#Dish Soap Method

[historyofguns]

The article "Dish Soap Method of Rattle Can Camo" by Scott Conditt, published on The Armory Life, outlines a DIY approach to spray painting firearms, specifically the AR-15, using dish soap as a stencil tool for creating camouflage patterns. This method involves cleaning the rifle thoroughly, taping off areas that should not get painted, applying a base coat followed by dish soap in patterns, and then adding a main color coat. Once the paint is dried, the dish soap is washed off to reveal unique, organic camo patterns. The process is customizable, affordable, and can be repeated multiple times. The author emphasizes that while the method is inventive and easy, individuals are responsible for the results, and it is essential to understand fully what is needed before attempting such projects.

[lostwanderer42]

Wrist brace so stinky help

[prlssprfctn]

Alfred, who tries to punish little Jason for something he messed up with by using the same methods he used on Dick — aka. ground him, make him wash dishes and clean the house, or just watching some old reality shows with him — expect... it never works. Jason is actually fucking excited about all of these things.

Alfred: To my attention was brought a fact that you smoked with Commissioner Gordon again. Jason, stuttering: I mean- I- Alfred: Thus, you are punished. I expect all dishes to be cleaned by the time I return home. Jason, confused: Really? Alfred: Yes. Jason, beaming, because cleaning makes him feel better and helps to distract himself: Cool! Thanks, Alfie. Alfred: Excuse me?

Cut to Alfred, who stares in shock as he finds Jason actually enthusiastically washing dishes, while singing along with Whitney Houston.

Alfred: For this punishment, you will... be grounded. Jason: Oh, thank god, guys from school invited me to the cinema, but I didn't want to go, anyway. Alfred: ...And clean up the whole cave. Jason: I actually did this morning! But I can do another round of quick cleaning session if you want, Alfie. Alfred: ...And then you will watch another soap opera with me, lad. Jason, squealing: Cool!

Bruce, staring amusedly on Alfred and Jason, who sew Batman's and Robin's suits, while discussing the new episode of their favourite show: Al, I don't think that's a punishment for a kid... Alfred, frowning: Of course not. I am just spending time with my grandson. Bruce: Mhm-m. What about the punishment for your favourite broken vase? Alfred, who promised to punish anyone who did it this morning, because he thought it was Bruce, and not Jason, who accidentally knocked it off with the tip of his cape: ... Alfred: What vase? Jason: *beaming*

Alfred, solemnly: My boy. I am afraid, this time you truly need to serve your punishment in the order to understand your mistake. Alfred: No Jane Austen adaptations marathon for this Sunday. Jason, in horror: Alfred, no. Please. Alfred: Even more, you are obligated to go out on Sunday, and stay away from doing any additional homework. Jason: NO-O. Dick, who came for holidays, witnessing this for the first time: ... Dick: I think this kid is broken or something.

[madamechrissy]

Emperor! Gojo headcanons/ story preview

Fic is now here <3

pairings- Emperor! Gojo x arranged! Empress reader

summary- you've been set to marry the new emperor Satoru Gojo, but he wants nothing to do with all of that, he doesn't even come to your first meeting - rude! No, he must bathe with his concubines, but when he sees you for the first time and doesn't even know you're his wife? Everything shifts, but it turns out he doesn't know that you're not happy to be here either.

warnings - mentions of sex with multiple concubines, Gojo is a pretentious little shit, reader has a past love she left behind, oral sex (m and f receiving) teasing, lots of sexual tension, eventually gonna be mutual pining, gonna have a lot of angst, and smut

this is a birthday gift for my bestie @strychnynegirl hope you enjoy baby!!

Emperor! Gojo who loves all of his pretty concubines equally, he loves to please them, to tease them, to fill them up. To be a concubine of Satoru Gojo's was the utmost position in the empire, women fought hard to climb the ranks for such a chance. Satoru recently took over the position after his father passed away, and has pushed off marriage proposals left and right, why not just have fun with all his beautiful ladies?

Emperor! Gojo however is now being forced into marriage, he's played a foolish bachelor too long, and the higher ups have brought a perfect match from another land, a young princess who has been brought here just for him. Gojo is completely uninterested in meeting her, why should he be excited, the duties of being an emperor were taxing enough without having to meet some stranger and have to sleep with her, have babies with her. He ignores the meeting he's supposed to attend in favor of spending time with his favorite concubines at once, quite scandalous even for an Emperor.

Emperor! Gojo is a stranger to you as well, as you sit there sipping tea, your ladies in waiting are strangers, everyone you knew was back home, and here you are, made a fool of. There are whispers amongst them all, you can hear them as your teacup clinks on the little ceramic dish, and Emperor Gojo's mother comes in to apologize for his absence. She's a beautiful lady, you wonder if he looks like her errantly, but smile in a feigned politeness, nodding along. After all, it's not as if you were looking forward to this either.

Emperor! Gojo takes a bath with all his women, when you decide to join the bathhouse after quite a long time without one, your mind drifting to the boy you loved when you were forced to leave your home. You remember your kisses, your promises, and the moment you got sent away here, with a man who's currently being fed grapes in the clear bath waters by many women. They're giggling, touching him, and you barely see him as your attendant helps you undress.

Emperor! Gojo has brilliant blue eyes that catch you across the enormous, steamy bathhouse then - he's pausing as he sees you, just wearing a thin white slip of material, curious just who you are. You take some of the soap you've brought, and your attendant washes your hair while he can't take his eyes off you, your curves in that thin material, the way the smooth skin of your thighs is lit up but the lanterns above. You're so beautiful he must know who you are.

Emperor! Gojo feels his mouth go dry when you step into those waters now, standing a bit so that he sees the full outline of your breasts, making his cock twitch under the water, he can't focus on anything but how those droplets of water fall from your skin as you methodically wash yourself. You peer at him just a bit, before lowering your lashes, when he can't help but look at one of his favorite girls, asking - 'who is she?'

Emperor! Gojo doesn't get an answer, no one knows what you look like yet, so he assumes you must be one of the new girls in a position to become a concubine. and fuck if he wouldn't love that opportunity, imagining fucking a baby into you ruins him then. One of his major duties is to have as many babies as he can, to strengthen the empire of course. Yet he tends to be a little apprehensive, he dares to admit he doesn't cum in any of the concubines yet, he doesn't know if he wants children right away. He's young, but of course the pressure is there, and he knows it will be soon, especially with him having to marry. He shoves that annoying thought away.

Emperor! Gojo was supposed to meet his wife today, should he feel bad? maybe. Does he? no, he does not. He steps away and walks across the water, giving you a good look at him then, his chiseled body, narrow torso, pale skin glimmering under the warmth of the room. The stream rises as you look slowly up his body, carved like a statue, then finally make it to his face, truly beautiful. He does look like his mother, those white locks with just a hint of lavender, the beautiful blue eyes even more intense than hers, his body glistening as he walks closer, plump vermilion lips curved in a smile as he murmurs a - 'hello, there, are you new here?'

Emperor! Gojo has a reputation of being kind and fair, though on the battlefield he was ruthless, tales of him were regaled worldwide, and you knew of his military prowess of course. You tremble just a bit as he gets closer, his eyes slipping down your body like a caress. 'I am new here, your majesty' he smiles now. 'No need to be so formal,' the emperor brushes a hand across your hair, marveling in the silkiness now. 'Are you here to be a concubine? I assure you, I have a position opening very soon' he acts as if that's a compliment, as if you should be thrilled your husband to be is willing to fuck a stranger while he ignores your meeting. But you smile, shaking your head. 'ah, you're mysterious, hmm?'

Emperor! Gojo is enamored when he touches you under the water, big hand on the small of your back, taking it over as he steps closer, so tall and imposing in the water. Your breasts brush against his abdomen, as your breaths quicken, a mix of irritation and something more you don't want to admit. 'You know who I am?' you nod a bit, biting your lip when he leans down, pressing you along the warmth of the hard wall behind you. one of his long thighs presses against your heat, and you hate how your body reacts, it feels like such a betrayal of the one you loved, and for a man who doesn't want to even know you? You bite back a sigh when he leans down, an arm on either side of you.

Emperor! Gojo murmurs the words - 'so fucking pretty, god,' and earns your blush, he chuckles as he sees it, flushed color on your cheeks, when his lips hover over yours. 'Can you at least tell me your name, mysterious girl?' when you say it he immediately recognizes it, faltering and stepping back, eyes wide. You smile, meanly then, batting your lashes. 'was such a shame you couldn't meet me for tea, hmm? I see you were otherwise occupied' you eye the girls behind his shoulders, whispering to each other wildly, when you push him back, hands on his chest. 'It's rude not to even meet me after I got dragged on a five day journey on ship, you know.'

Emperor! Gojo sputters, eyeing your hands on his chest that he now pins there for a moment. 'You're my... you can't be... you...' a sigh escapes your lips, as you tug your hands back. 'Yes, I'm your betrothed, I suppose this is our first meeting. I'll leave you to your pretty concubines, I'm afraid I don't intend on becoming one,' you turn and climb up those steps, the slip forming to you like a goddess, as you turn him down. No one has ever turned Emperor Gojo down!? yet here you are, turning and giving him a little smile as your attendant hands you a towel. 'Perhaps you'll make it to the wedding, your majesty'

Emperor! Gojo is wracked with confusion, part of him doesn't even believe you, concubines were known for their beauty and assets, but wives were much different. They were always from some long line of weak women, usually only there for their duty, his own mother was quite an exception, but her and his father never loved each other. He hoped himself to never have to marry, but now he feels just the smallest twinge of guilt for not meeting you. Even for him it was quite the talk, he could hear the rumors of how he doesn't have interest in his bride to be as he walks through the corridors of his opulent estates.

Emperor! Gojo sees glimpses of you here and there that week, but you bow and say no words to him, avoiding him until it is your wedding day. And to say you were beautiful before, now it leaves him speechless, throat dry as you were those beautiful sky blue ceremonial juunihitoe, layers of blue and white, embossed with silver flowers just flowing from your body. He's wearing his thick dark blue sokutai, the robes altered to reveal far too much of his muscled chest, as Satoru liked to do. His heart hammers as you clutch your hands together, feeling the stoic eyes of so many on you. You focus on the tall, handsome man that clearly doesn't want this any more than you do, stepping closer and closer, until you're in front of him.

Emperor! Gojo is still reeling when you both sip on each of the three cups of sake, he places his lips on one end of the little dish, then hands it to you, eyeing the red painted on your lips. Your makeup has been done clearly, there's color under your eyes, blush along your precious cheeks. Precious, why did he think that? the thought irritates him, when you two continue the ceremony. Soon, it's night time, and he's prepared in just a thin Kimono, loosely tied, walking over to your chambers now and entering them, seeing you sitting in front of the vanity, your attendant brushing out your hair. 'You may go,' he orders her, the doors shutting with a loud echo as he inhales the sweetness of your scent, mixing with the incense you've lit.

Emperor! Gojo has a husky tone as he says your name, and you stand up now, wearing just a thin blue robe, he can see your breasts rising and falling with your breath, as the two of you stand across the room. 'The sooner I have a baby, the less you'll have to see me, or do this,' you say then, shocking him. His mouth opens, then closes as he smirks at you. 'And you think that you know how that's done?' you tilt your head just a bit, letting your robes fall then, covered in nothing, completely bare for his eyes. His breaths come far too quickly, heat rising on his cheeks. He's been with countless women, but nothing prepared him for this, for you, when you step up to him slowly, a hand on his chest. 'Should I prepare you, your majesty?'

Emperor! Gojo is furiously blushing now, annoyed you have whatever odd effect this is, he tries to save face, trembling as your fingers dance across the silk of his robe. 'you think you're adequate at it?' he says then, you smile just a bit. 'I've had instruction on how to please my future husband, there are many books that show it,' he laughs, trying to play it off, when he undoes his tie, and he's just in a fundoshi, showing his cock straining while his robes land on the floor. 'Let's see it, then,' he gasps when you're on your knees, glaring as he thinks that maybe you've done this before, and why should that bother him!?

Emperor! Gojo has his cock free then, slapping his stomach as it does, thick and already hard from just seeing you, you bite your lip as the cool stone floor hurts your knees, stroking him slowly, from the base where he has tufts of white hair, to his pink tip leaking milky drops. 'I thought I'd have to get you in this state? the books didn't mention it being ready...' he glares now, you're insulting him without even knowing it, calling out his desperation. He entangles a hand in your hair then, pulling it as you lap at his tip, almost making him cum from that. 'Let's see what you've learned, hmm?' you're stroking him then, little hand up and down in gentle twists, as you suck him into your mouth, deeper and deeper, his eyes roll back in his head as he fucks your hot mouth then.

Emperor! Gojo has never felt anything better even from the most practiced girls, your suction, the way your tongue swirls, as he fucks your throat deeper and deeper, moaning. But mostly, those eyes looking up at him. He's whispering filthy things - 'slutty fucking throat' - then sweet things - 'doing s'good, sweetheart...' a conundrum of a man. You feel your tummy clenching, something you didn't expect, snowy lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, while you taste him, hands pressing on his muscled thighs. He pulls you off him then, saliva dripping from your mouth. 'Was I not adequate?' he laughs without humor, standing you up now. 'Not adequate?' he is lifting you and slamming his lips on yours, tasting himself, before carrying you on your enormous bed, decorated in more blues, the color of the Gojo clan, the colors of his eyes.

Emperor! Gojo has elegant long fingers, they slip down your body as he feels it tremble, fingers touching your slick cunt then. You gasp as he kisses down one of your breasts, sucking a nipple in his mouth, moaning and rutting his cock on the silk blankets as you cry out. 'Your majesty, you don't need to do all of that, just... get it done,' your words make him pause, looking up and seeing you then, lips swollen from his kisses. He pauses and looks down your body, dying to be inside you, but your words fuck him then. All of the concubines wanted Satoru, and you were just 'doing your duty'. He pulls back then, raising a brow at you. 'Do I need to suck you more?' he shakes his head, clearing his throat then - 'tonight, we will not consummate the marriage' - the words hurt you deeply. 'did I displease you?'

Emperor! Gojo doesn't know what it is, but the thought of a woman not wanting him, especially you, infuriates him. He shoves you up the bed then, making you blink in confusion, when he kisses down your tummy, watching it tense as he dreams of making it bulge with his cock. 'Are you untouched?' he asks, you blush then. 'I have not lain with a man, no, but I'm not untouched.' Satoru's furious anyone saw your pretty body, but he makes no comment, he surely hates tradition and wouldn't care if you were or were not a virgin. In fact he prefers experience, but when he sees your pretty pussy, glistening and soaked, he moans softly, the prettiest one he's seen. 'Your majesty, that's not... in the books!? ah!'

Emperor! Gojo has his tongue slipping up your slit then, smirking against your cunt as your mouth is wide. 'Not everything is in your books, sweetheart,' he laps up your slit again, and you whine out, gripping his shoulders, your nails pressing in. 'I'll have you cum on my face tonight,' his words are now muffled as he buries his face in your sweetness, letting the juices drown him, moaning as he works your body. He feels you tense, feels your cunt pulsing around his tongue when he fucks into your tiny hole, holding your thighs apart. You're lost in how good it feels, you've cum before but never have you done this, felt this, so intense, so much pressure. You're screaming out, hips arching as he makes filthy sounds with your squelching cunt.

Emperor! Gojo almost cums from just this, he's never enjoyed this so much, he can't help but pay attention to every little thing. You yank on his hair, as if to tug him off, he clamps down then, sucking your twitchy little clit into his mouth. 'ah! y-your majesty!' he wants you to call him Satoru, he can't say it though, for now he just devours your pussy, until you shatter. There are no words, just filthy, messy sounds, slurping and squishing echoing in your brand new chambers, while you cum all over your new husband's face. You're shaking as you come down, as the orgasm leaves aftershocks, pulsing around nothing, pleasure making you dizzy, blinded. Satoru presses one more kiss on your pretty cunt, smirking down at you now, pressing a kiss to your lips, when you taste yourself you're a blushing mess. 'a lot of talk, I don't think you're ready f'me yet, sweetheart'

Emperor! Gojo is getting up then, as you catch your breath, sitting up and looking at the man you barely know, his eyes linger across your body as he swipes his chin, embarrassingly coated with your slick. 'And where will you go, your concubines to cum?' he chuckles then, leaning low, tilting your chin up as you look at him. 'would that bother you, sweetheart?' you shake your head, it can't bother you, it shouldn't, this will be your life now. 'Ah, you're not the best liar, that won't help you play the court, you know,' he turns and walks away then, leaving you alone, to contemplate it all.

Just who was Emperor! Gojo!?

hehe I hope ya'll enjoy I can't wait to finish up a couple stories and get to this (or be chaotic and do it anyway lmaoo)

perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoblue @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent

[1ncandescentrage]

I look forward for when my ear infection is gone. And to continue developing a body and hair ritual out of love.

[questionprompts]

OC Questions: Favorites and Least-Favorites

Like it says on the tin, but I want to add an implicit 'why? + how much? + since when? 👀' to all of these.

If the answer is 'no deep reason,' or 'they like it casually,' that's perfectly fine. There doesn't need to be a particular reason a character likes or dislikes something, but on the rare occasion that there is, it makes that character's preference much more interesting.

Meals/Dish

Fruit/Dessert/Artificial Flavor

Drinks

Scents (perfume, soap fragrance, naturally-occurring, food or event-related, etc.)

Sounds

Places

Flower/Plant

Method of Transportation

Weather/Season/Month

Early/Mid Childhood Memory

Teenage/Early Adult Memory

Acquaintance/Relative

Exes, if any

Song/Band/Music Genre

Instrument

Method of Listening to Music (live, headphones/boombox, etc.)

Textures

Sport/Activity

Book/Movie/TV Genres (Additionally, what types of endings do they prefer?)

Colors

Underwear/Sleepwear/Swimwear

Outerwear/Shoes

Style of Everydaywear (generally or down to the style of collar)

Print Pattern/Accents on Clothing (embroidery motifs, etc.)

Accessory/Take-Along Items

Affectionate Gestures/Phrases

Friend/Partner Activity

Method of Communication (letters, emails, phonecall, text, in-person, etc.)

Holiday/Event

Chore/Obligation/Work Task

Household Item (flatware, utility item, decor, appliance, etc.)

General Aesthetics/Ambience (ex: cluttered garage vs. minimalist living room)

Time of Day/Night

[hysteria-things]

PLEASE WRITE LIKE A LITTLE BLURB OR SOMETHING ABOUT MATT GRABBING READER'S FACE LIKE HOW HE DID WITH CHRIS

thank you😭

TEMPTATION (part two)

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅!𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dilf!matt x babysitter!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you fight to not fall for matt’s charm for the second time the same day, but the tension is too strong that you can’t resist.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, oral (female receiving), fingering, praising/degradation, p in v (pull out method), stomach bulge

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,563

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i want to get through my requests and sprinkle them into fics so if you see something that seems like it was requested a while ago that’s why LOL

(dilf!matt au originally by @luvs4matt)

clinking of dishes and water running is a good distraction. the sudsy soap coating your hand on the sponge as you wash a plate feels warm on your skin. you’re focusing as hard as you can on your senses, matt standing just a few feet away while you’re helping him clean up after dinner.

he brought evelyn to bed a few minutes ago, and now you can feel him staring into your back. your heart pounds in your chest, thinking about what occurred only this afternoon in this same kitchen. nobody made a peep about it after it happened, but that’s all you’ve been thinking about all day—his cock moving past your lips so naturally, his grunts and groans intensifying the closer he got, his praises, the way he made you look up at him with the soft grip of his hands on your cheeks…

you bite your lip and clench your thighs at the thought, but you shake it out of your head the second it arrives.

you can’t do that again. that was a mistake.

when you dry the last dish and place it into the cabinet above, you jump when you notice matt standing directly in front of you when you turn around. “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” he chuckles. “i want to thank you for your help today. you know, with ev and all.”

“you’re welcome.” you say quickly, taking a long exhale. “it’s my job.”

his arms cage you in against the counter, each one planted on the edge of it by your sides. he groans, leaning into where his lips ghost yours, and your chest heaves even faster. he takes his knee and parts your legs with it, pressing firm against your covered mound. he starts kissing down your neck, biting at the skin in the process. not to leave marks, but to show you how desperate he is for you as much as you are for him. “tell me to stop.” he mumbles against your jaw, bringing his face up to meet yours again.

your eyes dart over his features, shaking from how turned on you get from such little contact. “i can’t.” you whisper, heart beating rapidly.

“say it.” he murmurs, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, making you gasp slightly. “say that you want me to stop.”

“no,” you say shakily. he’s so fucking mesmerizing that it annoys you, but you’re aching for his touch, his body, him. it’s only been a month of nannying for him, but goddamn do you need it bad.

matt pulls back, frustratingly running a hand through his hair. you let out a sigh, finally being able to breathe when you think he’s going to walk away, but no. he grabs your hips and lifts you roughly onto the counter, caging you in once again by pulling you towards him with a hand possessively wrapped around your waist. “you’re fucking killing me.” he pants, moving to raise your arms above your head to remove your shirt and unclip your bra. he smirks when you help him get off your leggings, throwing them aside. you wince when the elastic of your panties snaps against your flesh when he rips them off.

“fuck.” he breathes, scanning your body over and over again. “fuck.”

your nipples are hard peaks, breasts moving with each breath you take. there’s a sticky mess on your thighs, your dripping hole aching for his cock. he hurries to get his shirt and pants off, eyes still locked on your flushed body.

“look at her,” he says, thumbs spreading your soaking folds. his eyes look frantic and hungry, pupils dilated almost fully as he admires your pussy. he runs a finger up the slit, and you shiver. “she’s practically begging for me.”

the ticking of the wall clock seems to become louder when you watch him kneel, hot breath against your sensitive heat. he flicks his tongue once… twice… three times over your clit, and you jolt with each lick. he runs a hand over your thigh, squeezing the inside before he starts to suck at your bud, also soaking one of his fingers with your juices before inserting it. a hitched gasp is caught in your lungs, matt putting in his middle finger next.

his eyes roll back, tasting you and fucking you with his fingers at the same time. you whine, gripping tight onto his hair for stability. he groans, adding a third, scissoring the digits nuzzled into your cunt. arching your back, you moan from how full you feel already. you’ve never been fingered with more than two, but this—

you snap out of it when he goes in with four, and you’re so wet that they move in and out quite easily. he hums approvingly, the vibration letting another moan slip out of you. the erotic sounds of his tongue and squelching from his fingers make your toes curl. you can feel him stretch you out at the way he moves his digits, and you clench around them.

keeping your grasp on his head, your low moans turn into whines. he’s eating you out like a starved man as if you’re his last meal. it seems that from now on whenever matt is hungry, he’ll just go for your pussy. your eyes flutter, mouth agape when your hands reach to your tits and clutch hard, twirling your nipples.

he pulls his mouth away from your swollen clit, licking his lips to get an extra taste. his knuckles plunge harder, curling his fingers to hit that spot right where you want it. you start to twitch and quiver, the knot in your stomach snapping the second it appears. he slides out the digits from your still-tight hole.

you’re left a trembling mess, settling down from your orgasm when he stands back up. he wants to kiss you so you can taste yourself, but he can’t. sex is one thing, but kissing you is another. it’s more dangerous because if he does, he won’t ever turn back from wanting you.

instead, he forces his fingers into your mouth, and you lick them clean with a satisfied hum. “good girl…”

then, his palms hold the creases of your knees, lifting and spreading your legs open. his dick throbs, wrapping his hand around the base and pumping himself a couple of times to get him harder than he already is. looking at your naked body while he does so makes him grunt, hair sticking to his forehead from sweat. he nudges the head between your folds, coating it before slowly pushing into you.

“come on.” he grunts in concentration, watching your face contort in pleasure when he pushes in inch by delicious inch. “good girl, stretching out for me.”

you let out a small yelp when he’s balls deep, slamming your eyes shut from the pleasurable pain by accommodating his size. “shh, shh.” he soothes you, pecking your shoulder. he starts thrusting slowly, but gradually gets faster when he feels you split open for him. “there you go.” he sighs contently, spreading your legs even wider to get deeper. “what an obedient slut, taking my cock.”

your hold onto the counter for dear life, moans getting more high-pitched until you slap your hand over your mouth. evelyn is sleeping just upstairs, and you have to remind yourself of that. your vision is blurry from the tears forming in your lids, eyes rolling back so far that only the whites show.

strings of cum connect to his thighs and your cunt, the sight having matt drilling into you faster to the point where his tip reaches your cervix. you feel the bulge in your belly when he bottoms out, and that alone has you clamp down on his dick harder like a vice. he curses under his breath when he sees himself peeking out of your abdomen. “such an innocent whore.” he coos, and you moan from the degrade, it being muffled by your palm. “you like this dick?”

removing your hand, you babble some ‘fucks’ and ‘oh gods’ when you clench repeatedly. you start to spasm again, the same hot feeling building up like it did before. you’re not a screamer by any means, but your pants and whimpers alone have matt’s thrusts get sloppier. he notices your expressions and smirks.

“look at me.” he snarls, hips snapping against your ass and grabbing your face with so much force that your cheeks squish. your eyes flutter to look at him, half-crossed. he smiles menacingly at your dumbed out face before speaking. “i want you to look at me when you cum. i want you to look at who’s fucking you this good.”

moaning in response, some spit coats the corners of your mouth. he can tell you’re close by your incoherent voice and squirming, but he’s also not far behind either. you throw your head back, biting your lip to lessen your filthy sounds when you gush around his cock, milking him for all he’s worth. he pulls out with a wet pop and groans, balls tightening as he spurts hot cum all over your stomach.

it takes a load of silence to get your breathing back to normal and your brain less hazy, tilting your head when you realize something peculiar painted with his semen: the letter ‘M.’

he must be so damn proud of himself.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @mattgirl4lyfe @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @freshsturns @etershine @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws @hoes4matthew @sturnsmadl @starz4star

[xhyjin]

| nanami kento x reader

| more of nanami as a househusband!

| #sfw #softnanami #fluff #sliceoflife

| around 2k

| ˏˋ°•*⁀➷: i need him…

nanami always woke up before you. it wasn't because he couldn't sleep-he could, now that life was quieter-but because he remembered what it was like. waking up before the sun, dragging himself to work, already dreading from the thought of another long day ahead. he knew how heavy mornings could feel, how the quiet hours before work stirred often felt like a burden instead of a gift.

so, he made it his mission to make mornings a little more tolerable for you.

the kettle hissed softly as it began to boil, the sound being the first thing that greeted the quiet morning. nanami moved through the kitchen with deliberate calm, sleeves neatly rolled and the pink linen apron you got him tied in a pretty bow at the back. he brewed the coffee, dark and strong, just the way you liked it, and poured it into the chipped mug you always claimed as yours.

he smiled to himself as he remembered how he once tried throwing the mug away after noticing the chipped marks, only to be met with you snatching it out of his hands, a pout on your face as you said, “this was the mug you got me on my first birthday with you.”

toast popped up from the toaster just as he placed a pan on the stove, the eggs cooking perfectly to the soft consistency he knew you preferred. everything he did was methodical and calculated, from the way he spread the jam on the fresh toast, to how he arranged the dishes on the table, so when you finally waddled into the kitchen, still drowsy and grumbling softly at the world, you wouldn’t have to think.

“good morning honey” he said, glancing up at you as you rubbed your eyes. “coffees ready” he would pat your seat on the dining table as he pushed your chair out for you to sit.

he watched as your gaze flickered to the table—perfectly set, a morning made just a little softer—and the faintest smile tugged at the corner of your lips. once you were seated, nanami tapped his cheek with a subtle motion, a small but unmistakable gesture. he never asked for much, but this was the only way he wanted to be thanked: a sweet kiss pressed to his cheek or lips before you began eating.

satisfied when you leaned over and obliged, he sat back and watched quietly as you ate the breakfast he had lovingly prepared, a soft warmth settling in his chest.

you finished the last bite of your breakfast, savoring the perfectly soft eggs and toast as nanami’s eyes flickered up from across the table, checking the time.

“you should start getting ready,” he murmured, voice soft but firm—an unspoken reminder that he knew your schedule almost as well as you did. with a quiet hum of agreement, you stood, his hand instinctively reaching to take your empty plate before you could even think to bring it to the sink.

“i’ve got this,” he said simply, rising to his feet as you headed toward the bathroom.

as the sound of running water filled the apartment, nanami busied himself cleaning up the kitchen. he moved efficiently, wiping down counters and rinsing plates, but still kept half an ear trained on you—listening for the faint thud of the shampoo bottle or the rush of the hair dryer. he wasn’t hovering, not really; he just liked knowing you were moving through the motions of your morning without stress.

by the time you emerged from the shower, wrapped in a fluffy towel, the smell of soap and shampoo lingering in the air, nanami was already waiting with a clean stack of clothes laid neatly on the bed.

“i thought this would work for today,” he said, nodding toward your work clothes—a thoughtfully coordinated outfit he’d pulled from your closet while you showered. he never picked anything too bold or too plain, just the kind of outfit you could put on without second-guessing.

“you’re too good to me,” you mumbled, hair still damp as you dropped onto the edge of the bed.

“hurry up,” he said with a faint smile, “or you’ll be late.”

you rolled your eyes at his precision but still moved to get dressed, slipping into your clothes as nanami quietly disappeared into the bathroom. he returned a moment later with your brush and hair dryer in hand.

“here,” he said, sitting beside you as he plugged in the dryer. “i’ll help.”

you blinked at him, surprised, but he only motioned for you to turn. his large hands were gentle as he ran the brush carefully through your hair, drying it in steady motions—never tugging or rushing, just working with the same patience he applied to everything else in life.

“it’s nice like this,” he murmured once your hair fell soft and smooth. he handed the brush back, standing as you reached for your makeup bag.

while you focused on applying your makeup, nanami moved quietly around the room—folding the towel you’d left draped on the chair, straightening the blanket, making sure your shoes and bag were exactly where you’d need them.

by the time you finished, you found him leaning against the doorframe, sleeves rolled and arms crossed, watching you with a calm, satisfied expression.

“ready?” he asked.

you nodded, smiling as you stood. he stepped forward to adjust your coat and scarf before tapping his cheek again—just like earlier.

“you’re not getting out the door without it,” he said, lips tugging into the faintest smirk.

you laughed softly and pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then a passionate kiss to his lips, the warmth of him lingering against your lips as you finally grabbed your bag.

“have a good day, i love you” nanami said quietly, walking you to the door. his hand rested briefly against the small of your back, grounding and gentle, before you stepped outside into the day he’d carefully set in motion for you.

as the door closed behind you, nanami stood for a moment, taking in the silence that settled over the apartment. he’d miss you while you were gone, of course, but there was laundry to fold, dinner to plan, and a new book to start.

besides, you’d be home soon enough, and he’d be right there waiting.

the apartment was quiet again, the kind of quiet that felt more like peace than emptiness. nanami moved through the rooms, his routine calm and measured, just as it always was. after a moment of reflection, he began folding the laundry, one piece of clothing at a time.

as he picked up your favorite sweater, a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. he carefully folded the fabric, fingers brushing over the familiar soft texture. lifting the sweater to his nose, he inhaled deeply. the scent of your natural perfume—warm, sweet, and utterly you—still clung to the fabric, even though he had just washed it. it was subtle, like a memory lingering in the air, and nanami couldn’t help but smile fondly.

he loved that smell, loved how it somehow stayed with him long after you were gone.

as he folded a pair of your socks, his phone buzzed from the counter. pulling it from his pocket, he smiled when he saw your name flashing on the screen. it wasn’t a message—just a call, but he was always happy to hear from you.

“hey, my love,” he answered, his voice warm and steady, just the way you liked it.

“hey, babe,” you replied, sounding a little tired but happy to hear him. “how’s your day going?”

“good, just keeping busy,” he said, folding the last of the laundry. “i made your bento this morning—did you eat it yet?”

he could hear you pause, and then you responded with a light laugh, “yeah, it was really good.”

nanami smiled, feeling a warm satisfaction in his chest. “i’m glad. you’re working hard, so you deserve something good.”

“you always make the best lunches, love,” you said, and he could hear the affection in your voice.

“it’s nothing, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice soft. “i just want to make sure you’re taken care of. did you get through your morning okay?”

“yeah, it’s been busy, but i’m hanging in there. i’m just counting down to when i can see you tonight,” you said with a small sigh.

“i’ll be right here when you get home,” he said, his voice full of warmth. “what would you like for dinner? something light, or do you want me to cook something a little heartier?”

“something light sounds perfect, actually. i’ll be so tired when i get home,” you said.

“whatever you want, darling,” nanami replied. “you just focus on your day. i’ve got everything else handled.”

“i love you,” you said softly, and nanami’s heart melted at the words.

“i love you too, sweetheart,” he replied, a smile spreading across his face. “i’ll see you soon.”

after the call ended, nanami set his phone down and turned to the stack of laundry he’d already folded. the house was tidy now, and there was still plenty of time before you’d be home. so, he picked up the book you’d recommended to him.

he settled into his favorite chair by the window, sunlight streaming through the blinds and catching on the edges of the pages. it was a new book, one you’d suggested a few weeks ago. he hadn’t started it until today, but he’d been looking forward to it. he couldn’t remember the last time he had sat down to read for pleasure, but with everything in order, he was glad to start.

as he flipped through the first few pages, he thought of you again—how you always took time to recommend things to him, things you knew he would enjoy. he was eager to see how the story would unfold, just as he was eager to hear about your day when you got home.

the hours passed by slowly, but he never minded the wait. he had a book to enjoy, the sound of your voice still warm in his mind, and a dinner plan to make.

[3rachasdomesticbanana]

Side Effects | Han Jisung

•Synopsis: Your science loving nerd of a roommate Jisung has been acting strange but that's not what has fear coursing through your body. It's the feeling that someone's watching you when you're supposedly all alone, the objects moving seemingly on their own and the phantom intimate touches that has you on edge.

Are you going crazy or is there something or someone in the apartment targeting you?

•Pairings: science geek Jisung x Female Reader

•Content Includes: smut, mentions of hauntings & hallucinations, lies and secrets, slight non-con?, somnophilia, unprotected & protected p n v, pervy Jisung, masturbation (m + f not mutual), cliffhanger, Chan makes an appearance a few times

an: if I missed something and you feel it should be included in the content warning please kindly let me know in the comments ♡

Part two will include more scenes with Bang Chan but Jisung is still included. Part three, which will be the last part, will be Jisung.

Part II

Want more smut? Follow the banana 🍌

⚠️tiny warning before continuing: there are moments where reader is unaware of what's happening due to being sleep. these moments may appear as non consensual which is the reasoning for the slight non-con warning. I tried make it known that any sexual activity that happens is welcomed. I hope I was able to convey that. Just a heads up lol. Enjoy♡

Your roommate, Jisung, is a nerd. You mean that in the most affectionate way, of course, but it’s true. When he's not helping the chemistry professor at the local college in his free time, he's experimenting in the apartment or researching different chemicals and compounds. His room is a chaotic mess of beakers, test tubes, and textbooks, everything he needs to create something from science. In the two years of living here, It’s never bothered you. Just as long as he and his equally nerdy friend, Chan, don’t blow the place up or set anything on fire. In fact, you’ve grown quite used to the faint, yet sharp scent of various chemicals wafting through the apartment over the years.

Today, the scent of acetone and metal permeates the small apartment. Jisung and Chan have been working on something for months, the two of them locked away in Jisung's cluttered bedroom. When you ask about it, they just shake their heads with a smirk and say, “Top secret, y/n.” You roll your eyes but smile, understanding their need for secrecy. You respect their space and their experiments, no matter how strange it makes them act, always offering to clean their beakers and test tubes whenever you're washing dishes. The dynamic between you and Jisung is what makes the roommate setup work.

Jisung couldn't believe his luck. Not only was his roommate hot and open minded but a gamer who's always down for a Naruto or Bleach marathon. He was so grateful that you weren't like the stuck up pretty girls he dealt with in highschool. Jisung really felt comfortable with you, he could be himself without fear of feeling like his IQ was lower than what it actually was. So whenever he and Chan were close to a scientific breakthrough and you never asked too many questions it only caused his “little infatuation” as he calls it, to grow.

One evening, you find yourself in the kitchen, hands submerged in soapy water as you scrub away at the dishes. The random playlist you chose earlier plays softly in the background and the faint scent of lemon from the dish soap mixes with the clean, crisp scent of freshly laundered towels, filling the kitchen air. You’re lost in thought, your mind drifting as you methodically clean the plates, forks, and glasses, when you feel a sudden, inexplicable chill. It’s as if a cold breeze has brushed against the nape of your neck but the windows are closed and the AC isn't on. You shiver involuntarily and glance around, half expecting to see Jisung standing there. But the kitchen is empty.

You shake your head, chalking it up to just a random chill and turn back to the sink. The sensation lingers, though—a prickling awareness like you're not alone. For ten minutes it felt like someone was there in the kitchen with you but each time you looked around, no one would be there. You could hear faint tinkering and music from Jisung's room and you knew he was working with Chan. The cold is back as you finish up the last of the dishes and when you turn around again, you nearly drop the plate in your hands. Jisung stands there, silent and unexpected. Brown eyes behind round framed glasses shine at you and he gives you an awkward smile.

"Where did you come from?" you ask, your voice higher than usual.

"Sorry," he says with a shrug. "Didn’t mean to scare you, just needed a drink."

You laugh nervously, feeling your rapidly beating heart slow down. "Jeez Ji, you should wear a bell or something." You let out a breathy chuckle.

He shrugs again and laughs quietly before grabbing a drink from the fridge and disappearing back into his room without another word. The interaction leaves you confused and slightly unsettled. Well, that was strange… stranger than usual. There’s something off but you can’t quite put your finger on it. You shouldn't really be surprised by strange behavior when it comes to Jisung but he's never acted that strange before.

Over the next few days, strange happenings become more frequent. Objects begin to move on their own; a cup slides across the kitchen counter that you barely just noticed and a book falls from a shelf behind you while you watched tv. You find yourself jumping at shadows and sounds and now you're convinced that the apartment is haunted. Of course you haven't said anything about it, Jisung would more than likely think you're crazy.

One evening, you’re gaming in the living room. Headphones on, fully engrossed in the game, when your can of soda just sort of levitates a few inches off the coffee table before gently coming back down. The controller slips from your hands as a cold sensation moves across your cheek. You jump back and scream, calling out for Jisung, but it’s Chan who saunters into the room. Curly hair wild, lab coat askew, and glasses perched on his nose.

"Jisung’s in the bathroom," he says, noticing your wide eyes and pale face. "What’s up y/n?"

"The can... it moved on its own." You stammer.

Chan chuckles, shaking his head. "Must be a temperature change or something. Science can explain a lot of weird stuff, y/n."

“Channie, it fucking levitated! Can science explain that?!” you say in a half shout, half whisper looking up at him.

“Mate, chill out.” He gives you a sympathetic smile and walks over to you to pat your head. “Science can most definitely explain that. I can show you how if you want? I'll just need a few supplies for the demonstration.” His eyes light up and he smiles wide at you, showing off his dimples.

“That’s… okay, Chan. You don't need to do that.” The lack of enthusiasm in your voice isn't missed and he chuckles, patting you again before leaving the room.

You’re not convinced, but you nod to yourself and try to focus on the game, occasionally glancing back at the can. The feeling of being watched never truly leaves, though. Every day you start to notice more—subtle things, like the way Jisung’s eyes linger on you a fraction too long, or the odd satisfaction in his smile when you mention the hauntings after you caved and told him. Jisung's watchful eyes make you feel like you're part of one of his experiments, like some sort of test subject. He's always been a bit weird at times, but this is a whole different level of weird for him. You shrug it off as stress or lack of sleep since he and Chan have the tendency to overwork.

The night is warm tonight, the air heavy with the lingering heat of the summer day. You sit in the black metal wicker chair on the balcony, a book loosely cradled in your hands, listening to the sounds of traffic and crickets below. The warm summer breeze drifts across your skin and you adjust your tank top and shorts that have already begun sticking to your skin from the heat. With a sigh, you look down at the worn paperback book in your hands and try to focus on the words.

You’re half-aware of your surroundings: the breeze, the faint smell of an impending rainstorm, the sounds of the city. It’s peaceful, lulling you to sleep. Your body relaxes, and the book slips from your fingers, resting across your lap. You're in a state somewhere between consciousness and slumber when you feel it.

It's subtle at first, like a feather brushing against your skin, but it soon shifts to the feeling of hands. The touch is hot and insistent, groping your breast under the thin fabric of your tank top. Panic surges in your chest and you force your eyes open, heart pounding in fear. You sit up, the book slipping from your lap and landing with a soft thud on the concrete floor.

You glance around, trying to make sense of what you just felt, but the balcony is empty. You glance down and your breath catches in your throat. Your left breast is exposed, the strap pulled aside in a way that couldn't have happened by accident. A cool breeze brushes against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the phantom heat of the touch you just felt. You pull your tank top back in place with trembling hands, looking everywhere but seeing nothing. Scrambling to your feet, you slide open the glass door and step inside, locking it behind you.

With your heart still thundering in your chest, you make your way to Jisung's room. When you knock on his door, you hear shuffling, the sound barely audible over the whir of some machine inside. He opens it a little and you’re momentarily stunned by the sight of him—disheveled hair, sweaty brow, black-framed glasses askew and wearing an oversized black hoodie.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

"I think…” you sigh and brace yourself. "The apartment is definitely haunted." you blurt out.

Jisung looks shifty, eyes darting to the side but he quickly recovers and a skeptical smirk plays on his lips. "Haunted? Really, y/n?"

"I’m serious," you insist. "I think something just touched me. Out on the balcony." You point a finger in the direction of the glass door.

Jisung’s brows knit together and he steps out of his room, closing the door behind him, giving you his full attention. "Like... someone was out there?" He messes up his hair even more, running his fingers through the dark strands.

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. "No, there was no one there when I opened my eyes but it felt hands on me Ji. I don’t know how to explain it."

His eyes darken with a mixture of skepticism and concern. "So you think the place is haunted and that a ghost touched you?" You nod, your heart still pounding in your chest.

He places a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding you, if only slightly. "Sounds like you were in REM sleep. Dreams tend to feel real and vivid in that cycle." He gives you a sympathetic smile and adds, "Maybe it’s just your imagination."

You narrow your eyes at him. "I’m not imagining this, Ji." You say starting to feel frustrated.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, y/n. I’ll look into it, alright?"

Reluctantly, you nod and walk to your room with more questions than answers. As days pass, the strange activity continues. You catch glimpses of movement from the corner of your eye, feel phantom touches on your skin, and hear whispers that have no source. You're starting to feel like you're going crazy.

Jisung’s behavior becomes stranger. He spends even more time locked away, emerging only to grab food or ask you cryptic questions about your day. You start to suspect he knows more than he’s letting on but every time you ask, he deflects with a nervous laugh and spouts some scientific theory. Even Chan is acting odd, though he's usually the more grounded one among them. Not by much—Chan's a weird one too, but it’s part of his charm. He’s an adorkable dork.

The two men are lounging on the couch tonight, eyes glued to the anime playing on the screen, while you're in the kitchen preparing popcorn for the three of you. The scent of melted butter fills the air as you pour it over the freshly popped kernels.

Suddenly, Chan's voice cuts through the ambient tv noise. “You did what?!”

Jisung quickly shushes him, their heads whipping around to you as you turn to look at them, each wearing an identical, innocent grin. Weirdos, you think, shaking your head, tossing the popcorn.

You missed Jisung's whispered confession to Chan about his antics on the balcony. Chan already knew about the mysteriously moving objects and the true cause behind them. It's because he was partially involved. He and Jisung had created a liquid that granted invisibility to the drinker. Their top secret experiment they were working on for damn bear a year was almost near perfect. After successful trials on mushrooms and lab rats “borrowed” from Jisung's chem professor, they decided to take it a step further. Jisung volunteered as their human test subject, and you became the unwitting participant in their trails.

Chan never imagined Jisung would push the boundaries so far though, especially by groping you. But Jisung couldn't resist. Initially, his plan was to give you a harmless scare, maybe brush against your arm. But when he saw you asleep, your tank top revealing the side of your breast, his self-control vanished. He was overwhelmed by a primal urge and it was like his hands were moving of their own accord. He gently pulled your left breast free and gave it a firm squeeze. His mouth hovered inches from your skin, ready to kiss the mound of flesh when you woke with a start.

“Bro, I don't know if you should be taking so many doses. We're not sure if there's any side effects.” Chan cautions, his voice barely audible as you rejoin them in the living room.

Jisung stays silent, unable to respond to his partner as you settle on the floor in front of them, handing over the bowl of hot popcorn. Chan’s concerns echo in Jisung’s mind. He knows Chan is right, but the thrill of invisibility is intoxicating. He revels in the mischief, in watching you unaware of his presence. The moments when you think you're alone, wearing nothing but that oversized Tokyo Ghoul T-shirt and panties, are his favorite.

Every time you reach for a cup or a plate, the hem of your T-shirt lifts just enough to expose a tantalizing glimpse of your ass. When you bend over, the thin material of your thong outlines your pussy, making him feel certifiably insane. Sometimes he would intentionally knock something over just to watch you pick it up. The sight of you bending would make him painfully hard and he'd have to slip away to his room, unable to resist the urge to jerk off to the image that was now burned into his mind.

Jisung’s addiction to the elixir grows with each use. He tells himself it's all in the name of science, to see how much is needed for long-lasting effects but deep down, he knows it's because he can’t get enough of watching you unseen. He needs to be closer to you.

One night, Jisung decides to take things further. Pretending to go out to help the professor at the college, he sneaks back into the apartment quietly, slipping into your room while you’re in the shower. The steam fills the air of your bathroom, the hot water cascading down your body. As you stand under the spray with your back to him and eyes closed rinsing your hair, you remain oblivious to his presence. The glass door to the shower is slightly ajar, giving him a perfect view of your wet body. His breath hitches as he frees his hard cock from his sweats. It’s as if he has no control over his impulses; the need to cum clouds his thinking or maybe it's the elixir that's got him feeling this way? He rubs the palm of his hand over the head of his cock, coating it with precum. When you bend over to shave your legs, he almost cums at the sight of your bare pussy.

Jisung’s eyes are glued to the space between your thighs and the way the water bounces off your skin as the steam rising around you. He bites his lip to keep quiet, thinking, “So beautiful.” His hand moves faster, and he's bucking up into his closed fist until he can’t hold back any longer. With a muffled groan, he cums hard, splattering onto your ass and mixing with the water, washing away unnoticed by you. If only the elixir made his semen invisible too, he'd probably always cover you in the warm, wet fluid like this. He knows he would.

Watching you becomes a nightly ritual for Jisung. He drinks the pale teal liquid that is the invisibility elixir and sneaks into your room. He watches you during intimate moments, like when you fuck yourself with your fingers before bed. He hears you moan his name occasionally when you bring yourself to multiple orgasms and it only adds fuel to the fire. He never thought you found him attractive.

To him, you’re way out of his league. But watching you climax to the thought of him is a dream come true. His obsession grows, and he becomes bolder, unable to resist the urge to touch you while you sleep. Each night when you fall asleep, he lightly runs his middle finger up and down your cunt over your pajamas while he fucks his hand. The soft moans you let out in your sleep never fails to make him cum.

One particularly hot night, you decide to sleep naked on top of your covers. It's impossible to be comfortable when your pajamas stick to your overheated body. You’ve just had an orgasm and you lay there, sated and relaxed waiting for sleep to take over (though you really should get up to pee). Jisung watches you from the corner of your room, his cock painfully hard in his hand. He's lost track of how long he's actually been in here watching you. He waits until you're deep asleep, your chest rising and falling steadily, before he moves closer to your bed.

He can’t resist the sight of you, legs spread apart, pussy glistening. He begins to stroke his cock standing at the foot of your bed but it’s not enough. Before he knows it, he’s slipping out of his sweats. The bed dips as he crawls onto it but you don’t stir. He pushes your legs apart more, his breath catching as he sees just how wet you still are. Slowly he rubs the head of his cock against your folds, shuddering and the sensation. He tells himself “Just the tip,” but when he pushes into your opening, your pussy clenches around him and he can’t stop. He pushes deeper and deeper, burying himself inside you, freezing when you make a soft moan.

He waits, barely breathing before he starts to move slowly. You feel so warm and tight around him. He knows he should stop, "This is so wrong!" his inner thoughts yell at him but it feels too good.

“Fuck, Y/N, you're so wet.” he whispers in the dark, feeling bolder.

Slowly he moves but soon each thrust becomes more desperate than the last. He has to stop himself from slamming into you so that he doesn't wake you.

“Slowly… slowly… ah! Oh shit.” he mumbles quietly. “Is this what you were imagining when you came moaning my name, y/n? Hm? Were you imagining my cock pumping in and out of this tight cunt? Oh fuuuck, mm.”

His legs soon begin to shake as he watches the way his cock disappears inside your dripping cunt and slips out again, leaving his length covered in your creaminess. It's too much—the sight, the soft sighs you're making in your sleep. He pulls out just in time, pumping once into his hand before he's cumming onto his palm, careful not to leave any evidence behind.

He takes one last look at you, still sleeping, before he tiptoes out of your room and back into his. Had you woken up, you would've caught sight of Jisung cumming into his hand above you. The elixir wore off just as his orgasm hit him. He lays in his bed still feeling the lingering sensation of you squeezing his cock with your pussy and it takes a lot to not down more of the pastel teal liquid that sits on his desk and go back into your room to fuck you again.

“How can I make it last longer? There's got to be a way to lengthen the invisibility time frame without taking too many doses,” he mumbles to himself, looking up at the ceiling and lazily stroking his cock. He cums hard minutes later, moaning loudly into his pillow, replaying the sound of you moaning his name in his head and falls asleep peacefully with a smile on his face.

The next morning, you’re up early, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in your hands. A blank sleepy expression on your face as you stare off into space. Jisung joins you, wearing his best poker face.

"Hey, y/n," he says, trying to sound casual. "Sleep well?"

You nod, your eyes, however, tell a different story. "I had a weird dream. It was so vivid... so real. It felt a lot more real than the one I had on the balcony."

Jisung’s stomach churns with guilt but he forces a smile after pouring his own cup of coffee. "Dreams can be like that sometimes. Maybe it’s stress or something."

"Maybe," you murmur, stirring your coffee absentmindedly. "It’s just... I woke up sore." Your face heats with a blush thinking about your activities before you fell asleep last night. Maybe you were too rough? But then why do you feel like you were stretched out way beyond your two fingers?

He swallows hard, trying to keep his expression neutral and ignore the growing sensation of his cock as he sits down across from you. "Sometimes dreams can manifest physically. Your mind is very powerful, you know."

You nod slowly, still feeling doubtful. You know that something strange is going on around the apartment but it's just your testimonies with no hard evidence.. Soon the conversation shifts to more mundane topics and Jisung couldn't be more relieved but the tension remains between you. Throughout the day, you barely see him. Even when Chan came by, Jisung didn't come out of his room. You got the weirdest feeling that he was avoiding you.

“Maybe he's just tired of hearing me complain about my delusions,” you wondered to yourself stirring a cup of chamomile tea.

You spent the time you weren't working convincing yourself that you were indeed experiencing some stress-induced hallucinations. Who were you to doubt someone as smart as Jisung and Chan? A week off of work would do you some good—maybe you'll give yourself a spa day, binge on junk food, and catch up on some anime.

Meanwhile, Jisung and Chan worked hours and hours trying to study their creation further. Jisung's secret of what he did last night stays that way. A secret... No way could he tell Chan—he'd probably stop the experiment, maybe destroy all their hard work and Jisung couldn't, wouldn't let that happen. He needed it now, needed you now. He wasn't just obsessed with the science and having created something that scientists have tried to create for centuries; now he was obsessed with the feeling of invisibility, obsessed with the power it gave him and obsessed with the feeling of you. He craved it all. He knew that feeling could be a side effect, as well as feeling out of control while invisible and all the reckless wrong things he did but he chose to ignore every red flag and blaring warning signs. The more he drank the elixir, the more it controlled him, possessing him with insatiable lust and desire.

That night, driven by compulsions he can't deny, Jisung slips into your room again. Once more, you're naked, lying on top of the covers and the cool air from a fan blowing over your body, makes your nipples hard. The sight takes his breath away, every inch of your body exposed to his hungry gaze again makes his mouth water. He positions himself between your legs, slipping on a condom before pushing into you. The sensation is overwhelming, and he bites down on his lip to keep from making a sound. You moan in your sleep, your hips lifting towards him, and he nearly loses it. He begins to move, each thrust slow and deliberate, watching your face for any sign of consciousness. You murmur something unintelligible but stay asleep. In and out he moves, the slow tempo is so frustrating to him but he knows he needs to be smart. You moan his name in your sleep and he flinches, startled by your voice.

"Shit..." He whispers looking down at you.

Jisung’s heart pounds in his chest, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through him. Your breathing changes, a soft whimper escaping your lips. He can't help but cum quickly and it's intense. He's trembling and panting, spilling into the condom that he hastily slipped on earlier with a grunt. He's still thrusting into you slowly, riding out his orgasm when you start to wake up.

The room is dark when your eyes slowly flutter open. A faint glow from the streetlights seeps through the blinds of your window and casts eerie shadows across your walls. There's a random sensation between your legs pulling you from the depths of sleep. At first, it feels like another dream, but it's all too real. Your eyes scan the darkness, heart pounding, but there's nothing—just the dark room and the soft rustle of the sheets.

The feeling of being filled, stretched in the most intimate way and the rhythmic movements should scare you, but the pleasure is too incredible. Your breath hitches and you find yourself moaning softly as your fingers instinctively trail down your body, finding your clit. You begin to rub, matching the invisible thrusts, your mind in a haze of pleasure and confusion.

Jisung is mesmerized by the sight and his own pleasure builds again as he watches you pleasure yourself. The combination of your fingers and his cock pushes you closer to the edge and he can feel your orgasm approaching, your muscles tightening around him.

"Fuck me harder." you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your eyes squeeze shut and you arch your back lost in the intensity of it all.

Jisung bites down hard on his lip but obliges silently, thrusting harder, deeper and the bed creaks with the force of his movements. He's getting closer to a second orgasm and he can't hold back. His speed picks up and his fingers dig into your hips as he rails your eager warmth. Your body tenses, your back arching further off the bed as you cry out, the sound of your orgasm filling the room. He watches you, unseen but not unnoticed, every moan, every tremble fueling his own arousal. The sight of you coming apart because of him, the feel of you around him—it's too much. With a hard final thrust, he cums hard, filling the condom more that it's dangerously close to overflowing.

You collapse back onto the bed, chest heaving, eyes fluttering close. The room is silent, the only sound is your labored breathing. You sit up slowly, heart racing, looking around the room, but there's nothing like always—just shadows and silence. Even the full feeling is gone.

"Was… Was that real?" you whisper, voice trembling. "I'm losing my mind."

You slide out of bed, legs unsteady and make your way to the bathroom. The light is harsh, almost jarring after the darkness. You look at yourself in the mirror, skin flushed, eyes wide. The lingering effects of your climax make you shiver.

"If that was a dream, it was the most realistic dream of my entire life." you whisper to your reflection. "But if it wasn't... does that mean that whatever is haunting this place just fucked me?" You shake your head and turn the faucet on, splashing your face with cold water.

Jisung slips away, heart pounding, mind spinning. He knows he has to stop, that what he's doing is wrong in so many ways. But the memory of being inside you, the way your body responded to him awake—it’s past addictive. He can still feel the heat of you, the way you clenched around him and he’s not sure he can give that up. He retreats to his room, the guilt eating at him even as your climax plays over and over in his mind.

He lies awake, staring at the ceiling, knowing he’s crossing a line but unsure if he can ever come back from what he's doing. The need, the desire—it’s too powerful. He’s gone too far, and he knows it. The thought of stopping, of never feeling you again—it’s a torment he’s not sure he can endure. All he can think about is the moment he's able to be inside you again.

As the days pass, the tension between you grows. Jisung’s obsession deepens. He becomes reckless, pushing the boundaries of what he can get away with. When he asks how you're doing, you gloss over your experiences of the previous nights, only telling him that you had another strange dream. You don't tell him how you're starting to enjoy them or how feeling sore and wet the next morning is almost addicting.

You think you've gone insane but you embrace the lunacy. Each night, you feel the presence, the pressure, and you give in to it. Giving the ghostly dream specter a face, you've started imagining Jisung, which only makes the experience that much more real and pleasurable. You picture his face, his body, the way he would touch you if he knew your secret desires. It’s become a habit for you now, a way to cope with the confusing feelings. It's better than things getting messy between you two. You'd have nowhere to live if something went wrong between you and Jisung. No need jeopardizing your living arrangements and friendship.

The night is still early, and you can hear the two men in the other room tinkering with their experiments as you rest in your own room. Does the feeling only happen when you're asleep? Could you trigger it somehow? Should you try talking to it?

As you lie naked in your bed, you close your eyes and imagine Jisung. You see him in your mind, wearing nothing but his little lab coat and glasses, kneeling between your legs, looking down at you. You slip a finger past your folds and then another. Your fingers work furiously, slipping in and out. “Jisung,” you moan softly.

His heart skips a beat, for a moment he thought you were aware of him in your room.

“Jisung,” you whisper again into the darkness. “Please… please touch me.”

Unbeknownst to you, Jisung stands at the foot of your bed, invisible and now trembling with need. He hears your whispered plea and it’s like a spark to a stick of dynamite. He climbs onto the bed, his eyes devouring the sight of your naked body, so inviting, so ready. You feel the bed shift and gasp, afraid to open your eyes in fear of the feeling disappearing.

He moves between your legs, his hands tracing the curve of your thighs and you shiver at the familiar, unseen touch. You moan softly, your body responding instinctively, your hips lifting in anticipation. Jisung takes his time, savoring every moment, his cock already hard and aching.

He lets the bead of precum drip onto your pussy before he slides into you slowly, watching your face contort with pleasure as he stretches you. You gasp, your hands clutching the sheets, your back arching off the bed. So real, so intense, you moan Jisung's name again, the sound driving him wild.

“Jisung… yes, please…” you plead, your voice thick with desire.

He moves within you, his thrusts deep and steady, the bed creaking with each motion. You meet him with equal fervor, your hips rocking against his, your body desperate for more. The room is filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the slick, rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh.

Jisung’s heart races, the thrill of fucking you while you moan his name, steadily pushes him to the brink. He watches your face, the way your eyes squeeze tight, the way your lips part in ecstasy and he knows he can’t stop. Not until you're cumming around him.

“Fuck, Jisung,” you cry out, your fingers digging into the mattress as your orgasm builds. “Fuck me harder.”

He does. Jisung leans into you supporting himself on one hand fucking you harder, pushing into you deeper and gripping your hip so tight it'll leave bruises but you don't notice. You meet his movements eagerly, your body arching, welcoming him in. The sound of your moans fills the room, mixing with the creak of the bed and the slap of skin against skin.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on. “Yes, Jisung, just like that.” you pant, your voice breathy and desperate.

He's driving into you with a force that makes the bed rock and hit the wall. Your tight, wet heat and your voice spurring him on. He can feel your body tensing, can tell you’re about to cum.

“Cum for me, y/n.” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Cum on my cock.”

You cry out, shocked at hearing a voice and your body is convulsing as you reach your orgasm. He pulls out just in time, spilling his seed onto your stomach, watching as it glistens in the dim light. He didn't mean for this to happen; he was only in your room as a test. Chan, back in Jisung's room, sits with a stopwatch timing just how long the test run will last. He was only meant to watch you. Jisung didn't have a condom this time but he can't seem to care about the consequences of leaving his cum behind.

You lie there, panting, a satisfied smile on your lips. “Jisung…” you murmur one last time before rolling over, drifting off to sleep.

Jisung watches you for a moment longer, a mix of pride and guilt churning inside him before he goes and rejoins Chan, who heard everything. He's questioned by his best friend as soon as he walks into the room. Jisung has no choice but to confess and with a deep breath he tells him everything. The watching, the touching… the sex. By the time he's done, Chan is staring at him in disbelief.

"Dude, that's... I don't even know what to say," Chan finally says. "You know that's messed up, right?"

"I know," Jisung says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know… but I can't stop. You don't understand. There's this compulsion, this undeniable need when I drink it. It's… it's like my deepest desires control me and I can't do anything to fight back. Please, help me."

Chan sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Of course, I'll help you. We're in this together. I'll be the one drinking it now, and I'll stay here to make sure you don't do anything you shouldn't. We need to be more careful from now on.”

Jisung nods and sighs with relief and for the next few weeks, they work tirelessly, refining the elixir. They study Chan's reactions, starting from the lowest dosage, slowly upping it little by little. Jisung tries to keep his distance from you, but it's hard. Every time he sees you, his desire flares up and he has to fight the urge to use the elixir again. He misses being inside you.

It's been weeks since you felt the ghostly presence and you miss it but you figured since it went away, then it really must've been due to stress and the days off from work truly helped. You didn't think you'd ever feel the strange sensation of being fucked by something you couldn't see again.

How incredibly wrong you are....

★𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔏𝔦𝔰𝔱★ wanna be tagged? Let me know here

@resi4skz @3rachasninja @moonlightndaydreams @rylea08 @hanjiphile @krayzieestay @oddracha @ldysmfrst @jeonginsbaee

[lvrsfilm]

pt. 2 to this

They get lucky. Their leave has stretched on longer than any of you had expected. It's unpredictable like that—sometimes it’s cut too short, sometimes it lingers like a gift neither of them feels they deserve. This time, however—it’s the latter, and they find themselves settling into a rhythm that feels less like a visit and more like a life they didn’t know they wanted needed. Or at least that's how Johnny writes about it in his journal, unbeknownst to you and Simon. So are the pen sketches of both of you asleep next to him, all three of you curled up in your bed.

Mornings are slow. Johnny is usually the first to wake, wandering into the kitchen with a bedhead that makes you laugh as he rummages through the cabinets, still mixing up your baking cabinet for the one with teabags and coffee grounds. Simon follows soon after, quieter, his footsteps near silent as he leans against the kitchen doorway and watches the two of you tease each other. He prefers quiet in the mornings, but his eyes say plenty when he catches you sneaking a bite of Johnny’s toast or squeezing his shoulder when you pass by.

You insist they don’t have to help around the house, that they should be catching up on rest, but Johnny’s already washing the dishes before you can protest, sleeves rolled up and a grin on his face as he jokes about earning his keep. Simon surprises you by joining him, his hands steady as he dries the plates and stacks them neatly, something practiced and methodical in his movements. He stacks them in the proper cabinets, opening the right ones on the first try, pulling sounds of mock indignation from Johnny. You stand there watching, feeling like a spectator to something rare and intimate. Their banter, something they don't get much of when they're on base.

The evenings, though, are when it feels most like home. The three of you crowded on the couch, sharing a blanket that’s just barely big enough. You promise them you'll buy a bigger couch, one that'll fit all three of you easily. Johnny narrates whatever movie you’ve put on, one that he convinced you to pick, swearing up and down that it was a cinematic masterpiece. (It was Fight Club), making Simon groan and you giggle. At some point, Simon’s hand finds yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly, while Johnny rests his head on your shoulder, half-asleep by the time the credits roll, mumbling about Tyler Durden making Soap, how that's his name. You hum into the crown of his hair in reply and shush him to sleep softly.

It’s in these moments, with the sound of rain tapping against the window and the smell of Simon’s bourbon mingling with the remnants of dinner, that you realize how much you’ve come to cherish this too. You never expected them to settle in so easily, to find comfort in the small domestic rituals you’d often taken for granted. But here they are, and you know they’ve brought as much warmth into your flat as you’ve tried to offer them.

And when it’s time for them to leave—because it always is, eventually—it’s harder than you thought it would be. Johnny jokes about stealing your cooking, about tossing you over his shoulder and taking you back with them to “keep us in line.” Simon doesn’t say much, but the way his arms linger around you and his nose is buried in your hair when he hugs you goodbye tells you everything.

You know they’ll come back. They promised, and you believe them. But until then, you'll buy a bigger couch, try new recipes to feed them when they come back, and you’ll keep this little piece of them alive in the quiet of your flat, waiting for the next time you can call it home together.

[vivwritescrappythings]

take it all

toxic!simon riley x afab!reader

You meet Simon at a pub and go home with him.

an: i imagine this as after Soap’s death (sorry if this is a spoiler) and Ghost is trying to cope the best way he can. also i personally think Ghost is bi, sue me.

part 2

tw: smut!, toxic simon, afab and fem reader, drinking, mild dubcon (they were both drinking), biting, dry humping, oral m!receiving, cum play (in not a fun way), not proofread and bad writing.

word count: 2.6k

masterlist

MDNI!

—

Simon wanted nothing to do with you at first. He was at a pub on university night and you’d been dared to go up to the man sulking at the edge of the bar by your friends. You accepted with a nervous giggle, going through the methodical motions of fixing your hair and adjusting your top and making sure you had nothing stuck in your teeth before you approached.

You didn’t even get to open your mouth before he grumbled at you. “Not interested.” He didn’t even bother to look your direction, gulping down his Guinness like it was water and flagging down the bartender for another. It was hard to hold your scoff, your brows furrowing in indignation.

“Arrogant of you to assume I was coming over here to talk to you,” you snapped, arms crossing over your chest and your posture straightening. The force of your glare could’ve seared a hole in the side of his head as you focused on the ridge of his nose. It looked like it had been broken in the past. His fair skin was littered with scars that varied from shiny white tissue to an irritated red hue.

That made one side of his mouth lift into a smirk, dark brown eyes glancing at you out of the corners. It was a look you promptly ignored. You moved to the stool on his other side, sliding onto it and ordering another drink. The man next to you slid the bartender a bill before you had the chance to grab your wallet out of your purse. A form of olive branch, you assumed.

Somehow the night devolved into more drinks and a clumsy, vague introduction before you were following Simon back to his home. He lived walking distance away, his thick fingers circled around your wrist like a bracelet—or a shackle. He didn’t slow his stride for you, making you nearly jog along with him until he got you to his doorstep.

It was a whirlwind. He caged you against the front door, forearms against the painted wood above your head as his face dropped into your shoulder. His lips sucked and nipped at your neck like a madman, scraping his teeth over your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

“M’not a good guy, don’t want nothin’ more than a shag,” he mumbled into your throat. You found yourself nodding despite the fact that you firmly didn’t believe in one night stands. And you didn’t believe in going home with random men you met at bars. Simon had a way to convince you into things without even trying.

Your mouth sought his, desperate for a touch of his lips when his calloused fingers gripped your chin, turning your face away from him as he continued to pin you to his front door. “No kissin’,” he muttered against the curve of your shoulder in a way that didn’t leave any room for negotiation. You felt dizzy as you looked at the lights in the building across the street, your eyelids fluttering as his teeth dug into a sensitive spot on your neck.

“You gonna let me inside or try and screw me out here on your front step?” you asked, your voice sounding more strained than you would’ve liked. You could already feel how soaked your panties were getting, Simon’s thick thigh was shoved between yours—you wouldn’t be surprised if there was already a spot forming on his dark jeans.

He barked a harsh laugh against your ear, one large hand cupping the curve of your waist while the other produced a sparse key ring from his back pocket. It only took a bit of fumbling to thread it into the door. Opening it was a precise and smooth motion, keys getting dropped in a dish near the door and his hand swooping up to flick on the light in practiced moves.

The neatness of the space added a check mark to the box you’d already suspected he fit into: military—or serial killer. Only necessities were present, empty walls aside from the coat hooks near the door and the pot rack in the kitchen. It should’ve made you nervous, should’ve set off some sort of alarm bells. But Simon’s hands were all over you the instant the door clicked shut and he didn’t give you a second to breathe. He yanked the pretty denim jacket off your shoulders smoothly, hanging it up before crowding you further inside like a cattle dog nipping at your ankles.

Before you knew it, you were perched on his lap on the black leather couch and your purse was discarded on the coffee table. Simon’s hands found their way to your hips, rocking you against him as you planted sloppy, wet kisses on the wide column of his throat. He was so solid and warm beneath you, the skirt you were wearing pooling on his couch as the thin fabric of your panties continued to catch against the zipper of his jeans.

Your hips rolled against his as you desperately sought the friction. Pretty, soft moans fanned against the scarred, tattooed skin of Simon’s neck as your hands pressed against his broad, barrel chest for some stability. A heartbeat was already pounding between your legs, your clit nudging against the hard ridge of his cock with each glide of your pelvis against his. His fingers dug into the fat of your hips so hard that you were sure there would be bruises in the morning.

It wouldn’t take you much more to come, as pathetically fast as that was. The hazy smell of him had your chest bound in knots, dirt and cigarette smoke and the sharpness of his citrus-scented soap. You sucked a mark behind his ear, laving your tongue over it to soothe the reddened skin.

You were on the edge of it, mewling and twisting his shirt in your fingers as electricity raced up and down your spine. The alcohol made you feel so warm, your cheeks heated and eyes partially lidded. You didn’t know if it was the booze or the company or both, but everything was buzzing and it made you almost too sensitive.

Simon ripped you from the precipice before you could enjoy the sweet release. His hand closed around your throat and the other locked on your waist, stilling you on his lap. “No!” you yelped, your palm hitting his chest as your brows pinched together. The sound was strangled, his calloused fingers squeezing just enough to tighten your windpipe without truly choking you.

His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he looked up at you on your perch. “You’re not comin’ ‘til you use that pretty mouth of yours,” Simon grunted, manhandling you until you were on your knees between his legs. Again, there was no space for negotiation or protest.

You swallowed thickly, still reeling from your orgasm being ripped away so suddenly. The blistering euphoria fell away from you, wax melting from its feathers as it plummeted back to the earth and left you cold.

You watched Simon’s hands begin to undo his belt, your mouth going dry. His hands were divine, huge and veined along the backs of them. Nails were bitten to the quick and clean, thick and calloused fingers moving deftly to open his belt and unbutton his jeans. There were lines of tattoos on his wrists, faded and feathered from age.

You could’ve been a deer caught in the headlights with how you were staring, eyes wide and your weight back on your heels. If another man acted like Simon was, you would’ve scoffed before picking yourself up off the floor and storming out of the apartment. But there was something about him that made you stay, kneeling obediently as he reached into his blue and gray checkered boxers and pulled himself out.

Simon had a pretty cock, to say the least. It was thick and curved a little to the right. Your gaze traced a thick vein up the length of it, making you swallow. His tip was a flushed red, almost purple. It made you wonder when the last time he came was. You were willing to throw away years of promising yourself that you would never let a guy use you again just to get your mouth on a cock like that, saliva pooling on your tongue.

You didn’t make him wait long, your hands settling on his thighs as you moved forward to take the hot tip of it into your mouth. It tasted like salt and clean skin, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock. You were rewarded with a groan, his hands tightening into fists on either side of your head.

Letting out a breath through your nose, you sucked as much of his cock into your mouth as you could. Lips tucked over teeth and cheeks hollowed out, you always felt like you were in your element when you were giving head. There was something about the ability to bring a man to his knees with just your mouth and hands that delighted you, it made you feel like you had the power.

Simon was the same as the rest. He grunted pretty for you when you wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, moving it in tandem with your mouth. You couldn’t fit him all without choking, drool and spittle already leaking from the edges of your mouth and making the entirety of his shaft a slick mess. It was all over your lips and jaw, your foundation starting to rub away in places and your lip gloss smeared across his shaft and on your palm.

You had to take breaks to breathe, jerking him off as you sucked in desperate breaths. It was the only time you looked up at him, his dark brown eyes looking through you. He made all the right sounds, the grunts and the whimpers that he didn’t mean to let out. But he looked at you like you weren’t quite there, weren’t quite real.

It was the last time you looked up at him, your gut twisting in a way that you didn’t like but could blame on the alcohol.

Simon’s hand fitted to the curve of your jaw, three fingers stretching to the nape of your neck as he guided your mouth back to his cock. He bucked his hips up to cram more of himself down your throat, the hand on the nape of your neck keeping you in place.

His cock cut your airways off with every thrust, making your lungs burn. You focused on sucking in short breaths through your nose in between, your hands clenching against the hard muscle of Simon’s thighs. It was then your suspicions were confirmed, definitely military. There was no room for mercy in the palm of his hand as it molded to the top of your spine.

You choked and spluttered, your saliva turning viscous as his dick churned your throat. Tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes. The soft sound of him sighing met your ears, a hushed “fuck” muttered under his breath.

His eyes were shut tight, his head resting on the back of the couch as he fucked up into your throat. It almost hurt to turn your gaze that far up, but you felt too unmoored—you needed to see him. His free hand was wrapped around what looked to be two sets of dog tags around his neck, holding them so tight his knuckles turned white. You didn’t even see them earlier, they must have been tucked into his shirt.

Simon’s curses became louder, his hand squeezing around the back of your neck and giving you no escape. The laminate wood floor was imprinting its pattern into your knees, the caps of them aching. You still didn’t even try to get him to let you up, working on relaxing your jaw and throat and wanting to take it all. Something about him made you all too complacent, leaving you slack-jawed for him to fuck into like a fleshlight.

His nails dug into the skin behind your ear as he pushed you down all the way, your nose pressed firmly into the soft, curly blonde hairs across his pubic bone. He was so hot and heavy in your throat that it made you want to beg him to ruin you. Your jaw and throat burned, but you melted into the pain as it licked at you.

“Gonna fuckin’ come.” The words were rushed and low as they spilled from Simon’s mouth. You felt battered and bruised, your throat raw and aching. He took from you, and continued to, grinding his hips against your face to move his cock millimeters deeper into your throat. You swallowed obediently to milk his shaft, hearing him moan out a disgruntled name. Johnny? Maybe? You’d have to ask to know, your own heart pounding in your ears muffling the rest.

The pleasure of satisfaction still bloomed in you at a job well done, but it mixed with something nauseating when you realized he was thinking of someone else the whole time.

Simon’s cock pulsed like a wound against your tongue when he came, liquid pleasure like molten lava spilling down your throat with each breathless groan. “That’s it, take it all.” It didn't feel like praise anymore, his blunt nails scratching at the back of your neck combined with his grunts making you feel like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over you.

You didn’t swallow a drop, eyes screwed shut as he dumped rope after rope of come into your throat. Swallowing would’ve been the good thing to do, the obedient thing. But there was so much, some of it spilling out the seam your lips made and disappearing into the scratch of his blonde curls. It was insane, you wondered for the second time how long it had been since he even jerked off.

His hand dropped off you, letting you pull away in an instant. You thought to run to the bathroom or kitchen and spit into the sink, the salty white liquid dripping from the corner of your mouth starting to taste vile on your tongue. You just wanted to get rid of it like the memory of this night.

Simon was already tucking himself away, leaving you sitting like an idiot between his legs. You knew a half-assed apology was next, a pathetic fake compliment about how your mouth felt too good and made him blow his load early. It wasn’t his fault, it was yours. But sorry, no shag tonight.

Rose colored glasses were exchanged for red ones as his dark brown eyes met yours. They were blank, dark rings beneath them almost making him look like a corpse. He didn’t even have the good manners to pretend to be sheepish, his gaze settling on you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

You couldn’t even process what you were doing before you spat the mouthfuls of his come onto his black long-sleeve shirt. The white liquid was frothy from being mixed with your saliva, viscous as it landed on the center of his sternum and splattered. You spat again for good measure, making sure it landed on the silver dog tags before you wiped your mouth on your sleeve.

“Asshole,” you seethed, rolling yourself to your feet before you could even take in his surprised expression. Or the way the corner of his scarred, chewed up mouth twitched like he was going to smile. There was a flicker of recognition in his eye, like you reminded him of someone.

“Next time you just need to come, how about you call that Johnny fella or get a goddamn toy or something,” you hissed, not bothering to look at Simon as you stormed toward the door. You had the good sense to grab your purse, rummaging through it to find some gum as you saw yourself out. The slam of his front door was deafening, leaving the two of you in silence on either side of it.

You didn't realize you forgot your jacket hanging neatly on the hook next to his door until you woke up in the morning.

[ilgr-official]

Do LBM's handle baths well? Sometimes they dig around in my garbage and become quite stinky. I have one that prefers to sniff burger wrappers. Speaking of wrappers, are towel burritos a good containment system?

LBMs handle baths surprisingly well - as long as you don't scare them with one!

First and foremost, be sure to wear thick gloves, long sleeves, and safety goggles when attempting to wrangle a feral LBM. If they show any signs of hostility, immediately back away and call our LBM Control & Rescue line for further help.

To bathe an LBM, you will need: a small tub filled with lukewarm water, some puppy or kitten shampoo (or nontoxic dish soap), a soft sponge or brush, and a towel or fluffy sock.

We have found that most LBMs do prefer to be clean. If you bring out the above supplies and set them near where the LBMs are congregating (such as a trash can), they will usually be docile enough to handle and bathe.

You have the right idea when it comes to drying an LBM - leaving one wet and cold is an easy recipe for disaster. We recommend using a fluffy slipper sock rather than a towel. Socks seem to trigger some sort of comfort mechanism, and often times, they will simply fall asleep in one. You could also try a towel, but this is usually seen as playtime, rather than dry time!

Here's an example of the Tube Sock Method (used by our researchers to weigh LBMs):

Additionally - could you provide more information about the specific trash items your LBMs are getting into? We've established that LBMs do not eat flesh, but we've also had many reports of LBMs being attracted to "Nasty Burger" food wrappers. We assume the food items are made of something other than meat, but the restaurant unfortunately refuses to answer our questions.

Thank you for the inquiry!

Ad astra per parvum!

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi, I'm the anon asking for the follow up of the broken parabatai bond, I meant the bones I'd break, sorry and thank you!

anon!! it has been a while but I am back and filling prompts (and I finally found the prompt because Tumblr buries them sometimes!) so here is the last part ofthe bonds i'd break and then here is the newest part!

i hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

the bonds i'd break

The skin on his hip is blank.

Alec feels numb as he pets over the empty skin with shaking fingertips until firm, warm fingers take his own and hold his hand carefully.

“Alexander, you need to let it heal.” Magnus’ voice is soothing and deep and Alec closes his eyes and leans closer to Magnus and the heat and magic he exudes, along with the security and peace he offers. “Let it be.”

Alec knows Magnus is right, but it aches even when he doesn’t look at it or touch it and then fabric is covering him, taking the skin away the option at all.

“No more for now, all you’re doing is torturing yourself with this. Mourn what you’ve lost but do not obsess over it, Alexander.” 

Alec tries to remember what he’s supposed to do besides feel empty but the only answer he finds is to stay near Magnus.  Who breathes new life into him when Alec feels empty and void of anything.

This is only one rune gone.

True, besides the rune marking him as Raziel's, his parabatai rune is considered his most sacred mark. 

But Alec’s soul is whole, which is almost stranger still.

The echoing ache of his soul has always been answered by the small sliver of Jace’s, the current between souls tied together via slivering their souls.

Now, Alec feels settled even as his soul struggles to relearn his body fully, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss the bond or what it implied.

Alec has no family now.

In trying to protect them, he’s lost them. Or perhaps they were never his to begin with and Alec has only ever been a shield born and crafted and forged to be a barrier between his family and consequences. 

“Darling, don’t get lost where I can’t follow.” Magnus reminds him and then Alec opens his eyes because Magnus is moving — leaving — except it’s only to help Alec up as well.

—-

“Up you get.” Magnus is firm as he pulls Alexander up and his boy listens, a sad little grimace on his face. “Things won’t change with a hot cup of tea and a meal, but your mind will work better.”

Alexander eats methodically and not even Magnus’ attempts to gentle him into a smile work. There’s a new anger to Alexander, a layer of enraged pain that has cracked through the icy facade that Alexander normally wears.

The facade is gone as well, leaving nothing but a blank slate that so far has shown more pain and sadness and anger than anything else.  Even now, Alexander goes through the motions and even tries to respond however he thinks Magnus wants, but it’s not real.

“We should go out for the day.” Magnus watches Alexander and sees the way his shoulders tighten, his head ducking down as if to prepare for a hit as he collects their plates. “Perhaps Huangyao Ancient Town? It’s a quieter destination, I think you’ll appreciate the beauty and age of the buildings.  The local nightmarket is old and full of timeless magic and trinkets, somewhere you can get lost in without ever losing your way.”

Alexander pauses from where he’s hand-washing the dishes, something he insisted on doing and since he’s doing something, Magnus had allowed.  Even summoning soaps made by Catarina that he hasn’t used in centuries just to make it easier and protect Alexander’s skin and nails.

“That’s fine.” Alexander doesn’t seem enthused or upset, but he does seem relieved.  As if Magnus is going to take Alexander out and about in New York or around any Institute any time soon.

Magnus doesn’t want to push, knows better, but he can’t help but step closer and cheekily dry the dishes and put them away with a snap of his fingers and then reach out to grab Alexander’s soapy hand and kiss his knuckles.

“Truly, darling? Or would you prefer to stay here? Or simply go to another one of my properties.  If this is too much...”

Alexander is staring at where Magnus is holding his hand and when his eyes raise his gaze lingers on Magnus’ mouth with a confused little furrow between his eyes.  

“No, it’s fine. In fact—” Alexander pauses and — because Magnus is still holding his wet hand — pulls Magnus' hand to his mouth and returns the kiss, clumsy but sincere. “I want to. Go somewhere with you where we won’t be recognized.” Alexander must see Magnus’ face twitch because he rolls his eyes, “I know you’ll probably be recognized anywhere. Especially at a nightmarket, but I won’t be and that’s enough. The Clave will try to hide what’s happened and until it gets out, no one will be looking for me.”

Magnus swears that his heart relearns it’s rhythm in that moment, the tempo changing to cater to his excitement and the fact that Alexander wants to do anything, even if it’s only because of a suggestion. 

—-

“It’s fine. It’s fine.” Clary tries to repeat but Jace is still incoherent, near catatonic and the fact that Alec is still alive has only made it worse. “He’s still alive, maybe you can recreate the bond.” Clary feels like it’s a safe offer,  except Izzy shakes her head and Jace silently shakes under her hands.  She’s trying her best to help — especially when the parabatai bond is creepy and clearly Alec didn’t care that much about it if he got it severed— but nothing she’s said or done has made a difference. “Besides, it’s not like it's your fault—” she starts but Jace wails as if she’s stabbed him instead.

“Clary shut up.” Izzy is sniffling and tries to glare at her, eyes red and nose still red and raw. “It is literally Jace’s fault no matter what we think of how things went down. Raziel himself judged their parabatai rune and Jace was found guilty.” Jace shakes harder under her hand, “he’s literally being investigated for treason right now. All three of us are. The only reason we’re on probation and limited isolation is because Imogen Herondale broke far too many rules and is now also in question.”

“Okay but we have the power of the Institute.  Didn’t you say you were practically royalty beings Lightwood’s?”

“We don’t have anyone to help us anymore!  Alec is gone and with him any power to protect us. We don’t have that power. Even if our name was worth anything, it’s not now that we’re suspected of treason.  Especially since Jace has been judged to have failed and turned upon his parabatai, there is no one who will save us. Alec was the only person who was standing between us and the Clave’s sword.” Izzy spits it out now and she’s getting angry, angry and crying and Clary didn’t know Izzy could cry, not with how brave and strong and fierce and confident she is.  It’s a new look and Clary wishes she didn’t know it.  How is she supposed to be brave when even Izzy is scared?

“Your parents—” Clary gets laughed at even before the question is complete but despite the burn of irritation and pride, she doesn’t snap back.  Izzy is hiccuping sobs and choking laughter and shaking her head and Clary doesn’t want to make it worse.

“My mother is in Idris trying to make sure that they focus on Imogen’s misdeeds. The best she can do for us is by making sure someone impartial comes to investigate us, especially when you’re Valentine and Jocelyn’s daughter.  Neither of your parents left any friends, Clary. Only enemies and now Jace and I have proven to be on your side and your side isn’t with the Clave. Helping you, it might have doomed us all.” Izzy curls closer to Jace and he lets her slide an arm around his back with a shudder, clearly comparing it to a different arm.

“We wait and we stay low, no more unsanctioned missions and no more running around the shadowworld. We don’t have any options left, Clary.”

AN:

Magnus is the calm keeping the storm at bay and he's also the eye of the storm. The entire reason that Alec's so calm and reasonable and stable is because he's basically just mirroring what Magnus gives him and Magnus is being a MOUNTAIN of stability rn.

like it won't last because it can't, but Alec is able to just not completely lose himself in total dissociative episodes because Magnus is keeping him tied to reality by a little thread. Magnus is also doing so much research and studying during this time.

alec hasn't figured out what he's feeling yet. there is a lot less and more trauma in different ways because he wasn't fully deruned but also he has literal evidence from the angel that he was betrayed (his stele being stolen sealed that okay, like forget emotions by every logic and law Alec was betryaed and mutinied against).

he's a lot more angry in a different way? the deruning broke him in one way? the fact that Jace betrayed him enough the angel agreed broke him in a different way. something he is having the hardest time understanding and conceiving.

alec wanted stability and to heal in the all your cracks I'll paint gold and he's in a much more 'let me unleash my feral rage' in this fic. we're just not there yet.

Magnus having just accidentally unclipped the leash to a feral tiger he didn't know he was holding: ... here kitty kitty kitty

Alec returning covered in blood and feeling better for the first time in days and just, helplessly kissing Magnus because that's the only thing he knows he wants: *smooch*

Magnus: you're telling me I can let him go out on murder sprees and he'll return to me for kisses?? am I getting this right?

Ragnor and Catarina both feeling a chill go down their spines at the same time: oh no, Magnus who are you about to obliterate?

Magnus having a much better time than in canon: Alexander darling, for brunch I've found a Circle bunker and - darling get back here we're having pastries first!

Alec: i'm going to wash dishes. that's routine and something I can handle and control and huh, punching through that nephilim's ribcage and squeezing their heart until it burst against my palm was surprisingly therapeutic.

Valentine still gets the cup because the Institute is terrible without Alec: *creating new and shitty nephilim*

Alec: ... my I wasn't expecting presents from the enemy

Magnus: can it be considered a present if he's really just tossing fodder? At this point it's not even chum to lure in sharks, he's just throwing crumbs into the local duck pond.

Alec: I am much fiercer than a duck

Magnus: let me introduce you to the local magical pond and their poison breathing ducks sweetheart, then you can look me in the eye and repeat that.

because I don't think it's super clear, Alec is dissociating and in a bit of a daze and when he snaps, it's going to be violent and bloody and he's not going to stop being angry for a very long time, or mourning.

he's also going to be angry because even his relationship with Magnus can't be normal (for a shadowhunter and warlock version of normal), because Magnus is everything to him right now and Alec is sulking about that because he deserves the right to mourn everything he lost.

Magnus is his lifeline.

Magnus is doing an incredible job of working with and helping someone with a trauma he can only barely begin to comprehend (he can use magical accidents to get a better idea but understands that runes are intimate and different the same way Magnus can understand a vampire turning but not fully comprehend what's felt).

Magnus is doing all of this ON Top of his own trauma, because he went from 'will I, wont I?' on even trying one more time with Alec and now he has a whole shadowhunter partially broken and completely his and depending on him.

Magnus is hiding his panic behind an 800 year old poker face but eventually he's gonna need to call in reinforcements and Ragnor is going to stop playing dead early.

Magnus is doing amazing.

[rainrot4me]

What's the creeps' favorite chill activity with the reader?

✦ . jeff the killer

Playing dumb games on the floor.

Despite the chaos in his soul, Jeff thrives when you’re both laid out on the floor—playing cards, stacking dice, arguing over who cheated in Uno.

He gets competitive in a way that’s just annoying enough to be endearing.

“I’m not flipping the table. I’m strategically removing your ability to win.”

Eventually he ends up lying on top of you, cards scattered, face pressed into your shoulder. He’s warm and quiet like that. Doesn’t need to say it—but he likes this version of himself with you.

✦ . ticci toby

Blanket forts & movies.

Toby LOVES making blanket forts. Like, he will restructure the living room for the perfect space.

Soft lighting, popcorn, horror movies he talks through, your head in his lap as he fiddles with your hair or hoodie string.

“We can wat-watch something else if this freaks you out—but I will judge you a little.”

He feels safe in small spaces, where the world’s shut out and it’s just you. He’s chatty, happy, and full of little giggles in moments like these.

✦ . eyeless jack

Cooking in comfortable silence.

Jack finds peace in the methodical motion of cooking. Even if he’s not cooking for himself, he gladly does for you.

You chop, he stirs. You hum, he listens. He lets you taste test from the pan and press kisses to his shoulder.

“You’re not helping, you know. You’re just distracting.”

But his voice is soft, and there’s a fondness in his movements. Afterwards, you eat together in calm quiet, and he always insists on doing the dishes with you.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Long, quiet walks.

Tim likes taking walks. Doesn’t matter if it’s through the woods, around a lake, or through crumbling ruins of a dead town.

He walks beside you, occasionally brushing his fingers against yours. When you finally take his hand, he just squeezes it and keeps walking.

“This is nice. Being here. With you.”

Sometimes he’ll bring a flask. Sometimes he’ll pause to show you something he remembers. It’s always peaceful with him, even when the world isn’t.

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

Photographing you.

Brian finds calm in photography. His favorite subject? You.

Candid moments, sleepy moments, “turn your face toward the light” moments. You’ll hear the click of his camera and look over to see him already lowering it with a faint smile.

“Don’t stop what you’re doing. I like seeing you like this.”

Later, he shows you his collection. Each photo is quiet, intimate—a love letter he doesn’t always know how to say aloud.

✦ . kate the chaser

Target practice & then lounging around.

Kate isn’t very still by nature, so her “chill” time usually involves active bonding.

She’ll drag you to do target practice with her—knives, throwing stars, or even just rocks at cans.

But after she’s burned her energy, she’s a limpet. She’ll curl into you with a cocky grin and steal your hoodie.

“Not bad, rookie. Still not as good as mine, though.”

She runs her fingers over your knuckles while you rest, her adrenaline replaced with quiet affection.

✦ . ben drowned

Gaming marathons in bed.

Ben loves lazy afternoons with both of you tangled up in blankets, controllers in hand, snacks everywhere.

He makes dumb jokes, shouts when he loses, and lets you win sometimes just to watch you gloat.

“Look at you acting all smug—fine. Rematch. No mercy.”

After a few rounds, he tosses the controller and turns to you, cheek pressed to your chest, just vibing while the pause screen hums in the background.

✦ . clockwork

Bath time + skincare.

Clockwork loves winding down with self-care rituals and insists you join her.

She’ll run a hot bath for both of you, drop in something that smells like sandalwood or mint, and just let you lean against her.

“You smell like my soap. Good. That’s how it should be.”

Afterwards, she dabs lotion onto your face with gentle fingers, murmuring praise. She’d never admit it, but she cherishes this softness more than anything.

✦ . laughing jack

Drawing together on the floor.

Jack isn’t a quiet guy—but when you break out pens and paper, he gets weirdly focused.

You draw on the floor, trading doodles, laughing at each other’s terrible art. Sometimes he traces your hand. Sometimes he draws your face from memory.

“You’re my best canvas, you know. But I like it when you leave your mark on me, too.”

He ends up covered in glitter, ink, and stickers, laying in a pile of scribbled paper and fake frustration.

✦ . slenderman

Reading together in total silence.

Slender’s favorite activity is the quiet kind. You, him, a dark library or fireside room, curled up on opposite sides of a velvet couch, each with a book.

Sometimes he reads aloud if you ask. His voice is low, calm—hypnotic.

“Rest your eyes if you’d like. I’ll keep going.”

You fall asleep to the sound of his voice and the rustle of pages. He always bookmarks your spot.

꩜ .ᐟ

[balkanradfem]

Anti capitalistic methods of self reliance!

Everyday items:

Plastic bags can be replaced by cloth bags you can sew, without any prior knowledge of sewing, from any old shirt you were going to throw away

Toilet paper can partly or completely be replaced by 'Family cloth', which is a series of cloth napkins cut to the size you like, which are then washed after each use! There's no risk of disease if only used for number one, for number two they need to be submerged into peroxide liquid in order to be safely cleaned. Even if you only use them for number one to stay safe, being reusable and costing nothing they will save you a lot in not having to buy toilet paper

Paper towels can be replaced by little cut-out cloths you can easily wash after use, or a simple kitchen and bathroom cloth for cleaning

Paper tissues have originally been handkerchiefs, washable and reusable, zero waste option (and they can be very pretty too!)

Laundry detergent can be replaced by horse chestnuts, or conkers! If cut open and submerged in water, they will produce soapy water, which is equally good at cleaning as your laundry detergent, completely environmentally friendly and free if you foraged the chestnuts. They can be collected and dried to use for the entire year, and you can tie them up in a sock to put in your washing machine.

Cleaning products can be replaced by vinegar, and if you hate the smell you can change it by infusing citrus peels in it! It will smell like oranges and lemons after you leave them in there for a few weeks

Cleaning products can also be self-made, by fermenting food scraps, it's called 'enzyme cleaner' and it can clean most of things in a completely environmentally friendly way!

Shampoo can be self-made, or replaced with options like herbal teas, which will also ensure that your hair no longer gets greasy, as grease is the result of using shampoo

Menstrual pads can be sown from any discarded pieces of cloth, they only need to be submerged in cold water after use in order for blood to wash out. Additionally you can make washable menstrual panties, which make sure your pads don't move in there!

Simple medicine for aches like stomach cramps, headaches, anxiety, sore throat can be found in the basic knowledge of herbalism, and simply making teas from herbs that soothe these issues. They will not be able to cure a heavy disease, but are able to provide momentary relief from annoying aches!

Immunity booster syrup can be made out of elderberries, if you're careful about not getting any seeds or stems in!

if you're growing food, you can grow your own dish sponges, and washing sponges, the plant is called 'Loofah' and you can grow a whole lot in one season then use them for years

Reuse plastic items for as long as you can, to lessen the amount being thrown into landfills, and if you need new items, aim to get a not-plastic one

If you have lots of paper trash or newspapers, you can learn to make baskets from it.

Instead of throwing away food scraps, you can try setting up a simple composting bin and also get some valuable free soil, that is great for growing little plants and herbs in it

If you're composting on a big scale, the heat compost produces can be used to heat a room

getting into hobbies like soap making, pottery, woodcarving, sewing, knitting  or weaving can also save you a lot of purchasing because you realize you can simply make that thing yourself, and in better quality than it would be available at the store

Saving water and energy:

Accumulating water in a big pot while you're washing dishes, then using that water to water your houseplants is safe, especially if you're not using a lot of detergent, and it saves a lot of water

To save energy when cooking in a pot in the stove, wait until your pot starts boiling, then take it off the stove, and wrap it in a cloth, then a towel, then a blanket, and leave it wrapped up. The layers of cloth are making it difficult for the heat to escape the pot, ensuring it will keep very high temperature for half an hour, cooking as if it was on the stove. If it needs to cook longer, you can just put in on the stove for a minute to get it back to boil. You can cook pasta, rice, beans, potatoes, soups, stews, risotto, pretty much anything with long cooking time like this.

If your water boiler is big, you don't need to leave it on at all times, I've reduced my electricity bills by a lot by turning it on only when I intend to use the hot water. In the summer, if you have access to a natural body of water, use that for washing!

If you own a property, watch where the water is naturally going and accumulating; you can collec t this water and set up a system to use it for gardening/any outdoor use

if you're building a structure, making sure that the sun hits the windows in the winter, and that the place is protected from the wind by growing trees as a wind shield, will save loads of energy in heating and cooling it, as well as making sure the structure is well insulated

Heat/cool only the parts of the structure/house that you're using, making it both environmentally friendly and ensuring you don't have a too big temperature difference when you go outside, making you healthier

Try an experiment were you go a day without electricity and see what you can use as alternative in this situation; it's okay if you fail, it will provide you with knowledge of how dependant you are on the energy, and the ideas of what you can possibly do when without!

Clothing:

If sewing clothing from scratch is something that appeals to you, that is ideal for self-reliance! It is likely that after just a bit of practice, you'll be able to sew more quality items than are sold, because current fashion items are made to fall apart, and you can make your clothing strong and durable.

Sharing clothing you no longer want to wear, and letting others know they can offer their unwanted pieces to you can provide you not only with practical clothing, but you can use all fabric, buttons, zippers and other materials to sew! You can, again with minimal practice and even by hand-sewing, make your own bags, tablecloths, placemats, pillows, blankets, decorations, hats and scarfs

Visible mending, embroidering, adding details or creating your own little alterations on clothing will not only provide a sense of accomplishment, but enrich your life in the way of skill development and being able to make and mend things with little resources

Learning about history of textiles and what fast fashion is doing to the environment provides appreciation and love for sewing and creating textiles, and could inspire you to try and see how it feels to do!

Any piece of clothing that is no longer fit to be remade into something new, can still be cut into pieces and used for cleaning, as a paper towel replacement, for wiping the floor or wiping your shoes, and if it's soft, for pillow filling!

For extra clothing or furniture, you can join online groups named 'buy nothing' and 'sharing is caring', where people will often gift extra clothes and furniture for free, sometime appliances and electronics too

Food:

If any outside space is available, learning to garden is an excellent investment in food security

Seeds can be harvested from plants you already have, gifted from neighbour or friend gardeners, and some can even be taken out of store-bought produce

Soil can be taken from the forest ground which has composted leaves as topsoil, dig under a tree for best results

If no outside space is availabe, dwarf plants, herbs, and greens can be grown in containers, clean your air while they also provide food

Learning to forage for wild edible plants will provide both entertainment and free food! Any wild plant you find is likely to be more rich in nutrients than a cultivated plant, making your diet well rounded and healthy

Learning to grow trees and care for them will provide free food not only for you, but for generations to come, as well as offset the damage from the climate change. Knowing how trees work and how to prune and nourish them is powerful knowledge.

Preserving food:

Ways of preserving your food long-term are curing (for onions, potatoes, garlic, pumpkins), canning (tomatoes, peppers, fruit), fermenting (cabbage, hot peppers, turnips), dehydrating and sun-drying (tomatoes, fruit, herbs, hot peppers, mushrooms)

Growing and collecting food during warm months and then saving them for winter was done by people for centuries and it provides a safe and reliable access to food all year round

Buying cheap produce when it's in-season and preserving it can save you a lot of money and bring you far in self-reliance

Making your own recipes and then getting to eat them later in the season bring a sense of accomplishment and pride, as well as providing a zero waste food option

Cooking food from scratch is made easier by having some of your food preserved, because a lot of the time you've already prepaired most of your ingredients, and only have to place them in the pot

If you already know to make your own bread, you can also try making your own yeast, by mixing flour and water, and letting it ferment while adding more flour and water every day. It can last forever.

If you're interested in knowing more about gardening, herbalism, tree care, and foraging, check the 'Homesteading Survival Knowledge' masterlist, filled with links on these specific topics!

These are not ideas that anyone should quickly or immediately integrate in their life; instead, trying whatever seems interesting and appealing, slowly learning about it and trying one thing at the time is more encouraging and sustainable! I myself have spent years learning and integrating these, enabling me to feel happy and confident doing any and all of this. If this is overwhelming, pick whatever feels appealing and do only that! Forget the rest until it feels easy and fun thing to try out.

[sterifels-blog]

Chiaroscuro

part one of eyeless jack x f!reader

🔗 masterlist

quotev: more chapters posted! always updated first

chiaroscuro - a technique that uses strong contrasts between light and dark to create a sense of drama and intensity

────────────────────────────────────

There is a man on your porch.

You don’t realize it at first. Not fully. The moment is slow to reach you, like a radio signal threading its way through static—present, but distant. You are washing dishes, half-lost in the mindless repetition of warm water and ivory suds, when the porch light hums awake. It flickers against the windowpane, casting dull reflections across the sink. You don’t look up immediately. The sensor has always been sensitive. A possum, a stray cat, the wind. But then the light doesn’t turn off. It lingers, buzzing faintly against the stillness of the night, and something in your chest twists—small, instinctive, just enough to break the rhythm of your movements.

You glance up.

You stop. Doe, doe, doe. Freeze.

The kitchen clock ticks— slow, steady, unbothered—as the world around you shrinks. Outside, beneath the humming light, there is a shape. A figure. Slumped against the wooden railing, body half-turned away from the door, unmoving but present in a way that makes your breath stutter. The porch is old, the wood split and faded from years of sun, brittle where the rain has sunk in deep enough to rot it from the inside. You have always been able to hear the groan of it under the weight of a body, the slight shift of nails tugging against their sockets. But there is no sound. No movement. Only stillness, thick and weighted, stretching out between you in the cool press of autumn air.

Your fingers tighten around the ceramic dish in your hands. You hadn’t dried them. The water clings, sliding in cold trails along your wrists, settling into the fine grooves of your skin. The dish soap smells like artificial citrus, too bright, too clean, too sharp against the scent of damp earth curling in through the open kitchen window. The night is heavy with petrichor, the remnants of earlier rain pooling in the cracks of the driveway.

And then—copper.

It is subtle at first, something that only registers when you inhale too deeply, the scent weaving itself between breath and bone. It does not belong to the air, to the damp leaves, to the quiet hum of crickets hidden in the grass. It belongs to something raw. Something wet. Something alive— or, at least still is trying to be.

A prickle runs down the length of your spine, slow and methodical, an animal’s reaction to a threat it cannot yet see. You could almost hear the warning signs of your mother. Tail flagging, stomping, blowing. You're a fawn that should duck– tall grass as kitchen cabinets; but your gaze shifts, following the dull shine of porch light against fabric. His hoodie is dark, though not from the night alone— the cotton clings, stiffened in places, torn at the sleeve where the sickness of his arm is exposed. The flesh there is not whole. It is broken, slick with something that should not be outside of a body, the wound deep enough that even from here you can see the edges struggling to knit themselves back together.

He’s hurt.

The thought lands softly, but it does not settle. Instead, it presses at the edges of something deeper, something far more difficult to place. You should be afraid, a stranger at your portal. You should move— reach for your phone, make yourself smaller, step away from the glass. But you don’t.

Instead, you stare, bystander to your own gossamer heart. Not at the wound, not at the sluggish way he breathes, but at him.

The mask is strange—smooth, impersonal, a void where a face should be. It swallows the light without reflecting it, as if the space where his eyes belong is nothing but absence. You cannot tell if he is watching you, cannot feel the weight of a gaze, but there is something in the way he holds himself—silent, waiting. Not quite expectant- but present. 

And then, as if sensing your hesitation, he shifts.

It is slight—nothing more than the slow tilt of his head, a minute adjustment of posture—but it sends something cold curling through your stomach. The movement feels deliberate, calculated, a message that does not need words to be understood.

He knows you see him — he, if its the only thing that could be assumed by the stature of his wilting frame. 

Something heavy settles behind your ribs, pressing against the delicate space between thought and reaction. The weight of it is unfamiliar, a new shape cut from an old instinct, carved from the marrow of something deeply human.

He does not speak. Neither do you. Because the wood and sand are nature's natural hermetic against sound.

The silence stretches between you, thick and unbroken, until the night itself begins to breathe. The wind shifts through the trees, sending brittle leaves skittering across the pavement. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks, sharp and startled before quieting again. The house settles, wood stretching in the cool air, the refrigerator humming in the background, indifferent to the moment unfolding before it.

And still, he waits.

You do not remember when your hand moved to the door. You do not recall crossing the space between the sink and the threshold, do not register the cool press of the brass knob beneath your fingers until it is already there. The motion is instinctive, thoughtless, something that happens to you rather than because of you.

You turn the lock.

The softest of sounds, but it cuts through the silence like a thread pulled tight. The porch light flickers, washing his mask in brief, golden light before it fades again, the night stretching long and undisturbed beyond him. The door groans softly on its hinges as you pull it open. The air shifts, cool and damp against your skin, carrying the scent of blood, of rain-soaked leaves and something deeper, something raw. He does not move, does not rise or push forward, does not make any effort to meet you halfway. He only waits.

The moment stretches.

Your fingers tighten slightly against the edge of the door, searching for something solid, something familiar, but when you speak, your voice is neither firm nor distant. It is quiet, soft in the way of things meant to soothe.

"Oh, Sir.., come. Come inside," you murmur, barely above a breath. "You’re hurt—"

His mask tilts. Not much—just the smallest adjustment, as if he is studying you, parsing out the shape of your voice, the meaning behind your words. The wind moves again, slipping through the open space between you, and something fragile lingers there, not in his deck of cards, but in yours.

You step back, leaving the door open. An invitation. It is cold, the air— numbing the the tips of your fingers in dull tickles. 

For a long moment, nothing happens, and you think, just perhaps, a mortician will be taking the stranger off your hands at any moment. Or maybe he just does not speak your language—. Then, slowly, stiffly, he moves. Not with force, not with confidence, but with the careful weight of something testing its own limits. His breath is measured, his steps deliberate, and when he crosses the threshold, there is no sound but the whisper of fabric, the chalkboard grinding of boots shuffling against worn wooden floors.

He does not speak.

You only watch as he straightens, as the mask shifts slightly in your direction, as if to gauge you one last time. His presence fills the space, dark and unfamiliar, the scent of blood curling through the air between you. Still, you do not step back.

Instead, with a touch as light as moth wings, you press the door closed behind him.