and choosing to leave rather than fighting to stay. You loved your job. There was a purpose in it that sparked an ambition in you that you lost a while ago. But it was still there; the flame that you thought was blown out only dimmed in comparison to what it used to be.

“How long is this walk?” He grunted as he stepped around a stroller that’s wheel nearly sent him to his knees. The mother pushing it sent an apology over her shoulder, but it was caught in the wind. You assumed she was in a hurry, as was almost everyone in the city.

You scoffed out a small laugh. It was humorless when you added, “about 40 minutes.”

“You’re kidding?” He caught your elbow and stopped you in the middle of the sidewalk, earning a disgruntled swear from the person walking behind the two of you briskly. His eyes were wide when you met them and there was genuine surprise written blatantly across his features. Shock looked funny on him. And when you smiled in response it was sincere.

“I’m not.” You shook your head, stepping towards him to allow a person walking their dog to get around you. “The pier is like 40 minutes walking and maybe a little less than 20 by train.”

“Why would you think I’d want to walk? It's hot as hell today.” There was a small smile tugging at his lips, probably in response to the one you were wearing. And it was strange, the warmth that skidded down your spine, centralizing right where he held onto your bare elbow.

“Don’t be a baby,” you teased, turning on your heels to the direction of your desired location. “It’s not that bad. We can take the train back to the house if you’re so against it later.”

He seemed to internalize your teasing tone as a challenge, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw. “Fine,” punctuated with a dazzling grin.

Sometimes it was hard to even look at him. A flickering of last night danced across your mind and the warmth returned, but you ignored it. Instead nodding before guiding him once again to your destination.

You couldn’t describe what being with Onyankopon felt like. There was really no way to explain how or why he made you feel the way he did. Other than that it always felt like summer. You appreciated when the winter started to melt away, the chill being cut to nothing by the endless beams of sunshine. But there was always the rain that accompanied it. And somehow, even when you saw it in the forecast, you never brought an umbrella. With him the unexpected storms never seemed to bother you, the fat drops of water sometimes were enough to blind you but as long as you had him there was nothing to worry about.

In the beginning you were grateful for the heat. For the opportunity to pull out your shorts and summer dresses. For the ability to shed all of your layers in favor of a select few. It was freeing, like taking off your bra after an exceptionally long day. But sooner rather than later the heat began to become nauseating. And every time you planned on leaving the house felt like a chore. A groan about it being too hot or too humid. And you found yourself wishing for autumn and on some days even the snow. You craved the layers you once longed to shed, so summer became something you despised. When at the start it was all you ever wanted.

You wondered when Onyankopon became the person you wanted to the person you resented. When being with him began to feel like more of a chore rather than a breath of relief or a presence of comfort. It was painful, trying to walk backwards in the dark to figure out where everything went wrong. But it was unavoidable. There were roots lifting from beneath the ground that were ready for you to trip over along the way. But it needed to be done.

For now though, the earthy smell of the lake was seeping into the air. The skyscrapers were getting more sparse, and the ferris wheel was peeking through the skyline. Forty minutes, while seeming excruciatingly long, passed by relatively quickly. Only accompanied with small talk here and there, mainly initiated by you when the silence began to feel like too much.

When you arrived at the enormous wheel, you paid $20 each to ride it. Which you felt immediate regret about. The enclosed pods were smaller than you imagined them to be. And with the two of you sitting on opposite sides, his knees bracketed yours and every small swing had them tightening around your thighs. You were starting to believe that you were claustrophobic. The air that surrounded the two of you was thin and not enough. Because every time you breathed in, it was shallow and left your lungs more deflated with each exhale.

“The city is nice,” Onyankopon said, eyes locked on the skyline. The sun was at its peak at the moment, the star burning its way down to earth and reflecting off of the water’s surface. There were people out on their boats and many more hanging around the shore to enjoy the weather while it lasted. Especially with autumn so near and the weather dipping into cooler temperatures in the late evening.

“It’s been good to me,” you said, eyes still stuck on the water even when you could feel his gaze on you as the wheel descended the opposite side.

“Yeah,” he agreed, knee shifting to intentionally press into your thigh. It forced you to look at him, his eyes boring into you with unidentified emotion. “It looks good on you.”

By the time you left the pier, the tension between you had reduced itself from being awkward and off-putting to strangely calm. You took the train back home, sitting side by side in familiar comfortable silence. He offered you an earbud and the song that played was unfamiliar to you. You wondered if it was one of his. The lyrics were vaguely ringing a bell in your head. Maybe the one he was tinkering with all day the week before you parted.

You tried to maintain some distance, but every time the train lurched to a stop or rounded a corner your bodies would press together – knees to shoulders. Neither of you made a move or even an effort to add a few inches between you. It was as if that distance would leave enough room for reality to come crashing in and that you wouldn’t allow. Not when reality would burn through the little progress you had made. At least what you had convinced yourself you had made.

When you stood up for your stop he reached his hand behind his back in search of you. And, initially, you were going to pretend you didn’t see him because that would be weird. Too much like a past version of yourselves that has been too edited and revised to go back to. But those around you had other plans. An elderly man shouldered into your back unexpectedly, his cane caught between your ankles forcing you forward and grabbing Onyankopon’s hand in order to stabilize yourself.

Instinctively, he squeezed. His hand was warm and sent a jolt of yearning up your arm that sparked and fizzled around your heart. Awakening a slumbering beast that only visited you on your loneliest nights. You swallowed around nothing and allowed him to guide you off the train and onto the platform. There was an almost numbness settling in your chest as you walked hand in hand back to your house. The awkwardness was starting to trickle in again. But you were probably the only one noticing it. Especially with the way his hand remained steady against your palm.

The garden outside of Levi and Erwin’s home came into view first. The flowers were still as stunning and vividly colorful as they were at the beginning of spring all those months ago. When you asked how Levi kept the garden so healthy, he managed a half-attentioned shrug. Which irked you to no end, except the next day on your way home you found him outside of your residence pulling out weeds and digging into the dirt. That was when you knew he hadn’t told you because he was keeping some well kept secret, but because he was going to do it himself. Much like he always did.

You led Onyankopon up your steps, but paused at your door when you heard the familiar living sounds of your neighbors. Guilt tugged at you at the realization that you had been ignoring them. For people you have only known a few months, you spoke with them every day and falling out of sync with your routine was doing a number on you. When you unlocked the door and set your things aside you checked the notifications on your phone first. There were two texts. Both from Erwin.

The first one read as: what came up?

Quickly followed by: Just let us know if you need anything

Before you could think of a response though, you were reminded of the company you had. Onyankopon had stepped around you to the bathroom, forcing your eyes away from the screen in your hand and following his back until it was hidden behind a closed door. Your palms were beginning to clam up, an antsy energy trailing up your spine. You grabbed two glasses from the wine cart that were hanging from the hooks. With your hands busy it was easier to ignore the sounds of the toilet flushing and the sink’s water running. You over-poured one glass, almost over three-quarters of the way. So you claimed that one, offering the half-full glass to Onyankopon when he exited the bathroom and met you on the other side of the island.

“What’s this?” He spun the red wine around the glass by its stem, bringing the lip to his nose to smell it.

“Cabernet,” you said with your lips around the rim and taking a rather large sip. “Your favorite.”

He hummed in agreement after he tasted it. Actually savoring the flavor while you just chugged down another unattractive gulp. The alcohol was working quickly though with the lack of food you’d eaten today. Aside from your practically digested breakfast the only thing left in your stomach was an unsettling queasiness.

“What year?” He asked after another sip.

“2020,” you responded.

“Our best year to date.” Which made you laugh into your drink. It was peak lockdown and most couples despised spending every second of every day together. But not you two. It somehow brought you closer with every hour spent writing, reading, catching up on tv shows, or fucking.

“We were stuck inside our house for a year,” you countered, leaning your elbows against the marble.

“And I loved every second of it.” He smiled, even though there was a sadness lingering in his eyes. One that you could hardly swallow and thudded into your stomach, uncomfortable and heavy.

“Oh is that right?” You took another sip.

“Mm, wouldn’t have proposed if I didn’t.” His glass was nearly finished, so you offered him the bottle.

“Of course,” you muttered, staring at him over your glass without knowing much else to say.

“You know Munchies misses you,” he said over the glug of wine falling from the bottle.

Munchies was your shared cat. You’d found him four years ago as a kitten. He was so tiny he fit in the palm of your hand. Just a tiny ball of orange fluff that wouldn’t stop screaming. Only issue was when you found him the both of you were high off your asses and on your way back from ordering way too much food. Onyankopon ended up carrying him back to your home in his jacket pocket while you lugged around bags and drink containers.

“I miss him too,” you said sadly, head falling into your palm as you gazed at the red liquid moving languidly around your glass.

“He ruined the puzzle you finished before you left,” he shrugged, smiling a little at the memory. “I think he was pissed at you for leaving, and probably pissed at me for ignoring him.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your heart aching even though he said it as if it didn’t affect him. You know the truth though, you could see the cracks in his resolve so vividly. Because they mirrored yours.

“It’s whatever.” He gave you another shrug, offering nothing but a blank stare.

“But it's not.”

He managed a hum under his breath in response, leaning over and filling your glass for you. Words were hard and neither of you knew what to say. It was a very strange push and pull, ebb and flow. Nostalgia and suffering. Years of history, but it only took a few months to become strangers. Written out of each other’s lives just as quickly and sincerely as you drunkenly stumbled into them. Just years of growth and development, all for a flight to rip it out right at its root.

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” You asked while grabbing the wine by its neck and heading over to the couch. He followed, taking your movements as an answer enough. Not that he had much of a choice because you were running out of things to say that steered you clear of talking about you leaving.

There was a cushion of space between you. But the distance could’ve been filled with a mountain range. The both of you ignored it, though. And you scrolled through Netflix until you picked some tacky romcom that was just released.

You had zero clue what the movie was even about thirty minutes in. Onyankopon kept shifting his weight beside you—legs extending and spreading while his hand moved from his thigh to rest on the cushion between you.

The wall of the living room was shared with Levi and Erwin’s bedroom, so you could hear that they were home. And usually at this time you’d be prepping for dinner either taking up residence in their kitchen or them in yours. You fear that you’ve used them to replace the void and emptiness in your chest that Onyankopon left. Now that he was back though, you expected some of that painful yearning to subside. Especially now that you could actually get some sort of closure. But now the pain only deepened, so much so it felt like your bones were breaking or your organs were beginning to fail. All you wanted was for him to leave so you could slip back into the routine you’ve become so accustomed to. But that would be impossible if all you did was avoid your past instead of confronting it.

When the credits rolled and the entire bottle had been drained, instead of feeling comfortably tipsy there was a curdling sensation like spoiled milk rolling around your stomach. Steady breaths were hard to come by, especially since the silence was no longer filled with a poorly written script and subpar acting.

“That movie was fucking awful,” he exhaled, stretching his long legs out in front of him and groaning when his knees popped.

“But you love rom coms,” you said sarcastically, humor seeping into your tone despite the emotional turmoil settling somewhere between your heart and stomach.

“Yeah, pre-2010,” he said with a roll of his eyes and a tiny smile. “And only because they remind me of you.”

“Onyankopon,” you sighed, wanting to desperately curl into yourself. There was a hopefulness in his eyes that you couldn’t return. Six years of loving him and it should be easy to fall again. Even for the sake of familiarity, but you didn’t have it in you. Not after falling so gracelessly out of love with him.

“We should get something to eat,” you deflected. And it was scary how easy it was becoming for you. “Do you have any cravings?”

“Not really,” he said, but you knew it was only for your sake. Everything he wanted to say was so visible on the tip of his tongue.

“There’s a bunch of good places around here.” You stood to take the bottle to the kitchen along with the red stained glasses. “Italian, Chinese, Indian…”

“What would you want?” He followed.

“Any one of those work,” you shrugged.

“But what do you want?” You hesitated for a moment. Unsure. “You’ve always been like this.”

“Like what?” Your tone was defensive as you filled the empty glasses with water in the sink. Your fight instinct triggered after years of the same argument.

“Indecisive,” he stated coldly, clearly agitated.

“Right because you’re known for always choosing what we have for dinner. If you even bothered showing up,” you said bitterly, irrational anger building in your gut.

“Don’t do that.” His jaw tightened when you faced him, your palms bracing you against the edge of the sink.

“Do what exactly?” You were baiting him, immaturity in your response was evident, but it always seemed to be your default in moments like these.

“The thing where you make it all out to be my fault.” His nose scrunched with frustration. “I’m never home. I work too much. I never spend time with you…”

He rattled off months worth of your constant complaints, making them seem like you were delusional for feeling that way.

“And none of that was true? I’m just crazy for feeling that way because I’m the one who canceled our vacation last minute because I got called into work.”

That memory in particular stung. It had been months since the two of you had a moment alone and you went out of your way to plan the perfect weekend trip to the mountains. You hated hiking, but he loved it. And you’d do anything to keep him happy and to get him to stay. He didn’t have to lift a finger for it, just agree. Which he did. You rented the car and the cabin. Even going as far as buying him new hiking books since the pair he had were from college. But a week before he had to fly out to the studio’s headquarters and wouldn’t be back in time. There were adjustments that needed to be made to one of the artists’ albums. And you tried so hard to be understanding and accommodating. But sickening resentment started to make its home in your chest.

“I had to work.” He was exasperated. This conversation was old and tired and played out.

“Exactly. You had to work. But you never had to spend time with me.” The words were accompanied with the souring taste of alcohol on your tongue.

“That’s not fair,” he said through gritted teeth, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“You’re right. It’s not fair that I waited around for you all those nights you said you’d be home for dinner. It’s not fair that my presence became so low on your list of priorities, I was just an afterthought to you.”

“That’s never what you were and you know that!” He shook his head and shut his eyes. Tension pulsed in his neck and shoulders and the haphazard bandages you stuck over your broken heart were peeling away agonizingly slow.

“Then what was I?”

“I love you,” he pleaded. Pain etched into his facial expressions and it hurt to look at him. Maybe it was a last ditch effort for him, but you couldn’t keep doing this.

“Love isn’t everything when it feels like you stopped caring.” Your voice cracked, a sudden wave of exhaustion weighing down your body.

“I stopped caring but you’re the one who left? Without so much as a warning or goodbye. I deserved more than that.”

“You did and that’s on me, but you never tried to understand what I was going through. For fucks sake you laughed when I told you about this job,” you shouted, and your heart started beating rapidly against your chest.

“No.” It came out more as a question than anything. His brows pinched in confusion and nausea settled in your stomach when you recognized that he really didn’t see the signs at all. He didn’t even remember.

“You were on your way to the airport,” you started, head hanging a little lower at the memory. “I called you when I found it because I got excited. For a while I felt like everything was stagnant in my career, especially after watching yours be so great. So when I told you I was hoping to apply, all you did was chuckle and say ‘go ahead, but it's not like we’ll relocate.’

Like it wasn’t even up for discussion. Like my dreams weren’t even worth a conversation. So, no I didn’t tell you when I applied or left for the interview. I planned on it after they offered me the job but after that argument on our last night together, I made my decision. I felt like it wasn’t up for debate at that point.”

His hands gripped your marble counter. The tension in his shoulders remained and you could see the gears turning in his head. The rewind of events until he reached that moment. And the sudden realization.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me? Why did you have to do something so drastic to get my attention?”

“I wasn’t looking for your attention! All I ever wanted was for you to listen and every time I tried, I was brushed off and the conversation was tabled for later and later and later. I wasn’t going to wait around forever for you!”

He walked around the island in three easy strides, anger bubbling behind his gaze as he seemed to corner you. “If you had told me I would’ve tried. I would’ve changed something to make it work.”

“Would you have put your career on hold for me? Would you have moved with me? Would you have even tried to split your time?”

Tears of frustration were building behind your eyes and they burned so badly it was as if a fire was lit behind them. Your throat threatened to shut with how violently you were swallowing away the tears. Because you didn’t want to cry. You were over crying.

“I…” he stopped himself, considering all of your questions, but his silence was your answer. His hesitation said it all. He wouldn’t do that for you and you knew and accepted that. But seeing it was different. Knowing that your assumption was true tore you apart in a way you didn’t fully understand. Like a knife digging deep into your chest and puncturing your heart.

“I was tired of making sacrifices for you that went unnoticed. You just started to expect me to be there even when I was losing myself.”

“But what you did wasn’t something you’d do to someone you love,” his voice broke with sadness and anger. Bitterness coated each word and he could hardly even look at you.

“This was never about loving you. I never stopped loving you. And yes, maybe what I did was selfish and cruel, but I was unhappy and you didn’t even care to ask. It was like I wasn’t even there. Did you really expect me to live the rest of our lives like that?”

“No, but I expected more from you. More from the woman I asked to be my wife.” He stressed the word, making it sound more like an insult that cut you straight open rather than a promise of being together forever.

“We both know I’m not the one for you,” you shook your head to force the tears away. “Regardless of everything that we’ve been through, you have to admit that I was never the one. No matter how hard I tried to be, no matter how much I wished to be that for you. I'm not.”

It took months for you to come to terms with that. And it was even harder to admit out loud, evidenced by the betrayal of water gathering at your lash line. If life were easy, simple, you could’ve been the wife he wanted. The person he craved and desired. But that fizzled out quicker than either of you craved to admit. It was just the truth. As ugly as it was.

He stepped away from you, reaching a hand into his pocket until he pulled something out that you didn’t see. Not until he grabbed your wrist and held your palm up for him. He closed your engagement ring in your own hand. Stepping away from you completely, while taking whatever oxygen was left for you to breathe.

“I do-,” you choked around the words because of the thickness gathering in your throat. “I don’t want this.”

You tried to hand it back, but he stepped further away from you until his back met the edge of your island. “Sell it, pawn it, give it away. I don’t care,” he threw his hands up in defeat.

“But I can’t keep looking at it everyday. You left everything behind, and that I can deal with. But not the ring.”

There was a desperation in his voice that clawed at you. One that you couldn’t argue because he was right. You left it all for him to clean up and dispose of. Especially the ring. You opened your fist to look at it, a fresh wave of agony resonated through you.

“I’m sorry,” you said, this time looking at him. Watching his face fall and his emotions displayed plainly for you to witness.

“I want to forgive you,” he said, his shoulders dropping and his eyes watering. “I really do. But I can’t. Not right now.”

“And I can’t ask that of you,” your lips trembled, chest full of regret and guilt and pity. For him and for you. Because it shouldn’t have ended this way. “I know what I did and we both have to live with that.”

A stray tear fell down your cheek. It left a hot, wet track behind as it slid down your face and dropped off of your chin. This was the closure you wanted. The one you needed. But it didn’t make anything easier. Instead it carved open a fresh wound that was deeper than the last one. And for a second you wish you could take it all back. Just told him that you were sorry and that you would marry him. But that was just the regret talking. It should pass eventually. Hopefully.

“I should probably go.” He was retreating slowly, his eyes downcast, but you didn’t miss the tear that stained his own face. It was a direct reflection of your own. A cracked mirror with a distorted image of yourself. One you didn’t recognize. Not anymore.

You stood in the kitchen as you heard him gather his things. Your back stuck against the sink’s edge as your palm grew sweaty where it was tightly secured around your ring. You were afraid to move. Afraid that it would make the situation real and honest. And then you’d have to deal with the consequences of that. The consequences of loving and losing.

He refused to look your way as he exited your bedroom and headed towards the front door with his duffel secured over his chest. You tracked his every movement. From the squaring of his shoulders to the hollow breathing of his chest.

“I hope she’s out there,” you called out to him and he stiffened. His back still to you, but you continued, “the love of your life. I hope you find her someday.”

He turned to look at you over his shoulder, eyes taking you in for seemingly the last time. For what very well might be the most tragic you’ve ever looked in your years together.

“I hope you do too,” he said solemnly, “find whatever happiness you’re looking for.”

Another wave of tears threatened to spill over. His dejected voice was devastating enough to haunt you even in your dreams. You swallowed and looked away, breaking eye contact and concentrating on a spot on your counter. You heard the door click shut after a few seconds of strained silence. The ring, now slick from your sweat, was dropped onto the counter as your vision blurred and your mind clouded over.

You should clean up. Your legs moving before you could stop them. You turned and washed the glasses in the sink and hung them upside down to dry. You folded the blanket on your couch next. And then put the book Onyankopon left on your dining table back on your bookshelf. A pang of something familiar and painful made its way through you and you nearly dropped the book. Your fingers trembled and shook.

You walked back to the kitchen, shaky fingers wrapping around the wine bottle left on the island. They traced over the label, over the tiny clean numbers of 2020.

Our best year to date.

Your hand tightened around the thick glass, and you were so angry. So pissed at where life has led you. And all you wanted was to lash out, to blame the universe or God or some other being that you couldn’t see for the mess you brought upon yourself. When the image of him walking away from you slammed back into your mind, the bottle that was secured in your grasp was flung against the wall. Remnants of red liquid splattered against the white paint, staining it so aggressively but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when your heart dropped into your stomach, the shards of broken glass scattered across your floor irreparably.

You knelt as tears fell from your eyes— inevitable as they dripped down your neck and into your shirt. You were blind with them. Sobs wracked through your body as you tried to control your breathing but couldn’t. You gasped for air like each breath would be your last. All sense of control gone and lost, and you didn’t know when you’d ever get it back.

You gathered the huge chunks of glass into shaking hands, attempting to clean up whatever you could, even while it felt like everything else was slipping through your fingers. You tossed whatever you could pick up into the trash, and as a jagged piece slipped from your grasp, it sliced open your fingertip. You hissed from the sudden pain, but you only stared as blood began to pool at the opening and drip down your finger. That was the least of your worries though. The stinging pain was nothing in comparison to the gaping hole residing where your heart used to be.

And you weren’t sure when or if you would ever recover.

#eruri x reader #eruri fanfic #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction

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letsgoletsgetit08 · 2 months ago

Text

ink ch.4

summary: Park Seonghwa has been given an ultimatum by his parents: a year to marry a woman of their choosing with the end goal of producing an heir to the family fortune since queer party boy Seonghwa can't be trusted with it. His solution? Get absolutely blasted in tattoos to scare off his possible suitors and their families. But why did his tattoo artist have to be so pretty and kind? It's enough to make him question some things. Possibly, everything.

pairing: park seonghwa x hwang hyunjin

warning: mdni, barebacking, oral sex, public sex

total word count: 30,328 | chapter word count: 5,305

ao3 link: chapter 4

IV: fuck it.

Seonghwa hated Sloane Greenburg and her family.

He wasn't even being dramatic.

Okay, maybe he was being a little dramatic, but they were the epitome of everything he hated about people in the upper echelons of society.

Self-involved, rude to staff, humble bragging about different charities they've donated to, pictures shown of Sloane doing “missionary work” in Guatemala (really just a poorly disguised excuse for a photo op with emaciated children), oh and she's an accomplished tennis player, too, Seonghwa, isn't that lovely?!

It wasn't lovely, it was nauseating.

He nursed his whiskey (“Oh my, it's a little early for something so strong, don't you think?” “No, I really don't.”) and leaned back in the overstuffed leather chair on the deck of the yacht, waiting for the perfect moment to take off his cardigan to show his tattoo, making bets with himself about who he thought would notice it first and what would be said.

He was trying, as much as he was willing to, to not be a petulant brat about the whole situation. His parents would be angry about the tattoos, but those were permanent, whereas his attitude was something they still held the illusion of control over.

Sloane, who was perfectly fine looking (if you were into women), slim and blonde and boring in her light blue seersucker dress and pearls, was droning on about the volunteer work she had done with her sorority chapter in undergrad, her dad interjecting every so often to elaborate on her stories (“Kappa was a life changing experience for our Sloaney!”), Seonghwa's parents were listening intently, and the sun happened to choose that moment to slip out from behind a cloud, so Seonghwa took the opportunity to finally free himself of his cardigan while everyone had their attention elsewhere.

It all happened pretty quickly from there, though nothing was actually spoken aloud. Mrs. Park spotted it first, making meaningful eye contact with Mr. Park, who looked at Seonghwa sternly, obviously trying to telepathically communicate that he should a) put his cardigan back on and b) pray for his own sake that the tattoo was fake, an elaborate joke, and c) this isn't the last he would hear about this. Too bad for him, Seonghwa was suddenly so interested in what Sloane had to say! In fact, he really couldn't help but add to the conversation rather than meet his parents’ increasingly neurotic and harried eye contact, “I nearly rushed freshman year, but decided against it after joining Honors Society. Sometimes I regret it, but really, it was practically a fraternity in and of itself.” He took a long sip of whiskey to punctuate his remark, angling his body just so, guaranteeing eyes on his tattoo peeking out from under his short sleeve. Sure, some families might be okay with a tattoo that could be covered up easily, but not the Greenburgs. He was honestly lucky that his parents started with a family so straight-laced as this one. He knew he had succeeded just by the poorly disguised look of shock and disgust that passed over each of their faces. Before he knew it, excuses were made and the yacht was headed back to the marina.

He was perfectly polite and charming the rest of the time, ensuring that his parents would know the other family's distaste was not from his personality. He knew that they knew anyone would put up with a bad personality for his wealth (and looks), but the tattoos were a permanent “blemish”, a “flagrant disrespect to their name”, and he was a “freak of nature”, a “deviant” for getting them. Now he was quoting his parents from their very one-sided conversation after the Greenburgs left, parting with empty promises of speaking soon, (“Perhaps a round of golf!”) the Parks very well knowing they would not be hearing from them any time soon.

Darn, can't believe those Greenburgs were so persnickety!

Seonghwa agreed to wear something that would cover that tattoo next time. He left out the part where his next tattoo would be on his forearm and would most certainly be visible.

Back at his penthouse, Seonghwa was two hours deep in a new Lego kit (sue him, he spent a lot of time alone and they're fun) when he got up to take a snack break and check his phone. To his surprise, there was a new DM from Hyunjin. It was a sketch of his next tattoo: the persimmon branch with the fruit would wrap around his forearm with the luna moth perched on top, wings spread wide. It was gorgeous. Naturally. His message read, “I had a cancellation for my last appointment of the day this coming Wednesday if you want to take it.”

It was Sunday now, and his original appointment wasn't until Friday, so of course he said yes.

He would love to tell himself it was because he was just anxious to get more tattoos faster, but really, he knew the way his pulse picked up and his heart felt like it was being squeezed by a boa constrictor, he was yearning for more time spent with Hyunjin.

Fuck that guy for making him feel things.

By the time Wednesday finally rolled around, Seonghwa had gotten off to different fantasies he'd made up about Hyunjin at least ten times. It was pretty pathetic. Historically, he would have hit up his normal haunts, gone home with a stranger (he never brought anyone home, didn't care for the idea that people would know where he lived), but it just hadn't appealed to him in the slightest. Instead, he had spent his time by rearranging his bedroom, cleaning out his closet, working out, watching every season of Love is Blind, and reading an entire book. He had even at one point on Tuesday, taken a career aptitude test. Despite it being advertised as free, there was an annoying $29.99 pay wall at the end of the test, which he begrudgingly paid, only to be told he was cut out to be an entrepreneur.

Great.

So helpful.

It was finally Wednesday and Seonghwa got dressed in the outfit for his appointment, which he had picked and laid out for it immediately after receiving the message asking if he wanted the open slot.

The drive over to the shop seemed to take forever, his palms were sweating and he was a little light headed as he hadn't been able to eat very much that day, which he knew would probably backfire on him, given his reaction to getting tattooed last time, but he was anxious and the food he had managed to get down had felt like wet cement.

Nothing had changed in the tattoo shop except for one glaring difference: Hyunjin’s receptionist, Jeongin, was happily making out with Yeosang, who was perched on his lap in the office chair behind the desk.

That was new.

“Well, this is new!” he said as he walked in as a means to announce his presence, considering the fact that the noise of the door hadn't disturbed the pair.

They broke apart and Yeosang buried his face in Jeongin’s neck, embarrassed. Jeongin, however, was not embarrassed in the slightest, “Oh, hey Seonghwa, thanks for introducing us, by the way!”

Seonghwa couldn’t help but laugh, “Yeah, no problem. Glad you guys hit it off.”

Yeosang turned his head to face Seonghwa, “I guess I don’t have to tell you that I have a date to Twink Dinner now. Um, sorry.”

Fuck.

Seonghwa had almost forgotten about Twink Dinner. Named by their friends Wooyoung and San, the couple in question, it was a (roughly) quarterly tradition to gather as many from their friend group as they could to hit Wooyoung’s favorite club and get caught up. It wasn't a dinner at all, but the name had been coined junior year during undergrad and had stuck. Typically, since there were eight of them, Seonghwa and Yeosang had each other to pair up with since neither of them tended to have significant others. Hongjoong tended to show up with someone, as did Jongho, and Mingi and Yunho, though not together, were essentially platonic soul mates. But if Yeosang had a date, Seonghwa would be the odd man out. He wasn't mad at his friend, of course, he was truthfully happy for him, but he hated not having a default emotional support person at social gatherings.

“No worries, Sangie, I'm just glad you're happy!” He said, smiling at his friend.

Jeongin piped up, “You should ask Hyunjin!”

The man in question walked around the corner as if summoned, “Ask Hyunjin what?”

Seonghwa felt his face flush red, “Oh, nothing don't worry-”

Yeosang - sweet, oblivious Yeosang- cut him off, “Ask you if you wanted to go to Twink Dinner with Seonghwa since I'm bringing Innie!”

Hyunjin smirked, looking at Seonghwa, “Do I want to know what Twink Dinner is?”

Seonghwa shook his head, “It's just a quarterly check-in with our friend group. Wooyoung and San, well, mostly Wooyoung, but San can't deny his boyfriend anything, anyway, they insist on it. Usually Yeosang is my saving grace but it looks like I'll be the odd man out this time.”

Hyunjin considered this for a second before finally saying, “Yeah okay. I'm in. Sounds fun.”

“Really?” The other three asked, to varying degrees of surprise.

“Yes, but with the caveat that Seonghwa has to volunteer at the soup kitchen with me for a day in exchange.” Hyunjin cocked his head, challenging, daring the other man to say no to the offer.

How could he though? “Okay, fair enough. I'm in.”

Something inscrutable passed over Hyunjin’s face but then he smiled and said, “Perfect!” Before turning to Jeongin who was making pleading eyes at him, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jeongin amped up the puppy dog eyes, “I was going to take Sangie to the skate park if um… If we can leave a little early?”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah go ahead. This is my last appointment today anyways.”

Jeongin’s face split into a boyish smile, “Thanks, Jin!” And then he was depositing Yeosang onto his feet, pulling him out the door by his hand, only giving the other man enough time to give a sheepish wave on his way out.

It was cute. They were cute. Seonghwa tried not to hate them for it.

Hyunjin seemed to be following a similar train of thought as he stared after them, shaking his head, before turning to Seonghwa and asking, “Ready to get started?”

Seonghwa was glad that whatever tension had been between them after their kiss a few nights ago seemed to have dissipated.

He ignored the pang of guilt in his stomach at the discomfort he had caused. He also ignored the ghost of desire he felt towards the artist.

He begrudgingly noted that he was having a harder time boxing away his feelings like he used to be able to do easily.

In fact, the last time he had felt anything close to this way for someone was in the summer before eighth grade when his dad had hired a high school boy to clean their pool. They had spent the entire summer sneaking around together before getting caught making out in the pool house by Mr. Park himself. Seonghwa was sure his parents knew he was queer, they had just been willfully ignoring it, hoping it would go away or that Seonghwa would pick up on the social cues and simply intuit that it was an unspoken rule that he should Not Be That Way and would act accordingly. But when Mr. Park caught them in the pool house, and promptly fired Seonghwa's first love interest, followed it up by paying off the kid's family, ensuring the two boys could never have contact again, Seonghwa decided he would make his sexuality as big of a problem for his dad as he could get away with.

He liked to think he's done a good job of upholding that promise.

But back then, he had had to all but pretend like that summer hadn't happened, only letting the bare minimum emotions be let out of their boxes to fuel his hatred for his dad and keep everything else neatly packaged away.

Back then, he didn't have any emotional attachment to the pool boy. Not really.

Back then he was acting only out of physical attraction.

Being attracted to someone for their personality was new territory. And try as he might, all of Hyunjin’s little idiosyncrasies and charms were peeling back the packaging tape from the insides of the boxes in which Seonghwa had been trying to store them in his mind.

Or, maybe, Seonghwa forgot the tape in the first place. Maybe he was hoping they could make an easy escape, clutter up his mind. Take up so much room that he had to address his feelings head on. Move them out of the attic of his mind and make space for them in the house that was his life.

Who knows.

All Seonghwa knew right now was that Hyunjin smelled like cinnamon, cedar, ink, and rainwater, and he wanted to bury his nose in his neck and take him in fully, but instead, he sat stock still as the man prepped his forearm for his next tattoo, watched as the veins in his hands became prominent from use. Tried not to drool.

“So, how often do you volunteer at the soup kitchen?” Seonghwa asked as Hyunjin was peeling off the transfer paper on his forearm.

“I try to go once a week, actually. When is Twink Dinner?” the artist asked, gesturing for Seonghwa to take a look at the placement of the transfer ink again before he began tattooing.

“It’s this Saturday. And really, you don't have to go if you don't want to-”

Hyunjin chuckled, amused, “Hwa, at some point you'll learn that I don't just volunteer for things I don't want to do. I would have said no. I was going to ask you to volunteer with me regardless. I just thought it would be funny to ask for a trade. Can you go with me on Friday?”

Seonghwa breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh. Okay. Well thank you. I really will feel better not um,” he counted in his head as he took a seat again, “11th wheeling. And yes, just let me know what time on Friday.”

To his surprise, Hyunjin handed him his phone, “Here, unless you want to continue only communicating on Instagram.”

Seonghwa smiled as he took the phone, entering his number, “I actually prefer Morse code but I'll make an exception. Only because I doubt you have a powerful enough flashlight to be visible from my place.”

Hyunjin laughed, “I know it's not accurate but I hope you know I do picture Wayne Manor when I think about where you live.”

“How often are you thinking about where I live, Jin?” Seonghwa chided him, delighting in the blush on the other's face from this remark.

“Shut up. I'm going to stab you with a needle now.” Hyunjin tilted his head down to look at the work laid out in front of him.

Seonghwa pretty immediately regretted not having been able to get any food down all day. His ears started ringing and he could feel himself blacking out before he could even warn Hyunjin.

Luckily for him, Hyunjin noticed immediately.

“Ah, there he is.” He dabbed Seonghwa's forehead with a paper towel as he came to.

Seonghwa's tongue felt thick and his mouth was sticky, his voice croaked, “I was too nervous to eat today, I'm sorry.”

Hyunjin sighed, looking apologetic, “No, Seonghwa, I'm sorry that you felt nervous. We didn’t exactly leave things great the other night and that's my fault. I walked off while you were talking.”

Seonghwa felt his eyebrows knit together, “No, really, it's my fault, if anything.”

Hyunjin studied him for a second before finally saying, “Look, you need to eat something if you want this tattoo today. Please don't take this the wrong way, but I have a little set-up in my apartment. Let me cook you something and we can finish this,” he gestured to his forearm, “on my couch afterwards. It's way comfier anyway.”

Seonghwa wanted that very badly and he was too weak currently to think straight, “Are you sure, I-”

Hyunjin was already cleaning his station, “What did I just say about me not doing things I don't want to do?”

Seonghwa gave a shaky laugh, “Okay then, sure. Honestly I'm too woozy to push back anymore right now.”

Hyunjin’s apartment was even more carefully curated and decorated than his tattoo shop. It felt so homey, cozy, warm, and inviting, and so very Hyunjin. Bordering on maximalist but neat and organized, lots of vintage and antique pieces, but it was cohesive and didn't look dated. And he had so many lush, green plants, which got plenty of light from the large window at the front of the building. His bookshelf was overflowing with books and his record collection was just as impressive. He was very adverse to overhead lighting and had lots of interesting lamps and lighting fixtures around, which he turned on as he gave Seonghwa a tour.

It was small but Seonghwa immediately thought it might be his favorite place he'd ever set foot in.

He perched on a barstool on the other side of the kitchen counter, nursing a Yoohoo (“I love these things, I don't care what anyone says” Hyunjin had defended himself in having his fridge stocked with them. Seonghwa loved them too) as he watched Hyunjin cook, after being scolded for offering to help.

Hyunjin was just as careful and meticulous of a cook as he was a tattoo artist, but Seonghwa noticed he tended to get ahead of himself a lot, and ended up standing in the middle of the kitchen, brain buffering as he worked out what steps needed to go next. It was so endearing it made Seonghwa's heart hurt.

It was very possible he was in trouble.

He liked him.

The chicken noodle soup was delicious, even better with the fresh bread Hyunjin had picked up from the farmer's market that morning. Because of course Hyunjin was a farmer's market guy. And of course he was an excellent cook.

“Hyunjin,” Seonghwa said around a mouthful of bread, “this is delicious, thank you.”

“It's no trouble, really, it's very simple.” Hyunjin waved him off.

“I never believed people when they said homemade food was better but I think they might be right.”

Hyunjin’s face read as pitying, “You haven't had home cooked food?”

Seonghwa laughed wryly, “Are you joking? Our kitchen growing up was purely decorative. We had people who cooked for us, of course. But it was always weird, overly healthy rich people food I guess.”

Hyunjin looked like he wanted to reach over from his barstool and comfort him, but thought better of it, “I can’t imagine. I feel very fortunate that my parents taught me how to cook growing up.”

Seonghwa hummed his agreement, mouth full of soup once more, “Mmh,” he swallowed, “yeah, it’s a great skill to have. Very impressive.” He dared to glance at Hyunjin out of the corner of his eye. Caught him smiling, proud of himself.

“Park Seonghwa thinks I’m impressive? Weeeellll I’m putting that on a sign and hanging it in our front window!”

Seonghwa played along, “‘Impressive. Four and a half stars. - Park Seonghwa.’ It will look great underneath your neon sign.”

Hyunjin gasped, “Only four and a half?!”

“Yeah, the artist is a little handsy.” He smirked. Couldn’t help himself.

“HEY!” He shot his eyes sideways and shoved Seonghwa’s arm, “YOU kissed ME!”

“Yes, well, the people reading your reviews don’t know that, do they?”

Hyunjin scoffed, affronted, “I feed you and this is how you treat me? You’re lucky I take too much pride in my work or I’d give you shitty tattoos as punishment.”

“Oh, yeah, by the way, I want my next one to be Danny Devito on my ass cheek, you can do that, can’t you?”

A chunk of bread hit Seonghwa in the face as a reply, the two of them needing several minutes to recover from their laughter, before finishing their soup, not wanting it to go cold.

Hyunjin’s couch was indeed much more comfortable than his tattoo chair downstairs, he had to admit. Between plenty of breaks, easy conversation, and Howl’s Moving Castle playing in the background, (and another Yoohoo), his second tattoo was going much smoother than it had started off. Seonghwa was almost getting lulled to sleep by the vibration of the needle and the warm blanket Hyunjin had provided. He found himself watching the artist intently yet again, trying to memorize every single microexpression on the man’s carefully carved face.

When Hyunjin finally looked up, finished, he seemed surprised, “Were you watching me?”

Seonghwa blushed, “Oh um maybe. Sorry. I really like watching people work. I could seriously watch you do this for hours. I mean, I guess, I have been. But it’s completely enthralling to me. I’ll dial it back next time if it bothers you.”

Hyunjin smiled, and Seonghwa could have sworn he could see stars in his eyes, but they weren’t even outside, “No, no. It’s okay. I don’t mind. Just surprised it held your attention for so long.”

Seonghwa shrugged, “Yeah, well, I’ve seen Howl’s plenty of times, but this,” he gestured at Hyunjin, tattoo gun still in hand, “This is all new to me.” He glanced down at his forearm, “And goddamn, Hyunjin. This is so beautiful! Thank you so much. Seriously.”

Hyunjin beamed at him, “I’m glad you like it!” He started cleaning up, then asked over his shoulder, “Um, do you smoke?”

“Definitely. Not like. Religiously. But yes.” Seonghwa thought he knew where this was going.

Hyunjin was rustling around in an old jewelry box on top of one of his bookshelves, “I’ll smoke you out. If you want. If you have to be somewhere, that’s totally fine too. Just thought I’d offer, since you’re here.”

“I hardly, if ever, have anywhere to be.”

Hyunjin sat down beside him and placed the necessary supplies down on the table, “Sweet. You mind if I roll?”

“Please. I’m terrible at it.”

He watched Hyunjin’s nimble fingers roll the joint for them to share, willing himself not to picture those long beautiful fingers around his cock. In his mouth. Fuck.

Hyunjin held the joint up and Seonghwa pinched it between his fingers, wrapping his lips around it, trying to keep his mind out of the gutter. The flash of the lighter somewhat snapped him out of it. He inhaled, letting the familiar feeling of the smoke curling around his lungs and smoothing out his brain relax him. Hyunjin followed suit, Seonghwa marveling at how plush and soft his lips looked.

The high had hit them both and they were sunk back into the couch, Seonghwa painfully aware of how their thighs were pressed together, wanting nothing more than to touch the man beside him. He resisted as long as he could, but their conversation about the existence of aliens and ghosts was so good, and he was so, so high right now. Fuck it.

He tested the waters, let his head fall onto Hyunjin’s shoulder. Hyunjin froze for a half second, then Seonghwa felt his arm reach around, landing on his waist, pulling him in closer, tracing lazy circles with his fingers, sending shivers of pleasure up Seonghwa’s spine.

“Hwa?” Hyunjin asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Hmm?”

“I know you’ve probably been told this like. Every day of your adult life. But you’re really pretty. I keep thinking about it. I’m really high. And all I can think about is how pretty you are.”

Seonghwa sat up to look at him better, “Hyunjin… Surprisingly, no one really tells me I’m pretty. Hot, sexy, sure. So thank you. You’re so pretty, too. So, so pretty. I was so surprised when I met you.”

“Well. You’re welcome. It deserves to be said.” He quirked an eyebrow at Seonghwa, “Why were you surprised though?”

Seonghwa felt his laughter bubble up from his stomach all the way up and out of his mouth. He was very high, “I found your Instagram and,” he paused to laugh some more, “I thought you would be some fuck ass hipster straight out of a Portlandian's wet dream with the, the mustache,” he giggled, tracing Hyunjin’s upper lip to demonstrate, “and the stupid hair and beard. But instead you're. Well. This. So fucking stunning. It's really not fair.”

Hyunjin stared at him, eyes hungry, “Hwa,” he whispered, “I really want to kiss you right now.” His hand came up to demonstrate his yearning, tracing his thumb over Seonghwa's bottom lip, fingers skimming his jaw line before carding softly through his hair. Seonghwa lit up at the touch, feeling like every atom in his body was in desperate need to collide themselves with Hyunjin’s.

Fuck it.

“Fuck it,” Seonghwa said, voice hoarse with desire, “Kiss me, Hyunjin.”

It was slower than last time. Hyunjin’s lips barely touching his own, taunting, teasing. Seonghwa felt himself start to get hard already at the sensation, he leaned in, hand tracing down Hyunjin’s neck before the other man finally started to kiss him for real. He felt Hyunjin’s hand take hold in his hair, using the leverage to guide his head to the side as he ran his tongue across the seam of his mouth, tasting, then finally probing inside. He moved his own hand down to Hyunjin’s waist pulling him in closer, desperate to touch, tongues mapping out the inside of each other's mouths. Hyunjin bit and tugged at Seonghwa's bottom lip, pulling a moan out of his throat, which seemed to turn him on even more because before he knew it, Hyunjin was straddling his lap. He reached under the man's shirt, needing to feel his skin. Hyunjin drew a tantalizing circle with his hips, their already hard dicks rubbing together through the fabric of their pants. Seonghwa gripped his hips, holding him closer as his hips bucked again. Jesus Christ. He hadn't been so turned on in forever.

He broke their kiss to whisper, “Take what you need from me, Jin, I've got you.”

Hyunjin rocked forward a bit and Seonghwa took the opportunity to attach his lips to the exposed pulse point right behind his ear, sucking experimentally, only to be encouraged by the delicious whine it brought out of the other.

They readjusted so Hyunjin was just straddling one of his thighs and Seonghwa helped guide his hips, flexing his thigh to provide better traction.

Their kisses turned sloppy, desperate, as Hyunjin rode his thigh, his pace quickening as he got closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Hwa-” Hyunjin moaned.

“That's right baby,” he whispered as he trailed kisses down Hyunjin’s neck, feeling him shiver at the pet name, “come on, you can let go for me.” He nipped at the junction of his neck and shoulder, soothed it with his lips and tongue.

Hyunjin’s hips stuttered, his movements became jerky and uncoordinated, and then Seonghwa could feel a wet heat on his thigh, “Oh, there we go, good boy.” He pulled him into his chest, running his hands through the artist's hair, “You were so good for me, honey.”

All Hyunjin could say in reply was, “Mmh, thank you.”

They sat like that for a minute as they gained composure, and Seonghwa tried to will his erection to go down but with Hyunjin still on top of him like that, it wasn't happening, and when the other moved slightly, his hips gave an involuntary jerk. Hyunjin didn't miss it and began laying kisses up his neck, whispering, “Let me help you, too.”

“Oh, you don't have to, really.” Seonghwa stuttered, obviously lying, given away by how his body was reacting.

Hyunjin laughed, lips skimming his jawline, “Seonghwa, we've been over this. Let me blow you. Please. I want to.”

Seonghwa felt the heat coil in his stomach, “Okay, yeah.”

Hyunjin dismounted his thigh, leaning over to kiss him again. It was messy, filthy, mostly tongue and god was it working for Seonghwa.

Hyunjin made quick work of his pants, pulling them down just enough to access his now leaking cock. Seonghwa couldn’t believe he was about to have such pretty lips wrapped around him.

He was big. Men typically had a hard time going down on him, most gave up pretty easily.

Hyunjin’s eyes widened at his size as it was revealed, “Fucking hell. Look at you.” He licked his lips as he grabbed him by the base, leaning forward and licking the precum that had already leaked out. Seonghwa whined at the sensation, head tipping back to rest on the back of the couch, hand reaching for Hyunjin’s head, finding purchase in his hair.

“You can pull it,” Hyunjin said, sliding his tongue up the underside of Seonghwa's length, “I like it.”

And then he took him into his mouth. Seonghwa just about blacked out from the sensation. Hyunjin looked up at him through thick eyelashes, eyes starting to water as his throat was occupied. He gagged and Seonghwa ran his fingers through his hair, “Don't hurt yourself, baby.” Hyunjin hummed at the pet name, taking him deeper, spit leaking out the sides of his mouth. It was so hot. “Look at you, taking me so well.” Seonghwa gave an experimental tug on Hyunjin’s hair and got a desperate moan in response that just about sent him over the edge, “I'm gonna cum if you keep up like that, sweetheart.”

Hyunjin gave an affirmative sound, lingering for a little longer, and Seonghwa had to restrict the motion of his hips, wanting so badly to fuck his face, but not wanting to hurt him. Then Hyunjin was pulling back and started working him with his hand, the head of his dick resting on his tongue. “Oh, fuck,” Seonghwa came like that, practically just from the sight of him. Hyunjin swallowed what landed in his mouth, licking his lips afterwards, head falling to Seonghwa's thigh to rest after the exertion.

Seonghwa refastened his pants and gathered Hunjin up onto his lap, pulled him in for another kiss, “Thank you, Jinnie. You were perfect.”

Hyunjin smiled, tucked himself into Seonghwa's chest, “Thank you.” He gave a small laugh, “I'm a little embarrassed.”

Seonghwa's heart ached, “No, please don’t be. It was hot.” A kiss to the top of his head, “So hot. You're so. Fucking. Hot.” He punctuated his words with kisses.

Hyunjin giggled, “Stop it.”

Seonghwa pulled him in tighter, “No way! I'm serious.”

Seonghwa didn't know where this soft side of him was coming from. He was still high, yes, but there was also something about Hyunjin that just made him melt. He had the urge to take care of him, coddle him.

If you would have told him last week that he could feel this way about someone, he would have been disgusted at the thought of it. Instead, sitting here with this gorgeous man cuddling up in his lap, he felt surprisingly content.

Hyunjin had made their parting about as painless and un-awkward as possible, sending him off by making him promise he would text him when he got home safely, but that was the only thing he made him promise, all of which Seonghwa was grateful for. And he had followed through on it, which seemed to please the artist. Seonghwa went to sleep that night, alone in his bed, conflicted, but unable to ignore the overwhelming feeling of wishing he had Hyunjin curled up beside him.

#stray kids #ateez #ateez smut #stray kids smut #stray kids hyunjin #ateez seonghwa #thigh riding

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foxgloveinspace · 7 months ago

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@absentviolet @kyloreno-911 @scarlet-and-ultraviolet

Small knitting update. It’s been so long since ive done one of these, oof.

I’ve frogged two projects and started over since the last update, which are the first two. I was making a different pair of socks with that sock yarn, and now I’m just doing a vanilla pair of socks cause I don’t know if I’m a ‘super cabled’ sock kinda person? But I decided to do a short cuff, with a no-wrap no-gap heel, and just a stockinette stitch foot! They are coming along really fast I think I started them Saturday night. Just wanted some simple in the round knitting to combat the sluggish feeling of the sleeves of the next project oof.

And then the middle is a Monteiro cardigan, all I have left is the sleeves but since I’m keeping track of both the decrease rounds AND the lace pattern it’s a bit…. Much?? It’s not hard it’s just kinda annoying and I don’t have the right size needles so I’m doing magic loop and that’s VERY frustrating.

The last is still the shawl I started on my birthday last year! I’m getting to the point that I should wrapping it up soon. My only goal for this year really is to complete that shawl.

#very much so #dakota knits #I hope I tagged everyone but I can’t remember if there was a fourth tag #still gonna tag Amy even if she isn’t on tumblr anymore I hope she’s ok #and if y’all don’t wanna be tagged in these anymore no problem just let me know!#sorry for low quality pics rn I’ll take better ones when they are finished #but I am working on…. just making things for the sake of making them and having the pieces when they are done #and trying not to rush the process

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solardick · 4 months ago

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What i do.

But this is hell.

And of course. The indian speaks english fluently. He had a thought one day. And when i said. “Well, how am i supposed to know? Half the time you’re being a fucken idiot.” He laughs. Other times. He doesnt want to inderstand.

Im already dead man. Wtf do j care. I can do all kinds of mean rwisted shit now. Because im not going to be alive much longer somthey eont be any consequences.

They ve been doing this to me simce i was a fucken child man. Dame fucken tactivs. If fact its has my brothers signiture all

Over it.

My noose is ready and lovked on my door. All i

Need is a push. Theyre fucken wi th y hormaines for fucks sake s

Lets go

Back home and think about my asshole cause its the only thin gg i can feel. 24 hours a day. At leadt its not spwaking like a girl. With all that estrogen laced weed thyeve been giving ober the last several years.

Sorry ive never liked looney toons. I font have a sadistic sense of humour. Brainwarping children with violence and laughter. Degenerating the inner spyche to produce degenerating invclined offspring. And neither do i have beef with nature: “cuz nature sucks!” Lets all get high and touch thr moon and based or future generations eith ambitions to please the body over the spirit.

Ive come to put it all together. Over these years. This is the third reich. The nazies won. And all it took is 60 million lives to make possible. And half of those lives were russians. Didnt hear a single care in all of my education about world history.

Not enough russians lives were taken thoigh. So the north western idealogy is trying to side curb its way into foreign lands to take over and dominate the world. Nazies.

I wanted a job at the pet store or the art store so the pisces moon would have a positive outlet. And the at osphere would be calm and positive. But they didnt want me to. The plans are in motion to continue raping my existance.

Then on the brink of suicide, again, i find a roofing job serrounded by toxic, degen, masculine personalities. With thr exception of one. Theres not mych in the way of media that gives positive light to the masculine. Its all connected to hardship. And lack. And degen, tendencies.

And people have always taken it for themsleves to put themselves over me. That has been thr only reality ive ever known. I dont want to be alove anymore. Especially if i get treated and punished fir being how the world has always treated me.

Im not even a person.

Gay men, women, hetero’s, government bodies of people. family, friends. To a lesser extant. Going on 40 and people are stoll making decisions for my life. I dont get to make them. Because they do.

All the world has ever done is harm me. And im the bad guy. Growing up hearing all this shit about peace and love and the age of aquarius. Just to insult you. While your surrounded by Leos. And disfunctional familial habitudes. Watching sibblings go after each other and me with hammers and axes and shit. Giving young teenagers ciggarets and drugs. Purposefully rolemodeling bs cause its funny. Killing animals and pets. Burning down buildings. Driving drunk. Fag bashing, bigotry, elitism. Destructive habits. Bipolar eruptions of violence. Absenteeism. Zero guidance. No communication. Lack luster tries at it.

Over 30 years of that. Then battering after battering, year after year. Into a beligenrent mess of bs.

And now, years after being complety fucked with to the extreme. Theres an entire community of dicktwats fucking with my system, and sexually manipulating me. Into becoming a queer. And through right back into childhood and fortifying self destructive lunar habits. So they can all feel good about being superior humans beings. And quenching that demonic thirst.

Thats pretty ficked up man. Dont blame me for tending to phatasize about national destruction. Because its the maine theme of pop media.

Since birth the world has been nothing but a giant fuck you to me. Everythign in between in inconsequential on that regard.

This isnt the real world. Its a pre-life. Or an alter life if another being. Which is me. Experimecing this instead of that. To break it all doem. Its the only thign that makes any sense.

And then after at those places. I wanted to work at. Id need an avenue for physical work. So i would have been more inclined and have the motivation to go to the gym instead. But nope. I need to be sexually harrased by another girl and then raped into become a girl. Not allowed to be away from toxic intended people, playing to a script. Somim still sick. Not allowed not to be.

In all that darkness and negativity and entropy. Once the light is seen, a peace and normalcy is glimpsed, in the venusian qualities upon the face of a pretty girl. Drive me insane. With the desire for tranquility and good tidings. Motivation and will to produce good life. Comes over like an obseesion from desperation and lack. But they harm you all the while. Boices and shadowed faces hiding in the background in the crowd. The will to drop it. Isnt strong enough to hold. For what if. An accomplishment from something good. Would strengthen my spirit. And i could live again. Or for the forst time.

My life is little foot vs freddy krugger. But i come from the generation where horror was intwine with child phatasy. Theres not much defermeve bewtween land before time. The original. To a nightmare on elm street. Beyond finding the garden of eden versus just surviving the T-rex and still being lost. Comsidering im living on maple street. Is just another insult to being alive.

I cant afford a noce appartment. I live by myself and always will. An di dont make 30$ an hour.

In fact Ir wasnt far between watching land before time an dmy life going to shit.

Heres some dick, kid. And the entire world thinks its hilarious. Perverting children.

It should be manditory for all families to get psychologically evaluated every 1-5 years. Which i don’t understand all this pride about free health care. What health care? If uou can give an athlete 10 million$ a year. Im pretty sure you can find some funding for better health care practices.

Then the bs about national compassion and what woukd have a stringer expression in the masses knowing that these games to pay exorbitantly for is actually supporting their freinds and family and a better world jnstead of giving entitled assholes an easy life of luxury. If a movie actor cane make 60 million $ a film then wtf. Fuck tom hanks.

Too bad its not my thy hair that is patching. If it were a choice it be the other way around. Then it be more like the arms. With heavier forarm than upper arm hair. Am i right? Maybe i will do the ipl treatment. Then use the electro therapy to get whatever is left over. Leave the pubic region, the love trail and the fuzz on my belly. Insteas of looking like a satyr. You know since i’m a woman now. Nd it be sexy. Since sex is all that matters.

You should have seen the expectant joy on my fathers face while he was calling me a woman. That was like what. 8-9 years ago now.

His favorite song. Used to sing it around me all the time.

Dont have a choice i have to kill

Myslef.

I just want a girl whos loves sucking dick. So she can squirt over my dace as i stair up i to her browneye and ponder the mysteries of life.

No need of shame for the sexual appetite. Of dirty vs. carnal desire. I know most then some.

Fucken creep. Yeah, i am. I was. Will be again apparently.

I want a woman, help me feel like a man. Instead i have an entire community of smut peddlers.

Kings are ni longer bred. There is no ower to veto a way of life. It’ll just fester.

Pray ipon my god and see, i never stop burning.

Man, i feel like a woman. And along eoth it everything worth living for is gone. Intellectual persuit. Gone. Artistic persuit gone. Desire to sedate increased. Desire to socialize gone. Desire to produce. Gone. Desire to accomplish gone. Desire for further education. Gone. Desire for physical satidfaction increases. Women suck. Its a handicap.

Looks like i was born and bred for the sole

Purpose of being a slut. Something to be proud about apparwntly.

Mrystal is the closest thing. Though a lie, ive had to hanging out with a girl for over 25 years. Just toxic masculine and feminine personalities. Thats all there is.

Hard to live in your own head. When theres an entire army manipulation from the external. Been fighting it for years. Hasnt brought me in anything

Well shit. Hello dark side of me. Hows it going? You go n abe alright not being monitered. Not going to do anythignstupid now are you? Creep some people?hive my body full reign to the family demon. Become possessed. Give in to sin. Noones safe.

Why they want that. Fuck their dumb.

Too i secure to walk i to a bisy stire anymore. Back to where i started there goes 8 years of life.

Guess ill be dressing up as a souless demon this holloween.

Maybe i can pull card lettered И, centre it by maybe 8 other cards to be connected to. Maybe. See what influences bare upon it.

Do that while the world is busy olaying with my penis. Pervs.

Ger me out of this nughtmare. 40 years is too mich.

Theyre fucken kilking me and laughing at the same time. My entire fuckne life man this has lal it ever been.

What to say to the dictor in the shrinkwarf. I have an entire army of cocksukrrs raping intk suicide and indotn want to be alive anymore. Tired that already. Didnt do anythign. Half of rhem are probanly in in it anyway. Can youvexorsize this demon. Fucken ne since birth? Look how populous its become.

Die for what you belive is certsinky gonna happen.

Maybe one day i wont be thrown into an envrionemt. That is full of enemies. Or assholes who just oass it off their shoulder like it doesnt matter. Mothwr was good at that.

Oh you know its just him. Hanging out with a bad crowd. Instea dof being talked to its being talk about while your still next to the person talking. Noe like ive ever been treated as a person anyway.

Apparently im not allowed to have a job or any social connections. Not allowed havign want i need to live.

Only endless years of people talking about you than to you. Thats all its ever been. 40 years.

I lneed to leave. Byt noones going to

Help me so im stuck here being taped by fucken cocksucker s

Doni fo to work today or do it quit. And count down till im dead? Tough decision.

Dtarted crying again lastnight over how fucied i am.

Kife will always fo this to me. It always has abd it always will.

I have ti kill myself. Its the only way to keep wveryone feom interference with my lifw and forcing me to kill myaelf.

Quit the job and start passing out more cvs i can di that much atleast. Not that ill find a job anyway. Not one ill be happy with.

I deswrve to be raped into suicide foe being born. It only makes swnse

Indont know what not being serrounded by enemies feels like. Something that will never getnoff the bucket list.

I simt have a single cruel abusive bone in my body. Always strived for whats good. Fight agaisnt people fucken with me. They jsut fuck more with you.

So the reason i was born was to be bullied into suicide. So that my family can work out the demon.

They’re trying everything except giving me a substantial anount of money.

The anount of time, resources and man power to rape me into suicide is staggering.

Well rested for the first time in months. Almost died again yesterday. Spend the day half conscious, puking and depressed. Wonder what they dosed me with me.

I forgot what it feels like not fighying got tour life.

What s the point. Im being gorceably removed from the gene pool and im not going to accomplish anything thst will outlive my life and influnce the fallowing generation. Theres no poing being alive. Instead i was born so that other people can enjoy thrmeslve putting themselves over me.

I wush the same fate to all tour children. Thats all

Ive ever known. I cant even do anythign withmyself because thats my only life experiemce.

So i dont even bother trying and i just do this instead. Norn i to a world where not a single person has ever been upfront with you.

Hey look im dtill 8 years old being treated likedhit by my family. Hahhahab

Im afraid if a get a et soemones is judt going to kill again.

What about. Y brother he should be in my shoes. Guys a sexist, fag-basher, drunk driver, drug popping macho. Whis killed several of his sibblings pets. Gave drugs and ciggarettes to minors. Racist. Had. Apicture of the nazi flag accomanied with a sense of pride. Trashed every behical hes ever had. Put lots of lives in jeoperday. Broke peiples bones in highschool while fucked on chems and steroids prabably. It just seems to me that im being punished for his crimes. He gets to have a wife and a family. I dotn eant to be alive anymor e.

Well im ten years too young for hormone problems. What ghe fuck did tgry inject me eith? Not wven my “best” friend from going into highschhol would wven tell me.

I dont feel safe. I dint feel secure. Ive been co sysntky under attack fir years. Cherry was my last hope for having sonething that wasnt chaoctic in my envireibnent. Donething better, abseebce of bs. A perdon to comune with. Would havw dolved all my problems. Would have gotyen healthy. But, whatever.

Now my only motivation is to kill myself. All i can feel is my ass 24 hours a day and its dtiving ke tucken insane.

All the best partd of me are dying snd all thets honbs be lrfy over is bs. Fuckrn kill me already.

Just survive a while longer. Everything will be ok. You’ll see. You’ll be ok. I don’t waht to anymore. Theres nothign good for me

In life. Its just full of fucken evil. Theres nothign good init. Theyve just waste my life away framing me ip for bs. Whats the point

I just want to quit this dayrape job and go back to having nothing. Cuae whatever they gove me is fucken bs.

I just go around spending everyday likes everything i s ok and so do they, will they rape my existance. Sometime sinsnap becaus eof it. And then they just hurt me.

Im hust ehatever they say i am. Which i don’t know what.

Asked my mother for help one. While she was busy stairing off at nothing and she told me she didn’t care. Next thing i m ow my btothrrs trying to mill me with an axe. And i get kick oy tog thr house again. And now im here.

I dint belong anywhere and i was just born to be fucked

#Spotify

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scummy-writes · 10 months ago

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[CHAPTER 23]

-> not the fucking new music

-> all these flashbacks and its her going over all these moves hes done and. I can't help but see a lot of them as 'selfish' moves that he excused as being a villain with her.

Its very hard trying to dissect some of the things he's done, because on one hand, hes not a good dude. Theres a lot of good intentions, I would argue, but he's killed people. His current plan, even if he truly doesnt WANT to actually enact it, would lead to innocent people being slaughtered in some way or another, but since its essentially another "a few lives sacrificed for the greater good of thousands/etc" type of thing he will still push through and do it if needed.

Its not so black and white but the lives lost are. Its also him reiterating to himself that hes irredeemable due to the blood on his hands. I feel like it haunts him and he twists it to further throw his heart 'away', so the pain wont kill him but also to hurt himself further.

I don't want to act as if hes 100% a good guy, because he's not. I am just sad seeing all the trauma laced with everyrhing he does, and the desperation towards wanting a better future for everyone, hes so tired of seeing the way people hurt from monarchies

-> reminds me that i wanted to say smth about the previous chapter, about him coaxing her to not lie about her feelings so she diesnt end up like him. That says a lot about himself as well. Says a lot on how he really does not want her to end up like him.

-> "what even is love?" -> "thats easy. Its wanting someone to live. I wanted them to live."

Im not ready at all for this. Im clutching my bunny tight.

-> somehow managed to pick the right option? ("I'd rather not know"). Wonder if its due to him understanding that feeling.

This hits too close to home and I'm upset

Theres a lot to comment on with the kisses and the discussion there. It makes me think of clavis a lot.

This may be going a bit too far but clavis feels like a gilbert who could not get rid of the kindness in his heart at all. Clavis tries the villain approach too, doesnt he? The jokingly way he calls himself one a few times (its been like. A year. Since ive played his route). Clavis does so much for trying to protect others, even with the self sacrifice.

But also with the way he does all his silly things in an attempt to make people remember him. I think this is why gilbert likes clavis also. I'm really interested in clavis' sequel.

-> i am wondering if she could have pushed a bit harder here, and what the result would have been. Hes caving in a lot, but i also understand that is also because he truly understands he'll be dead by the time she comes back. The lapse of his self control ahown theough the kisses and finally allowing himself to hold her and be a smidge more honest.

This fucking hurts i hate this game

-> oh luke and chev. This is a scene i never got to see much of at all, interested.

-> the "oh" i just let out with chevs blood line

-> oh holy shit even chev is surprised about the empress title drop HAHAHAHA

-> i cant comment much on the square off here, I am just kinda happy chev did not plan to actually kill luke?

-> i do like that roderic is Not Fucking Happy about this

-> throws letter on the ground.

ROMANTIC END - GILBERT ROUTE SPOILERS POST

These posts get really long since hitting 'readmore' shows you ALL the reblogs on it, so I made a post for each romantic end chap notes/thoughts.

I'll be reblogging this post each chapter or so with personal thoughts and general screaming under a cut. I'll be having it in a format with the chapter numbered, and then a cut directly after where I'll be yelling. I already know some major spoilers with gilberts route, so if you have not finished his route yet, be wary.

I'll be using the tags 'Scum Simps' and 'scum plays gil route' for those of you who want to filter it out. Thank u!

#scum simps #scum plays gil route

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1kook · 4 years ago

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skirt chasers — drabble iv

THIS IS A SKIRT CHASERS DRABBLE - FIND THE OTHERS HERE ! SUMMARY Jungkook was a man. A skirt chaser. He could only withstand so much torture before he broke, and seeing your gorgeous, smooth legs on display after so many weeks of starvation awoke an ancient being inside of him. WARNINGS JK POV!!!, attempted solo masturbation, k*ssing, jk’s extensive knowledge of pornos, grinding, cunnilingus, face sitting, spit kink, light choking, praise kink, self nipple play, a love for boobies, unprotected sex, use of the pull out method, i love u kink, its kinda hinted tht oc has a somnophilia kink? not rlly but tagging just in case -_- RATING m (18+) WC 6.3k this can't even classified as a drabble anymore wtf

NOTES i have had this in my drafts since may 3. it is december 21. everyone point n laugh. anyway i very much love stimbo sc jk and i think he’s very cool so here’s a whopping 6k of the inner mechanisms of his big nerdy, college hottie brain <3

He doesn’t notice you’ve drifted off until he’s three solid paragraphs into his semester-long research paper. “Babe, can you toss me my charger it’s over…”

Jungkook swears he’s gonna take every single one of those stupid skirts and burn them to ashes. They had done their duty well, had given him the girlfriend of his dreams, but now they were just pushing their luck. What was once the epitome of a cute and sweet girlfriend, has now become the bane of Jungkook’s existence. He loathed them, he hated them, he could go twenty million decades without ever seeing them again because the torture they inflicted upon him was borderline inhumane.

Holy fuck, he knew you were gorgeous— hello, he was your boyfriend, thinking you were gorgeous was very high on the list of requirements you searched for in someone of his position —but he’s absolutely positive that you’re probably the sexiest woman he’s ever seen in all his twenty-two years. And Jungkook’s seen a lot of porn. Like, a lot.

He can’t help himself. Before Jungkook knows it, he’s rolling his desk chair over to where you’re sprawled across his bed, skin so soft where it presses against his pillow, lips so plush, and he’s pretty sure there’s a tiny, tiny droplet of drool begging to escape from between your puckered lips. Normally, he’d tease you to hell and back for this, knows how flustered you become when he catches you off guard, but today he lets it slide in favor of focusing on something else about your dozing form.

It’s the soft curve of your hips from where you lay on your side, smooth legs tucked close to you, and that goddamn pleated skirt giving you absolutely no protection from the eyes of the world around you. Luckily, he made sure to lock the door to his room when you came over today. And he’s almost positive Taehyung isn’t home anyway. So there’s no potential roommate to see you here, cuddled against Jungkook’s teddy bear, blue lace panties tucked between your folds.

They were his favorite.

Adorable and soft, and he knows that particular style— the cheeky kind —is your preferred style, because it’s the one he sees almost every time the two of you fuck. Seamless, because you hate when they tug against your skin, and baby blue simply because it was your favorite color. He can’t recall the last time they had been so exposed like this.

God, how many times had this same situation occurred? You dropping by to encourage him to do his homework, before eventually falling asleep and leaving him to his own devices. A lot of times, Jungkook guesses, because each and every time you wake up and nab one of his protein bars from the stash by his bed. Jungkook’s gone through four boxes in the last month.

But how many times had this happened with you in a skirt? Never. This was a rarity.

As the year progressed and yours and Jungkook’s relationship reached new levels of intimacy and adoration, Jungkook is sad to say the skirts had begun appearing less and less. It was winter and, unlike the furnace that was Jungkook’s body, he’s pretty sure you were a cold-blooded reptilian at this point, always leeching off of him for warmth. So since you couldn’t stand the cold, the skirts slowly faded into the background, replaced by Jungkook’s second favorite: the leggings.

He was no complainer, Jungkook respected your decisions! He wasn’t going to pressure you into wearing those cute tiny skirts he loved so much just because it fueled some PornHub-esque fantasy in his brain, especially not as a harsh winter descended upon you and the days became colder. He would not risk a sick girlfriend in the name of a horndog daydream.

But holy mother of pearl, Jungkook was a man. A skirt chaser. He could only withstand so much torture before he broke, and seeing your gorgeous, smooth legs on display after so many weeks of starvation awoke an ancient being inside of him.

Sure he’d seen them every time you guys fucked— duh. But this was not the same. It was different, seeing the tender skin of your inner thigh when he knew you weren’t trying to, your skirt stuck between you and the bed as you shifted about. It was different, knowing he could so easily have you, just flip up the skirt and tug your underwear to the side, not having to worry about fighting your leggings or skinny jeans down your legs. It was different and it was good, so painstakingly good, to have you in the skirt, but the worst part was Jungkook couldn’t even do anything because you were fucking sleeping.

He’d subconsciously pictured you like this for weeks, sprawled out on his sheets in the flimsiest clothing and ready for him to just slide right in, but Jungkook was a good boy—you’d told him as much just last week when he’d paid the bus fare for that ragtag group of teenagers, smiling up at him like he was your entire world. Was he sometimes a little too mean, a little too wild? Yes. But at his core, Jungkook lived for your praise. He couldn’t just stomp on that title you’d so lovingly bestowed upon him, a title he’d worked hard for since!

Furthermore, even if Jungkook wasn’t a good boy, to touch you in your sleep just seemed wrong. You’d mentioned in passing once that you wouldn’t mind as long as it was him (“I’m yours,” you had purred at some party, hand crawling down his abdomen, “your doll, remember?”), but Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to when you were so vulnerable and just… not there. It wouldn’t feel right to use your body when you weren’t awake, and no amount of encouragement from you would change his mind.

So he does what all good boys do and prepares himself for a quick, self-administered handfuck.

Sue him, his girlfriend was hot!

It’d been a little over two weeks since the last time the two of you had fucked, and it was mostly his fault; clinicals and research papers had practically consumed what little free time he had in his schedule. And if Jungkook remembers correctly, he wouldn’t be that lucky this upcoming week either. Something tells him your period was approaching.

Jungkook doesn’t know what type of sorcery you’ve done to him, but in the time you’ve been dating, it’s become increasingly more and more difficult to nut without you. Whether that be fucking you, listening to your voice, or just imagining your pretty face in his head, you held a monopoly over Jungkook’s libido, one that he feared you’d never let go.

He had years stacked on years of browsing PornHub and Brazzers, can recall experiencing some of the craziest orgasms of his life while watching some girl get fucked. All things come to an end. Ever since he started dating you, not even his favorite video could make him hard anymore. Oh, how the great have fallen.

But with your blue panties before him, his cock hardens by the minute, nearly doubles in size when you move about and sigh a heavenly sound. Frankly, he doesn’t feel bad jerking one off to the thought of you. You were his girlfriend! He knows that you know that you’re the main character of all his right-handed adventures, and you’re not going to be mad at him for jerking off to you now. In fact, Jungkook imagines you’d be mad if he’d woken you up just for some frenzied quickie. This way, he’s blowing off some steam and you’re getting an extra ten minutes of napping. Everyone wins.

He’s barely tugged himself out of the confines of his sweats when a soft mumble of his name has his soul leaving his body. “Kook?”

“Baby,” he exhales, immediately tucking himself back into his underwear before moving closer towards you. You roll onto your back, skirt useless as fuck, he thinks, as it sprawls around your waist. “What’s up?” he murmurs, voice gentle, a hand carding through the nape of your neck because that’s how you always wake him up. Jungkook would be a liar to say it wasn’t one of the best feelings in the world.

You say something, but it’s a mess of gibberish and too quiet for him to understand, before turning on your side again and shuffling closer to him. Jungkook smiles, runs the tips of his fingers over your cheek, before moving to caress your back, massaging some feeling back into your muscles. Some more mumbled words, but this time he deciphers them as something along the lines of “c’mere.”

He chuckles, ducking down to kiss your cheek. “Don’t wanna interrupt your nap, baby,” he hums. “Go back to sleep.”

You whine in protest, suddenly catching his hand in yours. “Please,” you sigh, eyes fluttering open, but they’re unfocused as you gaze at him. Jungkook clenches his teeth. Technically he should be working on that twelve page research paper, and even just trying to jerk off right now would have been a huge setback. Crawling into bed with you, where you’re so sinfully laid out for him to take, would completely offset his plans until tomorrow. He had to be a responsible student here.

“I really gotta finish my paper…” he says, trying to let you down as gently as possible, flashing you an apologetic gaze. He thinks he has it in the bag, and your extended silence almost has him rolling back to his desk, when you suddenly snap into action.

“But what about your dick,” you murmur, and Jungkook chokes.

“My what—?” he splutters, voice a little too high.

You say nothing, craning your neck to release a series of cracks, soft huffs leaving your lips. Jungkook’s on edge the whole time, eyes following the movement of your neck, the hypnotizing expanse of skin that bares itself to him. “Saw your hand down your pants,” you say, eyes blinking open, and though they’re droopy with sleep, at least you can hold them open this time.

Jungkook laughs nervously, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck in embarrassment. “You saw that?” A soft hum. He wants to die. “Ah, baby, don’t worry about it. Know you’re tired, so just nap,” he sighs, caressing the back of your head once again, and he thinks he’s finally convinced you so he lets his guard down.

You moan softly, and he’s almost entirely sure it’s one of those waking up types of sounds, the ones you make when you’re stretching around the bed in the morning. “Want your cock.”

Jungkook swears he’ll die, right here, right now.

He groans, lowers his head to rest on the mattress. “Jesus, fuck, baby,” he huffs, has to count to ten to will the stirring of his slowly hardening cock away for the second time that day. “Don’t say stuff like that when you’re half asleep, please.”

You ignore him, the hand that had been wrapped around his wrist tugging him closer. You barely succeed, muscles still so weak, but Jungkook humors you and rolls his chair right beside your head, where he ducks down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Noooo,” you whine when he draws away too quickly.

A laugh blossoms in his chest, and Jungkook proceeds to rain down a series of kisses on your pretty face before he can stop himself. You melt under his touch, his affection, and Jungkook adores the way your body is so soft and pliant like this, back arching towards him after he places a hand on your waist.

“Come here,” you urge, voice a quiet plea. So soft, so needy.

Jungkook malfunctions for just a second before he’s clambering over you on the bed, manhandling your body until you're both on your sides, facing each other, with you pressed tightly to his chest. Even with your hands brushing up and down his back in the way that sends every nerve in Jungkook’s body tingling, and your leg thrown over his hip, some stupid part of him convinces himself you’re just cold, trying to warm up after walking around campus in that tiny little skirt all day. He cuddles you as best as he can.

And even with his dick twitching in his pants and his caveman instincts yelling at him to thrust up into your inviting core, Jungkook remains as professional as someone in a relationship can be when in bed with their lover. He’s so stuck on his self-control that he almost doesn’t hear the snort you muffle against his neck.

“What are you doing?” you laugh, reaching up to pinch his cheek. Jungkook blinks, eyes wide like a doe caught in headlights. “Are we gonna fuck or what?”

He chokes. He doesn’t even try to muffle his reaction like other times, because the way you’re looking at him and the heel you press against the back of his thigh preoccupies his thoughts instead. Your hands are still tracing along his back, melting him with your dainty touches. “Baby?” you question after he’s been silent too long, distracted by the way you use that hooked leg to tug your bodies closer.

“You… you’re still asleep,” Jungkook says, though it’s definitely a question.

You scoff, a smile curling around your features. “Mm, definitely not asleep,” you tease, and shift to push him onto his back, wiggling on top of him until those baby blue panties are pressed against his quickly hardening member. “Why? Wanted to touch me when I was asleep?” you continue, and Jungkook’s eyes nearly burst out of their sockets.

“No!” he exclaims, hands clutching your hips in alarm. He can tell he surprises you, because your eyes go wide for a brief second. “Never…” he mumbles afterwards, looking away from your imploring gaze. “Only like you when you’re awake.”

You sigh, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek that makes his heart flood with adoration for you. “You’re a good boy, Jungkook,” you say back, just as quietly. “A blueprint for the perfect man.” Another kiss, this time against the corner of his mouth that makes Jungkook’s hands twitch against your sides.

A soft moan tears itself from his throat, fingers digging into your hips as you slowly roll them against him. The heat emanating from your core seeps past the thin barrier of his sweatpants, makes his cock twitch in his boxers. He knows how it feels inside of you, has your body memorized like the back of his hand. But it’s in moments like these that he finds himself aching for you, desperate to feel the fluttering walls of your pussy, the pitiful whimpers that fall from your kiss swollen lips. And, well. The skirt makes it all too easy.

He places two hands on the backs of your thighs, runs them up until he’s pushing your skirt up over your waist. You pull away from his lips with a sneaky little smile, pointer finger stroking down the side of his face lazily. “Mm?” you tease, leaving a coy little peck against his mouth. “Now you wanna touch?” Jungkook rolls his eyes, snaps his teeth at your wandering finger when you draw it too close to his mouth. The giggle you let out is so damn precious, makes him want to put you in a glass case and never let anyone else touch you. Coincidentally, it also makes him want to rail you into the mattress until you cry.

“I’ll fucking ruin you, doll,” he settles on murmuring, subtly pushing you down against him. A soft giggle. Jungkook knows it’s your favorite nickname, even if you won’t admit it. He's the only one allowed to call you it, something about his intentions being pure or whatever, he’s not really sure. Anyway, you’re still so cute and soft on top of him, blinking slowly and prettily, so he’s dragging it out a bit, hoping you’ll become more alert in a few more minutes.

As sleepy as you may be, you never miss out on a chance to rile him up. “As if, doll,” you retort, his nickname for you rolling off your tongue seamlessly. It sounds heavenly, sparks this weird emotion in him that he never considered before. Him, a doll? No way. But there’s something about the sweet lilt of your voice, the starry-eyed gaze you level him with, that has him throwing all reservations aside. Put him on a shelf and call him Barbie, because he would be anything you wanted him to be.

Anyway, Jungkook’s sappy thoughts last all of two seconds before he’s rolling you over, successfully trapping you beneath his body. “Oh, so scary,” you feign, hands fluttering to clutch at your chest.

He glides his hands down your body, let’s them trail over your hip and down the side of your thigh. “Don’t get sassy with me,” he warns, thumb peeking beneath the hem of your skirt. Jungkook really wants to burn the piece of fabric this time, because after all that time it spent torturing him with its halfhearted attempts at covering you, it chooses now to do it properly.

Hands are thrown around his shoulders, the overwhelming scent of your perfume and body wash tickling his nose when you pull him in for another kiss. “Or what?” you purr, irises swirling with lust. “Gonna use your manly man strength to hold me down?”

He shushes you with a kiss, slow and languid just how you like. Your taste is familiar, feels like coming home, so Jungkook can’t be blamed for getting too carried away. It starts gentle— it always does. But then a tiny mewl gets stuck in your throat, the following moan swallowed by his tongue, and Jungkook nearly loses it. He nips at your bottom lip, waits patiently for you to open up for him, and when you do he wastes no time diving in. Your tongue against his is slick and wet, makes the most lewd sound. Your little sharp intakes of air fill the gaps, shuddery breaths that Jungkook takes as a good sign.

He strikes while the iron is still hot.

It’s amidst your lazy kissing that he secures his hands around your waist, two reassuring squeezes thrown your way before he’s abruptly rolling onto his back again. “Kook!” you squeal, clutching at the front of his shirt. A pouty frown paints your face, sleepy eyes narrowing him with a rather unimpressed look, tainted with the barest hints of confusion.

Jungkook grins, reaching back to yank his pillow out from beneath his head. “On my face,” he commands suddenly, and you snort.

“What?” you ask a little incredulously, leaning back to level him with an even more lost expression. “Since when do we do that?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Since I decided twenty seconds ago,” he answers rather bluntly. You still don’t look too convinced. It’s not a position the two of you have ever tried. You’re a little on the sappy side, always like to look at his face while you fuck, hold his cheeks in your palms, kiss him sweetly. On the one hand, Jungkook totally gets it; he’ll proudly admit that the sight of your orgasming face paired with your fantastic tits have done him many favors these past few months.

However, Jungkook is a lover of head. Giving or receiving, it’s very high on his list of sexual acts and whoever invented oral deserved all the praise in the world. Not only did you look drop dead gorgeous with his cock in your mouth— tears trailing down your cheeks, drool clinging to the corners of your lips —but you also looked absolutely sexy receiving it.

Kinda.

Probably.

Okay, so maybe Jungkook can’t really say, considering he always has a hard time catching a glimpse of your face when he’s down there licking and slurping your clit like a madman. Which is what leads him to this exact moment, an experiment weeks in the making. Jungkook has a theory that needs to be tested. “Please ride the fuck out of my face,” he tries, hoping the polite tone will win you over.

He’s met with an eye roll. Still, you’re kinder than you let on. “Okay,” you give in, and Jungkook will remember your heroism for the rest of his life. “But only because being on top is empowering.” He just barely contains an over-enthusiastic fist pump into the air, settling on a rather modest smile that has you leaning down to kiss him again. You reach for the zipper on the side of your skirt. “Just let me—“

“The skirt stays on,” he says quickly, hand on your wrist to stop you from removing his most favorite article of clothing.

“Baby,” you say, giving him a rather serious look. “It’ll cover your face.”

“It won’t,” he urges, reaching for the buttons on your blouse instead. Jungkook has had one too many encounters with tops like these, and has long since learned not to tear them apart like a crazed psycho. As much as he loves the sound of your buttons scattering across his bedroom floor, he can’t say he’s too fond of the scolding he inevitably gets afterwards. Anyway, the shirt comes off and so does your bra, leaving your tits in his face, tiny skirt on your hips. “Get up here,” he murmurs, ushering you up his body until your knees are pressing into the mattress right above his shoulders.

If it was up to Jungkook, he would have just grabbed your hips and shoved his face against your pussy. Luckily, it’s not, and your common sense shines through just in time. “One sec,” you say, and then finally, finally, the blue panties come off.

And then it’s just Jungkook and your glistening pussy.

“Holy fuck,” he groans, taking the opportunity to wrap his arms around your thighs. You squeak when he pulls you closer, hand instinctively reaching for the front of your skirt to hold away from his face. The view from here is heavenly, just your swollen clit, gorgeous tits, and shy face.

The muscles in your thighs are a little stiff. Or maybe you’re just nervous. Jungkook isn’t sure, all he knows is that it takes one encouraging tug for you to finally sit on his face. He doesn’t even register the surprised gasp that leaves your throat because he’s too busy tasting your pussy from an all new position. And it’s absolutely amazing.

Something about the position, having you carefully poised above him, does something to Jungkook. He likes to think he knows your body inside and out, knows what makes you melt and what makes you scream. He knows just how to lap at your cunt until you’re cumming, and how many fingers it takes for you to really feel it. But it’s like having you in this position changes all of that, rearranges all the tidbits of information Jungkook has spent months collecting.

(Jungkook is a meticulous man; he’s got a near perfect GPA right now that was the direct result of his carefully crafted note-taking techniques. Whether or not he abused the power of his perfectionist learning abilities to master the mechanisms of his girlfriend’s libido was no one's business but his own.)

One kitten lick against your swollen pearl makes you buck forward, clit brushing against his nose. Jungkook can’t remember you ever doing that on the first lick. “O- oh my—,” you cry, all airy and whiny. Your hand is pressed to the wall behind his bed, the other bunching the front of your skirt just above your mound. He’s rather happy to learn that, just as he’d hypothesized, this position does give him a better view of you.

He’s graced with the sight of your face, twisted up in pleasure. It’s the stereotypical eyes squeezed shut, lip caught between your teeth look. But there’s something different about it knowing that he’s gotten this reaction out of you with his mouth alone.

Jungkook quickly repositions you over him, tugging you back until his tongue is lined up with the front of your slit. You’re so warm down here, make him feel like he’s drowning with your heady scent alone. Tentatively, he lets his tongue dip between your folds, the very tip nudging your swollen clit. A moan tears itself from your throat, the hand that had been flush against the wall suddenly jumping forward to bury itself in his hair. “Oh- oh, fuck,” you shiver, hips jolting forward once more.

You taste good on his tongue, the arousal that coats your lips is sticky and sweet. When he laps his tongue along your folds, quivering hole to stiffened bud, you let out a sob that resonates deeply within Jungkook. And also Jungkook’s cock, which stirs beneath his trousers in excitement. What was once the focus of his mission, a quick handfuck to sedate himself before finishing his research paper, has long since been forgotten. It’s for the greater good, he tells himself, blinking up at you from between your thighs.

Eye contact lasts for exactly three seconds before you’re looking away bashfully, the fist clutching at your skirt trembling against your tummy. You’re so fucking pretty, Jungkook’s heart can’t take it.

And so he sets out on a mission to make you cum as soon as possible, abandoning his slow kitten licks in favor of suctioning his lips around your clit. “Kook,” you wail, tugging at his hair. Whether you do it purposely or not, Jungkook is a little shocked by how good the pain feels. It’s not an emotion he can ponder long, because then you’re using that same grip in his hair to tilt his head backwards, jerkily moving over him.

It’s rough and sudden, the buck against his face, but Jungkook loves it. The drag of your pussy against his lips, the wet glide of your juices smearing across his chin and Cupid’s bow. It all feels so good, and the fact Jungkook is getting a front row seat to the absolutely torn look on your face is just the cherry on top.

Jungkook has seen you make a lot of faces. He’s seen you shiver and drool as he nails you into your bed. He’s seen you sniffle and sob as he slowly fucks you in a rose petal filled bubble bath (a six month anniversary special planned by yours truly). He’s even seen your mirrored reflection fall apart as you bounced away on his lap in front of a mirror.

He’s never seen you like this before.

Needy and desperate, moaning his name softly, practically humping his face in your greed. Tiny skirt clutched against your waist, tits bouncing as you hurriedly grind against him. He has half the mind to burn this scene into his eyelids for the rest of his life.

He’s given up on doing anything with his tongue, simply sticking it out for you to do as you wish. Normally, he’s not a huge fan of letting you do things yourself. After all, Jungkook was your boyfriend. Making you cum was his job. But you’re moving so fast, so frantic, in your mission to cum. So Jungkook sits back and lets you go to town on his mouth as a series of moans spill from your lips.

And then something unforgivable happens.

Jungkook will admit it: he’s staring at you almost a little too dreamily, heart eyes and all. He thinks you’re fucking hot, taste like heaven and have these absolutely delicious boobs bouncing up and down. He’s a little distracted by your glorious figure that he doesn’t notice one crucial bit of information.

Your hand.

The desperate need to cum has your muscles weakening, thighs moving at a latent pace, and, much to Jungkook’s horror, hands trembling. It’s your own pleasure that lets the unimaginable happen: your skirt flutters down. Your grip on it loosens and before Jungkook knows it, the sight of your pretty face and nice tits are gone, snatched away before his very eyes. Even your wet cunt is impossible to see, his world suddenly shrouded in darkness.

Leave it to Jungkook to foil his own horny plan with, well, his horniness. If only he wasn’t so hopelessly in love with the image of you in skirts. Maybe then he could bask in the beauty that was you riding his face.

He acts fast, reaching for the material before he can miss out on anything. But the angle is weird, and without Jungkook’s hands holding your hips, you’re left weakly rolling forward instead. And he’s not the only one frustrated with this turn of events, your face quickly returning to its normal composed form as you level him with a frown. “Everything okay?” you pant.

Everything was not okay, but Jungkook isn’t sure how to tell you that without ruining this delicate moment. So he tries to show you with actions instead, releasing the skirt he’s got in his fist and letting it flutter over his face again. You giggle. “I told you so.”

It takes more willpower than he’d like to admit to pull away from your wet folds, pulling off with a lewd sound that has you biting your lip as you gaze down at him. “I told you so,” he mimics, a little mean but you don’t take it to heart. “Hold your skirt up.”

You hum, the grip on his hair loosening as you push away his dark locks instead. “Mmmm,” you hum. “No.”

“No?” he repeats, actually really scandalized. Okay, so he’s a little spoiled when it comes to you— it’s not his fault! You made him like this, conditioned him to think that you would always give into his every whim because you were just so sweet and considerate and wanted him to be happy. And Jungkook also wants you to be happy, and in his opinion, being happy right now means having him fuck your pretty brains out for ever getting sassy with him.

“I don’t listen to men,” you tease, followed by a cute little nod, skin still a little warm from your looming orgasm. Jungkook takes advantage of your tiny moment of weakness, and strikes like a viper.

A girlish squeal leaves your lips, hands stretching outwards as he knocks you backwards onto the mattress. “Jungkook,” you gasp, sprawled out artfully, beautifully, over his sheets now. He doesn’t waste a second longer, crawling over your body until you’re a shivering mess beneath him.

Hand against your throat, the other blindly reaching for the front of his sweatpants. “What is it, doll?” he drawls meanly, reveling in the way your eyes roll back when his newly-freed cock lands against your slit. A choked gasp leaves your throat, lashes fluttering wildly until Jungkook loosens his grip.

You’ve done a nice job riling yourself up, lips squelching wet and loose when he runs the tip of his cock along them. Your knees are pulled up for him, spread perfectly for him to fit between. You’re so good for him, Jungkook feels a little bad for how hard he’s going to fuck you now.

The sympathy doesn’t last long.

Once upon a time, you had been the epitome of a cute and sweet girlfriend. Had picked him up from class, encouraged him to do his homework, wore these cute little skirts around campus. Deep down inside, Jungkook knew everyone else was jealous of him— you were just so pretty and cute, a girl straight out of everyone’s dreams.

Until he sunk his horny claws into you. Jungkook will be the first to admit he spends a little too much time browsing porn sites— he’s a man, cut him some slack —which had never caused him any problems before. Even when the two of you were just friends (pining ones at that), you had never seemed even remotely affected by his extensive pornographical knowledge. It was a known fact among your friend group that Jungkook’s best friend was his right hand.

But then, of course, you started dating Jungkook and it was like a save file of all his horniest fantasies was downloaded directly into your brain. Which leads him to this.

“Spit in my mouth,” you shiver, got these huge, watery eyes pointed his way. His cock twitches.

There’s a little groan that tears itself from his throat when he leans forward, cock sliding along your folds, to grasp your chin between his fingers. “Open,” he commands, and you do. Your lower lip quivers, tongue pressed against it as you wait for Jungkook to spit down your mouth. He can’t say he regrets letting you peek through his porn stash, not when it leads to this, you whimpering at the hot glob of saliva he shoots down your throat. “Filthy,” he pants, memorizing the movement of your throat when you swallow like the good girl you are.

Before he can write another twelve sonnets about that dazed look on your face, he’s roughly grabbing at your thigh. You whine, limbs so pliant beneath his touch, letting him hike your knee over his forearm as he tugs you closer. “Fuck,” he groans, reaching down to align himself with your quivering hole. You’re still so wet, make the most lewd sound when he sinks into you. Not that Jungkook really hears it, the sound of your strained moans practically drowning everything else out.

“Fuck,” you cry, one hand clutching at his forearm, the other toying with your breast. It’s a magnificent sight, and Jungkook is suddenly feeling a little cocky when he realizes he’s the only one who gets to see this. It’s this presumptuous nature that fuels the first round of thrusts into your cunt, fast and full. He makes sure you feel every inch of him, tip to base, as he pistons his hips forward. “J— Jungkook,” you pant, back arching beneath him.

You take it so well, walls sucking him in every time he draws back out. “I’ve got you, doll,” he moans, hiking your leg further over his shoulder. Every roll of his hips has your tits bouncing back and forth, lower lip as well with the dopey, open-mouthed look you got on for him. And the damned skirt that got him here, fucking you with a punishing pace, sits perfectly around your waist. He has half the mind to take it off for you, briefly wonders if it hurts, but just looking at it reminds him of about thirty-seven pornos he’s seen. So it stays on, works alongside your lovestruck face to actively rewrite all those pornos anew with you starring in them instead.

It sure helps when you start your usual mindless babbling. “I love you,” you gasp, face screwed up in pleasure. “I- I love you so much.”

He’s contemplating doing a study on you and your weird mid-fuck confessions. You do this a lot, and while Jungkook doesn’t mind, it sure does leave him curious. “Love you too, baby,” he says anyway, repositioning his arms so he can hold your waist with both hands.

“Really?” you ask, voice so whiny, eyes brimming with tears. From emotion or your need to cum, Jungkooks not sure. (Hence the need for a study!)

Another brutal thrust that has you moaning loudly. “Really,” he reassures you, glancing down to watch his cock sink into your hole as he picks up the pace. Your arms are practically limbless, and his stomach is beginning to feel tight. The end was soon. “Love your pretty little face.”

Another whine, your fingers pulling at your pebbled nipples. “M- My pretty face?” you whimper, blink these long lashes up at him. They make Jungkook go a little mad, bring on a wave of jackhammer thrusts that cut your moans into choppy little cries instead.

“Prettiest girl I know,” he groans, not once stopping the movement of his hips. You’re quivering like a leaf beneath him, your entire body locking up as Jungkook guides you toward orgasm. “A fucking doll, baby— so beautiful for me,” he praises.

It’s exactly what you want to hear— secretly, Jungkook hypothesizes that you’re a little bit of an attention whore —crying out when he slows to a grind against you. Each roll of his hips has him rubbing over your swollen bud, leaves you trembling until you’re eventually unraveling beneath him. “Oh- Oh, fuck— Jungkook—“ you sob, writhing beneath him as you cream his cock.

Your tits look amazing, nipples stiff from your arousal and all the attention you’d been giving them. Your features soften, gasps framed by your pillowy lips. As Jungkook has said before, your pretty face was the most dangerous weapon.

He manages a few more pistons of his hips, mostly for reputation sake, before he’s eventually pulling out. His right hand, once the sole hero of his solo sessions, makes a valiant return now as he jacks himself off over you. It takes a few harsh pulls of his cock until he’s spurting his jizz over you, painting your tummy and your tits in white ribbons of cum. You flinch, a tiny whimper leaving your throat at the mess he makes. “Fuck,” he groans one last time.

When it’s over, you have the audacity to shyly pull down the front of your skirt. As if your tits aren’t out and about, but Jungkook pretends he doesn’t see it. Instead, he channels his energy into peppering your face in kisses. “Best girl,” he praises, even though he knows you hate the nickname. “My beautiful feminist queen.”

A pinch against his cheek. It hurts like hell, but he endures it for now, still very much in love with your performance today. “Get me a towel,” you huffily ask, uncomfortable with the jizz sticking to your tummy, as if he didn’t spit in your mouth a few minutes ago.

His research paper is waiting for him at his desk, the materials he’d spent weeks collecting waiting to be typed up. But his girlfriend is so soft and sleepy, asking him to stay for another nap.

There was never a choice.

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