#something like this shouldn't need to be said

[bathypelagicbutch]

the first time i was treated even remotely respectfully in public when i first transitioned was at 3am in a 24 hour pizza place while high out of my mind on shrooms. i was in full drag with a full face and it was the first and only time i was ever gendered correctly and respectfully in a public place while presenting femme. i pass now, and I'm thankful that i do, but the amount of effort I've had to put into making my body as acceptable as possible for people just so i don't get harassed for more reasons than being Black in places i don't belong (super white grad school lmao) is wild. i shouldn't have to make myself look like you want me to fuck you for you to respect me, and it really shouldn't be that hard for queer people to realise that that is literally what most of society, including white queers, forces us to do. there's a weird intersection with Blackness and masculinity for both Black men and women that i feel gets pointed out a lot, but i feel like the hypermasculinisation of Black women unless they present sufficiently slutty is something that only gets talked about at length for cis Black women and queer Black women in general. mainly because whenever the dolls try to bring it up the only response is immediate horniness or complete denial. it's also interesting that when i started presenting more masc i started passing, but since then the amount of horny white people who've been unable to remove the rupaulified fucktoy version of me in their brain for long enough to listen to me when i try to talk about how much it sucks being butch and trans has increased. exponentially. you all have too many issues with Black men to even notice how your racism affects every part of how you view Blackness in general.

speaking of! follow up to that earlier thing i said about not being able to be masc and trans without ppl needing to remind you that they only support you for your ability to fuck them ‐ it's worse when you're Black, and you white queens do it too. and i really don't think you realise you do! because I've talked about this with almost every person I've been with (if I've even been allowed to before being dismissed without a hint of concern) and most of them just admitted to doing this at some point in our relationship. so instead of being philosophical I'll just use a few examples from the past 3 years (because they get worse if you go earlier and also i. do not have to)

you don't get to call me sir in bed because I'm masc and you said you want to treat me like a guy in bed (you're gay please stop confusing Black masculinity for being a man and work on your issues before fucking me) and you especially don't get to use this as leverage against me whenever i discuss how racist the relationship dynamic is despite your incredibly vocal support of my activism. you don't get to use my body or the right to demand that i use your body because you have a fetish for Black men, and you aren't allowed to get upset when i point out that this is the most supportive attitude you've had towards any part of me the entire time we've been together. you don't get to take out your frustration against Black people or Black men by making me fuck you, and again you don't get to get upset when i point out how fucked up that is that you call yourself an ally and then only use that allyship to get dicked down. you don't get to assume that because I'm Black and masc i'm the most aggressive top you've ever come across and you don't get to white woman tears your way out of it by using your own transness as a pass. you aren't allowed to enjoy Black bodies if we're only a commodity to you (which you openly admit) and you similarly don't get to white woman tears your eay out of it by using your confused sexuality as a pass.

i think I've made my point so I'm gonna stop! but yeah can you all be normal about Black people thanks a million blushes sweetly

kinda uncomfortable how ppl cant celebrate black trans women unless they are superduperhyperfeminine with 19 layers of makeup + expensive surgeries/weaves/dresses and looking like theyre going to walk the red carpet every day

[shdysders]

lips that lied

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: tara makes a drunken mistake at the party you didn't want her to attend.

word count: 8.5k

Tara didn't mean for it to turn into a fight.

She never did. It was like something inside her took over—this simmering frustration that she couldn't control, no matter how hard she tried.

The moment someone started telling her what to do or how to live her life, it was like a switch flipped.

She'd hear the words, feel the anger rise, and before she even realized it, she was saying something sharp, defensive.

It had started small, little things that shouldn't have mattered so much. Sam reminding her to take her laundry to her room or nagging her to empty the dishwasher.

Tara knew Sam wasn't trying to push her buttons, but it always felt like she was. The tone Sam used—the one laced with authority, like she was the boss of everything—grated on Tara's nerves.

It didn't matter that Sam was older, that she'd been through more. Tara wasn't a kid anymore. She didn't need someone hovering over her shoulder, pointing out every little thing she did wrong.

But it wasn't just Sam anymore. The fights had started bleeding into other parts of her life, other relationships. With you. And that hurt more than anything.

You were the one person Tara felt like she could truly be herself around, the one who always had her back, no matter what.

But lately, it felt like every conversation between you two ended the same way—with raised voices and lingering tension. And no matter how hard she tried to keep her temper in check, she always ended up getting mad.

She didn't mean it. She didn't intend to lash out at you. But when you brought up the parties, the drinking, the staying out late, it was like a spark to dry tinder. It wasn't the words themselves—it was the way you said them.

The concern in your voice, the way your brows furrowed just slightly, like you were worried but also disappointed. It made her feel like you didn't trust her, like you thought she was reckless and incapable. And that stung more than she'd ever let on.

Deep down, Tara knew where you were coming from. After everything you'd both been through—everything with Ghostface—it made sense that you'd be scared, that you'd want to protect her. She understood that.

But she couldn't shake the feeling that your concern came with strings, like it was just another way of trying to control her. Another way of making her feel small, like she couldn't make her own choices without you or Sam hovering over her shoulder.

And maybe it wasn't fair to take it out on you. Maybe it wasn't fair to get angry every time you brought it up. But Tara couldn't help it. The anger came fast and burned hot, and by the time she realized it, the damage was already done.

It was always about the same thing, too—the parties, the drinking. Always. You'd look at her like she was throwing her life away, and she'd lash out, throwing up her walls before you could even get a word in.

She hated the look on your face when it happened, the way your shoulders would drop just slightly, like you were trying to hide how much it hurt.

But that only made her angrier—at you, at herself, at everything.

Because she didn't know how to stop it. She didn't know how to stop feeling like this, like everyone she cared about was trying to tell her how to live her life. And she didn't know how to tell you that it wasn't you she was angry at—it was everything else.

Tara had been trying—really, she had. There were nights she'd sat on her bed, staring at the ceiling, telling herself she didn't need to go out again. That she could say no the next time her friends invited her to a party. College life wasn't supposed to be about drinking until you blacked out or waking up to half-remembered nights.

That's what you and Sam had told her, over and over. And the worst part? You were right. Tara knew you were right. That's probably why it made her so angry.

She hated the way her stomach twisted every time you brought it up, the way your words stuck in her head like some nagging voice she couldn't shake.

She wasn't proud of some of the nights she'd had—the tequila shots that blurred into oblivion, the mornings she woke up with her head pounding and no idea how she got back to her room.

But she didn't want to hear it from you. Not when it already weighed on her enough.

And yet, she'd been trying. Tara hadn't gone to as many parties recently, even when her friends begged her to come out. She told herself she didn't need it, that she didn't need to drown herself in the chaos of booze and loud music just to feel something.

College wasn't about that. You and Sam were right about that too.

But tonight... tonight was Halloween.

The one night of the year where partying didn't feel reckless—it felt expected. It wasn't just about drinking; it was about the costumes, the energy, the way everyone on campus seemed to buzz with excitement for weeks leading up to it.

Tara had spent the last two days scrolling through pictures of her friends' costumes, feeling the first pangs of FOMO creeping in as they texted her plans for the night.

If there was ever a night to drink and party, it was Halloween. That's what everyone kept saying, and deep down, Tara agreed. It wasn't like any other night of the year. This wasn't just some random frat party—it was a celebration, an excuse to dress up, let loose, and not think about all the heavy stuff for a while. For once, it felt justified.

But there was that nagging voice again. The one that sounded a lot like yours.

You wouldn't see it that way. You never did.

It was part of why she hadn't brought it up yet, why she'd stayed quiet all day when the group chat started blowing up with details about pre-games and house locations. She already knew what you'd say, could hear the conversation playing out in her head like a bad rerun.

Isn't it the same as every other one? You said you were going to cut back, Tara.

She sighed, pulling her phone out and scrolling through the endless stream of messages. It wasn't like she hadn't thought about staying in. There was something comforting about the idea of spending the night with you, cozying up on the couch with a movie while everyone else partied. She liked those nights the most. She liked you the most.

But Halloween only came once a year, and she wasn't ready to let it pass her by.

She had made up her mind hours ago.

Though she hadn't told you yet, and maybe that was unfair. But what was the point? You'd already made your feelings clear about the parties and the drinking, and she wasn't in the mood for another lecture. It wasn't like she needed your permission anyway. Tara had spent all afternoon convincing herself of that, repeating it in her head like a mantra while she got ready.

Now, standing in front of her mirror, she leaned in closer, carefully dragging the eyeliner across her lid with a steady hand. Her music played softly from her speaker as she moved with practiced ease, brushing a shimmery gold shadow over her eyes.

The sound of your footsteps approaching the room made her shoulders tense, but she didn't let it show. She focused on her reflection, keeping her face neutral, as if she hadn't heard you come to the doorway.

You leaned against the frame, your arms crossed loosely over your chest. "Where are you going?" Your voice was casual, but the curiosity behind it was unmistakable.

Tara's eyes flicked to yours in the mirror, her expression calm, as if this were no big deal. "Just a Halloween party," she said, her tone light and nonchalant. She reached for her lipstick, uncapping it and twisting it up. "I was thinking maybe you could come along."

It was true. She wanted you to come.

You didn't answer right away. Tara could feel your hesitation, the way your arms tightened slightly against your body. Finally, you spoke, your voice softer this time. "Oh... I thought we could just stay home and watch a movie. Sam's not home, so it'd just be the two of us."

Tara froze for just a second, the lipstick poised in her hand. She felt the weight of your words settle over the room, quiet but heavy. She hadn't thought about that—about how it would've been just you and her tonight, no interruptions, no one else around.

Her gaze flicked back to the mirror, and for a moment, she almost said yes. But the lipstick in her hand reminded her of where her night was already headed, of the costume she'd spent hours putting together.

She sighed quietly, muttering under her breath, "Well, you should've said something sooner, then."

The words were out before she could stop them. She didn't even think about how they'd sound until the silence that followed made her realize just how loud they'd been.

Slowly, she glanced at you again in the mirror, her stomach twisting as she saw the way your expression changed—the faint flicker of hurt in your eyes, the way your posture straightened as if bracing for something.

Tara clenched her jaw, trying to push down the flicker of anger she could already feel stirring in her chest. She hadn't meant to snap—it just came out wrong. But the way you stood there, looking at her like she'd just let you down, made it so much harder to keep her cool.

She capped the lipstick with a sharp click and turned to face you fully, leaning one hand against the desk behind her. "Are you coming or not?" she asked, her voice clipped, already tinged with irritation.

You hesitated again, and Tara could see the conflict written all over your face. "No," you said finally, your voice quiet but firm. "And honestly... I don't think you should go either."

There it was—the thing she'd been waiting for, the thing she was dreading. Your concern, your protectiveness, wrapped up in a polite but unmistakable disapproval.

Tara let out a sharp exhale, shaking her head as she pushed off the desk. "Of course you don't," she muttered under her breath, though it wasn't quite quiet enough to go unnoticed.

She started pacing the room, her hands flexing at her sides as she tried to keep herself in check, but the familiar heat of frustration was already creeping up her neck.

This was how it always started—your calm but firm words, her biting back without thinking, and then the inevitable explosion. She could feel it building, that anger she never knew how to stop, the same kind that always reared its head when Sam tried to tell her what to do.

"I don't get why this is such a big deal," Tara said, her tone sharper than she intended. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back against the desk with a defensive edge. "It's Halloween. It's not like I do this every night."

"You shouldn't be doing it at all," you replied, your voice quiet but firm, though there was a tension in your jaw that gave away your frustration. "Tara, you know it's not safe. Not after—"

"Don't." Her voice was clipped as she cut you off, her eyes narrowing as she shook her head. "Don't bring that up." She pushed herself off the desk, turning her back to you.

Her fingers tightened around the fabric as she stared at the floor. Her chest felt tight, her heart pounding against her ribs like it wanted to break free. She didn't need you to say it. She already knew. The parties, the drinking—it wasn't safe. It wasn't smart. But she was so tired of being reminded of it, so tired of feeling like she couldn't make a single decision without someone stepping in to tell her it was the wrong one.

"Why do we keep having this same conversation?" Tara asked, spinning around to face you, her voice louder now, almost exasperated. She threw her hands up, the movement sharp and agitated. "Why can't you just trust me?"

"It's not about trust," you said, your voice rising slightly to match hers, though you clearly didn't want to fight. "It's about being realistic, Tara. If something happens—"

"Nothing is going to happen!" Tara snapped, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. She took a step closer to you, her frustration spilling out in the way her fists clenched at her sides. "Why do you always assume the worst? I'm not some reckless idiot who can't take care of herself!"

You flinched slightly, your lips pressing together into a thin line. But then, your eyes met hers, steady and unflinching. "I don't think you're reckless," you said, your voice softer now but still resolute. "I think you're stubborn. And I think you're angry, and you don't even know why half the time."

Tara's breath hitched, the words cutting deeper than she'd expected. Her jaw tightened, and she let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head as she looked away. "Oh, so now I'm the problem?" she muttered bitterly, pacing a few steps to the other side of the room.

"I didn't say that," you said, your voice still calm, but there was an edge to it now—a frustration that had been building over time. "But you don't listen, Tara. Not to me. Not to Sam. It's like you don't care how much we worry about you."

She stopped pacing, her head snapping up to meet your gaze. "I didn't ask you to worry," she shot back, her tone colder now. "I didn't ask for either of you to act like I'm some fragile little kid who can't handle herself."

The words hung in the air, heavy and cutting.

"Tara..." Your voice wavered slightly, and for a moment, she saw the hurt flicker in your eyes, the way your shoulders sagged just a bit. "I'm not trying to control you. I'm trying to keep you safe. Because I care about you. Because I love you. And it feels like you don't even care about that."

Her chest tightened at your words, but she pushed the feeling down, burying it beneath her anger. "I do care," she snapped, though her voice cracked slightly. "But I can't keep living my life walking on eggshells because you're scared something might happen. That's not fair."

"And it's fair to me?" you shot back, your voice rising now, the frustration finally spilling over. "To stand here and watch you go out, knowing damn well something could happen to you and I'd be powerless to stop it?"

Tara opened her mouth to respond but found herself at a loss. Her hands fell to her sides, her breathing uneven as she stared at you, the weight of your words sinking in. The anger still simmered beneath her skin, but now it was tangled with guilt, confusion, and something she didn't know how to name.

"It's not safe, Tara," you said, your tone softer this time, like you were pleading with her. Your hands rested at your sides, fingers twitching slightly, a subtle sign of the nerves you were trying to hide. "You drink too much. You're out late, and if something happened—"

"Like what?" Tara cut you off sharply, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as she took a step back. Her posture screamed defensiveness, her jaw tightening as she stared you down. "Ghostface? You think I can't handle myself?"

"That's not what I'm saying, and you know it," you replied, exhaling in frustration. Your tone was measured, but there was an edge to it now, like you were walking a fine line between trying to stay calm and letting your own anger slip through. "I just don't understand why you need to go out all the time. Why can't we just stay here? Together?"

Tara's mouth opened, then closed, her eyes flickering to the floor for a brief second before she met your gaze again. Staying here felt suffocating, like the walls of the apartment were closing in on her a little more every day. But she didn't say that. Instead, she threw her hands up in exasperation, her voice rising despite herself.

"I'm not some kid who needs a curfew, okay? I'm not going to stop living my life just because you and Sam want to keep me locked up in bubble wrap!"

Your face fell, the flicker of hurt in your eyes like a knife twisting in Tara's chest. She hadn't meant it like that—at least, not entirely. But the words were out now, sharp and cutting, and there was no way to take them back.

"Tara..." Your voice was quieter now, but the disappointment in it was unmistakable. It made her stomach churn, but the anger boiling inside her wouldn't let her stop.

"You don't get it," she snapped, doubling down even though part of her wanted to stop. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, her body trembling slightly as she glared at you. "You never want to come with me anyway, so why do you care so much? You're just going to sit here and judge me from the couch like you always do!"

"That's not fair," you said, your voice breaking slightly, but you didn't raise it. Instead, you crossed your arms, your shoulders hunching defensively as you looked at her, the sadness in your eyes more apparent now. "I'm not judging you, Tara. I'm scared for you. There's a difference."

"Scared for me?" she scoffed, rolling her eyes as she took another step back, her arms still crossed like she was shielding herself. "I don't need you to be scared for me. I'm fine! I'm not some helpless little girl who needs you holding my hand every second of the day!"

You blinked, your lips parting like you wanted to say something, but the words didn't come. Tara could see the hurt written all over your face, the way your shoulders slumped like her words had physically knocked the wind out of you.

"Why do you always do this?" she continued, her voice louder now, cracking slightly at the edges. She ran a hand through her hair, pacing a few steps before spinning back around to face you. "Why do you always make me feel like I'm the bad guy? Like I'm the problem?"

"I'm not trying to make you feel like anything," you said, your voice shaking now, though you still kept it calm. "I just—I don't want to lose you, Tara. Is that so hard to understand?"

Tara froze for a moment, your words cutting through her anger like a blade. But instead of softening, the guilt twisting in her gut only fueled the fire.

"You're not going to lose me," she said, her tone sharp, almost dismissive. "But you can't keep treating me like I'm going to break every time I step out the door. That's not fair to me, okay? I'm allowed to have a life."

The silence that followed was heavy, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on. Tara's chest heaved as she stared at you, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails bit into her palms.

You took a step closer, your hands falling to your sides as you looked at her with pleading eyes. "I'm not trying to take away your life, Tara. I just want to be a part of it. And I want you to be safe. That's all."

Tara's hands shook at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to hold herself together. But the tightness in her chest only grew, her pulse pounding in her ears.

She felt caged, suffocated by the weight of your concern, like every decision she made had to be scrutinized and questioned.

It wasn't fair—it wasn't fair that you could make her feel this way, guilty and cornered, when all she wanted was space to breathe.

"Well, maybe I don't want you to be a part of it!" The words were out before she could stop them, and the second they left her mouth, she wanted to take them back.

Your expression shattered, your eyes widening slightly as you stepped back like she'd physically pushed you. The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air.

Tara swallowed hard, her throat tightening as she looked away. "I didn't mean that," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. But the damage was already done.

You didn't say anything, your lips pressing into a thin line as you looked down, your hands clenching at your sides.

"I'm going," she said finally, her voice colder now as she grabbed her jacket off the chair. "Don't wait up."

You finally opened your mouth at that, your voice trembling as you took a hesitant step forward. "Tara, wait, I'll—”

But you were interrupted by the sharp slam of the door.

Which Tara slammed behind her harder than she meant to, the sharp sound echoing in the hallway. She paused for a moment, her chest heaving as the anger slowly began to ebb, leaving guilt in its place. She rubbed a hand over her face, muttering a quiet curse under her breath.

She did feel bad. She hated the look on your face, the way your shoulders had slumped, like her words had taken something out of you.

But going back now? That would only prove your point—that she couldn't handle herself. Tara wasn't going to let that happen.

Her boots clicked against the pavement as she made her way down the street, her jacket pulled tightly around her. The city was alive with Halloween energy, groups of costumed people spilling out of bars and clubs, laughter and music filling the air. It should've made her feel better, reminded her why she was doing this. Instead, it only made her stomach twist.

By the time she reached the house, the bass from the music inside was already vibrating through the sidewalk. The door swung open as someone stumbled out, nearly knocking into her, and Tara slipped past them without a word.

Inside, the party was in full swing. The living room was packed with people, costumes ranging from elaborate to lazy crowding every corner. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat, the music loud enough to drown out her thoughts. Perfect.

The first thing she did was head for the kitchen, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. She grabbed a red solo cup from the counter and poured herself a drink, the burn of the cheap vodka barely registering as she tipped it back and swallowed half in one go.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through her chest. Tara grabbed another cup—this time mixing it with whatever mixer was nearby—and made her way back to the main room, the tension in her body slowly unwinding.

"Tara!" Anika's voice cut through the noise, and Tara turned to see her standing near the couch, Mindy by her side. Both of them were grinning, their costumes half-wrinkled from the chaos of the party.

"Hey!" Tara forced a smile, lifting her drink in a half-hearted salute as she made her way over.

"Look at you!" Mindy said, smirking as she gave Tara a once-over. "All dressed up and ready to party. Didn't think you were coming."

"Changed my mind," Tara replied casually, taking another sip of her drink as she leaned against the wall.

Anika nudged her playfully, her own drink sloshing slightly in her hand. "Glad you did. It's not a party without you."

Tara chuckled softly, her smile feeling a little more real now. The noise, the crowd, the alcohol—it was a distraction, exactly what she needed.

Anika shook her head, grinning as she sipped her drink. "Where's Y/N? I thought you two were hanging out tonight."

Mindy shot Tara a knowing look, raising her drink to her lips as she waited for the response.

Tara stiffened, her grip tightening slightly on her cup before she masked it with a shrug. "She didn't feel like coming."

"Really?" Anika frowned. "She seemed excited about Halloween the other day."

"She had other plans," Tara said quickly, brushing it off as she took another sip of her drink. "It's not a big deal."

Anika's brows furrowed slightly, but she didn't push. Mindy, however, smirked as she leaned closer. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Shut up," Tara muttered, rolling her eyes as she took a long drink.

Mindy laughed, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Just saying."

"Okay, but seriously," Mindy said, her tone conspiratorial as she leaned closer, clearly trying to change the subject. "Who do you think has the worst costume here? My vote's on the guy in the banana suit.”

Tara snorted, the tension in her chest loosening a little more as she let herself fall into the moment, pushing everything else to the back of her mind.

For now, this was enough.

But it wasn't for long.

The drinks went down too easily tonight, one after the other, the burn of the alcohol soon replaced by a numbing buzz that made Tara's limbs feel weightless. She wasn't keeping track—she never did—but by the time she was halfway through her fourth drink, the world around her had already started to blur.

It was worse than usual. She could feel it, the familiar dizziness settling in her head, the way her balance wavered slightly every time she shifted her weight. But she didn't care. She couldn't care.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw your face—the way your voice had cracked when you said, "I just don't want to lose you." The guilt she'd managed to bury earlier was bubbling back to the surface, and the only way to shove it down again was to keep drinking.

By the time she reached for her fifth cup, her hands were unsteady. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice told her to stop, that this was too much, too fast. But that voice sounded a lot like you, and Tara didn't want to hear it.

She threw back the drink anyway, wincing as it went down harder this time, the sweetness of the mixer barely masking the sharpness of the alcohol. The room spun slightly when she set the cup down, and she reached out to steady herself on the edge of the counter.

"Hey, you good?" someone asked, but Tara didn't bother turning to look. She waved them off with a muttered "Yeah, fine," before pushing herself away from the counter.

She stumbled back into the main room, the crowd swallowing her whole. Anika and Mindy had been here a minute ago—she was sure of it—but now they were nowhere to be seen.

God, she was drunk. Too drunk.

She tried to push through the sea of people, her eyes darting around the room in search of her friends. Her chest tightened when she couldn't spot them, panic starting to creep in around the edges of her alcohol-fueled haze.

Someone bumped into her, spilling a bit of their drink onto her jacket, and she spun around, her frustration spilling out in a slurred, "Watch it!" The person just rolled their eyes and moved on, leaving Tara standing there, unsteady and alone in the middle of the chaos.

Her head was pounding now, the music too loud, the lights too bright. She fumbled for her phone, pulling it out of her pocket to call Anika or Mindy, but her fingers felt clumsy, and she nearly dropped it twice before managing to open her contacts.

No answer.

Tara swallowed hard, her throat burning from the alcohol and something else she didn't want to name. The room felt smaller now, the walls closing in as the reality of the situation began to settle over her. She'd lost her friends. She was drunker than she'd ever been. And she had no idea what to do next.

The air in the crowded living room was stifling, thick with the mingling scents of sweat, spilled drinks, and cheap perfume.

Her head was swimming, the pounding bass vibrating in her chest like a second heartbeat. She pressed a hand to her temple, grimacing as the alcohol buzz threatened to tip her into full-on dizziness.

Her throat burned, dry and aching from the string of drinks she'd knocked back earlier. She needed water. Something cold to clear her head and keep her upright. The thought became a singular focus, cutting through the haze. Just water. If she could get to the kitchen, maybe she could think straight again.

The dimly lit hallway leading to it felt like a challenge course, bodies crowding every step of the way. Tara squeezed past a couple leaning against the wall and miscalculated her footing as her balance wavered. Before she could stop herself, she collided into someone with enough force to send her stumbling back.

"Whoa there," the guy said, his hands coming up instinctively to catch her by the shoulders.

Tara blinked, disoriented, her face heating from the embarrassment and the alcohol swirling in her system. "Sorry," she muttered, trying to straighten herself as her vision cleared enough to see who she'd bumped into.

Frankie. Of course.

He smirked, letting his hands drop but not stepping back. "Tara Carpenter, right?" His tone carried a mix of recognition and amusement, as though the universe had handed him this moment just for fun.

"Yeah," she said, brushing her hair back as she tried to shake off the drunken haze clouding her thoughts. "Sorry, I wasn't—"

"Looking where you were going?" he teased, his grin widening.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the faint curve of a smile tugging at her lips. "Something like that."

Frankie didn't move away, his presence lingering a little too close for what might have been polite. He tilted his head, giving her a once-over with that same smirk, his dark eyes glinting under the dim light.

"You seem like you've had a good time tonight," he said, his voice light but edged with something Tara couldn't quite place.

She shrugged, brushing imaginary lint off her sleeve as a distraction. "It's a party," she said, aiming for casual. "That's kind of the point, isn't it?"

Frankie chuckled, the sound low and smooth. "True. But you look like you might need a breather. Want some water or...?"

Tara raised an eyebrow, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. She wasn't sure if he was being considerate or just trying to prolong the conversation. Either way, she crossed her arms, leaning her hip against the counter to steady herself.

"I was about to get one," she admitted, her voice more defensive than she intended.

"Smart move," Frankie said, stepping around her to open the fridge. He pulled out a bottle and held it up with a crooked smile. "Ladies first?"

Her gaze flicked between him and the bottle, her lips quirking in a faint smirk of her own. "Thanks," she said, taking it from him and twisting the cap off.

She took a long sip, her throat easing from the burn of the earlier drinks. The water was cold, sharp against her tongue, and for a moment, she let herself focus on that—on the relief of it.

"So," Frankie said, leaning back against the counter as he watched her. "What brings you to this madhouse tonight? Thought you weren't much for these kinds of things."

Tara bristled slightly at the question, shifting her weight to the other foot. "Why does everyone assume that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "I can have fun, you know."

He grinned again, but it was softer this time, almost like he was testing the waters. "Didn't mean anything by it," he said. "Just... you seem more low-key. Not the type to down four drinks and stumble into strangers."

Tara rolled her eyes, though she couldn't entirely stop the heat rising to her cheeks. "Guess I'm full of surprises," she said, taking another sip of water.

Her thoughts drifted briefly as the alcohol in her system dulled her usual defenses. It felt nice, talking to someone without the tension simmering beneath the surface. No fights, no accusations, just... this. A moment where she wasn't angry or being scolded. She leaned into the counter, letting herself relax slightly.

Tara let her gaze drift over Frankie for a moment, her vision slightly unfocused from the alcohol but sharp enough to take in the details. His short, dark curls framed his face, and there was something effortlessly casual about him—like he knew exactly how to play the part of the guy who didn't care too much but somehow still caught everyone's attention.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, a fixture she doubted ever left, and the faintest trace of a beard shadowed his jawline.

She took another sip of water, using the motion to cover the way her eyes lingered. It wasn't like she was interested—not really. He had a reputation, and not the good kind. But he was here. He was talking to her. And with her friends somewhere out in the chaos of the party, who else was she supposed to talk to?

Tara knew she was drunk, the buzz coursing through her veins a constant reminder. It made everything feel a little too easy, a little too warm.

Her thoughts were slippery, darting from one thing to another before she could catch them. But still, she could look, couldn't she? That wasn't a crime.

"Your friends ditch you or something?" Frankie's voice cut through the fog in her head, his tone light but curious.

She shrugged, her fingers curling around the neck of the water bottle. "Something like that," she said, leaning a little more heavily against the counter. "They'll turn up eventually."

"Mm," he hummed, his smirk deepening. "Guess that makes me the lucky one, then."

Tara raised an eyebrow at that, her lips twitching into a faint smile despite herself. "Lucky?" she echoed, her tone teasing.

"Yeah," he said, his gaze flickering over her like he was sizing her up. "I get to keep you company."

She rolled her eyes, though the warmth in her chest spread a little further. "You're full of it," she muttered, but there wasn't any bite to her words.

He shrugged, unbothered. "Maybe. But you're still standing here, aren't you?"

She didn't answer right away, instead glancing at the door that led back into the main room. The thump of the music bled through, muffled but still loud enough to make her head ache. She could leave. She could walk back out there, try to find Mindy and Anika and pretend she wasn't standing here with him.

But instead, she stayed.

"You're right," she said finally, her tone dry. "Guess I am."

Her lips curved into a smirk, matching the one Frankie had been wearing since the moment she stumbled into him. Her steps were slow but deliberate as she closed the distance between them, her eyes locked on his.

The noise of the party around them faded into the background, leaving only the faint thrum of the bass vibrating through the walls.

She didn't know why she was moving closer, or what exactly she was hoping to find in the glint of amusement in his eyes, but she didn't stop herself either. Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through her veins, softening the sharp edges of her usual caution. Maybe it was the simmering anger she hadn't been able to shake since she left the apartment.

Either way, the part of her that usually screamed to think twice was silent, and she wasn't about to argue.

Frankie didn't step back as she approached. If anything, his smirk widened, the corners of his lips curling with a confidence that might have been off-putting if she were sober. But she wasn't sober, and the alcohol told her it was a good thing. His posture remained relaxed, leaning slightly against the counter, but his eyes followed her every move.

Tara stopped just close enough for the air between them to feel charged, her gaze flickering down to the beer in his hand before returning to his face.

Her heart thudded in her chest, though she couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol coursing through her veins or the strange electricity in the air between them. Her balance wavered slightly as she shifted onto her tiptoes, her hands briefly brushing the counter for support before she reached up.

The decision wasn't calculated—it wasn't even really a decision. It just happened. Her lips pressed to his, soft but insistent, the faint bitterness of beer on his mouth mingling with the warmth of his breath.

For the briefest moment, her mind went completely quiet. The noise of the party faded into the background. The tension from earlier, the argument, the mess of emotions—none of it mattered. Her chest felt lighter, as if she'd found a fleeting relief she hadn't even known she was searching for.

Frankie responded almost instantly, his lips moving against hers with a confidence that matched his earlier demeanor. His hand slid to her waist, steadying her as she leaned further into him. The kiss was firm, and there was no hesitation on his part. It was easy, natural, and for a fleeting second.

But then, just as quickly, he pulled away, breaking the connection with a soft sound that felt too loud in the charged silence between them. Tara blinked up at him, her breath hitching slightly as she tried to process the shift.

Frankie's expression was a mixture of amusement and something darker, his brows furrowed slightly even as a small, lopsided smirk played on his lips. His eyes scanned her face like he was trying to solve a puzzle, his voice low and teasing when he finally spoke. "Don't you have a girlfriend?"

The words hung in the air, sharp and pointed, but they didn't land the way they should have. Tara's mind didn't snap to you, to your laugh or your smile or the way you always made her feel safe. It didn't even flicker with guilt. Instead, the question felt almost absurd, like it wasn't meant for her.

Her expression shifted, her brows knitting together as her lips parted slightly in confusion. She stared at Frankie, her drunken mind slow to process the accusation. "No," she said finally, the word slipping out with a sharp edge, like the idea itself offended her.

She barely gave him time to react. His smirk widened slightly, like he wasn't entirely convinced, but she didn't care. She didn't want to care. She pushed up onto her toes again, her hands gripping the edge of the counter for balance, and kissed him once more.

This time, Frankie didn't hesitate. His hands found her waist again, pulling her closer as he kissed her back with more force. Tara leaned into him, her body moving instinctively as her mind quieted further. The heat of his touch and the pressure of his lips were the only things she could focus on, drowning out the buzz of the party and the alcohol swirling in her system.

The kiss deepened, and the edges of the room blurred as the world around them fell away. Tara didn't think. She didn't analyze. She just let herself go, letting the moment sweep her up completely, letting the alcohol and adrenaline guide her. For now, it was easier not to remember. Easier not to think about anything else.

It didn't feel good.

That was the thought that struck her, sharp and insistent, as the kiss deepened. There was a hollowness in her chest, a feeling she couldn't quite place that refused to be drowned out by the alcohol. But it was supposed to feel good. That's what she told herself. This was what she came here for, wasn't it? To forget. To escape. To lose herself in something that didn't matter.

Frankie's hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer, and Tara kissed him harder, as if forcing the moment to feel like it was enough would make it so. But that sensation in her stomach—the one that twisted and knotted itself tighter with every second��didn't leave.

Her lips moved against his with a kind of desperation, but the spark she expected, the relief she thought she'd find, didn't come. The kiss was warm, his touch steady, but it wasn't enough to chase away the heaviness sitting in her chest. It wasn't enough to erase the lingering anger, the ache she refused to name, or the faint sense of wrongness pressing at the edges of her mind.

Tara told herself it was the alcohol. That the burn in her stomach and the dull ache creeping up her spine was just the vodka catching up to her. But it wasn't. It was something else entirely, something she didn't want to think about.

So she pushed it down, ignored it. She kissed Frankie like it was a solution, like if she just went through the motions hard enough, it would fix the uneasy feeling clawing at her insides. She tilted her head, her fingers gripping the counter for balance, and kissed him like she meant it.

But no matter how hard she tried, that feeling in her stomach didn't leave.

And then.

It hit her all at once, like a punch to the gut.

You.

Her body froze against Frankie's, the haze of alcohol momentarily lifting as her mind snapped into sharp, almost painful focus. She did have a girlfriend. A girlfriend who was waiting at home for her.

A girlfriend who had looked at her earlier with worry etched into her features, asking her to stay, asking her to talk.

A girlfriend who wanted nothing more than to spend the night curled up on the couch with her, watching movies and laughing at whatever cheesy dialogue made its way onto the screen.

She had you.

And she'd told Frankie she didn't. She'd looked him in the eyes, as if the very idea of you didn't exist, and said no. No. She'd kissed him, lied to him, and to herself, and for what?

Her breath caught in her throat as the weight of it all came crashing down.

Tara shoved Frankie away abruptly, panic tightening every muscle in her body. The force sent her stumbling back a step, and Frankie staggered too, looking utterly baffled.

"What the fuck?" he spat, his voice sharp and angry, his brows furrowing in disbelief.

Tara barely heard him. Her chest heaved as she scanned the kitchen, her eyes darting to the edges of the room, searching frantically. Had anyone seen them? Was someone standing there, phone in hand, ready to immortalize her mistake forever?

Her hands trembled as her gaze swept over the crowd, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She didn't know if it was the alcohol, the fear, or the overwhelming realization of what she'd just done, but the world tilted slightly as her mind raced, desperate to make sense of what had just happened—and to undo it, even though she knew she couldn't.

Tara's eyes darted wildly across the room, desperate to anchor herself to something, anything that would quiet the storm brewing inside her. One of the doors creaked open as someone stumbled in, but she was already turning toward the noise filtering in from the main room.

Her gaze followed the chaotic scene beyond the doorway—the crowd swaying to the beat of the music, cups raised in the air, bodies pressed too close together.

She spotted a couple making out against the wall, their faces blurred together in the dim light, oblivious to the world around them. Nearby, a guy in a cheap pirate costume laughed loudly, spilling his drink over himself as his friends roared in drunken amusement. It was all so normal, so loud, so suffocating.

And then, her breath hitched.

There, just beyond the shifting sea of people, was a figure standing motionless. Someone was looking straight at her, their eyes locked onto hers.

At first, it didn't register. Her vision swam, the blur of tears and alcohol distorting the scene in front of her. But that silhouette—that hair, those familiar features—something about it cut through the haze, stabbing straight into her chest.

Her pulse quickened as the figure stepped forward, just slightly, enough for the light to catch their face.

It was you.

Tara froze.

It was you—your eyes, your expression. The heartbreak painted so clearly across your face, it made her stomach twist painfully. And then there was your costume—something hastily thrown together, it seemed. A loose shirt that was supposed to pass as part of the look, a small prop in your hand that didn't match the theme of the party. It was clear you hadn't cared what you looked like. You had come here for her.

Tara felt like she was going to be sick.

You had seen it. Tara could tell by the look in your eyes, the way they shimmered with unshed tears, the way your brows furrowed ever so slightly, as if trying to make sense of what you'd witnessed.

You had seen her kiss him. Probably seen her lie, even if you hadn't heard the words. The betrayal was written all over your face, the silent confirmation that Tara's worst fear—the one she hadn't even allowed herself to fully acknowledge—was now her reality.

You didn't say a word, didn't move. You just stood there, your shoulders slightly slumped, the light from the room casting harsh shadows over the raw hurt etched into your features. Your lips parted like you wanted to speak, but no sound came out.

She couldn't breathe.

Her body trembled, her legs feeling like they'd give out at any moment. The guilt crashed over her in waves, suffocating her. Tara's chest tightened as she stared back at you, her lips parting uselessly as though she could explain—could somehow undo what you must have seen.

Her mind raced, replaying the moment just minutes before when she'd lied, when she'd kissed someone who wasn't you.

The taste of Frankie's beer still lingered on her lips, and it made her stomach churn. How could she? How could she do this to you—the one person who cared for her, loved her, even when she didn't deserve it?

Her guilt clawed at her, sharp and unrelenting. She could feel the weight of it in her chest, see it reflected in your eyes.

You were here, dressed in something last-minute, probably feeling out of place in the loud, chaotic party. You'd come for her, likely because you'd wanted to talk, to make things better after the argument. She could see the effort, the love in the way you'd shown up for her. And she'd thrown it away.

Tara's breathing turned shallow, her hands shaking at her sides. She couldn't move, couldn't speak. The words she wanted to say died in her throat, swallowed by the lump of regret that had taken over.

Her lips trembled, but no sound came. The only thing she could do was stand there, staring at the one person she swore she'd never hurt, knowing she already had.

Tara felt as though her chest was caving in, the weight of her actions pressing down until it became nearly unbearable. Her stomach churned violently, guilt sinking its claws into her as her mind replayed every small detail of the moment before. The way her lips had moved against his. The lie she'd so easily let slip from her mouth.

And now, you. Standing there, looking at her like she was a stranger—a stranger who had just torn your heart in two.

Her throat tightened painfully, a lump of emotion rising that she couldn't swallow down no matter how hard she tried. Her head buzzed with alcohol, with shame, with the sudden, overwhelming clarity of what she'd just done.

You weren't supposed to be here. You were supposed to be at home, waiting for her like you always did, with that soft patience only you seemed to have for her. But you weren't.

You were here, in front of her, and she had ruined everything.

A tear slipped down your cheek, catching the dim light as it fell, and it was like a knife slicing through her chest.

She watched as you exhaled shakily, your shoulders rising and falling with effort, as if just standing there was almost too much.

And then you nodded. Slowly, your head dipped once, twice, as if acknowledging what she'd done, what she was.

That nearly undid her.

Your lips pressed into a small, trembling smile—forced, broken, and so soft it shattered her. You tried. Even in the moment where she'd failed you in the worst way, you still tried. And that was what gutted her the most.

You didn't say a word.

You turned around, your movements slow and deliberate, like it physically hurt to walk away.

And Tara stood there, rooted in place, her hands trembling so violently at her sides she could feel her nails biting into her palms. Her chest heaved, her breath shallow and uneven. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to move, to follow you, to grab your hand and beg for forgiveness.

She wanted to run after you, to stop you before you disappeared into the night. She wanted to scream your name, to throw herself at your feet and tell you it was all a mistake, that she only loved you. You. Always you.

But she couldn't move. She was frozen, locked in place by her own fear, her own shame.

And you walked out.

The sound of the front door clicking shut in the distance echoed like a death knell in her ears. Tara felt the walls closing in around her, the party suddenly too loud, too bright, too much. And yet, all she could do was stand there, watching the spot where you'd been, her chest hollow and her heart splintering apart.

She had lost you. And it was her fault.

Tara was left staring at the place you just stood, knowing she'd just destroyed the one thing that ever felt like home.

[miyukisu]

A Trace of Body Paint .ᐟ

❤︎ Request | He's learning anatomy for his art class—you'll help him, right? 3.1k wc ╰ feat. artist!shidou ryusei (bllk) x afab!reader

tags - lots of tension and build up at first, p*rn with plot, college au, artist! shidou, he and reader are both experienced, FILTHY, dirty talk, unprotected smeggs, rough smeggs, face f*cking, creampies, overstim, no y/n, not beta read

MEGA MASTERLIST

minors do not interact

"Yeah! I'll see you next week for my next assignment. Okay?"

Yeah right... next week...

You didn't peg Shidou as the type to flake on you, especially since he was the one who needed something from you. At first, you gave him the benefit of the doubt, then your mind wandered to impossible territory.

Maybe he found a different person to model for him.

Maybe you weren't good enough a model and he was getting low marks because of you...

But wouldn't that be his fault?

Maybe... he dropped out of class?

Every possibility crossed your mind, but not once did you think of actually asking him, "Hey, what's up with not calling me anymore to model for your art class? You know... THE THING WE DO WEEKLY?"

But pride does get the best of us. You are no different. Either the world ends or he grovels at your feet for ghosting you like that. Anyway, why did you care so much?

Shidou Ryusei only asked you to model for him for a few weeks for an art course he was taking. It just so happens you two were close and your schedules matched (and he thought you were really pretty). In exchange, he'd treat you after every drawing session. Ordinary stuff—that was until you slowly started to develop feelings for him.

There was something about the way he looked at you as he studied every minute detail—making sure they were all transferred to paper. He made you feel so... beautiful in ways you've never realized before. But most of all, you fell for such a creative and passionate spirit.

You were snapped out of your thoughts upon spotting a familiar hairdo across the quad. Your eyes met and you made sure not to waste this opportunity—glaring at him, making sure he knew how much he had pissed you off. Shidou looked left and right, possibly trying to find a way out of it. But maybe the intensity in your eyes worked because before you knew it—he was making his way to you.

"Hey..."

"Really? That's all you have to say after ignoring the texts I sent last week?"

"Eh... must've missed them," he lied.

"What about the time you saw me near your building? You missed me standing a meter away from you?"

"Guess so," he lied again.

His nonchalance made you want to rip your hair out. This hot-and-cold treatment was driving you up the wall. It was clear with the exasperated look on your face.

Though, his eyes never left yours—those same damn eyes that stared at you for hours. It was like there was something he wanted to say, but couldn't.

"Why did you even walk over here?"

He sighed like he didn't gave a shit. "You looked like you were about to murder me."

"Shouldn't you be running away then?" you countered. Shidou simply shrugged. "I'm not sure either."

You were about to unleash your fury, but he sighed loudly before continuing. "Fuck... fine. I've been avoiding you."

"Yes. I can clearly see that. The question is—why?"

"Look. I've been getting the highest scores in class because I have the luxury to have an actual person model for me... while everyone else relies on references on the internet or whatever," he explains. "But now... it's..."

"Isn't that a good thing then?" you asked—confused by his reasoning, but even more confused by his change in demeanor.

He shook his head. "Nah... it's just... I won't be needing you anymore."

Your jaw dropped. He said it so casually like it didn't just left a gaping hole in your chest.

"I mean," he backtracked. "We're gonna start drawing nude figures soon, so either you're willing to strip for me or—"

You cut him off. "Are you gonna draw my face with it?"

"Eh, all I need to draw now is the body since we're done with portraits and—"

You cut him off again. "Then draw me."

"Wha—" Shidou was cut off once more. "You heard me. Draw me," you say, as if challenging him.

It earns a hearty laugh from him—one you haven't heard in a while. "You're saying you're gonna stand butt naked in front of me while I stare at you for an hour or two? You know how that sounds, right?"

"It sounds like you're gonna stare at me butt naked for an hour or two."

You were so shameless, he thought. But it was one of the many things he liked about you. He chuckled, amused by the way things turned. Well... what kind of artist would he be to turn down such an enticing muse?

Shidou let out a low whistle as soon as the last article of clothing met the floor. You used to do these drawing sessions in the library—when all he had to observe from you were innocent things like your eyes, your hands, your hair, and so on.

But now that you have to bare everything to him, you figured the only place to do it was at his dorm. It was like what you imagined: cluttered but artsy enough that you could let it pass.

You stood awkwardly in the middle, feeling a bit chilly with nothing to protect you. But you posed, placing a hand on your hip while looking off to the side. That way, there wouldn't be any awkward eye contact.

Shidou sat down on a stool and quickly got to drawing. He said nothing as his eyes constantly flitted between the paper and your body.

The first few minutes in—you became hyperaware of everything. The fact that he was seeing absolutely everything. The absurdity of this entire situation. But most of all, the way your body was reacting to his gaze.

From your peripheral, you could see his gaze linger a bit too long at times. He'd bite his lower lip every so often and it made you feel conscious. Was he doing that because he could see your nipples hardening due to the temperature? Maybe he noticed the way you'd subtly rub your thighs together?

Whatever it was—it had him clearing his throat and shifting in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable.

Around 15 minutes pass, until he finally spoke. "Feeling tired yet?" he asked without looking up from his paper. You figured he was applying the final touches at this point.

"Yeah. A bit."

He hummed in response. "Get comfortable on my bed then."

"What? On your bed? Now?"

Shidou looked up from his paper. At this point both of you were desensitized by your nakedness (or so you thought). "Yes. Now. I have to draw you in at least 3 poses."

Three?

You gulped. But, once more, pride creeps up. You can't just challenge him to draw you naked so boldly—only for you to back down now. You gathered yourself and sat on his bed which was only a few steps away.

"Go on. You can get comfortable," he encouraged.

So you did. You lied down on your side, propping your head up on your hand. The scene that had unfolded reminded you of that one Titanic scene: Rose sprawled out for Jack to draw.

Knowing that, the moment felt too intimate. But you sucked it up... even though there was an unwanted wetness forming at your core.

Shidou shifted in his seat again, lowering his paper on his lap. "Alright, keep that position," he said, a bit strained.

In this position, you couldn't look off to the side. Your only option for the next few minutes was the wall behind him or Shidou himself.

At some point, your eyes met. There was something in his eyes you've never seen before. It wasn't the usual focus he had; it was something else. Something more intense.

But the 2nd pose passes soon enough and you were down to your last.

"What should I do now?"

He sighed, looking over his current sketches. "Lemme think. I'm having a hard time getting the details right."

"Maybe it's because you're sitting so far away," you commented—not thinking about what it implied.

His eyes zeroed in on you again—caught by your words. You want him to come closer with you like that and him slowly losing his composure? You were playing a dangerous game and you had no idea yet.

Shidou finally stood up from his chair, walking over to the bed. You weren't sure if it was just your imagination, but he was hard. His length strained against his fitted pants. The sight had your mouth watering.

He sat down beside you, eyes never leaving yours. The atmosphere seemed charged with the way you two found yourselves slowly leaning into each other.

"You look great," he whispered. It was something he always said in these sessions. It was a rather simple compliment. But it held more weight now.

"Thanks," you meekly responded. Neither of you realized how fast he inched towards you. His lips were a breath away. You showed no signs of backing away, so he went in.

He pressed his lips on to yours. The kiss felt hungry—needy almost—like he was fighting off this urge for so long. Before you knew it, his weight pushed you down on the softness of his bed. His scent enveloped every sense, clouding your judgement.

Shidou pulled away, breathless. "Pose like this."

He sat upright, eyes raking over your body. This time, he didn't hide the way his gaze would linger on certain parts. His hands ran down your legs, admiring the softness of your skin.

Then, without warning, he pried your legs open. But you didn't stop him. His pink irises trailed down to your core, seeing how wet you've gotten. Shidou thought he was drooling.

"Fuck... I wish I could draw this."

You feel your chest tightening. "Why not?"

"And let everyone see this?" his fingers ghosted over the skin of your inner thigh. "No chance in hell. I want to be the only one to appreciate my muse."

He let his thumb swipe through your folds softly before pressing lightly into your clit, earning a mewl from you. He kept circling the sensitive nub as if in a trance.

"I know what I want the last pose to be," he says. You moan a little louder as he rubs your clit faster. "Want your last pose to be you all fucked out... think you can do that?"

Words got caught in your throat. But it hardly mattered. It didn't seem like he'd take 'no' for an answer anyway.

Things escalated quickly because you soon found his finger plunging in and out of your quivering hole. He made sure to curve it in a way—relentlessly hitting that gummy spot on your walls.

He added another finger, wanting to hear more of your breathless moans reverberating throughout his room. To hell with it if his neighbors heard. This was music—it was art in its purest form.

"Shit... might just cum in my pants from this." He almost did after you clenched down on his fingers, cumming for the first time today.

Even as you coat his digits with your essence, he keeps pushing his fingers in and out until the fluttering died down a bit. He pulled his sticky fingers out before having a taste, savoring every last bit.

He made quick work of his belt, pulling down his pants and letting his member out. Your eyes widened. Not only was his size impressive, but his tip was incredibly swollen and leaky—like he couldn't wait anymore.

Shidou exhaled deeply, feeling the chill of his room brush over the sensitive length. He locked eyes with you again. "Care to take care of me a bit? My hand hurts from all that drawing... and... well, you know what else."

Normally, you'd bite back at his teasing. But your mind was fuzzy. All you could do was wrap your fingers around his length, slowly tugging it at first. The pleasure he felt after being so hard for so long took the strength from him. He almost fell on top of you if it weren't for his thick arms supporting him from either side of you.

"C'mon... do it fucking faster," he ordered. You obeyed—jerking him off as fast as you can without hurting him. It wasn't long before his own hand wrapped around yours as he continued to fuck into your fist. Next thing you knew—hot ropes of cum painted your stomach.

Even he was in a daze as he observed a part of him stained you in such an intimate way. He slowly leaned in, his breath fanning your face. "Hey, can I paint you like this? You look even better with my cum all over you."

You let go of his semi-hard member, slowly tracing his muscles up until you cupped his cheek. Gently, you pulled him down for a searing kiss. It was more than enough for him to know that you too wanted more.

He became rougher—biting your lip and fighting your tongue for dominance. As you pulled away for air, Shidou moved quickly to straddle your upper body. He shamelessly took his cock and slapped it against your lips a couple of times.

"Gonna have to help me get hard again, sweets. Help me out, won't you?"

Though he didn't really give you time to respond as he invaded your mouth inch by inch. One hand held the headboard while the other supported your head. He rolled his hips slowly, gauging how much you can take in at a time.

But, clearly, he underestimated you when you gripped his hips and pulled him in yourself. You felt his cock spring back to life steadily. He pulled out his hardened shaft, letting you breathe. It was only now you realized the grin that crossed his face. He was enjoying this way too much.

He went back to hovering over you, his cock bouncing at every move he made. Your body was jelly at this point—not even a bit of resistance as he flipped you over so easily. He licked a long stripe from your lower back up until your nape. The fresh saliva combined with the chilly air made you shudder.

He carelessly lifted up your hips. With your cheek pressed into his pillows and your ass up in the air, he only got harder at the sight. He leaned down to be eye-to-eye with this so-called masterpiece, your cunt.

His nimble fingers toyed around with your soaked folds, chuckling to himself. "Man, I don't think I could ever capture something so damn beautiful."

He gave it a quick lick to test. "Well, unless you let me get familiar with her long enough." Another lick. "Maybe I can capture at least half of its beauty." Another lick. "Don't you think?"

A muffled sound was the only thing he got from you. "Yeah? You're gonna let me get to know her? As an artist, I'm overjoyed right now. Maybe I should show you."

And show he did.

He lapped up at your arousal, tongue licking long stripes each time. Your legs threatened to give out every time he flattened the pink muscle against your twitching hole. It didn't take long before he started darting in and out. Helpless groans filled his small dorm room.

Big calloused hands squeezed the flesh of your ass, making sure you stayed in place for him to enjoy. He was so messy... so so messy. Shidou suckled on your clit—really trying to coax another orgasm from you.

It didn't take much more for you to cum again, but this time all over his mouth. He happily took in everything, reaping the fruits of his labor.

He gave your ass one quick kiss as if to show his thanks. But he wasted no time lining up his painfully erect cock against your entrance. "Fuuuuck, I need to be inside you already or I'm actually going to explode," he muttered.

At first, it was just the tip. But it stretched you out so good already. The needy whine that escaped you was a testament to that. It only made him grip your hips tighter, surely leaving a mark for you to see tomorrow. Carefully, he pushed in more of his length, feeling every bump of your pussy engulf him.

"Shit. This is the stuff."

But he got impatient, shoving in the rest of his length without warning. It was so tight, so warm—too inviting for him to handle. His hands left your hips, opting to find support on the mattress instead. His thick arms caged you as his chest pressed against your back.

He continued to whisper the filthiest things in your ear, kissing your neck occasionally. But for as slow and sensual his voice may seem, his hips snapped with reckless abandon. He wasn't shy about giving you your third and, maybe, fourth orgasm of the day while chasing his own.

"You finally understand why I didn't want to ask you?"

"Yeah... I knew I was gonna end up fucking you real hard."

"But this is so much better than what I imagined."

His words brought you over the edge, cumming again. But the overstimulation rendered you thoughtless. The only thing on your mind was how good he was dicking you down.

"Fuck... Ryu!" you screamed. His grin only grew wider.

"That's it. Scream my fucking name. Let them hear it."

Your wanton moans encouraged him to go faster, mercilessly pistoning into you. It wouldn't be a surprise if you came another time on his cock.

Shidou harshly grabbed your tit, hoisting both of you up into a sitting position. This way, his cock reached even deeper into you. He kneaded your neglected breast while keeping you steady by the waist.

He showed no signs of slowing—even reaching down to play with your clit. A tear was rolling down your face from how sensitive he made you. But he quickly licked the salty tear off of the curve of your cheek.

He whispered softly, "Cum with me."

Just like the obedient muse that you were, you did. You clamped down on him as he shot rope after rope of gooey seed into you. Finally, he slowed down a bit, letting him empty himself in your pulsing cunt.

As you calmed down and he softened, he gently laid you back down on the soft mattress of his bed. He watched as his cum oozed out of you, smirking to himself.

"My best piece of work yet."

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note WHAT THE FUCK DID I WRITE DAWG I WAS SO ON EDGE THE WHOLE TIME HELP WHY IS IT SO FILTHY

[theereina]

New Year, Same Bullshit

Pairing: Toxic Babydaddy!Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: +3.8K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, teasing, heavily dialogue-centered, use of pet names (Daddy, Mama, baby girl, lil' mama, pretty girl, good boy, etc.), oral (male receiving), P in V, Toxic Dom!Terry *if you squint and turn your head*, cum play *sort of*, brattiness galore, facials *no spa*🤭

A/N¹: This is a single one-shot with no planned sequels.

A/N²: I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by ME (theereina). Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

Masterlist: 🔥🔥🔥

ding

Terry: I hope all is well. My mom told me she has TJ. Hope you enjoy yourself tonight.

Me: I hope I do, too.

Terry: I was thinking about something earlier.

Me: ???

Terry: New Year, new us?

I paused for a second in disbelief. I knew this man was not trying this bullshit tonight. I guess this year's motto was “new year, same bullshit”. I sat there for a second and stared at myself in my vanity's mirror.

I could feel the petty in me rising. I texted Terry back with nothing but ill intentions. “New year, new us”, huh?

Me: Nah. New year, and new dick. Cheers to 2025!🥂✨

I waited until I knew Terry saw the message and blocked his number. I knew I was pushing Terry's buttons but oh well.

2 hours later

“Lele, ain't that Terry?” asked one of the women who came out with me and my best friend.

“Aww, hell. Lele, it is him. He's coming this way, and he looks pissed!” my best friend, Tyler, said.

“I don't care. What he gonna do? Whoop me!” I laughed out loud, spinning to see Terry barreling through the crowd.

I stopped dancing when I saw his face. Maybe, I shouldn't have said that.

“Terry, wait? I didn't mean—,” I said as soon as he stood before me.

“Nah… You meant that shit. New dick, huh?” Terry said, eyeing me down.

As much as I was scared for my life, I was hoping that this night would end the way I wanted it to. Fuck! I needed this.

“You think that shit was funny? Ty, y'all here alone, or did she come with someone?” he asked, looking towards Tyler.

“Terry, I didn't come h—,” I started to speak.

Terry's eyes darted back to meet mine.

“Love, I wasn't talking to you. I asked Tyler. When I want you to speak, I'll let you know.”

“Oh, shit. He not playing with her ass,” said one of the women in the group.

“Yes, we came alone. No, she didn't come here with anyone. I promise,” Tyler said, looking at me.

“I can't believe you're doing this shit right now,” I mumbled under my breath.

“What did you say? I couldn't hear you,” Terry spat, glaring down at me.

“Nothing,” I whispered.

“Yeah, that's what the fuck I thought. Enjoy yourself, sweetheart. I'll be waiting for you when you get home,” he said, holding the back of my head and kissing my forehead.

“Huh? You don't live with me,” I uttered in confusion.

“I still have my key, and I pay the bills there. Don't I? Oh, okay then. Like I said, I'll see you when you get home,” he said, letting me go.

“Oh, and do me a favor, love. Don't drink too much. I need you alert and responsive tonight,” Terry said, walking away.

As I watched Terry leave, I felt my heart racing. There was no calming down from this.

“Fuck me!” I yelled quietly as soon as Terry was out of sight.

“Girl, what the fuck did you do this time?” Tyler asked me, handing me a drink.

I looked at the fruity concoction like it was poison. I knew this sugary ass shit wasn't going to do anything to call my nerves. I shrugged my shoulders and swallowed the drink in two full gulps.

“Damn! That man finna tear yo' ass up. Ain't he?” one of the women asked while laughing.

“You don't even know the half. Tyler, can you keep yo’ godson tomorrow? I got a funny feeling I'm not gonna be straight after tonight,” I asked Tyler, searching her eyes for sympathy.

“Yeah, I got my baby. Now, you just tell me what the fuck you did,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, Ty. I think I fucked up this time,” I said, shaking my head. I pulled her over to one of the couches in the section, hoping that I could talk to her privately.

As I proceeded to tell Tyler what happened, I could see her face shift from concern to amusement.

“Why do you look like you wanna laugh?” I asked when I finished.

“Uh, sis… How did he know where you were?” Tyler asked, looking at me with concern.

“I don't… I don't know. How the fuck did he know I was here?” I asked, questioning myself more than Tyler.

4 nerve-racking hours later

I had literally spent all night trying to come up with a reason not to come home. I knew that whatever was on the other side of that door was going to be— something memorable.

I made sure to stop drinking hours ago. His ���alert and responsive” remark was a warning that only WE understood. My insides were screaming because I knew Terry had a way of breaking me down and putting me back together again in the most— sensual and pleasurable way. Yes, there may be pain involved, but I couldn't care less.

I was well aware of what came with provoking Terry. At this point, it was a game for me, and my prize was always the best dick a girl could ever ask for. That was definitely the one thing I missed about having Terry living at home— the in-house, on-demand dick. Always hard, and always ready.

It was a little after 4 in the morning. I was pushing my luck coming in this late, but I might as well fully enjoy what may be my last night out for a while. I was either about to get fucked up, be fucked, or both.

After realizing that Terry's truck was nowhere to be found, I scanned the streets to see if he parked there instead. Nothing.

I reluctantly began walking to the door. How was this possible? Even the walk up to my front door was causing me anxiety. Every goddamn step felt like I was approaching the gates of hell. Was I really letting this man make me feel like a child coming home when they know they're getting an ass whooping? Yes.

I slowed my steps and began putting my hair in a ponytail. If it's one thing I knew, this ponytail may save my life. Then again, it may do the opposite. Aww, fuck!

I tossed my heels and purse into one hand while adjusting my keys with the other. Placing the key into the keyhole, I quietly unlocked the door. I paused before opening the door, praying that Terry wasn't standing on the other side.

Sliding inside as quickly as I could, I tiptoed inside the house and locked the door. From what I could see, he wasn't in the living room or the kitchen. I took a deep breath and relaxed my shoulders. I stood quietly in an attempt to possibly hear if he was somewhere in the house. I flattened my back against the door since I was still unsure of my surroundings.

From somewhere to the right of me, I heard something dart towards me. I turned around in a panic. Right as I was about to make a run for it, I saw that the culprit had a tail. I WAS ABOUT TO RUN FROM MY DAMN CAT!!!

I took a deep breath and leaned down to pick up the cat. But… As soon as my knees hit the floor, I felt a hand on the back of my head. I screamed out in shock, startling the cat.

“Oh, nah. Shit that shit up! I told you I would be waiting for you. Didn't I?” Terry growled, pulling me by my ponytail.

Like I said. The ponytail was a gift and a curse.

“Just…” I yelled, grabbing his hands in my hair.

“Touch me again. I dare you. Imma do more than tie yo’ ass up!” Terry said, holding my face to look up at him.

“Terry, I'm sorry. I was just jo—!” I started, letting my hands fall beside me.

“That was supposed to be a joke. Ha! We gone see what's funny in a minute.” Terry said, letting go of my hair.

As much as my brain was telling me to run, my pussy was begging me to stay even more.

Terry's hand wrapped around my forearm. “Stand up!” he barked.

“Please, I said I’m—,” I said, standing to my feet.

“If I have to tell you to shut up again…” Terry said, pulling me to face him.

I used the back of my hand to wipe the tears that were now falling.

“I hope you don't think those tears are stopping shit. Ain't no sense in crying. You did this to yourself, Alicia. I was trying to be nice to you, but you just don't know when to leave me the fuck alone,” Terry said, stepping closer to me.

I gulped as he glared at me, blinking slowly. Every breath he released was hot and heavy— weighed down in anger. It's as if he was battling to control himself.

“You thought that shit was so cute. Didn't you? I bet you and your little friends had a good laugh at that, huh?” Terry said, leaning down and resting his forehead on mine.

“You can speak, now. Choose your words wisely,” he said. He straightened his posture and stood to his full height, holding his hands in front of him.

“I'm sorry. I didn't tell anyone but Tyler. I swear,” I spat out as quickly as I could.

Terry paused to look at me. His eyes darkened in lust and anger. I let my gaze drop to the floor.

“Nah, you know better. Eyes on me at all times, right?” Terry demanded.

“Yes,” I said, trailing my eyes up Terry's body. I let my gaze linger on the bulge that had grown in his jeans.

“Unh unh. You gone see that in a minute. Look at me, Alicia!” Terry said, forcing me to look at him.

I rubbed my forearm nervously. I waited for Terry to say something else. Instead, he turned on his heels and sat on the couch.

Leaning back on the couch, he placed his arm over the back. “Better yet. Come here and bring your phone with you,” he said, motioning for me to approach him.

I slowly picked up my phone from the floor and walked up to him. I stood between his legs. He dropped his gaze to the floor, letting me know to kneel. I kneeled in front of him while never breaking eye contact.

“Good girl. Thank you for finally listening. Give me your phone.”

Handing him my phone, my mind immediately started to race. I knew if this man went through that phone. My ass was grass!

“Terry, wait!” I yelled, stopping him.

“Oh, you must be hiding something. You are crazy as hell if you think I can't go through a phone that I pay for every month. However, that's the least of my concerns right now,” he scoffed, tossing the phone beside him on the couch.

“I just… I… I know that… if…,” I stuttered.

“Don't even worry about it, love. Because after tonight, it won't matter what nigga is in that phone. You'll know who you belong to. I can promise you that.”

Terry leaned forward, grabbing the side of my face firmly. I gasped in anticipation.

“I don't understand why you choose to play with me, baby girl. Here I am asking for my family back, and your ass wants to play these childish ass games.”

“Terry, baby. I—,” I said before he placed his hand around the front of my throat. I instantly shut my mouth.

“Look at that! How sweet. I didn't even have to do it, and you knew.” Terry said, biting his bottom lip. He moaned as he watched me. He was more than thrilled with my natural obedience.

Moving his hand to cup my chin, he let his thumb trace the silhouette of my bottom lip.

“Mmm… Daddy misses these lips. The way they look, the way they feel— everything!”

Terry's hand let go of my chin as he sank back into the couch. I watched fervently as he undid his belt. Making quick work of his pants, he freed himself from the confinement of his boxers.

I eyed his dick, waiting for his permission to even touch it.

“I told you you'd get to see it. Unfortunately, touching it ain't an option. At least not right now, especially with that foul mouth of yours.”

My face dropped in disbelief as I began to pout.

“What you will get to do is watch me. Watch me while I… uh… make you wish it was you handling this for me.” Terry laughed while lifting my head back up to watch him.

So, it begins. This is the part where he breaks me.

Terry wrapped his hand firmly around the base of his dick. “All you had to do was behave, but you just can't. I bet you'll be on your best fuckin’ behavior after tonight.”

Terry's hand stroked the length of his shaft. His contentment was already evident as small droplets of precum began to leak from his tip.

I rested my hands on my thighs, pressing my fingertips into the cushion of my thighs. I was fighting the urge to lick what I felt was mine; however, I knew that wouldn't end the way I wanted. Licking my tongue out, I let it slide across the flesh of my bottom lip.

Terry grunted in response. My eyes darted from his dick to his face. His eyes were low and wanton. He was just as needy as I was. Our gazes locked in fervor, passing a mutual message that intensified the salacious hunger between us.

Terry's hand sped up and tightened around his head. His grunts grew deeper and more primal. He was feigning to cum.

I tilted my head and lowered my gaze, pleading with my eyes. Sitting here with my hands in my lap wasn't enough for me. I whined while wiggling my hips, trying to feel something to help the ache between my legs.

“Fuck! You got 3 minutes to make me cum or else!” Terry said, leaning up and grabbing the back of my head.

He didn't even have to finish his movement. My mouth was on his dick before he could even grab me. I was horny, I was needy, and most importantly, I was hungry.

I took all of Terry in on a single inhale not giving a fuck about my throat. I needed this. I let saliva fall from my mouth and down the sides of his shaft. Pulling back, I hollowed out my cheeks and created a vacuum around the head of Terry's dick.

“Ahhh, fuck. You… you always know… ugh.. exactly what to do, baby girl. That's right. This dick is yours, mama. Ahhh, shit. Keep going, baby,” Terry said, stroking the side of my face.

I moaned around his dick. Swallowing his full length again with pride, I smiled around him. Opening my mouth slowly, I sunk down further until my nose hit the patch of hair he grew there. Relaxing every muscle in my throat I let him sit in the back of my throat while I hummed and moaned in pleasure. This… this was the ache I was seeking. This was what I wanted to feel— the burn and stretch of this very moment.

I pulled off of Terry with a pop, watching as a thin string of saliva and cum fell from my lips. Grabbing him mid-shaft, I began to jerk his dick. Fully consumed by my own pleasure, I failed to immediately take notice of Terry's silence.

I looked up to see Terry's eyes closed as he released a slew of low, rough moans. I instantly put my mouth back on him, focusing solely on his head. Using my tongue to massage his tip, I was hoping to push Terry over the edge.

Watching him closely, I marveled at the sight before me. His head had rolled back on his shoulders, and his bottom lip was tucked in between his teeth. As I felt Terry's dick begin to pulse, I took him into the back of my throat again. I wanted every drop of him, and I was going to make sure I got it.

Letting him paint the back of my throat was the only thing on my mind. I started sucking Terry like my life depended on it. His hand gripped the back of my head, but even that didn't stop me. I rested my hands on Terry's legs for support as I put my all into it.

As soon as I felt like the first drops of cum were about to make an appearance, Terry grunted and pulled me back. His dick fell from my mouth and into his own hands. Leaning my head back, Terry stroked himself twice before erupting— all over my face.

I closed my eyes, feeling the warm sticky substance coat my eyelashes along with my forehead, nose, and lips. I exhaled as I thanked God that I closed my eyes in time.

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue!” Terry barked as I felt him moving around.

I opened my mouth and felt him push his dick inside again. Resting the full weight of his dick on my tongue, he told me to keep my mouth open.

“Smile!” he said as I heard a camera shutter.

Without a second thought, my eyes shot open.

“For memories. Adding it to the stash.”

Of course! That's what the fuck he wanted the phone for. I pulled back, letting his dick fall out. “I told you that you're mine. Didn't I?” he said, leaning up.

“Oh, don't think we're done either. Stand up!” he nodded.

I rose to my feet, wobbling. As I stood before Terry, I went to wipe my face. His hand reached out to grab my hand.

“Nah, baby girl. You gone wear that shit with pride. I plan on marking my territory in more ways than one. There will be no creampies tonight,” he warns, standing from the couch.

“But Terry I—,” I said.

His arms wrapped around my waist as he lifted me. Wrapping my legs around him, he turned to walk towards the hallway. My body practically melted into him as I clung to his back. I began to whine and moan while kissing his neck.

“Daddy missed this pussy— MY pussy,” Terry moaned as his hands pushed the strapless dress I wore up past my stomach. The thin fabric began bunching up.

“Ahhh, mmmm. Fuck!” I moaned, placing my hands around his neck.

As we approached the bedroom door, Terry didn't even reach to open it. Instead, he opted for kicking it open.

“Don't worry. I'll fix it!” he grinned.

Walking to the foot of the bed, he laid me directly in the middle. He stepped back and completely undressed himself. God Lord, I missed this body.

I leaned up and began kissing and touching his abdomen. Moving my hands out of the way, Terry's hands went to the neckline of the dress as he leaned over me. In one swift move, he tore the top of the dress in half, continuing to tear the fabric from my body until nothing was left.

While I was preoccupied with my own thoughts, he pushed me down onto the bed. Climbing onto the bed and settling between my thighs, he wrapped my legs around his waist.

Looking at me with the most sinful smirk, he entered me in one thrust. I gasped out in both pain and pleasure. We hadn't had sex in over four months. The feeling of him stretching my pussy out sent my eyes rolling into the back of my head.

“You gone feel me tonight, baby. All of me,” he said, leaning down to kiss my neck.

Pulling every inch of his dick out to the tip, he inserted himself again. He was clearly on a mission.

Thrust after thrust…

“So, you gone give my pussy away? Huh? Answer me when I'm talkin' to you!” he said, thrusting into me harder.

“No!” I yelled as my back arched off the bed.

Using nothing but his body weight, Terry flattened me out again. “No, ma'am.” He said, pulling out to thrust back in again. “The fuck you moving for? You gone take this dick. It's yours, ain't?” he asked, kissing my chin.

“Yes, this… this is… ahhh, fuckkk… This is my dick!” I screamed out as he pounded into me. Every thrust knocked the syllables from my lips.

“That's right. This your dick, baby. All of it! Every fuckin' inch, mama! Now, what you gone do with it, huh?” he growled in my ear, taunting me.

“I'm… gonna… fuckin'… take… it!” I whimpered. His thrusts began to pick up speed.

“Good girl, and you gone let me cum wherever I want to, right?” Terry coaxed, hitting my g-spot over and over again.

“Yes!” I yelled, clawing at Terry's back.

I was so close to cumming, and this shit felt so damn good. Hell, I'd even let him cum on my face again.

“I knew my baby would. Who pussy this is, mama?” he asked, smirking.

“Yours! For… ever! Terry, please! Can… ohhhh… can I cum?” I begged as I felt my climax quickly approaching.

“You better wet this dick up, too. Come on, baby.” Terry uttered softly, talking me through it. “Oouu… look at my baby,” he said, fucking me through my orgasm.

“Terry!” I moaned out, digging into his forearms.

“Look at that shit! Wet as fuck!” he said, watching himself slip in and out.

“Yes! Shit! Ohhh, fuck!” I gasped as he slowed his strokes.

“Yeah! Just like that. You ready? Tell Daddy that you're ready,” he groaned clearly at his peak.

“Please, Daddy! Cum for me!” I yelled.

Terry pulled out, aiming straight for my pussy and stomach. I watched intently as ropes of cum landed on my lower abdomen and the mound of my pussy. Using his dick, Terry began to mix the remainder of his cum into my own. He beamed as he created a disgusting and sloppy mess between my legs.

“I wish you could see it, baby. It's so pretty,” he said, looking up. His eyes roamed over the entirety of my body, lingering on the areas covered in his cum. “You look so pretty, mama,” Terry praised.

“I know I do, and it's all because of you,” I said, pulling Terry in for a kiss.

Taglist: @episodes-ff @babybratzmaraj @persethegawd @pocketsizedpanther @writingsbytee @kimuzostar @confessionsofadramaqueenn @luvrsluxe @blackmoonchilee @meannaim @nayaesworld @msdmc1 @megamindsecretlair @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymindisneverhere @brattyfics @avoidthings @honeytoffee @peachbuttetfly @melaninadorned @theglamclosetsl @simplyzeeka @dxddykenn @charismablu @blackerthings @slutsareteacherstoo @vivaalenaa @becauseimswagman1 @keehendrixx @teeresaresa @beenathembo @inthekeyofshe @notapradagurl7 @blowmymbackout

This taglist is random and sort of thrown together. Sorry.😔

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 15

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N: I've made some cute headers for the thing!!! What do you guys think??

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13 • Part 14

• ··········· • ············ •

It was fascinating how quickly he realized that, for hextech to go astray, one of them had to die. There was no doubt in his mind that if his tech had been deviated to another path, one of its creators had to disappear.

“That’s a complicated question to answer.” looked back at him, smiling sadly. “If it helps us keep the tech away from her, I need to know.” “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you…It’s just that complicated… The answer is both, neither, and I don’t know.”

He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his hair, frustration written on his handsome features. 

“Maybe… if we could try the rune in a safe environment…” Viktor made his way back towards you, placing his tray on the table you had placed yours on, and sat down. “...we can figure out what it is.”

The taller man gently placed a plate on the piano bench next to your thigh. It contained two of the same creamy strawberry pastries he had given you before. You looked at him and smiled as he mentioned them to you with a tilt of his head.

Jayce immediately grabbed the mug with coffee and took a swig. Viktor, however, had a mug filled with something that was topped with heavy cream and what looked like chocolate powder. If it tasted like it looked, it must just be a sugary bomb to his palate. He grabbed a spoon and took a small piece of cream, bringing it to his mouth, closing his eyes as the sweetness hit his tongue.

It was strange watching him bring any food to his lips since his counterpart almost had to be force-fed. It was even stranger when he actually made a little approval sound of whatever he was eating.

“Councilor Tallis.” A familiar voice came from the entrance, and the clicking of heels followed it.

Jayce immediately looked back at Mel’s approach, straightening up and pushing a hand through his hair, trying to comb it back in place.

The beautiful woman walked towards the piano, the golden lines on her skin shimmering and reflecting light. You had to admit, Mel Medarda was perfection. Add that to her cunning and her smarts, and it shouldn't surprise anyone that she became a sorceress herself. 

“Ah, the troupe is all here.” She said, jokingly, her smile not reaching her eyes but seemingly honest nonetheless. She looked at you and extended a hand. “I don’t believe we have been formally introduced. Mel Medarda, Head Councilor.”

You got up from your seat at the piano and shook her hand, wanting to add “universe hopper” at the end but deciding not to.

“That was quite the first impression.” She kept smiling at you, placing a hand on Jayce’s shoulder, and the inventor smiled up at her.  “Not my usual MO, but unfortunately it couldn't be helped.” You answered, smiling back at her, sitting back down. “I look forward to speaking with you in the future. I do need to steal Councilor Tallis away for a moment. Governing body business and all that.” She rolled her eyes as she squeezed Jayce’s shoulders, and the man stood up.

If you had to hazard a guess, the 'governing body business' involved Jayce recounting what had happened in the lab with her mother and Salo on their little impromptu inspection.

“No need for stealing council Medarda,” Viktor said, not looking up at her from his sugary delight. “We gladly offer him over…”

Jayce looked back at his partner with an unamused expression.

“We’ll finish this later.” He looked at Viktor and then back at you.

As they both walked away, you resumed your playing, your fingers drifting over the keys spontaneously. You saw Viktor’s head snap up as he scooped the last drop of cream into his mug, leaving only a beige-looking liquid in it. 

“I take it you don’t know how to play.” You looked back at the keys, gently swaying with the melody. “I write numbers on a blackboard, and I tinker with things that more often than not explode in my face. Much like writing music, playing music escapes me.” He pointed the spoon to the keys. “Wanna try?”

You suggestively raised your eyebrows and tilted your head to the keys, enticing the poor scientist. Sliding over to one side of the bench, you patted the space, taking the small pink pastry and eating it in one bite. He looked confused at first, but his curiosity got the better of him. The need to know things and try things were always qualities that didn't seem to waver in any iteration of Viktor—the passion for learning never ceasing or decreasing.

He sat next to you, adjusting his leg and leaning his cane on the side of the piano. Viktor cleaned his palms on his pant legs and cleared his throat. You heard the barista groan.

“Oh Gods. Not the scientist at the piano...” he mumbled loud enough for both of you to hear. “I do believe our friend Loriel is not happy about this turn of events…” Viktor announced just as loudly as the bartender, and Loriel took a very deep breath. “He is going to love what comes next then.” You added turning back to the ivories.  “Maybe the Academy's cafe isn’t exactly the best place for piano lessons.” Viktor whispered, turning his back to the bar, some doubts in his voice. “Then they shouldn’t have placed the piano in the cafe.” “Why is the piano in here anyway?”

Viktor looked back at Loriel, who shrugged and mouthed something to the tune of 'to torment me.' You laughed, and Viktor followed with a snicker. He straightened up, as best as he could, squared his shoulders, and placed his hands on the keys. You mimicked his stance and realized that all of your right side was touching all of his left. From shoulder to knee, and yet there were no feelings of panic bubbling in your stomach.

“Why are we so stiff?” You whispered to him, moving your head slightly to look at him. “Is this not how professional piano players play?” “Not unless they want to look like a douchebag.” You shook your shoulders a bit and relaxed; he did the same. “May I?” You pointed to his hand, asking permission to touch and move them. He nodded, and you placed his two index fingers on two specific keys. “Now you do this.”

(Chopstick piano)

You placed your own index fingers on the ivories, slightly away from his, and moved them in sync, both fingers reflecting what the other was doing. The melody was simple and repetitive, and the movements were pretty mechanical. Easy to learn.

Viktor caught on quickly, the movements coming out slowly and clumsily at first but becoming familiar with every try.

“Please play something else!” Loriel half shouted exasperatedly, and you looked back at him, about to give him an angry look but noticing he was half joking.

“Remember when I told you magic is just like music?” You whispered to him, and he nodded, excitedly looking at you. His golden eyes were bright and joyful. “Yes, once you’ve played a note the first time, the next time it becomes easier.” “And what we did in the closet.” You looked down onto your side of the keys, missing the red tint that appeared on his cheeks. 

Nudging his knee gently, you made a gesture for him to start playing his little tune. At some point, you started to add another melody, a rhythmic thumping that intertwined with the simple notes he was playing. You heard rather than saw Viktor's little gasp of excitement.

“Thank goodness.” You heard Loriel say. “Now keep moving along the playlist.”

When you ended the music, he followed your lead and stopped his actions but did not take his fingers from the keys. 

“You know what? Let’s switch it up.” You slid from your side of the bench and nudged his shoulders to the side where you sat, him clumsily going and readjusting his leg.

You sat where he had been before and showed him the repetitious keystrokes you had added previously to his beginner lesson. His long fingers easily managed to touch the keys as you started to tap your foot on a steady tempo. Slowly but surely, the scientist managed to accompany your foot-tapping with his playing.

Letting him go over the chords a couple of times, you jumped in. First doing the same simple two-finger melody and then jumping to a more complicated part, completely changing the melody.

You felt Viktor slowly swinging to the melody, his shoulder bumping into yours as he enjoyed the music. You followed his movements, and the two of you went on playing. He would stop whenever you played a more complicated part, a little laugh coming out of him,

With a final pressing of the keys, the song ended, and you smiled triumphantly at the scientist beside you. He looked down at you; it was noticeable that his cheeks were becoming a pretty shade of red, while his eyes looked at his fingers and then shifted back to you.

Even though you had noticed how you had been closed before, now it dawned on you just how close you two were. You could see the brown flecks in his eyes, the small scar he had on his forehead from the goggles digging into his skin, and his pulse quickly beating on his neck.

You felt a small touch on your little finger and glanced at it, surprised at the sudden contact. His hands had moved, and he was brushing your pinky with his, slowly as if not to scare you. You felt your heart quicken and turned back to face him, eyes wide.

“Should I have asked?” He mumbled slowly, tilting his head down, his brown hair falling from behind his ear. “About?” you let out in a breathy whisper, doing the best you could to keep your eyes from wandering around his face.

He moved his finger to interlock with yours, the corners of his lips tilting up.

 “It’s fine…” And it was. There was no panic or anxiety. There were no urgent or nightmarish visions of hexangels.

Gently he pulled your little fingers towards his hand, adding your ring finger to the weave of hands. You managed to breathe and blink, your eyes unfocusing on his face, waiting for anything to happen. When it didn't, you went back to those golden pools of his.

Viktor looked at you waiting for a protest, but you said nothing. No constructs, no golden enemies. In a moment of boldness, you moved your hand under his and turned your palm up, him giving you the space you needed to do it. When you were comfortable, you slotted your fingers in his. You didn’t squeeze or grab his hand, just letting the weight of him become familiar. 

Much like in your universe, his hands were long and bony, with callouses from using every tool at his disposal. They had a tepid warmth to it, the playing of the piano letting the blood flow to his extremities. 

“My hands are always cold.” He noted, scratching the back of his neck, and you looked at his long fingers on yours. “Should wear some gloves.” You joked, nudging him and squeezing his hand tentatively. “I like this better.” He raised an eyebrow smugly, and you snorted, looking away in fake annoyance. You felt his hand squeeze back and looked back at him. The expression on his face was far from embarrassed; if anything, he knew exactly what he was doing, a loopy side smile plastered on his face. You shook your head, a smile on your own face. “You’re a sneaky one…” “Heh…I do hail from the Undercity." He joked, and you laughed out loud, placing your forehead on his shoulder, feeling him laugh too.

“Viktor!!!” A smooth, hurried voice came from the corridor, and a bouncy Sky Young walked into the cafeteria.  “Miss Young!” He half-shouted back, making his assistant's head snap to him.

He moved your still intertwined hands away from the keys and in between both your bodies. He gave you one last squeeze before letting go.

“Oh…I have been looking for you.”  “I have been here for the last two hours,” he said, stretching in front of you, reaching for his cane. “Sorry. Jayce is with Councillor Medarda, and the door is locked, and Councillor Salo took my key from me and…” She looked at you, her exasperated ramble coming to a halt. “Oh. Hello. Sky Young, a pleasure to meet you!”  “Hello.” You told the younger woman, smiling, and answered with your name. “I thought you two knew each other…” Viktor said, getting up carefully and moving to stand next to his assistant. “I said I’ve seen her around…I never said we had been introduced.” You quickly retorted. “Also, do I need to reschedule the appointment for this morning?” “Ye—” she started, but Viktor interrupted. “No need; we can do it now.” “But their name is on the morning slot.” Young noted, grabbing a small planner. “It’s not their fault we had an inspection on their fault. If anything, the council should be the one to schedule their appointments.” He said with finality and turned around. “Come now, you two. Time to get to work.”

You and Young stared at each other and both shrugged, smiling at each other.

“Thank you, Loriel.” You shouted and waved back at the barista as you walked away from the cafe. “You’re welcome! Come back any time... Seriously!”

• ············ •

“So, you can now combine runes?” Viktor asked, sitting at his table at the lab, writing furiously in his little notebook. “And I’m also starting to…not need to push them out…like…physically.”

The scientist looked at you. You've been sitting here for 40 minutes; 20 of those had been Viktor trying to shoo Sky out of the room.

“Example,” he prompted, and you nodded.

You faced him, the big front doors behind you. You cleared your throat and drew the known string of runes in front of you. Waiting for a second, with your hands by your side, you blinked, and the runes disappeared. The door behind you whooshed open.

“That’s new.” Viktor’s eyebrows shot up. “Can you reverse it?” “I can close the door, but not lock it.”

His eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched. He started to go back through the notebook, getting to the pages where you were both annotating the runes and suffixes.

You walked towards him and leaned into his table, looking at the notebook. You had feared that after the little moment at the piano, the rest of the evening would be awkward, but no. He hadn’t mentioned it, but he wasn’t tiptoeing around you. It was just good old Viktor.

“You’ve never shown me this rune.” He pointed to the mend rune with his pencil and looked up at you. “Technically, you've seen it. But I can show you again. May I?” 

You pointed to his purple-colored pencil, and he gave it to you with a doubtful expression. With a bit of force, you snapped the pencil in two, and he groaned.

“Please do not break my writing utensils. I really don’t want to explain to the council why I need to buy more colored pencils…It’s already a hassle as it is.” He swiveled the stool to turn to the table where you placed the pencil. “They apparently don’t understand the concept of color coding.”

You snorted while drawing the rune. The small tendrils that came out of it searched the pencil for where it was broken and joined it, making it whole again. The only trace of something happening was the shimmering blue vein where it was snapped.

“Fascinating…” He grabbed the pencil and inspected it from every angle. “Have you tried this with a bone?”

Blinking slowly at him, you squinted your eyes and furrowed your eyebrows, the doubt he had previously now written on your face. 

“What?” “A bone.” He shook his arm to demonstrate.  “You want to break some for me to try?” You retorted sarcastically, but the thoughtful look on his face made you shake your head. “No…I have not tried it in a bone. I haven't encountered a broken bone to try it on, and you will not provide me with some.” “Oh no…not mine.” He made a few swirls with the pencil on the notebook, finding out it worked just like before.  “Whose bones are you gonna break, stick bug? You’re all length and sharp corners…” 

You crossed your arms, raised one eyebrow, and leaned into the table with your hip, your face bearing a mask of doubt. His expression shifted to unamused, his lip pinched and his eyebrows knotted. 

“First of all…stick bug?” He spat the word out comically, and you laughed, nodding. “Second of all, some bones can be easily broken by applying pressure in certain key points. No need for brute strength.”

“Yeah? And how many bones have you broken, Mr. Applied Pressure… you joked, shifting to sit on the table. ���Several, actually…” “Yours don’t count…”

Viktor opened his mouth to argue but closed it with a humph, turning away from you. You snorted at his spoiled expression.

“How many have you broken? all talk, I bet..." He mumbled, turning the stool fully towards the table. “Several, actually... and not mine either.”

You thought of those last few hours on your timeline, grunting and fighting. Violet had given you some sort of lesson on what she called ‘blocking with your face’ that somehow involved not just that but also punching, kicking, and general shit talk. 

You missed Vi. The one that chuckled when you talked back to her. The Vi that had looked at you weirdly when you asked her to punch you because you needed to know how it felt and not be scared of it. The undercity fighter, who looked impressed when you managed to punch her after dodging a blow.

“The music schools where you come from are very competitive…” Viktor’s voice snapped you back to the lab. He frowned when he looked at you, his expression shifting from annoyance to concern. “Are you alright?” “Yes… Sorry…” You cleared your throat. “If we find someone with a broken bone and willing, we’ll try it on them.” “I guess we can do that…” He flipped the book back to the page where he had taken notes. “You should use that rune to lock the door.” “The lock is not broken, though.”  “True…but I think we may need to go in a more…symbolic route. The pencil, after you mended it, reverted to its original form. In if core, that’s what the mend rune does when spoken.” “So I'd be reverting the unlocked door back to its original state." You mused, and he nodded. He patted your knee and pointed to the door, encouraging you to try it.

Still sitting on the desk, you spoke the runes: wind, coda, mend, unlock. In a second the door drifted closed, the door locking with a click. 

You looked at Viktor, who had a winning smile on his face.

“This stick bug seems to be pretty good at this magic thing.” He swiveled his stool back around to turn to write his findings.

With a swish of your finger, his little wheeled bench rolled back away from its original location, while he made a squeaky surprised sound with his throat.

“That is not fair.” He said, pushing the stool back with his feet. "I thought you hailed from the Undercity." You joked, getting up from your sitting place and going behind him to gently push back to the table. "Yes, I do." He said proudly.

You squeezed his shoulders and turned to walk away, unlocking the door with a flick of your finger.

“Where are you going?” He inquired, turning to watch you walk away. “Mother is expecting me.” You walked backward, looking at him and smiling. “Some sort of dinner celebration, event…I don’t know…I just know that I am now obliged to be there, but here…”

With another flick of the wrist, the ceiling above his head became filled with little shimmering stars.

“To keep you company…” You finished with a wink and walked out the door.

You didn’t hear the happy sigh Viktor gave as he looked up at the soft, shimmering lights. And you didn’t see him placing his notebook on the table, walking to the couch, and just staring contently at the little starlight you manifested in the ceiling while gently stroking his palm, remembering how it felt against yours.

• ············ •

The smile on your face as you made your way to the elevator was cut short when the thing pinged open.

Rictus stood, eyebrow raised, staring at you from inside the empty elevator.

• ············ • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat @kneelarmhstrung @dedicated2viktor @elvishstudies

[chaiihuo]

BOOM BOOM BOOM . . . 𝓯𝓽. boothill

contents :: boothill x f. reader. nsfw. mdni. established relationship. gun play. f. masturbation. fingering. petnames. praise. oral fixation. overstimulation. wc. 2.3k

— words of the lamb :: a repost from my old blog. thank the stars nick exists and reblogged this so i could post it lolol

this was a private moment, one boothill really shouldn't have been watching. but he couldn't help himself.

he had been planning to be gone the entirety of the three day weekend, but his scheduled bounty had gone much quicker than he intended, and he had made it home in just two days.

he had expected you to already be there when he opened the door, expecting that you'd have come running to the door when you heard his house key in the lock of your front door. but there was nothing but the still furniture of your shared home. you were nowhere in sight, and boothill had assumed maybe he just happened to come home while you were out.

until he looked down and saw your boots still lined neatly against the entry way wall. curious, he kicked his own boots off— leaving him about an inch shorter— before wandering down the hall. he'd need to wash once he greeted you, sweat, dirt and mud dirtying his hair, body and clothes.

he went down the hall towards your room, the next most likely place for him to find you. it made him a little excited, imagining you curled up in bed wrapped in a tight bundle of blankets, in the middle of a circle of pillows and stuffed animals, probably dreaming about him. he'd like to think, at least. he'd wake you up by peppering your face and neck with kisses, and you'd be so excited when you woke up to see his face.

when he pushed the bedroom door open, he found you in bed but you definitely weren't sleeping. boothill stood completely still in the doorway, seemingly unnoticed by you, his eyes wide and practically glued to your body.

your body that was writhing and squirming on your shared bed, hips jerking and twitching upwards as your fingers slid and rubbed in and around your cunt. boothill lost track of the minutes as they passed, watching your fingers dip in and out of your hole, rubbing quick and frantic circles around your clit.

he felt his face get hot, so hot it felt like someone had lit a match against his skin, eyes wide as he watched you.

but you weren't really getting anywhere. and boothill felt a little bad, watching you and listening to all the whiny, almost pathetic sounding moans and whimpers that fell from your lips.

he stepped closer to you, the gentle metal clanking of his body finally alerting you to his presence. it was nearly comical how you jumped, pulling your hand away from between your legs like you were caught doing something wrong.

"b-boothill ?!" you stared at him with wide eyes, "y-you're home.."

boothill chuckled, a little smirk on his face, "well try not to sound too excited darlin'," he was standing at the edge of the bed now, staring down at you. his hands reached out, fingers wrapping around your ankles. he pulled you down the length of the bed, earning a surprised yelp from you. he pulled you down so your legs from the knees down dangled off the end of the bed.

he kept your legs spread open, arms hooked under your knees. "you don't gotta stop just cause i'm here, baby doll" he said, eyes fixed between your legs.

"boothillll" at your embarrassed whine, the cyborg's eyes moved up to your face. your lips were swollen and pink from biting and sucking on them, shiny from your drool. your cheeks were puffy from your pout, streaked with tears, and hot from embarrassment.

"alright, alright" boothill lowered your legs back onto the bed "i'm jus' kiddin', doll. don't gotta get all whiney with me" he wasn't really kidding all that much though. he wouldn't mind watching you for hours and hours if you'd be so kind as to let him. he climbed up onto the bed, body propped up over yours like he was doing a push-up over your body. he lowered his body, arms bent at the elbows, pressing firm kisses over your face. "did you finish ?" he asked, raising his eyebrow.

you looked up at him, brain still flustered from having been caught. you shook your head 'no'. boothill's bottom lip stuck out. "oh, you poor baby" the sly, confident smirk twitched at the corner of his exaggerated pout. "you want help, pretty girl ?" he asked

you nodded your head, a little too quick to react. a low and rough chuckle left boothill before he raised himself off the bed, and made his way to the bathroom. he could hear your frustrated whines, and the sheets moving on the bed as you shuffled around, as he turned the bathroom faucet on.

while waiting for the water to get hot, he undid the holster strapped to his thigh. he released the cylinder, pushing the last three bullets out so all the chambers were empty. when the water from the faucet got hot enough it began fogging up the mirror, he tucked the three bullets into his cheek, gnawing down on them as he soaked a wash rag in the steaming water.

he ran the soaked cloth up and down the barrel of his gun, rubbing away the build up of soot and gun powder off the carbon steel weapon. when he was satisfied with his work, he returned to the bedroom. you were still more or less in the same place he had left you, which filled him with a little more pride than he'd like to admit.

the galaxy ranger made his way over to you, setting the empty the gun on the bed near your head, he undid his heavy belt, falling on the ground joined shortly by his gun holster. he joined you on the bed, hand curling over the back of your neck to bring your face to his. the kiss he pulled you into was a little rougher than his kisses usually were, pushing his body impossibly closer to yours, hand firm on the back of your neck, keeping your mouth against his.

his sharp teeth bit and grazed against your lips, tongue filling your mouth like it was meant to be there. his free hand trailed down your body, stopping only once to slide under the loose fitting tank top to pinch at and brush his thumb over your nipple.

your hips bucked forwards, brushing up against his thigh. his hand moved down, pushing your hips back down onto the bed. he only needed one hand, and not much of his strength to hold you down.

"just be patient, baby doll," he mumbled. his kisses had left you out of breath, panting for air. not boothill, nothing ever left him out of breath. nothing ever would. "never not givin' you what you wanted" he added, though mostly to himself.

his hand trailed down your bare hip, moving to your crotch still warm and wet and ready for him. and his fingers slid in with ease, they slid back and forth without any friction or resistance. "there we go" he drawled, "there's a good girl"

metal fingers moved with a steady pace, pumping in and out of your hole, spreading and curling to rub against the special spot amongst your spongy walls.

your own fingers had made their way to your mouth, lips wrapped around your index and middle finger, sucking and drooling around digits, muffling your dirty noises. it was always like this, always had something in your mouth. his fingers, your fingers and, when boothill was feeling really nice, the length of a silicone cock.

the hand under the back of your neck slid out from under you, a motion you didn't even notice until it took hold of your wrist, pulling your fingers from your mouth. they left the suction of your lips with a wet 'popping' sound, followed by a series of whines, head straining to reach them again.

"stop it" boothill wasn't trying to be mean. he just had something better to fill your mouth with, you just had to wait a second. your struggles stopped, clinging to every word and order boothill gave you.

he reached out on the bed next to you, grabbing his recently cleaned and unloaded six shooter. "close your eyes for a sec" when your eyes fluttered shut, boothill brushed the muzzle of his gun against your bottom lip. the cold of the metal made you shiver, eyes almost shooting open to look. it was such a stark difference to how warm boothill usually was. but you kept them closed tight. "open up"

he used the muzzle to push your bottom lip down, opening your mouth. he slid the barrel in, careful not to grind the metal against your teeth. your eyes shot open, making brief eye contact before they shot down to the gun barrel in your mouth.

"calm down, calm down," like he read your mind, "just relax. keep breathin' baby"

you took deep, shaky breaths through your nose, jaw relaxing around the cylindrical steel. your slacked jaw gave boothill the leeway to move the barrel. with the fingers of his other hand still knuckle deep in your cunt, unmoving, his other hand slid the barrel of his six shooter over your tongue.

it didn't take long before he was comfortable enough in his movements, pushing the barrel back far enough that it caused your body to jerk and gag. he repeated the movement, moving the barrel back before pushing to the back of your throat again.

he did it over and over, unblinking as he watched your face. it was soaked soon enough, lips covered in slabber, cheeks puffy and streaked with tears and sweat. a symphony of gags and sobs were muffled by the gun.

it wasn't until you'd acquired so much drool and spit around the gun that it was running down your chin, leaving streaky lines all the way down your neck, did he decide he was satisfied.

boothill pulled the gun from your mouth, the motion simultaneous with him pulling his fingers from your cunt. you took a deep gasp for air the second the gun left your mouth, coughing and sputtering from the temporary lack of air. boothill revealed in the noises.

but he only let himself a few seconds of taking in the situation before moving on. he moved down, pulling your legs over his hips to keep them spread open. he brought the gun down to your crotch, metal still dripping in your saliva. he used the muzzle again, using it to trace circles around your hole, front sight brushing against your clit. your legs squeezed at his sides, instinctively trying to close your legs, blocked by his body.

"boothill" you whined "boothill please"

the man raised his eyebrow, his movements stopped. "please what ?" he asked. he knew exactly what. he just wanted to make you say it.

"boothill" you whined his name again

"come on, baby. i ain't a mind reader." his movements continued, so slow it barely did anything to relieve the hot pulsing sensation in your crotch. "you gotta tell me what you need"

you sniffled, whining through your words "i need ta... need ta cum"

boothill smirked, "look at you" his tone was proud, like he just successfully taught a pet a new trick. "see, it ain't so hard usin' your words"

he pushed the barrel into your pussy, moving it slowly until he couldn't push any more of it in. he held it still, watching your face as it scrunched and brow furrowed, waiting until it relaxed. "ya ready for me to move it ?" he asked

you nodded your head feverishly, desperately even. "please. oh please boothill"

that was all he needed. the motion went from zero to a hundred, using the barrel of the gun to fuck your pussy. the dull sound of clanking metal was quickly drained out by the noises that spilled from your lips. a series of moans, pleas, squeals, and whimpers that sounded like a gospel song in boothill's ears.

your feet kicked in the air behind him, fingers gripping at the sheets around you as boothill's movements never subsided, not even for a second. if anything, they got quicker, rougher. fucking you harder with his gun.

he could do it forever, he'd never get tired, never even lose his breath. he could go on forever, he wanted to. wished he could. maybe he could get kinda close to feeling like it.

your hips raised off the bed, meeting boothill's thrusts. your core tightened, legs shook and jerked in the air. you reached out, your hands desperately trying to grasp at boothill's arms. if for nothing else than to ground yourself, you couldn't do anything to stop him even if you wanted to. his strength outmatched your by leagues.

"b-boothill !" your mouth hung open, panting for air, eyes rolling towards the back of your eyes. you repeated his name through your gasps, fingers moving to grip the sheets again.

"yeah baby ?" he cooed, feigning sympathy. though it was only partially pretend.

your eyes shut tight, gasp hitched in your throat min-inhale. the moan you let out as you came around the revolver's barrel sounded unreal, like it came out of a film. it was definitely worthy of being in dirty movies. high pitched and squealing, legs kicking out straight before falling limp behind him.

the orgasm hit hard, and the overstimulation came soon after. boothill didn't stop his movements, still thrusting the gun back and forth, in and out, of your pulsating cunt. "n-no ! o-oh boothill ! boothill 's sensitive !"

boothill clicked his tongue, leaning down kissing and licking away the tears that streaked the fat of your cheeks. "come on, baby" he whined, almost teasing the whiny way you spoke to him, "you can do more. don't take this away from me"

[senipsenipsenip]

Eventually, the scrapbook ended. The sun had fallen beneath the horizon hours ago, and some nagging part of Stan's brain was telling him kids shouldn't be up this late. Unless they're breaking into a mini golf course. He jerked his head back, furrowing his brow. That was...oddly specific.

"Grunkle Stan?" a little voice - Mabel - questioned. He looked down at his knee to see where his great-niece was sitting, eyeing him with no small degree of concern. "Are you okay?"

He ruffled her hair. "'Course, Pumpkin. Just trying to shake some of those memories back in the right place, huh?" He gave an exaggerated shake of his head, smacking the side like he was trying to get water out his ears. "Got a straggler! Hup! There we go," he grinned, lowering his hand. "Good as new!"

Whatever he said must have been the right thing, because Mabel's eyes had lit up like he'd told her he was turning the Mystery Shack into a cotton candy emporium and Dipper had a sudden death grip on his other leg.

"Geez kid, you're clawing through my pants here," he grumbled, making no move to take away his nephew's hand. "Haven't you chewed your nails off by now? How're they so sharp?"

"You called me Pumpkin," Mabel whispered.

"You remembered I chew my nails," Dipper said in awe. Then he frowned. "Hey, how come Mabel gets a nice one and I get a gross one."

Stan shrugged. "'Cause she's nice, and you're gross."

"Ha! Zoom!" Mabel pumped a fist in the air before collapsing back into Stan's lap in a fit of giggles. Dipper rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he settled back against Stan's other side. Ford stayed perched on the arm of the chair, smiling fondly, but eyebrows still drawn together.

"What's the matter, Sixer?" Stan frowned as Ford grimaced at the nickname. "What?"

Ford waved off Stan's concern. "It's nothing. It's..." Ford sighed. "I'm sorry. It's not nothing. I just don't want to..." He pursed his lips.

"Don't leave us hanging." There was a shake in Stan's voice, and Mabel shifted closer to her Grunkle.

"I'm glad this has been helpful to you," Ford muttered. "But...you don't remember everything. Not really."

"Whaddya mean?" Stan asked. "I remember you, the kids, Soos. The freeloading jerk who steals my sandwiches." Stan glared at Waddles who simply oinked and started trying to eat his shoelace. Whatever. Free pass for jump starting his memories. He better not get used to it.

Dipper sat up. "Yeah, what do you mean, Great Uncle Ford?"

Ford frowned. "I just... Hm." He seemed to be weighing something in his mind before turning to Stan with some resolve.

"Stanley," he began slowly. "I hope you appreciate what I'm about to do for you."

"That's not terrifyingly ominous," Stan muttered, glancing around at the available exits.

"Do you remember my - " Ford cleared his throat. "My first kiss?"

Stan froze. "What?"

"My first kiss, do you remember it?"

"I was there?"

"Yes. Unfortunately a lot of people were."

Mabel squealed beside Stan. "Ooo! Romance memories! How old were you? Was it high school? Was it a high school romance? Was it star-crossed love between the nerd and the cheerleader?"

"Mabel, I think Grunkle Stan is supposed to figure that stuff out."

Mabel sat up and stared at Stan expectantly. "Come on Grunkle Stan! I need details!"

Stan shook his head, nose wrinkling like he'd smelled something rotting. "How should I know? Who asks their brother that sort of thing?"

"Precisely." Ford spoke with the same air of professionalism he adopted when explaining his theories, despite the alarming shade of red his face was becoming. "So far it seems that your memories are returning based on external stimuli, whether that be Mabel's scrapbook or our own prompting."

"So, wait, you're saying I won't get all my memories back?"

"No! No that's not what I'm saying," Ford held up his hands. "What I'm saying is we can't expect them all to come back at once. And at the risk of turning the Shack into the set of the Johnny Carson show, we'll keep asking you questions."

Stan frowned. "What if I don't wanna remember my brother smooching some babe?"

Ford turned redder. "You do."

"I do? Geez, I was a perv."

"In the meantime," Ford pressed. "It's important to take note of any stimulus you experience that makes you remember something. Even if it doesn't paint the whole picture for you, we can fill in the blanks. Or prompt you to remember more details."

Dipper grinned. "And then we get to learn more about the secrets you've been hiding, old man."

Stan lifted his hand to give Dipper a well-earned noogie, but paused before he could make contact. "Old man...did you...did you tell me to shut up one time and then punched me?"

Dipper balked. "What? No I - "

"YEAH no WAY that'd be CRAZY!" Mabel interjected a bit too loudly. "Anyway let's get back to that kissing story, huh?"

"Actually Mabel, I don't know if I want to hear about Great Uncle Ford kissing anybody either."

"Oh come on, Dipper. Are you jealous that The Author got someone to kiss him and you didn't?"

"What? No!"

"Some girls like nerds."

"Mabel I don't want to think about anybody in this room kissing anybody."

"You could learn from him Dipper! Figure out how to wield your nerdish charms. Soon you'll be like a kissing machine!"

"MABEL -"

The twins were silenced by a sudden gasp from Stan. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his jaw hanging open as if someone had knocked the wind out of him.

"Holy - " he choked out softly.

"Grunkle Stan?" Dipper sat up fully. "Are you okay?"

Stan didn't acknowledge him, eyes darting around minutely.

"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked softly. "Did you remember something?" Moisture had begun to gather in the corners of Stan's eyes, one of his hands covering his mouth as he began to shake.

"Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper turned to Ford, worry stitching his brows together. But Ford didn't look worried. If anything, he looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor. His face was an alarming shade of red, nearly identical to his sweater. Stan let out another choked sound.

"Are you..." Mabel trailed off. "Grunkle Stan are you laughing?" He was quaking now, his hand falling from his mouth to reveal a wide, open-mouthed smile. He began slapping the arm rest with his free hand, eyes squeezed shut and tears rolling down his cheeks. Dipper and Mabel shared a look. Sure, they'd seen Stan laugh before, but it was usually a loud guffawing thing. They'd never seen him like this. They shared a tentative smile. Either this was the hardest they'd seen him laugh, or he had really snapped.

Ford seemed to pick up on their worry. "He's fine," Ford offered. "He's just...remembering my first kiss." At Ford's words, Stan let out a loud cackle, burying his face in his hands.

Mabel cocked her head. "But what's so funny about -"

"You children must be exhausted," Ford blurted out, standing abruptly. "Come now, go wash up then head to bed!"

"Oh no you don't!" Stan shouted. He wiped tears from his eyes, still smiling. "You're not getting out of this one, pal!"

"Stanley, this conversation is hardly appropriate for children -"

"You brought it up!"

"And now I'm putting a stop to it."

Stan grabbed his head. "Ooooo ow," he gave an exaggerated groan. "My poor head. The mean man won't let me share my memories so they're all going away!"

"Stanley, please don't joke about that."

"I'm fading away - "

"Stanley."

Stan crossed his arms. "You know, you really know how to take the fun out of amnesia."

"Yeah! Come on Grunkle Ford," Mabel pouted. "You can't just leave us hanging!"

"Yeah!" Dipper joined in. "If it's a funny story I want to hear it."

Ford spluttered, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater and looking around for an exit.

"Come on, Sixer," Stan chimed in. His eyes had gone soft around the edges. "I think the kids deserve a funny story."

After today went unspoken. Ford met Stanley's gaze, already feeling his resolve melting before he even turned to his grand-niece and nephew's inquisitive smiles.

"Alright," Ford conceded. "But to maintain the integrity of the exercise, Stanley will be the one to tell it. Whatever he doesn't remember, I can fill in."

Stan rubbed his hands together. "Oh boy, this'll be good."

"I regret this already."

"It's alright Great Uncle Ford," Dipper patted his shoulder. "We have a whole summer's worth of stuff we get to make fun of Grunkle Stan for. This just gives us stuff to use against you now. Levels the playing field."

Ford frowned. "Is that meant to be comforting?"

Dipper shrugged.

"Alright you two, enough yapping." Stan grinned, leaning forward in his seat and spreading his hands out in front of him. It was the same way he started his campfire tales. Mabel and Dipper met each other's eyes and smiled.

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named Kiss-Bot..."

[cinnablu3]

RECKLESS - ALL I WANTED WAS YOU

Masterlist

Ch 18, i lied about 20 chapters we might have 21.

After Utahime leaves, you find yourself alone, your heart racing. The time for Choso's arrival is drawing near. "I have to be honest with him, no matter the consequences," you remind yourself. Just then, there's a knock on the door.

Immediately opened the door and pulled Choso inside. "Easy, I know I said I couldn’t be spotted, but you were quick with it, doll," he teased.

"Cho." He immediately embraces you, wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing you. He presses his lips against your forehead.

"Glad to know you miss me."

"I'm sorry about--" "Don't even finish that sentence. It wasn't your fault." He said, hiding his face inside your neck. "Give me a minute, I miss you, Doll."

It was a peaceful silence as he pulled away slowly. "I'm sorry. I wasn't even in jail for that long, but even then." He laughed. "I did miss you."

You couldn't hold back your smile, feeling the ache in your heart, knowing he wouldn't have the same feelings for what you were going to tell him.

"Choso take a seat please I need to get something off my ch--" "That you agreed to the kiss?" He interrupts, you can feel your heart drop. "He told me." He gives you a bitter smile.

"I'm not angry, I shouldn't be upset since we aren't even together," he says as he takes a seat on your couch. "Though, you wouldn't believe how frustrated I was when we had to share a cop car and a cell." He crosses his arms.

"He complains a lot, it really did makes me wonder what you saw in him."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his statement.

"I'm serious, I can't find anything attractive that could have caught your attention."

"That's a little harsh even for you."

"I told him, got in a fight in the cell." He grins, "I was supposed to get out much earlier but someone got offended and took another beating."

"I'm trying my best to be serious with you, I can't with you telling me all this information." You sighs holding back a smile.

He pushes back a strand of hair behind your ear. "Just know I forgive you, even though I was hurt about it, I just want to know." He turns serious. "Did you feel sparks?"

"I didn't, that's when I realized he wasn't someone I wanted my name to be attached to."

"Good, because being attached to mine is way better. Sounds better as well."

"I want to be with you, Choso. I do," You paused. "I want to talk to Satoru, can I? Just to clear everything and end things completely."

"That's a terrible idea, Name. He doesn't need an explanation. You don't have to acknowledge him anymore."

"Choso.."

"I'm serious. Write a letter if you have to.. that sounds terrible I'm sorry.." He puts his hands on his face embarrassed of his words. "I just don't want to feel like my feelings are being played with."

"You're valid for how you feel, I'll write a letter and that's it no more." Giving him a serious look.

"Promise?"

"Promise Cho."

"That's a promise. Just don't give me false hope that's all I ask." He intertwines his pinkies with yours.

"Since you kissed him, it's only fair that I finally do." He leans in and gently cuffs your face before pressing his lips against yours.

You couldn't hold back a smile.

"Glad to know you're out of jail, in good piece" Shoko teases pointing at Satoru eye as he sticks his tongue out.

"Don't remind me. That emo said I whine too much."

"He's not wrong."

"Shoko, don't you think it's rude to bully a friend?" Suguru speaks up.

"Thank you Sugu-"

"Especially when he has two ugly blackeyes by his nemesis." He smirks.

"My manager is going to kill me." He throws himself on the couch pouting. "Maybe don't respond so quickly especially when you can't fight Satoru," Shoko replied.

"I can fight, I was just drunk." He groans, "Speaking of drunk does Name know you're here?" Shoko looks off to the side and is silent.

"Utahime and her are currently not speaking to her after the whole party." Suguru chimed in putting a hand on her shoulder.

"That sounds like Utahime doing, not Name. She is not someone that often cuts people off."

"Look, can we not talk about this guys? I cannot have another reason why I need a cigarette again." She rubs her head.

"Why don't you storm for Utahime and ask to take you back?" Satoru looks up at her while she raises a brow.

"What?"

"For once, I'm desperate. I want my friends back, tell me. You guys can't be my only friends."

"So.. I was thinking.."

Taglist is now closed and full 💞 @miiiturix @superdonkeypatroleggs @inthedarkshadows000 @kumori-suwan @chilichopsticks @prized-jules 1ndee @lov3vivian @yuuuumii @chiiinglebells @sakurayashiro @ghostlyfanenemy @cisseadven @totallygyomeiswife bemebiu @chckn-pi @for-hearthand-home @sh0ot1ngst4r @muthic @lukaerith-morningstar meowforluv @uniquenicefangirl @4rmins @corvid007 @beautifulwitchcandy @iluv-ace @tartartagliaboo @genxnarumi lafrone @coffee-addicted-demigod @cupidsblonde depressedemosantaclaus @drownedbytears @s777athv @linaaeatsfamilies @lun4rchive @moonlitwitchdaisy @kooksbunnnn @shoma-nom @reagan707 @kaged-kitty b0nez9 btsinthesoop @shokosbunny @sleepykittyenergy @sad-darksoul @ghostswhoretbh @raquel12 @missthatgirl @explosivelywuisa @bunviixo @rifran @therealanxiety @harryzcherry

[spiderb00]

FROGS 'N CATS

Kang Haerin x reader 

“Just a cozy day with your girlfriend, Kang Haerin” 

Genre – Fluff   Warnings – None 

Now playing – Pink, by Wave To Earth

Your head rested gently on Haerin's lap, the younger girl's back comfortably pressed against one of the trees in the park. The sun was setting in pink colors, and you and your girlfriend were tempted not to go home – even though you knew you would have to go back eventually – and to continue listening to the soft sound of the leaves of the trees swaying. The caresses of the girl with cat eyes on your head were almost making you close your eyes, the whole quiet atmosphere was cozy, and some miracle seemed to have happened, because no one had pointed any camera in the face of the two of you or asked for autographs.   

"Oh! Look, Yn!" Your girlfriend's voice caught your attention, making you get up from Haerin's lap quickly and look where she was pointing.   

Expecting to see a wave of fans or paparazzi, you relaxed when you realized you were just a small frog.   

"He's pretty small..." You said, tilting your head to see the frog jumping near the nearby lake. "Is he still a toad child?" You said, laughing and getting giggles from your girlfriend.   

"No, some frogs only grow to a specific point." Haerin began to explain, having you completely mesmerized the second she started talking.   

You loved watching your girlfriend talk, you could listen to her forever. Haerin didn't say much, but she was always chattering more than usual with you, feeling comfortable sharing thoughts and being herself. Before you, Haerin only felt comfortable that way with the girls – especially Danielle – in the group, but after you invaded her heart, that changed.   

"Did you know that frogs actually breathe through their skin..." Haerin stopped talking when he saw the look you gave her. If it weren't for the darkness of the night, which had already arrived, she swore that you could see how she turned red under your gaze. "What's wrong-" 

Haerin was interrupted by you, attacking her face with kisses, distributing all over the younger girl's face, Haerin can't contain her laughter, and neither can she avoid blushing at your surprise attack of kisses.   

"Yn! Stop, someone can see us!" The black-haired girl said, still laughing at the tickle your kisses made on her cheeks.   

Giving your girlfriend a quick kiss on the lips, you walked away with a smile on your face, and the conviction that you left your girlfriend completely red and embarrassed. Haerin loved your displays of affection, but that doesn't mean she won't still be embarrassed if you're out in public.  

"I love it when you talk about the things you like, Kang Haerin!" You say, without taking the smile off your face, standing up and taking her hand in yours.     

"Come on, I know a very good restaurant not far from here, we can get takeout food and take it to the girls." You said, Haerin accompanying you with his hand firmly on yours.   

You two walked the streets quietly, voice after voice commenting on something that caught your attention. Haerin saw some things that she would definitely come back to buy at some cool stores, and you were euphoric whenever you saw something NewJeans-related on the streets.   

Entering the small establishment, you walked over to the counter, Haerin looking curiously around and spotting an elderly gentleman – who probably shouldn't be working anymore – talking to you. The small restaurant had a cozy feel, and reminded Haerin of restaurants she went to with her parents when she was a child.   

"Hello child, it's good to see you're back! What will you want today?" The old man asked you, the cat-eyed girl carefully watching your interaction with the old man.   

"Hello Mr. Jung? Are you alone today?" You asked, trying to peek into the open kitchen behind the man.   

"No. No need to worry, Doyun is in the kitchen, he's doing all the dishes today. The night is very calm." The old man said, smiling slightly at you and changing his gaze to a shy Haerin behind you and giving her a smile.   

"So, what will you and your friend want today?"   

After placing orders, you and Haerin have taken a table in the corner of the restaurant, waiting for the orders to be ready. When you finally had all the bags in your hands, you and Haerin walked to the dorm where your girlfriend and the girls lived. Arriving and handing over the bags and a hungry Minji eager to see what you two had brought for dinner.  

Fried rice and boiled pork dumplings gave off a wonderful smell throughout the girls' dorm, you, your girlfriend and the girls eating it all amidst conversations, Minji jokes (which earned her a few slaps from Hanni) and laughter. 

"I love spending days like this with you, Kang Haerin." You say, your girlfriend snuggling more in your arms on the bed where you were both lying.   

"Are you obsessed with calling me Kang Haerin, or what?" The younger girl said, blinking her eyes slowly at you.   

 "My Kang Haerin." You said, closing your eyes and hearing a soft giggle come from the lips of the girl next to you.   

Hey guys, I did this story very quickly because all I'm having inspiration to write lately is comfort, like, I can develop cute stories where the characters live everyday and cozy things.

Honestly, this is inspiring me and I'm managing to work on the requests, maybe it will take a while because I'm being a little demanding with myself, but it will come out.

I hope you are well and taking care of yourselves, stay safe

xoxo, spider.

[ainsi-soit-il]

Wanted to add a couple of things from my own experience as a Methodist who grew up Baptist on the fringes of the Bible Belt.

I've been in Protestant Churches Built From Circa 1970-2005 long enough to know that it's not an either-or between (Carpenter) Gothic Chapel and Megachurch Monstrosity. There's a lot of bizarre flavors going on for the following reasons.

In the 1970s-1980s, there was a trend of building churches with gymnasiums that could function as a fellowship hall. As an example, the church I attend now was built in the late 1970s and we have a gym that was clearly built with this in mind (There's a kitchen attached, there's an AV booth, etc.). In some cases, these gyms were built before the actual sanctuary, due to their multipurpose nature and capacity.

At least by the 2000s, this evolved into more multi-purpose sanctuaries in general, stuff that could double as a fellowship hall if need be. The church I grew up in didn't have a gym, but the sanctuary's seating was removable and the room could be divided into sections for smaller events if need be. (It was still recognizably a church, though. There was a choir loft and a baptistry and a giant wooden cross hanging on the back wall, and whatnot.

Once the sanctuary was built, the church building might be expanded on to meet the practical needs of the congregation. Most often you see additions for classroom space, for the sake of Bible studies, Sunday school classes, or Christian schools that might use the building.

These expansions might be made as the congregation is able to raise money for them, so things tend to be simpler in design, and there may not be a lot of clear rhyme or reason as to how things get placed, beyond There Was Room Here. (As you said, op, resources are a big factor here.)

As a result, there's a longstanding reality of reasonably-sized, theologically-orthodox Protestant churches with sprawling, eldritch architecture that defies reason because the building wasn't built all at once, and because the focus was upon how the building might also be used by the congregation outside of a Sunday morning.

None of that's to say I think church architecture shouldn't mean something. But for a certain genre of Hideous Protestant Church architecture, the value being communicated is serving others, or the need for church community in the Christian life, rather than strictly The Church Is A Product To Be Sold.

With that said, I feel like it's worth mentioning that by and large, these churches still have architectural features that say, This is a church, like steeples, crosses, windows, whatever. While they're weird-looking buildings, they're not afraid to signal to passersby what the primary intention for the building is.

Furthermore, the market research thing is very real. One of the points where the church I grew up in began to go downhill was when the new head pastor hired a marketing firm to "fix" the church and to give it more mass appeal... which inevitably involved getting rid of any architectural features that suggested this was a church. Looking at pictures of the inside of it now, it's basically unrecognizable as a place of worship. It looks more like a concert venue than anything else. And I think that, regardless of where you fall on how ornate a church should be, is cause for concern.

Setting aside issues like the practical needs for space, or the finances to afford constructing/renovating a building in the first place, why is there such apprehension about church buildings that suggest who we worship and why we gather? What does that say about how we might feel about Jesus?

Roman Catholics and Orthodox have got to knock it off with "Protestants have brutalist corporate churches". A particular modern strain of Protestantism has hideous modern churches. It's a depressingly common strain, and arguably the dominant one in America, but it's either ignorant or dishonest to pretend as though all Protestants have ugly churches.

Behold:

Clockwise from top left:

St. Peter's Church, Geneva, canton of Geneva, Switzerland (Swiss Reformed)

Barnes Methodist Church, London, England, UK (Methodist)

Dutch Reformed Church, Newbury, New York state, USA (Dutch Reformed)

St. Jude's Church, Glasgow, Scotland, UK (Presbyterian)

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

It’s weird that the show claims Ms Bustier tried to help Chloe …

…yet all she did was tell Marinette that she needed to be a “good example” for Chloe to learn from as if it’s her job as class rep to guide her with her issues, not Madame Bustier's.

Now there’s nothing wrong with Marinette helping Chloe change, but claiming that Bustier tried to help  Chloe by having somebody that she hates (for reasons unknown) do the work for her is like sating Chloe tried to do her homework by making Sabrina do it.

Here's a fun little story related to this ask.

Before I started this blog, I went to college to learn to become a teacher. I dropped out thanks to complications from the pandemic, but I still managed to complete two years. One of the introductory education classes I took had a lecture on ways to treat students. The professor said that a teacher shouldn't single out any students in a positive or negative way, meaning you can't put someone on a pedestal or be extra strict to someone.

In other words, something Ms. Bustier does that was depicted as a sign she's a great teacher is one of the first things I was told NOT to do when learning to be a teacher.

[asktheritobowyer]

(This is the blogger here, making a post that I never thought I'd be making, but due to recent events, regarding threads, and my inbox, I feel like I need to)

First of @askthenewritoelder @asktheritochampion @asksakitherito @askaritobard @askthehylianchampion I want to make it make clear, none of you are at fault for this, nor could any of you have predicted your replies, or posts would have caused something like this to happen.

As @asktheritochampion said on their blog, there has been no drama, or anything of the sort between us, just bloggers having fun with the characters, engaging, and creating fun scenario's for us to play out.

Unfortunately with that said, for the past couple of days, my inbox has been flooded with nothing but death threats to myself and the character of Harth.

I've had messages telling me to kill myself. I've had messages telling me they hope Harth commits suicide. I've had messages hoping Harth gets killed in his sleep by Tulin in graphic detail. I've had messages telling me they look forward to Teba stabbing Harth to death and taking Molli. I've had messages saying they hope Revali kidnaps Molli and kills Harth. I've had messages hoping Saki cooks Harth and feeds his remains to Rito Village. I've had messages telling me Harth is going to get hacked into pieces by Link, and he's going to eat him. I've had messages hoping I die for not falling in line and loving Revali like everyone else. I've had asks saying Harth should make a bow and shoot himself with it. etc...

It really is as bad as I'm describing. I sincerely wish it wasn't. Nor will I show the asks, as they're incredibly graphic and disturbing to read. I haven't gotten any genuine asks lately. Just simply death threats, or messages hoping I die, or Harth dies, or Molli getting taken away because Harth gets killed by someone. I've counted 60 so far and counting.

It goes without saying I'm here to have fun. I'm here to enjoy myself. I'm here to interact with others. I'm here to have fun answering asks in character. I'm here to engage with other threads. I'm here to respectfully freely express my feelings and opinions to others, and respect their opinions. I'm here to get into all sorts of fun shenanigans with Harth.

I didn't come here to be harassed. I didn't come here to get ridiculed for being different. I didn't come here to be sent constant death threats because I think differently. I didn't come here so people can tell me they hope Harth dies, so someone else can take his daughter. etc...

I understand people may like a character, but there comes a point where you shouldn't take things to this extent because someone has a different stance to someone else. Things have been taken way out of context, and people have gone to the extremes in my inbox.

We all have different opinions and should respect them. We should be polite to one another regardless of the differences. I'm just someone looking to have fun with others, and create stuff by myself or with them. Nothing more nothing less.

There's a right way to engage with someone and express yourself. This isn't that way. I don't want to make posts like these, but I'm hoping in doing so people are mindful of what their doing and the effect it can have on someone simply wishing to enjoy themselves.

[taldigi]

what are your yu headcanons? i’m curious — i love hearing ppl’s interpretations of the persona mcs!!

Sure! I think about him too much, anyway.

Loves his family more than anything. His friends are his family, too.

Autism man 1000 years strong

Oral fixation. It was almost eliminated but it came back full force due to the stress of the investigation. RIP his pencils. Chews his (disposable) chopsticks to splinters.

Didn't know any origami until moving to Inaba. Makes cranes when anxious or bored. Learns more types over time. It's become a telltale sign that Yu's been in the area when you see origami stars or cranes littering the area.

Gay. i know canonically he's not/is at least bisexual but idk- Atlus has a good track record of of their "MC can't be too interested in a single girl lest we invalidate a player's chosen girl" that just comes off as them being not interested at all.

Is actually pretty genuine about liking things like fishing and cooking (sometimes i've seen people interpreting these hobbies like they're a means to an end). He knows many recipes by heart.

He knows the recipe for LeBlanc's curry. He thinks he dreamt it up because he remembers Ren telling him about it during PQ2.

He thinks the Yasogami uniforms are really cool and likes how they feel, too.

Is really good with kids. He has has two social links with kids and one with a mom and her kid. That, plus he's pretty welcome doing a daycare gig as a boy- which is typically a pretty unwelcoming field for guys.

Tries his best to see the best in people. Adachi fucked that up a bit for him tho.

His arena title actually hurt his feelings a lot more than he lets on.

Incredible patience developed from years of neglect as a kid. This is not always a good thing. Sometimes (outside of extreme circumstances) he needs to be reminded that he's allowed to be mad or frustrated.

Stone faced and calm for similar reasons. Was scolded pretty harshly a few times for emotional outbusts as a child- emoting too much stresses him out since there's the fear of being admonished (even though he's too old to be scolded.)

He's a chronic people pleaser and it's caused him trouble more than once.

That being said, he doesn't shy away from being blunt.

Struggles to ask for his own needs to be met.

He cannot sleep until after midnight on rainy days. Even when away from Inaba. He's tried, even with medication.

He may have the braincells of the group, but one of those braincells is Yosuke. Yosuke is also 40% of his emotional control.

All of his friends are special to him, but when it comes to anything: he reaches to Yosuke first. He trusts him enough to follow him to hell. Psychic partner connection.

Teddie is his unproblematic fave. He is President of the Teddie fanclub. Blorbo.

Has wondered if Izanagi is his "true" persona, or if it was forced onto him by Izanami. He is also a little self-conscious about never having a shadow.

there's something gender about him.

Hates being alone, living alone even moreso.

Not particularly fond of lying. Not that he'll blurt truths or anything comical like that, but deceptive behavior is the quickest way to push his buttons.

Cats cats cats. If Neko Atsume was a personality trait.

Not picky about food. Will even eat stuff that shouldn't be food. Neglect side effect. He never grows out of it. Would absolutely drink the water in tartarus.

Nervous about a post-fog TV world, but warms up to it after Teddie ushers the team to visit. After confronting Adachi, he never visits alone again: but it's a pretty great spot to escape to. Good picnic spot (not that Inaba is lacking in them)

(future Headcanons)

He uses his TV world glasses as an emotional comfort item, even though he doesn't need them.

He learns that he's not super fond of the city, and once he gets his driver's license after college: he never spends more than a day or weekend trip in big cities.

I imagine him as a college dropout. Instead, he opts to get various licenses. This disappoints his parents and they have a fallout about it.

Grey rocked his parents.

Works on call for the shadow operatives. He also watches over the TV world with the rest of the IT and offers regular reports to them. The benefits are generous, too.

His Wildcard ability eventually erodes over time as he doesn't really gain access to the Velvet Room's functions again. Most of the alternate personas he has sort of... fuse back down into Izanagi (which is why, in the sequels, he doesn't really utilize multiple personas)

As said before, he thinks the Yaso uniforms are cool as hell and is almost crushed when he can't fit in his old one. Kanji makes him a sort of lookalike/inspired jacket as a gift and it's his favorite jacket of all time.

Reaches out to Namatame, and actually keeps him pretty informed on TV world stuff. I like to think they have coffee sometimes.

(Izanagi)

makes deep grumbly noises with sharp metalic sounds. Think like.. pokemon's Bastiodon or Aegislash.

Looks and acts stoic, but as he's technically Yu's shadow, he's a little weepy & cries easily.

Gets lonely easily.

this is a really silly one, but: You can give Izanagi a little treat by feeding him batteries.

thats all I can think of for now.

[tab00-1nce51]

Vacation at the hotel with Aunt

Veronica : - Well, the nephew. How are you doing? Everything okay? Maybe you need something?

Veronica : - You know. Your Aunt Veronica is all for you. I'll do everything.

Nephew : - oh Aunt Veronica, thank you. I like everything, I'm happy with everything.

I am very glad that I am resting here with you. In this hotel. My vacation with you is my dream.

But there is one thing bothers me.

Veronica : - Which one, honey?

Nephew : - You said you'd do anything for me.

Veronica : - Yes. Tell me dear, what's bothering you?

Nephew : - I'm embarrassed to say this, but...

Veronica : - Go ahead, tell me.

Nephew : - I'm worried about your breasts.

Its so big. Beautiful, alluring.

I Can’t look anywhere elese.

I want to see her. 👀

Veronica : - Baby, this...

Nephew : - I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have said that. I will go.

Veronica : - No, honey stay.

Veronica : - I wanted to say. I don't mind at all. If you want to see my breasts. I could help you with that.

Like i said. I will do everything to make my nephew happy.

Nephew : - Oh.. Wow Aunt Veronica are you serious?

Veronica : - Yes, baby. Do you want to see my breasts?

Nephew : - Yeah. Yeah..

Veronica : - Okay, you know what? I have an idea.

Sit in the chair and relax.

Nephew : - What are you doing?

Veronica : - I 'll show you now.

Nephew : - Oh, Aunt Veronica 💞

Veronica : - Just like that. You wanted my tits? You'll get them.

Yeah baby. Fuck my tits. I love it. ❤️

Veronica : - Yes, just like that. Oh. Do you want to f.. ck me in the mouth? Oh. Baby.

Slup.. Suck.. Mhm.. Whoa..

Nephew : - Yes, Aunt, take it in your mouth, oh yes. I f.. ck you between your boobs and you suck me. F.. ck Yeah.. 💦

Some time later..

Veronica : - Well.. You've finished all over my face, nephew.

Nephew : - I'm sorry for that. You're so hot. Sexual.

Veronica :- How do you like my idea, with my breasts? Did you like it?

Nephew : - oh,yes Aunt. You're just reading my mind. You're a sex bomb.

Veronica : - Thanks baby I liked it too. Ready for the second round?

Nephew : - Aunt Veronica, I can't believe it's happening. It's like a dream come true. Yes, I'm ready.

Veronica winked at her nephew, her face glistening with the evidence of his pleasure. She stood up from the bed, her voluptuous body moving with a seductive grace that seemed almost predatory. Walking over to the chair, she straddled him, her legs wrapping around his waist. With a knowing smile, she reached back and unclipped her bra, letting her ample breasts fall free. They were more than a handful, and her nipples were hard and pointed from the excitement of their little show.

Nephew stared up at her, his eyes glazed over with lust. He reached out and cupped her breasts, feeling their weight in his palms. He squeezed gently, watching as Veronica's eyes closed and she let out a soft moan. The room was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing and the rustling of fabric as they moved closer together.

Nephew leaned in and began to kiss her neck, his hands roaming over her soft skin. Veronica tilted her head back, giving him better access. His kisses grew more insistent, turning into nibbles and gentle bites that sent shivers down her spine. She could feel his erection pressing against her thigh and she knew that he was more than ready for round two.

With a seductive whisper, she leaned back and began to grind against him, her breasts bouncing with each movement. "I want you to fuck me, baby," she murmured into his ear. "Do you want to fuck me?"

The question hung in the air for a moment before the nephew nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. Veronica slid down off the chair and onto her knees, her breasts still out and her hands reaching for the zipper of his pants. She pulled out his erect cock and began to stroke it, her eyes never leaving his. "You want this?" she asked, her voice low and sultry.

The nephew nodded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Veronica took him in her mouth, her lips wrapping around his shaft in a way that was both practiced and enthusiastic. She sucked hard, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock, and he couldn't help but groan. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with mischief as she took him deeper, her cheeks hollowing out.

Their eyes locked as she continued to suck him, her hands playing with his balls. He could feel the tension building in his body, his orgasm approaching like a freight train. He reached down and tangled his fingers in her hair, guiding her movements slightly.

With a final, deep moan, the nephew came in her mouth, and Veronica swallowed every drop, looking up at him with a satisfied smile. She stood up and took his hand, leading him back to the bed. "Let's not waste any more time," she said, pulling him down onto the mattress with her.

Their bodies tangled together, their kisses deepening as they explored each other's bodies. Veronica straddled him again, this time sliding down onto his cock with a gasp. She began to ride him, her breasts bouncing with each downward thrust. The room was filled with the sounds of their passion, and they both knew that this was just the beginning of their taboo rendezvous.

[sainteclectic]

what are your thoughts on hms(w?) having ocd?

ohoho... rubs my hands together...

first of all, all of them struggle with checking compulsions in their own ways, and I'll get into how that manifests! they all have bfrb too - mind picks his skin, heart pulls at his feathers, soul bites his nails, and whole bites his lips. specifics under the cut because this got LONG whoops

heart is superstitious. he just knows something bad will happen if he ends on an unlucky number, if he doesn't wish on 11:11, if he steps on cracks. he refuses to get rid of anything - what if he needs it? what if he can't find it again? what if he accidently gets rid of something important? he walks through the doorway three times. three is a lucky number. did someone throw away that box? better check everything in his room to be safe. he repeats the thirteenth object three times. is he going to die? the thought sticks in his brain. he asks the others, needing reassurance, or it'll just get louder. he memorizes every crack in the house so he doesn't accidently step on one he can't see. he can't find something. he asks them if they moved it. he freaks out if they throw his things away, convinced something horrible will happen to them. get more reassurance. they're annoyed with how much he asks, but it's better than the alternative.

mind's sense of personal responsibility is warped, with him believing it's up to him to do everything right. this leads to him obsessively checking everything is in order - the others are behaving, the books are all in their right place, the doors are locked, check they're behaving again, click the lock again [what if it's broken?], did someone move a book? everything is his responsibility, he has to ensure it's all in working order. he's the only one who can do it. check the stove. never trust the other two to do a good enough job. twist the lock once, twice, three times for good measure. it's irrational. he shouldn't be irrational. reread that text message again. why is he doing this? he can't stop. what if something bad happens if he doesn't? that makes no sense. but what if it's rational the next time he checks, what if he's justified? he's always justified. organize the drawer again.

soul has primarily moral ocd and harm ocd, with some fun religious guilt sprinkled in there for flavor. he obsesses over his morality, over if his actions have hurt anyone {especially during concord, where he's terrified of ruining things}, of if he's making whole proud. he compulsively checks that he's doing the right thing, that heart and mind are safe, and it can get a little overbearing for the other two. he prays. he repeats his prayers three times, just to be safe. he worries he's not close enough to being whole, trying desperately to mimic whole in everything he does. was that what whole would do? go over everything he's done that day, make sure he did everything right. he has thoughts of hurting heart and mind. he sees their violent deaths in his mind. repent. he wonders if he's being selfish. he prays three times, just to be safe.

and whole... whole has a lot of issues when it comes to other people, and since his main coping mechanism is avoidance, it means that he avoids relationships completely. he obsesses over if he's done something wrong, if he hurt someone, if something happened to them. he rereads all his messages over and over to make sure he didn't say anything bad. he goes over the signs that they might hate him in his head. he obsessively checks their activity to make sure they're okay, their posts and texts, spiraling if they haven't said anything in a while. was that the wrong thing to say? did he remember that interaction right? ruminate over their responses. do they still like him? look over their texts to make sure they didn't sound annoyed, go over their last interaction again. it doesn't seem worth it. he hides himself away, hoping that avoiding people will make it go away. it never does.

and of course, they're all convinced that their specific ocd is normal and reasonable while the others are the weird ones. heart is frustrated they never listen to his concerns and they're the stubborn ones, mind is convinced his rituals are the only rational ones and the others are being foolish, soul believes he's inherently Wrong in some way and thus it's reasonable, and whole thinks he's solved the issue by avoiding his issues entirely. something something wow these people are freaks thank god I'm the only normal one here

[majaloveschris]

I will never understand why we use someone's achievement against someone else. 

It's really great Seb won a GG. Congratulations to him; I'm happy for him. I heard he really wanted to win some type of award. Whether it's true or not, I don't know, but good for him. But a lot of people, rather than being happy for him or not saying anything at all, immediately use this situation to say bad things about Chris. How he never will one, how he's only been in flops since Marvel, how even though he says he doesn't care about awards, he must be so jealous right now. Why is this something people think of first? Why are some people only happy about his achievement because now they could do something else against Chris? 

If you hate someone this much, why do you care about him? Why do you spend your valuable time on him? Why is he your first thought in the morning and the last one at night? Does it feel good to take out all of your anger on him? 

And I'm not babying him. I've said several times that he's made his bed, and now he has to lay in it whether he likes it or not. That I can't support him like I used to, that's it; it's not the same anymore. I call him out; I call them out, because whatever this is, it's not okay or right. But where do we draw a line? 

It seems like some people think they can say and spread whatever they want because of this whole thing, and sometimes it doesn't feel right. It's okay to call people out, and it's really needed, but people shouldn't feel like they are allowed to do whatever they want. 

This whole thing should be about Seb winning, not about Chris not winning. And it's also interesting to see that even people who didn't really like Seb (because let's be honest, he's also done some questionable things, but I guess at least he didn't marry one) are now the biggest fans of his and use his winning as a tool to hurt Chris. 

I don't know. I used to love when this whole place was about calling people out for important things and sharing theories. But it's not the same anymore.