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secondbeatsongs · 3 months ago

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Food Crime: Frosty the Slawman

so a while ago, I saw this photo going around on tumblr:

at first, I thought this was photoshopped. I mean, "welcome new man in your life"? that feels like a translation error, or someone being silly on purpose.

but guess what! turns out, Frosty Slaw Man is real!

and soon...he will be mine. let's get cooking

(full disclosure: I crafted this snowman and took notes about it over a year ago. and then, like with many things in my life, I forgot about him, and let him drift into the ADHD void of Things I'm Not Currently Staring At, where object permanence is tentative and largely unrealized.

but here we are! and here he is: the slaw man. it's time to share him with you, so that you can suffer as I have suffered, and/or rejoice in my gelatin creation!)

so this recipe photo originally came from Mid-Century Menu (archive link), a blog that seems like one after my own heart, and which once tried to make the Slaw Man (with not much success; but we'll get back to that)! but it's not just that blog that has copies of this ad. I also found it on reddit, and in a few different places on ebay!

lookit that guy! he's a real guy!

both the reddit post and some of the ebay listings say that this is from 1963 (though I haven't been able to figure out which magazines it was printed in, to confirm this for myself). but in looking this up, I discovered something else fun! there's another version of this ad!

Best Foods is what Hellmann's stuff is called on the west coast, and the "this is no place for second best" thing makes a lot more sense when you consider that the ad was probably made for Best Foods first, and then just reused and rebranded for the east coast

the more you know!

anyway the benefit of finding this alternate ad is that the scan on this image is a lot clearer, and so the recipe is more readable! and in looking at it, I've realized something important:

when Mid-Century Menu tried this recipe, they got an ingredient amount wrong.

when they made their beloved Slaw Man, they had the water amount written down as 1/4 cup, but looking at this scan up close, it is actually 3/4 cup of water! something that might make a significant difference, considering we're working with gelatin!

(there's also another change I want to make compared to what they did, when I do this recipe. but we'll get into that in a sec.)

for now: we begin

so. there's no way I'm making a Slaw Man this large. I am just one person, and considering the ingredients of this, I don't think I'm going to be able to consume that much Slaw.

two entire heads of cabbage? three pounds of cottage cheese, a thing that I don't even like to eat? no. that's a bad idea.

so I'm starting small here and making this 1/3 the size of the original:

2 packets of unflavored gelatin 1/4 cup cold water 1 cup mayo 1 tsp salt 1lb cottage cheese 4 cups shredded cabbage

surely this will result in a reasonable amount of Man

...okay, I started chopping the cabbage thinking it would be easier, but I've given up and pulled out a grater. this is much better! and somehow more violent (affectionate)

the recipe says to soften the gelatin in cold water, and then stir over hot water until it's dissolved. I'm going to assume "stir over hot water" means a double boiler, so let's do that

hmmm, the gelatin is very foamy? it’s melted, but the bottom of the pot feels really....sticky

okay. after a couple minutes more and no change, I’m calling this good enough.

so one thing that others who have attempted this recipe have not taken into consideration is the cottage cheese. you see, the others used normal cottage cheese, but the recipe says to use "cottage cheese, cream style"

I’ll be real, I’m not 100% what that means, since we don’t have that here. but I can take an educated guess! so let’s blend the cottage cheese!

(with an immersion blender. I am not willing to wash an actual blender because of this)

mmm, yes. very smooth

...actually. why isn't all cottage cheese like this? the thing I hate about cottage cheese is the texture, so why isn't it all smooth and creamy like this?? I could eat this!!

a new discovery is made every day in this house.

okay, time to start mixing things together.

ah, frosty. I opened a whole new thing of mayo for you! do you feel special?

(I'd make a "pre-dinner snack?" joke, but sometimes I think I'm the only one that remembers Regular Ordinary Swedish Meal Time)

okay, the mayo, cottage cheese, and salt have been added to the gelatin. but as this cools, the texture is getting...hmm. less than appealing.

lastly: the cabbage

oh. oh this is not very nice

next it says to pack the "salad" into a one pound container, and two six-cup bowls, but since I made this recipe so much smaller, I'm going to uhhhh. uh. find some bowls that seem like they'd be correct...snowman? proportions?

ah. this bowl is too big.

hey, these'll work!

now I just have to let them chill for a while, and continue another day.

(edit from current!me: ahhh oh my god I forgot this was pretty soon after we adopted Jackie! look at these cat pics that I took while I was food crime-ing!

look at them having their little interactions! Knuckles was trying so hard to be friends with her! I love them)

hello! two days later and we are ready to assemble the slawman. and my sibling has started referring to him as "frosty: attorney at slaw", so that's fun.

I've done a thing where, as these set, I flipped them around in the bowl so that hopefully they'd be more round. we'll see if they actually stay like this.

I have also made some decorations for him out of peppers, olives, and carrots!

let's build our boy

oh he's so heavy. and wobbly

no no no he almost fell over!!

okay. he's fine. but more skewers were needed.

and...okay. he is complete.

behold!

gaze upon my beautiful man!

(he is not structurally sound! he wobbles unsteadily as I rotate him! there are already cracks forming in the gelatin around where his arms are! don't worry about it!)

now it's time to stab him

and...to devour him

this tastes like...a bland coleslaw? and not even that. it's just sort of a salty, cottage cheese-y cabbage. the ingredients don't combine to become something greater, they simply...sit there. like this.

and the texture is...mmm. it's not a jello kind of texture, but it is a bit squashy in a way that's mildly strange.

it's very creamy once it softens in your mouth.

...I don't like this!

and look! taking just that one chunk from him was enough to destabilize him entirely :(

RIP frosty. now I just have to see if I can eat all of you before you go bad.

(note from current!me: I could not.

I ate maybe half of him over the course of many days, often adding other stuff to him to try to add some flavor: bacon, frozen peas, cheese, etc. but even with that, I just couldn't stomach him.

after a while I stuck what was left of him in the freezer, hoping that maybe I'd find the will to consume the rest of him some other day.

do you know what a frozen-and-then-thawed mixture of cabbage, cottage cheese, mayo, and gelatin looks and tastes like?

bad. the answer is: bad.

I threw him out pretty quickly after thawing him.

do not try this recipe at home)

#food crimes #vintage recipe #vintage cooking #frosty slaw man #frosty the slaw man #hellmann's #best foods #(like the brand not the concept of the slaw man)#(he is not the best food. he will haunt me. never again)#I could improve upon him tbh. like there's definitely a form of this that could be edible #but I'd do it with cream cheese for structural integrity instead of gelatin and cottage cheese #he could be more of a cheese ball #that'd be fine #but this? no. don't try this #it's a lot of work for too much slaw and not much flavor

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rafescherie · 1 month ago

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✮⋆˙ rafe becomes possessively obsessed with the idea of breeding you.

warnings — 18+. MDNI. breeding kink, unprotected sex.

cherie's note — breeding kink rafe makes my brain go brrrr

every single one of his thrusts are calculated and methodical — like he’d spent hours researching the exact position he had you folded in, thighs pressed snug against your chest as he drives himself into your tight hole. his free hand finds your swollen little clit, the sensation mingling with the constant nudge of his cock kissing your cervix with each slow, purposeful push.

your thighs burn in the best way — muscles stretched and trembling as he holds your legs apart with firm hands, your body slack beneath him, completely pliant in his hold. eyes rolling, lips parted, the room is thick with every sinful sound — panting, whining, and the obscene squelch of skin meeting skin.

because rafe has one thing in mind — breeding.

and from this angle, it’s perfect, he can flood your fertile cunt with everything he has, a shameless, hopeful attempt to stuff you so full, your womb wouldn’t dare reject him. the thought alone is enough to keep him going — keeping you warm, swollen, and full of him.

it was ultimate ownership — and rafe, being the possessive little shit he was, that idea fit right in line with his vision for his future. everyone on the island would know who you belonged to, especially with a few babies identical to him on your hip, or running between your legs — ocean-blue eyes and dirty blond hair. nevermind the fat diamond ring on your finger, or the dark plum hickeys marked on the skin of your neck, you’d have no other choice than to keep him in your life — and selfishly, he wouldn’t want it any other way.

“want you swollen and round f’me, pretty girl,” he pants out desperately, the sound of skin slapping skin drowning out everything else. “gonna fill you up, give me a baby or two… make you my wife…”

your moan rips through the air, raw and breathless, your stomach tightening under the weight of his filthy promises. you’re already overstimulated, already ruined, and he knows it — which is exactly why he slows, savoring every reaction as your walls flutter and squeeze around him.

and when he finally finds himself spilling the contents of his arousal inside of you? he’s not done just yet. far from, actually. rafe’s thick cock drags against the sensitive walls of your pulsing cunt, the squelching sounds that bounced off the walls unmistakable as he fucks his cum further inside of you with a hasty groan.

and when he finally spills deep inside of you, it’s not the end — not even close. he fucks it deeper with slow, dragging thrusts, like he’s trying to make sure every drop sticks.

and when he finally spills deep inside of you, it’s not the end — not even close. he fucks it deeper with slow, dragging thrusts, like he’s trying to make sure every drop sticks. his thick cock drags against the sensitive walls of your pulsing cunt, driving in-and-out of you with determination.

“jus’ makin’ sure this one takes, baby,” he murmurs, breathless, pushing himself in to the hilt with every roll of his hips. “not done ‘til i know it took.”

and when he groans your name like a promise, it leaves no doubt — you were his to fill. over and over again.

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baepsays · 12 days ago

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PICTURE THIS ⸻ .✦ 呪術廻戦 ★ JJK

description ───〃★ what kind of pictures of you do they like to keep around for emotional support, and other purposes.

pairings ───〃★ (Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Toji, Kashimo Hajime, Kamo Choso, Higuruma Hiromi, Ryomen Sukuna, Gojo Satoru) x reader cw ───〃★ NSFW, MDNI, non canon compliant, established relationship, groping, oral sex (f! receiving), no pronouns, mostly gender neutral reader, fem anatomy in some cases, m! masturbation, slight exhibitionism, spit stuff, cum stuff, just freaky overall.

a/n: came to me in my nap.

☆ ─── GETO SUGURU ───☆

Geto Suguru has a thing for shoving his, pretty and long, fingers down your throat. It is at times not even sexual. It's this weird thing he does to make you develop an oral fixation. He just wants your throat to contract at the sight of them, until you remember every bump, ridge, and vein running on his hands.

If he is not able to put his fingers in your mouth in public, he is giving you a lollipop, or a toothpick. Just about anything to keep your mouth occupied and needing more of his fingers. Because he knows they cannot be replaced by candy or anything.

But while training your mouth, he developed another perverted obsession on top of one.

He just loves taking pictures of you with his fingers in your mouth. You will find hundreds and thousands of pictures of yourself, in this specific, and very safe, folder on his phone—for which he also has a backup, because you just never know you cannot lose something that precious.

It's just you, and your tongue lying flat on your lips, while his fingers are completely submerged inside the abyss of your mouth. Pressing down on your tongue, and drool dripping down from the side of your mouth.

Sometimes he shoves them in so deep, that they almost reach your throat, and tickle your uvula. Knuckles press themselves into the textured and hard roof of your mouth, while your eyes roll back so hard that the color of your pupils can be hardly seen in the whites of your eyeballs. Sometimes both of your hands would be grabbing onto his wrists, other times one of his unoccupied hands would be on your throat, squeezing on it from time to time.

And Suguru believes he's not far from his goal where one day you start to salivate and get aroused just at the thought of his fingers.

☆ ─── NANAMI KENTO ───☆

Your husband is a busy man. Who has not much to look forward to in his daily life during business hours. He wakes up looking forward to your sleepy eyes, and he comes home looking forward to hugging you.

So, as a great spouse, you always remember to pack him a homemade lunch box. And sometimes a little surprise. Which makes him look forward to lunch, and motivates him to work harder so he can get home to you as early as possible.

These little surprises include sticky notes on top of his lunch box, that say things like, 'Enjoy eating your lunch like you enjoyed eating me out this morning <3'

And they never fail to make him chuckle as he puts them away in this box in his drawer. But this box contains more than dirty, flirty messages. They include these pictures you like to include in his lunch set from time to time, when he's particularly upset with work.

The pictures often show you, in flimsy and erotic lingerie, in a variety of colors each time. Bras that don't leave anything to the imagination, and just enhance your assets. Panties at times may have pretty flowers or laces, other times it's barely there, and sometimes they have his initials either at the back or at the front. Right on top of the mound in between your legs, or above the curve of your ass.

Sometimes you would click a Polaroid, where you are on your knees, legs open, and fingers barely covering up what lies between your thighs, made and exposed. The flash perfectly captures the wetness that accumulates there, and how your hand barely covers anything, for him to almost lose his mind at work.

So Kento looks forward to work, only to grow his collection that lies deep into the drawers of his desk.

☆ ─── FUSHIGURO TOJI ───☆

Toji is not the most tech savvy guy out there. He quite detested the little gadgets and devices you kept on buying. But of all of them, he didn't scoff at the film camera that you got him for his last birthday day.

He used that thing to his heart's content. One could say he might even qualify for a professional photographer if he ventured into it. The pictures he takes of the most mundane things in his day to day life, to vacation pictures—all too gorgeous to not be framed.

But if you asked him what is his favorite subject to capture, he would simply smile and shrug.

Because it's none of anyone else's business, the pictures that he holds the dearest to his heart. Pictures of you lying in bed, after he is done roughing you up. Where your limbs are scattered in every direction, just a flimsy comforter covering your ass, riding up enough to show his load leaking out of you.

How your tits pressed against the mattress, and spilled out from the side. Your hair looked tangled, probably from how much he pulled on them. Red and purple, indents of his teeth, marked your skin, as you slept soundly.

Those are his favorite. The grain, and the lighting complimented how worn out you looked in those pictures. Sometimes barely conscious other times not. And he'd die before anyone else gets to see them.

☆ ─── KASHIMO HAJIME ───☆

You do not understand your boyfriend. Some might think Hajime is quite an eccentric man, you just think he has habits that cannot be understood.

Among many of these habits, the one you do not understand at all—is when he randomly comes up to you, squeezes your face, and takes a picture of you like that. You look absolutely dumb, cheeks puffed up in his hands, lips puckering, and a frown on your face.

At first you thought he was teasing you, trying to collect blackmail material on you or something. Then the frequency of this habit, and the frequency of you catching him staring at those pictures with a smitten smile, makes you think maybe he just likes to look at you like that. So you shrug it off whenever he does this.

You might be sitting on the couch, cooking, eating even, trying to do your skin care—that one he gets a lot of scolding for touching your face when you just did your routine—trying to sleep. It does not matter when or what, he is holding your face hostage in his hands.

And the reason why is kind of simpler than the theories you've come up with.

He likes to jerk off to them.

He likes to hold his cock over his phone, with your picture open on it, as he slides through the folder, where your face is squished up in his hands. All different angles almost, in some of them you are looking up at him, then you're looking down.

Some of them are taken when you are sleeping, soundly on your pillow, nuzzling into his hands. And the ones in which you are awake, you're frowning, smiling, giving him stink eyes. All of it, just turns him on without any explanation.

Maybe it's just the grip he has on you, quite literally, as well as metaphorically.

How you'd sometimes complain, or wouldn't understand this fetish of his, but simply comply without knowing the nasty things he does with them. How you do not even bother to know, just how good it feels for him to move his hand up and down on his own cock, with precum and spit mixing up and making it all so slippery.

How much he twitches and comes, all over his screen, on top of a picture of your cheeks smothered by his hands.

Maybe next time the new addition to his collection will be when you give him head.

☆ ─── KAMO CHOSO ───☆

Your boyfriend planned great dates. Honestly it is hard to rival the meticulous details he remembers about you, and what you say in passing, to plan the most perfect dates.

Sometimes they are as elaborate as a fancy dinner at a Michelin star restaurant, and other times they are as simple as watching old movies in a makeshift pillow fort in your living room.

Other times, it's amusement parks. And after terrifying rides, fried food, and sweet treats—the best way to rest and get some money's worth of memories is in a photobooth tucked away from most people's eyes.

Somehow the silly faces and poses turn into you sitting on his lap and kissing his face. Which turns into a full on make out session. The small little room gets stuffy with how his tongue prods itself inside of your mouth, and finds your tongue.

*click*

And the camera clicked away, how his hands inch up and up on your thighs, until they disappear under your skirt. How his nimble fingers pull down the zipper on your dress. The flash reflected on your back, and obscured what was going on.

How you moved to fully straddle him, each leg on his either side. And his hands remained under your skirt, hidden, making circles on your clit through your underwear. If the camera could record a video best believe it'd have been an obscene sex tape, with your whimpers and his groans slipping out mindlessly.

"You guys are going to come out or what?"

If it were not for the people outside, maybe you two would've ended up fully fucking in that cramped space. I mean the beep signifying that your time was up, couldn't stop you, so what else could've if it weren't for human interruption.

At least now both of you have these sets of pictures to keep safe as a souvenir for another great day.

☆ ─── HIGURUMA HIROMI ───☆

If someone took one look at your husband, they wouldn't be able to tell the filthy things he gets up to in your bedroom. Most of it is courtesy of you, but you might be the one to rile things up but he is the one who sees things through.

But feelings are very much mutual, if you are putting forward a card on the table, he won't be the one to back down. He is a lawyer by profession, and it does shine through in his personality through these little endearing things.

So when you ask him to take little pictures here and there during sex, he takes it more seriously than necessary.

You really meant it like placing the camera somewhere on the table or in a corner on the bed, set a timer and take a few pictures then forget about it. But for Hiromi, it is serious. His hands may be quivering, his hips may be stuttering, as you clamp down on his cock as you come all over him—yet still he is taking pictures of his cock bulging in your abdomen.

His own eyes are rolling back, and you might be on the verge of passing out, but he is not letting go of the phone in his hand, while his other hand steads you with a grip on your hips.

This unlocked a new sort of obsession for him.

Soon enough a locked folder appeared on his phone and his pc, filled with pictures of his Cock, trying to bulge out of your stomach. He may not be the lengthiest guy out there, but the girth really speaks for itself each time he stretches you beyond consciousness when he puts it in. No amount of preparation can really prepare you for that cock.

He has learned to take these pictures from various angles, in various positions. From underneath you, above you, holding you up, pushing you down, standing up, even sitting down.

It's something he has come to cherish. Because they work much better to aid a headache after a particularly hard case, better than a bath, better than aspirin.

☆ ─── RYOMEN SUKUNA ───☆

Sukuna does not care for technology or sentimental items.

There is barely anything to be found in his phone gallery. Except for pictures of important documents, and lots of cats, because he likes to send you a text whenever he sees a cat.

He would send something like, 'Look at this dumbass.' Along with a picture of a cat flopped over on its back. Which would be soon after followed by a video of him giving that said cat belly rubs.

So you can say he only uses that device for very essential things.

Like pictures of you sleeping, you looking somewhere unaware of him taking sneaky pictures of you. Or pictures of you lying on your back, him in between your legs, and his cum dripping down your hole.

Sukuna has to say these are very important pictures. Even if his phone somehow ever runs out of space, the pictures he takes of you, are never getting deleted. Especially the ones where he has rendered you to nothing but a drooling mess, barely aware of your surroundings, barely any feelings down your waist, and nothing but his dumb huge cock on your mind.

He has never been one to take pictures or videos of such things, he frowned upon the concept of sex tapes and porn. It just all seems very convoluted and dumb to him. Why opt for digital images that you cannot touch, when he has you in the palm of his hands?

It's just he likes how you look after probably the first two rounds, which usually are followed by many more—it is just that after those first two rounds you are at this sweet spot where your eyes are still open wide, but fully glazed, and even if you are seeing everything, you are got cognizant of it. Just a twitching mess, bites and marks all over you, and white creamy substance dripping down on the bed, or down your legs. The sight is too perfect for him to not capture.

Safe to say, his phone may be very empty, but it is not accessible for anyone else but him.

☆ ─── GOJO SATORU ───☆

Gojo Satoru is a nasty, nasty man.

When he is around you, he might get called out for being a pervert. Or if you ask him, he'll simply say, "You know how obsessed I am with you, sweets." In a very humorous tone. Which makes you think oh he is joking with you again.

But in reality, he may be a silly man, but his obsession with you is far too deep to be chalked out as some joke.

The man worships you, it is hard to keep him off of you when you are in the same room, or even under the same roof. It is futile to ask him to focus on his job instead of texting you, and calling you every few hours.

And if somehow miraculously he actually does not bother you, he is simply then staring at your pictures. The ones he takes on his phone, the ones backed up on his flash drive, or his favorite picture of you, that he carries in his wallet.

To be more accurate, there are two pictures of you that exist in his wallet, the one everyone can visibly see when he opens his wallet. Just a picture of you smiling, and looking up, clearly at him, given from the white hair peeking from the corner. It was taken when you guys officially went on your first date together after years of tension filled friendship, and delusional pining. So it was rather special.

The other one, sits under the first picture, hidden away from the gaze of anyone who is not Satoru himself.

It actually has more of him in this picture than you. Because it's a picture of him eating you out, and looking up at the camera, with his big blues dilated, and transfixed on the taste on his tongue.

He remembers exactly when, where, and how the picture was taken. It was a simple summer night, and he bought you a new Polaroid camera to replace your old broken one. And what other better way to inaugurate it than making you take pictures of him—face deep in your cunt, hands gripping your thighs to the point the knuckles on his hand became white. And he looked simply pussy drunk.

The picture was slightly hazy. It was the only one you took properly enough to make out what was happening behind the scenes. Everything else was fully blurred, blacked out, or a picture of furniture. So he had to keep it safe with him. And that is how it ended up in his wallet.

Helping him out whenever he missed you, alongside the picture of you smiling. If he ever lost his wallet, fuck the black cards, id, and everything else. He'd die if something happened to those precious pictures of you.

FIND MORE OF MY WORKS HERE

a/n: dividers by @/enchanthings-a. header from Meshitaki Onna ni Yakuza no Ai wa Omosugiru (that manga is lowkey so out of pocket)

hi hi i am a little busy this month and also just very tired and not feeling great overall. so take this for now, i am working on some stuff but no promises when they'll be out. i hope you understand <3 feel free to drop by the inbox if you want tho ^^

tag list: @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @teddytoru @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @rriwyu @exquisink @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @soupicidesquad @indiewritesxoxo @gojosconsort @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic @infinitatis-ink @theorphicangel @ricecake-mochi @emochosoluvr

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everlastingserenitys · 14 days ago

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RIDE LIKE A PONY

summ. who would've thought you were going to get railed by the star athlete of the hockey team...before his game.

pairing. Caleb x f!reader cw. hockey player!Caleb, p in v, he's sensitive, dirty talk, kissing, semi public, wearing his jersey during sex, 1.3k wc a/n. hi guys i gave in and i'm starting a caleb series...starting off with a boom!

“Is this your way of wishing me luck, pipsqueak?” Caleb chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist, sinking himself in the unexpected hug he received from you.

He still hasn't gotten changed in his uniform, and here you were, hugging on him for dear life as if he was going to die once he leaves the changing rooms. A few moments of silence pass and Caleb pulls away, looking down at your flushed face, probably caused by the cold temperature in the room.

He brought his hand to the sides of your cold skin and held onto you for a few moments as he stared into your eyes and then pulled himself away from you, heading over to his bag to grab his gear and clothes.

You stood still, watched his every move as he started stripping himself and started getting changed into his gear.

“Do you have practice today?” Caleb asked, sliding his shirt off and grabbed onto another one. You shook your head and sat on the bench across from him, eyes still locked on his figure as each piece started to stick to his body, one by one, he was already almost done getting changed.

“Just the jersey and pants left.” he mumbled to himself, digging his hands in his bag as he searched for his desired items.

“I’ll help.” you say, getting up from the bench and strutting towards Caleb, shoving him aside and dug your hands in his bag to find the things he was looking for. After a few minutes of searching you found the jersey and pants and pulled them out, waving it in front of his face.

“Thanks pip- huh?” Before Caleb could grab the stuff from your hands you pulled your hand back, a small smirk resting on your lips as you watched Caleb's reaction twist from confusion to amusement.

“Oh? Wanna help me put it on then?” Caleb pushed aside his bag and sat on the bench, spreading his legs and arms apart, indicating that you have the will to put his uniform on, but that wasn't what you wanted.

“Give me a kiss then I'll give your stuff back, deal?”

“If that’s all you wanted then you could have asked sooner.” Caleb teased, lifting himself off the bench and walked towards you. Once you were just mere inches away he slid his arms around you and lightly picked you off the ground, walking back to the bench and placed you there.

“Just a kiss, alright?” he whispered, his hot breath ghosts over your cold skin as his eyes stared down at you, waiting for approval. You nod and not even a second passed and he already had his lips planted on yours.

Caleb was practically devouring you, why? Because you wore his favorite lip balm that always sends him to a spiral when he kisses you. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him even closer so he could savour more, there was no backing out now that he had a taste.

“Hey..” he muttered between the kiss, pulling away for a second to just dive back on you again. Caleb's tongue seeked for entrance and when you gave it to him, his hands reached the sides of your face, pulling you closer than ever.

His tongue intertwined with yours, and he couldn't pull away. He knew this would happen, and as much as Caleb tried controlling himself, he couldn't. He felt like a glass cup that shattered the second it drops on the ground.

“You did this on…ngh…purpose, didnt you?” he breathed, pulling away staring at your flushed face beneath him. You gave him a quick nod, the corner of your lips were playing a slight smirk that couldn't be held back anymore.

Caleb groaned, looking around the changing room before he picked you up, and placed you on his lap. Your eyes widened and instinctively, you started grinding your hips against his. Low whimpers filled the room, Caleb held onto you with a tight grip as he watched you ride yourself against him.

“That's itt, roll your hips ju-just like that…” he whimpered, bucking his hips the slightest to indicate to you to go quicker. You obey his silent orders and continue driving yourself against him, feeling his warm fabric make contact with your bare thighs.

“More caleb..” you whisper, grabbing onto his shoulders, pulling yourself closer. Caleb nodded and slid his fingers under the waistband of your skirt, toying with it before pulling them off, and also removing your other clothes in the process. A low whistle left his lips the moment you were left in nothing except your panties and bra.

“Is it cold?” he teased, bringing one of his hands to his pants and slowly sliding them off, revealing his aching, dripping cock.

You shook your head, well it was a complete lie, ‘cause the room was freezing but you couldn’t tell Caleb that so you just stayed quiet until he notices.

“Yeah? Alriightt” Caleb purrs and with his free hand he pushes you closer to his cock, and soon slides his hand down your body playing with your waistband of your panties before pulling them down.

“Don't make a mess, pips.”

You rolled your eyes and then felt his dripping tip make contact with your cunt, a quiet moan escaped your lips and you kept your eyes shut as Caleb continued to slowly push himself more and more inside you.

The comfort of his hand ghosting on your waist suddenly disappeared and that's when you realised he was reaching for the jersey that was still clenched between your fingers. In a swift movement he grabbed on the jersey and slid it on your body.

With the jersey on and half his length shoved deep inside you, you stare at Caleb in disbelief. His fingers soon found their way back to your waist and he pushed you up and down, up and down, keeping the rhythm at a slow pace.

“I knew you were cold,” he chuckled, rubbing one of his hands up and down, letting the friction of his jersey rub against your skin to make you feel a little warmed up. You put your head down, letting the sides of your hair cover your flushed face and gripped onto his shoulder tighter, as the pace started to get quicker.

“Let me see..mmh you.” Caleb asked, wrapping his hand on the back of your neck, prying your head to look at him but you shook your head and continued to keep your head down.

You eventually found control in the situation and rode yourself against him. Caleb chuckled and slid his fingers away from your head and sat back as he watched you pleasure yourself on his cock. Moans filled the secluded, echoey room. Both you and Caleb were in a daze, and god, it felt good.

“Hey.. Let me see you–urgh fuck yourself in my jersey,” he moaned, brushing his thumb against your lips and soon, you gave in, and slowly lifted your head up, looking directly into Caleb’s violet eyes.

Your vision was blurry, probably caused by the pleasure rushing through you. Caleb’s face looked like a fever dream, twisted and yet, still so beautiful. Your hips started to get tired and Caleb grabbed onto you again, thrusting you quicker and quicker.

He was hitting, Every. Right. Spot. Which was making you closer and closer to release, you wrap your arms around him and arch your back, feeling him against you as you chanted your release.

“Let it out.” he whimpered, thrusting you one more time before you unexpectedly came all over his cock, a sigh of relief escaped both yours and Caleb's lips, he panted against your shoulder and held onto you for a few moments.

“Caleb, your game?”

“It should be starting in a few minutes but my jersey is now messed up.” he frowned, skimming his fingers down his jersey you were wearing.

“Just wear it.” you mumble, taking it off and throwing it at his face before hopping off his lap and putting your clothes back on.

Caleb chuckled and eventually got changed, getting up and putting the final parts of his gear on. Once he finished changing he walked towards you, ruffled your hair, and gave you a kiss on your head.

“Wish me luck.”

“I will.”

part 1 of fly into your heart | caleb -> next work

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #caleb x reader #caleb love and deepspace #caleb smut #caleb x you #lads caleb #xia yizhou #lads smut #love and deepspace caleb #caleb #xia yizhou smut

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whorelaud · 4 months ago

Text

꒦꒷ 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 dirty little secret ¡

pairing police officer!bfb!Jun-ho x brat!reader

summary Jun-ho catches you red handed, what other way to teach you a lesson than to take advantage of the situation and arrest you, then fuck the attitude out of you?

warnings smut, unprotected p in v, public sex, oral (f recieving), dirty talk, praise & degradation, jun-ho putting you in handcuffs, car sex (against it), mention of reader briefly smoking

Someone like yourself should not accompany Jun-ho's head as one frequently does. Yet, there he was, leisurely stroking his hard cock, while reminiscing over the sheepish smile you flashed him earlier, one that shall be deemed innocent, not something he fantasizes about at the dim of midnight.

He tried, he really did strive to keep a distance, avoid the proximity of your touch when your arm in the slightest bit brushes over his, constantly reminding himself that you were forbidden, someone he could merely admire from afar, as you were his best friend's little sister.

Jun-ho oughts to respect his friend's wishes, aware how much he cared for you, never missing a chance to scold you whenever you'd engage in any malice acts. Jun-ho would sit back and watch, oddly entertained by your witty attitude, and the way your face would twist with venom, the action so attractive, he fought the urge to arrest you for it.

It was a dirty, filthy fantasy, the desire to fuck you senseless while you desperately grind down on his cock, to put handcuffs on you and pound into you from behind, where he'd see your ass bounce with each thrust stretching your needy hole. However, all he could do was stroke himself and pretend it was your little fingers doing it instead, in hopes of it actually happening, well aware you were out of his league, way out of his orbit.

That escalated, when he randomly spotted you in the middle of the woods while he was on duty. He frowned upon seeing you tangled in a bush, with a lit blunt firmly in between your lips. He hesitated over approaching you, doing it with haste, as he deliberately exited the car, afraid he was mistaking you for someone else, but no, it was you.

He could recognize you from a mile away, not even the bush of weed covering the majority of your face could change that. The boy aimed the flashlight in your direction, halting before he muttered your name, causing you to freeze in your spot.

The lighter in your hold drops to the floor, leaving you fisting nothing but your manicured fingernails as they dug into the flesh. Your blood ran cold, and you suddenly felt helpless, as a rush of embarrassment washed over you.

Your eyes fluttered shut, hoping this would be a dream, one of your stupid little thoughts, but no, it was really him; Jun-ho. Yeah, you're screwd.

Why did he of all people have to see you like this; when you do idiotic stuff out of pure stress. You've been overwhelmed the whole day, uncapable of cheering up, till you randomly found a joint lying around in your drawer, leading to you tippy toeing out of the house, and heading towards your go-to place when you wanted to smoke.

Typically, no cops hung around the area, but today, life had other plans for you, ones not so bad.

"Is that you?" He continued his unfinished sentence from earlier, gaze shifting down to the joint you smushed to the floor. "What are you doing here?"

"Jun-ho!" You squealed with fake excitement, stumbling as you stood to your feet. "What are you doing here?"

"Jus' doing my job, an' you?" One of his brows curled with suspicion, hand finding the curve of his hip. "What's a girl like you doing out here? Aren't you afraid something might happen to you?"

"A girl like me? C'mon, you think I can't handle myself?" you scoffed, tone hinted with sarcasm. You dusted the dirt off your skirt, leaning down with a purpose, in hopes of Jun-ho stealing a glance at your pink lace-panties, covering nothing, and exposing the shell of your ass. "Besides, you're the one who looks afraid."

"Yeah, obviously," he admitted with shame, stammering out of frustration. "What will your brother say when he knows you're out at such a late hour?"

"Relax, old man, I'll be fine." You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Unless you decide to snitch on me..."

That shoots blood through his veins, clenching his jaw over your attempt to get under his skin. He knows what you were doing, aware of your intentions to mess with him, and fool his already hazy brain into thinking your tone was flirtatious.

"Get in the car," he demanded, dismissing you with his chin as he took a few steps in your direction, eyes narrowing when he took a whiff of the stiff air. "Were you smoking?"

"No." You swiftly shook your head, though your tense expression gave the lie away.

"Yes you were," he insists, directing the flashlight to your feet, and bending down when he spotted the freshly lit blunt now flattened to the floor. "Have you not learned your lesson? How many times did your brother tell you not to smoke? Marijuana, of all things."

"It's one time thing!" You exclaimed, throwing your arms up in the air. "Don't hold it against me, I was stressed. Now, please don't tell my brother, you know how he gets when he's angry."

"You think I'll let you off easily?" He muttered, statement somewhat threatening. "I can arrest you for this, you know drugs are illegal, right?"

"But you won't," you tried to cut through the tension heaving the air, attempt falling short when it didn't crack a smile out of the latter. "You're not going to arrest me for that."

"Try me." He clicked his teeth, standing with his chest to your back. He hesitated to reach for your arm, fingers deliberately clutching around your wrist, forcing your forearm to the low of your back.

Jun-ho repeated the action with your other hand, a breath knocking out of your chest when the sound of a click erupted through your ears, ringing as he locked the handcuffs in place, loose yet firm around your wrists.

"Wait, you're being for real?" Your eyes widened with shock, an inaudible gasp escaping your throat when he led you towards the car, using the arm to your shoulder to push through the muddy road. "Get these off of me, this is not funny, Jun-ho!"

"Never said it was." He snorted, pinning you to the hood of the car, and fumbling through his pockets to seek the keys hidden in there. "You've been such a bad girl, need someone to do somethin' abour it."

Your stomach churns with butterflies, somehow turned on by the statement. His tone, it was low, hushed, full of lust deep under all the lies he'd force through his teeth.

Jun-ho is hot, you weren't one to deny that, however, your insides stirred with more than passing emotions that confuse you whole everytime he was around. Heat radiated off your entire body, the in between your legs specifically, and your knees went jelly, seizing control of your body once you leaned down, till your chest pressed to the hood of the car.

The action earns a scowl out of the brunet, feigning oblivion to the way his cock twitched in his pants when his gaze landed on your lace panties, now peaking from underneath your skirt. The scene left little to the imagination, he wanted nothing more than to pull the thin fabric of your underwear to side, and pound into you till you no longer were able to coherent normal words out; only able to remember his name through your fuzzy, fucked out brains.

"What are you doing?" He questioned, forcing his eyes back on your face, bent to the side as you tried to steal a glimpse at him from over your shoulder.

"Obeying your orders," you mumbled, "I've been a bad girl, officer, need you to do something about it."

You wiggled your ass around, till the material of your skirt rid up, revealing the plush flesh hidden underneath. The faint moonlight lightly beamed over the skin, creating a small shadow that would've gone unnoticed if Jun-ho's gaze wasn't burning into your soul.

"Want me to do something about it?" He repeated through a breath, voice shaky, desperate like a loser getting his dick wet for the first time. "Fuck, you can't pull shit like this an' expect me to hold back."

"Don't hold back." You whispered, lips gaping in a moan when his leg pressed to your heat, patience wearing thin as he resisted the urge to tear your panties apart. "You want this too, don't you?"

"Quit talkin'," He grunted, hand instantly landing on your ass. He almost shuddered, squeezing the fatty skin in between his fingers, then using the pressure of the touch to spread your cheeks out, and fix his gaze on the thin fabric of your panties now drenched with your juices. "Fuck, look at you, such a wet mess for me. Is this turning you on, huh? You enjoy getting humiliated to filth?"

You mewled at the words, almost yelping when his fingertips grazed over your clothed clit, instantly growing sensetive from the touch. Jun-ho was fully hard now, the fabric of his pants growing tight.

The sight was out of the world, better than his deepest fantasies, and the pornos he jerked off to while imagining you instead. Your pussy was calling out his name, craving to be touched, by him and him only.

Jun-ho did not hesitate to drop to his knees, hot breath fanning over the flesh, as he leisurely tugged your panties down, letting them fall once they were loose around your knees. His fingers then travelled to your sides, clutching the waistband of your skirt, and using the elastic to push it up until it's levelled with your waist.

Goosebumps broke out across your body when his thumb found your slick folds, gliding it from your entrance to your clit, with the purpose of spreading your juices around.

You were so wet, he could easily slide a finger inside, and that thought alone had no reason making him this hard, underwear wet with a patch of pre-cum.

"You need to be taught a lesson." He mouthed, lips mere inches away from your cunt. "So desperate and needy for me."

"Mhmm." You hummed out, eyes falling shut when he planted an open-mouthed kiss to the back of your thigh. "'That feel good."

"Yeah?" He hushed out, littering wet, sloppy kisses to your thighs, trailing a path up to the inner part connecting to your folds. His thumb relaxed over your sensitive nub, leaving you no time to process the gesture before positioning his mouth to your folds.

Your body jerked with pleasure, hands grasping into nothing as they sat in place beneath the fabric of your skirt, the sensation of his tongue causing you to crumble, as he searched through your folds like a man starved.

"Fuck!" You whined, arching your back to chase after the fraction of his tongue swirling down from your entrance, to your clit.

"There you are, that's my good girl." He muffled against your soaked cunt, sucking and nibbling on your sensitive nub, too drunk on your pussy juices to comprehend his surroundings, nor the fact that you were still in public. "Such a pretty pussy, only for me to fuck and worship."

A thrill of excitement rushed through your insides, the idea of getting caught increasing your arousal. Jun-ho was no good guy, but he wasn't a bad person either. He did his utmost to follow the rules; however, he was willing to risk it all, lose his job just to have you trembling underneath him while he fucks your needy hole with his tongue.

Jun-ho's tongue swirled through your folds, now mixed with your arousal and his spit. He leisurely began increasing the pace, slowly but surely, till it was no longer bearable, with your own climax building up.

He licked a stripe of your entrance, tongue moving up and down, till his mouth landed on your clit. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to your nub, making you yelp everytime his teeth would graze over the sensitive flesh. The latter took your fuzzy state for granted, flicking his tongue against your clit, overstimulating you whole, and spiraling a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

"Jun-ho!" You mewled out, blinking through hooded eyes. You were sure bruises formed around your wrists by now, the repetitive contact of skin creating an uncomfortable, yet pleasurable sensation. "I'm so– I'm so cl–"

Your statement was soon interrupted when Jun-ho suddenly halted, stepping back to steal a glance at your achy cunt, now coated with his spit, as some of it trickles down your legs with a purpose.

"Don't." He warned, giving your ass a squeeze, using the force of the gesture to tumble himself up. "Don't you dare fuckin' come, you hear me? I'm not done with you."

"Well then hurry up." You coaxed through a breath, chest pressing against the hood of the car, making you feel dirty. "What are you waiting for?"

"Relax, doll, don't you want me to take care of you?" Jun-ho questioned, tone teasing, full with cockiness. "Wanna feel your desperate pussy clenching around me, y'know how long I'been waiting for that?"

Jun-ho wasted no time, unbuckling his belt, and messily undoing the buttons to his pants. He barely managed to tug the material down, striving to get it off with one of his hands, all while still squeezing and kneading the fatty flesh of your ass.

"So fuckin' pretty n' perfect, hell, I can't believe I finally have you to myself." He grunted as your ass perked up, chasing after the fraction of his fingers. "Mhm, such a bratty little slut, using me to get off, huh? You know we can't be doing this."

"No one will know," you hushed out, teeth digging through your bottom lip. "Jus' please– do something."

That was the only assurance he needed. Jun-ho pulled down his underwear, freeing his throbbing cock from the tight material. He was rock-hard, it was starting to hurt, tip glistening with pre-cum that kept leaking out.

He lined his dick with your entrance, the sensation earning an audible gasp out of you, though he only inserted the tip inside, going in leisurely. He stroked his cock up and down, your hole, until it was coated with a glossy, wet layer.

"Fuck," he hissed, lips parting with a shuddered exhale, watching as your cunt clenched around nothing, practically begging to have him inside you. The sight consumed his brain, eating at him alive. He bunched his shirt in a fist, positioning one of his hands on your hip, the gesture a mere act of closure. "Such a needy slut, begging to be fucked."

He gave you no time to process the statement, thrusting his cock inside in one go. It caught you off gaurd, yelping as he filled your insides, slowly pumping in and out your hole, just until you got used to how big he was.

"So big..." you trailed off, spit salivating in your mouth. "Feel' s' good."

"Yeah?" He spoke through an exhale, heat radiating off his entire figure. He continues pounding into you, spreading your cheeks out to get a better view of your pussy as it squelches around him. "You like that? Wanna be a good girl for me?"

"Mhm." You desperately nodded, letting your eyes force shut. "Please, please, please, Jun-ho pleaseeeee."

"Keep moaning my name, baby." He muttered through gritted teeth, reaching for your waist from beneath your shirt. "Show me who you belong to."

Both of you were too far gone to care about anything other than his cock as he buries himself inside you. His thrusts increased in pace, and you could not have felt any better, he was so good at what he does, you almost felt jealous of all the other girls he's done this with.

Jun-ho's arms sneaked their way around your waist, applying enough pressure to pull you up, until your back pressed to his firm chest. The gesture gave the latter more access to your entrance, now able to insert himself deeper, thought it felt impossible.

His hands kept busy throughout the entire time, fingers landing on your cleavage, before he tucked down the collar of your shirt, to reveal your chest, freeing out your tits to the chilly air. He rolled and pinched at your nipples, kneading it afterwards to soothe away any pain.

Jun-ho's cock pulsed in and out of you, loud breaths filling the air, the atmosphere heavy with desire. He knew exactly what to do, how to please you, how to make you forget the guilt washing over your chest. You couldn't believe it; your dirty fantasies finally coming true, though it didn't feel real whatsoever.

"Such a whore, offering yourself to me in public?" He stifled out a snort, fisting your hair in between his large digits. "Want me to fuck you here so everyone could see how desperate you are? Hmm, I guess you're not such a good girl after all."

Your climax approached within every passing second, his hard cock pounding into you doing things to you. It was out of this world, no words could describe the rush of pleasure you were experiencing in the moment.

"You' close?" He asked, noticing how shaky your legs got under him. "Come for me, sweet girl."

The following few seconds fixed on you, not long before you came undone, announcing your own orgasm once your legs trembled with pleasure, overstimulated by the fraction of his cock deep and raw inside you.

"Mhm, there she is." He grunted in your ear, walking you through your high, and his own arousal. "Wanna finish inside you, and make a mess out of your tight pretty hole."

"Please." You obliged, throwing your head back, with one of your hands landing over his; where it laid flat on your chest.

His thrusts grew wet and sloppy, coming inside you once his cock kisses your cervix, painting your walls white with his cum. The warmness of his sperm filled up your hole, earning a ragged breath out of the latter, finishing with a hefty groan.

He took a pause, a smile tugging at his lips when his gaze shifted to you. You scoffed at the cocky grin smothered all over his face, suddenly growing flustered, as heat flushed your face.

"Why are you staring?" You asked, tiredly fluttering your eyes shut.

"No reason," he dismissed, caressing the skin around your waist. "You jus' look pretty."

"Shut up." You attempted to shove him off, action falling short when your attention trailed to your cuffed wrists. "Can you get these off of me?"

"Hmm," he trailed off, bending down to level his face with yours. He planted a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, whispering out his next words.

"Only if you say please."

It felt like a dream; a fever dream. And if this did truly happen, no one were to find out, especially your brother, that's for sure.

#hwang jun ho #hwang jun ho x reader #hwang jun ho x you #hwang jun ho x y/n #hwang junho #hwang junho x reader #hwang junho x you #hwang junho x y/n #squid game #squid game imagine #squid game blurb #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game fanfic #squid game season 2 #hwang jun ho smut #hwang jun ho squid game #squid game smut

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soapcloth · 4 months ago

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CW: ghost/referenced ghoap x reader, slight angst, possessive behaviour - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Being the one to pick up Soap’s wardrobe from a secondhand store— the donation so fresh that the scent hadn’t even had the chance to fade and mingle with the rest of the shop. You’re wearing a dead man’s hoodie and you haven’t got the faintest clue.

You like his overbearingly rugged smell; find yourself lifting up the collar to inhale and wonder what the person who donated it is like. The hoodie is emblazoned with a name— maybe he’ll see you on the street one day in his old clothes and use it as an ice breaker. The thought is nice. You don’t even know.

Soap was a man who liked personlized items; a taste for things that were one of a kind— just like him. Everything he touched had been marked by a man living a full life and was wholly unmistakable to the discerning eye of the shadow who knew him inside out.

So why was ghost, absolutely swamped in grief, forced to see an interloper wearing his boy’s clothes? He just wanted a fucking coffee.

Johnny’s official family funeral had been no more than a month ago and there was already a stranger wearing his stuff. If ghost had the privilege to grab that box of Johnny’s items and run, it would be neatly tucked away in his closet, silently cherished. Not hanging off the frame of some random civilian who could never even begin to fathom the depths of a man like John MacTavish.

It must’ve been the world playing a sick joke on him that you, who didn’t even know the man, would be able to collect Johnny’s stuff before him. Never allowed anything.

Suffice to say, he’s pissed when he spots you. Stands a bit too close to you so Johnny’s scent can catch in his nose. You’re clearly nervous, but manage to smile hopefully when he makes an offhanded comment about liking the garment. You probably think they’re his clothes, don’t you?

Well, for all intents and purposes, they are.

You ask if he’s ‘MacTavish’ and something in him wants to scream at you that the world hated him far too much for that to ever happen— instead he just nods, leering at how happy that makes you. He can’t tell if your response lights up his brain because he wants to bite your head clean off— or because somewhere, deep inside him, seeing someone so excited about ‘finding’ Johnny is nice.

He hatches a plan. Knead away at your apprehension towards his intimidating appearance, bag a quick fuck— god knows he needs one, grab the clothes, and disappear from your life with Johnny’s items finally where they belong. It’s perfect.

Well, it’s perfect until an unavoidable, nagging voice starts to rattle around in the back of his skull that Johnny would have been absolutely smitten with you. You might have been one last parting gift sent from his boy, how could he ever turn that down? The thought of fucking you in Johnny’s clothes, being able to nudge his crooked nose into the fabric and chase the scent that’s starting to entangle with your own— it sends him reeling

Johnny would be so pleased if the scent of their sweet lamb caught. Can vividly picture him absolutely beaming while huffing at the clothes before urging ghost to take a sniff for himself.

He latches onto the notion that maybe, just maybe he could tuck you and the clothes away somewhere safe for his eyes only— teeth already sunken deeper into you than he could ever possibly imagine by the point he finally acknowledges the gnawing revelation.

Johnny would want this for the both of you. This time he’d keep you safe.

#love ‘he fell harder’ okay? 😭😭😭#you can’t tell me that ghost doesn’t come around to coffee after the incident btw #reader and ghost both seeing soap in each other… maybe in vastly different ways but still… ough #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost #x reader #x you #cloth writes

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earlgraytay · 4 months ago

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So, you've probably all seen this post going around, about how The Chuds Want Gentleman's Clubs (but can't afford to go to the things called "gentlemen's clubs" today, so wouldn't have been able to in the past either). And I hate to say it, but that post isn't accurate.

The things we call "gentlemen's clubs" today and the things that were called "gentleman's clubs" in the past are not the same thing; the one is descended from the other, but they used to be a lot more common and served a purpose that they don't really serve anymore.

The modern equivalent of the historical gentleman's club isn't the thing currently called a gentleman's club; it's the premium airport lounge. And by losing the concept for all but the turbo-rich, I think we genuinely have lost something! Let me explain.

(NOTA BENE: This is mostly about England and from about 1880-1930, and most of my experience with this is from fiction written in that era. I know enough to know what I don't know, but I also know menswear guy is wrong about this.)

So- gentlemen's clubs started in *wiggles hands* the late 1700s, and mostly served a particular purpose: they were places you could stay in a city if you mostly lived in the country, instead of staying in lodgings or owning your own place. Finding a place to stay in London was kind of a misery at the best of times, and owning your own house in Town wasn't practical for a lot of people, even rich people. If you were, say, a young man, just starting out in life, and you hadn't inherited your father's wealth but also weren't set up to live on your own? Having a place you were guaranteed to be able to stay was a fucking godsend. And as time went on, even people who lived in London most of the time started joining clubs, because they served another important purpose- they were a place you could go if you didn't particularly want to be at home, for whatever reason.

The way that historical gentlemen's clubs worked is, you got recommended to the club by a friend who was a member, you paid dues to the club, and in exchange, you'd get to use the club's facilities. * Most gentlemen's clubs had, at minimum, a dining room (with waitstaff, natch), a library, a couple of nice places to sit and hang out, a game room, and a bar. Many of them also had rooms you could sleep in overnight, fitness equipment, or stuff related to the club members' interests. Most of them had a room or two where you could invite friends who weren't part of your club and spend time with them. In the era where phones were a thing, a lot of them had a phone. You could write letters there and get your mail sent there.

Here's the thing: in the period I know best, gentlemen's clubs weren't just for the turbo-rich. They were the province of rich guys, yes- you had to be a 'gentleman' and know the right people to get in. But men who were doctor/lawyer/software-developer rich were most likely members of a gentlemen's club. Anyone who was rich enough to travel regularly was part of at least one club, because having somewhere to crash when you were going between (say) London and Delhi and back again was worth the cost.

Most gentlemen's clubs were owned by their members- not an outside corporate body. The club leaders were elected, usually by a small committee.

And a lot of gentlemen's clubs founded around specific interests, as time went on. There were gentlemen's clubs specifically for Guys Who Were Really Into Radio. There were clubs specifically for men who spent a lot of time traveling. There were clubs specifically for dudes who wanted to talk your ear off and clubs for old dudes who mostly wanted to nod off in their chairs and talk about The War and clubs for dudes who did not want to be percieved at all.

There were clubs for men who were really into science, or the arts, or sports. And one perk of being in a club like this is that you had access to equipment that you might not have been able to buy on your own. You didn't have to shell out for an entire library of scientific and medical books; you could go to your club and read in the library there. If your club had, say, an art studio, you could go paint at your club and not have to keep a studio space of your own.

There were gentlemen's clubs specifically oriented around specific political or social views. There were socialist clubs. (And a lot of them admitted women, which was !!!SCANDALOUS!!!) Like, they were still the province of goddamn rich people, there were a lot of trust fund baby socialists and not many working people, but there were socialist social clubs.

...I don't want to pretend that gentlemen's clubs were some kind of idyllic haven. 99% of these clubs were For Men, and For The Right Sort Of Men at that; if you didn't have a friend who was a member, or you weren't "respectable" enough, you didn't get to join. There's a reason that most of these clubs are gone now. Part of the point was excluding the Wrong Sort of People, and that became gauche over time. After a certain point, being part of a club became a thing for stodgy, out-of-touch rich men- not just "men who happened to have enough money to be part of a club"- and so most of the men who could join one didn't, and people stopped forming new ones. Only Old Money assholes (who will continue to do what they've always done, current trends be damned) keep the concept alive.

But like... the thing that replaced gentlemen's clubs for 99% of the people who would have had one a hundred years ago... is the premium airport lounge, and the premium gym membership, and the ~coworking hub~.** Anyone can join, yeah, as long as they're able to pay. You pay a corporation a chunk of money for similar amenities, and the amenities are ... fine? But because the entity is driven by profit, most of the money you're paying them goes into running their other business concerns and paying their CEOs a fat paycheck.

I think... as exclusionary as gentlemen's clubs were back in the day, there's the seed of a good idea there. I think the guys who wish they were still an attainable thing for a middle-class person have a point, and I wish we could inject some fucking nuance into this conversation.

A community-owned space that gives you a place to crash when you need one, has community-owned resources for its members, and isn't beholden to a corporation is a good thing. Third spaces that don't have to turn a profit are a damn good thing.

At the end of the day, my politics are 'everyone should get to have the kind of luxuries that were historically reserved for the rich'. Everyone should get to have the best life has to offer- leisure, beauty, good craftsmanship, and community. And so, you know, if this kind of community space sounds like a thing you'd like to have, maybe it's something you could work towards creating, too.

*TBF, this is still how they work today! But the networks are much smaller.

**I do find it very funny that apparently one of the biggest problems facing the few remaining Actual Gentlemen's Clubs (TM) is that people are trying to use their space to telework-- a lot of them are trying to ban laptops and business talk to "keep the club's character" (read: "we're too rich to have to work here").

#gentleman's club #gentleman #dieworkwear #the past is another country #the earl speaks #the earl has an opinion

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heliosunny · 17 days ago

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Heaven’s Gold Noose

Yandere!Sunday x Reader

Life hasn’t been kind to you.

Every job interview ends in rejection.

Every relationship fizzles out.

Even your coffee always spills at the worst possible moment.

But then… he appears.

A man with soft, feathered wings and a halo—Sunday, your newly assigned guardian angel.

"The celestial council has reviewed your past life," he murmurs, "You were a soul of pure kindness. And now, in this life, you’ve been given misfortune as a test."

His fingers brush your cheek, "But don’t worry. I’m here to guide you."

You should feel relieved. But...

Now, he’s sitting across from you at a café, dabbing at his stained white robes with a napkin while giving you a pained but patient smile.

"Okay, let me get this straight. You’re an angel. From Heaven. And you’re here to… what, fix my life?"

"Precisely! Consider me your divine guardian—" "Uh-huh. And how much is this ‘heavenly guidance package’ gonna cost me?"

"I would never—! This is a sacred duty, not some… earthly pyramid scheme!"

You take a long sip of your (third) coffee, squinting. "Prove it."

Without missing a beat, he plucks a feather from his wing and offers it to you. "A token of my sincerity."

You grab it—then yelp as it bursts into golden sparkles in your palm.

"Okay, that was cool. But I still think you’re either a hallucination or a really dedicated cult recruiter."

You wake up the next morning to find your broken phone fully charged, your dead plant thriving, and your cat suddenly fluent in Latin ??

"…Did you just say ‘ave dominus’?"

"Meow."

Then, Sunday materialized just behind you.

"Ah! I see you’ve noticed my small blessings!"

"Dude! Do you have to pop up like a jump scare?!"

"Apologies. I forget earthly beings are so… fragile."

----

You’re on a terrible date (third one this month—curse your bad luck) when Sunday manifests in the restaurant’s chandelier, glaring daggers at your oblivious companion.

"So, I think splitting the bill is only fair—"

"HERETIC."

"SUNDAY. NO."

"Uh… did you just say ‘Sunday’?"

"Yep! Gotta go! Bye!"

Outside, Sunday floats beside you, pouting. "That man was unworthy of you."

"Yeah, well, possessing the lighting fixtures isn’t gonna help!"

"But you did leave with me."

"Oh my god—"

----

At first, you thought it was all some elaborate joke—or worse, a scam. A literal angel showing up in your life? Yeah, right.

But after weeks of inexplicable blessings: your rent mysteriously paid, your chronic back pain vanishing overnight, even your perpetually dying houseplants suddenly flourishing... You finally gave in.

"Fine," you muttered one evening, throwing your hands up as Sunday hovered expectantly by your window. "You can stay. But no more weird angel stuff, okay?"

"I shall adhere to your mortal customs... within reason."

You set boundaries, of course. You weren’t religious, and the idea of divine intervention still made you uneasy. But Sunday was... different. He wasn’t preachy or holier-than-thou. He was just... there.

You kept your distance, treating him more like an overly affectionate roommate than a celestial being. He respected your space, though his presence lingered in small ways—freshly brewed tea waiting when you woke up, your favorite snacks restocked before you even realized they were gone, and an unsettlingly perfect knowledge of your schedule.

"You don’t have to do all this" you told him once, frowning at the spotless kitchen.

"But I want to" he replied, "Your happiness is my purpose."

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you just nodded awkwardly and went about your day.

Then came the day you almost died.

Tires shrieked against asphalt as headlights flooded your vision—too bright. Your coffee cup slipped from numb fingers, hitting the pavement in a burst of scalding liquid. The truck’s grille filled your entire field of view, chrome gleaming like a predator’s smile.

You had half a second to think: This is how I die.

You gasped, blinking as you found yourself standing safely on the sidewalk, Sunday’s arms wrapped tightly around you. His wings were fully unfurled, casting an eerie glow in the dim streetlights.

The sound of screeching metal filled the air as the truck crashed into the guardrail right where your car should have been.

Your legs gave out.

Sunday caught you before you hit the ground, cradling you against his chest.

The warmth of the milk cup seeped into your fingers as you sat curled up on the couch, the near-death experience still fresh in your mind. Sunday sat across from you, his wings now neatly folded behind him, his golden eyes watching you with quiet intensity.

The silence stretched, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

----

You both returned home after that.

You took a slow sip of your warm cup of milk, then finally spoke.

"So… when are you leaving?"

Sunday blinked, as if the question had never occurred to him. "Leaving?"

"Yeah. Like, is there an expiration date on this guardian angel gig? Do you get reassigned? Or do you just… vanish one day when Heaven decides I’ve had enough blessings?"

"Oh, you misunderstand. I’m not here on a temporary assignment."

"So… you’re stuck with me forever?"

"Not stuck," he corrected gently. "Chosen. My presence isn’t bound by time. I stay as long as you need me."

"Which is…?"

"However long that may be. Perhaps a lifetime. Perhaps longer."

"Okay, next question," you said, shifting topics before your brain could spiral. "Do other angels do this? Just… move in with humans and fix their Wi-Fi and scare off bad dates?"

Sunday tilted his head. "Some do, in their own ways. But most guardians are subtler. They prefer signs, whispers, the occasional miracle. I, however…" He gestured to himself, wings and all. "I believe in a more hands-on approach."

"No kidding." you muttered.

"Besides," he added, "you’re special."

You ignored the way your face warmed at that.

"Last question," you said, pointing at his robes. "Heaven’s got, like, upgrades, right? You guys aren’t all harps and scrolls up there?"

Sunday laughed in a rich, melodic sound. "Oh, we’re quite modern. Cloud computing is literally cloud-based. The Pearly Gates have biometric scanning. And the angels in charge of mortal affairs? They love spreadsheets."

You nearly choked on your milk. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly." He leaned forward, mischief dancing in his gaze. "Would you like to see my divine tablet? I have an app that tracks prayer requests in real time."

You stared. "…You’re joking."

He pulled out a sleek, glowing device from thin air.

"Nope."

As the night wore on, you learned more than you ever expected:

Angels have hobbies. Sunday’s was composing hymns… and binge-watching human dramas.

They adapt to human culture. He preferred loose sweaters over robes at home ("More comfortable for lounging") and had strong opinions about coffee brands.

Heaven does have WiFi. ("But the connection in the mortal realm is terrible.")

At first, you had to remind yourself constantly: Sunday is invisible to everyone else.

You’d catch yourself mid-conversation in public, only to bite your tongue when strangers shot you weird looks. You learned to text him instead of speaking out loud, to nudge him under the table when he laughed too loudly at a restaurant, to pretend you were on a phone call when he whispered warnings in your ear.

But slowly… you stopped caring.

Because Sunday wasn’t just your guardian angel anymore.

He was your best friend.

You’d wake up to find him humming hymns while making breakfast, his wings brushing against the ceiling.

He’d sit beside you on the couch, scrolling through memes on his divine tablet and snickering at cat videos.

When you had nightmares, he’d stroke your hair until you fell back asleep, murmuring, "I’m here."

You started looking forward to coming home—to his warmth, his laughter, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you.

----

One evening, as you lounged together, Sunday suddenly went still.

"There’s something I need to tell you."

You tensed. That tone never meant anything good.

"You weren’t just randomly assigned to me," he admitted. "You… you’re not entirely mortal."

"What?"

"Your soul—it’s different. " His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. "That’s why I was sent. Not just to protect you, but to… prepare you."

"Prepare me for what?"

He hesitated. "One day, you’ll have to decide—stay human, or ascend."

All this time… he’d known.

And he never told you.

"So what, this was all just a mission to you? All the—the tea, the jokes, the saving my life—just part of the job?"

Sunday’s expression shattered. "No. Never." He reached for you, but you flinched away. "I was supposed to guide you, yes, but my feelings—my devotion—that’s real."

"Then why hide the truth?"

"Because I was afraid!" The raw desperation in his voice stunned you. "Afraid you’d hate me. Afraid… you’d choose to leave."

You stared at him.

And yet…

You still didn’t know if you could trust him.

You needed time.

So you did the only thing you could—you walked away.

And Sunday, for once, didn’t follow.

At first, you told yourself it was fine.

But then…

Your coffee went cold because he wasn’t there to reheat it with a touch.

Your nightmares returned, and there were no gentle hands to soothe you.

The apartment felt wrong—too quiet, like the world itself had dimmed.

And worst of all?

You missed him.

Meanwhile, in Heaven…

Sunday stood before the Celestial Council.

"Remove their name from the records," he demanded, "They don’t belong in this trial."

The council murmured amongst themselves.

"The choice was never yours to make, Sunday."

"You would fall for them?"

Sunday didn’t hesitate.

"Yes."

Three days passed.

Then, on the fourth morning, you woke to the scent of fresh tea and the sound of rustling wings.

Sunday stood at the foot of your bed, his form flickering—like a star about to burn out.

You sat up, "You… you look terrible."

And he did. His glow was dim, his wings frayed at the edges. But his smile was the same.

"I had to see you one last time." he whispered.

"What do you mean, last time?"

"I made a choice. You won’t have to."

And then—

He began to fade.

For weeks, you searched.

You screamed his name into the empty air. You prayed—something you’d never done before. You even tried to bargain with the universe.

"Bring him back. Please."

Until—

It was a rainy afternoon when you saw him.

A man sitting by the window, his eyes scanning the street with an expression so achingly familiar it stole your breath.

But he wasn’t Sunday.

Not quite.

No halo. Just a human—or something close to it—with a faint, lingering glow at the edges of his silhouette.

Your feet moved before your brain could catch up.

You stood in front of him.

He looked up.

"Do I… know you?"

It was him.

And he didn’t remember.

You smiled politely at the stranger with golden eyes, exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries, and walked away.

What else could you do?

He didn’t remember you.

And maybe… that was for the best.

----

That night, he dreamed. Visions of a life he never lived flickered behind his eyelids—a celestial choir, a mortal with your face, the weight of devotion so fierce it burned like holy fire.

He woke gasping, fingers clutching at his chest.

And then—

His voice.

"You loved them enough to fall," whispered the shadow of his former self in the mirror. "Are you really going to let them walk away?"

Piece by piece, the memories returned.

The way you used to scowl at him for hovering too close.

The sound of your laughter when he tried (and failed) to understand mortal slang.

The betrayal in your eyes when he told you the truth.

And worst of all—

The way you looked at him in the café.

Like he was nothing.

Like Sunday had never existed.

-----

He found you again on a stormy evening, standing at your doorstep, drenched and desperate.

"You know me," he said, "Don’t you?"

You froze, keys slipping from your fingers as you tried to insert it to the keyhole.

This wasn’t the same man from the café.

"Sunday?"

"You remember."

"No," you lied, turning away. "I don’t."

The moment you lied—"I don’t know you"—something in Sunday snapped.

Before you could turn the key fully, his hands slammed against the door on either side of you, caging you in. His chest pressed against your back, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned in.

"Liar" he whispered.

His fingers curled into the wood, splintering it slightly as he spoke.

"I gave up everything for you," he hissed. "Heaven cast me out the moment I begged them to spare you from your fate."

His nose brushed against the nape of your neck, sending a traitorous shiver down your spine.

"And you dare pretend I never existed?"

Before you could react, his arms wrapped around you from behind, crushing you against him.

"I don’t regret it," he murmured, lips grazing your skin. "Even if Heaven abandons me forever, even if I have to claw my way through eternity alone—you will never be alone again."

He was no longer an angel.

At first, the changes were small.

Almost kind.

You used to wake up groggy, stumbling to the coffee maker like a half-dead thing. Now, there’s no need. Sunday is already there, pressing a steaming cup into your hands before your eyes even fully open.

"You function better with caffeine before seven," he murmurs, "I’ve timed it perfectly."

He learns your preferences down to the smallest detail. The way you prefer your eggs (soft-scrambled, no pepper). The exact number of seconds you like your toast browned.

(You try not to wonder what else he’s memorized.)

This is where it gets dangerous.

You mention offhand that you don’t like your coworker. The next day, they transfer departments.

You sigh about the noisy neighbors. That night, their apartment goes mysteriously silent.

"Sunday," you say slowly, "are you—?"

"Making your life easier?" He tilts his head, innocent. "Of course. That’s my purpose."

(He doesn’t mention the blood on his hands. You don’t ask.)

Then comes the night you catch him editing your journal.

You freeze in the doorway, watching as his fingers glow faintly over your open notebook—words rewriting themselves under his touch.

"What are you doing?"

Sunday doesn’t startle. He just turns, smiling beatifically.

"Fixing it," he says, as if it’s obvious. "You were too hard on yourself here. And this memory?" He taps a page. "It hurt you. Now it won’t."

"That’s not your choice."

For the first time, his smile falters.

"Isn’t it?" He stands, stepping closer. "Who knows you better than me? Who loves you more?"

His hand cups your cheek.

"Let me perfect you."

You wake up one morning with a gap in your memory.

A childhood birthday party—except now, when you try to recall it, there’s a new figure standing beside you in every photo.

A boy with golden eyes.

That’s not how you remember it.

That time you failed your driving test? Erased. Now it’s Sunday in the passenger seat, guiding your hands on the wheel. "Perfect" he praises.

The funeral you barely survived? Rewritten. He’s there, holding you up, taking the pain away.

You clutch your head, dizzy.

"This isn’t real."

Sunday smiles, stroking your hair.

"Isn’t it better this way?"

You remember now—the truth.

The day you almost died in that car crash.

How Sunday didn’t just save you.

How he leaned over your bleeding body and whispered:

"Let me make it all beautiful."

And then—

Nothing.

Just him.

Always him.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #honkai star rail sunday #sunday #hsr #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #hsr sunday

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dustysalmon · 6 months ago

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Steb x Reader Headcanons

Steb ns//fw alphabet

Warnings: nsfw (below the cut)

Being a paramedic, Steb's protective instincts always kick in, even at home. He's hyper-aware of potential hazards and is often worried you will get hurt. He is always happy when you ask him to teach you some first-aid stuff

While Steb perfectly understands you, he cannot communicate verbally. He uses sign language, and truly appreciates the fact that you learnt it to understand him, even though you believe that is the least you could do

Because of the way he communicates, Steb is very sensitive to physical contact, and he can read expressions and body reactions extremely well. He adores holding hands with you, or simply brushing his fingertips against your skin (he very much enjoys the way you tremble under his touch whenever he does it)

Steb expresses love through acts of service. He loves cooking for you, especially seafood. He often does the fishing himself, picking the very best ingredients for you

Steb is definitely more on the introvert side, very calm, but also very attentive to the people around him. He is quite discreet and gets a little anxious in very noisy or crowded spaces

If you're comfortable with water, he WILL take you swimming whenever he can. His favourite thing is having you climb on his back while he swims as fast as possible

He absolutely cannot dance but always finds himself moving to the beat due to feeling the sound vibrations very strongly, he also just loves music in general. And he does have a playful side, doing extra awkward moves to make you laugh. He loves your laugh

Now about that fish stick...

Because he can't tell you what he wants, he likes to guide your hands and movements. He himself is very deliberate and exploratory. His nipples are highly sensitive, and you've made him cum a few times just by licking and sucking on them

It gets extremely messy when he cums, you weren't prepared the first time. Buckets after buckets of hot sticky fluids. Needless to say the sheets were done for. Also, the gills under his eyes move when he orgasms, they do so until the aftershocks have passed. Sometimes they even keep moving in the afterglow if he came particularly hard, it always mesmerises you

Shower sex is a big thing for him, it gets him going like nothing else. He loves coming up behind you as you shower, he starts washing your back, but then his hands are all over you, your nipples, your chest, between your legs. There's something about your naked wet body that makes him go absolutely crazy. But he's aware shower sex it's not the best for your species, so you don't do it often.

Steb doesn't speak, but boy oh boy does he moan. And being hyper sensitive doesn't help. Whether you're teasing his nipples, sucking on his cock or fucking him, you're gonna hear him whine, groan and whimper. He gets a little embarrassed about it, but knowing how much you love it makes him feel a little better

Steb's species have extremely sensitive genitals, especially the males. For that reason, his cock is normally tucked away in a genital pouch. It opens naturally with arousal to release his sex

Steb's cock is also equipped with small gills that are only here for one purpose: pleasuring his partner. And they do their job very well

Ever since Steb came into your life (literally and figuratively), you've stopped buying lube. His species produces a ridiculous amount of lubricant that is more than sufficient for the two of you

Steb loves giving you oral, loves seeing how much pleasure he can give you with his mouth alone. His tongue is much longer and stronger than a human's. He'll never forget your reaction the first time he plunged it deep inside you. He is not against receiving but he always gets scared about the idea of cumming in your mouth and basically drowning you

#steb #steb arcane #steb x reader #arcane #headcannons #dusty writes

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