#god the pictures with the hand. my girl modest

[leafostuff]

Off*Iz - Camera shy [Ft. Ex-Iz*one]

Tags: Smut, Secretary!Nako, Boss!MReader Sex in Secret, Handjob, Thigh worshiping, Anal

Author's Note: thanks for @iznsfw for beta reading and of course making the Off*iz, I'm honoured to be the first fic of the collab, another thanks goes to @octoberautumnbox for beta reading as well.

hope yall enjoy a quickie for the girl that made my debut smut

=================================

"God, I hate picture day."

It wasn't hard to hear Nako's attitude through her words, looking toward the camera while the photographer instructed her to smile. Even though she smiled a modest yet cheerful smile, you could see it in her eyes that she couldn't wait for this to be over.

A loud snap comes from the camera.

"Oh come Nako, it's not that bad, isn't this better than sitting around on our computer, writing some random numbers?" you said while Nako was getting out of the frame and heading toward you. As you handed her the purse, thanking you quietly as she takes it

"Yeah, until I have to see Ms. Diva here posing to the camera" .

You looked behind her and saw Jang Wonyoung. Her face is made for the camera lights, no wonder she got that modeling gig last year for some prestigious makeup company. It took only 10 seconds for her manager to cough loudly, signaling Wonyoung to remember where she was and remain professional.

"Oh come on. She’s young, let her live like she doesn't have to pay rent this month." It didn't seem to raise your secretary's mood as she simply rolled her eyes and took her phone out of the purse., "And honestly, don't underplay yourself. You are not so bad looking compared to her," you awkwardly said, trying to remain as professional as possible with this sentence.

Her gaze leaves her phone, "Not so bad looking?"

"Do you want me to sound like a weirdo calling you pretty?" you rhetorically asked as the both of you giggled lightly at your joke. It’s the first smile you saw from her ever since this morning.

"Joking aside Nako: you are pretty, even very pretty if I do say so myself," you added. Taking a second look at Wonyoung, you notice her manager looking disappointed in her behaviour.

"Sometimes beauty is best when only one person can admire it."

Nako couldn’t help but lightly blush at your sweet words. For a moment, the atmosphere was pure. Both of you couldn’t help but smile at each other, however...

"You know, I have a lot of data that I need to show you from this morning."

You couldn’t help but raise your eyes a bit from Nako's words as her mouth formed a devilish grin. Instead of her right hand returning her phone to the purse, it rested itself on her waist, her eyes locked themselves on yours.

"From that early? Why didn't you tell me before?" you asked, matching her grin.

As the boss of the Data analytics department in Off*iz inc, it was important that your secretary would share with you the day’s early morning data. You both knew that with how close you two were standing in front of each other (while still keeping a professional distance from each other), the way you smiled at each other—you two look at very different data from the other employees

"I didn't have time, morning was so hectic, and now the photoshoot was happening so this is the soonest chance I got," she explained.

"Besides, maybe showing you today's data can help me... de-stress after the photoshoot~"

=================================

Professionalism was something essential for the work environment. It can help everyone stay focused on the main goal, devise a strategy together and help anyone be happy in the workplace. However in some cases, some very niche cases, professionalism takes the back seat.

Case in point? You right now, making out with your own secretary in the printing room, the only room . It was hard to not say “fuck professionalism” when your hands glided across Nako's soft flesh, from her round cheeks to her toned back, all the way to her plump butt which you had the opportunity to squeeze. It caused her to moan quietly from your kiss, all the way to her milky thighs.

You felt Nako's weight pressing on you as she straddled your lap, her lips still not leaving yours. However her hands did find themselves on your slacks, unbuttoning them as fast she could.

During her attempt to take off your slacks you have free access to her neck, leaving small, invisible marks.

"You put on that cologne I suggested to you the other day," she said. sniffing around your neck. "I'm already wet just smelling it," she purred.

Your hands were not idle as they ripped off Nako's shirt, letting you see her small, petite chest covered in a black lacy bra.

A couple of forgotten pieces of clothing later, the both of you were naked, Nako was irresistably drawn to your already hard cock. Her body and soul started to fill with joy, and from what it seemed she wasnt the only one

“Let me help.” a flirty wink as Her small hand attempted to cup around your base, rubbing it up and down. You couldn’t help but moan at her soft touch.

"Fuck yes Nako, just like that, it feels...ngh so good."

Nako's smile got bigger seeing small drops of your fluids leaking out of your cock. Her pace sped up with each passing second, forcing your hands to clench her shoulders, holding on to dear life. Eventually your orgasm came, spilling out strings of cum all over her thighs.

"On my thighs again?" she asked.

"It's not my fault that your thighs are so damn thick, I didn't lie when i said you are very pretty." You lean forward, letting your hand attach themselves to her thighs like magnets. While giving them a loving squeeze, your lips go to the back of her neck, causing her to quietly gasp. "Especially,” you add, “down there."

"Oh really?" she asks, turning herself back to you as once again she gets into your lap, spreading her thighs as wide as she can. "Tell me how."

"How can I even begin," you ask as you lower your head, giving her outer right thigh a kiss. "As I said before, they are very thick, they might as well be a choking hazard," you tease.

"Oh wow, I'm flattered," she replies, and you can hear the happiness in her voice., She gently pushes your head down, forcing you to kiss her right thigh again, this time closer to her sacred area. "What else? And not so loud, I don't want to get caught."

"Well they are also... soft, and creamy, I bet a lap pillow from them will send me to heaven," you add, but not before moving yourself to her left thigh, now licking it instead of just giving pecks.

"Okay, I’ll make note of that when we go on dates that don't include us hiding in the printing room and fucking each other." The sarcasm in her voice rings clear as you know you can't meet outside; one wrong step can cause a huge dating scandal and get you both fired immediately.

"Oh come on, I know you like it, the thrill of possibly getting caught by our own coworkers. You want this as much as I do." You decide to tease her by kissing her pussy, earning you a melody of stifled moans. If she wasn't such an excellent secretary you would've sent her to an idol company.

"What can I say, I'm a bit camera shy," she replies, now letting your head rise from her thighs. Nako brings you to face her hardened nipples. "Anything else?"

"Well I bet they can be great handles for when I fuck you in the ass." You push your limits, and as expected Nako seems to be taken aback by your words., However, she gains her composure, and flashes you a smile.

"Hmm... interesting claim, you want to test it?" You are taken by surprise as Nako turns herself 180 degrees in your lap, her back completely exposed and her ass in full volume. "Well? what are you waiting fo- OH FUCK!"

Poor Nako did not have time to finish her sentence as your primal urges took over, gripping each of her thighs and pushing your cock inside her ass, deep enough to make Nako almost shout her moans.

"Quiet down, you don't want people to hear you right?" More pumps from your cock go deep into her asshole, and moans come out of her mouth in various pitches and lengths. Your hands remain on her thighs as you tease her "Well I guess I was right about that one".

"Shut up and fill my ass already! I need it so bad inside me…" Such profanities coming from a girl that looked pure and precious when you first met her. Just starting out in Off*iz inc you were already fond of her, and from how you ended up now, it seems she’s fond of you too.

"Fuck Nako, I am so close, your ass is so god damn tight," you say between pumps.Nako brings herself closer to you, taking your dick inside her ass even deeper than before, while the both of you became a moaning mess.

"Please just cum inside my ass, make me feel even better than I already am," she says,her tone is beggijg , even without seeing her face directly you can feel how lewd her expression when suddenly...

*Snap*

"What the- FUCKKKKKK!" Amidst her confusion, you finally released all of your load inside of her ass., She collapsed onto your chest, both of you sighing in relief and staying like that for a minute or two, just kissing each other calmly and sweetly. As you look at your phone and can't help yourself but chuckle.

"What's so funny?" she asks. Instead of saying anything, you flip around your phone to show what you are looking at: a picture of Nako with the lewdest of faces while you were fucking her ass.

"Well I guess when I fuck you in the ass you aren't so camera shy are you?" She delivers a small hit to your chest, her cheeks now red from embarrassment

"Whatever, let's get out of here," she says as she pulls herself off your lap. It takes just a few minutes before you’re both fully clothed and free of any leftover marks on you. Without any suspicion, you manage to leave the printing room quietly.

"Gotta say, for a first time getting fucked in the ass, it didnt end up too bad," Nako says as you both walk toward your office. “I might ask you to look over some ‘Data’ more often"

You finally reach your office and pull open the door.

"Well Nako, we should now focus-"

"On your work? Thought so as well." An unexpected voice comes out from your office and both you and your secretary draw your attention to its source. your own chair is occupied by a blonde girl, one that both of you know very well.

=================================

I finished writing it in a day (22/3/24), lost all of the text once and managed to recover it by memory alone, but yeah I had a lot of fun writing this fic, hope that the Off*iz Series will succeed as much as I want it to succeed

Have a rest of a good day leafies

[usedpidemo]

Voguish (Itzy Ryujin)

(Thank you for the commission! I hope its to your liking.)

—————

If you had any other choice, you’d rather be stuck at where you were previously: earning a modest income, just enough to get by from job to job, performing straightforward work, and most importantly, friendly clientele to attend to. It wasn’t surprising; you knew this industry was built on the backs of some of the most snobbish, arrogant people you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting, but—

“You’re late. Again.”

Shin Ryujin was probably among the absolute worst.

If you’re going to make an honest assessment, Ryujin isn’t that bad. Serving as her head stylist for the better part of a year, she’s by far the client you’ve spent the most time with. She doesn’t talk a big deal about the money she’s making or prattle into a conversation intricately designed to inflate her ego to the moon, unlike some of the other A-listers you’ve had the ‘privilege’ of working under. 

However, her attitude is definitely up there.

It’s not even a little over a minute. In fact, you’ve been standing at her entrance door two minutes before the clock hits ten. Doesn’t matter if you’re in the right; her style, her rules. She doesn’t care that you're sweating buckets rushing her newly minted outfit from across the street up to the 27th floor. Any moment where she doesn’t look like a million dollars is a moment wasted.

“My apologies, Ryu—”

Ryujin’s glare puts the fear of God into your soul. “What did I say about using my name?” 

You pause. Gulp your throat. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Shin.” 

“Hmph.” Grimacing with disgust, she hastily snatches the dress from your possession, proceeds to slam the door on you, tone bordering on shouting, “Come inside. You’re late.”

Entering the door shortly after, you’re welcomed by a film crew in the process of recording her as she struts around the living room suite holding your dress in her hands. If there’s anything you’ve learned from attending to her, she’s as effortless of an actress as she is as a model. The moment her eyes face the camera, she instantly transforms into the picture perfect icon that has all of social media buzzing.

Moving out of the way has become muscle memory at this point. When she’s in front of the cameras, you’re merely an onlooker. 

“So this is my outfit for tonight,” she says enthusiastically into the camera, proudly flaunting the outfit—a convincing facade to the untrained eye. For the press, she’s this likable, larger than life figure living her best life, attending all these invitation-only parties and wearing the most stylish dresses. 

“It was a risque design, and I wanted to try something bold for once. It was love at first sight when I saw it,” she comments, and you know very well this wasn’t her first choice. They won’t know that this was the 12th option, handpicked just last night after weeks of trial and error, only to be thrown away right after. At her request, you had it ordered on incredibly short notice, and the plan almost fell through. It was hard to deny Ryujin’s wants, no matter how impractical or unfeasible they were. 

In a way, this was to be expected. Ryujin emanates this young, it girl energy. Like any aspiring icon, she usually wants to stand out from a usually safe crowd. Not that it hasn’t stopped you from interfering a handful of times, much to her annoyance. After all, you’d assume she was going to a casual party or some red carpet event, not a prestigious gala with some of the biggest people in the world in attendance. You name it: politicians, CEOs of tech giants, industry titans who make the cover of Forbes and Time every other month. There are high standards that must be kept, and she’s doing anything but uphold those standards.

The camera pans away from her, and she immediately tosses the clothing aside with zero regard whatsoever. You manage to save it before it becomes near valueless. No matter how bothersome she acts, you can’t bring yourself to call her out on her antics; not just because there are several careers at stake, including yours, but you know what she’s capable of doing when her patience exceeds breaking point. It’s a firsthand experience to catch Ryujin in a state that isn’t picture perfect.

“Where are you?” Ryujin shouts from the other room, irate. “Slow as ever, my goodness.”

When you approach her, she’s on her phone, seated in front of the mirror with her legs crossed, having commanded the camera crew to vacate the room, leaving you alone with her. It’s only when you are together that she’s her true self, and it’s not far from what you usually experience even with other people around. They understand it’s in their best interest not to interfere.

Turning her eyes, she catches you idling with her sharp stare. “Well? Are you just gonna stand there and look at me all day? You already do that on the regular.”

Her behavior’s something neither cameras nor testimonies will ever publicly reveal: that Ryujin’s practically a spoiled brat behind closed doors. Any attempts to expose her have been silenced by huge settlements, NDAs, and every legal bind in the book. And when those don’t work out, there’s the strangely coincidental disappearance of potential witnesses that read like every tin-foil hat post written by some gullible conspiracy theorist on the internet. 

In retrospect, perhaps there’s some merit to the rumor that her father is supposedly the head of some mafia organization, but you digress. She has never brought her personal history up in interviews, other than she’s been adopted by the founder of a relatively unknown investment firm. An elaborate lie.

She’s engrossed on her phone, unable to keep herself still while you struggle to apply makeup on her face. Time’s of the essence, she usually says, but she’s purposeful with how much time is wasted, with the primary objective of finding an excuse to lay on you. It was never going to be fair from the start. All the moments where you were late, in her eyes, were intentionally done to put you in the wrong. 

To be fair, the numerous stylists who’ve taken care of her warned you in advance. You couldn’t deny the opportunity for a huge paycheck.

“Miss Shin, please stay still,” you say, carefully stringing your words together, delivered in the least offensive tone possible.

To your surprise, she complies. It’s a miracle. She never obliges with your requests, let alone direct commands.

Applying the rest of her makeup takes only minutes. Usually, you’d be going back and forth, and you’d be in front of the mirror for hours. See how easier everyone’s job is when all parties cooperate and collaborate effectively? You’re doing your part like it’s second nature; you only wish Ryujin was this accommodating more often, and not whether her brain flips a coin to determine her attitude for the day.

“You look amazing, Miss Shin,” you comment, staring at the mirror, her face radiating with the glow of a million bucks.

Taking her attention off the phone, even if it’s only for a second, proves to be a chore, as proven by her particularly grumpy expression. She scans herself, peers through every little detail in the mirror—showing more interest in herself during this brief moment than her dozens of photoshoots over the last month—and gives the smallest of nods. You even see the tiniest of grins escaping her lips, too.

Her steely attitude unwavering, she commands you, sternly, “Bring me the dress. Now.”

A clap of hands and the door opens like magic. Your co-stylist briskly walks toward you, outfit in hand, promptly handing it over before immediately leaving the room. No words are necessary; she makes it clear who’s allowed to touch her, let alone dress her, and it’s only you. Handling Ryujin was as meticulous and methodical as preserving a historical treasure.

She finally gets off her chair, hands prepared to loosen her robe before something catches her attention. “Door.”

It’s common sense. You hurry over to the opened door, slam it shut. Then the magic happens.

Ryujin nonchalantly slips her bathrobe off her shoulders, letting it freely fall to the floor. She’s draped in nothing but the thinnest of underwear, her asscheeks openly poking through the fabric. It’s amazing how she’s allowing you to see her like this, her barest, when most of her shoots and red carpet dresses have been nothing but conservative. Sometimes seductive, but mostly safe. There’s nothing left for your imagination. On the other hand, you’re so used to this vivid sight, it’s almost part of your daily routine. You shouldn’t be fazed, but her perfect figure has you staring, shamelessly, like it’s your very first time seeing nudity.

At times, it leaves you vulnerable. Like now.

“You were doing quite well too,” she comments, snarkily, gazing at your blank expression through the reflection, snapping you from your daze.

Gulping your throat, you find yourself embarrassed, ears flushed red. Even while you go through the methodical process of measuring and dressing her, the shame lingers. You find yourself unable to glance at the mirror. The very few flashes and glints that meet you when you turn you face your reflection, you find her suppressing a tiny giggle. 

As you put on the finishing touches on her outfit, she brings the point home, “We’re already late by an hour.”

A quick look at your watch tells you it’s almost eleven. Ten minutes before the next hour. At first glance, it’s still early, but it can be deceiving. Parisian traffic is notoriously unforgiving, event or no event, showing no partiality. Getting from one place to another is a whole day’s work.

Then you remember the fans and paparazzi congregated at the hotel’s entrance. This crowd that you had to brute force through just to get her dress on time. The hotel security can barely hold them back, and you can hear several sirens screaming miles away, most likely police presence. Many persons of interest will be gathered in one setting, after all.

“How do you feel, Miss Shin?” you ask, taking a step back to let her soak in her meticulously curated appearance. 

She blinks rapidly. Then she takes a deep breath.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

—————

Everywhere you look lies nothing but chaos. Chaos and cameras.

Barricade is filled with an indistinguishable mix of both paparazzi and media from all over the world. Lights, whether from above or from cameras, flash in every direction that it’s almost blinding. Deafening shouts pierce through your ears that whispering is impossible. You’ve been to as many red carpet events as these journalists and photographers, but you’ve never attended an event of this magnitude until now.

Left and right, there’s a random celebrity being interviewed by a news junket. The women you spot are dressed to the nines, adorned in colorful and graceful garb, while the men are decked as if they're attending Sunday service. You can see it now: another round of fashion bloggers berating and cursing the men for their simplicity and lack of creativity, but that’s to be expected. 

Your phone vibrates from within your shirt pocket. It’s Ryujin, having disappeared somewhere in the crowd.

> Where u at? 😤

You immediately reply back. Your conversations have been practice for your future relationship:

> Can’t find you in this crowd 

> Taylor Swift is just across me XD

> Scarlett Johannson too

> And I think I saw Zendaya and Yuna talking with each other, can’t confirm though, they’re far away

To which she answers:

> Stop playing around.

> Get over here NOW

> Do you style any of them? 

> You don’t.

> Come here. NOW.

It’s a simple but strong warning. Aside from the fact that you’re there to attend to Ryujin’s needs and not larp as a celebrity, there's a change in her attitude during these events. She becomes strangely more attached. It’s become a byword for you to mention other women around her, yet she interacts with them in a friendly light for the cameras to see.

Ryujin’s preoccupied with what’s presumably the umpteenth interview of many when you finally reunite with her. She takes another moment to pose for the next wave of cameras, picture perfect as always, then after, she finally turns her gaze, meeting yours. It has been ten minutes since her last text, and you have many reasons to say why you’ve vanished.

None of which truly matters.

“There you are.” She says, glaring angrily at you, tone laced with contempt, sounding like you were gone for days.

“I can explain, Miss Shin,” you try to say, but it has no effect as she approaches you, careful as ever to keep a picturesque facade in front of the media. You can see her holding herself back from popping a vein. “Apparently President Biden and his wife are in attendance and we were told to make way for his entire security team—”

The way Ryujin pulls you by the ear while you both retreat from the chaotic crowd is comical. In a sea of cameras and eyewitnesses, some tabloid’s bound to catch you, take the unfolding scene out of context, and write a rushed article that spreads like wildfire, but no, it doesn’t draw an ounce of attention. She's a small fry in a pond of bigger fish, after all. Over your corner, you see a dozen Secret Service slowly guide the president along the carpet, parting everyone around old Joe. In a way, watching him brings you to a strange realization: that you can empathize with the poor geezer. You’re both in the same predicament, being strung along to places you have no zero interest in.

It’s an effective distraction. An air of tense, awkward silence falls upon you both as you stare at each other, your personal conflict hidden away from the public eye. You open your mouth, about to say a word, and—

Whack!

Ryujin hits you with the hardest of palms, all her pent-up frustration released with a single, powerful smack of your cheek. The force echoes throughout the enclosed space like thunder. Your lips draw a little blood. A quick rub of your face reinforces the consequence for your actions. Rough. Still, to say she looks unhappy after enforcing her will upon you is an understatement.

And just when you try to open your mouth (without the intention to complain; you’ve given up at this point), she follows it up with a second slap, with about half the impact of the first. This time, the other cheek. Her gaze is scathing, lethal, hypnotic—as if challenging you to try her already short patience. Say something, motherfucker, is subtly etched on her expressive lips without the need to verbalize them. 

Another tense moment of silence. She makes sure your eyes never leave her contact. When it finally breaks, her judgment echoes in your head like the toll of a death bell—a lingering reminder that you’ve truly fucked up.

“You’ll be seeing me after tonight,” she says, each word delivered like an arrow straight to your heart. Before facing the world again, she adds another devastating blow, “My hotel room. Midnight. Sharp.”

—————

For the most part, in the eyes of the public, you seem to have done a fantastic job styling Ryujin for tonight’s gala. Within hours of the event, numerous articles published of the event list her among the best dressed stars, praising the bold nature of her outfit, as she intended in that vlog-style video from earlier. It’s all smiles as you watch her from afar, casually mingling with every celebrity in attendance. In case she needs to remain fresh, have new makeup applied, or change into a new dress for afterparty purposes—sometimes all of the above—you’re closely on standby. Ultimately, she doesn’t; not a single time she has called or texted for assistance. In a way, it’s alarming.

Her reminder sticks firmly on the back of your mind. Every word she says, she means it—no matter how small or big they are. It lingers even as her personal driver and bodyguard messages you with the instruction to return to the car, where she’s mysteriously absent, having been commanded by Ryujin herself to send you and the rest of her personnel home. It’s uncharacteristically strange; either she’s changed her mind and is having a good time at the event, or she’s probably drunk out of her mind, and the latter is typically the norm.

When you retreat to your room, you nervously watch as the clock slowly ticks towards the inevitable. It’s like witnessing your death. You know you can’t stop it, and you can’t look away, either. With the understanding that you’ll likely see the sun rise when it’s all said and done, you don’t even bother to slip into your sleepwear. 

The clock turns midnight. Seconds later, you receive a text on your phone. The message. It immediately disproves any theory or hope of meeting her good graces:

> Meet me in my room. Don’t even think about hiding or running, cause I will know

Of course you comply; you really have no other choice.

Five minutes later, you’re at her door again, with nothing but your suit, ready to face her judgment. It swings open of its own accord. Without any formalities, you step inside the familiar living room, now tidied up and cloaked in near darkness—a stark contrast to the mess it looked earlier in the day. Not a sign of her presence can be seen or felt. If you’ve been feeling uneasy before, now you’re straight up anxious, and the terror leaves you pale.

The door slams shut. Now you’re completely in the dark, with nothing to latch or cling to but your own resolve, which is slowly fading too. You want to speak her name, but you know you’ll be trying fate again, and fate has dealt you a cruel hand already. You didn’t want to fall even further. 

Your slow breaths are the only sign of life.

And the faint voice in your ear.

Wait—

Before you know it, you feel your throat tense up and your body tremble frantically. Faint shadows coil around your waist and neck, and in that moment, your fate has been sealed. 

“At least you’re not late this time.” Ryujin whispers into your ear. Then your eyes snap wide open.

“Agh!” 

A powerful surge of pain overwhelms your entire body, renders you weak in the knees. You fall to the ground, barely keeping yourself from completely melting onto the carpet with your hands. Still, the pangs remain too much. You can barely hold up on all fours, let alone move your arms and legs. 

It’s not enough. A soft hand hovers across your arched back, brushes through your hair, before it’s immediately followed by a direct blow to your nape. Your shout of agony reverberates throughout the dark room while you’re forced further down on your knees. Nearly forced into a prostrate position, you’re barely holding on. Another hit of this force could knock you unconscious, maybe worse.

“You’re going to learn your lesson today,” says Ryujin, strutting from behind you, cloaked in what appears to be a white gown. She’s holding something that you can’t identify, but you can tell she’s not in the mood to play games. Sparks of electricity flash and fade close to her hand. It was a taser all along. You probably would have guessed that from the intense shocking pain you’re currently feeling.

“Bedroom, slowpoke,” she sternly commands you as she saunters toward the room first, leaving you alone to pick yourself up. You’re still reeling from the two shocks of electricity applied to your waist and neck; it stings. Your body struggles, aches, cries out in despair, but you ultimately muster up enough power to follow her minutes later.

What greets you in the bedroom is a dimly lit bed, with Ryujin as its centerpiece, and both ends of her figure bathed in a faint wave of orange lamp light. She’s draped in nothing but the same hotel-issued bathrobe from earlier, her legs crossed, gazing at you from behind designer shades, smirking with malicious intent. It’s regal, seductive, inviting, intimidating. You honestly could stare at this sight all day long.

Before you entertain the thought, she cuts it off. “Strip.”

Her gaze lingers as you quickly bare yourself in front of her. She grins, giggles, adjusts her glasses with each piece of clothing removed. It flashes at her widest when you’ve divested your shirt and your pants, revealing your chest and your evident bulge, unknowingly growing hard behind the elastic fabric. It seems to spark a new idea within her, even though she’s the type of woman who follows through with her plans after they’ve been organized and premeditated.

She hops off the bed, slowly saunters toward you with trained, modellike fashion, using you as a makeshift catwalk. Turning the corner, she retreats behind your back, gripping a hand on your neck, craning the other down your bare chest. Her tongue tickles the back of your ear, which morphs into the smallest of smooches while she drags you to the bed like a hostage. As she hauls you over the mattress, she continues to feel your skin and body, your ears titillated by the gentle moans and whimpers from her sultry lips.

Your bump knees with the bed before she sends you flying over the edge. Temptation comes knocking at the door of your suppressed lips; you’re itching to cry out in pain, pleading for a bit more consideration. You know it’s a futile effort. When it comes to sex, Ryujin was anything but gentle. 

“Don’t look. Stay still.” 

Following her command is second nature to you; even when your positions were interchanged, it was merely an illusion—you were never in control. Ryujin plants a palm around your throat, forcing your stare against the bedrest. The clanging sound of something resembling a belt or a buckle keeps you curious. Tense, breaths keep you calm. Deep down, you know what’s about to happen; there’s no stopping it, you can only brace for impact. 

In the gap between the point of no return, she tells you her mindstate, how her frustration and apparent jealousy never receded. “I hated every minute I spent there. You have no idea how difficult it was to keep a face in front of everyone, especially after seeing Yuna. Fucking. Yuna.”

Your reaction comes out, not through coherent words, but through a labored groan. You feel her finger circle rings around your ass, sticky and wet. Of course she was there, social media couldn’t stop buzzing about her appearance—and she rarely shows up to these galas. Now it’s all making sense. After all, you were Yuna’s stylist before Ryujin snatched you away. 

Ryujin continues to apply lube around your sensitive hole, occasionally fingering you. Holding in the groans from the discomfort proves to be impossible, but she prefers to hear you whine, especially when her name is spoken. It’s the perfect reprieve from the evening’s frustrations, keeping her from raising her voice to the ceiling. “She pisses me off so fucking much. First stealing my thunder at every fashion week, now this? I thought she hated art galas?”

It’s evident that she doesn’t like Yuna in any shape whatsoever. If not for the cameras and all the famous people in the building, she’d already be trading blows with her. If there was any one person she wanted dead, it would have to be Shin Yuna. Of course, knowing this, you never included your time with her on your job application, let alone mention the fact you briefly spoke at the event behind her back. She was in an already spiraling mood, and you didn’t need to make it even worse.

“I was thinking of using dildos for tonight, maybe just my fingers even, but I don’t think it’ll be enough. I really hope you understand.” That last sentence—she sounds apologetic, remorseful, but the warning is ultimately shallow; she’ll rough you up, wreck you, ruin you, and enjoy every moment of it. You’re merely a blank canvas to her twisted fantasies.

“Oh, oh–fuck!” She cries out, joining your deep scream in harmony as she plunges the dildo into your warm, wet hole. This isn’t your first experience on the receiving end of Ryujin’s strap, yet every plunge feels as destructive and spine breaking as the first. No pleasantries or formalities, just apply the lube then hit. The idea of teasing you goes against her very blunt, assertive nature.

“Shit—oh fucking shit, you’re so goddamn tight,” she says, snaking a hand around your waist as her plastic dick slowly penetrates your hole, little by little. She has you grasping at pillows, staring at the ceiling then down to the sheets, until you find the twisted image of her hips slowly pounding against your ass, letting the pleasure of pegging overwhelm her. It should be excruciatingly painful, an agonizing reminder to never get on her wrong side, but no, there’s something hot about getting dicked by a tough woman like her that arouses you.

Eventually, she comes to her senses, finds her footing, and remembers that she’s meant to punish you, not reward you. She knows how good you make her feel, even if your cock is meant to be inside hers, not the other way around. You can’t help speaking your mind, and it boosts Ryujin’s ego to the moon. “Please. Fucking use me, Miss Shin. Fucking ruin my hole like how I ruin yours, miss.”

Even upside down, you can see how visibly delighted she is to hear those words every single time. Can’t hide that wide smirk plastered on her lips, no matter how upset she is. It’s intoxicating. No matter how hard you’re huffing, the pleasure she derives from using you keeps you going. 

Slamming your eyes shut, Ryujin does what you both want. Fucks you with her dildo hard, clenches and quelches with each careful, intricate stroke. Sometimes you’re in that position, taking her ass and ravaging her body as your own. Now it’s her turn, and she’s been taking after you. Between thrusts, she slaps your cheek, pulls on your neck and hair. You’ve built this alarmingly toxic work relationship, but the sex has never felt this invigorating, so cathartic. The perfect use of frustration to be channeled into something pleasurable and rapturous. 

You’ve never seen Ryujin this focused, this committed to wrecking you. She’s using your hole with such ferocity you think she’ll make you bleed out. Behind those glazed, pleasure-filled eyes, she sees nothing but red. Difficult as it is, you follow a string of moans from her lips hidden beneath a continuous echo of groans from your end. It doesn’t help that these walls are thin and everyone on this floor can hear your escapades.

Neither of you care. There’s a good reason as to why she booked the whole floor to begin with.

The bed quakes, and quakes, and quakes—until it doesn’t. 

A puzzlingly calm fills the room after countless minutes pass. Ryujin’s frantic breaths close the silent gap, having pulled the dildo from your hole. It’s slick. You realize the change of pace. 

“Miss Shin, why did you stop?”

She doesn’t reply immediately. When she does, she’s still catching her breath between spoken words. “I told you—it wasn’t going to be enough. Lay down for me, will you?”

Without a second thought, you comply. This gives you an opportunity to truly see her in the flesh for the first time tonight. She’s wearing a combination of corset and lingerie, her juicy thighs layered with lace garter. Hopping off the bed, she unbuckles the strap around her waist, tossing it aside to the floor. You then focus on her plump ass, accentuated by her slim thong.

Damn, she looks better now than she does naked. You feel proud that she’s wearing your tailor-made lingerie.

Before you entertain the thought of undressing the very underclothes you’ve prepared for her, she slips the boxers off your ankles. She climbs onto the bed, stands atop you. Even with her short stature, in this position, she’s larger than life, a dominating presence that only desires complete control. 

“Hmm, I don’t know what I should do. I could let you fuck me, but that doesn’t sound right for a punishment,” she comments, playfully placing a finger on her chin, jokingly thinking. For a brief moment, it does appear that she’s stumped.

When the idea hits her, her eyes widen, and she has this self-conceited look, as if she’s got it all planned out. 

She reaches a hand down to her knee, slowly peels one of the stockings down to her ankles. Then she does the same for the other half. The way she positions both legwear on your cock is intentional; it’s to stir the idea of pounding into her cunt a real possibility. Your gaze remains fixated on Ryujin’s face, ever flawless in her scantily-clad figure, being her model self atop you. 

As she tugs on the lace of her panties, you start reacquainting your mind with the image of her tight cunt. She lowers it, barely down her thighs, enough space to tease, enough to make your heart race. Her attention is nowhere close to you; she has other priorities, and fingering herself is one of them. She rubs a digit around her heat, moans out in ecstasy with the same energy as getting fucked. The trembles of her body send aftershocks that reverberate all over the bed. 

It’s already hot enough to get fucked by Ryujin’s strap, but this—the sight of Ryujin pleasuring herself, mouth gaped wide open—is a hundred times better. This is the same reaction she has shown throughout the numerous times you’ve railed her, even though you’ve seen that face during sex. Against the mirror, against the water’s reflection, against the tinted windows of her cars—her face serves as motivation that keeps you hard whenever she demands it. Your hands begin to move on their own, reach down to the groin unknowingly, unsure of whether she’d want you to masturbate or not.

You feel your hard cock, already partially soaked with precum, dripping on her garter. As much as you want to keep them on, you can’t go against the deep seated urge to masturbate with her. Her foot begins to lean against your waist, right as you begin to stroke your shaft with your fingers. Moaning alongside her, you thrust your hips upward, passionately murmuring her name, with nothing but a singular thought: her pussy.

It’s etched on your needy lips. “You’re so sexy, Miss Shin. Please let me fuck you, God—”

She whines as though your hot breath is against her neck, growling a tone higher than normal. Her left foot is slowly clenching around your balls, the other at the bridge between your thigh and your crotch, gently nudging your free hand to move aside. She’s beginning to apply pressure on you, perhaps a subtle gesture to make you stop and give way for her feet to take over, but you’re engrossed in the moment to fully realize. Then again, subtlety isn’t her speciality.

It’s only when her foot presses down on your active hand that you slow to a complete halt. You gently rest her soles on your shaft, slowly wrap her soft toes around your tip. For the most part, their grip is shaky, but when they stick, they feel so slick, so warm, and significantly better than whatever effort your fingers can muster. She can’t wear heels without a few kisses placed on them, you recall; something about being Cinderella growing up, how she prefers to be treated, to receive nothing but showers of praise and attention, and you’re doing just that.

Her digits seemingly acknowledge what they’re stepping on, and soon enough it becomes the perfect makeshift ring to stimulate your cock. Her toes just feel the best, most direct spots around your sensitive shaft, gradually building momentum for when you eventually paint her pretty feet. At least, that’s the goal. You’re both drowning in pleasure, chasing separate highs, but using each other’s bodies as conduit for your own personal gain.

And it’s not that she doesn’t know; she knows. You’ve caught a glimpse of her half-lidded eye peeking down. She sees it, merely chuckles at the notion, and continues to finger herself atop your helpless body. Mutual trust brings you together; she won’t stop you as long as you won’t do the same to her.

“Yes, fuck, I’m gonna cum so hard,” you say, breaths hurried, and it isn’t a matter of if, but when. “Every part of you feels so good, Ryu.”

You’re past formalities at this point. She’s too far gone to care that you've called her by her casual name. Her fingers, both slick and warm at once, are catching fire from the frenzied pace she’s rubbing her clit, certain her dripping juices will find solace on your splayed figure. Racing with her orgasm, her underwear is halfway down her meaty legs, her very foundations shaking. Inadvertently pressing her foot tightly on your cock, she’s holding on for dear life, and it threatens to steal your soul before you reach that immaculate high.

With friction at an all-time high, one rough, slippery slip between her toes, all while your loins burn , moving as if you’re burying yourself deep in her cunt, eager to fill her with seed. The thin thread snaps. Sends you careening over the edge.

Your fall is accompanied by the endless scream of her name. To have your cock be graciously drained by her feet, it would be disrespectful not to. She’s still going, chasing that high even as your cum geysers all over her feet, spills over your knees, your belly, on the sheets, as if her own slick didn’t already make an utter mess of this five-star bed. You’re mentally cheering her on, distracting yourself from the endless cascade of seed gushing beneath you. 

This disastrous mess finds you again, this time in the form of Ryujin’s orgasm. She orgasms, cries her loudest cry, her features at their most corrupted. Her pussy gushes like a rushing waterfall, completely soiling her legs and panties with her slick juices. Your groin manages to salvage whatever her thighs haven’t absorbed, and it’s a sticky pool that latches onto her dainty feet. When she steps off your cock, the squelch of wet seed splatters on the sheets until she touches the ground.

You both take some time apart, let the aftermath of your orgasms fizzle out. Ryujin assesses the damage to her body; she’s still a model, after all. She hastily rids of the soiled underwear, treating it like some kind of contaminated object that can only be cleansed by fire. From the looks of it, she’s committed something dangerous, and you’ve done something scandalous. 

“Shit. We got carried away,” you say, lifting your head from the bed, panicked.

“No. You got carried away,” she replies, facing you with that familiar icy gaze. The honeymoon period is over. “Did I allow you to plant my feet on your cock? Huh?”

Swallowing your throat, you understand that she’s technically right, but also, she most certainly enjoyed the feeling of stepping on you—something you can use against her. Still, Ryujin’s word overrides all reasoning, no matter how logical they are.

You see her facade fall apart when she approaches you again. She climbs onto the bed like a cat, arches her back, and sends you back down to the mattress when she pounces on you. On her lips is the widest smirk you’ve ever seen on her. 

She wants more.

Rising to her feet, she plants her toes directly on your chin, oozing with the remains of your cum mixed with hers. “You did this, now you’ll clean it up.” 

As your tongue laps it up, she occasionally disrupts your rhythm by kicking you several times. Not that you’re hurting her (you couldn’t even if you tried) but for the delight of bringing you misfortune. It’s completely in line with the typical abuse and inhumane treatment you face from her during work hours. You won’t complain, but that was never in the cards, anyway. 

“I can’t believe my stylist is a complete freak. Fucking hell,” she comments, glaring you down as you give her toe the occasional kiss. She’s visibly disgusted by the realization sinking in, but deep down, she knows you’re the exact stylist she’s been looking for. 

—————

And as if that’s not enough, she’s found a punishment perfectly suited for you. 

“Just so you know, you’re not getting paid after the stunt you pulled on me today,” says Ryujin, in reference to your accidental disappearance during the red carpet. You’re laid out on the floor, prone, your groans stifled by the living room carpet. Meanwhile, her feet tread all over your bare back at a steady tempo, leaving what could have easily been hickeys red marks and footprints on your skin.

“How long do I have left, Miss Shin?” you ask, voice almost indiscernible.

“About ten minutes,” she replies, looking out the hotel room window, watching dawn slowly break over the Parisian sky. “Don’t ever disappoint me again, do you understand? Freak.”

——————

(A/N: First commissioned work complete! Definitely exploring elements out of my specialty, did you expect her to peg OC? Fun dynamic to write, thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can send me a commission :D)

[ceo-of-stealing-ur-fucking-teeth]

Content Warning: Religious Trauma, Religious, Emotional, Physical, Sexual, and Child Abuse

As a Catholic Kid, I was taught three things very early on;

1. Gods love was unconditional

2. Until there were conditions he, or the adults in my life didn’t like

3. And then his anger was terrible.

Many people who have dealt with toxic families, either by being in one, or by being a social worker, therapist, teacher, or any other aid of that nature, might recognize a lot of these. I’m of the first category.

My Catholic upbringing groomed me for abuse from an early age.

God loved gays. Until said gays wanted to do things like have relationships, or exist more loudly in the world, or deviate in any way from what my Catholic family found appropriate. Like having the audacity to want to be married. “I’ll love you, and whoever you choose to love.” My divorced Catholic mother told me, one day when I’m confronting her. “But we will not recognize a marriage.” “Why can’t one of my children be straight!” She laments, when another kid comes out. She doesn’t remember the pictures she’d allow to be painted of loneliness and damnation for her young queer child, the noises of judgment and the hushed whispers of relatives that brought shame to the family. The tone of Justice when something bad would happen to a gay person, like somehow they’d earned their fate with AIDS, or at the hands some some drunk redneck.

God loves Children. That’s why he hates abortion. Nevermind that there’s descriptions of how to provide them in the bible. He wants you to yell at women going into clinics, even the young teenage girls who said no, who couldn’t say no, who said yes but had no resources to know about safe sex, or even the ones who just wanted to have fun. They don’t get a childhood, it’s been taken, they don’t deserve it. They don’t own their bodies, and never will. Despite God getting a young woman pregnant out of wedlock. At least he asked for consent. He loves all the starving children, the LGBTQ+ children kicked out of their homes by his adherents, the ones in Warzones, the ones being killed. Suffering, while he watches. Sometimes blamed, because they didn’t believe in him the way we did. He even loves the victims of his church as they shuffle another priest off to another parish, leaving another group of children broken and traumatized.

God loves women. If they followed his ideal of womanhood. Don’t have sex except to have kids. But you’re faulty if you can’t and you shouldn’t try anything to fix it despite the judgement others feel for you and your defective body. And no abortion for you, even if the ultrasound tells you your baby, that you’ve carried for months, has no heartbeat, or half a brain, or is conjoined to their twin in a way that will insure they have no quality of life. Sacrifice everything for your husband and children. Be modest, be subservient. Never blame men, even when they grab you and grope you and tell you it’s fine, because you were probably leading them on. Don’t get divorced, even if you don’t love him anymore, even if he hurts you with words or fists, even if he’s useless around the home because the home is your job, no matter how much there is to shoulder. He works so hard as the head of the house, while he ignores his children and eats the food you make and can’t even figure out how to wash his laundry and he’ll just mess it up anyways, so why don’t you do it for him?

You don’t ask questions. You don’t. You obey mom and dad, even when they isolate you, and abuse you. You’re not mentally ill and young, you’re evil. You’re not chafing under their control and telling them that they’re hurting you, you’re venomous. You’re going to confession because you’re not honouring your parents. Nevermind that honour is nothing in that home. Hypocrisy is all you see from an early age, mother and father telling you one thing and doing another. You family lives a lie, and the other adults around you watch it and do nothing. Your priest, their friends in the church, good people of the Faith, see and hear things and let it happen because it’s none of their business. As a homeschooled child, you have no exposure to mandatory reporters, and they instilled a fear of the government in you that insures after a while you stop talking about it. If you go to foster care you’ll never see any of your siblings again, even though there were other family members who would have found out. Eventually so many things are internalized, the blame, the shame, the ahistorical understanding of the world, the fact that people deserve to suffer because that means they’re evil or faulty somehow. But god loves them! The sexism, the homophobia, xenophobia. A moment of I love you followed by days of screaming, blame, hitting. “Why are you cringing, you act like we beat you.” Then ten minutes later they walk up behind you, slap your skull to get your attention and demand to know why the cupboard was left open. On, and on.

Pain and suffering are Gods will. Fetishized, with bloody crucifixes and stories of martyrs. Especially yours, and people like you. It’s in the books you read and on the lips of adults who you trust. It’s used to justify hurting others because they’re different or making mistakes. Love and pain and cruelty become tangled in each other.

You think about hell, and you’re very small, and you start crying because you already know that you’re making God angry and sad because that’s how your parents talk to you. And you don’t know it yet but it’s going to get worse. You’re going to grow up preconditioned for people to hurt you.

But God loves you unconditionally.

[lostography]

Age 31. I dip my hands in a plate of purple paint and smear the paint across my bare back. A violent, violet mess across the flesh. The paint is watery and thin, cold on my hands and skin. A declaration of war. I click the self-timer on my camera. Once. And then again. And again. The body as canvas. The body as art. Or perhaps, the body as conflict. 

The body, a blank slate. These stories could belong to anyone.

_ _ _

Age 3. A snapshot in a photo album. I am wearing my mother’s white slip and it’s falling off my bare shoulders. I have on somebody else’s sunglasses, and I’m straddling a stick pony. My satisfaction with life is written clearly across my face. I am a child who would prefer to be running buck naked in the streets but playing dress up is second best to that. This body is wholly, delightfully my own. 

_ _ _

Age. 7 A new town, a new school. I’m a week late for second grade, and just trying to catch up. The popular girls wear sticky sweet lip gloss and apply roll-on glitter around their eyes. They wear tank tops and short shorts and flip-flops; it’s after all August in the desert, and the heat is thick. But in my house, we don’t wear tank tops or short shorts. Now that I’m getting older, tank tops are not modest. Instead, I wear my sister’s hand-me-down t-shirts, jean shorts to my knees, and old sneakers. I know I don’t look like the popular girls. When I don’t get an invite to M.’s eighth birthday party, the one where everyone gets to take a hot air balloon ride, I can’t help but wondering if this is why. 

_ _ _

Age 8. I am in the dressing room of JC Penney’s trying on jeans, with my mother waiting just outside the door. My age matches my size and this feels important to me. I step out of the dressing room to show off my stiff new jeans. Bootcut. I don’t remember if my mother tells me I look good or if she tells me she likes the jeans. What I do remember is she tells me I look so skinny. And I know enough to know that skinny is good. We buy the jeans. 

_ _ _

I ask other women to tell me the stories of their bodies. I want to know how and when that self-consciousness sneaks in. I want to know how they were taught to relate to their bodies and by whom. The narratives become complex quickly. They want to talk about diets, God, sexuality, and shame, but also self-worth, acceptance, and celebration. Do I write about one thread, and leave the others for another time? There is too much to untangle, each thread intricately connected to another. I attempt to write it all. The body, a complicated tapestry.

_ _ _

D. and her family are on their way to visit D.’s aunt in her new home. D. must be about twelve, maybe thirteen. They pull up into the driveway, and her aunt comes out to greet them. Her aunt is the wild one of the family, known for her blunt and crass nature. D. is barely out of the car before her aunt looks her up and down and says, Geez, you sure are getting chubby! D.’s mother pipes in, I keep telling her she needs to be more careful about what she eats! 

They take a picture in front of the new house. D. slouches behind her sisters, ashamed for the first time of her body, mortified at being photographed. She pulls her denim jacket close around herself in hopes of hiding even more. 

After that, she starts wearing that same denim jacket with every outfit, determined to keep on hiding.

_ _ _

K.’s friends love to play with makeup and clothes. K. is seven and unsure if she’s supposed to like these things, too. They introduce her to the Barbie movies, the Bratz TV series, and online dress up games. She thinks, This is what pretty girls look like.  Enormous eyes. Tiny waists. Shiny blonde hair.

They keep playing dress up through the years. She lets her friends doll her up, do her hair, put on her makeup. This is how she learns she’s not what the pretty girls look like. Eyes too small. Hair too mousy. It’s not as easy to change in real life as it was in those online dress up games. 

_ _ _

Age 12. In church, we learn what not to do with our bodies. The list is long and covers everything from what we don’t take in, to what we don’t take on. I don’t fully understand the mechanics of sex, but I know it’s on the very top of that long do-not list. Second only to murder. But murder rarely makes into church lessons. 

In a class of a dozen tween girls, our teacher passes around a white, silk rose, instructing each of us to take a turn drawing our mark on it. When the rose has made it through the circle, she holds it up for us to see how clearly tainted it is by our casual touching. Look how dirty this rose is. Who would want this rose now? 

_ _ _

I want to leave religion out of this. I want to say conservative Christianity has no role in this. But I can’t. I can’t when woman after woman tells me about what she learned in Sunday school and youth groups about her body: Cover up. Look good enough to find a husband, but not “too” good. Cover up. Don’t give boys the wrong idea. Cover up. Don’t make it hard for boys and men to control their thoughts. Be pure. Be modest. Be giving. Be angelic. Be sure to cover up. 

And we did. We kept our shorts and skirts just above the knees. We covered our shoulders. We layered tank tops under t-shirts to hide our bellies and our breasts. Nothing too tight. Nothing too sheer. 

Don’t use your body for attention. Modest is hottest. 

No special occasion is special enough to bend the rules.  

_ _ _

Age 17. A dress made of white eyelet lace. It fits my body like a glove, flaring out slightly at the waist, the hem falling just a few inches above the knee. I love the dress the way only a teenage girl can love a dress. It is that belief that this dress will change everything. I will never stop believing in the power of sartorial magic. But first, a knit bolero to cover the spaghetti straps. And bobby pins to hold the bolero in place. And another white skirt layered underneath the dress so it’s not too short. And suddenly, I don’t love the dress anymore. 

_ _ _

Another dress. This one belongs to A. She is seven, maybe eight, getting custom measured for a waltz dress. She is competing in ballroom dancing, and not for the first time. The seamstress, who has measured her before casually comments, Interesting, you are bigger on the waist than last time, but you haven’t grown taller.  

_ _ _

C. recalls being very, very young. This is what the adults praise her for: You have such big, beautiful eyes! What a pretty little girl! 

_ _ _

L.’s father-in-law always tells his granddaughter: You have such pretty eyes! I love you so much! Always, in that order. 

_ _ _

Age 31. Here is the scene: a baby shower. A spread of food. Tiny quiches. The obligatory vegetable tray with ranch dip in the middle. Lemonade. And a tempting three tier display of strawberry cookies with pink frosting, wafting their summery scent through the kitchen. Let’s play a game: count how many women comment on how they really shouldn’t eat a cookie, but just can’t resist. Bonus points if calories are mentioned. The words, like a mantra, a prayer for forgiveness that must be uttered before eating. Carrots and cauliflower, penance for their crime. Cookies, a moral dilemma. Food as sin. 

_ _ _

Age 17. The body as sin. If you dress like that, no good church boy is going to be attracted to you. If you dress like that, you’re making it hard for that good church boy to keep his thoughts clean. If you dress like that, you become walking pornography for that good church boy. If you dress like that, clearly you’re asking for it.

_ _ _

No sweets after nine!

No sugar until Christmas!

Cut back on the carbs!

These are the love notes our mothers wrote to their bodies, year after year, posted on refrigerator doors, mirrors, and inside pantries. The body, an unruly lover, always something to be kept in check.  

_ _ _

Age 24. He leaves me little love notes, tucked into the windshield wipers on my car, hidden in the books I carry to class, and left with small gifts on my front porch, and in the notes, he tells me I’m beautiful. 

He also tells me, in the dark, his hands wrapped around my waist, Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’d be so hot if you gained like twenty pounds. 

He tells me I look beautiful without any makeup on, while we sit on the edge of a canyon, waiting for the sunrise, enjoying the strawberries and cream he’s surprised me with just for the occasion.

He also tells me about how his mother gets up at the crack of dawn to get ready, so she has her hair done and a full face of makeup on by the time his father gets up. He tells me this with admiration, as though this is an expression of love: always putting forth effort to look your best and hide your worst. 

_ _ _

When A. is a child, she learns quickly that skinny girls who show lots of skin are the pretty ones. Her family doesn’t go to a church. There’s no one to shame her into covering up. She dresses how she wants. She watches her mother, a dancer, fighting to stay a certain size. This is one lesson. But she also sees how confidently her mother presents herself at any size. This is another lesson. She watches the way her father always looks at his wife like she’s the most gorgeous woman in the world. Even when her mother goes bald from fighting cancer, and gains a hundred pounds from being bedridden and in treatment, even then, her father can’t take his eyes off the woman he loves. This is the final lesson.

_ _ _

Age 25. He had wanted a good church girl, but not too good, someone who could talk doctrine and talk dirty. The sexy saint. It was exhausting trying to be that girl, but not lose myself in the process. In the end it was me who walked away from that relationship, but months later, it still stings. When I see him with his new girlfriend, I wonder if he’s found what he’s looking for, if he’s found someone who can be that impossible both. She has curves in all the right places. She probably gets up early to do her makeup, too. I doubt he tells her he'd like her to be thicker. But still, I wonder if she questions if she’s enough.  

_ _ _

Age 31. At the baby shower, X. has brought her youngest daughter, who is just shy of two-years-old. Her daughter plays with puzzles on the floor. X. discusses an upcoming tropical vacation. In preparation for the trip, she’s trying to be careful with what she eats. A body like hers isn't readymade for a tropical vacation and must be edited into a slimmer version. Food, a minefield to be tiptoed through, there solely to thwart her efforts. The other women chime in. There is nothing women bond over more than the shaming of their own bodies. X’s daughter interrupts, tugging at her mother’s shirt; she can’t fit the puzzle pieces together on her own. 

_ _ _ 

Baby R. has recently turned one years old. In the video her mother shares with me, she has just discovered her tummy and her fabulous, herniated belly button. She keeps pushing her belly button in, delighted by the way it pops back out each time. She pulls her shirt down and then quickly pulls it back up, pleased to find the belly button where she last left it. She lets both hands investigate her tummy, this new, uncharted territory. So much wonderful body to explore. 

_ _ _

Age 31 . There is purple fingerpaint all over my body, and on the carpet, and on my camera, proof of a messy exploration. Paint as a declaration of war? No. I don’t want to be at war with my body any longer. I am writing an agreement to cease and desist in purple fingerpaint across my flesh. It reads something like a love note. 

_ _ _

As K. nears the end of high school, after years of Sunday school lessons teaching her to be sweet and angelic, she decides to jump from the pedestal that religion has built for her. K. doesn’t want to feel like an angel. She wants to feel like a rockstar. She wants heavy eyeliner and dark eyeshadow. She wants leather jackets. Her rebellion is small, but it is her own. Her body is her own. 

_ _ _

Age 15. We play a game called Body, Body, Body. It is an elaborate game of hide-and-seek, each player adopting a role or a façade that must be adhered to for the duration of the game. It is a search in the dark for a hidden body. And when the body is found, the proclamation is made, Body, body, body! As though to say, look, look what I’ve found, hiding here in the dark all along. 

_ _ _

Age 31. Body, body, body, where is the body? I am still in the dark, searching for something hidden. I am reading about the body, talking about it, listening to podcasts about it. I am writing poetry and essays and fiction about it. I am studying photographs of the body and taking my own. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I am a war general studying the enemy to learn its tactics. No, I am lover, studying the beloved to learn its habits. No, I am a soul, studying the body to remember its mysteries. 

_ _ _

Age 26. Dracula, the ballet. The performance is incredible: everything from the set-design to the costuming, crimson and black and white, tension and contrast meet fluidity and beauty. But most of all, the dancing itself, the way Mina’s body responds to Dracula, the wordless conversation that flows between the two of them, each movement a brushstroke. The seductive surrender of giving your whole body so freely to a moment. 

_ _ _

C. is relearning the art of intuitive movement. In her thirties, and after giving birth to five children, her body and its movements have become strange to her. She puts on music and lets her body respond to the rhythm and move as it will. Even alone in this practice, a tiny sliver of self-consciousness sneaks in. But still, she relishes in the moment, that connection of intuition and movement, the self fully inhabiting the body. 

_ _ _

Age 26. A strange and lovely little incident. About three in the morning, I wake up with a stuffy nose. As I get out of bed to grab a tissue, I am struck by what a marvel the human body is, that within a matter of seconds I can go from waking to sleeping, from lying down to walking, with hardly a pause to stand in between and no thought to any of it. I feel within me a sense of wonder at the agility of motion, the perfection of muscle movement, grateful for a body such as this. This body I feel so constantly at war with will still do these gentle and good things for me.

_ _ _

Age 31. What I’ve forgotten from my faith is this: The body is also a temple. I am clearing away the cobwebs and the dust from years of ignoring it, from hiding it away. I am trying to invite God back in. I am apologizing for the years of shame and hate I’ve felt for this body and raging against everything that taught me to feel like that. He keeps reassuring me, It’s okay. It was never meant to be like this. You are okay. You are enough. And I feel held in the embrace of this newfound love. 

_ _ _

Age 25. We are perched on a cliff overlooking a vista of crimson and cream-colored cliffs, white sands, and wide expanses of desert. We’ve climbed 260 feet of rock face for this view. My first multi-pitch climbing route, and also my first route to involve trad climbing. My body did this hard and wonderful thing to get me here. I think of the second pitch, and the sandstone rock face I climbed, my climbing partner the unseen voice above me, encouraging me forward. The connection of body with earth, skin communicating with rock, legs and arms shaking, but still, moving forward, moving upward.

_ _ _

In her twenties, D. takes a fitness class. As they move their bodies, they shout collective affirmations, I am strong! I can do hard things! I am grateful to my body! The affirmations feel false at first. She feels like she is lying to herself. But slowly, she begins to believe them. She is strong. She can do hard things. She is grateful for her body. 

_ _ _

A. is moving across the country, packing up belongings from homes in two states as she goes, the whole of it in a whirlwind week. Her body is exhausted, and yet, here is she after already having packed up one house and driven hundreds of miles, packing up another house, moving heavy boxes and furniture. Her late mother’s fine China. The China cabinet itself. These things are important to her. This move is important to her. All day, she is thanking her body, asking her body to keep on going. And it does. When she finally lies down that night, she feels so grateful to her body, and thrilled at what it has accomplished. 

_ _ _

Age 31. Yoga class. The studio is in a community rec center. Pool tables are situated right next to the studio, and beyond that, table tennis and air hockey. During downward facing dog, you can hear the rhythmic ping of play, and the shouts over missed shots. The woman next to me is here in sweats, and her teenage daughter beside her in jean shorts. The yoga teacher plays Alessia Cara over the loudspeaker while we practice. This is not a retreat. Not an ashram. And yet, this space is holy. Here, my spirit finds my body. Oh, there you are. I’ve missed you. Here, for a brief, messy, and beautiful moment, my body stays balanced in crow pose. I am my body. The body is me. 

_ _ _

Age 6. Four little girls, sprawled on a rug, each resting their head on the belly of another, creating a pinwheel of bodies. This is the game: start laughing, fake, real, it doesn’t matter, just let laughter fill you from the belly up. And soon, whatever the laughter began as it becomes something real. The strange delight of feeling the laugh of another person and the way it only births more and more laughter. We can’t stop laughing. The pinwheel unravels and we are a heap of holy, happy bodies, beaming bright with laughter. 

- Excerpt from “Body, Body, Body,” Valerie Owens

PC: Valerie Owens

[shadowqueen402]

The Not-So-Normal Dinner

A fic that I made for @kayssweetdreams . Hope you enjoy this. This will be for your Maestro Hiccups 3 fic!

Reala absolutely had no words to express how confused he was right now. He had come back to Nightmare under Wizeman's request and discovered a long, elegant table with delicious food. NiGHTS sat in one of the chairs, dressed in a brand new purple outfit.

"NiGHTS, what are you doing here?" Reala asked. "And why are you dressed like that?"

"Wizeman insisted I wear this," NiGHTS said. "He's planning on inviting Aria here for dinner. I honestly didn't know that you two were a thing…"

Reala turned red at this. "Let me guess, Master Wizeman assumed that we were together in front of you…" He crossed his arms. "We're not…"

Wizeman then came in the dining room with Aria in tow. "Welcome to my home, Aria!" He said to her. "It's such a delight to have you here! My home may be a bit dark, but I managed to make it welcoming for you! Do sit down and I'll prepare you a plate. NiGHTS, is Jackle on his way down?"

"He should be," NiGHTS said. "Then again, he's probably flirting with the girls. Again."

"Think you can get him real quick, my little princess?" Wizeman asked. "I'll prepare you a plate as well."

"Uh, sure…" NiGHTS was still weirded out at the nice nickname Wizeman would give her. She flew out of her seat and went to find Jackle.

Wizeman flew to the head table and looked at Aria and Reala who sat next to him as he prepared plates of food for them and NiGHTS. "My little muffin told me all about you," He said. "How long has it been since the two of you started dating? Has he proposed to you yet? Will I be having grandchildren soon?"

Reala turned redder than the red parts of his outfit. And so did Aria. "Uh, Mister Wizeman…?" Aria asked.

"Oh, you can just call me Wizeman." The six-handed god assured. "All Visitors call me that."

"Okay, Wizeman…" Aria rubbed her arm with embarrassment while averting her gaze. "Reala and I aren't really dating… And no, he hasn't proposed to me…" While Aria did appreciate Reala saving her back then still, she wasn't one hundred percent sure if she was ready to form another relationship. Plus, she still loved him. Her late husband…

"Oh, don't be modest, dear." Wizeman looked at Reala who was trying his hardest to drink his water without accidentally spitting it out. "My strong prince can't stop talking about you. In fact, you're one of the few things that he enjoys talking to me about. That, and his stuffed plushie of himself that he's had since he was a hatchling."

Reala almost choked on his water. "Uh, Master Wizeman?" Reala asked. "I'm…sure the Visitor doesn't want to hear about it…"

Wizeman must not have heard because he continued. Much to Reala's embarrassment. "My little muffin once received a handmade plush of himself on the day he was born." Happiness and nostalgia were in his six eyes. "There wasn't a day where he could sleep without it. He loves that plush a lot. Ooh, I think I have a picture of him as a hatchling with it somewhere." One of Wizeman's hands looked around for it.

"M-Master!?" Reala found himself stuttering. He did not want that picture of him exposed to any Visitor! "I-I think we should worry about when NiGHTS and Jackle will get here! They are running a bit late, aren't they!?" He had hoped that changing the topic would get Wizeman to stop. But nope. Fate was not on his side.

"Ah, here it is!" Wizeman then showed Aria a picture of Reala as a hatchling. In the picture, Little Reala's eyes were squeezed tight and he was curled in a ball on Wizeman's hand while holding the plushie. Judging by how small he was, Aria could only guess that Reala measured up to the size of a three month old kitten. "This was my favorite picture of him. He was so adorable and precious! Just like my little princess was! Oh, and he loved to sleep in my hand! It feels like yesterday that I became a father to him!"

Reala thought he couldn't get anymore redder. Aria had no idea what to do. Just then, NiGHTS barged in while dragging Jackle. "Dad, Jackle found Balan's…secret juice," NiGHTS complained. "He drank some of it and now he's drunk!" She stopped when she saw what Wizeman was holding. "Is that a picture of Reala as a hatchling?"

"NiGHTS, don't you dare!" Reala growled. But NiGHTS had that mischievous smile on her face. She flew up and took the picture from Wizeman.

"Aww, I remember when you showed me this, Dad," NiGHTS gushed. "Who knew that Reala was so cute at that time? And in the blink of an eye, he grew up to be grumpy and bitter. Say, did you tell Aria how Reala acted as a hatchling?"

"Oh! I almost forgot," Wizeman said. "Reala was an absolute angel when he was newborn! He did have his silly moments such as taking his socks off and throwing them on the floor for his dog, Cerberus, to chew on. I'm sure you had your silly moments too, Visitor!"

"Uh, yeah…" Aria said, now wanting to leave. "I'm sure I did… Wait, did you say 'dog'?"

"Yes!" Wizeman said. "His name is Cerberus! He may be scary, but he such a good boy! Oh! Let me introduce you to him."

"N-No! Wait!" Aria cried. But it was too late. Wizeman was gone. "I'm…allergic to dogs…"

Suddenly, Cerberus came running in like an excited dog. Aria felt her eyes water up. She soon was having a sneezing fit. But much to her dismay, Cerberus jumped onto her and licked Aria's hand, causing a painful rash to appear. Aria yelped in pain as she kept on sneezing. "Get him off, please!" She begged.

"Uh, Dad?" NiGHTS asked. "I think Aria said that she's allergic to dogs… You might want to get Cerberus out of here…"

"H-How come Reala gets allll the hot girls?" Jackle said in his slurred speech. "While meeee? I struggle to get a handshake! One handshake, I tell yoooouuuu!" He then passed out on the floor, buzzed out.

Reala, with a sigh, got Cerberus off and helped Aria get out of there.

That was, by far, the worst dinner he ever had.

[delirious-donna]

B + X for Homura Kougetsu

NSFW Alphabet [Homura Kougetsu]

an: Hi Anon! Hope you like what I've put together! ^^

Masterlist

B - Body Part

Homura is a bashful girl, she tends to shy away from the stereotypical beauty ideals, much preferring tradition over the latest trends. Although fairly modest she still likes to indulge in dressing to suit her body shape. She knows how to make herself look attractive for you, but in the end she does it for herself - it’s a huge confidence boost.

If she had to pick her favoured body part she would likely choose her arms or hands.

They are her tools of the trade, the most obvious evidence of the endless hours of training she has put in over the years.

Sword fighting is a highly specialised skill, one that requires dedication and strength. One cannot swing a sword in battle until they can wield it as if the blade weighs nothing.

Homura trained relentlessly under the tutelage of Valkyrie, hours of swinging the sword down over and over until her entire body was caked in sweat. Her arms trembled as if the bones had melted and the muscles were merely jelly, but she persevered. Her mentor was a strict sensei, but never pushed Homura unless she was confident of the girl’s ability to succeed.

Now, as one of Edens Zero’s Shining Stars, Homura has a deep desire to live up to Valkyrie’s name. Honoured to be considered the mighty warrior’s successor, she never lets a day pass where she is not maintaining the strength of her hands and arms, as well as the rest of her body.

Although it might not be considered ladylike to have hands that are battle-hardened and scarred with thick callouses, Homura does not care. She knows that you love her despite the roughness of her touch. It has never stopped her trailing her hands over your form as you both laze in bed after a hard day tracking down Ziggy.

When you lean over to press sweet kisses to each finger, she cannot stop the blush rising in her cheeks, nor the heat that coils in her stomach.

X - X-ray

Oh my, you’ve walked into your shared quarters to find your beloved Homura completely in the nude. Startled by your sudden presence, she stops like a deer in headlights and gives you ample chance to view her beautiful body.

Your gaze starts at her feet, dainty polished nails catch your eye as her feet twist in embarrassment. Long luscious legs that are as smooth as the finest silk lead to thick thighs that have often straddled your lap, and exquisitely rounded hips.

Even though she is facing you head on, you can’t help but picture her peachy butt. Reminding yourself of the way the cheeks jiggle if you are feeling frisky and give them a gentle love tap. You can practically hear Homura’s shy little squeal of embarrassed delight - gods, she is so cute.

Her skin is a gorgeous caramel colour, sun-kissed and almost entirely blemish free, except for the small birthmark that slides underneath the swell of her left breast. The mark is no bigger than a b-cube and only slightly darker in colour than her skin, but it bothers Homura. She doesn’t like to think about it even though you’ve assured her a million times that it only adds to her beauty, it marks her as unique.

Homura’s breast are more than ample, she is definitely a lot more than a handful and they are very sensitive. Her nipples are dark in colour and you can see them pebbling under your hungry gaze.

You drag your eyes upwards, arcing over her collarbones and the side of her neck that is visible as her mane of raven hair is thrown over the other shoulder. Homura’s pulse point is racing, the wild beat prominent against her flesh. She likes to be marked right here, little badges that show that she is yours and she is happy to return the favour in kind.

Her face is precious, as pretty and flawless as a porcelain doll. Soulful eyes that are big and wide, blinking rapidly at you as you drink in her beauty. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink and her plush lips are parted whilst soft pants float into the charged air.

The peek of a pink tongue is enough to make you moan, watching intently as the velvet muscle wets those kissable lips in sure anticipation of what is to follow.

There isn’t a way in hell that you are letting this opportunity go to waste. Shiki will have to wait, enjoying this moment is more important than any planet he wishes to visit.

[narrators-journal]

Persona 4

Characters: OC characters, narukami, Margaret, Elizabeth and Marie.

The birds and the bees: now the trouble is worst.

Narukami's parents wants to see his son after spent a whole year with his uncle and cousin, they Just dind't expect find his son in a Very compromising situation with 3 womans.

Hello dear author, i Glad you liked my ideas and i want to try something more interristing, like your mother and father caughting you in the act. For the mother i imagine her lack of reaction and walking away while the father feel proud for this. Sorry for the long text and Feel free to creste yu's parents caughting him receive a Nice cock workship prom three womans in lingeries while he is covered in lipstick.

Once again Sorry for the long text and be safe, healthy and Alive♥️♥️

This one is a little rough, but I think it’s a little chaotic and amusing. Which is fitting this little trilogy of scenarios. I hope you agree, and I hope you like my slapped together versions of Narukami’s potential parents!

“Do you think your brother would be happy to see us after so long?” Narukami’s father, Haruto, a tired-looking ravenette with professionally neat hair and misty grey eyes asked as he followed his wife into Dojima’s home. “Yes, I’ve already called to inform him of our plans to visit. He said that he’ll be at work for most of the day and Nanako is at school, but we’re free to wait until he gets home.” Mai explained, her long silver hair pulled up into a bun, and her captivating blue eyes alight with good humor. “Plus, this way we could surprise Yu! I’m sure he’s not expecting us, so it’ll be a fun surprise for him to find us here.” “But, dear…” he said with an edge of sadness, “What if he’s not? I mean...we’ve been so busy these past few years, and he had to move here-” Mai put her hands on her husband’s shoulders, a soft smile on her face as she squeezed him warmly, “Haru, come on. Yu is a mature boy, I’m sure he’ll understand. Have some hope, honey.” she encouraged, and while those misty pools didn’t seem entirely convinced, Haruto nodded.

And, with that, the two began to explore the lower floor of the home. “Oh, they all went fishing,” Mai noted to her husband as she picked up a picture of her son from a small drawer by the stairs. The picture of him with a girl of about seven sat upon his shoulders in some overalls and a bucket hate at a lake, a tackle box in one of the teen’s hands, and a pair of fishing poles in the other. “Nanako also seems to like him, she’s drawn him.” Haruto reported in return, bringing over a small drawing of a stick figure of Narukami weilding a sword against a monster to protect Nanako. “Oh how sweet, he always did have a way with kids.” Mai chuckled, only for their exploration to fall short at the sound of an upstairs door, quickly followed by footsteps.

Soon, a short girl with choppy, dark brown hair came into view. The only issue, was that she wore little beyond one of Narukami’s button up shirts. Wide open, with not even a thread of underwear beneath. “O-oh, my god.” Haruto squeaked, his hand instantly slapped over his eyes as his wife and the unknown girl simply stared at one another for a long moment. Their silent staring contest only broken when Marie whispered in horror, “A-are...are you Narukami’s parents?” which, only got a silent nod from the unphased, silver-haired woman. And, in response, all of the blood drained from Marie’s face in an instant.

And, in a flash, she spun on her heel, the shirt now clutched shut in her hands as she scrambled back up the stairs with a shriek. “OH MY GOD, NARUKAMI WHY DIDN’T YOU FUCKING TELL ME YOUR PARENTS WERE HERE?!”

And just like that, pandemonium broke out within Dojima’s modest home.

Narukami’s mom and dad could both hear hurried footsteps and voices from the upper floor. Which, Mai found amusing, but her husband still seemed a little pale. “Mai-mai, maybe we should go. Let the kids-” Haruto’s red-faced whisper cut off when a second woman, an older looking one, with wavy white hair and only the bottom portion of a very lacey, fancy lingerie set on and golden eyes came into view, another, similar-looking woman hot on her heels. “Oh my, are you really Narukami’s parents?” Margaret asked with an edge of excitement and surprise in her words, to which, Mai nodded calmly, her husband having turned his back to the stairs to not see anymore women in undress. “My, you have quite impressive breasts, madame.” Mai said to Margaret nonchalantly. Her unshaken calmness enough to shock the attendants before her son finally pulled the snowy-haired women back out of sight to make his own appearance before his parents.

And, much like his...friends, Narukami wasn’t the best dressed for company. However, he had at least apparently tried to get his clothes in order before he came downstairs, as he did have a shirt and pants, they were simply backwards, or unzipped.

Though, while Yu stood at the bottom of the stairs, two of the three women with him still there, peeking down at Mai and Haruto Narukami like curious children, he didn’t say anything to his parents. So, Mai took the initiative. “You know, Yu. Handcuffs aren’t a very good option for bondage.” “MOTHER.”

[deepesttastemakerthing]

Can Someone Please Explain What's Going On?!

Chapter 1- Negotiating a Marriage Proposal

The sanctuary bell, known to many as the Bell of Good Tidings, was tolling. Not a single cloud could be seen in the sky that day, giving the impression that even God had given his blessing.

This was the royal capital, Rozhe, of the Flür Kingdom. In mere moments, a wedding was to be held in the sanctuary of a state church that sat on a small hill overlooking the capital. This sanctuary was the holiest place in the entire palace. At that moment, I was standing at the entrance, all but crushed under the weight of the stares from the people in attendance. That was because I was the bride.

Straight down the aisle ahead of me stood the priest upon the altar, and standing across the altar was the handsome bridegroom. The Chivalric Order of the Flür Kingdom stood nearby in full dress uniform, glittering brightly in a way I could really only describe as vain. Is this what it meant to be ‘blessed by God?’ That this man is to become my husband? At best, I’m just a plain, ordinary girl. How sad is it for the bridegroom to be prettier than the bride...

I know what you’re thinking, but this is not just some fleeting fancy of mine. Because, right at that moment, that wedding was actually starting—the wedding of Duke Cercis Tinensis Fisalis and I, Viola Mangelica Euphorbia!

I was wearing a most magnificent dress that was surely the envy of all who laid eyes on it, and being escorted slowly down the dark crimson runner by my father, Earl Euphorbia, toward Duke Fisalis. The duke smiled indulgently as he held out his hand to me. My father let go, and Cercis took my hand in his. We each had certain expectations about this marriage. Well, isn’t that always the way it goes? Resignation and defiance.

Hiding these feelings behind a mask of a smile, I gave myself over to the duke. After all, this marriage was one of convenience and left no room for debate.

I, Viola Mangelica Euphorbia, am of noble blood, but the daughter of a penniless earl. That is to say, we were absolutely dirt poor. Money was tight, so we had to fix everything ourselves; there was no denying that our once sturdy house was in disrepair. Hoping to ease the burden, we had a little vegetable patch we put together in our modest garden and whatnot... suffice to say the ways in which we mastered the art of living cheaply were too many to count. Despite that, though, we were never a family with greedy desires for fame, and we lived modestly according to the motto of ‘honorable poverty.’ We were the picture of simplicity and frugality: no indulging meant no waste. Even when attending social functions, which you could say was a noble’s job, we interacted only as was strictly necessary. Nevertheless, the five of us—my father, my mother, my younger brother and sister, and myself—all lived together happily.

But then, three years ago... our already meager territory was struck by the largest famine in history. Even though we were near the capital, our soil was barren, which in turn meant we never had much in the way of income. Thus, those who lived in our fief scraped by every day with hardly a penny to spare.

And then the famine struck. Father, unable to bear the thought of abandoning his people, decided to take out a large loan to save them.

That loan was the beginning of all my trouble!

With that money, we bought and distributed goods among the people, and, anticipating a rush to support agriculture during the famine, invested in industries (which had been slowly introduced) to encourage growth. In the mountains within our territory grew a plant that, although inedible, could be made into a dye, and from it, our people made arts and crafts through weaving and dyeing. Even the thread used for dyeing was free, made by combing out the cocoons of the various insects that inhabited those mountains. What’s more, those threads were lightweight, excellent at retaining heat, and were considered quite luxurious, so this one little thread offered multiple benefits.

On the one hand, we were able to make use of materials granted to us by Mother Nature, but on the other, we had developed methods for artificial cultivation and breeding of those materials. And so, through trial and error in stabilizing our economy and land, we were able to provide our people with lives just a little easier than their previous ones.

While we managed to stabilize the land, we were far from paying back the loan we had shouldered. Even more than before, the Euphorbia family was living a more modest lifestyle, although still proud in our poverty. We worked and we worked... and that was it. It was like that old song, “You work and you work, and what do you get? Another year older and deeper in debt.” Despite everything, though, my family tried our hardest together!

We didn’t have much help in the beginning; we had kept just one butler and one maid, and let the others go. Initially we were going to discharge all of the butlers, but one who had been with us for a very long time told us that serving the Euphorbia family was his life’s work and that he would work for free, so he stayed. The whole family choked back tears of gratitude when they heard this. So, with our staff basically cut down to zero, the maid and I played many roles: gardener and, occasionally, chef. From the start, more than just having them live with us as normal nobles would do, our servants enjoyed working alongside us, which we certainly did not mind one bit.

And then one day, out of the blue: a marriage proposal from His Grace, Duke Fisalis. That was a year ago.

“His Grace wants to marry... me?” I sputtered at Father, who had called me into his office to share this bizarre news. Utterly flabbergasted, my sapphire eyes opened so wide it felt like they were going to pop out of my sockets. But I was not the only one having trouble processing the situation.

“It seems so. He is well aware of our financial situation, and in exchange for taking over our debt, Cercis would like to marry you.” Putting his elbows on his work desk, Father rested his chin on his interlaced fingers and gazed up at me with a baffled look. He must have been as startled as I was. This was a bolt from the blue if there ever was one. I was reminded of Duke Fisa—wait. I tried desperately to dig up a memory... hmm. Suddenly, I snapped back to my current situation.

“Have we met before, the duke and I?” I wondered aloud, tilting my head. I could not remember ever meeting him. Try as I might to recall what he looked like, I could only picture a vague, dazzling shape in my mind, unable to make out any details.

“You haven’t,” Father replied. “As I’m sure you are aware, we fell on hard times shortly after your debut into high society, so you haven’t gone out to very many evening parties.” Like me, he tilted his head.

Although I debuted, more or less, when I was fifteen, I can count the number of parties I have attended on one hand, since we fell into poverty shortly thereafter. I was never interested in being very social at the parties I did attend, either. I usually just ate and drank with my back to the nearest wall. I was not one to flitter around like a glitzy social butterfly, climbing the social ladder and gossiping about boys. I have ab-so-lute-ly no recollection of who was even at those parties!

“Exactly! He wants someone plain and inelegant like me? Me, someone so insignificant that she doesn’t even know who is worth talking about? Why? You’ve got to be someone of status if a duke wants you...” Mirroring one another, Father and I both crossed our arms. We tried to think of a reason, but nothing came to mind.

“The duke in question is still young at twenty-four years old and serves as a knight at the royal palace. He has even been made a special division commander in this young age. He’s fit, strong, and handsome to boot. In fact, he is such a sight to behold when dressed in his knight’s uniform that the ladies who flock around him all swoon.” (Source: My maid. She’s very well-informed.) Alas, seeing as I had no memory of meeting him, these were just rumors and assumptions.

So what would a total catch like that duke want with a connectionless, debt-ridden, destitute, mediocre, plain—darn it, I’m talking to myself again. I can’t avoid reality, though. I guess he’ll come and formally propose, soon. But the more I thought about it, the less it made sense.

“Er, well then... seeing as we have no reason to refuse, I would rather like to accept his offer... what do you say, Viola? If you don’t want to, I’ll tell him no,” said my father, kindly. Father looked me straight in the eyes, as if he was reading my mind. I knew Father respected my opinion, but I had no intention of turning down the proposal. It would be absurd for a struggling earl’s family to reject a wedding proposal from a duke of such impeccable pedigree. After all, even if I refused the offer, the chances of another suitable candidate coming for a plain, debt-ridden girl like me were slim — not to mention I had started to think that maybe I wouldn’t mind dying a spinster! If marrying him would save my family, shouldn’t I—or rather, the duke and I—be happy to give ourselves away?

“No, I’ll do it, Father,” I told him. “It would be my pleasure to accept if it’s for my family,” I said with a smile and a firm nod.

To Be continued

[fluoresensitivearchived]

@notchainedtotrauma bullied me into saying nice things about my writing, so here are ten of my favorite lines/paragraphs that I’ve ever written, ever.

You can read all these stories on FLUORESENSITIVE, my website.

(1) LAVENDERS: So desperately do I wish to be this man, this shapeless and awkward stranger. I want to be the reflection, not the source, but the mirror is distorted, and anyways, I cannot see myself in fine silver.

(2) PICTURED: MARY MAGDALENE AT THE TOMB: Where did she go? wondered Janine. She went here. She went here, to her bedroom, and she was an extraordinary girl with an extraordinary mind. Janine expected for there to be an overabundance of religious imagery, but there is nearly none. Atalanta lived very simply—her bed with its soft sheets and blanket, her dresser with her modest clothes, her nightstand heavy with the miscellany of teenagers. There were some posters on her wall—some of a Korean boyband she liked, a clipping of the Sacred Heart, and a flyer taped above her bed announcing the time and place for auditions for the Catholic school’s production of ‘Grease.’ A smile touched Janine’s lips. She remembered Atalanta coming to her with the script, pestering her to sing “You’re The One That I Want” with her and then, realizing she didn’t have the range to play Sandy, switching over to Rizzo’s “There Are Worse Things I Can Do.”

(3) JUST A LITTLE SNACK: [The two of them left an hour later, her mother with advice to keep in touch with Dr. Ojo, and Diane with a handful of pointed remarks about prioritizing herself, resisting strange urges. The moment after she closed the door behind them, Heather returned to the living room, straightened couch and throw pillows, rearranged the magazines on the coffee table. She fiddled with the strings of corduroy on the central sofa. Centered a picture. Then, finally, Heather removed her gloves and bit her left-hand pinky finger down to the knuckle. ]

(4) IN WHICH TWO WOMEN KILL A MAN: [And all the while as Fillion waited and waited for the girl to come and finish him off, he hoped and wished for her to be terrified of him. To be afraid of it; the act of killing, the grim and joyless reality of execution. He hoped the affair would turn her oh-so-delicate stomach, that her hands would tremble as she cut him. She’d have no crowd to cheer her on, no doctor at hand to revive her with smelling salts if she fainted. A woman, thought Mr. Fillion, should be little more like paper, thin and easily transformed. If he must die at the hand of one of these creatures, let her be a waif. Let her arms quaver, let her lose her supper and fall weak at the sight of his black and brackish blood free-flowing over her pale hands. If it must be a bitch, good God, let it be a mild one. ]

(5) BLUEBEARD: Her final entry said, I think about the other women he’s had, if they were all his wives or girlfriends or lovers, or just women he picked up for the thrill of it. I think of him going into town, even now, and watching the streets for his next kill. I think I am Bluebeard’s wife, looking into the lock and seeing nothing but red.

(6 ) GOD, FROM MACHINE: Athena wondered if there was a computer in Lolita as well, a dictionary that knew every word and assigned each emotion a color. If she were Lolita, she’d paint her days pale gray. The moments in the lab would be a happy baby blue, and her time alone with the doctor and his friends would be dark red, like clotted blood. Despair, desperation, those seconds when her machinery faltered and she wished for things she didn’t quite understand would be yellow. For Athena, embarrassment. For Lolita, hope.

[kuroosmikasavolleyball]

oh your writing is nice!!!how about nekoma boys of your choice and getting partnered with their crush for a project?

thanks bae! I like this ask :)

Haikyuu boys and getting paired with their crush for a project (nekoma ver.)

includes: kuroo, kenma, yaku, yamamoto

warnings: none

main masterlist: (•ө•)♡

a/n: sorry I’m getting through requests a little slower, I have a bunch of work to deal with right now, but I’ll try to get through them quicker. thanks for reading <3

KUROO

“Yotsubu-kun, with Saki-kun. Kuroo-kun, with (Y/N)-kun,…” The teacher kept reading the names of groups for the Chemistry project. To be honest, Kuroo had asked if he could work alone because he could easily get a good grade on the project, but the teacher insisted he work in a pair. So here he was, sitting across from the one girl that would mess up his grade..by distracting him. His crush. “I’m not that great at Chem compared to you, but I’ll try..?” You and him both chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, we can set up times to study and work together.” Damn, I’m smooth today. You made plans to work at the library every other day, and you honestly found it hot that he was so smart. “Kuroo, be quiet! The librarian will kick us out.” Shushing him was a routine when both of you worked since he would go on long rants or explanations. One day, while working outside the school, you got tired and Kuroo promised you can sleep on his shoulder because it’s “like a pillow”. After some time, he checked to see your closed eyes, and puts his head on top of yours. He whispered, “ I like you”. You giggled and his eyes widened. “I like you too; now getting your head off of mine..your hair is ticking my forehead.”

KENMA

His cat-like eyes were on you the second the teacher paired you both up. Hiding his emotions while he slowly walked over wasn’t that hard, “Just letting you know..I probably won’t work that hard on this.” He didn’t expect what came out of your mouth next. “Yeah, same. It’s not like it’s hard for me but I’m honestly just lazy.” He had always liked how you were effortlessly smart and honest. You both trudged to the library when you could to finish your project, and Kenma found that you were really modest about your Chem skills; the right answers just spilled out of your mouth and then you would just shrug. “You’re surprisingly smart.” “You thought I was dumb? Thanks ~Kozume~.” Even after you finished the project, you started gaming with him and were half decent. One day at school, Kenma walked up to you. “Check your texts.” There was a self-created GIF of a Minecraft house, which had a picture of the grade for the project. 94%. Your eyes widened, “Oh wow..I..did not expect that. Oh my god Kenma, this is so great! I’m so happy I could kiss you-” The words just tumbled out of your mouth before you slapped a hand on your lips. “You should.”

YAKU

You both smirked when your names got called because you were already friends. With Yaku, you always had the time of their life and your personalities just went so well together. He was infatuated with you, and that didn’t happen often. “(Y/N), what the hell is a displacement reaction..?” “That’s what the whole project is on..” You could never really pay attention with Yaku around and didn’t now if it was because he was too fun or you just couldn’t take your eyes off of him. The teacher held you both back one day after submitting the project, “I expected better from the both of you.” She slides the rubric across the table. So, of course you got a bad grade. You reach outside the school when Yaku breaks the silence. “Oh well, at least it was with you.” You gasp and call out that he’s so rude as you chase him around. He suddenly stops and you fall on top of him. A squeak leaves your mouth as you quickly put distance between his and your lips. “That was cute, do it on purpose this time.” And you did.

YAMAMOTO

He grumbled more than he spoke on the first day. “This is stupid..” he would say when he didn’t understand something. He looked away a lot, which confused you, but he was just trying to hide his blush as you leaned way too close while explaining. He even tried to ask the teacher to work alone, but it was only because he didn’t want to mess up your grade. Working together on the project often resulted in staying too long in the library until the librarian had to force out both out the door. After a few days, he exclaimed way too loud, “I finally understand!” He looked at you and melted at your smile, and his previous energetic thanks turned into a murmur. . “You can say thank you..by taking me out..” He raised an eyebrow at you and you were about to apologize for going too far when he lightly slammed his hand on the table, “Damn it, I was gonna ask you first!”

Ask/request for more of these drabbles and headcanons!

taglist form: here!

[diamond-coral]

The Heist- Part One

dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

You were just supposed to rob a government official’s apartment. Not Captain America’s. Right?

Series Warnings: Dark, Rape/Non-Con, kidnapping, strip club stuff, swearing

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of a strip club, swearing, committing crime ig, nothing much really.

You sure as hell weren’t a criminal. Well- your record would say otherwise, but it’s not like this was your dream profession. You wouldn’t call yourself a criminal. More of a Walmart Robin Hood; stealing from the rich and giving too...well...yourself. Fine. You were a criminal. But a girl had to pay the bills. At least you got to stick it to the man, right?

You let out a sigh while evaluating your life choices. It wasn’t every little girl’s dream to be breaking into houses and apartments for some cash or valuable possessions. Technically, you were an artist by day, going to art school in New York, living the aesthetically pleasing dream of student loans and a sky-high rent that your shifts at the strip club were hardly making a dent in. But hey, at least one time you got to dance for Captain America, even if he was reluctant and a bit shy. You were certain very few women could say the same.

And that’s how you found yourself in the elevator of a cozy apartment complex, traveling upward toward your new objective. Bella, your roommate, literal partner in crime, and the only good thing that came out of socializing with your coworkers at the club, had given you a new lead of a man who was supposedly loaded and yet lived in an accessible and modest living space. He was single, and worked some sort of political job that left his apartment constantly vacant, specifically on the day you planned for your heist. A perfect target. Some corrupt government worker who wanted to live a ‘low profile life’ yet was dumb enough to settle down in a complex who’s only security was a couple cameras and guards. Bella would easily be able to freeze the frames on the cameras for an hour, giving security the false pretense that the hallways were empty and giving you the perfect window to snatch some fancy watches and some cash.

The elevator doors opened right as you received a text message from Bella.

Cameras taken care of. Now go pay our rent ;)

You exited the elevator only to collide with a blonde woman carrying a laundry basket.

“Oh god, I’m so clumsy I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed while bending down to pick up the clothes that had fallen out of the basket.

You bent down to help her collect her clothing. “No, I’m so sorry! That was completely my fault!” You offered a smile as you stood back up, but was met with a calculating gaze as she studied you.

“I’m sorry, are you new around here?” She seemed to catch herself and her demeanor changed. “It’s just, I’ve never seen you around here before.” She gave  a small smile.

“Oh ,I’m just a girlfriend!” you replied. “Just stopping by.”

“Are you Steve’s girlfriend?” she asked while gesturing to the door at the end of the hallway with her head. It was your target’s door. So the political scumbag’s name was Steve. Lovely. “I don’t think he’s home right now.”

Your brain churned out a fast response. “Yeah, I know. Unfortunately for me, he’s always working. I just left my purse, and he gave me his keys to stop by and pick it up.”

“Well I’m just glad he’s found someone with all his work. I know it’s been hard for him.”

The two of you exchanged one last goodbye smile before she stepped into the elevator.

“I’m Sharon by the way. And you are...?”

“Olivia,” you replied, the fake name came out as a second nature as the elevator doors closed.

You let out the breath you’d been holding. 

“Well that could’ve gone worse,” you mutter to yourself as you approach the door at the end of the hallway.

You slipped the lock picker out of your sleeve before checking your surroundings cautiously. A minute after proceeding to insert the pick into the lock, a soft click resounded from the wooden door, and it easily swung open with a turn of the knob.

As you entered through the doorway, you took into account the little bits of vintage decoration that was dispersed amongst more modern furniture. A small Uncle Sam poster, a couple of war antiques, and some old photos with figures that remained unrecognizable in the distance. This government official seemed to have fought either in World War II or Vietnam, probably making him old. You shuddered at the fact you’d called yourself his girlfriend, but Sharon hadn’t seemed to bat an eye. Either way, you didn’t care for antiques, as much as they would have sold for a hefty price. They were probably personal to him and as you walked around, you realized there were quite a few personal items that were no use for you. As you walked into the bedroom a glint from the dresser caught your eyes, and your chest filled with giddiness and excitement as you neared. Three beautiful watches were on display under the mirror that sat atop the dresser. A Cartier that would probably sell for 8,000, a Rolex that would go for 10,000 easily, and then a beautiful older Rolex. With careful hands you snatched up the two newer watches and placed them into the small knapsack you’d been carrying. After consideration, you decided to leave the older one as it probably held a sentimental value and wouldn’t give you as much money as the other two.

You walked around some more, occasionally picking up valuables like solid gold tie clips and little pieces of Stark technology, which you were surprised he had. You had to be filthy rich to support, much less afford, anything made by that war profiteer. You picked up stashes of cash lying around, which seemed to be a lot. This man definitely seemed to use cash more than credit card which wasn’t as common around people your age. As you were rummaging around his study for any pieces of fine art (which you had already gotten two of) or government documents you could sell on the black market, you knocked over a picture frame which had landed on a file that read CLASSIFIED in red letters...right under the six letters that spelled S.H.I.E.L.D. This fucker was a S.H.I.E.L.D official. You were gonna kill Bella for the vague intel.

“Shit I need to get out of here,” you mumbled. Senators and representatives were fine targets, all usually too old and skeevy for you to care about, but a S.H.I.E.L.D. official was dangerous and could get you somewhere worse than jail. Hell, you could’ve accidentally broken into Nick Fury’s place. You were screwed. So screwed. And you needed to get the hell out of this apartment. As you went to put the picture back, you glanced at it, before doing a double take and squinting at it in the dark room. Oh. This was much worse than accidentally breaking into Nick Fury’s place.

The two men laughing with an arm around each other in war uniforms with an arm around one another was innocent enough until you could finally make out their faces. Steve Rogers an easy enough one to make out, especially considering you were on his lap a couple weeks ago, and James Buchanan Barnes looked practically unrecognizable without a murderous glare on his face.

“No,” you muttered before quickly placing the picture back down. 

You once again assessed your surroundings. It all made sense. The subtle 1940’s vibe, the war antiques. Bella had said he did work for the government and that wasn’t a lie. In the corner of the room you spotted a large circular leather case that was partially unzipped. Through the slight opening of the brown leather, the red, blue, and glinting bright silver was unmistakable.

“No, no, no, fuck,” you muttered frantically as you checked your watch. You still had 38 minutes before the security cameras in the hall unfroze. That was enough time to put everything you stole back. You’d much rather work open to close shifts at the club every day for three months straight than get fucked over by Captain Fucking America. 

You scrambled out of the study, moving to the living room first to put back the authentic paintings. You grabbed a stool from the high bar counter in the kitchen so you could rehang the medium sized work of art. Your mind was racing. This had to be karma for all the horrible shit you’d done in the past. God decided he had enough of your delinquent shenanigans and set you marching straight into the arms of America’s righteous hero. As you finished hanging the painting you spun around on your heel, completely forgetting you were on a wobbly wooden stool. Your heart stopped for a moment before you regained your footing. Carefully climbing down the stool, you almost missed the subtle turn of a lock coming from the door.

Oh you were so done for. Your limbs flew everywhere as you scrambled to the bedroom, sliding under the bed right as you heard the door open. The rumble of Steve Roger’s voice was clear as he talked on the phone and it cut through the walls from the living room.

“Well yea Buck, obviously Tony’s gonna be a little cold toward you. Not that I blame him. I’m just thankful he didn’t start an entire civil war over it. I guess it’s just a good thing we’re not war criminals.” He let out a chuckle before pausing. “Hey Buck? Yeah. I’m gonna have to call you back.” Another pause and you heard some rummaging around. “Why? I think my apartment was just broken into. I gotta go down to security. Yeah, thanks bud.” 

Steve hung up and you heard some angry muttering as he walked into his room. From under the bed you saw his tennis shoes and dark jeans as he paced at the foot of the bed. You covered your mouth to stop your anxious breathing, afraid he’d hear you from your hiding spot. 

The few minutes he spent in his room felt like eternity before he stomped out and you heard the opening and closing of another door as he exited the apartment. You crawl out from under the bed, your head spinning as you attempted to think of a way out of your predicament.

The window.

Quickly and quietly, you stood up and made your way to his bedroom window, looking out for a fire escape and letting out an annoyed huff when you saw none.

‘Maybe there’s one for the living room window,’ your brain chimed.

You rushed to the living room, scooping up the two watches and your empty knapsack on your way, and almost screamed with joy at the sight of the fire escape next to the window. Your fingers curled around the bottom of it and give it a sharp tug up, opening it just enough for you to squeeze through. 

Just as you were about to lift your leg over the ledge and climb down the stairs to sweet sweet freedom, being able to forget about everything that ever happened tonight, a large hand wrapped around the back of your neck and wrenched you back with such force that you tumbled backwards and landed on your butt.

He was massive. Six feet of pure muscle towered over you as you trembled from your position on the floor. He squatted down, resting his elbows on his knees as he took you in, blue eyes practically cutting through the darkness, and you let out a small whimper.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you stealing is wrong?”

[kirishoshego]

Moneypulated PT.2//Aizawa

!!!MINORS DNI!!! 18+ONLY!!!

Special thanks to Emmie for creating this awesome S&M event and letting me participate and those who requested a part two of my first Aizawa piece x

If you like Sadism and Masochism, BNHA; AOT and Haikyuu the event is definitely for you :)

Pairing: Sadist!Mob-Boss!Dom!Aizawa x Masochist!Sub!femreader Words:3.2+

Summary: When your life is threatened Aizawa realized just how important you are to him. A small fight leaves you bend over the couch, cross eyes and leads to him admitting his feelings for you.

TW: slight mention of torture (a bit more at the end), s&m, controlling Aizawa, calling him sir, knife play (no blood), slight ass and nipple play, orgasm denial, slight oral, biting, spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk, slight bit of degration and teasing

Three month, three weeks and three days. That’s how long it took you to develop positive feelings for him. He gave you everything, but privacy, something you had to learn rather quick because that man was strong and even though he doesn’t look like it, heavy. You told him no twice. The first time left you bruised for at least three days, fucked into oblivion. The second time left you sobbing from his impact play. You hated how little you could control your body, dripping wet before he slipped into you. Something he would love to taunt you with. „Always so quiet and modest. Yet here you are begging to be fucked by a criminal after he spanked you blue and green. Don’t tell me you like that. Tsk, dirty girl,“ he told you with a slight smirk on his face, one hand having a strong hold in your hair to hold you up so he could look at you. The other one pinched and played with clit, milking orgasm after orgasm.

He knew how to work his charm, knew how to impress you. Listened, remembered basically every detail about you. Aizawa wanted to know everything about you, from childhood memories to teenage drama to your goals and dreams. Of course he was genially interested in you, after all he wanted you at his side, but it was also helpful to know one or too secrets. Just in case. It was understandable that he was a bit shocked and also even more alarmed when Shota noticed how fast you adapted to the captive state of yours. There was no attempt of you running away, either because you knew it wouldn’t work with guards everywhere around you, or because you were afraid. So he tested it out. Gave you a car, told you to go enjoy yourself, get pampered for a surprise he had prepared.

First thing you did was getting new underwear because as much as you… appreciated him buying it for you you would like to have a few comfortable pieces that cover more than 3 inches of your skin. You stopped to get a nice drink at a small restaurant, got a small snack before you ended up buying four new plants. A smile creeped up on his face when his phone signaled him he got a new message from Shinso. Attached to it was a picture of you smiling while picking up the most sad looking flower he had ever seen.

It happened while driving back. You realized happiness started to form in your stomach at the thought of seeing him again. Excitement about showing him what you had bought. How could you be happy? After how he treated you in front of so many men, so many strangers. But then again he took care of a man who had sold you for his addiction. You knew he was in the hospital right now, after trying to enter the casino again. At first you thought he was there to get you, to show at least some sort of remorse. Even though their boss told them not to tell you those details Denki let it slip that Kirishima caught him gambling. With that your last string of attachment ripped apart. It wasn’t hard to choose between being left alone with nothing or a slightly questionable man who (as much as you would like to deny it) made you feel good, save and wanted.

That day was the first time he took you to the casino with him, introduced you to a part of his world. The one that was less brutal. He wouldn’t not let you see someone getting tortured. But he knew how gruesome it can get and even though he wouldn’t tell anyone, he threw up after his first time, felt sick the first five. It just made it so much easier to get people to talk. Or make them stop. Sometimes they need to be taught a lesson or too to not put their noses in his businesses.

Rumors started to spread around fast after your first appearance. Shota Aizawa has a trophy wife. Something that made him weak. A pretty one on top of that and she was supposed to be his little lucky charm. Every table you appeared at, the house would win. You didn’t play yourself, you only sat besides your... Well, besides the mob boss himself.

There was no explanation for it really, it wasn’t luck per se. It was math. Some liked math in school, some didn’t. What you liked more though was winning. And games like these were hard to predict, but not impossible. Another aspect were their faces. Everyone focused on their face and those of others, tried to keep cool while detecting a mistake of others that they forgot about other limbs. Some tapped their fingers against the table or cards, others would play with their drink, swirling the ice cubes around without touching it. Some bounced their legs, crossed them, scratched them. Once you caught their mistake it was over for them.

While some got scared because of it, others seemed to find a challenge in it. They wanted to beat you. How could you know that one night you will have the son of another mob boss on the table? He was supposed to be a spy, simply collect information about you and leave. But the opportunity to beat you and therefor Aizawa was too alluring. How could he know that he will lose almost 33 Million yen in one night? And with those 33 Million yen came a big target right on your back.

In less than 24 hours a collection of pictures and informations about you was delivered to Peony. In less than 24 hours your world was turned upside down yet again. The freedom you were given was taken away in order to protect you. His worry for you was understandable but when he decided to have Bakugo and Kirishima on your heels 24/7 you had enough.

--------------------------------------------

„I’m inside the house! The house has walls almost thrice as high as Kirishima’s 7 foot frame, a massive garden with six well trained guard dogs running around. You have the best alarm system there is on the market and still I’m not even allowed to use the bathroom in private. It’s humiliating,“ you explained to him angrily. „I would rather humiliate you than pick up your dead body limp by limp,“ he tried reasoning. „Do you even hear yourself? How can you say something like that? Do you not trust your men? I can defend myself! Eijiro has-„ suddenly you went quiet, realizing too late what gravitating mistake you just that you had just exposed yourself.

„Eijiro has what? Continue doll. I‘m all ears,“ he leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms over his in a black shirt clad chest. „We shouldn‘t be changing the subject now. I need-," „What you need is to tell me what Kirishima did,“ you wouldn‘t be so on edge if he yelled at you, screaming at the top of his lungs, slam his hand on the desk, anything. Instead he was dangerously calm, collected, ready for you to make the next step. Knowing you were trapped like a small mouse between a wall and an awaiting cat, only playing with its fear.

„I will tell you if you promise me he isn‘t going to suffer any consequences. He had no ill intentions,“ you started explaining, making a step forward and trying to look as timid as possible so he will show mercy. „You actually think you‘re in a position to negotiate? Oh darling, it is breaking my heart a tiny bit to see you’re underestimating me,“ he faked a pained expression before closing the gab between the two of you.

You knew better than to relax yourself into his touch as he caressed your cheek, planting a small kiss on your forehead.

„Now,“ Aizawa stood behind you within a second, your wrists in his hand behind your back, something cold against your neck. „Please continue before I lose the small amount of patience that is left inside of me,” he sounded threatening, his voice deep and raspy, mouth dangerously close to your ear lobe. The knife near your aorta send adrenaline through your whole body, your pussy pulsing as you caught sight of your current position in his window.

You noticed his eyes wandering over the curves of your body, as the sound heavy breathing hit your ear. It seems like he was holding back, but be the looks of it all he wanted to do was drag the knife along your clothes and watch it drop to the floor. It wasn’t on purpose, more or less, but your hand brushed against his crotch, hearing him hiss as you touched his hard length for a mere second. The grip on the red handle tightened, pulling your body into his and leading your hand back to his crotch.

Eyes met in the window as he licked his lips. He tilted your head back slightly with the tip of the sharp blade, kissing the spot behind your ear.

„Sorry kitten, but this isn’t the time to play,“ he whispered into your ear while you started massaging him through his suit pants. A smirk appeared on your face as you agreed with him ‚oh I know, sir‘ you basically purred. Within seconds you pulled yourself away from him with your whole strength, bowing as he went to grab your hair and kicking back into his stomach as you turned which send him to the floor as he stumbled. Grabbing the knife from his hand and dropping onto his hips as you held the knife to his throat.

„Eijiro taught me how to defend myself, so I don’t have creepy old men all over me,“ you told him, a sudden wisp of a moan leaving your throat as he grabbed your hips and ground his pelvis against yours. „I didn’t know I’m a creepy old man. Wasn’t it just yesterday that you begged me to stuff you? And wasn’t it you that screamed my name so the whole house could hear who fucks you ‚like a god‘? Hm… I must confuse you with someone else that came cross eyed all over me considering I don’t play with brats,“ as the last word left his mouth he flipped you around, turning you so your stomach was flat against the freshly cleaned floor, hand in between your shoulder blades to hold you down.

He thanked the sun for shining so brightly and the clouds for not appearing, considering it lead to you dressed in the shortest little sundress you could find in your closet. The color suited you so damn well and the dress made it so easy for him to uncover your ass. His hungry eyes starred at it in its full glory, feeling his rock hard cock to twitch in his pants.

The blade was dragged across your skin and he could have fucked you right then and there as he noticed how you tried to clench your legs, goose bumps appearing on your skin. „Don’t tell me you enjoy this, such a dirty girl,“ he stopped right at the hem of your underwear, dragging the flat side across your clit and earning another moan of yours. He chuckled, „I see.“

Suddenly the blade was back at your throat, his other hand massaging your ass. „If you try to move or forget to thank me I might have to use the sharp side next time and we don’t want that do we doll?“ Shota asked you, the tip slightly pressed onto your sweet spot as you took to long to reply for his liking. „No sir,“ your voice was slightly shaky as the anticipation inside of you grew. „Not so tough anymore, thought so,“ he loved your submissive state, every time he thought he went too far you were there dripping wet for him.

Without a warning his hand came down hard on your ass, massaging your cheek before disappearing again. „Thank you sir,“ you moaned, the next slap delivered right after. „Thank you sir,“ you said again, feeling our wetness slowly seeping through the thin fabric covering your cunt. Every once in a while he would dip his fingers between your folds, playing with your clit until you’re about to cum, only to stop and spank you again.

Once your ass was a bright red and noticeable handprints adorned your flesh he decided he had enough. The last few thank you’s gave away that you started crying softly, maybe slightly caused by the pain, but more at fault definitely were the denied orgasms.

„Had time to overthink your statement from earlier?“ Aizawa went down to your ass, pushing your panties to the side and dragging his tongue across your slit, dipping inside for a second to collect some of your juice. Kisses were plastered across your abused skin, bitting down onto it to hear you moan again.

„I give you ten seconds to go over to my couch, get undressed and bend over it,“ if you weren’t so incredibly needy right now you might even had begged for some more spanks.

You could hear him get undressed as you did the same, back turned to him to allow him a nice view on your behind.

You could feel his presence even before he touched you, the smell of his cologne mixed with his sweat hitting your nose. Rough hands collided with your ass once more, before wandering up your back, one finding its way into your hair, the other one holding his thick girth in his hand and dragging it from your clit to your hole. You whined as you noticed him going back down again with his tip, which lead to him plunging into your throbbing pussy all at once. Curses tumbled from the both of you, finally getting what you wanted.

Shota pulled you up by your hair, allowing his hand to play with chest. Cold metal came in contact with your nipples and only now did you realize that he had brought the knife with him. It took maybe a minute for your first orgasm to hit, considering the ones you were denied earlier had you on edge already. „Done already kitten? Does that mean you want me to stop?“ He knew it meant everything but. It’s just, having you beg for more gets him every time and he can’t deny how powerful it made him feel, which he needed now more than ever. „No, fuck. Please sir, need mo-oh, more,“ a moan cut through you as a single thrust hit your g-spot directly.

„Take it then,“ he pulled you down with him on the couch, his back against the backrest as you straddled his legs. Do to the new position his cock was even deeper than before and you were shaking with almost every bounce as you went up and down on him. Black eyes wandered from your face to your tits to your cunt, watching him disappear inside of you over and over again. Aizawa’s arms wandered from its resting place back to your body, one going to your back, the other one staying in the front.

You hissed, eyes growing wide as you felt rough fingers circling your puckering hole, while the other ones drew lazy patterns on your clit. Every now and then he would meet your movements, burying himself even deeper inside of you. By now you were a moaning mess, clenching around him as you could feel another knot building up in the pit of your stomach. „It’s alright, I got you. You can cum, I know you want to,“ Shota groaned, picking up the speed of his fingers and watching in pure bliss as you came undone once again, slowing down and pulling you into a deep kiss.

As you went to get up from him, your body now sensitive he grabbed your hips, pushing you down again. „Just because you’re on top doesn’t mean you get to control when we’re done,“ he said, delivering a harsh slip to the left side of your tits, before grabbing your throat and pushing you down into the mating press. „You have to remember your place doll. I get decide when we’re finished and I’m not done yet,“ he grunted, snapping his hips as the hand around you held you in place firmly. A warning slap heated up your tears stained cheek when you tried to wiggle away from him and he felt you clenching around his dick.

You looked so good with mascara running down your face, he thought, feeling himself getting closer and closer as you moaned his name like some sort of prayer. „Again, please,“ you said, feeling the third high coming. It took him a second to understand what you asked for, but when it finally clicked he cursed under his breath, telling you how perfect you are. As he slapped you again, holding your face in his hand and kissing your lips hotly you were holding onto his arm for dear life. Stars appeared in front your eyes as you came once again. You barely noticed anything but his thrusts turning sloppy before he released himself inside of you, buried deep and painting your insides white.

„I didn’t know pain turned you on so much,“ he said with a lazy smile on his face, looking down on your face, your embarrassed expression hardly hidden. „Me neither to be honest… You know how it went in the past,“ you hinted at your unsatisfied sex life with your ex husband, who thought doggy style was already pretty kinky. No shame to vanilla people, but now you knew it wasn’t what you wanted. „It’s good to know, we will test out more things in the future,“ the thought of it turned you on again already and you kissed his chest, letting him know you like the sound of that idea.

„I love you, you know?“ He mumbled as the two of you laid on the couch while drawing patterns on your back lazily. Your heart skipped a bit, this was the first time Aizawa mentioned his feelings for you. „You don’t gotta say it back, I know it’s all a bit messy,“ he said, kissing your forehead. „No, it’s just… After sex the mind is always bit-,“ „Yours might be after that but mine is as clear as ever,“ he cut you off, making you roll your eyes and laugh gently. „I love you too,“ it was mumbled, almost unnoticeable, but he heard you just fine which was all he needed.

————————————- Extra—————————————-

„I run this town. Piss me off again and your wife will find out about your little affair with your little lover boy. She’s pregnant, right? And you would like to be able to care for her don’t you? If so, I suggest you to never threaten my wife or my men ever again. It won’t just be your finger that I cut off, understood?“ He knew killing him off immediately will only cause war. He would win, of course, but it would be unnecessary and taking too much of his energy. „Yes Mister Aizawa,“ the hatred and fear in his eyes pleased him enough for the day, so he walked out of the room, ordering Bakugo to drop him off a few miles away from everyone. A nice nightly walk might clear his head he explained so the man bound to the chair could hear him just fine. „Don’t worry, I will let you keep your finger, but you should hurry, they turn bad fast,“ with that he went into the dark, ready to get home to you.

©kirishoshego//do not repost on any plattforms

[superhero--imagines]

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here! / Part 7 Here! / Part 8 Here! / Part 9 Here! / Part 10 Here! / Part 11 Here! / Part 12 Here! / Part 13 Here! / Part 14 Here! / Part 15 Here!

Donate to Higher Ground HERE!

Song for this Chapter - (X) 

A/N: Posted a day early because a few people asked me to, I think y’all are going to like this chapter :)

* “So what’s your pick (Y/N/N)?”

* You turn to your right, seeing Tyler’s grinning face.

* “Pick for what?” You take another modest sip from your glass.

* Conner’s throwing a party at his house since his parents will be gone all weekend.

* Half the school must be here, his house is almost as big as the Cullen’s

* Tyler exchanges a look with Conner and Mike and grins.

* The three of you and Angela are sitting in his Dad’s study, drinking his finest brandy

* You’ve just been taking very small polite sips to throw off any suspicions

* The upside to being a vampire: you can’t taste anything other than blood so the alcohol just tastes like water

* The downside: you stay drunk until you force yourself to throw it up

* “F*ck, Marry, Kill: me, Conner, and Mike.”

* You wrinkle your nose and Angela laughs

* “Gross questions like that are why I don’t sit with you guys at lunch anymore.” The others laugh and you take a sip of you drink as Tyler grins

* “It’s a game, everyone’s gone except you”

* Have they? You’ve been pretty tuned out, Jessica and Bella left to go to the bathroom like 20 minutes ago.

* To add, you haven’t seen either Edward, Emmett, or Rosalie since you all came together in the jeep.

* Things are still...different between you and Edward

* He’s not outwardly hostile towards you or anything but...

* He doesn’t smile at you anymore

* Not like he used to, with that carefree boyish grin

* Just thinking about it gets you down

* You were fairly surprised when he said he would come with you, Rosalie and Emmett to Conner’s party.

* You were less surprised when he basically abandoned you as soon as you got into the house

* You’ve been trying to see if you can hear any of your friends in the house but you haven’t been able to distinguish any voices yet

* You sigh, holding your drink out to Mike

* “Marry,” the bright grin on his face almost makes you feel bad.

* “Kill, kill” your drink sways as you point to Tyler and Conner.

* Another roar of laughter

* “Hey that’s not fair, you can’t kill both of us!” Tyler protests, you roll your eyes moving to stand

* “Fine F*ck Conner, kill Tyler. Angela you wanna come with I’m going to the bathroom”

* You want to go see what’s holding Jessica and Bella up, but you don’t want to leave Angela alone with three boys.

* Mike’s here, and nothing would probably happen, Conner and Tyler are flirts but you like to think they wouldn’t do anything like that.

* Still you don’t want to risk it.

* She nods, gulping down the rest of her drink. Following you out.

* “Did you hear that?! They said they would f*ck me!” You hear Conner shout triumphantly after you’ve closed the door

* “Yeah but they said that they would kill you first, doesn’t count” Mike says, you hear the clink of ice as you assume he pours another drink

* “Oh getting arrogant just because they said they would marry you huh?”

* “Bet he wishes it was Bella who said she would marry him.”

* You roll your eyes holding out your hand to Angela

* “So we don’t get lost.” She smiles as she takes it. You have to practically slither through the crowd

* Conner’s house is needlessly complicated. Hallways that don’t lead anywhere and so many closets.

* The O’Malleys really should have hired Esme to design their house

* “Ah, there they are!” You see Jessica and Bella leaning against the railing of the second floor. It looks like they’re talking to someone-

* Oh it’s Edward

* Jessica notices you and works her way over to you

* But your eyes are glued to Edward and Bella, they haven’t even noticed you yet. Or that Jessica left them.

* Bella’s eyes are twinkling as she looks up at him, her cheeks are tinged pink, and Edward-

* He’s got a sparkle in his eye, his mouth quirked in that boyish lopsided grin.

* So that smile is really just for her now

* They really do look good together

* “Hey what’s wrong?” You didn’t even notice Jessica was standing in front of you.

* Are you crying right now? No of course not, you can’t cry.

* “Nothing! We were looking for you and Lauren. Mike and Tyler are playing this game that I think you two would be very into” you give her a sly wink and she blushes

* “I thought we came to go to the bathroom.” Oh sh*t you did use that as your excuse.

* “Well I didn’t wanna be obvious yknow?” You say to Angela, catching another glimpse of Bella and Edward behind her, looks like she’s laughing at something he said. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

* You turn your attention back to Angela who’s nodding.

* “Jessica why don’t you show her where it is, you just went right?” Jessica’s eyebrows thread together

* “Yeah I did but-“ she doesn’t want to leave you alone. Before you can reassure her you’ll be fine you feel someone throw their arms around you

* For a second your heart skips a beat.

* Edward?

* “Oh my god babes you look so cute, we have to take a picture together!”

* Oh it’s just Lauren

* Wait why are you disappointed? This is perfect.

* “Of course I was just looking for you!” You nod to Jessica and Angela. “We’ll meet you both back at Conner’s dad’s home office.”

* Jessica gives you a reluctant look but nods, leading Angela into the crowd.

* You take one last glance at Edward and Bella, from here he almost looks human.

* This is the way things are supposed to be.

* “Hey Lauren, wanna do some shots?”

* Lauren has her faults, but she’s always down for anything you might suggest. It’s kind of weird, but she reminds you a little of Alec.

* So you’re a little impressed when she finds a several bottles of vodka hidden in a various books.

* “Conner’s mom has a drinking problem, shhhhh don’t tell anyone”

* Yeah you kinda figured

* “We brought vodka!!” She shouts when she enters the study earning cheers from the rest of the boys.

* Looks like Jessica and Angela aren’t back yet.

* Lauren stole your spot on the armchair so she could flirt with Tyler. You sigh sitting carefully on top of the desk.

* “You leave with one girl and come back with another, how do you do it?” Conner’s got a devilish grin as he leans in to ask you.

* You drink straight from the bottle.

* You’re going to play a drinking game, anytime any of these boys try’s to flirt with you you take a drink.

* “I’m really hot.” You say bluntly

* Conner and Mike laugh

* “Yeah-I mean, yeah you definitely are.” Mike stutters

* If you were human you would probably be nervous by this situation, you’re basically sitting on the desk between Mike and Conner. Mike is on the end of the sofa, and Conner is sitting next to you in the office chair.

* But now that you’re a vampire, you could kill both of these boys with a simple flick of your wrist

* “So what’s going on between you and Cullen really?” Mike asks and you remember the look on Edward’s face when he was talking to Bella.

* “Nothing, we’re just friends” even less than that at this point. You’re just someone who lives in his house

* you’re worried they’re going to press further on the issue and all the emotions you’ve kept sealed away will come out overflowing.

* But they don’t, maybe Conner senses somethings happened because instead he says:

* “So you would f*ck me huh?” You laugh

* “Oh my god are you still stuck on that?”

* “And you said you would marry me?” Mike is grinning so wide he’s actually grinning.

* “You guys are ridiculous.” You’re laughing so hard you cover your mouth.

* “Alright, out of the entire friend group, f*ck, marry, kill, who are your picks?” Conner leans a bit closer, you wonder if he’s been eating healthier lately, he doesn’t smell nearly as bad as he used to.

* It’s still pretty bad, but now there’s a sweeter herbal undertone

* “Hmmm you guys go first I have to think” you lightly shove Conner by the shoulder and he actually rolls back a bit.

* “Alright hmmm-“ he rubs his chin in mock thought “well marry you of course-“

* “Of course” you nod taking another swig of Vodka

* “F*ck Mike”

* “What?” Mike is genuinely flustered and you grin

* “It’s that golden retriever vibe he gives off right?” You say and Conner nods

* “Exactly! Also he looks like a good cuddler.”

* “Definitely a little spoon”

* “Definitely”

* Mike looks like he’s going to combust from the attention from how red his face is.

* “Kill.... I guess kill Edward, the less competition the better” Conner gives you a meaningful look

* Well you don’t know how to feel about that so you just take another swig of Vodka. The more you drink the easier it’ll come out later right?

* “Your turn Mike.”

* “Marry Bella-“

* “Of course” you and Conner say in unison, clinking your bottle to his glass after you do.

* “Fuck you, kill Edward”

* “Damn no love for Edward at all huh?” You say with a gasp of surprise.

* You’re a little annoyed he didn’t pick Jessica.

* You like Bella and all, and her shy bookworm thing is kinda cute, but Jessica is clearly the superior choice.

* “Don’t deflect now that it’s your turn.” Conner lightly bumps your knee against yours

* Wait when did he move from the chair and sit beside you on the desk?

* You roll your eyes and take another swig of vodka

* “Marry Jessica,” they both sputter at that, Conner actually spits out his drink mid gulp.

* Ew Gross.

* “Fuck Conner, Kill Mike.”

* Conner does a fist pump and Mike looks genuinely hurt.

* “I’m sorry Mike but it’s either marriage or kill, there’s no in between.”

* Mike pouts, before sitting up straighter

* “I bet I’m a better kisser than Conner.”

* You take a long drink of Vodka

* “No way dude, you and I both used to date Lauren and I don’t think she would have dated me again after you if you were a better kisser”

* “That was in middle school! I had braces back then!”

* “Yeah, that’s why you’re so bad at kissing.” Conner says matter of factly taking a sip of his Dad’s brandy straight from the decanter

* “No, I had to lea-“

* “Oh my god would you both shut up?” You shout and let out a huff of annoyance before reaching out and grabbing Mike by the collar of his shirt, tugging him forward

* Your lips meet his briefly, your eyes are closed, and his are open. He adjust to the situation quickly, cupping your cheek and tilting his head slightly

* Not bad

* You break away, turning to Conner, he’s a bit more ready than Mike. He cups your face with both hands, mouth parting slightly as one of his hands slides into your hair.

* You break away sweetly, with one last peck.

* “Conner’s better” you say the bottle of vodka already on your lips. Conner’s laughing while Mike protests.

* “What-no, I wasn’t ready, I want another chance!” You roll your eyes as he looks at you expectantly

* “Fin-“ he breaks you off with his lips, this time is better than the last. He’s standing, and the angle adds to the technique, his hand is on the back your neck, tilting your chin up with the other

* Oh wow.

* You’re a little dazzled when you break apart. Jessica is one lucky girl.

* “Wait if he gets another chance I want one too.” Conner protests, you just nod dumbly.

* That was a really good kiss. You feel all warm and fuzzy.

* Before you can think Conner wraps an arm around your waist tugging you close, he dips you back before kissing you. You open your mouth from the surprise and he takes the opportunity to sweep his tongue in.

* You’re seeing stars, and then abruptly you’re yanked by the shoulder.

* Oh does Mike want another turn?

* Without even opening your eyes you kiss the person who pulled on your shoulder.

* These lips feel different then Mike’s, almost-sticky? Or is it slippery? They smell different too like boiled broccoli-

* Oh shit

* You hesitantly open your eyes, only to see a very shocked Jessica

* “Oh my god” you pull back quickly, cupping your hand over your mouth so you don’t kiss anyone else by accident “I’m so sorry Jess- I didn’t-“

* Before you can finish someone tugs your arm, you vaguely understand what’s happening, one of your arms grasped by a very strong hand and your other carrying a bottle of vodka.

* It’s Edward, you recognize the blue collared shirt he’s wearing, you bought him that shirt last year for his birthday.

* “E-Edward? Wait where-“ you turn to the side to see Jessica who’s standing very still, your eyes briefly meet Bella’s and they flash with-hurt?

* What did you kiss her too when you weren’t paying attention?

* “H-hey Edward that hurts!” If he heard you he doesn’t seem to care, dragging you through the party and through the cluster of people all along the front yard

* You’re vaguely aware of the stares your way. You both must look pretty weird, or at least like a couple of kids dying to f*ck

* All you can see when you look straight forward is Edward’s back. His broad shoulders and the slender curve of his back.

* For some reason, the safest place you can imagine is the middle of Edward’s back. You bet it’s so warm and safe to be nestled there.

* You bet it’s the place Bella feels the most safe in

* A prickle of irritation burns in you. And in your impatience when Edward starts to slow you wrap your arms around his waist-

* “(Y/N), what are you-“ He grumbles, but you don’t pay it any mind, you nestle your head in his back, right below the spot between his shoulder blades. Breathing his scent in deeply.

* Edward always smells so good, like Argon oil and Rosemary

* You feel him sigh, his hand resting over yours that are intertwined on his stomach

* You stay like that for a moment, you’re not sure how long, it might have been hours

* But it feels too soon when Edward pulls away from you.

* The whine of protest that’s building in the back of your throat dies when you see his face

* “Hey, what’s wrong, why are you upset?” A hand lifts to cradle Edward’s face. His mouth is pinched into a frown and his eyes... they look so sad

* Your compassion only seems to irritate him further because he shakes your hand off of his face

* You’re a little hurt, and very confused

* “What were you doing in there?” You can tell from the way his voice trembles he’s barely contains his anger

* “We were playing a game” you say in a small voice. Edward gives out a bitter laugh

* “And what game was that, spin the bottle?”

* “Who’s the better kisser actually” you mumble, looking down at your shoes feeling a little embarrassed

* “You can’t even imagine the vile thoughts they were-“ he cuts himself off, averting his gaze from you

* You feel like a bucket of cold water got dumped on you

* They’re your friends. You were just having a good time. It was all just harmless fun wasn’t it?

* oh god you kissed Jessica! Jessica your best friend.

* How are supposed to face her now

* “Have you been drinking?” He asks, tugging the bottle hanging limply from between your fingers.

* It’s almost empty, less than a quarter left.

* “H-hey I didn’t drink all of that, Lauren drank quite a bit too, and I’m pretty sure it was already half empty when we got it.” Edward raises an eyebrow and you avert your eyes. You’ve going through too much to handle facing him head on.

* “(Y/N), what’s going on, this isn’t like you” He let’s out a long sigh.

* Why did you drink so much?

* Maybe if he wasn’t so wrapped up in that human he would realize-

* Realize what? Where was that sentence going?

* You remember seeing Edward and Bella talk, the smile he gave her-

* No you can’t think about that right now

* “Nothing’s going on,” he looks at you skeptically and you look back to the ground “I just-I just want you to be happy Eddie.”

* He scoffs

* “You have a funny way of showing it.” He’s about to move back but your hand reaches out to stop him, resting on his forearm

* “No I really want you to be happy Edward, and I see the way you look at her-“

* “What?”

* “And I want you to know that it’s okay!” Your eyes stay fixed on his chest, the pocket of his shirt. “I know everyone around us, including Carlisle, have been hoping we would end up together, but don’t worry about that. You can say it was me if you need to, and-“

* He stops you by placing both of his hand on your face, your eyes meeting his.

* “What are you talking about?”

* This time you’re the one that scoffs

* “Bella of course,” he lets out some noise of disbelief, a mix of a scoff and a snicker

* “Bella? You think I love Bella?” He’s laughing at you! The criminal is laughing at you!

* “Im not stupid Edward!”

* “When have I ever said I have feelings for Bella?”

* “You don’t have to! I see the way you look at her! Like just now-when you were up by the stairwell, you looked at her like she was the only person in the room.”

* He doesn’t scoff now and he averts his eyes. You feel your heart sink a little.

* It’s okay, this is for the best.

* Bella’s going to give him everything he wants.

* Even a baby.

* You can’t give him that.

* “Oh my god Bella! She probably has the totally wrong idea! We have to go back, we have to-“ you’re already moving when you feel Edward grasp your arm, holding you back.

* Your eyebrows thread together in confusion

* “Edward what are you doing? We have to-“

* “I don’t love Bella” he interrupts.

* You’re confused, and then you’re angry.

* Is he lying to you? Straight to your face after you’ve already told him you know everything? Why even bother? What is he trying to save his pride or something, because you’re 100% sure that Bella’s feeling it just as much as he is

* “You don’t need to lie to me Edward-“

* “I’m not lying!” He tugs you closer, the bottle of vodka falling to the ground with a clang.

* You’re caged in his arms, each of his hands is holding your by the elbow. His gold eyes look straight into yours

* “There’s only one person I’ve ever loved,” a gentle smile curls onto his mouth. “They’re impossibly stubborn, when they get an idea in their mind. And they have no sense of self preservation whatsoever.”

* This sounds like Bella. Is this a trick or something?

* His eyes get warm as he looks down at you, his lips twitching as his smile widens

* “But they’re also very compassionate, they’re someone with endless amounts of hope, and everything around them is so-different- so fun! They make me feel....”

* he’s been inching closer this entire time, your chest is practically pressed against his.

* “Human” he finishes with a grin

* His forehead presses against yours and you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach.

* “I’m in love with you, (Y/N), it’s always been you.”

* Before you have time to process the bombshell Edward just dropped on you, Edward moves an inch closer and places his lips over your own.

* Your eyes are open at first, mostly from shock, but they drift close when Edward’s hand trails down the edge of you face, resting on your cheek.

* His kiss is so different from Mike and Conner’s kisses.

* Their kiss had been passionate, almost possessive.

* But Edward’s kiss- his kiss makes you feel safe.

* His hand rests on the small of your back, the other lightly touches the side of your face.

* It’s firm, but you know if you didn’t like his touch, if you wanted it to stop, you could end it anytime.

* He’s leaving you an escape

* He’s still your Edward, Your kind, considerate Edward.

* If you were human tears would prickle the corner of your eyes.

* Instead you stand on your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him in even closer.

* You’re seeing stars when he finally pulls away, and in your daze you actually follow him, stealing one last peck.

* You stand tall, looking straight into his eyes, he’s got the biggest goofiest grin you’ve ever seen

* Even goofier than the one he had when you said you would move with him to Forks.

* “Um, so how was I compared to Mike and Connor?”

* You roll your eyes, he’s still trying to lighten the mood with dumb jokes

* You doubt he needs you to answer. He knows you loved it. He’s so happy he’s glowing. You feel almost feel dizzy looking at him.

* And there’s a million things you want to say to him, but you don’t say any of them.

* Instead you lean over and puke all over his shoes.

* “That bad huh?”

BONUS:

* “Was it just me, or were they like really cold?” Mike asks, his lips still feel a little numb

* “Yeah, but I kind of liked it, it’s like ice play.” Conner grins, and then spares a glance to his friend “How you doing over there Jess thinking of coming down anytime soon?”

* Jessica’s got the widest goofiest grin on her face, her fingers trailing her lips every so often.

* Bella sits beside her with her mouth pinched into a frown

* “It’s always the blonde’s that have all the fun” She mumbles

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