#lying to myself is an extreme sport

[ox1-lovesick]

one day i'm going to write a fic with 25k words and it's going to be the most jaw dropping spectacular fantastic splendid superb outstanding never been done before amazing glamourous fabulous stunning breathtaking mesmerizing lovely flawless perfect ethereal enchanting dazzling life changing fic any of you have ever read

[ch4nb4ng]

Expect the Unexpected

Pairing: Han Jisung X afab!reader

Word count: 9.7k

Genre: Childhood friends to lovers (stoned college edition

Warnings: 18+ explicit minors do not interact. Substance use, sexual acts under the influence of substance use, Kissing, naked bodies, mentions of genitals, fingering, handjob, orgasm, mentions of semen

Tag list: @seo--changbin @j-0ne25 @cb97whoree

@kpopsstuffs

Note: HEY guys, its been a while, and like actually a while this time.... Had this sitting in the draft for almost a year. Life has very much gotten in the way but i am back hopefully, with the aim of engaging in writing when I feel like and no pressuring myself. Anyways, it's nice to be back and I hope you enjoy.

Summary: There was a blizzard, resulting in your college dorm being blocked from all human interaction. Things are about to, however change when your childhood best friend, and wall neighbour comes over and has other things in mind to pass the time with weed included as one of them.

The first time living away from your family and by yourself was an experience that you very much valued. No curfews, no worrying about what your parents were going to say when you’ve had several drinks at a party, and definitely no nagging to make your bed everyday. Make no mistake, you loved your parents and siblings a lot, it was just nice sometimes to have the complete privacy that was your dorm room every now and then. 

There were moments that you did become homesick. On the contrary to having your own private, personal space, especially during the trying moments of completing long winded assignments, studying for exams, or even just having the feeling of familiarity when you hugged somebody that was your blood. There were always pros and cons to living an independent college life. At this current moment in time, you were experiencing one of the more annoying parts of living in a college building. 

Deep into the winter seasons of the year, while also living in a state that was known for having extreme weather patterns during this time of the year was your least favorite part. Once the news alerted ‘warning, blizzard storm approaching in the next 48 hours,’ you knew that the college would be sending an official email, urging students to stay in the dorms, and barricade all exits.

This was where you were currently at.

Lying in your bed, phone up to your face as you reassured your family through facetime that you were fine and had no plans of leaving anytime soon.

“You guys know the drill,” you smiled, “I’m fine, two days in and I am alive and well, just a little bored.”

“Okay well don’t forget that Jisung’s mother and I got those rooms next to each other so you guys always have a little bit of company.”

“Yes mom I know,” you laughed, “I might text him later. He had an assignment due this afternoon and I don’t want to bother him.”

“Okay love, we will talk to you later.”

“Love you too, bye.”

The sound representing the end of the call rang through the speaker of your phone. The object fell on your chest as you let out a loud sigh, your boredom growing with each second. 

Jisung. Han Jisung was someone that could be labeled as many different things to you. Friend, confidant, best friend, study buddy; home. Jisung was the jack of all trades in your book. 

Knowing each other since the two of you were 10, meeting at a weekend competition of playing mixed teams basketball bloomed into a relationship you didn't know was even possible to have with a man. Jisung was the friend that kind of just stuck, even planning to go to the same college as you. It was a packaged deal, you and him, but it made you laugh, because the two of you could not be more of the opposite. Jisung was the shyer type. Although you met through sporting engagements, that was more something that his parents put him into to see what he liked. He was very intelligent, a strong preference to have his head in the books rather than going out to a new party every weekend. Make no mistake, Jisung was a very polite individual, always talking to those that gave the time. However, he was much more comfortable with people that he knew. In contrast, you were a social butterfly, able to make friends every corner you turned. Parties and drinking every weekend; anywhere but the was where the majority of your time was spent. 

Therefore, when all the buildings on campus were closed, it drove you crazy. There was nothing that could be hated more than being forced to stay inside in your eyes. The confinement always made you reconsider why it was here, in this state, that you chose to attend college. But it was when you heard a knock on the door that you were reminded why. Leg flopping out of your bed sheets, they dragged you to the door, your body sprinkled in warmth when you opened it to your kind looking friend who happened to be smiling back. Your body turned to the side, hand out as he strolled into your apartment, plopping down on the couch like it was his own. You quickly followed, taking the spot next to him as you turned to face him.

“Are you bored yet?”

“Of course I am,” you sigh, walking in front of Jisung as you walk into the living room of your apartment and sitting on the couch, head in your hands, leaning forward so much that you could almost fall off the couch “as if it took you this long to realise.”

“Y/n, the email was only sent out 4 hours ago.”

“Yeah but there was supposed to be a party tonight at Changbin’s frat,” you whined, lips fully pouted, “I really wanted to go.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, placing his hands behind his head, legs kicked out on the small table in front of him, “it’s a real shame that the party is canceled.”

Your best friend managed to avoid eye contact, voice dripping with sarcasm. To be truthful, you knew that even though he would go with you, to make sure you're safe of course, and DEFINITELY for that reason only, Jisung would never choose to willingly go to such a party. It wasn’t that he was a complete prude little innocent boy, no. There had been a multitude of times where you could hear him, or the other girls that failed to stay quiet and not echo through the paper thin dorm walls. Jisung just simply wasn’t the type to go out to parties, especially when everyone there was a slobbering mess on one substance or another, especially you. There was a feeling that if you were merely a stranger to him, Jisung would most likely, outside of classes, be a ghost. A myth that supposedly walks down the hallways of your college. Seeing as the two of you were opposite in that regard, you tried to respect Jisung as much as possible. Not bringing your bong, joints, or excessive amounts of alcohol whenever he came over, because you knew if the shoe was on the other foot, he would also do the same. Jisung only had the occasional puff anyway, much less than you, so the need to have it around constantly felt unnecessary.

“Try not to ooze with excitement,” you raised your eyebrows, a fake smile plastering across your lips as you failed to see his attitude change. Good old Jisung for you.

“I’ll try my best.”

“Anyway,” you replied, leaning forward and grabbing the TV remote, pressing the small red power button in the top right corner, watching the plasma screen light up with the logo belonging to Netflix. You turn again to the man beside you, a warmth feeling in your chest at how placid he looked, patiently waiting for you to put something on.

“Is there anything you would like to watch for the next 12 hours?”

Yes, 12 hours. That was you being optimistic that this storm would be quick.

“Hmm,” Jisung hummed, bringing his index finger and thumb to his chin, thinking about what to watch, “there isn’t anything I’ve been keeping up with.”

“Ah I see. Shall we just scroll until we find something we like?”

“Sounds like a great idea.”

Clicking on your profile, the first row of TV shows were ‘Watch it again,’ followed by ‘Top hits for Y/n.’ Nothing really caught your eye, or his seeing as he would say something if he did. It wasn’t until your ‘continue watching for y/n’ that you gasped, loud. The word ‘Bridgerton’ has popped up in continuing. At first you were confused. Although you were an avid lover of that show, you had not watched it recently. It wasn’t until you selected it that you realized a new season had come out. Jisung remained puzzled, seeing as this was not something he had a remote interest in watching. 

“Oh my god Jisung can we-”

“No man,” he complained, “you know this is the last thing I would want to watch.”

“Please,” you begged, placing your hands in the form of a prayer, remote still in hand, “it’s so good I beg of you please to just consider. I’ll do anything.”

“Ugh fine,” he hissed, “but I cannot be 100% sober for this shit.”

Your eyebrow furrowed, displaying a look of confusion. This was the thing you would expect someone like Jisung to say.

“Hmm ok,” you hummed, still slightly confused, “I’ll get my stash of vodka.”

“Hmmm no,” he shrugged, a slightly suggestive glimmer on his face, “something that will be long-lasting, if you’re catching my drift.” 

Jisung raised his eyebrows repeatedly, leaving your mind to imply one substance only. Weed.

“You want to smoke, really?”

“Yes y/n, I want to smoke weed, is that ok with you?”

“Of course it is,” you reassured, “you know that if you were here or not I would probably do it anyway.”

“Okay.”

“Done.”

“Okay, and we have to watch from the beginning or I will go back to my room.”

“Yes yes okay fine,” you leaned over, pressing a grateful kiss on his cheek, “you’re the best. I’ll get my stash now.”

You scurried off to your room, quickly, opening the small draw on your side table next to your bed. Your stash, the prized possession that was the calm before the storm. Smoking in your downtime was something that you very much looked forward to, especially if you were unnecessarily stressed out. Your face lit up and the clouds of dark green hue clouded the plastic bag that was in your sight, fingers grasping the edge as you wiggled back to your original spot. Although you agreed, it was strange of your friend to want to just smoke out of boredom. The only time you had seen him do it was at small gatherings, and even then, it was one puff and done, usually followed by heavy chest hitting coughs. It always made you laugh. It also made you feel bad, knowing that if he didn’t hang around with you, he probably wouldn’t do these kinds of things. Jisung was an adult who could make his own decisions, but there was always part of you that thought about him, his family; would they approve of him doing this? It was a lot to think about sometimes. 

It was Jisung’s turn to hold the remote, flicking back to season 1 episode 1, before scooching closer to you. Jisung was keen to get in on the action, something you were definitely not used to. He went to reach for the paper, but you grabbed him by the wrist, making him pause for a moment.

“Jisung, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” he smiled, unsure why you were asking such a question, “it’s not the first time I’ve done it y/n, relax.”

“Yeah I know,” you shrugged, “it’s just, I’ve only seen you smoke once, and you looked like you were about to cough up your lungs.”

“Oh,” he sighed, looking away in embarrassment, “you saw that?”

“Unfortunately, I did.”

“Yeah well I can do it,” he barked, somewhat getting defensive, pointing at the TV to deflect from his deficits “you’re making me watch this shit.”

“Okay okay,” you whined, letting go of his wrist, “but please let me show you how to roll and smoke a joint properly so you don’t actually hurt yourself.”

The two of you giggled simultaneously, resulting in Jisung reluctantly nodding in agreement. He watched closely as he watched you open both bags, paper on the right, weed on the left.

“Okay so,” you began to speak, “firstly,” you paused again, using your index and middle finger on your right hand to slide into the plastic, “I like to slide my fingers in like this, touching the least amount of paper possible.” 

Jisung pushed his lenses right up to his face, making sure his concentration was avid; missing a step was not an option for him. Once the sheet was out of paper, you placed it on top of the plastic. You like to take pride in your work, especially being a part time stoner, of your supplies. Seeing as it cost you a significant amount, it felt wrong to not get the best out of your product. 

“Then,” you continued, “you get the bag with the goods, and I like to,” pausing again, opening the bag and grabbing one cluster, “just crush it in my fingers as small as I can, and sprinkle it in a line across the center.”

He nodded again, observing how smooth your fingers were, fingertips sprinkling green across the white square placed in the table.

“Are you following?”

“Of course,” he nodded, furrowing his eyebrows to show his concentration. Jisung swallowed a nervous gulp, remembering that he really had no idea what he was going to do when he coughed his lungs up one more time. Yes, he was concentrating on how you did it, but he couldn’t help it. His cognitions were descending into the gutter, especially watching the two fingers he tended to use when he was in lewd acts himself. It made him nervous. 

Sure, there were intrusive thoughts about you being a part of his fantasies and desires, but Jisung knew better than to act on something that came from pure lust. Instead, pressing his lips together, attempting to stifle the giggle that threatened to erupt from his lips. You, however, were too smart to not notice him suppressing his laughter. Your elbow nudged his side, a sheepish gaze as you began to question him.

“What’s so funny?”

“What,” he questioned, puffing his cheeks and shaking his head, patting your arm, “keep going.”

You decided to shrug it off, not letting his immaturity obstruct you from your prized possession. Next was the rolling. Lifting the paper with the utmost precaution, the material was brought to your lips, tongue sticking out as your lips lay a thin layer of saliva to coat the edge of the paper.

“See what I did with my tongue?”

‘Oh god,’ was all Jisung could think, mind once again heading straight to the gutter. All he could think about was what your tongue, if it was positioned under a different appendage, how different it could be. His testosterone was raging, but once again, he knew better. To Jisung, nothing could be worse than putting his own selfish wants ahead of your friendship. However, the longer he stared at you practically making out with the joint, licking it up and down, side to side, making sure the two ends stuck together, the harder it became to push his thoughts away from such dirty crevices of his mind. The torture was over for him once you withdrew the now complete joint from your lips. You were satisfied with how it turned out, a smile of approval, and a hint of arrogance plastered on your face.

“And that’s how you do it. Now your turn.”

“Ok,” he sighed, “swap spots with me so I can do it.”

“Yes sir,” you mumbled, playfully rolling your eyes you obeyed, allowing your best friend to now sit in front of the two bags. He followed your steps with ease, using great precision with his fingers to eject the weed and paper from each plastic container. He was natural. Only the two fingers, being the same ones you, strategically rolling the two digits back and forth. He was swift, nimble, adjectives you normally liked to use when you felt the touch of a man. It was your turn to swallow nervously, a small pit of arousal brewing in your lower abdomen as the small pelts of green substance dissipated across the center of the paper, just like you did. Holy shit, how could something as simple as rolling a joint be so attractive? Jisung brought a hand to his hair, running it quickly through the brown mop to get it out of his face, aiming to let no obstacles get in his way. He gave you one look, a gaze of concern when he noticed your eyes glued to his hands. 

“You okay?”

Your eyes shot straight to his, attempting to not be mesmerized by the joyful expression covering his features. Fuck, why was his smile having such an impact on you right now? He chuckled, assuming that you were just playing around, but in reality, you were definitely distracted by the attractiveness of your friend with a sudden fresh washed mop of brown hair, glasses, and shining complexion of the side of his face as the light from the window cascaded across the high points of his cheeks. You faked a smile, nodding as you egged him on to continue. Panic began to settle in however when you saw the bare tip of his tongue coating the corner of the white material. Holy shit, he really was a natural. Licking the edge right across in one swift motion, not using too much saliva, yet still using enough. It was almost offensive how much better his joint looked compared to yours. But that was just what Jisung was: a perfectionist with little effort in trying to attain said perfection. He didn’t stray too much out of the norm, yet when he did try something, he was always good at it from the first try. Sometimes it made you wonder what other things he would be good at. But that was for another time, with a similar mindset in the fact that a brief thought of sexual fantasy was not worth more than your friendship. Especially if he didn't reciprocate, the awkwardness after would be something you most definitely could not handle.

“Woah,” you gasped, grasping the joint out of his hand, intensely observing it from each angle, “I knew you would be good at this.”

Your best friend beamed at your approval, eagerly waiting for the next step. 

“Oh my lighter, I’ll go grab it now.”

You forgot before, but this gave you time to completely subtract those devil filled thoughts of Jisung by not looking at him for a brief moment. It worked, because as soon as you opened the drawer and saw your lighter, all you could focus on was lighting that shit up. 

Coming back to the living room once more, you placed the fire breathing object on the table, offering Jisung to go first. He looked hesitant, unsure how or where he should start. It was adorable when Jisung was like this, because he was clueless not very often. You decided to pick it back up, pressing the flicker down once to ignite the flame.

“Do you want to go first, or would you like me to go first?”

“Uhm,” he hummed, “I think you should go first, you know, show me how to do this shit properly.”

“Okay,” you chuckled, letting go of the flicker on the lighter, handing it over to him, “well I usually don’t light my own joints so would you do me the honors?”

“Of course,” he purred, the smoothness of his tone delivering a sudden pulse to your core. You leant forward, completely forgetting that your clothing was completely revealing by all means. The looseness of your long sleeve white shirt was telling, the action of leaning forward exposing the subtlety of your cleavage. You could see Jisung’s eyes travel straight to them, but only for a brief moment. He was trying to be as respectful as he could, but it was impossible when your chest was right there. His thumb dragged with ease, flame luminous as he brought the orange tipped flame to the edge of your joint. The tip turned dark immediately, and the taste of the herb came with that. The sensation was immediate, as you grabbed the joint with two fingers, pulling the object away from your lips and letting the warmth of the smoke spilling, down your chest,  and back up again, eyes fluttering shut as you puffed the smoke from your lips, the feeling of nostalgia hitting you.

Jisung watched you in awe, amazed at how easily smoking came to you. He wanted to try so bad. He wanted to prove to you that he could do something that you did not expect of him. But he was patient, waiting for you to open your eyes before he started. 

“Mmmm,” you hummed in pure bliss, lifting your eyelids slightly, “that is some good shit.”

“Yeah?”

“Yessss,” you hissed, grabbing onto his hands holding the lighter, sliding it out of his hand “your turn. Place the joint between your lips and lean forward.”

Jisung did as he was told, adjusting his positioning to being abnormally close to you. You didn’t pay much mind, the small flame igniting once again, but you paused, almost forgetting that he in fact did now know what he was doing.

“Ok so once I light this,” you paused, using your free hand to squeeze his jaw, “are you listening?”

His eyes widened at your sudden touch, a small nod which was obstructed by your somewhat firm grasp.

“Ok so once I light this, take a small breath in, hold for a second, and blow it out.”

“Yes maam,” he smiled, looking deep into your eyes before you passed him the bud, waiting for him to grasp it between his two fingers. When he does, still keeping his eyes on you, simultaneously feeling your brain drop slightly at how intense his gaze was in this very moment, lips forming into the shape of an o as the paper came to his lips, taking the smallest puff, and blowing it out. You were impressed, seeing this was the first time he smoked anything without coughing his lungs out. A smile came to your lips, proud of your best friend in the moment.

“Woah,” he sighed, finally breaking his stare, eyes changing towards the blunt. His chest descended as he took another puff, turning back to face the tv as his back gently slid into the couch. 

“How was that?”

“Is it crazy that I already feel more relaxed than before?”

His response made you giggle, glad he was enjoying himself. 

“I told you,” sighing as you snatched the blunt from his grip, taking a long drag, “I only smoke the high quality stuff.”

“Sure do,” he growled, sinking deeper and deeper into the couch. Jisung grabbed the remote, pressing play on the TV, greeted by a girl in a royal style gown. He forgot that it was Bridgerton that got him here in this predicament. 

***

It did not take much for the two of you to feel the consequences of smoking. One thing you hated to admit was that you craved the presence of someone next to you when under the influence. But not just like in your orbit no. Like needing a lack of personal space. To be suffocated. Which is why the two of you were sitting the way you were now. Your legs atop of his own, head buried into his chest, with your arms wrapped around his torso. 

The intrusive thoughts always won when you were high, which is how your fingertips came to be not just on your best friend, but under his shirt, skin to skin contact. You couldn’t deny that the texture of his defined build, muscles budding at each ridge was hard to miss. 

Bridgerton had been playing, but if anything, at this point, it had become background noise, the main noise becoming the tension that thickened between the two of you with each passing minute. Although the relationship was close,the idea of  intimacy was never something that had come up as a thought. Sober you, and sober him, would never do such a thing. Feeling that maybe it would cross a boundary. 

But the usual thought did not cross your mind. Or his for that matter, Jisung’s digits generously spread across the outside of your thigh, dangerously close to your behind. It felt nice, honestly. Yes, you had your fair share of one night stands. Male attention followed you, easily, whether you were looking for it or not. With that being said, however, it had been a while since you remembered what a real man's touch felt like. Especially your best friend. Being a biology major, Jisung was consistently practical in the lab, using his hands in the most intricate ways. Whether looking at a small piece of bacteria in a microscope, or dissecting an organ of some sort, he was always using his hands, and boy, was that evident when you felt the texture of his callous palms spreading across the back of your leg. 

The puffing came to a halt, joint burning down halfway to its bud, but it was enough to heighten your senses. The two of you looked at each other, eyelids a little more droopy than usual as the both of you giggled, looking back at the TV. By the time the two of you were actually paying attention to the storyline, Daphne and Simon were getting married.

“So what’s the premises?”

“Premises?” You giggled, finding humor in your best friend’s speaking mishap.

“Yeah like,” he paused, maneuvering your body to be closer to his, leaving now no room on the couch between the two of you, “like what’s the show about.”

“It’s a period romance show based on a series of books.”

“Ohh, I thought you didn't like to read, you fucking nerd.”

“Oi,” you nudged him, completely missing the side of his arm and falling onto his chest, “I don't, that’s why I'm watching the show instead.”

“Right, anyway, go on.”

“Right, so Daphne and Simon basically pretended to be together so this other guy, creepy as fuck, wouldn’t have to marry her. But then they realized they developed feelings for each other but are both inendial about it so they're discussing the topic on their wedding day and just going through with it because it was too late for them to change their mind.” If either of you did not see the irony in this situation.

“That literally made no fucking sense,” Jisung sighed, using his free hand to scratch the back of his head, “but to be honest, I really can’t concentrate on anything you’re saying.”

“Damnnn,” you gasped, leaning up to look at him, “you’re high.”

“Yeah pfft,” Jisung hummed, keeping his glazed eyes focused on you, “I feel like I can just say or do anything right now.”

“That’s the beauty of smoking Ji,” you smiled, turning away and facing the screen. It was at this point that married TV couples were in their honeymoon suite. If you were being honest, it was hard to keep up with the dialogue due to the speed and the actual content being in old english. It was much less difficult to follow the visuals, their facial expressions, how they spoke. It was still captivating, watching the two actors get close and closer, right until their lips met. As they continued, the room felt silent yet tense. The two of you watched adamantly as things began to heat up, Simon assisting Daphne in undressing herself. It was then that you felt Jisung adjust himself under your legs, brushing him off of you as he sunk back into the couch. You thought it was strange, but you decided it was better to ignore it, remembering how mesmerizing the scene of Daphne and Simon making love for the first time really was. As they moved to their new bed, Simon hovering over Daphne’s innocent body, a new sensation was forming in your lower abdomen, but it didn't stop there, unmistakably flying right to your core, again. While recalling how mesmerizing this particular scene was, you also forgot how much it aroused you simultaneously. This was a mistake. Being high and horny was not a good combination, especially when Jisung, your best friend, was sitting next to you, previously with his hands on you. It was probably better to disregard these lustful feelings, they surely would pass.

“Oh shit,” Jisung mumbled, grasping for the small decorative pillow next to him, placing it over his crotch area, “this is um, wow, it’s uh-”

“Yeah I kinda forgot,” you replied before facing him, noticing the now pillow covering the beginning of his lower limbs. At first you were confused, eyebrows furrowed at why he would do such a thing. Instead of minding your business, and beating the paranoia of not knowing what he was doing that was amplified after smoking, you were now  holding the pillow, the sounds of Daphne’s moans and groans the only noise that could be heard. As soon as Jisung noticed your grip on the pillow, he resisted you, not wanting you to see what was happening underneath the soft object.

“Jisung,” you laughed nervously, genuinely confused at his behavior, “what are you doing with my pillow.”

“Nothing,” he hushed, attempting to dismiss your question with the tone of his voice floating thin into the air, “keep watching.”

He pointed at the screen, head nodding in the same direction as you let go of the pillow and focused on the TV. But that was the worst mistake you could have made, because it was Simon’s turn to undress, and once he did, it really was game over. The two of them there, completely naked as he began to thrust into his new wife. Simon’s grunts were short, staccato like, while Daphne was more graceful, each moan spilling into her husband's ear as the two of them went at it.

“Fuck this is making me really horny.”

As soon as your best friend said that, he brought his fingers to his lips, leaving your jaw dropped. Did he really just say that, or were you hallucinating?

“Woops,” Jisung mumbled, “the weed is really making me lose my filter. Sorry.”

You should have hated that he blurted that out. Letting the intrusive thoughts win, especially when high, was not a good sign. But it brought the ache that momentarily dulled right back. Looking back at the screen, Jisung now removed the pillow and revealed his full hard on through his thin fabric sweatpants: it was becoming too much. Now suddenly, the only thought that stayed consistent was wanting the same thing on the TV. Right here. Right now. With Jisung. Your best friend.

“Don’t be sorry,” you cooed, moving closer to him, “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t either.”

He said nothing, only gasping in a subtle manner as Jisung looked at you, all of a sudden your features projecting to him as illustrious, appetizing. Jisung wanted nothing more than to devour you in the current moment.

“Is this normal?” 

Jisung’s voice was so nonchalant, tone lacking concern or hesitation at your lack of proximity. It was kind of adorable, really. The normal friend you knew was one to freak out if he ever did something like this. Usually so prim and proper in every setting. In contrast, there was something sexy about the way he was acting. Sure, actions had consequences, but thinking with clarity was not a priority.

“I would say so,” you purred, voice soothing as your fingers crept onto the front of his knee closest to you, “weed makes me horny too.”

“O-oh,” his voice shook, suddenly a little nervous by the prospect of you touching him in a possibly arousing way, “Y/n.”

Jisung’s voice was breathy, chest heaving very slowly as his eyes shot down to your body. Suddenly, your best friend was amazed by every single curve and creativity of your figure. As he brought his hands to your behind, it suddenly felt so soft, hands unforgivingly slipping past the waistband of your shorts, making direct contact with your skin. The contact made you hot, using your free hand to fan yourself. Jisung took the hand of yours that was moving deathly slowly along his inner thigh off of him, body now on his side facing you as he withdrew his hand groping your ass. Instead, he moved it around to the front, but rather than dipping straight into your folds, he slipped in the layer under your outer layer, opting for the space inbetween, digits spreading across your core covered by the miniscule fabric.. It was better this way, he thought. The sensation of touch was much more sensitive under the influence as he wanted to feel every texture of your body that was possible. You giggled at the brush of his gentle touch, a small gasp quickly following up once you realized that his fingers, although not making direct contact, were feeding that arousal felt between your legs. Like scratching an impossible itch. His eyes were already on you when your neck turned, facing him. 

“Shit,” you breathed, “you’re really good at that.”

“I’m barely touching you,” he hissed, lips getting closer to your own. What is happening right now? You should be saying no; rejected his advances. Your best friend. Jisung. The shy, little boy you had known him to be all of his life. But the longer his fingers pushed around that sensitive button of yours, the more your legs spread open for him, hips gently bucking to reach for more surface area of his fingers. His confidence was charming, almost too much so. It made you want more and more, so much so that your internal conflict of stopping and telling him to keep going was disappearing with each lingering moment. Rationality, once a perplexity in your mind disappeared the moment his lips landed on yours. God they were sweet, soft; every texture that you know felt pleasant was coming to your mind the moment they moved against your own. His free hand came to the side of your face that was farthest away, index finger spread across your jaw as he moved his tongue, deeper and deeper, maintaining his dominance over you. Fuck he was a good kisser, a whine erupting from your throat at how flexible his mouth was, bending over backwards to make sure that you were happy with the pace.

“Mhm,” you hummed, pulling away from a brief moment to remove all bottoms, panties included. All your best friend could do was chuckle, deeply, the shade of his eyes turning as dark as you had ever seen when he saw your bare pussy out, for him. His fingers latched on immediately, using the index and middle finger on one hand to spread your lips, the other fingers on the opposite hand barely scratching your clit. The feeling almost made you wriggle out of your seat, mouth agape across Jisung’s cheeks in a sloppy effort to maintain composure of any sort.. Everything was happening so fast. All it took was barely one scene for the two of you to let down your guards. Pretending that your friendship meant nothing. It was never friendship. Jisung would be a ghost to you if the two of you had not been friends since childhood. Maybe there were in fact other reasons that the two of you stayed this way. The moans and groans of the girls he would have over, filling up the bare distance between your room and his, always had an effect on you. It was then when you started to question what he did to those girls to make them feel so good that you were doomed. It was easy to act like a crazy party girl in front of him, knowing that he would never want to be with someone like that, and by doing that, it would push those little feelings right down to where you had the ability to forget them. Avoidance was always key.

But then Jisung would bring you food while you were up doing an assignment, buy you a bouquet of flowers when it was your birthday. Even the way he would talk to your siblings back at home was enough. Jisung was enough and maybe now, by getting these hormonal feelings out, which felt like heaven, was enough to admit that this would not be just a high rendezvous for you, but something real. 

“You’re like really wet,” Jisung hummed, sliding his fingers closer and closer to your whining entrance, “always wondering how you would’ve felt like this.”

“You have?”

“Oh yeahhhh,” Jisung replied, sarcastic, as if it was super obvious, “all the time.”

“Fuck that’s so hot,” you moaned, gripping his wrist, bringing the digits specifically up to your lips for a moment,  taking his DNA into a deep thorating motion The two fingers he was about to use now utterly drenched in your slick before navigating them down your body, circling your entrance before effortlessly plunging them straight into your hole. Jisung could have creamed himself then and there. Due to the sensitivity of his first time being high, he knew that if he was going to fuck you today, he truly would not last long, at all. But instead of ruining the moment that way, he decided to make it all about you. Wanting to view you squirm under him, make his best friend: you feel good. It is something he has been patiently waiting for. Jisung was a giver, and if he wanted to give you a toe curling orgasm on your couch to make you happy, he was going to do so, whatever it took.

As soon as he fingers reached the end of your whole, the two of you moaned in unison, the sound of squelch that was your arousal already an intense volume.

“D-don’t think I’ve been this wet before,” you whined, waiting for Jisung to gently pull them out.

“Really,” he questioned, genuinely baffled, “no one ever made you this wet before? Find that hard to believe.”

Your hips wriggled, desperate to feel the friction of him moving back and forth. However he was so mesmerized by the texture of your velvety walls against his digits, that he used his other hand, coated in your slick, to relieve himself, the encounter resulting in Jisung becoming much too impatient to bother taking his pants off. Your eyes shot straight to the small motion you were witnessing of him moving his hand against his cock. Oh, his length must feel so good like this. Once Jisung began to move his fingers that were inside of you, a string of curse words easily fell from your lips, unable to control anything that came from them. The sensory overload was at peak, and if you were sober, feeling overwhelmed would be an understatement. 

With that being said, you were not, and neither was Jisung. The brooding tip that was his cock gently nudged your inner thigh. As he continued to grow, it had nowhere else to go. The simplest of touches felt like a million times more than when under the influence. But it had to be a culmination of things. Seeing Jisung dominate in something, take control. Fuck. Hearing those girls in his dorm had more of an impact on you than you originally thought. 

Your mind drifted to those memories for a brief moment, the faint moans of the girls, but it suddenly occurred that you never knew what he sounded like. Jisung was a silent fuck? There was no way. 

Your gaze drifted, Jisung immediately noticing and pausing his fingers with immediate concern.

“Y/n?”

Your head turned back faster than your eyes, deep in motion. It was silent, the TV pretty much non-existent as you grabbed him by the jaw, index finger and thumb strong on his mandible as your eyes fixated on his lips.

“How come you never moan when you fuck?”

Jisung panicked at first, a laugh following immediately after, the contagious sound making you laugh too. Your body was limp for a brief moment, falling off of your best friend's lap and next to him on the couch. Jisung ripped his glasses off his head, throwing them onto the table in front of him, allowing him to get a genuine look at how hot and flustered you truly were. Solely because of him.

“What are you talking about,” he giggled, fingertips immediately grabbing the flesh of your thigh, any part of you was good to him, as long as he could get his hands on it, right now.

“How would you know if I’m a silent fuck or not?”

“Because,” you smacked him lightly, letting him remove his hand from your skin “I can hear when you fuck other girls, pfft,” you huffed, lifting your legs in the air to discard your bottoms that were puddled around your ankles, “they’re always so fucking loud man.”

Jisung’s cheeks blushed in the tiniest form. It’s not that he was embarrassed. Okay, maybe part of him was a little embarrassed, completely caught off guard and forgetting that the walls in the dorm were paper thin. Part of him felt guilty that you had to hear that. He began to pout, but immediately dropped his lips when he realized that you were half naked. His fingertip immediately wrapped around each hip, forcing you to sit on his lap and face him. You lifted your hips, eyes signaling down to his pants that were overdue in needing to be removed. Jisung complied immediately, whisking his sweats and boxers off in one motion, causing his hard length to meet with your soaked core, his tip prodding gently at your folds. You bit down on your lip trying as hard as you could to focus on Jisung’s face, rather than focusing on how erect his cock was against you. Jisung tugged at your shirt, gawking when you lifted your arms to see no other material supporting your chest. Jisung was mesmerized once again. Another surface area that he wanted his hands on immediately.

“I can’t believe you heard me fuck other girls and never said anyti-”

“Shhh,” you hushed, pressing your folds firmer against Jisung’s cock. Your best friend reach for your hips immediately, in shock of your bold actions, “I don’t fucking care Jisung it’s fine just touch me, please.”

“You don’t have to ask twice,” he huffed, palms snaking past your abdomen and gripping onto your tits hard, firm, rough. Ugh. Nothing had ever felt so good in your life. All this time you thought Jisung was a stupid little pathetic boy, with the occasional fuck here and there. God, it would almost make you laugh at how incorrect your perception was of him in the bedroom. Truth was, he knew what he was doing, because your arousal was doing nothing but increasing with each longing moment that his wood was not inside of you.

“Soft fucking tits,” Jisung mumbled, almost drooling as he slapped one of your nipples, the skin imeediadtely turning hard as he brought his lips to to the bud. His teeth appeared, claws like, as he took the same one in his mouth, not returning for breath as he nippled, licked, sucked; you name it, Jisung was doing that. 

“Oh my god,” you groaned, head rolling back in pleasure, “how are you so good at everything you do?”

A chuckle escaped Jisung’s lips, the vibration felt across the entirety of your chest, “I’m not I-”

The two of you paused, freezing entirely when you heard Jisung’s phone ring. He glazed over, noticing the words “Mom” written across the top of the screen. He looked away as he turned back to you, that look of hunger dilating his pupils. The temporary freeze made Jisung long for you even more.

“Jisung,” you whispered, hands placed across his face and upper neck, “you should answer.”

“No,” he huffed, attaching his lips over your neck sporadically, “if it’s an emergency she’ll call me again. I’m busy.”

The phone was silent for maybe a few seconds, before it began to ring again. Jisung scoffed, removing his hands from you as he picked up his phone. 

Your joint and lighter were in arms reach. You ignored the conversation, bringing the material to your lips and lighting it up again, your body relaxing even more as you took a deep breath in, feeling the substance sink into your skin, blowing out the remnants after. Your eyes turned to Jisung, his already on you, eyeing the joint in your hand. He leaned forward, waiting for you to put the joining between his lips. You complied, bringing the flame in unison. Jisung mumbled his words for a brief moment before blowing out the air.

“Yes mom,” he answered, “I’m fine. Y/n is fine, I just checked in on her.”

A small giggle came to your lips, followed by Jisung covering them. Removing his appendages, you decided to stand up, letting go of Jisung on his lap as you dropped to your knees. Like a predator, you crawled over, eye level with his knees. Jisung’s brows furrowed, taking him a bit of time to realize what you were about to do. He was still on the phone, talking to his mum about god knows what. That wasn’t your focus for now. It was spreading his legs wide, Jisung’s hardness evident as it spread across his groin. Your lips curled upward as you situations yourself where you needed to be, Jisung’s eyes widening as he realized what you were about to do.

“Yes I am s-sutdying hard,” Jisung shuttered, the sudden touch being your hand wrapped around the base of him startling him, “j-just finished one a-assignment today.” 

A deep, lustrous chuckle escaped your mouth as you began to pump him, watching your best friend’s sensitivity, squirming at the touch. Jisung was doing everything in his power not to moan, prevent knowing how much effect you had on him, and form his mum knowing what he was doing.

“Mom can I c-call you back l-later, bit b-bust, busy right now.”

Jisung’s body jolts forward the moment he felt your tongue on the underside of him, making its way to his tip. He hung up the phone, tired of this torture as his hands found their way through your hands immediately. His sign of eagerness felt so good, the gentle tug from him begging you to go down on him completely driving you wild. The pain mixed in with pleasure immediately, traveling to your core and pulsating harder than it has ever felt in your life. Jisung was lengthy, but that was no problem. Beginning, slowly, you took him into your mouth, a guttural moan bleeding from his lips as his head rolled back with ease. 

“Holy fucking shit,” he gasped, almost running of out of room to breath, “you’re so fucking good at this baby”

A slight moan fell from your lips at the use of the pet name. Jisung’s head snapped back down immediately to you, catching your gaze in an instant. Your eyes looked bigger to him, doe like. It was driving Jisung wild; he could’ve finished right then and there. Being high and having the elevated physical sensation from your magical touch was something he could live with forever, maybe become addicted to. If this is what life felt like under the influence, he now wanted this all the time.

“Mmmh,” you sighed, a large pop and breath coming from your lips as you replaced your hand, “you taste so good Sungie.” 

Your free hand traveled down your body, descending to the apex between your thighs to satisfy that ache that was growing with intensity with every second passed. The attempt to hide your pleasure was amateur, biting down on your bottom lip as a stifled groan left your lips.

“Y/n, baby,” Jisung purred, leaning forward and grabbing your forearms, “come here.”

You did as you were told, helping him hoist you back onto his lap. The brush of him against you this time is 10x more powerful and intense. Nothing had ever felt like this before; you never wanted this to end. Jisung scanned you again, looking up and down one more time before seizing the hem of his shirt, ripping it over his head. You gasped, hands immediately clamping onto him as you leaned forward, reattaching your lips to his.

Above everything, Jisung’s lips felt the best. This symbolized so many times, conscious and unconscious, did you think about how they would feel. What they would taste like. How other girls thought Jisung’s lips tasted and felt like. Jisung smiled as he pulled away, the devilishly handsome smile on his face as he leaned into your ear, “sit next to me baby.” 

It seemed that the only thing you could do was be obedient to Jisung. His orders were like music to your ears. In your friendship dynamic, you tended to be the more domineering one. Making decisions for Jisung, whereas he was the more nonchalant friend. Always happy to go with the flow, as long as he was with you. This time, may things were different.

Jisung sat in the same place with his legs spread. Leaning over, he grabbed you by the thigh closest to him, fingers dancing across the skin on the inside of your thigh as his lips turned upward again. All of a sudden you felt nervous. Watching your best friend ogle you was a strange feeling. Jisung immediately noticed your energy shift.

“Y/n.”

“Yeah,” your eyes widened, looking directly at him.

“You okay baby?”

“Yeah? Yeah! Sorry, let me have another puff.”

Jisung saw you grab the joint and the lighter again, bringing to your lips before he reached for your wrist, pushing the objects away, forcing your attention to be on him only.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“No,” you interjected, bringing the material and lighting the tip once more, “I fucking want you. I just zoned out for a second.”

You pressed a kiss to his lips, followed by his cheek, back of the ear and down to his neck, cascading hisdown to the middle of his chest. Jisung giggled at the feeling, the tickling sensation emitting fire throughout his body. He returned the favor, placing a kiss atop of your breast before he reached for his own joint, handing you the lighter, “Will you do me the honors?”

“Fuck yes I will,” you marvelled at his enthusiasm, lighting up the joint without a hesitation, watching him sit back and close his eyes, taking everything in. You did the same, wanting to embrace that feeling that resulted in you buying this in the first place. 

It was as if the last puff recharged your best friend, his eyes reopening, that dark, lustful caste creeping back into them as he reached for you, pushing your leg out of the way, hand clasping your inner thigh. There was no sign of his movement stopping, fingers already pushing your folds across, almost as if they were in the way completely. A sharp gasp fell from your lips the moment his middle finger touched your clit, the sensation overwhelming immense as he began to move in circular motions. Jisung’s touch was gentle, in reality, he was barely applying any pressure. But in this moment, the pleasure you were deriving from his fingers was tenfold. Eyelids were fluttering, it felt like you could barely keep up with him. It wasn’t until you saw Jisung’s cock twitch out of the corner of your eye that you knew what you had to do. 

It was time for your hand to snake around his body, but, in contrast to Jisung, you did not want to wait. There was no time to tease; you were simply too desperate. Fingertips found his weak spot fast, dexterity sloppy wrapped around your best friend once again as you matched the pace he found on you. It was slow, sensual, anything to build the pressure between your thighs, and between his. 

“Y/n, baby,” he whined, a deep groan following, “Your hands are my favorite part of you right now.”

A seductive chuckle escaped your lips, “Your hands are my favorite part of you right now too Sungie.”

“Fuck I love it when you call me that with your voice all fucked up and groggy.”

“Sungie baby, I always call you that,” you paused, bringing short circuiting from the finger that Jisung slipped inside of you, “what’s so d-different about it now.”

“You always turn me on Y/n,” Jisung grogged back, “always,” he smiled, pausing again, “especially right now.”

A small heat came to your cheeks, hips gently dragging across his fingers. God, was this what heaven felt like? Your hand picked up in speed, Jisung reacted immediately with a gentle whine. The noises he made to you were like an orchestra playing its grand piece. Another side of Jisung that you had not seen, but were mesmerized by. It was a whole new world. A whole new territory of risk that the two of you had decided to explore. However, all rational and logical decisions were thrown out the window a very long time ago. Jisung wrapped his free hand around your breast, clasping onto your nipple as he entered another finger into you, index and middle finger picking up their pace, adding the squelching sound of your wetness as another sound that filled your tiny dorm room. Dorm room. You forget momentarily how thin the walls were; but who gives a fuck? It’s not like Jisung was going to hear. He was the one that was making you moan over and over anyway.

“Sungie,” you whimpered, “feels so good.”

“Say my name like that again.”

“Sungie.”

“Fuck,” he growled, pushing deeper into your walls, “your pussies screaming for me.”

“It’s your pussy,” you breathed, the tremors of your release beginning to rumble, “no one has ever turned me on this much Sungie.”

Your best friend had a smirk of approval, curling the tip of his two fingers inside of you. A small shriek escaped your lips, hand flailing from his cock as your jaw dropped at once. Hips bucked up and off the couch, a sinister chuckle coming from Jisung as he watched your hips squirm for him. He was possessed by the way your body reacted to him, reacted to his touch, he did not pay two minds to the throbbing sensation between his legs. All he could see was that you were slowly losing it. 

You did not care. You were waiting close and closer, deeper and deeper, hitting a spot that has never been touched in your life. Your mouth was getting bigger, hips moving with less and less rhythm. There was an impending feeling that you knew was going to happen, it was only a matter of seconds. 

“Sungie I’m gonna-”

“I know baby,” Jisung cooed, eyes fixated on your face, pressing a gentle kiss to your jawline, “cum for me.”

A borderline scream left your lips when your hips plowed to the couch, an rupture of pleasure cascaded of the entirety of your body, legs shaking and howling in pain like they never had before. Your chest was breathing heavy, deep in unison with Jisung’s as he removed his fingers, your pussy aching from the lack of fullness. Jisung leaned over, pressing a kiss to your neck in several places before your lips. He waited until your eyelids stopped fluttering shut for you to see him bring those sinful digits to his mouth, and suck on them, hard, a deep groan leaving his lips at the taste. 

“Fuck you taste good,” he winked, causing both of you to start giggling. 

It did not take long for your eyes to travel to his still very hard cock. Your hands traveled immediately, both encompassing the majority of him before you began pumping, hard. To anyone with an outside view, this was not classy sex. It was sloppy, but the two of you were so high that it was perceived the former way. Jisung needed your touch, you needed to touch him. Jisung wasn’t far off either, and the fact that you were looking at him with vigor, with desire was bringing him closer and closer to the edge. 

“Y/n slow down, I’m gonna cum too quick.”

“No such thing,” you purred, adding your tongue into the mix, flicking your tongue along the slit of his tip.. You leaned over, Jisung resting his hands across your ass as you coaxed one moan after out of him. Jisung’s head snapped back, unable to comply with the amount of pressure he was feeling. In a similar fashion to you, his hips began to buck, tip slipping into your mouth as his sounds got louder, his pleading becoming stronger.

“Y/n fuck, s-shit I’m gonna cum, Y/n I’m gonna cum.”

Jisung’s voice became whiny, the tone music to your ears as you moved your mouth away from his length, bringing your lips to the crook of his neck and collarbone, gently nipping on the soft spot on his skin as his muscles coiled underneath your body, cock getting harder under his hands as he hit his peak. Ropes and ropes of him squirted across his stomach, a deep groan, one sounding of relief bursting from his lips as he gripped your wrist, chuckling to stop you from a sensory overload.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, regaining his compures as he grabbed you by the neck, pulling you into a deep, deep kiss. The pressure on your neck was comforting, a smile turning on your lips as you pulled away. 

“Wow,” Jisung gasped, “That was,”

“What took you so long?”

“Y/n, shut up,” Jisung spat, the fatigue hitting him suddenly, “woah, I’m fucking exhausted.”

“I tend to have that effect on people,” you smirked, the room erupted in laughter as Jisung laid back on the couch, pulling you into him as the two of you looked at the ceiling. Your substance affected mind was starting to wear off, causing your exhaustion tenfold. The two of you drifted off to sleep almost immediately. 

“When I wake up, you're gonna get it,” Jisung mumbled, but you were already asleep. 

Depending on how you felt when you woke up, that would change everything.

[xxladymjxx]

💋𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓮💋

Pairings: Worst Wolverine! Logan Howlet x Human! Fem! Reader

Summary: Logan DEMANDS you sit on his face

Warnings: 18+ MDNI Face sitting, unprotected p and v sex (wrap it up y'all), language, pet names (babydoll, Princess, sweetheart, babygirl), romantic fluff at the end, lmk if I missed anything

Wc: 1.7k

A/N: Thank you @xxbimbobunnyxx, @melodymunson, and @munson-blurbs for beta reading! 🫶🏽 REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED Also divider made by me 😄

Sign here by @/cafekitsune 👇🏽

“Sit on my face.” Logan abruptly states as you both enter your apartment next to his roommates place.

This took you by such surprise that you nearly gave yourself whiplash turning to face him.

“What?”

Logan removes his black Deadpool T-shirt to much of his reluctance, got as a ‘welcome to the family’ gift by Wade himself, along with a pair of beige trousers which he hastily discarded, leaving himself in a pair of tight briefs, an obvious tent in the middle.

Climbing into your queen size bed, proping himself up on his elbow, he beckons you closer with his index finger, “I want to fuck your cunt with my tongue, taste your nectar from the source. Let me lose myself in your pussy, baby.” It sounded like a plea but you knew better; it was a demand, the words in your ears travel down to your core creating more arousal, dripping from your cunt to your panties.

You needed no further convincing, shredding your clothes off as quickly as possible, stumbling a little bit making The Wolverine chuckle. You're bare minus for your matching bra and panties, Logan's gaze at you is as though he's viewing some sort of angel or ethereal creature not of this world.

“Logan,” you crawl from the foot of the bed to the large man lying before you, sporting a grin on his handsome face, “What do you want me to do?” You question, batting your eyelashes, knowing fully well what he wants from you. His eyes darken from lust and irritation.

Logan harshly grabs your right wrist, peering deeply into your irises, “Sit. On. My. Fucking. Face.” He threatened you like he was about to kill you, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your panties.

“Yes, sir.” You squeak out, your left hand reaching to the waistband of your panties but Logan stops you, releasing your right wrist.

“Don't bother.” He says, lifting you up by your hips and onto his ravenous mouth. Using his teeth he bites the waistband with his sharp canines and effectively rips your panties in two, destroying the delicate pair and tossing them to the floor,

“Logan! I love this set! Why wou–” your words were cut off by Logan pressing his face into your pussy, lapping at your folds like this would be the final time he'd taste you.

“Logan shit!” You moan, grabbing a fistful of his brown hair, careful not to hurt him (like you could).

Growling into your cunt he begins his assault on your clit, sucking the delicate bud into his mouth his face moves side to side creating more friction. Your moans are like a siren's song to him, only encouraging him to please you more.

“Oooh, Logan FUCK!” You scream, the pleasure being almost blinding, you have no idea what brought this on suddenly but you weren't complaining.

“That's right, baby girl, let me fuck you like the absolute goddess you are.”

You were extremely flattered, Logan has never said anything like that to you before. Even though you were, for the most part, in control, you still remembered your manners, “Thank you, Logan.”

“You're welcome, babydoll.” Sending you a wink he dives back into your folds, licking, slurping, and sucking your pussy like this was his lifeline.

And you were loving every second, Logan knew exactly the amount of pressure to use on your body to make you go wild. Unhooking your bra you toss it on the floor, grabbing your breasts you twist and tug at your sensitive nipples, “Oh– SHIT!” your voice went up several octaves, the pleasure being intense.

Logan removes himself from your clit and switches to your cunt. Making his tongue spear-like he stabs your cunt repeatedly, fucking you with it, not hiding his own groans.

“Fuck! This pussy’s divine!” Logan groans as he continues to tongue fuck your pussy.

“L-Logan,” you moan as you rock your hips gently, wanting to feel as much of him as you could.

Logan follows your movements with synchrony, his thumb giving your clit harsh circular rubs, knowing this will put you over the edge.

Like clockwork you shout, “Logan! I'm gonna cum! Please don't stop!” Hearing your sweet voice in such ecstasy nearly made him cum.

Murmuring into your pussy he says, “I won't, babydoll.” He continues his ministrations with more intensity, until finally you cum.

“Fuccck! LOGAN!” You scream, reaching the peak of pleasure Logan brought you to has you trembling as your cum leaks out of your pussy.

Helping you ride out your pleasure Logan licks up the cum dripping out of your cunt while easing the intensity of his rubbing of your clit, “That's right, babygirl, you came for me, you did so good.”

The praise made your face feel like molten lava, “T-thank you, Logan,” your trembling had subsided as you fall on the opposite side of your bed to catch your breath only to be met with Logan on top of you, his briefs long gone and his cock is rock hard on his stomach.

“I'm not finished yet, princess,” Logan grins as he pumps his cock a few times, “spread your legs.” He ordered.

Opening your legs in succession, you invite him in, “Please, fuck me Logan.” You beg.

“Princess, I'm going to destroy you,” that was a promise, with a serious glint in his eyes he was going to fill you with so much pleasure you'll damn near go unconscious.

Smirking at Logan's declaration you say, “Do it,” you want him to ravage you like the animal you know he can be.

Logan harshly pushes his cock into your entrance, not stopping to let you adjust until he was fully sheathed at the hilt inside you, “Shit, baby girl! So tight, fuck!” He hissed between his teeth, throwing his head back.

“Lo-gan, sh-it!” You stutter, the fullness of his cock already making you dizzy,

Rocking his hips back and forth, he was fucking you with reckless abandon, the bars of the canopy above your bed banged against the wall behind it. His large cock so deep inside your walls you felt as though he could quite literally split you in half, and you would have a fucked out, blissful expression on your face while he's doing it.

You're brought back to reality with Logan lightly tapping your face, “Baby! You okay?!” He halted his movements, concern etched in his voice.

Opening your eyes that you didn't know were closed (you were that cock drunk already) you face the panting Wolverine, a sheen of sweat formed on his perfectly sculpted body, “‘M fine, I'm okay, Logan,” you hope this reassurance will be enough for him to continue destroying you. He leans down further, folding your legs to your chest making sure he is looking you in your eyes.

“You sure?” He asks, his hazel eyes swim with concern for you, one of the many great things about Logan is that he'll always make sure you can take the rough fucking he gives you.

Hardening your resolve you respond, “I can keep going,” reaching out to touch his face. You kiss him which he hastily returns resuming his harsh thrusts, groaning into your mouth.

“Fuckin’ squeezing me, baby girl!”

He spoke against your ear, biting and kissing your neck hard enough to leave marks. Honestly, Logan is crazy about you; madly in love with you. You make his being a mutant bearable, easing his trauma like a healing balm.

Hell, being on top of you is therapy for him, his hard cock deep inside your fluttering pussy feels like heaven, “I love you, baby girl! Fuck!” He drawled out the ‘fuck’, the pleasure overtaking his heightened senses.

“I love you too, Logan!” Even in your cock drunk state you could still tell your lover how much he means to you. Warmth spreads all over your body like a cane field in a high wind until you utter, “Logan, I'm gonna cum again!” Your toes curl, Logan hitting your G-spot with immaculate precision. Reaching down you start to rub your clit until a larger hand gently nudges yours away.

“I’ll play with your clit, baby. Just cum, I'm right behind you!” with that, Logan's thumb rubs your clit in tandem with his thrusting inside you quickens, wanting to bring to your orgasm as quickly as he can.

Moan after moan falls unabashedly from your lips until they become more high pitched and you announce your climax, “I'm cumming!” you release your juices all over Logan's already drenched cock.

“That's right, baby! Soak my cock and balls! Fuck I'm right there too!” In two or three thrusts, Logan spills his seed inside you, collapsing on top of you but making sure he doesn't squish you.

Panting and catching his breath, Logan peers into your blissed out face, your eyes opening to meet his, “You okay baby?” He asks softly, kindness radiates off his voice.

“Yeah,” your voice is timid, almost embarrassed like you'd just lost your virginity. But Logan has that effect on you, feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush on a big, strong man.

Logan pulls out of you making you wince, “Sorry,” he said

“‘S okay, don't apologize,” you yawn, feeling sleepy.

“Baby,” Logan's large hand cups your cheek, turning your face to look at him, his eyes shining with love, “will you marry me?”

The question threw you off completely, but the answer you knew in an instant, “Yes, Logan, I will be your wife.” you grin at your fiancé, happiness blossoming inside of your heart.

“Thank you,” he kisses you, love, adoration, and passion for you unspoken but spoken in the kiss, “tomorrow we'll go ring shopping, anything you want,”

You shake your head, “I don't need a ring, all I need is you, Logan,”

Logan yawned, sleep already wanting to overtake him. Kissing your forehead he covers you both in your bed sheets, “We'll talk about it in the morning, for now, let's sleep.”

“You don't have to tell me twice,” you giggle, closing your eyes and cuddling against your future husband, “goodnight my fiancé,”

Logan chuckles deeply, “Goodnight my fiancée,”

Both of you fall asleep each in the arms of the one you love most with the promise of tomorrow overlooking the horizon.

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[engeorged]

The Bear and the Mountain

My life has always been defined by achievement. I sailed through university, completing a master’s degree in less than six months. I was confident in my intelligence and my looks—black hair, green eyes, and a constant carefully trimmed stubble that suited me. People often called me attractive, and I believed them, but I tried not to let it turn into arrogance. I just knew I had what it took to succeed.

After sailing through university, (I know I sound douchey but I’m just stating the facts) I launched a startup that took off almost immediately. In a few short years, I’d built it up and sold it for an eight-figure sum. I should have felt on top of the world, but instead, I felt empty. I had achieved everything I set out to do by the age of 27, yet something was missing. My life was a series of successes, but none of them brought me any meaning or satisfaction. Life was just a bit to easy.

In search of meaning, I tried everything. I spent time in Buddhist retreat lodges, seeking enlightenment through meditation. I pushed myself to the limits with extreme sports, hoping the adrenaline would fill the void. I even subjected myself to the intensity of sweat lodges, enduring the heat and discomfort in the hope of a breakthrough. Nothing worked. I was left more frustrated than ever.

Eventually, I decided to take a different approach—one that involved solitude and nature. I planned a solo trek through one of the most remote mountain ranges in the U.S., thinking that maybe the isolation would force me to confront whatever was missing in my life. The trek was challenging, but I was used to pushing myself. That was, until the seventh day, when everything changed. I was faced with a ravine and I definitely should have known better, but halfway up I slipped on a loose rock and tumbled to the bottom, breaking my leg badly and covering myself in deep cuts. I tried to move but I was trapped. I tried calling for help but I was literally in the arse end of nowhere. Stranded, in pain, and utterly alone, I realised just how precarious my situation had become.

After nearly a day of lying helpless, my hope dwindling with each passing hour, I heard heavy footsteps. Relief washed over me as a figure emerged from the dense forest. He was tall, powerfully built, and had a thick, bushy beard. There was something imposing about him, yet his presence calmed me. He introduced himself as Bear, and despite my dire circumstances, I couldn’t help but notice that beneath the wild exterior, he was remarkably handsome. His eyes, sharp and clear, held a depth that suggested he understood far more than he let on.

Bear turns out to be a man of very few words and after a few minutes of observing the situation and without a word, he lifted me onto his back as if I weighed nothing and began to carry me through the forest. I’m not gonna lie, it was actually pretty hot! The guy smelt so good too.

We arrived at his cabin, a beautiful structure powered by wind turbines and surrounded by the raw beauty of nature. Inside, the cabin was cozy and welcoming, filled with handmade furniture and intricate wood carvings. Bear set me down on a bed, and the exhaustion from the pain and stress overtook me; I passed out almost immediately.

When I woke, the first thing I noticed was the room. It was rustic yet comfortable, with wooden beams running across the ceiling and a large stone fireplace on one wall. Soft, natural light filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow over everything. The bed I lay in was firm but comfortable, and the smell of pine filled the air. But what truly stunned me was my leg. It was expertly set in a splint, immobilized with a level of precision that was astounding. My head and arms, too, had been carefully treated, stitched up with surgical skill. I traced the stitches on my head and arms with my fingers, marvelling at how neat they were. There was more to Bear than he was letting on.

Bear had not only saved my life but had done so with an expertise I hadn’t expected. The man who appeared so rugged and wild had the hands of a surgeon. I wanted to thank him, to ask him how he’d learned these skills, but when I looked around, Bear was nowhere to be found. Instead, next to the bed, there was a tray filled with food—a hearty stew, freshly baked bread, and fruits. My stomach growled, and though I was puzzled by Bear’s absence, I couldn’t resist the urge to eat.

As I ate, I couldn’t help but feel content. The food was incredible—rich, flavourful, and comforting in a way I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Each bite seemed to melt away the tension I’d been carrying. The bread was warm and soft, perfect for soaking up the thick stew. The fruits were sweet and refreshing, a perfect complement to the savoury dishes.

Yet, as I savored the meal, something nagged at me. It was strange that Bear had disappeared so suddenly. I hadn’t heard him leave, and there was no indication of where he might have gone. Still, the cabin was secure, and the food brought me so much comfort that I pushed the thought aside. I was too content, too satisfied to worry about where Bear had gone or why he hadn’t said anything.

As the last bite of food settled in my stomach, a wave of exhaustion washed over me, heavier than anything I'd felt in days. The warmth of the cabin, combined with the fullness in my belly, made my eyelids droop uncontrollably. I didn’t fight it; the soft bed beneath me was too inviting. Within moments, I drifted off, my mind lulled into a deep sleep by the rhythmic crackling of the fire.

When I awoke, the room was bathed in the soft light of early evening, and the fire had been stoked back to life. I blinked a few times, trying to shake off the lingering grogginess. It took a moment for my eyes to focus, but when they did, I saw him��Bear, standing near the foot of the bed, a tray of food in his hands. His presence, so solid and quiet, filled the space, and I felt a strange mix of relief and unease.

“Feeling better?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, almost like the sound of distant thunder. He set the tray on the small table beside the bed. The smell of warm, hearty food wafted up to me, making my stomach gurgle in anticipation, despite the fact that I had eaten only hours before.

“Yeah… a bit,” I replied, still groggy but slowly coming back to full awareness. I shifted slightly, wincing at the dull ache in my leg. It was then that I noticed Bear's gaze was softer than before, though just as unreadable. He was watching me closely, assessing my condition.

“I’ve been thinking,” Bear began, his tone even, as if he were discussing the weather. “With the way things are right now—snow, ice, unpredictable winds—there’s no safe way to get you out of here for at least six weeks, maybe more. The mountain’s too dangerous to navigate, even for me.”

His words hung in the air, and I felt a knot of anxiety tighten in my chest. Six weeks? I hadn’t even considered the possibility that I’d be here that long. But before I could react, Bear continued, his voice calm and reassuring.

“I know it’s not what you expected, but I’m happy for you to stay here with me until it’s safe to leave. You’ll be well taken care of, I promise.”

There was a certainty in his voice that made it hard to argue. Despite the odd circumstances and the isolation, something about Bear’s offer brought me a strange sense of comfort. The idea of staying here, under his care, didn’t seem so bad—especially after everything I’d been through so far. My leg throbbed again, a reminder of how helpless I was in this situation. Maybe, just maybe, staying wasn’t the worst option.

I glanced at the tray of food he’d brought—another generous helping, more than I thought I could manage. But the smell was intoxicating, and I found myself reaching for the fork without thinking.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, accepting both the food and the offer with a mix of apprehension and gratitude.

Bear gave a small nod, then turned to tend to the fire, his broad back facing me as he stoked the flames. I couldn’t see his face, but something in his posture told me he was at ease with the arrangement, perhaps even a little pleased. As I took the first bite of the new meal, I couldn’t help but wonder what the next six weeks would bring.

The days blended together as I continued to recover. Bear’s presence was elusive—he was rarely around when I was awake, but every time I stirred, there was more food waiting for me. It became a routine of sorts: I’d wake up to find a fresh meal by my bed, eat my fill, and drift back to sleep. I began to wonder if I was imagining him, but the expertly prepared food and the meticulous care I received were real enough.

Over time, I started noticing changes in my body. At first, it was subtle—my clothes began to feel snug, especially around the waist. I told myself it was just temporary, a result of being bedridden and inactive. But as the days passed, the changes became more apparent. My belly, once flat and firm, was now rounding out, pressing against the fabric of my shirt. It felt strange, yet I tried to convince myself that it was nothing to worry about. After all, I was healing, and once I was back on my feet, everything would return to normal.

Despite these thoughts, I couldn’t deny the pleasure I found in the food. Each meal was a masterpiece—perfectly seasoned meats, creamy potatoes, and desserts that were impossible to resist. I found myself looking forward to the meals, eagerly anticipating the next dish that would appear beside my bed. My appetite grew with each passing day, and with it, my belly grew too.

One evening, after another large meal, I decided to investigate. I ran my hands over my stomach, feeling the firmness of my belly beneath my skin. It was rounder, fuller than it had ever been before. The sensation was both unsettling and oddly comforting. I couldn’t deny that I was putting on weight, but I wasn’t ready to fully accept it either. It was easier to tell myself that it was just temporary, that it was a side effect of healing, and that soon I’d be back to my old self.

But deep down, I knew something was changing. The combination of solitude, indulgence, and the strange, almost mystical care I was receiving from Bear had set me on a different path—one that I wasn’t sure I was ready to confront just yet.

I woke up one morning feeling strangely energised. The routine of waking, eating, and sleeping had begun to feel monotonous, but today something was different. As I sat up in bed, I noticed something new at the foot of it—crutches. Handmade, with sturdy wood and comfortable grips, they were unmistakably Bear’s work. The craftsmanship was remarkable, each detail carefully considered, and I realised that Bear must have spent considerable time making them for me. I looked at the handles and saw a small family of carved bears catching tiny wooden salmon jumping from the curves of the crutches.

Excited by the prospect of moving around on my own again, I carefully swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My leg still ached, but the splint held firm, and with some effort, I managed to stand using the crutches. It felt good to be upright again, to be able to explore beyond the confines of the bed.

The cabin, as I saw it for the first time beyond my bed, was a work of art. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings and paintings, depicting scenes of wildlife and nature. The furniture, all handcrafted, exuded warmth and comfort. There were shelves lined with books, maps, and various trinkets that spoke of a life lived in harmony with the wilderness. The fireplace crackled softly, filling the room with a gentle warmth.

As I hobbled around, taking in the surroundings, I couldn’t help but notice how my body felt heavier, more cumbersome. My belly, once flat and toned, now hung over the waistband of my pants, a soft and unfamiliar weight. I caught my reflection in a window and was startled by the sight. My midsection had undeniably thickened, the result of a week of indulgent eating and inactivity. The roundness of my stomach was undeniable, pressing against the fabric of my shirt in a way that felt foreign and uncomfortable.

I tried to push the realization aside, telling myself it was just temporary. But there was no denying the evidence. The steady supply of rich, hearty food had left its mark on me. I felt a pang of discomfort, not just physically but emotionally. I was a man who had always been in control, and now, control seemed to be slipping away.

As I explored the cabin, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. It was a strange sensation, as though Bear was there, observing me, but I couldn’t see him. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I turned to look around, but the cabin appeared empty. Still, the feeling persisted, a silent presence that was both comforting and unnerving.

Eventually, I made my way to the kitchen. It was as beautifully crafted as the rest of the cabin, with a large wooden table at its center. To my surprise, Bear was there, standing by the stove. His back was to me, but I could see the muscles in his broad shoulders working as he stirred something in a pot. The aroma that filled the room was mouthwatering, a rich blend of spices and roasting meat.

This was the only the fourth time I’d seen Bear since he rescued me. He was still the same imposing figure, tall and powerful, his beard thick and wild. But there was a gentleness in the way he moved, a careful precision as he prepared the meal. I watched him for a few moments, marveling at how effortlessly he commanded the space, how naturally he seemed to belong here.

Bear turned slightly, and for the briefest moment, our eyes met. There was something in his gaze that I couldn’t quite place—an intensity, a quiet watchfulness. He nodded toward the table, indicating that I should sit. I obeyed, lowering myself into one of the chairs, the crutches propped beside me.

Bear brought the food to the table—a feast that made my mouth water just by looking at it. There were roasted vegetables, a thick stew brimming with chunks of meat, and freshly baked bread that was still warm from the oven. He served me generously, filling my plate to the brim, before sitting down across from me.

We ate together in silence, the only sound the clinking of cutlery against plates. The food was, as always, incredible. Each bite was a burst of flavor, and despite my earlier discomfort about my weight, I found myself eating with gusto. The food was just too good to resist.

As we ate, I felt Bear’s eyes on me, watching my every move. It was unsettling at first, but as the meal progressed, I began to feel something else—an unspoken connection between us. It was as if Bear was studying me, understanding me in ways that I hadn’t even begun to understand myself. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was charged, filled with an unspoken bond that was slowly forming between us.

By the time the meal was over, I was full to the point of bursting. My belly, already swollen, now pressed even more insistently against my shirt, but I couldn’t bring myself to regret the meal. Bear cleared the dishes with the same quiet efficiency, and as he worked, I realized that my feelings toward him were shifting. There was more to this man than I had initially thought, and I was beginning to feel drawn to him in ways I hadn’t expected.

After the meal, Bear disappeared into another room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sat there, feeling the weight of the food in my stomach and the weight of the growing connection between us. Something was happening here, something I didn’t fully understand yet, but I knew it was important.

As I made my way back to bed, my belly heavy and full, I couldn’t help but wonder what the next days would bring. The cabin had become more than just a place of recovery—it was becoming a place of transformation. And Bear, the enigmatic man who had saved me, was at the centre of it all.

The days turned into weeks, and the cabin, once a place of temporary refuge, became my entire world. The outside world seemed distant, irrelevant, as I settled into this new rhythm of life. My leg was healing slowly, and with Bear’s crutches, I could move around more freely, though I still spent much of my time resting. But it wasn’t just my leg that was changing; my body was transforming in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

Each morning, I’d wake up to the smell of something delicious wafting through the cabin. Bear’s cooking was exceptional, and I found myself eagerly anticipating each meal. There was always a generous spread—thick, savory stews, roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and rich, decadent desserts. The food was comfort itself, warm and filling, and I couldn’t help but indulge.

As I ate, I became increasingly aware of my body’s changes. My once-flat stomach had now grown round and heavy, a firm dome that swelled more with each meal. My shirts, which had fit me perfectly when I first arrived, were now stretched tight across my midsection, riding up to reveal a line of soft hair trailing down to my belly button. The waistband of my pants dug into my sides, leaving red marks on my skin, but still, I ate. I told myself it was just temporary, that I’d shed the weight once I was able to be more active, but deep down, I knew I was lying to myself.

I couldn’t deny the growing attraction I felt toward Bear. It was an attraction born not just from his rugged good looks or his self-sufficiency, but from something deeper, something about the way he carried himself. Bear was a man of few words, but his presence was commanding. There was an intensity to him, a quiet strength that I found irresistibly compelling. I began to crave his approval, his attention, though he never said much.

Bear watched me closely during our meals, his gaze intense and unreadable. At first, his silence made me uneasy, but as time went on, I began to interpret it as a form of attention, a sign that he was observing me, even if he wasn’t speaking. I found myself wanting to impress him, to catch his eye in some way. I started to eat more, pushing myself to finish every last bite, hoping that he would notice.

In those moments, I felt a strange satisfaction as my belly grew fuller and rounder. There was something about Bear’s quiet attention that made me want to show off, to prove something to him, though I wasn’t entirely sure what. I’d stretch after a meal, subtly arching my back to accentuate the curve of my stomach, hoping he’d see how much I had eaten, how much I had grown.

It became a game of sorts—an unspoken challenge between us. I’d eat until I was uncomfortably full, then stretch or shift in my chair, allowing my shirt to ride up and expose my swollen belly. Each time I did, I could feel Bear’s eyes on me, though he never commented. The tension between us grew with each passing day, and I found myself increasingly drawn to him, eager to elicit a reaction, even if it was just a lingering glance.

One evening, after several weeks of this routine, Bear prepared an especially large feast. The table was laden with food—platters of roasted poultry, glazed hams, bowls of mashed sweet potatoes swimming in gravy, freshly baked rolls, and a massive apple pie that filled the cabin with its sweet, spiced aroma. I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement as I sat down, the sheer amount of food both daunting and thrilling.

As we began to eat, I could feel Bear’s eyes on me, watching as I loaded my plate with more food than I thought I could handle. I dug in with enthusiasm, the flavors rich and satisfying. The chicken was tender and juicy, the potatoes smooth and buttery, and the rolls practically melted in my mouth. I ate and ate, determined to finish everything on my plate and then some.

With each bite, my belly expanded, pressing harder against the confines of my clothes. I could feel the tightness increasing, the fabric straining as I continued to eat. I was full—painfully so—but I kept going, motivated by the silent presence of Bear across the table. I wanted him to see how much I could eat, how much I could take in, how much I was willing to grow for him.

When I finally couldn’t eat another bite, I leaned back in my chair, my stomach round and bloated, pressing up against the edge of the table. My shirt had ridden up completely, exposing the full expanse of my swollen, hairy belly. I stretched my arms overhead, feigning a casual movement, but really I wanted Bear to see—to take notice of the way my belly jutted out, heavy and full.

Bear’s eyes were on me, his gaze intense as ever. He didn’t say a word, but the way he looked at me, I knew he was watching, taking in every detail. I held his gaze for a moment, my heart pounding, then slowly lowered my arms and settled back into my seat, feeling the weight of my bloated belly resting on my thighs.

Bear remained silent, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that made me think he understood. He got up slowly, clearing the table as he always did, and though we didn’t speak, I felt as if something had shifted between us—an unspoken understanding that this was about more than just food.

As I made my way back to bed that night, my belly aching from the sheer volume of food, I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction. I had pushed myself to the limit, and though Bear hadn’t said anything, I knew he had noticed. That silent connection, the way he watched without speaking, was enough to keep me going, to keep me wanting more.

A few days later and after a particularly heavy lunch, I felt the familiar pull of sleep. My belly was stuffed to capacity, swollen and heavy from yet another feast, and I couldn’t resist the lure of an afternoon nap. I made my way back to bed, sinking into the soft mattress, my body surrendering to the weight of the meal and the warmth of the cabin. As I drifted off, the last thing I thought about was Bear—his quiet presence, his intense gaze, and the way he watched over me without saying a word.

I woke up a few hours later, the sun hanging lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the room. My stomach still felt heavy, the remnants of the meal sitting comfortably in my gut. I stretched slowly, wincing slightly at the tightness in my midsection, before sitting up and realizing that the cabin was unusually quiet. Normally, I would have heard Bear moving around, cooking or working on something. But today, there was nothing—just the sound of the wind outside and the crackling of the fire.

Curious, I decided to get up and look for him. Using the crutches Bear had made for me, I carefully made my way down the stairs and into the main room, but there was no sign of him. The kitchen was empty, the stove cold. It was strange—I had grown so accustomed to his presence, to the idea that he was always somewhere nearby, that his absence felt almost unsettling.

I wandered around the cabin, checking the other rooms, but still, there was no sign of Bear. Finally, I decided to venture outside. The late afternoon sun bathed the clearing in a warm, golden light, the air crisp and fresh. I felt a slight chill as I stepped out onto the porch, the cool breeze brushing through the holes made by the buttons on my shirt as my protruding stomach pushed them out.

That’s when I saw him.

Bear was standing in the clearing, a few yards away from the cabin, chopping wood. He had taken his plaid shirt off leaving his torso fully exposed and I was not disappointed. His broad, muscular back glistened with a thin sheen of sweat that caught the sunlight. His powerful arms, thick with muscle, moved with precision as he swung the axe, the blade slicing cleanly through the logs with effortless power. Each movement was fluid, controlled—his body a study in strength and grace.

I stood there, transfixed by the sight of him. Bear was a man of imposing size, and seeing him like this, shirtless and in his element, made him seem even more formidable. His chest was broad and thick, covered in a mat of dark hair that trailed down to his stomach, which was flat and defined, a stark contrast to my own soft, rounded belly. His biceps bulged with each swing, his forearms corded with veins as he gripped the axe handle.

His entire physique was the embodiment of raw, primal strength—his torso a canvas of hard muscle, honed by years of living off the land, working with his hands, and surviving in the wilderness. There was no doubt that this was a man who had mastered his environment, who thrived in the harshest conditions. His beard, thick and wild, only added to the ruggedness of his appearance, framing his strong jaw and emphasizing the sharpness of his features.

But it wasn’t just his physical power that captivated me; it was the way he moved, the way he seemed so utterly in control of everything around him. There was a quiet intensity in his movements, a confidence that came from knowing his own strength. It was mesmerizing to watch.

As I stood there, watching him work, I felt a wave of emotions wash over me. There was admiration, certainly—how could anyone not admire such a powerful figure? But there was something more, something deeper. I was drawn to him in a way I hadn’t expected, an attraction that went beyond the physical. It was the combination of his strength, his self-sufficiency, and the quiet way he cared for me, even as he kept his distance.

Bear hadn’t noticed me yet, and for a moment, I considered going back inside, letting him continue his work undisturbed. But something kept me rooted to the spot, a need to stay, to watch, to be near him. I took a few steps forward, careful to be quiet, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.

As I moved closer, I could see the details more clearly—the way his muscles tensed and relaxed with each swing, the droplets of sweat that slid down his chest, the rise and fall of his breath. There was something almost hypnotic about the rhythm of his movements, a primal energy that seemed to pulse in the air between us.

Finally, as if sensing my presence, Bear paused in his work. He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, neither of us moved. The world seemed to hold its breath, the only sound the rustle of leaves in the wind. His gaze was intense, penetrating, as if he could see right through me, straight to the thoughts and feelings I tried so hard to keep hidden.

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny. My shirt was stretched tight across my belly, the fabric straining to contain the fullness that had developed over the past weeks. Compared to Bear, I felt soft, weak, but the way he looked at me made it clear that he saw more than just my physical appearance.

Bear didn’t say anything—he never did—but there was something in his eyes, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection that had been growing between us. He nodded once, a small gesture, before turning back to his work. I watched as he resumed chopping wood, the moment passing, but the feelings it stirred in me lingering long after.

I stood there for a while longer, letting the sight of him burn into my memory, before finally turning to go back inside. As I walked back to the cabin, my heart was pounding in my chest, a mixture of excitement and something else—something deeper, more profound, that I wasn’t quite ready to name.

The following morning, light filtered softly through the cabin windows, casting a golden glow over everything. I had become accustomed to waking up this way—slowly, with the warmth of the fire in the hearth and the smell of breakfast already beginning to waft from the kitchen. But today, something was different. There was a heaviness in the air, a tension I couldn’t quite place. Bear had been quiet, more so than usual, and as I made my way downstairs on my crutches, I found him standing by the door, staring out into the clearing.

I hesitated, feeling a knot of unease tightening in my stomach. “Good morning,” I said softly, trying to read his expression. He didn’t turn to look at me, just kept his gaze fixed on something far in the distance.

“The weather’s changing,” Bear said finally, his voice low and rough. “Conditions will be good for travel soon. The day after tomorrow, I can take you back down the mountain.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I knew this day would come, but hearing it out loud felt like the ground was shifting beneath me. I had been so consumed by the strange, quiet life we had built here that I hadn’t fully considered what it would mean to leave. To go back to my old life, to a world that now felt distant and unimportant.

I forced a smile, trying to hide the turmoil I felt inside. “That’s… great,” I managed to say, though my voice sounded hollow, even to me.

Bear finally turned to look at me, his dark eyes unreadable. For a moment, I searched his face for any hint of what he might be feeling—relief, sadness, anything—but there was nothing. He was as stoic as ever, his expression giving nothing away.

“Is that what you want?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them. I immediately regretted it, feeling foolish for needing reassurance, for wanting to know if he wanted me to stay as much as I suddenly realized I wanted to.

Bear’s gaze lingered on me, his eyes glistening in the low light. But he didn’t answer, just gave a slight nod as if the decision had already been made. Then, as if the conversation hadn’t happened, he turned and went back to the kitchen, leaving me standing there, feeling lost and dismayed.

I spent the rest of the day in a fog, trying to process what was happening. The idea of leaving, of going back to a life that felt meaningless in comparison to what I had found here, filled me with a deep sense of loss. But even more than that, I was confused by Bear’s reaction. Did he want me to stay? Did he feel anything for me at all? The thought of leaving without knowing the answer gnawed at me.

That night, as I lay in bed, my mind raced. I couldn’t just leave like this, not without some sign, some acknowledgment of what had been growing between us. An idea began to form in my mind, reckless and desperate, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. If words weren’t going to get through to Bear, maybe actions would. Maybe if I pushed myself, showed him how much I was willing to do, I could finally get him to react.

I decided that the next day would be my last chance, and I would make the most of it. I would eat as much as I possibly could, more than ever before, until there was no way Bear could ignore me. Until he had to acknowledge what was happening between us.

The next morning, I woke with a sense of determination. I had a plan, and I was going to see it through, no matter what. When I made my way downstairs, Bear was already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. The smell of sizzling bacon and fresh pancakes filled the air, and my stomach rumbled in anticipation.

Bear glanced at me briefly, his face as blank as ever. I could tell he sensed something was different, but he didn’t say anything. He just placed a plate in front of me, piled high with food—eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and pancakes dripping with syrup. It was a feast in itself, more than I would normally eat in a day back home, but this was just the beginning.

I dug in, eating with more enthusiasm than I had in weeks. The food was as delicious as always, each bite rich and satisfying. I ate quickly, shoveling food into my mouth as fast as I could, determined to finish everything on my plate. My stomach started to fill up, the familiar tightness building in my midsection, but I didn’t slow down. I kept going, piling more food onto my fork, swallowing each bite with determination.

Bear didn’t say a word as I ate, but I could feel his eyes on me, watching. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed, concerned, or something else entirely, but it didn’t matter. I had committed to this, and I was going to see it through.

When I finally finished, my stomach was already distended, pressing against the waistband of my pants. But I wasn’t done. I pushed my plate forward, giving Bear a determined look.

“More,” I said, my voice firm despite the fullness in my belly.

Bear raised an eyebrow but complied without a word. He piled more food onto my plate, another helping of everything, and I started again. This time, each bite was harder to take, the food sitting heavily in my gut, but I didn’t let that stop me. I could feel my belly swelling, the fabric of my shirt stretching tight, but I kept eating, determined to show Bear just how much I could take.

When breakfast was finally over, I was stuffed beyond belief. My belly was round and bloated, pushing out so far that it felt like I could burst, but I also felt a strange sense of pride. I had done it. I had eaten more than I ever thought possible, and I wasn’t finished yet.

I spent the rest of the morning resting on the couch, letting my stomach settle, knowing that lunch would be just as big a challenge. Bear kept his distance, but I could feel his eyes on me every so often, as if he was checking to see how I was doing.

Lunch came all too quickly. This time, Bear served up a spread of sandwiches, thick slices of bread stuffed with meat, cheese, and vegetables, along with a side of crispy fries. My stomach was still heavy from breakfast, but I didn’t let that deter me. I attacked the food with the same determination, forcing myself to eat every last bite, despite the growing discomfort.

With each bite, my stomach expanded further, the tightness in my belly increasing until it was almost unbearable. I could feel my shirt riding up, exposing the swollen curve of my gut, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was eating more, showing Bear just how much I could take.

By the time dinner rolled around, I was in a daze. My stomach was so full and heavy that I could barely move, but I knew this was my last chance. Bear had outdone himself for dinner—roast boar, roasted potatoes and vegetables gravy, rolls, pies and a huge chocolate and custard brioche for dessert. The table was groaning under the weight of the food, and I knew I had to finish it all.

I ate slowly this time, savoring each bite, even as my stomach protested. I could feel every inch of my belly stretching, the skin taut and aching, but I kept going. Bear sat across from me, silent as always, but I could feel his eyes on me, watching my every move.

Finally, after what felt like hours, I finished the last bite of cake. I leaned back in my chair, my belly so full and distended that I could hardly breathe. My shirt had ridden up completely, leaving my swollen belly exposed, round and taut like a drum. I could feel the weight of it pressing down on my thighs, the skin stretched so tight that it felt like I might split open.

Bear stood up slowly, his gaze fixed on my bloated stomach. He walked around the table and stood in front of me, his expression unreadable. My heart was pounding in my chest, a mix of fear and anticipation, but I didn’t say anything. I just looked up at him, waiting.

Then, without a word, Bear reached down and placed a hand on my belly. His touch was firm but gentle, his fingers pressing into the firm, swollen flesh. I sucked in a breath, the sensation of his hand on my overstuffed stomach sending a shiver through me.

Bear didn’t speak, didn’t ask if I was okay. He simply took a piece of leftover bread, slathered with butter, and brought it to my lips. Without thinking, I opened my mouth, letting him feed me, my body responding to his command. He pushed the bread into my mouth, his fingers brushing against my lips as he did, and I chewed slowly, feeling the food settle heavily on top of everything else.

But Bear wasn’t done. He kept feeding me all the leftovers he could get his hands on, piece after piece, each one pushing me further beyond my limits. My belly was so full that I could feel it pressing against the table, the skin stretched so tight that it ached with every breath. But I kept eating, swallowing every bite he offered, my body trembling with the effort.

is eyes never left mine as he continued to feed me, each spoonful a slow, deliberate act. My belly, swollen and heavy, lay like a massive weight on my torso. I could feel every inch of it, tight and firm, my skin stretched to its limit. I shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure, but it only made me more aware of just how full I was. Yet, despite the discomfort, or maybe because of it, I found myself craving more.

Finally, when I thought I couldn’t take another bite, Bear set the spoon down. His hand moved to my belly, resting on the roundness of it, his fingers splayed across the taut skin. I inhaled sharply at the touch, feeling the warmth of his hand against the coolness of my overstretched stomach. He didn’t say anything, just traced his fingers over the curve of my belly, as if admiring his work. The sensation sent a shiver through me, a mix of pleasure and something deeper, more primal.

Without a word, he helped me to my feet, guiding me outside into the crisp night air. The sky was clear, the stars bright and endless above us. I felt the cold against my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat that radiated from my overstuffed belly. We lay down on the soft blankets he had spread out, my belly rising like a small hill between us. I could hardly move, every breath a reminder of how full I was, but I didn’t care. I was exactly where I wanted to be.

Bear settled beside me, his arm draped over my swollen stomach, his touch reassuring and solid. The night was quiet, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire inside the cabin and the slow, steady rhythm of our breathing. As we lay there under the stars, the night stretched out before us, endless and full of possibilities.

I thought back to how I had ended up here—how the search for something more had led me to this remote mountain, to this man, and ultimately, to myself. I had sought out the wilderness to challenge myself, to find meaning in my achievements and push my boundaries. But in the end, it wasn’t the extreme sports or the spiritual retreats that had given me what I was looking for. It was this—lying under the stars, my belly stuffed to the max, feeling the warmth of Bear’s body beside me.

I had found something here, something I hadn’t known I was searching for. Not just in Bear, but in the quiet, unspoken connection we shared, in the way he had cared for me, fed me, pushed me to my limits in a way I hadn’t expected. I had found a peace I didn’t know I needed, a contentment that came from letting go of control and simply being.

As the stars twinkled above us, I let out a slow, satisfied breath, feeling the weight of my belly press down against me, grounding me. I had come to the mountains looking for something, and I had found it, even if it wasn’t in the way I had imagined. And as sleep began to take hold, I realized that I wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything.

[basicallyaturtle]

never been part of a tag game, sounds really fun! tagged by dear Lanvender, @khan-crete

Do you make your bed? A freshly decrumbed, stuffed animal arranged and dirty clothes removed bed feels great. How often do I do this? We mustn't ask (like once or twice a month) that's all making the bed entails for me, I just have a fitted then normal sheet and blankets

Favorite Number? 4 4 4 4 4! I've loved four my entire life she is like a goddess to me. 2+2 2*2 2^2, divides into halves twice. can only compete with sixteen, whose status and 2^4 and 4^2 is nice, but not as symmetric. 37 and 73 have a place in my heart as the 12th and 21st primes, but not a large place compared to 4

What's your job? What do I get paid for? undergrad lab TA, what do I do? grad research in low energy nuclear physics

If you could go back to school, would you? In school technically still. Would I rewind time to experience school again? highschool no college yes. would I go back for another college degree? I could be convinced if it would be cheap and unobtrusive to my current schooling. Was always torn between physics and linguistics. I made the right choice but I always wonder what if.

Can you Parallel Park? I have done it, on the driving test, like four or five years ago. I think I could do it again, but not too confident

Do you think Aliens are real? Eh, probably in a 'the observable universe 9.3e+9 ly across, it must have happened more than once' kinda way, but not in a 'they've been feeding us tech for thousands of years or are visiting us' kinda way.

Can you drive a manual car? Never tried, hubris tell me yes, anxiety with even normal cars tells me I'd probably fuck up the transmission while trying to leave the driveway. gonna say yeag

Guilty Pleasure? I think like cheesy childhood disney live action movies?, generally I'm pretty full chested about the things I enjoy

Favorite Type of Music? yeah, hard, a lot of vocaloid, which isn't reallly a genre, a lot of edm genres from like old school monstercat, a lot of jrock by way of anime OP's of show's I've never watched then finding other songs by those artists. some rock music though that genre is also extremely expansive and I'm not sure how I'd categorize a lot of it. Generally my music consumption consists of a group of maybe five songs completely unrelated on repeat for months at a time and genre is not a huge factor in that

Do you like puzzles? twisty puzzles like rubik's cube type puzzles are really fun working, towards doing a 3x3 blindfolded but challenging, I used to do jigsaw's with my mom but over the course of a very long time because we'd get frustrated. crosswords, but I'm no good at them

Favorite Childhood Sport? Soccerrrr. Wish I'd stayed with it, but there were only a couple more years before there wasn't a league for my age group anyway, been trying to get back into it recreationally

Do you talk to yourself? I do, but as if I'm talking to someone else. I prefer not to do it because I'm not content with my voice atm, but I find myself doing it a lot especially when getting stuck on research stuff trying to talk it out or I will say a comment to someone I disagree with outloud rather than typing it and posting it. A lot of this is to my reflection which is probably part of the reason it feels like someone else lol

Tea or Coffee? tea all the way. drank iced sweet black tea my entire childhood and started drinking it hot with milk in college. I was the kind of person that disliking coffee was a sort of pillar of my tastes, but then a few years ago made it with like half milk and a lot of sugar and like it, lotta people wouldn't call that coffee, but eh.

First thing you wanted to be when you grew up? The actual first thing was everything. I would amalgamate like all the stereotypes of things kids want to be into one so a firefighter-astronaut-whatever else. When I got a better sense of my interests, inventor, so I guess like product designer, but what that meant to me was I got to sit around and think of neat gadgets and items then figure out how to make them like freeze ray, time machine, clone gun, that kind of thing lol. the first practical idea of a job I wanted was theoretical physicist in like middle school, which I kinda am now so success I guess

What Movies do you Adore? not much of a movie person, but like to watch movies other people are interested in with them, love castle in the sky, LOTR, howl's moving castle, your name, probably others in those categories I don't know about yet or have forgotten and I have a strong soft spot for childhood halloween movies like twitches and halloweentown

I'm curious what @arc-archernar and @charyou-tree have got to say if they'd like to, and anyone else that wants to participate!

[vickyvicarious]

i'm catching up on my dracula daily and... wtf is up with that letter from Whitby Lucy wrote saying how much better she is doing? is she just lying to mina to not concern her during her honeymoon? because it goes against her last journal entry (where she says she's still feeling bad) and against arthur's letter from the following day asking for jack's help. like, what's up with that bit? do you think this entry was misplaced somewhere along the editing process?

Yeah, you've found the same thing that's had all the Daily readers scratching their heads. I've debated about it myself in the past, but I've landed pretty firmly on my interpretation. Short answer: it's probably just a timeline error on Stoker's part.

Long answer: As you say, it contradicts both Lucy's diary entry, and Arthur's letter on either side of this entry. For this to be the correct timing of the letter, she would have to be lying to Mina very blatantly and deliberately. While hiding her own distress so as not to worry others is very characteristic of Lucy, such blatant and extreme lying (sleeping super well! big appetite! and all those sports!) is not. It would be more typical of her to just not mention much about her own health, if it had worsened again.

Characterization aside, the letter being a lie goes against the theme throughout the book of the characters being emotionally honest with one another in the writing they share. Sure, they keep secrets and communication problems are a big theme as well (as we've already seen) but the documents themselves being trustworthy is a major element. I won't get into spoilers, but think about what we've already seen with Jonathan: he himself is uncertain about whether he was mad or not, but his journal holds the truth. Both we the audience, and the characters believe that. Jonathan tells Mina that "The secret is here, and I do not want to know it." Mina seals it shut because she chooses not to know with him on his request. But if she were to read it, she would know. Because his diary is true. As are all the other documents. They might not show a whole picture individually, but they aren't lies. That would go against the themes of the novel.

A final reason I don't think Lucy is lying here is logistical. The letter is postmarked from Whitby. But both her journal entry before it and Arthur's letter after it are from London (she's writing from her family home, Hillingham, and his letter is from Albemarle hotel in Piccadilly). So, in order for this to work, she would have to engage in much more intentional/difficult subterfuge. She'd have to either a) have someone take the letter to Whitby and mail it from there (unlikely; she doesn't seem to trust her vulnerabilities to her servants, and she doesn't like to make big asks, for just two reasons) b) write that it's from Whitby inside the letter and then send it from London and possibly expose the lie or bring up questions of why she waited until she left Whitby to send this letter without at least adding a postscript to that effect, or c) go to London, get ill, go back to Whitby, lie about being fine, then go back to London again the next day and continue being ill. Obviously that's massively unlikely. And there's no reason to even pretend to be in Whitby instead of London in the first place. Their trip wasn't ended because of Lucy's health (in fact, Dracula left Whitby on the 17th of August, and she was already doing better by the 18th/19th). It probably was the time they had planned to come back all along, and if she were lying to Mina she could just as easily lie about being happy and healthy in London as elsewhere.

I've seen it suggested that Lucy wrote the letter in Whitby but just held onto it and didn't send it until later, but that doesn't resolve the postmark. Also, her letter is a response to Mina's, with direct references to things like Mina and Jonathan being married now, and Jonathan being ill. I suppose one could argue that she was just anticipating they would be married/Jonathan would need to recover based on things Mina said before leaving Whitby, but it still feels odd.

So, with all of those reasons why Lucy can't be lying... I've got to conclude it's a simple timeline error, much like Seward's missing week (and/or three days) between 19/20 August. In fact, both of these errors being near the end of August suggests that Stoker may have had an idea of a more extended timeline around these events at first, and some lines/dates just never got edited to match the more condensed timeline we see in the book.

Lucy's letter appears as a response to Mina's (it's placed right after her wedding letter in the original book format) and while the experience in Dracula Daily is a stinging ominous contrast of Mina's joy and Lucy's alarming first diary entry which is very reminiscent to the early experience of Jonathan suffering/the ladies happily talking about summer plans... I don't think it's intended to be so direct a contrast in this case. Rather, we should be getting the brief lull on both fronts. Jonathan is alive! Mina has happily married him! Lucy is all better! Arthur has rejoined her! We get a brief moment of reunion and happiness for both couples, a small moment of relief before the pain comes rushing back in. But both of these come right after Seward's entry which ends with Renfield warning "It is coming—coming—coming!" so we know that the reprieve will be short. It's just slightly different pacing than what the daily format gives us.

(Also, the letter being true means Lucy and Arthur get to be happy together for a while before being separated again. Lucy gets to be healthy for a while before her 'mystery illness' returns. And I'm happy to let her have those things.)

In fact, speaking of original layout... Chapter 8 ends with Seward's August 19 entry. Then Chapter 9 begins like this: Mina's letter (August 24), Lucy's letter (August 30), Seward's diary (August 20), Lucy's diary (August 24), Arthur's letter (August 31). Once again we have some timeline confusion, and while the book as a whole is much less linear with the events it shows us, and definitely jumps back and forth a few days on more than one occasion, that still looks odd to me. My book has a footnote which suggests that Lucy's letter was meant to be send on the 20th instead, but of course that would mean she was writing before the letter she's ostensibly replying to. This could cause a minor cascade of other adjustments needing to be made. I've also seen it suggested here on tumblr (in this post by @thegoatsongs) that maybe Lucy's letter was received on the 30th, not sent. Her first letter (the one sent in emails on May 11) isn't actually dated, so this wouldn't be the first time dating oddness happened around her letters.

So... yeah, those are pretty much the reasons why Lucy probably is telling the truth, and Stoker/an editor who should've caught this kind of thing just messed up!

[haechannielove]

                                          High and horny (M)

Preview - He takes your hand and rubs it on his bulge, through his soft shorts. “Do you feel what you do to me? This is all yours.” you start to feel the tension in your chest. “This is all mine Renjunnie?” He lets out a small soft whine.

Pairing - stoner!renjun x fem!reader

Au - Non-idol

Rating -  18+, fluffy at the end I guess LOL

Word count -  1.4k

Warnings - high sex, unprotected sex, touching of the private area (both reader and Renjun touch each other)

Setting - readers bedroom

A/n - made for anon (im pretty sure I know who requested LOL (not in a creepy way I was just digging around 😭)) ANYWAY ANON I HOPE YOU ENJOY PLEASE PLEASE DO AGH im so excited to be back!! Also im sorry for ANY typos or anything!! Agh enjoy

The night has been pretty tame since you and your best friend have finished the blunt off. There’s some slow conversation going on and lots of giggling and eye contact. Some conversations relating to school life, occupation, even some words about past relationships. 

You and Renjun have been good friends since elementary school. You’re both all grown up now and it feels pretty amazing to be able to see each other so often. Both of you were pretty busy as children, one was always busy with sports, jobs, after school activities in general. But now that you both can drive and both are out living on your own, you see each other almost daily. 

“Jun” You cut yourself off to make sure he’s paying attention to you. He looks over at you. There's that eye contact again. You continue. 

“You do know that you can talk to me about anything right?” he just looks at you.

 “Of course, why do you say that?” you look at him again, staring into those beautiful eyes.

 “I just want you to know that even though I am a girl-” he cuts you off, whispering something under his breath 

“a beautiful one” you just look at him. 

“What did you say Junnie?” you’re not sure if what you heard was accurate.

“Nothing, continue?” you carry on, “Just because I’m a girl doesn't mean you can't tell me about your feelings and such. You know that right?” he blinks and nods his head. 

You both continue with your conversations, jumping from each topic like a frog to a lilypad. The endless stories you guys have together keep spewing out of your mouths like endless ropes of words. Though your words are jumbled, you both understand each other like no other. 

Some more time passes and for some reason there’s tension between the two of you. Renjun keeps looking down at your lips and at your breasts… and your thighs. 

“y/n” you look at him. those damn eyes. 

“Hm?” he opens his mouth hesitant. “Your tank top is coming down really far” he giggles.

 You look down at your falling top and laugh. “Why are you looking then, hm?” you say sarcastically. “Because I can’t help myself” he says and you smile at each other. 

You both move on for a bit until you look down and see that Renjun is hard in his loose cotton shorts. You point down at it. “What's that about?” his face flushes. “Happens sometimes” 

Maybe it's because you're both high out of your minds, or maybe the dim lighting around, maybe even the fact that you're both in barely any clothing sitting on your bed. Who knows? 

You would be lying if you said you didn’t find Renjun extremely attractive. I mean he’s everything anyone would want in a man. Beautiful voice, boy can he sing, he’s kind and considerate, everything. 

You close your eyes for a second.

 While your eyes are closed you feel his soft hands caress your face. You open your heavy lids and look into his. He lightly bites onto his bottom lip and slowly lets go. You move closer to him to close the gap between you two. Your knees are touching and you’re just looking into each other's eyes.

 “y/n I really really want you to touch me right now” You look up at him with your head slightly tilted downward. “Please dont look at me with those eyes baby” 

He takes your hand and rubs it on his bulge, through his soft shorts. “Do you feel what you do to me? This is all yours.” you start to feel the tension in your chest. “This is all mine Renjunnie?” He lets out a small soft whine.

You decide to move your hand up and down his hard dick. With each movement he lets out heavy breaths and whimpers. His soft voice making way into your ears like a sweet song. He stops you and you look up at him confused. 

“Please let me touch you as well, please y/n. I’m craving your body, I'm hungry and eager to touch you, just please.” you quickly nod your head. 

You've never felt so horny in your entire life. The boy you grew up with is now the boy roaming his hands all over your body. He’s now the boy who's showing you how much you affect his own. 

You take his hands off of you for a second so that you can strip yourself of your clothes, but before you do you look at Renjun. His eyes are practically in the shape of hearts, all for you. 

“Wanna undress me Renjunnie?” You can tell that nickname gets him going. You’re certain by the way his cock twitches anytime you say the name. 

Renjun reaches his arms out to take your tank top off first. Your boobs are perfectly sitting in your bra. His breathing starts to hitch. “y/n you look so fucking beautiful, you take my breath away.” you literally do. Renjun takes a second to pull your bra down a bit to expose your nipples. 

“Please take it off for me babe.” He obliges.

He’s now holding your breasts in each hand.  Rubbing his fingers over your hard nipples. He takes one into his mouth while rubbing the other one with 2 of his long slender fingers. You let out soft little moans that make him feel even more high. 

You eventually take your pants off while he does the same. You’re both left in your underwear. He's rubbing your sensitive clit through your silk panties. 

You both take the rest of your clothing, the only thing left of each other is the radiating horniness and tension that somehow keeps getting even thicker. 

His cock is so pretty. Pretty deep pink head, long and thick, but not TOO thick. Fits right in your hand, eventually finding out how well he fits in your throat as well. 

Renjun lightly thrusts his hips upward, occasionally gagging you. You bop your head up and down slowly, everything is moving so so slow, the passion is peaking by the second. 

Before Renjun feels he is about to finish, he stops you. 

“Would you be willing to let me fuck you? I promise to make you cum, not a single day goes by where im not thinking about fucking the daylights out of you y/n.” you just stare into his eyes once again, something about his fucking eyes. You feel as if you can see galaxies spinning in  them. Renjun is a walking beauty in your mind. He always has been. “I one hundred percent want that Junnie.” 

You’re both so horny and out of your mind that you don’t even care for a condom, you make him promise to pull out. 

You straddle him, aligning your wet heat with his erect dick. He slowly pushes upward, causing a breathy moan to come out of your pretty mouth. 

He continues to go in and out of you while whispering things into your ear. Things like, “youre the only girl I know who could ever make me feel this fucking horny baby” “you make me feel so good, your pussy is so tight” “I’m so addicted to you baby, this feels like a dream”. 

He reaches a hand down to play with your clit, you’re getting closer and closer by each thrust he does inside of you. The atmosphere is full of complete lust and the air is filled with sex. 

“Junnie youre doing so good, I love this feeling of every inch of you inside of me… mmmh fuck”  you whisper into his ear. He’s still rubbing your clit and thrusting all of his length inside of you.

“y/n i'm going to cum baby… are you close?”  the words spill out of his pretty lips quickly but smoothly. 

“I'm going to cum soon just- mm please, please keep going.” you’re completely breathless and dick drunk. 

Renjun gets you to climax better than anyone ever has before.

“M’junnie you’re so good to me” you say at your peak.

“y/n please let me cum in your mouth” you nod your head

Renjun ends up fucking your mouth a little bit before completely finishing and to say the least, he tasted amazing and this was NOT the last time you guys did this.

Afterwards, You both took a nice warm bath together and smoked a little more. You guys had something to eat and watched a movie together. You both fell asleep in each other's arms and this was sure as hell not the last night that this occurred.

All rights reserved © haechannielove

[squarebracketsmileyface]

Having been disabled my whole life (even if not diagnosed, but still having the symptoms and accommodating them as best we could) feels so strange sometimes, because I see other people talking about chronic illness and the grief of having to give up on things they wanted to do, be it a sport or a dream job, or some other hobby. They've lost so much and that's awful, the path they thought their lives would take has taken a turn and there's nothing they can do about it, but they can still see what they should have been able to have, what they used to have.

And then I look at myself and all my hobbies, I draw and I write and I listen to music, and they're all things I'm unlikely to fully lose the ability to do. And that's great, I'm so glad I'm still able to do them even if I have to wear braces when I hold a pen, or write my fics while lying on the sofa all day. But I can't help feeling like I haven't lost enough to 'really be disabled' I haven't lost things the same way other people have.

I never enjoyed sports, they hurt too much.

I never really went out with friends often, because I've never had the energy.

I never enjoyed going on hikes or spending time outside because of both of those things, with the added struggle of sensory issues piled on top.

I liked staying at home and drawing or writing or singing, because I could do those without extreme pain or fatigue. So now that I'm even more disabled than I was, I haven't lost anything. Not really. I haven't lost as much as other people have, even some people who are quote-unquote "less disabled than me" because they had more to lose, they have suffered more than me, because their disabilities seemingly came out of nowhere, or happened as a result of a traumatic injury, and turned their life upside down.

My life's always been upside down, it's just moreso now than when I was a kid, completely horizontal rather than slightly tilted upside down. I started using my first mobility aid when I was under 10 years old, my orthotics which allowed me to walk without excruciating pain, something I still need now to stop my ankles rolling in and damaging themselves and my feet. I built my hobbies to work with living upside down, so when that change from diagonal to horizontal happened I already had all my pens and paper neatly in clever little holders to stop them floating away from the ceiling I was already on, everything was tied down and had little velcro dots on so gravity couldn't take them. I haven't lost as much, so I don't feel like I deserve to feel as bad as I do. I was never the right way up, I've always lived upside down. I should just try harder, because I haven't lost anything, so clearly I can't be 'that' disabled.

I can still do my hobbies, so why can't I get a job, just a simple, normal job? That should be easy, I shouldn't get to just 'enjoy life doing nothing'. But getting that job would require me to walk on the floor, and I'm still stuck on the ceiling, there is no way for me to get down from here without falling to my death.

[cazzyf1]

John Watson on the racers he knew - from Motorsports magazine

Ronnie Peterson:

Ronnie, first of all, was a good friend. He was an exceptionally quick racing driver, and one of his great skills was he could jump into anything and drive it quickly. He wasn't as adept at developing a car. Ronnie's skill was phenomenal car control, balance, natural speed, but most of all he was a genuinely lovely person. Lots of drivers have lost their lives and I've never been upset. But Ronnie's death upset me. I still feel it now.

Jody Scheckter

James Hunt called him Jonathan Livingston Seagull, after a book which is an allegorical fable about a seagull with ambitions beyond flying and scavenging with the flock. I met Jody when he came across in the early 1970s and he was wild. A high level of driver ability. In 1973 at the French GP he and Fittipaldi had a collision. He was a loose cannon then, a little like Riccardo Patrese a few years later. But following Watkins Glen that year he was transformed after being one of the drivers who stopped at the scene of François Cevert's fatal accident. What he saw had a seminal change on his outlook and philosophy of being a racing driver. He said later that it brought home to him that the sport he loved could kill. Jody wasn't someone I had much to do with in the paddock, but I'm not sure he had much to do with anybody.

Bernie Ecclestone

He made a profound impact on me, not necessarily as a team leader, but he's a pragmatic and lateral thinking person. Again, Watkins Glen 1973 and Cevert's accident... a wonderful, beautiful gut lost his life and it felt disrespectful to jump back in the car and go back out. That's what I believed, how I was brought up. And Bernie said, "Get in that car, you're here to race. Whatever happened to François it's over and what you are doing is not going to make any difference." It helped me throughout the rest of my career, when a driver was injured or killed. I was able to erect a kind of barrier around myself. It enabled me to put up a blinder to however awful or ugly it may have been, to get back into the car and race. At Niki's accident at the Nürburgring in 1976, I was one of the early cars through and I had him lying with his head on my thighs, looking into his fave and comforting him as best I could. Then I had to jump back into Mt car and do a Grand Prix. I never gave it a second thought. That was the influence Bernie had on me, to detach emotion from what is your job. If you can't do it, get out. Later I had the same thing with Gilles Villeneuve at Zolder. I saw his body in the catch-fencing. I looked in his eyes and the lights had gone out. I got back in the car, drove back to the pits, told Teddy Mayer and John Hogan, and went for a coffee. Nothing. If a psychologist heard me say that, they would claim there is something wrong with me, to have that high level of detachment. But soilders, firefighters, the police - they need such mechanisms. You have to find what works best for you. That was Bernie's influence on me.

Niki Lauda

The Niki of the 1970s was very driven, very focused and very ambitious. He had a vision of where he wanted to be and how to get there. When he drove for March initially it wasn't a particularly good car, then he jumped ship to BRM and did an extremely good job. Monaco in 1973, he was outstanding. But he saw through Louis Stanley and realised the team was essentially going nowhere. He needed to move on to a better place, and he's done enough to attack Ferrari's interest. He formed relationships with key people in the team who become 'your' people. He did that with Mauro Forghieri and Luca Di Montezemolo and might have won the world title in 1974, but was going through a process of learning how to get there. By 1975, with the car he then had, he had done all his learning.

James Hunt

James was a pure animal, a pure athlete. He turned out to have a lot of skill, probably against many people's expectations. I saw him first in 1973 in the March at Monaco where he did a brilliant job. He was a bit of a contradiction in many respects because he seemed to have all the ability and skill, and a huge amount of intelligence as well which is fundamental. He was also a caged animal that needed to be controlled and some teams, principally McLaren, saw how to do that, holding him back and the lighting the blue touch paper and letting him go. What Teddy Mayer realised in 1976 was, don't let James screw around with the car, just get a good balance and throw rubber at it. James was like a lion trying to eat you alive. Bang, out he'd go and he'd deliver incredible laps. The other thing about James, in spite of his off track behaviour, he was a fit guy who played a lot of sports at very high level as an amateur. He was mercurial in that second half of the 1976 season. OK, he had a very good car in a very good team, but he dragged out every last ounce of performance from that car.

[head-post]

Olympic triathlon star vomits live on air after swimming in River Seine

Paris authorities and the Summer Olympics Organising Committee on Wednesday allowed the triathlon competition to take place. They assured that the water in the Seine had been cleared of sewage and was now safe to swim in.

An Olympic triathlete vomited on live television after swimming in the Seine River in Paris on Wednesday, raising concerns about the level of pollution in the river. The event was initially postponed on Tuesday morning after test results showed the water was “too polluted,” but it ended up starting 24 hours later than scheduled.

Canadian triathlete Tyler Mislawchuk, who placed ninth, threw up shortly after completing the challenging race, which consisted of a 1.5-kilometre swim, a 40-kilometre bike ride and a 10-kilometre run. Television cameras captured this unpleasant scene, as well as many other athletes lying on a mat trying to catch their breath.

Kazakhstan’s Ekaterina Shabalina also admitted to throwing up after the Seine swim.

Mission to clean up the Seine River

The French government has spent €1.4bn (£1.18bn) to make the river safer in preparation for the Olympics. A World Triathlon statement released on Tuesday said the following:

“Following a water quality meeting held at 3.30 a.m. on July 30, attended by Paris 2024, World Triathlon, their technical and medical delegates, the International Olympic Committee, Météo France, the City of Paris and the prefecture of the Ile-de-France region involved in the water quality tests, it was decided to postpone the men’s triathlon competition, which was due to take place at 8 a.m. on July 30.”

Swimming in the Seine has been banned for more than a century due to high levels of pollution and the possibility of becoming ill by accidentally swallowing the water. In an attempt to avoid possible health risks, some athletes even go to extreme measures: for example, American athlete Seth Rider said he does not wash his hands to develop a resistance to bacteria. He claimed:

“In preparation for this race, I knew there was going to be some E. coli exposure. So I’ve been trying to increase my E. coli threshold by exposing myself to a bit of E. coli in day-to-day life.”

Belgian athletes shocked by Seine

A Belgian Olympic champion competing in the women’s triathlon final “felt and saw things we shouldn’t think too much about” during her swim in the Seine at the Paris 2024 event.

Triathlete Jolien Vermeylen, 30, who finished 24th in the final with a time of 1:59:44, told Dutch TV channel VTM after Wednesday’s competition that she knew the river had been deemed safe enough to compete in after last-minute tests but did not want to think too much about the water quality. She said:

“I drank a lot of water, so we’ll know tomorrow if I’m sick or not. It doesn’t taste like Coca-Cola or Sprite, of course.”

The level of E. coli in the river was 10 times higher than the permissible standards set by sports federations in June. However, after tests on Wednesday morning, the bacteria level was deemed safe enough to continue swimming.

Anne Hidalgo, the mayor of Paris, recently highlighted the cleanup work by swimming in the river. She said:

“It’s sweet and wonderful and the result of a lot of work. I remember at the very beginning in 2015, when we began our campaign for the Games, the international triathlon federation said: ‘Why not a triathlon in the Seine? Will athletes be able to swim in the Seine?” Today we can say they can.”

Triathlon Results at Paris Olympics

Alex Yee won the men’s triathlon, securing a fifth gold medal for Team Great Britain at the Olympic Games. He improved on the silver medal he won in Tokyo three years ago after working hard to overcome a 15-second gap to New Zealand’s Hayden Wilde. In the women’s event, Frenchwoman Cassandre Beaugrand won the women’s event from the leading four, with Great Britain’s Beth Potter taking bronze.

The athletes will remember these medals for the rest of their lives. And not only because they are now Olympic champions, but also because of the intrigue and postponement of triathlon competitions due to the pollution of the Seine.

Read more HERE

[honeesblog]

The difficulty of proper academic comportment, dress, and relationships

As a female academic I am held to a very different standard to male academics in regards to physical appearance and this has only become more true as I've gone from undergrad to graduate student. At this point, I have to essentially dress for a job interview all the time, which luckily is quite natural for me as I've always preferred business casual clothes but moreover makeup and a splash of perfume and jewelry have also become staples. This is further complicated by the fact I don't have a full length mirror in my room, so dressing has become more difficult. Furthermore, as my goal is to become a professor, I need to think of my appearance and comportment in a very pragmatic way so as to further my chances. 

    I recently read an Economist article titled ' The Economics of Thinness' and it very poignantly made the case that being thinner, especially for women, raises employment outcomes and pay. I have always been on the larger side, never obese or even seeming as big as I really am. I swam competitively and I still lift weights and play several sports and at 5ft 8, my weight is quite well distributed. Most people would guess I weight 160-170lbs just on the edge of a healthy BMI but I in fact am 200lbs, well within the overweight BMI category. Since starting my PhD I've lost some weight and gained quite a bit of muscle from thrice weekly lifting sessions to deal with the stress alongside skipping breakfasts and sometimes lunches due to being busy but either way I'm larger than is economically ideal. Since I've lost weight I've noticed a social shift as well. Another great article is by Alana Massey titled 'You're Right, I Didn't Eat That' where she discusses the social benefits of thinness and her own need to maintain her thinness. She examines her own behaviour as half pragmatism and half pathology, making clear that it is not effortless, as I think so many of us assume when we see other women with prominent clavicles and flat stomachs. I feel I'm also in the same semi-pathological state occasionally, I need to go to the gym or get 10 000 steps but I don't need breakfast other than a coffee and splash of milk. Again, I'm not that thin yet but I'm working my way towards it, not because I hate my body or have self esteem issues (although I'd be lying if I said that those don't also factor in) but because I love what I do and I want to do it for a living. If I need to never eat breakfast again for my field I'd do it in a heartbeat. It doesn't help that I'm quite a competitive person and have been trying to get back into swimming again as I have free access to my university pool... Another issue is clothes, makeup, and jewelry. I've been updating all of these things as I want to seem sophisticated and intelligent as well as attractive. This Christmas I'm treating myself to some very nice jewelry and lipsticks, which are extremely expensive, and I keep a collection of perfume samples. Eventually I should buy a full size perfume of my choosing as I actually wear perfume most days now but it is all so very expensive!!! Same thing with clothes, I either need to take clothes in or buy new clothes as I've lost weight but its quite expensive for a student!

Dating is another aspect of my life which is important but frustrating. I would like to be married and have a child before my mid 30s. I have a long time sure but due to my commitment to my career and studies I've never been in a committed relationship. Even now that I'm actively looking to date, I get overwhelmed by my nerves and emotions and basically decide that dating is not worth the hassle due to fear. Academia also complicates the idea of having a partner as I will go all over the world for my job and whoever I'm with should support that and be willing to help and while a lot of women will do that for their men, the same can't be said for most men. 

Anyways, in all of these things I think I'm headed down the right roads I just need to keep to the course and commit myself to them. I'm planning on starting swimming 4-5 times a week once I get off break so hopefully that will work out. 

Thanks for reading x. 

Hon.E

[singlecrow]

I'm going to treat myself and do that thing where you write about your five favourite stories of your own (of the moment). why the hell not.

everything we do is sewn with this colour [DS9] A late-seasons DS9 Julian/Garak story with a very simple premise: Garak teaches Julian to sew. It takes time for Julian to learn, and during that time, the two of them go from being awkward and unhappy friends with benefits to being in a functional romantic partnership. The idea, of course, is that Garak can sew - he's a tailor, he runs a tailoring business, people get married in the dresses he makes - and in a way, this is the only way Julian can be sure Garak isn't lying to him. If Garak teaches him to sew, then it's because Garak really knows how to teach him. It's my only real Julian/Garak, and honestly I don't think I need any more: this is how I see it going. It's also got Miles, Keiko and Kira as a functional triad in the background, because I know what I like. My one grief about this story is that I don't think Phoebe, purplefringe, my beloved Julian Bashir superfan, ever read it.

some things you just can't speak about (wherever they come from, they'll never run out) [DS9/MASH] This is the most fun I've ever had writing anything, ever. Like, somehow I'd never done a MASH Star Trek AU (I have Star Trek AUs for nearly every non-SFF fandom I've ever done, including Sports Night and Master and Commander), but it didn't click until I realised it was a story about the Dominion War, and then suddenly it's a DS9 AU and it's my two favourite things mashed (lol) together. So this! Hawkeye, though not the protagonist, is very much the main character: they're a nonbinary half-Betazoid, still bipolar, still brilliant, still a walking fuck-you to authority. I made no changes at all to the canon version to make them nonbinary, or an actually-psychic empath. (The screaming! I think some ppl thought I had made up the scene where Hawkeye screams in their sleep enough to wake up everyone in the habitat. Nope, the tv one does that, and he isn't psychic.) The only real change to this Hawkeye is that they're ship's CMO - so they do, sometimes, have to give orders. They don't like it, but they do, and in so doing have to betray their competence (love ppl being competent). And also, they wear the Starfleet uniform dresses, because I could not with how cute that would be. I never said in the story that they were afab, but I assume they were just so they'd be shorter than Margaret.

The other thing here is, the tension between Hawk and Margaret in the show is gender. Margaret would thrive, if she could do what Hawkeye can do - if she could be a soft-edged man who gets respect from nearly everyone for his ability and competence, who sleeps around nd never has it damage his reputation. But he can do that, and she, a woman in the 1950s, can't. Instead, she gets harassed and socially punished every time she steps out of line, though fundamentally she's nothing different from him. But Star Trek doesn't have that gender tension, so instead we have Margaret as Bajoran, who doesn't have Hawkeye's privileges as a Federation citizen. And it's the one rift in their otherwise extremely loving best-friends-with-benefits relationship. (my fave! their canon relationship, my favourite in fiction, probably).

BJ, bless him, is exactly unchanged: his role in the story is to observe the others. Even Potter, a female half-Vulcan who tolerates no crap who I enjoyed enormously. Anyway this story is 40k! longer than any other fanfic of mine and probably always will be because I can't imagine anything else being as fun.

a girl wild and unwished for [MASH] Ah. So, it's 1957 and it's not fun. Hawkeye is in his mid-thirties, and he's fine, except one night he's not: following an intense depression, he tries to commit suicide and is stopped barely in time.

Which is a hell of a beginning to a story, and honestly I feel a bit conflicted about it; I've been unhappy for years about how (some bits of) fandom went from to "you should content-note this content" to "you shouldn't make this content". When this sort of thing is so often my subject matter, it often does feel like fandom doesn't want my fiction and it legit was part of the reason I shifted towards pro. But that's by the bye, and I'm trying to write what I want to again. So in this story, Sidney is so worried about Hawkeye's mental state that he persuades him to try psychoactive medication for the first time. And the story becomes, in its way, a retelling of The Bell Jar with Hawkeye in place of Esther Greenwood: so about life and friendship, about New York in summer, about Hawkeye's work and place in the world, all muted and sharpened and modulated by the effect of the drug. Of course it's about Hawkeye's manic depression, but it's also about who he is; about what he can concede of his mind and personality, and what he can't. I was really pleased with this one. Despite the description, it does have jokes in it.

who were captured, who would not yield [Good Omens] A Good Omens story written just after s1, in the summer of 2019. That feral Good Omens summer! That summer where everything was still perfect and beautiful! I remember writing this by hand on the train to Cardiff to Vidukon, to P's endless amusement. The story isn't a romance - Aziraphale and Crowley have sex in it, for purely pragmatic reasons - but a story about what they do now they're not on opposite sides or on sides at all. Like in all my GO stories, they go to Waitrose, as follows:

Everything is fine. Crowley is definitely not having a breakdown in Waitrose.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, by the self-service checkouts. “You were supposed to get an avocado pear.”

“Damn your avocado, angel,” Crowley says, trying not be actively diabolical in all directions. The next customer is buying strawberries, whipped cream and WD-40 – it’s a Friday night – and Crowley can make out the scent of unhappy dairy. Everything’s fine. He’s definitely not having a breakdown. Much more of this and there’s going to be an unexpected fire in the bagging area.

in the chillest land on the sea [the Magnus Archives] Until recently this was my longest story on the AO3, because it was co-written with dearthoughthenightisgone (imperfectcircle on the AO3 because of their godawful brand management). It's a very complex Magnus Archives story, where the basic premise is that all the while Jon is accumulating the statements belonging to the fears to go into the Archive, there is one additional power that we don't see: hope, at the bottom of Pandora's box. So every so often he gets a hopeful, happy statement, and eventually - the day in the Scottish cabin where it all goes wrong - the assistance of the hope power makes things go a little differently. I love this story. We had to write the statements! There are five of them and each one is a little standalone work of original fiction. And the two of us are pretty good at jamming together our disparate styles and themes and doing something good with them, but this one was hard - they wanted a happy ending, I wanted a bleak ending, we had to thread that needle. But I think we did it well, because this is the story where I get the most consistently overwhelming and sweet comments, people who read the story while a beloved family member was ill, or when locked down with covid, and took a little comfort from it. There was fanart! It was something special.

meditations ex post facto [Guardian] This is allegedly a Guardian AU. (Guardian is a fantasy cdrama about a guy called Zhao Yunlan who runs a paranormal investigatory agency, and his lovely boyfriend, who is both a local academic and, uh, a mysterious ancient ghost king.) What this is actually is a romantic comedy with lawyers. It's all I want in life. I wrote the entire first half of it in the Apple store in Covent Garden waiting for my updates to install. This is the best bit in it.

Zhao Yunlan can’t actually blame her, because he’s never been any good at hiding his feelings and he’s kind of composing an email to Shen Wei in another window. Deaaaaar Professsssor Sssshen, he writes. The spilled latte from the other day has made itself at home in his keyboard. Zhao Yunlan painstakingly scrolls back and deletes all the extra letters. I reaaaaally want to see you again pleaaaaaaassse come to dinner with me.

Not at all weird. 

Shen Wei, I was planning to go for noodles tonight. Perhaps you’d like to accompany me.

Weirdly formal, but better. He presses send before he realises that “planning” still has two extra As and a stray Z.

[shadowmaat]

Can't bear it

Having read RFK Jr.'s story of how he was responsible for the dead bear in Central Park 10 years ago, I find myself with a lot of questions, most of them along the lines of "how high was he?" and "does he actually believe his own bullshit?"

According to his video statement (I read an article about it on BBC) he claims he was heading out of town when he encountered a woman who had hit and killed a bear cub. That's where my questions begin, because I feel like if you hit a bear of ANY size it's probably going to do so damage to your car, which means you'd want to document the damage. And that means calling the cops to make an official report.

Maybe her car was just that sturdy, though. And then in swoops Mr. Kennedy to save the day, explaining that he's Robert Fucking Kennedy Junior and he will make all her problems go away. No, don't call the cops, he'll handle everything! There's nothing illegal with taking roadkill* and there's some good meat on that cub! Might get a nice bearskin rug out of it, too.

So he heroically loads a dead bear cub into the back of his "van" all by himself (so strong! so manly!) and continues on his way to meet up with his falconry buddies for a day of sporting.

This is where I had more questions, because while I may not know a lot about hunting, I do know one of the first things you want to do is dress the body, draining it of blood and guts, and then, like, put it on ice or something if you can't get to the actual butchering until later.

What you don't do is leave a dead body in your vehicle for the entire day, presumably under the (*checks dates*) October sun, and then not only NOT gag and retch from the stench when you open the door, but decide to drive back into the city and have dinner with friends while the body is still rotting in the back of your vehicle. How high/drunk do you have to be to be immune to that smell? This would have been in 2014, so it wasn't a case of Covid numbing his nasal passages.

By now it's far too late to do anything other than ditch the body. Frankly I think that would have been as soon as he arrived at his falconry place and realized he didn't give a shit about the bear, but hey, maybe he managed to forget it was there. And then forget again when he came back to his "van" and smelled the rotting bear flesh.

His brilliant idea at this point, rather than, y'know, calling the cops or the ACO or anything remotely rational, was to ditch the body in Central Park and stage it to look like a hit-and-run via bicycle. Because that's an entirely plausible scenario. Not that he'd been drinking, or anything, oh no. It was just his... redneck instincts? Because everyone knows the Kennedys are a bunch of salt-of-the-earth types who weren't born into a life of extreme wealth and privilege. Yeah.

When he turns on the news the next morning to see mass coverage of his idiotic stunt he just decides to let it slide. Until now. When the story was about to come out anyway.

I'm not saying he's lying, but if he isn't lying then he's a catastrophically stupid man with no sense of smell and no reliable decision-making capabilities, who shouldn't be in charge of anything more complicated than a retractable pen, and that only under supervision. So, y'know, a CEO. LOL!

-

*The thing about this is that you're supposed to have a license to do this and you still need to tell the proper authorities of the kill. Unless you're Robert F. Kennedy Jr. of course.

[kimyoonmiauthor]

The Slightly Humorous Story About How Straight People made me Queer.

Let’s be clear here, when I was in Korea, I was halfway tripped up on Korean dramas. Korean dramas which didn’t have kissing until much later in the series, and lots of small romantic gestures were on screen. From what I know, I liked cartoons and TV shows to block the noise from my parents arguing all of the time. I disliked the Japanese occupation drama that was popular at the time because it had loud guns in it. So I’ve always loved rom coms the most on television. They gave me comfort. I also watched Historicals with my aunties.

I had to figure this out on my own, by putting things together.

So when I came to the US (adopted), I had this really strong notion that went something like this...

I would get married, have kids, I didn’t know how. And then my husband would tragically die of natural causes or we’d get divorced or something of that sort and he’d disappear. And then I would have dogs and be a widow.

No straight person has a thought like this when they are five years old, and maybe it should have clued me in that people usually don’t kill off their spouses in their heads that maybe just maybe I was not straight.

I had bouts as a kid, too, of loving frilly pink things, then hating it, etc, though this got confused under all of the Second wave feminism my mom liked to shove on me, which often was white feminist and racist and oddly anti-LBTQIA.

I liked pink for a while, because it was girly, then converted to purple, because it felt more neutral, but then couldn’t identify with any color after that. Maybe this, too, was part of the harassment my mom had around colors, insisting that I wear black because it was “practical” but I couldn’t really perform gender that well. I would really, really try to conform to one gender, but then feel highly uncomfortable with it.

I wanted to learn girly things to know it, but I didn’t want to perform it. I wanted to do sports, and learn various types of things that were told to be gendered--but honestly, I saw it as kind of pointless to call wiffle ball a “Boys game” and girls “Cooking.” I never felt stable. I would flux and convert at turns a little, and I was comfortable with that. I didn’t see the point of gendered pronouns. WTH. I got constantly corrected on them for years probably because I couldn’t feel them in myself either. And the thing was, I liked dressing up in costumes, I didn’t care about the gender of the clothes. I also absolutely loved anything that played with gender roles and expectations. I was drawn to it.

I found myself drawn to queer books, though a lot of the romances I read were het, maybe as a remnant of watching too many het romances on television from very young and also because reading queer romances would have exposed me more.

At the same time straight kids would endlessly tease me for being a lesbian, gay, or something. And I was puzzled over sexual attraction and romantic attraction for myself. I thought people were lying in television shows--also maybe because of the gap between US television and Korean. US--two seconds, in bed. Korean 10/16 episodes in and you get a kiss. And for a kid that doesn’t feel primary sexual attraction, this was quite confusing--I didn’t know that kids could know their sexuality at five years old.

From the time I knew sexual attraction was a thing(TM), I was thinking, unlike the kids that teased me to be gay and lesbian. I was fine with “whatever” the most ace thing in the world. (Though if it was a woman in my head, I thought things like, well, if I’m attracted to women, well, the dying early thing won’t be in the cards. I’ll figure it out then.) I was fine being bisexual. As long as I could punch my schedule of having kids and a dog. (This is kinda ND to me... which might also be why I got bullied--besides being Asian. I didn’t think like most other kids and I was extremely precocious.)

At one point I was asked if the “Backstreet boys was hot” when I was nine and in a fit of NDness, probably, I watched their music videos to figure out *why* that person liked them, and I couldn’t figure it out at all. Totally went over my head. Was it a personality trait they had?

But nothing happened for a long ass time. And then aesthetic attraction happened. I thought aesthetic attraction was the same thing as sexual attraction for the longest ass time. It took me a long, long ass time to realize people actually do want to have sex upon looking at someone and saying “I’d do them.”

Even the kissing games like spin the bottle and dares, etc, I stayed out of with the thought of, “I don’t see the point if you don’t have feelings for each other.”

I also thought probably because of a steady digest of rom coms, Victorian romances, and so on, attraction would be this magical moment of floaty clouds, etc. But I found it extremely annoying in part and I wanted to distance myself from it. At other points I didn’t want to deal with it at all. And I was told it was the greatest thing in the world.

My friends asked why I didn’t date anyone and I answered with the most ND answer ever in my head. “I didn’t have a large enough pool of people to be attracted to.” The other thing I thought was, “There is no point of dating in Middle School and High School if you’re going to break up with people,” *cough* Grey-ace, maybe? Have a clue.

But I had no terms for this, or my kind of half-hearted attempts at presenting cis. Presenting fully as a woman and performing it was too much work in my head. And I know some women just don’t like makeup, and some nonbinary do, but putting the effort in to perform being a woman 24-7 felt like too much for me. I kept slipping every time I tried. I never quite felt comfortable in the gossip circles women do--it also might be because I was also extremely precocious and ND-ish that it was harder to fit in.

But straight people kept flagging me over and over trying to figure out why this or that was true. Why I had no attraction to anyone. Why I couldn’t perform womanhood, even though I knew how. The feedback from straight people told me over and over I was very queer. And I felt an attraction to queer culture, but I didn’t know how I slotted in and I couldn’t place it because the dominant labels were not me. But I didn’t feel straight either.

I semi-dated long distance a guy I felt romantic attraction to (after I got to know him for a while), but I didn’t feel sexual attraction to. In truth, I probably wasn’t that committed and the long distance hampered my ability to feel attraction since we separated in early stages.

I did finally date someone I had sex with, but I still don’t get why people love sex that much. My sex stance is sex indifferent most of the time, sometimes favorable, but rarely, so it was a meh moment for me. I liked sex for the intimacy, but sometimes I felt like it was kinda pointless. I did feel sexual attraction after knowing the person for a while. I’m not clear on my secondary sexual/romantic attraction orientation completely, though. It’s like trying to reach past a brick wall. I’m not against it being more omni/pan/bi still.

And the guy of the time was straight--also had this weird relationship with trans people where he kept harping on it. So I closeted my NBness really hard during that relationship, but I kept slipping and he kept on me for why I didn’t perform womanness correctly. lol Maybe I was also trying to get that man dies before I’m 80, but we have kids thing going too.

lol Queer people kept semi-kicking me out though I kind of had an attraction to queer people as in I think I’m one of you, but I don’t know how. So I struggled a lot to find the correct labels.

I wish I knew earlier that this was a thing, though, since I was destructive in some ways when I thought I was straight, but a little strange and trying to fit into the allosexual/alloromantic/cis box. I could have sorted it out faster and better and probably gotten past the grey-ace/aro wall by approaching it differently.

All straight people kept cluing me into the fact I was queer. It wasn’t queer people that told me, hey, you, you’re queer. It was 100% straight people--though they got the brand of queer wrong often. I just couldn’t perform their straightness to their standards no matter how hard I tried.

So no dog, no kids, but hella queer? I do have reptiles. But I do plan to eventually have dogs. The straights converted me to queer.

[microsuedemouse]

~ 15 questions & 15 friends ~

tagged by my much beloved @czarcaustic <3

1. Are you named after anyone?

My grandfather!! Courtney was his middle name. (That spelling was originally the masculine form of the name, though it's pretty rare to see it used as such these days.) My middle name is also a family name :)

2. When was the last time you cried?

Uhh... oh it was a couple nights ago, when talking with my parents about my Nana. I still miss her a lot

3. Do you have kids?

Nope. At this stage of my life I can't say it feels super likely ever to happen, though I'd be lying if I said I don't feel a twinge of Something when I meet babies at work lol.

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

lmao I have never played any. I am extremely unathletic by nature, and also always struggled to get my brain around the rules of pretty much any of them when I was like, a kid in gym class

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Sure, but not a lot? Probably an average amount I figure

6. What is the first thing you notice about people?

Man, I dunno - probably their faces or their clothes, depending on context?

7. What's your eye color?

Brown!

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Big big fan of both! I'm not a big sad endings guy, though. Even when it feels right for the story, it's usually not my jam. (I guess sometimes sad endings can be good for scary movies, but that's like... sort of its own thing? because it's about The Horror.)

9. Any talents?

This is always a hard question for me to answer, bc I feel like most of the things I'm good at are more skills than talents - they're things I've practiced and developed over time, like with my writing and art. Although I guess it'd be fair, if unusual maybe, to say I've got a couple naturally strong interpersonal skills. I'm very good at communication, including figuring out what other people are trying to say, and I'm also pretty good at making people feel comfortable and understood.

10. Where were you born?

In southern Ontario, in the city where both of my parents did most of their growing up :)

11. What are your hobbies?

Writing (fiction prose, mostly) and the many kinds of thinking that go with it (worldbuilding, character development, etc). Arts and crafts (of many kinds; I'm often bouncing from one thing to another. Currently I'm having lots of fun learning to crochet). Taking in stories (reading books and comics, watching movies and TV, playing games, listening to podcasts - I love stories in all their forms). Goofing off with my family, especially my younger siblings.

12. Do you have any pets?

We have three cats - Neverland, Louie, and Smudge :)

13. How tall are you?

Uhh my ID says 165 cm, so that's... 5'5"-ish? I'm genuinely so incapable of remembering that on my own, for some reason.

14. Favorite subject in school?

It was usually English and art, growing up. In university it was always my courses that delved into genre fiction - science fiction, children's lit, the fairy tale... also that graphic novel seminar I took

15. Dream job?

Iiii. [sweats] I wanna be a novelist, but also, that's hard in its own way, and I think it's gonna take me a while yet to really Get There in terms of my own skills, disregarding the challenges of publishing. Beyond that... is something I've been struggling a lot with lately, because it's hard for me to imagine myself in a job where I'm both content and competent, let alone able to support myself. I've been wondering a lot again about library sciences, lately, but I just don't know. It's tough out here!

I definitely don't have 15 people to tag, but. @izupie @werewolfin @serenabeanie @womanaction @mana-sputachu perhaps, if you're feelin' it?

[hey-its-cweepy]

Name: Kuru Makimi

Gender: Female (She/Her)

Twisted of: Kuromi

Age: 16

Birthday: October 31

Star sign: Scorpio

Height: 5'4

Hair color: Black and Pink

Eye color: Purple

Occupation: Student

Dorm: Sanwaii (@twsted-princess !)

School year: 1st year

Best subject: Potions

Dominant hand: Left

Likes: Black and Pink, causing mischief, cooking

Dislikes: Utau (lying)

Favorite food: Meat, shallots and cherries

Least favorite food: Unknown

Hobbies: Cooking, Reading, Writing

Talent: Gymnastics!

Personality: Kuru is very tomboyish and often times tries to appear tough and spiteful. Although she fills the part sometimes, she can't help but give in to being really girly sometimes.

She loves reading romance novels, wearing skirts and collecting plushies! She also loves cooking and prefers it more to baking (she's better with savory foods than desserts, trust me, she'll burn a cookie). She has a personal grudge against Utau, but changes the reason anytime you ask (Yaku knows but wont ever budge on why)

Unique Magic: Unknown

Name: Yaku Ryosuke

Gender: Male (He/Him)

Twisted of: Konmi

Age: 17

Birthday: August 1st

Star sign: Leo

Height: 5'9

Hair color: White

Eye color: Red

Occupation: Student

Dorm: Sanwaii (previously tagged!)

School year: 2nd

Best subject: Anything combat/sports related

Dominant hand: Right

Likes: Cleanliness, The unknown, learning about people, stalking

Dislikes: Nosy/cocky people

"Tch, they act like they know all the answers... Personally, I like to find them myself"

Favorite food: Chicken

Least favorite food: Sticky things

Hobbies: Writing, training, cleaning

Talent: ... He's scarily good at getting info about other students, regardless of what dorm they're in (that doesn't mean he has complete info on everyone though!)

Personality: Yaku loves learning about a lot of things, even if its by unconventional illegal means! He's got his own thirst for knowledge!

No one knows him better than Kuru though, the both of them have a mutual understanding of each other and always help out one another when needed (even if Yaku doesnt have a grudge with Utau)

Unique Magic: Devil's Advocate: Seemingly only used when weakened/about to lose, this allows Yaku to boost himself up to the extreme! It can cause a lot more harm than good if its used for too long though