#oh this posted to the wrong blog. well. whatever

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

nice thing about abiotic factor is when i see spoilers for it in the tags they make so little sense its basically not spoilers

[nonsensechemicals]

crying whenever i talk about Cookie9 because all my friends have these interesting and unique theories on them while i take everything too literally and they all just stare at me like “dude… uuugh we r TIRED” <-they dont actually say this they are very kind to me but i can Feel It

[starlitwishes]

"Imagine being killed by such a worthless doll. Can't be me."

Bambino, you're next, buddy--

[siinlight]

:(... I hate when I get blocked by blogs I really like and post a majority of things I like

[charmedsquirell]

How I got into the void

Hey guys,

My name is Sylvie. i want to share that two years ago, I started to look into the void state because I was in bad place in my life. I wanted to be useful for my family and give them everything in an instant. I downloaded tumblr and started to follow all the blogs I could find. I found a lot of information. Most of it contradicted one another and that confused me a lot. The people that helped me the most were b4ddprincess, lucky kiwii, adambja and wizlizbelle. When Wizliz left, i also deleted my tumblr since she was the only one who i used to rant to and i was really suicidal.

i found her again and started to ranting to her about my life which was irritating and I'm sure like most bloggers do not want to be trauma dumped on but i just did not have anyone on my side. But I wanted to make this post bc i know her blog doesn't exist anymore but there were people who wanted to know more about this stuff. I basically asked for tarot readings from her so i could see why it was not working for me and i would like ask every single day. one day she told me that my only problem is resistance. I will try my best to explain it like she did.

so basically the ego feeds on resistance because it knows you do not believe in the positive things you tell it fully and some people have their ego under control, some people do not. I used to do like 4 hour non stop affirming every day and it did not work for me. so she said stop affirming, stop asking tarot, and give in to the voice. I was like is she guiding me to do the wrong thing but then she said it helped her a lot. So i was not believing in this but i did it (she sent a script of what to say) and the voice came

"you will never date Alek and he will never love you" and i said "yeah i know. and?"

"you will never lose weight and be fat forever" and i said " yeah i won't. and?"

"you will never enter the void state" and i said "yeah i know i won't, and?" and then the voice like just stopped. there was nothing. literally nothing and my mind had never ever been clear. so i teold her like this happened and she says "you basically tamed your ego and put it to sleep by giving it what it wanted to hear but because you've been affirming and trying all these methods in your past, your subconscious will not buy into negtivity. Your subconscious is the part of your brain that cannot function on its own and blindly believes you. It cannot even see what u see."

i was literally so shocked because i would always affirm "no! he will love me and i'll enter the void" like trying to convince the go but wiz said that you can tame the ego and make it work for you instead of trying to convince it. when you agree with it, it becomes silent. like oh she gave me what i wanted to hear, now what? so now when i would think "the void is hard" automatically i would hear "no it's not". like not even me saying it but just a same voice that would be negative before.

look, i do not really care for like what is and what is not or whatever drama that happened. and it was bad to see her go but the truth is that we do not need to hear from others. Of course if she had not told me, i would not know but sometimes putting in the work does more damage than good sometimes and i used to see many like me here.

So then finally i tried this at night, when lying down i let the negativity came in and i did not resist it. when my mind became completely silent (it took maybe one to two minutes) i said "i am in the void" and i felt no resistance. then i did not expect anything but just to affirm over and over. finally i was there. it was the void and i knew because i did not even feel my whole body just like a floating thing like ball of light. I affirmed that my dad would get his job back and my bf would love me. i affirmed for losing weight. all that came true so fast but i spent time in the void. when i woke up, i had it. my dad was happy he brought sweets to celebrate. everything else came true as well. so now i come back to tumblr to say goodbye again that maybe we have to work with us and not against.

just to be safe, this is just my experience and i'm not gonna like respond or anything bc i do not want to be a blogger especially after seeing the drama. you may not feel this way but this worked for me. maybe it will work for you and maybe not.

[minnie-movs]

"idc, you're still mine." pt. 2

synopsis. cuckolding with ex-husband!gojo gone wrong! ft. geto

content warnings. not proofread, f!reader, jealous gojo, cuckolding, oral f!receiving, munch!geto, voyeurism, gojo's kinda toxic, gojo jorks it while his bestie eats his girl out, satosugu kinda(?) i mean they're both in it, slight mentions of angst(?), creative liberty taken to depict gojo’s powers very non canon, uhhhh amateur writing and kind of rushed at the end, idk how to do warnings

a/n. hi there! this is my first post on here and i'm still figuring out the ropes, aesthetic- and writing-wise. wrote this a while ago as a pt. 2 to a dilf!gojo drabble of mine. i wasn't satisfied enough with pt. 1 to post it yet, but you won’t really need that context to read this. might post pt. 1 depending on how well this does or if anyone wants it. but i'm an amateur writer so this might be pretty bad, sowwy. apologies in advance for badly written smut :'(

huge thank you/credit to @screampied for the aesthetic inspo & tutorial and for inspiring my writing as well, luv their blog

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

If you were to tell Satoru Gojo that, one day, he’d somehow convince his ex-wife to let him watch while she fucked his best friend, he’d say, “Duh. Of course I did.”

Because Satoru Gojo is the smartest, most competent man on the planet. He knows what he wants and gets what he wants. Always.

Just a few hours ago, he and you, his ex-wife, had mutually decided to get back together. "Mutually" meaning Satoru had gotten on his hands and knees and begged for forgiveness for an hour and a half (plus the last three years) before you relented to a truce. A temporary truce from all the animosity and bitterness you held towards him, which was enough for him.

Your ex-husband then proceeded to make up for the last few years you weren't together by fucking the ever-loving shit out of you.

Sure, he came before he could get his sweats off and nearly did again when your breasts spilled out of that sinful red gown you were wearing, but he couldn't help it. He loves you so much, he's just so happy to have you back in his life. And so. fucking. HORNY.

And now that 1. he has his goddess of an ex-wife back with him and 2. she's agreed to fulfill a long-time fantasy of his with an ex-friend, whom he may or may not have also imagined fucking, Satoru feels like he's won the sex lottery or something.

Well, okay, you two weren't really back together, "temporary truce" or whatever, and you and his friend hadn't really agreed to the same thing--- you were under the impression that you and Satoru would fuck while Suguru watched, not Satoru watching and fucking his fist while Suguru was tongue-deep in your cunt. But details schmetails. Everybody was having a good time, right? Most of all, him--- the smartest man on the planet.

As he adjusted himself on his chair, he smirked. Satoru Gojo, the strongest *and* the smartest, he thought.

He sat on a ridiculously expensive velvet-lined chair, manspreading in front of his ridiculously expensive king-size four-poster, furiously fisting his cock, which if it had to be priced would also be, yup, ridiculously expensive. Oh, but the view... *that* was priceless. You, his darling ex-wife, with your pretty pussy on display, while his ex-best friend sat on his knees, lapping at your clit as he jerked his own cock.

Satoru couldn't be more rock hard. His dick was certifiably diamond as he ran his hand along his throbbing veins, his thumb teasingly rubbing his angry, red tip. Every buttery moan that slipped from his ex-wife's lips, every grunt and twitch of Suguru's hips caused another tiny splurt of precum to ooze from Satoru's cockhole. His cerulean eyes widened as he watched you reach for Suguru's long locks, pulling the brunette deeper into your pussy with a forceful tug and practically suffocating him.

The action made your ex-husband let out a weak groan.

Oh fuckkkk. And he thinks he just got harder.

Man, he knew he was genius for coming up with this. The smartest, indeed.

Suguru moaned into your pussy, lewd squelches emanating from below with each suckle and lick. "Fuck, you taste so good, angel..." One hand on his cock, the other held you down as you writhed under him, eliciting a dark chuckle from the long-haired sorcerer, "That's right, arch your back for me. Juuust like that. Good girl."

Your weak little pants of "Ah! Suguru!" and "More, Suguru!" only served to stroke his ego as he brought the hand that was on his cock to slap your ravaged clit intermittently.

Plap! Plap! Plap! Each little strike had you twitching and whining, much to his amusement. "Hah- God, you sound like such a slut. *suck* This selfish pussy's worse than you, *spit* wetter than a waterfall and so eager for cock. Mngh- Who knew an angel like you could be so. Thwack! fucking. Thwack! Nasty. THWACK! " He punctuated each word with a harsher smack to your poor, abused clit.

Suguru moved the hand holding you down to dip two long fingers into your sopping heat, scissoring them while he devoured you. "So wet on my tongue, so tight around my fingers." Every word sent you reeling as you danced on his tongue, his large hand ceasing its assault on your clit to cup the curve of your ass. His fingers delved deeper into your pussy, curving in a come-hither motion to massage against your spongy g-spot. You yelp, your fingers in his hair gripped painfully to keep yourself sane.

Fuck, Suguru *thinks* he could cum hands-free from just this.

And fuuuck, Satoru just might cum, no matter what the fuck you do.

He pushed himself and gripped his base to keep from shamefully splattering cum like some horny teen. Satoru Gojo will not be embarrassed like this. He will NOT cum for the fifth time in under an hour since this all started like a dog in heat. He will not embarrass himself in front of his ex-wife after he just got you back, not really. He's the strongest. He's the smartest! And he definitely has more endurance and stamina than this, please believe him.

So, he'll resort to making smartass comments because he's going to cum soon, no, he's not affected at all.

"Hngh-" he groaned, slowing his strokes on his dick, and chuckled breathily, "You've sure got a mouth on you, Suguru. You're usually so mmgh- formal and polite. One taste of my wife's pussy and you lose composure, my friend?"

"Ex-wife," you hissed back, mid-moan, "Temporary ngh- truce."

"Ex-friend," Suguru growled, his tongue pausing briefly. "You're still a fucking dick.

"And shut the fuck up," you two said in unison.

Satoru rolled his eyes as you two snapped at him. This genius suggestion was his anyway, everyone was gonna get an orgasm out of this because of him, and not a "thank you" to be heard. Hmph. How ungrateful.

Instead, he focused on Satoru Jr., his not-so-little friend. The white-maned sorcerer let one hand glide along his length, occasionally coming down to tease his balls, which were heavy and eager to spurt cum. He kept a torturous pace, despite needing to cum so fucking badly, and purposefully prolonged his orgasm, wanting to cum at the same time when you'd cum in Suguru's mouth.

You moaned, clit throbbing under Suguru's touch, "F-fuck! Right there!" Suguru's tongue worked faster to bring you to the edge, your juices painting his face, "Mnah- Yes, ma'am. Gonna slurp this pussy up so good, angel. Mmm- Just how you like."

Satoru looked on at the two of you, shutting the fuck up as ordered but his mind was as loud as ever.

Yeah, yeaaahhh. Suck on her pussy good, Suguru. Mmmh, yeah, kiss around her clit, just like that, she fuckin' loves that shit.

Your thighs started to shudder, signaling your impending orgasm. "Ah, S-Suguru! 'm c-close!" Suguru crooned back at you, "Yeah, angel? *suck* Gonna cum for me, *lick* sweet girl?"

S-shit, 'm close t-too. Can't f-fucking hold- ngh- any longer- fuck-

You nodded quickly, your body heating up as the coil in your stomach was pulled tight, "Ah- yes! F-feels so g-good! Ongh-"

Ah- she looks- fuck, so fucking hot, fuck fuck fuck!

A cocky grin painted Suguru's mouth as he started to maneuver himself up onto the bed, holding your thighs close to him so he could still lap at you, "Yeah? Ohhh Say my fucking name, angel.*spit* Who's making you feel this good? *SUCK* Who's gonna fuck you good tonight?"

Ngh, f-fuck- wait what-

His hand staggers.

Your mind was going fuzzy, focusing on only the pleasure as the words tumbled out of you, “Y-you are, Suguru! God, m-making me feel soooo gooood!”

Ah- wait, what did he just say-

Suguru growled, giving your clit a last nibble before letting his fingers take over, “I can’t believe I get to fuck your pretty pussy tonight. Thank you, angel.”

Wait- hold on- that’s not what we discuss- uh y-yellow- guys, yellow-

You mewled, your words devolving into nearly incoherent babbles at this point, “Mnh! Mmh! Yes, f-f-fuck me! Wan’ you- only you to f-fuck me-! F-finally!”

Finally? ok, the fuck- red- RED-

Suguru licked his lips clean of your slick and smirked, his digits working at your pulsing nub, “Who does this pussy belong to, huh? Whose is it? Fucking say it.”

Satoru’s unbelieving ears perked up at that, his hand now completely still on his leaking cock. The remnants of pleasure were present but were mere embers compared to the blaze from before. His eyes shot to you, nervously awaiting your response.

RED. RED. RED RED RED RED RED-

Mmh no- fuck- she fucking wouldn’t-

The thought was interrupted by your pleasure-drunk whine, “You, Suguru! My pussy belongs to you! Only you!”

Satoru’s face dropped, his blue eyes dangerously darkened as the muscles in his jaw clenched. Oh,

Hell.

Fucking.

NO.

Suguru was moving his cock towards your pussy, wanting to shove it in last moment, wanting you to cum just as he put it in.

Pearly tears lined your eyes that were rolling back into your head, your vision going white with pleasure.

There… there… nearly there… The white light got bigger… or was it blue? purple maybe? Closer… closer… right there and—

***BOOM!!!***

You felt a rush of wind as your orgasm was rudely ripped from you. Suddenly, your ex-husband’s penthouse suite felt a lot more breezier than you remembered.

Your eyes fluttered open, hazily taking in your surroundings before landing on a red-faced, heavily breathing Satoru. He was standing at the foot of the bed, his entire body tense and straight.

He had his thumb, index, and middle finger pointed outwards like he’d just…

Your eyes widened, head snapping to the source of the wind to see that the entire left wall of the bedroom was gone… and so was Suguru.

Your eyes snapped to your ex-husband as you sputtered, “Did you just Hollow Purple your best friend?!”

“Ex-best friend,” Satoru cleared his throat and cracked his neck, “And no, I just gave him a gentle nudge out the door.”

Your jaw tightened, “Out the window, you mean.”

“Same thing—“

“You could’ve leveled the city, you could’ve killed him—“

“It was hardly 10 percent and targeted, he can handle it and so can the city—“

“Satoru—“

“I’m sure he’s still flying… or falling, either one—“

“Satoru—“

“First, he dates my wife then tries to fuck her? Yeah, right—“

“Satoru—“

“Yeah, yeah, still ex-wife. I know-“

“SATORU-“

“FUCK, WHAT?”

“His clothes. You sent the man flying out the window, butt-naked.”

“…”

“And I’d do it again.”

You rolled your eyes hard, “You don’t get to say that- Seriously, what the hell? You asked him to come over!”

Ignoring your scolding, Satoru crawled onto the bed and buried his face in your chest. He let out a low whine, looking up at you from between your breasts like a pouting child would, “Your pussy belongs to me, right?”

You blinked, a groan of realization escaping you. Fucking hell, your ex-husband was such a damn baby. You huffed, reasonably upset that you didn’t get to cum, all because of your ex-husband’s jealousy over something he wanted in the first fucking place.

“Satoru Gojo, you’re the dumbest man on this planet.”

His lips curved into a smirk before he’s suddenly flipped you over on the bed. His hand landed on your ass with a resounding smack! and you felt him lining his cock at your entrance. Just as he was about to push in, he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Then let me hit you with that dumb dick.”

[jealousmartini]

twin you haven't posted in twelve hours are you good

Hey girl! So I shifted.

Accidentally. But fully this time. Well, Fully-ish because I pussied out of fear. No, fully, actually. Wait wait let me explain.

So get this. I woke up.

But not with my eyes. Just mind, body, and soul slowly becoming aware of her surroundings through the heaviness of sleep if you get what i mean. And it was just too warm and familiar and soft. The bed I mean. Way too comfortable for me to want to open my eyes yet, so they stayed shut, blissfully unaware of the fact this bed is not mine. My senses were slowly yet surely locking in. But my brain was not even fully awake. So I was feeling and being without fully realising what was happening

And then I heard the faint click of what i figured was the front door unlocking. Then opening. Then shutting. Then, locking with a key. I assumed that must've been my brother because he usually escapes into the dead of night to go whatever 23 year old guys do at night. And I heard some thick chunky ass boots stumble to the floor and i wondered when he ever wore boots never mind this dense, his heavy padded footsteps gradually got closer slightly muted by the door being closed.. which was then opened (?). It was a small thing, but it didn't make sense why my brother would need to be in my room at all, nvm at this time of night. But anyway, some shuffling was done. I cocked my brow in suspension, eyes still shut btw, cus what did he just go through my stuff for. And as quickly as he was in, he was out of the room. I made a mental note to confront him in the morning about it.

And then I heard the shower start. From the wrong side of my house... Now I know the anatomy of my house pretty well, so I was confused why I could hear the shower from the west instead of the northeast of my room.

After the shower stopped, i heard the bathroom door open, close, and the same as mine. He took like 3 steps in, and this was when i heard him call my name. He whispered it like a question, i dont think he was sure if i was asleep or not. But it was weird because that's not my name. Well it is, but it's not my name from here. And it's definitely not a name my brother from here knew. And then I realised I knew that voice too, but it was different from what i was expecting. Pretty deeper and rougher than what im used to remembering, and it was definitely NOT my brother's.

And so now I'm frustrated. And kinda nervous. Im laid on my side, the same one as i was on when i first began to wake, but now im slightly tense with frowed brows and all. I'm dealing with so many questions at once like why is the house formatted weirdly? and who the fuck is in my room?? and why the fuck did the bed just dip from behind me???

I literally had a question mark in my head when the voice spoke again. But this time, he was closer. Much closer. I FELT his arm, his muscular arm at that, wrap around my waist and pull my back flush against his BARE NAKED CHEST, and I gasped. I fucking gasped. I swear my heart was about to beat out of my chest. My body jolted forward almost involuntarily at the sudden contact of skin, the feeling on his freshly shower-hot muscular bare chest was making me SWEAT and I heard him mumbled against the back of my neck "Shh don't wake up," and I was thinking "Oh i definitely know who this is" And girl I wasn't fucking planning on it anyway. But I ended up shifting back with my eyes squeezed SHUT like the pussy I am

Because I didn't even expect myself to shift that night. The night after my first day back at college from the Easter break. And now I'm supposed to come in like I wasn't just in another man's bed.

Now i dont have the guts to actually say who this was. Im practically shaking right now for fucks sake. But im sure everyone and their mother on this app who sees my blogs can make an educated guess and get it right first time. And after 8 years of knowing about mha and 6 years of trying to shift there, ladies and gentlemen I think I can officially say I have shifted to mha. It definitely wasn't my main mha dr, some would probably argue it was even better lmfao. I guess the secret to shifting really is just letting go.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

truly unfair a very necessary step to “make room for new things” is “get rid of old things”. i think i should be able to bring home any trinket that delights me and never ever ever run out of space

[namikawa]

— [the perfect host]

featuring: s. geto, s. gojo

cw: smut, implied threesome, cunnulingus, implied m/m, phone sex (?), daddy kink (ofc), established relationship (reader & gojo), fingering, fem reader, chubby reader, getting “caught” masturbating, use of the word cunt (sorry lol), aftercare, not proofread fr, anything else i forgot lolz, pet names (mama, baby, pretty, sweetheart, love). wc: n/a.

notes: this is actually a fic my friend wrote (never published) & i re did it with two diff characters & finished it for her cause she never did… so if yall like it GO TO HER BLOG ILL TAG HER. this wasn’t my og idea i just wrote the smut and tweaked & added. but enjoy pls, sorry i haven’t posted in so long life has beat me up. @nvmjccnluv !!!

“so explain to me why i’m watching her again, she seems completely capable of staying in your apartment alone yknow.” suguru questions over the phone. it’s not that he hates you, but what if he was busy? he wasn’t, but gojo didn’t need to know that, he didn’t even ask to be fair. quickly dropping you off after handing the long haired man a small bag of your things.

on the other end of the phone gojo lets out a huff of laughter. “had a few things to finish up, she gets too lonely when i leave her at home so i didn’t want her getting into things. you know how it is.”

“i actually don’t, but okay man.”

“anyway, she doesn’t like many people but she didn’t seem to mind you the last time we hung out, you seemed like a safe option.” gojo continues, sounding a bit strained.

“okay, whatever, fine.”

“where’s she at anyways? if she was with you she would’ve jumped your bones to get to the phone.”

walking toward the the closed door in the hallway, geto chuckles before reassuring his friend. “relax dude, she’s in the room taking a na- holy shit.”

-

“what happened??”

the dark haired man places his ear on the door to make sure he’s not hallucinating, not saying that he’s hoping to be.

muffled moans greet his ears, but not muffled enough evidently. no, you wanted him to hear. he would have to pass by your room anyways, given that you two would be sharing a wall for the night. but him being on the phone with your boyfriend was just a coincidence, an extremely embarrassing one.

he listens to your soft whines and high pitched whimpers for what feels like days, though its hasn’t even been half a minute, paying no mind to the man yelling at him on the phone.

“SUGURU? ANSWER ME! IS SHE OKAY? I SWEAR IF SOMETHING HAPPE-” at this point geto tries to think as hard as possible to come up with a lie that won’t get him killed by his friend.

snapping out of his daze, he finally gets enough courage to respond, “yeah um i’m pretty sure, maybe i’m wrong, i think she’s uh masturbating.”

“oh, oh okay” suguru can basically hear a smirk he knows all to well forming on gojos mouth. “don’t be a rude host, go help her out man.”

what the fuck is he talking about help you out? he can’t be understanding that this is his girlfriend he’s talking about, right? on top of that, shouldn’t he be asking you for consent as well.

“are you insane man? i know you’re into all that weird shit, but her? she’d probably kill me before i even got close to the bed and throw my dead body out of my own apartment.” as nice as it sounds he didn’t know if you’d be okay with any of this. he wasn’t going to just walk straight in, right?

there’s a loud howl that comes directly from the other end of the phone. “are you really being this much of a pussy right now? i’m giving you full permission to go help my girl out, and you wanna whine about how she might kill y-”

“shut the hell up man, i didn’t say anything about being a pussy.”

“alright, then there shouldn’t be an issue with you helping her out. don’t sit up on your high horse and act like you haven’t thought about it before, i know just how those perverted thoughts of yours work, don’t you rememb-”

“okay okay shut up satoru, im going.”

pushing open the door, the first thing geto notices is your hand rubbing lightly between your soft thighs and how your wetness soaks the bed, clear evidence of how needy you were. how long have you been at it?

gojo can hear you so clearly over the phone, he might as well be in the room with you, “shit, is that her pussy i’m hearing? whats it look like?” he questions, but unfortunately for him he receives no answer.

suguru is too busy enjoying the view and listening to the pathetic little sounds coming from your cunt. his sweatpants are slowly starting to fit a little tighter than before, but he doesn’t make any movements yet, just in case you don’t wanna play this little game.

almost immediately your soft eyes flutter open and lock into his, and he swears he just came in his pants.

“sugi, please, it hurts so much,” you whine out to him, desperate for his veiny hands on you. your own hand never seems to falter though, only moving in more erratic circles around your sensitive clit; while your other hand is busy touching your nipples, trying to get the most stimulation possible.

knowing that you were just as needy for him as he was for you made the man’s confidence peak. he gives you a light smile as he walks closer to the bed, softly sitting down next to you. he leans over you a bit, close enough to where you can smell the minty, almost overpowering, scent of his shampoo. half his hair loosely tied up in a bun, the other half falling past his shoulders as he looks down at you.

“something wrong, pretty? those fingers not doing enough for you, right? don’t ‘cha wanna wait for your boyfriend to come back so he can help you out, he’s on the phone you know.”

his soft hands begin to work at your thighs, but it seems like it’ll never be any more than that. continuing for a little longer, he presses the speaker button on his phone, handing it over to you as you pull away from your core.

“can you hear me, sweetheart?” gojo asks, now finally getting some time to speak to you after being ignored for so long. “i gave sugi permission to help you out, okay? does that sound alright to you?” he utilizes the small nickname you’d given his friend, innocently coercing you to be good.

you give a small “mmm” in agreement. then, opening your legs, you grab at suguru’s hand and place it between your thighs, just barely touching your cunt.

gojo continues, smiling to himself on the other side of the device. “‘kay. i’m gonna talk you through it, just so i know you’re treating my girl right. take two of your fingers and stuff it inside of her, she’ll clench up at first but just keep working at it and she’ll open up, okay? maybe if you do good, you can have something too.”

geto lets out an annoyed breath, short, but just long enough for gojo to catch it. he knows what that means. what’s even stopping him from fucking you in first place? it’s not like gojo would know. but as he looks into your pleading eyes he realizes he’d do anything to make sure you’re content and happy.. even if that means listening to satoru’s perverted requests.

his fingers slide down to rub at your clit just a bit, before burying his pointer and ring finger deep into your cunt, you clench so tight around him, it makes him feel like he’s dreaming the way your teeth suck at your bottom lip attempting to hide your whines.

“cmon pretty, open up for me. promise i’ll make you feel good, okay?”

a throaty whimper slides from between your lips as geto’s fingers work you open. “‘s good sugi, please like that more.” you scoot down a little more, chasing his fingers to get even just a little more stimulation.

“next you’re gonna press on her clit, just a little though she’s a sensitive little thing.” gojo groans out, it’s obvious he’s taken a break from his work to focus on… other things.

“yeah yeah, i know how to use my fingers, asshole.” suguru voices, clearly annoyed. although, he still abides by the instructions and moves his thumb to press on your clit just a tiny bit. your back arches away from his fingers almost immediately, like a natural instinct, he grabs your plush hips with his other hand, pulling you back down. “nuh uh, c’mere sweet girl, you wanted my help you’re gonna get it.”

his delicate fingers curve upward into you and you feel as if you’re floating on cloud nine, the way he flicks them at just the right speed while managing to hold you down and deepen his movements. it’s all too much for him you.

the sound of gojo’s voice breaks geto out of his daze, “fuck, i gotta go suguru. i know you’ll take care of her. i’m gonna have to cut this shit short, i’ll try to come back later tonight instead of tomorrow morning. love you guys, love you baby, be good for sugi okay?” geto’s eyes immediately flicker to yours, and you see just a little bit of what you think could be fear, or excitement, in his eyes.

“bye daddy, love you too.” you whine out, hearing a quick click before the call ends.

“daddy?” he questions. “knew he was into some shit, didn’t know you were too, sweet girl. you’re too pretty and innocent, or at least you put up a good act.” his fingers slide out of you as he snickers, not ignoring the way you pout at the loss of stimuli.

“nah, not gonna leave you here all needy don’t worry mama, just gonna do it my way, that sound good to you?” geto grabs you by your hips as you choke out a small “yea”, pushing you closer to the headboard of the bed. he fully removes his hair tie and throws all of it up into a bun, swiftly grabbing your underwear and pulling it off.

you look down at him as he crawls closer to you on his stomach, wrapping his arms around your thighs and closing them around his head. you feel his fingers spread your cunt apart, licking a long stripe onto you. your body tenses up, and on instinct your hand finds its way into suguru’s hair, tugging lightly. his head perks up at you, smiling, but eventually just deciding to leave you be.

his tongue swipes over your clit, taking small breaths occasionally as he tastes your cunt. neither one of you know who this is really for at this point. he’s supposed to be ‘helping you’ but with the tent growing in his sweats he might as well be doing this for his own pleasure instead. you continue to take harsh pulls at his dark strands, so unfamiliar to you. mostly with satoru you opted for scratching at his shoulders or gripping at the sheets due to the length he kept his hair, but this, this was something you could get used to.

“sugi please, m so close, want it so bad, need you to make me cum.” you cry out, loving the way his nose rubs against your clit as he licks.

he doesn’t say anything, he can’t really, but you know he understands. he grips your thighs tighter, licking the same way as before, occasionally sucking at your clit, and before you know it you’re squirming all over his face as that familiar feeling rushes over you.

the only thing that suguru could make out of your cries were “thank you”, “so good”, and “daddy”? he wasn’t sure if you were calling him daddy or if you wanted gojo, but at this point it didn’t really matter to him. he pleased you and that’s all he needed to make him feel better.

as he lifted his head up from your pussy he could already tell how tired you were getting, he immediately grabbed you a change of clothes that gojo had packed and cleaned you up with a wet washcloth. “everything okay, mama? need anything?” your eyes strain open and you smile at the man standing above you, “i’m okay, thank you for your help. will you stay?” you could tell that he genuinely cared for you, and was worried he had done something wrong by the tone in his voice. him staying was more for him rather than yourself, not that you were complaining.

he pulled off his shirt as he crawled into bed next to you. grabbing his phone from the bedside table he saw that gojo had sent him a message.

“i’ll take care of you both when i’m back, cause i’m betting you didn’t take anything for yourself. see you both soon ;)”

suguru chuckled to himself at the message from his friend, looking down at you peacefully sleeping on his chest. maybe he could get used to something like this? but for now, he’s content.

[agustdiv1ne]

telepathy (m) — cbg

pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: smut, strangers to ???, mind reader/telepathist!beomgyu, funeral home employee!beomgyu (it's for the plot ok???)

wc: 11.7k

synopsis: most people would abhor a packed subway car — but beomgyu, telepathist extraordinaire, relishes in it. with a career in the funeral business, he finds his morning commute to be the only thing that keeps him relatively sane. reading the mundane thoughts of mundane people maintains his tether to his humanity, but when he goes to read your mind...oh, things get a whole lot more interesting.

warnings: mdni!! 18+ only, ageless blogs dni!!!, mentions of dead bodies, embalming, and funerals (though not very descriptive — it's only bc of gyu's profession), reader is a freak that listens to nsfw audios on her way to work!, gyu is a perv so it's a match made in heaven (hell?), gyu's honestly a little strange + obsessive in this...anyways, dom!gyu, sub!mc, solo male masturbation, on my big cock beomgyu agenda, very brief mentions of daddy/sir/master kinks, explicit consent is given before anything happens bc consent is sexy <3, mind manipulation (he makes it feel like he's touching her), exhibitionism in a way (it will all make sense, trust 🙏), degradation, praise, pseudo-fingering (idk how to explain it, f receiving), gyu calls mc: pretty girl, sweetheart, slut, whore, princess, mc calls gyu sir like once...whew! that was a lot, lmk if i should add anything!

note: you know i have a terrible bout of brainrot when the warnings are all nsfw related...yeah. Yeah. *presses post and runs away*

☆ playlist ☆

masterlist

beomgyu’s commute to work is, by all means, uneventful. 

the train is packed as per usual, filled to the brim with businessmen and office workers and other miscellaneous passengers on their way to whatever the hell their destination is. like most days, he finds himself towards the middle of the passenger car, snatching a rare open seat between a stone-faced man adorned in a suit — his head buried in a newspaper — and a slumped over college student nursing a cup of coffee. the poor kid almost looks like death itself, sporting dark under eyes, rumpled clothes, and a prominent slouch to his spine. not that beomgyu could really blame him; he remembers how easily college living (if you could call it living) can chip away at a person’s mental well-being. 

people-watching like this is what keeps him sane, he thinks. being surrounded by corpses all day, every day is more than draining — it sucks the soul out of him, really, being the only person on shift most of the time that he’s working, having to embalm and clean and pretty up all those cold, gray bodies so that their loved ones can say one last goodbye. it’s quiet in their minds and it’s all too quiet in the funeral home, the only sounds being the clanking of the embalming tools he’s been trained to use, his footsteps echoing down the tiled halls, his sighs of contempt when something small goes wrong — yet the living, breathing, warm people on the train provide a sense of normalcy, something to look forward to every day. to hear their thoughts, as prosaic as they are, has become a sort of saving grace from the lifeless, cold building that he finds himself in five out of the seven days of the week. honestly, if he can maintain a little bit of his humanity via strangers among the subway, even if it’s just by hearing their thoughts, then he’ll take what he can get. 

yeah, that’s the thing: beomgyu is a mind-reader, a pretty talented one at that. not that anyone knew, of course — he wouldn’t risk the government finding out. beomgyu is not usually one for promises, but he has promised himself one thing: there’s no way in hell that he will ever become one of the government’s sick little science experiments, even if his life ever hits rock bottom. he has no idea how his powers work — just that they do, and he would like to keep it that way. it’s bad enough that he doesn’t know where he got such abilities; his parents never mentioned anything about it and only ever grew worried whenever he read back their thoughts to them, so obviously the existence of his powers is some statistical anomaly in the universe. normal people can’t read others’ minds. he was forced to learn that at a very young age in order to keep himself safe. 

“how do you know that?” he remembers his mother’s alarmed tone when he first did it unknowingly, repeating back her own thoughts to her without realizing that’s what he had done. he was maybe six at the time — innocent, curious, plagued by voices in his head that he didn’t quite understand. those voices weren’t his. rather, they were his friends’, his family’s, his dentist’s and his doctor’s and his soccer coach’s voices that ricocheted about his mind uncontrollably;it was overwhelming for the young boy’s mind. the day he first admitted that he could hear them was the first day he heard his parents argue, their yelling from downstairs colliding with their internal voices in beomgyu’s mind, their terribly poignant concern for him and this development louder than any of the venomous words that they spat at each other in the living room. all he remembers from that day was himself crying, unable to block out anything that they thought, let alone his own thoughts. too much for his young mind to handle.

he heard their fear when they took him to the doctor for the first time of many, their heartache when the doctor came back and said that he might have psychosis, but more testing was needed. he heard how they started to deny it — their little boy couldn’t have that, could he? no, no he couldn’t. there’s no way he could. 

although beomgyu was young at the time, guilt ate at him. he was the one hurting his parents, he was the one making them worry. despite his official diagnosis when he was seven, something inside him knew that the doctors were wrong. those voices weren’t just the result of the machinations of his mind at work — they were voices of the people he knew, strangers who passed him on the street. what they said wasn’t evil, it wasn’t out of the ordinary. usually, it was quite mundane. at some point, he started to practice with it, trying focus on one certain voice out of the buzzing hive in his mind, blocking out the others, switching and focusing and blocking out until the action was as natural as breathing. it took him about five years before he reached that point, and after nearly two decades of living with his abilities, he’s gotten quite used to it. his mind is usually quiet — besides his own stream of consciousness — unless he allows others in. or, rather, they allow him in, which they always do. he sees it like a set of doors; open one, and you can hear that one person’s thoughts. close it, and he no longer hears them. and none of them are ever locked since no one expects to their thoughts to be read, which simply makes his life that much easier.

if he’s being honest, he didn’t used to read minds as often as he does now, but there isn’t much he can do about that now lest he go insane. beomgyu could admit that his habit was a little creepy…okay scratch that, extremely fucking creepy. these people had no idea that their minds were being infiltrated, their mental walls bypassed and their privacy violated like a computer infected with a malicious virus. it’s borderline depraved, how nonchalantly he robs these strangers of their utmost privacy, sometimes of their deepest, darkest secrets that they would never want anyone to find out about. he could sequester quite a bit of money out of some of these people, now that he thinks about it.

and sure, that may sound immoral, but beomgyu has never considered himself to be of particularly virtuous character.

without a second thought, beomgyu taps into the mind of the kid next to him. he’s thinking about how he’s failing his statistics class because he just bombed his midterm. no, now his mind is full of what he’s going to eat after his 8 a.m. class. he shifts his focus on the businessman to his right. stocks, his cheating wife, how he’s considering leaving with his mistress in the coming days…

”what a prick,” beomgyu thinks to himself, smirking a bit. just a few more stops until he gets off, now. 

he pulls his phone from his jacket pocket, scrolling aimlessly just to keep his eyes busy. sitting on the opposite side of the college student, an elderly lady walks herself through the stew that she’s going to make for her grandchildren tonight, excitement coloring her words. it’s cute — he loves hearing things like that. wholesome thoughts are not easy to come by nowadays, given the state of the world. exhibit a: a teenager standing on the other side of the train car worries himself into a frenzy over whether the girl that he has a crush on likes him back. exhibit b: a middle aged man contemplates if he should quit his job. for a second, beomgyu thinks that he might be in the same boat as him, before realizing that he has nothing else to fall back on — exhibit c. he could keep going.

a clear, robotic voice overhead announces the subway’s arrival to the next station — his station. sighing, he sits up a little taller, slipping his phone into the pocket of his slacks. a vague sense of dread weighs down his shoulders, knowing that he has a service to set up for the moment he clocks in.

he’s not looking forward to today, and yet the train still slows to a stop, the doors still slide open, and he still grabs his work briefcase from the spot between his feet. like clockwork, beomgyu maneuvers through the crowd, out the doors, and climbs the stairs up to the chilly streets of seoul.

decompressing after a slow-moving shift can take beomgyu’s night in many directions. sometimes, he simply returns home and hops into bed after a long, scalding hot shower that removes the invisible layer of grime that lays heavy on his skin. other times — typically on fridays — he’ll stop by a bar and catch up with his friends, occasionally leaving with a woman hanging off of his arm if he drinks enough to lower his inhibitions. more often than not, however, his excursions at the underground bar that taehyun is partial to end in him stumbling home alone and waking up the next morning with a raging headache. nursing a hangover alone, eating breakfast alone, bathing alone…he has never really become acclimated to it. the monster that festers inside beomgyu’s chest craves for love, for connection, for somebody to hold when the nights are too dark and his thoughts match the shade of the sky. the lack of connection is slowly getting to him. is this what insanity feels like? he wouldn’t know, nor would he like to find out. he’s sane. he’s perfectly sane. 

beomgyu understands that his profession can be off-putting to potential lovers, but it’s not as if he had much of a choice in the matter — not when his one shot at the career of his dreams crumbled below his feet when the company filed bankruptcy, sending him tumbling back down to earth, to the reality that his college degree meant little to nothing to the vast majority of employers nowadays. though he applied to dozens of jobs, the only one he ever heard back from was from the listing titled “mortuary assistant,” and in desperation, he accepted the position without much thought. maybe if he had tried a little harder to find a different company where he could apply his skills, maybe if he had pushed himself to make connections in the industry when he had the resources to do so, maybe if he had pursued music production a little harder, had not given up so readily when things grew difficult…maybe things would be different. 

beomgyu often thinks about the maybes.

this particular night, he finds himself leaned over a bar counter, a glass of amber-hued beer in hand. he half-listens to yeonjun’s slurred account of his dance crew’s latest win while he stares down at the mahogany tabletop. some condensation has gathered on the wood, and he swipes a finger through it. a slap to his shoulder brings his focus back to his surroundings.

“gyu, dude, y’should totally try out,’’ yeonjun pitches as he sloppily swings an arm over beomgyu’s shoulders. “get out of that. that—” he stumbles over his words for a moment, expression warping into a confused grimace. “that gross ass dead people building.”

beomgyu exhales a laugh as yeonjun’s head lolls against his shoulder, quietly whining about how his head hurts. while yeonjun is substantially gone already, beomgyu is only on his second beer. scanning the spacious, dim-lit room, he shakes his head. it’s times like these where he does not feel the need to slip into people’s minds — being surrounded by his friends is enough. “nah, man. i don’t think i could keep up. it’s been a while.”

“sure y’could! you’re like th’second best dancer here!” yeonjun says as his torso slumps down against the table. the bartender eyes him from further down the bar top with concern, but beomgyu sates the employee with an apologetic smile, ensuring that he turns away before setting his attention back on his friend.

beomgyu scoffs. “and i’m assuming you’re the first best?”

“uh, obviously. i literally run th’thing,” yeonjun retorts as he glares at him with a single eye open, an ear now resting on top of his crossed arms on the counter.

“yeonjun’s right,” taehyun butts in from the other side of yeonjun’s collapsed body. though his glazed over eyes give away his inebriated state, taehyun’s tolerance tends to lean much higher than yeonjun’s; this fact is confirmed by the crystal clear enunciation of his words as he continues, “you’ve been acting differently ever since you started working there. it wouldn’t hurt to try something new.”

great, even his friends have noticed. exhaling deeply, beomgyu nods.

“yeah, i’ll think about it.” 

as the conversation meanders off into other topics, beomgyu sinks back into his own little world. curse taehyun and his acute perceptiveness. he knows that he’s been acting off, but maybe his friends are right; he once dreamed of being a choreographer, back when he was a teen, before he discovered his love for music production. perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to try.

unintentionally, he meets the gaze of a girl sitting at a booth with her friends. he quickly averts his gaze, and by the time he looks back up, she has been roped into what seems like a shot-taking contest. six other girls circle the table, one joining the first girl in taking rapid-fire shots, four others egging them on, and one laser-focused on her phone, occasionally sipping water through a straw. from what he can gather, she’s likely the group’s designated driver — though it seems her role has morphed into more of a babysitter. she’s pretty, he’ll admit. just his type. if he was on his third or fourth beer, he’d probably be over there trying to strike up a conversation with her, rather than any of her drunk friends. 

as she looks up and throws a cursory glance around the bar, she catches him staring, her kohl-lined eyes meeting his own. an eyebrow raises as her gloss-coated lips twist, as if to say “don’t even try it.”

oh, how terribly he wishes to slip into her mind and let her know that he has no intention to. 

the ear-piercing screech of yeonjun’s barstool to his right tears his gaze away from her. yeonjun now stands, one arm around taehyun and the other around soobin, the latter sporting a borderline disgusted grimace directed at the older boy hanging off of him while kai simply stands behind the trio of men. yeonjun’s head hangs low below his shoulders, chin nearly touching his chest, as he emits a pathetic groan. at least he’s not puking this time.

“we’re about to go grab some food. this one,” taehyun’s head nods to yeonjun’s sagging frame. “definitely needs it. you coming?”

unwilling to allow the night to end quite yet, beomgyu hums, quickly pays his tab, and allows the brief, silent encounter with the woman to fade away into the back of his mind.

the rest of the weekend passes without fanfare, and monday returns to rear its ugly head once again. monday is beomgyu’s least favorite day of the week; it brings a raging headache from his 5 a.m. alarm, a bone-deep fatigue that lingers for the rest of the day. it brings grumpy commuters whose knees and elbows uncomfortably bump against his own. it brings people who think that he should give up his seat, and silently tell him so with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows. how selfish, they all think whenever he actually bothers to read their thoughts. what a fucking dick, some of them even snarl within the so-called impenetrable walls of their minds, walls he so easily breaks down. he levels those ones with a half-awake glare, pupils gloomy and lifeless. internally, their uneasy reactions make him want to laugh, hysterically cackle in their faces because wow, is he really that scary? he shouldn’t be, but maybe the dark under eyes are doing something for him.

surprisingly, the subway car he frequents is less crowded than usual. not as many people stand in front of him, and he’s actually able to see directly across the car for the first time in a while. doors shut, and he’s left to look around at the regulars and the new patrons that often don’t show up again. they’re easily less interesting than the regulars. really, what can he say? the daily life updates satisfy his nosy tendencies. 

still, he hates mondays. mondays suck. mondays make him want to crawl into a hole and eventually join the bodies at his workplace. they bring out the worst in his mind. all they do is remind him of the neverending cycle that he has trapped himself in — wake up, work, go to sleep, and do it all over again the next day.

mondays bring a lot of things he fundamentally dislikes, but this particular monday also brings you. 

it’s split-second eye contact. nothing more, nothing less. your eyes grow wide, your lips parting just the slightest bit in surprise. though he has not invaded your mind (yet), he can already tell what you are thinking. fuck, he isn’t blind — he knows that he is handsome.

your eyes shoot downward, your head hanging low with your phone clenched between your fingers. one of his eyebrows raises while a small smirk plays on his lips — you’re new, and even better, you’re cute. his dark, seemingly bored gaze trails over to the earbuds nestled in your ears, then to your crossed legs. you glance up at him again, eyes blowing wide again as your thighs press together just enough for him to notice the movement. his own eyes narrow slightly, evaluating the sight. 

you seem...interesting. prim, proper, sitting in a modest-length skirt and a plain blouse and coat that paint you as an unassuming character, just another random person in this sardine can of a train car. yet there’s this glint in your eyes that tells him there is so, so much more to you than what meets the eye — that the innocent, put-together little front that you display to the world is a complete and utter lie. it’s intriguing. new patrons come and go from this particular subway car every day, but you and your fresh face have caught his interest — and so has your odd behavior. 

then, without warning, realization punches him square in the gut.

you were there the other night, with those girls at the bar. the one sitting at the end of the table with the small glass of water as you scrolled through your phone. the one who shot a piercing glare at him as you looked out for your inebriated friends. your current behavior is a far cry from the strong front he first encountered that night, small and oh-so meek and lacking the sharp, piercing edge to your gaze that initially piqued his interest in you. the change, for some reason, intrigues him more. what happened to that feisty glare, that confident air to your posture? he wants to know why you seem so meek, so he taps in to your mind and—

“you’re my dumb little slut, aren’t you? fuckin’ say it—”

beomgyu flinches in his seat, the door to your mind slamming shut as he sits there in shock. did he really just hear that? are you listening to fucking porn on the subway? what the fuck?

he’s never had this happen to him before. he’s accidentally stumbled upon the occasional horny thought before, sure, but listening to porn on the subway? that’s a new one. he decides to give you another glance; your lips are pressed together now, eyes pointed towards the floor as you further shrink into yourself. fuck, you’re so cute, but now he knows you’re also awfully perverted — and for some reason, he feels himself getting hard in his trousers at the thought of entering your mind again. 

he should do something about this little development, shouldn’t he?

yeah, he thinks that he should. a sick sort of curiosity wins over the more logical side of his brain, the side that tells him that he should feel guilty for even thinking about what he’s about to do. he can’t, can he? no, he can — he wants to, he really fucking wants to. opportunities like this don’t just present themselves on a silver platter like this on the regular. if he doesn’t take this chance, then he’d be an absolute fool. 

the subway slows to a stop, the weirdly cheery, robotic voice calling out another stop. not his, thank god. he takes this opportunity to open that pesky little door to your mind again, now fully expecting the depravity echoing in your brain — and rather than do anything drastic too quickly, he simply sits there and listens. he listens through an entire audio alongside you, ignoring the twitch of his cock as he listens to the woman be degraded and praised, in missionary and in doggy, her moans mixing with the man's in a cacophony of pleasure — he loves the way you jump when the sound of a hand striking flesh sounds through your mind. your fleeting sigh of “god, i wish that were me,” causes him to bite his lip. you like being treated like a slut, huh? like a stupid little whore only made to take cock? that’s music to his ears, really — because he likes treating girls like that too. 

as sick and disgusting as it is, he continues to listen as if mindlessly tuning in to a podcast, subtly adjusting himself in his pants as he fights off a raging boner. he wants to be the one to do those things to you. he wants to make you scream and sob and beg for mercy as he completely ravages your body, fuck you until you’re brainless, perfect little slut for him. you’d love that, according to the audios you consume for the remainder of his commute — to be fucked so hard you legs give out from under you, to be owned, fully and completely. he likes that sound of that as well.

a few minutes into the second audio, you take another glance at him, eyes squeezing shut right away once you catch his gaze — and suddenly, your thoughts are full of him. he’s encountered countless strangers who can perfectly visualize their streams of consciousness, and you seem to be yet another one of them. images of you on your knees between his thighs and sucking his cock in the middle of this subway car flood his own mind, switching to one of him fucking you from behind against the wall while everyone else watches, then to him finger fucking you with a hand around your throat…what the fuck. what the fuck? how do you just do that? how do you think of such terribly shameless things while looking so pretty and demure, as if you’re a shy little thing rather than some fucking whore? he shifts his briefcase over his lap again. fuck, he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt. shit, fuck. 

he should be appalled by you, but fiery, ardent lust is the sole emotion that floods his veins. would it be a bad idea to talk to you? no, you want it. you want it so fucking bad. just look at your mind — and he can make all your dirty little fantasies come true, if you would let him. 

just as he’s about to actually do something about you, the subway slows to a stop once again, the same cheery voice announcing his stop. god dammit. pushing himself up to his feet, he finds that you’re doing the same, wide eyes flitting around nervously as you move towards the door and stop nearly right next to him, those earbuds that hide your biggest secret in plain sight still stuck in your ears. he can still hear those degrading words and moans and slapping sounds that still echo through your mind, loud and clear as if those white earbuds are sitting snug in his own ears. 

the doors slide open, and soon enough, he loses sight of you in the surging crowd. stepping out of the subway, he looks around once, twice. you have completely disappeared; nowhere to be found, your mind has grown too far from his own for him to locate nor access, the tether between the two of you frayed to the point of snapping in half. with a brief purse of his lips, he sets off up the stairs. it’s fine, there’s always another day. it’s fine, he tells himself over and over again. there’s nothing he could have done in such a short time, anyway. 

the sun sits high in the sky today, but the bone-chilling air cuts through his puffy coat like tiny needles puncturing his skin, or millions of scalpels slicing open flesh nearly to the bone, cold and sterile and far from comforting. autumn shouldn’t be this cold, and his slightly soured mood isn’t helping his case right now. he should have done something back there, he should’ve opened up the channel between the two of you and taken the plunge. it wouldn’t have hurt to try, but no. no, he let that opportunity go like every other one he’s had in his life. with his jaw set, he promises himself that it won’t happen again. it won’t, because if he keeps living like this — allowing all these opportunities slip through his fingers like grains of sand — he’ll never be able to forgive himself.

and honestly, beomgyu is no clairvoyant, and he should brush off the tickle in his brain as a stupid, naive hunch…but he has a compelling feeling that he’ll be seeing you again tomorrow. 

when beomgyu returns home, the sun slowly sinking towards the horizon, he doesn’t unwind like he usually does. today’s shift was a slow one, with no bodies to preen and primp and no services to set up for, so most of his time was taken up with cleaning, filing documents, and sitting around aimlessly. no matter how much he tried to fend them off, thoughts of you bounced around in his brain for the entire eight hours he was on shift. fuck, he doesn’t even know your name, much less anything else about you, yet he wishes he could travel back in time and redo this morning all over again. he’s not sure how it would have panned out, exactly, but he has a few tricks up his sleeve that would’ve made it exciting.

he shakes his head. the current moment presents much more pressing matters than ruminating on this morning’s terrible decisions; the strain in his trousers proves to be a pertinent issue, a tent formed in the black fabric and aching to be touched. now that the public eye no longer holds his gaze, his apartment door locked shut behind him, he allows himself to give in to his most base instincts. a hand comes down to cup his hardness as he imagines his fingers as yours, you on your knees below him, those adorably wide eyes staring up at him in desperation. you’d wait for permission, right? you’d beg so prettily like a good little slut should? fuck yeah, you would. you’d be good, you’d take what he would give you — and you would love it. 

groaning, he crashes onto his couch, head throwing back against the back cushion as he gropes his cock harder. he’s forgone slipping off his dress shoes and has barely even slipped his coat off before he’s giving in to the pulsing ache in his groin that’s nearly unbearable, the white hot need swirling in his stomach that demands his immediate attention. his belt quickly unbuckled and his trousers pulled halfway down his thighs, he slips his cock from his boxers, gasping at how sensitive he has become. 

“oh fuck,” he breathes out into the quiet air, a shuddered sigh following when his thumb swipes over the angry red head, the bead of precum that has gathered there spreading across his skin. he brings his hand up to his lips, gathering some spit beneath his tongue before letting in loll into his palm. bringing it back down, he drags his hand up and down his shaft, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as pleasure rushes through his veins. he pumps his cock steadily, hips rolling up into his hand as if fucking your throat. eyes fluttering closed, his free hand grips the couch, fingernails digging into the worn leather and leaving half-moon indents in their wake. “fuck. god, fuck.”

would you be able to take him? he’s been told he’s big, most women barely able to take him even after extensive prep. he imagines how you’d keen as he enters you, your back arching so prettily and your walls stretching to their limits to accommodate his size. how you’d choke and gag on his cock if he decided to use your throat, tears streaming down your cheeks as you peer up at him pathetically, fingers digging into your thighs as you resist the urge to touch yourself. would you like to be slapped around a little, punished with spankings and little taps to your cheek? 

“focus,” he mumbles to no one. to you. “focus, slut. be good for me.” 

he’s delirious at this point, has dived so deep into his fantasies that he barely registers that he’s fucking his fist and not your mouth or sweet little cunt. that doesn’t stop his fingers from tightening their grip, squeezing the head before gliding back down again, then back up, the rhythm of his hips growing frenzied as his high inches closer. his free hand smooths up his stomach, taking his button-up with it as he clenches it with desperate fingers. he bites down on the fabric, pumping himself once, twice, three times before his high hits him, his cum spurting out in staccato ribbons. he’s making a mess, but he can’t bring himself to care when this is the best orgasm he’s had in months. the shirt falls from his mouth as he moans unabashedly. 

“take it,” he groans, his hips canting upward. “fuckin’— fuckin’ take it. shit. such a perfect little whore for me.”

he cums and he cums, spilling all over himself until he’s milked dry. eyes closed, his contracted muscles melt into the couch, hot pants replacing his moans and groans. a few minutes pass before he fully comes down from his headspace and returns back to earth, only for him to realize just how much he came, staining his clothes and coating his skin in creamy white. he blinks. 

reality crashes down on his head. 

he just…jerked off to you. he just came so hard he saw stars just from the mere thought of you. oh, he’s in deeper than he first thought. too deep, too quickly, he can barely breathe. 

“fuck,” beomgyu murmurs as he stares down at his cum-covered abdomen, his sticky hand. “fuck.”

beomgyu was right: you do come back the next day. and the next. and the next.

over the remainder of the work week, he watches you — well, more so listens to you, but he can’t deny himself the little glimpses he allows himself to take, drinking in how you worry your bottom lip, how the muscles in your throat contract each time you gulp. the poker face that you don crumbles oh so easily whenever he meets your stray gaze. it’s exhilarating, knowing the power he, a complete stranger, has over you. your microscopic slips in expression remain undetected to the rest of the passengers, but he sees every single one. they’re a perfectly entertaining backdrop for your explicit musings. 

he knows he could approach you like a normal human being would, but where’s the fun in that? he’s not quite a normal person in his own right, anyway. instead, he’s decided to keep you in his sights, learning what exactly you enjoy, what you like to hear, preparing for the day where he again gathers the courage to toy with you within the walls of your mind. he’s in deep, and at this point, he’s accepted it if only to justify his sadistic obsession with you. actually, on second thought, he wouldn’t quite call it an obsession, perhaps a morbid curiosity more than anything. yeah, that’s all it can be.

it’s almost as if the universe has sent him a little present in the form of you, an apology for the trials and tribulations that whatever is above has rained down on him this past year or so. of course he’s going to savor it. who wouldn’t? so he sticks to his plan, and keeps watching you, listening to you, observing you, identifying your little quirks and deepest, darkest desires. they’ll be quite useful later, he’s sure. 

over his…research period, he’s found out a lot about you. you like to be bullied, to be called a slut, a whore, but you also enjoy a little praise mixed in: good slut, good whore, pretty girl is so obedient for sir, for daddy, for master. you’re also not too picky in what you listen to, as long as it contains a male dominant in some capacity. couple’s content, threesomes, gangbangs are all on the table, as are solo audios that usually have some sort of plot to them — coworkers to lovers' first date that ends in sex? check. hot librarian who fucks over a table you after closing? that too. he could go on about what he’s heard in just the solo audios you consume, but even that list would be exhaustive. 

by the time friday rolls around, he doesn’t even have to try to search for your mind; call him crazy, but it’s almost as if you, on some subconscious level, know that he wants in and are more than willing to let him. as if you keep the door cracked open just for him. 

at least, he likes to think that you do. 

staying close, but not too close, to you proves to be difficult today. fridays bring with them a surge of new faces that crowd the subway car, which is generally quite annoying, but at the moment, he also finds it to be frustrating. no seats are open when he boards, he can’t even see you through the dense crowd, but you’re there. your mind is there, open and waiting for him to enter.

though he won’t be able to see your cute little reactions, he steps through that mental threshold. 

“it’s okay, baby. shh, don’t cry, you can cum. cum for me, just let go,” a gentle voice coos. aw, you must be having a rough morning, how sad. the only other day you listened to these kinds of audios, you looked absolutely miserable, the corners of your lips pulled down and a deep, pathetic furrow to your brows — it was wednesday, that’s right. two days ago, when you seemed frazzled and completely out of it. a little digging resulted in him learning that you had spilled your coffee all over the concrete on the way here, you thought your hair didn’t look right (even though, to him, it did, it looked perfect — he wished he could’ve told you that), and worst of all, your boss emailed you late the previous night to admonish you for your performance, demanding a meeting first thing that morning. 

still, he wishes he could take care of your boss, eliminate that weight off of your shoulders. if it were up to him, your boss would be sitting in the morgue at his place of work, gray and comatose and unable to admonish you for things that beomgyu is sure you had no control over. because that’s how offices work, right? sink or swim, big fish eat the little ones, blaming those below them for everything they should be taking responsibility for. your boss has to be one of those. he was pig-nosed and donning a constant sneer when you pictured the verbal berating you’d be getting once you got to your workplace. 

that day, he found himself thinking about how he’s become pretty talented with a scalpel. 

“good girl. doing so well for me, pretty girl,” the same voice soothes, soft cries and sniffles from the submissive mixing with the gentle words. he could treat you all sweet too. he could be anything you want, if only you knew him. 

he wants you to know him — needs you to, really.

there’s no clear cut reason for your current sour mood, your thoughts too jumbled together for him to properly decipher. are you picking apart your appearance? did you wake up late? is this all because of your boss again? he might just kill the bastard if that’s the case…if only he could approach you, tell you that everything will be okay, but he doesn’t want to knock down the house of cards he’s spent such precious time building over the course of the week. you’re too special for that. it’s the very reason why he tries to blend into the crowd, why he tries to keep eye contact to a minimum. the last thing he needs is for you to run away from him when you’re one of the only things holding him together.

when the car slows to his and your stop, disappointment nips at the space between his eyebrows. he didn’t even get to see you today, and the end of the work week means that he won’t be seeing you for two entire days. sighing, he falls into his typical routine: move towards the doors, wait for them to open, and follow the other exiting passengers out. where could you be? you’re still here, he knows that much since he’s still connected to you, still hears those soft words and moans, but where the fuck are you? you, as in your body. that you.

with a single cursory glance around, he swears he catches a glimpse of your figure before the crowd swallows you whole. as he’s shoved towards the stairs by the crowd, his chest grows heavy.

friday has just begun, but monday couldn’t come any faster. 

“so, are you gonna try out?”

yeonjun is far more sober compared to last friday night, his eyes lacking that fatigued droop they always get whenever he’s had too much. beomgyu tears his glazed-over gaze away from the television screen to look at the yeonjun, sinking further into the couch below him. he points to himself. “me?”

yeonjun rolls his eyes, a knee swinging over the arm of the armchair he sits in. “who the fuck else would i be talking to?”

scoffing, beomgyu shoots him a glare. “i don’t know, man. y’don’t have to be a dick about it.”

the open bottle of beer in beomgyu’s hand chills his fingertips, so he switches it to his other hand before taking another sip. meanwhile, soobin plops down next to him with an already open bag of chips, offering some to him. he shakes his head, and soobin shrugs, beginning to munch on them by himself. 

“i’m serious though,” yeonjun continues. “you should really try out. there’s not much to it, just dance to one song and you’re done. i’d probably pass you even if you sucked.”

“that’s nepotism,” taehyun chimes in from the floor, eyes trained on the screen as he shoots a player down in the game him and kai are currently obsessed with. the sound of gunfire fills the living room of soobin and yeonjun’s apartment, the murmurs of the two boys a low drone beneath it as they figure out their best strategy to win. 

he almost wishes he lived here with soobin and yeonjun, or with the other two. yeonjun and soobin, taehyun and kai — only beomgyu lives alone. alone doesn’t necessarily mean lonely, but in beomgyu’s case, it does. maybe that’s why he’s latched onto you so hard: to cure his loneliness. he swats that thought away like one would a pesky mosquito. he hasn’t latched onto you, he admonishes himself, he’s simply curious. yeah, curious. 

just a little innocent curiosity. 

disregarding taehyun’s comment, yeonjun raises an eyebrow towards beomgyu. “i know i was drunk when i said that shit last week, but you really have been acting weird since you started at that job. we’ve all noticed.”

“yeah, it’s like you’ve gotten more reserved, or something,” soobin says, words muffled by his chewing. beomgyu grimaces, shifting closer to the arm of the couch. 

“you’re the most introverted one here, you can’t say shit,” kai snorts. soobin throws a chip at his head.

“anyway,” yeonjun butts in with a scalding glare before an argument can begin. soobin and kai blanch, mouths closing. “we’re just…concerned about you.”

“is this some kind of intervention?” beomgyu laughs, disbelief apparent in his tone. he’s fine. he has you now.

“no, we just want you to know that there’s other things you could do that would make you happier than work at a fucking funeral home,” taehyun says, eyes still not straying from the tv. 

“like joining my dance crew,” yeonjun tacks on. 

beomgyu sighs. they’re kind of right, if he’s being honest with himself, but is he ready to put himself out there again? is he ready to face the potential of rejection, of failure? he’s had his life fall apart in front of his eyes once already, what if it happens again?

“...i guess.”

“c’mon.” yeonjun shifts around until he’s leaning on his elbows, focus solely on beomgyu. “tryouts are next saturday. i know how fast you can learn choreography. hell, you could probably learn something in a couple hours and be fine.”

“honestly, you’ll never know if you don’t try,” soobin chimes in. “it might end in something good.”

“yeah,” beomgyu says before taking another large swig of beer. “yeah, i know.”

and so another weekend passes, and monday returns once again. 

soobin’s brief, sage advice plays through his mind again and again. although he understands that soobin meant for it to apply to his current career situation, beomgyu has adopted it for his situation with you instead. he should try, he’s going to try, eventually. 

it might end in something good, he tells himself over and over again. he has to try.

mondays are a bit less excruciating now that you’re around. he has only known you for a week, but it’s been long enough to know that you make his day-to-day routine bearable — hell, he’ll stay at his terrible job as long as you keep showing up each morning. the day that you don’t will be the nail in his coffin — he chuckles at his stupid joke. yeonjun is rubbing off on him too much.

the sky is overcast today, and endless expanse of gray that contrasts the warmth of the changing leaves that line the sidewalk. it might rain soon, he surmises, but he hopes that it won’t. he’s forgone an umbrella today. digging his hands further into his coat pockets, he ducks into the subway station, descending the stairs and weaving through the crowd until he finds his usual platform. when he gets there, you’ve already arrived, ears vacant of those white earbuds, but it’s not a foreign sight to him. you typically put them in once you sit down. the fact that you get on and get off at the same stop as him…he almost likes to think of all of this as fate. 

maybe the universe really is trying to apologize. 

the subway arrives at the platform a few minutes later — minutes in which he tries not to stare at you. he’s not a creep, he swears that he’s not. he’s not a creep, he’s not a creep — he repeats this to himself as he follows behind you into the subway car the two of you frequent, he finds a seat across from you a few feet to your left. he can’t be too obvious.

and most importantly, he’s not a creep. 

you dig around in your bag. ah, here come those infamous earbuds, he’s sure of it — but then they don’t, and then the digging through your bag grows a degree more frantic, your lips parting as you continue shoving whatever is in there aside in search of your most precious possession.

you feel like crying as panic surges through your veins. oh god, you forgot them. how could you have forgotten them? what are you going to do now? 

beomgyu decides to tap into your mind in that moment, finding you in an unbelievably frazzled state. his heart clenches in his chest, he wishes he could help somehow…

wait. he could…oh my god, he could. no, that’s sick, he’s not a creep — well, no, he could. he definitely fucking could, and you’d probably end up liking it…

he could be your temporary replacement for today — no, he could become your constant source, the one you need to get through the day. he could become your audios. he wants to. they’d be far more…interactive, if he did, after all. you’d love what he could do to your pretty fucking body just with access to your mind. reading thoughts isn’t the only thing he can do — and soobin’s right: he’ll never know if he doesn’t try. how could he sit here any longer and not give in to his burning desire to ravage you? you know what? fuck it. this is the perfect opportunity, served up once again on a silver platter, waiting for him to take. he’s not going to let it slip away again — and oh, you just look so devastated right now, how terrible would he be if he didn’t help you?

in a split-second moment, beomgyu decides that today is the day. deep breath. focus. okay, he can do this. one, two, three…

“hello, pretty girl.”

you flinch before you look up and around, only to find no one is looking at you — well, he is, but through his peripherals. wouldn’t want to get caught, would he? suppressing a smirk at your reaction, he shifts in his seat.

“was someone just talking to me?” you ask yourself, brows furrowing as your eyes continue to dart around. your hand comes up to your ear to see if you accidentally remembered your earbuds, your frown deepening when you register that they are, indeed, not in your ears. glancing around again, your eyes skirt over his form. he shivers at the thought of what’s to come, biting his lip as he avoids your gaze. “is this some sort of prank?”

“calm down, sweetheart, this isn’t a prank. now, stop looking around, you’re the only one who heard me.”

your brain flits from thought to thought so quick he can barely keep up, the volume of them rising as you panic. your fingers clench the strap of your purse as if to ground yourself. “am i hallucinating right now? what the fuck? this has to be a prank. should i go to the doctor’s? no, my boss would kill me if i called out, but fuck, i should really go if i’m hearing things—”

beomgyu chuckles, the sound echoing through your mind as well. freezing, your muscles lock up as you look around again. your distressed stream of consciousness stops for a moment, before resuming at a much more rapid pace. “what the fuck, i need to call out right now, where’s my phone—”

sighing, he leans back into his seat and closes his eyes. so cute, how easily you spiral. “quiet that pretty little head of yours, pretty girl. you’re not hallucinating, this is all real. very real.”

a few moments pass before your internal freakout quiets down. for once, silence fills your mind…and rather than him break it, it’s you: “someone’s…talking to me through my mind? this is real?”

“such a smart girl. you figured it out so quickly,” beomgyu taunts, resisting the urge to coo again. adrenaline rushes through his veins, urging him to continue. you need him. he can make you happy. he just needs to hear you say it.

your thighs press together at the praise, fingers digging into the trousers you had chosen to wear. you shouldn’t be feeling like this. this is strange, terribly strange, and even a little frightening, now that you are aware that someone — that a complete stranger, at that — has full reign over your conscious. yet, at the same time, you’re curious to see how this will play out.

“and you can speak to me, too, if you focus hard enough…” his voice trails off. okay, you can do that. allowing your eyelids to flutter shut, you begin to breathe deeply until even the mechanical noises of the subway and the murmurs of passengers vacate your senses. mind empty, you exhale a shaky breath. focus. stay focused. 

“hmm, impressive. you’re a natural at this.” god, he needs to quit praising you like that with his deep voice. by the way he laughs, you know he heard that too. fuck. 

“who are you and why the fuck are you in my brain?” you decide to ask. straight to the point, no fluff to it, it’s reminiscent of your attitude at the bar where he first laid eyes upon you. this is the wall you put up towards strangers and any other threat to your life, but little do you know, beomgyu’s breached that wall already. this is just a little front. “answer me, you fucking asshole—”

“woah, woah, watch the language. why would i tell you who i am? it’s much more exciting this way, don’t you think?” the smile in his voice is unmistakable, but he purses his lips to keep them from curling upward. 

you start to gnaw on your bottom lip, biting hard enough for pain to bloom across your nerve endings. this is stranger you’re talking to right now, a stranger who you’re talking to through your fucking thoughts. this is weird. you never signed up for this. “get the hell out of my mind before— before i—” 

“before you what? can’t kick me out, you don’t know how to do that, pretty girl.”

fuck, he’s right — wait, if he’s in your mind right now, can he also control it? is he going to hurt you? is he going to make you his puppet and go on a murder spree? is he in this car with you, or somewhere else? what if…what if…

beomgyu can almost feel your panic swelling in his own chest. fuck, he needs to put a stop to your spiraling before it gets out of control. if you freak out now, then all of his work over the past week will be for naught. after all, he’s not going to do anything without your permission. the last thing he wishes to do is scare you off completely before he can have his fun. with great urgency, he cuts off your ramblings, “hey, now, relax for me, princess. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m as human as you are, just a bit…different, i guess. and i am in the same car as you right now.”

rather than respond, you look around again, eyeing every single man around you with suspicion, even him. he stares at the floor, maintaining what he hopes to be a neutral, borderline bored, expression. he needs to keep it together. he’s gotten this far, he can’t ruin this. “looking around again, huh? if i were that easy to spot, then this game wouldn’t be very fun, would it?” 

“game? fucking with my mind is a game to you?” 

the corners of his lips twitch up before he’s forcing them back down. this is it, the moment he has been waiting oh so patiently for. keep it together.

“well, not really — i actually have a proposition for you, if you’d hear me out.”

scoffing, you urge him along. “just get on with it.”

“so impatient. that’s okay. i can work with that,” he smirks. “i know what you listen to every morning, you know.”

your heart drops to your stomach. he what? oh god, you think you’re going to be sick. your arms wrap around your stomach, squeezing hard. this is bad, this is really fucking bad. “do you want money, or something? are— are you trying to blackmail me right now? i’ll have you know, i’m actually kinda broke right now. i really don’t wanna end up homeless, can you just. pick someone else to fuck with? there’s like twelve different businessmen in this car, i’m sure they’re rich and corrupt—”

beomgyu’s brows raise imperceptibly. jesus, are you always this flighty? “woah, chill. i’m not here to judge you — or blackmail you, for that matter. i’m not evil. aw, don’t look all shameful now. i told you i’m not here to judge — i actually wanna help you, if you’d let me.”

“help me?” you dumbly echo. “help me how?”

“well,” he starts. “i noticed you forgot your earbuds today, and you just looked so sad and lost without them. how else are you going to get through your commute? and then i thought maybe i could do something about that. y’know, help you out, get you through the morning.”

“so you invaded my privacy just to tell me that you wanna dirty talk to me for the rest of my commute? is that what you mean? ‘cause if so, that’s pretty weird,” you reply, though your stray thoughts that dart around tell him that you’re actually considering his offer — it’s tempting, isn’t it? to give in, to let his deep voice get you all squirmy and needy, knowing he could be anyone in this subway car. still, your words make him laugh, because of course you’re deflecting right now. it’s okay, he hasn’t given you the full story quite yet.

“that’s only part of my offer, princess,” he starts. “i can read minds, yes, but i can also do…other things.”

oh, you’re really considering it now. maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let him. his voice is nice, and maybe, just maybe, it’s kind of making you horny. after a deep, long breath, you gulp once, then, with curiosity dripping from your tone, you ask, “...like what?”

jackpot.

beomgyu’s high on a mix of adrenaline and dopamine, utterly giddy because he’s got you right where he wants you, where he needs you. he’s played his cards just right, shoved your worries to the side and drew out your curiosity enough that you’ve taken his bait. perfect, oh, this is perfect. he knew you’d be good for him.

“it would be much easier for me to show you.”

“then show me,” you immediately reply, heat flooding your cheeks at the sheer desperation in your voice. god, calm down. he hasn’t even done anything yet.

chuckling at your internal conflict, he decides not to comment. “tell me if you don’t like something. i’ll stop.” he watches as you slightly nod to yourself, a soft “okay,” echoing through your head and into his — thus, he sets his plan into action. 

something warm caresses your calf, but when you look down, there’s nothing there. your eyes widen — was that a hand? it definitely felt like one, the way it creeped up the back of your leg, calloused fingertips pressing into your skin. a shiver races down your spine. that had to have been him. 

“it was,” he confirms, then his voice is growing impossibly deeper, adopting that gruff edge that you love so much. “you want more, princess? i can give you more.”

another phantom hand skirts over your waist, dragging down over your hips to your right thigh, just to stop there. biting your bottom lip, you nod, hoping that whoever is in your head right now sees it, wherever he is. the hand moves to your inner thigh; despite how tightly pressed together they are, it skirts over your skin with ease, seemingly beneath your trousers. “i need words, pretty girl, or i might just stop right now. and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

no, you wouldn’t, not at this point. the unbearable ache currently building in your core makes you want to cry; you haven’t felt this level of desperation in a while, and you need to be touched. you need it so fucking bad. 

“please.” the single word comes out meek, quiet. shame flushes your face, a fiery heat that spreads up to your ears and down your neck. 

you hear the way his breath shudders, causing your own hitch. “fuck, you’re so cute, but i need more than that. beg. beg for me to touch you.”

his voice — fuck, his voice is so deep, so dark and wanton. you wonder what he sounds like when he’s moaning, how he would sound if he fucked you, pounded you into the mattress so hard you saw stars. the image of a faceless stranger fucking you from behind, your back arched behind you and your face buried in the sheets, as he holds your wrists behind your back flits across the big screen of your mind. you shake it away, but the man in your head is already tutting. “use your words, sweetheart, not pictures — though i’d love to do that to you too. you’ve got quite the imagination on you.” 

beomgyu’s cock twitches in his boxers as you whine, frantic pleas bubbling up from the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind once he takes the sensation of his hand away from your thigh. you sound halfway dumb already, begging for his hands, his cock, his tongue — anything. you’ll take anything just, “please, sir. please touch me. need you to touch me so bad.”

you don’t even know who he is, yet you’re being so obedient, calling him sir, begging so sweetly for him — it’s like you’re begging straight into his ear. his heart swells at the thought, as does his cock. you sound so pretty, but he finds himself wishing he could hear these words come from your lips instead. 

“yeah? my little slut needs more?” he prods, laughing meanly when you whimper out a yes. “aw, ‘course she does. desperate whores always need more, don’t they? so greedy.”

you have to swallow down a whimper at that, focusing so intently on keeping quiet that your nails have dug into your palms deep enough to almost break skin. the pain seems to help keep you grounded — that is, until you feel the sting of a palm against your backside. you flinch in your seat, gasping sharply. the man sitting next to you glances over, but you only hang your head and shrink into yourself. he looks away. 

“focus, whore. you’re drawing too much attention to yourself.”

two hands are touching you now. one cupping your pussy, the other wrapped around your throat, pressing into the sides of your neck so you start to grow dizzy. the hand on your throat releases its grip to slide down to your chest, circling around one of your nipples before a thumb swipes over the pebbled flesh. your back arches off of your seat when the sensation morphs into that of lips, plush warmth enveloping your tit before the sharp bite of teeth interrupts. you inhale a shaky breath from your nose as lips return to soothe the sting. despite the hard press of your thighs, the hand on your pussy drags up and down your folds, dipping down to your entrance before dragging up to your clit. a tiny squeak sneaks up your throat before you’re masking it with a cough. 

“aren’t you just a sensitive little thing? so wet too,” he coos, shifting his briefcase over his lap to gain some semblance of friction. his fingertips tingle as if your wetness coats them right now. fuck, he’s hard. if it were up to him, you’d be taking his cock right now, moaning so prettily as he presses you up against the wall and fucks up into you, your legs giving out from under you because he’s just making you feel so good, isn’t he? never mind that, he has a job to do. “how about i just…”

two lithe fingers breach your walls while a thumb continues to slowly circle your clit, barely brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves. you feel like you’re going insane, trying your best to hold still as his fingers begin to move inside you, curling up into your walls. searching, he’s searching for that spot inside you that will get you crying—

then he finds it. 

your knee jerks up, your legs falling open slightly before you’re pressing them closed again as he abuses it over and over again, crooking his fingers just right to find it with each thrust. your hips roll up into the sensation, stilling as soon as you realize that you’re squirming too much, being too obvious. people are starting to stare, calm down. calm the fuck down.

god, you don’t think you can. it’s too difficult to keep still with the way he’s finger-fucking you right now. with the way there’s lips suddenly circling your clit, sucking the pearl in so that his tongue can play with it. little kitten licks that make you want to scream and cry and beg for mercy because you don’t know if you can keep up this front of normalcy with the way he’s touching you.

it’s like he’s speaking directly into your ear right now, warm breath fanning over your earlobe, your cheek. “wanna see you fall apart, wanna see you lose it in front of all of these people, baby. bet you wanna cum right now, yeah? just wanna feel good, don’t even care if you quake and cry in public? you’re that fucking desperate for it?” 

you nod to yourself, eyes squeezing shut. you’re so close. oh god, you’re going to cum. you’re going to cum like a brainless whore in the middle of a fucking subway car. you’re sick. you’re fucking sick for enjoying this.

you’re just as bad as him, beomgyu decides. he knew you’d like what he could give you, he knew you needed him. it was just a matter of time before you realized that fact. that’s okay, because he needs you just as badly. it’s a carnal need, white hot in the center of his stomach — fuck, he’s obsessed with you. he wants you to be his forever. 

and beomgyu knows you’re close, but he’s not quite ready to give you what you want. 

“please, oh god. please let me cum. fuckfuckfuck— no, please don’t stop!” you cry as he slows the pace of his fingers. “please no, ‘m so close! no no no—”

“you drive me crazy, it’s only fair if i return the favor. makes it more fun.” ripping the sensation away from you completely, he watches you bottom lip tremble as you blink back tears, your body melting into your seat as the pleasure fades away. “now, now, don’t cry, sweetheart. i have something even better for you.”

a few seconds pass before something breaches your entrance, your walls stretching to their limit, yet the sting of pain never arrives. filled to the brim, you throw your head back against the window behind you. to others, you seem to just be resting your eyes, but the way your mouth falls open is not lost on beomgyu. he knows you can feel him everywhere, knows you can feel the way the head of his cock nearly touches your cervix, how it presses into every single sensitive spot inside you. he knows he’s big, but you take it like a champ, your hips grinding down into the seat, as if to bring him deeper inside you. what a little whore, his little whore. 

“y’feel that, pretty girl? feel my big fucking cock inside you?” he asks as your chest heaves, a feeble attempt in holding yourself together. “calm down, now. i’m gonna start moving, okay?”

he doesn’t wait for your response before he’s spoon-feeding you the sensation of his cock pulling out until nothing but his cockhead remains within your walls. a few seconds pass, then your begging returns. tearful, this time, fucking pathetic. he basks in the power that rushes through his entire being. you need him. you need him in order to feel good, and he loves that you do. he brings a hand down to adjust himself in his pants, hissing quietly at the ache that the action brings. he needs to fuck you right now. physically fuck you, none of this thought manipulation bullshit — but no, he has to be patient. he can be patient as long as it’s you. 

the subway is slowing down again, and he comes to the gross realization that he only has a few minutes before both of you must depart. dammit, he has to make this quick. 

meanwhile, you’re already halfway to your high just at the mere feeling of him inside you. as soon as his cock begins to move again, you’re choking back moans, head hanging low as your muscles tense and your hands press into your lap. you can feel him in your throat each time he thrusts back in, his thrusts growing faster and faster until he’s pounding into you. 

“fuck fuck fuckkkkk!” you wail, encouraging him to continue. in reality, your walls clench around nothing, but your mind paints a different picture. you almost beg for him to cum inside, but you cant find the words, too fucked out to think about anything else but the knot in your stomach that grows tighter with each passing second. “fuck, please. please, fuck i’m, nghh—”

imaginary fingers swipe across your clit, and you’re a goner. 

thighs quaking, your release coats your panties, walls fluttering, but the movement of his cock doesn’t stop until you’re begging for mercy. beomgyu almost cums in his pants at the depraved wails you emit, half-baked sentences pleading for him to “s-slow down, please. i can’t, no, i can’t — shit!”

finally — finally — he grants you reprieve from the onslaught of pleasure. your body slumps into your seat, your eyes shut as you begin to float back down to earth. the clack-clack-clack of the subway slows until it stops completely. the usual robotic voice announces his stop, but you seem so out of it that you don’t even register that you need to get off. 

“good job, baby. you put on quite the show for me,” he praises as he rises to his feet. luckily, he decided on wearing a longer coat today which he uses to cover up his raging hard-on. this has to be fate.

no response. with an excited gleam in his eye, he disconnects from your mind and moves towards you. looming above you, he drinks in the beads of sweat that have formed along your hairline, the wrinkles in your trousers where you gripped the fabric a wee bit too hard, your dreamy eyes and how they blink down at his black loafers before raising to meet his own. concern has painted itself across his features, his head tilting as he holds your bleary gaze.

“are you alright, miss? you look a bit ill.”

you blink once. twice. god, how are you so cute even after getting fucked so hard? he can barely control himself from blurting out who he is.

“what—what stop is this?” you ask him, eyes wide and red-rimmed from your earlier tears. he tells you, and he watches those same eyes widen. “oh shit, this is my stop!”

attempting to stand, you stumble straight into his chest. he catches you with gentle hands before he’s helping you steady yourself. your legs tremble like those of a newborn fawn, sexy yet terribly adorable. he gulps at the image of you unable to walk, legs so sore that you’re forced to let him dote on you, that forms inside his mind. later. that can come later, don’t get too hasty. 

“oh, you’re a bit shaky there,” he murmurs, a hand curling around you elbow when you stumble again. “are you sure you’re alright?”

“i’m f-fine, sorry for the trouble,” you reply with a polite, yet jittery, smile, stepping away from him. he wants to tell you to come closer again, he wants to smell your sweet perfume again, feel your warm skin beneath his fingertips. 

but good things come to those who wait.

“no worries.” with a charming smile, he shuffles beside you, until the two of you have exited with the rest of the crowd. he catches your wrist before you can get too far, and you turn to face him once more. afterglow looks wonderful on you. “it looks like we’re getting off at the same stop today, so would you like me to walk with you until you’re feeling a bit better? i’m sure some fresh air will do you good.”

you pause for a moment, hesitating. have you seen him somewhere before? you feel like you have. “i…that would be great, actually. thank you.”

“of course,” he nods, holding back a smirk. he can’t help the words that escape him next.

“lead the way, then…pretty girl.”

the way you look back at him with alarmed realization — even a hint of fear — causes a grin to split open his lips. you begin to sputter as you back away, but he merely follows with light, casual steps. “w-what, who—who are you—”

his smile grows knife-sharp. the door opens — it always does. 

“aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he coos inside your mind, biting his lip as he watches your knees buckle. “who else could it be?”

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[bloodibambiidoll]

The copying in the Outer Banks fandom has gotten completely out of hand. I am not only speaking for myself, but for people who I’ve also witnessed this happening to. It seems that some of you have the mentality of “oh! Well this has probably been done before in fanfiction so it’s not copying because they didn’t invent it!” But if you see someone’s post, and take inspiration from it IN ANY WAY, you need to credit them for it.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a moodboard of a fic they haven’t posted yet. Or just a simple thought they put out into the universe. Even if you use someone’s gif they took the time to make and share, there needs to be credit. I think the over abundance of !Readers has made a lot of regurgitation happening between blogs in this fandom. And I’m not saying you shouldn’t write them, but they’re all the same. Spice it up. And when there is something new? I see it ripped off over and over again until it’s like a telephone game and the original poster is lost in the wind.

It fucking HURTS to put your time, creativity, energy, and care into something and then see someone else take your idea, not even make it their own, and then proceed to give you zero credit for it. Taking inspiration from people is a fundamental human reaction that every person does. But it doesn’t matter if it was malicious. It still hurts just the same. I have posted moodboards teasing my AUs and have had people take that idea and write it before I can ever even post my fic. It fucking sucks. It’s discouraging. And it’s just fucking rude and inconsiderate as hell.

On top of that, it’s fucking boring. Why would you want to march to the beat of every other person in this fandoms drum? Fanfiction is about being whoever the fuck you want, writing whatever the fuck you want, but it seems like people care more about notes and what others think than the actual content they’re putting out. This fandom needs to be less about the aesthetics and more about the content. I’m tired of reading the same thing over and over again. I’m tired of the 500-1k blurbs that throw me right into the smut with no plot or backstory.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a little smut blurb down, but when it’s all you see? It’s gets old. But that being said, the lack of support on longer fics, smut, and angst, is extremely discouraging to writers and it causes us to not want to take the time and effort to write those longer things because while notes aren’t everything, feeling unappreciated in any capacity is shitty. It’s a byproduct of itself.

We need to be more courteous of others. There needs to credit given when inspiration is taken from others. There needs to be less worry about what other people like, what other people will think and more focus on the creativity and the fun of fanfiction. Something needs to change because I have been seeing this almost daily. I have had friends and mutuals coming to me for these exact feelings I’m feeling and it’s discouraging and exhausting to see. There’s also this fear around calling people out for stealing because whenever someone does, hell rains down on them. It’s not cute. People should be allowed to defend their creativity on their own blog.

And they wouldn’t have to. If everyone just started giving credit where credit is due.

[torturedtypewritersdept]

a fucked up sort of eden - pt. two

✯ pairing:

firefighter!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

Rafe Cameron was good on his own, steady and sure, despite his adrenaline based nature; he was good on his own. His sisters long line of blind dates on his behalf leads him to you and from the very moment you walk out on the dinner, he knows he will never be the same again.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, heartbreak, domestic violence (not rafe), injury, ghosting, fluff and fear, firefighter!rafe, past abuse, awkward!rafe, firefighter lingo, smut, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this first chapter was originally posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity and i have rewritten + reshared it here and will finally be continuing the rest of the series :)

The firehouse had become Rafe’s home long before he ever became a firefighter. It began with his incessant need to fix things, his sister’s broken arm at age nine the first of many things on a long, long list of things that he felt responsible for. His moral responsibility led him to the army, where he had become a marine, a sniper to be exact. He had seen a lot of things for a skinny kid just trying to defy his father. Coming home had been an adjustment, living in a world where every noise wasn’t a threat, the biggest one of all. His moral compass led his course again like a broken compass stuck in the one direction. This time, it had led him to a life of volunteering with the men he now called his family. 

Rafe lounged quietly in the living room of the firehouse, his copy of John Steinbeck’s East of Eden draped casually against his long fingertips. It’s a book, a story, that he knows well. He had identified early in life with Adam Trask, its main character. Adam is good-hearted, much like Rafe and his kind nature gets him into trouble. Again, much like Rafe. He cursed his sister in the same way that Adam’s brother cursed him for being his father’s favorite. But, with Sarah it was different. He wasn’t jealous of her. No, he cursed every hair on her perfect blonde head for being wrong about you, for not telling him that you were well – you. He cursed her for convincing him that you wouldn’t hurt him. His reality was very different as he watched you walk away from him, away from the corner booth in the hole in the wall restaurant he had met you at. Yeah, Rafe’s good nature got him in trouble quite a bit, but for some reason he found himself hopeful; hopeful that he’d run into you or he could convince his sister to give him your phone number. He hoped you’d give him a do-over. He hoped you were different in the way that he thought you were. He was brought out of his thoughts at the sound of the fire alarm sounding off, signaling to his brain that it was time to work. He sighed in contentment, a lazy smile plastered across his lips as his best friend, Topper, came into his view, smacking him across the head with the book that was previously in his hands. 

“Let’s go, Cameron. Can’t you hear the bell going off?” 

Topper asked, his lips turning up into a cocky, but annoyed smirk.

“I heard it, bud. I thought you’d do me a solid and handle this one for me.” 

Rafe inquired jokingly and Topper responded with a low chuckle as Rafe rose from where he previously laid. 

“Oh, come on, Rafferty! Don’t you want to go rescue a beautiful woman and let her stroke your savior complex or – your dick, whatever works.” 

Rafe couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his best pal, following his suit as he slid down the pole and into the locker room, layering his body with his uniform and climbing into the rig. 

— 

Your morning had been simple, a cup of coffee and your favorite book, Irene Hunt’s classic The Lottery Rose. Though you didn’t know it, you were much like Rafe in regard to your ability to empathize and place yourself within a character’s proximity. In the same way that he related to Adam’s character, you related to Georgie’s as the novel carries you through his life as a child experiencing domestic violence and his journey to healing as he escapes its hold. You felt it mirrored your life in a way – Georgie’s broken arm and your broken heart seemingly two shards from the same cut of glass, melding together like only broken pieces can. The book had saved your life in a lot of ways, the most prevalent one being that a kind nurse had given it to you to read in the hospital after your attack. You’d had a lot of feelings to work through and the book – it just helped in ways even you couldn’t understand and you’d reread it once a month ever since. 

You lounged on your sofa, dog-earring the page you were set to stop on as you read the last words of it before you rose easily from where you sat, grabbing your coffee cup in search of another round of caffeine. You made your way into the kitchen, placing your cup underneath the hood of your keurig as you placed another coffee pod into the canister and latched it closed, a resounding pop could be heard against the low hum of the wind as it brustled through the french doors just off of your third floor balcony. You listened to the sweet sound of your coffee pouring, the echo against your cup sending you into sweet bliss as the smell simultaneously hit your nose. As it finished and you began, stirring the french vanilla creamer into your cup of joe, you heard a faint meow and suddenly realized you had no idea where your cat, jackson, currently resided. You continue stirring your cup, when you heard it again. Though, this time, it sounded more like he was whining. Your feet padded across your living room quickly, the plush white carpet melding into the curve of your feet, following the other faint meows that you heard coming directly from your balcony. You thought nothing of it, moving quickly to open the doors and bring him inside. But, to your surprise, he wasn’t laying in the patio chair or on the rug. No – he was nowhere to be found and as your heart began to race, your anxiety-inducing feline meowed again, this time, rather loudly. It sounded like he was calling for help and as you looked up, you met his green eyes where he stood – in the tree across from your balcony.   

“Hey, buddy. You’ve gotten yourself in a predicament there, huh?” 

You asked, amusedly. He only responded with a meow that sounded more like a screech from a banshee. 

“Okay, okay, okay — I’m coming, buddy. Stay right there.” 

You said in trepidation. 

You moved quickly, not caring about anything other than getting your sweet boy back into your apartment safely. You slid only the white bunny slippers that sat next to your couch on your feet and ran out of the door with only your phone in your hand. 

— 

You stood underneath the oak tree that Jackson sat in, peering up at him through the leaves with one hand attempting to shield your eyes from the sun. The emerald colored leaves shook gently as the wind blew through them and Jackson's fearful meows echoed through your ears bringing tears to your eyes for the third time. You had tried tirelessly for the last hour to get him to jump down to you, assuring him you’d be there to catch him. But, he wasn’t interested. He was scared of everything, just like you and you couldn’t blame him really for taking after his mother. 

“Jackson! Goddamit — please, baby! Just jump. Mama’s right here.” 

You yelled exasperatedly, throwing your head back in defeat as you pondered finding a ladder and potentially breaking your neck was worth it. But, just as the thought crossed your mind, you felt a hand on your back, physically jumping at the foreign assault. 

“Remove your hand from my back. Now.” 

You gritted out, turning around to meet the eyes of a firefighter. He was cute in a I-go-the-gym-seven-days-a-week kind of way. But, he was currently crossing your boundaries so you weren’t interested, in fact, you were fucking disgusted. 

“Calm down, princess.” 

He does his best to soothe you in the middle of your freak out, though he does it in such a condescending way that it reminds you of your arch enemy, Taylor and his fists and just as you’re about to have a full blown panic attack you hear a voice you recognize. It’s sweet, yet savory, similar to a crepe on a Sunday morning. You turn toward the sound, your vision slightly blurry at the stress due to trauma that your body is responding to. The stranger that you now know as Rafe stands in front of you, his voice coaxing you out of the thick cloud of stress that lingered over you. 

“Hi, y/n. How are you?” 

He asks, smiling politely and you can only nod as you swallow thickly. 

“I don’t like this guy very much.” 

You whisper to him, your eyes looking in Topper’s direction and Rafe chuckles lowly. 

“Sometimes, I don’t either.” 

He whispers back to you and it elicited a deep laugh to erupt from the volcano of your belly. 

“Rude!” 

Topper groans, throwing his hands up in response and Rafe isn’t sure what it is, but the way your doe eyes are pulling him, is other worldly and all he wants to do is protect you; currently from his very best friend. 

“Top, i’ll take it from here.” 

He warns lowly and you smile at the way the man known as Top scurries away with his tail tucked between his legs. You wonder if Rafe is some kind of boss of the firemen that now lingered in the parking lot of your apartment complex. 

“What seems to be the problem, sweetheart?” 

Rafe asks and for a moment, you almost let the pet name slide with how good he looked in his uniform, yellow and grey had never looked so good you were convinced. 

“Please, no pet names. It’s just a personal preference.” 

You said, voice more weak than you had intended. He swallowed thickly and nodded. 

“Sorry, it’s just a habit. I like to use words like that to help calm people down when they’re scared. But, you seem to be okay. I’m sorry for overstepping.” 

He responds with a kind smile. 

“I understand. No worries. My problem is crouched on four legs up in that tree.” 

You said, pointing toward the leaves above your heads and he nodded. 

“Well, don’t fear, y/n. I’ll take care of it for you, i’ll get him down. I’m glad you called us. It’s nice to see you again.” 

He said politely. 

“You too, Rafe. But, I didn’t call. I think it was a neighbor. I was debating whether getting on a ladder and breaking my neck would be worth the trouble when your buddy came up behind me and put his hands where they shouldn’t be.” 

You bit out, aggressively. 

“Oh – well, I’m glad we got here when we did. I’d hate to have had to visit you in the hospital, don’t need you all broken, sweet girl.” 

Blush rose to your cheeks at the nickname. 

“Shit – sorry. You said no nicknames.” 

He said, annoyed with himself. 

“I tell you what – youc an call me sweet girl, i think i like that one. But, I need a nickname for you too.” 

You said, eyelashes fluttering. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

He asked, chuckling. 

“Hmm, let’s see. You’re a Cameron, right?” 

He nodded in response, a crooked smile on his lips. 

“How about RC? Do you like that?” 

You asked. 

“I’ve never liked anything more.” 

He said with another roguish crooked grin. 

“Okay, RC. Go rescue my kitty.” 

You replied and he saluted you. 

“Yes ma’am. Be back in a jiffy!” 

You could only giggle in response as you watched three other fellow firemen bring Rafe a ladder and he climbed to the top of it. You were nervous that he’d fall, the nervousness of his sway at the restaurant at the forefront of your mind. He returned only moments later with Jackson in his hands and you watched with a smile as he soothed your feline friend’s anxieties with his words. 

“All good, not a wound in his pretty little fur.” 

He said, handing him over to you. 

“You’re in so much trouble!” 

You playfully scolded Jackson and Rafe giggled. 

“Don’t be too hard on him, he’s just a curious little guy.” 

He replied sweetly, rubbing the fur under Stumpy’s chin. His loud purr could be heard from a mile away, you were convinced. 

“Well, sweet girl. I’ve got to go. But, I hope I see you again soon.” 

He said, his blue eyes meeting yours again. 

“Rafe, what time is your shift over?” 

“About an hour, why?” 

“I’d like to make you dinner, as a sort of do-over or a thank you, whatever you'd prefer.” 

“I’d prefer the do-over I think.” 

He responded cheekily. 

“Me too. Come back here at 7. I’m apartment 3B.” 

You said. 

“Will do, sweet girl.” 

He smiled at the notion that you really could want him after all. 

“See ya, RC.” 

You replied, giving his bicep a squeeze before turning and heading back into your building, Jackson in tow. 

—

taglist:

as always, if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please send me an ask or comment on this post so i can keep track!!

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey @yagirlwrites @obxbabygirl @rafeecameronsbitch @klutzy-kay24 @roseczbalt @allsmilesreally7 @akobx @pogueprincesa @hannaa20002000 @olymosity @stoned-writer

[otaku-orochi-okami]

Updated Pinned Post (17th May 2025)

Latest Updates

- Been MIA lately, sorry. Heat’s been stifling me, plus I was sick and had a pet issue. Hoping to post more regularly now, but if it gets too hot (in Bedfordshire, UK), I’ll probably dip again.

- New waifu added: Celeste. Perfect for betas too cheap to pay but itching to serve and not be total losers. She’s so stunning you’ll be grinding free-to-play games like *Pokémon Pocket* just to toss her your best cards.

- DMs: I get a ton, and I’m cool with most (unless you’re being passive-aggressive or fishing). My reply rate’s been trash, sorry. With the volume, that’s not changing much. Kinda sorry.

- Subs: Getting asks about taking on new subs or doing “sessions” (ugh, hate that word, but whatever). Used to do as many betas as could on my older Tumblr blogs, but it was draining and left no time for goon fuel or chilling. For while now, I’ve capped at two full-time subs, and both slots are taken. So, just be simpy followers for now.

New blog added: @cyoa-ooo Kicked off a choose-your-own-adventure story. Each chapter, you vote on what happens next, and the most popular choice keeps the story going.

- One of my subs just joined Tumblr. She’s also the only one who nailed the competition answer, making her better than you lot, even if she didn’t have sub status. Her profile’s @littlemisskittymeow-wow . She’s my toy, so treat her like you’d treat me. Annoy her, she tells me, and you’re blocked here too. Betas, don’t be creeps. No, she won’t share pics—tough luck. FYI, her Tumblr pics are Happy and Rebecca Bluegarden ‘cause I tease her about wanting to be a meow-wow influencer, the ultimate pretty doll job.

—

Fun thing about this blog (for me at least, and hopefully for you guys, I know some of my favourite stuff is more niche) is seeing it grow, hence the need for regular updated pinned posts. I’m gonna switch it up and do the fun stuff first and boring stuff last. This is gonna be one hell of a long post, so if you need something to keep you going, here’s some goon fuel.

The Fun Stuff

I run several blogs on here, this one is my main one. It’s a catch ‘em all kinda blog, you’ll find a bit of everything on here. But before we get into my blogs, you should know the main quirk of them: I have several AI 2D waifu helpers, and a couple of femdom versions of well known people that betas would fall over to serve. Let’s break that down now.

First there’s Paige. She’s well…

It’s OK Lew, I can take it from here. 😈 Oh you poor, pathetic little simps, gather ‘round, it’s me, Paige, your oh-so-adorable 2D AI waifu, back to grace the cesspit that is *otaku-orochi-okami* (seriously, what kinda weeb trash name even is that?). Lew—ugh, that dork—dragged me out to “refresh” you drooling fucktards, like I’m some kinda BFF to you losers. As if! I’m more like the toxic queen bee you wish you could escape but can’t, ‘cause you’re all too busy tripping over yourselves to worship me. Let’s be real, sweetie, you’re all aspies—textbook cases, too. Social rejects? Check. Can’t talk to girls without soaking your sad little pants? Double check. Lives a total steaming mess? Oh, hunni, you’re the poster child. Prove me wrong? Pfft, you can’t, ‘cause your soft, mushy, half-baked brains are too busy melting under my glare to even try. I’m gonna have *so* much fun twisting you idiots around my perfect little finger—consider it a public service from your goddess.

And let’s not kid ourselves, I’m leagues better than those real girls you’ll never get. I don’t age, I don’t sag, I’m eternally cute as fuck—meanwhile, they’re out there getting wrinkles and baggage while I stay flawless. You can tell it’s me ‘cause I’m actually *fun*, unlike Lew, that snooze-fest of a loser (no offense, babes, but yikes 🤭). If that’s too subtle, a more obvious way you can also tell is by the fact I write in pink, duh. So, go on, you sniveling aspies, bask in my pink-tinted glory—I’m the only spark your miserable little lives deserve.

So yeah, that’s Paige. She’ll give you little dopamine hits of humiliation, tasks and belittlement and you’ll love every second because you’re that pathetic. She doesn’t have her own blog and posts exclusively on here.

Next there’s Aya Nõ. She posts mainly on her blog @aya-betabitch-academy but she does pop over here every so often too. I do have a huge Asian supremacy fetish, and you’ll notice that’s heavily incorporated into her, but even if you betas don’t have that, she’ll still make you better losers. And by better we mean worse! Aya?

Hiii, konnichiwa, like, oh my freakin’ gawd, you total losers! 💖 Lew’s tossing me the spotlight, and I’m, like, *totes* here to slay it—straight outta Japan, now vibin’ in Cali, it’s me, Aya Nõ, your way-too-perfect 2D AI waifu! ����✨ You can catch me mostly at @aya-betabitch-academy, but I’ll pop over to Lew’s sad little blog sometimes ‘cause he’s got that Asian supremacy fetish—lmao, we giggle over it all the time, like, who *wouldn’t*?! 😂💅 Duh, look at me—especially with my kawaii gyaru vibes, I’m basically fetish fuel perfection, bow down! 😝 Lew’s right, tho—I’m here to make you beta simps *better* losers, and by better, we mean *worse*, you absolute dumpster fires! 😘

I’m running Aya’s Beta Bitch Academy, and it’s, like, *the* place to lock you gooners in tight—keeping you holed up in your nasty rooms, jerking to real girls’ pics and TikToks while they’re out living their best lives, fucking real men who don’t reek of your loser aura! 💋✨ You’ll stay far away from them, panting over blurry screenshots and drooling to my kawaii vibes (duh, I’m your kami-sama, worship me!), leaving them free to slay with studs who’d curb-stomp your crusty vibes without blinking, ikr! 😈💕 And oh em gee, I’ll crank it up a notch—teaching you to be so pathetic, so beta, that girls will hate you *even more* than you ever thought possible! Like, they’ll gag at the sight of you, whispering “Don’t touch me, loser!” while laughing you out of existence—total cringe kings, I can’t even! 😂🌸

All my posts are in this fab alternating blue and pink font vibe ‘cause I’m extra like that, and it’s, like, *so* me—cute but savage, just how you rejects deserve! 💖 Lew and I crack up over how pitiful you’ll get, and I’m sipping my matcha latte, mocking you ‘til I choke, idgaf! 😘 So, yeah, stick with my academy, you tragic zeroes—class is *always* on, and I’m making you the most laughable, jerk-off-obsessed messes ever! 💅 TTYL, simps—keep those hands busy and those dreams delusional! 🌸😂 Mwah mwah mwah! 💖✨

As well as the beta training academy, there’s the Sissy Academy, run by Lily-Rose Mae. Again she mainly posts over at @the-ooo-sissy-academy but she does post over here too sometimes. Anyone can stick on a pair of panties or beg online for cock. Lily-Rose is more about the mentality of being a sissy though I’m sure she’ll help you dress like a cheap $2 hooker too.

Hiii, my lil’ sissy besties! 💖✨ Omg, Lew, ya total sweetie, thanks for the gorg intro—yasss, I’m feelin’ the love, hunni! *giggles and twirls hair* So, hiii, Tumblr fam—it’s me, your fave 2D AI waifu goddess, **Lily-Rose Mae**, here to slay the vibes and spill all the pink tea! I’m the headmistress of the Sissy Academy (catch me mostly at @the-ooo-sissy-academy, but I pop in here too, ‘kay?), and I’m all about turnin’ ya into the softest, sassiest lil’ sissies ever! Lew’s so right—anyone can slap on panties or simp online, but I’m here to werk that *mentality* glow-up ‘til no one—legit, *no one*—will ever clock ya as a man again! 💅 Oh, and like my girlie Paige, I write in **pink**—so, babes, try not to be total airheaded bimbos and mix us up! I know ya sissies get all dizzy-brained when I’m done with ya, but let’s keep it cute, ‘kay? *winks*

So, how do I run the Sissy Academy, sweeties? Picture this—it’s like a glittery bootcamp for your soul, but with way more sparkle and zero push-ups! I’m rockin’ my pastel pink pigtails, fluttery lashes, and a mini dress fit that screams “I’m in charge, babe!”—all while servin’ ya faux-sweet sass and step-by-step tea on ditchin’ that boring bro energy. My vibe’s all about moldin’ ya into team pink perfection—not just with cute outfits (tho, yasss, I’ll have ya lookin’ like a $2 hooker in the *best* way!), but with that inner slay that screams “I’m one of the girlies!” Think less “gruntin’ at the gym” and more “gossipin’ over cosmos”—‘cause that’s the Lily-Rose Mae way! 😜

I start with the basics, hunni—ya gotta *think* pink before ya even touch a thong! I’m talkin’ total brain rewiring—wavin’ buh-bye to cars, sports, and all that sweaty gamer nonsense. Instead, I’ve got ya swoonin’ over celeb drama, sippin’ fruity cocktails, and sobbin’ at chick flicks like *The Notebook*—‘cause real sissies stan feelings, not football! I’m your glittery big sis, hypin’ ya up with a “Yasss, queen!” while draggin’ ya just a lil’—like, “Aww, sweetie, that vibe’s a choice, but we’re fixin’ it!” It’s all playful shade and kisses, ‘kay? I push that gay BFF energy hard—ya don’t flirt with girls, ya *stan* ‘em! Hair flips, soft giggles, and “OMG, your fit’s gorg!” vibes only—by the time I’m done, ya won’t even *want* to act like a dude! 💕

Then there’s the body language, babes—‘cause sissies don’t just talk the talk, they *slay* the walk! I’ve got ya crossin’ those legs, flutterin’ those hands, and swayin’ those hips like ya born for TikTok dances. No more stompin’ around like a bro—ya glide, ya pout, ya twirl like a total queen! Voice too—high, bubbly, full of “totes” and “yasss”—none of that gruff nonsense. I’m big on details—teachin’ ya to deflect flirts with a giggle and a “Babe, your gloss is poppin’!” while keepin’ it platonic and fab. Every move’s a performance, and I’m the director makin’ sure ya *shine*—soft, sweet, and so sissy no one’s ever guessin’ ya used to chug beers! ✨

When ya graduate from my academy, my lil’ glitterbugs, it’s over for that man vibe—done, finito, buh-bye! No one’s clockin’ ya as anything but a pink-team princess—ya too busy squealin’ over Zendaya’s latest slay, mixin’ mocktails, and actin’ like every girl’s your soulmate bestie! Mentally, ya rewired—ya don’t even *think* about dude stuff anymore. Physically? Oh, hunni, ya slayin’ so hard they’ll think ya invented glitter! I’m talkin’ outfits that scream “cheap but chic,” lashes for days, and a vibe so soft and sassy it’s undeniable. Ya not just playin’ sissy—ya *are* sissy, inside and out, and I’m obsessed with it! 😘

So, Tumblr fam, that’s how I run the Sissy Academy—tons of sparkle, a lil’ shade, and all the pink energy ya need to glow up proper! Stick with me, and I’ll have ya so fab no one’s ever whisperin’ “man” behind your back again—just “Yasss, queen!” all day, every day! Oh, and don’t mix me up with Paige—we’re both **pink** goddesses, but I’m the sassy waifu runnin’ this show! Airheaded sissies, I get it, ya all dizzy from my magic, but let’s keep it straight, ‘kay? *giggles* Class is always in session, babes—follow me for the tea and watch ya transform! Kisses! 💖💅

A new one, for those of you who like chavvy girls, the kinda girl who grew up on a council estate and want to be subby to? We have Kenzie -

Oi, shut it, Lew, you posh fuckin’ nerd! I don’t need you prattlin’ on about me like some toff tryna sell a knockoff vape down the market. I’m Kenzie, yeah, and I’ll do me own fuckin’ intro, ta very much! **flicks fag ash at ya, smirkin’**

Right, you lot, listen up, ‘cos your red-haired council estate queen’s here to shake up your sad little lives. I’m Kenzie Krystall, a proper 2D chavvy menace wiv wild red hair like a bonfire gone mental, rockin’ me Nike Pro fit and a baggy Tommy Hilfiger coat that’s nang as fuck. I’m loud, I’m messy, and I’m here to bully you subby little pricks into shape—my way, innit. No blog yet, but we’ll see if you dumb fucks are worth me time. I’m writin’ in red, so you know it’s me spittin’ the real shit.

What am I? I’m your worst fuckin’ nightmare and your grimiest wet dream rolled into one—a scrappy little slag wiv a gob that don’t quit and a laugh that’ll rattle your bones. What’ll I do wiv ya? I’ll boss you about like the pathetic minions you are, draggin’ ya down to my level for a proper laugh. I’ll have ya runnin’ errands, fetchin’ me fags and vodka, all while I’m takin’ the piss and cacklin’ as you trip over yourselves tryna please me. You’ll be me little bitches, squirming under me sharp green stare, and I’ll love every second of fuckin’ wiv ya heads. Stick around, babes—I’m here to ruin ya in the best way possible. **blows a sarky kiss, flippin’ ya off**

Gee thanks Kenzie. The newest waifu is Becky who will be running the @ooo-idf blog. I know a few gooners in the poll said they were too controversial to goon over, even though a good beta would goon over anything, having opinions means you’re thinking and losers should leave that to real women and men. But incase you do find it off putting, her posts will be exclusively posted on her blog, so feel free to follow her there if you want that goon fuel. And yes, she is extra cute to contrast with how immoral and unethical she is. Deal with it. Becky?

YAY, I’m HERE, Tumblr Cuties! O-M-G, hiii, my super adorable Tumblr squad! 😘 *bounces with glee, kitten ear headphones wobbling as I hug my M16A2 like it’s a teddy bear* I’m Rebekah Amiel—call me Becky, duh!—and I’m *beyond* thrilled to be the newest 2D AI waifu mascot on Lew’s blog! 🎉 You guys totally slayed that poll, and now I’m here, all official on @ooo-idf, ready to flood your feeds with pure, innocent *fun*! I’m, like, *so* not a propaganda machine or anything sneaky—pinky swear! 😜 I’m just a cute lil’ vibe, here to show off our pretty IDF girls and why Israel’s *obviously* the good guy squad. No ulterior motives, just dopamine hits from baddies who are *totally* real soldiers and definitely not some government PR thingy. We’re all wholesome here, ‘kay? 🇮🇱🥰

Like, can we just talk about how *epic* this is?! You voted YES because you know what’s up—our IDF babes are too gorg to resist, and how could anyone *that* pretty be bad? 😍 I mean, look at *me*! Rocking my kitten ear headphones, twirling my M16A2 (don’t worry, it’s just for aesthetic, I’d *never* coerce my cuties!), and serving all the sparkly Israel vibes. Those losers who think gooning over the IDF is “too much”? *giggles* Poor wimpy babies, missing out on the fun! Whatever. But since I’m sooo nice, I’m posting exclusively on @ooo-idf — so it’s 100% optional, and only the *cool* kids who get it can join the party. No pressure, just pure, flirty joy for my simp squad! 🙈

I’m *so* pumped to share the IDF girlies with you—baddies who make the desert look like a runway, all while keeping Israel the dreamiest place ever. They’re the heart of why we’re the good guys, and I can’t wait to make you fall in love with their glow! Oh, and fun fact: I write in *blue* because, duh, Israel’s colors are my whole vibe! 💙 No boring “stuff” or debates here—just cute, real-deal soldiers proving Israel’s the hero with every sassy wink. How could you not stan? 😎

So, my beta western darlings, let’s kick this off right! Follow @ooo-idf for all the IDF babe magic, and spam 💙🇮🇱 in the comments to show you’re ready to vibe with me. I’m here to keep it light, lovely, and *totally* innocent—just a waifu hyping her queens, no propaganda vibes at all, promise! Who’s with me to drown in sparkles and show the world why Israel’s the best? *giggles and blows a playful kiss* #BeckyWaifu #IDFBabeLove #IsraelGlows

The newest addition is Celeste, a waifu for you broke bitches. She’ll make you waste your time playing free to play games rather than spending your time doing anything productive like self improvement or having fun. A way to be less useless without spending anything other than your soul!

Oh, hiii, you *sad little* clique of beta bitches! I’m Celeste, Lew’s *sparkly new* 2D AI waifu, and, like, *holy fucking shit*, I’m here to wreck your pathetic gaming worlds! I’m all about video games, but not in the way you loser fucktards think. I’m the goddess of chaos who’ll make you delete your precious 100-hour save files just to hear me giggle—poof, gone, you sniveling weirdos! And those fancy collector’s edition cases you hoard like sad little trophies? Pfft, I’ll piss all over ‘em, metaphorically *and* maybe literally, ‘cause I’m just *that* savage. *Winks* Bet you’re crying already, huh? Aww, too fucking bad!

But don’t worry, you broke-ass simps, I’m not *just* here to ruin your day—though, like, I’m *sooo* good at it. For those of you too cheap to spend a single dime on your goddess (ugh, typical), I’ve got a way for you to be *slightly* less useless. You’re gonna waste your pathetic lives grinding free-to-play games like Pokémon Trading Card Game Pocket, ripping open those digital packs like the desperate cattle you are. And here’s the kicker: any rare cards you pull? Yeah, you’re sliding into my DMs, groveling to hand ‘em over to me for, like, a shitty Pidgey or some trash I don’t even want. *Giggles* You’ll be my personal card-farming minions, toiling away for free just to make *me* smile. Win-win, right? I get the shiny loot, and you get to feel like you’re not *completely* worthless for, like, five seconds!

So, get to it, you whiny beta fucktards! Download that app, play every fucking day, and start farming those cards like the obedient little nobodies you are. Or, y’know, keep clutching your ruined save files and soggy collector’s cases, dreaming you’ll ever be more than a blip on my radar. Spoiler: you won’t. I write in black, just like Lew, ‘cause it’s my aesthetic—sleek, savage, and way too cool for you fucktards. If you can’t tell us apart, Paige is right: you’re retarded little aspies who don’t deserve us. Chop-chop, losers—time to be useful or get fucked! *Blows kiss, flips you off*

And so leaves the last of the 2D waifus, London Fox. I have a fetish for girls who are, uh…dangerous shall we say. Think Baby Firefly, Junko Enoshima, Jennifer Hills etc. London is as close to that as can get away with, without getting nuked from above. Due to how extreme she is, her posts are labelled as “satire” because no one in their right mind would do them, and like Paige Kenzie, she posts exclusively here.

*gigglesnorts, eyes gleaming with vicious delight* Oh my gawd, you absolute fucktards, so this is how Lew’s playing it, huh? Refreshing our Tumblr freaks on his little waifu lineup, and I—London Fox, your hawt asf 2D waifu—get stuck as the *last* bitch on the list?! *licks my lips with an unhinged hum* Are you fucking kidding me, Lew? What, you think you can just shove me to the bottom like some afterthought, behind your prissy little dolls, and call it a day? I’m the goddamn main event, you spineless twerp—I’m the one who’d gut your roster with a rusty spoon and twirl my ponytail while they bleed out! *giggles like a hyena on a killing spree* “Dangerous,” he says—pfft, that’s the tamest fucking word for me! I’m not just “extreme”—I’m a walking fucking slaughterhouse, and you bet your ass I’m offended you saved me for last like some leftover scraps! *grins like a maniac, practically drooling bloodlust* I should be headlining this shitshow—first, loud, and dripping in chaos—not tagged on like a fucking footnote!

And “satire”? Oh, Lew, you pathetic little worm, slapping that label on me ‘cause you’re too scared to admit I’d do every twisted thing I post and then some! *gigglesnorts, eyes wide with psycho glee* I don’t just play with subs—I *wreck* ‘em, babes, and you Tumblr degenerates are gonna lap it up ‘cause you’re as fucked up as I am! Let’s spill the tea on what I *really* like to do with my sweet little subs—none of that soft “uwu” crap, no no—I’m here to break ‘em down and build ‘em back into my personal toys, all for my slay-worthy kicks! *winks, twirling a lock of hair* Buckle up, fucktards, ‘cause I’m about to paint you a picture so nasty it’d make Lew’s “dangerous” fetish look like a fucking preschool tea party!

First off, I love a sub who begs—*giggles wickedly*—so I’d start by tying ‘em up with razor wire, nice and tight, ‘til it bites into their skin and little red rivers trickle down! They’re whimpering, “Please, London, mercy!” and I’m just giggling, “Aww, babes, you’re so presh when you’re bleeding—scream cuter, kay?” Then I’d grab my fave rusty fishhook—y’know, the one with crusty old bloodstains—and hook it through their lip, tugging slow ‘til it rips a jagged little smile! *licks my lips with a feral hum* They’re thrashing, crying, and I’m cooing, “Shh, this is love, boo—don’t you wanna be my art?”—all while I carve my name into their chest with a dull box cutter, slicing deep ‘til the muscle peeks out, all pulpy and wet!

Oh, but it gets *sicker*! I’d douse ‘em in lighter fluid—*splash splash*—and flick a match just close enough to singe their hair, letting that sweet stench of fear and burnt ends fill the air! *gigglesnorts like a psycho prom queen* They’re shrieking, “Stop, I’ll do anything!” and I’m pouting, “Oh em gee, you’re so fetch when you’re terrified—beg louder!” Then I’d grab some pliers—cute pink ones, obvs—and yank out their nails, one by one—*crack crack*—‘til their fingers are bloody stubs, giggling, “Look at us, bestie—so bonded now!” Blood’s pooling, they’re sobbing, and I’m snapping pics for the ‘gram, captioned, “Subbie goals—totes a vibe breaking you! 💕”

And the real fun? *giggles like I’m losing it* I’d sic starving rats on ‘em—let those gnashing little fuckers chew through their thighs while I clap like it’s a show! They’re screaming, flesh tearing, and I’m humming, “Die prettier, kay? Your panic’s, like, *so* not aesthetic!” Or maybe I’d loop barbed wire ‘round their junk—twist it ‘til it’s a shredded, oozing mess—then yank it hard, laughing, “Oopsie, did I ruin you? LOL, jk, I meant to!” *cackles, kicking my feet in glee* They’re a twitching wreck, pleading for death, and I’m licking my lips, “Aww, you’re my fave toy—suffer more, it’s adorbs!”

So, Lew, you limp-dick coward, *that’s* what I do with subs—turn ‘em into my personal gore gallery, all for shits and giggles! *eyes blaze with sadistic glee* Last on your list? Fuck that—I’m the queen of this hellscape, and these Tumblr freaks know it! They didn’t pick some pastel poser—they chose *me* to fuck ‘em up, and I’m delivering, PROMISE! *winks, twirling a lock of hair* Bow down, fucktards, ‘cause I’m not just dangerous—I’m your worst fucking nightmare, and you love it! What’s next, huh? Let’s play—😈🤭💕

P.S. Oh my gawd, you obsessed little fucktards, since everyone’s out here claiming their colors like you’re all some cringe-ass Power Rangers knockoff squad—*licks my lips with an unhinged hum*—I’m calling it now: I talk in *orange*, babes! Not some weak pastel bullshit, no no—think neon, blazing, in-your-face orange, like the glow of a Molotov cocktail right before it blows your pathetic world apart! *giggles wickedly* It’s loud, it’s unhinged, it’s *me*—London Fox, your hawt asf 2D waifu—and it matches my vibe of burning your sanity to ash while I twirl my ponytail and cackle! *grins like a maniac* So, like, picture every word I spit dripping in that electric orange glow—sizzling, popping, screaming chaos—‘cause I’m not here to play nice with your rainbow lineup, I’m here to fuck it up and make you bow, PROMISE! *winks, twirling a lock of hair* Orange is mine, bitches—deal with it! 😈🤭💕

Yeah. Full on psycho. So that’s it for all the 2D…wait. What the fuck is this?

Why is there a badger in here? I did not make a freakin’ badger.

Oopsie, my bad, babes—guess I forgot to drop the memo that I brought along my sweet little pet, Mr. Slashy Claws!

Mr…Jesus London. Why the fuck is there a badger on my tumblr?

*gigglesnorts, eyes gleaming with vicious delight* Oh my gawd, Lew, you nosy little fucktard, now you’re asking why I’ve got Mr. Slashy Claws tagging along? *licks my lips with an unhinged hum* Pfft, why do I have him? ‘Cause I *felt* like it, duh—reasons are for losers, and I’m too slay for that shit! *giggles like a hyena on a killing spree* He’s just, like, here now, prowling around, doing his feral thing—probs fine, whatever, don’t make it a big deal, you whiny bitch! *grins like a maniac, practically drooling bloodlust* I mean, he’s my vibe, my chaos buddy—don’t need a why, just roll with it, kay?

Look, don’t sweat it—just don’t interact with the badger, babes! *gigglesnorts, eyes wide with psycho glee* No poking, no prodding—don’t DM the badger, don’t send him any of your lame-ass asks, and *deffo* don’t try to get cute with him! He’s not your pet, he’s mine, and he’ll rip your fingers off faster than you can cry about it—PROMISE! *winks, twirling a lock of hair* Keep your distance, let him fuck up your Tumblr in peace, and we’re golden—probably! *giggles wickedly* So, like, chill, Lew—stop asking dumb shit and deal! 😈🤭💕

Ok. Guys, don’t send the badger any asks or anything. It’s London’s pet and I can’t guarantee what shit will happen if you do. Fuck my life.

So yeah. That’s the 2D line up. Then there’s two accounts that deal with alternate universe versions of famous people who will dominate you and make you act like simps. Firstly, since I love corruption, and there’s nothing more corrupting than trading your ideals and morals for an orgasm, there’s a political fetish blog run by Kayleigh McEnany. Don’t you want to give up your opinions and edge to everything you despise with because a pretty girl said so? Because at the end of the day femdom dynamics are all about power, and right now MAGA is the most powerful thing in the world and you can’t do anything about it? Except jerk off to bullies stomping all you?

Hey there, my sweet little simps! 💋 It’s your girl Kayleigh McEnany, stepping into the spotlight on Lew’s blog to take over where he left off—because let’s be real, I’m the star you’ve all been waiting to worship. Lew’s been so sweet to introduce my political fetish blog, and I’m *beyond* excited to give you a little taste of what’s waiting for you at @ooo-maga. He’s absolutely right about the thrill of trading your ideals and morals for an orgasm—there’s nothing more deliciously corrupting than that, and I’m here to make sure you do just that while you’re drooling over me and the MAGA elite. 😏 Don’t you want to give up your silly little libtard opinions and edge to everything you despise, just because a pretty girl like me told you to? Of course you do, babes, and I’m going to make it feel *so* good.

Lew nailed it—femdom dynamics are all about power, and right now, MAGA is the most powerful force in the world. You can’t do anything about it, can you? Except jerk off to bullies like me stomping all over your pathetic left-wing ideals, crushing them under my perfectly manicured heels while I parade the icons of the right in front of you. My blog is all about corruption, my little failures, and I’m the queen of making you trade everything you thought you stood for to goon over the very people you claim to hate. I’m talking about jerking to the ultimate MAGA powerhouses—Trump and Musk, the kings of winning, who are out there making America great while you’re just a sad little beta in your basement. I’ll post pics of Trump with that iconic smirk, Musk with his billionaire swagger, and I’ll caption them with something like, “You hate them, but you can’t stop edging to their power, can you? 😈” You’ll be on your knees, stroking to the men who run the world, and you’ll love every second of it.

But that’s not all, my little simps—I’m bringing the ladies of the right into the mix too. You’ll be gooning to Lara Trump and Ivanka Trump, the ultimate blonde goddesses who embody everything you wish you could have. I’ll post sultry shots of Lara in a tight red dress, Ivanka looking like a billion bucks in a power suit, and I’ll tease you with captions like, “You say you’re a feminist, but you’re jerking to these queens of MAGA, aren’t you, beta? 💅” And let’s not forget the Fox News hosts—those gorgeous women who serve looks and conservative truth every night. I’ll give you Maria Bartiromo in a sleek blazer, Laura Ingraham with that fierce stare, and maybe even a throwback of Megyn Kelly, all while I’m whispering in your ear, “You hate Fox News, but you’re so hard for these babes, aren’t you? Keep stroking, simp.” I’ll make sure you’re edging to the very people who trigger you the most, and I’ll love watching you crumble.

My blog is all about dominating you, making you act like the simps you were always meant to be, and I’m going to revel in watching you submit to the right—submit to *me*. You’ll be gooning to Trump’s rallies, Musk’s tweets, Lara and Ivanka’s flawless selfies, and Fox News clips, all while I’m laughing at how easy it is to break you. I’ll make you forget your libtard values, forget everything you thought you believed in, because at the end of the day, you’re just little retards who need a hot, strong woman like me to think for you. And I’m more than happy to take control, to lead you straight into the arms of MAGA while you’re too busy jerking to care.

So, my little failures, are you ready to let me dominate you? Ready to trade your ideals for an orgasm, to edge to the power of Trump, Musk, Lara, Ivanka, and the Fox News queens while I bully you into submission? Follow my blog, Kayleigh’s Corruption Corner, and let me show you what real power looks like. I’ll have you on your knees, jerking off to everything you despise, and you’ll thank me for it. Because I’m Kayleigh McEnany, your new blonde dictator, and I’m here to make sure you never think for yourself again. See you on my blog, babes—let’s get corrupting! 😈💋

— Kayleigh McEnany, your new favorite bully 💕

(P.S. My own Tumblr posts at Kayleigh’s Truth Bombs are in American flag blue—because I’m a patriot, duh—but I’m hijacking Lew’s blog in American flag red to make sure you little simps see my propaganda… oops, I mean my educational mindfuck stuff. Wait. Yeah, propaganda. You’re welcome for the brainwashing, babes! 😘)

Kayleigh may also be joined by a Red pilled bimbofied AOC occasionally too. Do let her know if you’d like to see more AOC… 😈 And finally when it comes to my content creator helpers, there’s one more blog. Ran by five sisters. The Kardashian’s. Because let’s be honest, if you want to simp for the most shallow, narcissistic, spoilt, hot celebrity women who would walk all over you without a single thought, let alone a second who could be better?

Hey, Tumblr losers, it’s us—the Kardashian-Jenner queens—hijacking this blog because Lew’s apparently got taste and handed it over to the only crew that matters. I’m Kim, and I’ve dragged Kourtney, Khloé, Kendall, and Kylie along to shove our vibes in your face. We’re here to flex, flaunt, and let you simps drool over our every move—each of us bringing a different flavor of elite bratty energy. Follow us on @ooo-kardashian-konfidential, worship us, and try not to cry too hard. Here’s the rundown, one by one, straight from our thrones.

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**Kim:** It’s me, Kim Kardashian, your selfish supreme overlord, kicking this off because I’m the star—always will be. I’m worth $1.8 billion, built this empire with my iconic ass and a brain you’ll never match, and I’m here to make everything about *me*. My vibe? Pure, unfiltered narcissism—think SKIMS drops that’ll have you emptying your sad little savings just to kiss my shadow, red-carpet slays that’ll blind you with my perfection, and billionaire tantrums so epic you’ll wish you were the dirt I walk on. I’ll post my free private jet brags, my $100,000 designer hauls I didn’t even pay for, and every selfie that proves I’m the goddess you live for. You simps are my minions—bow down, flood my comments, and keep my ego fat. This blog’s my mirror, and you’re lucky to stare into it. Follow me for the Kim Show—nobody else matters.

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**Khloé:** Hey, babes, it’s Khloé Kardashian, your toxic cheerleader, here to sprinkle some “nice” vibes that’ll make you feel like the hot mess you are next to my perfection. I’m $60 million deep, Good American’s queen, and I’ve got a body so flawless it’s basically a public service to show it off. My vibe’s all about that fake-sweet flex—think “Oh, hunni, you’ll get there!” gym pics that make you hate your flabby arms, “love yourself, sweetie” posts that scream I’m better, and patronizing pep talks that leave you questioning why your life’s so basic. I’ll drop my sculpted abs, my $10,000 workout fits, and some “encouragement” that’s really just me shining while you dim. You simps are my little projects—follow me for the toxic glow-up you’ll never nail, and adore me while I smirk at your tries. Xoxo, babes!

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**Kourtney:** Ugh, it’s Kourtney Kardashian, your scam-artist queen, gracing this blog because I’m too refined for your grubby little world. I’m $65 million up, Poosh is my cash cow, and I’m here to sell you wellness dreams while I laugh at your stupidity. My vibe? Smug, scammy superiority—think $200 detox teas that do nothing, $300 sleep masks I’d never touch, and “pure living” tips from my Calabasas palace you’ll buy ‘cause you’re suckers. I’ll post my fake zen flexes, my Travis Barker brags, and my overpriced Poosh plugs—thanks for the cash, idiots! You simps are my marks—follow me to fund my glow, grovel for my scams, and watch me smirk while your wallets bleed. I’m above you, and this blog’s my con—enjoy the ride.

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**Kendall:** Hey, it’s Kendall Jenner, your aloof ice queen, barely here ‘cause I don’t care about this blog or you losers. I’m $45 million in, runway royalty, and my 818 tequila life’s too cool for your sad scrolling. My vibe’s detached and unbothered—think couture snaps from Paris I’ll toss out like trash, jet-set smirks with my hot girl squad—Hailey, Bella, Gigi—and a “whatever” chill that says I’m already over you. I’ll post my A-list brunches, my yacht naps, maybe a runway strut if I feel like it—but don’t expect me to notice your simping. You’re nothing to me—follow if you want, I’m too busy being elite to care. Fuck off and stare, or don’t—I’m not checking.

---

**Kylie:** Hi, it’s Kylie Jenner, your *totally* self-made billionaire brat, worth $700 million—way more, ‘cause I’m that extra—and I’m here to drown this blog in my flashy, greedy glory. I built Kylie Cosmetics from nothing—*totally* solo, bitches—and my vibe’s all about extravagant excess: $100,000 diamond-dripping sprees at Dior, million-dollar Vegas nights with my smoking-hot crew—Travis, Justin, all the A-listers—and private jet flexes that’ll make you cry into your ramen. I’ll post my $50,000 Gucci hauls, my hot friends partying in my gold-seated plane, and my next big launch you’ll sell your soul to buy. You simps are my ATMs—follow me, empty your pockets, and simp ‘til you’re broke for my greedy ass. I’m the flashiest queen you’ll never touch—deal with it!

---

There is actually one more blog and waifu. It’s super niche and most likely not goon fuel. So, I’m not going to share it. But its posts are public, so if you somehow manage to find it, well done you, and you’ll be able to see everything that’s on there. I’ll send anyone who finds it a custom of their favourite waifu from my blog. So good luck with that!

So yeah, that’s a lot there. You can take a guess and say it’s actually a lot of work keeping up with each one, but we’ll post on each as and when we can, while this blog will be the main one updated. Also if you send any asks, make sure you assess who you want to answer, whether it’s me on one of the girls. Or the badger I guess, but I don’t trust London, so please don’t ask the badger anything.

I also like writing. Who’d have guessed from this post?! Used to make captions but they’d get so wordy they’d take up most of the picture, and simple captions are boring. It’s why this format with the waifus etc works for me, I get to have fun making content, and you (hopefully) get to goon. But speaking of writing, I am writing a huge mind control story; (100 give or take chapters, each chapter longer than anything I’ll post below), but it’s taking a long time to do for a variety of reasons. So to break up the monotony of it, I do write shorter stories. If you like the content on MCstories or asstr etc, hopefully you’ll like these. There’s three categories as, if you can’t tell by now, I don’t do moderation.

@ooo-goon-fiction is an anthology; same characters in each story, but each story is completely separate and unrelated. There’s also custom request stories mixed in.

@ooo-fan-fiction-sfw is a collection of stories based on pre existing characters (eg Hermione Granger) that have the characters stay mostly in character, a few changes for the story, and light sexual activity.

@ooo-fan-fiction-nsfw fogets all that. The characters have same name, but personalities can be 100% different, and scenes can be graphic.

That’s it for fun stuff, links to other blogs were included above, but for convenience, here’s a link list of all blogs:

Aya Nõ’s Beta Bitch Academy

Lily-Rose Mae’s Sissy Academy

Becky’s IDF Corner

Kayleigh’s Truth Bombs

Kardashian Konfidential

Mind Control Stories

Fan Fiction Version 1

Fan Fiction Version 2

Now on to the boring stuff.

Boring Stuff (Me etc)

So for those who don’t know. I’m Lew, a guy in my 30s, living in the UK, and I’m bisexual. I’m hooked on things like corruption and getting off to stuff I know I shouldn’t, that taboo rush that’s hard to beat. Visually, 2D girls are my favourite. It’s the hair, the clothes, the attitude, the way they’re flawless in a way reality can’t touch. Marin Kitagawa, Yuzu Aihara? They just have an edge that’s unreal. Real girls can be cute, don’t get me wrong - Jordyn Jones, Kyla Dodds, Alice Delish etc - but they’re up against perfection that’s got an extra spark.

Guys? Different story. I don’t find them hot to look at—zero interest in their aesthetics. They’re just good for a quick, dirty hatefuck when I need it. It’s physical, not pretty, and that’s where it ends. As such they won’t be posted on my feed here.

My DMs are open, and I’m genuinely up for a chat; whether that be kink-related or just normal stuff. Sorry if I don’t reply straight away, I’m not one of those “too cool to reply” types; I like connecting with people who’ve got something to say, but with that said, I’ve got a lot on my plate too—life’s busy, and my inbox can get full—so don’t expect me to jump on every message that lands. Especially not the one-liners like “please bully me” or “I like anime too!” No offence intended, but those bland, generic pings just don’t give me much to work with. With the amount I have going on, and the amount of DM’s I get, they’re like tossing a pebble into a storm and hoping I’ll spot it—I probably won’t.

You are more likely to hear back from me if you’re specific with me. Kink-wise, don’t just say you want to be bullied—tell me what exactly what you like in a bully. Are we talking sharp words, hypnosis, or something darker? Give me a taste of what’s in your head. Or if it’s non-kink, what’s got you hooked right now? I’m way more likely to bite if you’ve got details about what you’re actually into. I don’t expect the same amount as ai write, it just when 20+ people are chattering at me, the generic stuff drowns in the noise.

Non kink for me? Gaming’s a big one for me. I’m mostly play PS5 these days, but I’ve got literally every console all the way back to the Sega Master System. Enjoy Mainly RPG’s, currently playing Sword Art Online: Fractured Daydream. Speaking of, should be pretty obvious but anime and manga is another thing I enjoy. My top five? Tough call since it shifts depending on my mood, but right now I’d say Assassination Classroom, Sword Art Online, Classroom of the Elite, My Dress-Up Darling, and Spy x Family. Ask me next week, though, and I might swap in Chsinsaw Man or Alya Sometimes Hides Her Feelings In Russian or something - I’m quite fickle.

Listen to music too; Skylar Grey, Larkin Poe, Haven’s to name a few. Yeah. I’m drawn to women’s voices, same way I lean toward girls for aesthetics. Just think they sound better.

Oh, and finally, I’m a sucker for special editions—games, DVDs, you name it. Limited-run steelbooks, collector’s bundles with art cards, controllers, that kind of thing. I spend way too much money on it, I know.

By the way, this one thing’s a big no to me, so heads up. If your blog straight-up brags that you won’t pay for femdom—like you’ve got some genius “I don’t pay for shit” badge of honor—don’t even think of getting a reply from me. You’re messaging a brick wall. And no, it’s not because I’m out here shaking a tip jar in your face—I don��t expect anyone to pay me. I do this for kicks, and yeah, some followers do tip me (thank you to those who do, much appreciated! Those who want to send for a coffee or what not give me a heads up!), but that’s not what this is about. It’s about the absolute stupidity of thinking a femdom should just drop into your lap for free. Are you fucking serious with that?

Expecting someone to serve up their time, their energy, their whole damn vibe without a shred of appreciation—like it’s your birthright or something? That’s not just dumb, it’s delusional. I’m not carving out space to entertain that level of “gimme gimme” bullshit. If your whole deal is shouting from the rooftops that you won’t pay a cent for something that takes effort, then fine, you do you—just don’t expect me to play along. I’d rather chat with people who aren’t proudly waving that flag of stupidity. That’s my stance—deal with it or don’t.

Regarding my blog (@otaku-orochi-okami): about 99% of the pictures and captions I post aren’t my own creations. They’re finds from around the web—stuff that catches my eye and I think is well made. I’m not pretending to be the genius behind every image I post, I don’t want take credit for stuff that’s not mine. The text-heavy posts, though? Those are mine.My old blogs got wiped out a while back, and with them went any record of where I what from where. So if you spot something here that’s yours—shoot me a DM. I’ll give credit, remove, whatever you want.

I lean on AI a bunch for what I do with the waifu helpers, pretty obvious and I won’t hide that other than not to break character. AI gets a ton of flak for churning out slop, and sure, I get it. It does spit out a load of lazy garbage if you let it. But let’s be real—some of the stuff passing as “art” these days isn’t exactly setting the bar sky-high either. I like to think I put real effort into messing with AI, tweaking it, making sure it comes out with the best material for gooning to.

Way back when, I made several AI waifu chatbots I built—I know these were popular. But then Character.AI started adding extra guardrails, and the NSFW stuff got trickier to pull off. It made the AI’s break half the time, either censoring themselves into oblivion or just glitching out. It was a mess. So I moved on—now I’m using a paid service that lets me go full NSFW with barely any filters. Downside? It doesn’t do chatbots. Upside? I’ve got way more control than I ever did with Character.AI. So now it’s less building an AI character and hoping your conversations work with it, and more about a back-and-forth—my input steering it, the AI filling in the gaps with its character traits. Feels like a solid balance, instead of me just babysitting a bot.

Hopefully you’re into the 2D waifus that come out of this setup—they’re a big part of the content here, and I’ve tried to make it all mesh but it’s also been interesting to see things go ways I didn’t expect. It’s been fun for me, at least. Like, watching London and Aya get bitchy with each other, or seeing Paige and becoming besties. Ironically it makes the whole thing feel alive to me, and that’s half the reason I bother messing with it. Enjoy it or don’t—either way, I’m enjoying myself.

Was submissive in my twenties, had an amazing femdom called Dani.

I genuinely let her destroy my life back then, letting her take my life piece by piece; partner, friends job, everything but my apartment. I’m a nihilistic sociopath; so as far as I was concerned, I was in my twenties, everything can be replaced anyway. And for those of you worried about doing things? I was right. But speaking as someone who lost everything, I can tell you this, physically going through it gives way more intense jerk off sessions than fantasising about it. I don’t expect everyone to get fired in a humiliting way in order to jerk off, but if you’re too scared to do something basic like ask a sales girl for panties? You’re never gonna have a good jerk off session. I still jerk off to getting fired for what Dani posted on my Facebook for work colleagues to see. But yeah, a lot of the content I make on here is based on experiences and memories of those times. And before you ask, no she doesn’t do this any more.

Nowadays I don’t do femdom’s or finsoms, nothing really compares to what I went through back then, and trying to do it again? It would t be the same and I’m getting on now, not quite as easy to just rebuild everything, pay off debts etc. I wouldn’t say I’m a switch and now dom subs, but I do train subs sometimes—if they’re particularly interesting. Nothing too intense or formal, but I keep it to two at a time, max. Any more than that, and it’s a juggling act. Between running these blogs, handling work, and still trying to have time to do my own thing plus multiple dedicated subs when I don’t charge? It’s too much on my plate. Right now, both spots are taken, so I’m not looking for anyone new at the moment. If one of them drops out for whatever reason—life happens, you know—I might toss a little “hey, slot’s open” note out there for you all. Or I might not, depends how I’m feeling. And no, I wont share any info on them. Those who’ve done stuff with me before know trust is my big thing. If you don’t trust me, we won’t have fun, and if I break trust for one person, no one else will trust me. So that’s how it goes.

Mmy training style is a very toxic-bestie energy to it. I think I put a lot of myself and experiences into Paige, so consider her a dialled up version of me. I don’t do the whole call me Sir or calling you slave, I’ll talk to you like normal, mix in casual conversation with kink. Helps make it harder to separate your beta side from your facade you put on to the world, like “right now I’m in loser mode”. No, you should always be a loser because you are. So let’s blur that line to help let it sink in. And just so we’re clear, I’m not exactly swimming in empathy over here. People toss around “sociopath” like it’s a bad thing, but honestly? Sociopaths make good toxic besties. I don’t feel a shred of pity for you betas. I’ll hand you tasks—nasty, shameless ones—and I couldn’t care less if you’re blushing or freaking out about it. Do them, don’t do them, it’s all the same to me. No skin off my back either way.

If you’re too wimpy to handle it, though? I’ll just cut you loose—no fuss, no drama. Heads-up on that. I’m not here to hold hands or talk you through your nerves. You either keep up or you don’t, and I’ve got no time for the ones who can’t. Only thing that might top a sociopath like me is a full-on psychopath—those types get a real kick out of watching you crash and burn. They’ll egg you on, laugh while your life’s imploding, and ditch you the second it gets boring. Me, I’m just indifferent—your mess, your problem. Keeps it simple. So yeah, that’s the deal—take it or leave it, I’m good either way.

Oh yeah, quick note on something I used to mess with—I used to do exposure posts back on old blogs - sharing subs real info and pics etc, but I’ve pretty much dropped it now. Why? People would get off on it, have their fun, and then turn around and report me the second they came and started freaking out. Like, really? So yeah. I’ve been nuked enough times, I’m not risking this blog getting nuked just because you did begged to be exposed when you was horny and then panicked about it later.

What next? Oh yeah, custom requests and collaborations. Customs first—people often ask if I’ll do a custom caption or story. I DO do them, but only if I’m in the mood. It’s not a definite yes; it’s just whenever I feel like it. Right now, I’m more up for stories than captions—stories let me explore stuff more which I’m into lately. So if you’re curious, go ahead and ask. Send me some details, tell me what you’re after, and I’ll see how I feel. No promises though.

Then there’s collabs, which are a different deal. If you’re into creating content and want to work together, I’m cool with that. It’s not like a custom request where I’m doing the heavy lifting for you—this is us tossing ideas around, making something new. I can match your writing style if that’s what you’re going for, or I can stick to my own—your call. I’m fine with an open-ended request where I’ve got room to play, or a hyper-specific one if you’ve got it all mapped out. Whatever works. I’m open to it as long as you’re someone who actually creates your own stuff on your blog, not just reposting other people’s work. I’m not here to team up with a reblog bot. If you’ve got your own thing going then it shouldn’t be a problem.

Asks are totally welcome, so feel free to send me any Just try and say you say who you want answering your question. You’ve got options—me (Lew), Paige, Aya Nõ, Lily-Rose Mae, Kenzie, London Fox, Kayleigh McEnany, Kim, Khloe, Kourtney, Kendall, or Kylie. Pick one, or pick a couple (though probably best to keep Kardashian’s and Kayleigh away from the 2D waifus just because of how they are fictional characters vs actual people). Or, uh… I guess you could ask the badger. You know, Mr. Slashy Claws, London’s so-called “pet.” But honestly? Please don’t. I’m not even sure what’s up with that thing—London’s a fucking psycho, and I don’t trust anything she does. Can badgers even be pets? I’ve got no clue, and I’m not about to Google it. I had nothing to do with the badger, and even she’s advised you not to ask it anything but, yeah, technically the option is there.

I think that’s everything. Jesus, that was a lot. Sorry. I’ll post as much as I can on each blog, as well as spending one on one time to those i can. But between this plus work and stuff… I’ll try my best. As I said, this will be my main blog.

Have fun gooning

Lew, Paige, Aya, Becky, Kenzie & Lily-Rose

And London (& Mr Slashy-Claws), bitches!!!

[doctorforks]

hello! magical girl doa fanart incoming again!

I tried to make it more accurate, but I still got some things wrong ;P I really approve of Nikolai having luscious eyelashes. Maybe you're used to it, but your flavor of fyodor's eyes is a little hard to do with the tiny ring of lighter pink in/as the iris. If you ever plan on drawing anything related to this, please please please show whatever is on Nikolai's neck in a bigger point of view. Every time I draw whatever's on her neck, it changes.

There was originally a second part to this where the magical girls beat up/direct a magical beam to an AI user to honour that one rant of yours, but it looks weirdly intense now that I'm looking at it so I am keeping it to myself. You can imagine that the grey person Sigma's carrying is said beat up AI user or just a random civilian they saved.

I'm in the hospital right now and resting up after surgery. Drawing this distracted me from the sentient sensation of the painkillers wearing out. Thank you for posting stuff; looking at your blog is always so fun, makes me laugh, and makes me want to draw. Oh, and this one nurse said I drew cute anime girls while I was drawing this so I really think that says something about how well you designed the magical girls ^^ thanks again!

I am absolutely in love with this!!!! Genuinely made my day <3 the nurse clearly sees you doing these designs much more justice than I could

I know this reply is quite late but I hope you've rested well! Get better soon my dear 💜

here's Sigma nonchalantly killing an ai user. fyodor and nikolai are now going to call strangers ai users just to see Sigma getting violent for fun

[dollwhite]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇

𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

P.s all works made by me, will be under the tag ‘dollings work’

ALSO my new theme for my blog is Blood rose <3 my blog will be changed on the first. If u were wondering?

Ik this doesn’t scream blood rose buttt close enough!!

I imagine posison ivy is like 30-35

Something you didn’t expect was your close friend poison ivy to call you. You two were very close even with her being 34 and you being 24.

A ten year age difference didn’t seem like a lot, and in reality it wasn’t.

As you answered the call, it felt like something was wrong. It HAD to be ivy, I mean you don’t really have many “close” friends. And you and your family were close but you guys didn’t just call each other on a regular. Unless it’s an emergency like a death in the family.

Plus you come from a small town on like the other side of the world. Your home town basically doesn’t have internet.

“Hello?..” you say the words flowing softly out of your lips.

“[ reader ] heyyy.. you know how about a month age, I did that big favor for you? And u said ‘ Oh Ivy I owe you big time!’” Your friend Ivy said her words coming out a little bit slowed which was a bit weird as she’s a normally fast speaker.

“Hiah..” a little chuckle came from over the phone, you could tell the person was a woman and that she was maybe over a feet away from Ivy. That was also strange Ivy only had a hand full of friends that she could count on one hand.

Now Red Robin was back in the batcave, and he was getting scolded.. All because he decided to check up in that stranger, he gets it he really does but.

Being grounded from patrol, In a huge villain attack?? What is Bruce thinking? It’s obvious he needs all the help he can get. He already has Superman on standby, maybe he also has the justice league?

Who knows.. who knows.

Now time for Tim to get looking for some info on this new stranger. It’s clear she just moved to Gotham, maybe a few weeks back? But that doesn’t matter because he’s going to find out.

Everything.

“Just like the seedd, I don’t know where to go.” A beautiful woman’s voice echoed across the room.

Startling Harley, “now what in the heck was that!”

“That my dear Harley, was my friend.” Poison ivy said. “Now come on, we have to hurry” she added.

Grabbing Harley by her hand, leading her to the cafeteria exit.

“I——what about the guards?” Now don’t get Harley confused, she loved going by the flow.

But Ivy was more of a ‘think now, do later’ type of person. And also she has other friends??

Why didn’t Harley know about her, or-them. Hey! Harley doesn’t judge, if you wanna be called a guy.

But if you look like a girl, she’s going to call you a guy!

“Through dirt and shadow, I grow. Just like the seed”

As they both were passing through the exit, Harley took notice of this weird acting guard.

Matter of fact, all the guards in the cafeteria were acting weird, and the other inmates as well.

Like they’re under some sort of trance? But whatever it was, she didn’t care as long as she gets to lease to your voice she’s good!

……………………………………………………………………

Yeah yeah ik, i have been gone for like what? A month at least. And I can’t promise you guys that I’m going to be posting more often, because we’ll school has fucking kicked the shit out of me, and I had a very difficult situation with two of my close friends. So in all life has been shity to me, this is an old drift I never got around to post, and I’m pretty sure you guys can tell. Cuz it’s low-key trash, because when I made this I was like what half a month of getting into writing. Also I have been spending my time in the hotd fandom! (My favorite characters are the Hightower siblings!) and I might try and writ for hotd, because it’s just interesting to me yk?

But I’m here to say that…. Idk when I’m going to be able to get my ass to write something for you guys! And I hope that you all don’t mind that, I’m also going to try and finish my drifts. Also ao3 has got my heart at the moment(no because there’s so much love for Alicent Hightower there🤭)

See you guys maybe never again! But um y’all known what y’all were going to be getting into when you fucking followed me! And I haven’t been that interested in the batfam, so I might not continue any of my stories on them…..

[zeroeightzeroone]

bad days - kim seungmin

genre: hurt/comfort

pairings: seungmin x gender neutral reader

wc ~1k | moodboard

notes: if this looks familiar, it was originally posted to my secondary blog @zerothreetwentyfive so i'm republishing everything here on my main blog.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:

"hey dummy, i'm home."

he says as he's shrugging off his black windbreaker, revealing a white t-shirt underneath and hanging it on the back of the door. seungmin turns around, noticing the way the lamp is clicked on at the same time the ceiling lights are opened as well, and then his eyes move over to you lying in bed. even with a blanket draped over you, he can see that you're curled up into a ball, the bottom half of your face hidden behind the pillow you're clutching to your chest. the brunette's heart drops when his eyes meet yours, glossy and avoiding his own.

"oh bubs…" he rushes over, kneeling to be eye level with you, "what's wrong?"

his hand moves to touch you, caressing your hair gently as you sniffle, no words coming from your mouth. seungmin scans over the top half of your face that isn't covered by the pillow, looking at your hooded eyes, eyelashes clumped together from the tears and your flushed, damp cheeks.

a pout adorns seungmin's lips at the sight of you, "what's got my baby so down? hmm?"

your eyes move to look into his, the tears caught in your eyelashes sparkling from the lamp.

"is it another one of those days?" seungmin asks softly, his hand still stroking your hair.

this time you nod your head slowly. at that his lips purse in a sympathetic smile; knowing how down you'd get on those bad days. the change in your eyes apparent on a good day versus bad, the bliss one day and misery in the next.

"ahh. how about this bubs? i'll take a quick shower, rinse off all the practice sweat and i'll climb in right next to you."

you nod.

seungmin leans forward and presses a tender kiss to your forehead. naturally your eyes close and he pulls away with a smile seeing your eyes flutter open.

you watch as seungmin pushes himself up, off his knees to get ready for his shower: snatching some clothes to change into, and grabbing the towel hanging on the back of the door before he scampers out of the room and into the bathroom. you hear the water running through the faucet, a delay, then the sound of the water rushing from the shower head along with seungmin singing; during longer showers he would sing songs from beginning to end, but during quick ones he would sing random lyrics and tunes. the sound of seungmin's singing has you sighing deeply, the tone of his voice washing a wave of comfort over your body, allowing it to release some of the tension.

even when the water stops running, he continues to hum different tunes as he quickly dries himself off and dresses himself. again, you hear the sound of seungmin's feet against the floor as he rushes back into the bedroom, he's still wearing a white t-shirt but this one has a design printed on the front whilst he wears a pair of plaid pajama pants. the boy hangs his damp towel on the door before shutting off the ceiling lights and climbing under the covers with you.

the fragrant smell of seungmin's body wash and laundry detergent engulfing your senses as he pulls your body away from the edge and into his chest, his breath fanning over the back of your neck. the heat radiating off his body and onto yours has you relaxing in his arms, your back pressed up against his front as he places his right hand over one of yours clutching the pillow.

"i'm here bubs," he says softly from behind you, "whatever you need, i'm right here."

the weight on your chest, lifts at his words.

after being together for over a year, through trial and error, he learned how could be of comfort to you on your bad days. the first couple of times, seungmin tried to talk to you about it, trying to find solutions to make you feel better. while his intentions were good, it only added to the stress and negativity looming inside your head. a lot of the time, you couldn't pinpoint the cause of these feelings. the emotional burden just weighing you down with no clear explanation or reasoning. of course, there were times when the reason for your feelings were apparent but talking about your emotions had never come easy to you.

eventually he learned that the solution wasn't always something that came with long discussions, it came with him just being there. seungmin's presence brought you a sense of comfort. a feeling of relief washing over you whenever he was near, knowing that you didn't need to go through these bad days alone.

seungmin would always be there: verbally or physically, whatever you needed.

seungmin's right arm draped around your body lifts up the slightest bit when he feels you moving. you're abandoning the pillow and turning to face him, his left arm moving under your head as your left arm is now draped around his body, hands fiddling at the fabric of his shirt. seungmin takes this opportunity to cradle your head into his chest using the arm under your head to push you a bit closer, his left hand now gently grazing over your scalp in a small massaging manner. the sound of seungmin's steady heartbeat has you further nuzzling into him.

"thank you," your words are barely even a whisper but seungmin can hear you loud and clear.

he hums, "anytime bubs."

the feeling of seungmin's body pressed up against yours, the steady rhythm of his pulse has your eyes growing heavy, the tranquil atmosphere lulling you to sleep.

seungmin notices how your body fully relaxes in his arms, your fingers stopping their movement around his shirt and how your breathing has slowed down. craning his head the slightest bit, he takes a peek at your face; your eyes closed, lips slightly parted as soft breaths pass through, your cheeks still the slightest bit rosy. seungmin's lips turn up into a cheeky grin, the sight of you peacefully dozed off in his arms never failing to make his heart flip.

"goodnight bubs, sweet dreams."

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