#white and wood meet

[schiphys]

Music Room Living Room in Milwaukee Mid-sized eclectic open concept medium tone wood floor living room photo with a music area, gray walls, a standard fireplace and a stone fireplace

[prisimic]

Music Room Living Room in Milwaukee Mid-sized eclectic open concept medium tone wood floor living room photo with a music area, gray walls, a standard fireplace and a stone fireplace

[thedepressedpelican]

"Dark Sunset"

[moeblob]

Rice. From my plot that's literally just a game of chess. (he's a rook)

[funkylittlebidiot]

My kidnapper after I tell him I can't eat without a little show

[sesamenom]

Some design sketches for Bilbo and Lobelia, plus a bonus thorin

[blcssom]

need the next season of white lotus to drop immediately bc i’m already hyperfixated on over half the cast

[chiropteracupola]

Follow me into the endless night / I can bring your fears to life...

[thebreakfastgenie]

I know I posted about Cry Freedom a couple months ago but like please watch Cry Freedom. It's an excellent movie that was literally created as a political anti-apartheid movie and its central story is a white liberal being radicalized. There's been a lot of talk about South Africa lately and I think this movie would fit in well with that.

[fuckyeahelijahwoodfan]

Elijah today at Tacos villa Corona in Los Angeles

Well, of course people meet him at food places , such a foodie he his

That all white outfit is 🤍🤍and very ambitious for tacos 🌮 😋

[thedepressedpelican]

"Long Walk Home"

[the-travelling-witch]

no clue if i'm doing the valentine's ask game right at all BUT-!!

i'm curious how cass & leona / selene & angelica / carmilla & jade would spend valentine's day 👀 (you can pick which ones to yap about i know it's a lot ghdlkjs)

omg ian, hiiiii!! first of all happy valentine's day, i hope you're having a great day <3 also i think it's less of an ask game and more of a "i'm okay receiving valentine's day asks" kind of thing, but !! ofc i'm more than happy to yap about my ocs (when am i not, is the real question)

i originally wanted to write sth for all of them but i have such a headache (+ i'm still struggling with wrist pain bc i just can't give them a break), so i decided to write a drabble for carmilla and jade bc it came easiest to me and then give my brief thoughts on the other pairings instead

Carmilla & Jade [Surf and Turf]

“I admit I’m not closely accustomed with land dwellers’ Valentine’s Day traditions, but to think that it would encompass kidnapping your beloved into the woods… How very intriguing indeed.”

“Oh shush, you. It’s not much further now,” Carmilla giggled, continuing to lead the way into the woods just shy of NRC’s campus. The sun had already begun to settle in for the night, cosying into her bed behind the horizon and illuminating the students’ trail with the last golden rays. It wouldn’t be much longer, however, until their path would be lighted by the flickering blue flames at Carmilla’s command. “So Valentine’s day isn’t a thing under the sea?”

“Hm, as many of humankind’s customs do, it has started catching on with merfolk. Though mainly with those living closer to the surface,” Jade answered easily, still placidly letting himself be led up one of his favourite hiking trails by their intertwined hands. His mood had been rather cheerful ever since the fox had appeared in his dorm with an enigmatic grin and the promise of a surprise. “It has yet to sink into the waters of the deep sea, if you will. And I reckon our Valentine’s gifts would be rather unique, too. Perhaps I could interest you in a seaweed bouquet?”

“If anyone could make that sound appealing, it would be you, I’m afraid,” the fae laughed, equally bright. With all her Valentine’s shoots wrapped up ahead of time, she’d been eager to spend time with her merman. Though confident in what she had prepared for him, there was still an undergoing current of nervousness within her. “Without wanting to spoil anything, I guess you could say my gift isn’t your typical bouquet of roses either.”

Putting his free hand over his chest, Jade gasped in faux surprise. “And here I was thinking you were leading me up the mountains to grant me with an overpriced armful of cut flowers and a heart shaped box of chocolates.”

“I should have known you’d figure it out. Oh dear, you know me too well, it appears,” Carmilla played along with a heart wrenching sigh. Then, she stopped in an inconspicuous part of the trail. “Ooh we’re here already. You trust me, right?”

“I do, of course,” Jade replied, tilting his head to the side, intrigued by the implications of her question. When Carmilla untied a silky ribbon from her outfit, he understood her intentions immediately. A shiver of electricity zapped down his spine in anticipation as he leant forward slightly, so she could tie it gently around his eyes. My, wasn’t she the most darling girl ever, keeping him on his toes and surprising him at every turn?

In the end, the blindfold didn’t stay on for long in this terrain, only serving to ramp up his anticipation even more at the last moment. After a few careful metres over the forest soil -though he noted that someone seemingly removed all tricky obstacles- the ground beneath his shoes became softer with the texture of grass and moss, leading him to believe they’d arrived at a forest clearing of some sort. With his vision blocked, his other senses had sharpened but instead of taking in nature’s sounds, Jade honed in on the company of the person next to him. He didn’t need to see her to be conscious of Carmilla’s presence surrounding him, flickering in and out like one of her fairy lights but never leaving his side.

Then, the knot in the silk scarf came undone, the ribbon fluttering down to rest over his shoulder. Jade blinked a few times, trying to process what it was he was seeing.

“So, what do you think?” Carmilla supplied, slinking next to him and wrapping an arm around his, gently encouraging him to take a closer look.

They were indeed standing in a small glade, one Jade had never noticed despite his frequent hikes around the area. Looking back over his shoulder, he could say with certainty the path the two of them had taken had not been there before. Or had been very well concealed. Small, floating lights illuminated their surroundings, dipping the pine trees and moss in warm light. What caught his attention most of all though was what was growing inside clearing. Mushrooms of varying shapes, sizes and colours -some even glowing with bioluminescence- were sprouting all around them, decorating the area. It was clear they were not native to Sage Island, for he had never seen them before. Also obvious was that someone had taken great care in growing them.

“Do you like your gift?” Prodding the eel a little, Carmilla carefully studied his reaction. Perhaps the silence would have felt intimidating if she couldn’t spot that particular gleam of fascination in his heterochromatic eyes she loved so much. “I remembered how interested you seemed when I told you about the mushrooms I saw back in Briar Valley. So I contacted an old friend who still lives there to see what I could do.”

Strong arms wrapped around her in response, pulling her fully into his space, coaxing a surprised laugh from her. Reciprocating the action, Carmilla leaned fully into him, savouring the closeness and the safety of happily burrowing into his chest. Even as Jade let go, he didn’t allow her to float past his reach. Instead keeping Carmilla anchored to him by cupping her cheeks in his gloved hands.

“My dearest pearl, you didn’t seriously believe I would dislike this surprise of yours, did you? Surely you know me better than that.” He sealed his warm words a telling kiss, one that Carmilla all too happily tip-toed up into. There was rosiness to both of the students’ cheeks as they parted again, their fingers intertwining instead. “In case I must make myself even more clear, I doubt I have ever received a more thoughtful gift. You’ve set a high bar for me to clear when it’s my turn.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to make it too easy for you, right? I’d hate for you to grow bored of it,” Carmilla teased, giving his hand a fond squeeze. There was a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she added, “Perhaps, however, you should check the entire gift before you start scheming with revenge.”

“Oh? What else could you possibly have prepared? You really do love going all out, don’t you?” Shaking his head affectionately, dual-coloured eyes tracked the movement of her arm as she reached behind her and pulled a book out of thin air. Handing it to him, Jade recognised the handwriting on the cover as hers immediately. “Is this-“

“A compendium of sorts, written by yours truly,” Carmilla offered, winking at him. “Someone once imparted on me the importance of taking notes when it comes to horticulture.”

“How is it that you make me fall in love with you even more than I already have?” Carefully flipping through the pages, ghosting his fingers over delicate writing and detailed illustrations, it really started to sink in how much planning had gone into this surprise. It spurred his motivation to plan what he would give her in return. Oh, he couldn’t wait to return to his room and get creative.

For now, however, he was content to stay in this small sanctuary a little longer. A blanket was spread over the grass for the two to settle down on, Carmilla happily leaning her head against Jade’s shoulder as he poured over the book and compared it with the mushrooms in front of them. Every now and then, she would point out certain things to him, adding bits and pieces to his fascinated rambling. Mostly though, she was just happy to listen to his voice, basking in the tranquility and peace of his presence and letting his excitement infect her, too.

Even without using her unique magic, Carmilla could feel the love between the two of them, spreading a warmth throughout her like no other. A few years ago, the fae couldn’t have phathomed going out of her way for somebody else like this, let alone spending days and weeks on a mere present. Now she was glad she did.

Cass & Leona [Golden Hour]

“Oi herbivore, do you know what day is today?” 

“Friday.” 

“…It’s Valentine’s Day.” 

“So you guys have commercial holidays too huh?”

In a total reversal of expectations, Leona is probably the one who brings up Valentine’s Day as a topic during lunch break in the botanical gardens. While Cass is also aware of the traditions, it’s not something she particularly cares about and she didn’t think Leona was the type to either. Which she is kinda right about, to be honest.

The only reason Leona entertains the custom in the first place is because, despite himself, he really didn’t want to disappoint any expectations he thought Cass might have. And, secondly, he’s not dumb. He knows Cass is well-known and well-liked by quite a few people and he’s normally not all in people’s faces with their relationship. Meaning, he wants to shut down the possibility of anyone getting any funny ideas about confessing to her.

So, he very unceremoniously gives Cass a present in the form of a piece of jewellery. This could either be a beaded or golden bracelet, a necklace or a charm for her camp necklace or a hair accessory he can braid into her locks. As long as it’s unmistakably his and easy for others to identify as such, he’s content. There’s a high chance it’s actually a piece of his jewellery that he already had on hand and decided to give her on a whim. Definitely not because he cares about some herbivore and enjoys the idea of her always carrying around sth that he gave her. Definitely not. (He cares. So much.)

Cass lets him do as he pleases, both because she is actually a little flustered over the fact that he’s very openly staking a claim over her and because she thinks his attitude about it is funny. Sure, he is very nonchalant about it, which probably would’ve soured the day for others, but Cass is all about someone’s actions and the meaning that’s read between the lines. 

Leona’s lucky she knows he cares for her because if she didn’t, he wouldn’t get away with pulling her down for a nap after that circus. As Cass tells him about his day, he’ll hum and absentmindedly run his fingers over the jewellery, half considering if he should get her to also wear his jacket.

(At least other beastmen should get the hint by now not to try anything funny…)

Selene & Angelica [Shipname tba]

Selene and Angelica’s Valentine's Day is a lot more low-key than others might first suspect. Not because they’re not head over heels for each other. No. It’s because for them, every day is Valentine’s Day (more or less). They give each other gifts and affections throughout the year as the mood and inspiration strikes them. So sure, they’ll hang out but it’s business as usual for these two.

[tojisteddy]

Toji’s notorious for calling you mama.

I just think, if Toji is going around calling you ‘ma’ and ‘mama’ you’re definitely calling him ‘papa.’ At first you were trying to tease him but it became a nickname he loved hearing from you. It’s endearing.

Both of you don’t have kids yet, but it’s like you’re mentally preparing for it because that’s the future you two envision— one that’s together. Neither of you use it constantly, you call each other by your other nicknames too but ‘mama’ and ‘papa’ are just so sentimental to the both of you.

Yes, you do call him papa while he’s rearranging your guts.

You’re a squirming mess, on your hands and knees, overstimulated and can barely think— clawing to get away from the man after coming for the nth time. But he’s dragging you back by your bruised hips for you to settle at the very bottom of his cock.

“Noooooo— hnngh-“

“Yeeesss,” he mocked you, giving you a hard smack to the ass and he ramming back into you. “Good girls, take it all. I told you that- haaah- what? You too fucked out tuh listen?”

Your legs were shaking, eyes at the back of your skull, a sobbing, pussy gushing, hiccuping mess, Toji laughed at the sight, “ ‘F course ya— shit ma- course ya can’t. Yer completely fucked out. Aah- Look so pretty ‘f me.”

Just the way Toji liked you.

His adorable, cock drunk, baby.

“Here,” he grunted, slowly pulling out just a little bit of his aching wood out, “Let papa help you.”

He pulling you up so your back is on his chest so the both of you are on your knees, spreading the both of your legs out so you can feel really all of him.

“T-Toji!” You squeaked. It felt like his cock was going to come out of your lungs.

“Huh? We go by first names now?”

You hiccuped, slamming your hips down to meet his thrusts.

“Papaaa, it’s— God, it’s so goooood.”

You feel that devilish smirk of his as he’s nipping all over your neck.

“I know baby, fuck,” he brings one of your hands down to your stomach with his making you gently press down on it, and he chuckles. “You feel that ma? Hm?” He was swiveling his hips, just so he could hit your g-spot, over, and over and over. “That’s yours Doll. It’s allllll yours.”

You screamed in pleasure, started to flutter around him. Toji was cursing up a storm, feeling himself get there himself.

“Come on, let Papa give you a baby. I know that’s what you want, huh mama?”

Youre delirious at this point, all you can manage is ‘yessss’ fucking him back just the way he liked it.

You were seeing white, screaming out Toji’s name as your walls spasmed around his throbbing, veiny cock.

Water, you were harshly squirting on the sheets so it was sopping wet, down to his balls. The pure sight of you loosing it and your snug cunt begging for his cum sent him over the edge. Filling you to the brim and painting your walls pure white.

He bent the both of you over to the mattress, exhausted, still giving you slow thrusts for you to have all his cum, sloppily kissing you.

“Shit, you’re so good for me mama.”

[shotmrmiller]

Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

--

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?" 

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn. 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside. 

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here. 

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

[gojosoups]

cw: smut, office sex, semi-public sex, spanking, grinding, man handling, possible voyeurism, all characters are 18+, MDNI, not proofread duh

maybe teasing your poor, overworked husband at work wasn't the brightest idea. but it's not your fault that you've been missing his touch. it's not your fault that the higher-ups keep assigning him missions and endless meetings, keeping him away from home�� away from you.

and it's most definitely not your fault that he's currently pent-up and frustrated, hands turning white from gripping his office chair as he tries to resist the urge to slam up into your grinding clothed pussy.

clearing his desk of all paperwork, documents and pens thrown on the floor for poor ijichi to clean, gojo slams you down on the desk, folding you in half with your ass up in the air. hands working fast to undress the both of you, he aligns his thick leaking cock against your bare pussy before slamming in.

you try to hold in your loud moans, acrylic nails digging into the wood of his desk as his balls smack against your clit. your poor legs pathetically dangling in the air as he pushes you higher up his desk. eyes rolling to the back of your skull as his mushroom tip kisses your cervix, the curve of his cock carved by god himself, curving into your sweet spot.

“couldn’t let me- fuck- do my paperwork, huh?" one hand wrapping around the back of your exposed neck, pushing your drooling face flat against the wooden desk and into a mean arch as he slams into you from behind. ignoring your whines and sobs, his cock throbs inside of your warm cunt as he stretches your tight walls, "so this is your punishment, pretty girl."

the old desk creaking underneath you, synching with the force of satoru’s brutal thrusts as he fucks you to tomorrow.

"f-fuck- bet you wanted this, didn't you?" he grins, his other hand keeping a bruising grip on your hips before delivering a loud smack to your ass, making you arch your back deeper. ass meeting with his rhythmic thrusts, your moans vibrate throughout the room as you feel your orgasm approaching.

with a final thrust of his cock, he bottoms out inside your pussy. his cockhead kissing your cervix as he empties his warm seed inside of you. your pussy lips fluttering around his thick length as you cum undone around him.

basking in the afterglow, your ears fall deaf to the knock at the door and the door handle turning.

a/n: who could it be?... next up is fingering with sex addict gojo <3

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐒 — do not copy, translate, repost or modify my works on any platform.

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ shades of cool ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is also a part one to this imagine, playing dangerous, a part two, do you think you’d kill for me, one day? and a part three, ultraviolence.

˚ ༘♡ you stirred, the weight of consciousness creeping back in like a slow, unwelcome sensation. the first thing you noticed was the pain, not sharp, but dull and ever-present, pulsing from your leg in as a painful remnant of what had happened. your eyes fluttered open, and the room before you swam into view, blurred and unfamiliar.

˚ ༘♡ soft, warm light illuminated the bedroom, the golden glow radiating off polished wood and gilded accents. the room was lavish beyond imagination. silk curtains hung in folds along the high windows, their rich, deep hue a stark contrast to the sterile white sheets covering you. the bed beneath you was impossibly soft, its headboard ornate and meticulously carved.

˚ ༘♡ it didn’t feel real.

˚ ༘♡ your gaze dropped to your leg, your breath hitching at the sight of thick, pristine bandages wrapped around your injured knee. the ache was dulled, numbed, and for a minute you thought it was a dream, until the frigid tug of an iv in your arm brought you fully into reality. clear tubing snaked its way from the crook of your elbow to a stand beside the bed, the consistent drip of fluid into your veins the only sound in the unnerving quiet.

˚ ༘♡ panic set in as you scanned the room for answers. sleek medical monitors blinked softly in the corner, their digital hum an eerie companion to the slow rhythm of your heartbeat displayed on the screen. the pure cleanliness of it all, no blood, no chaos, no grimy stairwells, was jarring.

˚ ༘♡ the door creaked open.

˚ ༘♡ your body tensed instantly, your hands gripping the sheets as you turned toward the sound. standing in the doorway was young-il, but something about him was different. he was dressed head to toe in onyx-black now, the sharp lines of his attire immaculate, his presence nearly unrecognizable.

˚ ༘♡ your breath caught in your throat as a sensation of horror surged through your body. you struggled to push yourself up, wincing as the motion sent a jolt of pain through your leg. “you bastard,” you spat, your voice hoarse and trembling with both fury and anguish. “what the hell is this? what did you do?”

˚ ༘♡ his expression was undisturbed, his face composed, as though he hadn’t betrayed you, shot you, and left you to bleed out. his voice was soft when he spoke, almost gentle. “you’re safe now.”

˚ ༘♡ safe? the word felt like an insult, a mockery of everything he had done. “safe?” you snapped, your voice rising despite the weakness in your body. “you shot me! you killed them! where are jung-bae and gi-hun? what happened to them?”

˚ ༘♡ he hesitated, the pause heavy with unspoken truths. “their fate… isn’t yours to worry about,” he said at last, his tone measured, deliberately vague. the non-answer only stoked the fire of your anger, your hands clenching into fists.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t give me that nonsense,” you grimaced. “tell me what happened to them!”

˚ ༘♡ his gaze softened, as if he pitied you. it made your stomach twist. “you’ll have your answers in time,” he said evenly. “but for now, there’s something more important you need to understand.”

˚ ༘♡ your chest heaved with ragged breaths as you glared at him, the venom in your gaze meeting his unnervingly tranquil demeanor. “and what’s that?”

˚ ༘♡ he stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the floor, enveloping you in its reach. “my name isn’t young-il,” he said, his voice steady but carrying an undertone that made your pallid skin crawl. “it’s hwang in-ho. i am the front man, the overseer of these games.”

˚ ༘♡ his words hit you as though it was a physical blow, the weight of their meaning sinking in too slowly, too horribly. your jaw slackened as confusion, revulsion, and fear collided within you. you shook your head, as if denying the truth could erase it.

˚ ༘♡ “no,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “no, that can’t be…”

˚ ༘♡ “it is,” he interrupted, his tone kind, almost soothing, as though he were breaking news to a child. “i know it’s a lot to process, but it’s the truth. everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve seen, it all leads back to me.”

˚ ༘♡ his serenity, his gentleness, only made it worse. you stared at him, horrified, unable to reconcile the man before you with the one who had saved your life, who had stood by your side, who you thought you could trust. your heart pounded in your chest, a desperate beating of denial as his revelation sent cracks through your already fragile world.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, your mind frantically trying to stitch together some coherent explanation for what he was saying. every word felt like a jagged shard, cutting into what little remained of your trust. the man you thought you knew had unraveled into someone monstrous, someone you couldn’t even begin to understand.

˚ ༘♡ “you want answers,” he said quietly, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. his hands rested at his sides, his posture unnervingly relaxed. “then let me give them to you.”

˚ ༘♡ you didn’t reply, your throat too tight to push out words. the tremor in your hands betrayed the dread coursing through you, though you tried to mask it with a glare that had lost its edge.

˚ ༘♡ he let out a desolate breath, his gaze dropping briefly before returning to yours. “a long time ago, i was no different from you or any other contestant for these games. i was desperate, clinging to whatever hope i could find. my wife…” his voice caught, for a split second, but he quickly recovered, his expression hardening. “she was pregnant, but she was sick. we didn’t have the money for the treatments she needed. i tried everything, loans, work, begging. nothing was enough.”

˚ ༘♡ you felt a pang of unease, the words pulling at a part of you that didn’t want to empathize, didn’t want to understand.

˚ ༘♡ “when i heard about the games, i saw no other choice,” he continued. “i thought… if i could win, i could save her. i convinced myself it was worth it. the blood, the horror, it would all be justified if it meant saving her.” his eyes grew distant, as though he were watching memories play out before him, each one dragging him deeper into a place he didn’t want to go.

˚ ༘♡ “and you won,” you said bitterly, though your voice lacked strength. the image of him standing victorious in those games twisted your stomach, making you sick. “so why are you here? why are you doing this to other people?”

˚ ༘♡ his lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening. “i won,” he admitted, his tone heavy with something you couldn’t name. “despite my efforts, my win and the prize money came too late. she died, and so did the baby… our baby. nothing i had done mattered, not the lives i’d taken, not the suffering i endured. it was all for nothing.”

˚ ༘♡ the bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, but it was the coldness in his eyes that terrified you. it was as though the memory of that loss had hollowed him out, leaving behind only shards of the man he once was.

˚ ༘♡ “after she died,” he said, “i had nothing. no one. those behind the games saw that. they saw what i had become, angry, empty, ready to do whatever it took to escape the emptiness. they offered me purpose, a chance to rebuild myself in their ideology. and i took it.”

˚ ༘♡ his admission hung in the air, suffocating and heavy. you wanted to scream at him, to ask how he could justify becoming the very thing that destroyed him, but the words wouldn’t leave your lips.

˚ ༘♡ “and you…” his voice mellowed, and for the first time, his mask of stability cracked only slightly. “you remind me of her. not simply for how you look, but… the way you care. the way you fight, even when everything is against you. there’s a tender beauty in you that i haven’t seen in any soul for years.”

˚ ༘♡ his words sent a chill down your spine. notion idea that he saw any part of his late wife in you was unbearable. you stared at him, horrified, searching his face for any sign of deception, but all you saw was the unsettling truth of his sincerity.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t,” you whispered, your voice quivering with rage. “don’t you dare compare me to your dead wife. don’t you dare use her memory to excuse what you’ve done.”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t flinch, though something appeared in his expression, regret, perhaps, or something deeper. “i’m not excusing it,” he said quietly. “i know what i’ve become. but it doesn’t change what i see.”

˚ ༘♡ you shook your head, tears threatening to spill as the weight of his words pressed down on you. the man standing before you wasn’t just a stranger, he was a nightmare, a ghost of the person he once was, and you couldn’t decide which was worse.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t reconcile the man before you with the one who had pulled you out of the fire so many times before. the one who had shielded you, consoled you when you were hurt, and risked his life to save yours. even as he revealed the truth, this sinister, unfathomable truth, a part of you couldn’t forget the way his hands had steadied you in instances of chaos or the way he had spoken to you with warmth when everything else had been so cold.

˚ ༘♡ yet that part of you, small as it was, waged a bitter war with your anger and disgust. you couldn’t ignore what he’d done, what he was. you had seen him kill without hesitation, betray without remorse. yet somehow, despite everything, the memory of his quiet acts of care gnawed at your resolve, complicating the clarity of your rage.

˚ ༘♡ “why?” you demanded, your voice cracking under the weight of everything. “why did you save me if you were just going to do this? why did you act like you cared?”

˚ ༘♡ his expression softened, and for a second, the cold, calculating overseer seemed to fade. in his place was the man who had once held your hand, who had spoken with a gentleness that felt so real you couldn’t dismiss it entirely. “because i do care,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. “more than you know.”

˚ ༘♡ you shook your head, tears threatening to spill. “you don’t get to say that,” you whispered, your voice quivering with misery and despair. “not after everything you’ve done. you don’t get to care.”

˚ ༘♡ he stepped closer, the weight of his presence filling the space between you. you wanted to recoil, to push him away, but your body betrayed you, frozen in place. “i know what i am,” he said softly, his tone stable yet tinged with something raw. “i know what i’ve done. but that doesn’t make what i feel for you any less real.”

˚ ༘♡ “don’t,” you murmured, though the word came out weak, your anger faltering under the intensity of his dark gaze. “don’t try to make this about me. you’re just trying to justify…”

˚ ༘♡ “i’m not,” he interrupted, his voice firm but quiet. “i’m not trying to justify anything. i… i couldn’t lose you.”

˚ ༘♡ the confession hung in the air, heavy and morose. you wanted to lash out, to shout at him, to tell him that his words didn’t change anything. but instead, you found yourself searching his face, looking for the lie, the manipulation. and you didn’t find it.

˚ ༘♡ you hated him, but you couldn’t deny that you had trusted him, even cared for him, before the truth came crashing down. those memories, tainted by what you knew now, lingered like ghosts, haunting you in ways you couldn’t escape.

˚ ༘♡ “you don’t get to feel that way about me,” you said, though your voice wavered, lacking the conviction you wanted it to carry.

˚ ༘♡ “i know,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering, his closeness almost unbearable. “but i do.”

˚ ༘♡ before you could think, before you could stop it, he leaned in. the world seemed to still as his face drew closer, his presence overwhelming. you hated him, you loathed him, but the confusion, the anger, the lingering warmth of the man you thought you knew muddled everything.

˚ ༘♡ when his lips met yours, it wasn’t soft or careful. it was desperate, a confession in itself, and against your better judgment, against every screaming thought in your head, you didn’t pull away. instead, you let the infatuation consume you, the bitterness, the anger, the ache of betrayal melding together into something raw and inescapable.

˚ ༘♡ when it broke, you were left shaking, your breaths uneven as you stared at him, your heart pounding with emotions you couldn’t even begin to name. you hated him, but lord, you hated how much you wanted to understand him even more.

a/n: you all asked for another part so i had to write part four!! i had a cosmetic procedure that requires me to stay home for a few days so if you have any requests, this is the time!! i hope you all loved reading!! 🤍