#'not too shabby. not too shabby at all' - fashion

[giftedverse-confidential]

Marie Lee-Shifukukan

Marie Lee-Shifukukan, born Eun-mi Lee, is a Korean-Canadian engineer at Toronto Support Labs. She's the one who made a majority of the support equipment for all the Canadian Heroes.

She is married to Cloud Nine (Karly Shifukukan) and has a son named Skylar.

Description

Marie is a short, fat woman with a round face, tanned skin, and dark brown eyes. Her hair is dyed teal and is her natural black at the roots. On her left (or right) eyebrow is a silver piercing. She can commonly be seen with a large pair of black goggles with dark green lenses resting atop her head.

Marie tends to dress in a very stereotypically masculine manner with tank tops/wife beaters, flannels, etc. There are times where she's been mistaken for a man.

Personality

Brash, tough, and loud, Marie is a natural born wild child. With the mouth of a sailor and a big attitude, she makes herself stand out and isn't afraid to speak her mind. Firing back at negative comments, standing her ground during arguments, even not being afraid to fight, she's the poster child for a headstrong rebel. Marie is also not afraid to tease or joke on others, as she does with Soregum (@floof-ghostie).

As an engineer, Marie is one of the best in both her city and Canada. She puts a lot of passion and grit into making support items for the heroes of her home, including her wife. With her works being high demand and highly praised, so much so that there have been talks of promoting her to the head of the support labs.

Despite being a busy bee, she always makes time for her wife Cloud Nine and son Skylar. Marie sometimes brings Skylar to work with her and has a little playpen she built for him to play in.

History

Marie was born in Busan, South Korea. Her parents owned a small convenience store before selling it in preparation to move to Canada. When she was 2 years old, Marie moved to Canada and adopted her name.

Growing up, Marie had a complicated relationship with her femininity. She never really fit in with other girls because gravitated towards more traditionally masculine things and dressed like a boy. Part of her felt like a boy but didn't want to be one. This made her feel disconnected from most girls her age.

Things got worse for her when her father became permanently disabled after getting into a car accident, leaving Marie's mother to be the breadwinner.

Marie discovered she was a lesbian in high school. She had trouble coming to terms with her newfound sexuality as well as telling her parents. To cope with her struggles, Marie would build things with used car parts from the local junkyard. She used engineering as an outlet to her problems both at home and at school.

What started as a way to cope then became something that Marie was genuinely passionate about. It also helped her come to terms with both her gender and her sexuality. After graduating high school, Marie applied for college to major in engineering.

While there, she met her future wife Karly and they started dating before eventually getting married and having their son Skylar.

Relationships

Karly Shifukukan | Cloud Nine

Marie is a Human, therefore she doesn't have powers like Karly and Skylar.

Marie and Karly are very much in love and always have been. They contrast each other in all the right ways.

Abilities

Master Engineer: Marie is one of the best engineers in the world of the Giftedverse. She's built a myriad of devices from any type of material, mostly from car parts.

Mechanical Intellect: Marie is very intelligent when it comes to machines and their elements. She can tell what something is made of and how it works just by examining it.

Strength: While she doesn't have super strength, Marie is considerably strong due to all the work she does in the lab. From lifting heavy objects to screwing in bolts, Marie has some incredible arm, upper body, and leg strength.

[pickingupmymercedes]

My Venus - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

A MET Gala Special

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Famous!Reader

warnings: fashion world, sexual activities, (p in v), oral sex

Wrap it before you tap it!!!

wordcount: +3K

a/n: I know it's impossible for anyone to wear the original Venus Dior dress, it's a museum piece and it has been for decades, but it's a fic (and my favorite dress, ever) so let's go with it. Y/n is obviously someone really known in the fashion industry, but I didn't specify how, so it's totally up to you to create a back story.

a/n 2: Kind of a request. I was planning something already but anon gave me amazing ideas, thank horny anon!! Also, smut with a plot, what a shocker for me!!

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT.

______________________________________________________________

Y/n toyed with a stray piece of croissant, her gaze flitting from the cityscape outside to Lewis, who was deep in conversation with his stylist.

Sunlight streamed through the expansive windows on the opulent The Mark Hotel’s suite, a golden glow on the remnants of their breakfast. Crumbs danced on the crisp white tablecloth, a playful counterpoint to the elegant silver service glinting in the corner.

Eric, a man perpetually poised on the precipice of tranquility, leaned forward trying the nonchalantly posture as his eyes danced with curiosity. "Come on, Y/n, spill the beans! We’re all vibrating with suppressed curiosity."

Lewis, in is crisp white tee and black joggers, shot Eric a playful glare. "Thanks for that, mate. Subtlety is your strong suit, clearly." He turned to Y/n, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Seriously, love. The MET is in a few hours, you can tell us."

Y/n, who had mastered her poker face over the last five months of keeping that secret, took a delicate sip of her orange juice. "Let's just say," she drawled, her voice smooth as silk, "it has a very famous sister."

Eric groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "Oh, delightful. Lewis, bro, you're on your own with this one."

Lewis chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "You're a menace, Y/n." He winked, a shiver running down her spine despite the playful nature of the exchange. But the silence that followed held a different energy, charged with unspoken anticipation.

Lewis leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It’s something that is going to steal everyone breath away, so maybe it needs a security detail of its own?"

Y/n couldn't help but let a sly smile curve her lips. "Maybe." she teased, leaning in even closer. The scent of his signature cologne, a heady mix of wood and spice, filled her senses. "Maybe it'll have everyone whispering about who dared to wear such a legend."

A low rumble escaped Lewis' chest, a sound that sent a jolt of excitement through her. " An archive, huh?! " He said, his voice husky

Just then, Eric cleared his throat pointedly. "Right, right, all very hush-hush. But remember, Lewis, you have your Burberry fitting this afternoon. We can't have you looking too shabby next to your mystery woman in archives."

Y/n laughed, a light, tinkling sound that filled the room. "Oh, I'm sure Lewis will manage to steal the spotlight anyway."

Lewis winked again, his gaze lingering on her lips. "A competition, isn't it, love?"

Their playful sparring continued through the rest of the lunch, a delicious undercurrent of unspoken attraction running through their every word and glance. As they finished their coffee, the tension in the air thickened, a silent question hanging between them. It was time to leave, to face the world – and the MET Gala – separately.

But Lewis wouldn't let her go without a final flourish. He stood, his gaze holding hers, and offered a hand with a courtly bow. "Until tonight, my fashionista. May the best dresser win."

_______________________________________________________________

The air crackled with anticipation as Y/n stepped out of the limousine, a vision as the cameras flashed like a sudden storm, capturing the first glimpse of her enigmatic beauty. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, a palpable wave of awe and recognition as Y/n slowly revealed the legendary Venus dress.

Time seemed to slow. Each step on the red carpet was a carefully choreographed performance, the weight of fashion history settling on her body like a luxurious cloak.

The gown, a masterpiece of delicate embroidery, whispered tales of a bygone era, its every fold a testament to the genius of Christian Dior himself. It clung to her like it had been designed for her. A silent promise of a woman both powerful and breathtakingly beautiful.

Y/n held her head high, a serene and honest smile playing on her lips. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, a thrill coursed through her veins. This wasn't just another red carpet.

Lewis, waiting further down the carpet, watched his breath hitch as she came into view. Initially stunned speechless, his jaw dropped in a way that sent the internet into a frenzy.

Here was the woman he knew, the one who matched his every playful jab with witty retorts, transformed into a goddess. He felt a surge of pride, a possessiveness that went beyond what he had felt before with people looking at her.

This was Y/n, his Y/n, stealing the spotlight of the most known fashion event with an audacity as breathtaking as the gown itself.

It was a declaration, a playful rebellion against expectations, most of them that she had created for herself, as she had stablished her style as the non conformative. Still, in The Garden of Time that was the MET, she was bringing one the most known and iconic flowers back to life.

Microphones were being thrusted in her face, a flurry of questions buzzed around her like excited bees, photographers going maniac at the sight of a dress that had been at an exposition for decades months prior being worn.

"Y/n, this is absolutely iconic! How did you manage to borrow this historical piece?" a seasoned entertainment reporter gushed.

Y/n, ever the diplomat, offered a practiced smile. "Let's just say it took a lot of convincing," she replied, the truth a delightful secret she'd keep to herself. "But I believe it was worth the effort."

"Do you feel any pressure wearing such a significant piece of fashion history?" another reporter chimed in.

An understanding glint sparked in Y/n's eyes. "It's a tremendous honour. But pressure is a luxury I don't have time for tonight. It's all about celebrating art, fashion and Christian Dior himself.” Her wit drew laughter and appreciative nods from the crowd, creating a true vision of a woman stunning and intelligent, truly worthy of the Venus.

As Lewis answered his own fielding questions about his Burberry ensemble, he couldn't help but steal glances at her. Her confidence radiated outwards, a magnetic force that drew everyone's attention. He felt a flicker of pride, ever so slightly tinged with a possessiveness that made him want to shout to the world, 'This is my woman.'

"Lewis," a young reporter, eyes wide with admiration, interjected, "What are your thoughts on Y/n's stunning outfit?"

Lewis, ever the charmer, took a playful dig. "Well, let's just say" he drawled, mirroring her earlier cryptic response, "It was worthy of the months of secrecy. She awed everyone as much as she awes me."

As Y/n went up the stairs she found Lewis at the entrance waiting for her, his eyes boring wholes onto her skin. Lewis leaned close, a hand reaching for hers as his voice a huskily murmured "You're incredible, Y/n," his eyes lingering on her "Absolutely breathtaking, love."

Y/n, feeling the warmth of his gaze on her exposed skin, a secret smile played on her lips. There was a thrill in knowing she had surprised him, in seeing the awe and possessiveness flicker in his eyes.

"You know …” she teased, resting her hands on his shoulders as he reached for her waist, a sequence of flashes going off as they showed affection "This was all about making a statement”.

The throng of bodies inside the museum buzzed with an electric energy. As they navigated the crowded halls, Y/n couldn't help but notice the way heads turned their way. Whispers and glances followed them like a second skin.

Lewis, sensing her amusement, leaned in with a smirk. "Enjoying the attention, love?" he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Oh, absolutely," Y/n deadpanned, batting her eyelashes playfully. "It's not every day I get to feel like a museum exhibit myself."

Lewis chuckled, a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "Well, you are a work of art yourself. But you’re also wearing one."

Suddenly, a whirlwind of hair materialized beside them. Zendaya, ever the fashion icon, flashed a dazzling smile. "Y/n, girl! That dress. How?!”

Before Y/n could reply, Zendaya dragged her towards the main exhibition, where Venus’ sister dress – Junon – was center piece, photographers already positioned for the Dior reunion.

Lewis, hovered nearby, a playful smile on his face. Even with the constant interruptions, his gaze never strayed far from Y/n.

As she managed to escape the scene, Y/n couldn't help but notice Lewis's gaze burning into her. "You know," she said, meeting his stare with a smirk, "I can actually feel your eyes searing holes in my dress, Lewis."

He chuckled, leaning closer. "Can't blame a guy for appreciating a masterpiece, can you?" he countered, his voice a husky murmur.

Just as Y/n leaned in to retort, a gaggle of socialites descended upon them. Throughout the pleasantries, Y/n couldn't ignore the heated glances Lewis kept throwing her way. His gaze lingered on the exposed skin of her shoulders, and a playful glint in his eyes hinted at something more than mere admiration.

Finally, as the speeches began and everyone went to their seats, Lewis leaned in close, pulling her towards his side, his voice a husky whisper in her ear. "They can all look, love." his eyes holding hers. "But you're mine."

The speeches droned on, a monotonous hum that Y/n barely registered. Her focus was solely on Lewis, his hand possessively resting on her hand on her lap. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, a stark contrast to the cool of the dress against her skin.

As the formalities dragged on, the air crackled with unspoken desire. Every brush of their bodies, every stolen glance, fueled a fire that threatened to consume them.

"This is torture," he breathed, his breath tickling a sensitive spot on her neck. "All I want is..." he trailed off, his eyes dropping suggestively to the exposed skin of her chest.

Y/n raised an eyebrown, a delicious mix of excitement and apprehension in her body language. "Finish that sentence, Lewis" she purred, her voice barely a whisper.

“You, alone." he finished, his voice rough with desire. "Somewhere I don’t need to share."

His hand moved up to her shoulders. His fingers finally grazing the edge of the dress, a silent question hanging in the air. Y/n, emboldened by the setting and the audacity of the dress itself, met his gaze with a playful smile.

"There might be a deserted exhibit around the corner," she said, her voice barely above a breath. "One filled with creatures long extinct."

A wicked grin spread across Lewis's face. "Hm…" he murmured, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous glint. Every glance from him felt like a branding iron, searing the memory of him onto her skin.

When the event finally came to its end, they navigated the crowd, Lewis's possessiveness evident in the way he kept guiding her by the small of her back, a silent declaration. Every so often, his eyes would flick to the exposed skin of her shoulders.

They managed to get by the crowds unusually quickly, ushered greetings and nods a clear sign everyone wanted out. But, as they approached the exit, a familiar face beamed at them. Stella McCartney, a vision of elegance in her silver dress, rushed forward to greet Y/n.

"Y/n, you look absolutely phenomenal!" Stella exclaimed, throwing her arms around Y/n in a warm embrace. "That dress! It's absolutely breathtaking."

Y/n put out a smile. "Thank you, Stella. It was an honor to wear such a piece of history." While Stella gushed about the intricacies of the dress, Lewis tried to exchange a knowing look with Y/n.

The unspoken desire simmering between them was palpable, an energy that crackled in the space between them. Just then, a low chuckle caught Y/n's ear. Gayle King, stood nearby, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Lewis" she started, her voice smooth as silk, "I haven't seen you this speechless in years. Y/n, you've absolutely stolen the show."

Lewis, ever the charmer, offered her a playful smile. " You know Y/n, she has a knack for making an entrance."

Gayle, unfazed by his attempt at deflection, turned to Y/n, her gaze sharp and knowing. "You two," she said, linking her arm in Y/n's, "must tell me all about this later. That dress…and the look on Lewis's face… well, that was priceless”

Y/n, her cheeks burning, couldn't help but steal a glance at Lewis. His gaze met hers, a silent conversation passing between them. They both knew Gayle was right, and that everyone had probably also seen his gaze.

As they reached the exit, Gayle pulled Y/n to the side, their voices dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Keep doing whatever you're doing, Y/n" Gayle said, a mischievous glint in her eyes, leaning in even closer "That boy is absolutely smitten.”

Y/n couldn't help but let out a soft laugh "Thanks, Gayle" she whispered back. With a final hug, Gayle retreated to her own car, leaving Y/n and Lewis to get into theirs. The tension between them thick, a charged silence that spoke volumes as Lewis held open the car door for her.

He slid into the car beside her, wasting no time in letting his hand roam up under the dress, reaching her thighs in no time. A devilish grin spreading across his face, leaned in close. "She's right, love" he murmured, his voice husky. "You've got me completely wrapped around your fingers."

The heat of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. He caressed the soft skin, his fingers brushing tantalizingly close to her hips. Y/n, unable to contain a shiver, bit her lip. "Lew" she breathed, her voice laced with a playful warning. "Careful now. We're not exactly alone."

He chuckled but continued his exploration, his fingertips brushing against the bare skin just above the hem of her dress. The driver, through the rearview mirror, couldn't help but steal a glance. Y/n, catching a glimpse of his reflection, couldn't help but feel a thrill of exhibitionism mixed with a playful desire to tease Lewis further.

As Lewis's hand continued its ascent, his fingers brushed against a smooth, unexpected surface. He paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. A beat of silence hung in the air before it dawned on him. No underwear.

"Couldn't risk an underwear line ruining this moment" her voice laced with a playful challenge. The audacity of her statement, coupled with the realization, made his breath hitch in his throat, raw desire clouding his eyes.

He pulled his hand back abruptly, a silent promise hanging in the air. The confined space crackling with unspoken desire.

As Y/n stole a glance at him, her heart pounded in her chest. He was trying to control himself, a clear struggle evident in the way he held his breath and clenched his jaw. The bulge in his trousers, who had been previously concealed by his trench coat, was now a very visible sign to his arousal.

"Not long until we get back, Love" Lewis finally managed, his voice husky with frustration. He leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his braids in a frustrated gesture. Y/n, a satisfied smile playing on her lips, let out a low chuckle.

Relief washed over both of them as they pulled into the hotel. A small army materialized around them. Her team, ever-efficient, whisked them towards her suite, their focus solely on getting her out of the Venus dress.

Throughout the undressing, Lewis hovered on the periphery, his eyes laser-focused on Y/n. He watched with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. Every so often, he would discreetly lick his lips, a gesture that spoke volumes of his pent-up desire.

The process was a delicate ballet – a team of stylists unhooking intricate clasps, another carefully lowering the billowing skirt. Finally, wrapped in a plush towel, Y/n stood alone with Lewis, her team discreetly melting away, a knowing smile playing on their lips.

Lewis crossed the room in two long strides, the heat of anticipation crackling in the air between them. His hand reached out, almost hesitantly, to brush a strand of her now loosened hair. The touch, seemingly casual, sent a jolt of electricity through her, igniting a fire that had been smoldering all evening.

"There you are," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "Beautiful, captivating, and all mine. Only mine."

His words hung in the air like a promise, the most possessive claim she had ever heard from him. They resonated deep within her, stirring something primal. As her heart pounded in her chest, she couldn’t help but lean into his touch, seeking solace and desire in his embrace.

"All yours," she whispered, her voice thick with longing. Their lips met in a searing kiss, a collision of pent-up desire and raw emotion. In that moment, the playful banter of the night melted away, replaced by a raw hunger that neither could – or wanted – to deny.

Each second ticked by like a whisper of urgency. They had only about twenty minutes before they were due to leave for the after-party. With practiced efficiency born of desire, she threw the towel onto the bed, leaving herself bare before him, a silent invitation hanging in the air.

Lewis's eyes roamed over her, a smirk playing on his lips as she reached down to undress him from his pants. "Don't have time for that, love," he murmured, his hands stopping hers with a swift motion.

With a sudden shift of momentum, he flipped her, his hands tracing over her tummy as he left a trail of kisses along her shoulder. Each kiss sent a shiver of anticipation coursing through her, her breath hitching with every touch of his lips against her skin.

His hands ventured lower with each kiss, until they reached her folds, his touch igniting a primal hunger within her. A low growl escaped his lips as his fingers delved into her depths, drawing out her arousal with a skillful touch that left her trembling with desire.

Feeling the urgency of their fleeting moments, she flipped around, dropping to her knees to palm him through his boxers. The outline of his thick arousal was already prominent, and she freed it eagerly, the velvet hardness filling her hands. With practiced skill, she teased him, eliciting a delicious hiss of pleasure as she took him into her mouth, savoring the taste of him.

But time was slipping away and they both knew it. Five minutes had already slipped by, according to the bedside clock. His hands gripped her chin, pulling her up "I promise later we can take our time, but I need your pussy right now," he breathed, urgency lacing his words with a desperate plea.

With a hungry nod, she positioned herself, elbows resting on the armchair, presenting herself to him with a silent invitation. The tip of his arousal teased her entrance, collecting her slickness before he plunged into her with a single, deep thrust. A sharp cry escaped her lips as he bottomed out, his hands soothing the skin of her hips as he waited for her signal to move.

"Lew" she moaned, her voice a desperate plea for release. His fingers circled her clit, igniting a fire within her as he began to move, each thrust driving her closer to the edge of oblivion.

It didn't take long before she was panting, her body trembling with the force of her climax. Lewis held her close, whispering words of encouragement as she rode the wave of ecstasy, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of their shared passion.

As she steadied herself, he resumed his frenzied thrusts, his movements becoming more urgent as he neared his own release. With a final, deep thrust, he spilled himself inside her, holding her tightly as their bodies trembled with shared pleasure, the world fading away into a haze of ecstasy.

When he pulled out, she turned into his embrace, cupping his face in her hands as she gazed into his eyes, her heart overflowing with emotion. "They can look all they want, but you're the one here," she declared, pulling him into a passionate kiss, sealing their bond with a promise of devotion and desire.

His hands left her only briefly to clean her up before dressing himself, his movements slow and deliberate as he savored the lingering moments of what had just happened.

As he emerged in his Dior attire, abs on full display, Y/n's eyes sparkled, a playful challenge in her voice. "Guess, you're the one drawing all the attention now," she teased as she admired him.

Lewis chuckled, his gaze lingering on her in the black Dior mini. "You don't look too bad yourself, love," he countered, his voice a low rumble.

He pulled her close, his hand trailing down her back. "But trust me," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, "tonight, the only eyes I care about are yours."

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[queenie-avenue]

Terms and Conditions Apply.

💌 ⤻ THE CEO, ADRIAN HOUDE

—> you're the sweet little intern, and he's the big bad wolf who wants to eat you up.

⤻ reader is written as a female, yandere male, age gap, power dynamic, toxic obsession, slightly suggestive, slight financial abuse, set in london, this is a drabble but full fics of him will be made in the future

🦋 ⤻ archives.

TOP TEN BACHELORS NEAR YOU!

1. Adrian Houde.

Tall, Handsome, Rich, Successful, Ambitious. Ask anyone with more than half a braincell and they will immediately tell you that all these traits are what Adrian Houde has! Born from the rich Houde Family known for their luxury fashion products, he had risen the ranks as CEO of his family's company a few years back.

And boy oh boy, has he made himself known. From various (fake) scandals of him dating various women, to his success in the market in revolutionising his family's industry in fast fashion but still remaining loyal to his grandmother's routes as a custom tailor who first gained traction in France.

Perhaps Mister Houde's only flaw is that he has been on this bachelor list for far too long! He's already in his mid-30s, can you believe this guy has been single for so long?

So, to the lady who catches his eye, good luck surviving all the jealous women who are going to come after you, sweetheart!

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

Adrian Houde is a proud man. I mean, who wouldn't be, right? He was successful, and rich, and practically everyone — regardless of gender or age — wanted to be with him or be like him. He was the pinnacle of a great man, just like his father had said he would be.

So why was it that when you entered the office, looking like a lost little puppy dog, that you captured his interest immediately. Perhaps it was the coffee stains on your skirt and the way your eyes sparkled with desire for greatness. He had seen that spark many times before. In his own eyes, actually. From the moment he saw himself in the mirror as a teen who became aware of the legacy on his shoulders, he knew he was bound for greatness. And you, a simple woman, of all people, carried that same determination and ambition within those cute eyes of yours.

You couldn't blame him for being intrigued by you.

Especially when you looked at him with so much fear in your eyes he couldn't help but laugh.

"I am so sorry, sir- I had no idea anyone was in the meeting room this early." You apologised frantically, holding a bunch of papers and a small, slightly shabby notebook.

"No, no." Adrian voice was smooth and sweet, a mixture of his French accent and his London boy accent he had gotten from the years of being raised in London. "Don't apologise. I was a bit too early to the meeting room, it seems." He said, taking his hands out of the pockets of his suits, raising out his hand towards you.

"Adrian Houde." He introduced out of courtesy.

Hurriedly, you rushed to take his hand, firmly shaking it like you had been taught.

You touch sent shivers down his spine. Was it because your hands were cold or was it something else about you?

Either way, he liked it.

"[y/n] [l/n], sir. It's a pleasure to meet you." You smiled at him, that glow from your eyes never fading.

"[y/n] [l/n]," he repeated, allowing the syllables to roll down his tongue like something falling down the stairs, bouncing. "A pretty name, for a pretty girl." He chuckled cooly as he pulled his hand away.

"I've never seen you before, Miss [y/n]. Are you new?" He inquired.

"Ah, I'm an intern. I just- uh, got posted here recently." You smiled. "I'm a fashion design major."

He couldn't help but be a bit disappointed by that. You were a fashion design major, which meant that you and him would probably not see each other often unless he kept paying visits to the fashion department.

"Wonderful. It's nice to see such wonderful young minds in my company." The older man said as he adjusted the cuffs of his suit with a relaxed grin. "I just know you'll do great in this company."

That blush on your cheeks after he complimented you drove him crazy.

That was how your first meeting concluded.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

You were so intriguing that Adrian just couldn't keep his mind off you. The moment he returned to his office, he called up his secretary and immediately requested for your file.

When he got it, he couldn't help but obsess over it. Your portfolio was so perfect. From all your university extracurriculars to all your little quirks that the intreviewers had noted down, they were all there for him to overanalyse and understand. Your designs, he had to say, surpassed his grandmother's when she first started out the business.

His fingers traced past all the small details of the sketches of the dresses and suits you made and he wondered what you would look like as a model. Sure, you were the artist, but what if you were a muse?

He couldn't help but imagine you draped in fabrics, nothing else underneath.

He shook his head out of it.

Where was all this coming from? He was a gentleman, his grandmother had taught him to be one.

Brushing those thoughts aside, he went back to admiring your work with a smile.

Indeed, you were an asset he couldn't lose.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

Afterwards, he invested a lot of time into you. He would always drop by to the studio to talk to the head fashion designers then he would come find you, especially during your break where no one else would see you.

He disliked seeing you with others, terrified that someone else might steal his skilled intern away. No, he couldn't let any business rivals take you away from him.

Or at least, that was his justification.

Adrian would always watch you sketch your dresses behind you till you noticed and promptly let out a yelp. He enjoyed that fear in your eyes but what he enjoyed even more was the constant ambition sparkling in your pupils.

Right, you were his intern and his future designer. It was normal for him to be so invested in your growth.

After all, he was a gentleman. His grandmother had emphasised him to be in all his teachings, so this wasn't wrong. He wasn't preying on the cute intern because he wanted her. No, no, he was being a good boss by observing your actions and your growth.

Another defense as to why he began to nick your drawing pens away.

He would always replace them by gifting you more expensive pen though, a gift for you "allowing" him to have a close-up of the materials you use.

Plus, his future designer deserved the best.

You were his, after all.

"You lost another pen? No worries, I can gift you this one. Hm? Don't worry about it. Think of this as... an investment on your career."

[ifangirlalot]

what finn’s characters are like during s3x? I FEEL WEIRD REQUESTING THIS BFISJSJSAJDJS

˗ˏˋ 𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐂𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐒 ˎˊ˗ | starring the fellas

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

~smut!~ [𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘:] too many to pick out, just a shit ton of nsfw shit.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

✧˚ finn ۫ ׅ ✧

Is he a top or bottom?

Well, it kind of depends on the day. Sometimes if he's feeling particularly stressed, he just wants to watch you ride him and praise him while getting his head rubbed. But if he's pissed off (or just bored), he wants to top. When he tops, you know you're probably not going to be in the same position for more than a couple minutes.

What are his favorite positions?

Finn likes missionary. He's an old fashioned guy who thinks eye contact is a private kind of intimacy. Doggy is definitely a hella close second though. He's a hair tugger, so it's a lot of fun to pull your head back by your hair while you're on your hands and knees in front of him getting impaled from behind.

How freaky is he?

Once again, it kinda depends on the day and the mood you catch him in. Being a celebrity, Finn's hella paranoid the second that zipper goes down an inch there's gonna be cameras all over the damn place, so public sex is a no-go. He'll fuck you anywhere in the house though. In fact, the bed is hardly ever an option. He loves shower sex and car sex, kitchen table sex ain't too shabby either. He has a thing for having his hair pulled and, as narcissistic as it may sound, he likes it when you call him by his characters' names. It gives him an excuse to change personas.

How noisy is he?

He doesn't have any loudass moans, but he has some breathy ones here and there. He groans more often than not. Occasionally he whimpers.

How long does he usually last?

About ten to fifteen minutes on a bad day and up to an hour on a good day. (Dude has almost spooky levels of self control.)

Protection or no?

Absolutely. He can't risk knocking you up right now.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

✧˚ miles ۫ ׅ ✧

Is he a top or bottom?

Top, all the way. He's somewhat controling and he also doesn't like sitting still for long, so he hardly ever lets you ride, as that would kind of give you the wheel and he's not about that. He likes to decide when you have sex, where you have sex, for how long, and in what position. He makes all the decisions, and you know. You're probably gonna be hella sore afterwards. Like hella sore. My man has hella high libido.

What are his favorite positions?

Miles has favorite positions that don't even have names, that's how fucking freakshit he is. He loves it to the side the most though, with his fingers wrapped around your ankle, holding it up, his grip usually pretty tight. His other hand is usually clamped over your mouth.

How freaky is he?

Miles is a FREAKSHIT. Most of the time, he twists you into positions that he's made up, and you know for damn sure he'd got an entire chest he keeps in his closet that he uses for "playtime". He's also maybe a tad bit creepy with the kinks that he has at times, but that's kind of to be expected. You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to be his girlfriend.

How noisy is he?

Not very. He lets out a few breathy groans here and there, but most of the time he's pretty quiet. It's kind of creepy, but also maybe a little bit attractive?

How long does he last?

As long as he wants to. It really depends on how horny he is, but averagely about thirty to forty-five minutes.

Protection or no?

Lmao, no. Good joke, though.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

✧˚ boris ۫ ׅ ✧

Is he a top or a bottom?

It depends on how high he is during the fucking. If he's sober or moderately high, he likes to be on top. But if he's balls to the walls high, he's a little bby and must be treated as the pillow prince that he is.

What are his favorite positions?

Doggy. At least for dom Boris. He likes to pound behind you with your hair wrapped around his fist like a horse rein. Preferably with a mirror in front of you so he can watch while he smokes. He's a lil freak thang. Subby Boris likes to be ridden because BOOOOOBS in his face.

How freaky is he?

Boris likes public humiliation, whether he be the one being humiliated or the one doing the humiliating. He also likes watching you touch yourself while he's forced to watch with his wrists tied to a bedframe (this is sub Boris, btw. Dom Boris wouldn't put up with it.) He also likes spanking (him spanking you, he doesn't like his ass being touched because he's a bitch.)

How noisy is he?

Extremely. My boy does not care if someone else is in the house. If he's getting pussy, PEOPLE WILL KNOW ABOUT IT.

How long does he last?

Again, it depends on how high he is. Dom Boris can last for twenty minutes, but with sub Boris you'll be lucky if it lasts more than like ten.

Protection or no?

Sometimes, yeah. But the other half of the time he lowkey forgets and you have to get him to smuggle in some Plan B from the store.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

✧˚ ziggy ۫ ׅ ✧

Is he a top or a bottom?

A top. A very messy, very cocky top. It's kinda funny how confident he is in his abilities. He is also a bottom. Pet his hair and watch him whine, I dare you.

What are his favorite positions?

He likes to go down on you. Albeit, he's very good at it, but he also a sloppy thruster. But at the same time, it kinda adds to the experience because somehow he manages to hit the right spots with every pound. Plus, look at him up there with his little gold chain. He's so cute.

How freaky is he?

Ziggy may be an awkward teenager on the streets, but he's a freak in the sheets. He has this fantasy where he really wants to record your sex so he can use it for tissue time later, but he's too much of a bitch to ask you. He's also hella good with his tongue, it's actually kind of surprising. Plus. You know. He look good as hell down there on his knees like the champ he is.

How noisy is he?

Lmao very. But only when he's actually having sex, if he's just beating it, he's pretty quiet. But during the real deal... Yeah, that loud ass moaning and swearing Evelyn hears from Zig's room is indeed her son getting to third base with a lady person.

How long does he last?

Thirty minutes tops for him. Not bad.

Protection or no?

Usually yeah, but for quickies he just pulls out and spills everywhere, which most of the time his mom finds because his stupid ass didn't clean up.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

[ A Note From Zee ]

Y'all, this took me way too long. I'm gonna have to split this into two part. Next part will include Trevor, Mike, and Richie.

[missgeniality]

Strip Lawyer (m)

“Rules are for children.” - Joe Abercrombie

➺ Banner: The supremely talented @dnrequests 💛

➺ Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Tutor!AU, Lawyer!AU

➺ Genre: Smut

➺ Rating: +18

➺ Word Count: 8.4k

➺ Summary: Years ago, as Jungkook’s tutor, you played a game – but not to completion. Today, he does the teaching. And he’s intent on reaching the finale.

➺ Warnings: dom!reader x sub!jk then dom!jk x sub!reader, strip poker but education, implied consent, little power imbalance, seggsual tension, restraints, oral sex (m&f receiving), grinding, jungkook is a tease as always, dirty talk, kissing, alcohol, boob play ehehe, fingering (f receiving), pussy slap, spitting, tearing clothes, biting, degradation, unprotected sex, jk cums on her ass, cum eating (kind of)

➺ Cross Posted: AO3

➺ Author’s Note: This was supposed to be @taegularities‘s birthday gift because she asked for Lawyer!AU - but in true Siya fashion, it went out of control. So... here you go LOL happy buttday to youuu, hope you enjoy ittt 💛💛 The biggest thanks to @jimilter because she is the reason I did not delete the draft, thank you so much for all your help in fixing this mess, love you so muuucchh 💛 Also huge huge huge thanks to @alpacaseoks​ for helping me with the flow and giving me pointers in a big chunk of the fic, I appreciate it so much! 💛 Disclaimer: I am not a law student in any way so please don’t expect any accuracy. Just enjoy the sex, I’m begging. Let me know what y’all think, and as always, thank you for being here! 

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ  

“You’re not serious.”

If only he knew. 

“So. Serious.” You emphasise your words with a slap on his shoulder, “I won’t have it on my honour that a student under my tutelage has been failing the same subject for two years.” You raise an eyebrow at the hunched figure ahead, and knock on the table to bring his attention up to you. 

“So you’ll just… Strip? Everytime I answer correctly?”

“That’s right,” you confirm, “and for every wrong answer, you strip for me. Simple.” You give Jungkook the widest grin you ever have, possibly too wide, because he only hunches further into his seat. 

And it finally bursts your bubble.

“I mean… I’m just–you don’t have to do this, okay?” You scramble up from your seat, opening the distance between you two – placing yourself a good few feet away from the boy. “I was just… having fun with the idea—” With stumbling haste you continue to comfort him, “I jus–isn’t this like classic nerd porn that you’d watch?”

And you remember that comforting a fellow human being isn’t really your forte. You’re ready to gather all your belongings that are spread across the table, run away, change your name and hope like hell he doesn’t file you up for harassment. 

Thankfully, your shabby attempt at damage control does ease Jungkook, and his back straightens a little bit as he brings himself to look at you.

“Not wrong,” he gives you a grin, “I–I really like that, umm, idea. Yes, let’s do it.”

He trails off, but not without a smile of burgeoning confidence – apparently not enough to finish that sentence with, but enough to give you one strong nod – and you have the affirmation you need. More affirmation is given by his not-so-subtle shift in his seat, that shows you something was making its presence known in the confines of his pants.

“All right, let’s start this. International Law and Relations is pretty easy, and actually has very interesting sub-topics – you can take subjects on this topic when you move to the next semester,” you pause flipping through the textbook and give your tutee, “if you move to the next semester. Thankfully, this year you have multiple choice questions, so… You better fucking pass, you hear me?!”

Jungkook only gives you a sheepish grin, his hands fiddling with each other.

“Okay, we’ll go through chapters randomly. Your first one – what is a country’s exclusive economic zone?”

On completing the question, you look up and await an answer – but the doe eyes that greet you back showcase that behind them, there is a lot of emptiness. Jungkook’s eyebrows are raised as he tries his best to push out any answer, any words, just anything from his brain. Alas, after two minutes, you give up.

“Okay, you’re going first then,” your voice breaks his intense thought process, and he flashes you a wide grin. 

“Socks count right?” He pulls off the socks on both his feet, and wiggles his toes against the fresh air. 

“Why you wear socks in this weather, it’s beyond me,” you huff an exasperated sigh, “but okay. One down. Exclusive economic zones are the sea-areas where coastal states have the right to exploit resources for economic gains. Think fisheries, mining, construction, artificial islands, and other endeavours. Capisce?”

“Got it. Next!”

“Love the enthusiasm,” you grin at his eager look, and open the textbook to a random page again, “okay, same chapter, what are the three international air laws?”

“Oh, I know this! I read thi–uhh, Public International Law, Private International Law…”

“Yesss? And?”

“Why is my brain saying Supernatural Law?”

One look at his bamboozled face and you burst out laughing. “Supranational Law! Not Superna—” Your persistent giggles have you dropping the book onto your lap, hands rushing to wipe a tear that makes its way down your cheek. You can see a bleary Jungkook, following suit in your snickers, his shoulders rising up – it’s a very cute view. 

No, Jungkook is not your type of guy – and you will not make him. 

You’re actually supposed to wrap up this session with Jungkook earlier than usual – because a party doesn’t wait for anyone – and last night Baekhyun told you he’d pick you up. When you asked him whether the party was, he only sent you a smirking emoji as a response. 

Rude boys are your standard, and Baekhyun fits it to the tee. Jungkook, not so much.

But now you’ve started something that can’t possibly end soon. 

“Okay, next item!” You aim to be loud, to quell that finagling thought in your mind.

“But—” Jungkook sputters out, “but I got that right?! Come on, it was close enough!”

You shake your head. “A hundred, or nothing. Chop chop,” you wave a gratuitous hand at his torso – and he obliges with a sigh.

God damn. 

The gamer nerd, who probably doesn’t see the light of day – his body is way too beautiful for his character arc. You scan his whole chest with your glaring beam, pecs ogling back at you – totally unaware of how Jungkook is doing the same to you – it takes considerable effort for you to rip your eyeballs out and get them to focus back on his face. 

You take a large, audible gulp to facilitate speech, “Okay, didn’t know that’s what would greet me – moving on—”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean absolutely nothing, you closeted hottie,” you attempt to close that argument with that sole compliment – after all, you do have a tutoring responsibility – but Jungkook’s singular raised eyebrow makes you wonder if that party is really worth it.

Oh no, you need to make him pass this.

“Let’s move on now, or else you won’t ever move on from college,” you deflate whatever ego-ballooning Jungkook has – his bare shoulders slumping back to his hunched posture – and you internally grin. 

Picking up the thick textbook, you flip through to find a new page laced with information.  “Name three international hybrid tribunals, and their subject matter.”

“Okay okay, I just did this,” Jungkook starts off with confident, “the Special Tribunal for Lebanon, which is for the the prosecution of the people responsible for the assassination of the Lebanese Prime Minister, Special Court for Sierra Leone—” he pauses to take a deep breath and you watch his chest heave with an intent gaze, “which was for the Sierra Leone civil war, and finally… What was the–uhh– for the Kosovo War… Yes! Yes! Kosovo Specialist Chambers! The Kosovo Liberation army was put on trial,” he ends with a gleeful smile.

“There you gooo! See, you can totally do this,” you give him an encouraging nod, “what do you want me to take off?”

“O-oh, umm, your top?”

“Sure,” setting the book on the table, you slip out of your camisole, shaking your head to send your hair back to their place, “shall we move on?” 

But moving on gets tougher when he eyes you like that. The air gets denser within your space, the room feeling too small to escape the tension, and too big to act upon it. You remind yourself multiple times – this chocolate boy isn’t going to be the end of your night – your night ends on Baekhyun’s unspoken promise – but the eclipsing eyes that follow your neon bralette are pushing your brain to reconsider how you write this evening. 

“You–uh–you are really hot,” Jungkook’s fumbling words finally reach you.

You chuckle, stifling the urge to egg him on. “Thank you,” is your quiet response, and you both do well to stifle the snowballing tension.

“Okay, now I’m way more motivated to get my answers right,” he exclaims with vigour, and the two of you trudge forward, keeping up this charade of studies. 

Many questions down, and you’re at quite the standstill. 

Jungkook sits on his chair, not an inch of clothing on his body, stark naked – and you are about to lose your bra. 

Apparently he can apply himself real well when there are lewd incentives at the end of the rainbow. You circumvented the inevitable, counting riddance of jewellery and accessories as stripping – but now you’re out of options. Jungkook’s lips – pulled into a tender smirk that isn't racy – don’t threaten to sweep you off your feet – but fuck, they still get to you. Supple, with the slightest hint of moisture making his waterline glisten… you ache to taste them, to run your fingers over them, to drip honey all over them and watch them turn sweeter than ever. 

You need to get on Baekhyun’s dick. ASAP.

“Go on, I know that was right!”

Breaking out of your reverie with a demure huff, you smile your way out of your bra, and you can fully hear the deep inhale that your tutee has to take to this new view. With a brazen look of gloating, you cross your arms, letting your eyes and your cleavage do all the teasing – lest your tongue stumbles over the words and lands in his mouth. 

“Shi–yo–you’re—” Jungkook’s words falter as well, giving you an extra boost of pride. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn hot – I’m sorry, is this the fifth time I’m saying this?”

You laugh with him. “Yeah, probably. Could use a thesaurus.”

“I don’t think my brain will process anything on it. This keeps coming out because I got practice. Said it about a hundred times in my head.”

With your head thrown back, your whole body jiggles in laughter, filling the room with mirth and joy to replace the leaden lust in the air. You bend forward to flick his forehead, knowing full well that the movement just makes your breasts look more enticing; if that was even a possibility. His cock is stiff as iron, and you can fill a drying lake with your current rate of salivation. Both of you clearly recognize that words are flowing slower than before, movements are more calculated than before, and most importantly, eye contact lasts way too long for either of you to ignore. 

“Okay, umm, last question, then I need to be off.” You attempt to bring a close to this increasing strain in your throat, no matter how badly your body wants to delay your departure. “What years did the Hague Conventions take place?”

“I hate these questions,” murmurs Jungkook, “I remember the subject matters of it – it’s not like knowing the exact dates and times will help me avert war.” His pout makes you falter, like there isn’t a fully grown naked man in front of you, like he isn’t testing your limits right now.

“So… No answer?” 

Jungkook shakes his hung head, having given up on finding an answer. “What now, I can’t peel my skin or something,” he starts, a very innocent tone for this ambiance.

“Yeah, I mean, I gotta g—”

“And I’m out of jewellery, too, so—”

“Yeah, it’s cool, I’m gonna head out anyw—”

“You wanna tie me up or something?”

Silence. 

Too long of a silence. 

“I mea—”

“Jeon. Jung. Kook.” Your staccato of words work as a beat, your legs moving in its sync. You bend down for a brief moment to pick up his discarded t-shirt, but the rest of your movement wastes no time in finding a seat on his lap.

His dick presses against your clothed core, imbuing the ache that he currently feels, and goody – you both are in serious pain. And when you lean ahead to gather his hands into a knot on his back, he takes a sharp inhale – your breasts doing everything his dick-led-brain has been wanting for the whole session – pressing against his chest to feel every throb that races through your body.

“You have no filter,” you whisper into his ear, making sure he feels your damp lips move, “do you?”

“N–N–I, me–nngghh,” Jungkook labours through this ordeal, his hips going the extra mile to close the gap between you two. 

When you feel his hardness work against your pulsing clit, it only eggs you further, and the rudderless ship of your resolve yaws out of its lane, finding its anchor in the parted lips in your view.

If your surroundings could combust at the spark that you set off with the kiss, you’d be sitting in a castle of embers, licks of flames being innocent bystanders to the heat that your kiss generates. Your fingertips dig into the nape of his neck, and you swallow his groan with an eager tongue. Without a break, the kiss turns feral. 

You push into his mouth. He returns in kind – although there’s nothing kind about the way he digs his teeth into your lip. The hiss you attempt to release never makes it out to the world – Jungkook is intent on ending this kiss only when the last breaths in your bodies threaten to leave, carrying along with them your consciousness. 

And when that point comes, you part – your head is thrown back, and your hand carded in his hair pulls his back as well. Brisk, shallow breathing is the tune to which you gather your bearings. Your thighs burn for relief, the ache of holding your body in place settling in as the dopamine dies. From your awkward position, you flit an eye towards your partner in crime – and any dopamine that was dying, comes rushing back.

Your hands are still in the lush strands of his hair, and his lidded eyes are bouncing between many areas of view. Your libidinous eyes, your wet lips, your heaving breasts, or the junction of your thighs that give his hardness teasing touches. Maintaining this position, you dig into his cock, your flimsy underwear allowing your arousal to caress against his hot and awaiting length. He groans – it’s animalistic, it’s uninhibited, it’s none of the shy gamer nerd who cowered under the weight of your knowledge. His eyes, fervid, shuttle between all of your exposed skin, finding an anchor, but failing to stop.

“Look at you, is this what you really wanted?” It shocks you how far your voice shakes – what caused it – the kissing, the breathing, or the rock hard cock currently against your throbbing pussy? Who knows. 

“I mean… We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want this,” Jungkook bites out an answer with great difficulty, “I—I definitely wan—ungh!”

You just can’t resist. His neck. His clavicles. His bobbing Adam’s apple. His chest. His restrained arms making a tireless effort to feel you. You leech onto his sparkling skin, and drag your tongue in the confines – Jungkook’s words transform into unintelligent warble, just the way you like. 

Sliding downward, and acknowledging the slight ‘fuck’ that Jungkook exhales with a smirk, you lodge yourself directly in front of his broad, heaving chest. The position is awkward — a lot of your body weight lays on your hands that balance you on the chair’s seat – but your current view makes any pain go away. 

“Could this be the reason,” you land a soft peck in the middle of his chest, “why your grades are like this,” trailing your path with your nose, you move left, “we could have just gotten this over with,” you end the sentence with a swirl of your tongue around his already pebbling nipple. 

He hisses a string of unintelligible curses, arching into your ministrations, “Yo–you’d have d–done tha—” His train of thought ends with an audible gasp when you engulf the nipple in your mouth.

“For my tutee,” you release his nipple with a pop and look back up at his eager-to-please-face, cupping a cheek, “anything.”

“Can y—can you get rid of thi–this?” He shakes his bound hands from behind, his shoulder muscles bulging in the movement.

You simply shoot him an innocent look. “But you asked for it, didn’t you?”

“I thought that was the best thing that could happen to me,” Jungkook huffs with a light pout, “right now, I’m regretting it so hard.” As he speaks, you move to trail a soft line of kisses across his chest, reaching his other, neglected nipple. With your eyes locked in with his, you lick around the nub again, enjoying his restrained groans from your vantage.

“You don’t like it? What would you do if you… could touch me?”

“Fuck, I would—I wo—God, I would wrap myself around you… take a big piece of that ass, tear off your fuckin’ underwear… Grab your tits and dig my face into them till it’s time to execute my will—”

You chortle, still busy teasing his chest and making it hard for him to make his words flow. “You don’t need your hands for the last one baby.” 

Your skin rumbles against the loud groans of pleasure that come out of Jungkook when you press his face into your chest, and you feel him frantically lick and suck at your skin, tongue lolling at whatever it could catch a taste of.

“Ahh, this is—making me want some very bad things,” you chuckle at the throes of pleasure he is pushing you under, but are surprised at yourself how much your voice quivers as well. Jungkook makes a show of fighting his restraints; you very well know that you don’t have a sailor’s knot guide on you, and the fight he’s putting up is not more than the fight you had been putting up throughout this evening.

“Bad things?” Jungkook’s breathy whisper brings you back to his lips, and you drop back on his lap, grinding yourself just enough to let your wetness cover his twitching length. “You’re my tutor, I–I’m sure you only want the best for me.”

With your show of repress finally curtained, you drop to your knees, arching your back until you’re face-to-face with his member – tip leaking copious amounts of precum, owing to the hours of tension that you put him through. Jungkook’s thighs tighten under your enrapt gaze, and his staccato breathing is music to your ears. 

“Well, since I am your tutor,” you preen before you drag your tongue around the base of his dick, “and since I want only the best for you,” you drag your tongue up his muscle in one long stroke, “let me give you the best that I have.”

You wrap your lips around him thinking about how sweet he looks. You draw figures with your tongue thinking about how he's absolutely not your type. You suck more of his length into you thinking about how his moans differ from your average partner. So sweet. So pure. So untainted. 

So, so not for you.

Perhaps sweet is what you nee—

“I’m gonna cu—” 

The shrill ring of your phone pierces through Jungkook’s uncontained moans as he empties into your mouth recklessly. With your eyes closed, you try your best to savour the crisp, salty taste, letting your tongue cheekily lap at his member until you feel him shudder under your stimulation. Satiated, you get to your feet, looking eye to eye with the doe-eyed monster – who has the gall to look so pure even now, hands tied, balls empty.

“I should… Get that.” 

Unsurprisingly, Baekhyun is pissed that you kept his premium cock waiting at your doorstep, and you appease his injured ego while finding your clothes and bearings. Jungkook relieves himself of the ‘restraints’, eyes following your disrobed body as it finds its modesty back, piece by piece. 

“Okay… my phone, my book, my jewellery… I think I got everything,” you announce to the small, overheated room. “Jungkook. Good luck, this is the one thing you gotta pass, make sure you reread chapters 8 to 11, don’t blindly mark something because it sounds reasonable because nothing in this world is, make sure you have eno—”

“But! Listen—” His voice, still so sweet, not a hint of demanding assertion in his tone, just plain and beautiful pleading. “Wh–when can we… Umm when can we m–meet again?”

Ugh, your heart. 

“Listen, I’m going away on vacation, my exams are over,” with a mildly heavy heart you try to explain to him without rushing, “that’s why this was our last class. And after that, I’ll be moving away. But!” With a spring in your step you open his door to let yourself out. “Keep in touch! Keep texting me, okay?” With your second shoe on, you stand at the stairs leading you out of his apartment, and look at him for one last word.

And you see his beautiful body and almost crumble back into his apartment. 

“Yeah… Will do, bye!” He pulls himself together and grants you a bright, guilt-free smile.

So sweet, even when you’re blowing him off. So, so sweet. 

But you don’t do sweet. So accepting his goodbye, you run like a deer being chased by the hungriest predator, towards the spice that awaits at your door.

Damned professional attires. Why can’t they look good without having to be tended to every fucking day? 

You curse yourself for the cup ramen breakfast that ruined your only good shirt, owing to which you have this stainless but wrinkled shirt on you. It is very out of place, the lush lobby walls making you feel like every crease on you is magnified by a thousand. 

It’s obviously not the shirt that is making your stomach gurgle. It is the upcoming meeting that is creating turmoil in your insides, part dread and part excitement.

“He will see you now.”

This guy has a receptionist and an assistant. Why is he so boujee? One look at his office door and you already know – this meeting will not go as per plan.

And when you push the heavy-set mahogany door, and take the man sitting at the baroque desk, silhouette highlighted by the clear night sky behind him – you’re certain this night was made for trouble. 

“Ah, look who it is.” 

That voice. So different from the last time you spoke. Gone is the tender, dulcet voice of his, gone are his soft, vulnerable eyes, and gone is the benevolent disposition that he carried around with pride.

As he takes a good, slow look at you, assessing you from top to bottom, gleaming with mischievous confidence, you shuffle in discomfort at all this directed display of interest. The million twinkles in eyes have coagulated to turn into a ball of inferno. With that blaze, he drags his eyes all over you, tracing your contours with the pens of his gaze, making you feel nails and needles through your spine. Unabashed. Doesn’t care that you’re waiting to take a seat, doesn’t care about your obvious discomfiture, just holding you at your place like a puppet to his watchful leer. The black-on-black suit fits his body like a dream, and the things you want to do to him are straight out of a nightmare.

“Please, why are you still standing?” His assessment complete, he waves an arm to the plush leather seats at your disposal. “Have a seat.”

Moments of uncomfortable silence pass by you, but only you seem bothered by it. You hate how fidgety you are right now, showing your cards so plainly. But truth be told, you have no cards to show. You’re here for his help, and there’s no game to be played with him.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” you offer, making a general gesture to show his entire office space. You could fit nineteen of your cubicles in here, and still have space to waltz around. Your incessant jumping from one firm to another, attempts at finding footing wherever you land but ultimate dissatisfaction with whatever was presented to you led to a not-so-stellar career, and tonight, to this office. 

“Thanks.” He offers nothing more. And his lack of words definitely stings. 

How did someone who breezed through law school end up like this?

More importantly, how did someone who was barely passing subjects under you end up in a position of such power?

And most important of them all, how did you end up being at his mercy?

"So tell me,” he begins once again, bursting your bubble of self-detestation, “how can I help you?"

You take a deep, rich breath and start. "I'm assuming you read my email, so I just nee—"

"You're gonna have to pause right there. I didn't." A simple response, with a simple smile, and you simply want to crawl into a hole and never see sunlight ever again. Jungkook doesn’t even try to explain himself out of this – no excuse or reasons given as to why the email remains unread. And as happenstance would have it, you are in no position to ask him why.

"Very well." You tap the file ahead, taking a deep breath and starting again, "This file should have it all. It’s better if you read through it, I might miss details." 

Jungkook’s extended, bejewelled hand accepts the file, and leafs through the bundle of papers you’ve prepared for him. But that is not what you’re internalising. You're too busy furtively eyeing his bedecked office, the wooden panels offering a private divide between the office space and a separate seating area. The ritzy furniture establishing the space, the lavish lighting giving more depth to the space, the skyline flaunting its glory above it all – you're fraught with uncontrollable envy.

A call to your name jolts you, moving your eyes to him. 

“So do you need me as co-counsel? I hardly think you need the help.”

“Please, don’t patronise me,” you chide him, the repressed irritation showing its face. “I know I’ve not had the best set of years in this field. And I know I fucked up on this one, pardon my French.”

“Well,” he pays no heed to your agitated tone, pushing the file back to you – just enough, so you are forced to get up to reach, “you’re right about that. You fucked up. I can definitely look into this, but I have a heavy workload as it is.” He simply shrugs, a mock-saintly frown on his lips.

What happened to your sugar-cookie boy who would do anything to make you proud? 

Who is this man?

“I know, but I’m—” You swallow everything in you that stops the words, “I’m desperate. This meeting was clearly out of desperation. I know you knew what this was about. Why would you accept an appointment this late if you weren’t going to take on the job?”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you. Maybe I was curious what my tutor was doing, after leaving me high and dry that fateful night.”

He says it with such a harmless smile, like he just announced what he had for dinner. If you weren’t shaken yet, you now are. 

“If I remember correctly, that was not the case. But for now, I’m asking for your help. That’s how I’m doing.”

“Yeah well,” with a smooth move, he gets out of his charcoal seat, and glides towards the tasteful couches placed on the other end of this palatial office, your heartbeat picking up pace from a gentle jog to a frantic pace, “I think I’m entitled to something in return.”

You follow him to the couch across the room, seating yourself on it – and taking a second to enjoy how comfortable it feels. “I literally swallowed your load that night. If anything, I’m the one entitled to this.”

“I’m sure your boy-toy that night gave you everything you needed, didn’t he?”

Deep breath. He remembers the night very well. Too well.

Did you expect that? No. 

Did you want to find out?

Well, why else did you choose his name from a catalogue of high-end lawyers who could have saved your ass in this case?

What’s that saying… Curiosity kills your pus—

“Listen,” you interrupt your own reverie, “you will receive remuneration for your work, my boss is ready to—”

“Nuh–uh,” he tuts, “come on now, we really don’t need to play this cat and mouse game, do we?”

A deep exhale calms your nerves against this burgeoning yet desired situation, and you leave your seat to accept the glass of whiskey he’s offering you. After returning to the couch and gulping the hootch, you meet his accursed, biting gaze. “What can we even wager on like that night? It’s not like I have test questions to ask you anymore,” you throw the ball back into his court, desperately hoping he finds a good enough solution.

“Oh, no, no, no,” he teases you, sliding into the seat – it’s unbearable how good he looks with this confidence. He gets in your space, still holding his undrunk glass of whiskey, peering into your eyes as he makes his proposal. “I think a bit of role reversal will do us good,” he smiles back at you. “Do you good.”

“My definition of good, or yours?”

He smiles at your attempt at feigning confidence. “I don’t think they differ by much.”

In this quietude, the frenetic beating of your heart rings all the way up in your ears. It is a testament to how agog this transformed man leaves you; by the way he speaks, the way he looks, the way he commands your entire being. Words fail you, so you whisper a small ‘yeah’ and nod – you definitely knew where this night was going the moment you called his office, even if your ego strives hard to say otherwise.

“Let’s start simple,” he begins with a slap to his thigh, seating himself comfortably, “where did you go that night?”

What tactic is this? You’re baffled that this man – looking like a Michelin-star-seven-course-meal – cares about that one immaterial night.

Was it really immaterial, though?

Youngling Jungkook was probably offended, you posit to yourself, by the way you left things hanging (pun very much intended). 

“How would you know if I lie?”

“I’ll decide that.” His eyes add “and you’ll follow.” No room for discussion is provided.

“Right.” You sip on your refilled glass, clearing your throat before you answer, “I don’t know if you know him, Byun Baekhyun.” You look in his eyes for recognition, but you can’t read anything, anything at all. “I had to meet him.”

“To fuck?”

“Well, yes. Drinks and then that.” 

“Okay, I’ll take that.” 

And you’ve passed question one – all your clothing fully intact.

“Next question,” his eyes filled with sensual mirth, “was he any good?”

“Oh my God,” you throw your hands up, ready to leave the seat in a show of exasperation, “are you—is this insecurity? After all these years?”

“Well, I’m asking the questions, so I don’t owe you an explanation,” Jungkook leans into the cushions, his confident manner growing with each passing second, “but you might say, I’m curious.”

A moment of silence passes. 

“Yes.”

“Ahh…” He tuts at you, inching closer until you feel the microfibres of his coat against you, “Wrong answer.”

Of course it’s the wrong answer. 

Byun Baekhyun might have been one of the best fucks of the campus, and you might’ve had a lot of fun with him on erstwhile rendezvouses, but that night wasn’t either of your nights, with him being pissed of at you for making his dick wait, and you having your mind glued on a totally different dick to his. The lie might have been obvious, but the fact that you’re having to accept it right now is making your ears heat up.

You don’t really need to do this.

Oh, but you do.

“Go on,” Jungkook coaxes you with his honey-dripping voice, lidded eyes tormenting you, “you know the rules.”

In the tense air, you take off a bracelet, the fake diamonds leaving a chill on your wrist. After dangling it in his face, you drop it onto the couch seat. 

“Good…” Jungkook teases, wondering which deviation of his brain to follow next. “Next. Did you think about me while getting your mediocre pounding from Baekhyun?”

“Oh my God, no!” Your rude tone is extra sharp, like you didn’t even want to entertain the thought that Jungkook would think – Jungkook would know – that that’s what happened. 

To this date, you do not remember anything of Baekhyun – your memories of that day have been painted with Jungkook and Jungkook alone.

“Come on now,” his smug visage turns ungodly, eyebrow cocked up, “a white lie. Off,” is all he says. 

You bend down to reach for the buckle of your shoe. Owing to Jungkook sitting fairly close, your line of sight is delicious – his taut suit pants defining the thighs that he’s clearly worked for; basically ogling at his thighs and crotch in close proximity. With shaky hands, your shoes finally come off – no thanks to the burst of anticipation flooding your veins. 

“Have you ever thought about us on lonely nights?” The closer he moves, with each syllable of utterance, the farther you feel from a sense of control. 

“No…” Your words stammer, and you mentally give the point to Jungkook. Looking up, you find him smirking at your shrinking stature.

“Ahh… You make it too easy,” he just chides you, and you start slipping out your rings.You’re well aware that you are the one dragging this out – but the “yes” just does not want to grace your lips. 

Maybe because you actually like this game. 

Maybe you’re enjoying this end of the show. 

And maybe, you finally want to see this game to completion. 

“Just so you know,” Jungkook purrs into the shell of your ear, leaving you wondering when he moved so close, “I think about your slick on my cock a lot.”

The desperation in your countenance is so visible, it’s pathetic. You wait in silence for the next question, eager to jump to the finale, but the path to the end is far too enjoyable to skip.

“Do you want to continue where we left off?”

“No.” Your answer is straight, to the point, no embellishments. 

Instead, you let your hands do the talking.

In one smooth action, you unzip your skirt and pull it down, without a prompt from the dastard ogling at you. Every move you make, you feel his stare burn into your skin, countering the chilly air filling the room. You sit back with your legs tightly closed – not out of any false sense of modesty, that has never been your strong suit – but the unceasing throbbing of your clit needs temporary relief or else it will jump out and land into his mouth.

The distance between you two has steeply decreased, and you can’t tell who’s at fault anymore. In any case, this proximity is most welcome, as per the anticipatory goosebumps that decorate your skin. Swirling his yet-unfinished drink in his hand, ice cubes clattering against each other, Jungkook takes your exposed legs in that are only barricaded by your pantyhose. It’s not the best material – you’ve been wearing the same one for a week now, displaying many scratches and tears – but Jungkook’s eyes don’t even seem to register it. 

But what is with this speed? He is fully intent on making every second of your horny existence miserable. In a desperate attempt to get a fraction of his touch, you bring your leg up – making the move as slow and deliberate as possible – landing it on his thigh. The best begging you can do without actually voicing it out.

Jungkook, however, is a man of many talents – ignoring your direct needs being a prime one. After a light sip, he brings his glass down to your leg, the bottom rim touching under your toe – and you hiss at the ice-cold feeling that spreads across your foot, as the condensate spreads its influence. 

“I have so many questions for you…” Jungkook whispers to you, watching you twitch, “but I’m having too much fun right now.”

Just when you begin to ask whether his dictionary reads ‘fun’ differently, he drags his cold glass upward, painfully slow, traversing your foot, then along your shin bone, letting the precipitate draw a path of icy chill on the map of your body. Meeting your eyes to just plant a cheeky wink into your brain, he continues forging ahead – until he can reach mid-thigh. He stops there long enough to hear you hiss – only then do you feel the glass move away. 

If you weren’t already panting, you are now. Very audibly so. It is all you can hear in the room, in fact. 

That is, of course, until Jungkook assaults all your senses by dragging you awfully close to him, extracting a gasp from you – his grip on your thigh is tighter than the band in your stomach begging for a release, and you relish the feeling. 

“Do you, want me,” he says into the miniscule space that’s left between your lips, “to kiss you right now?”

You can’t decide what demands your spotlight; is it his gaze boring holes into your skin, or his lips that are now glistening deliciously?

“No.”

“Hmmn,” Jungkook turns away from you, and you almost rise in alarm – until you register his next actions, “thought so.”

One second to completely sip all of his whiskey. Another second for his lips to land on yours.

Finally.

The fantasies of this night blend into reality, and instead of doing the rational thing – thinking why you ended up like this – you give into the kiss.

Not only does he kiss you hard, like the future of his world depends on it, he also pushes in his undrunk whiskey into your eager mouth. The liquid swirls between the colliding tongues, some leaking out of the corners of your mouth – the rest coating the insides of your cheeks with a lush, rich and robust flavour – flavours that didn’t pop when you drank it from your own damn glass.

You kiss until the whiskey gets drunk – by whom, is a mystery – and before you can tend to the stray drops down your face, Jungkook’s hand grabs your chin to keep you still. 

God, your last kiss was nothing like this. The blood buzzing in your ears is thunderous, reacting to the contradiction between the soft, tender kisses exchanged all those years ago, and the jagged, raw conquering of your lips happening right now. Your roughened lips burn under the remnants of alcohol, but it’s nothing compared to the searing you feel when Jungkook lets his tongue languidly glide against your gnawed skin.

“Now, since it was the wrong answer…” He husks, his fingers moving inward, closer and closer until they land just below your collar, “I have no choice but to—”

One mighty sharp tug – and all the buttons of your shirt have popped, flying all around the two of you. His hands, still clutching the buttonless seams of your shirt, harshly pull you back into him. Lips firmly sealed back onto yours, he sends his hand roaming.

“This is what you needed that night, eh?” With one hand back to digging in your jaw, he mouths the words into your cleavage, teeth digging deep into whatever they can grab, “Sweet boys just don’t cut it for you.” He moves up to the nook of your neck, his other hand slotting between your thighs, “For all the attitude you had back then, all you want then is to be treated like a street slut. And you’re still the same. Whores don’t change.”

Rude boys are still your standard, and Jungkook has become just that.

“Ow—fuck, don’t leave mar–marks, man,” you attempt an angrier voice while avoiding his truth bomb – because yes, aren’t you knocked out, over the moon right now? The voice that emanates is feeble, with no brawn to be found. 

He too, doesn’t pay you any heed – teeth tugging the flesh in his clamp until he can hear you hiss, then letting it go, letting his tongue soothe the sting.

“You can pretend to hate it,” he sneers at you, his low tone whisper sending shivers like a snowy night, “your lips can lie, but your body? From the moment you walked in, I know your pussy’s been screaming to be filled. Just thank your stars I’m generous, huh?”

You’re drunk. On just two fingers of whiskey? That can’t be it. Definitely, it’s the heady concoction of the alcohol and Jungkook’s very able hands – one of which is enjoying the feel of your perking nipple. 

While one hand goes back up to roughly dig into your neck, the confines of your throat feeling the heat of his lust, his other arm wraps holds your back, making sure you don’t lean too back and lose your balance. It’s sweet.

What’s not sweet, however, is how long this is taking.

He pushes you until you’re balancing your head on the armrest, with one knee digging into the cushion beside you, the other firmly planted on the carpeted floor. Within a wink of an eye, he’s moved down – and you feel his tongue play over your bra, teasing your nipples, reminding you of a forgotten (but not really) past – a harsh suckle under your boob releases the trapped moan, but it sounds battered; perfectly showcasing your state of mind.

“How about this,” he whispers, looking up from his actions, “you think I can get you to come without taking anything else off?”

Do you have the mental fortitude to deal with the consequences of your bratty answer? 

“No.”

The fingers fiddling with your bra hooks halt – instead, he descends onto your clothed breast, biting over the fabric, fully knowing that your sensitivity was through the roof. You cuss and moan, growing frustration urging for more, but you do not beg.

“Funny how life changes,” he coos, shifting attention from one boob to the other, “today you’re the one tied down. And lucky for you,” with not a hint of weariness in his voice, “I don’t have to be anywhere, anytime soon.”

No ties, no ropes, no chains – hell, not even that overworn, oversized tee of his – and he’s still so right about it. Not a part of you wishes to move away, your pathetic self just wrapped around his agile fingers. 

Said fingers now hold your cheeks, squeezing until your quivering lips give an opening – and he drops a ball of spit right over. You lay there, entranced, taking what he has to give, your writhing less prominent now. Anything that falls outside the outline of your lips is gathered by his thumb, massaged over your mouth, then inserted for you to suck to your heart’s content. Which you do.

“You’ve shanghed sho mush,” you speak past his thumb; he definitely doesn’t try to make it easier on you, pushing his digit further inside, putting your tongue through a test of endurance.

“So have you,” is his simple response, dragging his wettened thumb across your cheek.

“Not as much as you, for sure.”

“I don’t think the mouthy bitch years ago would suck spit off of my thumb.”

“You don’t know that.” With his eyes widening ever so slightly, you continue, “But surely, the geek from years ago wouldn’t have spit in my mouth in the first place.”

“You don’t know that either.” 

Just when you think you’re done seeing stars with the roof on, Jungkook hooks the band of your bra in his teeth – like the primitive animal that he is – and pulls at it, just to let it snap back at your skin. The unannounced action makes you squeal, even though it didn’t really hurt – he’s got your body so alive, a feather could hurt you if he wielded it.

With the odd, oafish position of yours; one leg on the couch, the other hanging off loose, head balanced precariously on the armrest with your arms dutifully out of his way – you try to get him where you need him, knee nudging his thigh while your hips wriggle under an invisible spell. Finally, he acquiesces, settling down at the couch with your legs unwrapped on either side for his viewing pleasure. His palms squeeze the flesh of your thighs, a small tsk falling off his lips at the touch of your pantyhose.

“Tearing doesn’t count as taking off, right?”

“What?”

You don’t get a response – not in words, atleast. The loud rip that follows is the only answer he graces you with, your worn down pantyhose having its last wear forever. But his easy access only brings you gratitude when two fingers enter the tear in a split second, pushing your underwear inside your sopping core.

“Mmmhh—Fuck!”

Jungkook just laughs at your helpless body writhing beyond control as he explores everything he didn’t have a chance to before. Fingers travelling down, then up, inside, then outside, around and about – everything, only egging you further on. 

“After all these years…” Jungkook purrs, not directly to you, eyes only connected to the juncture of your thighs, “you deserve a good fucking. What should I do, huh? Should I make you come, then drop off the face of the earth?” His tongue swipes the length of your crevice, sending shudders down your thighs. “Or should I spend this whole night doing all the things I’ve been meaning to? Cover you in my jizz and parade you across the office? Show everyone what an excellent tutor you were, and your very innovative teaching methods.”

Your brain has no filter when exposed to the horny, and his last words made it do just that – you latch onto whatever words best serve your purpose. 

“You–you’ve been meaning… To?” 

“Meaning to fuck you against every possible surface of this room,” is what Jungkook says, but with his fingers entering your cunt and exploring about, you don’t register anything. “As a thank you, you know? Meaning to see you fall apart on my fingers, just like this—” He pushes in hard, your pussy throbbing around his digits. “Meaning to cum inside you, over and over again, and have you crawl around this space, dripping everywhere while I sit and watch your sullied body prepare itself to take more.”

Well, the last one is oddly specific. Even more odd is how much more aroused the thought makes you.

“Wow, umm—w–well—” Swallowing the wad of spit accumulating in your throat, you offer, “Since you clearl–ooh, clearly, know how to make me come,” you look him in the eye, tears of desire pooling in the corners of your eyes, “so fucking do it. S–Stop playing around.”

“But with a plaything as sweet as you,” he moves to kiss your clothed pussy, his fingers still playing imaginary music inside your walls, “with a toy as slutty as you,” another kiss, so delicate it hurts you, “hard to not play around.”

Hands unfettered from the mental shackles that Jungkook put on you, you pull him back up to you, lips smushing together once again – your other hand wraps around his wrist, grinding onto whatever surface his palm offers, using him like a glorified sex toy. He grunts hard into you, a vague attempt made at bringing you back under control, but your tongue is beguiling, and he stays under your hold. 

Until he isn’t. 

“A—w—fuck!”

Jungkook’s sadistic streak continues when he frees his wrist from your clutches, and smacks your clit once, twice, thrice – in quick succession. Your nub would buzz if it could, and a string of expletives release from you when he does it again – this time, with a greater backswing. 

With a sharp tug to his still-on blazer, you pull him up. “Fucker,” you sputter, making your first and last request of the night, in a desperate attempt to get the ball rolling, “let me suck your dick.” Your hands already flounder around his crotch, until he pulls them away, back to their previous confinement. In the background, you can hear his belt jingle; but all you can see is his arresting face.

A deep-throated laugh emerges from him, “Wasn’t last time enough?” He coos at your cock-hungry plea, pushing you back down and fiddling with your legs. “Next time, okay?”

“Next ti—uungghh!”

Barely able to complete your showcase of surprise, because this is the way he announces his acceptance – he pushes into your core, without warning, but he receives a warm welcome in the walls of your pussy. 

“We have a lot,” he emphasises with a thrust, “a lot of work to do, don’t we?” He pulls out just enough to leave you whining, then pushes back in with a grunt of satisfaction; his moves are calculated enough to leave you wanting while maverick enough to leave your spine tingling. “And a lot of catching up as well.” He hovers over you after positioning you better, both of your bodies lying along the length of the couch, before getting right back into your gushing entrance.

One particular thrust has you arching up, the shock of pleasure stagnating in your body for a hot second, making your head lag and voice wane. Jungkook sheaths himself completely, before slotting his face in the nook of your neck, heavy breaths licking at your heated skin. Not one to miss an opportunity, you take the lobe of his ear between your lips, letting your teeth graze over the skin.

“Mmmh, yes,” he keens, tilting into your touch, “make it hurt, baby.”

Whether it is the words he uttered, or the way his whisper travels down to your cunt, you dig your teeth into the flesh, immediately rewarded with a mouthwatering flurry of cusses stuttered into your neck. 

“It’s,” Jungkook pulls out of you in an instant, turning you around by your waist, “not,” he pushes your head back onto the headrest, your cheek bulging as you try to get a look at him, “enough.”

And the way he slams back into you, you feel your soul fight your body to escape. You mewl into the deathly quiet, his dogged jackhammering hurtling you towards your most awaited high of the day – hell, the most awaited all these years. He pistons into you, covering every inch of your skin in a sea of flames. Your orgasm finds you like a river in spate, gushing through its path, fighting boulders in its wake, carving its way through your entire body. 

Sounds of the room start feeling like echoes, slapping balls, grunty exhales, a weirdly long cloth rip that does not belong – but your ears are ringing, your mouth is drooling, and your brain is ready to shut down. Being jostled like a muppet feels like home, and you only start waking up when spurts of liquid coat all of your ass, thighs, and slit. 

In true asshole fashion, Jungkook tore all of your pantyhose, fabric loosely hanging on the sides, seams split until all of your ass and thighs were open for his pleasure. 

In truer asshole fashion, Jungkook left you a mess, cum trickling down your glutes, pooling at the bend of your knee.

And in truest asshole fashion, he is wiping his unsullied fingers clean, without a second thought about your current dishevelled disposition.

Ugh. You love to put yourself in a position you can’t get out of.

How the fuck will you get home? This jerk won’t give you a ride. 

Also, none of your bones work. 

You lay your head on the armrest, finding feasible ways out of this situation. It's going to be nice riding the bus with dried cum itching your ass. There must be a washroom in this boujee office, of course. You finally gather the strength to raise your head and look for one – but interception comes sharp and swift.

“Already done, huh?” Jungkook’s fingers press into the nape of your neck, pushing you back down, your tendons feeling the pressure of his stronghold.

“I—” You stutter and stumble again, just like the start of the night, “I thought we—”

“Don’t you remember?”

“What?”

“Hmmmn,” he sponges kisses over your clothed back, making his way downward, “stupid girl said I couldn’t make her come without taking anything off.”

Ah.

Stupid girl did say that.

Stupid girl also has her speaking right revoked right now, because Jungkook is collecting the half-dried cum on your ass with his tongue, awakening your dying senses once again. His final move is a start to the next chapter of your night, as he pushes his tongue into your velvet heat, depositing the cum where it belongs.

“Guess we keep playing, huh?”

Thank you for making it to the end! For more of my writing, find my masterlist here. As always, thoughts and feedbacks are greatly appreciated!    

[lordofdestructionm]

Reading Mordecai Heller as a repressed gay man

The tragic attraction

This is a full post based on my response to a great analysis by @sedgewick-gayble

Let me start by saying that if you read Mordecai as being totally asexual/aromantic and any affection he has for other characters to be entirely platonic that is entirely valid and I respect that

However as this response by Tracy makes clear on the topic of fans reading Mordecai as gay there is an intentional ambiguity about it. Being 28 at the time of the main story his "lifestyle is certainly asexual" up to this point, yet "being ace and being gay are not mutually exclusive things" and people sometimes "don't know themselves or understand their own motivations all that well"

This leaves the possibility open that Mordecai is actively repressing his natural desires and feelings

Mordecai's early life didn't exactly provide much time or opportunity for "self discovery", even by the usual standards of the less than tolerant and understanding world of the early 20th century

Being born into an impoverished family and having his father die very early in his life leaving him and his Mother and two younger sisters in dire straits, Mordecai had to get to work and assume adult responsibilities pretty damn early.

As Tracy says "selling newspapers wasn't going to cut it" and so using his natural talent with numbers Mordecai starts bookkeeping for the mob. Is it any wonder someone with that background would develop such a serious and rigidly buttoned up demeanour?

Since being forced to abandon his mother and two sisters at the start of the 1920s and flee New York, being picked up by Atlas's due to his habit of collecting useful strays, Mordecai had very few people he was close to in St Louis. With his generally anti-social personality and not only lack of interest but discomfort with any sort of flirting or romantic entanglements, that would be unlikely to change

Side note: Probaby coincidence but

There are only two people who seem to make it onto that exclusive list of people that "count" for Mordecai, who he cares about and are able to bring things to the surface he would normally keep hidden

Atlas to Mordecai is not just an employer, he is the man who saved his life, the man who moulded a desperate fearful shabby young stray into the sharp professional he is today, who took him under his wing and made him his protege. Filling the empty space his father left in his life. His grief and desperate hunt for those responsible for his death are his big motivation (the strain of which is slowly tearing him apart)

That connection is undertsandable

Much more surprising on the surface is the bond with the partner Atlas teamed him up with soon after his arrival, Viktor Vasko.

The assumption at the start would have been that while their skill sets might compliment each other in the field there would have been no warmth in their dynamic.

Certainly not on Mordecai's part as Viktor appears to be a sum total of many things Mordecai hates. Viktor is unshaven, relatively casual in his attire, speaks a broken English, and hates people chattering or “noise, noise, noise” as he calls it. Clashing hard with his obsession with good grooming, high quality tailoring, correct grammar etc. Indeed Mordecai doesn't hesitate to nag/criticize Viktor for these things

Yet at the same time Mordecai has far better chemistry with Viktor than with anyone else, able to banter and bicker with him in a way you rarely if ever see with others

Its why when he gets tailored clothes for the first time Viktor is the first person he wants to show off too. Its why the one time he is intoxicated Viktor (and his large physique) are his chosen topic of converation. Its why at Christmas/Hanuhhah he gives him the gift of a tie while claiming its just because of the big guys poor fashion sense and that its "embarassing to be seen with him" (even that justification makes him sound like a nagging girlfriend)

A smaller detail is that during their iconic chess playing in the side content, set during their days staking out the remote town of Defiance, Viktor is shown very casually winning the game much to Mordecai's visible distress

This is hilarious but could also be taken as a metaphor for Viktor (possibly without even realizing it) breaking through his defensive emotional barriers

Something Mordecai doesn't know how to handle or respond to

The animated short only adds fuel to the fire

During their dispute over strategy Mordecai moves his face so close to Viktors that he almost knocks his cap off his head. His eyes at one point even dart down towards his mouth

Sharp eyed Vikdecai fans have also noted that Mordecai seems on some level to want the two of them to match

The tie being the same colour could simpy be Mordecai giving Viktor one of his own ties because its a joke gift and he just grabbed it on a whim to tease Viktor about his poor fashion choices

But think about the matching suits at the New Years party for 1926

I mean, seriously, not only is it the exact same style of suit in the same blue-grey colour distinct from everyone else, but they are standing in the perfect spots to be symmetrical to each other. Something that we all know means a lot to this compulsive man

Mordecai must have known there was going to be a big group photo ahead of time and then carefully planned this

Got matching suits made to his and Viktors measurements

Then most impressively convinced/nagged Viktor into cooperating (he may have taken off the tie and rolled up the sleeves but hey him playing along at all is quite a compromise from Viktor "I hate dressing up" Vasko)

Mordecai is intent on making Viktor retire and get out of danger, and avoid a situation where he gets sent to kill him by Marigold because he knows he could NOT do it, and his cover and investigation into Atlas's death would be over

He is horrified that Viktor is still working at Lackadaisy (though he again has to hide how much he cares) and that he has gotten not only hurt again but hurt by Mordecai again (albeit this time indirectly by stealing the guns)

Can this be read as simply platonic comradere? Absolutely

But there is something so *intense* in the fact he was willing to resort to kneecapping him. Its an extreme and desperate act that could only result from intense emotions, seemingly out of character for someone who tries very hard to appear logical and controlled.

While Vikdecai is a very fun ship when imagining them as an actual bickering married couple, I have often said that a tragic one-sided on Mordecai's part version of Vikdecai is the one that fits closest and surprisingly well into the canon.

His nagging and complaining about Viktor in that context take on a Tsundere aspect, both to protect himself from being found out and maybe even try and convince himself the uncomfortable alien feelings aren't there. He not only doesn't want others looking too hard at his feeling he doesn't want to examine them himself all that much

There is a heartbreaking but appealing angst to the idea of this extremely repressed man having such feelings for the first time in his life for his straight best friend and NOT knowing how to handle that. Having to perform the balancing act of being around him so much as his partner but being painfully aware that he can't let anyone catch on, especially not Viktor himself, as it would likely destroy his bond with the only person in town other than Atlas he is close to.

Though tragically he did that anyway later via the kneecapping, which while about trying to keep Viktor safe, he may now looking back try and tell himself its actually somehow "better" for Viktor to hate him for that

Because the big guy now wrongly thinks the feeling is mutual and that Mordecai never really cared about him, which may be better than (what Mordecai assumes would be) disgust at his partners doomed more than platonic feelings

Because he sees those feelings and his situation as a sad perfectly structured joke life has played on him

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

[hanniluvi]

( 📍 ) UGLY CHRISTMAS SWEATERS — BEOMGYU

[ DAY SIX ] of the advent calendar !

( 📍 ) SYNOPSIS . convincing your boyfriend to wear ugly christmas sweaters with you might not be that hard after all..

( ᥫ᭡ ) PAIRING . bf!beomgyu x gn!reader

( 📍 ) GENRE . fluff ~~ WORD COUNT 0.5K+ ( 545 )

( ᥫ᭡ ) WARNINGS . gyu got a little attitude (sassy men) BUT its tolerable .. imo .. other than that, nothing else ?

( 📍 ) NOTE . i heart beomgyu 😊🤍

“You’re telling me that we—no, I’m gonna be wearing that?” Beomgyu gingerly lifts one of the sweaters, holding it as if it were a bag of 2 weeks old garbage. “For our friend’s Christmas party?” The clash of colors and patterns really confused him; it seems like the designer operated on a whim.

"Come on, it’s not even bad! The theme was ugly Christmas sweaters, and I picked out the best onesI think they're cute," you retorted, defending the sweaters you'd ordered weeks ago.

"This is far from cute! Your taste in fashion must be questionable," he scoffs, nonchalantly returning the sweaters to their initial resting place on the chair.

"I've practically styled your entire wardrobe, and you've received so many compliments because of me!" you argue.

"Alright, but your sweater choices are still terrible!" Beomgyu counters.

Ignoring his protests, you insistently hold the sweater in front of him, trying to picture the look despite his puzzled expression.

“Not in a million years will you catch me wearing that,” Beomgyu declares, hands up in protest.

But, you didn’t care whatsoever as your determination knows no bounds. “Stop moving, you're making this harder.”

“What—” he starts, but you're already on a mission, determined to make him at least consider the sweater.

“It does suit you.”

“Thanks for the compliment, but you can't just say that by imagining how I'd look in it!”

“Why don't you try it on?” You extended your hand, catching him off guard. His reaction was too slow, and you ended up tossing it at him. “I'll wait.”

Beomgyu sighed, unfolding the sweater and eyeing it with skepticism. “Fine, but don't get your hopes up.”

As he struggled to put it on, you couldn't help but laugh at the sight. The vibrant colors clashed with his usual style, making it even more amusing.

“Ta-da! Happy now?” Beomgyu struck a pose, a mockingly exaggerated smile on his face.

You chuckled, "Look! It doesn't even look that bad! You can totally pull it off."

Rolling his eyes, Beomgyu played along, "Sure, sure. It looks fantastic on me. Just a bunch of silly trees and tiny elves on this sweater with squiggly lines—seriously, what were you thinking when you added this to the cart?"

You shrugged, unfazed by his words. Beomgyu often exaggerated things, and you were accustomed to it. “I expect you to stick with this—we've got just an hour until the party.”

“But can’t we switch—” His complaining tone faded as you rushed down the stairs with the matching sweater in your hand. Quickly draping it over your white shirt, you settled on the couch in the living room. As you scrolled on your phone to pass the time, you later heard shuffling in the background.

“Ready to go?” you looked up, seeing your boyfriend in the sweater you bought—he hadn’t changed it. You gave him a big smile, rising from your seat.

“Looking good there, Choi.”

“Keep it up and I’ll run up the stairs to change,” he teased, soon linking arms with you as you headed towards the door.

“Honestly, though, I don’t think I look too shabby in this,” he asserted, eliciting a giggle from you.

“What can I say? I have an eye for what works.”

“Maybe you're onto something.”

SEND AN ASK / COMMENT TO BE ADDED!

TXT PERM TAGLIST — @flwoie @haruavrse @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @bubblytaetae @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @wonioml @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @ja4hyvn @thia-aep @vampcharxter @sleepymoon27

[sgiandubh]

Hello good afternoon! With this there are already two fundraising campaigns auctioning off items signed by Cait in the last month. Did you see the one at WCC? https://twitter.com/WChildCancer/status/1776565710719721595 and https://www.justgiving.com/campaign/world-child-cancer-tartan-day-2024

Dear (returning) Greeting Anon,

I think it's safe to say we're already old friends, or something along those lines. So allow me to call you 'Greeting Anon', from now on, if that is ok with you, too.

Thank you for reminding me something I paid only superficially attention to (you know, 📦and all, right?). Now, we know she has been a part of World Child Cancer's campaigns for quite a while, now.

Let's see how they did this year:

Overall, not too shabby, for a couple of days' only effort. Still, I would be more interested in the fundraising figure, than the online crowdfunding part (where we know her Stans compete in such an OTT fashion, just to get promoted to 'Best Fan Evah' - as if 🙄):

£ 1.7K is anemic, to be polite. It is perhaps less than a successful weekend for an AVON door-to-door saleswoman. But let's not be nitpicky, here: every single bit helps.

[octuscle]

Alexander Ristor was perfect. The perfect body, the perfect skin, the perfect hair, he was simply flawless. And thanks to his father's fortune, he had the perfect life, too. Although he had never worked or studied, through generous donations he had reasonably presentable high school and college degrees. And his family's connections had also been a catalyst for his career as an influencer. Although he did nothing but travel the world First Class, do shopping, and work out and take care of his body, by the time he was 25 he already had thousands of followers. And while from the beginning his mother had had to secretly pay for hotels and restaurants so that Alexander felt he was getting everything for free as a social media star, by now many doors actually opened by themselves if he just approached them.

Alexander surfed through Instagram, bored. He was starting to get bored in Vienna. He was on a European tour, it was spring, and it was too cold for him in Austria. Going a little more south, working on his tan, now that would be cool. But all the destinations that came to mind when he looked at Google Maps seemed hackneyed. Croatia, Montenegro, Albania. All water under the bridge. All the C-class celebrities had already been there. But what was this northern Macedonia? Skopje? Almost all the posts on Instagram were from locals. Looked interesting enough. In fact, there was also a Hilton. Looked pretty old-fashioned. But he had an advertising contract with them, so he could stay there for two nights. Maybe he could find something better locally. Or he could still travel on to Kotor on the Mediterranean if he didn't like it in Skopje. A few hours later, his two big RIMOWA suitcases were packed and a limousine took him directly to the first class terminal of the Vienna airport.

Saturday

The Hilton was really not to his liking… A proper chain hotel. Not a boutique hotel secret tip that his followers loved him for. But for a few selfies at the bar, in the room and in the lobby, it would be enough for him to get out of here without a bill. Only for his daily workouts did he need something else. The gym at the hotel was unacceptable. Since he had already failed to work out yesterday, he had the concierge recommend a gym nearby. And headed straight for it with his gym bag.

The gym was surprisingly good. A former school high school gym, where high tech and shabby chic met. Well, the audience was different than at home in New York, but he would look all the more radiant on his contributions. So he stood at the counter and said he'd like to work out for the next few days. The employee at the counter, whose name tag said his name was Atanas, obviously didn't know him. Sure, that was a problem if you were a social media pioneer in the province… Atanas realized that he had to make a special effort with the customer. Only, unfortunately, he spoke very broken English. But at least he had understood that the handsome man in front of him was called Aleksandar. He didn't understand the last name… But it sounded something like Ristovski, the name of the captain of the national team. So he entered that. Date of birth? He could only guess… But he guessed well and made Alexander just about half a year older. And for the address Atanas simply entered the address of his mother's guesthouse, nobody would check that. Especially not the customer in front of him, who looked incredulously at the text written in Macedonian on the display and then signed on the input field without checking anything. Atanas took another photo of the customer, saved the entry in the customer file and coded the wristband that could be used to open doors and lockers in the studio.

He had no idea what the employee at the counter wanted from him. But somehow it all worked out and after only fifteen minutes Alexander had received a very cool looking wristband and quickly understood that it worked for checking in and opening the doors. With hands and feet, communication worked even in the middle of nowhere… After changing clothes and styling his hair, Alexander checked his accounts again. He was now 4:15 pm. So he could work out, take a few pictures while he was at it, edit them back at the hotel, change, and then hit the nightlife. But now let's get to the weights.

After three hours of training Alexander was exhausted. Shit, he had totally forgotten the time. But the workout had been awesome. It had been a long time since he had had so much fun pushing his body to the limits. So there was just a selfie of him with sweaty hair and sweaty T-shirt. And a succinct caption, "Best workout ever," along with the name of the gym. Strange, why did he have a three-day beard…?

Sunday

The night had been fun, there was no other way to put it. The afterlife of Skopje could not be compared to that of Vienna. As usual, his posts had had hundreds of likes after a very short time. And there had been a lot of likes from locals as well. He must have collected some new followers tonight. He was a little surprised about some comments about his new style. Okay, he didn't shave every day since he was here. And when you party hard, your hair doesn't always sit perfectly either. But new style…? He thought it was over the top.

Before he wanted to look at the city a little, Alexander wanted to work out a little in any case. So he went directly unshowered with only once combed hair to breakfast. Around him sat many festively dressed people. Probably locals who went to Sunday brunch. Because of his careless dress and perhaps also because of the smell his sports bag gave off, Alexander received one or two reprimanding looks. All weaklings, he thought, as he ate his bowl of scrambled eggs and the three chicken breasts for breakfast.

Atanas and Alexander greeted each other with a ghetto fist. The prepared protein shake was already waiting. Alexander appreciated how quickly his workout routine was addressed here. And thank God he could exchange a few words of Macedonian with the staff and the other guys on the training floor. And he understood a little Albanian, at least. His grandmother had sometimes sung him a few folk songs she knew from her North Macedonian mother, so a little had stuck.

Communication with Atanas was still complicated, however. He probably wanted to say something to him when Alexander left the studio at 5:00 p.m. after a hard workout, sauna and a shower. And after some time he understood that Atanas invited him to move out of the expensive and uncool Hilton and move into his mother's guesthouse. Great idea, that would certainly go down better in his stories than pictures from an interchangeable hotel bar. Nevertheless, Alexander spent the evening at the hotel. After all, he owed the hotel a few posts. And he didn't feel like going out clubbing after the day was over.

Monday

He did not have to shave today… The beard had a good seven-day length and still looked reasonably well-groomed. But he could go to the barber again, the last haircut should be a month and a half ago. So it had to be enough to tame the hair back with plenty of gel. He stuffed his clothes into his suitcases and went for a quick breakfast before checking out. After devouring his mountain of scrambled eggs, the waiter pointed out to him to please not wear a tank top to breakfast next time. There won't be a next time, Alex replied in his broken Macedonian and wiped off the rest of the scrambled eggs with his forearms. The front desk employee also smiled somewhat painedly when he pointed out his partnership with Hilton while paying the bill. The lady said they were tasked with telling Alex that the quality of his posts had fallen below the usual standard and they were considering discontinuing the partnership. Normally, Alex would have raved now, but he didn't care about the Hilton at all. Nevertheless, still posted a selfie with him and the reception team on Instagram. And immediately came the reactions:

"When did you stop shaving your armpits, Alexander?" "Bro, you're working out more than usual!" "Sun's out, guns out"

And many posts were in Macedonian and Albanian, which is also where most of the likes came from.

Atanas and Alex went to the barber together after the training. This was also a cool experience, making a post from this was much funnier than from drinking cocktails at the hotel bar. And the pictures he posted online of Atanas and himself went down especially well with his followers from the Balkans. With their trimmed full beards and shaved bald heads, the two looked almost like siblings.

When they had heaved Alex's luggage up the stairs to the guesthouse and Atanas introduced Alex to his mother, Alex silently cursed his mother. While she had grown up bilingual in Albanian and English, they spoke almost no Albanian at home. Now he would have needed more than the smattering he had learned from his Tirana-born grandmother. But at least his Macedonian was already quite passable, so that a simple conversation was already quite possible. His room in the guesthouse was great. Actually a separate apartment with a small kitchen and a balcony under the roof. Wonderful view over the city. And very comfortably furnished. He could leave his dirty laundry directly with Atanas' mother. And before they moved around the houses, Atanas lent Alex some of his things. The two spent the evening with some friends. Hardly anyone spoke English, but as training for his language skills this was perfect. And in fact, hardly anyone thought that the muscular guy in the soccer jersey and track pants could be American.

Tuesday

Part of the deal with Atanas' mother was that in the morning after breakfast, before he went to training with Atanas, he would collect the garbage in the rooms of the guesthouse and take everything to the dumpster around the corner. Easy money, Alex thought to himself… And the rest of his lodging he worked off by picking up guests (especially those from abroad) from the airport or train station and bringing them to the guesthouse. In the meantime he got along quite well with the old Skoda in the city traffic of Skopje. No one was arriving or departing today, so Atanas and Alex were able to work out together at the gym before Atanas' shift. And Alex spent the afternoon working on the guesthouse's social media presence. He was so not interested in the comments on his own account right now.

Wednesday

By now Aleksandar had been in his mother's country for three months. He couldn't understand why he had waited so long to come here. It was good that he had been so well received by Atanas and his family, it was enormous luck. His mother was also overjoyed with the situation. In the morning, when he left for the wholesale market at the crack of dawn, he always called home to wish his mother in New York a good night. It was a young tradition, but one he enjoyed. And sometimes he would have a few words with his father, who still viewed his activities with some suspicion. But that he made his mother happy, made his father happy too.

After carrying the fresh groceries to the cellar, Aleksandar usually went straight to work out. He enjoyed it when the gym was still empty. Besides, he always had to spend more time in the afternoons with Atanas' and his online supplement business. As his own successes as a heavyweight bodybuilder grew, so did the demand for his own products. And today he also had to go shopping himself. After hardly anything of his old clothes fit anymore, Atanas' sister had sold everything at the weekly market. Mila had great talent in such things and had made a good profit. And with that Aleksandar went shopping. He didn't need much. During the day, in the summer, an undershirt and a pair of training pants were enough. For the evenings, or when he had to work at the guesthouse, he bought a few pairs of jeans and some black and white shirts. The picture of him doing a double biceps pose with a bursting new shirt led to enthusiastic reactions from many of his new followers. And the salesman who took the picture of him immediately posted a selfie of himself and Aleksandar afterward.

Thursday

Today Aleksandar combined his morning visit to the market with a visit to the barber. He wanted to look his best before the weekend. And he enjoyed the visits here very much. For one thing, he learned plenty of news. For another, he liked it when his full beard was trimmed razor-sharp, the sides of his angular skull gleamed as if polished, and the barely-a-millimeter-long hair on top of his head shone black. He would love to add a few tattoos to the picture, but his mother would kill him for that… And if not her, Atanas' mother would take over that task.

Atanas and Aleksandar worked out together today after Atanas' shift ended. It was good because they were both tough critics and knew how to motivate each other excellently. And it was good because they could both shower together afterwards. Jerking each other's soapy dicks was the highlight of the workout.

Friday

Actually, Aco (Aleksandar only called him his grandmother when she was angry) wasn't really religious. But with three Muslim grandparents, the imprint had been big. And his parents both wanted him to grow up as a devout Muslim. And so, at least on Fridays, it was natural to answer the muezzin's call and say the sunrise prayer. And for the evening prayer, he and Atanas would also go to the mosque. But otherwise, Aco had to spend every free minute on training today as well, besides his work at the guesthouse and on their online trade. Sunday was his first appearance in the heavyweight class. And for that, it wasn't enough to eat like a barn-burner. He had to convert the calories, too.

In the gym, he was something of a local hero. Sure, he was exotic because he was born in the United States. But he had his roots here, and he and his fans were proud of that. But he had also had to work hard for success. Sure he had been in good shape when his parents sent him here with a little capital to start. Sure he had received a lot of support from Atanas and his family. But both his body and his business were essentially his earnings. For that he got up every morning at 04:00 o'clock, for that he went to bed every evening at 21:00 o'clock, for that he renounced alcohol. But for it he brought also with his 1,75 m proud 120 kilograms on the balance. The only thing he had not worked for was his cock. These 25 cm were a gift from his fathers. And for that he and Atanas thanked Allah!

Saturday

Actually silly that he had to sneak out of Atanas' room in the morning. The two of them were more than grown up. But even if it was an open secret that they were a couple, it was not really allowed to become public. That's where both their families were just stuffy. The guesthouse was full today. Many guests were there also because they hoped to take a photo with the most promising candidate for the national amateur championship. And Aco fulfills this wish for every guest. That's why today, for once, he was only allowed to work in a tank top and flex his muscles. Secretly, he regretted that tomorrow no one would be able to enjoy the fur on his chest and arms. He would miss the bushy hair in his armpits. And Atanas probably even more, if he could no longer press his face into the cave stinking of fresh sweat after the training. But tomorrow morning it all had to come off, tomorrow nothing could distract from the tight skin over his muscle mountains. And thanks to his genes, the hair would soon grow back.

Sunday

He had been working towards this moment for over six months. Worked out until he was exhausted, ate until he was pissed off. He had slept in extra today. Pumped up all the important muscle groups one last time. Atanas had carefully shaved every hair on his body. There was nothing left below the beard. And now Atanas was oiling him just as carefully. And as with shaving, he was especially careful in the places to which Aco's cock was particularly sensitive. You idiot, Aco said more in jest. Should the jury choose me for my biceps or for my boner. Grinning, Atanas returned that both would be more than impressive.

Just now, at the accreditation of the contestants, Aco had had to identify himself. Thanks to his mother, he had an Albanian passport; thanks to his birth, he had a U.S. passport. All passports showed his proud name Aleksandar Ristovski, all showed his real birthday but on only one passport were all the data, including his address, exactly as Atanas had recorded them a week ago: on the passport of his father's homeland, on the one from northern Macedonia. And tonight he would leave the stage as the winner for this country.

Many thanks to @massivemusxcle and @homme-parfait! You guys were a great inspiration !

[caffeineivore]

The Witching Hour

Liminal Spaces, moments in time, beautiful and forlorn and uncanny.

R/J, PG13-ish?

The parking lot is lit by a single pole light that flickers erratically, and the neon sign reading "Vacancy" has both A's out. Jace usually isn't one for such Uncanny Valley trappings, but beggars can't be choosers at midnight and his low fuel light came on twenty miles ago.

It's a small motel in the middle of a small town in the middle of a lonely stretch of freeway in the middle of nowhere-- the type that some poor idiot in a horror movie would probably get gruesomely murdered in, but then again, he was hardly a nubile ingenue or a dumbass jock. He'd certainly stayed in worse places during a long stint as a UC in LA, and he thinks he'd take the tumbleweeds and the flickering neon over the seedy underbelly of the City of Fallen Angels anytime. He doesn't have much on him to attract the bad sort of attention anyway-- a lone man in worn jeans and a leather jacket that had seen better days, bearing an old duffel bag and dark gold five-o'-clock shadow, a few battered twenties in his wallet and an ankle holster that doesn't show as he walks.

The lobby is small, neat as a pin and almost inhumanly bright in the glare of harsh fluorescents as he comes in. A pair of tired-looking armchairs and a loveseat in faded red chenille, gunmetal-grey industrial carpeting. The front desk is shielded by a panel of reinforced glass and features a computer that looks positively ancient, but he does a double-take when he comes up to the counter. As a rule, night auditors at places of lodging are a bit unsociable, slightly Eldritch, with the uncanny factor increasing proportionate to the lateness of the hour and the remoteness and shabbiness of the location, and this specimen certainly had nothing ordinary about her, either. She looks up as he raises a hand to ring the service bell, holds his gaze in an unblinking violet stare for a moment too long, but it's her beauty that stops him in his tracks.

Fifteen years in Los Angeles has Jace all but immune to the countless number of meaningless beautiful faces all around him. A starlet's lush-lipped smile looks a lot less inviting two hours later in a rictus of drug-induced convulsions. Diamonds and bullets, champagne and smog, sunsets and blood-soaked asphalt. This woman could be twenty or a hundred, with an ageless face that he imagined angels would have if they were real-- the type of angels that smote a sinner with swords and fire, not the type that graced Hallmark cards and Victoria's Secret catalogues. Fathomless violet eyes, blood-red lips and a curtain of inky hair. "It's pretty late to be traveling, isn't it?"

"Absolutely, and I'm tired the hell out. Do you have a room for the night, and maybe a gas station close to here that opens sometime tomorrow morning, sweetheart?"

She cocks her head to the side rather like a bird might as it stares at a new street sign. "This isn't where you're supposed to be right now, but I won't begrudge you a night's rest and shelter," she says at length, almost to herself. She slides a tattered registration binder and an honest-to-God fountain pen across the desk, under the panel of glass, and her voice takes on a slightly brisker tone. "Name and address, please. That will be fifty dollars. Room 12, which will be six doors down, on the right. We don't have breakfast, but there's a cafe down the road next to the gas station, about five miles out. Check out is at ten."

"Thanks, love." His fingers brush hers for the briefest of moments as he takes the keys-- old fashioned metal ones, not plastic cards, and he would have expected her hands to be ghostly-cold. But they're warm and soft, like the glow of hearth fire behind a screen. He almost wants to give them a squeeze, but that would be creepy. He signs "Jacen Reinhardt" and puts down the address of an apartment that he'd not set foot in for the last two years, and slides three twenties across the table. "Keep the change. I'd've driven on, you know, but I can barely keep my eyes open, and I'm almost out of gas. You probably saved my life." He tacks that last part on with a wink that would have melted a model or a gun moll alike, but she simply continues to look at him with something that looks weirdly like silent absolution in those dark, mysterious eyes.

"I wish that were true," she murmurs, tipping her face downwards towards the registration binder as she puts it back in its drawer. "Rest well. You're safe here."

"I'll catch you tomorrow morning before you're off, doll. Sweet dreams."

He finds Room 12 without much difficulty, unlocks it with those old-fashioned keys. It's just as tidy as the lobby under the glow of the incandescent table lamp, with a single bed and heavy burgundy drapes over its windows, but the shower runs hot and the pillows are soft under his weary head. Jace is asleep almost as soon as he lies down, before he could even have taken any of the types of precautions he might have been accustomed to in the big city, but she's a woman of her word and he sleeps soundly and well. He dreams in flashes and fits that night, fleeting images that flit across his subconscious-- snow-white lilies, stark black ravens, fire that arrows across an eerie silver sky, the clash of swords and the crush of lovers' lips-- but nonetheless, the sun is high in the sky when he wakes from the best sleep that he's had in a long time.

One look on the old-fashioned analog alarm clock on the nightstand tells him that he has all of nineteen minutes to check out, and so Jace hurries into the lobby, raking one hand through his tousled blond hair, keys in hand, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, eyes peeled for that oil-slick of black hair. In daylight, it's a much-different place-- not cheery, perhaps, but pleasant. Almost welcoming. Ordinary. Manning the front desk is a perky redhead who cheerfully points him towards the direction of the gas station as she accepts the keys and wishes him safe travels.

"Thanks... Molly, is it?" He reads the name on the gilt nametag pinned on her blouse, and racks his brain for whether the woman last night had worn one. "This might be an odd question, but... who was here last night? The overnight lady."

"Oh, I don't know any of the others," Molly replies, furrowing her brow in a bewildered way. "I usually just miss her. I've just started here, you see, for a summer job. But I know she's been here for a long time. She's never here after daybreak. I work nine to five."

That is, of course, supremely unhelpful, but it's not something that he can fault her for. Jace coaxes his car into life and drives off into the sunshine, towards the very ordinary gas station and very ordinary cafe that likely serves very ordinary coffee and bacon and eggs that would fuel him until his next destination, and wonders if he's lost a night or a small eternity of his life that he just won't ever quite understand.

Strange things always happen during the witching hour, that's a given. But there's never been cause to wonder, before this, of lost time and liminal spaces that have never been his before, beautiful and forlorn and uncanny, of ghosts and angels when neither of those things were real.

(The other three will be put up on AO3 when I can be arsed to write them)

[sentenceme-leni]

Saturday. Minimum 6 sentences.

---

Rumpelstiltskin himself had needed to shed a few layers during their first visit to Agrabah. The hot, relentless sun wasn't friendly to his favorite leathers.

Apparently even the Dark One's constitution would swelter into the indignity of sweaty discomfort.

He fingered the looser clothing that had been offered by their host. Having seen the fashion of men in the court, the shabby result on his person was a delicate insult.

Rumpelstiltskin was almost impressed.

Even if he called attention on the problem, the Sultan could easily claim the tailors had made a mistake. No slight meant, of course not.

Rumpelstiltskin decided he wanted that glimpse into the mysterious Cave of Wonders enough to pretend along.

After some quick magic fixed the garments, of course.

Once satisfied, he wandered to Belle's chamber. "Sweetheart," he called through the door, ignoring the scandalized glares of the servants, "please make sure your outfit is up to scratch. Mine needed a few tweaks."

"Oh!" came her voice, sounding relieved to his ears. "Yes, Rumple. No wonder this didn't seem right."

Rumpelstiltskin grumbled. He was used to little digs and insults, but Belle was too trusting.

"Let me see, dear."

"I'm not sure..."

He rolled his eyes. Belle wasn't usually a vain person. The outfit must be dreadful indeed.

With a quick snap of his fingers, he magicked himself inside, thinking only to abbreviate the task.

And all but swallowed his tongue at the sight of his maid in typical Agrabah garb.

She gave him an embarrassed grimace. "See, this cannot be right."

Rumpelstiltskin gulped. He gave a thoughtless nod, more a reaction to the sound of her voice than her meaning, and tore his undeserving eyes from the wide strip of exposed skin at her midriff.

"I'll talk to the tailors," he offered in a choked whisper.

And hurried out of her room.

The End

20/04/24

[destinyc1020]

It’s crazy that anyone thinks she needs to “catch up to her peers.” Zendaya is at the top. They need to catch up to her. She has a hit show, 2 hit blockbuster franchises, critical and commercial acclaim. Multiple awards (she is the only one of her peer group that has won, the others were just nominated 💅). Brand deals galore. Been producing her stuff since she was a teen. Has Warner Bros. and Sony in her back pocket. THE fashion girlie. Goes viral for breathing. Getting paid 10 million for her 1st lead, and the price is about to go up with Dune and Challengers success. Like… do I need to continue??

Right? 😅

Idk who they're comparing Zendaya to in her "peer group" honestly. Coz Z is KILLING IT and has various brand deals and side gigs. Not saying that other actresses aren't doing well, I'm just saying that Z isn't doing too shabby herself.

True, this is her FIRST lead role in a major film, but it's not because she hasn't been offered lead roles before. She's just very selective. Plus, I kinda get the impression too that she wanted to wait until SHE felt comfortable to lead a film on her own. It's a lot of pressure!

Maybe she wanted to work on her craft and improve in her skills before leading a film all on her own.

People don't realize that it's a lot of work leading a film all on your own shoulders. I think people also forget that her first role in a film was in 2017 with Spiderman and she had like 5 lines lol. 😆

She's come a LONG way in a relatively short period of time if you ask me. 🤷🏾‍♀️

[flustersnaggle]

STAND OUT, FIT INㅤ

andrew norman dolores (he/they) — a friend (or foe. or whatevs) for @squea's corn gp

occult: none

aspiration: spellcraft & sorcery

traits: bookworm, genius, overachiever, self-absorbed, socially awkward

age: adult (somewhere between late 20s to early 30s)

orientation: graysexual gay man

career: freelance writer

lifestyle(s): sedentary

likes: the color green, blues music, compliments, streetwear fashion, writing

dislikes: spirited sims, shabby decor

skills: charisma (4), cooking (5), entrepreneur (3), fitness (2), herbalism (6), medium (2), research & debate (7), writing (7)

(also comes with milestones (the simology one not the aspiration one), favorite umbrella, and preferred phone case too because i put maybe a little TOO much effort into him)

FUN FACTS

adoptive human son of two late powerful spellcasters. chose to be the World's Normalest Person™ and developed a complex over his nature as a regular human which he perceives as inferiority

his inflated ego and wounded pride forces him to reject anything less than visiting the magic realm and completing the sages' test himself as cheating

unfortunately for him, his poor constitution makes him prone to fainting under sunlight and leaves him completely winded after walking for more than 15 minutes at a time without breaks. with a hometown of henford-on-bagley and a current place of residence located in san myshuno, he does NOT live near glimmerbrook at all

did not have many friends growing up, thanks to his younger self's meek nature and general lack of social skills. even NOW he still lacks social skills, but he has learned to mask them behind a veneer of cold aloofness.

writes as a hobby (and lately, as a profession) whenever he's stuck at home

usually eats pre-cooked dishes and quick meals because of his low budget; what knowledge he has in cooking comes from messing with his moms' cauldron when they weren't home back when he was younger

just as spellcasters are—exaggeratedly or not—known for forgetting about their limits, andrew is HORRIBLE at taking care of himself. the man has been known to be so absorbed in his studies that he forgets to sleep for days at a time until his body finally decides to clock out

tumblr user squea if you are reading this and you'd like to kidnap this man into your game please let me know by DMing me!!! mostly because this is my first time sharing a sim with someone else over the internet and i don't trust me not to publicly humiliate myself lol

[nomniki]

cardigan ━━ kim seungmin ⟡ the first time you meet seungmin is wearing his cardigan

genre﹒fluff word count﹒871 warnings﹒none!

an﹒first fully written work on this acc to celebrate seungmin day !! happy birthday boyfriend 😧 (pls tell me any mistakes it’s legit 1am) rbs r appreciated too <3

"y'know, i wouldn't have come over if i knew you were just going to try and freeze me to death."

you grumbled, trying again in vain to pull a fairer share of the blanket off of jeongin. he puffed out his cheeks and yanked the blanket firmly out of your grasp, tucking it even tighter at his sides to ensure there was no hope of you dislodging it for your own use. beneath your thin sweatpants, you could feel the uncomfortable prickle of goosebumps.

"it's not like it's my fault, heatings out 'til thursday."

despite that, jeongin made no move to offer you any of the blanket that you had brought over at his insistence. another shiver wracked your body. you huffed, standing up and (intentionally) kicking him upon your departure. his whine elicited a laugh out of you, although it did nothing to warm you up, so you instead ventured towards jeongin's bedroom.

jeongin, quite simply, was a college boy.

it was with that unpleasant reminder that you altogether avoided the suspiciously large laundry pile that had accumulated at the foot of his bed. you poked around cautiously, avoiding stray underwear and socks that should've been thrown away decades ago by the looks of them. jeongin's love for fashion was not lost on you, which is exactly why it was so hard to believe there wasn't a single item of clothing fit for you to borrow. your patience was wearing thin and you had half a mind to return to the couch and wrestle the hoodie he was wearing off him.

until it caught your eye.

it being a large cashere cardigan, hanging unassuming on the back of jeongin's door. the biscuit brown colour was impossibly inviting, and seemingly it had been spared from the callous treatment afforded to the rest of jeongin's clothes.

you padded back into the hallway, wrapping the spoils of your search tighter around your chest, relishing in the feel of the soft material against your bare arms.

"took you long enough— wait, that's not mine, that's—"

"...mine."

an unfamiliar voice finished in jeongin's stead. the speed at which you whipped around to find the speaker was comical.

kim seungmin. the elusive roommate you'd been hearing about for weeks but hadn't ever had the pleasure of meeting. jeongin had assured you countless times that he was a nice roommate, neat and courteous and funnier than he appeared upon first glance.

none of his vague descriptors had done any justice to the brown haired boy in front of you, head tilted in slight confusion, just like a puppy, his braces visible jutting out over his bottom lip. he stood in the doorway, toeing off his sneakers and ignorant to the fact his wire rimmed glasses were slipping down his nose.

immediately you felt an embarrassed flush creeping up to your ears. as if being accidentally caught in his clothes wasn't bad enough, your threadbare sweatpants and borderline shabby shirt just tied it all together. you startled into action.

"i am so sorry! i found it in jeongin's room and—"

"it's fine," he said with a wave of his hand, breaking eye contact to shuffle into his slippers, "keep it, it, uh, looks good on you."

you swallowed nervously, fiddling with the cuff of the oversized cardigan and trying desperately not to outwardly react to the shy smile directed at you. jeongin couldn’t contain his laughter and watched you interact in clear amusement, his chin propped up on the back of the couch. you barely managed to stutter out your thanks, having to clear your throat and repeat it loud enough for him to actually hear,

“thank you, seungmin.”

his eyes widened a little, he looked adorable, your brain supplied unhelpfully.

“wait, so you’re yn, right?”

you nodded. seungmin mimicked the action subconsciously and mumbled your name again to himself, as if testing out the syllables on his tongue and it took all the willpower you could muster not to fall to your knees and propose to him right there in the entryway. he interrupted your marriage proposal daydreams with his sweet voice, speaking as softly as the cardigan of his you were wearing.

“well, yn,” your name had never sounded as good as it did when it was coming from seungmin, you decided, “if you ever want to borrow anything else, uh, you know where to find me.”

the smile he gave you was a threat to your health and you lingered in the hallway even after the lock of his bedroom door had sounded somewhere behind you. you were stunned back into reality by the back of jeongin’s hand pressing insistently against your forehead.

“doctor, what’s your diagnosis? lovesick? oh, god! is it fatal? will they live?”

you shoved him away, mildly frightened by the fact that there was a chance seungmin would overhear. that meagre push did nothing to silence jeongin, who continued dramatically.

“is there a cure? there is? thank the heavens! kissing kim seungmin? worry not, doctor! i’ll ensure they get right on that!”

you were going to smother jeongin with the blanket he’d been so insistent on having to himself, if only to hide the fiery blush plaguing your cheeks at the prospect of kissing seungmin.

✦ to my masterlist

[miumiumanzo]

Your art is mind blowing woah<3

Also please drop any IB hcs you have :3

Hi, thank you for the message and the kind words (I'm going to reply both of your messages here). It's really appreciated and I do enjoy keep on giving to the IB crowd 🥰

My random headcanon for them is; ever since with Gabriel, Bee enjoys experimenting with fashion a little more. He took them to his tailor once on their little dates and they instantly fell in love the clothes that were made for them. They just love how they look in new things they never worn before and knowing that Gabriel loves it too makes them the more happier. Getting new and nicer clothes help them heal from the cramped, crowded and shabby hell. In turn, Gabriel, while still loving all the pristine and sharp looking suits, lets loose a little and experimenting with more casual look.

[odessa-2]

I was surprised by Cait's appearance in tsc grilled live

Unwashed hair looks like it's been since Paris with all Gareth Products and lint covering her old dress!!

I do not understand this appearance of a woman coming from the beauty and fashion industry, and her the latest looks, at Loewe show .

Schleppy is back. I agree. Her hair was greasy. Needed a good scrub and her dress was pilling. I'm sure her dress is an expensive woollen dress and wool has a propensity to pill but it looked too shabby for a dinner and interviews. Something you'd wear running some errands around the local hood on a winters day with a jacket on to cover the lint.