#i'm locked in my own head and i don't know what other people experience when they say they're in love. do i want to know?

[hungryslothwrites]

what is love! baby don't hurt me. don't hurt me. no more.

[comicaurora]

Hey, sorry if you’ve been asked this before, but I have ADHD and I’ve been following your comic for years and just now have started to write my own comic (partially because you really inspired me). But I’m really struggling with staying on the project even when it’s boring and getting myself to work on it in the first place. Do you have any tips on how to keep your brain invested or just to make yourself do the work at all?

I have excellent news, I literally just figured out something really important about this.

So when you're an ADHD kiddo or otherwise have difficulty staying on task in a structured environment where Task is the Priority, the main way people try to MAKE you stay on task is by removing your access to anything that is not The Task. No phone, no TV, no doodling, no going outside, etc. In practice, this just makes us miserable because it takes the boredom that's always simmering around a 2 or 3 and cranks it all the way up to 11. In the same way that you would have difficulty staying on task if you were in physical pain, this crushing existential monotony makes it very difficult to work. The work might get done simply because you have no other options, but it will not be done quickly or well, and it will take a while to recover from how much it hurt.

What I realized earlier this week is I caught myself doing this to myself. I had 42 pages of background colors to do, and I thought to myself "this sounds really tedious, but I suppose I have nothing better I can do." And I realized what I'd just thought, and got very alarmed.

Because back when I was an ADHD kiddo imprisoned by school scheduling and a million little factors that keep children immobile and restrained, I couldn't stop thinking about how big and exciting the world was, and how much I wanted to be anywhere but here. When I was feeling really crushed in I'd pick a random spot on the maps on my wall and just imagine being there instead of my bedroom. This was the impetus behind almost all of my creative energy. I've said it before - anything is a prison if you can't leave, and being in a prison makes it easy to imagine how amazing things could be outside of it. Aurora's initial worldbuilding was forged in the crucible of fifth grade misery. My enthusiasm for art and my creative drive are inextricable from my sense of wonder and yearning for excitement in the real world. Not escapism, but appreciation. Wonders unimaginable are out there, and I gain just as much joy seeking them out as I do conjuring them up in my head and sharing them with all of you.

So now that I'm a grown-up with actual freedom in every way I've been able to get, the idea that I was staying on task by making myself believe the world was small and not worth seeing was extremely alarming. It could keep me on task for an afternoon, but at the cost of slowly extinguishing the thing that made me want to make art in the first place - the hunger to experience and draw inspiration from all the myriad complexities in the world.

So what I've been doing is I've been purposefully and intentionally taking excursions whenever I catch myself thinking "I could take a break but it wouldn't be worth it, it's the same outdoors as always, I'll be uncomfy and unproductive and tired." Because that is never true. Every time I've put down the stylus and gone out, I've been renewed in one way or another, and when I come back to comfort fully recharged I get a lot of shit done. Because it is easier to work on anything if you remember why you wanted to make it in the first place, and it is self-defeating misery to just lock yourself in with it and tell yourself you're a bad person if you can't get it done.

I honestly don't know how widely applicable this is. I have worse wanderlust than anyone I know, so for me this has always been modeled as imprisonment vs freedom. I've also been extremely lucky to find myself in a profession that lets me set my own pace on literally everything I do. But I genuinely believe that when it comes to making art with ADHD, you need to give yourself freedom to move laterally, not just in the direction of obvious forward progress. We don't think linearly in any other part of our lives - art is no different.

[duachai]

G8MER BOI - JEON WONWOO

Super Smash Bros You So Ass Though Proly Pick Kirby So You Don't Get Smashed On

PAIRING : JEON WONWOO X MALE READER

SYNOPSIS : M/n, a competitive gamer, is distracted by fellow gamer Wonwoo's charisma and flirtatious advances during a match. After the game, Wonwoo's commanding demeanor leaves M/n flustered and vulnerable. They share an intense, intimate encounter backstage, leading M/n to experience a whirlwind of emotions. Overwhelmed by Wonwoo's touch and words, M/n feels a deep connection forming, hinting at a promising new chapter in his life.

CONTENT WARNING : This writing contains explicit sexual content and mature themes.

AUTHOR'S NOTE : I know nothing about E-sports, but I tried my best 😭

LINKS : Wattpad | Kofi

M/n had never been so nervous going ANYWHERE before today. This was the day he could make history and he carried an insane amount of weight on his shoulders as he walked through those arena doors. Even in a room full of people he still found himself zoned out and very unfocused while doing a fan sign.

He felt someone staring at him, his eyes slowly looking up from the table. A pair of eyes were staring at him, unbreaking eye contact. It sent chills down his spine. He was always a bit reserved during these events and always kept his head down so as to not engage with many people. He didn't like a lot of interaction anyway so this set-up worked for him fairly well.

Except with this particular person.

He knew this guy. This guy... he was a legend. But not one of those old crinkly ones that don't really do their fortay anymore.

He was Jeon Wonwoo.

He slowly lifted his sharpie off the desk, eyes still locked with the other male. He was just so intense. It's like he's trying to burn a hole into my brain. He thought. He tried to ignore the way his stomach churned beneath his button-up and continued signing the girl’s team T-shirt in front of him. She could sense M/n's attention was not on her at all.

M/n quickly tore his gaze from the other person and plastered on a smile for the girl in front of him. Come ON, stop staring! Just mind your own damn business! He cursed in his head, trying to focus back on the girl.

The girl in front of him tried to talk to him to which he desperately tried to answer, eyes darting to the side every so often only to see the man still staring at him. "Are you okay?", the girl asked, waving her hand in front of his face "You seem distracted."

"O-Oh, yeah. I'm sorry... um thank you for supporting us! I hope to see you in the arena later today.”

She nodded and moved away, making room for the next person. M/n took a small breather, closing his eyes for a moment. Ok M/n, pull yourself together. Just focus, do your job and then you can g- He glances up only to see Wonwoo sitting down in the seat in front of him. Ah, you've got to be kidding me...

The male in front of him sat back casually, resting his t-shirt right on the desk in front of him. M/n felt his heart speed up a bit. He glanced down quickly then back up to see Wonwoo grinning at him like he knew exactly what he was thinking.

It almost looked like he was teasing M/n and it ticked him off a bit. He was here to do his job and this guy was distracting him. "I guess it's my turn," Wonwoo spoke, his voice so sweet it almost made M/n shiver.

"U-Um, you don't need to get in line... you're like VIP."

The male laughed heartily. "VIP huh? I like the sound of that"

Jesus, he's even got a beautiful laugh M/n thought, trying to shake the idea away.

Wonwoo said generously, "But I'm no different than the other teams here. I just am a fan... I want a signed shirt from my favorite junior team.”

M/n let out a short laugh, trying to be casual about the whole thing. "Yeah right, like you can call yourself any team's fan when you're the main part of your team's success," he says. It came out a bit harsher than he intended but the confidence the man had was starting to irk him. "You're a legend, Jeon Wonwoo."

Wonwoo smirked and leaned in a little closer. "Say my name again" he says. M/n stared at him, dumbfounded. Say it again? Why the hell does he want me to say his name? What is his angle..

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and took a breath. "Wonwoo.." he said slowly.

The tension was cut by an intercom coming on. "Please everyone please gather in the area for the SVT and Fifty-Forty’s team matches.” M/n's head snapped up to the speaker above his head when the announcement went off. An overwhelming sense of relief washed over him. Finally, now i'm out of this awkward position.

He looked back to Wonwoo only to find him still staring, that smug smile still plastered on his lips. He tried to glare at the man which only made him smile more. He felt his face get hot again. Damnit, why am I letting him get to me?

Wonwoo leaned even further forward and M/n could feel his breath on his cheek. He was so close M/n could count the individual eyelashes framing the other man's eyes. Damnit, Why is his face so close? What is he doing… Wonwoo spoke up, his voice low and sultry in his ear "Are you gonna sign me that shirt now?"

With a trembling hand M/n picked up his marker and signed the shirt. He tried to keep the letters straight but his hand was shaking like crazy and he felt like sweating buckets. How was this man making him so nervous? Why could he feel his heart pounding in his chest like this? It was insane...

He finished the signature and was about to set the shirt down when Wonwoo took hold of his wrist, stopping him from moving. M/n's heart nearly stopped. Wonwoo's hand was on his wrist, not to mention it was so large as well. His fingers were wrapping all the way around him, his long slender fingers completely covering his wrist.

He swallowed a lump that formed in his throat and made the mistake of looking up into Wonwoo's eyes. His eyes met the other man's intense stare and he couldn't look away. He felt like he might pass out if he did.

His mind was going a mile a minute, there was so much going on. Their faces were mere centimeters from each other and M/n felt like he would have a heart attack right there, and on top of all of that, he had never felt more... excited? for something in his entire life.

M/n swore he felt the thump of his heart skip a beat. "You're a lot cuter than I thought you'd be.." he said quietly. M/n's eyes widened and before he could reply the intercom came back on, cutting off whatever he was about to say.

"All teams to the main stage please, the match is beginning in a few minutes.”

Wonwoo's hand finally left his wrist and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He felt lightheaded like he might pass out at that very moment.

The man leaned back in his seat, picking up his signed shirt and smiling. "See you after the match," he said before he stood and headed for the stage. M/n could only watch as the man left, a thousand thoughts running through his mind. What was just happening? He thought I was cute? Why was he being so upfront? Why did he make me so nervous?

He needed to get himself together and quickly. There was a match about to happen and he needed to be focused. He looked over to the crowd and saw all the fans waiting. As much as he wanted to go back and hide in his room, he couldn't. Just do your best, and after you can freak out.

He took a deep breath and got up to join the rest of his teammates on the stage. The game began and M/n tried to focus on playing, which he usually had no problems doing. Except this time, he couldn't seem to find and kind of concentration.

Every time he would start to get into the game, his mind flashed back to Wonwoo's eyes. His words, his grip on his wrist, the way he made his heart stop...

He was so distracted, he was even making mistakes in-game, which was completely unlike him. Usually he was so precise and careful with his playing but today it was like he was just going through the motions. He was doing everything on auto-pilot.

Wonwoo was amazing. His hair, his perfect form, his talent, his lips, all of this just drove M/n absolutely insane. The game wasn't even on his mind. All he could think about was how he just had to have Jeon Wonwoo.

The game was over as quickly as it had begun. Wonwoo's team had crushed his, leaving him and his teammates with no chance to even compete. As the two teams made their way off the stage and into the hall, M/n felt a hand on his shoulder.

He felt that intense sense of nervousness fill him again as he slowly turned to come face to face with Wonwoo. M/n's heart nearly stopped when they stood face to face again. Every single thought he had from earlier came rushing back to him all at once, leaving him feeling vulnerable.

Wonwoo smirked down at him which made him feel even more flustered. Why did he keep doing that?!

"You guys put up a good fight, I'll give you that," he said, his hand still on M/n's shoulder.

M/n couldn't find a single word to say, he just stood there like a complete idiot as his brain malfunctioned. He didn't know what to say or do, he just stared at the man with his mouth slightly open.

Wonwoo chuckled lowly, which caused the hairs on the back of M/n's neck to stand up. Damnit, why is his laugh so attractive? Is he trying to drive me insane?

"Cat got your tongue?" he asked, lifting a hand and running his thumb over M/n's bottom lip. M/n suddenly forgot how to breath. His hands started to shake and he swallowed down a lump in his throat. What does he think he's doing? Just.. touching my face like that. It's making me so.. His thoughts were cut off when Wonwoo began to speak again.

"You're cute when you're nervous, you know that? You get a little red too," Wonwoo said cooing as he swiped a slither of hair that fell on M/n’s forehead.

Jesus Christ, he's so handsome..

M/n tried and failed to keep control of his composure. Why does this man make me so nervous? I can't even form complete thoughts with him staring right at me.

He finally gathered the strength to speak, his voice quiet and shaky. "I'm... not nervous.."

Wonwoo laughed again with his perfect teeth showing. "You're not? You're shaking like a leaf right now." he said with a smirk. His hand came up again, this time cupping M/n's cheek in his warm palm. M/n felt his legs begin to get weak.

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?" he chuckles again before leaning down so his mouth was right next to M/n's ear.

M/n could feel his heart pounding against his chest as the other man's breath tickled his ear. "I can probably make you even more nervous,” he said, his low voice dripping with confidence.

M/n's mind seemed to be a complete jumble at this point. His thoughts were a complete mess and he felt like he might explode. The proximity of the other male's body was almost overwhelming, especially since he was so much taller than M/n himself.

He swore it felt like he was in a trance of some kind when Wonwoo spoke again, his breath warm on his ear. Wonwoo's warm hand shifted from his cheek to the nape of his neck, resting there and making shivers run up M/n's spine.

"You know.." he began, his tone was like silk. ".. I thought you were cute from just watching you play, but now I think you're even more adorable up close.”

M/n chuckled nervously, "U-Um... I should really catch up with my team. They're probably heading to the hotel... y'know. Tired and stuff.

Wonwoo's hand on his neck seemed to tighten a bit, keeping M/n from moving away. "Your team is going to be fine without you for a few minutes," he said, his tone a bit more demanding now.

M/n's breath hitched in his throat as the other man's grip pulled him a little closer. "O-Oh... kay, okay..."

M/n's head was spinning, the man was way too attractive for his own good.

Suddenly, Wonwoo's hand slid from his neck to his jaw, his long slender fingers wrapping around his chin and turning his head to the side. M/n didn't resist, he let him move him, his mind foggy from the closeness.

"You have really pretty eyes" he said lowly in his ear, his thumb brushing across M/n's bottom lip again.

M/n felt his heart flip and his breath shuddered again. He was trying so hard to keep what little composure he had left, but the other man was making it damn near impossible. His touch was driving him insane and he found himself unable to speak, his mind completely blank.

"They're brown... not very unique. Um, how about we move to another area... it's kinda hot h-here. Yeah?" M/n says in a slight pant. Wonwoo chuckled softly and leaned back slightly so he was hovering over M/n's face.

"Oh my god, you are so adorable when you're nervous," he said, his eyes raking up and down M/n's body as he spoke. M/n's stomach flipped at the look in the other man's eyes, Jesus, that stare is going to be the death of me he thought. "I have an idea," Wonwoo said as he grabbed M/n's wrist, his large hand wrapping all the way around him again.

A shiver ran down M/n's spine at the feeling.

With one quick move, he found himself being led down one of the backstage hallways into a secluded backroom. As soon as the door closed behind them, Wonwoo turned and pushed M/n up against the door, trapping him between his body and the hard surface.

M/n felt like he was going to have a heart attack. His heartbeat was so loud he swore Wonwoo could probably hear it. Wonwoo placed a hand on the wall on either side of M/n's head, effectively trapping him against the door.

He was so close M/n could feel the other man's breath on his face, it was warm and smelled faintly of cinnamon. Wonwoo was just staring again. Those brown eyes staring directly into his own, leaving him frozen in his spot.

His mind was swirling, his body was hot, why was this man having this effect on him? The other man smirked down at him, a wicked smile that made M/n's body shiver again. "You're so innocent, you know that?" he says, his eyes raking up and down M/n's body again.

This new side of Wonwoo was turning M/n on in ways he never thought possible. The intense gaze, the smirk, and the commanding tone, it was making his legs feel like jelly.

"M-Maybe I should get back to the group... I-" Wonwoo's hand on the wall moved to M/n's hip, resting there and grabbing it firmly through the material of his shirt. M/n felt a jolt of pleasure run through him. Jesus... that hand, it's so big

"I don’t want you to leave, sweetheart," he stated, his tone commanding. M/n was speechless. The nickname made his heart skip a beat and the hand on his hip made his legs even weaker. He was having a very hard time breathing at this point.

"O-Okay."

Wonwoo chuckled, the sound sending another shiver through M/n. "You're so easy to tease," he says as he leans closer to M/n.

His hand was still tight on his hip, his grip almost possessively tight. "Tease?" M/n asked almost in a whine. Another sultry chuckle escaped Wonwoo's lips as he leaned in even closer, his mouth now right next to M/n's ear.

"You heard me," he said, his warm breath sending more chills down M/n's spine. M/n's mind was a mess and his body a wreck, all from a simple hand on his hip. M/n began to lose his balance. Trying not to fall, his arms wrapped around Wonwoo's waist instinctively.

Wonwoo chuckled again, the sound so deep and smooth, it left M/n's mind feeling blank once more.

"You're a little clumsy, hm?" he asked, his tone almost mocking now.

M/n was trying desperately to keep his mind from completely shorting out, but the man's proximity and his voice was messing with his head.

"Oh.. sorry. Um, Wonwoo? I don't understand, why... why me? I-I'm not complaining I'm just... confused.”

This time a frown appeared on Wonwoo's face instead of his usual cocky smirk. He moved back from M/n's ear, looking down at him with an almost serious expression.

"Why you? I'll tell you why" he said, his gaze never leaving M/n's face. M/n's heart rate quickly began to pick up at the intensity in which the man was staring at him.

"You're cute, that's obvious.." he began, his eyes roaming over M/n's flushed face. "But on top of that... you're talented.. and I could tell when I was watching you earlier... that you're so damn hot when you're focused.”

M/n couldn't understand why this man was having this effect on him, why his words were making him feel weak and his body hot. And Wonwoo noticed. He could feel the rise in M/n's pants.

A smug smirk reappeared on the man's face, as he took notice of M/n’s predicament.

"Looks like I'm having an effect on you, hm?" he purred in M/n's ear again.

M/n 's face flustered with embarrassment, "I'm sorry! I-I don't know what's happening, I'm sorry.”

Wonwoo laughed lowly, his laugh doing absolutely nothing for M/n's already fried brain. "You don't have to apologize, I enjoy it," he said as he pulled M/n's hips forward, closing the distance between their bodies. M/n's eyes darted down to Wonwoo's lips. Wonwoo smirked again, the expression causing M/n's stomach to flip.

"You keep looking at my lips sweetheart, what are you thinking about?" he asked, his voice still low and smooth. "You're speechless a lot, you know that..?" he asks, his grip on M/n's hips tightening. "You're not saying anything because you're too busy thinking about my lips, I can tell," he said, a low chuckle escaping again. "You don't have to speak yourself then. I'll make you.”

And with that, he pressed his mouth to M/n's. M/n's mind suddenly went into overdrive, the soft pressure of Wonwoo's lips against his own sending sparks of pleasure shooting through him.

Wonwoo's mouth felt so warm and soft against his own. He couldn't get his mind to form a single thought, the only thing he could process at this point was the feeling of Wonwoo's lips moving against his. Wonwoo deepened the kiss, pulling M/n even closer by his hips.

The room was suddenly getting a lot hotter, the only thing that M/n could focus on was the man in front of him. The kiss was intense, and M/n was losing himself further and further with each passing moment.

His fingers found the way to the back of Wonwoo's shirt and clutched at the material tightly. Wonwoo let out a light moan as M/n gripped the fabric of his shirt, the sound sending yet another shiver of pleasure through him.

He continued to kiss him, his tongue slipping between M/n's lips and tasting every crevice of his mouth. Wonwoo suddenly bit down on M/n's bottom lip, causing him to gasp out a moan at the mixture of pain and pleasure.

"Jesus, the noises you're making are going to put me over the edge, you know that?" he says in a low, sultry tone. M/n's brain could barely process the words coming out of the man's mouth. "You're... you're driving me crazy," he managed to get out in a pant.

Wonwoo's hand inched up the underside of M/n's shirt, running his fingers along the bare skin of his stomach. M/n let out an involuntary noise at the feel of the man's fingers on his skin, his stomach felt like it was on fire wherever Wonwoo touched him.

Wonwoo's hand inched up the underside of M/n's shirt, running his fingers along the bare skin of his stomach. M/n let out an involuntary noise at the feel of the man's fingers on his skin, his stomach felt like it was on fire wherever Wonwoo touched him.

Wonwoo began to trail his mouth down M/n's neck, peppering kisses lightly over his skin. M/n's head fell back against the door of the small room, a soft moan escaping his lips.

The feel of Wonwoo's lips on his neck sent a fresh wave of hot pleasure through M/n's body.

"God... you're so whiney, I love it," he says softly between kisses. Wonwoo continued to mouth at M/n's neck as his hands began to wander further up his shirt. M/n could feel his body burning up, every touch from the other man was making his brain malfunction. "You feel so good" Wonwoo whispered against his neck.

M/n took one of Wonwoo's hands down to his crotch, "Wonwoo please... help me.” M/n let out another moan, the man's touch was doing wonders on his body. "Just... touch me, please," he begs, his hands coming to rest on Wonwoo's hips.

Wonwoo quickly began to undo the buckle of M/n's pants, his fingers working quickly to get the material off of him. M/n let out a low moan, the anticipation driving him crazy.

"You're so cute... I need to see more of you," Wonwoo says lowly. Wonwoo's hands were roaming over his thighs. "God, you're perfect" he says as he squeezes the flesh of one of his legs, his eyes roaming over his exposed body.

"So damn pretty" he mutters under his breath as he begins to kiss down the skin of the thigh in his hand. Wonwoo continued to mouth at the skin of his thigh, he was making his way closer to the one place that M/n wanted him to be.

Each little bite and kiss was sending more jolts of pleasure through him, his body felt like it was on fire. "Please, please.. Woo...”

"Please what, gorgeous? You have to tell me what you want," Wonwoo says, his mouth mere inches from the hardness of M/n's lower body.

M/n could barely form a coherent sentence, his brain was mush at this point. "Your mouth.. I need your mouth," he says in a pant, his hands tightening around the material of Wonwoo's shirt.

Wonwoo hummed against his thigh in response to his words. "Beg me, baby. Tell me how much you need me," he said lowly, his breath ghosting over the flesh of M/n's inner leg.

"Please, please Woo I need you. I need your mouth, I need your hands, I need you. Please." M/n was practically pleading now, the anticipation was killing him.

Wonwoo hummed again, satisfaction in his voice. "Such a polite little thing... can't say no to that now can I?" he said as he leaned forward in between M/n's thighs.

He wanted to see how much more he could break him down.

"You're being such a good boy for me, I'm going to make you feel so good, you hear me? You're going to feel so good, all because of me"

"Yes... please. Only you make me feel this way," M/n manages to pant out, he wanted the man's mouth so bad his body was aching for it.

"Mmhm, no one else but me can make you feel this good, and no one else ever will," Wonwoo says lowly as he continues to mouth across the inside of his thighs. M/n was already a mess, his breathing was uneven and his skin was hot.

"I'm going to have you begging for more, I'm going to have you screaming my name," he says in a murmur against the flesh of M/n's skin.

Wonwoo continued his ministrations to the flesh of his thighs, marking the soft skin with his mouth and teeth. He was purposely avoiding the one place M/n wanted him most, he wanted to hear him beg for it.

"You're already a mess and I've hardly touched you. You really are desperate, aren't you baby?" he said in a low tone. "My Good boy," Wonwoo says with a smirk.

Without any warning, he suddenly sank down to his knees, his face now level with M/n's hardness. M/n let out a low moan, finally giving in to the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

Wonwoo's hands slid up M/n's thighs, his touch firm yet gentle, sending shivers up his spine. He looked up at M/n with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and without breaking eye contact, he pressed a kiss against the fabric covering M/n's arousal.

M/n's breath hitched, his hands instinctively reaching to tangle in Wonwoo's hair. The other man smirked, his fingers deftly undoing the button and zipper of M/n's pants. With deliberate slowness, he pulled down the material, freeing M/n's hardness from its confines.

Wonwoo's warm breath ghosted over M/n's exposed skin, causing him to shudder with anticipation. He placed a series of teasing kisses along M/n's length, each one sending jolts of pleasure through his body.

"Wonwoo... please," M/n murmured, his voice barely a whisper, filled with need.

Wonwoo chuckled softly, the vibrations of his laughter adding to M/n's pleasure. "Impatient, aren't we?" he teased, his lips brushing against M/n's tip.

Unable to take any more of the teasing, M/n's hips involuntarily bucked forward, seeking more of Wonwoo's touch. Wonwoo finally took pity on him, wrapping his lips around M/n's hardness and taking him into his warm, wet mouth.

M/n gasped, his head falling back against the door as waves of pleasure crashed over him. Wonwoo's mouth worked expertly, his tongue swirling around M/n's tip before taking him deeper.

The sensations were almost too much to bear. M/n's fingers tightened in Wonwoo's hair, his hips moving in time with the other man's rhythm. Wonwoo's hands gripped M/n's thighs, holding him steady as he continued to pleasure him.

M/n felt the tension building in his core, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. "Wonwoo... I'm close," he managed to say, his voice strained with need.

In response, Wonwoo increased his pace, his mouth moving faster, taking M/n as deep as he could. The sight of Wonwoo on his knees, his lips wrapped around him, was enough to push M/n over the edge.

With a final, shuddering gasp, M/n came, his release spilling into Wonwoo's mouth. The other man swallowed greedily, his eyes never leaving M/n's face as he rode out his climax.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, M/n slumped against the door, his legs feeling like jelly. Wonwoo stood up, a satisfied smile on his lips as he wiped a stray drop from the corner of his mouth.

"You're even more adorable when you're completely undone," he said, his voice low and teasing.

M/n could only nod weakly, his mind still reeling from the intensity of the experience. Wonwoo leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to M/n's lips.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he murmured, his tone now gentle and caring. "We can't have you going back out there looking like this."

With Wonwoo's help, M/n managed to pull himself together, his body still tingling from the aftershocks of pleasure. As they made their way back to the main area, M/n couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of connection with Wonwoo.

The game may have been over, but for M/n, a new and exhilarating chapter had just begun.

[guided-by-stars]

It baffles me when I see other people going through Stars and Time and they get frustrated when 1. Bonnie pushes Siffrin into the tear, and 2. Siffrin doesn't find the key in the Head Housemaiden's office and they get softlocked. There's frustration that comes out in other points as well, but those are the two situations where I've seen it be the most intense. I've seen people yell at Bonnie, yell at Mirabelle, yell at Siffrin, genuine anger and annoyance, some people will hold grudges. Say that this choice is stupid, try to find a way to avoid looping back. Usually at that point, I know I'm not exactly going to have the most fun watching them play.

I think some people trap themselves in the expectations of the medium. They're approaching it as a game first, and an expression of art or a story with people in it second. It genuinely surprises me sometimes when people treat characters as...characters, and not people. Do you not try to immerse yourself in the world and circumstances when you engage with media? Take it seriously? I see people try to justify these deaths. Most people aren't frustrated with the rock death, because they justify it as being a tutorial. At the same time, people who are already grumbling about having to go through Dormont again on loop 1... I'm not sure if this experience is for them. Considering on my completion file I ended far past loop 200... Acts 3 and 4 alone often have so much PURPOSEFUL looping, sometimes all the way back to Dormont.

People justify the softlock as a "tutorial" for the icon that shows when you cannot progress that loop...but at that point it had already been shown how tutorials were not made to be obtrusive. The fighting tutorial was centered around Mirabelle's own anxiety, an anxiety that progresses and grows throughout their journey through the house. The Bonnie taking down an enemy tutorial? That's not locked to any fight, it happens the first time that Bonnie has the chance to do so, it could happen anywhere! Adrienne could have easily coded it so that the first time the player was softlocked, the tutorial for that icon would play there. That's not the point of it. The point of it was to show how self-depricating Siffrin is, at that point in the game. How he puts so much of his self worth on his role as the trap disarmer and the key finder. How he blames himself for everything. How he sees himself as a failure. If you could just figure out where the key was if you tried really hard or something, you'd miss all of that. Almost everything in this game has a point and the point almost always is to show you more about the characters.

The game is meant to make you play through it countless times. It's meant to show you the experience of Siffrin, someone who has no choice but to go through it countless times. It's not for padding, it's not to be mean spirited or unfair or difficult, it's to give you an EXPERIENCE. When you want to fast forwards through text but you have a feeling that something might have changed and you stop just in time to see new dialogue, when you notice Siffrin's smile fading from act to act, when you make sure to pick up every souvenir from Dormont every time you loop JUST IN CASE you need to use it somewhere in the House, when you are so thrown off by the rock in the Death Corridor that you become paranoid and check every pillar afterwards just in case... and then you get the Memory of Pillars for your troubles.

When you check Loop's advice for quests you've already completed, just to see what they say about it, when you select text options that are already greyed out because you want and hope and desire there to be more to the conversation...maybe this time? When you do the friend quests again in Act 4 and you don't skip through them because you have a feeling Siffrin will be feeling differently now, and he does, and it's an entirely different experience this time. When you get the Bright Flower and you forget to give it to your party and then you go to talk to the king and see you can offer him the flower? When you bring the flower with you every loop after that just in case there's another person you can give it too and then you realize you can give it to the Head Housemaiden? That's what ISAT is about.

[silvermoon424]

Coming to terms with the fact that society hates autistic people

I just saw some comments that were like "If you're autistic, neurotypical people hate you" and "growing up as autistic in our neurotypical society is almost always inherently traumatizing." And you know what? I absolutely agree. It really resonates with me to hear fellow autistic and generally neurodivergent people talk about the hate, rejection, misunderstanding, and even dehumanization we receive from most neurotypicals.

My entire childhood was spent being the "weird girl" until I got good enough at masking to fit in better. Even now, as an adult, I get negative comments from my own (neurotypical) parents when I display certain neurodivergent behaviors. My family is always like "that's so Katy" and shake their heads when I act "too" autistic and it feels so fucking patronizing. I've had negative experiences and even disciplinary action at jobs I've had for exhibiting neurodivergent behavior (usually related to my ADHD, but sometimes autism too). My entire fucking life I've been told by society to not act too much like myself or else I'll put everyone off.

And then you see people being sympathetic to the parents of autistic children who abuse or even kill them. "It's sad, but it's understandable" neurotypical people say. Videos of autistic children having meltdowns are full of people saying that they should be locked up because they're no better than animals. We're seen as a burden, a drain on society, who are only tolerated if we learn to act "normal" and don't make the neurotypicals uncomfortable. Autistic people are front and center in "cringe" compilations and are ruthlessly bullied.

If I'm being honest, I'm still unlearning a lot of ableist thoughts that were instilled in me growing up. I sometimes catch myself thinking that other autistic people are annoying, and I have to stop myself and think "Do you really find them annoying, or were you programmed to be dismissive of people who don't act neurotypically enough?"

Anyway, idk where I'm going with this text wall. The older I get, the more I become aware of how much I've been harmed by an extremely ableist society, and it breaks my heart that more neurodivergent kids are being taught to suppress their true selves the way I was.

[teaboot]

Hi! (just a personal ask. Sorry if it's not okay to ask for advice out of nowhere but I wanted to see an outer perspective and didn't wanna ask my friends. No pressure to answer of course but I would love to hear your thoughts!)

Is it normal for me to feel overwhelmed about something I want? I am just starting med school and it's a lot but I am fighting. And in my culture, parents buy their daughters their like things?? (like towels and bed sheets and a fridge. Anything they can buy except the apartment basically) for marriage from a young age. But my mom just started recently. And when she first bought me something. The idea of getting married & being a doctor (both things I want) felt like too much I teared up. My mom said I was being spoilers I guess?? Like I was ruining a good moment? Of course it is not that serious since I wasn't outright crying, and I just laughed afterwards as I felt silly lol ,but It got me thinking if I was being that dramatic.

This honestly felt like the moment in the movie where the mom hugs her daughter and says something like "oh how much you've grown" . Her retort felt like it was out of the script.

If you find time to answer, please be extremely blunt. Because I know for a fact I have a tendency to exaggerate things.

You are not overreacting. You are not exagerrating things. And I'm going to tell you this, because I experience this, the tendency to downplay your own feelings and recollections of events very often comes from having other people do it to you first. People tell you your feelings are wrong, or stupid, or irrational, and you learn to listen to them instead of yourself.

It makes complete sense that coming up on a major cultural milestone would make you feel excited, or scared, or overwhelmed. It sounds like you came upon the first step of a very big change and the reality of it all hit you at once, which sounds completely normal and expected!

Fuck, *I* used to get that about moving houses, and YOU'RE expecting shit like marriage? Holy fuck! I'd be a complete mess! The fact that you're level-headed enough to ask questions and process your feelings and talk things through is impressive, because I think I'd be losing my mind.

Personal story, but when I turned 17, my mom asked me if I wanted to go to a restaurant to celebrate. When I told her that it sounded nice, but I'd rather have dinner at home with the family, she told me I was a selfish narcissist, and that I was so busy thinking of myself that I didn't consider that other people might have been excited to go out.

At the time, I thought she'd been harsh but ultimately correct.

Now, I see that she had decided what kind of perfect evening she had wanted, and had expected me to play the part in the movie she had written herself. It had never been about what I wanted at all- it had been about her personal desires and expectations.

And it's normal to feel frustrated about things that don't go the way we want or expect, but lashing out at others is not an appropriate way to handle those emotions.

The way we feel cannot be controlled like a machine. The way we feel is usually not a problem. The problem is what we do, and the choices we make based on those feelings.

Children throw tantrums and sat mean things because they haven't learned better yet. They don't have the practice or experience. Adults like your mother and mine should have that on lock, but often don't, especially if culture or tradition or social expectations tell them their actions are justified.

If I had to take take guess, I'd say it sounds like your mom gave you this gift with an idea in mind of how she wanted you to react. She probably wanted you to be grateful and praising and sweet, so she could fulfill the role she envisioned for herself, and when you deviated from that picture, she was disappointed. From that perspective, it would seem that she felt slighted, and that she was owed your gratitude, and you were at fault for withholding it.

This perspective makes sense, in an emotionally immature sort of way, but would completely overlook your feelings, which are just as important.

Your exact situation is not one I've been in before, but if I'm correct in my assumptions (which I may not be) then I'd suggest keeping an eye out for other instances of your perspective and feelings being minimized.

Are you often told you are behaving irrationally? That you're over-emotional? That you're self-centered or greedy or entitled? Are you told that you don't remember things or do things as you're told? That you see problems where there aren't any? That you male trouble where there is none? That certain conversations aren't worth having, or that "you're always like this"?

It sounds like you know that something is off. I'd encourage you to keep asking questions and follow your instincts. At the end of the day, your life is your own, no matter where it came from.

[from-the-clouds]

bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much. 

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction. 

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time. 

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.” 

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway. 

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness. 

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit. 

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care. 

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time. 

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way. 

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to. 

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with. 

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast. 

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder. 

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him. 

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway. 

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened. 

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen. 

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin. 

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder. 

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen. 

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs. 

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes. 

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t. 

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower. 

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering. 

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks. 

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it. 

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous. 

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet. 

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected. 

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time. 

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally. 

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?” 

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement. 

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him. 

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.” 

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts. 

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him. 

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse. 

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces. 

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating. 

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet. 

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that. 

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing. 

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms. 

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it. 

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again. 

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it. 

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?” 

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.” 

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now. 

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger. 

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now. 

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth. 

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed. 

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all. 

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. 

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree. 

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….” 

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top. 

“That’s it, nice and slow.” 

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread. 

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again. 

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him. 

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens. 

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t. 

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows. 

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart. 

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again. 

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange. 

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think. 

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass. 

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks. 

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession. 

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips. 

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you. 

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there. 

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected. 

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel. 

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger. 

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little –  just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose. 

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture. 

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously. 

“Yes, please, please,” 

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often. 

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.” 

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made. 

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life. 

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper. 

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”  

“No.” 

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much. 

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t. 

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks. 

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t. 

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had. 

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more. 

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this. 

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you. 

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it. 

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap. 

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’ 

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though. 

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic. 

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response. 

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted. 

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek. 

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.  

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him. 

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head.  Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom. 

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side. 

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him. 

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?” 

“You do.” 

“So…. I’ll teach you.” 

“....Okay.” 

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around 

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do. 

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this. 

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

[mooestriovermind]

Hypnosis - Everything can work

It's the combination of the desire to be hypnotized and the understanding that you can be hypnotized that combines together to make someone susceptible to trance. If you know how easy it is to go under, but you don't want to, you won't. Vice versa, if you want really bad to drop, but feel that it's impossible to do so, you won't fall.

Some people are in the second boat- quite a few, actually. If you want to be hypnotized, but think that your mentality or a certain mental illness prevents you from being hypnotized, you misunderstand. Everyone can experience trance. Many frequently have and didn't attribute the state they were in as hypnosis. It doesn't even require the ability to picture something in your head, or the ability to focus. Hypnosis can be brief, it can be long, but it is accessible by everyone. You need only notice that you're being hypnotized, and recognize that it can happen, in order for it to happen.

Take for example, right now. You've been reading down this informative post, your curiosity piqued by the knowledge I have to offer. And thusly, you have locked your attention on my words, here. Eager to learn, happy to recognize the hypnotic nature of a good monologue. Even if you don't picture a comfortable place like your back porch on a cool day or a beanbag when it's raining outside, you can still find it possible to recognize how my words affect you.

Even if they affect you minimally, it's possible that you still notice something as small as a change in your breathing. You see, small changes, however noticeable, tend to occur when you take note of the fact that someone is trying to hypnotize you. You can find it easy or difficult to follow what I'm saying, but ultimately you will be able to recognize that I am indeed trying to hypnotize you in this moment.

For some, the mere mention that someone may be actively hypnotizing them could lead to the familiar fuzzy feelings of trance to overtake them. Maybe you can already feel the sensations you recognize as trance. Maybe you don't know what hypnosis feels like! Maybe you've never been hypnotized (or you feel like you haven't) and you're just curious enough to keep reading. Either way, you are reading, and I am hypnotizing you, which means you are feeling at least somewhat different.

Considering that many experience trance in different ways from others, it's not entirely possible to say exactly how my words are making you feel. It could be any number of sensations or ideas. As long as you're capable of receiving sensory input or holding onto imaginative thoughts in some capacity, you are likely feeling open or even following along so closely that the world around you is no longer important.

Because you've read this far, I can imagine that I've successfully managed to at least entertain you. If you're feeling hypnotized, that's great! Keep feeling those sensations and keep allowing your behavior to adjust according to my words. If not, that's fine too! I've entertained you enough to provide you with some useful information that may assist you in any number of hypnotic endeavors.

Of course, all trances must end, and so must every Tumblr post. Finite and measurable, this little script and informative text must now draw to a close. You'll be able to awaken from any trance you may be in- as everyone is fully in control of their own hypnosis experience. Don't let anyone trick you into thinking that you can't resist, or that you absolutely must stay entranced. This is a sign that you're either doing a discussed CNC scene, which is fine, or you're being approached by an abusive dominant, which is less fine. (Very important distinction!)

Either way, thank you for reading my post! I hope it provided at least a modicum of entertainment.

Farewell, and don't forget to stay hydrated!

[spidernuggets]

Jason Todd x Reader

That song "Loser Baby" from Hazbin Hotel has been on my mind ever since I watched the video, and I'm like, ooooh, prompt idea ✨️✨️

Basically, Jason and Reader are both members of the Titans, Jason's going through some shit, thinking he's alone to deal with it because the other members never cared about his problems, so Reader is there to sort of comfort him!

WARNINGS: mentions of suicide, drug use, weaponry use

Notes: Based on HBO Titans, timelines are mixed, idk how a molotov cocktail works, just go w it, unrealistic gun use

Another day, another failed mission. Why? Jason took the impulsive decision to dive in, head first, into the first danger he saw, which led them to be ambushed by other criminals. Sure, they got the majority locked up, but now the others are spread around Gotham now trying to get backup.

And like most times, when Jason messes up now and again, the members start pointing fingers while Dick was at GCPD.

"We went through the plan a million times, kid," Hank grunts. "You wait for Dick's signal!"

"Yeah, yeah! I heard you the first time," Jason spits back. He's been hearing this ever since the whole fiasco ended up until now as everyone got back to the tower. "Get off my back, will you, at least I fuckin' tried, asshole."

"And we would've completed the mission successfully if you tried after Dick gave the cue," Kory chimes in. "You need to work on your patience."

"Whatever," Jason mumbles storming back into his room.

Just as he was, you were exiting your own room, located just beside Jason's.

"Hi, Jay, how was the- oh...kay?" Just as you were greeting the young vigilante, he ignored you, slamming his door shut.

You walk into the lobby. Though you were a member of the Titans, you didn't participate often in missions. You design and create weaponry for the other members, especially Dick and Jason, as they don't have any powers. You excused yourself from joining the missions because although you knew how and when to use your mechanics best, your combat and stealth skills aren't as advanced.

You picked up this interest of building and experimenting after a few downfalls earlier in your life before Dick found you and took you in.

You grew up on the not so upper class side of Gotham City, and you were not an intentionally planned kid. Your parents made bad decisions, weren't married, and both were struggling in their own way. But your dad soon realised that it was all too much for him. He couldn't take care of himself, let alone take care of a kid, his kid. Soon enough, he reached his limit and swallowed a few too many pills.

That's when your mom went spiralling into her own depression. She smoked more cigs, snorted more coke, and drank more alcohol. And when you were old enough to comprehend the profanity she spat at you, she figured that you were smart enough to live life on your own. So she kicked you out. Later that night, when you came back, just to double check if your mom was just on a high and didn't mean what she said, she was gone. The only evidence to prove she was there were the smashed bourbon bottles and and cigarette butts scattered across the floor.

You sat yourself on the couch, legs tucked into your chest as you wrapped your arms to secure them in place and waited patiently for your mom to come home.

But she never did.

Some bad people were after you, claiming that your mother had owed them a shit ton of money. When you told them you didn't know where she was, they said that you'd have to continue to pay back her debt. You had nowhere else to go. So every time they'd come knocking on your door, you'd bolt out through the fire escape.

You had a molotov cocktail in your hand, a little something you saw your dad do once when he was in a difficult situation such as yours. This is the first time you've tried to use it before. You're scared that saving the bottle would be a waste of time. What if you threw it and the fire just went out? What if it wouldn't have the effect you'd expect? What if it would hurt you too in the process??

You just prayed. Prayed for some sort of miracle. In your other hand, spray on deodorant that you stole from the grocery store a walk away from your apartment.

There's a recently abandoned one-story house just down the road.

Lure them there, spray the room, blow 'em up.

You repeated the plan to yourself. So many things can go wrong. You couldn't do anything but pray.

Your chest ached when you got to the building. You covered your face as you choked, inhaling the deodorant that you sprayed around the room.

"There they are!" One of the men yelled towards your direction. You waited. Just a couple seconds.

You ran out the back window as they crashed through the door. Looking back, you waited as much as you could, making sire as much of the men entered the house.

Now.

You lit the cloth on fire, using your mom's lighter, one of the things you kept, and threw it through the window. And just like that, the fire caught onto the particles of the deodorant, and as the bottle smashed to the concrete floor, the building as a whole burst into flames, the painful screams of men remaining in the house.

"Oh my god, it worked!" You said to yourself, panting as you continue to run away.

From then on, you experimented with other, easier ways to create the same kind of effect. You used scraps of metal, lead wires from lightbulbs, plus lightbulb shards to create explosives to protect you.

Soon, your knowledge of weaponry expanded. You managed to steal a gun from one of the men that were after you. You liked to know how things worked. And you liked to manipulate how they worked.

You spent your time disassembling your new gun and eventually created a new weapon of your own. You'd pretend to be too scared to use it, bad man grabs it off you, aim it at you, pulls the trigger, and boom. The bullet blows to the other end, towards their face.

Too bad luck wasn't completely on your side for long.

You screeched as you walked past an alley, your hair being grabbed and pulled by a large man. "Think you can get away from me, bitch?" A gruff voice spat.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, grasping as your scalp that's burning your skull. You heard the glint of a knife as the sharpness poked at your side.

"Please, please, no, please," you whispered, begging for your life to be spared.

"You better pray for a miracle, cunt," the man said, jabbing the knife into your side, then throwing you against the wall, leaving you to bleed out.

Your vision blurred and came to the conclusion that you were going to die.

That is... if some random stranger found you and decided to bring you back to what you found out to be "Titans Tower." Learning his name to be Richard 'Dick' Grayson understood you had no one to take care of you and that you were the one who caused that explosion. He also found your little gun, and the great detective saw how it's been rearranged.

When you woke up, you were in an unfamiliar area. You were bandaged up well, but you were still scared. You hissed, trying to sit up. At the same, Dick walks into the room, a trya with soup, a glass of water and a small tablet next to the glass all prepared.

Dick smiled, introducing himself and apologising for bringing you unconscious. He offered you a shelter, but also wanted to know more about you. How you ended up in the situation, who was after you, and how you managed to rearrange the gun.

He then took you under your wing, giving you your own room and even your own materials to create more weapons for yourself. These ranged from melee weapons, explosives, and hand to hand combat weapons.

Dick tried to train you in physical combat, but you admitted that no matter how hard you tried, your fighting skills won't really improve. So you offered to just create new defence weapons for the team and operate missions from the tower as the team went out.

A couple of months later, you met Jason Todd. You'd be lying if you said he wasn't attractive, and his flirtatious attitude didn't help with your attraction towards him.

You also admired how skilled he was in fighting. Fighting a person while blindfolded? Fighting two people while they're all blindfolded? You wished to be just like him. But you were too shy to talk to him.

Jason speaks before thinking, and you were scared that he'd make fun of you for being part of the Titans without knowing basic combat and stealth skills. So you avoided him as much as you could.

But your guard was down as you had your headphones on, sitting on the couch in the lobby, sketching out a design for new throwing blades that could inject a liquid into the body to knock someone out for around half an hour.

"Why do I never see you around?" A curious voice chimes. One of your headphones laid off your ear, so you flinched when you heard someone begind you.

"Uhm, I.. I don't know what you're talking about," you quietly say, not sure how to confidently talk to the attractive boy.

"You're never out on missions or in the training room. Why are you here?" He says, arms leaning on the back of the couch, face dangerously close to yours

You shrugged. "I kind of make the weapons, I guess. I got those Rs of yours to send a shock wave of electricity," you replied, trying to identify yourself.

Jason tilts his head. "So, how come I never see you around training or missions? With weapons like them, I assume you would be useful out there."

You shake your head. "Fighting isn't really my forte. And my aim is never accurate," you explain, bracing yourself for the taunts.

"Huh. Want me to teach ya?" He offers.

Your head shoots towards him. "Uhm. Thanks, but Dick already tried training me. Trust me, I'd just be wasting your time and be a pain in your ass," you say, fidgeting with the pencil in your hand, kooking away from him.

"Nah, you trust me. I can teach you way better than Dickwad can. And if you still think fighting just isn't a thing for you, we can stop."

You stare up at him for a few moments before sighing and agreeing.

Surprisingly, Jason was able to teach you the basics, but that was as far as you could learn. Nonetheless, you were grateful that Jason taught you something that you could learn. You couldn't thank him enough. In return, you designed weaponry specifically suited for his fighting style.

From then on, you and Jason developed a beautiful friendship. Unfortunately, your crush on him only grew more.

But you and Jason were always there for each other. You never ran out of stories and fun talks to chat about. And eventually, little by little, the two of you opened up about your not so different pasts.

So when Jason stormed into his room after coming back from the mission while making absolutely no contact with you, it got you worried.

"Jeez, what happened?" You say as you walk to where the other members stood.

"Jason being Jason as always," Rachel mumbles.

"Uhh, Jason was just being eager. He's been trying to solve this case for weeks," Gar tries to reason out.

"If that little shit just stuck to the plan, his case would've been solved," Hank raises his voice as Dawn tries to calm him down.

"Just be patient with him. He didn't mean it," you try to calm everyone down.

"We can't be patient with him if he himself can't be patient," Donna calls out from the fridge, grabbing a drink.

"Listen, he's been through enough already, cut him some slack," you begin to get pissed off.

"If you're referring to when he got kidnapped, that was his fault too," Rachel says, sitting down on the couch.

"You know what wasn't his fault? Drawing crosses on your mirror, Rach. And that made all of you blame him for the other shit planted in your rooms. Do you know how much that shit hurt him? And none of you didn't even apologise! So, sorry, on behalf of him, that he wanted to show he was still strong enough even after he was kidnapped and dropped from a skyscraper. But have a little decency and time to understand why he acts the way he does," you ranted, not letting anyone reply as you stormed away.

During your times spent with Jason, you didn't miss his ADHD meds lying around, and eventually, he opened up to you about his therapy talks with Leslie, and you're glad it's somewhat helping. You just wushed you would be as much helo to him.

You knocked lightly on the door. "Jay?" You called out to him. You sighed when you were met with no response. You know he didn't tell you to come in, hut you were so worried for your best friend, so you entered his room.

His rock vinyl was spinning, and you took the pin off, making the loud mhsic stop abruptly.

Staring out the window, Jason turns to you, glaring at you.

"C'mon, it's just me, Jay. You can talk to me," you say.

Jason scoffs. "Yeah, sure. Then you'd think of me like the others do," he says, his gaze returnint out the window.

"And how do they think of you, Jason?"

He shrugs. "Like a fucking loser," he croaks.

"That's because you are a loser," you deadpan. Jason's brows furrow in confusion as he looks at you once more. He honestly thought you'd start to go on a long, petty rant about you thinking otherwise.

You sighed, walking over to him, hding his hands and bring him over to his bed, sitting him down.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Jay. Your life sucks and I don't know if it's going to get better. There's a chance that it's not. You are a loser. You're spontaneous, make dumb decisions that don't always go well. But, you know? It's not entirely your fault. Your childhood sucks, your current family sucks and most of your teammates sucks. And you're just doing your best. You may be a loser, but guess what? I am, too. I can't fight, I can make weapons, but my aim is shit. My dad died, and my drug addict mom left me. I'm always alone i the tower because everyone else is out doing cool, superhero shit. I understand your pain, Jason. That's why we tell each other the shit we've been through. Because that load might be too heavy for only ourselves to carry. But I'm sure as hell it would be light as a feather if we carry both of our problems together," you choose your words carefully, your hands remaining on his, your thumb stroking his scarred skin.

Slowly, you move your hands, shifting them to link your pinky with his while he remains silent. "Jason, I promise you. I'm always going to be here to listen. I'm always going to be here for you. To help you in any way I possibly can."

Jason doesn't verbally reply. What he does, though, is nod and lean his head against your shoulder, tightening his grip around your hands.

[moons-of-dewclan]

I was curious how to get your clan really set off? I recently (LIKE EARLIER TODAY JFJSJFJ) started my own clangen blog but idk if it's worthy of Tumblr😭

How can I improve my art and improve my process? You're one of my BIGGEST inspirations ngl you're literally him (or her or they I'm so sorry I never caught your pronouns) but I was just curious on how to be better? If you wanna look, don't. It's like, rlly bad so.... save your eyes. Have a lovely nighttt <33

HELLOOOOO I'M NOT 100% SURE WHAT YOU MEAN BY SET OFF I'M SORRY :{ if you mean to get people reading it, i think it's vastly just luck also appealing to an audience by accident i posted my art online for 10 years (i started posting in 2010 as a wee ka- told you i'm an adult haahahueu) before anyone showed consistent interest and i valued those two or so commenters who occasionally had something to say about my stuff, so much LAKSNLKD. that entire decade i got between 2 and 30 favourites for every piece i posted- usually between 2 and 10- until around 2021 when a making a comic aANNND joining a wolf ARPG group exposed me to many kindred art-enjoyers that wanted to keep up with my goofy stories then for some reason, i posted Dewclan's first page on tumblr and it got way more engagement than any other piece of art i've ever posted SO LAKSDNLKDAS WE CANNOT PREDICT THESE THINGS.. at least i can't if you're looking for engagement, pLS AIM FOR ENGAGEMENT THAT FEELS MEANINGFUL over anything else IN MY OPINION, and it's just my opinion- part of being 'better' is, first and foremost, being able to enjoy your art alone. and then being excited with what you choose to share! even if you don't care about your quality of art, care about the story. if you don't care about the story, care about the process and just having fun. but you have to have fun in doing it, and do it for your own eyes primarily. like if you were alone in a room and creating only for yourself! because, until you happen to find others who like what you're liking, you are then when someone is interested and you get to share that excitement, even that ooone comment on something you care about is OOGHHH SUCH A NICE FEELIN. enter communities, comment on other artists' work, try to make friends! but make sure to remember, if you create with the hopes others will like it, without liking it yourself, you're going to be really broken down if someone doesn't like it FOR you :{ loving your own art is tough work but it's integral to your longterm relationship with drawing ON IMPROVING.. for me, nothing is more integral to improving than finding a way to practice that suits you (looking at live figures doesn't help me at all. i don't know why. it's insane), and having fun doing it. i can't grasp anatomy unless i break it down with shapes. SHAPES ARE EVERYTHING. study the shapes of what you want to draw. break em down by tracing simple shapes over your subject. see if the leg is the same length as the head from muzzle to neck and lock that info in. STUFF LIKE THAT on the technical side of things, it can be super helpful to dedicate half an hour or so to drawing a day- eventually it becomes a habit and you just default to 'oh i think i wanna draw' when you've got nothing else to do. more drawing, more improvement!

HONESTLY THO another important thing is not putting yourself down. i know it's a hard habit to break (i struggle with it outside of art myself!), but it doesn't do you any favours. the more you rag on yourself, the more it'll manifest as something that actually damages your art, AND your relationship with it. let it be fun- don't sabotage yourself! you can be critical of your work and still kind! little tip here, improving can take a while, but experimenting with styles can make an INSTANT shift in how you perceive your stuff. ALSOOO EXPERIMENT WITH DIFFERENT BRUSHES FOR SKETCHING AND LINING. I PROOMISE. PLS DO IT. IT'S LIKE A MAGIC TRICK. i cannNNNOT sketch with a hard brush. everything looks horrible. marker brush tho?? so smooth. full of character. lovely. binary brush sketches? suddenly i'm Anime. pencil brush?? i digidevolve back into baby ka who loved to crosshatch and do semi realism. airbrush??? i explode into atoms actually

i find for a lot of people, they don't need to improve or be 'better' at art, they need to learn to enjoy what they're capable of doing now, and improvement is a byproduct. from what i've seen through the years, unless you work to curb it the negative view of your art will stick with you no matter what 'skill level' you get to bc the calls' comin from inside the house, yknow what i mean 3: it can be a long process to learn to accept your art, and sometimes you just plain grow out of it over time! but in the meantime it can't hurt to make efforts to fight your d e m o n s

I'M SORRY I WROTE SO MUCH IK YOU DIDN'T ASK FOR THIS ALL IT ISN'T JUST TO YOU, ODESSY-CLAN BLOG RUNNER, IT'S AIMED AT ANYONE WITH ARTSY SELF DOUBTS. i hope i phrased everything kindly bc i meant it all kindly 3: i hate to see an artist doubt their work, but THERE IS NO SHAME IN IT. i want to encourage loving it regardless of any flaws tho, even though it takes time!

[dateamonster]

My vampire ex-boyfriend is stalking me. This is not an unusual occurrence. Even when we were still dating he was always doing this, he just used to be more obvious about it because if I called him out he already had a line locked and loaded about how he was only looking out for me. And sure, I'll admit that I've had more than the average number of near-death experiences for a seventeen year old, but at the risk of rehashing old arguments, a lot of that could've been avoided if he'd just turned me the first time I asked.

I've broken things off with my vampire ex-boyfriend a couple times before, usually for about the same reasons, but this time it's different. I think he's noticed it too. I'm not grieving anymore, not holing myself up in my room listening to sad music watching every gray day pass me by. I've talked to my friends, then to my dad, and they're on my side. My dad took a little longer to come around, but it helped that his best friend's son went through the same thing. It's good to have people around who want to support me, not just protect me.

My vampire ex-boyfriend didn't want me to be a vampire like him. He didn't want me to have sex, with him or anyone else. He didn't want me to go out with my friends without him there, but he also didn't want to come along. He didn't want me to go out after dark. He didn't want me to cut my hair. But he liked me, he really liked me. He liked that I didn't ever show much skin even in the summer. He liked that I didn't have any real hobbies or passions so that he could be the one to introduce me to music and fine art and literature. He liked that I kept my innermost thoughts so buried that they were a secret even to me.

I don't know for sure if I want to be a vampire anymore. I think I might, or at the very least I want to keep my options open, but it doesn't feel as urgent now that I know there are other ways to change myself. I used to think I needed it to be close to him. He was so beautiful, is so beautiful. My vampire ex-boyfriend, with his serious, brooding stare and his model chin and his body carved from the center of a pale diamond, his chiseled angles sharp enough to cut with just a glance. And then me beside him, with my long mousy hair and my fragile frame hidden beneath overlarge shirts and jeans when even a knee-length skirt made me feel too exposed. For all his sanguineous habits, I was the parasite, and he was the genuine article, and maybe that's why it hurt so much to have him reject me again and again. All I ever wanted was to burrow into his colorless skin, to feel what it was like to be strong and unyielding. My vampire ex-boyfriend hated his perfect body. He waxed poetic about my warmth, my softness. Maybe we were more alike than I thought in the end.

I load my old pickup truck full of lumber and nails and feel pleased by how much easier it is now that I've started to put on a little muscle. Working with my hands makes me feel more grounded in my body, so dad's enlisted my help in some of his DIY projects around the house. My collection of bandages is growing, from splinters and slips and the occasional dropped hammer, but my coordination grows a fraction less abysmal each day, and if I spill blood there's no one there to wince and whine about it.

I put a lock on my bedroom window. I pin photographs to my wall documenting my changes from month to month. Dad shows me how to shave without cutting myself, despite my insistence that if I could figure out my legs I can figure out my face. I smile more days than I don't. I still turn my head in the same direction when I hear a loud crack from beyond the treeline that's not quite thunder. I still visit his family, when he's not around. In another life I know his parents would've treated me like one of their own.

Just as I'm climbing into the driver's seat I hear a voice from the shadows, whispering the name of a stranger. I drive away. I've got no more interest in raising the dead.

[gluion]

surrender to me ➵ kim sunwoo

fuck buddy!kim sunwoo x reader

you despise everything about him—detached, shy, a blind follower. if anything, being in the same room as him infuriates you. so how did a leader like you end up in this mess with him?

genre/warnings ➵ fuck buddies au, smut, afab reader (they/them pronouns, gendered terms are used), porn with little plot, dom!sunwoo, condescending and cocky sunwoo in contrast to his supposed shy nature, fingering, nipple play, a lot of hickeys, dirty talk!!! so much begging, he whines ONCE, he is also obsessed with the taste of you, degradation (uses terms like bitch, calls you pathetic), he is demanding & likes to make fun of you, calls you "Ms. Leader" a lot, a bit of aftercare in the end, yeji does interrupt the fun

word count ➵ 4k words

taglist ➵ @deoboyznet @kflixnet @blankjournal @winterchimez

a/n ➵ first time writing a oneshot that is less than 10k words and it has smut? and it's also my first time writing smut? and it's not my usual format of writing titles? be so for real moni. i don't even know if this counts as full-blown smut for you guys there is no p in v action. guys, this is truly the worst experience of my life. this writing experience has made me applaud smut writers because i feel like having to scream and laugh at myself. i didn't even fully read through this because i feel like i'm going to ram myself against the walls. anyway, thank you @haet-sal @snowflakewhispers @sungbeam and @cerescomets for the reassurance while i was writing! anyway, if people enjoy this, i can consider making this a series possibly! if you enjoyed this, always make sure to reblog (even if it's on your tbr </3)!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

God, you hate yourself for many reasons. Many knew you as the overachiever in your classes, one who will find themselves setting goals that should be unattainable in all ways. The same people found you the leader type, one who is determined to take charge of everything and anything. But most people, if not all, think of you as the hard-headed one—someone who will never waver from the choices set.

It did not matter what others thought. You could care less what these people had to say; it does not matter if they threw around nouns they felt encapsulated the image you present in school. If anything, they were doing you a favor for you can hope that it would remain.

But god would you hate for anyone to see you like this—to see you out of the powerful persona you had carefully curated.

You should not be doing this—definitely not with him. If anything, you hate him for so many reasons. He is the detached one in your class, one who never raises his hand nor finds the right answers to say when asked. Everyone knows him as the blind follower, one who will follow instructions but never provide any input on how things can improve. But most of all, people knew him as the shy one—someone who will not refute or refuse.

He infuriates you for he is not like you. God, you hate being in the same group as him—let alone being in the same room as him.

So why did you find yourself with your limbs tangled with his, all locked up in your very own room?

“God,” Sunwoo whispers against your lips. “I thought you said the last time would be the last.” His plump lips nip on your bottom one as his fingers find themselves on your buttons, popping them undone one by one.

And it should have been. You should not be doing this with him. Yet, you always find yourself ringing his phone again, and again, and again. Did you not respect yourself?

“It should’ve been.” With the way you grunt while you attempt to unbutton his shirt, he cannot help but chuckle. It is humorous—you say one thing and the complete opposite happens. 

His lips leave yours as soon as he successfully gets rid of your button-up shirt. Once they find themselves in the sweet spot on your neck, you cannot help but moan at the sensation. “You always come back for more,” he says in between sucks. “Just admit that you like doing this with me, Ms. Leader.” Sunwoo’s mouth moves to your chest, right above where your heart should be. “You like to finally have someone in control over you.”

You never wanted to agree to that assumption. If anything, you crave to be in control of everything. That is how you go on with life—taking everything in your own hands under the safety blanket that everything shall go your way. But when his fingers glide against every part of your body, traversing you as if you are something to be explored, you almost cannot help but feel all resolve crumble.

“Come on.” Sunwoo nips on your skin, coloring your chest with wet bruises. “I just want to hear you say it. It’s not like I’ll ever tell on you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He chuckles at your words. “Like I said, I would never.” As soon as his eyes meet yours, you almost cannot help but cower under his stare. “I would never let anyone know of what you allow me to do to you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for another kiss. With your hands tugging on the strands of his hair, he lets out a small moan at the feeling. His lips remain locked with yours as he attempts to undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt. Noses bump against each other from how messy this whole thing is—not the kiss but everything about you two. God, why on Earth are you doing this again?

As soon as his lips part from yours, you notice how swollen they are from how much he has kissed you. You can only wish yours were not like his. When his buttons are fully undone, he decides to keep it on just to tease. And even with the small amount of skin he revealed, your eyes will never stop devouring him—the smirk that is evident on his lips seems to show that he knows that.

“You know, I would never let anyone know about this behavior of yours, Ms. Leader,” he says as he pushes you down against your bed. When he straddles you, he lets himself take in the sight of you—wide eyes that look up to him with desire. He brings his face close to the right side of your face so that his lips hover over your ear. “I want this to be something you reserve just for me.”

As his breath fans over the side of your way, you close your eyes in an attempt to calm every emotion coursing through your body. His hands find their place on your torso, letting his fingers draw shapes on each side. And when his hands slowly move further down, you arch your back so that he has full access to your bra clasp. His fingers carefully play with your bra strap, slightly tugging it and letting go so that it smacks against your skin. You do not hiss at the contact but relish it.

“Not gonna talk your shit like you always do, Ms. Leader?” The condescending tone of his makes you want to rip him into pieces. “You always seem to do that everywhere—except here,” he chuckles as he finally grabs onto your clasp.

“S–shut up.” Your eyes wander away from the man who knew your body too well than you could ever understand it. And as soon as he undoes the clasp, you feel his hands move to your shoulders. His fingers slowly move the bra straps away. “God, you don’t need to take forever.” Your impatient tone has him chuckling and shaking his head.

“I think I can do whatever I want. Did you not surrender all control to me?” When you do not say anything, he grabs your chin to make sure you face him. Now that your eyes are back on him, you notice the smirk that so badly infuriates you to the core. “Answer me.” You only frown at his demand.

“If you don’t answer me, I’ll walk out that door.” His threat should have been your window to end this mess after all. But god, you hate yourself.

“N–no, don’t leave.” Your plea has his eyes flicker down to your lips which hold a pout.

“Then say it—say that you surrender everything to me.”

How can you even say such words? You respect yourself. But under his gaze, you cannot help but follow. “I surrender myself to you.” The phrase falls out of your mouth pathetically. Sunwoo snickers at how ashamed you are. God, even you knew that you said it miserably.

“You think I’ll fuck you just like that? Who do you think I am?”

He is the pathetic one in group works, one who will accomplish tasks and never question your authority. He is the shy type, someone who will never speak up against you. And he is useless in everything that concerns you—but not this time.

“Fuck,” you mutter as you try to rip away from his stare. But when he keeps his firm grip on your chin, you know there is no way to get what you want unless you abide. “I’m all yours. Control me—use me in any way you want.”

And his laugh is just the sickest one you have ever heard. “Don’t demand me—beg for it.” His tone is sinister-like, one that makes you shiver. If you could control him like how you do with everything, you would never be in this position. And yet, you always found yourself succumbing to his demands.

You huff out a puff of air. “Please,” you make sure to prolong the ‘e’ sounds. With your eyes staring directly back into his that are clouded with desire. “Use me.”

And somehow, those three words had his resolve crumbling.

He goes in for another kiss, letting go of your chin as his hands go back to your bra. As soon as Sunwoo successfully removes it from you, your arms wrap around his neck. His fingers graze around the area where you so desperately needed him to touch. With your rushed kisses (and your attempt to press your chest against his), he can tell how impatient you are growing. And the moment his thumb brushes against your nipple, the moan you let out is grueling—almost embarrassing.

You hate how he starts to smile in the middle of him tasting your lips. God, you knew he would only grow cocky with it. As he continues, you can feel your pussy start to form a pool—one you hate to admit is caused by him. You never want to give him the pleasure of relishing his power over you.

But when he readjusts his knee to find its spot in between your legs, your lower body cannot help but move on its own. Your attempt to rub yourself against his clothed thigh is just a pathetic attempt to receive the pleasure you desperately seek. And when he shifts his thigh farther away from the clothed spot between your legs, you let out a whine.

“Ms. Leader,” he giggles after he parts his lips away from yours. “You have to be patient.” His narrow eyes hold yours as he lets his mouth trail down your neck, to your chest, until he reaches the area that is only centimeters away from where you needed him. And when you watch the way his tongue peeks out of his mouth to flick against your nipple, your eyes close in pleasure.

The ministrations continue. He would switch to your other boob just to give it the same amount of attention, but he always made sure that both nubs were stimulated—whether through his sucks or his hands.

Your eyes slowly open in a haze and you attempt to look down at the man who suckled on your chest. And the sight alone is enough to kill you—eyes closed as he is focused on nothing but your pleasure. The air in your lungs is knocked out. God, how did you even hook up with someone like him?

Somehow, he feels your eyes on him. As soon as his eyes flutter open to hold your gaze, he continues. And somehow, the sight is even hotter than before—his lips wrapped around your nipple as he looks right back at you. You do not even find it within yourself to break eye contact.

As soon as his lips leave your boob, he shoots you a smirk. “My sweet Leader, don’t you think this is funny?” His hand trails down to your stomach until it settles on the band of your skirt. When you feel his fingers pry their way under, you notice how they hook on both your skirt and panty. But he never drags them down. “That despite the title you carry around, you definitely don’t hold it when you’re with me—not when we’re alone.” He lets the bands snap against your waist and you let out a hiss at the contact.

“I think I should call you something more fitting, don’t you think?” The question hangs in the air. His hand trails down your skirt until it lands on the hem of it that rests on your lower thigh. “What about…” his fingers slowly slip under your skirt. “My baby?” He tilts his head to the side.

When he is met with silence, he chuckles. “How about my toy? Or what about…” his hands grip your thigh. “My bitch.” And you do not think twice when you let out a mewl. The satisfaction that paints his face is condescending—god, you hate him for it.

“Ms. Leader, I didn’t expect you for the degradation type.” He smiles as he brings his face back up to yours. His hands move up even further until it rests on the inside of your thigh. “But to be fair, I didn’t expect a lot of things from you.” It almost sounds like a diss on your skills in what you do, but you both knew that is not the case. “Just like how I didn’t expect to have you at my mercy that first night.”

When you feel him tug your underwear to the side, you feel the breath in your lungs get knocked out. And when you feel his fingers finally dip themselves in the part where you needed him since you first rang him up, you let out a whine. The way his eyes get wider is only a sign that he did not expect you to be as wet as you are. But his smile still remains as cocky as ever.

“You’re this wet?” He laughs in what sounds like disbelief. “I never knew how much of an effect I had on you.” He gives you another kiss as he lets his fingers leave your sopping cunt.

As you whine at the absence, he cannot help but smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not that mean.” And with a smile, he brings his fingers in the space between you two. The smell of your arousal is intoxicating for him but shameful for you—it is only proof that you are almost nothing without him.

But when you see his eyes look right into you as he shoves them in his mouth, you almost pass out. The sight of him with squinted eyes as he relishes the taste of you is addictive, but the whine that leaves him is everything.

“Oh god,” you whisper as you watch him lick his two fingers one by one. “You need to whine for me more.” The star-struck look on your face makes him smile. It is one he has never seen—he almost cannot believe he caused it.

As soon as his lips hover over your ear, he whispers, “I’ll whine for you if there’ll be a next time.” When he moves his head back to see your expression, it is one filled with anguish.

You do not want another next time—this cannot keep happening. But when you feel his hands finally tug both your skirt and panties down, all reasonable thoughts leave your mind. “Don’t think too much about what we have, Ms. Leader.” He presses his lips against your neck. 

“Sunwoo, we can’t keep doing this,” you mutter as you feel your eyes shut close.

As soon as his hand rests on your exposed slit, he raises you a question, “Why not? I think we’re made for each other.” While he continues to suck on your skin, you can feel yourself pant. “I think that you need me more than I’ll ever need you.”

Before you know it, his fingers make their way into your pussy. And god, the moan you let out is confirmation to Sunwoo—you truly did need him in every way possible. “Ms. Leader, you say that you don’t want this, but the way you react to how I touch you proves otherwise.” He continues to plunge his fingers into you at a rate that provides you with just the right enough stimulation to keep you on the edge.

“How do you expect me to answer when your fingers are fucking me like this?” You manage to say in between breaths. “Do you think you could say no if I put my hands in your pants?” Your condescendingness only makes him laugh.

“I would never stop doing this with you.” His lips leave your neck before moving back to look at you whose eyes are on the verge of closing. “Plus, I would not be so cocky if I were you. I could leave you high and dry.” And when he notices the way you pout and whine at the idea, he chuckles. “But I wouldn’t do that to you.”

His fingers continues to assault your pussy—the rate they were going even faster. And he notices the way your breathing gets heavier. When you finally let your eyes shut close to focus on the pleasure, you let out a string of moans—ones he will only have the pleasure of hearing.

“Ms. Leader, look at how you crumble for me.” His lips find their place on yours. With the way he tugs on your lips as he fingers you unlike anyone else, you mewl in the middle of the kiss. His lips leave yours. “Just admit that you want me.”

When you shake your head with eyes still closed, he chuckles. And somehow, his fingers go at an even faster rate. God, you could feel the coil get tighter. “Oh fuck,” you whine. “Don’t stop.”

And he listens to you—he continues going at that rate. When you feel yourself on the edge, you try to move your hand to reach down for your clit. But he holds your arm in place. “Say you want me.”

Your eyes flutter open as you whine. “S–sunwoo, please. I’m so close, just let me cum.”

“And I’ll let you cum if you say you want me—that this will not be the last time.” His demanding gaze makes your brain go fuzzy. “Just one simple phrase and I’ll give you what you want.”

You wish you still had some rational thoughts in your head. But god, did you need to cum. “A–are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m serious, Ms. Leader.” His tone sounds even more demanding than how you usually speak. “Don’t you want to cum?” And god, you want to.

His fingers don’t stop, but you still need that stimulation on the nub. Without a thought, you say, “Fuck it, I need you.” Your eyes flutter open and you attempt to move his hand down to rest on your boob. “God, Sunwoo, I need you. Please just let me cum.”

“Say this won’t be the last time.”

“Fuck, it won’t be the last time—I swear. Sunwoo, please I need to cum.” The way you beg makes Sunwoo lose all sense of self-control. And with that, his fingers played with your nipples while he continued to finger you. The combined sensations have your face contorted into pleasure.

And as soon as his thumb finds itself rubbing against your clit, the coil in your stomach gets tighter. “Oh god, Sunwoo.” The way you mewl out his name almost has him breaking right in front of you. 

“God, you are so pathetic.” He chuckles as he moves his mouth back down to your neck. “I can’t believe everyone thinks you’re a leader—you do nothing but follow and beg.” Your pants are heavier. “You fucking need someone to surrender to—me.” The way he sucks on your neck, plays with your boobs, and assaults your pussy is like no other—the feeling cannot beat any achievement you have ever received.

And you feel yourself about to tip over the edge. With the way your walls tighten over his digits, you both knew you were about to cum. Your eyes flutter open as you look at the man whose eyes are zeroed in on your face. “S–sunwoo, I’m—”

“Cum for me.” He repeats that chant as he watches your face contort into different expressions. The pressure in your pussy is getting tighter. “Cum for me, you fucking bitch.” And just like that, the coil in you broke. As you were orgasming, he continued to finger you—letting you it ride out until you started to reach overstimulation territories

When he hears you whine as you attempt to push his hand away, he listens. Your breathing is heavy. And when you get a whiff of your arousal, your eyes flutter open, only to see that his fingers glisten with your release. When your eyes dart toward Sunwoo’s face, you notice his satisfied expression as he moves his three fingers apart to see the strings of your arousal.

“God, you’re so hot,” he says before popping them into his mouth. This time he does not whine, but his expression will always show how much he enjoys the taste of you.

Once his digits leave his mouth, your hands reach out toward the collar of his shirt. But before you can remove the top off of him, you hear your ringtone blast out. “Fuck.” You do not miss the way his expression switches into disappointment. “I’m sorry, I need to take this.” You do not hear him out as you fling your arm to your bedside table to grab your phone. 

You answer the call without looking at the contact. “Hello?”

“Oh, sorry! Is now not a good time?” You hear Yeji’s voice on the other line. As you lock eyes with the man who is starting to button up his shirt, you let out a sigh.

“No, it’s fine. What’s up?”

Yeji lets out a sigh of relief. “We need some hands in fixing the welcoming banners for the exchange students.”

“What happened to the welcoming committee? Didn’t I leave Jisung in charge of that?” You frown as Sunwoo makes his way to your washroom. But when he quickly comes out with a wet towel, you cannot help but smile.

“Unfortunately for us, he is MIA,” she sighs. “That’s what we get for trusting a man to handle this.” The revelation should have made you mad, but when Sunwoo crouches in front of you to wipe off the mess between your legs, you feel yourself melt.

The moment you hiss at the sudden contact of the towel against your sensitive pussy, his eyes snap up toward you in worry. “Y/N? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine!” You quickly exclaim. “I’ll be there in 30. Just make sure to get as much done, I’ll leave you in charge for the time being.”

“Got it.” And with that, you hung up on her.

“Sorry, I forgot that you’re still sensitive,” he says as he lightly wipes off the remnants of cum.

You shake your head and say, “It’s okay.” 

It is silent for a bit. You two usually do not know what to say during these times. As soon as he finishes cleaning you up, you take this as an opportunity to get off the bed and get some fresh clothes from your closet.

“I’m sorry for cutting this short,” you start off as you wear your underwear. “I would’ve told Yeji that I’m busy but they need me on campus to help out.” When you successfully wear your bra, you look at the man who came from the bathroom after washing up the towel.

“It’s fine, Ms. Leader is needed everywhere they go.” There he goes again calling you that.

You roll your eyes as you quickly grab some jeans. “I hate when you call me that.”

“But it’s what everyone calls you.”

A scoff leaves your mouth as you pop the button of your jeans close. “Yeah, but it’s annoying.” The moment you grab onto a clean graphic tee, you quickly put it over yourself. Your eyes land back on Sunwoo who only smirks. “What?”

“You’re going out like that?”

You find yourself frowning before asking, “What’s wrong?”

“I just didn’t know you wanted to present your hickeys to everyone on campus.” The moment he says that has your eyes widening in shock.

You quickly make your way to a mirror to see that your neck is littered with hickeys left by the man who now stands behind you. “Fuck.” As soon as you lock eyes with Sunwoo, you notice the satisfied expression on his face. “Hey, now is not the time to be proud of your work. I can’t go around like this!”

Once you spin around to face him, he only shrugs. “You’ll figure it out.” He grabs onto your arm and pulls you close to him. The moment his lips hover over your ear, he whispers, “I’ll see you for the next one.”

Before you could retort, his lips move to give you a peck on the cheek. You and Sunwoo were never the type to do such actions outside of sex. So when he moves away and sees your expression, he cannot help but chuckle. “Good luck, Ms. Leader.”

And just like that, he made his way out of your room. God, you should have broken this off.

if you enjoyed this, please reblog!

[writing-whump]

Too much sun

Matt gets sick and calls Isaiah for help. Contains emeto.

"Have fun, Matt."

Matthew turned at the phrase, giving Isaiah a sceptical look. "Last time you send me away to have fun, you ended up with a flu from hell. I'm not making the same mistake."

Isaiah sighed. "Alright, but that's a lesson for me, not for you. And I did call Sel back, didn't I?"

Matthew frowned. He was all ready to leave, shorts and a shirt. Some of his new friends from boxing invited him to a basketball game and the weather was perfect for the courts outside on the beach by the Danube river.

"Matt, for real. I'm alright. I'm literally swarmed with homework and assignments, I'm doing two lectures outside my faculty and I don't know what their faculty's style and method focus is at all and I'm gonna be trying to do the volunteering thing at the lawyer's office for wolves on Fridays...besides, I was no invited," Isaiah said with a smirk.

He was so happy Matthew was getting his own friends, that he was reaching out to people and they were reaching back. And not just because they knew he was in the pack with Isaiah.

Matthew needed his confidence in this department build up, and there was nothing better for it than experience.

Matthew bounced on his toes, not looking reassured.

Isaiah grimaced. Did he need to hand out test screenings of his health for his friends to believe him, when he wasn't sick? This was getting out of hand.

"Alright, I'm going. See you in a few hours." Matt probably figured not that much could happen in that time as he turned to leave.

Isaiah relaxed, chuckling a little for himself as he opened his laptop to scroll to the right pdf.

The time flew quickly after he got to work, morning turning to midday and to early afternoon that forced Isaiah to fix himself a lunch as a break. He was working his to do list off very well, satisfied, neglecting his breaks.

Around 2 pm he was sipping coffee on the balcony, wondering if he shouldn't take a walk or go on a quick run. Would Matt be in the mood for some sparring, when he got back, or would he be too tired?

Seline was visiting her parents, hopefully successfully this weekend. One of her uncle's was celebrating his 50th birthday, so she was even farther away from him than usual, someone in Central Slovakia.

Very human focused family from her father's side, since the wolf part came from her mother. Isaiah wondered what it would be like to be there with her. He could play the perfect human, he had no doubt of that, but Seline didn't want him to play one. She wanted him to be a wolf, but introducing a wolf to the family was a more serious business and they both knew it.

His phone rang on the little glass table on the balcony, Matthew's name on the screen.

Isaiah smiled, picking up. "Miss me already?"

"I...saiah..."

Isaiah's smile disappeared at the weakness in Matthew's voice. "Matt? Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

He heard coughing that turned into gags on the other end of the line. "C-could you...come pick me up? P-please..."

Isaiah was at his feet that instant. "Yes, of course. You are at the sport park, right?" He went inside as he spoke, grabbing his car keys. He was really grateful for his car during emergencies, even if the parking situation in Vienna was an expensive tedious business.

"Y-yeah." There was something slurred and scared in the trembling sentence.

"Matt, talk to me." Isaiah locked the door to the apartment, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. "What's wrong with you? Are you hurt?"

"I don't know what's wrong- I can't-urrup-" There was more gagging and something wet hitting the concrete.

"I'll be right there."

The way there was a blur with Isaiah wracking his head about what could have happened on the court. Concussion? Did he suddenly get sick? A fight with some hostile wolves passing through?

He parked the car the closest he could get to the area, getting out, just about to call Matthew for a GPS location, when he spotted a mop of dark red hair on a bench near the basketball court.

Isaiah all about ran to the place, heart speeding anxiously.

Matthew sat hunched down, elbows on his knees. There was no blood and no shadow, no visible signs of injury.

"Matt? Hey, man..."

Matthew lifted his head, squinting his eyes at Isaiah like he was looking straight into the sun and not into a pleasant afternoon shade under the trees. "Hi..."

That's when Isaiah noticed the vomit covering the ground, part of the bench and Matt's left sneaker.

Isaiah sat down on the clean part of the wood, hand going to Matthew's neck. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Matthew slumped forward at Isaiah's touch. "I don't know. We were playing just normal, it was hot and good and all. And then my head started to pound and I got dizzy and suddenly I was throwing up all over the place and I don't know why." There was more than a hint of frustration in Matthew's explanation.

"Okay, okay, we are gonna figure this out." Isaiah ran his hands over Matthew's face, his pupils were normal, there were no bumps...he was really hot and dry to the touch. He could feel no sweat, wasn't that weird after an intense game of basketball on a warm day?

Matthew's face scrunched up in a grimace at the ministrations, closing his eyes. His body suddenly pitched forward with a heave, bringing up a chunky wave of vomit.

Isaiah scrambled to turn Matthew's face towards the sidewalk, between his legs instead of at him, gripping his shoulder and upper arm to steady him. "Okay, bud, get it all out."

"C-can't stop," Matthew managed between gags, spitting at the puddle. He wrapped his hands around his stomach, hunching over even more. "My head really hurts, Zaya."

"Your head? Not your stomach?"

Matthew groaned, slumping to the side against Isaiah who let him fall into his lap, rubbing his back and shoulder. "Everything hurts. Cramps like a motherfucker."

"Okay. Just breathe, it will pass in a minute," Isaiah promised, not sure what it still was.

Matthew squeezed his eyes shut, head on Isaiah's tight, his face one pained grimace, throat bobbing.

"We are just going to stay here and breathe and then I'm going to get you home and it will all be okay," Isaiah said as calmly as he could, rubbing his arm. Could this be some kind of heat related issue? Heat exhaustion or heat stroke? He wasn't that sure of the difference, just that the symptoms were kind of similar.

"...ruined everything again," Matthew said, curling around his stomach.

Isaiah scoffed. "You didn't ruin anything, that's nonse-"

"Got all sick during the game. They all left."

Isaiah frowned, angry coldness entering his voice. "Then they aren't good friends. In fact, they aren't even decent people, to leave someone who is sick alone. What idiots."

"Nobody else got sick, I must have done something wrong..."

"No, you didn't. I think you got a bit of a heatstroke, there, bud, can happen to anybody." Isaiah put the back of his hand to Matthew's creased forehead. Still no sweat and hot to the touch. "We need to get you home and cool you down."

"Uhmmmm," Matthew grunted. "Don't wanna move. Dizzy."

"It's not going to get any better here. I got water in the car and we will be home quick, I promise. I'll help you."

Matthew took a deep shaky breath, but then started to lift himself up. Isaiah helped him to straighten up on the bench, then guided his arm around his shoulders, wrapping his hand gently around Matthew's torso.

The moment they stood up, Matthew groaned, more puke exploding out of his mouth.

Isaiah held him steady, when he swayed, more vomit splattering in front of them, spluttering everywhere.

"Ughhhh, sorry..."

"Shhhhh. Not your fault. Can you walk? One step at a time, we'll go slow."

Matthew got heavier, most of his weight hanging on Isaiah as he fought to catch his balance. He squeezed his eyes shut with force as if to block out all the light.

They made a few steps, when Matthew froze, gripping Isaiah's sleeve on his upper arm in panic. "Zaya, I can't see, I can't see- what-"

Isaiah felt cold sweat on the back his neck, stopping immediately. Matthew's eyes were screwed shut. "Shhhh, okay, don't panic. Describe it to me. What can you see? Pitch black? A blot at the center?"

"It's like black spots all over-" Matthew sniffled, sounding dangerously close to crying, breathing fast as he turned towards Isaiah's voice.

Isaiah readjusted his grip, one arm under Matthew's armpit all around his torso, holding Matt's arm around his neck tighter. "Could be just from standing up and the elevation changing. It will clear out in a few seconds." He stopped adding promises to his sentences, mentally preparing to just call 911 if it didn't.

Matthew gasped for breath as if he was choking, blinking his eyes, then breathed in relief. "It's clearing up again..."

Isaiah didn't let out the deep sigh of relief stuck in his chest, pretending like that was what he expected. "All good now. You are okay. Just a few more steps to the car."

Matthew's grip on Isaiah's sleeve didn't loosen, but he nodded tightly, letting himself be dragged forward.

Isaiah fiddled with finding the car keys, opening the back seat door to slide Matthew inside, door open, in case he needed to vomit some more.

He went to the trunk to locate a water bottle and some plastic bags, crouching down next to Matthew.

"How are you feeling, bud?" Isaiah offered Matthew the water bottle.

Matt took it, but didn't drink, eyes closed, but not squeezing them shut anymore, as if he was afraid it would make his vision blotchy again. "Ughmmmm. Like I'm gonna throw up."

Isaiah rubbed his arm. "I'm sorry."

"Everything-everything's spinning," Matthew belched, gripping the water bottle in his fist, the plastic squeaking under his fingers.

"This is very likely a heatstroke. The headache, the nausea, the dizziness....it will be fine. We'll cool you down, get you some good meds, and it will all go away."

"Uhhhhmmm," Matthew wiggled his hands restlessly in discomfort, bowing his head. "I'm such an idiot. Why didn't I know this could happen? So stupid."

"It's different for everyone. Some can take the heat better than others. You will know what signs to look out for next time. It's okay."

"But I wanted to- wanted to do something on my own for once." Matthew's whole face crumbled. "I didn't want to drag you into it to save me, I wanted to do it on my own-" Matthew sniffled again, breathing picking up and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against the seat in front of him.

Isaiah's chest squeezed, realizing Matthew would be crying if he had the tears to spare.

Isaiah circled the car to climb in from the other side, hand going around Matthew's back to push him against his chest. "Aww, come on, bud. You did everything right. You are meeting new people, you got that new boxing gym...you are putting yourself out there, building a life for yourself outside your shadow, without accidents or fights you don't want. You are doing great."

Matthew let himself get dragged back into Isaiah's lap, breathing still panicked. "L-look how stupid I am. People are supposed to know these things at my age- they-I'm not supposed to be a burden on you, constantly getting sick on you-"

"Hey, hey, hey. Don't talk like that. We all have our own learning curve. You were on your own from such an early age, Matt, it's harder to find out on your own," Isaiah said gently. "Besides, you are not a burden. You are my best friend. I don't mind saving your ass, when you need it."

Matthew snorted despite himself, before taking another shuddering breath. "Seline said- and the points- I don't know if I have enough- if I can help as much as you- you didn't call me and I-" he buried his head against Isaiah's stomach, shaking.

"Points? What points?" Isaiah didn't understand and didn't think this was time to find out. "You are doing enough. It's okay. We love you, of course we would want to help out. Not your fault, when you get sick. It's not a burden."

"It-it is, even you think you-"

"It's not a burden to get sick," Isaiah said firmly, rubbing Matthew's back. "Shhhhh. It's okay."

They sat there for a few minutes, Isaiah rubbing circles to Matthew's back and listening to his breathing hitching as he sniffled and found a slower breathing rhythm, watching out for gagging noises.

"There you go. All better," Isaiah murmured. "You didn't have a family that would look out for you like this. That's why you feel like a burden. It's not your fault, but it's not fair at all for you to feel like that. You get sick and we'll deal with it."

Matthew was lying limply over him, breathing much calmer, though he was still pale and frowning, lips pressed in a thin line.

"Come on, bud, let's get home....I can't drive like this," Isaiah said with a small smile, ranning his fingers through Matthew's hair.

Matthew lifted himself up with a groan, enough for Isaiah to slip from underneath him.

"What if I throw up on the way?" Matthew said quietly, stretched out over the back seats.

"There is a bag right next to you. And if you do, you do. It isn't such a big deal." Isaiah just wanted him home and lying down in a cool place already. The car was getting overheated, standing in full blown sun.

"Uhmmmmm," Matthew moaned as Isaiah got the engine started, a/c on full blast. "If it's no big deal...don't think...you had the right family either...Zaya."

Isaiah's stomach flipped at the words. He swallowed heavily, focusing on backing the car out the parking lot.

@bellysoupset

[kairiscorner]

Hello🙂 I'm really new to your Blog and I really adored Miguel O'hara so much.. Can You please write something for him and to his Filipina Girlfriend when the Reader let's him meet the her whole Family and they're liked challenged him for a Drinking game to see how serious he was on the Reader.. Thank you so much

HIYA ANON !! welcome to my blog, happy to see you here :>> also same, i adore him too 🛐🛐🛐(when he's not beating up miles 😭) BUT OOOOO I LOVE THAT IDEA !! np, and i hope this is any good >:DD

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

drunk miguel x filipina reader

content warnings! mentions of excessive alcohol intake, if you are uncomfortable with this topic, please don't read any further ^^

"do you really love her?" your cousin asked miguel, who was lurching over on the table, horribly drunk and a little sick of the alcohol he was taking in. you didn't want to see the aftermath of this, you didn't want to know what kind of answer miguel would give despite trusting him so much. it wasn't that you didn't trust him, it was that you had so many horrible experiences with this kind of crap your cousins pulled that you couldn't bear to see it. you tried to get miguel away from them, but he suddenly blurted out his answer.

"i do." he said, his voice slurred and heavy from the drinking. your cousins nodded and agreed sarcastically, which made you question if you were even related to these people. "aren't there better options for you to fall in love with? come on, look at you! surely, you've looked at other people in ways you never looked at our cousin before, no?" they pressed him, eager to hear his response. you couldn't be any more disgusted or angry at their behavior, so you got up and started shouting--shouting at them to leave miguel alone, to leave you alone, to mind their own business as adults because they really didn't seem to get the memo. as you were shouting at them, miguel took your hand, and though he was still hunched over the table, he responded in a weak voice. "never. never have i... wanted anyone... the way i wanted... her." he confessed as he mustered the strength to look up at you with such a genuine expression on his face.

"i... i want nobody else. just you, mahal ko." he said as he looked you in the face and tried smiling, despite the alcohol already bringing him into the sober but dazed stage. he leaned over to kiss your lips, he needed nothing more right now than the feeling of you on him, right here and right now. he's rambling and mumbling, on and on, about how he's dreamed of marrying you, spending the rest of his life with you, maybe having kids with you if you wanted. "i've thought of... of names for them all, mahal..." he went on as he leaned against you, gradually putting his weight down on you. after your cousins realized that, even when drunk, he was pretty much hopelessly in love with you, they lost interest in the game and went back to their own worlds as miguel jumped to the giddy stage as he wrapped his arms around you for a bear hug and kissed you all over your face, as if he was separated from you for a lifetime, when in reality, you were hear the whole time--holding his hand while he drank away everything your cousins gave him.

"i meant every word of it, y'know..." he whispered to you with a slight giggle as he held you closer and squeezed you a little tighter. "they said... 'when drunk, the truth comes out'... they didn't need to make me drunk to... to make me remind them all that... you're all i want." he said as he began running a hand through your hair and chuckling as he fidgeted with a lock of your hair and smiling wider when he saw you smile. "you have such a perfect smile. it's enough to knock me out..." he said as he leaned over to kiss your cheek, and soon, his head fell to your shoulder, almost knocking you down with his size. you called for your other cousins to help you take him to your room, and they teased both of you for how disgustingly sweet you two were with each other.

as you and your cousins plopped him down on your bed, you closed the lights and curled up into the bed next to him. miguel was still a little awake when you snuggled in next to him, so he seized the opportunity to grab you by the waist and pull you in for another hug, calling you all his favorite nicknames for you and complimenting every bit of you as you two lay there on your bed. "i'll love you forever, and ever, and ever, and ever, and... ever." he said as he kissed your nose. you placed your hands on either sides of his cheeks and giggled. "and i'll love you forever, and ever, and ever, miggy." you said as you kissed him on his soft, pouty-like lips as he let the alcohol drift him off to the land of sleep in your arms as you hugged him by his waist now, both of you in each other's arms.

a/n: ang himbing ng tulog ng lasing 🥰

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @luvstarrstruck

[ghostdiva]

My Prediction for Episode 2 of The Amazing Digital Circus

heads up, this is purely my own theories based on what I know of the trailer, as well as gooseworx's tumblr posts. this can easily be interpreted as a guess to the plot of the second episode, that said, if any of these guesses are correct, then I'm sorry for the spoilers.

let's get into it.

we start the episode with what I assume to be a dream sequence for Pomni. which makes sense considering what happened in episode 1 (aka the pilot). it wouldn't surprise me at all that her run in with the abstracted kaufmo was traumatizing. Watching that abstraction later get thrown into the cellar, and realizing that abstraction is the digital world equivalent to death, is also a pretty rattling experience. so it would make sense that Pomni would have a dream about abstraction as she tries to wrap her head around it.

that said, her dream sequence starts in the main area of the circus tent, where it is presumably the next day and she's with the gang waiting for Caine to show up and drag them all into an adventure of some kind. And either when Caine shows up, or while they're waiting, something happens that is disturbing to Pomni. what that is, is very much unknown. but this reaction doesn't just naturally happen, it's triggered by something.

so she sees something horrific, and in this dream it seems to start to push her to her breaking point, existentially.

Pomni looks down at herself and her horror grows. part of her is abstracted. Pomni feels a bit of fear and confusion not knowing what to do, and scared about going in the cellar. Caine doesn't care about that though, and upon seeing that she's "abstracting", does the same thing he did to kaufmo. opening a hole in the floor and throwing Pomni in the cellar.

Pomni tries to grab for anything, desperate not to join the fully abstracted. she yells "no", almost as if to plea that she wasn't insane. that there was no need to lock her away just yet.

then Pomni wakes up with quite the start.

I think anyone would be disgruntled with a wake up call like that, but nonetheless, Pomni gets up and joins the others at the main stage area.

Pomni waits with Ragatha and Gangle, asking questions she didn't really get to have answered in the last episode.

now, I have no way of knowing what kind of dialogue the characters will be sharing between each other during this episode, so I don't know what is said until the episode airs. all I have are the episode 2 quotes that gooseworx dropped on their page.

so broadly speaking, Caine gathers the rest of the gang, Zooble opts out of the adventure, and Caine shoves everyone else through a portal into the Candy Canyon Kingdom!

Yippee!

now in this episode we have 3 characters (technically 5 but I'm counting gumigoo and his gang to be all 1 entity here). the list is loolilalu, gumigoo (+max and chad), and the fudge monster. Princess Loolilalu, I believe is the sort of quest giver of the adventure. I think loolilalu will send the gang to deal with Gumigoo, and his compatriots, chad and max. who are bandits, and make a bit of a habit of stealing from loolilalu's subjects, even resorting to violence to get what they want.

Princess Loolilalu simply can't let that stand, and sends the circus crew (minus Zooble) out to apprehend them. giving Ragatha a Key in the process.

now a lot of people speculated that it'd be a key to the kingdom or something like that, but that doesn't make sense considering pretty much all the shots outside of the celebration on their arrival take place outside the castle walls. No, I think that the Key is for a truck, specifically the truck the circus crew use to chase Gumigoo and his gang with. -this also makes sense to the degree of "how would Caine know the visual difference between a door key and a car key? they're both just keys to him"-

also quick side note: during the celebration as the circus crew arrive at the candy canyon kingdom, one of the audiece NPC's is seen absolutely booking it at Gangle, and I think that the NPC is going to run into her, breaking her comedy mask.

anyway, the Gang piles into the truck, Gangle driving, Pomni, Kinger and Ragatha in the backseat, and Jax getting shotgun...

... -ahem- anyway, through a series of whacky hijinks, the circus crew and gumigoo's crew end up in an intense car chase, with Pomni somehow getting on top of Gumigoo's van in the process.

However, something happens to the truck the circus crew are in, that makes it have to either slow down or stop. rather that's a tire falling off or something else entirely is still up in the air. this normally wouldn't be too bad of an issue.

but Pomni is still on top of gumigoo's van...

this is where the circus crew splits up a bit, as Pomni is left to Gumigoo and his gang while the circus crew figure out how to get the truck up and running at full speed again.

So Gumigoo and his gang try to get Pomni off their van. However, Pomni is a survivalist at her core, and a resilient one at that. So the gummy gators have a hard time getting Pomni to let go of their car. they have such a hard time about it that they start doing doughnuts in an effort to spin her off the car.

what happens after is pretty up in the air, but I'm pretty sure Pomni ends up getting flung very far after loosing her grip and literally flying off.

Meanwhile, with the rest of the circus crew. Ragatha's upset on Pomni's behalf, at the fact that they left her with the gator gang. Jax brushes it off, which only upsets Ragatha more.

The circus crew pull over and assess the damage to the truck, which could be anything from a flat or missing tire, to complete engine failure. what needs to happen to fix the truck is unknown, but the truck needs fixing regardless.

-a moderate amount of chaos later-

the circus gang has fixed the truck and started back on the road again, however they are all completely lost. and end up accidentally wandering into the fudge monster's domain... oops.

Ragatha probably tries to reason with the fudge monster in order to not get eaten. it'd be a bit fucked up, but maybe the gang offers to feed some gummy gators to the fudge monster in exchange for freedom? idk, it's anyone's guess.

anyway, after the crew is done getting harassed by the fudge monster, they decide it's time to harass the gummy gators, and set out to find them.

seek and ye shall find, and find the circus crew did. not only do they manage to catch up to the gator gang, but they manage to tie up Chad and Max, leaving Gumigoo by himself.

this is also where the sweet sweet Jax angst is, as we see him just picking at the floor while hugging himself a bit. Not behavior you expect to see from the lanky bastard that makes his existence everyone else's problem. it might also be that he's a bit disheartened that Pomni was not with the Gator Gang, who knows.

anyway the gang start searching for Pomni, and uh...

I think they found her? honestly that small dot flying out of the water could be anyone, but Pomni was the only one missing from the group for a prolonged period of time. so it only really makes sense that it'd be her.

last but not least, we have the most confusing clip of the trailer.

now, strap on for this theory. so I think that this happens after gumigoo's companions are captured (chad and max). now, I think gumigoo was coded as an extrovert of sorts, constantly checking back on chad and max to make sure they're there and stuff. and now that they're gone, gumigoo doesn't know what to do. like his code doesn't have anything for when his compatriots aren't around, and the lack of his friends is maddening. because that is a look of existential dread and shock. and while specifically WHAT happened is a mystery, I do have a few theories as to what it could've been.

maybe gumigoo ended up running into a border of the world and that's what that blue grid is. him accidentally peeking beyond a world border to see a grid with lines and lines of code. maybe this event happens to cause gumigoo to gain a level of sentience, coming to the realization that once the gang is done with the adventure, his world will cease to exist. that all he was, is, and will be are just lines of code, moved around by another AI that is above him (caine). maybe gumigoo just experiences the existentials surrounding the mindset of "I am just a blip in the cosmos, a small insignificant spec in the grand scheme of things". which can ultimately lead to depressive lines of thought. Goose did say this episode would be about depression, I wouldn't be surprised if they also threw in something existential for funsies, or just to hit the point home.

and then the gang finishes the adventure and gets a lovely prize!

some MPPED!

[delphi-shield]

detours in the pursuit of knowledge

Rebecca Chambers x Reader smut mdni wc: ~5.3k i wrote this as a birthday gift to myself and only just now bothered to edit and post it. (my birthday is in january lmfao) sorry for being a munch. (i'm not.)

summary: her interest in you is purely professional. your potential is being squandered under your current advisor. she can help you flourish.

content: professor/student relationship (graduate level), fem reader, rebecca's pov, public sex (rebecca's office), oral sex (rebecca receiving), dry humping, squirting, tit sucking, fingering.

Rebecca’s read your work. It's good work, but it could be better. She could make it better. You’ve got drive. You're resourceful, sharp - you take instruction well, but you don't need your hand held. You’re perfect for her. Everything she looks for in a protege wrapped up in a pretty package. 

The only issue is that you’re locked down by another professor.

It felt skeevy, scheming to steal another professor's graduate student, but in the interest of the professional development of the next generation of scientists, she felt she was justified in poaching you from boring, complacent Dr. Stonebriar. Stonebriar had more assistants that he knew what to do with, anyway. You weren’t getting the attention that you needed. Hell, you’d already been pushed into her lab.

She still remembers it - the way you had knocked at her door so timidly, poked your head in like you were afraid she’d snap at you to get out then and there.

“Hi – Dr. Chambers? Do you have a moment?”

Technically, she had been obligated to have a moment. You were in one of her lectures, had every right to show up to her office hours. Even if you hadn’t been, she enjoyed talking with students. The look of surprise on your face when she calls you by your name and confirms your class is endearing.

You’re endearing, she realizes. There’s an ease to talking to you despite your obvious nerves. You’d explained your situation as professionally as you could, and Rebecca’s soft smile had twisted to something knowing.

“Tired of people messing with your stuff, huh?” She cut you off in the middle of your (too polite, too generous) explanation. Relief rounded your shoulders and melted through your formal expression.

“Yes,” you sighed, exasperated. “Someone nearly threw out six months of my work the other day. I had labeled it and everything. I’m scared someone’s gonna set me back months. I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you have room in your lab could I move in there?”

How was she supposed to say no to that? She felt your pain. There was nothing worse than people getting their hands all over your work, messing with it- god forbid, throwing it out. The fit she would throw if that happened would have been legendary. From what she’d seen of your lab habits, the two of you wouldn’t clash. There was no harm in helping a student out of a tricky situation.

She’d gone so far as to help you move your things over. It was equal parts kindness and nosiness. She’d looked over your work as she moved you across the hall, peppering you with questions about your goals, the thought process behind your experiments, what you’d hoped to achieve.

That first day had been enough to pique her interest. She’d leaned in to look over your numbers, shoulder brushing against yours, chalked the way your speech had faltered up to nerves. You held your own. That frightened little lamb look you’d first rolled into her office with was nowhere to be seen once you started talking science. You were quick, considering her questions fully before you answered.

She didn't normally take on graduate students. She was picky. It was a lot of time and energy to invest into someone when you did it right. She had to make certain that you were worth it, that you were cut out for this. Your work was solid. No doubt about it. 

A month into sharing a lab with you and she was sure of your character as well. What she’d initially interpreted as an almost pathological need to people please had given way to consideration. She’d only been ready to steal you away once you’d stood up for yourself, defended your process to her when she had poked holes at every turn.

She was sold on you for certain when she had eviscerated your thesis (per your request) and your only reaction had been to ask her to repeat that last part verbatim, that you hadn’t quite gotten it down yet. The awkwardness that would linger after a critique was absent. You’d taken it in stride, took note of her remarks, and asked what her weekend plans were.

You flourished with attention. Even the small things made you light up. For the first few weeks she’d been carefully plotting her lab time around yours, trying to ensure you stayed out of each other’s way. That quickly fell by the wayside. It was natural to be next to you. There was a familiarity in dancing around each other. A hand between your shoulder blades as she passed behind you, your knuckles ghosting against her hip to draw her attention - normal. All of it.

One day you’d showed up to lab with two coffees in hand. Rebecca had flitted over to you, hand hovering back and forth between the cups.

“Which one is which?”

“They’re both the same,” you’d shrugged. “I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

There it is again - so endearing. Her stomach flips. Just happy to have coffee, she’s sure. She takes a cup in hand with a satisfied smile, eyes gleaming behind her glasses. She waits for you to take yours, to join her.

Your face pinches on the first sip. You try to keep it together. Bless your cute little heart. Rebecca giggles.

“So?”

“That’s sweet,” you say, diplomatic. “Really sweet.”

Her giggle blooms into a laugh. She drops onto her stool, spins full circle, head tipped back.

“You don’t have to finish it.”

“No, no – I didn’t say it was bad.”

“Just sweet.”

“Yeah.”

“Really sweet.”

“Like, an above average amount.”

She picks you up your normal beverage on her way back from lunch. You pass her the remains of your sugary coffee and gulp mouthfuls of your new drink, throat bobbing.

Yeah. You’re gonna be hers.

Rebecca has her plan outlined. Your future could be secure in her hands. Stonebriar might have a contact with the CDC, but does he work directly with the BSAA? No. Of course he doesn't. He hasn't done anything close to cutting edge since the 80's. Stonebriar is riding that tenure til he keels over.

But not her. Rebecca could get you on the ground floor for some of the most advanced research in the country. She’s fully prepared, even in the case you gave her the bleeding heart response - I have a moral opposition to working under military contractors, Dr. Chambers. No problem. It wasn’t like she was pushing you to work with Lockheed Martin. If the BSAA wasn't your style, she already had TerraSave in her pocket.

Her plan is set. She knows your skill set, your interests, has tailored her speech to show you how she could help you grow. The real catalyst behind all of this is fear. You’re too trusting. She’d realized it quickly. The wrong mentor would slap their name on top of your work without a second thought. She’s protecting you. That’s all.

“Could you hang back for a minute?” Rebecca asks, catching you before you can slip into the stream of students flowing out of the lecture hall. She doesn’t look up from her computer, logging her last few notes from her lecture. Don’t screw this up, she tells herself. Keep it cool. Remember your talking points, Rebecca.

You toddle right up to her podium, hand tucked into the pocket of your jeans, thumb curled through your belt loop. Casual with her in a way that had been absent at the beginning of the semester.

“What’s up?” You chirp.

You keep looking at her with those big eyes and she keeps staring. She must not be smiling - you shift your weight from foot to foot, lean a little closer.

“Would you ever consider switching advisors?” She blurts out, her plan burning in her hands.

“Oh, for sure.”

“I know that it’s asking a lot.”

“Dr. Stonebriar is a nice guy and all but–”

Rebecca holds up a hand, trying to catch up. “Hang on– did you say yes already?”

You tip your head to the side. “Yeah. I can be yours, right?”

A thrill rattles up her spine. You shouldn’t have said it like that. Her thoughts skid to a stop, veer down some forbidden side street. Not going there. She turns that car right around, puts it back on the tracks. She steps around the podium. Keep it cool. Keep it professional.

“You’re already in my lab,” she says. “Let’s make it official.”

Rebecca doesn't know how you got here. 

Physically, yes, she knew the path that you took. She's certain you came in through the back entrance like you usually did. You would skip the elevator because it was slower than just walking to the second floor and you would trot up the stairs and around the winding hall until you got to her office, where you would knock twice for courtesy, peek through the little slat of a window, and badge your way inside. You're a creature of habit. It's endearing, if not predictable.

But she’s not sure how you got here, on your knees in the middle of her office, voice muffled by her cunt. She doesn't have the sense to feel bad about it, not with the way you press your fingers inside of her, slow and deep. She stuffs a fist into her mouth, leaving half-circles in her skin and still her noises slip out.

You reach up, hand tugging at her wrist. Your eyes are glued to her face, tongue laving over her in broad swipes, lips closing around her clit to suckle. Her body twists into a throb of pleasure. Her hips jut against your face, your moan vibrating through her pussy. She buries a hand in your hair, tells herself not to pull - and in her desperation not to, she pets over your hair awkwardly, stilted and too fast. You smile against her, tongue curling and eyes crinkling. Finally, you've managed to pry her hand away from her mouth and the exaggerated, high-pitched 'oh god' that floats out of her when her head arches backwards only seems to spur you.

“My neck hurts,” you mumble, and she wishes that she cared. Her hand wraps around the base of your skull, urges you back to her pussy. Your breath fans over her when you laugh, close enough to her that your nose rubs against her clit when you shake your head.

You shuffle on your knees, wedging her backwards. There’s not far to go, but her pants around her ankles have her making shuffling baby steps. The small of her back hits her desk and she hoists herself onto it. She doesn't need to be directed to throw her legs over your shoulder. It takes a moment, quiet giggling while you figure out the right angles. Her hips shift down, you hunker a little lower, head twisted at an awkward angle - but when your mouth is on her again, her arms shake.

How is she supposed to keep herself sitting up when you're going at her like that? She can hardly believe those sounds are coming from her body, the obscene slurping from your mouth has to be exaggerated.

Her hands paw at your hair, tugging and pushing, can’t figure out whether she wants you closer or whether it’s all too much. You nuzzle closer, burying your nose into her, your hands wrapped around the tops of her thighs to lock her in place.

“I'm gonna –” Her hips rock against your face, grinding her clit against your nose.

“Gonna what? Cum on my face?”

You suckle her clit again, swirling your tongue just to feel the scrape of her nails against your scalp. Rebecca whines. Her hands clasp around your head, keep you held just where you are as her body flops back against her desk. Back arched, pussy clenching, heartbeat in her clit. She cums when you plunge your fingers back into her, when she grinds her clit against your nose, when you moan into her cunt.

Rebecca bites down on her moan, keeps it locked behind clenched teeth while she writhes through the pleasure. Electricity in her veins makes her fist a hand in your hair, yanking you close, suffocating you and she swears to god she heard you whimper.

The pleasure seesaws back to too much, all that fire in her veins suddenly singing her nerves. The same hand that sealed your mouth against her pussy urges you back, fingers trembling.

“Sorry, sorry,” she pants, hand stroking your cheek in apology.

You didn’t say a word. Her legs hung limply at your shoulders. You caressed her calf softly, the wetness of your hand not lost to her even when she’s coming back to her senses. Had she cum all down your forearm? Jesus, that makes her thighs twitch.

Rebecca props herself up on her elbows. She looks down at you just in time to catch you swirling your tongue around your lips, savoring every taste of her. Your hand loops up to your mouth and you lick at your palm - a flat, broad swipe that she can feel the ghost of against her pussy, that makes her clench against phantom sensation.

She shuffled off her desk and you stayed on your knees, hand stroking her pale thigh. She doesn't know whether to apologize or to kick you out, but you laugh like you're pussy drunk, your nose crinkling. It turns into a snort. She wants to be annoyed, disgusted, anything to distance herself from you - but it's cute. You're cute. Has she always thought you were cute, ever since you walked into her office? Was it attraction, not ambition that had led her down this path?

No. Nope. Don’t go there, Rebecca.

"What?" She'd asked, defensive, wishing you'd get off your knees even if the view is pretty from up here.

"You, uh --" Your words bubble with your laughter, eyes narrowed to cute crescents. You massage your thumb into her hip and reach behind her to peel a paper off of her ass.

She's mortified, her face flushing red. She doesn't want to think of the mess that she's made of her desk, usually kept neat and tidy, in and out trays properly stacked now thrown askew.

"It's just Cady's report," you say, skimming the page. "Just toss it, give her a hundred. She needs the bump anyway."

That's so unethical. She takes the paper back from you, and the soiled feeling sinks into her core. This was wrong. All of this was wrong. Rebecca should chide you for being so callous about student work, about their grades - even though you're sort of right. Cady does need the leg up.

Rebecca sets it back on her desk. She shakes her head.

"That shouldn't have happened."

That gets you up off of your knees. Your smile drops off your face and amongst the shame Rebecca feels a sharp stab of regret. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"Right. Yeah. Sorry. I just thought..."

You look at her with those wet puppy dog eyes, and her jaw clenches. She keeps her groan locked behind her teeth. She's immune to these tactics. She knows how to hold her ground. Doesn't mean she doesn't feel guilty. She can tell that you were waiting for her to interject, waiting for her to cut in, hoping for some gentle words.

"It can't happen again. This was– inappropriate doesn't even begin to describe what–"

There you go again. She's seen that look before when she had been critiquing your proposals, picking at your thesis and poking holes - too soft for it all underneath that cool exterior. She feels like she's reprimanding a puppy, like she’s got to rub your nose in – nope. Not going there.

Rebecca folds her arms across her chest tightly, tiny tits pressed together. She looks down at herself, only just now realizing that she's still exposed. She huffs, tugging her button-up closed and searching around for her panties. She ducks under her desk to search for them, her knees hitting the cold tile. 

When she rises, you’re holding something out to her. Her panties, crumpled in your palm, wet–

Good God, you really are a puppy. She stares for a moment, her body flushed with another wave of heat. You’d just been rocking against your fist, her panties clenched tight between your fingers the whole time you had your face buried in her pussy?

Why is that making her clit throb again?

“This can’t happen again,” she repeats firmly. She steps back into her panties, your own wetness settling cool against her heated, sensitive cunt. Was she just going to wear these the rest of the day? She should have just put her pants back on, let you keep that as a souvenir. (Jesus - no, not that either. What the hell is wrong with her?)

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I should never have let this go so far.”

“Are you mad?”

Yes. No. Jesus, she can’t think when you’re in the same room.

Rebecca fishes your shirt up from the floor, coaxes you to lift your arms and helps you get it back over your head.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Let’s discuss your thesis some more. Maybe in a study room, or…”

The train of thought is clear. Not in her office. Not again, not after this. She’s going to be plagued by this memory for a long time. Oh, god, it probably smells like sex in here. She’s got more meetings today.

You nod meekly. It’s the smallest she’s seen you since you became her assistant. You shuffle out of her office without so much as a wave goodbye.

She can't get it out of her head.

It's a full week later but the image of your lips, shiny with her slick, is burned into her mind. Every time she blinks she's flashbanged by the remembrance of your tongue circling your mouth and chin to lick it all up - to lick her up, your eyes far away, pupils huge. You wipe your mouth with the heel of your hand and then lick that up too, and she crosses one leg over her knee and squeezes.

It’s enough sensation to make her moan. She drops her forehead against the steering wheel of her car.

This is unbearable. It’s immature, and she knows it, but she’s been taking lunch in her car ever since you’d fucked in her office. The  tension between the two of you was unbearable. Easy conversation, quiet, giggly gossip, all of it was stilted or non-existent now.

Twenty minutes left in her lunch. She can’t live like this anymore. She wants her favorite graduate assistant back. She wants to stop hiding in her car, to stop second guessing every word that comes out of her mouth.

Rebecca scrolls through her contacts until she finds the one person she knows will have lived experience with this sort of thing.

“Leon, hey! Are you busy?”

For her? Never.

She dances around the topic like she’s meant for it, lobbing prying questions at him until he grows sick of her obvious deflection.

“Rebecca,” Leon sighs. “This is great and all. Why'd you call?”

It all comes spilling out, picked at the scab and it started bleeding.

“I had sex with my graduate assistant,” she says in a rush. “In my office. On top of lab reports. I had to throw away student work. I couldn't just grade it and give it back to them.”

Silence. Tense, awkward silence. She shouldn’t have called. Oh, god, he definitely thinks she’s a creep and a pervert and he’s going to report her, and –

Leon laughs. Long and loud, like she hasn't heard from him in years. 

“Good for you.”

“What– Leon! This is serious!” She hisses.

“I am serious.” She can imagine him kicking his boots up on his desk. God, he's unbelievable. “What's the big deal? You fucked a grad student. Don't all the professors do that?”

Rebecca stumbles over her words, blubbering for a moment.

“You watch too much porn.”

“It beats what I was doing.”

“I can't believe I have to agree with that.”

“I’m serious,” Leon says. “Don't you have tenure? That's basically the same thing as diplomatic immunity.”

“Those aren't even remotely the same. And no, I don’t. The ‘big deal’ is that it’s wrong. It’s a total abuse of my position as her advisor.”

“Christ, Rebecca. She’s not some undergrad. You’re not out here banging Freshmen.”

“I’m in a position of authority over her. She’s a student.” Rebecca repeats slowly.

Leon must be pinching the bridge of his nose. He takes a moment, lets out a long sigh. It seems to have clicked for him that the purpose of this call is to talk her off the ledge.

He lays it out for her plainly. Check her faculty handbook for potential repercussions, consider finding another member of faculty to take over your advisement if this is something she’s serious about pursuing. It seems simple when he lays it out like that - but the idea of someone else being your advisor, of packing your things up and moving you out of her lab, makes her sick to her stomach.

Maybe it’s what’s best. For you. For her. For the both of you.

“Hey,” Leon says before she can end the call. “Why'd you call me?”

“Well…” The truth dies on her tongue. She knows the reason. It just seems so mean to say out loud. “I knew you wouldn't judge me.”

Leon hums. “Because I have experience fucking people I shouldn't.”

“I didn't say that!”

“Don't have to,” Leon laughs. “All right, doc. Go get your freak on. Let me know how it goes.”

He hangs up before she can chew him out.

“I never should have called him.” She smiles to herself, tossing her phone back into her purse.

You come to her before she can call you to her. You linger in the doorway of her office.

“I don't like hovering,” she reminds you, her voice sing-song. Your gulp is audible.

“Sorry. I just, uh–” You lean out into the hall, glancing around. “They don't have cameras in the offices, right?”

She can't blame you for asking. She had thought the same thing after your first encounter, had even dug through the faculty handbook and made up excuses to discuss the cameras with maintenance.

What she can blame you for is acting all suspicious in the middle of the day, with students milling about and faculty hosting office hours. Rebecca sighs. Her glasses slip down the bridge of her nose, leaving her to peer at you over the top of them. She doesn't miss the way your eyes flit up from her chest. Christ - you're insatiable. She wants to be exasperated, but her stomach churns with a gush of heat instead.

Rebecca waves you in with a curl of her fingers. You're not having this conversation with the door open. It's like your sense of self-preservation was just completely shot. You nudge the door shut, pointing back at it with a question mark tilt of your head.

“We should talk.”

You nod stiffly, eyes steeling over. Oh, you’d prepared yourself for this. She knew that look well, the same one you’d get before she would start poking and prodding at your theories. You draw a chair up to her desk. It kills her to see you looking so serious, but this is necessary. You need to clear the air once and for all.

But neither of you know who to speak first. The silence between you grows. Rebecca’s mind spins with all the things she should say, all the things that she needs to say.

“Let’s find you another advisor.”

Hurt pulls over your features in a flash. Of all the things she could have said, she never should have led with that.

“What?”

“It’s for the best.” Shit, she shouldn’t have said that either. “I’m not–”

“This is retaliatory. It’s bullshit.”

Rebecca fumbles. It is, you’re right, but you’re not supposed to call her on it. You’re supposed to nod, your brow furrowed, to jot down her observations the way you always do.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” she counters. She can feel her hackles rise, can feel the defensiveness creeping up.

“Well, you are. I don’t want another advisor. I want to talk this out.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it never should have happened in the first place.”

“It did, though,” you snap. “You can’t just pretend it didn’t.”

She can. She can pretend her way through anything. That’s how you belong - you pretend until you’ve got everyone convinced. Why doesn’t it work with you?

“If it’s going to happen again, then you can’t be my graduate assistant.”

Rebecca’s heart stops. Your shoulders pin back, eyes flitting every which way. She can’t believe she said that - you can’t believe she did either, clearly. She hates the silence, wishes you would fill it again, wishes for your knuckles against your hip, for you to hum idly, for your little signs of life.

You stand from your chair. Rebecca mimics the movement, hand itching to reach out and catch your wrist, to keep you there. You’re going to leave, she’s sure of it. She doesn’t care for her reputation, for tenure - she’s losing you and it’s tearing her apart.

But you reach for her. Your fingers tremble when they trace their way up her arm. She steps around her desk and into you. You dip to kiss her, lips hovering inches from hers. Afraid to close that gap, afraid it’s the wrong thing to do. Maybe it is.

It doesn’t feel like it, though. She cranes her head, seals her mouth with yours. The caution gives way to desperation when you realize she’s not stepping back. Your hands tug at her dress shirt, untuck it from her slacks. You walk her backwards, back towards her desk - and she almost wants to laugh at how you’ve gotten this way again.

“Not on the desk.” Rebecca digs her heels in, voice firm. She flattens a palm against the back of your neck and loops a finger through your belt loop, pulling you with her as she navigates around her desk by muscle memory. 

You trot after her obediently. The moment before she plops into her chair, you catch her wrist. Carefully, you spin your way into her chair. Your hands curl on her hips and drag her to straddle one of your thighs. Her cunt drags against your leg, her toes pointed to the ground. Your hands curl at her hips, moving her back and forth against your leg. Once she’s found a rhythm on her own, you fumble with the buttons of her shirt.

Rebecca knows there’s students milling about - it’s not quite after hours. You could get caught at any moment. The other faculty are already gone for the day, but that doesn’t mean the risk is zero. It spurs her hips a little faster, excitement pooling in her stomach. Your other leg bounces erratically as you shove her shirt down her arms. 

Your hands are chilly against her flushed skin but your mouth is warm on her chest. You tug her bra down, push the cups aside just to latch onto her nipple. Your tongue swirls, flicks, teeth scraping experimentally, trying to figure out what will make her arch.

Can she cum like this? Both of you must be wondering. Her breath comes quick, her hips stuttering. No way. There’s no way.

Rebecca plants a hand at the base of your neck before you can find out. Proper experimentation can come later. She wobbles off of your leg, trying to ignore the way her pussy is practically dripping.

“What’s wrong?” You say, managing to pull your language processing together.

“I want your mouth again,” she pouts.

She’s never seen you move so fast. Your hands settle on her hips, flexing impatiently. You whirl her around, settle her into the chair you’d just been in, and crater to your knees. She has half a mind to ask if that hurt, but the scent of your arousal, or hers, or both, has her feeling lightheaded.

“Good girl,” Rebecca breathes out, her head smacking back against her cabinet. Your eager hands wiggle her slacks down. She strokes your hair as you prepare her, adjusting her limbs as needed. Her eyes slip shut, trying to catch her breath before you steal it from her again.

You bury your face between her thighs, nosing a stripe along her panties. Her legs tighten around your head. You lap at her through the cloth, moaning at the faintest taste, your thumbs digging into her hips.

You look up at her, dumb with lust. You’re pleading to take these off her, to lick your way between her folds. She lifts her hips and you dive in, all the permission you need to rip these off of her. You wad them in your palm, your hand disappearing into your pants. Heat flares through her, need pulsing. She’s already wet, already so ready.

Rebecca's fingers grip your hair tight. There's a surprising amount of strength in her hold, keeping you away from her pussy. It’s torture for the both of you, but the delay, the way you’re looking up at her - fuck, that’s hot.

She's unrecognizable, looking down her nose at you, pretty pink lips parted slightly. Her grip in your hair slackens and you surge forward.

You lick and such your way into her, hands roaming her skin. There’s nothing reserved to your movements, not like the first time. You make out with her pussy, devouring every inch you can reach. Rebecca cries out, high-pitched, needy. She stuffs her fist into her mouth, head smacking back into the cabinets hard. Her stomach spasms, pleasure curling her toes and rippling up through the rest of her body. Your palm splays against her, pats her tummy - the only bit of control, of reasoning that either of you have left.

You flatten your tongue against her and shake your head from side to side. Her back arches, each pass of your tongue stoking the fire in her belly higher. It spreads down her limbs, tingles in her finger tips.

“Wait, wait, wait–” Rebecca babbles, tugging your head closer, her hips rutting against your face. 

The kindling in the pit of her stomach expands, singes through her limbs. She cums, gushing into your mouth, down your chin. Your mouth closes over her, drinking down everything she gives. You keep circling her clit - harder, not faster - pulling everything she has to give from her body until she spasms in her chair, her thighs clamping tightly around your face.  Her body curls over you, forearms bracketing your head, muscles twinging.

The come down hits hard. She’s pulled muscles she wasn’t even sure it was possible to pull. She has got to stop letting you eat her out in these uncomfortable chairs (but it’s hard to argue with results).

Finally, when she manages to pull all her bones back together, she rolls her chair back just enough so she’s not smothering you. Though from the pitiful look in your eye when she pulls away, from the way your hand reaches out to her, you might have preferred if she didn’t.

“Don’t make me go.”

Your voice is soft. Rebecca shuts her eyes, allows herself this risky moment of peace. Her hand strokes your forehead gently.

“We’ll work something out,” she concedes.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.” It’s not smart. She should be saying no, that this was a mistake again. 

She can’t. You would never forgive her. It really would be exploitative of her to go through all of this, to cum in your mouth and then leave you to find someone else, as if this meant nothing.

“I knew you’d cum around.”

You grin, lips shiny with her cum. Rebecca groans. A joke about throwing you out dies before it leaves her lips. Your tongue laps at your bottom lip, almost shy in the movement. Oh, god - she made the right choice, all right. 

“Don’t make me regret this.”