#this really is a type i was not expecting

[yieldtotemptation]

NOVEMBER ft. Somi

somi x male reader smut

9k words

"It's this challenge I'm doing. One whole month—thirty days—without having an orgasm," you're explaining, failing spectacularly at keeping things professional. Something possesses you to add: "No nutting. Hence the name."

Somi just stares at you. Flabbergasted.

Leans forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her palms; tearing your entire existence apart with her eyes.

"Can I just say, and I genuinely mean this in the nicest way possible—but that’s the stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard."

—

Here's the conclusion you've arrived at from the one hour you've spent with her: Jeon Somi is some kind of demon.

It’s not a joke, it’s not some painterly metaphor you’re drawing—Somi has clawed her way out from the depths with nothing but a ponytail and an alarmingly tight pair of leggings; arriving on Earth, in the flesh, to make your life a living, breathing, sweat-drenched hell.

So, yeah.

Somi, the succubus. Or something close to that.

It's the only explanation for it really.

See, you're a photographer. Of women, specifically.

Beautiful women in intimate settings, sparse aesthetics. That’s your whole deal. Just homing in on the subject, capturing something ‘real’ without any distractions. Get the essence of who they are when there’s no one looking.

Pretentious, sure, but it’s what’s kept you in demand with the glossy magazines and the avant-garde galleries and the starlets desperate to convince the public that they’re more than just the pretty robots their agencies have programmed them to be.

So, suffice to say, you've met all the types.

The innocent idols that need a mountain of coaxing to come out of their shells. The stone-cold divas that barely acknowledge your existence, yet somehow still expect you to anticipate their every demand. And the flirts, willing to do just about anything for the camera with a wink and a nudge, if it means getting an edge on the rest of the industry.

But Somi? She just is.

Pure temptation incarnate, from head to toe, without even trying. Thighs that threaten to strangle your self-control, a waist that makes sinners out of saints, tits that would have physicists reconsidering the very nature of gravity, all topped by a dangerous smile that could melt a fucking igloo with its sheer wattage.

Somi’s hot.

She knows it, the world knows it, the public crucifies her for it. And she just takes it all, all of it. Melts it all together and forges it into armour.

And now she’s here, in your private space. None of the usual entourage of make-up artists, managers, whatever. Just herself and an absurdly sweet frappé. Looking so comfortable that it’s making you feel like you’re intruding.

She’s leaning on your table, ass flush against the wood, arms crossed, and her eyes—those fathomless dark pools—land on yours, holding them hostage.

Barely has to make any effort when she laces her words together, piles on an unhealthy dose of insinuation, cocks an eyebrow and asks—“So, how do you want me?”

Naked, preferably. On all fours, ass to the sky. Or maybe on her knees, mouth hanging open, tongue out, elbows squeezed together to make her tits sing.

Yeah, you're already composing the perfect shot in your head.

Fuck.

You rub your eyes. Maybe thirty days of self-imposed abstinence has finally broken you, and this is all some kind of feverish hallucination driven by your libido.

But no, Somi is still there, lounging in your studio, all curves and challenge. Just being insanely hot.

You cough, clear your throat. Put on the mask of someone far more professional.

“Anywhere you’d like,” you’re answering, keeping your expression decidedly blank. This isn’t the first time you’ve been the only outlet for a young sexpot desperate to let off some steam. You have the experience. But again—fuck. Thirty days is far too long. Somi is far too much. “Just keep it natural. Like I’m not even here.”

Somi just laughs, sweet and sinful, her whole thing. Pushes off the table with a grace that seems almost supernatural (again, see the demon theory), before adding a thought, like it just sprung up in her pretty head— “Easier said than done.”

Distractions aside, all things considered, she’s the perfect subject.

Gets what you’re going for immediately, makes herself at home amongst your studio's chaos. Glides around the room, runs her fingers over your equipment strewn about—the lights, the lenses, the negatives hanging in the corner.

The sway of her hips, the flex of her back. The dip of her brow and purse of her lips when she asks, "What's this for?", and the genuine interest when she listens to you explain about aperture, and light metres, and so on and so on.

(Snap a photo of her silhouette when she's by the window, leaning against the glass to spy on the passers-by.

Snap a photo of her smile, when you say something that's really not that funny, but she laughs anyway.

Snap a photo of her legs, when she finds a couch to lay on—stretching herself out, showing off their length, the tone of her thighs, the promise kept hidden by her leggings being pulled tighter and tighter.)

Another hour passes quickly, and you take a break there, more for your sanity than her endurance. Leave her to her own devices while you flick through the shots you’ve managed to get so far.

Only, when you scroll through your laptop, scan through the dozens upon dozens of rapid-fire photos you've taken—it's a horror show.

None of them work.

Not because of her, but because of you.

The way you've shot her. Far too revealing—you've put too much of yourself in these pictures. Turned them from images to confessions. Each one a fucking love letter to her body—her legs, her tits, her lips, her ass, her tits again—everything about her that makes you ache.

It's not art. It's borderline pornographic.

And yet, Somi's still just lying there.

Drinking down another pick-me-up that she's had delivered, this one with enough caffeine to take down several horses, chatting away so casually while you try to stitch your soul back together. Sipping and talking about who-knows-what, throwing out feelers, smiling easily, laughing sincerely, utterly oblivious to the havoc she's wreaking on your self-control.

An effortless grace when she lifts herself off the couch, saunters over to you and leans in far too close, gets far too familiar, lays on far too much charm when she asks, “Mind if I take a look?”

Yeah, you do, but you still force a calmness into your voice that you’re certainly not feeling when you turn the laptop so she can see.

“Wow,” is her initial review, and now she’s touching you, hand on your shoulder, tits pressed up against your arm and you’re certain that none of this is accidental, like an oh, just trying to get closer so I can better appreciate the photos you’re flipping through, never mind that you're getting a precise estimation of my cup size just from the feeling alone.

Do your best—ignore the pressure, the warmth, the softness. Watch her face, see all the tiny details; her eyes lighting up when she catches something she likes, her thoughtful hum at a particularly good shot. The smacking of her lips, the furrow of her brow, the recognition as you scroll.

One by one, with each photo, her expression morphing from curiosity to understanding.

She notices.

“You’re good at this.”

You wait for it. “That’s all?”

Her eyes glint, “None of these can be used though.”

“I know.”

The screen’s frozen on a particularly compromising shot: there’s Somi’s face, barely in it, just the bottom-half, her lips pouting out and looking all plump and delicious. Camera angled up high, pointing down the dip of her tight, sheer top and the shadowy valley that makes up her cleavage. Scanning down to her legs, folded to the side beneath her, the squish of her ass cheeks over her heels, spilling into the corner of the screen.

Sin, captured in fifty megapixels, barely contained inside a four by six frame.

A submissive dream.

“These for your personal collection, or—” and when she catches the heat rising up the back of your neck, changing directions, “—not that I mind, as long as I get a copy.”

Clearly finding all this much funnier than you are—that smile’s a knife to your chest. So sharp and knowing; it would have you gasping for air, if only you’d look.

Keep it cool, play it off with a shrug, “We’ll try again.”

“I doubt we’ll get any different results,” Somi’s predicting, bouncing on her toes now, getting closer and closer until she doesn’t need to make much of an effort to make herself heard. Close enough that she could feel you now, if she wanted to. Just brush her fingers over you and get a good idea of the reason why this photoshoot is going so far off the rails.

She instead leans her chin onto your shoulder, breath hot against your cheek. Like throwing a match on gasoline.

All the power of this girl, this woman, wrapped up in a single gesture. Wielding it so freely, so innocently, so easily. Heat that's self-aware, that knows just how much it's burning.

You caution, “Keep it professional.”

“Doesn’t that run counter to the whole aesthetic. I thought we were going for raw?”

“Natural.”

“What’s the difference?”

You need to stop yourself, shut the laptop, end the session right now before it’s much too late. Before you’re turning to her and realising just how close her lips are to yours, just how tiny her waist is compared to your hands, and you're saying the words that will end all semblance of propriety and professionalism— “With you, I don’t think there is one.”

“Well as long as we agree,” and Somi’s turning away, striding back to the couch, leaving you to breathe again. Making you thankful for the space, but missing the suffocation of her heat all at once.

Plopping herself down on the cushions, one leg folded under the other, leggings so thin you can see the shape of her underneath. Natural, just like you asked—looking like she's the only one here that’s exactly where she wants to be.

You’re thinking you’re off the hook.

Maybe you can get back to work.

Only, “So, it’s been a while, then?”

“Somi,” you’re saying her name for the first time, officially, and it’s coming out far too strangled. Far too needy. She loves the sound.

“Come on, humour me.”

“Somi,” again, you’re trying, clearing out the cobwebs from your throat.

“Sir.”

What the fuck.

She doesn’t move. Waits patiently for your answer.

You give her the inch, knowing she’ll take the mile.

Raking a hand through the back of your head. “Thirty days.”

The look on Somi's face is apoplectic. You're glad you have the wherewithal to capture it.

"It's a—" and you're feeling quite stupid as you explain it to her in detail; the abstinence for a month, the purpose of it all, the supposed benefits, "challenge."

That sends Somi ranting, hands flailing in the air. Incredulous, at you, at this challenge, at the idea of putting yourself through this self-imposed torture. “Stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”

And then, when she sees your face.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But seriously. Thirty days? And not once.”

Your voice is dry. “No.”

“Not even by accident?”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Wet dreams, nothing? No jerking it? No sex? At all?” Somi’s bursting out laughing, hand flying to cover her mouth, barely even able to breathe. It’s so absurd to her.

And it doesn’t take long before she puts it all together. Processes the information, sees the picture she’s painted of you. The sad, desperate artist, with nothing but a dying hunger and a camera. Realises the predicament you’ve put yourself in just by having her here.

She’s not laughing any more.

“And so you chose today, November 30th, to schedule me?”

You’re very, clearly frustrated. “Not my choice.”

“I see.” She bites her lip. Angles herself just so.

“Dial it back.”

“Tell that to your boner.”

You look down. Pants distinctly flat.

Somi’s grinning. “Made you look.”

“Are you done?” You ask, forcing yourself to look away from her, busying your hands by screwing on a different lens, as if it’ll somehow make her appear any less distracting, like it’ll blur out all your worst intentions and bring back some actual decorum to this whole fiasco. “We don’t have much time left.”

Turning back to her, raising your camera, aiming straight and true and—

Somi, unzipping her heels, kicking them across the floor with a dramatic flourish.

Snap.

Somi, lifting her top up and over her head, stretching her arms up high to push her breasts out forward; making them tight, outlined, so obviously pebbled against the cotton of her bra.

Snap.

Somi, digging her thumbs into the waistband of her tights, pointing her legs up in the air so she can peel them off without getting up, thrusting her hips up off the couch to yank them over her ass.

Snap.

“Somi,” you’re saying again, because apparently, you’ve forgotten how to make other words.

“Just doing what feels natural,” she says, smile turning wicked, reaching behind her back to unclasp and oh, now she’s completely naked. Rearranging herself into this pose. As if she isn’t already the centre of your universe.

Thirty days, flushed directly down the drain.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

—

You’ve found it, the perfect photograph.

Somi, kneeling on the couch, hands folded on her lap, staring down the barrel of your camera with her tits out. Unreal. Works of art, both of them. Miracles of flesh, gravity be damned.

“You’re not taking any photos,” she points out.

You swallow hard. “I’m taking it in.” 

Her hands come up to cup her breasts, giving them a bounce. For fun. For you. For the look on your face. You capture the jiggle. "Good, because I'd hate to think all this was going to waste."

It’s a little fucked up, how right Somi is. You wanted raw, honest—here it is, Somi as she kneels. Just being herself, being the woman everyone accuses her of being—the sinner, the whore, the slut.

Being the woman she knows she is, with everything that it implies—the confidence, the appeal, the fucking powerhouse of magnetic attraction. Not an image being projected, not a role she’s playing, but the reality of her, shooting straight into your veins, raw sex personified—as natural as breathing.

And before you know it, you’re capturing her lips with yours, an ‘mmmph’ slipping out from her as your mouths collide and your tongues meet.

It’s not intentional, it just happens. You lean in, she’s hot, she smells like heaven and sin wrapped in a neat little bow and you’re kissing her.

Tongue finds hers, attacks, retreats, joins and intertwines, and it’s everything you imagined it would be turned all the way up—sweeter, hotter, and so much more fucking dangerous.

Lips head south, tongue sliding along her neck, teeth on her shoulder, kisses into her collarbone; and finally, you’re at her breasts.

Softer than a dream, tasting like pure addiction; you kiss the tops of her breasts, lap up all the sweat that’s beaded down in between. Drag your tongue down, follow the curve, the dip, and ending at the hard little points poking against your lips. Filling your mouth with as much of it as you can—licking, suckling, making a complete mess of spit on her chest, and then biting, just a little, just to make her moan.

“So this is what denial does to a man, hm?”  Somi slithers into your ears, under your skin, hands at the back of your head and holding you in place.

She arches into you, pushing herself closer, letting you taste, indulge. Feast on what you’ve been missing out over this long stretch of days.

And fuck, maybe it is the abstinence, the pent-up need, or maybe it’s the fact that tits in general are just fucking incredible things. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that it’s Somi, in all her outrageously perfect glory, so happy to be the one that gets to ruin you, that’s making you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust.

Not that it matters one bit.

Not that there’s any thoughts at all in your head; there’s just Somi’s tits and your tongue. Lapping it up like you’re trying to drink her in, memorise every contour, every curve, every little goosebump you induce with each swipe of your tongue.

Somi’s tits; a canvas, and your mouth’s painting the picture of a lifetime.

“Baby,” Somi coos, hands on the side of your face, lifting you up off the cushions of her breasts. She’s giggling, her fingers wiping at the strings of drool that you hadn’t even realised you’d been leaving behind. “Remember what we’re here for?”

Right.

The camera. The art. The job. The no-touching rule.

But your mind is a blurry mess of tits and need, and all your blood has headed south for the afternoon, and it's making you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

“Let me give you a hand.” Somi’s gentle with you, like you’re a stick of dynamite with a frayed wick, just the slightest touch and you’ll blow.

She takes your hand, fingers brushing against yours, little sparks of electricity making your hairs stand on end, and lifts your camera up to point directly at her.

And then, she smirks. As if to say, yeah, she’s read all your thoughts; seen straight into you and has discovered the vault where you’ve kept every one of your deepest, darkest impulses locked up for thirty long days.

Somi repositions herself. Poses her body, determined to bring every single filthy, desperate, starving fantasy of yours to life.

Reclining back into the couch, thighs apart, spreading her legs wide.

Showing off her cunt.

Bare and gleaming. Shaven clean—just this perfect, pink, wet little pussy calling out to you. Open like a fucking invitation.

You’re staring.

She waits for you to catch up.

“Now would be a good time to start using that camera.”

You take a step back. Heart racing, hands shaking; you’re usually so much better than this. Take a deep breath, lift the camera, do your job, make your art, capture as much as you can while you have fucking perfection putting herself on display for you.

The click, the shutter echoing through the studio.

It makes Somi sigh.

Her eyes find the lens, locking down her target. A fucking miracle of biology, that’s Somi. Born to have cameras on her, as in love with them as they are with her.

Her fingers dip, trace down over her ludicrously tiny waist, her abs, her bellybutton, stopping short of her mound. Dancing over her pussy, light as a feather.

Fucking grinning as she asks, “Like what you see?”

The camera’s flash answers for you.

Touching herself, stroking, circling, pressing down. Building a crescendo that you can see painted on her; through the tensing of her abs, the heaving of her breasts, her cheeks going pink, her breaths getting shorter, and her lips parting to moan.

You’re barely conscious of the fact that you’re talking under your breath, a singular demand— “Keep going.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thirty days of denial has turned you into a starving man, only for Somi to show up and make herself a full-course feast. The perfect model, but also the worst fucking thing possible for your resolve.

You take a deep breath, grip the camera tighter.

If you’re going to crack, you might as well go out with a bang.

Guiding her, as if she was any other client, and this was just another photoshoot— “Open your legs wider, Somi. Show me everything.”

Her eyes widen, pupils dilate. Sparks, excitement, lighting them up. She does as she’s told, pushing out her knees further, sinking down into the couch cushions.

Thighs quivering, pussy sopping wet and pulsing. All for you. For your camera.

Another click, the shutter again, like a time-bomb ticking down to your doom.

“Play with your clit. Tease it.”

Her hand obeys, delicate, slender fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, hips bucking slightly with each pass. The noises she makes are obscene. Harsh, breathy whispers that make you throb; moans that get caught in the back of her throat.

It’s a rush of blood straight to the head, an almost dizzying sensation, having Somi so eagerly following your every command. Her face says it all, this slut positively loves being told what to do.

“Keep it light. That’s it,” you say, stepping closer, hitting your marks, your angles. “Turn to me. I want to see your face.”

“Like this?” Somi breathes, turning to face you fully, her hand still playing with herself, stroking in a way that's almost cruel—so gentle, so teasing, so obviously designed to make you lose your mind. “Getting the pictures you’ve been dreaming of? Someone like me all spread out for you?”

You nod, jaw clenched, keeping steady. Or at least, you think you are, considering how good Somi’s making this for you.

Making sure you get the right shots of her—her pussy, swollen and puffy, dripping down a puddle onto your couch. Her tits; pinched until they’re hard and sensitive, a vivid red against the stark white of her skin. Her eyes, wide and wild and looking straight down the lens, communicating her arousal in a million different heated ways without saying a single word.

Let it be known; Somi knows exactly what she’s doing.

Knows when to sigh, knows how to arch her back, knows in which direction to pout her lips. Knows how to make every click of the camera count.

“Good girl,” you’re telling her, praising her, and it’s enough to make her keen.

“Am I?”

“Of course,” you say, leaning in closer, close enough to feel the heat of her body, a furnace against your skin. See the sweat dripping down her thighs, tiny little droplets shimmering against the muscle, begging to be licked away. “You’re doing so good, Somi. So, so good.”

You’re getting closer now, kneeling. All for the sake of the perfect shot.

Seeing her fingers work, spreading herself open, exposing her folds, glistening. Her clit standing tall and proud. Her entrance pulsing, waiting to be filled. It’s like watching a masterpiece come to life, a photo that’s been taken a thousand times before but never quite captured right. Until now. Until Somi.

Somi's smiling down at you, all knowing, all tempting, making your mouth water, and it takes all your self-discipline to not drop the camera and replace your lens with your tongue.

She laughs, low and throaty. “Looks like you’re enjoying the view.”

“You have no idea, Somi,” you answer, adding, “But you can make it better, can’t you? Make it wetter. Hotter.”

“Mmhmm,” she agrees, getting to work at making your instructions real. She’s a professional too, after all. A master of her craft. Her other hand snakes down to join her first; one hand pressing firmly down on her clit, the other plunging two fingers up into her cunt. Pushing in, curling, until it’s hitting that sweet spot that makes her preen.

“Perfect, Somi.”

You’re transfixed, as Somi starts to fuck herself in earnest, the camera almost forgotten in your hand. She’s so drenched that every stroke is accompanied by a wet, slick sound; and the way she’s creaming around her digits, dripping down her wrist, it’s far beyond a simple performance being put on for the sake of a photograph. It’s the real deal.

Somi’s breaths come faster, her eyes glaze over, and she’s biting down on her bottom lip, trying to keep from crying out too loudly.

You know you’re getting the best of her, can see it across her face: this is what she truly enjoys. Being watched, being desired, being told what to do all for your pleasure.

“Oh, baby,” she’s barely managing hushed, strained whispers, “Oh, oh, oh…”

You feel like you’re in a trance, your own hand wandering down, needing to adjust lest you rip right through your jeans. The sight alone is devastating enough, but it’s making you swell, until there’s no point in trying to hide it anymore.

“That looks so,” Somi’s licking her lips, seeing the state you’re in, seeing the desperation in your eyes, the strain down below, “Nice.”

The camera is your anchor, your north star in this whole mess. You keep it steady, even as Somi’s breaths grow shallower, turn to pants. Losing herself to you, to the moment, to being captured in all her vulnerability.

She’s fucking herself even faster now, fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, wetter and wetter still, knuckles turning white with the force she’s applying.

“You’re doing so good, Somi, such a good girl for me,” you’re reassuring her, unable to hold back your own need, your own desire from leaking into your voice. It’s a battle, a war really, against your own urges, your innate desire to just drop everything and dive into her, feel her tightness around you, make her scream out your name.

But it’s too soon, Somi’s too close, and it would be a fucking crime to stop her.

“Baby,” she gasps, the word a prayer and a taunt in equal measure, “Baby, I don’t think I can last any longer.”

You’re grinning now, heart racing, camera at the ready. “Good.”

Somi’s on a knife’s edge, balancing on the precipice of climax. You can see it in how her body’s seizing, how she throws her head back, exposing her neck to you—needing your kiss, your bite, your claim. But you resist, intent on capturing every moment of her unravelling.

Because you want to know. Want to capture it. How she cums. What sounds she makes, what noises she can’t keep in. What she looks like when she falls apart.

“Cum for me, Somi,” you’re telling her, “I want to capture it all.”

Somi trembles. She wants it too.

Her eyes screw shut, her breath hitches, and she’s there, sinking back into the couch, letting out this sweet little gasp of anticipation.

The studio goes silent except for the sound of her fingers in her cunt and the shuttering of your camera.

In, out, snap.

In, out, snap.

Fucking herself. Fucking you with her very existence.

And then—“I’m going to—”

Her body arches off the couch, a scream ripping from her throat, her hand working furiously, pussy clenching so sweetly around her fingers. It’s the type of photo people spend entire careers never getting to capture, the most beautifully obscene sight you’ve ever been lucky to witness—Somi, in the throes of pleasure, wracked by her own orgasm, all for the sake of your camera.

It hits her hard and fast and all at once, turns her body into a bow, taut and tense, before it’s released, snapped, melting her down into a boneless puddle.

You watch in awe as Somi cums, writhes and wriggles, and she makes these noises that you’ve never heard from a woman before; crying out so loud you’re surprised the neighbours aren’t banging down the door to see what the commotion is about.

It’s only when she finally relaxes, is released from her orgasm, that you lower the camera, out of breath from the sheer exertion wrought by just watching her.

You’re both near devastation—Somi sprawled on the couch, chest rising and falling, eyes closed and an elated smile on her face, and you, knees threatening to give out, unable to tear your gaze away from the sight of her satisfaction.

“That was—” Somi tries shaping the words, but they don’t come. She just lies there, lazy and sated, catching her breath.

Moments pass before she can open her eyes again, only to find you, standing over her, jeans vanished, cock out and level with her parted lips.

“That was just the beginning, Somi.”

It's just the sight of you, but Somi’s delighted. Seeing you like this—exposed and so ridiculously hard. All because of her.

She slides off the couch, kneeling at your feet.

“Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. Anything at all. Just make sure you capture it.”

“Then suck.”

Wet, hot heaven. Somi’s mouth is heaven.

Tongue darting forward, swirling around the tip, teeth grazing the head, and you’re groaning, hips jerking forward involuntarily until you’re falling into her mouth.

Somi’s got a way about her, a finesse that’s unmatched in everything she does. So, so good for you; opening her mouth nice and wide, hollowing her cheeks just right, pursing her lips to make sure you feel it when she sucks.

Just gleeful when your hand finds purchase in her ponytail, when hers wrap around the base of your cock, and you push. Inch by inch into the sweet heat of her mouth, taking it all, making sure you can see it, see how thankful she is to be granted the privilege of swallowing you whole; of having you completely filling her throat.

Holding herself there, nose pressed up against your stomach, eyes looking up, watering slightly around the edges. Not even gagging, just warming your cock with her throat, pulsing, tight, unbearably hot.

She raises her brows.

Ah, that’s right.

Snap.

Pulling off you, dragging her lips, her tongue up your shaft, leaving behind a choked, drooling mess that she’s so fucking proud of.

Giggling around a mouthful of your cock, laughter vibrating across your skin, and it’s a wonder you don’t lose yourself right then and there.

But somehow, you hold on; brace yourself against Somi massaging your balls, tickling the underside of your tip with her tongue. Playing with you, taunting, enjoying every second. Popping your cock out of her mouth so she can truly take measure of you at your achingly hardest, so she can breathe onto your cock in wonder, “Just look at you.”

Balancing your length in the palm of her hand, barely able to wrap her fingers around your girth.

“So big, so hard,” she’s rapt, talking to you, to herself, making sure the ghosts haunting your studio know exactly what she’s dealing with her. “And it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

“Darling,” you’re calling her, making her swoon, “Take it all.”

And she does. Somi, eager, opens her mouth wide, and lets you fuck her face. Getting you deep, so deep that you can feel her throat clench around your tip, slurping, moaning, choking now, but never, ever stopping. Just drooling down your thighs like the good little slut she knows you need her to be.

You’re back at it, taking photos, trying to get the perfect angle, but it’s proving a big ask when your knees are wobbling and your vision’s growing blurry. You’ve got Somi’s eyes in the viewfinder, all wide and blown with lust, looking straight through the lens of the camera and at you, daring you to break first.

But there’s still so much more of her to capture, so much more of her face to fuck.

Her red lips against your skin. Her cheeks bulging with your length. The line of her throat as she swallows. The tears in her eyes when she gags.

Somi’s arms loop around your back, cupping your ass, pulling you closer, urging you deeper.

Winking, giving you all the right cues; a muffled, “Here,” she says with her eyes. “This angle.”

And she’s right. It’s perfect. She’s got a talent for this.

Taking you deep, feeling like your cock’s never going to be able to leave her throat, only to pull back so you can see just how much she’s enjoying herself. How much she’s into this, so grateful to have you capturing every moan, every gag, every little sound she makes as you fuck her mouth like it’s the first time—and after a whole month it might as well be.

“Fuck, take it, Somi, you’re doing so well,” you tell her, knowing what it does to her—the praise, the adoration. Absorbed straight into her bloodstream, making her work harder, suck better, choke a little more. “Such a good girl.”

She loves it. Her eyes brighten, she squeezes your thighs, nails digging in. She loves it all.

You’re getting so close, you can feel it—thirty days of denial are about to come to a head, and she's going to be the one to bring you there. And yet, you still haven’t gotten nearly enough pictures to do her justice.

Somi sees it too, she can tell, knows just how close you are, but still, she's just lie you. She wants more.

She pulls back, an idea hatching in that filthy mind of hers, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Wait,” she says, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, cleaning herself of her spit, her drool, your leakage. “I want another photo. For comparison’s sake. Just for my memories.”

You’re not sure what she means, but you don’t ask questions. You just keep your camera at the ready, watching her move, watching her lean closer.

Your cock hovering just above her cheek, tip bumping up against her nose, leaving a wet streak across her face. She holds herself there, your length atop her face, and it’s all in view—her eyes fluttering closed, the tip of her tongue poking out to catch a taste of your precum, the way she’s breathing, deep and heavy, smelling the scent of you, inhaling it like it’s oxygen.

Somi—her face, her tits, her waist, her thighs.

Your cock.

All in view.

That’s the photo.

And when it’s done, you’re backing off, relearning how to breath, how to stand on your own two feet without crumbling to the ground. Somi’s tongue chases you but you’re out of reach, setting the camera down on the floor.

You need to get in on this. Fuck silly challenges. Fuck being a passive observer.

You’re done just watching. You need to feel her.

Somi looks at you all smug and satisfied, on her knees, awaiting your next instruction. “Finished taking pictures?”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you start peeling off your clothes, each layer like a heavy weight of your shoulders; until you’re just as bare and needy as she is.

Back to Somi, cradling her face, letting her lean into your palm. Running your thumb across her jaw, dragging it across her lips, stamping it onto her tongue.

She sucks.

Christ.

Thirty days of hell, given up for one moment in heaven.

Fuck it. She’ll make it worth it.

You tell her in simple, clear terms. “I’m going to fuck you now, Somi.”

“Please.”

It’s your turn now.

You relax into the couch, legs spread wide, cock throbbing in the open air, beckoning her to come closer.

Somi reads the room, your posture, your need, and she rises to the occasion. Joining you on the couch, back on her knees, thighs gripping on the outside of yours. Hands planted firmly on your shoulders, and the whole time, her eyes don’t leave yours, not even for a second.

Appreciate her, this woman, giving herself over to you.

Untying her ponytail, sending honey-brown hair cascading down her face, caressing her neck, her shoulders, meeting the tops of her breasts, perfectly rounded and waiting for the return of your teeth. Her waist, her abs, tensing and releasing, with every hot breath. And her pussy, already there, shimmering, dribbling down your cock, waiting.

Somi’s waiting for your permission.

So, taking her by the back of her neck, pulling her close, kissing her hard. Forcing this whine into your throat as your cock bumps up against her folds, sets off fireworks down her spine.

It’s a translation. Your need, from your tongue to hers, telling her that it’s only her that can do this you. Can rip you from responsibilities, from sanity, from all the shit that’s been keeping you going for the last thirty days.

Telling her that it’s worth giving it all up for just a taste, because maybe that’s the point of the challenge in the first place. Not a matter of self-control but a way to save yourself for something—someone—so potent, so powerful, so fucking irresistible that you just have to surrender to.

You pull apart, breaths hot and ragged, tongues still connected by strands, your hands already at her waist.

“You’re going to ride me, Somi. You’re going to cum on my cock and I’m going to watch it all.”

Somi nods, understanding.

Letting you guide her by the hips, sliding her fingers between her legs to take hold of your cock, aiming it at her entrance.

Lowering herself down, slow, so fucking slow, like it’s a brand-new form of torture, until your cock is nestled at the entrance of her heat, and you’re both vibrating with the anticipation of it, the gravity of this moment.

You take a harsh breath. “Ready?”

Somi presses her forehead to yours. Teasing, “Are you?”

And then, inch by inch, dragging her cunt down your shaft, making you feel every bit of her wetness, her tightness, every bit of her heat, Somi takes you in.

Pussy tightening around you like a fist, walls pulsing, massaging your cock, like she’s already trying to milk you dry. This moan that’s torn from her lips, deep and primal, something she’s been holding in for far too long, this needy, unholy cry that takes the shape of your name.

And when she’s bottomed out, when you’ve filled her until all she knows is you, Somi looks down in your eyes, nothing but pure, unfiltered lust strewn across her face. “Everything you were hoping for?”

You try, but fail, to form coherent words, just manage a grunt of pleasure, a nod of your head, and she laughs—it's the sweetest, most evil sound you've ever heard. She's got you, hook, line, and sinker.

“Good to know,” she says, and that’s all she needs to start moving, to set the rhythm that’s going to shake the walls, send them crashing to the ground until all that’s left is the two of you fucking amongst the rubble.

Her thighs tighten around you, hips start to roll in a way that’s just too fucking good, too fucking perfect. The friction is everything, makes the world narrow to just the two of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin, the drenched slick of her pussy, the heavy scent of her filling the air.

“Baby,” she repeats, each time her thighs slap down against yours, each thrust all the way up into her guts. “This cock is so perfect for me, so fucking—”

A snap of your hips into her, pulling her down hard, making her tits jump at the force of it, making Somi wail. There’s her cunt, spasming around you, tightening, trying to hold you in, trying to keep you there, but you’re not letting up.

You take over, holding by the hips and fucking her, like you’ve been waiting for, like you’ve been so fucking desperate for, like she needs so badly.

“God, you’re really—really fucking pent up, aren't you?" Somi's words are chopped up by the relentless thrusts of your hips, making her stutter, her voice all strained and breathy. Bouncing on you now, letting you set the pace, eyes screwed shut, just giving herself over to you. “I’m so, so lucky. So lucky that it gets to be me that breaks you. That takes you. That gets all this cum you’ve been saving this whole time.”

You’re gritting your teeth, unable to do anything but just fuck. Driven mad by it, by every impulse coming right up to the surface.

Everything you’ve been holding back, it’s all here, being unleashed onto Somi.

Fuck her, fill her, make her scream—‘Please, please, please’. Those are the only thoughts in your head now. Forget about the job, the photographs, the responsibility—just be yourself, a man on the edge, ready to jump off the fucking cliff.

“Baby,” Somi’s repeating, as your fingers find purchase in her ass, as she lays kisses on your shoulder, marking you up along your neck and down your jaw. There’s other words too—filth, all of it; whining to you about how you’re filling her up so good, about how she’s so wet for you, about how you’re going to make her cum so hard. But it’s all just noise to you. Noise that can be summarised in the simplest of requests, right from Somi’s lips—“Please, fucking use me.”

It's the perfect way to come apart—have someone like Somi, with her heavenly tits in your face, and her greedy, greedy cunt soaking up everything you’re willing to give. Begging, wanting, needing to be ruined.

“So fucking tight for me,” you’re kissing into her chest, finding your voice somewhere between her breasts. Telling her, “Fuck, Somi, your pussy. It’s so good for me. So fucking perfectly wet.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Somi sighs back, arms barely hanging on, holding at your neck, unable to do nothing but whimper and bear it. Bear this fucking you’re giving her, your cock invading her cunt, making her pussy tighten around it like a vice, making her abs clench, her tits jump, her throat swallow—making her sweat.

It’s like she was made for this—cunt made for your cock, body made for your arms. Somi, perfectly designed to be used by you. To moan and whine at your mercy; to be fucked, to be filled, to ruin you and to be ruined all the same.

“I can’t, I’m trying but I can’t hold on,” Somi’s teary-eyed, kissing at your face, your neck, her breath hot and sweet against your ear. “Baby, please. I need to feel you. Need more of you.”

And you’re only too eager to oblige.

Lifting your head, pulling her body closer. Catching her left nipple in your mouth, sucking hard, nipping at the peak until she’s gasping, until she’s arching her back, pressing her chest closer. Feeling the flesh flush against your lips, hitting your chin with each hard thrust.

Fuck, her tits. You could suffocate between them only to claw your way out of the grave just for another taste.

Her nails dig into your scalp, demanding more—more attention, more adoration, more worship. You give it to her—switching between each of her breasts, suckling and licking, making her whine and buck against your teeth.

“Just like that, you’re so good at that, so good with my tits,” she moans, short, tiny sighs that send your hips jerking upwards. Fucking her faster, quick, staccato thrusts that hit her just right, make her walls quiver around you. “They’re yours, all for you. All of me is yours.”

Her orgasm builds; it’s palpable, a storm brewing in the studio, sweeping up everything in its path. Each breath she takes is a hitch, a little cry, a whine. So tight around you, fucking her so hard, so deep that you can feel it coming from the inside out.

“Filling me so good, so, so good,” she mewls, and there’s still some fight in her left, a burst of energy in her thighs, allowing her to grind down harder, drop her ass on you—an up, down, up, down that echoes through the studio with each smack.

“You’re going to cum for me Somi,” you’re telling her, detailing exactly how she’ll come completely apart. “You’re going to cum all over my cock, you’re going to scream for me when you do it, okay? Tell me how good it feels.”

“Yes, yes, yes, tell me what you want—anything—I’ll do it, I’ll be so, so good for you—”

“You’re going to beg me for my cum, Somi. Going to beg me to give it to you until you can’t take any more,” you’re growling, your teeth sinking into her tits, your tongue pushing up against her flesh, making her sing.

You’re fucking her apart, tearing her in two with your cock. This girl you've only just met, who only just walked into your life; nothing but sex in a pair of high heels, and you’re already rearranging the furniture of her soul.

Now she’s the one that can’t make sense of things, can’t form full sentences—just incoherent whines and cries, each one stacking on top of the other, until the foundation’s all tilted and it’s going to collapse any second now.

Just waiting for you.

Separate from her chest, take a fistful of her hair, pull her back so you can look in her eyes and see. See just how badly you’re ruining her, how terribly she’s falling apart.

Make sure she can see you, has her attention on nothing but you when you tell her, finally, “Cum. Cum for me, Somi. All over my cock.”

She’s breaking.

“Now.”

“Please, I—” Somi’s words live and die on her lips, barely making it out before it hits her, seizes her entirely, forces her cunt to strangle your cock as she shatters.

It’s all there, her pussy tightening, pulsing, clenching, releasing in this quake of bliss that feels like a sucker punch straight through your gut.

When she cums it hits her, hits you, waves of heat washing over your cock, splashing down onto your thighs. It’s the sensation. So overwhelming, so undeniable, grinding down her orgasm onto you, pleading, over and over and over again, “Don't stop, don't stop, please!”

Writhing in your arms, needing to be held close to stop her from falling off the couch completely. Eyes rolling, head thrown back, exposing her neck, the perfect arc of her throat. Her body jolts, jerks, twitches, and it has you fucking hypnotised.

And all Somi can do is say, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

She keeps going, until each thread is unravelled, until you’ve fucked loose every last bit of control she’s got, until she’s nothing but a trembling mess in your arms.

But it’s not over, not yet.

You’re still hard, so fucking hard. Bursting at the seams. And Somi’s looking down at you, pulling herself back together. Seeing your cock, buried inside her. Seeing the mess you’ve made of her, her own pussy. Seeing everything.

And she’s smiling, because she knows what comes next.

“Use me.”

You lift her off your cock, so easy to carry; her tiny waist in your hands, she’s so light. Still shivering, these tiny, little aftershocks quivering through her, it’s like she’s clay in your hands, ready to be moulded at your discretion.

Somi gasps when she’s laid out on the couch, her legs spread wide, her cunt leaking down her thighs, all cream and cum. She adjusts herself, makes herself comfortable, presentable. Putting herself in the best possible state to be used by you.

“Use me, baby,” she repeats again, that sweat plea that’s going to be you’re undoing. She’s so, so needy, practically whining for more, for everything, for anything as long as it involves your cock and her.

You stand over her, cock at the ready, eyes on your next target, the natural stage for the grand finale, the pièce de resistance of this whole fucked up photoshoot—Somi’s breasts.

She follows your gaze, realises, “You want to fuck these tits, don’t you?”

You find your voice gravelly, deep. “Yeah.”

Somi giggles, hands at her chest, taking either side of her breasts, pushing them together with her palms and creating this gorgeous valley, just waiting for your cock. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“For you to beg.”

Somi blinks. Once, twice. Sees the look on your face, sees how hard you are for her, how desperate you are to let go.

But she knows how much you need to hear it. Knows how much she wants to say it.

“Please. Baby, please. Fuck my tits. Cum all over me. I need it.” Somi’s licking her lips, massaging her breasts together, showing you just how soft they are, how ready they are for you. “I need to feel your cum on me. All over me. My face, my neck, my chest. Everywhere. Let me do this for you.”

That’s it.

You’re back on the couch, straddling her stomach. Knees on either side of her waist, cock between her tits. Soft, warm, inviting.

“Like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that,” you manage, each word a mountain of effort as you watch your cock disappear between her breasts.

It’s a gentle push, that’s all it takes, and Somi starts to move, making her tits jiggle around your dick, squeezing it from either side as you slide your cock up and down. So focused, eyes on your cock, then back to your face, studying your every reaction, waiting for that moment when you crack.

And it’s coming so soon, you’ve been teetering on the edge since Somi first walked in—fuck, on edge for thirty days—and now you’re hurtling towards the fall.

You’re not going to last, not when Somi’s got you like this. Her hands moving with you, her tits bouncing in time with your strokes. The cushioning of her breasts around you; this gentle, sweet, torturous pressure that has you grunting, has you smearing drops of yourself all over her chest.

“Fuck, you look so good between my tits. So hard. Doesn’t it feel right? Like this is where your cock fucking belongs. This is what my tits were made for. For you,” Somi’s whispering, stringing these words together like a spell. “You can go faster, baby, I won’t break. Just let go and use me like the slut I am.”

Pleading for it, so desperate for you. Sweet words, encouragement, filth, like a drug, pushing you close and closer to the brink.

Just obey, pump faster, fuck her tits quicker, watch as your cock slices through her cleavage, the gloss it leaves over her skin. See Somi, licking her lips, devouring you with her eyes, just waiting for you to join her on the other side of oblivion.

“Cum for me, baby. Please, please. I need it—I need to feel it—please!”

Her tongue stretches past her lips, flicking out to catch the tip of your cock, making you groan. Leaning in, breath hot on you, cock hitting her lips with every thrust, every drive through her tits. So fucking greedy, so eager to taste, so needy to be the one responsible for your total ruin.

“Oh, oh, oh, baby—yes—yes—yes—yes—”

She pinches her nipples, twists them just right, moans—

You feel it immediately—your balls tighten, your cock swells, and then—release.

Intense is the only way to describe it.

So fucking intense.

White hot jets of cum spurt out, firing everywhere, making a mess of her, coating her chest, her neck, her chin, her lips, her nose—splashing down all over her.

It’s a frenzy, a natural disaster, a hurricane that’s been building for one long fucking month, and now it’s here.

The way her eyes widen, the way her mouth opens, gasping for air, the way she shakes—she wanted this, but there’s no fucking way she was prepared for it.

And when you back up, she dives forward, hand seizing the base of your cock and pumps. Wrists twisting in this aching motion, winding up and down your cock, wringing you out until you’re just a slave to her fingers, her tits, her touch.

“Keep going, baby, keep cumming for me, give me everything,” she begs, sending shivers all the way from your shaft down to your spine as she works your cock.

You do, you have no choice, no say in the matter. You give her everything.

You're coming apart, torn from your own body in sticky, hot waves that leaves you absolutely breathless.

And she’s a fucking mess. All of her—her face, her neck, her tits. So beautiful covered in you. So utterly used. So utterly yours.

It takes a moment for the tremors to stop, for the world to come back into the focus. You sit there, panting, feeling like you’ve just done a triathlon and then climbed a mountain. Somi’s just smiling at you, looking at you through her lashes, glued together with your cum, her own little giggles escaping every now and again.

She looks like a dream.

“Fuck, Somi—”

“Mm?” She looks so content, so at peace with the universe. Wearing your cum like fine jewellery. As if she’s the one that just had the best orgasm of her life.

“You’re—” But what the fuck do you say? That she’s ruined you? That she’s shattered your world? That you’ll never be able to look at a camera again without thinking of her?

Ah.

That’s what you’ll do.

You lean down, pick the camera off the floor, and then—snap.

Somi, looking so sloppy and obscene. Looking like everything you never knew you needed. Looking like she belongs to you.

She wipes away at her eyes, collects the cum on her finger, before dipping it into her mouth. Sucking, tasting the flavour of your need.

“Get the shot you wanted?”

You let out a long, heavy exhale, sliding off the couch, off her, sitting on the floor next to her. Resting your head on her thighs while Somi just lies there, sprawled out, utterly wrecked.

“You weren’t kidding,” she says. “One whole month.”

You remember to inhale. “Thirty days.”

She’s fighting a losing battle, cleaning the endless fountain of cum you’ve covered her with. Looking like she just streaked through a fucking snowstorm.

But she tries, collects as much as she can, smearing it into a sticky mess. Playing with it on her fingers, rolling it around her tongue, enjoying this way too much.

You raise the camera, aim it at her. The way she’s looking at you, the way her hand moves, so fucking casual—like it's her natural state of being. Making you believe that Somi should be covered in cum, all the time. It's only right.

You just can’t help yourself. You click.

“I haven’t been fucked like that since,” Somi starts, clearly not minding being the subject of your post-coital art. “Since ever. That was—"

“A trainwreck,” you’re saying, and then finishing when you catch the look on her face, “Not like that. It was insane. Intense. Really, thirty days or not, it was fucking life changing.”

Somi smiles. “Good to know I didn’t disappoint.”

“Just. These photos. Completely unsalvageable. None of that can be sent to your agency.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Somi says, so easily, so carefree, as if she didn’t just obliterate every single professional boundary you’ve ever set. “Let me have a look. There must be some photos at the start that are useable. From before you… lost focus.”

You pass her the camera, let her scroll through the shots, see all the pornographic filth the two of you have created. She flicks through, each click another photo, another reminder of what you’ve done, what she’s done to you.

And she’s enjoying it. These little smirks, the nods of approval. Fascinated by these photos of her, of her body in these stages of ecstasy.

“Ah, yup. No. Nope. Definitely not. Oh, and that one is just… yeah.” Somi’s voice is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of awe in it. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“It’s what you do to me.”

“I can see that,” she says, continuing until she gets to the last of the photos. “That’s pretty fucked. These are pretty fucked up. But, like. Beautifully fucked up.”

“Thanks,” you say, throwing your hands up, letting one fall on Somi’s thigh. It rests there, draws a circle over the smooth warm, skin.

It’s a good feeling. Having her here, like this. So relaxed, so comfortable. Knowing her in the most intimate ways possible, yet still not knowing much about her at all.

She sighs when your hand moves higher. You throb.

Yeah. After thirty days, only one time is not going to be nearly enough.

You already want to dive back into the land of debauchery with Somi, bring up more of those repressed fantasies you’ve been waiting to realise, even though you’re still knee-deep in the aftermath of the first round.

It’s in Somi’s eyes as well, you can feel it in the air, from the heat radiating off her skin—she's not done with you either.

Far from it.

You're going to ruin her again. You're certain of it.

“So,” she says, making a show of cupping her tits, raising them up to her mouth. Licking them clean.

Your response is swift. Immediate. “We’re going to have to reschedule.”

Somi’s laughter is pure gold. “How does thirty days from now sound?”

You blink. Stare at her, unamused.

She raises your camera.

Snap!

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Staropramen: drink up

Content: context to part 1 of Modern au!Gojo's smau, just the first picture, wanted to write a little so I thought I'd do this one, not proofread

You pace back and forth in your room. The sky outside is darkening, dulling into dark orange hues, setting your room alight. You sweat, palms growing clammy. Part of your hair is tied up, arranged into some silly, convoluted up-do and your makeup contrasts with the soft curls framing your face. The maids twisted and pulled and plucked until you’re as presentable as possible, but you insisted, practically fought them, to let you do the rest.

So your piercings stay on, eyeliner as thick as ever, and lips painted a dark shade. And the dress hanging on the door? Well, it’s just as black as everything else in your wardrobe. 

This dinner’s important. You know that, as do the maids; your parents had been emphasising how every dinner, every engagement, every invite from the Gojos were important, so important, in fact, that preparations had begun hours ago, well before the clock could strike 7pm. 

But there’s one person who doesn’t seem to get the memo. Any of them.

One person who has evaded every meeting, every phone call, every email, letter, hell, every fax from your family. And he gets away with it. Every. Time. 

“It’s not fair,” you mumble, fidgeting with your lip ring, “I missed one dinner because I was literally sick and no one spoke to me for weeks. But he gets to miss every single one and we can’t say shit?”

A glance at the Sattler table clock by your bed says it’s nearing showtime. The chauffeur must already be running the car, awaiting your family. You’d have to put on that stupid dress and those stupid heels and plaster on a stupid smile, and shake stupid hands and eat stupid food and stupidly wait for someone who’s never going to show up. 

And it’ll be your fault. 

That’s what the looks they’ll give you will say. Somehow, you’ve messed up this engagement before it could even really begin, because, of course, it’s the girl’s fault that the guy is an irresponsible idiot. 

You didn’t want to have to do this. Didn’t want to have to cave first. But you must. So you pick up your phone and send a message to a number you hoped you never would have to contact. 

A girl had given it to you earlier in the week. 

She seemed familiar, perhaps she’s one of the more popular students, not that you interact with them. God, just the thought sends shivers down your spine. But when you had seen her parting ways with Gojo, your feet took you to her faster than you could even process and she was smiling at you with a look of surprise. 

It’d be great to say the surprise was just because she hadn’t expected you to approach her but that would be a lie. She probably wasn’t expecting someone dressed like you to stand before her in broad daylight and not ask for a drop of her blood to offer up to your gods, or whatever else people tend to think about you. 

When you asked if you could get Gojo’s number for ‘something important’, she didn’t fight you, she simply smiled more softly and eagerly typed his number into your phone, flashing you a wink before saying she has a lecture on fluid dynamics that she can’t miss. You assumed she was a physics student, not that she really gave you that vibe, but who are you to say anything?

You frown at his replies.

What a dick.

A honk breaks you out of your sudden violent desires to strangle and offer a certain frat president up for sacrifice, and you rush to put the dress on, already feeling the phantom ache in your feet at the thought of wearing insanely tall heels. 

You take one last look of your phone and sigh. 

This is going to be a long night.

On the other side of the city, however, lays a boy on a king sized bed. He’s shirtless, joggers hanging low on his hips as he glares at his ceiling, willing it to cave in and kill him right there and then. 

“Why did you give her my number?” 

A girl giggles on the other side of the bed. She’s wearing nothing but his shirt, typing frantically on her phone, most likely texting a certain blond tutor. Then with a sideways glance at the pouting child thumping his fist on the mattress to get her attention, she flicks his forehead with manicured nails. 

“Because,” she drags out, “she looked fun. I like her.”

Gojo groans. “You can’t like her. She’s the enemy!”

The girl rolls her eyes with a grin, half entertained by his theatrics and half excitedly waiting for Nanami’s reply. She had just sent a text asking him if he listens to music whilst having his ‘special alone time’, and the three dots dancing on the screen is making her heart skip a beat. 

A pillow gets smacked in her face and when it falls down, her view is obstructed by a pointed look. Focus on me and my dilemma or die, is what it says. 

What are they talking about again? Oh right. 

“She’s not the enemy, Satoru. She’s just like you.”

The white-haired man pouts even harder. He doesn’t want to admit that the thought had already crossed his mind; she’s a pawn in the game just as he is. But he can’t accept her existence. Because to do so would be like accepting his parents plans, accepting that he has so little say in anything that goes on in his life, and ultimately submitting to the terrible fate of being a Gojo. 

His friend has returned to her phone, squealing in a way that makes Satoru wince, and he doesn’t want to ask what she’s blushing over. He’d kill her and himself if she shows him a dick pic again. 

Then, as if his mood has somehow lightened, he pokes the girl on her shoulder, ignoring the scowl she gives in return, and asks, almost absentmindedly, “Is she pretty? My….fiancée, I mean?”

Gojo doesn’t know her name. 

He’s sure someone had told him but anything to do with the word ‘engagement’ makes him blank out, static playing in his head. 

A devious smirk creeps up on her face, eyes dazzling with mischief as she looks over at her friend, lying on his stomach now, bright blue eyes twinkling with curiosity. It occurred to her, when he mumbled his question, that he has no idea what she looks like. Satoru is in for one hell of a shock when he finds out that the girl he had been envisioning as the most prissy little future housewife is actually someone he totally would do a double take over. 

It’s gonna be so fun to watch this whole thing play out, she thought. But she can’t make it easy for her stupid friend. Never. 

So, she returns her focus on her screen, biting her lip at Nanami’s stern ‘behave’ message and dangles the answer in Satoru’s face. 

“You know Choso, right? Sukuna’s younger cousin?”

He nods hurriedly, patience running very thin. 

But that’s all she’s willing to give. 

And Satoru groans, nose crinkling in irritation. Quick as lightning, he snatches her phone from her hands, and sends the most recent picture on her camera roll to the guy he’s been hearing too much about. 

“You didn’t…” 

Her tone is disbelieving, a horrified expression pulling her features down before she lunges for her phone and shrieks at the picture of her lying on the floor after slipping on olive oil in Gojo’s kitchen. Her face was distorted in a blur and her dress had ridden up to reveal a hot pink g-string. 

Nanami’s going to block her. 

He’s going to complain to Professor Yaga and it’ll all be over. 

Satoru shrugs and heads to his bathroom, using the excuse of needing a shower to cover up the fact that he has every intention of searching up what a certain art student looks like through socials. 

Sure, he could search for his fiancee directly, ask one of his assistants to gather a detailed file, but where’s the fun in that?

Through the door, he hears his friend’s panicked voice, desperately trying to rationalise that the reason why her tutor isn’t answering is because he’s busy and not because he’s calling the police on her for sexual harassment. 

She really is the dumb to his dumber because if she knew anything about men, then she’d know he’s totally jerking off to that picture. Nerds are more repressed than anyone else, so she’s gonna have to wait a little longer for him to regain sanity. 

Under the hot stream, Gojo’s thoughts shift to a different focus, a girl resembling Choso, the brooding artist cousin of Sukuna, the devil spawn. 

There’s simply no way he’d ever like someone like that. 

It’s impossible. 

Right? 

[tender-rosiey]

keep up — ceo!gojo satoru x f!reader

it’s been a long week.

meetings piled on top of meetings, deadlines chasing each other like the ticking of a clock, and constant discussions about investments and strategy—things that should have come second to the one thing you can’t seem to escape.

him. gojo satoru.

you’ve known him for years, but it’s only recently that you’ve started noticing the way his eyes linger just a bit longer than necessary.

or how his words have an edge, a playful undertone that seems to suggest he’s after something more than a simple business conversation.

you’ve barely sat down in one of the plush chairs before gojo’s signature smirk is already spreading across his face.

today, you find yourself in his office again, the glass walls of the conference room revealing the city skyline, the lights twinkling below as the sun sinks below the horizon.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he says smoothly, his voice carrying the usual arrogance, but there’s something more behind it today. the way his eyes flash, the subtle way he adjusts his tie—it’s all intentional.

he’s up to something, and you know it.

“what’s the deal, gojo?” you ask, folding your arms across your chest, trying to maintain the usual level of professional distance between the two of you.

but, as always, it’s hard to ignore the way he effortlessly commands the room with his presence.

“I just wanted to talk,” he says, leaning back in his leather chair with a playful grin.

“I feel like we’ve been working together a lot lately, but we haven’t really talked talked. you know?” he tilts his head slightly, clearly enjoying the way he’s messing with you.

“talked about what?” you raise an eyebrow. the idea of gojo satoru, the ceo of a billion-dollar company, taking time out of his day just to talk to you about something other than business sounds...unlikely.

“you know, personal stuff,” he says, his gaze never leaving yours. “like, what you’re doing when you’re not being all business-y and focused on your empire.”

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. you knew this was coming. it always does.

“I’m doing exactly what you’re doing. running a business. growing something bigger than myself,” you reply, your voice steady, though your mind is racing, trying to think of a way to deflect the conversation before it goes any further.

you can’t let him distract you—especially not now, when everything you’ve worked for is on the verge of becoming something huge.

gojo chuckles, the sound low and smooth.

“you know, you’re even more attractive when you’re trying to act all tough. but I’m serious. what else do you do when you’re not closing deals or impressing the world?”

you roll your eyes, feeling the tension in your shoulders. “nothing interesting. I spend money quickly. that’s all you need to know.”

you say it lightly, knowing that would make him drop it. he’s never been the type to pursue something that doesn’t pique his interest, and surely, a comment like that will be enough to make him back off.

but gojo simply leans forward, his eyes narrowing in a way that sends a jolt through you. “you spend money quickly, huh?”

you nod, arms still crossed as you stare at him, half-expecting him to make a comment about it.

“can you spend it as quickly as I make it?” his voice is smooth, a subtle edge of amusement hidden beneath his words.

you blink, caught off guard by the ease with which he says it. the confidence in his words, the way he leans back in his chair like it’s just another ordinary day—it all hits you like a wave.

he’s not just offering something small. he’s making a statement. and he knows it’ll rattle you.

“I...” you falter, but your voice catches in your throat. you were expecting him to deflect, to make it a joke.

instead, he’s somehow turned the conversation into something personal—something that makes you question your own boundaries.

gojo smiles, not a hint of arrogance or cockiness this time. just a knowing look, like he’s figured you out in a way you didn’t expect.

“what’s the matter?” he teases, sensing your hesitation. “don’t think you can keep up?”

you shake your head, trying to regain some composure. “I’m not interested in your money, gojo,” you say firmly, trying to return to your usual calm.

you’ve never been someone who’s drawn in by flashy displays of wealth. you value ambition and drive more than anything else, something you both—admittedly—share.

but gojo doesn’t let up. he’s not the type to let things go when he’s gotten a taste of victory.

“I don’t think you’re interested in my money. I think you’re interested in me.” his grin is almost teasing, his confidence bordering on smug, but it’s not unwarranted.

he’s pushing you, just a little, to see how far you’ll let him go.

you stand up abruptly, pacing the length of the room, trying to compose yourself. you hate that he can do this—get under your skin with just a few words.

you’ve spent your entire career building a reputation based on control, but gojo has a way of making you feel like you’re the one who’s losing it.

“I’m not interested in playing games, gojo,” you say, trying to sound firm. “if you’re expecting me to be swept off my feet by...whatever this is, it’s not going to happen.”

he stands up as well, his movements smooth. “and why not?” he asks, his voice low, almost coaxing. “because you’re too busy? because you’ve got too much on your plate?”

you hesitate.

he’s right. you are busy. but it’s not just that. it’s the idea of getting tangled in something that might distract you from your goals. relationships, especially with someone like him, always seem to be more trouble than they’re worth.

but gojo doesn’t seem to take your hesitation as a refusal. instead, he steps closer, his hand resting casually on your shoulder as he peers down at you, his eyes locking with yours.

“you know, I’m not asking for anything from you, other than your time. I just want to know...if you’d ever consider being distracted for a change.”

a trace of sincerity threads through the usual playfulness. for the briefest moment, you wonder if he’s being genuine, if maybe—just maybe—there’s something more behind his words.

you look up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of his presence settling into the space between you.

“I’m not saying I’m ready to drop everything for you,” you say, your voice quieter now. “but...”

gojo smirks again, but this time, it’s softer, more knowing. “but?”

“but,” you continue, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I can’t pretend like I’m not at least curious about where this might go.”

his smirk turns into a smile, one that’s warm and confident. he leans in, brushing his lips against your cheek, just barely.

“I knew you’d come around,” he hums. his fingers brush against your jaw, lifting your face to meet his eyes once more, “we’ll see if you can keep up, miss l/n.”

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do not copy or plagiarize or I will cry

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[retiredteabag]

Uncle sukuna

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Uncle Sukuna hates children and that just makes kids like him more.

They are practically magnetized to the man.

If he was being honest, he's really just afraid of hurting them, that and he has no idea how to handle a crying child. So, he avoids them at all cost.

Sometimes there's just nothing he can do though, especially when a little monster like his nephew is napping on his chest.

Which he does frequently.

Sukuna would be mean. Straight up telling the kid he was annoying. Yuuji would almost never care.

Almost.

“Don’t even think about it you little brat.” Sukuna would protest, seeing Yuuji crawling across the sofa. “Nu uh. No. Get your sticky little hands off of me!”

But eventually he would have to give in, rolling his eyes as Yuuji found his place- drooling over Sukuna’s shoulder.

Sukuna was also the type to say no and never mean it.

“Can we watch my show kuna?”

“No.”

Five minutes later? They’re smooshed together watching Yuuji’s stupid cartoon.

“Uncuna… can you help with my math homework please?”

“No.”

The next second Sukuna is in full tutor mode.

You might think that he’s the type to make a kid cry over their geometry work, but he is typically more patient than expected.

“Kuna can you make me some cinnamon toast?”

“No.”

“Pleaseeeee?????”

“No, Yuuji.” He’s firm.

Yuuji knows he’s getting that toast.

Sukuna has a love hate relationship with the kid. For Yuuji, it’s just love. That’s why, on the rare occasion, Sukuna might be just a little too rough on him.

It would likely be after a long day, maybe he worked late, maybe he had to deal with a rude person, maybe he didn’t sleep well. Whatever the case, the tattooed man would have an already short fuse when he walked in the door.

Unaware of his bad mood, Yuuji would flip around on the sofa, hearing the key turn in the door.

“KUNA!!!”

Yuuji would bound off the couch, racing for his uncle. Sukuna would sigh and roll his eyes as the boys grubby little hands encircled his leg.

“Kuna kuna! I had a presentation at school today! And I did a really good job because everybody clapped at the end like this-“ the boy smacks his hands together over and over, a big smile on his face, “I was so nervous but now that it’s all over, I wish I could do it again! It was so fun! I can’t wait for my next presentation-“

“Oh my gosh Yuuji will you shut up? I really do not care about your school project.” Sukuna would know the second it left his mouth it wouldn’t be true.

Yuujis little arms would fall away from his uncle. A frown would cover his face. “O-oh okay.” He would stumble back, watching his uncles face.

Sukuna would groan inwardly. Knowing he had been too harsh. He never actually minded hearing about his nephews day, he was just overstimulated and now he felt awful. The little boy was holding up a strong facade but his lip wobbled. The man would sigh.

“Ugh, Yuuji, I’m sorry kid, that was wrong of me-“

“No.” The boy would sniffle, “s’okay. M’sorry for making you mad.”

Oh, now Sukuna might as well walk into oncoming traffic.

He sighs, “No, Yuuji, you didn’t do a thing wrong. Don’t apologize for anything, alright?” He would run a hand through his cropped pink hair, “listen, I’m glad your presentation went well, that’s good, how about we go get dinner after I wash up, whatever ya want.”

Yuujis eyes would widen, a big grin coming back, “Yeah?!” Sukuna would sigh at the kids forgiving nature.

“Yeah, kid, I’m starved.”

Yuuji would bounce up and down, then, without a moment’s hesitation, throw himself around his uncles leg.

Sukuna would pat the boys hair, cursing himself for being so short with the kid.

And after being so annoyed just a second ago, after watching Yuuji race off to change his clothes, Sukuna realized he had forgotten what had ruined his day to begin with.

Cute little brat.

[district4loading]

Pathetic

Twice Sana x Male Reader

4k words

Content Warning: smut, cheating, mix of degrading and praise

Minors DNI

A/N: First of all I wanna say thank you so much for the support on my latest fic! It motivates me to put out more for you guys and I really appreciate it.

So so so sorry to the person that wanted female reader next, I PROMISE its coming. This is just some smut that was in my drafts, i figured I'd post it while I write the next fic I plan on uploading.

This is cut from a longer fic I wrote a little bit ago. I won't be posting the entire thing because I took alot of inspiration from a different fic I read. Not the smut though, the smut is all my writing so that's why I'm sharing it with you all.

(Also when I mention "Kim Minji" I'm talking about Jiu from Dreamcatcher.)

-

"You're pathetic"

-

One bad night was all it took, an argument with your wife over the way you looked at the intern at work earlier that day. You swore you weren't looking because 'no co-workers' was the rule in your open marriage and you would always honor that. Even if it wasn't, you knew that they didn't like each other so it'd be nothing short of betrayal to fuck someone who hated your wife. So no matter how incredible the girl looked in her short dresses and her tiny mini skirts, she was forbidden fruit.

Minji couldn't trust you though, she knew your type and could spot that look in your eye from a mile away. So she waited until you both got home to confront you about it. Of course, you denied even looking the interns way—a lie, might I add—then it turned into a screaming match, the hatred she had for her subordinate much more prevalent in her fiery eyes.

It ended with a slam of your bedroom door and the expectation that you'd sleep on the couch that night, which you did.

That's basically how you spent the following weekend, not talking to each other and only being painfully cold and passive aggressive when you did. You never liked to fight, it always felt so cold and empty, sleeping in different rooms waiting for the other to apologize. Days had passed, still barely any communication as your weekend fight bled into the weekdays. At work you kept things cordial, still not communicating much at all.

Everyone could tell, people at work could tell, there was a certain coldness in the both of you. You two were similar in that way, being extra shitty to your co-workers when things weren't going well at home. That and the fact that you chose to eat alone at lunch rather than with her.

You were in your office spending your lunch eating some ordered fast food while trying to catch up to a deadline when you heard your door open. Assuming it's one of your assistants you say "I'm on my lunch break, come back in thirty" without even looking up from your computer.

In your peripheral vision, you see the person instead step into your office and close the door behind them. Actually looking up this time, you open your mouth to speak, but the words fail to come out. It's the intern, Sana and she looks incredible. Her hair is straight and black today, very different from her usual brown wavy look but she pulled it off all the same. She wore a cute black dress, its material velvet and its collar white with three cute silver buttons down the midline. Then your eyes drift to her legs. Bare, pale and slim, not to mention there wasn't a bruise, scab or blemish in sight.

"Minatozaki, if you're looking for Mrs. Kim, she should be in her office" You throat goes dry, immediately noticing the interns quick move to lock the door behind her, a mischievous grin on her face.

"She's my boss, I know where she is. If I was looking for her, I would've went to her" Sana rolls her eyes and approaches your desk, leaning forwards to place her palms flat against the maple wood, straightening her arms as well. You look above your desktop, meeting her eyes for a split second before hearing alarms ringing distantly in the back of your mind.

You dart your eyes back to the paper you were working on then you gather up the thread of authority you have left to say "I can't imagine there would be anything you'd want from me, we work in completely different departments and.." You make eye contact for a moment "No disrespect but you're just an intern, so if you could please unlock the door and see your way out.." You say it so non chalantly, almost catching her confident demeanor shift at your passive aggressive tone.

Sana chews on her bottom lip for a bit "Oh don't be like that Mr. L/n..." She fake pouts, acting as if she's oh-so upset about your tone and in a way it was sexy. It's the way she drags out the words all slow in that sweet voice of hers, God it's killing  you. "I just noticed that Mrs. Kim's been extra bitchy this week... you know, at first I thought maybe she's on her period but then I noticed you two are barely talking to each other. Trouble in Paradise?" She asks, circling around your desk to stand beside you.

You look over with a fake polite grin on your face, making the grave mistake of rolling your chair back and turning it so you could face her. "That's really none of your business"

"Oh please, your open marriage is everybody's business" Sana chuckles for a moment and she leans down, holding herself up on the armrests of your chair. You mean to scoot the chair back as far as it can go, stand up and demand that she leave with your voice stern but instead you freeze. You fucking freeze, realizing how close she is and those ringing alarms from before? They turn into blaring sirens "So, why don't you tell me what happened? Whose fault is it? Yours or hers? She fuck someone she's not supposed to?"

It takes you a second to blink, then you swallow hard as you feel your body begin to burn, that nervous heat in your armpits. You catch a whiff of her perfume and it's fucking heavenly, some warm mix of vanilla and maybe cinnamon. Then her face, her beautiful face, one that could've only been hand sculpted by God himself. Her pink lipgloss only making her plump lips look all the more delectable and—fuck you're staring way too hard. "Listen, you're - you're way too close right now"

Sana leans down even closer and conveniently, if you were to look a few millimeters down, you'd be able to see her cleavage pouring out of her dress. "I'm just as close as I need to be, Sir" She says and there's that smirk again, that fucking smirk, the one that says 'I know i've got this mother fucker right where I want him' Now there's a thumping sound that begins filling your ears and it takes a second for you to realize it's your heart.

"I'm married, you should know this is very inappropriate and- "

A whimper escapes your lips the moment she makes a move to straddle your legs. "You're in an open relationship, so this..." She puts her hands on your shoulders "Is fine"

"We have certain boundaries, certain rules that aren't to be broken.. it's what makes us work"

She pokes her bottom lip out and looks at you through her lashes "Am I a boundary?"

"Of course you are! I know you and my wife aren't exactly the best of friends and to be frank, you're a stuck up, entitled brat who seriously needs a fucking reality check" You tell her and for the first time it actually sounds as if you have some sort of backbone but Sana doesn't flinch, make a face or get upset.

She just tilts her head "If i'm so bad, then why am I still on your lap?" She pauses, then looks down observing exactly how your body has betrayed you "And why are you hard?" She asks with a false-innocent tone, God you hated when she used that voice because she just sounded so stupidly sexy. She leans in closer to you, just by your ear "How about you give me a reality check" Her breath is warm as it brushes past your ear lobe.

Then you lose it, like actually lose it. Your hands find their way to her waist and you squeeze, hard enough that it elicits a sharp gasp from her. You pull her forwards and your bodies are now closer than ever, she leans down, arms wrapped loosely around your neck before your lips are pressed together. It's nothing like a rom-com, where the two main characters kiss and suddenly fireworks go off and it's magical and wholesome. No, this was pure raw lust, so strong that if it had a scent, the room would fucking reek of it.

Your lips move together so messily—sloppily as if you're genuinely trying to absolutely devour each other. Sana shoves her tongue into your mouth and you can taste her lipgloss, sweet strawberries, so intoxicating it all made your vision start to blur like a lucid dream. But this is no dream, this is real and the it's the sinful desire that makes it feel so good.

Now she's rocking her hips, whining and humming into your mouth as you suck each others lips swollen. She kisses your cheek and then deviates all the way down to your neck. You sigh a pleasureful breath "I shouldn't be doing this" You mutter, but make no effort to push her off.

She slides back then works on unbuttoning your shirt. "But you want to, I know you do" Her tongue darts out to wet her lips even more than they already were as she focused on getting your shirt off "God, how many fucking buttons.." She whispers to herself with a hot frustration.

This is wrong. You know it's wrong, hell your mind is yelling at you, sending an army of receptors to stimulate your brain to form a coherent rejection. Something mean enough that'll make this evil seductress leave the your office crying. It doesn't work in the slightest, you can't control the way you grip her waist or the way your head stirs from the feeling of being under her.

Sana finally finishes opening your button up "How'd I know you'd have a perfect body?" She mumbled, allowing her cute black nails to scrape against the hard surface of your chest and torso. Your hands drifted, eager to finally get a feel of those legs you've been leering at since day one. They were even softer than you imagined, you grabbed them softly, refraining from digging your fingernails into them. You just couldn't bring yourself to ruin such beautiful skin just yet.

"Sana" You say her name, low and deep, still not taking your eyes off of the way her thighs seem so tiny in your hands. With one hand still on her thigh, your dominant one slides up her dress and you pull her so called panties to the side. The material feels so thin and lacy, you couldn't even for sure call it underwear. "You're already dripping for me" You announce, sliding the pad of your middle finger up and down her slit, just slightly parting her lips so that it can graze against her clit ever so slightly when you reach the top. Her body jerks as you do, a tight gasp escaping her lips.

She's grinding on the pad of your fingers now and you're just watching—observing how she was so desperate, so needy for you. For you. She needed you to do something so badly but you wouldn't yet. It was frustrating her, of course but she just refused to open her mouth to say something so you do "Go ahead Sana, beg for it, tell me exactly what you want" You say it softly, slight rasp in your voice only adding to her burning arousal.

It takes her a moment before she can actually communicate words that didn't sound like pathetic whines. Still, moving her hips on your now stationary hand she mutters "I d-don't beg." She says it so weakly without even an ounce of conviction in her tone. What a fucking brat. You slip your hand from under her dress and they're on her waist again, then you pull her forwards and sit her directly over the rock hard bulge between your legs. She gasps, wet core directly on your clothed cock and when she moves to grind she realizes she can't because you are holding her still.

"You know, my lunch break will be over in a little under 20 minutes. Then people will be in and out of here like clock work and you?" You pause, taking a second to admire her beautiful face. From those pink pouty lips all the way to those dark and lustful eyes. "You'll be walking out of here un-touched and so wet that it's leaking down your thighs" You chuckle for a moment and shake your head "Is that what you want Sana?"

"mm-mm" She shakes her head, then looks deep into your eyes as if the thought of walking out of your office unsatisfied was the worst possible thing that could ever happen in life. "Please Sir, please - I need you inside of me please, please Sir"

You push her back a bit, then slide your dominant hand back under her dress. Your fingers come back into contact with her core and she's looking at you, her eyes begging-pleading for you to take her right here, right now in your office. Ever so slowly, you push your middle and ring fingers inside. She took them easy, a long whine escaping her lips when you curl your fingers "Fuck - thank you sir, thank you, thank you, thank you—" She's chanting in short breaths, her eyes screwing shut the moment you begin to pump in and out.

It's so wet, the sticky sound echoing throughout the otherwise empty office. Her walls hugged you tightly, only making your cock throb even more in your pants when you realized that you were going to be inside of her. Inside of this perfect fucking pussy. "So fucking tight, baby" You mutter as she mirrors your movements, grinding down on your fingers. She's moaning and whining so loud you think someone will hear, but you don't care anymore. Sana looks amazing like this, like she's made for this. To be on your fingers, rutting like a needy slut on top of you as she tries to get them much deeper than they could go.

"Oh - Fuck yes... just like that sir" She cuts herself off with a gasp "That feels so fucking good" You're allowing the pad of your fingers to press against her g-spot and you can tell its driving her crazy. By the way she's moving her hips and squeezing your arms for leverage, she's fucking loving this. Everything about Sana is just obscene. From the way she curses in that filthy tone to the way she's shamelessly

Now her breathing is erratic, like she's about to have a panic attack or faint, and you can feel her walls massaging you. "Are you gonna cum already?" You mutter almost in awe as you stare at her beautiful face. She was so pretty with her eyes closed and her head hung from the embarrassment of being so needy and horny. Then she was soaking, her arousal running down your fingers.

"I - fuck sir - please" She tries to respond, nodding frantically as she begins moaning unabashedly in your face. Her breath warm and shaky as it escapes her lips "Ah - Please make me cum sir, please make me fucking cum" Sana's begging now, pridefully without any kind of shame even though she was in a really shameful position. Riding her superior's fingers on his lap in his office where there's a big ass window in the door. If someone looked through at the right angle, she would've been caught and she knew that. Hell, she gets off on it.

The stirring in your pants gets more persistent, more impatient and it's fucking aching. So you slide your fingers out and for a moment, Sana's still whining and grinding, her fucked out brain still not registering the loss of touch yet. You grab her legs and stand up, then you place her on the desk, right next to your computer and you begin unzipping your pants. "Oh fuck yes daddy please give me your cock" She bites her bottom lip and gives you a look and it almost makes you growl.

Your pants are at your ankles along with your boxers and you're pulling her closer, her legs loosely wrapping around your waist. "You're a real fucking slut" You grab her face, squeezing her cheeks so her lips sort of smush together. In your grip, she nods the best she can, a hot 'mm-hmm' leaving her throat. There's a moment you take to just look into her eyes, the way her eyebrows were upturned, the look of pure fucking want in her eyes. God it was ruining you.

"I can be your personal slut if you'd like, sir" She says it like she's pleading after you let go of her face. Then you hike her dress up a bit more and you're finally lining yourself up. You press the fat tip against her entrance and she winces and looks down. She's holding onto your arms to brace herself "Fuck, it's so big - want you to fucking stretch me"

God she's so filthy, in the way she speaks, moves and stares at you it's unbelievable and you fucking love it. You know you should hate it, you should be disgusted with her. Practically throwing herself at a married man all to spite his wife, her boss at that. You should fucking hate her for the things she's said to Minji and the fact that she hates her. But you just can't get over her body, the way she walks, the way she talks, the way she does fucking anything with that pretty face of hers.

You slide your cock into of her entrance ever so slowly, immediately feeling the tight grip of her warm walls. "Holy shit" You groan and Sana's gone silent, her jaw slack as she looks up and directly into the white light in the ceiling with her eyebrows furrowed. "So - fucking - tight" Your teeth are clenched as you're grunting finally making it all the way to the hilt.

Then you stop for a moment, pulling her even closer "You're so fucking deep i - please fuck me sir, please" You do exactly as she says, pulling your hips back just to thrust all the way back in and she lets out a moan so guttural that it had to have been stuck the back of her throat. Then you're in more of a rhythm, fucking the tight, smooth hole that she's just letting you have. "That's right - fucking use me - oh God"

She's more than just enjoying herself and you're both moaning way louder than you should be. But everything's just too much, because you're a thousand degrees, sweaty and tousled. You can't smell it but you know the room reeks of that pungent aroma, one that could only be recognized for what it was—what it could only be. Sex.

You lean over, resting your head in the crook of her neck so that your lips can come into contact with the salty flesh. "You feel so fucking good - God" You mumble on her skin, licking, kissing, sucking all to make everything feel all the more overstimulating to her. It was something you never thought you'd ever say, but she felt the best out of almost any girl you've ever been with. There was something uniquely warm, tight and moist about her that you've never felt before.

"Yeah - Yeah - Yeah - please don't stop sir, please keep fucking me like that." You can't get enough of her, you wouldn't even stop if you wanted to. Then you're reaching your hand down, tongue still licking her neck as you press your fingers against her swollen clit. The poor thing was practically begging for attention before you got to it. You circled your fingers around it in a way which matched your thrusts.

Now Sana was really seeing stars, like actual stars, her vision even going black at some points. You knew you had her when you first felt her legs begin to shake, then the rhythmic pulsing inside. You lightly bite her ear "There you go baby, cum for me" You whisper so hotly that it's got her right on the edge.

"Yeah" She whispers, her voice shaking breathily and then she gets louder "G-Gonna - Fuck" It's erratic, the way she's moving so rigidly and the insane grip you have on her waist isn't doing any favors. "You're gonna make me cum, you're gonna make me fucking cum" Sana's nodding her head.

Then her back is arched, pushing her chest into yours and she's toppling over the edge. Her moans beautifully silent, caught in her throat as her body stutters and shakes erratically. "That's a Good girl, Sana" You encourage her, knowing that she'd love the praise.

Once she recovers, you don't slow down, in fact you're speeding up almost choking as you now recognize how pent up and sensitive you are. Like you could explode any fucking minute. You know it and Sana does from the way you're heaving and panting like a beat dog. The way your face is red, and then the serious concentration. She squeezes her legs tighter around your waist "Please cum in me sir - wanna feel you filling me up" She moans erotically.

You shiver at this, hearing the words come out of her mouth so fucking easily.. "I can't" Are the only words you can mutter without your voice breaking, it's almost humiliating. But she wants it, she wants it so bad.

"Yes you can" She wraps her arms around your neck and pulls you close, her mouth near your ear now. "Come on daddy, breed me. Mark your fucking territory" she eggs you on in that perfect voice of hers and you almost fucking malfunction. This girl is so dangerous. You mean to pull out, you really do but all of a sudden you can't make yourself stop when you begin shooting your load inside. Fucking it deep inside of her womb, like really deep and she's moaning so loud as if she's the one cumming. She's getting off on it.

The two of you stay like that for a bit, God knows how long with your heads empty and your bodies sweaty. When you finally pull out, your cock already soft. Sana giggles a bit, then pulls her panties back over her raw cunt and she slowly slides herself off of your desk. You're pulling your pants up, fixing your belt and then your button up as she tidy's up her dress. "I shouldn't have done that" You sigh, immediately feeling the regret hit you like a truck now that the lust has withered away.

"Come on, it's not like your marriage is exclusive"

You sit in your chair, leaning forwards as you bury your hands in your face, smelling Sana on them. "We have fucking rules Sana, and i broke them all" You're thinking about what you'll tell Minji, how badly this'll probably fucking hurt her. Way to go, you went ahead and fucked a load into the only girl your wife hates. The one you promised that she didn't have to worry about. Sana opens her mouth to say something else but you don't want to hear it "Please get out and... don't tell anybody about this"

"Okay" She says, but she says it sarcastically, like she doesn't take you seriously. You get up from your chair as she puts her hand on the door knob "I'm fucking serious, Sana. Nobody, not your friends, not our co-workers and certainly not-"

"Mrs. Kim?" She finishes your thought, tilting her head. "You're pathetic, let go of me" She scoffs then snatches her arm from your hands then continues to exit your office. You exhale deeply, and you punch the wall, not hard enough to leave a hole but hard enough to leave a bruise. So you immediately regret it, shaking the hand you used.  Sana was right, you were pathetic.

"This can't happen again" You tell yourself out loud as if it'll make your words true.

It doesn't.

[thydungeongal]

That encounter joke Anon is wrong. Every 5e GM I've ever met went the route of "one fight per day oh my boss is already dead accutally he has 50 more hitpoints and now here's 2 more minions now the fight is properly exciting and dramatic" and the lack of a poker face meant we all knew.

How do you feel about that kind of rewriting, anyway?

For context, none of the GMs ever admitted to this on the LFG posts, or the pitches, etc.

I'm not opposed to it on principle. Ultimately I do think it's a bit like "oh so you're shifting the goalposts when it seems like the party is winning the encounter more easily than you think they should have," but ultimately that's just a maladaptive response to a different issue. Which is, once again, people trying to run D&D as a game it very much is not.

D&D isn't a game of epic bossfights where characters snatch victory from the jaws of defeat after an extended combat encounter. It can produce such encounters but they will usually emerge incidentally, not naturally. D&D is ultimately a game of attrition, of managing character resources through the course of an extended period, and even though D&D 5e's actual expectations of what an adventuring day is supposed to look like are whack D&D 5e does support a type of gameplay that relies on managing resources over an adventuring day much better than it does "a single epic setpiece encounter per day."

Because ultimately D&D is at its best when it's about weaponized player agency and system mastery, and in modern D&D this sometimes manifests as "the party knew they were going up against a lich so utilizing everything they know about liches they kicked that guy's ass in two turns." Now that would be really anticlimactic if the GM had set that encounter up as narrative culmination of a campaign that had been leading up to this moment for two years. But if you take it as "just one more encounter in the story of a bunch of assholes trying to grow stronger and more epic" then it's just a moment of those characters getting to flex for a moment.

Now of course adjusting the stats of a monster on the fly is sort of a problem in that it goes against the game and thus undermines player expression within the game. When the group pulls off a cool trick that immediately deals a million points of damage to the dragon's dick and you say "oh actually the dragon had two million hit points" then you're ultimately undermining player expression. I don't think this makes someone a bad GM because the motivation behind it is usually to provide a more entertaining experience for the group, but it is a sign of a GM fighting against the system and not knowing what it does, and they and their group would probably be better served by another game. And given that players won't necessarily know that happened it maintains the illusion that the game does produce that type of encounter.

My advice? As a GM, be honest: "hey, I didn't think you all would one-shot that boss. Are you okay if we add a bit more HP to that thang?" And if this is a consistent issue of the game not producing the type of experience the group wants they should ultimately look for a different game.

[eclips-moon]

Batboys headcanon: What type yanderes they would be

Tim Drake (Red Robin) would totally be the Creepy Genius yandere. He’s super smart and uses that brainpower to keep tabs on you. Think of him as the quiet guy in the corner who knows everything about you—like what your favorite coffee order is or the exact time you leave for school. Tim's all about manipulating situations to make you feel like you need him. He’d engineer little “accidental” run-ins and always be there to save you from awkward moments. If you ever hint at wanting space or breaking up, he’d hit you with guilt trips, saying stuff like, “You wouldn’t really leave me after everything we’ve shared, right?” He’s the kind of yandere who won’t get violent but will definitely mess with your head to keep you close.

Jason Todd (Red Hood) is the Obsessive Protector yandere whose love is intense and chaotic, quickly turning possessive. He follows you around, showing up uninvited when you hang out with friends, claiming it’s to keep you safe. If anyone glances your way, he’ll confront them in a rage, insisting they back off. His jealousy runs deep, and if you hint at wanting to hang out with someone else, he’ll spiral, snapping, “You’re mine, and I won’t let anyone take you away from me!” Jason showers you with gifts, but if you assert your independence, he’ll manipulate you, saying, “I did this because I love you. How could you turn your back on me?” At his worst, he resorts to intimidation or violence, convinced that his love is the only protection you need. To him, love is a battlefield, and he’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you by his side.

Damian Wayne (Robin) is the Possessive Prince. This guy sees you as his, and he’s not shy about it. Damian expects loyalty from you, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t stray. He’s the kind of guy who’d tell you who you can hang out with and where you can go. It’s all wrapped up in his twisted idea of love, and he’ll spoil you with fancy gifts, but there are always strings attached. If you even think about breaking free or hanging out with someone else, he’ll flip out and say stuff like, “You belong to me, and anyone who tries to take you away will regret it!” His obsession is intense, and he won’t hesitate to remind you of your place.

Dick Grayson (Nightwing) is the Charming Obsessive. This dude is all about charm and romance, making his love feel like a fairytale—at first. He’ll show up with surprise dates and sweet gifts, making you feel super special. But soon, his overwhelming affection starts to get a little suffocating. If you start feeling like he’s too much, he’ll just brush it off and say he’s just trying to make you happy. Dick honestly believes he’s the only one for you, and if anyone else comes around, he’ll be all smiles while secretly plotting how to keep them away. His jealousy can get intense, but he’ll always put on a charming facade, making it hard to see how deep his obsession runs.

[ohbueckers]

HEART OF A WOMAN. fuckin’ and arguing, fuckin’ again. after you said we not fuckin’ again, never say never, just say what it is.

07, CHAPTER SEVEN. WE COULD QUIT DELAYING.

ju speaks. rushed to get edit and post this for you guys before i go out tonight but hey, they’re even i guess… the love shown for this fic is UNMATCHED, i love you all. pairing. wnba!paige bueckers x fem!oc. warnings. sexual content… crash out p.

present day, june 2025.

paige: yo why you leave?

fr

you really just gon dip like that after everything i said to you?

read 11:12pm

i stare at the texts, the screen blurring for a second before i blink it back into focus. the strobe of my phone lights up the backseat of ana’s car, where i’m half-sprawled against the leather, her hand creeping up my thigh. my head’s foggy—not drunk, but just tipsy enough to feel audacious. ana’s lips skim along the side of my neck, hot and slow, and i don’t stop her, not at first.

i came straight to her job after i walked out of the game. i wasn’t gonna stay, pace the sidelines all night, pretend i wasn’t watching paige. pretend it didn’t eat me alive when i caught onto everything maya was telling me. showing me. so, i left. let paige have the last laugh (in her own eyes) while i drank my way through ana’s shift.

paige’s texts must mean she’s just now picking up her phone. took her long enough. probably had to say goodbye to maya first. the thought burns, and my fingers tighten around my phone.

“mm,” ana hums against my skin. it feels nice. “you’re so tense.” her fingers trace lazy circles against my inner thigh, lips grazing my jaw now.

i try to fall into it, but i scrunch my face up, pulling away slightly when my phone buzzes again.

paige: i know you saw ts

i do something? 11:14pm

bro answer the phone 11:17pm

i scoff, and ana’s lips pause. she pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyebrow raised. “that her?”

i nod, tucking my bottom lip between my teeth. “keep doing what you’re doing,” i breathe out. she smiles, all thirty two showing as she places a kiss to my lips before dropping to her knees.

paige: where are you? 11:21pm

i don’t think about why that’s her next question, i just stubbornly type back something vague.

nailea: i’m jusr out

paige: don’t play w me

out where?

who you with?

read 11:23pm

nailea: no one

read 11:24pm

i hear her tone through the screen—skeptical, irritated. i wait, expecting her to follow up with another question, but the screen stays stubbornly blank. no more bubbles, no texts.

i furrow my eyebrows, scrolling up the thread, reading her last messages again like i’m missing something. did she give up that fast? doubtful. paige doesn’t give up. she digs in. especially when it comes to me.

ana’s hands tug at the waistband of my shorts, and i lift my hips slightly, letting her pull them down. i yelp, smiling down at her when she pulls me closer to her mouth. my breath stutters as she kisses down low, everywhere but where i need her. she knows what she’s doing, and i almost let myself fully fall.

i almost let it go for the night.

almost.

and then i realize—paige’s last text, the one that asked who i was with—it didn’t feel like just a question. it felt like she knew something. she’s looking at my location.

i fumble with my phone, swiping through settings faster than i’ve ever moved before. the notification pops up immediately after i flick the toggle to off.

i’m probably only making her angrier. paige and i never stopped sharing our locations. not since high school when we weren’t even dating. no matter how bad the argument got, no matter how many times we called for a break up. i can’t find myself caring, though. i’ll match her anger.

you stopped sharing your location with paige at 11:28pm

paige: oh

😂😂😂

ight 11:28pm

imma ask you something 11:30pm

and istg nailea

she takes a moment to type, the text bubble going in and out, almost like she’s bracing herself for her own question. my head falls back against the seat, a shaky exhale escaping me as ana attaches her lips to my cunt, getting straight to work.

you with her?

i am. she knows i am. i don’t know why she’s asking.

nailea: why do you care?

paige: tf you mean why do i care?

are you with her?

somehow, the second ask makes me wanna be honest. the messier, the better. she deserves every ounce of what i throw back at her. my fingers hover over the keyboard, my head foggy from the drinks, from ana, from everything. i feel her pause for a second before her mouth returns to me, a measured dip of her tongue that drags the answer right out of me.

nailea: yuppp

she fucks me sioooo good p

could’ve been you tn

but i’m done

paige: no you’re not bro don’t say shit like that 11:34pm

call me so we can talk? 11:36pm

please baby

nailea: talk? like you talked w maya?

nahhhh i’m good

i know everything

you want her. go have her

paige: nai what the fuck did she tell you? 11:37pm

the part of me that knows better says to put the phone down, but the other part—the one paige always has a hold on—can’t resist. i need her to know what i know. i stare at the messages, my heart twisting in ways i wish it wouldn’t. the denial, the deflection—it’s textbook paige. she’ll never admit it. it’s not enough. it’s never enough.

paige: i told you how i felt

you KNOW how i feel about you???

you think i’d lie about that?

don’t let her mess us up

yes, i do. because you lie about fucking everything.

nailea: you tell maya you love her too?

btw her jeans? unzipped

i think i get the picture

a minute passed. two. three. i screw my eyes shut at the silent confirmation. she really did it, didn’t she?

paige: call me 11:41pm

my stomach drops, but i’m too far gone to care. ana’s hands grip me tighter, and i can’t tell if it’s to keep me grounded or to remind me that she’s the one here, not paige.

i drop the phone, letting it clatter to the seat, paige’s messages lighting up the screen like a flashing red light i refuse to acknowledge. ana’s name falls from my lips now, i let my hand fall into her curls, gripping her hair tighter, letting the anger burn out through her.

“there she is.”

i forget about everything else.

the beach looks perfect tonight, though i’m sure cam planned her and ben’s pre-wedding bonfire down to a tee. the weather, the crowd—everything’s falling into place. i’m happy for her. the fire crackles, sending out occasional pops, and people are lounging on blankets around it, standing, chatting in groups, soaking in the warmth as the sun dips below the horizon. it’s almost like a little piece of paradise.

i force myself to be in the moment, even though my mind keeps drifting back to the mess i’ve been trying to avoid for the past week, nearly two. paige. i’ve been dodging her calls and texts, shutting down every attempt she’s made to get me to talk.

i’ve been doing a fairly great job at it. dodging maya, too. but i spotted them near the pier, paige leaned against the railing, maya going off about something the blonde looks like she doesn’t wanna hear, and i’m right back in it. i furrow my eyebrows, as if squinting hard enough will help me lip-read whatever maya’s laying on her. but i can’t. and it’s infuriating.

oh, and ana? somewhere behind me, i think. i brought her here—like an idiot. i thought it’d help me focus, distract me from paige, but now i’m just starting to think it might’ve been a mistake.

“…you’ve outdone yourself. as usual,” rae says, and i snap my head back over to the conversation in front of me. i take a sip of my cocktail, the condensation dripping onto my fingers.

cam grins, brushing imaginary dust of her shoulders. “ben and i wanted something with everyone since the wedding will be a little smaller.”

i murmur my agreement as i take another drink, and i’m so lost in thought that i don’t notice rickea until she loops an arm through mine, dragging me away.

“hey, back,” i tease, waving away at rae and cam who didn’t seem to mind.

she leans in close, the smell of her coconut lotion wafting as she speaks just loud enough for me to hear. “you wanna tell me why ana is here?”

i shrug, and my eyes scan over the crowd until i finally spot ana by the cocktail bar. too far away. she’s been out of my sight for too long.

“damage control,” i reply, though the explanation feels like a flimsy excuse the second it leaves my lips.

rickea lets out a disbelieving laugh, tugging me a little farther from the group, out of earshot. “you mean paige control?”

the words hit harder than i expect, even in jest. my grip tightens around the glass, nails trying to dig into it. “she’s fine,” i say, but it sounds like i’m trying to convince myself of it.

kea tilts her head, eyes narrowing in that way she does when she’s reading you too closely. “sure she is,” she says, dragging the words out. her gaze shifts past me to the pier, where paige and maya’s conversation seems to have escalated. maya gestures wildly, while paige stands still, her jaw tight.

“it’s not my problem anymore,” i tell her flatly.

rickea stops in front of me, unliking our arms to cross her own, but the smirk stays. “mm-hmm. and ana being here has nothing to do with reminding paige of that, right?”

i nod. “right.”

the lie tastes bitter. because even if it’s true—if ana being here isn’t just about paige—it doesn’t feel that way. not when i feel the same sting of her actions that’s lingered all for nearly two weeks.

rickea studies me for a moment, her smirk morphing into something almost sympathetic, but she doesn’t press further.

“let’s just get you another drink. at the cocktail bar. where ana is.” she speaks in periods, and i shake my head, ultimately agreeing.

i let her pull me along, glancing back one more time at the pier where paige and maya stand like two actors in a scene i don’t want to watch. i catch a familiar set of blue hues already looking my way. ana’s name is still somewhere on my tongue, but it’s the wrong one, isn’t it?

the sun’s fully set now. most people are starting to head towards the house cam had reserved for the night for dinner and games she’d carefully curated. i can’t focus on the bonfire, on the mounds of people who would probably love to talk to me, or the stupidly perfect weather.

she’s over there, somewhere, and i can’t shake the feeling that she’s watching me, even though i know i’m not the one she’s looking at tonight. or at least not the only one.

not with ana here.

i push down the knot tightening in my chest and glance back toward the pier, where maya stormed off to just a few minutes ago. our conversation keeps replaying in my head, and every time it pops back up, it only makes me angrier.

“you’re not being honest with me,” maya had snapped, almost like she was sick of holding it in, and also like she was trying to keep it from carrying to anyone nearby.

“what the hell are you talking about?” i’d asked, leaning against the pier railing. i’d agreed to come over here to talk, and i’m starting to regret it. i didn’t want to be over here.

she gestured vaguely, her face flushed with every ounce of anger she carried. “you know exactly what i mean. you keep dancing around it like i’m stupid! like i don’t see what’s going on between you and nai.”

my stomach had dropped, but i didn’t let it show. “there’s nothing going on, bro.”

maya had then laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “right. that’s why you walked out on me at halftime to go looking for her, huh? that’s why she keeps giving you the cold shoulder every time you’re in the same room.”

she was grasping, but i couldn’t deny that she’d hit too close to home. “you’re imagining things,” i muttered, pushing off the railing, ready to end the conversation.

but then she’d stepped in front of me, her voice lowering. i looked down at her, quirking a brow. “no, i’m not. and you wanna know how i know?” she paused, waiting, and when i didn’t answer, she leaned in just enough to whisper, “i unzipped my pants on purpose.”

those words are still ringing in my ears.

nai walked out on me, angry and hurt, and nothing i’ve said since has convinced her otherwise. now i’m stuck here, catching hell for a mess i didn’t create. i wasn’t sure where it left maya and i, but it was wholeheartedly the last thing on my mind before i left.

i don’t even remember what i said after that—probably something defensive, because i didn’t want to believe it. maya had smirked, though, like she knew she’d hit her mark. “you can’t keep playing both sides, paige. someone was gonna call your bluff.”

i spot nai near the bonfire, rickea by her side. she’s wearing this long, heather grey skims dress that hugs her hips just right. she looks good. too good. she’s laughing, her head tilting back just a little, her hand brushing her hair out of her face, and for a second, it’s like none of it happened.

but i know her. i know the way her fingers curl just a little tighter around her drink when she’s tense, the way her laugh comes too quick, like she’s trying to convince herself she’s having fun. i know the way she’s avoiding looking at me. she’s pretending, and it pisses me off.

but then there’s ana. she’s standing by the cocktail bar, her long legs crossed casually as someone i don’t recognize talks her ear off. she’s everything nai probably thinks she needs right now, and i hate her for it.

ana doesn’t flinch when i slide into the space between her and.. whoever. she just glances at me, taking a slow sip from her drink before setting it down. her smile doesn’t falter, even as her eyes narrow, her stance shifting just enough to face me fully.

“well, if it isn’t the infamous ex,” she announces. somehow, the word ex makes everything remotely cordial i was gonna say fly out the window. “you always this bold, or is tonight special?”

i lean against the bar, letting the corner of my mouth tug into a smirk. “depends who’s askin’.” i glance down, then back up at her. “but you? you’re nothin’ special.”

she laughs, a cocky one, like i’m exactly where she wanted me. “you’re cute,” she says, tilting her head. “but you don’t scare me, paige.”

i furrow my eyebrows, but it doesn’t match the curve of my lips. “scare you?” i chuckle, letting the words roll off my tongue slow. “nah, i ain’t tryna scare you. just makin’ sure you know your place.”

her eyebrows raise. “and what place is that?”

“second,” i say easily, adding a shrug to the jab too. “always second. ‘cause you ain’t got her like i do.”

ana leans closer, her voice dropping to match mine. “you sure about that? ‘cause right now it looks like you don’t got her at all.”

alright.

the words hit where she wanted them to, but i don’t flinch. instead, i lean in just a little closer, my smirk widening. “you think you’ve got her? think she’s moved on?” i shake my head, glancing away from her, as if the ocean is more interesting than this conversation. “she’ll always come back to me, ana. you’re just a pit stop.”

ana doesn’t break eye contact, her smile tight now, but before she can respond, nai’s voice interrupts.

“ana.”

we both turn, and there she is, standing a few feet away, her jaw clenched, eyes not sure where to land, me or her. she ditched her drink, and i look to where rickea is, holding two glasses, and giving me a look like she knows what i’m stirring. i jerk my head up in her direction, as if to say, “what’s up?”

ana steps back immediately, her smile returning like it’s on autopilot. “right here, babe,” she says, moving toward her.

since when is she on babe status? was that another line to get under my skin? it worked.

nai doesn’t even look at me as she grabs ana’s arm, her fingers wrapping tight around her wrist. “let’s go.”

i can’t help myself. “what, no hello for me?” i call out, my voice etched with mock innocence.

nai freezes, her back stiffening before she slowly turns her head toward me. she looks like like she’s trying too hard not to give me anything. “you’re good at one thing, paige,” she says, her tone clipped, like she’s dismissing our talk as soon as it started.

i raise an eyebrow, my smirk deepening. “what’s that?”

“making a mess,” she spits, before yanking ana along without waiting for a response.

i watch them walk away up towards the beach house, and when i’m sure she won’t turn around, i turn towards the bar, stroking my chin.

“another, please.”

the beach feels different at night, quieter in a way that makes everything louder in my head. the waves roll in and out, and the moon is bright enough for me to see out. it should be peaceful, but it’s not.

everyone’s still inside, but after i told cam what happened, she offered me two blankets and a bottle of tequila to clear my head, and i, for one, wouldn’t turn it down. i can hear everyone’s laughter, the music. i couldn’t stay there any longer, let paige stare like she still had access to me.

i dig my fingers into the sand, cool and grainy against my skin, trying to ground myself. it doesn’t work. my thoughts are too loud, too messy, tumbling over each other in a tangle i can’t unravel.

i hear the soft crunch of footsteps on the sand. a pause. then her voice.

“nai?”

i don’t turn around right away, because i already know it’s her. paige. she sounds hesitant, like she’s not sure if i’ll even let her talk. maybe she’s hoping i’ll stay quiet instead.

“what are you doing out here?” she asks, a little too casually.

i finally glance over my shoulder, meeting her eyes for the first time since i stopped her antics by the bar. she’s standing there, a few feet away, her hands shoved in the pockets of her blue jeans, shoulders hunched like she’s trying to make herself smaller. i almost feel sorry for her. almost.

when i don’t respond, she asks another question. “where’s ana?” she takes a seat next to me, and the blanket’s large enough for the two of us. almost like it’s fate again. she wants to know. she’s still jealous, and i can feel the weight of that jealousy in the way she says it. the way she looks at me. like she’s waiting for me to tell her something she doesn’t want to hear.

“she left,” i say, not bothering to explain further. i don’t owe her that. ana has work in the morning, and i wasn’t gonna keep her here any longer as my rebound toy. not while i was already feeling bad about it.

paige exhales, and i hear the relief and frustration in it before she bites down on her lip. she looks down at the ground for a second, like she’s working up the courage to say what’s really on her mind. “look, about earlier… i’m sorry. shouldn’t’ve been bickering with your girl like that.”

i finally turn to look at her. “she’s not my girl.” her lips twitch, like she’s trying not to smile, and it sets something off in me. “that all you’ve gotta apologize for?”

she shifts, close enough that her knee brushes against mine. “that’s not what happened with maya.”

“don’t,” i say, shaking my head as i look away. “don’t sit here and lie to my face.”

“i’m not lyin’, nai,” she defends, leaning forward, trying to catch my eye. she’s almost pleading for me to believe her. “you think i’d do that to you? again?”

“uh? you want me to tell the truth?” i spit, and those seven words shut her right up. “i know. i saw it. her pants were unzipped. she was smiling at me like she got what she wanted. what the fuck am i supposed to believe?”

“me!” paige runs a hand down her face. “me… for once.”

silence. the kind i hate.

“you’re never gonna trust me, are you?”

“no,” i mutter under my breath, closing my eyes for a second, like that might stop the storm brewing inside me. but it doesn’t. it makes it worse. i hate how she’s still able to pull at me like this, how she knows exactly how to get under my skin, how she knows how to feel like home in a way no one else does.

but most importantly, i hate that she can do all these things, make me feel all these things, and still not be a better person for me.

she flinches like i’ve struck her, but she doesn’t back down. “you think you can trust her? ana? you don’t even know her.”

i scoff. “and you wanna argue with me about trust?” i snap, turning to face her fully now. it takes a lot of effort to not yell.

she shakes her head, exhaling slowly. “i don’t wanna argue at all, ma. just wanna have you.”

“just wanna have you.”

the words leave my mouth before i can stop them, and i hate how badly i need her to believe me. it shouldn’t have had to be like this. i don’t want to say it, but i know it’s true. everything else can wait. it’s her. it’s always been her. i just need her to hear me, to feel me—because she hasn’t let me show her anything in too long.

nai looks at me, her eyes softening just enough, and i can see the battle inside her—she’s pissed, but she’s still here. when her lips meet mine, it’s like everything i’ve been holding back for the last week and a half explodes. i sink into her, tasting the tequila in her kiss. everything about this feels wrong, but it feels right too. she’s still here, still letting me touch her.

she pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes narrowed but warm. vulnerable. it’s a look i know all too well, one i never wanted to see again, but somehow, i’m grateful for it. i hate how much i’ve hurt her, how much i’ve fucked this up, but i’ll be damned if i let her walk away without trying.

“what can i do to make you believe me?” i ask, my voice cracking just a little. there’s desperation there, but there’s also hope—hope i shouldn’t have, but i can’t help it.

“explain,” she whispers, barely audible, her lips still swollen from our kiss.

i don’t even have to think about it. the words spill out like i’d been waiting for the change. “maya knows. she’s… she tried something out, tested you to see if it was true. she knew i was lying to her about us. i didn’t—i didn’t want that to happen. not like that.”

her eyes search mine, like she’s trying to read through me, and it makes me want to break. shit, she’s so close. her body is almost against mine, and the urge to touch her is too much to ignore. before i can stop myself, my lips are trailing down her neck, tasting the skin there, trying to get closer, to make her feel how much i need her to understand.

“i didn’t touch her,” i mutter against her skin, my hands finding their way under her dress, fingertips grazing her hips. “i swear, nai. you’re it. you’re all i want.”

the words are coming faster now, and everything about her—her scent, the way her skin feels beneath my fingers, the way her breath hitches as i kiss lower—it’s too much. i don’t know if i’m trying to make her believe me or if i’m just trying to keep her here, to keep her from leaving me again.

i look up at her, my lips just inches from her own, and i can see the hesitation, the fight still in her eyes, but it’s softer now. she’s softening, letting me in.

“i shouldn’t have made you doubt that,” i whisper, my breath hot against her ear as i lean in closer. i can feel her body trembling under my touch, and it drives me wild. fuck, i’m so close to losing it.

and then i’m kissing her again, this time deeper, more messy. i don’t have time for any more words. all i need is this. her. me and her.

before i know it, she’s guiding me down, her hands threading through my hair as she pulls me closer. she doesn’t say anything more, but i don’t need her to. i can feel it—the way her body moves against mine, the way she breathes my name like it’s the only thing that matters.

and then i’m all the way down in front of her, looking up into her eyes, feeling her breath catch. she’s so fucking beautiful. i don’t care about anything else. just the way she looks at me, like i’m everything she needs, like i’m the only thing that matters.

“fuck,” i murmur, my hands moving up her thighs as i hike her dress up over her hips. i hear her let out a soft gasp as my lips drag over her stomach, leaving kisses in its wake. my fingers hook into the band of her panties, and i look back up at her for confirmation that this is okay.

she’s lost in it, finding my eyes once i stop. i give her a smirk, and she rolls her eyes. “yes, paige.”

“tell me you want it.”

“so badly,” she retorts.

i move more of the grey fabric out of the way before i drop my head again. she spreads her legs further, just enough for me to dip my tongue in between her folds, and sure enough, she’s wet already.

i wrap both of my hands around her thighs, veins poking through from the grip as i pull her closer to my mouth. i suck a little harder, lapping up her juices and pushing it right back in.

she arches her back, indicating i’m doing something right. “feel good?” i mumble, and she meets my eyes, nodding rapidly. i chuckle against her, teeth grazing her cunt, and she jolts.

“shit, paige. don’t do that,” she scolds.

“why not?” i stick my tongue out again, swiping it through her folds slowly before sucking her clit into my mouth. her head falls back, jaw open to let out some whiny, pornographic moan, like she’d been holding it in.

“gonna make me c—ha—ome quicker.”

when i slide a finger in, she tenses up a little, body rising to the sky, not expecting the stretch. “relax, i got you,” i chastised her, diving back in to mouth at her clit. her moans are like music i never wanna turn off, and i’m enjoying myself way too much to think i couldn’t do this for the rest of my damn life.

“paige,” she gasps, biting down on her lip in attempt to refrain from being too loud. i don’t want that. i wanna hear her. my name falls from her lips in a breathless moan, and i groan.

“say my name again,” i purr, finger curling inside her like it’ll drag it right out. “i love hearing it, baby.”

“mm, paigeeeee.” she drags it out purposefully. it makes me smile.

she quickly grinds against my face, hand in my hair pushing me in further. deeper. i place my free hand on her stomach, pushing her dress up as it travels higher, right over one of her tits. she wasn’t wearing a bra.

i groan against her again, continuing my assault on her clit. “you taste so good, nai. so fuckin’ good.” i feel her dripping from my mouth, out her hole, and i know she’s closer to the edge, closer to soaking this blanket up.

she brings her hand up to her chest, embracing her own with mine, adding just enough pressure in the way she likes. “just like that,” she breathed. i added another finger that slid in with no problem, making her yelp out, tightening her grip on my scalp.

“so close, p. just like that,” she repeats.

with one quick curl and movement, i can tell the tension she feels building up in her stomach. i remove my hand from her breast, using it to keep her legs open as she lets go. she repeats my name over and over again. it sounds like sin on tongue.

i stare at her in awe as she finishes on my fingers. they catch most of it, and i dip my head down to taste that too as she falls back completely, chest heaving, dress disheveled.

i give her a moment before i move back up. she stays there, out of breath, not moving once. i place a wet kiss to her lips, and she winces at the sensation, pushing my head away.

“gross!”

i laugh, and my chest warms at her smile, even through the dark. “you were right, you know,” i finally say, leaning to sit up on my elbow, like i didn’t just wreck this girl.

she rolls her eyes. “i always am. about what, though?”

“‘bout me being good at making a mess.”

[venusbyline]

Overwhelmed ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 31, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Spencer Reid x girlfriend!reader

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: knife play + CNC

— summary: Spencer's mockery caused a sudden agony in your brain, your insides churning as your body writhed against the knife again. All of that seemed too much. Maybe it was because of the exhaustion of lying motionless in the chair, maybe it was because the ropes were too tight, maybe it was also because Spencer was starting to rub the knife too hard.

— tags/warnings: kinktober 31st day, female!reader, boyfriend!Reid, post-prison!Reid, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, knife play, consensual non-consent (CNC), kidnapping roleplay, rape roleplay, safeword use, dry humping, dry sex, aftercare, rope bondage, dumbification, curse words, crying, subspace, bittersweet ending, rough sex, spit, choking, asphyxiation, sadism, slight dark content, mild angst, mild fluff, soft!Reid, dom!Reid, sub!reader. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @purplehaze206 @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a @helo1281917

"Oh, what a naughty girl you are. Did you really think you could get away from me so easily?"

Spencer's words echoed through the room and you whimpered immediately, your panties stuffed into your mouth as a way to muffle the sounds you had been making since Spencer caught you over hours ago, your body cold from the loneliness inside the empty room, the only other thing there being the chair beneath you, your hands and legs tied by a rope whose material was good enough to keep you still even after you tried to squirm when he approached.

"Don't be so hard on me, princess." Spencer teased, chuckling as he walked over until he knelt in front of you, his large hand caressing your cheek. "It could have been worse, couldn't it? When I kidnapped you, I could have been more... Rough." His voice sounded so sweet it turned your stomach and you closed your eyes. Oh, you perfectly remembered about the kidnapping. You were leaving work and all you least expected while you were walking in the parking lot was that you would feel someone grabbing and immobilizing you from behind, the alcohol rag in your nostrils making it difficult for you to escape, until you finally passed out.

Spencer played with your cheek, caressing the skin like you were a doll. A living doll. God, you could even picture him turning you into something like that if you could not escape. "You're so beautiful. Your boyfriend must be such a lucky guy to have you all to himself... A little doll for him to have fun with every night." You opened your eyes when you heard the sentence, your pupils dilating after assimilating what he meant, and it took you a few seconds to react, returning to scream against the fabric of your panties. Spencer ignored the muffled sounds and let his hand trail down your neck, his fingertips brushing your jugular. "I'd like to have you as my doll. What do you think about that, princess?"

You stared at him with the best look of disgust you could muster, hearing Spencer's soft chuckle before he scoffed. "Poor little thing, I almost forget that you can't talk like that." He continued stroking your neck, but his free hand went to your mouth, removing your panties and smirking at the sight of you choking on the sudden intake of air through your mouth, your lungs burning more with each cough. "Better now?" Despite the mean voice, you noticed how Spencer was checking you out, waiting for a verbal response.

After continuing to cough for a while, you managed to mumble. "F-fuck you. You fucking and sick psycho."

Spencer's facial expression was almost comical, his brown eyes wide and his lips parted, trying to think of something clever to say. However, even the genius man with his extremely high and above average IQ was not prepared for your very angry tone and your swearing.

You take advantage of his momentary distraction to spit in his face, and that was what makes him snap out of his trance. Spencer growled, wiping the trail of saliva on his face with the cotton fabric of your panties and looked at you with fire in his eyes. The hand that was playing with your neck closed around it, your eyes widening as you feel the air being denied to you for the second time.

"Fucking slut. I was really trying to be nice to you." Spencer growled again. "Is this how you treat your little boyfriend? Spitting in his face like a wild badass? I don't think so..." Spencer's jaw clenched and he released your throat then. He considered shoving the panties in your face again, until he found a better use for the fabric, stuffing it inside his pocket.

You barely had time to register what was happening. One moment, you were coughing, your throat sore from the asphyxiation, and the next, you were a mess of moans and low screams, rubbing yourself against something hard that you were not sure what it was until you looked down.

Your pussy was simply rubbing against the tip of the handle of Spencer's knife, something he was keeping in his pants pocket along with the leather glove he nimbly put on when you were still struggling to breathe. He took advantage of the strength of the glove's fabric to hold the blade and stimulate your swollen clit with the wooden handle, your legs tied to the chair making your thighs press together, also making the friction more intense for you and more fun for Spencer to watch. "Poor little thing..."

Spencer's mockery caused a sudden agony in your brain, your insides churning as your body writhed against the knife again. All of that seemed too much. Maybe it was because of the exhaustion of lying motionless in the chair, maybe it was because the ropes were too tight, maybe it was also because Spencer was starting to rub the knife too hard.

You could not tell what was happening to your body and inside your mind, but you suddenly snapped. "STOP IT, PLEASE!" You cried out, trying in vain to stop your clit from continuing to pulse against the knife held by Spencer.

Spencer froze when he heard your voice, so fragile and painful. These words normally would not be enough to completely stop the roleplay. They were words always said during the roles. However, Spencer was not an idiot. He knew his girlfriend like the back of his own hand and knew something was wrong. Your scream sounded much more broken than most other times.

"Color?" Spencer asked, moving the knife away from your field of vision, still keeping it in his hand. "Baby, what's the color right now?"

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath when your clit stopped being so abused, tears flowing as you tried to think about your color system. Did you just want a brief break so the two of you could continue after you breathing for a few more moments? Did you want to stop the roles completely? Could you hold on a little longer? Were you too exhausted? Was Spencer mad at you? "Red. Or yellow. Or red... I don't know, Spencie. Please... I just wanna stop it." Your sob broke Spencer's heart, your tears being like salt in the wound. He did not take long to throw the knife on the floor, whispering an apology when you were startled by the sound of the blade hitting the floor.

"It's okay, baby. You're fine. We're fine. It's over. Now it's just me. Your Spencie, your boyfriend." Spencer muttered as he undid the tight knots he had made to immobilize your arms and legs. "You were so good to me, baby. You're always good. I'm so proud of you..."

You shook your head, tears still streaming down your face. You did not feel good enough for Spencer at that moment. Even though it was just your brain playing tricks on you, you could not help but feel useless. Why could not you hold on just a little longer? Both of you always played like that when Spencer was feeling bad about the prison memories. It was a way to help him fight the traumas he had acquired and his slightly dark side that had awakened. You did not know if it was actually a healthy sexual thing to do, but Spencer refused to talk about that part with the therapist.

Anyway, Spencer had your consent. It was something the two of you had already talked about and debated about his boundaries and yours. Sometimes the roleplay had a brief script to be followed and everything varied depending on the needs of both of you. In that week, you and Spencer had decided to go again for something more like an obsessive stalker and a taken girl. Spencer really had a thing for that kink, and you mentally wondered if he pictured your fake boyfriend in the roleplay as the past version of himself.

It was not anything you had not already done. It was always the controversial "consensual non-consent" roleplay. Spencer always gave his all to act perfectly, warning you in advance the day before that something like this would happen that night. You could blame it on tiredness from work, because you had actually forgotten about it when Spencer "kidnapped" you, even though you had followed his commands throughout the afternoon about parking your car away from the security cameras so no one would think he was really kidnapping you. He definitely did not need more time in prison for another mistake by the authorities.

"I-I'm so sorry..." You managed to mumble a few minutes later, the only words in your mind since Spencer untied you, picked you up and ran a warm bath for you.

"There's nothing to worry about, baby." Spencer said, running the sponge gently over your skin, taking extra care with your wrists, which were quite red and bruised due the ropes. "I overdid it this time. I left you waiting too long alone in the room and—"

You interrupted him when you realized he was blaming himself. "Stop it, Spencer. You did everything like we always do. I could have taken more... I just... I felt overwhelmed this time. It all felt like too much. I had too much stress at work and I even forgot a little about what would happen today." Your eyes opened to look at him, noticing that he also had a few tears in those beautiful and big sad eyes.

"I'm so, so sorry. I should have noticed." You shook your head again and Spencer sighed at your stubbornness, taking your wrist gently and placing a few soft kisses on your raw skin. "I'll make it up to you, I promise, baby."

You wanted to say that he did not need to make up anything. That he had not done anything wrong. You had used the color system as you should. You had said your safeword like you were supposed to. You wanted to tell him that you loved him and that he did not need to feel guilty about that situation. There were so many things to be said, clarified and reflected on, but both of you knew that was not the time yet. Spencer could deal with your silence for a while longer. He would bathe you carefully as you relaxed in the bathtub. He would apply ointment to your bruises, and apply body oil to the rest of your skin. He would dry your hair and lay you down on your large and soft bed, only leaving the room for a few quick minutes to get you some tea. Then, Spencer would let you rest and sleep, until your body and mind returned to stability and the two of you could talk about everything that had happened.

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[onyxbird]

Even outside romance novels and the use of those specific terms, let's be real: Knowing generally what the end state of a book will be is very normal (not universal, but normal) and not "spoilers," even if you're expected to infer it from genre conventions instead of it being stated outright.

If you pick up a Sherlock Holmes story, do you really expect that it's a toss-up whether Holmes will crack the case or throw up his hands and say "Well, Watson, I guess we'll never know"? If you read a book marketed as a teen getting pulled into a fantasy land as the Chosen One, do you think "Gee, I wonder if they'll be able to defeat the Dark Lord or if they're gonna get smashed into paste in their first fight and the rest of the novel will detail the Dark Lord cementing his cruel and now unopposed dictatorship?"

It's not a "spoiler" for genre conventions to tell you that in a typical mystery novel marketed as such, you can expect the sleuth to solve the mystery by the end. A blurb that paints it as tense and uncertain in a way that is itself conventional for mystery novel blurbs, like "It's [Sleuth]'s hardest case yet--can they catch the killer before the killer catches them?!" doesn't change the fact that the target audience goes in expecting them to catch the killer. That is where typical mystery novels are supposed to lead; it's the solution of the mystery, how it's figured out, and what difficulties (and associated resolutions) are encountered along the way that are supposed to be a surprise. Likewise, it's not "spoilers" for the blurb to outright tell you what type of mystery is being solved (e.g., murder mystery vs. solving a museum heist) and the setting/tone (e.g., gritty police detective vs. elderly amateur sleuth vs. kid detective)--those are the starting point, and they belong in the description because those different subtypes of mysteries appeal to different audiences.

IMO that seems like the fundamental misunderstanding about thinking "enemies to lovers" or "friends to lovers" is inherently a spoiler. In a romance story, those don't tell you anything new about the ending, because romance stories are supposed to lead to "lovers." What "enemies to lovers" vs. "friends to lovers" tells you is where the story begins, and "slow burn" tells you something about the tone/pacing. All of those are telling you aspects of the plot of a romance, with plenty of room for variation in the details of how the story gets from one to the other. If you didn't know "lovers" was the endpoint because you weren't intending to read a romance and didn't know that's what the book was, then good news! The description has fulfilled its purpose by communicating to you "This is a romance story, and that fact isn't intended to be a surprise," so that you can make an informed decision about whether that's what you want to read.

Stating just a trope with zero other context or just stringing together trope names aren't likely to be compelling or informative descriptions for a book, but in that case the problem isn't that "enemies to lovers" is a trope also used in fanfic. It's the hypothetical attempt to sum up an entire book with just three words or not bothering to include any original writing in the blurb intended to convince people they want to read an entire novel of original writing.

Sorry it’s early but you really can’t use fanfiction terms in a non fanfiction context like if someone is trying to sell me a book to read and they tell me there’s an enemy to lovers I would be annoyed because why are you spoiling the story lol

[honeytonedhottie]

honey's it girl magazine november edition⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎀

welcome back to honeys it girl magazine, this is the november catalog. get ready for the inside scoop on data that i've collected, things i've learned/started doing, and just general info like that organized in kind of a teen-magazine inspired fashion.

before we go any further i'd love to thank you all for the wonderful year we've had of it girls magazine, writing every catalog is SUCH a joy and im glad that u guys like it to. i'll continue to work on the magazine and make it more enjoyable for u all. i hope that as the magazine grows and evolves i'll have more lovely girlbloggers featured in my catalogs. this is THEE magazine for it girls ✨ and now please enjoy, the it girl magazine.

THE HISTORY OF HELLO KITTY ;

hello kitty was born in the suburbs of london. she lives with her parents and her twin sister mimmy who is her bff. her hobbies include baking cookies and making new friends. as she always says, “you can never have too many friends”. but what else is there to know about this 3 apples tall ray of sunshine? SOOO much actually which is why i decided to write about hello kitty’s history.

hello kitty was created by the japanese company sanrio in 1974. she was initially designed by yuko shimizu. hello kitty quickly became emblematic of the cute culture in japan and a global symbol of nostalgia and girliness. hello kitty’s representation of girliness played such an important role in defining and popularizing kawaii culture in japan. hello kitty became a subtle statement of empowerment in the 1970s and 80’s.

the average apple is 3 inches tall. take your height in inches and divide it by three to find out how many apples tall you are! im 21 apples tall…💬🎀

during the 70's and 80's expectations for women were shifting, and with this context hello kitty emerged not only as an adorable kitty but as an emblem of a new type of femininity—one that embraced softness and strength simultaneously. hello kitty is associated with things like happiness and joy. in the 21st century, hello kitty’s presence in pop culture exploded.

a lot of celebrities are seen with hello kitty items, hello kitty collaborated with high-fashion brands, artists etc. they all appreciated her mix of innocence and global acclaim. and i think that the fact that shes maintained her grip on society even now says so much! hello kitty just RESONATES.

and honestly, hello kitty's longevity is a testament to her universal appeal. over the decades, hello kitty has gone from being just a character to becoming a pop culture icon that resonates with people of all ages and regions of the world. whether it’s a child picking out their first hello kitty backpack or an adult rocking a limited-edition hello kitty x gucci collection, she bridges generations with her timeless charm 💖

the success of hello kitty has a lot to do with her straightforward yet unmistakably unique design. her iconic bow, the lack of a mouth—on purpose, so that she can "speak from the heart"—and her endless versatility only cement hello kitty as an open canvas for self-expression. she’s playful, she’s nostalgic, she’s even edgy, depending on how she’s styled or reimagined.

hello kitty became a symbol of softness and femininity because she showed that being gentle and kind could still be powerful. when she was created in the 70s, women were stepping into new roles, and hello kitty stood for a new kind of strength—which wasn’t about being loud or aggressive but about connection, joy, and kindness.

SELF GRATITUDE. YOU'RE SO AMAZING ;

gratitude is a feeling thats really emphasized during november and i think that we should always be most grateful to ourselves! no one puts as much effort or loves u as much as u do. so lets take some time to appreciate ourselves and everything that we've done for ourselves as 2024 comes to an end.

take a moment to recognize everything that you've achieved this year, challenges that you've overcome and things that you've done for yourself this year to create a better more glamorous life for yourself. dont forget to say thank you and celebrate yourself cuz ur literally so cute and amazing and capable 💕

some ways that u can celebrate yourself and show gratitude towards yourself include…💬🎀

♡ pamper yourself with a spa day ♡ book that appointment you wanted ♡ write a love letter to yourself ♡ buy yourself a bouquet of flowers

PREPPING FOR A SUCCESSFUL YEAR ;

2025 is right around the corner so we should prepare and set ourselves up for success in this new year. so to start off prep for the next year we should make a MANIFESTATION list. title the list "2025" and write down everything that u want to manifest that year in a list fashion.

an important aspect of setting urself up for success in the new year is to reflect on the year we just had. reflect on your year so that u can see what u accomplished this year/what u can do better in the next year…💬🎀

i break up my year into 4 quarters (each lasting 3 months) that way i can see my year broken up and i have a clear plan and i can be organized. quarter one (january - march) quarter two (april - june) so on and so forth. and after every quarter i do a little analysis. and finally wrap up some things projects, assignments and things of that nature so that u can go into the next year on a clean slate.

WHAT THE IT GIRLS ARE LISTENING TO ;

first im gonna start off by talking about txt's new album SANCTUARY cuz if u guys didn't know im a moa 🙈. i LOVED everything about this album, the concept EVERYTHING. my favorite song on the album is 41 winks and over the moon is also incredible, i loved all the songs!! literally u cant name one bad song txts ever released cuz it doesnt fucking exist their discography is perfect. 10/10. i highly recommend giving it a listen if u have not.

tyla also released push to start and the music video is just a work of ART. tyla has been consistently giving us hit after hit, shes so incredibly talented and i LOVE push to start. i love the choreography also, but something that i love the MOST about this music video is the fashion like HELLO?? tyla rocked tiny tops and big boots in this music video and im lowkey living for it. the fringes in her tiny top in the opening scene, her teensy denim shorts that she leaves unbuttoned to show off her blinged out panties like YES.

THE ADVICE COLUMN ;

Hi! Question for the advice column. I'm going on a trip for my birthday to a retreat, with a group of 10 friends in a couple of weeks. It's only 3 days but I am so excited. I am in a part of the world where it's summer right now, so my question is: what are your essentials for a summer trip? Swimming gear, accessories, skincare etc, I'm planning all my outfits in advance, so any advice is appreciated. Thank you! 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

❤︎ SPF (between 30-50)

❤︎ lacy/frilly bikinis and swimsuits. they make u look like an absolute beach doll 🍬✨

❤︎ a yummy body butter + body shimmer (during the summer, we show lots of skin so its important to stay moisturized like a glazed doughnut and also to sparkle like the star u are)

❤︎ as for clothing i typically opt for tube tops, mini skirts, sundresses and things of that nature. i LOVE summer fashion

❤︎ blinged out water tumbler for fashionable hydration 💦 and ofc a portable mini fan

Do you know how to make yourself look more exotic/tropical in appearance? Like I want to look like a tropical mermaid - cotton candy doll

❤︎ use a bit of shimmery bronzer on ur cheekbones and collarbones to achieve that glowy sun kissed look

❤︎ when i think of cotton candy key west kitten doll i think of BEACHY WAVES and bubblegum pink lips so braiding ur hair overnight can help you to achieve beachy waves in the morning, and invest in a bubble gum pink/glossy coral colored lipgloss (i recommend candy baby 🍭 from victorias secret)

❤︎ use fragrances with notes of fruit and coconut

NOVEMBER TRENDS ;

one of my favorite trends this november is the women in male dominated fields trend. its been all over my tiktok and essentially the trend is just women behaving the way many men of today behave towards women and giving them a taste of their own toxic medicine.

this trend reminds me a lot of ciara's song "like a boy". some of my FAVORITE moments from this trend are as follows…💬🎀

♡ when hes pouring his heart out in front of me and i start practicing my jumpshot mid-argument

♡ when hes got tears running down his face explaining to me why my actions hurt him but i just ask him "why are u with me then" and carry on with my day

♡ when he catches me in a lie but i just hit him with the "alright believe what u want"

this trend puts into perspective the toxic and dismissive behaviors that are becoming more and more common and that are normalized in relationships, now that the roles are reversed. it also serves as a reminder of how important mutual respect and empathy are in any relationship.

[enigmatist17]

Continuation/just ideas I have of the Mecha Pilot Jazz Au by @keferon

First part can be found here :)

A03 version -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/60978709

---

No one is really sure what to think when Jazz finally returns to the general populace, the crowded common room he steps into with Prowl at his side going silent at the mech's arrival.

No, not a mech, a frame piloted by an organic Wheeljack swore to the Pit and back was smaller than most of their servos.

"Soooo, what's up?" Jazz leaned against the closest table as Prowl got himself some energon, no longer keeping up the pretense he needed such liquid.

"That's what you have to say?" Starscream gawked from his seat, the seeker looking like he wanted to start dissecting Jazz's mecha as much as pry the pilot out. "Are all organics from your planet this...this flippant?"

"Not really?" Jazz shrugged, glad no one could see the grin on his face when Prowl rejoined him, placing himself between Jazz and everyone else in the room with a minute flick of his doorwings. "Hell, you sound like one of my commanders, he'd be having a fit right about now."

"Rightfully so, I should say." Mirage commented from behind Jazz, the pilot grinning to himself when he turned, only to see what was supposedly a blank wall. "Then again, you seem to be the type of bo - organic to cause mayhem on the regular."

"Human." Jazz could hear more than a few processors whir at the strange term, and after a moment, grabs a seat at the table next to him. "Organic sounds weird to me, so you can call me human or just my name, I'm not picky."

"Human...weird." Jazz isn't sure who spoke as his visor offlined, ensuring his mecha was supported before fully breaking the connection. The entire room went silent when Jazz's chassis made a soft click before opening, noises of alarm escaping vocalizers as they expected to see a spark, wondering what in Primus' name the org - human was thinking when something moved. What should have been a spark chamber was something else entirely, the central interior some sort of piloting seat that housed the human they'd all come to trust and fight alongside, who waved as he undid a harness. Prowl was the only thing stopping the Cybertronians around Jazz from moving any closer, his doorwings up in a sharp V when he carefully placed one of his servos just below Jazz, Mirage shimmering into view on the other side of Jazz's mecha when the human hopped onto the limb.

"Hey, fellas." Prowl kept his hold on Jazz as he stepped back from the temporarily deactivated suit, setting him on the table's surface as carefully as possible. "Aw, thanks Prowler!"

"You look strange for an organic." Thundercracker tilted his helm slightly, wanting a closer look but not stupid enough to test how close he could actually get.

"I guess?" Jazz reached up to unlatch his helmet, biting back a laugh when there were a few surprised vents at the reveal of his hair. "Back home, I'd say I'm about the best we humans can look."

"With an ego to match." Mirage cycled his optics with a smirk, eyeing his friend curiously while keeping himself between any bot stupid enough to try and sneak up on Prowl's blindside. "Your frame suits you."

"And don't I know it." Jazz winked, setting his helmet on the table by his feet. "Man, you guys are just...so much bigger in person. I mean I know you are, it's just weird ta see it with my own eyes, er optics."

"Trust me, it's weird for us too." Sideswipe commented from his spot among the crowd, amused more than anything when the inevitable questions started pouring in. To his credit, Jazz tries to answer some of them, but he steps back when Prowl draws himself to his full height and silences almost everyone when he crosses his arms, smiling to himself when the bot speaks.

"If you have any further questions, you can ask them another time, most of you are late for your assigned duty shifts, Jazz included."

"Ya wound me Prowler!" The human let out a whine at the supposed betrayal, but the grin never left his face as he turned to his mecha. "I guess I could get movin', don't want to keep Brawn too late."

"Indeed." Prowl offered his servo once more, aware of the many prying optics watching as Jazz hopped onto his palm, slipping his strange helm covering back on as he was safely delivered back to his larger frame. They watched Jazz buckle himself back into the harness within the spa - piloting chamber, the chassis closing up when something connected with the back of his helm covering, the visor on the frame they were all accustomed to lighting up with a slight hum.

"Fun time's over." Jazz waved his servo, everyone murmuring to each other while they slowly dispersed. "Man that was fun."

"You find most activities fun, dangerous or otherwise." Prowl shook his helm in exasperation as Jazz laughed, the human leaning over to gently bonk his helm against Prowl's.

"I'll see you later, gorgeous." With that Jazz sweeps out of the room, Prowl watching him go with a look that made Mirage do a double take.

"You definitely chose someone...interesting." The saboteur chuckled, saving the image of a soft smile on Prowl's face for some future use.

"So I have..."

---

Jazz had wondered what Prowl's face felt like from the moment the met, in awe at how the metal creased and smoothed out much like his own skin did. Would it be cold and stiff, or warm and pliable? Ah the thought plagued him from time to time, becoming worse when he fell for said mech.

So, when he comes across Prowl asleep (no recharge) at his desk, a data pad clutched in his clawed hands, Jazz grins. Locking the door to Prowl's office, more for the tactician's peace of mind than his own, Jazz quietly grabs the only other chair in the room and sets it down on the other side of Prowl's desk, resting one arm on top of the table. Prowl is still asleep when Jazz powers down the link with his mecha, shivering at the sensation of becoming so small before slowly unbuckling himself, setting his helmet aside before starting the (admittedly) long journey across the room. Thankfully his magnetic lock boots made his journey down the arm of his faithful mecha relatively safe, staring up at his boyfriend (boybot? Ugh no, no way in hell) with an amused smile.

"Always gonna be the smallest huh?"

Now, here comes the hard part, one that could end up getting him flung across the room or smashed into paste if he triggered the wrong response from his sleeping partner. Okay, deep breath, and with a quick crossing of his fingers, Jazz activated the magnetics in his gloves before placing them on Prowl's arm as a test run. One doorwing twitched at the initial contact, but Prowl remained still, and with a deep breath Jazz started climbing, climbing up his mech's arm nice and slow. It was a little tricky when he reached Prowl's shoulder, but with a little awkward shuffling and a twist of his upper body, Jazz was within reach of his partner's face.

Now here comes the Hard Part Two: Electric Boogaloo.

It took a few tries to unwrap the base of his glove with his teeth, heart racing when he was only attached to Prowl via his shoes and magnetized knee pads in order to free his hand, but soon he was ready to do the biggest thing he's wanted to since he first laid eyes on Prowl. His hand is shaking slightly, but that doesn't matter when it makes contact with Prowl's cheek, brain short circuiting at how...soft and warm the metal was to his touch. While it didn't exactly move with his touch, Jazz could feel the nanites that were on the outer surface of every Cybertronian react, twitching when he felt a buzzing under his finger tips. He becomes used to the buzz as he takes his time mapping out the dips and curves of Prowl's face, missing the cycling of optics before a loud chirp breaks the silence, Jazz yelping as he jerked back in surprise far enough to detach from Prowl's shoulder. He doesn't fall very far when he lands on a hand (servo dude) with a grunt, Prowl looking worried as Jazz propped himself up on one arm.

"Are you alright?"

"Yep! Next time I need ta clip a harness on you or somethin', don't want to fall again." Jazz waved with his uncovered hand, sitting cross-legged on Prowl's palm. "Saw you asleep, an' I couldn't resist."

"Resist what?" A quick look at his chronometer showed he'd not been asleep too long, optics flickering down to his partner when he felt something strange touch one of his digits.

"This might sound kinda weird, but I've wanted ta touch your face since we met." Jazz had uncovered his second hand and was touching the closest digit, a look he couldn't classify crossing Jazz's face when he gave it a squeeze. "Weird, these are warm, but not as warm as your face."

"Did you enjoy your...examination?" Something fluttered in his spark at the smile Jazz gave him, and once again gave thanks to Primus that he'd been given a chance.

"Mhm! I'd love to again some time, see those pretty lil' optics of yours." Jazz winked, watching doorwings give a full on flutter. "Glad we both agree."

"You shall be the end of me, Jazz." Embarrassment colors Prowl's words as he sits back in his chair, watching Jazz lay back on his palm, hands underneath his head as he sighs happily.

"Your hand is pretty comfy...not a sentence I ever expected to say to my boyfriend, but it is what it is."

"I suppose you shall have to make yourself comfortable then, I still have some reports to finish." Prowl clicked, grabbing the pad he'd been reading before he fell asleep.

"Gives me an excuse to nap then." Jazz moved to remove the outer layer that supported his pedes, his processor supplying the word shoe as Jazz resumed his position with a yawn. "Have fun Prowler."

"Have a pleasant recharge, Jazz."

Jazz doesn't need to know he had already completed his work before his "nap", merely settling in for a novel he'd wanted to get through as his partner slept in his grasp.

[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |12|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Talks of Killing, Talks of Murder

Word Count: 2.5k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Tara ran off almost instantly after Mindy said the shrine would be the killers lair, then pointed out this wasn’t a normal Stab movie. Sam moved to go after her sister, despite trying to play everything as normal and as if the attack last year changed nothing, she knew Tara was struggling. Kirby waved her off though and said she’d check on Tara herself. Sam frowned but she knew it was probably better if Kirby went, she had been through this before and every time Sam tried to talk to Tara it almost always ended in an argument.

Sam turned back to the display case that contained the cloak of Billy Loomis. Her eyes trailed from the white mask down to the blood knife at the bottom. So, many lives were ruined just by Billy putting on a stupid costume. She wasn’t sure who could possibly be after them this time, though she didn’t expect her boyfriend to be the bad guy last time either. Whoever was coming after them did their research though, they had everything from each of the Ghostface attacks, going back all the way to the very beginning. She noticed there was even a small display about Sidney’s mom, the murder that started it all.

Sam didn’t know how to protect everyone. Two random kids were killed, which Sam couldn’t care too much about because they were apparently planning to kill her and her sister, but then she was attacked at the gym, she only survived because of you. Since then, the attack at the bodega and then the attack at the apartment, everyone had only survived because of you. She didn’t know where they’d be without you, who else would be dead. She knew she still had to be cautious around you, but you were proving more and more that you were trustworthy and nothing like Richie.

The floor creaked behind her, and she froze. She slowly lifted her head to see you through the glass, standing behind her. You hadn’t said a word, you hadn’t pressed her for answers too hard, answers you rightly deserved. She owed you an explanation about everything, who she was and why this was all happening. You knew who she was, but Sam owed it to you to tell you everything from her own mouth.

“Are you okay?” You asked, finally breaking the silence.

Sam turned around and saw you looking at her with nothing but concern. She wasn’t sure how you could see all of this, see this mess that went all the way back to her birth father and not flinch. There was still no judgement in your eyes, you were looking at Sam with the same kindness you always had. Your first question since seeing all this wasn’t to demand an explanation or ask who any of these people were, you just asked if she was okay, you truly were too good for her.

“Why are you still here?” Sam asked as she spun around. “You’ve been cut and stabbed,” she gestured at you. “Shot at, almost died three times all for some stranger who goes to your gym.” She shrugged, you might have been too good for her, but you also seemed to be crazy.

You only smiled at her words, making her furrow her brow. Maybe you really were her type, you were definitely crazy. “I assure you; this is nothing compared to what I’ve been through,” you said. “And you’re not just some girl from my gym anymore, I think I know you well enough to not want you to get murdered.”

Sam shook her head. You were military, special forces at that, you had definitely seen some things. With the way you handled yourself, first with the knife, then the gun, and then even in the apartment you used your surroundings to your advantage, nearly choking Ghostface out with a curtain. You could more than handle yourself, Sam could only imagine what you would do with the right equipment and an actual plan instead of getting caught off guard. But this wasn’t some war zone, you were at home, you shouldn’t be fighting for your life like this.

“You don’t know me,” Sam mumbled. “Not really, but if you insist on sticking around you should probably know what you’re getting into.” Sam walked across the stage and took a seat, letting her legs hang off the edge. You slightly followed after her, taking a seat right next to her but leaving enough space so the two of you weren’t touching.

Sam stared across the theater, Ethan was walking around, his hands shoved in his pockets as he looked around, Bailey stared at a few of the displays, furrowing his brow at the sight of some things. She looked to the side to see Gale staring longingly at one of the displays, Sam could only assume it had something to do with Dewey. Then there was Mindy, crouched down as she tried to comfort Anika off to the far end, with Chad standing a couple feet away, his arms crossed as his own eyes scanned over the group.

Sam clenched her hands into fists. She had heard a bunch of crap about her life and her family ever since that world learned the truth. She had known the truth since she was a teenager, she had spoken the words more than once. For some reason just opening her mouth to tell you seemed impossible. You could go online right now and find several articles talking about what she was about to tell you, saying the words out loud shouldn’t be a big deal.

“Whatever you say,” you said, interrupting her spiraling thoughts. “I promise you; it won’t change anything.”

Sam glanced at you and saw nothing but patience and understanding in your eyes. No one could really say nothing would change until they knew whatever it was, but you truly believed what you were saying. Sam knew she shouldn’t doubt you, you knew the rumors, you knew the basics, and you still stuck around. Everyone who learned the truth though ran and when they didn’t run it was usually because they had an ulterior motive, or they betrayed her.

“When I was younger, I learned my father wasn’t who I thought he was,” Sam let out a shaky breath as she got started. “My real father is Billy Loomis.” She could hear you suck in a breath at the name. “He’s the one who inspired all this,” she gestured around the room. “A year ago, my sister was attacked, by her best friend.” Sam shook her head, there were times she still couldn’t believe last year happened. Amber had never liked her growing up, but she always just figured Amber was an angry kid, she never imagined the girl would be a serial killer.

“Turns out it was all a ploy to lure me back home,” Sam let out humorless chuckle. “My now ex,” she wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t believe she had fallen for Richie, he had been so sweet and charming, that should have been the first indicator that something was wrong with him. “Set it up. He manipulated me, pretended to love me, then he tried to kill me,” she shook her head. “Oh, and he was apparently cheating on me the whole time with Amber.”

“Your ex, that was-”

“Richie,” Sam cut you off. “He tracked me down, became my co-worker, then friend, and then…”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“And it was all to make a stupid movie,” she scoffed. “He’s dead. I made sure of that. So, is Amber.”

“I’m sorry.” Sam looked at you with a furrowed brow, after everything she just said she wasn’t expecting another, I’m sorry’. “He might have been an asshole and a psychopath.” Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at your bluntness. “But whatever you felt for him was real, that doesn’t just automatically end because of what he did. It’s okay to be hurt or even feel bad about it.”

Sam nodded, no one had ever told her that before, well her therapist did but she dismissed it at the time. “But I don’t feel bad,” Sam whispered. “I don’t feel bad one bit,” Sam let out a humorless chuckle. “It felt good to kill him after what he did to me.”

Sam rested her head in her hand as she looked at you. You were looking down at the ground with your eyebrow scrunched up in concentration. “Someone started rumors about me online,” Sam said, making you look up, your brow still scrunched together. “Saying I set the whole thing up last year, that I killed my boyfriend, and he was actually the hero.” Sam shook her head, despite Sidney being there, despite all the police statements, the world seemed to believe some random reddit user over the facts.

“The world sees me as just another killer,” Sam shrugged. “Just like my father.” Sam ran a hand through her hair. “Now you know what a mess my life is,” she scoffed. “Why it would be a terrible idea to get involved with me.”

She thought back to the kiss the two of you shared just the other day. She had stopped it; she said she couldn’t. She told herself it was because she couldn’t fully trust you, she didn’t want to risk getting involved with someone else. The truth was she didn’t want to bring someone into her life, it was such a mess, she didn’t want someone else having to deal with the looks and the comments. You certainly didn’t deserve to be with someone like that, you were too good for all that, you deserved to have someone normal, someone who wouldn’t potentially get you stabbed every other day.

You had been silent most of the time and when Sam looked at you, she saw you nodding along. “Your life is a mess,” you finally said. Sam couldn’t help but smile, you were still as blunt as ever, she found she kind of liked that about you.

“About a year ago I was shot,” you said, your voice becoming distant as if you were going back to the memory. Sam furrowed her brow, she had seen the scars all over your body, she knew you had been shot before, she never imagined one of those injuries was so recent though. “Centimeters from my heart.” You kept touching a spot over your heart, Sam could only assume it was where you were shot. “It’s why I’m in town.”

“But you seem fine,” Sam said. Kirby said it was odd you were in town for longer than usual, that you were stationed in North Carolina. Kirby also said you were still active duty, if you had been injured enough to be discharged then that would be one thing but if you were healed and still active duty it didn’t make sense for you to be home for so long.

“Physically I am,” you rasped out. You were looking across the theater, but it was clear your mind was somewhere else. “But up here,” you tapped your head. “Haven’t been cleared,” you clenched your jaw.

“You seem pretty sane to me,” Sam offered. You were the most stable person she had met, which maybe she wasn’t the best judge in that department knowing her track record.

You huffed out a laugh at that. “Well, not according to my therapist. She won’t clear me until I talk about what happened.” Sam thought back to when you had told her you had a therapy appointment, you had said it was mandatory, that meant you were ordered to see your therapist, it wasn’t something you willingly went to like she did.

“You don’t have to talk about it.” If you had been seeing your therapist this long and it still didn’t seem like you were any closer to getting clear that meant you probably hadn’t talked about whatever it was yet. Sam might have been comfortable seeing a therapist and wanted to talk about her issues, but she knew that wasn’t the case for everyone, her sister in particular refused to see a therapist or talk about what happened in any meaningful way.

“No,” you shook your head. “It’s been long enough.” Sam remained silent as she nodded, she would give you as much time as you needed. “We had been deployed for a few months, it was supposed to just be a peacekeeping mission,” you shook your head. “Had done plenty of them before, meant to help build relations, and make connections. But then…”

You blinked away tears that had begun to fill your eyes, but you never let them fall. “A local militia attacked, we were caught off guard, we’re meant to always be prepared but it had been months without incident,” you continued. You cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice as unwavering as possible. “My whole team was killed, my brothers,” you buried your head in your hands.

Sam sucked in a breath; out of everything she was expecting you to say it certainly wasn’t that. She couldn’t imagine the guilt you must be living with being the only survivor of something like that. The only reason she was as okay as she was was because of her sister and Chad and Mindy, without them she couldn’t imagine what she’d be like. They might not have liked to talk about what happened, but they relied on each other, they leaned on each other when one was struggling, and they celebrated together when something good happened.

“I was meant to die that day,” you whispered. “I should have,” you shook your head. You pressed your palm against your eyes before finally lifting your head again. “Somehow the bullet missed my heart, and the rescue team got to me just before I bled out.”

Sam opened and closed her mouth a few times. She wasn’t even sure where to begin with something like this, she was pretty sure there was nothing she could say to comfort you.

“See?” you said, giving her a tired smile. “I got just as much baggage as you.” Sam gave you a sad smile. “But I promise you, I’m much more screwed up, you don’t want any of this,” you gestured at yourself. “Coming into your life. Trust me,” you whispered. “It’s you who’s better off not getting involved with me.”

Sam opened and closed her hand. She wanted nothing more than to reach for you, to try and comfort you. She didn’t believe you; she was definitely not better off without you. You didn’t deserve anything that had happened to you, you weren’t to blame for your team dying. Ever since Sam had met you, all you had done was prove how good you were, you protected her, you joined the group to help protect everyone when you didn’t even know them. You told her your story as if you were warning her to stay away but it only proved to her that you truly were one of the good ones.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @acutenobody @godamnityess

@luvwanda @rqizzu @riyaexee @bella423 @rayisaknight

@assgradiangod @canyonyodeler @marsyay78

[dollyhao]

princess!reader who has a close relationship with her personal knight abby anderson (smut, pining, tension, making out, cunnilingus)

word count: 2.4k

two years ago, your father decided that a woman guard would be whats best for you and it was the best decision he could have made. ser abigail anderson follows you everywhere, everywhere you go, she's only a step behind you, watching over you like a hawk. but there are some people in the castle that have some concerns, like how she stands so close to you, how her hand lingers on your lower back, or how she insists that she can protect you better at night from inside your bedroom.

but your father is quick to deny any concerns or accusations that people come to him with. who are they to accuse you of such a sinful act? what’s a better way to stop these insane rumors? an arranged marriage.

your father, the king, decides to bombard you with a bunch of men in the throne room, ready to take your hand in marriage. abby stands behind you as men walk up to you telling you how beautiful you are, and how these men would spoil you and give you so so many babies. abby is not only unimpressed but she’s disgusted. she looks over at your father who’s nodding approvingly at the men.

you look annoyed, finally saying, “that’s enough for today.” you say after the 7th man, you stand bowing towards your father before saying, “thank you father. this has been very insightful.” and you storm off. abby follows you to your room and as soon as you two enter, you're on her.

you push her against the door, standing on your tippy toes to kiss her deeply before she pulls away. “wait,” she says as you fumble with her stupid armor trying to get it off. “what’s wrong?” you ask still fumbling with the armor. “you don’t wanna talk about the whole marriage thing?” she asks you, helping you take off her armor. “no not really.” you say kissing her neck.

“well i do.” she says pushing you away gently. abby takes off her armor by herself, watching as you walk over to your bed and flopping down on it. “what is there to talk about? i’m not getting married.” abby sighs and rubs her fingers over her forehead, “we both know you don’t have a say in that.” abby stands in front of you in her tight trousers and long sleeve shirt that’s tight around her biceps. “so what do you want me to do abs?” you look truly sad at both of your predicaments, "what if- what if we ran away together?"

abby eyes shoot to yours, looking to see if your serious or not, “are you serious?” she leans a hand on the post at the end of your bed, “yes, im serious. how could i possibly get married to someone that's not you?” abby looks away from you, not even entertaining the idea, “princess...” she trails off and you stand walking over and grabbing her face so she can see the sincerity in your face. “we could be happy together, just the two of us.” you push her to sit on the bed while you stand in between her legs, "we could change our names, live on a farm, adopt some children, we could be together!"

"that's too risky, 'the princess and her knight going missing', people will be looking for us." your face goes sad and your eyes misty, "just think about it please... it doesn't have to be now, ok?" abby nods with a soft, sad smile on her face.

abby never expected to be placed as your personal guard when she signed up for the kingsguard and she definitely never expected to fall for you. when she was first assigned to you she was disappointed because how exciting could following a princess around be? and she was right, the job was unexciting. just following a princess—with no understanding of the outside word— around her large castle. thats all she seen for a while until you started to talk to her, rambling on and on about whatever came to your mind even when she wouldn't respond to you.

you were kind, funny and way smarter than anyone in the castle gave you credit for. when she finally started to respond to you, you asked her all types of questions about her life and you actually listened; interested in the stories she told you. and she found herself dreaming about you at night, imagining how life would be if you were hers.

it didn’t take long before you started laughing at her jokes and openly flirting with her; telling her how pretty she was, asking if she had a husband... or wife, trying to have her hang out in your quarters. she thought you were playing at first, that you were bored and lonely, and she didn't find it funny at all.

it was mean to play with her emotions like that, to have her believe that you of all people; beautiful, caring, sweet, darling you would be interested in her. so she put walls up between you two; she started walking behind you, not responding to your ramblings, not laughing at your silly jokes or the cute faces you make at her and she could see the confusion written all over your face and something her deluded mind perceives as hurt.

this went on for a week until one night while standing outside your door while you got ready for bed she heard crying coming from behind the door. abby turns to knock with a look of concern etched on her face, "princess? is everything alright?" when she gets no answer just sniffles and the sound of something breaking she bursts in completely on alert. when she does a quick look of the room and sees no threat just you in your sleep gown, standing next to a broken vase with tears streaming down your face. she closes the door and approaches you carefully like you're a scared cat that's gonna run any second.

"are you alright?" she asks as she reaches for your hand to pull you away from the glass. "am i alright?! how could i be when your being so mean?" you angrily snatching away from her. "i-i dont know what you mean princess." abby stutters at your sudden and blunt wording. "im sure you don't, ser abigail, you've just been treating me like-like shit for the last couple of days, for no reason!" you storm away from her with abby hot on your heel, "your highness! i-ive just been doing my job!"

"why wont you talk to me anymore?! have i offended you so badly you choose to act like im just some job? after all the progress we were making?" you wrap your arms around yourself, looking away from her, "i thought you liked me." with the moonlight streaming into your dark room, illuminating your figure, abby thinks you are the most beautiful woman she's ever seen. quick to reassure you and to get the hurt look off your pretty face, she quickly tells you, "i do! i like you in a way that is not at all proper for someone of my stature."

your hands fall away from your body and you're in front of her in a few long strides, "abigail, if you like me, i command you to tell me so because my heart can't handle thinking that i have wronged you to the point of hatred." you grab her hands holding them to your chest as you stare at her with wet eyes. "the only one that is wronged here is you, your highness." she says lowly, "im the one who has been having improper thoughts of you. thoughts that you cant possibly reciprocate."

abby doesn't meet your eyes but she sees your hand reach up and cup her face, "oh abby. ive never felt this way about anyone before." you mumble as you start to close the distance between the two of you. and abby closes the space and your lips are pressed to hers and they are softer than she could've imagined in her most vivid dream.

her gloved hands are on your waist as her body backs you up and presses you against your bed post. your noses are bumping against each others as you try to get her closer but her armor is in the way. you let out a frustrated whine and abby is quick to pull it off. she pulls away and your both panting, eyes locked on each other as she pulls her armor off and gloves. you stare at her swollen lips and the fly away hairs coming out of her braid.

when she finally has it off, her lips are back on yours but now you can feel her warm body press against yours. her hands roam your body squeezing and grasping at everything. you moan when her hand squeezes your breast and her thumb presses on your nipple. your hands are untucking her shirt from her pants so that your hands can trail over the hard plain of her stomach. abby shudders at your cold hands and her hips shoot forward bumping into yours and your hips chase hers as they pull back away.

"i wanna see you," abby whispers against your lips, "can i?" her hands settle on the strings holding up your gown, waiting for your confirmation. "yes-" you begin to respond before a knock at your door surprises the both of you and abby shoots away from you.

"ser abigail, are you in there?" said the voice of another knight that abigail knows because he takes on the night shift of standing watch outside of your room, while she rests. you and abigail eyes meet with scared but exhilarated expressions. she shakes her head, putting her finger to her lip and grabbing her stuff to hide it from view when you go answer the door. the knight knocks again and you hurry over fixing your gown and running a hand down your face before opening the door.

you crack the door and stick your head out, "no, ser abigail left only moments ago. she told me she was going to go get you so she could get some rest." the man averts his eyes from your form while your in your sleepwear. "oh. i must have beat her to it."

"yes, how diligent. um can you find a servant to bring me some water? my mouth is very dry." the man nods instantly and goes to find someone. you close the door again and whisper-yell for abby to come to the door. you see her come into the moonlight with her armor back on. "you have to go before he gets back!" abigail nods, placing a hand on the door turning to place a lingering kiss on your lips. you grab the sides of her head holding her against you and her other hand moves to grab at your waist.

"no, we can't! you have to go." you say pulling away only for abby to press a kiss to your cheek. you giggle pushing at her shoulders, "go!" and then she's out the door and rushing to her own quarters. you press your back against your door, breathing heavy while, waiting for the knock of the knight who hands you the water and you place it down before flopping on your bed. you lay remembering the way abby touched you and fall asleep dreaming of her.

and ever since that night, you two have been glued at the hips; secret make out sessions, notes being passed between you two, late night meet ups in your quarters. it was fun for the past year until this whole marriage thing. now your relationship is at risk and you want to risk running away together.

a week later, abigail follows you to the library in the far corner of the castle, where no one goes. once you enter the empty room your talking with a look of determination on your face. "i have it all planned out abs." you pull out papers you were hiding in your dress and place them on the table. "we can run away and i dont think my father will make a big deal about it! i mean im the youngest, and he has so many kids it wont be a big deal right? and we'll go far, i mean no one knows what i look like, i almost never leave the castle."

you gaze up at her with bright hopeful eyes. "you really wanna run away together?" you stand up straight, walking to stand in front of her, "yes," you place a kiss on her lips. "your willing to give up all the gowns and jewelry, to live with me on a farm?" she chuckles at the absurdness of it all. you frown at her laughing at you, "yes, if it means we can be together, im willing to give it all up."

abby cups your face with both hands, eyes roaming over your face and she sees all the love you've been giving her written all over it. she crashes her lips against yours, licking and biting at your lips. your breathing gets heavy as abby kisses and bites at your jaw, "abigail..." your hands are in her hair as she nips at your collar bone before getting on her knees.

she looks up at you pulling your dress up as your hands brace against the table behind you. abby's face is flushed as she lifts your leg and licks the juices dripping down your inner thigh to your pussy. you shudder at the feeling of her tongue licking at your cunt. you put one hand on her head as abby slurps at your cunt. "ohmygosh~" you jaw drops as you pant and tremble. "run away with me, run away with me please." you huff out as abby's hands grip your ass, spreading you so she can get deeper.

you moan and whine as abby's hot breath fans over your clenching hole. your hips buck into her face holding her hand thats holding firm on your thigh, "marry me, run away and marry me!" abby speeds up her actions when she feels you ready to explode. you cream on her tongue when you finish before pulling your dress back up over her head.

abby stays on her knees as she catches her breath gazing up at you like you put the moon in the sky. you both stare at each other as you catch your breaths. abby's face breaks out into a wide smile, "lets run away and get married." you beam at her.

and they lived happily ever after. thee end!

[dollyichi]

STAR PLAYER’S TYPE : ITOSHI RIN . . . m—dni. / f ! reader / mentions of wounds / marking / somno / university au [ you’re part of the school’s paper club ! ] / your relationship is a mess / not proofread

itoshi rin, university heartthrob, was asked by the school paper about his type. “this is for our sports segment! please help us out.”

he clicks his teeth, “what? my goals aren’t interesting enough for you?”

“no- no! it’s just a little profile we’re making for the whole team.” the poor writer was clearly intimidated, but he asks the question again.

uninterested and snarky he’d say “a girl with a cut on her lip from biting down so hard.”

“huh?” was all they thought. the journalist is really confused. what exactly is he talking about? “that’s… oddly specific but isn’t that a bit sadistic?”

“i like details.” and he couldn’t help but grin at your perfect timing. you’re wearing his hoodie and a mask. taking photos of the other players on the field during their practice.

he calls for you to come closer, having a hand out for you. you take it, letting the camera rest on the straps around your wrist. you’re startled when rin pulls you closer. a hand on your waist. “see this?” he says while pulling down your mask.

you wince, the mask slightly hitting your lips. and there on display, was your bottom lip with a cut that bled slightly from the contact.

“oh my god y/n? are you alright what happened?” the removal of your mask further showed the dark circles under your eyes.

you look exhausted.

“i bit it too hard.” you say pulling up the mask to hide it back. clearing your throat and licking the wound to ease the pain. rin was grinning to himself and the poor writer just didn’t know what was going on he was just given a list of questions to fill, but he’s witnessing… some sort of tension?

how’d you even get close to him?

“wait till you see once i pull down her hood.” you shriek and leave immediately, running away. “well that’s my cue to leave.”

“itoshi wait! a-are you sure you want this on the school paper?”

“does it look like i give a fuck?” he glares at them before chasing after you with his backpack in one hand.

the next day you decided not to wear the mask since it healed a bit better. placing the newly developed photos on the desk in your club room. “woah y/n what happened to your lip?” your president asks.

you sigh, “i bit too hard.” before the president could even ask you why, the conversation shifts.

“really?” the main editor chuckles. “then apparently you’re rin’s type.”

“ha? what the fuck are you-“ they hand you the newly printed out issue. in a big bold font that says ‘star player itoshi rin’s type!’ and you had to squint to see the answer. causing your hands to tremble while you gave it back to them. “hah…” was all you could say, before you sunk on your seat.

“i guess i need another mask.”

bonus: early morning fun <3

“mmph! fuck r-rin…” it was too early for this. you ended up falling asleep when rin invited you over to hang out. you didn’t expect to be woken up with him fucking you—not that you mind, but you weren’t a morning person to begin with.

your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. it was just too much. your back was against his chest as you lay on your side. his right hand on your waist to hold your body while he thrusted deeper into you.

you didn’t know what you would call this relationship. sometimes he’d be cold, sometimes he’d be playful, sometimes he’d be so nice that you could melt. and then you’d fuck, no matter what.

sometimes you hoped he would just admit it. sometimes you hoped this relationship actually was ‘something.’

then he’s back at it again, it was just too early. your voice was already hoarse from last night. and for sure the neighbors would all be awake.

he couldn’t help it though. waking up to you snuggled up to him so close, touched that you let him hold you all night. and then he’s see your thighs together, how there were visible marks that he left from last night.

it caused shivers down his spine that forced his body to move on his own against the pretty, defenseless you.

rin’s got your arms pinned towards him. you couldn’t move, couldn’t escape, letting him fuck you more relentlessly. you tried your best not to let even a whimper out. with the little self awareness you still have, all you could do was bite down on your bottom lip. hard enough to draw blood.

broken mewls and suppressed moans just kept him going, thrusting faster and faster. “a bit more…” he whispers, kissing at the back of your neck.

when it was over he turns you on your back, immediately seeing the mark on your lips. “you bit down again.” rin pouts before kissing the corners of his mouth.

you chuckle. “got nothing to shut me up.”

“just bite me instead of hurting yourself.”

he helps you to the bathroom so you could get ready for classes. “are you a monster or something? what the hell…” you say, tilting your head from side to side. the marks he left on you on full display. rin says nothing, holding you close. softly running his fingers on the marks on your neck. “i don’t have my concealer.” you groan. rin had his eyes on you the entire time through the mirror while you’re mentally panicking. you’re just hoping it wouldn’t be too hot outside to wear a hoodie.

you turn around to face him, asking if you could borrow one his jackets until you looked down deadpanned.

“you’re hard again.”

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : i need more of this au. school photographer reader who’s always forced to take the photos of her university’s center forward because he make sure he grabs her attention… oh!!!

[blood-smiles]

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ⊹₊⟡⋆

TW: Gore description at the end of the chapter . icky stuff, reader has a little bit of androphobia.

Ever since you were a little kid you dreamed of being a nurse, any kind of nurse, you really just wanted to help for the greater cause. Was it you trying to indulge a savior complex? Perhaps.

Now that you were in fact at camp, training under a more experienced nurse you came to realize that this place was so so much worse than you expected.

These soldiers were no walk in the park, many of them were traumatized from war, sometimes even refusing to take their medicine because it would numb their pain, the only thing that let them know that they were in fact alive.

It broke your heart.

Then came the harassment, some shouted and tried to swipe at you, doing all they could to keep you away from them. sometimes it was just lustful men, not seeing a woman in so long causing them to grow impatient, some would grab you, look you up and down like a fresh piece of meat. Ugh, disgusting.

You hauled around a basket full of medicine and fresh gauze, turning and weaving through the make shift hospital until reaching a white tent .

You unzipped the “door” and shimmied inside the tent, two people came into view, you greeted your senior nurse and the injured soldier politely.

The nurse turned around, clasping her hands together in what seemed a pleading gesture.

“Oh! (Y/N) there you are, can you take over this one for me? There’s another man badly injured in another tent.”

What? No, please don’t leave me with him!

You sent a pathetic look to the other nurse, begging her not to leave you all alone.

You turned your gaze over to the man sitting on the stretcher, the grip on your basket growing tighter.

He was fucking huge, his body being muscular and tall at the same time. His face obscured by dirtied bandages, all sorts of grime and dried blood splashed on his bandages like faded watercolor.

The nurse gave you a soft pat on the shoulder as she left in a haste.

You cleared your throat, shrugging off the discomfort in your system and getting to work swiftly.

You approached the sink, letting the cold water run over your skin, allowing the soap suds to cleanse the impurities and leave a fresh and pure exterior.

You patted your hands against a paper towel and grabbed the basket containing the various first aid equipment.

“I’m (Y/N) and I will be your nurse for today.” The practiced words rolled off your tongue smoothly, although your expression betrayed your confident rambling.

The man glanced up at you, steely blue-grey eyes glaring at you through golden eyelashes.

You swallowed thickly, quickly observing his physical state, you could point out two or three injuries. But with his face covered you can barely make out if he needs anything to be done on his face.

“I need to remove your bandages to clean injuries below them.” You folded your hands in front of your stomach, furrowing your brows while waiting for him to shout at you.

But the boisterous voice never came, instead a soft grunt answered along with the shuffling of fabric.

The dirtied bandages coiled around his neck, draping over his shoulders as he nodded his head to get his hair out of his vision.

You gazed at his features.. He was beautiful. 

Not the delicate flower type of beauty, not something to be gently handled or protected. It was more like a rough, jagged beauty, alike to the beauty of a rusted, jagged claymore, flowers curled along its hilt and blade.

Blonde hair curled in between his eyebrows in a sort of X shape. His features were strong and sharp, his expression stony and serious. His slightly tanned skin decorated with scars and small cuts.

“Are there any serious injuries you have right now?” 

The man rolled up his stained tank top to reveal bandages wrapped around his ribs, light pink stains splashed on the surface of the yellowed bandages.

You took a deep breath, putting some gloves on to begin inspecting the wound.

You slowly unraveled the bandages, revealing a half-scabbed half-fresh wound underneath, you glanced up at the large man to get a look at how well he was fairing with the pain.

Only the slightest twitch of his eyebrow and the soft flushing along his cheekbones were telling you that he was feeling pain.

He glanced down at you, pupils dilating for a moment before looking entirely away.

After a little you made sure to send him on his way, his right side was wrapped in bandages and thoroughly disinfected.

You made sure to clean the minor cuts on his face too, medical tape covering some of them.

You grabbed your clipboard, recording his visit today and a simple report on what was done.

“Can you give me your whole name and birthdate?” You asked softly, glancing down at the white boxed paper.

“February 14.” His accented voice answered, folding his old bandages in his own hand.

“..Marcelle Briar.” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye shyly.

“Alright, I believe that is it..” you muttered, taking out some pain killers and handing them to him “You can take two every six hours to keep down the pain.. Is there anything else you wanted to speak about?” 

Marcelle looked up from his hands, gently taking your in his, 

“Yes, right here.” He placed your hand over his chest, right over his heart, it was erratically beating against his ribcage almost as if it were about to jump out of his tórax and run off.

“Every time I look at you. My heart.. em.. how do you say..? Fast.” He explained, pressing your hand into his chest even more.

His cheeks were flushed a red tint, small sweat suds forming over his scarred skin.

You laughed nervously, prying your hand away from his relaxed, soft muscles.

Your ears were beginning to feel warmer, how do you explain this to him without outright embarrassing him?

You started “Erm.. Well—“

“Lieutenant cottontail!! There you are.” Another deep voice cut you off as he stepped into the tent.

“..Salvador.” 

It was another burly man of Marcelle’s size, big muscular and intimidating handsome..

But this one was a stark contrast to him, he seemed more extroverted and.. louder, you suppose.

His black hair fell over his face loosely, styled in a messy half-up-half-down type of way.

His gaze shifted to you, eyes widening just a little bit, giving you a curious look.

“hello there.. sorry for the intrusion, muñeca.” He waved at you, his shoulders relaxed.

You stayed quiet, before just nodding your head. 

“You must be the new nurse, right?” He walked closer to you, you tried to ignore how his boots were tracking blood and mud into the sterile tent..

“C-correct.” He leaned down to your level for a moment, observing you intently for a moment, his dark eyes narrowed.

You were about to pop a blood vessel, you could hear the blood pumping through your ears frantically, did you do something wrong? Why was he looking at you like that?

“..You’re pretty cute.” He whispered to himself before he backed away completely, swiveling around to greet the blonde man on the cot.

“We have a new unit of rookies, cmon.” The new man(Salvador) motioned with his head for the other male to get moving.

“See you around, (Y/N).” The black haired one bid his goodbye with a nod of his head and a pat to your head.

The blonde one stared at you for a second, you swear you saw the corners of his lips twitch up slightly before muttering a farewell too.

…

Marcelle might have been struck with Cupid’s arrow. Unfortunately it seemed that he wasn’t the only one under the mischievous cherub’s control.

his “friend” had been shot too. Marcelle could tell, Salvador was laidback and a good personality, complete contrast to him but even with that arrogant exterior Salvador adored to display, Marcelle knew that something changed.

When he spoke to you the tips of his ears were slightly flushed, he toned down his prideful side too, truly a miracle. 

as far as Marcelle knew, Salvador loathed physical touch. However he didn’t hesitate to brush against you. Male-Whore.

And what did the blonde man do this whole time? Seethe as he watched the interaction. He was pushing 34 years old and he was still too shy to speak to a girl. Pathetic.

He now had competition, he hoped that it was just a puppy crush and would lay over and be forgotten by Salvador and him.

Oh how wrong he was.

…

It had been a while since you begun to feel at home at base, and now you had.. friends, you suppose.

Those two soldiers were becoming close to your heart, both of them paying you almost daily visits, gifting you small trinkets they found and wild flowers from their outings.

Salvador liked giving you flowers, especially red ones for some reason, he was the more flirtatious one out of the pair, but you just laughed it off. not like he could have feelings for a puny person like you, could he? He was probably playing with you..

God, are you dense or do you think he doesn’t like you? Salvador has tried everything, he has flirted, shown that you are special to HIM, he has gotten rid of all the nuisances, he literally worships the ground you walk on and you still don’t get that he is hopelessly I love with you?!

Marcelle was sweet, you honestly didn’t expect it from him, he always had an annoyed look and seemed milliseconds away from tearing your head off your shoulders clean.

But he was.. basically a human sized teddy bear—at least towards you. He liked physical proximity(surprisingly), gently hugging your head closer to his chest, burying his nose into your hair, you name it.

Salvador never had any of it, shooting nasty looks at Marcelle and muttering jabs at him, They were both like two brothers fighting over a plushie.

Somehow they both would always end up hugging a part of your body after bickering for a while.

Lately there has been various soldier deaths, strangely enough they were men you knew, both in your good and not so good graces.

They were admitted into the infirmary for life threatening wounds and most of the time died due to blood loss or a punctured organ.

It was traumatic. Having to drag the body out and into a sealed bag to the corresponding family.

Your ears pricked at the sound of screams, you were used to hearing those cries for help. You learned throughout so many years that you were to mind your business, not to investigate and much less wander near the forest.

Bloodcurdling screams resounded from the woods, only the birds and bears present to hear the sound of death.

A blonde man grabbed onto the lower jaw of the bloodied man lying on the floor, thick fingers lodging onto the frenulum of his mouth.

The sound of cartilage tearing reached his ears, a sick laugh reverberating from his chest as blood streamed out the injured soldiers mouth.

“Fancy seeing you here.” A lax voice sounded from behind Marcelle.

Salvador dragged a body with him, creating a dark trail of guts and blood on the dirt flooring.

The man Marcelle was finishing with flailed and cried on the ground, his tongue sticking out from his mouth as there was no more jaw to hang on to.

He flailed for help to the black haired fellow, only for his hopes to be crushed when he started laughing at his misery.

“I know this guy. He groped (Y/N) did he not?” Salvador cracked a rare smile, walking up to the male on the floor and landing a powerful kick to his gut.

Blood gurgled out his mouth, eyes wide as he stared up at both of the devils with fear.

Marcelle scoffed, nodding his head as he placed his foot on his head, applying pressure on hid frontal lobe until it exploded.

Making a mess of blood and brains under his black boot, even after death Marcelle had decided he hadn’t had enough though.

Lifting his leg he stomped down on his head, over and over. And over. And over again.

The deceased man’s face was unrecognizable, being pulverized into the soil as only remnants of skin and meat suggested there was a head on his body once.

Marcelle ripped his name off his uniform, taking out his lighter and burning it.

Salvador threw his own body next to the headless corpse, nudging it with his foot lightly before spitting on the corpses.

“Let’s go. (Y/N) is waiting for us.” Marcelle mumbled, eyeing the bodies one last time before leaving.

You enjoyed your lunch with both the soldiers. But you couldn’t help but notice the slight red tint to Marcelle’s usually honey blonde hair. The red under Salvador’s nails scared you, but you just figured they must have hurt themselves.

You tried to ignore the insanity behind the pair’s eyes as they stared at you, they were looking at you as if they had placed their hearts on silver platters and were waiting for you to take them.

You just smiled, thinking it was just your mind playing tricks on you from exhaustion. Sadly that wasn’t the case. ♡