#gem!seam

[godzexperiment]

He could easily play any instrument if he wanted; yet him favoring guitar especially bass 100% because it uses up both hands/the vibrations and noise levels possible. Also an fuck you to the way people associate soft music with angels that he knows isn't super rational+other emotional and association related reasons.

Another he might consider would be drums but they aren't as portable so that detracts some appeal from them. But the drum sticks to mess with would sure be an perk.

Should never date an drummer because affectionate teeth marks into the wood would be an frequent circumstance.

[valtsv]

a lot of stories will take a so-called "golden age" period and go "hey it wasn't actually that good, in fact it kind of sucked for basically everyone but a few guys who benefitted from exploiting the rest" and i can respect that because i love a good exposure of the bones the system is built on, but the thing is i also kind of want more stories where it really was that good and just as horrifying for it. empires bursting at the seams with opulence, where gold really does run as freely as blood in the gem-encrusted streets. warriors clad in shining armour, with weapons so bright and sharp they hurt to look at. every day is overflowing with possibility, every night a party where people gorge themselves sick on sheer excess and still return for more. even the poorest man in the region lives in comparative luxury to his poverty-stricken peers elsewhere. and none of it is sustainable. it's collapsing under its own weight and the rot eating at its heart, its bottomless hunger barely kept at bay. it's a society that isn't built to last or be outlived.

[foreingersgod]

Let’s Stay Home . EE

pairing: emily engstler x reader

synopsis: just a small fic about how your girl is absolutely infatuated with you

A/N: this was a request, but i accidentally deleted it! so if you requested emily x girly!reader, this was meant for you love!

“baby, our reservation is in like 35 minutes” emily called from her seat at the edge of your shared bed “we gotta go!”

“i know, i know! im hurrying” you called back, voice muffled behind the connecting bathrooms door.

you were stowed away in the bathroom still trying to make sure your makeup and hair were flawless all while trying to pull up your dress past your thighs. it was your 2 year anniversary with emily tonight and she had made plans to take you out to a nice dinner to celebrate, but now you were about to be late because of this damn dress. it was a stunning thing, a deep blue calf length gown that hugged you just right. the neckline was a bit revealing for your taste, but was partially covered by a strip of satin that crossed the top of your breasts and cascaded off your right shoulder. it’s only downside was the stupid zipper that wouldn’t budge.

“emily can you help me get this up? and maybe help me put this necklace on? i can’t do it” you huffed, stumbling out the door as you tried to slip on your heels. a simple necklace dangled from between your fingers as you latched the strap of your shoe.

“YN” she had said, standing but not moving, biting her lip.

“what?” you pouted upon seeing her expression “is it too much? ugh, i knew i should have gone with a different dress”

“no, baby” she finally walked over to stand behind you, tattooed hands finding the zipper of the dress “you look stunning”

you smiled, relieved that she had liked it after all. “thank you”

without a response, she pulled the zipper up to the top making sure it was secure. you handed her the necklace, giving her those eyes you knew she couldn’t resist. but you didn’t have to. she would do anything you asked no matter how silly it was. emily draped the gem studded necklace around your neck, clasping it with ease.

her hands lingered on you to keep you in place. they wandered from the back of your neck to your shoulders, moving painfully slow. her touch sent shivers throughout your body. calloused hands roamed any bare spot of skin making you close your eyes in contentment. she was your weakness.

“what happened to hurrying up?” you remarked as her head dipped down, lips connecting with the skin her hands once graced.

she placed wet kisses along your soft skin, hands now falling to your torso. her finger tips teased at dangerous territory, just along the undersides of your breasts. your dressed bunched up around your hips as she grabbed at you desperately.

“mmm” she sighed, pulling you against her forcing your backside to mold into her perfectly “maybe we should stay home”

yea, let’s stay home you wanted to say. but you had been waiting for this night all week and you just wanted to spend some (rare) quality time with your girl.

“no, i really want to go” you said, forcing yourself to turn in her arms so you could face her. “you went through all that trouble for the reservation and i wanna spend time with you!”

she squeezed her eyes shut, throwing her head back dramatically. all you could muster was an eye roll as you clutched her biceps.

“plus,” you purred, making her look down at you curiously “the surprise i had for tonight would be ruined”

“surprise?” her eyebrow quirked.

you placed your hands over hers, nodding your head in conformation. she let you take full control of her as you dragged her hands down the sides of your body over the blue satin, fingers trailing over the seams. you could sense her breathe hitch in her throat when she realized. hands reaching the plump of your rear, feeling the outline of lace underwear underneath your gown.

“don’t want to spoil it do you?” you leaned in to whisper in her ear, nipping at the lobe.

“no” she croaked out, cheeks going warm with a deep scarlet “no, you’re right, let’s go”

you smiled in satisfaction, proud of your little stunt. she found the small of your back to guide you out of your room and to the car. it was easy to tell by the way she held you that she wasn’t going to end the night without that surprise.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/N: yay!! my first emily fic!! feedback is much appreciated :)

[forgingtheblade]

TECHNOBLADE NEVER DIES

or, the totem!!

the first place i’m wearing this cosplay out to is with a full butcher army group. hence, the props i started with were toothpick, and a totem of undying!

i again, just like toothpick, sketched in CSP and blueprinted in illustrator, cutting all of my fine details out on the laser engraver.

i’m so grateful i have access to the laser right now, it allows me to add so much cool detail at levels of precision previously unimaginable. wherever i end up after college, i need to find a way to keep access to a laser like this. also, when i ordered the gems for the crown (months ago at this point) i wasnt sure which green i wanted for the crown. i had extra space in the order, so i ordered two of each of the greens i had picked out and decided whichever ended up not being the crown would be the eyes for the totem!

i made each of the layers with 10mm eva foam, and added the detail work in 2mm. the nose and wings were sculpted with my dremel tool. i sealed off the top and bottom with a simple 2mm circle and alternated between filler and dremeling to smooth any gaps in the seams.

using an eva foam dowel, i added a loop for it to hang from.

this guy also got a plastidip and black gloss coat before i went in with the airbrush. it took me a minute to figure out the gold paint in the airbrush again, leading to some weirdly cool sputtering effects.

after finally getting a smooth solid gold finish, i started filling in the enchantment script (which in this case just reads “undying” repeatedly) with a green paint mixed with mica to make it metallic.

i then weathered with a warm brown to give it some more dimension and depth, and added a little gem on the star motif to finish it off! i’ll talk more about the hanging rig and belt in another post ;)

taglist under the cut! reply or send an ask to be added :3

@too-much-alphabet-soup , @embers-archive , @nothing-to-see-around-here, @pluralphilza, @aleeaviancrowalt

[sleepyjuice]

weed, sex, beach - jj maybank

summary: you and jj share a joint on the beach and have some good ol’ beach sex.

warnings: 18+!!! drug use (weed), semi public sex (there is no one around but it’s still in a public place), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, squirting, dirty talk, a lil praise kink.

wc: 2064

a/n: this is literally just filthy dirty smut. had me giggling and kicking my feet writing this. enjoy! <3

It was well past dusk, the only nearby light source being the moon which illuminated the dark waves that splashed onto the shore.

It was beautiful, this spot jj had taken you to. No one else around for miles, only you and jj occupying this little sliver of the beach that he claimed was a ‘hidden gem.’

It was, it was peaceful and you could get away from the congestion of your hectic lives for a bit.

“I like it here, jay.” You hummed, head on jj’s shoulder as you both sat on a beach towel, one and a half joints deep.

He flashed you a satisfied smile as he passed you the joint, his hand rubbing softly up and down your thigh.

You brought it to your lips and inhaled, holding it in a bit longer than usual as you decided this would be your last hit of the night, your eyes feeling heavy and your body loose.

“Atta girl. You done?” He asked, taking the now almost finished joint from you.

Nodding in response, you rested your head against his shoulder, watching the gentle waves move in front of you.

You loved moments like these. Just you and jj and the tranquility of the beach. All the drama this island brought was long forgotten when you got to experience this side of things.

jj finished off the last of the joint, putting it out in the sand below before slowly inching his fingertips up your thighs.

You instinctively opened your legs a bit, allowing him to go higher, a soft sigh leaving your lips. His light touch felt so much stronger and it felt like his fingertips held electricity.

“That feel good?” He whispered against your ear, and you hadn’t even realized you let out a quiet whimper, your mind a beat behind your body.

“Yeah, it does,” he answered for you, chuckling softly, his fingers now undoing the buttons on your shorts, “let me take care of you, pretty girl.” Your head fell back and off of his shoulder, your gaze finding jj’s face as he worked to undo your shorts and pull them off your legs, leaving you only in your shirt and bikini bottoms.

He cupped your pussy through the fabric, and this time you were well aware of the moan that fell from your lips, moving your head down to watch as he slipped a finger through, rubbing a slow line up and down your wet slit.

You didn’t miss the slick sound that his actions created, and neither did he, his dick now fully hard in his shorts as he began rubbing circles on your clit.

“You’re all wet for me, baby. Look at you.” He cooed gently, chuckling when you bucked your hips against his hand, desperate for more of him.

“Need you, jj.” You breathed, completely at his mercy.

Your words emitted a groan from him, his dick now painfully pressing against the seam of his shorts, begging to be released, to feel you.

“I know, sweet girl. Let me see you.” He moved his body so he was in front of you now, but not before he gently laid you down on the towel. Keeping his motions against your clit, he used his other hand to fully remove your bikini, sliding it down your legs.

You shivered as you were now fully exposed from the waist down, the soft ocean breeze hitting your wet pussy and bringing goosebumps to your skin.

He quickened his pace against your clit, your mouth falling open as you shamelessly grew closer to your high. It didn’t take much, the weed very much present in your system had your body feeling extra sensitive and after spending the whole night with jj, you were already fiending for him.

“I know, baby, I know, let go for me, yeah…” he urged you on, sensing how close you were without you having to say anything.

You opened your mouth to say something, but all that came out was a loud moan, your eyes rolling back as you came, his fingers working you perfectly as you rode out your orgasm, thighs clenching and threatening to close due to how sensitive you were.

“Fuck,” you panted, reaching to grab jj’s wrist to pull it away from your now throbbing clit, the sensitivity too much.

He chuckled at your actions, bringing his fingers to his mouth to lick up your arousal that had coated them.

“God…” you breathed, his sensual actions making your pussy ache for more of him.

“Need you to fuck me.” You spoke, not a care in the world.

“Yes, ma’am.” At that, he wasted no time undoing his shorts and pulling them off, the tent in his boxers present along with the wet spot that pooled just where his tip rested, precum leaking eagerly.

He quickly rid himself of his boxers, his hard cock springing free from its restraint and you swore your mouth was watering at the sight of him like this. His tip was slightly swollen, the moonlight gently illuminated his slick precum that was leaking down onto the base of his cock. He was perfect.

He spread your thighs a bit more, positioning his body between your legs, his hand pumping his cock slowly as he slid it teasingly against your leaking entrance and up to press against your clit, gathering your arousal and dampening his cock even more.

You whined at the feeling of him, not usually caring about his teasing actions, but right now, you needed him inside of you. Your pussy ached at the feeling of emptiness, his cock right there and so close to being inside of you had you ready to throw all of your morals away. You were so down bad for him.

“Eager, huh? You need this sweet pussy fucked good, huh?” He teased, lightly smacking his cock against your sensitive clit, a hiss falling from your lips at the feeling.

“jj, please, please.” You begged, not a care in the world. He loved this, though. He loved how much you needed him this way, and he certainly needed you, too. He ached for the feeling of his cock buried deep inside you, but seeing you so desperate for him was one of the hottest things in the world.

“Shh, I got you, baby, I got you. Imma take care of ya.” He assured you, lining himself up with your entrance as he slowly pushed himself in, his mouth falling open at the feeling.

Your body accepted him immediately, taking little to no time to adjust to his cock, allowing him to bottom out almost immediately.

You moaned at the feeling, his tip pressed deep inside your pussy as he stayed still for a moment, relishing in the feeling.

His balls were pressed against your ass, both of you breathing heavily as you waited for him to move.

“Please-“

He pulled back swiftly, cutting you off as he began to finally thrust his cock into you, a loud gasp falling from your lips at his movement.

He found a good rhythm, his hand grabbing onto your thigh and lifting your leg to wrap around his waist as he pounded into you.

He grunted with each movement, your pussy swallowing his cock perfectly, gripping him tightly as he fucked into your wet walls.

“Let me…” he grumbled, stilling his movements for just a second as he grabbed onto both of your legs, bending your knees and positioning you so your legs were bent and your knees were pressed up against your chest.

“Oh, fuck, yeah…” he groaned loudly as he began his movements again, this new position allowing him to fuck you even deeper, hitting parts of you he had never reached before.

You gasped, which quickly turned into a loud moan, reaching your hands up to hold onto his shoulders as he fucked you relentlessly, your tits bouncing beneath your shirt with each movement.

“You like it like this, baby? Like feeling me so deep inside of you?” He grunted, quickening his pace, his tip hitting your g-spot perfectly with each thrust.

“I- oh god, yeah, so good.” You panted, digging your fingers into the skin of his shoulders as if you were holding onto him for dear life.

His movements were hard and quick, and with each thrust you could feel his heavy balls smacking against your asshole, which only brought you closer to your end.

“Takin’ me so well, baby. You’re- you’re perfect, my perfect girl, this pussy is so perfect.” He praised you between moans, his breathing staggered as he attempted to speak through the euphoric pleasure that filled his entire body.

Your pussy clenched around him, hugging his cock tightly as he continued to fuck just the right spot inside of you.

“I’m close, oh fuck… jj- oh god, I’m close.” You whined, your heart rate picking up as you felt your lower stomach twist and tighten, your fingernails now pressing harshly into his skin.

“I know, baby, let go for me. Cum all over my dick for me.” He moaned hoarsely, his own cock twitching as he felt you tighten around him.

It didn’t take much more, his cock hit your g-spot once again, and that was it for you.

Your head fell back onto the sand, eyes rolled back as you came, your pussy clenching so hard onto his cock that it pushed him out, squirt gushing out of you and all over his cock and down his balls, some painting his shirt as well.

“Oh, fuuuckkk…” jj gaped, quickly grabbing his cock and shoving it back inside of you, continuing his previous movements as your pussy continued to flutter and clench around him.

You moaned so loudly, a straight up pornographic sound filling the air as you came, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you continued to ride out your high, the wet sounds of jj’s dick fucking into your soaking pussy was euphoric.

His now soaked balls were warm with your release, smacking against your ass once again, only heightening the sensation you were feeling.

“Fuck, baby, I’m ’bout to cum.” jj announced only a second before you felt his cock twitch inside of you and you felt him fill you up with thick hot spurts of his cum.

He groaned loudly through his release, keeping a steady hand on your upper thigh so he wouldn’t slip out again, the mixture of both of your releases creating a wet mess between you.

“God, you’re so good, so so good.” He muttered as his thrusts slowed, both of your releases now leaking out of your pussy and down onto his balls before he eventually stilled inside of you, taking a moment to catch his breath as his dick slowly softened.

You were a panting mess below him, feeling properly fucked and full of his cum, your pussy clenching around his softening cock as it adjusted to not feeling as full anymore.

He eventually pulled out of you, thick globs of his cum pooling out of your pussy and onto the towel below you.

He leaned down to kiss your damp forehead, peppering a few slow kisses before kissing your plump lips sloppily, having to pull away as he was still working to properly catch his breath.

“That was so good, baby.” He smiled lovingly down at you, pulling up the corner of the towel to somewhat clean you up the best he could.

You sighed happily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down on top of you, relaxing at the feeling of his body weight on top of you as you held him close, breathing in his scent. Ocean water, sweat, weed, sex and a hint of cologne he had put on hours ago.

“I love you so much.” You hummed, the serotonin from the sex and the weed pooling around in your brain. You couldn’t ask for anything more in life.

“I love you, too, baby.” He spoke against your skin, his legs intertwining with yours.

“Ugh, we have to walk all the way back.” You spoke after a moment, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Your legs were jelly, that thought just about ruined the moment.

jj laughed loudly at that, shushing you with another kiss.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that right now, baby. I got you.”

[tojisun]

simon (ghost) riley x fem bimbo!reader

!! smut - minors dni; cunnilingus; genital piercing (christina piercing); hinted age gap (30s v 20s); simon’s pov

: this is based on oddy’s brainworm of bimbo!reader getting a christina piercing while simon’s away for a 9-10 month mission as a surprise for when he comes home teehee <33 // bimbo!reader mlist

simon tries to swallow any remaining spit he has just to quench the building thirst in him, but it is understandably futile. he is left walking behind you with a spring in his step, pretences having flown into the wind the moment you barrelled towards him as soon as he got home.

it is a usual dance at this point: you, jumping into his arms all excitable, and him, planting his feet to catch you with ease. simon knows he’ll never tire of this routine, one that never fails to fill him up with over pouring affection that he carries for you.

“i have a surprise for you,” you whispered to him, your voice so small in your hushed giddiness.

you stared at him with sultry eyes, your bottom lip captured between your pearly teeth. simon felt his mouth go bone-dry, his chest stuttering and his fucking chub kicking up underneath his jeans because he knows that look.

dear gods, he knows that look.

the last time you surprised him with anything after his months-long mission, it left simon marking your thighs up with kisses and hickeys and bite marks, the ridges of his teeth so prominent on that single point that stood out in the expanse of your dewy skin – his callsign, ghost, inked on your inner thigh, somewhere close to the juncture of your legs and your pelvis.

so you can’t blame simon for being too interested and going all breathless in anticipation as you led him back to your room.

he’s fumbling for his steps as you two step inside – white walls and strawberry cow print sheets – where you proceeded to sit him down on your vanity before taking a few steps away from him.

“okay so,” you begin, swaying slightly, looking deceptively shy. “i really hope you’d like it.”

simon’s gaze shifts, desire warming to make room for the softness he feels. he shoots you a small smile. “y’know y’can give me a paper cup for your surprise and i’d still love it.”

“of course,” you giggle, rubbing your palms on your sides. “‘s just that i thought of you when i got it so, you know.”

simon’s throat constricts, his pulse quickening at your words – you thought of him when you got it. oh. oh fuck.

“i-” his voice cracks and simon ducks his head down in his embarrassment, clearing his throat quickly so that this moment may pass soon because he can feel himself bursting at the seams.

“thank you, sweets,” he finally utters, rubbing his palm along his face in hopes of abating the blush warming his cheeks.

you beam at him, all pretty and happy, before you begin to slide your skirt off.

jesus.

“oh,” he rasps out, a strained gasp spilling into the air. simon has to clench his fists on top of his thighs to restrain himself, feeling so faint at getting a flash of your pretty legs, his eyes trailing from your floral lace socks before climbing up to get a view of your pretty little lingerie.

his tongue feels heavy sitting in his mouth as he catalogues the little thing – sheer, red, and dainty. it’s not hiding anything, showcasing slivers of flesh that simon wants to sink his teeth into.

it’s not hiding anything so he wonders why it took him a while to notice it. there, nestled just above your clit, are two little diamond studs.

“are those-” his voice sounds strained even to his own ears, the words having been punched out from him as his lungs work over time.

“yeah,” you say with a quiet chuckle and simon briefly wonders how you must look right now but he can’t lift his head to look at you, unable to rip his eyes away from the twinkling diamonds on your body. one of your hands slide from your hips towards your pubic area, acrylics making soft scratching sounds against your sheer panties.

the gems on your nails matches your new piercing – christina, simon’s mind supplies right away – and he just about whimpers.

finally, simon’s eyes flit to your own, and he doesn’t know what he must look like because the brief shyness on your face melts away and desire begins to burn from your eyes. the tension is building between you two, settling in like a dense fog, and simon waits for a heartbeat and another before he’s lunging towards you.

hands tangle against each other in mutual desperation, blindly tearing apparel from each other’s bodies with nothing but twin ragged breaths to fill up the space. simon throws you to the bed, his chest heaving as he stands by the foot of it to gaze down at you, eyes full of palpable hunger as they rove over your presented body.

“mine,” simon rumbles. “all mine.”

he covers your smaller body with his bulk, trembling hands greedy as they press and pull and squeeze at your flesh. your tiny mewls fuel him as he bends down to hover his lips over your pussy. your beautiful, pierced pussy.

“simmy,” you hiccup, your voice a soft little thing. “please, no teasing.”

of course, he wants to say because simon is sure that he doesn’t even have it in himself to prolong it anymore. not when he’s missed you by a lot, having been away for one of his longest missions. and especially not after the gift you have for him.

simon’s silence ripples, promising, and he knows he doesn’t have to say any more.

he kisses your cunt with his lips, nuzzling just soon after. you gasp out from somewhere on top of him, your hands gathering the short strands of his hair in your fist, and tugging when simon doesn’t do anything more than ghost kisses.

simon presses another one as an apology before planting his hands on your thighs and pushing your legs open, presenting your already-wet cunt to him. briefly, he remembers your older gift, and simon shifts, nuzzling your inner thigh instead, nipping at your inked skin.

simon is not a narcissistic man but there is something so good at seeing you carrying his callsign, as though he’s branded you. claimed. marked.

you giggle at the touch, fists loosening just a bit, your legs losing their tension at the ticklish feeling. simon puffs out a huffed laughter, enjoying the moment, taking it all in, then he is moving.

because there is something else he wants in his mouth. something else he wants to explore.

the first drag of his tongue along your clit and up until the first stud of your piercing has you squealing, your small feet digging into the planes of his back. it pushes him even closer to your cunt, something that simon eagerly takes advantage of as he begins to eat you out with earnest.

the cool press of the barbell on his tongue is a new experience, one that he is beginning to love as he continues to lap his tongue along your folds. simon flicks his tongue over the piercing, careful not to truly tug it, before he’s moving on to suck on your clit, rolling the little thing on his tongue.

you choke on a moan, hips lifting off the bed as you thrash, and simon has to press down on your belly to subdue you. you squeak when you are pinned, fists leaving simon’s hair to claw at the sheets instead. simon kisses your clit once more as an apology, before lapping at your hole, pushing his tongue in to mimic shallow thrusts.

“si-!”

your moan sounds guttural, bouncing off of the walls as simon continues to fuck you with his tongue. your slick pools in his mouth and he doesn’t even recognize the answering growl that rumbles from the base of his throat – deep and primal.

his thick hands grip at your thighs, tugging you in a new position, forcing your back to arch as simon continues to make a mess of your pussy.

pretty, pretty pussy.

“s’mine,” simon growls the moment he pulls his tongue out to suck on your folds.

he lightly nips at your clit, and a choked sob falls from what he knows would be your bruised lips. you do tend to bite on them when drunk in your pleasure, nibbling until they are throbbing and plump, looking so kiss-swollen.

fuck. he wants to kiss you there too.

simon gives your clit one more suck before he lifts his head up, the warm air on your room hitting his damp face. he sees the way your chest is heaving before flitting his eyes over your hands to see them tremblingly fisting at your sheets. your head is tipped up, mouth open as you shakily gasp out your breaths.

“sweet girl?” he asks, wanting to see you.

you move slowly, sluggishly, and simon can’t fault you for your reaction as he can still feel your legs shaking. teary eyes turn to him and simon couldn’t help but coo, letting go of your legs to climb towards you.

you track his movement, still hitching in breath, until he’s finally hovering over you. simon presses his forehead to yours, nuzzling, and rumbling a deep hum when your arms hook onto his shoulders for a loose hug.

“hi,” you say with a giggle after the silence settles. simon huffs a fond laugh, shifting so his lips trail soft kisses along your cheeks.

“hi,” simon replies, his lips moving lower, teasing touches from the cut of your jaw to the column of your throat. he settles there, burrowing with a deep breath, hot desire waning for something softer. for something slower.

“…y’like it?” you ask, sounding so conscious as though simon didn’t lose himself when eating you out, leaving his dick to throb painfully underneath his boxers.

“oh, princess,” he says with a breathy chuckle. he shifts again to see you. “i fuckin’ loved it.”

your eyes crinkle when you smile, and simon wonders if his lungs are even working with the way his breath constricts.

fuck, reality is settling – he’s truly missed you.

“thank you for such a darlin’ gift, baby,” simon murmurs, his lips hovering over yours.

you hum, already deaf to his words as you turned your focus to the ghosting touch of his lips instead. you tip your head up, whining when even that doesn’t make them meet.

aww, simon coos in his head. sweets wants a kiss.

so he finally gives it, his head angled to kiss you deeper. harder. teeth clack against each other before warm tongues tangle, and simon wonders if you can taste yourself on him. if you can taste the way he made you feel good.

your nails scratch his back, and he knows shallow welts will be there when he checks tomorrow. but for now, simon loses himself to the messy kiss – nipping your lips and, later, lapping at your folds.

because he’s not done with you yet. he needs to eat you out more. needs to see the way your pretty, jewelled pussy takes his tongue the same way you do with his cock.

oh, how you spoil him.

i teeheed too much while writing this but then i got drunk so it kinda splintered away from what i envisioned 😭

tagging: @oddityinthesky @ghostsbimbo @kenz-ee @yannauauau @yaebaal @ivymarquis @liwooa @loonalockley @kariiiel

[octaneink]

Snowdrop

Will Lenney x Reader

Summary: The Reader and Will go skiing. The reader has never gone before, sure things will be fine...right? Warnings: None Notes: I was scrolling through Pinterest and saw the first image, then boom I was inspired to write this fic. I hope people enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The Alpine Lodge’s fireplace crackled, its flames gnawing at the dry logs with an almost impatient hunger. Heat radiated in thick waves, but it couldn’t quite penetrate the layers you were drowning in. The rented ski pants—stiff, unyielding, their synthetic fabric a garish red and white at the cuffs—were bad enough on their own. But beneath them, the thermal trousers clung to your legs like a second skin, their waffled texture trapping every ounce of sweat and amplifying every itch. You shifted on the worn leather sofa, the seams of both layers conspiring to dig into the backs of your knees.

Will balanced effortlessly on the armrest, his weight shifting just enough to make the old leather creak in protest. The mug of cocoa in his hands sent up lazy tendrils of steam that curled around his sharp jawline before vanishing into the lodge’s dry heat. His skin still carried the mountain’s bite—cheeks flushed a deep, wind-whipped red, the bridge of his nose peeling slightly from yesterday’s forgotten sunscreen. When he turned his head, the firelight caught the stubble along his jaw, turning it gold where the razor hadn’t touched.

He raked a hand through his hair—thick, dark, and hopelessly mussed from yanking off his beanie earlier. A few strands stuck up at odd angles, defying gravity with the same stubborn ease as the man himself. His shoulders flexed under his thermal shirt as he stretched, the fabric pulling taut across his back, hinting at the kind of lean muscle built recently.

You could smell the cold still clinging to him—pine and crisp air and the faint, clean sweat of exertion. His fingers, wrapped around the mug, were long and slender, the knuckles slightly reddened from the morning's cold. Pale bands of skin stood out where his rings usually sat—the thin silver one with black gems that he twisted when thinking and the silver flower that caught the light when he gestured.

You wondered if he'd left them in some lodge room drawer or tucked them safely in the inner pocket of his jacket—precious things set aside for the sake of the mountain, just for today. His bare fingers tapped absently against the ceramic, the rhythm uneven, like he kept forgetting their usual weight wasn't there.

He caught you looking—your gaze lingering a beat too long on the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders as he moved—and smirked, the expression carving a dimple into his cheek. "What?" he asked, voice rough with amusement.

You jerked your eyes away, throat suddenly tight. "Nothing."

Somewhere outside, a snow-laden branch gave way with a muffled crack. You took a slow sip of your drink, the mug’s heat seeping into your chilled fingers, but Will didn’t press. Instead, his eyes dropped to where your fingers were picking at the cuff of your ski pants again, the thermal layer beneath bunching uncomfortably.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and nudged your boot with his. "You’re fidgeting like you’re trying to escape a straitjacket," he said, nodding at your leg. His tone was light, but there was a flicker of concern beneath it. "Let me guess—the thermals are riding up?"

You exhaled, grateful for the out. "It’s like being shrink-wrapped."

Will huffed a laugh, but it was softer now, less teasing. He reached down, fingers skimming the fabric just above your ankle. His touch was efficient and practical—adjusting the overlap of the layers with quick, practised tugs. "You need to smooth them out before you lock the pants in," he said, thumb brushing the inside of your calf briefly. "Otherwise they’ll twist on you halfway down the mountain."

You swallowed. His hands were warm, even through the fabric.

He sat back, studying his work. "Better?"

The thermals still clung, but the pressure had eased. You nodded.

Will picked up his cocoa again, taking a slow sip. The firelight caught the curve of his throat as he swallowed. "Good," he said, his voice quieter now, more deliberate. He studied your face for a moment before continuing. "First time jitters?"

You flexed your fingers around your mug, the ceramic almost too hot against your palms. "Is it that obvious?"

The corner of his mouth lifted, but it wasn't mocking—it was understanding. "Only to someone who remembers their first time eating snow on a blue run." He nudged your knee with his. "You'll be fine. Everyone starts somewhere."

Outside, the snow fell in thick, soundless sheets, muting the distant whoops of skiers. Your gaze drifted to the Salomons leaning against the wall—their edges sharp, their sleek frames intimidating. Will followed your look.

"Hey." He waited until you met his eyes. "Those aren't going to bite. And neither will the mountain." His thumb brushed over your knuckles where they gripped the mug too tightly. "We'll take it slow. Bunny hills until you're bored of them."

You exhaled, shoulders loosening slightly. "Promise?"

Will's grin was warm as the fire at your backs. "Scout's honour. Though," he added, leaning in just enough that his jacket brushed your arm, "I may have lied about actually being a scout."

The laugh surprised you, bubbling up before you could stop it. Will's eyes crinkled at the corners, pleased.

"See?" he said, squeezing your hand once before letting go. "You're already doing better than my first time. I cried when they made me take the lift."

You raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe not cried," he admitted. "But there was definitely some… passionate protesting."

The fire popped, sending up a shower of sparks. Somewhere beneath your layers, the nervous coil in your chest began to unwind, replaced by something warmer—something that had less to do with the thermals and more to do with the steady certainty in Will's voice when he said, "You've got this."

The lift’s steel cables whined, each protesting groan vibrating through the seat beneath you. Your gloves were damp where they gripped the safety bar, the leather squeaking under your clenched fingers. The wind carved its way between the gaps in your gear—needle-sharp at your collar, whispering cold secrets down your sleeves. Below, the world fell away in slow, sickening increments. Pine boughs sagged under their snow-laden cloaks, shrinking to mere smudges of green against the endless white.

Will lounged beside you like the chair was his personal throne, one boot propped casually on the footrest. His skis hung beneath him, perfectly balanced, edges catching the sunlight in fleeting winks of steel. When the wind kicked up again, rocking the chair with a stomach-dropping lurch, his arm shifted—not to steady himself, but to curl more deliberately around your shoulders. His jacket smelled of wax and wood smoke, the fabric cold against your cheek where you’d instinctively pressed closer.

"Breathe, love," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the cable’s metallic complaints. His thumb brushed the tense line of your shoulder through all the layers—once, twice—before stilling. "Look at me, not down."

You turned your head. His face was close, closer than the mountain deserved. Sunburn flaked at the bridge of his nose. His eyelashes were still frosted from the wind, each blink scattering tiny droplets.

The lift gave a sudden, violent shudder as it passed over a support tower, the entire chair swinging like a pendulum. Your stomach flipped, the half-digested lodge breakfast threatening to rebel as the world tilted at a nauseating angle. Your fingers scrabbled against the safety bar, gloves slipping on the ice-cold metal, but Will's arm became an iron band across your shoulders. His grip didn't just steady you—it pinned you to reality, his fingers digging into the meat of your arm just shy of painful.

"See?" His voice was calm, but when you dared to look, his jaw was set tight—not from fear, but concentration. He nodded toward the distant peaks where morning sun fractured across snowfields. "That’s where we’re headed. Not down. Not yet." His thumb rubbed a slow circle against your shoulder, the motion at odds with the wicked glint in his eyes. "Though, if you're really that eager to get down..." He shifted his weight deliberately, making the chair sway.

Your nails bit through his snow pants as you clutched his thigh. "I swear to fuck, Will—"

His laughter came sharp and sudden, a sound that shouldn't have carried over the wind but somehow did, bouncing off the canyon walls below. The chair steadied as the wind died, leaving only the creak of cables and your ragged breathing. His knee pressed firmly against yours, the contact warm even through layers of Gore-Tex and fleece. When he spoke again, his voice dropped to a murmur meant only for you: "Relax. I don't lose my passengers." A beat. "Almost never, anyway."

The safety bar vibrated under your white-knuckled grip, the metal singing with tension. Far below, a gust sent snow ghosts dancing across an untouched slope. Will's gloved hand covered yours. Not pulling your grip loose—just resting there, a silent counterweight to the vertigo. The lift crested the ridge, and for one suspended moment, you hung between earth and sky, held there by nothing but faith and the steady pressure of his touch.

His knee bumped yours, a silent promise: I’ve got you. The safety bar trembled under your grip. And somehow, impossibly, you believed him.

The lift’s final lurch sent your stomach plummeting as the ground levelled out. The world tilted—suddenly, violently—from the safety of the ascent to the sheer, yawning drop of the slope. Sunlight glared off the snow, turning the whole mountainside into a blinding expanse of white, broken only by the occasional dark slash of ice where skiers had carved too deep. Your skis scraped against the hardpack as you shuffled forward, the sound like nails on a chalkboard.

Will’s gloved hand tightened around yours—your ski poles clutched awkwardly in your free hand—as he guided you away from the lift’s exit. His grip was sure and steady, the only thing keeping you upright as your legs wobbled beneath you. The cold air burnt in your lungs, sharp as a blade, and your breath came in shallow, panicked bursts.

Then—too soon—he let go.

You swayed, the sudden absence of his hand leaving you unmoored. Will didn’t seem to notice, already gliding ahead with the easy grace of someone who’d been born on skis. Snow hissed beneath his edges as he carved a tight, effortless turn, spraying a fine mist of white into the air. He came to a stop facing you, his skis angled into a perfect wedge, poles planted casually at his sides.

“Alright,” he said, his voice carrying the same warmth as when he’d coaxed you onto the lift. But there was something else underneath—a quiet command, the kind that made you straighten your spine despite the fear gnawing at your gut. He tilted his head, studying you. “Pizza wedge. Watch.”

You watched with rapt attention, "See how the tips kiss?" Will said, bringing his ski fronts together until they nearly touched, forming a perfect triangle against the snow. Powder puffed up around his edges as he rocked slightly forward. "That's your brake. That's your control."

Your own skis felt like unwieldy planks strapped to your feet, the weight unfamiliar and awkward. When you tentatively tried to mimic his stance, your boots wobbled in their bindings. The sensation was all wrong — like trying to balance on two greased sleds that wanted to go in opposite directions.

Will's eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched your first shaky attempts. "There you go," he encouraged, gliding closer. "Now bend your knees like you're sitting in an invisible chair. No, not that much — think more like you're leaning against a bar stool."

As you adjusted your posture, you became acutely aware of every muscle in your body tensing. Your thighs burnt from the unaccustomed stance. Your toes curled inside your boots, as if extra grip might somehow translate through the rigid plastic shells.

"Relax your death grip on the poles," Will chuckled, nodding at your white-knuckled hands. "They're not going anywhere. Right now they're just for balance, not for stabbing rogue yetis."

A nervous laugh escaped you, the sound sharp in the thin mountain air. You forced your fingers to loosen slightly, feeling the cold metal of the pole grips bite into your palms through your gloves.

Will demonstrated again, moving with the effortless grace of someone who'd done this ten thousand times. His edges scraped against the packed snow with a satisfying hiss. "Listen to that sound? That's your skis talking to you. They're saying, 'hey, we got this.'"

You swallowed hard, staring down at your own silent, stubborn skis that seemed to be saying anything but that. The slope stretched out before you, suddenly looking much steeper than it had from the safety of the lift. Every instinct screamed at you to step out of the bindings and walk down.

But then Will was there, his steady hands guiding your ski tips into position. "Trust the equipment," he murmured. "And trust me. On three?"

His quiet confidence was contagious. You took a deep breath, feeling the cold air fill your lungs, and nodded.

With a deep, steadying breath, you pushed off, the skis gliding smoothly at first, the cold air biting at your cheeks as you picked up speed. For two glorious seconds, it felt like flying—wind whipping through your hair, the world a blur of white and blue, and Will’s voice cheering you on somewhere behind.

But then, your left ski caught an edge.

The moment your ski caught, time stretched—your stomach lurched as the world flipped sideways. Snow rushed up to meet you in a dizzying blur of white, and then—

Whump.

Cold.

Silence.

Powder exploded around you as you ploughed face-first into the snowbank, the soft embrace of it swallowing you whole. For one disorienting second, you weren’t sure which way was up. Your legs kicked uselessly, skis crossed somewhere above you, poles long since flung from your grip. The snow packed tight around your torso, your arms pinned somewhere beneath you, breath trapped in your lungs.

Then—sound rushed back in. The distant scrape of skis. The ragged gasp of your own breathing as you managed to turn your head just enough to gulp air. Snow clung to your eyelashes, your cheeks, the inside of your collar where it had tunnelled its way in.

"Hey��!" Will’s voice, sharp with alarm. The crunch of snow as he skidded to a stop, sending a spray of powder over your buried form. A shadow fell across you, blocking out the sun. "Christ, you vanished. You okay?"

“I’m fine,” you grumbled, though your voice was muffled by the snow. “Just… stuck.”

There was a beat of silence, and then a snort. Then another. "Oh my god," he wheezed, his voice strangled. "You're—" A full-bodied laugh escaped him, loud enough to startle a nearby bird into flight. "You're planted. Like a—a fucking snowdrop."

You groaned, which only made him laugh harder. He fumbled with his glove, pulling out his phone with fingers that trembled from suppressed mirth. The camera shutter clicked.

"Delete that," you demanded, flailing your free arm. The movement made you sink another inch.

"Never," Will vowed, his grin blinding against the blue sky. "This is going above the fireplace. Engraved on my tombstone. Etched into my soul—"

"Will."

"—and also our wedding invitations—"

A pair of skis crunched closer. The surrounding snow shifted slightly as someone knelt nearby.

"Are you—are you still laughing right now?" you tried to yell, but it came out as a muffled, indignant grumble. Your skis—still strapped to your feet and sticking straight up—twitched helplessly in the air.

A gloved hand closed around your ankle and gave an experimental tug. You didn't budge.

"Jesus Christ," Will wheezed, his voice shaking with barely suppressed laughter. "How deep did you go?"

Another tug. More snow shifted. Then, suddenly, fingers brushed your calf, working their way down to your boot buckle.

"Okay, don't panic," Will said, though his voice was dangerously close to cracking. "Actually— you know what, you can panic a little. This is hilarious."

You tried to kick him. It was like trying to swim in cement.

"William."

Will's eyes went comically wide, his mouth forming a perfect 'O' of mock terror. "Oh. My government name. Right, right, pulling you out now Snowdrop—" He braced himself, arms wrapping around your middle. "Three, two—"

The world lurched. Snow tore away from your face with a whump, and suddenly you were gasping in the open air, blinking against the blinding sunlight. Will staggered back, still clutching you, both of you collapsing into the powder in a heap.

His face hovered inches above yours, flushed from exertion, his eyes bright with mirth. A snowflake clung absurdly to his eyelashes.

"Welcome back," he grinned.

Your fist connected with his shoulder—a solid thump against the layers of his jacket. He barely rocked with the impact, just arched one eyebrow and smirked. "Worth it," he declared, the words puffing out in a white cloud between you. Then his laughter burst free again, rich and unapologetic, bouncing off the surrounding peaks until the whole mountain seemed to be laughing with him.

He rolled onto his back, dragging you with him in a tangle of limbs and ski gear. Fresh powder billowed around you both, catching in your eyelashes, dusting his dark hair with flecks of white. The snow cradled you now—softer, kinder—as if apologising for its earlier betrayal. Above, the sky stretched impossibly blue, so clear it hurt to look at.

Will reached up, brushing snow from your shoulders with exaggerated care. His gloves left damp streaks on your jacket. "Admit it," he said, voice dripping with mock suspicion. His eyes—crinkled at the corners, bright with mischief—locked onto yours. "This was all an elaborate scheme." He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cold-reddened ear. "'Oh no, Will, I've fallen and I can't get up! Whatever will I do unless a strong, incredibly handsome skier rescues me?'" He fluttered his eyelashes dramatically. "Smooth. Very smooth."

Heat flooded your cheeks that had nothing to do with the winter sun. You shoved at his chest, but your mittens just slid uselessly against his waterproof shell. "I hate you," you muttered, but the words came out half-choked by the laugh you were desperately trying to suppress. A clump of snow chose that moment to slide off your forehead and plop onto his nose.

Will didn't even blink. He leaned in until his icy nose bumped against yours, then pressed a quick, cold kiss to the tip of yours. "Liar," he whispered. The word hung between you, visible in the frosty air. His eyes—so close you could see the gold flecks in the green—danced with unspoken laughter.

Then he was up in one fluid motion, spraying you with snow as he shook himself off. He planted his poles in the powder and nodded down the slope, where fresh tracks beckoned. "Ready for round two?" The challenge in his voice was as bright as the sun glinting off his goggles.

You groaned dramatically, flopping back into the snow—but this time the laugh broke free, echoing across the open bowl of the mountain. "If I die," you warned, pointing a mitten at him, "I'm haunting you first."

"Deal." His grin turned wicked as he fished his phone from his pocket. "But first—" The camera shutter clicked. "For posterity. And the wedding slideshow. And possibly the Christmas card."

You launched a snowball at him. He dodged with the grace of someone who'd spent a lifetime avoiding projectiles, already skiing backward down the first gentle pitch. His laughter trailed behind him like a banner as he carved a teasing serpentine path, waiting for you to follow.

And despite the snow still melting down your neck, despite the humiliation that would live forever in his camera roll, you found yourself pushing upright—still smiling, still warm where his lips had brushed your nose—and pointing your skis with a bit more confident downhill after him.

Let it be known that I’ve never skied a day in my life…

Icl I got distracted watching so many ski TikTok and YouTube vidoes while researching for this. I am equally amazed and terrified of some of the things people can do on the slopes.

I hope people enjoy this!

[the-main-daine]

Life Series Character Renders:

Featuring Martyn, Mumbo and Pearl

(I actually have quite a lot to say about two of these this time.)

Martyn:

Human.... ish. Hear me out on this one:

So Martyn has this fascinating background lore to the Life Series called Watcher/Eyes and Ears Lore. I'm quietly obsessed with this.

I love watching his lore streams after every series, and have come up with a few theories on my own: His thumbnails are always fully illustrated, so his character has a canon 'look' for every season, which I think is just, deeply cool.

But in his lore, there's also this space between SMPs, where the Watchers kind of... hold people until they can be used again. And since Martyn is the protagonist of the very cool story he's writing, I got it in my head that in this space between, Martyn isn't QUITE human. Maybe he was at one point.

Maybe he never was, I don't know.

But alongside all the cracks and stuff that have started to show up on his body; there's seams along the joints, and light shining within, as he starts to become more befitting as a vessel.

A vessel for what? No idea. I probably won't be drawing all those seams in any fanart comics of the series themselves - I imagine they get covered up when he's sent out into the world to interact with others in various SMPs - but I thought the idea was too cool not to draw at least once.

As a past winner, he gets his crown, and the burning eye of Mars by his name.

Mumbo:

Vampire Mumbo!

I know he doesn't have the grey streak in his life series skin but I love it too much I'm keeping it forever.

It makes him look so much more threatening and serious than he is.

Poor Mumbo. I was really rooting for you buddy. Better luck next series!

At least he still does damage with those End Crystals.

Pearl:

A lunar moth

As a winner, she gets her crown, and she gets her moon.

I'm not going to lie I want that lunar moth hoodie more than anything.

I had a lot of fun with Pearl: Her skin design is so simple (Well, maybe not this season, but usually) that it leaves so much room to interpret it. She's always going around with dogs, making her wolfish would've been really easy, but I think Moth suits her more.

There's a lot of mythology with moths being a little off kilter, mad, or leading people to madness that I think fits with Pearl's tendency to be a little bit of a loose canon, wild and unpredictable. Like a moth's flight patterns.

Red Hood Pearl had to put in an appearance here, especially with how it's sort of creeping to overtake her in Wild Life this season, and she just gets so earnestly threatening when she's on a red life despite still being all smiles and all laughs.

Unlike Gem or Cleo, I think there's an edge to Pearlie Pop on red that just reminds me of a horror monster, in the best, best, best way.

I haven't figured out heights but she's also the tallest.

[circlesuponcircles]

You've been walking through these twisting, endless halls for a while, now. The second floor seems to be stretching itself further and further, as if the House was trying to keep you away from something. Once a home, then a prison of familiarity, and now an unrecognizable labirynth.

Isabeau has picked Bonnie up for their own safety, after they almost fell into a hole that was seemingly caused by reality being ripped at the seams. Just thinking about what could've happened makes your stomach twist.

....Is it just you, or have you not encountered a sadness in a while?

Well, it's not exactly surprising. Nothing could survive here for too long. Even a sadness could easily fall into one of the bits of pitch black, and-

🪨: FINALLY!

Your thoughts are interrupted by Isabeau yelling out, knocking you out of your zoned-out state. You very quickly see the cause of this sudden change.

🔷️: Gems alive, how long did this take? All for just one door...

🍳: This place crabbing sucks.

The entrance to the third floor stands before you.

You work the door open...

...And see something you cannot describe.

[iznsfw]

Ms. Kang Hyewon

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 3 - Kang Hyewon

IZ*ONE's Kang Hyewon x Male Reader Smut

9,122 words

Categories | femdom, mommy kink, degradation, angry sex, choking

Content warning | blackmail, degradation, Hyewon isn't so innocent here

Well, well, well, look who came back with Day 3.

My promise remains. Expect more, but on separate days. I won't run away with your money like a certain pre-

Thread isn’t claustrophobic. It slips through spaces not even your fingernail could pierce apart. Effortlessly, too. It isn’t afraid of being knotted up. It just needs guidance: a pinch to lead it through the eye and a pull to seam it through the hem. 

You wish you wielded the same fearlessness. It’s thinner and more fragile than you (highly debated) yet it’s hardened to its life. The only thing you’re granted as a similarity to it is the need for guidance, not all of that shit about courage. 

Maybe that’s why you became a fashion designer. 

Needles have their own strengths, too. They’re not cowards to inflicting pain for aesthetics. Why do you think they stab so effortlessly through fabric and silk and skin and whatnot? They sharpen themselves through softness, and all that edge goes straight into the process.

And sometimes, your fingers.

“Fuck.” Your reverie is broken at last. From your thumb, a trail of red leaks. You’re used to the minor cuts and wounds, but the blood really does something to you. It reminds you of how fragile human anatomy is. One uncalculated move can end it all. 

“You good?” asks Eunbi. 

Suck on your thumb. A metallic taste settles over your tongue. She peers at you curiously; wave your hand at her dismissively to tell her it’s fine. This is everyday for you, like you said. Your heart will pump anxiously but that goes away, too. It’s all a vestige of time.

Flatten the vest top on the table. Wait, it’s not exactly a top yet if fringes of thread splay from the edges. You still have to work on that. Nothing is something when it’s not completed. It’s either you finish it grandly or leave it in pathetic tatters. 

“You sure you're okay?”

“Just a little nervous,” you reply. 

“I mean,” Eunbi laughs as she fixes her short hair into a ponytail, “she is Kang Hyewon.”

Not that she needs to remind you. Your nerves are in a wreck already. You’ve been replaying the pros of the situation in your head like a favorite song. Working for Hyewon would look good in your resumés. If time sees fit, you’d have your own line and everyone would want to wear it. Your name could be a staple of fashion, the god of gods. Something like that.

It only sucks that you’re painfully new to this world. This is the first time you’re this far from your family and friends. Seoul’s a far cry from your humble town. It’s the home of everything that matters. Nights of staying up drawing and designing couldn’t harden you for an industry that sways and shakes out the unfit.

This is your chance to find out if you’re one of them.

“The superstar who’s about to wear my shitty clothes.”

“They’re anything but shitty. You have seriously good ideas.” Always, Eunbi comes in to reassure you. That’s why you see her as a mentor. “She wouldn’t turn down wearing couture if she didn’t see potential in what you make.”

See, you would never have agreed to any of this. You’re a fresh graduate from some fashion school, and the only models you’ve worked on are the runway rejects. Fixing a sloppy first draft on a stick-thin, soulless girl is different from designing and dressing up Kang Hyewon. 

She’s everything—model, actress, singer, and idol. She’s a gem for every brand out there. They’re all dying to get her to be their ambassador. Every director with a complete brain wants to cast her for their new drama. 

And it’s her who can lift you to heights in your career. So you’d be an idiot not to seal the deal.

“Have you worked with her before?”

As your needle sews a story of fabric, Eunbi’s words whittle her story with Hyewon. Turns out, this is only her second time working with the star. She confirms that Hyewon is truly gorgeous in person with those god-given full lips and hardset eyes. 

Apparently, first impressions are right after all when it’s with her—she’s a silent, withholding woman who doesn’t talk outside of necessity. Eunbi tells you her nerves were in knots the first time, but also informs you that as long as you do your job for her properly, there isn’t gonna be any problem.

“Just be careful in what you do and say,” Eunbi whispers. She peeks over at your nearly finished piece. “That’s turning out really nice, by the way.”

“Thanks.” 

Look proudly at your handiwork. It’s a sleeveless top fashioned from denim, with a V-shaped curve at the stomach. You’ve attached strips of more denim on the front that are sewn on with threads that match the blue of the ocean, embedded into the chest to prevent dullness. You think it’s turning out pretty good, too.

You would’ve gone on smiling if it weren’t for what you remembered. “Wait, why do I have to be careful?”

“She’s not, like, shy or anything. Just really unfiltered when it comes to feedback. She told me the eyeliner I did on her was shit, and that I shouldn’t come back if I planned on doing that again.”

Doubts about the beauty of your design rise. It might look good in your eyes, but what if it doesn’t in hers? She’d probably see the lack of color and call it a monstrosity. She’s got the type of power to get away with brutal words, to leave your little self-confidence in pieces.

The leg-hugging jeans and vest now look painfully average to you. There’s no debating that she’d look good in it, but there’s that constant back-and-forth argument in your head about whether or not Hyewon would like it. 

“Were you hurt?” you ask.

Eunbi wipes red lipstick from the edges of her mouth with the mirror’s reflection as guidance, then smiles. “She’s the kind of woman I’d let do more than hurt me.”

-

You don’t know what that was about, but you’re not one to pry. You don’t have the time anyway.

Assistants have poured into the room. It’s your sign to put in more work—their arrival means that Hyewon is about to come very soon. They’re all dressed in their uniforms, the kind that looks good but not too good that it takes away the fact that they’re just staff. 

Eunbi shifts her weight from one stiletto to another. “Are you done?” she asks. She gazes over at your sewing as she taps anxious rhythms on the vanity table. Notice how she’s taken off her acrylics and in turn shows her cruelly bitten fingernails. 

You huff. “I’m trying.” 

Stick a red-studded pin through the denim to keep the vest in place. What shade of blue did you use again? Staring for lengthy minutes at your messy table doesn’t help you find it. Your chalks have left pink powder on the wood. Your threads are unspooled and everywhere. In the midst of it all, the star’s vest sits, still waiting to be finished. 

“She’s getting here in five!” Yena shouts.

“Any updates there?” Eunbi says pleadingly to you, eyes full of tears.

“I said I’m trying, Eunbi.”

“Then try harder, fuck!” 

Her hands have abandoned their rhythms and are squeezed up into tiny, helpless fists. She keeps peeking out of the dressing room as if she’d die on the spot if Hyewon were there already. This is the first time you’ve seen Eunbi this beside herself. Even her crew is shocked. Her fear infects them too and now all sets of scared eyes are on you. They’re depending on your speed for their careers. If you fall short, they fall short, too. It’s a domino effect of failure. 

Yena pushes aside the hangers of clothing to frisk for the makeup kit. Chaeyeon has her hands in her air while Minju whimpers behind her. They all know one thing for sure: you’re never gonna finish on time.

Your needle fits and slips, fits and slips, fits and slips—

“Can’t you go any faster?” cries out Eunbi.

The thread almost pulls the rest of the fabric along it when you pull furiously. “Unless you want me to get stabbed in the fucking wrist,” you say, “I can’t.”

You prick yourself multiple times trying to speed up. Push the layered denim down. It’s like drowning a needle, letting it go up from the waves of clothes for air, then drowning it again. However, you don’t care for any casualties right now. You don’t care for deaths either. All you want is to do is finish this piece.

You hear three short knocks on the door. Your world stops, but your sewing doesn’t. You can do this. You can still make it look somehow finished. 

“Ms. Kang!” 

Curl.

Thread. 

Knot.

You’re done. It’s safe to turn around.

All of the women along with Eunbi have bowed deeply. Standing in front of them is the straight-postured form of the adored celebrity. The assistants look like they’re an estranged cult of some sorts who’s worshiping a goddess who’s come to earth.

Strangely, you find out that, as you stare at Kang Hyewon, you understand.

You can now grasp the idea why she’s ventured into so many fields: she can do it all. She can be it all.

Her hair is as black as night, and so are her irises. Her expression tells you no background, not even of a troublesome drive or a good meal. No, not any of that, for Hyewon’s face is a serious little look of professionalism. It’s the kind people of her status wear—celebrated doctors, movie stars, activists. But for some reason, it looks so much hotter on her. 

It would take skilled mathematicians and scientists to find out what’s behind her neutral expression, but it doesn’t take a degree to know that she’s downright beautiful.

The pictures her dedicated fansites take of her truly don’t do justice to her attractiveness. Her face is smaller than a child’s. The nonchalant stare in her eyes makes her look out of this world, which could be said too for her preppy clothes. She’s a fashion icon for the younger generation after all.

A natural pair of plump lips doesn’t show a sign of a smile. Nevertheless, she’s a beautiful woman. You assume that it’s how it is for her everyday, just like drawing is your daily routine.

“Hello.” Hyewon’s voice is surprisingly feminine yet husky. She looks at you all indifferently, then places her bag on a nearby chair. Each action of hers is minimal and measured.

“Would you like to get dressed, Ms. Kang?” asks Eunbi, her voice a pitch too high.

She nods.

You hand over the jeans and shirt. Make a beeline for the exit. There’s a reason why an all-female staff was hired for Hyewon. You were taught in school that you best not dress them up directly if they’re a celebrity and you aren’t known in the industry yet. There’s all the reason to fear: hidden cameras and microphones, leaked footage, the like. While you’re not a man whose intentions are dark, you still follow protocol.

“What are you running away for?” 

Your shoes stop paving the way to the door. Was that Hyewon? “What?” you say.

Eunbi winces. Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. You don’t state that in that tone to a woman of that class.

Hyewon sighs audibly. “Can you look me in the eyes when I talk to you?”

You’re cold yet trepidation prickles your skin like fire. Slowly, almost comically, turn around. Her coat is off, leaving her in a skirt and a sleeveless undershirt on which she’s crossed her arms above. So how can you look at her directly? That body of hers is shockingly easy on the eyes.

“You’re the fashion designer, right?” she asks. 

Smile awkwardly. “I, uh—”

“Then why are you leaving? Come over here and help me. I want to see if you know what you’re doing.”

“I’m, a little, uh, actually—”

“You’re actually what?”

Your mouth’s dry. Eunbi and her crew look too scared to remind her that you’re an amateur. You haven’t dressed up a star and you definitely aren’t a professional. 

But what can you do? Look at her—a woman who could crumble your career into shards if she said so and blacklist you from the industry forever—and tell her no? 

So, you approach.

Is it a blessing that you’re granted the honors of removing her underclothes? Or a curse? 

As you undress her, you’re given the affirmation that her body is more than easy on the eyes. It’s fucking to die for. Her waist isn’t concerningly tiny, but shows a defined curve that elevates to her torso. Her breasts are large for her frame, barely fitting the size of her lace bra.

“Woah, what are you doing?” you say, eyes wide at Eunbi suddenly unclasping said bra. You feel like a Victorian man catching sight of ankles.

Eunbi looks confused. “Didn’t you say a bra would ruin the look? And that we should use nipple tape?”

Hyewon stares at her, then looks at you, waiting for an answer. 

“Oh, right.” You chuckle tensely. “Sorry.”

Your lips are pursed to keep you from hissing in embarrassment. Now you probably look like a creep. Your fright and wariness are taking control, and you have no idea what to do. 

You conveniently close your eyes when the bra’s taken off. Take the vest from Yena and raise it above Hyewon’s head. No matter what, you’ll keep your eyes up. Not below, where her breasts are sure to catch you off guard; not to the side, where they might be assuming you’re everything bad; but up. Nowhere else.

“It looks beautiful on you.” Minju’s smile is less nervous now that the job is done. 

Her remark is nothing short of the truth. The garment slips onto Hyewon’s body like water. The defined carve of her clavicle stands out above the conservative neckline. Still, her bare arms alone will already have people thinking of something. The jeans accentuate her slim long legs elevated by a pair of expensive heels. She doesn’t need makeup to look good in what you sewed for her. Her body and face do the job. 

Hyewon doesn't respond to the compliment. She simply sits down on the swivel makeup chair, crosses her legs, and pulls out her phone. Her thumbs twiddle with a game you’ve seen her advertise before. She’s true to her endorsements.

Minju carefully fills the brims of her eyelids with sharp cat eyeliner. Hyewon still doesn’t look up from her phone. You guess she’s used to people adapting to her and not the other way around. 

You like the touch of the fierce red lipstick Eunbi applies on her later on. It’s a bold statement, something that goes like: It’s me, Kang Hyewon; this is the face of a woman who can destroy you, and I promise that you’ll love it.

“You look great, Ms. Kang,” Eunbi compliments her cheerfully, clicking the lipstick back.

Hyewon stares at herself in the mirror. She’s a silent observer, taking in her reflection and studying it closely. 

A lunar eclipse personified, a smile stretches on her lips that releases your held breaths. “I know.”

-

Mirrors lined with shining diamonds. Words that spell the house of fashion emblazoned in lights. Expensive makeup behind glass. Bags that are worth your tuition sitting on displayed pedestals as if they didn’t know their own worth. The event is a never-ending sea of vanity for the wealthy and the west. You can’t believe you’re playing a part in it, although you’re a sheep among well-dressed wolves.

Crowds of reporters and photographers wait at the main hall. There’s no questioning who they’re here for. Although Jang is undoubtedly a big name, so is Hyewon. They were right to recruit her. You’ve never seen a crowd this big, even for fashion. You wonder how much they paid her to be the ambassador. Must be millions when all the other houses are dying to have her. She doesn’t look like one who kindly allows lowballing.

Neither does this man. He’s grand in his custom Victoria Jang and shoes that have the glimmer of stars themselves as he stands at the center. He must be the MC; he has a name tag to his breast pocket and a mic in his fist.

“Dude, did you know Anya Taylor-Joy’s gonna be here?” Rafael tells you.

“The chick from that cool chess movie?”

“Yeah,” he replies. He gestures to the small screen that shows her holding a lipstick to her jaw. It would be hard to see it behind the scrambling reporters. Luckily, as the designer, you scored a nearby spot backstage. “Jennie, too!”

The two are gorgeous, but you’re honestly more interested in Hyewon. If people see she’s wearing your clothes, they’d want to hire you, too. She doesn’t follow the trend; she is the trend. Soon, you’ll see Korea filled with women wearing the same shirt, the same jeans, the same style…

“We’re proud to present Jang’s first store in Korea,” says the MC. Yep, you were right. “This is a monumental stepping stone for our founder, Ms. Jang Wonyoung. Please welcome her with a hearty applause!”

You know all about Jang Wonyoung. She’s a self-made woman whose passion for beauty got the attention of the public, especially the western world. She’s always busy despite her tender age of nineteen: performing onstage with her group IVE, traveling, founding a new school in meager areas. She’s almost at the same level as Hyewon in terms of stardom.

Wonyoung comes out from the background, dressed fashionably as always. A polite smile decorates her glossed lips. It’s caught by the flashes of cameras and the reporters’ cheers. 

“Hello, thank you for coming.” She brushes back her fringe and folds her hands. “Opening a branch here in my home is an achievement I’m forever grateful for. I would like to thank you all greatly for the success it’s brought about.

“Please,” she says, “take the time to immerse yourself in our array of products. Try a new trendy look with Jang Beauty—”

She extends an arm to the variety of products protected under firm glass. There’s powder, eyeliner, and blush. Actually, there’s a little of everything. There’s colors fit for every complexion, dark or light, and a palette of rainbows. 

“—or flaunt your own style with our new arrival bags and purses.”

See, they’re the bags which immediately give the impression of expensiveness. The accessories are reserved to warm or light hues accompanied with Wonyoung’s signature rabbit logo. One even features her signature, stylishly drawn on quality canvas.

“Our helpful staff are here to answer your questions and assist you, but for now, please meet our muses.”

The camera shutters multiply when Kim Jennie enters the frame. Another “it” girl, she’s from a globally loved K-pop group whose influence couldn’t be denied even by the worst liars. She made all the buzz for Jang when a news article that quoted Wonyoung’s adoration for her was released. As expected, social media received the news happily. They made parallels with Wonyoung and Jennie, created fan accounts, and bought from Jang, even if the house initially opened in the United States.

Wonyoung’s smile is wide. You think you see a little of yourself in her. There’s certain pride in seeing someone loved and adored wearing your design. 

Jennie waves briefly to the crowd before settling in a poised stride stage left.

Anya Taylor-Joy comes in next. Rafael makes a joke about how the press would have a difficult time trying to translate her name into Hangul characters correctly. She answers a question from the crowd sweetly with a translator’s help, and stands a yard from Jennie. Seeing the two women side by side stuns you—Jang really did emphasize how there’s beauty in everything and everyone, including those from different sides of the world. 

“And finally, we would like to present Jang’s new ambassador.” Wonyoung’s beaming positively. “Welcome to Jang, Kang Hyewon!”

Suppressed screams fill your ears. The women at the mall can’t believe a friendly outing to the mall grabbed them a chance to see her in person. She’s the kind of girl who’s everywhere, and still manages to make you look. To make you want to be her or be with her. Perhaps those two at the same time?

You stare at her. Hyewon is flawless. Her slight tan is a nice break from the whiteness of the cameras. Her eyes seem to single out everybody in the crowd. The ambassador stands next to Wonyoung, a hand on her own hip, and lets a slight Mona Lisa smile paint her face.

Perfection.

How does she do so little but still attract everyone? You’re not an exception. You find yourself forgetting that you made those clothes—she owns them now. They’ll be associated with her name and not yours. 

Do you even have a problem with that?

“Jang’s vision is to highlight beauty in everyone,” Wonyoung says. “Ms. Kang Hyewon is the perfect ambassador. She is an idol, singer, dancer, model, muse, and everything you can think of. She is the personification of beauty and versatility. We are proud to have her.”

You would be, too.

You were here to make a name for yourself, not fanboy over her. Here you are anyway doing it. 

Hyewon stands next to Wonyoung and nods humbly. “I’m honored to be named the ambassador for Jang.” She bows deeply. Her hands are together on her stomach. “Please expect more from us because we will deliver.”

Perhaps that’s a statement bolder than the red painted on her lips.

“To the name of beauty!” a reporter raises a glass and chugs it. You don’t know where that came from, but it draws collective giggles. 

Wonyoung laughs. “To the name of beauty!”

Hyewon jokingly raises an imaginary shot high in the air. The simplest actions don’t bar her from being beautiful. Just look at how her hair falls perfectly over gorgeous shoulders, how her hips stick out at the sides of the jeans—

How the sound of fabric ripping loudly stuns the crowd.

Your eyes go wide. The left strap of her top has torn apart. The two aidless halves collapse on the sides uselessly. The attire sags from the front and leaks the view of one of her breasts. Maybe they should have told her to keep the bra on—her left tit with nothing but nipple tape on is painfully shown off to hundreds of people. 

Hyewon’s eyes fill with alarm. All confidence is lost as she tries to cover her exposed breast up. But the deed is done. Worse, the flashes don’t stop. The photos will soon take to the internet and, regardless of her power to bend things to their will, can never truly be eradicated. The articles will go viral, too. No one will forget this moment of Kang Hyewon finally showing vulnerability.

“Ms. Kang—” Wonyoung says in a thin voice. She didn’t imagine this special day would take a drastic turn. She awkwardly laughs, because what else can she do? As rich as she is, she can’t pay a crazed scientist to implement a memory-erasing chip in these people’s brains. The event is officially ruined.

And it’s all your fault. 

Still, she generously steps in front of Hyewon to help. Similar to every attempt to salvage her dignity, it’s useless. The ambassador she relied so much on is already walking away. She’s leaving everything behind and won’t look back. Tonight is a night of many firsts, and right now, this is her first time retreating.

Aside from the sounds of phones and camcorders, all that’s left to hear is the furious clicking of Hyewon’s heels. Her strides are short and quick.

One step, five steps, ten steps… then thirteen.

It takes a total of thirteen steps for Hyewon to exit and come to you.

You couldn’t be an unluckier dead man.

-

Hyewon is the grim reaper. She wields fury instead of a scythe, wears now defective clothes instead of a dark cloak. The imminent loss of life is frightening regardless of being faced with a pretty woman. Anyone would get on their knees and resort to the unthinkable to experience this with the celebrity right now. So why are you as cold as a corpse?

“You.” 

One word is enough to make you want to die early.

You look forward while your steps go backward. Your feet can pave the longest reversed path and you’d still be left with no escape. Hyewon is faster than you are. The rest of the staff are in the crowd or in another room; they can’t help you. Nobody can tell her to stop. 

You doubt she’d listen anyway, and you know because you’re looking in her face: the face of death. Gone is the blasé mood surrounding her, the mystery in her that people would pray rosaries to venerate. What’s taken its place is an Ares-born wrath that’s at odds with her Aphrodite visuals. Her eyes are large with anger and short angry rasps leave her mouth. 

“Ms. Kang,” you say, your words a mute plea. “Really, I apologize—” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

Hyewon’s forearm knocks into your neck and catapults you to the dressing room door. The wood gives way, much to your horror. You barely make it on the plush chair with how your feet struggle to keep upright. 

She looms over you hauntingly, tall in her black heels. It’s a reminder that she really is above you in everything: positions, status, wealth—

Intimacy? 

Why is she straddling you? You don’t know what you’re supposed to feel, much more where to look. Adding to her center literally being seated above your crotch, she didn’t even bother to fix her wardrobe malfunction. There’s no might left in you when her fingers curl into your collar and tighten it up to your neck. 

“You little shit.” She coils the fabric around your throat harder. Wracked coughs fight their way out of you. “An incompetent one, too. This is all your fault.”

Her voice is rougher when she’s angry. It’s like she has a switch that she clicks on and off to be what she has to be: the Kang Hyewon everyone idolizes; and the one people would be afraid of. It doesn’t take a wicked guess to figure which one you’re encountering now.

“Ms. Kang,” you say weakly, “please.” 

You inhale raggedly through your nose. Hate how comforting her expensive perfume is to your senses when she’s doing everything but making you at ease. Hate how attractive she is. Hate how you ruined the day that was supposed to change your life forever. Hate how a small part of you doesn't hate being under her. 

For others to understand you, they need to put themselves in your shoes. If an A-list star who’s as gorgeous as Hyewon was snugly seated on their lap, wouldn’t they feel the same? Wouldn’t they feel the stir in their pants, the heat in their chests?

You’re fucked in the head. But she is, too. You’re a match made in the depths of hell.

“I-I can explain.”

Your pulse beats beneath her palm. Its faltering rhythm brings cruel satisfaction to her, making her face spread into a wicked smile. 

As Hyewon’s almond eyes close into tyrannizing slits and her lips pull at the ends into a closed smirk, you realize why she rarely grins. You’re fucking terrified. It’s a simper reserved for little satisfaction and great anger. How can a woman be this beautiful yet this cruel?

“Explain then,” she allows. The ampleness of her lips has little distance to your mouth. “But if you think for one second I’m letting you go, you’re as dead as your career.”

Your career never started. You were young once. You had dreams of making yourself known and making your family proud. If today never happened, if your needle seamed the thread just a bit tighter, you still would have had a chance to go on. 

Now you’re neither young nor old, with neither a future or past.

Your dreams are broken, just like her clothes.

“Please, Ms. Kang. I was in a rush. I didn’t think it would undo like that.”

She laughs. It’s another rare occurrence that scares the shit out of you. It transforms into a sarcastic little scoff when she meets your eyes again. “I gave you days. I gave you a fucking chance to prove your worth when I could’ve hired any dickhead out there. And what did you do? You screwed it up.” 

With each word she spits, your collar wrings around you more compactly. You feel hot and breathless but to Hyewon, your skin is deadly cold to the touch. Nevertheless, she doesn’t let up.

“I’ll pay for the damage,” you offer bleakly. “I’ll apologize. I’ll admit that I was wrong to… hahk, to the media.  Just please don’t blacklist me.”

She shakes her head. “That isn’t enough.”

It isn’t? What could you do? You’ve already said you’ll pay more than you can to amend. You told her you’d go to the press and bare your wrongdoings. What else does she want? She already has everything.

“You wanted to see me naked, didn't you?” Hyewon snarls. “You planned it all out.” 

You choke, and it’s not because of her hands digging into your flesh. “N-no! I swear—”

In the olden days, prophecies were told by an oracle. People would go on quests and seal their fates in accordance with them. Now, they’re in the little things, like jokes that suddenly bleed into reality, and, in your case, deja vu.

You say deja vu because you know the sound of ripping fabric all too well. 

It interrupts your words and catches you by surprise. Hyewon has wrenched apart the buttons of your shirt down to your stomach. The band of your underwear peeks out above your pants, as well as the stomach you haven’t taken the time to tone in a while.

“There,” she says. She slinks down your lap till her knees touch the floor and she’s tearing your pants, too. More buttons are sent flying in the air. “Now we’re both naked. Isn’t that what you wanted? To get to say that you fucked Kang Hyewon?”

Your pants add to the pile of clothes and buttons on the ground. You can’t even blush or protest; Hyewon is unstoppable when she’s angry. Her soft hands, unlearned in the ways of hardship, somehow have the strength to cut and slice and pull at your clothing. She’s not leaving one speck of fabric on for modesty. 

“I, I don’t want to fu– to have sex with you, Ms. Kang.” 

“Baby.” Hyewon deadpans, laughing a little as she traces the curve of your cheek. “Everyone wants to fuck me.”

She takes off her shirt and tears off the nipple tapes. Her pretty brown nipples are uncovered, and you can’t stop staring. Her body is a model of perfection in every category. You’ve got her flat tummy, curved waist, wide hips, and breasts that really should have a warning sign lest you harm yourself looking at them. Unfortunately, they don’t have a warning label, and Hyewon catches your wandering eyes.

“Fucking pervert.”

You look away, but there’s nowhere else to stare, so you say, “No, please, I didn’t… no, I didn’t—”

“I know what I saw.”

“I’m sorry, I really am.”

“That’s not how you say it.” Hyewon suddenly wraps her hand around your stiffening cock. Her squeeze is painful. “You sit there, bow your head, and say: ‘Sorry, mommy.’”

You’re flabbergasted. “What?” 

You yowl when she squeezes harder and starts to pump you to full mast. It’s a painful pleasure, a guilty danger. Hyewon’s eyes trained on you are even more so. 

“You heard me. If you want to save your career, do as I say.”

You whimper into the eerie silence as the woman curls her fist around your member as if she were choking it. How did you land into this situation? How were you so fucking stupid that you thought a week would be enough to finish the piece?

Now you’re here, in this enclosed dressing room, with a celebrity cruelly torturing your penis and demanding that you call her mommy. Look to the right then to the left and see that no one’s coming to your rescue. This is the real world, and as absurd as it is, you’re on your own.

Hyewon’s fingernails threaten to pierce the sensitive skin. “Be a good boy,” she growls.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, mommy.” 

(You mean it, you mean it, you mean it.)

“That wasn’t so hard. But I’m not done with you just yet.” 

She leans forward. Your face twists while she wraps her soft tits around you. Her cleavage is so deep, so full that your length is completely lost in it. You moan embarrassingly, and it’s too late to cover your mouth when she’s already smirking. 

“Because you wanted to see my tits so bad,” she says, rubbing her tits in opposite directions on your member, “I’m gonna fuck you with them. I don’t care if you cum like a little bitch or not; I’m not stopping.”

You’re starting to leak. Hyewon’s sweat combined with your precum lubricates you and allows for more delicious, slippery friction. She pushes herself up and down repeatedly, continuously trapping your cock between her amazing boobs. She could do this forever. On the other hand, you’re close to losing it.

“I’m not gonna stop. You brought this upon yourself. You understand me, don’t you?” 

“Yes.”

A deserved silence. Her eyes speak of an immediate death that follows a wrong answer.

Close your eyes. You know what you’re supposed to say. “Yes, mommy.”

Strangely, she’s exactly the type of woman who deserves that title. Her stony expression doesn’t evaporate from that beautiful face although sweat’s started to roll down it from how mercilessly she titfucks you. She shows no signs of sympathy for your situation. Why would she when she’s accustomed to control, and you’ve just taken that from her? You took her control from the people who’ve made her famous. This is your punishment.

Each pleasured expression you make draws a haughty smile from her. It’s as inspiring as critical acclaim to her, for she cups her tits tighter around your shaft and pumps away. You’re her toy for tonight. If she can’t regain her control over the public, she’ll show you why she deserves to have it:

One, she’s tireless. 

Her lower lip is under her teeth as she spills effort into persecuting your cock. She’s unblinking—she’s too focused on your reactions to close her eyes. It’s not like she’d care if your reaction is violent or pained or good. Hyewon would still go on fucking you.

“Of course you like this.” Spit covers your cockhead, a sign of her distaste. “You perverted virgins are all the same.”

“I’m not perverted, mommy.” 

“What’s next? You’re gonna tell me you’re not a virgin?”

“I’m, n-not a vir—”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

She continues grinding her pillowy breasts on you. Their undersides touch your balls while her nipples brush against your stomach. Whatever move she does makes you shiver. 

If you had no escape from the enigma that is Kang Hyewon, neither did your cock. Her bust makes sure of that. It surrounds it as if determined to suffocate an ejaculation out of it. The precum from your tip just isn’t enough.

Two, she doesn’t rely on anybody.

Nobody told her to fuck you. Nobody told her to strip and use you. Those are the choices she made by herself, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t perform them with dedication. She doesn’t need anybody’s help in ruining you when she can do it herself.

So she does. Hyewon sinfully lets saliva drip from her chin and onto her chest to help speed up what’s already a vicious pace. The cold drool makes you hiss. Her warm breasts are both a reprieve and retribution. They carry out soft comfort but give out your quick punishment at the same time. It’s funny to think how they’re as versatile as she is. 

Three, she’s the only one who’s ever made you cum like this.

“Mommy!” The word was never intended to be said. But it’s unavoidable; Hyewon’s too hasty, and it’s becoming too much. You can’t hold back on letting her know her ownership of you.

You can’t hold back the messiness of your cum as well. Bursts of white jet her chest and her neck. You whimper to your wits’ end and she doesn’t stop in spite of it. She keeps overstimulating you till the leak of semen becomes a mere dribble.

Hyewon climbs on your lap again, her vagina placed just in front of your spent shaft. “You’re getting used to it, huh?”

Your eyes are on her, as everyone else’s are when she’s under the lens of a camera. You’re horrified; almost every part of her torso is covered with your cum. Her tits are coated grandly with strong splashes. The white liquid drools down her tummy, then to her jeans.

You just came on Kang Hyewon.

Push her away, cursing quietly. You’ve no reputation left to save now. No dignity, no image, nothing. You should have fought back. A junior stylist shouldn’t be getting intimate with a superstar. 

“Ms. Kang, I should go,” you stammer. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

None of this was supposed to happen. You wish you could have turned back time and stopped yourself from going to fashion school. If you didn’t go, you wouldn’t have gone on the path of designing and wouldn’t have accepted her invitation to design for her and Jang. It’s all so fucked up that you’re actually reconsidering religion.

Hyewon considers this. To your relief, her professional tone returns. You’re able to breathe now. It’s over.

“You’re not gonna help me clean up?” she says finally.

“Oh… yes, I’m sorry.”

There’s no tissues or washcloths around. You have to be resourceful. It’s painful wiping up something so inappropriate with the shirt you designed, but it’ll do. The semen embeds into the denim during your dutiful clean-up. It’s humiliating—the only thing that comforts you is that, after this, you and Hyewon will part ways and never speak again. You both have something to hold over the other. Keeping your mouths shut will keep you safer than sorrier.

More worries surface. Did someone hear or see you? Are there hidden cameras here? You’ll have to inspect the place, especially after you think you don’t remember Hyewon locking the door.

“Thank you.” Hyewon crosses her arms and looks down at the stained vest that started all of this. “Now suck your cum out of it.”

You want to cry. This is far from over. You’re not done here, and you won’t be until she says so.

She cocks her head. “I paid for it, and I don’t want flaws,” she says matter-of-factly. “So you either suck your filth out now or I might just drop the Somun magazine editor a visit.”

Stare at her with tear-filled eyes. What can you do?

Attach your lips to the blemished denim. Suck on it forcefully. The taste brings more tears and some even slide in pathetic drops down your face. How did it all come to this? The amount of hard work you put in school surely did not earn you this, right?

You were raised too soft. Maybe hanging out with the rebellious boys back in elementary would have saved you her domination. You could have negotiated with her, maybe even argued that you weren’t allowing this to happen to you. But those happen in parallel universes, where you’re a little stronger, a little wiser. Here, you’re just a man who’s not particularly excellent. 

“Good job,” Hyewon says. “I guess you’re not that much of a lost cause.”

Her backhanded praise is sweet to your ears rather than mocking.

She clicks her tongue. “All that cum should have went in my pussy, you know.” 

You hang your head to hide your blush. You’re glad thoughts aren’t visually presented. Otherwise, Hyewon would put you down further. 

Hyewon places a finger below your chin and tilts it up. You’re forced to meet her eyes. There comes all the hate again. It pours into your heart freely like a fountain. It’s not hate for her, but for yourself. If you didn’t crumple that easily for women like Hyewon—women who like control and give orders and get a kick out of humiliating other people—maybe a whole other fate would have been in store for you.

Fright always gives way to yearning. She’s a bitch who thinks too highly of herself, although understandably so. She hurt you so much and through it all, you still want to hear her praise you.

She smiles. 

Yep, Kang Hyewon is irredeemably, irrevocably evil.

“And you owe me a whole lot of it,” she says, and adds, in a sickeningly sweet voice, “baby boy.”

No horror film can scare you like she does. She’s a phantom of beauty and power who will haunt you forever. All this could be done and you’d still think about her. You’ve become another one of Hyewon’s fanatics who allows her to do anything and everything to them. 

Hyewon shoves you on the dressing table. The cold white surface cools your skin, but you know it’s about to get heated soon. She’s spanned her legs over your hips again. Her aggressive hands grip your shoulders. Somehow, you never want them to leave your touch. 

Then you’re kissing her. The other way around, you mean—Hyewon initiates it by closing the distance and biting your lip. She’s a starved kisser who devours you like a wolf. Her tongue curls around yours and she dives in deeper. You’re deprived of any breath, any source of oxygen. Part your lips to kiss her back, but she’s already locked her mouth on them.

Hyewon sweeps her hair back, readying herself for the final act. If mirrors could blush, you have no question that they would upon seeing her. Attractiveness is a natural thing to her—you can see it in the sway of her arms, the thickness of her thighs, and the way she carries herself. She acts like she’s entitled to everything, and that includes your cock.

She’s too fucking hot that you’d ignore all her cons and give it up to her.

She knows that. She circles her core around your tip. You moan immediately. She feels so good, and you’re not even inside her yet. 

“You like that?” she sneers after she pulls away. “You like my pussy on your cock?”

She grinds her slit along your cockhead. Her moans are surprisingly sensitive, high in pitch and airy. You’re granted exclusive listening to them when you hit her clit. She moves it there particularly, because those moaned questions she asked you are just for her own ego. She only cares for her own pleasure, and it just so happens to be ignited by a weak man whose type is crazy, unhinged women. Whose type just so happens to be her.

She’s so wet that sounds of drenched squeaks fill your ears. You’re nothing else except certain that she really, really gets off on being such a bitch. Her wicked leer couldn’t ever fade from her face, not if you keep flashing those exhausted needy expressions.

“Answer me,” Hyewon says. She glides her fingertips from your broad shoulders to your neck. A threatening grip, a deadly fate. “You know mommy doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

“Yes, mommy.”

“Do you want me to ride your cock, hm?” Every fragment she speaks makes her choke you harder. She’ll send you to heaven then hell, where you’ll meet her all over again. “Do you want me to keep you inside me until I’m all done and satisfied?”

“Yes… oh fuck, please!”

“I fucking thought so.”

She sinks herself down in one go. You cry out. Hyewon’s tight pussy welcomes you and traps you right up to the hilt. The hard grip of her cunt disallows you a break; her pace is one of anger that’s unrelenting and harsh. 

Her thighs crash down on your lap and rise, a cycle that never ends. You’re left even more breathless by her soft breasts smothering you. It’s the best way to go out. They bounce marvelously in front of your face, your nose pressed to the little space between them and your mouth kissing wherever it can. You lick at her tits until you’ve licked all the cum that might have remained on them. 

Your lips attach themselves to her nipple. As an effect, the star’s cunt clamps around you with the hold of a guilty pleasure, a taboo vice. It doesn’t intend on letting go unless you decide you want it to go. But you have the feeling that your probable pleas won’t budge Hyewon’s heart. 

“Mommy’s baby boy,” Hyewon says. Her tightness grows and so does the volume of her heavy gasps. “Mommy’s slutty baby boy who’d do anything to get this pussy.”

You want to tell her that what she said is far from the truth. You didn’t want to cause a wardrobe malfunction. You didn’t want to anger her. But now, when presented with the heat of her impossibly wet vagina, you realize you actually would. You try to meet her expectations, nursing on her nipple and guiding her movements with your hands on her wide hips. What you want is for this to be enough, but it just isn’t. Hyewon always wants more.

You can see it in the crash of her butt on your thighs, the shouty cries that she lets go of, the grip on your neck that she doesn’t. A woman accustomed to the scrutiny of the public eye would never let a strand of her hair go knotted. But when it comes to punishing people, to making them the accessory she carries, she doesn’t care anymore. Her usually prepared and counted movements become frantic. Her quietness isn't a  case of the current times when she’s using you as her little fucktoy. 

Kang Hyewon is a mess, and you are, too.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy!” Your yells crack and fade—she doesn’t.

Hyewon doesn’t let up. Her fluttering walls make sure to leave your legs stagnant. You can feel her manicured nails scrape your skin and her thin legs hug your hips. The hours she spends in the gym can’t be that long for her stamina to remain this strong. Maybe she has a personal trainer, a healthy diet. Maybe she owns some weights around the house.

Maybe she owns you.

“You sound pathetic. Just keep sucking those tits.” She removes her hand from the base of your neck, but leaves you asphyxiated anyway when she pushes her face into her breasts. 

The mirror bears your combined weight. You try to lift your head. Hyewon chases your movements. You’re forced to inhale through your nostrils, taking in her powdery perfume and lightly sweaty scent, and keep your mouth busy on her boobs. 

You flick her nipple with your tongue. She holds you to her chest and promises no escape. To be fair, you could stay here, smothered by her breasts forever. You’d have little complaint when they’re heavy and soft and sweaty. Your mouth stays attached to them and brings her on the road to orgasm.

“Greedy little boy,” Hyewon scoffs. “You’re about to cum, aren’t you? I bet you held it out just so I could keep riding you.”

Your cock feels sore already. Although her insides are warm and soaked enough for the entering and leaving to be slick, you’ve been trying to hold back for so long you think you’ll cry. You have to tell her. Perhaps it’ll lessen her anger. 

“I’m gonna cum, please, mommy.”

She cruelly bounces faster. Her hips are that of a veteran dancer’s, grinding to and fro and rotating. You’ve figured it out: the reason why she’s never had a dating scandal is that no man would be able to handle her. She’d drain him nightly. She’d treat him like a sex toy to use when she pleases. Everyone wants to be hers, but no one is ready for her.

“Do you deserve to cum inside this perfect pussy?” she asks. She splays her lips and grinds upwards. You groan loudly. “You’re lucky if I even spit on you. What makes you think you can explode in mommy?”

“Please, I’ll do anything!” You tighten your core to hold it back. It’s useless. Your orgasm is coming anytime now, and Hyewon won’t let it happen. “Mommy, let me cum, mommy, please!”

She slaps you across the face. Why did the sting turn you on? You’d argue her words sting more. “You made me look like a cheap slut out there!” Hyewon shouts. “I gave you a chance and you ruined it, you little shit. So now you have to earn your fucking worth!” 

Her riding becomes intense by the minute. She was angry earlier, and now she’s furious. You’re her canvas for a fuming painting. But in her eyes, you’re not a masterpiece. She’ll do away with you to the point of destruction. You’re very near to crumbling.

“I’ll do anything, please!”

You’re desperate. Your stomach’s starting to ache from the violence. You can’t quite feel your legs. All you feel is an impending heat that squeezes your insides. Your hips jerk needily and tears fall from your face. This is the first time you’ve felt this humiliated and aroused. Something about Hyewon makes the two emotions merge and leaves you wanting more.

Hyewon’s close to cumming, too. She’s shaking as her chaotic bounces are sloppier than before. “Say it, say you’re my little boy toy! Say you’re a slut for mommy!”

You’re a quivering body beneath the celebrity. You’re letting her use your cock and choke you and slap you, all without repercussions. There’s only one kind of man that would let someone do that to them. You can’t believe you’ve become one.

“Yes, yes, mommy owns my cock!” you scream, nodding over and over. “I’m her toy and she can do w-whatever she wants to me, I won’t mind!” 

Her juices roll down your cock and wet your pubic area. She’s spiraling out of control. The only thing she can control is you, making you say the most humiliating things. Her wild eyes lock onto yours, and through them you could finally see some backstory: Kang Hyewon was born into wealth and control, and she’ll die with them, too. She’ll always fight to have them when they’re taken away from her. She isn’t afraid to cross limits.

“Yes, yes, yes! More!”

“I only want mommy’s pussy even if I don’t deserve it! I only do what she says, I’ll give up everything to be mommy’s plaything, please!”

When she cums, she looks frenzied, shaking all over the place and spasming around you. Her cries of pleasure become erratic. They almost sound not human. A human would not dare do what she does to you. She fucks you like an animal, frightens you like a supernatural phenomenon, and moves like the waves of the sea.

Kang Hyewon is out of this world. You’re an unnamed rock floating in the galaxy she navigates.

You bust just the second she removes herself from you. Abashing strings of sticky whiteness land all over yourself. They’re paired with needy groans that you can’t stop even if you wanted to. 

Hyewon observes your ejaculation unamusedly. She takes a step backward when a jet of cum sprays in her direction. Look down at yourself—look down at your lap and the table blotted with your orgasm—and think of how dirty you are. You’re so dirty and pitiable that you came all over yourself, like you just masturbated in front of her. That’s why she doesn’t want to touch you.

“Y-you didn’t let me cum inside,” you say disappointedly. You did everything, said everything, and risked everything for nothing. An orgasm isn’t worth it when it isn’t done inside Hyewon.

“Like I said,” Hyewon replies, apathetic, “you don’t deserve it.”

Stare at her. It’s through staring at her with surprise that you realize you’re dirty on the inside, too. Hyewon can live her life secludedly and fade from the industry. She can leave this country, reinvent herself, marry somewhere, and you’d still be thinking about her. You’d always think of this night that left her appearance and yourself ruined.

That’s her charm. She’s permanently going to be in your mind—you’ll always picture her wet cunt, her alluring breasts, her beautiful face. You’ll strive for her again and again while she doesn't even care if you live or die.

Women like her… why do they have to be who you want?

“You have no future in this industry,” she continues. 

She pulls her jeans up her legs and slips the button through the hole. Oh, you really will remember this night. You see you and Hyewon in the little things. She searches through the closet for a spare shirt. Watch her slim fingers that previously wrapped like ribbons around your throat now wrap around a hanger. She slips her arms through the tweed coat and seals it around the front.

“But your drawings aren’t… horrible,” she says. That’s the best compliment you can get from her. You know not to expect more. She shrugs as she closes the buttons together. “Maybe you’ll end up as a painter.” 

A painter? You’re a fashion designer, not Van Gogh. Dresses and pants are your forte. You can’t switch to a whole new job when sewing is what you know.

Your heart sinks. You really broke the first step to a career you worked your whole life for. It’s just not your path to take anymore. 

Hyewon looks around for something to write with. She settles for the eye pencil lying on a table. She forces you to open your palm and writes something on it. She closes your fingers above it.

“There you go. Consider this a farewell gift.”

She came into your life fast and she exits it just as fast. You can’t help but feel a strange sense of yearning. After all she’s done, you don’t want her to go. Why do you despise her departure when you prayed for it earlier?

Who would take you now?

You sigh. Peek at your hand curiously. In tidy handwriting, Hyewon’s message says:

KIM MINJU - CURATOR

XXX - XXX - 2001

[cowboylikefried]

OOH BABY BABY | M. FRIED

summary: having a competitive boyfriend isn't for the weak—especially when he stays up late reviewing pitches [1.08k word count]

warning(s): fluff, a bit of making out but i wrote this at 3AM so its all veryyyy sleepy, lowercase intended because I said so, this is written with sleepy quinn in mind so idk what you're gonna get sorry, not proofread we die like men over here

a/n: hi I am back 🧍🏻‍♀️

it wasn’t a secret that your boyfriend was competitive.

especially now—the fact that he’s not max fried, underrated gem from the braves. he’s max fried, new york yankees new ace. and you can easily tell that it’s been messing with his brain a bit more than usual.

max always liked looking back at the tape before bed—analyzing anything he could by himself; what pitch wasn’t used enough and what was used too much. the little things like that.

this game in particular, though, a 12-3 win in his favor, was something he kept analyzing over and over. and if there was one thing you love more than your boyfriend—it was sleep.

max didn’t mind, as long as you were there, as long as he could feel your skin against his. that was it.

he could tell you were sleepy, lids drooped and body going lax in his hold, soft lips curled into a small pout.

he didn’t resist kissing the corner of your mouth with a small grin, warm green eyes illuminated by the glow of the tv. “you sleepy?” max murmured, one of his hands patting at your hip gently, the other brushing your hair back absently.

you let out a small hum, shifting slightly, your head tucked into the crook of his neck comfortably. "'m awake." you slurred, but with the way you were sprawled against him, both of you could tell it was a lie.

max grinned, a soft huff of amusement passing through his lips. he shifted, burying himself further into the couch, arms wrapped around you firmly, one of his hands running down your back.

"yeah, you're so awake." he muttered, lips pressing against your temple, sealing it with a gentle kiss. he knew once the recap ended, and a few more kisses from him, you'd be out like a light. it had been routine by now.

"super awake."

"suuuuuper awake," max echoed, his voice a soft hum against your skin. his arm curled around you tighter, holding you snugly against him. your warmth made his own eyes a bit droopy, lavender and something else filling his senses.

he pressed another kiss to your temple, just because—also because you looked too cute not to. "stay awake for me, baby." a hand slipped under the fabric of your shirt, tracing the skin of your hip lightly.

no response.

max huffed, pressing another kiss—the shell of your ear this time. "baby," he murmured, "you're supposed to stay awake, not fall asleep on me." the hand on your hip pinched gently, not enough to hurt but to tickle.

you inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering open weakly, lips still etched into the same pout. "i'm awake," you repeated, lifting your head and pressing a lazy kiss to his cheek. "i'm awake, honey."

max couldn't resist, turning his head and capturing your pouting lips in a chaste kiss. "you're a bad liar." he whispered, slightly muffled against your mouth, teeth gently nipping at the plump skin of your bottom lip.

"i'm not lying." you shot back, giving a soft peck in response, forehead resting against his.

"yeah you are," he chuckled, hands smoothing over your sides reverently, thumbs brushing against the skin of your belly. "you're very sleepy." he added, nipping at your lip again, taking it into his mouth and giving a small suck.

"nuh uh." you mumbled, lips parting instinctively, eyes lidded and sleepy despite your contradictions.

"yeah?" max whispered, a small grin stretching onto his lips at the sight of you, tongue running along your bottom lip, the tip flicking against the seam before pressing forward. he let his head tip to the side, tongue sliding against yours slowly, his actions more lazy and affection more than arousing.

he could feel your exhaustion—the way your body dipped further into his, your mouth moving against his slowly and uncoordinated. tired, but still so warm and sweet.

max coaxed you to reposition, rolling all of your body onto him slowly, arms wrapped around your waist loosely to keep you close. his lips brushed against the crown of your head once more, brushing softly before he rested his chin atop of your head.

"go to sleep, baby." he murmured, voice low and now carrying a hint of grogginess.

you frowned, lidded eyes now doe-eyed and wide. "i can't now," you huffed, an underlying whine making itself present.

"oh no," max drawled, voice hushed but still coated in a thin line of sarcasm. "why not?"

his hands made themselves comfortable underneath your shirt, calloused fingers running along your spine with a gentleness that made you shiver.

"give me another kiss." you demanded, lifting your head fully now, staring into amused green eyes.

max smiled, something wide and soft that made the corner of his eyes crinkle. "another kiss?" he murmured, hand moving up to cradle your jaw.

his lips pressed against the corner of your mouth, drifting across to the other side of your cheek, unable to stop the soft snort that escaped him when you moved with him, chasing after his kisses. "greedy."

"one more," you mumbled, a hint of pleading in your tone. "and then I'll go to bed."

max gave a long sigh, rolling his eyes in faux annoyance, before pressing another kiss to your lips—firmer and longer this time, a little bit rough in the way nipped at your lip again.

when he pulled away, he pecked both of your cheeks, before brushing his lips against the edge of your jaw. "there," he stated, leaning back with a small grunt. "two more. now go to sleep, baby."

"'kay," you sighed, settling your face back into the crook of his neck, pressing one last kiss to the curve of his shoulder.

"finally." max mumbled, sliding his hands back under your shirt, keeping your body molded to his, responding to your kiss with a gentle peck to your head, inhaling the scent of your shampoo, calming him instantly.

max's eyes fluttered back open, his gaze catching onto the tv.

he didn't even know what was playing anymore.

Q SPEAKS!

hi tumblr.............im lowkey scared rn idk

been on wattpad because I like their aesthetic more idk its /cowboylikerizzo if you wanna follow (i ACTUALLY completed imgonnagetyouback over there LMAO)

okay bye ily

[redbleedingrose]

will you write exhusband!rhys? 🥹🥹

Cant promise it will be any good bookie, but for you?? Why not?

Ex Husband!Rhysand x Reader

Okay so, basically, the only reason why Rhysand agreed to a divorce in the first place is cuz he thought you were being a silly goofy girly pop, this is just a phase right?

Everyone goes through marriage issues. He knows that. So he signs the papers. Because they are just papers and you are still his wife.

He still wears his wedding rings at all times, and he feels a spark in his heart every time he sees you still wearing yours. He is as in love with you as he has ever been, and continues to fall deeper and deeper in love with you every day.

Your time apart from each other under the mountain did little to deter his feelings for you. Whether you like it or not, the night courts high lord is here to stay for you. You are his high lady of course.

So when you ask him to separate your belongings so you can move into a little cottage by the Sidra, he huffs a little sigh with an eye roll, but lets his silly little wife do as she pleases. Because he adores you, and wants to indulge you in your little game.

You won't know that he is buying the house you will live in and is already making renovations to it already to make it more comfortable for you. Renovations including your own private library and a water fountain garden with water that sparkles as the sun sets.

And you certainly won't know that he is getting the little cabin just down the way from your new house so that he can watch over you and anyone else who comes by.

Anyway, his wooing of you never stops. Not even through this silly little divorce game you are playing. He is constantly bringing you flowers, your favorite kind, fresh and in beautifully designed bouquets. Your entire new home is tittering with these flowers, and all the old ones are drying because honestly, you cant bare to part with something your ex husband who you still so dearly love brought for you.

And don't get me started on the other gifts he brings you, brand new clothes from your favorite boutique, specially designed and fitted just for you. He cannot wait to see you wearing them when you take your daily walk together through Velaris that he has convinced you to go on. Just to ensure the citizens that you are still a stable court. Yes, that is the only reason. Simply and only that. And also new jewelry that he spent hours designing with your favorite jeweler, with specifically picked gems from the deep mountain mines buried in the depths of the court that only his keen eye can pick out.

Oh and if your silly little game starts to get more dramatic with you going out on another date with some other male or female??? Well, Rhysand knows how to play games. And he will beat you at this one little darling.

Your moves from now will end up with your ass spanked a bright red with his imprints left behind making it difficult for you to sit down for a solid week after you reconcile with him :(((

And that male you went out with last weekend?

You never see or hear from him again.

And it's weird because you thought you guys had a good time together. He was even discussing going out with you again later next week. Oh well :// ??

Your Rhysie is back at it again coaxing you into going out with him. It's not working but damn are you feeling tempted after the way he fucked you the day after your date. I mean how could he help it? And how could you help yourself?

With the way he was looming at your entryway when your date dropped you off... with the way the darkness of night was rolling from his taut shoulders, with the way his tunic was nearly bursting at the seams with his arms crossed over his broad chest... with the way his churning glare pierced your soul, nearly killed the poor male who had leaned in to press a soft kiss to your cheek but quickly snatched himself away, murmuring a hurried goodbye before running off.

He barely had you inside the doorway before you were caged into the wall with heated, fierce kisses and roaming hands squeezing and groping at your soft edges. Those violet eyes forced eye contact as he had you cumming on his fingers and tongue 4 times before he graced you with his cock. You did not get ANY rest that night.

But yeah no, it doesn't make any sense as to where that male had gone. But Rhysand just tells you not to worry your pretty mind about it, that your husband is going to take care of all your needs darling, "you don't need any other male to be touching your stunning body, only me love, only your husband." Chuckling darkly when you whine at him, "Ex husband Rhys, you're forgetting the ex part" and weakly pull at his wandering fingers, squirming in his tight hold as his front presses directly against your behind, nearly falling to your knees when you feel the softest pecks along the length of your neck.

And well…. how can you help yourself? Rhys is just too good at making you feel good.

It's not your fault he has you nearly trained to cum on command. It's not your fault he is quietly slipping into your mind, feeding it dirty thoughts and images on how he used to take you. How he used to bend you over every piece of furniture or how he could have you cumming in 30 seconds just by his middle finger and thumb alone or how his thigh felt so so good rutting against your cunt when he edged you or how he just gets so deep in you, cock nudging and sliding against spots you didn't even know existed in you.

You're just a silly little wife who was a bit jealous of some girl named whose name Rhysie can't even remember, something bout her saving Prythian from Amarantha??

Rhys really couldn't care less though, the only female he knows and thinks of is you.

And don't you worry darling. The minute you finally agree to try again with Rhys, he flys you to nearest temple, the marriage "reinstatement" ceremony was only for your little mind to be put at ease.

Besides, he never let your divorce papers go past that one horrid priestess who had actually agreed to notarize it. In fact, the priestess was… well….

Let's just say he took great care in ensuring that no one else would ever even suggest on agreeing to such a mistake again. The bone carver was quite pleased with his new… assortment of skeletal remains the high lord of night gifted him in exchange for a future favor. Such innocent and pure bones from an old priestess are hard to come by these days!!!

And the weaver enjoyed some eyeball soup from Rhys. And don't you worry, Az and Cass helped dismember that old ratty priestess with their brother. They supported Rhys heavily and would not stop at one... or maybe two souls being taken.

Anyway!!! We love a delulu Rhys 🩷💋😍🥰

Rhysand Masterlist

[plasticfreckles]

🪶 fade-prison angst rookanis snippet enjoy 🪶

Satisfied, Lucanis drops his rag back into his water pail, carefully rubs the stripped wood dry and turns to place its contents back to the surface. He wipes down the little tiered shelf with all her make-up pots, scratches the fingerprints and oils from the grooves of the intricate designs, takes care to re-arrange them in the same order she had them; shadows on the top tier, oily lip tints in the middle, flaky fragile glitters at the bottom. Her little lidless box of nail colors, he places back in the top right corner, by her standing mirror.

Removing the dust from the velvet that lines her jewelry box is harder. He closes the box to bring it to the kitchen; to soak the metals in rubbing alcohol and wipe the gems clean, to find his fabric brush and work fresh cleaning broth into the velvet. Maybe he'll drip some lavender oil into the folds.

The necklace he finds in her separate dish, the open, lacquered seashell rimmed in gold, makes him pause.

He remembers buying it, the second she'd turned away from the crystal peddler's stand in Treviso, after hearing its price and sighing. For this cheap little thing, tourmaline and aventurine on a chain so frail it seems to break if one but breathes on it wrong, the peddler asked for obscenely much money. Normally, Lucanis would have scoffed and turned away. But Rook had looked at it so longingly he felt he had no choice but to buy it anyway.

They'd barely been commited to each other three days.

Illario had broken the chain easily, grabbing her by the neck of her cloak and flinging her aside with surprising ease and clear intent to murder her and then him. Lucanis' little attention toward her torn apart almost symbolically.

Lucanis remembers telling her he could just get her a new one, remembers her shaking her head. It's the first thing you got for me, she'd said. She'd wrapped it in a torn piece of her shirt and placed it in her seam pocket with more care than he's seen parents handle their babe. I don't want to just replace it. Her hair had shaded her face a little, the sudden glint of her teeth just outside of unsettling. I want to treasure it and pass it on, someday. That cheap little chain that already started to change color and stain her skin, that cost the peddler all of three coppers to make. As though he'd hand-built her a bathhouse from pure gold.

Since then, it had waited, on its dish, in its shell, for the day there was time to go get it repaired.

Lucanis finds himself in that corner of her room, suddenly so impossibly big and cold and empty and suffocating, just as broken as that necklace.

The stool creaks underneath him, smelling of dust and old tapestry. He can feel the nails pricking into his skin, through his clothes. She'd complained about the cushion giving way beneath her before. He'd forgotten to have it repaired.

The energy to clean her room is punched out of him.

He hadn't protected the necklace from breaking. He couldn't save her from being snatched away into the Fade. He can't even tidy her space for her without falling into disrepair himself, it seems.

She thought the world of him, and not only could he not deliver, he failed her miserably. It churns his guts like cold cherry juice on an empty stomach.

Spite looks at him from under the table, awkwardly patting his right foot. Comfort is not a concept he's adept at.

His hands somehow feel small and chubby, the nailbeds rough and stained with blue paint. Lucanis doesn't know why he feels it through his boots.

He curls in on himself, head between his knees and hands pulling his hair.

Spite, for once, doesn't comment on his desperate wails.

🪶

idk if i like it yet, i wrote this on a whim. I have a tummy ache and the documentary my dad watches makes it look like Ramesses II only ever had sweet fluff loml moments :(

but on the bright side, i have a Big Storm planned hint hint [its a multichapter exploration of Fade Prison Angst]

@chubritza wassup

[~rina]

[radioapple-heathen]

My Top 10 Radioapple Fic 'Series' Recs

I've been working on this for a while. With nearly 4k fics for this ship on A03 (at the time of me writing this rec list), it can be difficult to find gems. I was really grateful for the rec lists I stumbled upon when I first joined this fandom, and I want to share the fics that have changed my brain chemistry with both newcomers and oldtimers alike. As with all rec lists, this list is completely subjective and curtailed to my tastes/preferences. I'm also sure this list will change with time as more fics get added to the fandom. As of mid-2024 though, here's where I'm at.

For background, I am an acespec 30+ married woman with ADHD raising a AuDHD child, and I appreciate fics that handle these aspects with respect and care. I've also been in fandom/writing for 20+ years, never professionally, always for fun.

My fic preferences:

I gravitate towards crisp prose that is sophisticated but not weighed down by excessive $5 dollar words. I like my fic like I like my food: digestible. The writing doesn't have to be perfect (typos and grammatical errors happen, that I can deal with) but the characterization is important to me.

I gravitate towards top!Lucifer because Alastor is a prissy little power bottom, but there are certainly exceptions to that on this list. At my core, though, I think they're switches with preferences.

I gravitate towards fics that have a nice balance of plot and romance, preferably leaning more towards the latter. I read fanfic for the relationship so if the plot supersedes the 'radioapple'-ness, I tend to find myself drifting/skimming, before giving up altogether.

I gravitate towards fics in sub <200k. Again this is an attention thing, no fault of the author, people loveee long fics. But often, even if I'm loving a fic, I'm like okay, where are we going with this? Again, some exceptions, which I'll highlight below.

I can be picky about my slow burns, like if it takes 100k to hold hands, I'll prob pass? BUT THIS IS JUST ME AND I HAVE THE ATTENTION SPAN OF A GOLDFISH AND I WANT TO FORCE THEIR HEADS TOGETHER AND MAKE THEM KISS ASAP?????

I gravitate towards genderfluid or intersex Lucifer, he's a shapeshifter and an angel, it just.. makes sense to me.

I have a preference for M or E-rated fics. I just really love the vulnerability and character development that can be explored through intimacy, especially in re: to Alastor's ace-ness. And what can I say? I wanna read about twink king getting it on with his deer man. That being said, I do have some T+ recs in my multi-chap/oneshot rec list.

Anyways. With all that said, let's get into the actual fics. Note, this isn't an exhaustive list, I could rec fics forever, there's so much talent in this fandom. These are just the ones that have altered my genetic makeup.

Top 10 Series

1.) All changed, changed utterly by @tollingreminiscentbells

Series: Complete. Rated: E. POV: Alastor for installments 1-5. Last installment (6) it switches. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

This is actually my favorite radioapple fic/series in the entire fandom. This series has rendered me somehow both speechless and bursting at the seams with praise. The writing is superb, the prose is elegant, but also easy to parse. Alastor meeting Lucifer as a human (and then again, in Hell) is by far my favorite trope of this ship, and this author takes said trope and weaves it into a masterpiece. The way they write Lucifer’s character (grieved by wrongs and loss, ancient and capable and so, so loving) is such a joy. And Alastor, god. I personally find Alastor’s POV tricky to write. He is a very complex character with a very specific narration voice, whimsical and deadly and clever and emotional stunted and possessive of what's his — which in this case, is Lucifer. I will never be able to sing enough praises. It truly cemented my love for this wonderful, complex, violently loving ship.

2.) Between the Shadow & the Soul by winterveritas

Series: In Progress. Rated: E. POV: Alastor. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

This author will pop up several times because everything they touch is gold. I really love this take on the radioapple dynamic where Alastor is rather smitten from the start, because I feel like many fics drag him kicking and screaming into admitting he cares (mine included, no shade). But like, Winter is able to write him this way while still keeping him in-character imo, and I just... love it???

3.) Lucifer and his Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Relationship by @keelywolfe

Series: In Progress. Rated: E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

You might actually be living under a rock if you haven't read this series. If that's the case, I IMPLORE YOU, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, read this series. It has one of the best Lucifer's narration voices I've ever read. Also, it has one of my favorite tropes: "slow burn but they're fucking the whole time." AND AND AND intersex!top!Lucifer, YES PLEASE???? This series also is one of my 'typical attention span for fics' exceptions because it just hit 200k, and I am still 100% invested. I could read about these two idiots forever.

4.) Wicked Game by TrashDemonX

Series: In Progress. Rated: E. POV: Alastor. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Not gonna lie, I went into this with the idea of just like, Smut Galore (and it is, bless), but it's actually become just a fascinating character study on Alastor. Impeccable writing, and there is currently one chapter left of part 3 AND I AM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH FOR IT???? This is a top!Alastor fic but Lucifer isn't like a pillow princess, my man is involved and so for me, it works well. I can't say enough about how WELL this author writes Alastor's voice. Again, not an easy feat imo.

5.) Radioapple Broadcast by blatantblue

Series: Complete. Rated: E. POV: Alastor for Part 1, Lucifer for Part 2, Alastor for Part 3. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: This was a positive JOY. Incredible writing and storytelling. Dom/sub undertones which is a huge plus for me, especially when Alastor is the sub. I reread this series often (and I usually am not a huge reread-er unless its been a while), but this is just a comfort fic, I think.

6.) Cataclysmic Cathechism by @wyldefire-writings

Series: Complete. Rated: E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: MPreg.

Notes:

I am about to show my entire ass right now but this series. My LORD.

Not gonna lie, MPreg was actually a squick for me before I joined this fandom/ship, but after reading this fic specifically, I'm now like, Al, my deer, my main man, knock that KoH the fuck up. Honestly, this was such a ride, and both of the boys were written SO WELL. Also, this author has the funniest A/N's I've ever had the pleasure of reading.

7. Hunger Pains by @theaffablescamp

Series: In Progress. Rated: E. POV: Switches. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

Excellent writing and some very intriguing plot happening right now. Has arguably the most intense wing preening session I have ever read that legit lives rent free in my head. Another "slow burn but they're fucking the whole time" fic which is just delightful.

8.) machinations by fiveandnocents

Series: Complete. Rated: T-M. POV: Switches. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

AHH I love this so much. Essentially, Alastor strikes up a relationship with Lucifer, as a means to manipulate him AND THE IDIOT FALLS IN LOVE UGHHH. It's chef's kiss. Spectacular characterization, this could be canon, and I'd be like yep, this happens in season 2, haha.

9.) By Name by @eunicorne

Series: Complete. Rated: E. POV: Switches. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: Gore, Consensual Murder? He regens, it's fine.

Notes:

So. I will continue to show my ass. As a note, I don't like violence/gore for violence's sake but when there are BDSM undertones and aftercare, I'm a fucking goner. This was one of my first dives into very dark aspects of radioapple, and I.. my brain chemistry has been altered by this series.

10.) imagine being loved by me by deliciously deviant

Series: In-Progress. Rated: E. POV: Switches. Notable Warnings: Gore, Consensual Cannibalism, I have never met a deader dove.

Notes:

Incredible writing and character voices BUT HOLY SHIT not for the weak or even average stomach. Again, I am soft for the whole, "I'm gonna cause you pain that you want/need to get out of your head" and I feel like I couldn't leave this rec out just bc of the content matter, but I am serious, read at your own risk.

AND THERE YOU HAVE IT. If you have any series recs of your own, feel free to share in the comments!

I also have my top 10 Multi-Chaptered (non-series) and top 10 oneshots recs list in my drafts rn, I'll be posting those in the next few days!

[ahllohehn]

Gem's area ,or whatever the Oracle has, has two kinds of decorations cute cottagecore stuff, and spooky stuff like skulls and stuff

An excerpt from the Camp Oracle's Journal:

"I put some fairy lights and curtains around the cave to make it seem homier. I also made a really wide tent filled with blankets and pillows to add up to the comfiness. After all, it was going to be my home for the next few weeks until I had to go back to school. Actually, it’s gonna be my home for the next summers to come!

There’s not much yet, but I hope to add more soon. Grian’s sister, Pearl, came to visit for a while to get a look at the new oracle (aka me). She was really nice! She helped me out on setting up the decorations around my cave and even gave me an old plushie of hers to add to my tent.

It was a well-loved wolf plushie, if the way the seams were already threatening to burst from just how much it’s been hugged, probably.

I didn’t want to take it at first because, you know, sentimental value! I couldn’t just take away her childhood plushie! But she was really adamant about giving it to me. She reasoned that Tilly (the name of the plushie, by the way) would be safer with me than it was with Grian.

Pearl couldn’t take the plushie with her because she’s always on the move with the goddess Artemis, Hunters of Artemis duties and all that. “It’d be a shame if it got lost mid-expedition,” she said.

And who was I to reject after that reason, you know? So now I have little Tilly living with little Gem in the super comfy and cool Oracle cave!"

Thank you for continuing to read! Have a tour of what's inside of Gem's cave:

COMFY CORNER OF THE CAVE

Cat beanbags and plushies - The cat beanbag is customized to look like Jellie. It was mainly put there during times Scar comes by to hang out with her so he wouldn't have to stay for too long on his wheelchair while visiting.

Seawater rug - Personally sewed by Xisuma after hearing that Gem had interest in marine biology. He wanted her to feel happier when resting in her cave since the cave was too far from the shore and the sea.

Aquatic animal plushies - Impulse and Skizz excitedly came over to give her fish plushies as a welcome gift. The clownfish is named Skizzy. The shark is named Impy, named accordingly to who gave which.

Small foldable table - Gem doesn't fold it often as she keeps her art stuff on it. She draws and makes the pins here.

BY THE WALL

Skull-shaped fairy lights - Not always green in color, but she keeps it green to make everything feel creepy. She had normal fairy lights before this but Cleo jokingly replaced it with string lights she bought during Halloween. Gem liked it so she kept it.

Worn out sword / Worn out shield - Not hers to begin with. They're actually normal weapons Etho had forged as practice before. He gifts them to Gem everytime she wins a spar against him to act as 'spoils of war.'

DESK / CURTAINED SIDE

Desk - There's chairs facing each other on each side of the table. This is where she mainly meets the campers for personal prophecies.

A line of potted plants along the wall - Bdubs offered to give her plants he thinks Gem would like to care for. There's mostly small sunflowers and succulents along the wall. One of the potted plants grew a particular one Gem never saw before. It was only when Pearl came over and questioned why she had a moonlace flower in her cave that she realized she was growing a magical plant. Bdubs never answered as to why he gave it to her.

TENT

Where Gem mainly sleeps. In here, you will never feel uncomfy as she's probably got 20 pillows and 5 blankets in there. Pearl's old plushie, Tilly, lives there with her. Grian asks to come in and cuddle with it when he has a particularly rough day.

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[zablife]

Becoming Mrs. Shelby (Part 14)

Tommy x wife reader

Summary: The night of the gala is upon you and you're wracked with nerves. Will Tommy relax and enjoy the evening as you hope he will?

Part 13 Masterlist

"If I might say so, you look lovely, ma'am!" Clara gushed as she stepped back to admire you in your custom gown. The cream colored silk draped beautifully across your body, accentuating the slim form you'd worked so hard to achieve in recent weeks.

Catching her eye in the mirror, you smiled triumphantly as your hand ghosted over the finger waves she'd styled for you. "It is perfect, isn't it?" you asked, chest swelling with pride. You hoped Tommy would feel the same when he saw you descending the grand staircase later that evening.

"There's something missing though," Clara fretted.

"Wh-what have I forgotten?" you asked, nerves overtaking you.

"Your jewelry, ma'am," she stated, matter-of-factly, frowning at your bare décolletage.

"I'm afraid I don't own any jewels," you replied sheepishly.

"Not to worry! You can borrow something from the vault," she advised you.

"Oh, no, I don't think I should," you demurred, wary of borrowing anything too valuable.

"But it's your right as the lady of the house!" Clara insisted. As she watched you bite your lower lip in uncertainty, she added, "The late Mrs. Shelby did it all the time!"

That was all you needed to hear in order to agree to let Clara fetch the appropriate gems. When she presented a necklace to you, glimmering in the light from its velvet cushion, you knew it was the one.

She helped fasten the clasp of the heavy necklace behind you, beaming as she pronounced, “Worthy of the lady of the house.”

Checking to be sure every seam and hair was in place, you finally gave a nod of approval for Clara to open the door. The guests had begun arriving and it was finally time for you to join them.

"Good luck, tonight," she wished you, well aware of the work you'd done to prepare. However, you couldn't help but think how lucky you were already. Living in a gorgeous mansion with a man you loved, nothing could be better than that.

As your hand rested over the newel post, you inhaled deeply and began your descent into the festivities. Chin held high, you were confident your efforts would culminate in an elegant soiree guests would talk about for months. You smiled to yourself imagining Tommy's wide grin of approval.

Your husband came into view below you, cutting a dashing figure in his black tuxedo and crisp bow tie. As if in slow motion, he turned toward you and you held your breath in long awaited anticipation of his reaction.

However, the scene of adoration you'd hoped for was not to be, his face dropping the moment his eyes fixed upon the enormous, pear shaped sapphire around your neck.

Simultaneously, the crowd went silent save for a few sharp gasps. The sound echoed back to you in chilling condemnation, making you self conscious of your transgression, even though you had no clue what it was.

With no choice but to continue on to your husband, you watched his gaze morph from confusion to anguish. It was difficult to read in the low light, but you were certain it wasn't favorable.

As your foot reached the bottom step, Tommy met you with a pained look. Eyes fixed on the gem you wore, he demanded, “Where did you get her necklace?”

Placing a trembling hand over the sapphire to hide it from sight, you muttered, “Clara said it would be alright.”

“It isn’t her decision,” he answered, jaw set tight with fierce determination. Pressing a hand to your lower back insistently, he urged you back the way you’d come hissing, "Go upstairs and take it off."

You began to shake as soon as you noticed he was barely containing the rage simmering below the surface. You shook your head in disbelief. "What have I done?"

"I won't ask again, Y/n," Tommy warned in a dangerously low voice.

Your eyes filled with tears and your lower lip began to quiver as you reached for his arm. "T-tommy, what's wrong?"

"Take that fucking sapphire off your neck...now, Y/n!" he growled.

As you stood dumbfounded by his harsh tone, he swiped at the gem resting at your throat and jerked it hard enough to break the delicate chain. Balling it into a fist, he stuffed the offending jewel into his pocket as you stumbled forward.

Choking from the force of his movements, you heaved for breath as you regained your balance. As you straightened to face the sea of disapproving onlookers, a crescendo of accusing whispers met your ears.

"It's in such poor taste!"

"What was she thinking?"

"Who would do such a thing?"

Utterly disgraced, you clutched the hem of your gown in your hand and raced up the stairs. Tears streamed down your cheeks in embarrassment, confused as to what you'd done to deserve their ridicule.

Stumbling toward your bedroom, you saw Mary lurking in the shadows having witnessed the entire incident. She barely acknowledged you as she continued down the hall, leaving you with a tearful Clara.

The maid reached for you as you passed, an apology tumbling from her lips. "Mary said I was to bring you the sapphire. I didn't know it belonged to the late missus," she confessed.

Part 15