#made with tux paint

[sslushpup]

Drew Xenia without reference

Program: Tux Paint

[chomplicated]

[arrow-of-time]

[nonstopmegamix]

[bearsprings]

this might be yellow face bfdi

[ratsonas]

playing around with patterns in tux paint ^_^

[the-pickle-jar]

[lovebugism]

u said 2 do ur worst for shy!r so…. steve and reader go to the hawkins snowball dance and a slow song comes on and its a uber romantic song (i’m talking taylor swift type romance) and steve ofc asks r to dance… she’s super shy so she keeps looking at the floor but then steve does the thing where you lift the other persons chin up so they’re looking into ur eyes… if u wanna elaborate on this :)

i changed this up a wee bit, but i hope u like it! — when steve is finally crowned prom king, all he can think about is getting a dance with his (sorta) secret girlfriend (shy!fem!r, hurt/comfort, 1.2k)

Steve abandons his crown and scepter somewhere between the bleachers and the snack table. The thought of finding you is far more important than the chunks of plastic they give him. 

The cold breeze of the early evening cools his warm cheeks, flushed red from the adrenaline and the alcohol. He finds you sitting on the wooden bench outside the gymnasium, pretty and all alone. The skirt of your fairy-tale dress billows around your calves. Elbows digging into your thighs, you prop your chin on your fists and pout softly beneath the pale moonlight. 

You’re the prettiest thing Steve’s ever seen. The saddest, too, maybe.

“Been looking for you,” he says to announce his presence. The lopsided smile on his face is audible. You know it’s dancing on his pink mouth before you ever turn around to face him. 

He’s a pretty thing in a sleek tux. Boyishly handsome. Sort of like he’s playing dress-up. The thought almost makes you smile.

“Sorry,” you apologize in a mousy voice, blinking up at him with sparkly, made-up eyes when he looms over you. “It got… really loud in there…”

“Well, Tommy spiked the punch, so… It was kinda inevitable,” Steve jokes with a lazy shrug, even though he isn’t really joking. 

He watched the idiot steal his dad’s best liquor from the high-up cabinet two hours ago. The Hawkins High class of ’85 got drunk on it in record time. The school pulses with life accordingly. The brick behind you threatens to shake with it.

Your nose scrunches. “Is that why it tasted like gasoline?”

“Probably,” Steve grins.

He huffs and sits at the spare spot next to you. The old bench creaks in protest. He takes his first good breath all night when he’s finally alone with you. The fresh air and your perfume fill his lungs, smoother than silk. There’s a subtle euphoria and a distant nostalgia between it all. 

He’s spent years chasing this feeling. He thought maybe being crowned prom king would solve all his problems. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. ‘Cause you did.

“You coming back inside?”

Your lips purse to the side of your mouth as you ponder the question. “I don’t know… Probably not.”

Steve’s freshly shaven face swirls with visible confusion. He loves a party — especially when he’s the life of it — so it’s hard for him to comprehend how other people don’t. Even though he knows, more than anyone else, that you’re made of something much more delicate than that.

“Why not?”

“Prom’s not really my scene, Steve,” you answer with a scoffed-out laugh.

He flashes you a crooked smile in return, painted silver in the moonlight. His cologne swaddles you in its musk when he leans over to nudge your shoulder. “You promised me a dance, remember?”

Your soft features harden into a frown. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, c’mon! You know you wanna dance with me,” he protests through a poorly bitten-back laugh.

“Why?” you press, meeting his beam with a lighthearted scowl. “So all your friends can laugh at me?”

“Screw ‘em! They’re assholes— who cares?”

“I care. ‘Cause you’re not the one they’re laughing at, King Steve.”

You spit the stupid nickname with playful venom in your tone, but Steve can’t help but smile at it, anyway. He’s a week away from graduating, halfway employed, and Hawkins High’s reigning prom king. It’s all slightly maddening — especially now that he’s got you.

He wonders if you applauded when he won that stupid crown. If you laughed at him about it, or if you were strangely proud. He’ll ask you about it later. After he gets that dance.

“Let ‘em laugh,” he shrugs.

You shake your head, averting your gaze with a sad smile. You wish it were that easy. 

“You don’t know what it’s like,” you tell him as the heavy bass inside the school starts to slow. Through the high-up frosted windows, you hear Girls on Film fade into Never Tear Us Apart. 

“Sorry for wanting to dance with my girlfriend,” he teases to ease the tension. It comes out more serious than he intended, though, ‘cause he is sort of sorry. Nothing about your two worlds exactly meshes — yet here he is, still hopelessly trying to tangle them together.

You know this, so you sigh. “Sorry for not being prom queen,” you joke back, only partly serious. You blink at him with a pair of twinkling eyes — slightly smudged with mascara. The sparkles of your eyeshadow glint when they catch the moonlight. 

“Don’t want you to be prom queen,” Steve confesses softly, smiling at you somehow softer. “I like you the way you are right now.”

You get a warm, tingly feeling in your stomach. It wells up your chest and into your throat until you feel like you might cry. 

You roll your eyes at him when they start to burn, laughing softly to distract from the overwhelming feeling. Your gaze flits to the velvet night sky, speckled with twinkling stars, until you get the courage to look back at the boy beside you. His face glitters with something hopeful. 

You swallow hard and ask, “You still want that dance or what?”

Steve glows with a boyish excitement. “Yeah! Are you kidding? Of course, I do.”

“Out here, though,” you tell him when he rises from the bench.

He smiles at the stern look in your delicate eyes. “Why? You ashamed of me or somthin’?” he jokes, as if he wasn’t named just prom king.

You stand before him with your arms crossed over the pretty corset of your dress. You bite back a smile. “I just wanna spend time with my boyfriend without it being on the cover of The Weekly Streak tomorrow,” you confess.

“Fair enough,” Steve nods, smoothing his wide hands over your sides. 

Yours are much less confident. They tremble with a misplaced worry as they spread over his shoulders. Your fingers fidget on the satin lapels of his expensive suit. His longer ones guide you back and forth, swaying you gently to the slow beat of the muffled song.

—Don’t ask me, what you know is true…

Don’t have to tell you, I love your precious heart—

You get lost in it all before you mean to. The warmth of having him so close, swaddled in his big hands and deep cologne. 

His honeyed gaze hasn’t yet wavered from you, but you don’t have the heart to meet it. He’s looking at you like he loves you. Like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Like you’re the fucking prom queen. 

You don’t feel particularly deserving of any of it.

“Are you still having fun?” you ask with a scrunched nose, visibly riddled with feelings of inadequacy. You still haven’t quite figured out why he’d rather be out here with you than inside with everyone else — with Vicki Carmichael, the actual prom queen.

“Loads,” Steve answers without missing a beat. His hands squeeze reassuringly at your hips as he flashes you a crooked grin. “It’s not even a question, honestly. I’d choose you over those schmucks in there any day of the week.”

He nods his slicked-back hair to the pulsing brick a few feet away. A few gelled chestnut strands drape over his forehead. You fight the urge to push them back.

“Really?” you squeak with your pretty face, all dolled up, twisted with an innocent look of confusion.

You have no idea how beautiful you are, Steve thinks to himself.

“Yeah,” he nods, grinning wide and wearing all his adoration on his chiseled, golden face. He could hide it if he tried. “Tommy Hagan isn’t nearly as pretty to look at.”

[jasontoddscigarette]

guys… Christmas Gala with Jason Todd 🎄🌃

Just imagine going to The Gotham Annual Christmas Benefit Ball on Jason’s arm? Hosted by Bruce Wayne, of course. The two of you stepping out of the sleek black Tahoe Bruce had sent to your shared apartment to make sure Jason brought his ass over for at least one gala this before it was over.

The sight of the two of you walking into the warmth of the Gotham City Hall ballroom captured in a time capsule by the paparazzi as they snapped hundreds of photos of the attractive couple. Knowing you’d end up in tabloids along with all the other clippings about Bruce Wayne and his elegant parties that some could only dream of. Snow falling into both of your hair peppering it as the streets were painted with a fresh fall of it for the approaching Christmas morning.

Jason for once cleaning up to the nines, a tux and his white-swirled raven hair gelled back as he held you close to him, using the warmth of his body to keep you toasty. A red backless dress with a bow on the base beautiful against your smooth skin. Hugging your body on all the ways it needed to, Jason unable to keep his hands off you, claiming it was because he just liked the shiny bow but you knew the second you got home he was taking that dress off and unwrapping you like his early Christmas present to ravish you.

The scent of pine from the fresh Christmas trees all over the venue, trays of cookies from the finest bakeries in Gotham, only the best for Bruce Waynes guest. The warmth of the white glow of fairy-strung Christmas and snowflake lights all over. The hum of Michael Bublé could be heard as Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) mixed in with the chatter of people and the clanking of wine glasses. Laughter and conversations filling the atmosphere, your annual Christmas Eve tradition, even if Jason pretended he hated it every single year. But, watching you surrounded by Christmas decorations, the glow of lights and tree-toppers on your gorgeous face? Made you look like the damn prettiest thing alive and he couldn’t pass that up. A angel amongst sinners.

Bonus if you can convince him to at least dance with you for one song, holding your soft body up against his hard muscled one, hands sliding up and down your sides, exposed back via your dress and of course just so happening to grab your ass at some points which you’d slap his arm playfully in reaction. Even though you both knew you loved it, his attention to you. His adoration. His worship. You both could’ve stayed home in your pajamas, cuddled up on the couch watching National Lampoons Christmas Vacation with whip-cream topped cocoa and he’d still think it was perfect. As long as you were there. As long as he had you.

He never really cared for holidays from his childhood until you stumbled along into his life unexpectedly, but now there was you. And he did everything he could to make them perfect for his girl. His girl. His perfect girl.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Our daddies uses to joke about the two of us | Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader

Summary: Your fathers' jokes turned to reality

Word count: 0.5k

I have not written for obx in a long time, but I was listening to Taylor Swift - as I very often do - and got this idea when hearing Mary's song

p.s. I'm back to writing for obx!! Sent requests!!

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You were seven and Rafe was nine when you met him.

Unlike him, your family didn’t live on the island. You had a summer house. Every July, your parents would pack and drive to Kildare to spend summer there. It was nice being close to the beach, but you didn’t have many friends.

Your fathers were golf partners at the country club and decided your families would celebrate 4th of July together at the Cameron estate. The house was massive and they had a pool and a large backyard to run around.

Sarah was introduced to you first, but she liked the color pink and turtles and you preferred lime green and stingrays. Therefore she couldn’t be your friend. Rafe liked lime green, but not stingrays…and you could live with that.

That summer, Rafe became your entire world.

You would go to the Cameron house and play pirates or swim in their pool. Your swimming skills weren’t the best, but Rafe was a great swimmer and promised he would never let you drown. Rose would bring you iced tea and animal crackers, and Rafe always let you have the tiger shaped ones.

At the end of summer, the country club had a season closure event and the loud noises of the fireworks were scaring you. You wanted to go to your mom for comfort, but you couldn’t see her. Instead, Rafe took your hand in his and distracted you by telling you about the frog Sarah caught and brought inside the house and a screaming Rose.

A year later, pink had become your favorite color, but you still spent your summer with Rafe. He didn’t want to play pirates anymore, but it was okay. 

When you turned nine, you dared him to kiss you under the backyard tree and ran when he tried because kissing was yucky. 

The fifth summer, Rafe had grown a few inches and was now towering over you. He kept saying he would beat you up because he was bigger than you, but he never did. He would never physically hurt you.

The following year, two boys started coming over to Rafe’s house. Kelce and Topper. They were always talking about girls — more specifically the brunette lifeguard at the beach. It made you uncomfortable, so you painted your nails with Sarah. 

A few years went by and you turned sixteen. Suddenly you weren't that little girl Rafe used to see. Your body had gone through puberty in the past year and on pool afternoons, Rafe had to force himself to stop looking at the way you filled your bikini and focus on the beach ball Topper was throwing at his head. 

You fathers used to joke about the two of you growing up and falling in love, but the joke was no longer one when you got caught kissing at midsummer. Rafe had another girl for date, but it was you he wanted to hold hands and dance with in that way-too-warm-for-summer tux. 

Goodbyes were extra difficult when August came to an end.

The breeze of the beach at night blew as you rested your head on his shoulder. Your friends were closer to the fire, drinking beer and celebrating the last day of summer. 

‘’I don't want you to leave,’’ Rafe said, watching as the water washed over the sand and swished. 

‘’Me either.’’ Your heart was heavy, knowing when morning come you'll get on the ferry and head home. ‘’I love you to the moon and Saturn, Rafe Cameron.’’

—

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[sslushpup]

Pomni

Program: Tux Paint

[belderchal]

Madotsuki made on Tux Paint

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead's Sister in Law!

Re-upload due to complications.

Chapter 1

Dion x Fem! Reader

Warnings: possible yandere themes, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, slight incestual themes due to the content of “Roxana,” blood, mention of murder

Nsfw warnings: Lost of virginity (both parties?), fingering, oral (fem receiving), spit, reader does NOT get to finish, vaginal pain, HEAVY DUB/CON.

Disclaimer: I do NOT condone any of the harmful and dangerous actions/behaviors that takes place in this piece of fiction. These actions/behaviors should not be normalized or romanticized as they are extremely toxic and dangerous.

Minors/blank/blogs that don’t reblog fanfiction dni and don’t span like my posts or you will be blocked.

Overall story summary: you reincarnated into one of your favorite novel-turned-webtoons. However, you didn't want to become the female lead's sister-in-law...

Word count: 4542k

===

“The Way to Protect the Female Lead’s Older Brother,” also known as “ROXANA” was a rather dark novel that was adapted into a webtoon. And as luck would have it, the webtoon wasn’t finished, and you don’t remember all the details of the fan translated web novel you found online.

Now, why would that be a problem? Simple:

You reincarnated into it. Not as a main character, or even a servant to one of the families. You weren’t a child of Lant’s or one of his many wives. You weren’t a friend to one of his children, either. Instead, it was worse than most of what was listed.

Whatever God you managed to piss off had a silly little, petty revenge plan that was straight out of a third-rate horror novel with teenage girls fawning over it. And truthfully, if written right, the non-existent novel would have been a banger – but no, instead it was anything but. Or maybe you only really think that because of your position in this world, where your birth was simple, but painful for your mother, and you were lucky enough to be born into a family that loved and cared for and about you.

It was a noble family, to boot. Wealthy enough to live a comfortable life. Two siblings – an older sister who was already married at the age of thirty with a child on the way. The other was a 12-year-old boy who made it his life mission to be the most annoying little piece of shit on earth.

But as you lay on your back, hands holding your nightgown in place, all you could think about was how small Dion Argece makes you feel. The wedding ceremony just finished up hours ago, and here you are, back pressed against silk sheets as your now-husband hovers over you.

(Name) Argece.

What a horrible name and cruel faith.

Inky black hair that falls into his carmine red eyes that held indifference. His wedding-tux was still on, even the outer jacket with the silly lone rose in his pocket. Oh, what a shame – to be married to such a handsome man only for him to be obsessed with his sister and emotionally unavailable.

God despises you.

“Close your eyes if you’re uncomfortable.”

He unbuttons his outer jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and tosses it to the side. You should close your eyes, you think, because his face was nothing but stone. Not even a condescending grin. He doesn’t comfort you, either – at least not in the typical sense.

“Keep still,” his gloved hands grab your thighs and you let him open them, creating space for him to get closer. You want to push him away and run. But what good would that do? Why couldn’t the man just slice something and claim that the blood on the sheets was from your first night?

“I’m scared.” You speak without thinking, becoming stiff as his hands traveled from your outer thigh to the inner, creeping underneath your nightgown. His gloves feel cold and uncomfortable, touch borderline rough. “I – I need a moment. Please?”

He tilts his head, giving it thought. After a moment he removes himself, but annoyance radiates off him. Your heart beats faster as the second’s pass. You remain on your back. The ceiling is painted white, no decorations and the room was bare saved for a dresser, closet, mirror and a random chair by the window.

You will be sleeping in here, from now on.

“Can’t do it? Then don’t.” he’s annoyed, surely, otherwise he wouldn’t look at you like you were an insect. What a wonderful way to start the newlywed life. But it’s not that easy to walk away, and while it sounds like he’s giving you a say-so, he isn’t; if you don’t consummate your marriage tonight, then…

“… I’m sorry. It’s my first time and I heard there would be pain.” You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. But Dion wasn’t exactly known for his… compassion. Or basic human emotions, either.

If this was someone else, would you be able to do it? Where did everything go wrong? This didn’t happen in the novel; Dion didn’t get married. There wasn’t a grand wedding with the Five Ruling Families in attendance. Nor was there a steamy scene with this man throughout the novel, not even in the side stories.

How did you end up here?

“Then relax.” If you weren’t scared of losing your life you would have run him over. It affects everything! Then again, it wouldn’t matter to him – this is a duty. Not something he wanted, you’re sure, and even if he did it would only have his best interests in mind.

“… I’m ready.” You don’t answer him, because it would only lead to a one-sided argument. Even a wall listens better. Despite your wishes, Dion does the same as last – settles in-between your legs, and this time, you close your eyes.

“Good. Try to relax or it won’t fit.” Your cheeks burn at that, mind already picturing how it would look. Many men say things like that, even in your old world. It’s just a thing they said, like with many things. It doesn’t really mean anything, because if it did then…

His gloves are still on, cold and grip tight on your thighs. You were hoping he would be gentler. But as his hands travel up and up until they’re pulling at the edges of your underwear to slide them down, you realize he won’t.

There’s no slickness down there, your underwear dry and vagina even drier. You peek through your eyelashes, watching as he inspects the article of clothing. He tosses it a few seconds later.

“I’m only going to ask once – would you rather keep your clothes on or off?” It seems that with every second reality just hits harder and harder. This was going to happen. Nothing could stop it. And if hypothetically, if he were to stop this, what then?

Even if he sliced an arm to fake the night, what about later? A baby, Lant wants Dion to have a child. No. You couldn’t do that to a child, especially yours.

“On. Please.” You expect him to just shove in a finger or two, watching as your body jerks in pain. Instead, he lifts your hips until your bottom was off the bed and flips the flimsy skirt up. And then there’s a glob of something wet and gooey, legs twitching as it lands on your bare cunt.

“D – did you just… spit?” steading yourself on your arms, you look on in disbelief as your husband just spat on your pussy. A string of saliva hangs from his tongue.

Instead of answering you, much less look at you, his thumb comes into play and spreads his saliva over the surface of your cunt. It’s only when his thumb swipes over your clit do you let out a shaky breath.

Maybe he was feeling generous or maybe he was curious. Dion decided to rub the twitching nub over and over until your legs twitch and cunt clenched around nothing. The glove made it uncomfortable, but even so, you just tried your best to focus on the pleasure. You weren’t sure if he would give you pleasure like this again.

“You’re enjoying this,” he retreats his hand leaving your twitching and needy clit lonely.

A pathetic whimper escapes as you watch your husband take his glove off with his teeth. This man is everything you fear and more, a character that you should have never met. Yet the sight of him lowering his head to lick a long stride against your slit has your legs shaking.

His tongue is warm and slimy, causing your hands to clench the sheets as your head falls back. Another lick and another until it’s flicking your clit back and forth, sending warmth throughout your body. However, despite the pleasure he’s giving you, his grip is still tight, almost painful on your hips.

Your heartbeat doesn’t slow down as he continues. Your fear barely dies down in your chest, even as the tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You shut your eyes tight, a breathless gasp leaving your lips as he thrusts his tongue into your cunt.

“It feels – “a pause as you catch your breath, “weird, it feels really weird and – “

Dion repeats the action until you’re a trembling mess, sensitive from your mental state and the current oral sex you’re receiving. It’s hard to focus on either one, your mind constantly reminding you that you’re in a novel, about to fuck a man who’s jaded and possibly has a thing for his sister –

“Ah… wait, that’s a lot…” he decides to go further, bringing his thumb back and rubs loose circles into your clit. He’s still eating you out, but not like a man starved like you read in erotic novels.

Even so, your husband keeps at it. If it was a good or bad thing was up for debate – on one hand, while it does feel good, everything is moving too fast, your pleas for slowing down falling on deaf ears. It really is a lot, tongue fucking you while those loose circles on your clit become tighter, rougher. Should you just lay back and take what he gives?

Your mother would probably say so. Your sister would just pat your head and smile like it was expected. Normal. Take what he gives, especially if it benefits you in any way.

“…?” your eyes open at his tongue leaving your cunt with a saliva trail, his eyes glued to your twitching sex. His thumb also stops rubbing circles, instead going back to grip your hip as your back starts to become sore. Your ass is still off the bed and if he keeps you hosted up like this, then you really will snap in half.

But then he locks eyes with you.

“I thought you were scared.” Dion doesn’t let you respond, either because he doesn’t care or because it would ruin the ‘mood.’ He latches his mouth to your poor, abused nub instead. And sucks.

“H-hey!” one hand supporting you while the other grabs at his hair, you didn’t expect him to throw your legs over his shoulders. “That’s enough, really, no need to – ugh…” his mouth was warm and soft, but it sends your nerves on fire.

Good. Bad. Good. Bad.

Good, bad, does it matter anymore?

He sucks harder and your fingers tug harshly at his hair. You kick your legs but are unable to tell if it’s from pleasure or the flight or fight response he’s causing you. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t bat an eye, making it his life mission to suck you dry.

“Ah – wait, Dion – “

It’s at your whine of his name does he finally, finally stop, a ‘pop’ when he detaches his mouth from your sensitive and bullied clit. Your husband decides to lick one last long stripe from your entrance to your clit, all the while making eye contact with you. Your chest heaves as your mind settles, arousal overthrowing your thoughts.

“What is it?” Monotone, his voice is monotone and he’s not even out of breath. Your mother lied, there’s not even a hint of pink across those cheeks. It’s fine, though – no, it’s not, it’s baffling how steady he seems when your back is about to break, and you can’t even breathe.

Your eyes travel from his to his hair, where your hand is still grasping the strands. Mind still catching up to your body, you let go and draw your hand back, covering your eyes with it. Your entire body is shaky and legs sore. You’re not used to this position.

“It – it’s enough.” Your husband lets you pull your legs back, feet pressing against his broad shoulders as you bring them back down. The relief is almost immediate, a pleasurable and relief-filled sigh leaving your chest. You allow yourself to rest for a bit, your sensitive cunt and sore legs screaming for it.

“… O – okay, I think, I think that’s fine. Excuse me…” gently, you pull one leg up until your foot is flat against the bed. With a shudder, you trace your entrance timidly with two fingers, getting used to the touch. You’re not sure of how big he was, but you’ll use three fingers just in case.

You gape like a fish when his hand reaches out, grabbing yours roughly. You didn’t even notice the dip in the mattress as Dion got closer on his knees, face inches away from yours. Oh God, now what –

“What are you doing?” clearly annoyed, Dion doesn’t let you look away – not that you were going to – free hand grabbing your face, pointer finger and thumb on each cheek. It’s barely loose enough to leave no bruises. It hurts regardless.

“I – I was… prepping…” part of you wants to pretend that this man doesn’t know how to comfortably prepare you for pentation with his… but you know better. Because an inexperienced man wouldn’t know how to do things with his tongue like that, or where the clit was because –

“Are you still scared?” The hand that was holding yours releases it, opting to sneak its way to your cunt. His fingers were larger than yours, nimbler as they stroke your labia minora. Are the shivers washing over you from nervousness or arousal?

“… I’m scared of the pain.” By instinct, you knew he meant more than scared of sex – if you feared him. Still.

It doesn’t need to be said.

“Scared of the pain?” His eyes glow in the moonlight, bright red with absolutely no emotion. “Why?” he doesn’t break eye contact as his fingers inch closer to your entrance, stroking the opening, making your legs jolt. What a horrible man.

You remind yourself that this man only felt fear as a child – and even then, it probably wasn’t for very long. Nothing lasts for long, in this estate.

“Because I hate it.” You don’t break eye contact either, breathing in when one finger slowly sinks in, your walls now stretching uncomfortably. It’s not as painful as you thought it would be, your wetness mixed with his saliva making it easier. Your nails are about to rip holes in the silk sheets.

Like a curious animal, he tilts his head, curling his finger. It doesn’t feel good, it hurts, but you endure it even when you wince. Dion decides it would be a good idea to spread your legs a bit further, and like a bug, crawls between them even more. You hiccup when he adds a second finger.

They’re bigger than yours, they reach deeper. In your old world, did it feel like this too? You can’t remember.

“It’s going to hurt worse if you don’t let me finish this. Relax your legs before it hurts worse.” Pressure builds in your eyes, but you fight it off. “Save your tears for when it matters.”

You’re tired of him already.

He doesn’t move them, at first. It’s almost like he expects this, because as you adjust to something foreign inside you, he starts to rub at your clit, again. Softly this time, touch firm enough to feel but not hard enough to hurt. Or maybe you’re lying to yourself because you’re wincing, still.

When he starts to thrust them in and out, you force yourself to look at the ceiling, scared to see the expression on his face. You also don’t want to watch the show, scared it’ll already be bloody. Just a bit.

“It’s tight.” He states it like it’s the morning news. “And wet.” Your cheeks burn with both shame and embarrassment, shutting your eyes.

“… ugh…,” groaning, your hand reaches out to grab his wrist. “It hurts, a lot.” You sit up, back against the headboard, avoiding your husband’s gaze. Unfortunately, by doing this, your eyes land on your messy hole, light blood on his fingers as he pulls them out only to thrust them in again.

“It’s normal. The more you resist the worse it gets.” You give up, letting him do as he pleases, shutting your mouth.

The fingering still hurts as the minutes go by, but little by little the pressure eases down and when he arches his hand, he hits something soft and spongy. He’s rewarded the sight of your head banging against the headboard once, shoulder tense as you bite your bottom lip.

If only you could see that look in his eyes.

“Here?” He repeats the action, faster this time. You only nod your head, lips ajar, tongue swiping over them. Your hips have a mind of their own, raising as the heel of his hand rapidly smacks against your clit with his thrust of his hand.

You’re half there mentally and halfway in heaven, momently forgetting just who was here with you, who room this belonged to, and your entire situation to begin with. “Oh - wait, it’s a lot but – “

A third finger is added, and it starts to sting again. Another wince, another groan, but your arousal helps to keep the pain to minimum. All three fingers curl to hit that special spot that makes you see blacked out stars and pussy clench. All the while light blood coats his fingers, a sight he’s already used to due to his lifestyle.

It’s only when he pulls his hand away completely do you return from the skies, a small layer of sweet coating your forehead. Your hands are shaky as you look at him, only to be drowned back into reality when you’re met with those red, indifferent eyes that glow brighter than the moon.

“If you’re ready, lay on your back and spread your legs.” He undoes his pants while saying this, scooting back to give you some room.

With a heavy heart, you do so, laying on your back and spread your legs. You were fine just moments ago, so why is your heart leaping out of your throat rather than staying in your chest? Maybe it was because of the pleasure, or…

You’re scared, again.

You don’t look when something fat and heavy plops onto your pelvis. You don’t look when he brings you closer by your thighs. You don’t look as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds, catching on your clit.

“Relax or it won’t fit,” he reminds you before pushing the fat head in. At first, it’s a sting no bigger than an ant bite. But then another inch goes in, and you feel like a sword is cutting you straight up open, your legs tensing and hands grasping his forearms in a futile attempt to stop him.

Your nails dig into his sleeves, and you can feel the skin underneath. The tears build up as your face becomes hot, taking in deep breaths like it would soften the intruding body part.

“Big – it’s too big, it’s not going to fit – “

“… You look cute when you cry.” It’s sinister, teasing and everything that makes your stomach drop. His thumb wipes away your tears that’s already staining your skin. But he stops regardless, if only to shut you up if nothing else.

You think a few minutes pass but it’s hard to tell when he’s still inside, pulsing and you could feel every vein on his cock. It’s thick, it’s big and you don’t think you’re equipped to handle it, handle him. He’s everything that ruins your sense of self, that makes your dreams shatter and fear rot you from the inside out.

But he’s your husband…

But he’s your husband.

“Relax,” he inches in deeper, slower this time, but not letting you get a word in. Your nails dig deeper, and if it weren’t for his shirt, you would have drawn blood. Another inch, another gasp that leaves you breathless, grasping for anything that could keep you grounded. The only thing you could grab was him, however.

“Dion, Dion, you’re going to break me, I can’t – I can’t – “

“You can. You have to.” Was his voice raspy, just now? If so, it worries you, because you just remembered one very important detail – Dion Argece was, if nothing else, a sadist. Be it from his childhood trauma, or if he would be like this regardless of, he loved seeing Roxana cried.

It never occurred to you that he would love seeing you cry, too.

How deep was he? It feels you’re being speared open, his cock bullying its way into your virgin hole. You weren’t a virgin in your last life, but it didn’t hurt like this. It had hurt, felt like you were being ripped, but not enough to make you cry and breathless.

You think you can feel blood trickling down your ass crack. “Please tell me you’re almost there, please…” sniffling, you look up at your husband, the man taking your virginity in the name of ‘marriage.’ A mirror shatters in the back of your mind.

There was a flush across his cheeks. Pupils blown wide and a small grin on his lips. He was enjoying this. Your pain, your tears and perhaps even your fear – he was enjoying this.

It would have been better if he didn’t feel anything, you think. Just a stone statue that was performing its task. But even monsters had emotions, you guess.

“I’m not. Just endure it for a bit longer – I’ll stop once I’m at the hilt.” Was he a liar in the novel? You think he was, otherwise, the overtaking of the Argece family wouldn’t have happened. Lant wouldn't be dead. But things haven’t followed the novel to a T – this was proof enough.

“You’ll stop? Like, completely? You – you took my virginity, so that should be enough. Right?”

You hate it when he keeps wiping your tears away. Or when he slides in even more, your blood coating his stupid dick. You hate it when he brings one hand to toy with your clit, granting you pleasure that was just overthrown by the smothering pain traveling up to your belly.

He doesn’t answer. And that was enough for you to rake your nails down the back of neck, drawing blood in return. He’s making you bleed, so it was only fair if you could too, right?

Deeper and deeper until his balls rest against your bottom and pelvic meeting yours. Surprisingly, your husband keeps his word, letting you adjust to the new feeling. It feels heavy. It feels like a heartbeat, like a rod that was stuck. It felt awful.

How long did it take you to get used to it, in the past? No longer than fifteen minutes max, right? No, shorter than that. Then again, it didn’t hurt this much, but that partner was more loving, more caring, gentler –

“Who are you thinking about?”

The question breaks you out of your daze. You blink, once, before you question him back. He only glares in response.

Panic fills you when he pulls out, pain still there, blood still trickling down. “Wait, you’re – “

“I’m what?” he pulls out until only the head remained inside. You try your best to ignore the bruising grip he has on your hips. You’re going to be sore tomorrow. If you survive this, anyway.

God, if you’re listening, please let this night end peacefully.

“B-big. It’s going to hurt, please don’t…” dragging your hands down from his neck to his chest, your fingers dig into his shirt.

“Hm. A shame, really; you still must give birth, eventually. It’s better to get used to it now than later.” Your mind doesn’t catch up with your body, legs tensing when he slides oh so carefully back in, like he didn’t just push your worries aside like nothing. “Relax.”

“Dion,” hiccupping, you brace yourself, head nuzzling into his chest as your hold on his shirt tightens. When he pulls back out, you could feel every detail, every vein trail, his grith truly opening you. He graces you a mercy, going at a languid pace, minimizing the pain. His thumb never stopped rubbing your clit, either.

It goes like that, for a good while. Slow and steady, your hushed sobs dying on your lips, your husband careful with his thrusts, but not his grip. It was almost comforting, in a way. But you were still scared of him, and of what will happen after this.

“… I have a proposition.”

His hips stop and your ears perk up.

“You want me to stop, correct?” Dion pulls back until he’s on his heels, his cock dragging along your walls. You wince before breathing out. He doesn’t even try to hide the sadistic look in his eye as he sees the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. He almost grins in glee.

“Y-yes…” You don’t let go of his shirt. “Why…?” there’s hope inside you, but dread starts to rot it away.

“Jerk it.”

“…what?”

He was different from the novel. Extremely so, because you doubt that Dion would suggest a thing, much less give you a choice in the matter. That Dion would have either ignored you and this night or take you as is, no mercy, no humanity granted if this took place at the beginning at the novel.

When he doesn’t repeat himself, you pull yourself up until you’re resting on your knees. The sight of blood both on his cock and the sheets make you gag and thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it. Hesitantly, you take him into your hands, fingers barely able to close around it.

It throbs in your hand.

Your blood is coating your hands now, too.

Only silence is between you, your hands working him. Your thumb swipes over his head, circling it before stroking his dick up and down. Your other hand plays with his balls, massaging them. You’re not sure how long it would take him to finish.

Your core throbs in pain, and you become worried over the thought of peeing. It would probably hurt.

You want to sleep.

Without giving it much thought, just like your husband, you spit on it, a glob of saliva falling onto the staff. It throbs harder. And when you look at him, tired eyes and drool still dripping down from your tongue, still jerking him off –

“…Ngh…”

It’s almost cute, the way sperm spurts out and makes a mess on your hands. The very small and fleeting look of embarrassment on his feature is almost enough to comfort you. But when there’s barely a sheen of sweat adoring his forehead, unlike you was still recovering, you’re reminded that your husband was different from you.

There are no kisses, no sweet nothings shared between lovers. No stroking your hair or comforting your trembling form as your legs shake. Or even an offer to warm a bath for you, the warm water soothing your body. There’s none of that.

Not even a smile.

“Welcome to the Argece family, wife.”

Instead, all that awaits you is a restless sleep on a bloodied mattress with a husband who left after cleaning himself up.

Which God despises you so much and why?

[papercwipping]

redrew a ref for my dear ROY G. BIV — fake art assistant and tux paint ripoff !

also enjoy this ( Vaguely Shitty ) webpage i made for funsies X-9

[chatocheto]

My flatmate and I binge-watched everymanhybrid some weeks ago and rly liked it so I made something on tux paint :] Still impressed at the crew's commitment to the project holy shit!!!

here's the speedpaint as always 💋

[mingsoooo]

Hallow

Pair: sunghoon & reader

genre: hallow Ball romance, kiss, past lives.

Word count: 1.5+ words

Synopsis: Your school invited your grade to a hallow ball which was unusual but what was more unusual was that you met these two men. What were you supposed to do when you met one of them in a dark narrow path?

Author notes: Uh... Tbh, I would need to make a second chapter about this to make sense of this chapter lol. Well, it was fun to write but there are still a lot of loopholes so, hopefully, I can continue it. For now, please enjoy it! Hopefully next one will be a full-fledged R18 smut chapter cuz sunghoon has quite alot of pent-up emotions. ><

"Y/N!!! Who could have thought that our school would organize a ball? Uh, I still don't believe it." Lily gleefully spoke. She wore a dress inspired by the nineteenth century. It was a lemon-yellowish dress with a full hem and short sleeves, which were full. 

"Me neither. But I'm glad. I have always wanted to celebrate Hallow this way at least once," you answered. You wore a red and black dress that had black flowers sewn on the hem—a perfect costume for the hallow with the air of the past and the Gothic. 

You were a part of a private school that was managed by the largest business in the country, the Park's. Apart from the government, they were the runner of the country, from the most luxurious schools to the factories, buses, and everything. And apparently, three of the family members of the park's were in the same grade as you. 

Perhaps they had demanded this type of celebration, which was why such an exception was made, as usually for Halloween, the school only provided holidays. 

"You know, Y/N, some girls earlier in the bathroom were talking about how the heirs of the park's are also attending the Halloween celebration today." Lily's eyes glinted while you could only pull off a smile. 

"I hope we don't run into them then," you replied. After all, any interaction with the rich people was only a quicker way to death.

As a commoner, you had enrolled in the academy with a scholarship. You had a family that was being torn apart, all because of the expensive fees despite the lower cost. You had a dream, and most of all, you were in a land of wolves. Lily was an exception, perhaps because she mostly lived away from society, abroad, but not you. 

You knew well about all the eyes of the people who wished for you to leave, thinking you were a leech of some sort. 

"Aww, don't say such bad things with such a warm smile, y/n." Lily patted your back while walking down the hallway, which was decorated in gothic decor. The lights were dim, and luxurious paintings were hung in the narrow pathway, which had a few fake cobwebs and even fingers of humans hung. 

After walking for about the next ten minutes, you finally arrived at the ballroom. When the guards opened the door, the magnificent hall was decorated with golden paint, and hundreds of paintings were revealed. The music was sad and slow. All were dressed in Victorian yet modern dresses. Some drank the red wine while some danced. 

"Y/n-ah! We have to dance as well!! Let's downstairs go!"  Lily excitedly pulled your wrist down the velvet stairs while your eyes remained vigilant, but your heart felt unsettled. As you were running downstairs while looking towards the vault of the hall. It had a painting of seven men raising their glasses. 

But just as you were gazing more closely, suddenly a strong something hit your shoulders. Huh? 

"Ah-" You whined while Lily's hands abruptly left you, making your balance shaky. As your heels were tall, your body almost fell backwards, but in a swish of a moment, a man caught you by the waist. 

His eyes were filled with boredom, and he wore pristine clothes. A neat black tux with slick hair. It was just for a brief moment, but as your eyes locked with his, the subtle changes in him were so fast, you couldn't help but be fascinated. 

"Uh, thank you for helping me." Your eyes looked away while the tips of your ears were rosy and warm. It hadn't gone unnoticed, but Sunghoon only gave a nod before heading upwards. 

"Y/n! I'm so sorry."

"That's okay. But let's head down now." 

"Eh"

You intertwined your hands with Lily while walking down the grandiose stairs. By the time you had arrived, the music changed right away, signifying the change in partners. So, despite the awkwardness just for Lily, you too decided to participate in the ball dance. 

"May I?" A man wearing a golden tux got on his knees and kissed the back of your palm. His eyes were sharp and hazel, almost as if he were staring at your soul. His expressions were quick to change from a condescending man to a caring gentleman, his hair neatly set, and he had a flirty gaze. He was perhaps one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. A perfectly sculpted nose and soft kissable lips. 

The time went on, but you could only take a gulp. While the heartbeat accelerated, you took a sign, closed your eyes, and replied, "Yes, please."

Gently, he pressed his lips on the back of your hand while locking eyes with you. It was just an act, and yet, it made your heart race. 

Focus Y/n focus!! You chanted while the man took the lead. 

The soft music began to play, and as he pressed his hand on your waist while you kept your palm on his shoulder, you danced. 

"I am Jake," he spoke behind your ear while holding you close. The dance was far from over, but you could already feel your legs giving up. 

"Y/N," you too revealed, but after a long silence. Jake was handsome, but he caught too much attention. You could feel the glares and daggers and burning sensation behind your head. Right when the music was over, you immediately gave a bow and ran away from the hall, asking one of the servers for the way to the bathroom. 

"Tsk, always on the tip of her toes." Jake rolled his eyes while instantly being surrounded by a crowd of women who wished to dance with him next. 

He was dangerous! He was wild! He was something else! But he was not the way he portrayed himself to be! 

As per the instructions of the server, you continued to run through the narrow hall, which was only lit by a couple of candles, which were soon about to burn out. "Phew," you breathed out while still pinching the hem of the skirt and running for your life. 

"Ah," you were stopped by a strong force. It was warm but sturdy. 

'huh?'

Your hands pressed on the wall-like thing with both your hands while you looked upward only to meet with the same man again from before. This time her hair was ruffled. His necktie was slightly loosened, and his eyes were hostile instead of bored. 

"What are you doing here?" He glared down at you while his gruff voice enveloped the silence of the narrow path. As you looked at your hand placement, suddenly you realized it was his chest! "Ah!!" you screamed in lowercase while taking your hands to your sides. Blood rushed to the apples of your cheeks due to embarrassment. 

"I am running away," you blurted out. It was sudden, and although you were telling the truth, the ma gave a side eye before his eyes landed on your open shoulders and tender neck, which gave you some time to look at him closer. 

He was handsome, almost like a work of art. He had chiseled jaws, thick brows, and sharp eyes, with a tall nose that was perfectly sculpted. But he had an icy and dangerous feel to him. As you continued to admire him, suddenly a hand made both your hands pin to the wall behind you while a thick pair of top lips pressed on yours. 

"Umm--um!" It was all too sudden, and as you tried to shake off his strong grip, your muffled muffles soon were so pressed down by his kiss. His kiss was soft, almost heart-fluttering despite him dominating you. 

He kissed each part of your lips, then gently nibbling them down. Right after, he started to kiss your jaw, then your neckline, while you continued to feel it all, tears in your eyes. It felt wonderful; somehow his touch was warm and almost melting, but it was your first kiss! 

It was supposed to be special! But to whom could you tell about it? Who would take the side of the poor, especially when the man before you were definitely someone with lots of power and position? It was sweet but bitter. Still, as Sunghoon continued to kiss down on your neck, he found a sweet spot right between the shoulder and the neck. It was sweet; it smelt heavenly, almost mouth-drooling. 

"It's my first kiss," you whimpered with teary eyes. As if out of a hallucinating dream, Sunghoon suddenly let go of your hands. His eyes looked to the ground while biting his lips. 

Were you free? Could you run? You were not sure, but the very moment he let go, you started to run away, reaching for the door. While Sunghoon could only look your way. 

"Fuck," he muttered while still listening to your footsteps. He knew he had fucked up, but how could he stop? Especially when he had held back for a thousand years.