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44st4rs · 22 hours

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BEHIND THE SCENES!

✫ ˚♡ ⋆。 ❀ — SYNOPSIS! When the raw film from the latest shoots comes into the office, you and nanami can’t help but to play the role of adults actors for the night!

✫ ˚♡ ⋆。 ❀ — PAIRINGS! assistant!fem!reader x prndirector!nanami kento

✫ ˚♡ ⋆。 ❀ — CW! 2.5k words, pwp, dubcon, oral(both receiving), couch sęx, mating press, no protection, cremépie

✫ ˚♡ ⋆。 ❀ — XOXO, CHRIS! a repost from my old blog! reblogs and comments are welcomed, hope you enjoy!

on the scene! ft toji.

“Sir, here are the raws from the shoot today! They came out fantastic!” You gush, handing the small chip to the one, Nanami Kento. He stares at the small device, his gaze trailing to meet your own.

“Of course it was, whatever Toji and apparently now his girlfriend, have are the real deal. What we possess here is pure gold, Dollface,” he expresses with a small smirk.

You tilt your head, unsure of a comparison between the rare mineral and the pornographic film within the palm of his hand.

“Uh…care to explain?” you fold your arms behind your back innocently. Nanami nodded solemnly as he began his explanation, standing from behind the waxed oak desk.

“When people watch porn or any variation of it, they want the real stuff. No awkward silence, outrageous orgasms, just something calm. Whenever those two work together, there’s a natural connection of passion that sparks, from how they held each other to how they eyes spoke for them. If you don’t honestly love the person you’re with, then you end up with generic and played-out films. Films like that’ll lose a company money,” Nanami sighs, holding up the small chip for your eyes to find.

“Films like this one today…makes a company filthy rich.”

You slowly nodded, taking lagging steps towards Nanami with a piercing question at the tip of your tongue.

“So then…what do you look for?”

Nanami mindlessly replied, “I enjoy it when–oh, you meant in the–” An endearing giggle rolled out into the air, your fingers finding comfort along the desk top.

“Don’t act so coy, Nanami. I know how you watch the scene unfold before you, the way you have to grip the screenplay with all your strength. Especially today, you nearly jumped from your seat…didn’t you?”

A sharp gasp filled his lungs, Nanami finding your accusations strangely exact. He clears his throat, searching for the next response that would suit your curious needs.

“You have an eye for that, don’t you? Of course, I wanted to, I’ve been in this business for quite some time. All the moans I’ve heard, positions being forced onto another…I’ve seen them all but no one to try them with. I’m sure that I’d be a great pornstar in all honesty.”

“Why not…try ’em with me?” You whisper sweetly, Nanami’s ears piquing at your lowly request.

“Just like you, I’ve been at your side for a few years now. I’ve made some friends and they’ve spilled a few secrets on how to please a man. Is it so wrong to try them with someone who shares the same opinion?” You hum, closing the distance between you and the flustered man.

“You’re becoming quite the little minx, I kinda like it,” Nanami chuckles, his lips ghosting along your own. A smug grin plays on the corners of your lips, pressing a kiss onto his awaiting lips.

Nanami sinks back into his seat, motioning for you to join him. With quaint steps, you found yourself standing before him, your hands smoothing down the fabric of your black skirt.

“Yes sir?” You tease, setting yourself onto your knees beneath Nanami’s intimidating gaze. He grins at the domineering title, swiping the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip.

“Show me what you know, Sweetheart. It might just work in your favor.”

With a reassuring nod, the tips of your fingers run along Nanami’s clothed thighs, drifting towards the cold metal clasp of his belt. Gently tugging at the black leather, you slide the belt from around his hips, turning your attention to the button of his pants.

“I’m told that some like it a little messy, but I wanna know how you like it, Nanami,” you coo, lacing your fingers around the waistband of his tan slacks and briefs alike. Nanami raises his hips as the cloth skims down his legs, but he’s care with contemplating your inquiry.

“I don’t know, let’s see what that mouth of yours manages, hm?” He concludes, cupping your jaw softly. With a contentful hum, your lidded sights fell upon Nanami’s cock, weeping misery from the thick flustered crown. The flat of your tongue presses up along the underside, dragging a glossy stride against the tanned skin.

Nanami winced at the sudden sensation, his brown earthy hues marveling at the scene. He’s twitching against you, his cock consumed by a thumping pulse vthrough the soft touch. The pink tip of his cock melded beautifully atop your tongue, the lewd display stirring the nerves within his stomach.

He remains silent, only watching your lips sealing off the head between the plushy mounds. Inch by inch, he’s studying you take him deeper into your mouth, your eyes fluttering shut. “Shit!” Nanami curse sharply, “Feels good, Beautiful.”

You hummed delightfully along his length, his praise resonating within the pit of your tummy. As you hollowed your cheeks around his cock, your digits kept busy with drawn-out strokes. It was mind-numbing to you, indulging in such salacious acts with your superior. Just having him trembling beneath the ministrations of your mouth clouded your thoughts more than anything.

Yet the fleeting moments of victory faded from your each, the anxious bucks of Nanami’s hips rutting against your chin. He’s far from the easy-going type, needing more than simple strokes and cockwarming to suit his needs. You took in a breath, prepping yourself for what was to follow.

In one swift dive, you introduce Nanami to the tight confines of your throat, a string of mangled gags ringing from your chest. But it’s all sourced from sheer determination to please him led your every move, holding out for as long as you could.

The quiet and stoic approach Nanami had attempted slipped from him, a grueling groan outpouring from his throat. His hand instinctively grips the locks of your hair, desperately in search of elements to ground him.

“Ohmy—hah! Shit, jus’ like that! Use that tongue too, baby—fuck!” He’s crying out, his head lolling back along the rim of his chair. “T-Try moving your head now, alright?” He advises, wiping the tears that spill over your cheeks.

You struggle to show some form of understanding, your head drawing back from Nanami’s pelvis. With a bobbing notion, your lips slidealong his slicked shaft, thick rivulets of foaming drool pooling at the corners of your mouth.

All your hard work is dirty work that drips down your chin and off onto the floor. Dirty work but it’s bringing a relishing wave of gratification to wash over your body. To know that the mere pucker of your lips could ruin your reserved boss to no end…isn’t that reward enough?

“Oh, Sweetheart, keep that up and ‘m gonna-” Nanami trills, only for your mouth to nuzzle down along his length once again, welcoming the release to flood your throat.

Just as you desired, he’s spilling the sinful hues of white down your throat, cutting the stained air with a deep groan. Through your teary thrill, you encouraged his cum to warm your belly, a single gulp sending the fruits of your labor to rest.

Hot pants warms the air, Nanami reeling from the overwhelming strength of his high, his patchy sights settling onto you. “Get over here,” the breathless words leaking from his lips. Nanami pulls you up onto his bare lap, his arms draping around your waist.

“How was that to your liking…sir,” you teased, allowing the remnants of a pure smile to curl onto your lips. Nanami gave way to one final huff, the words finally joining together coherently.

“That was…god, that was so good. You’ll have to demonstrate for me again, alright Angel?” Nanami hums, taking a gentle hold of your chin. He was quick to peer over his shoulder, finding the couch standing along the cocoa-painted walls to his amusement.

“Tell me…do you know what a mating press is?” Nanami questioned as he held you his arms, lifting from his leather swivel chair. You loll your head from either side, unsure of an exact answer to reply with.

“No…care to explain it to me?”

Nanami places you down into the lengthy felt-covered cushions, hovering above you with blazoned eyes. “Well to start, we gotta get rid of your panties,” he began, drumming his digits along your exposed thighs. Just to spite the man, you brought your lips to his ear, whispering the one thing he hadn’t expected.

“Sir…I wasn’t wearing any to begin with.”

“Of course you weren’t, you had this all planned out, didn’t you?” Nanami sneers, his palms slipping to greet the underside of your thighs. hooking the vast mass of his palms beneath your thighs. Your body followed suit, legs smothered to your chest beneath the brute weight of his body. Your hands find rest along his tensed forearms, his rippling muscles twitching within your palms.

“Shit…,” Nanami seethes, his hand wandering down toward the fat lips of your pussy. “Just a little taste of me got you this wet. Tch, I need a mess to fuck you though.”

Just like that, Nanami’s sinking down to his knees, his hands clinging to the back of your thighs.

“Stay juuuuust like this, ‘kay? You gotta watch me too, Angel.”

“Mhm, just…be gentle, okay?” your voice wearily squeaks out.

Of course, Nanami’s hearing you, but with his fingers busying spreading apart the plump mounds of your pussy to meet his half-mast eyes, he utters out a word of promise to you.

“Oh baby…with a pussy so pretty like this, I have to be.”

With that final word, Nanami’s taking the lead by gently guiding the flat of his tongue to dip between your delicate folds. Fuck, his mind’s already fading nothing by tasting you. You’re warm, sweet, and fit around his tongue like clockwork.

“Mmm…so sweet, aren’t you, Baby?” He hums as he pays your cunt a careful glare before a web of spit shoots from his puckered lips.

“Please, fuck! Please don’t stop Nanami!” you cry, your pitiful soliloquy echoing around the room.

He’s tracing the twitching bud with a care for detail, trapping you in his swaying trance. He’s chasing after your slippery clit by titling his head, meeting the perked bed at every angle possible.

But there’s one specific angle he’s mastered in just a short amount of time, one that allows him to court your sticky bead with lengthy flicks of his tongue.

he’s working his jaw into overtime just to feed your clit with deft flutters, chuckling at how your hole begs for attention. And he’s mulling over the idea of giving into you, just to see if his name would fall from your spit-ridden lips.

He’s adapting a course, trailing down the slick canal of your folds and right over your slit. He’s pulled into a trance, the plush pink hues wavering him closer. When the tip of his tongue does dip into you, he’s almost drunk off you.

His supple tongue greedily curls to meet the contours of your pussy, weaving a delicious pattern of strokes to reach into you. And you have the nerve to squeeze down, bucking your hips for more of his kindhearted deeds.

“Oh Nanami! ‘m so close!” you mewl with your head writhing into the plush leather.

The grand finale comes in when he sketches back up to twirl that sly tongue right around the bundle of nerves, stirring up that flourishing heat deep in your core.

“Good, now let me finish you off.”

In your mind, you’re imagining Nanami sucking you down until you burst right into his greedy mouth, but reality is a cold, bitter truth.

And in your reality, Nanami breaks away from your swollen pussy with nothing more than a kiss. The weight of his cock replaces all those sweet kisses as he balances himself over you.

“All this, you really had to been planning this. Baby. But I’m not complaining,” He chuckles, hoisting himself over your pinned body.

“And if I did, it seems to be working well, wouldn’t you say so?” you quip, placing your hands resting along his the rippling muscles of his forearms.

“Yeah, such big talk from you. It’s almost cute,” he purred, snaking a hand between your bodies. With a hefty grip around his length, Nanami taps the swollen head of his cock against your tender bud.

An eerie whimper erupted from your lungs, your hips jolting into the air. Nanami snickered at your eagerness, guiding his length to nip at the slit of your cunt.

“Alright, you ready? I can’t wait to see that cute face of yours fall apart,” Nanami cooed, snapping his hips forward. The sudden stretch forces your mouth apart, the staggering breaths clogging the air within your lungs. The girth of his cock burned-oh so-deliciously, your body adjusting to his size.

“Fuck–You’re so big, Nanami!” the wail falling from your quivering lips. Your hands race for closure, claiming the broad of Nanami’s shoulders in red crescents.

He presses his lips to the corner of your frown, soothing your cries with a gentle kiss. “Shh, I’ve got you. You’ll feel so good, I promise.”

His hands travel down the side of your thighs, forcing your legs clamped shut. Nanami groans as he keeps a steady pace, rolling his hips up into you. The warmth of your walls hugs him just right, squeezing around those plump throbbing veins. But what pushes him over the edge is hearing the lewd squelching of your cunt barely soliciting for Nanami’s girth.

Maybe he is a little big for you.

“Keep your legs pressed just like that–god, you’re so tight!”

“It’s ‘s much, Nanami! F-Fuck! I-I—!” you sob, only for the thick digits of Nanami’s hand to plunge between your gaping lips. Through your teary eyes, you spot the coy smile he’s donning, the display of pearly whites reflecting his bliss. Because he’s really taking pleasure in this, watching what his cock does to you. So much so that he’s itching to taunt you for it. That’s why he’s breaking at hand away from your waist and right to your lips—lacing his thick fingers around your limp tongue.

“Now, now, what’s my name, Princess? Say it right and you’ll get to cum all over this dick. And we both want that…right?”

You nod in compliance, your stuffed mouth attempting to reply to the best of your skills.

“S-Sir…I really wanna cum, Pleasepleaseplease, I want it!”

Those pleas fall like a melody over Nanami’s ears, granting him the drive to unleash a barrage of heavy and relentless ruts into your pitiful cunt. The explicit snaps of skin were drowned by the combined wails of you and Nanami alike. He was close, from the way he became increasingly more vocal, spewing nonsensical curses into the air.

On his final drive into you, Nanami’s hips jerked erratically, trapping the entirety of his length within you. As the thick drops of white painted your womb, the fluttering clench of your cunt embraced around him, the crashing weight of your release seizing your body whole. Your legs gave out, resting along Nanami’s shoulders as you sought to ground yourself.

A weary chuckle escaped from his chest, the entrapping strength of Nanami’s arms tugging you into his chest as he collapsed onto the cushions. With heated breaths warming the amorous aura of the room and the mixture of release leaking down your inner thighs, by far it was easily the most pornographic scene of the night.

Nanami presses a trail of kisses along your temple, earning your attention in return. “So what do you think, Sweetheart? Would I make it in the industry?” his hand cupping your cheek to form a direct line of contact.

“You’d make such a good pornstar, sir.”

tags <3

@champagnej @hannas16 @bludzk1llzyuzu @akiko0-0 @insideboburnham @shima707 @immindingmyownbusinessforachange @serenareiss @littlemochi @luvvvjada @tojitsukaisen @kaedeakeshisworld @caribbeanwifey19 @woahhajime @ebiharachan @po3ticb3auty @pixelsanji @omniuravity @sweeneyblue1 @yukihime-mikeys-girl @kazusugar @kenmasbimbo @10-jiku @a3trogirl @chaoticevilbakugo @sleepy3 @desiray562 @lovemegood @luvrdrop @yourmommy52726 @tojibreedingme @widepipepaladiknight @tojishugetiddies @taesd-urag @nekoriots @ladyackerman @ilaaishi @holychocopie @bloobrryktty @dabis0bitch @kensgff @23victoria @0fingerlickingood0 @savantsoulfinders @missyasma @kenryug @jkdaddy01 @dazaisfavgf @smucked @shuxjodie

#jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk drabbles #nanami kento smut #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jjk nanami #nanami smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #nanami x you #nanami kento #cw smut #cw sex mention #//✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀—𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈!//

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sunarinscat · 3 days

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(s/o with sensory overload)

“Waves”.

He was the first to notice.

You have always struggled with sensory overload. It’s noise, lights, texture, temperature, movement in your line of sight… It just builds up and you can’t help but break down. It’s embarrassing honestly. You aren’t even sad but you’re sobbing and heaving for air. What? Because some silly flashing lights were too bright for you? You hide away in a corner or a bathroom and wait for the waves of panic to wash away. Then you clean yourself up and face the world again. Nobody was ever any the wiser.

He noticed. He saw when your breath began to quicken. You stopped making eye contact with people and glued your gaze to the floor. He tipped his head to the side as your trembling hands grasped the nearest surface. You slipped outside into the cold night air and he followed.

As you slumped against the wall and let the tears wrack your body you heard the door creak. Shoes scuffled against the pavement and you hid your face in your arms, away from prying eyes.

“Hey baby, are you doing alright?”

He slumped down beside you, leaving a gap between your bodies.

You tried to keep your voice even as you spoke but it cracked and trembled.

“Yea-h I’m ju-ust P-peachy!”

You hiccuped.

“Do you need hug?”

“N-no!”

His hands which were reaching to comfort you returned to his sides.

“No, it’s just a lot righ-ght now I can’t h-handle anyone touching me.”

Oh. He was starting to understand.

“What can I do sweet heart?”

You swallowed hard and took a breath, removing your hands from your tear stained face. You offered him a small smile as a tear slid down your chin.

“We could just talk quietly.. it helps distract me sometimes.”

He grinned back.

“Okay, okay. Eyes on me.”

He pointed to his eyes.

“I want you focused right here.”

You turned your body to face him and he did the same, sitting cross legged.

“How’s your day been? Tell me your favorite and your least favorite thing that happened today.”

And you sat like that for fifteen minutes. The tears receded and the sobs turned into soft laughter. When you pulled yourself up from the concrete you grasped his hand. You turned your eyes to the floor again, this time bashfully.

“Hey can I have that hug now?”

It was barely a whisper.

He turned around and wrapped his arms around you. He just held you. Your body relaxed and you let out a sigh. If you ever had a home it was this.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me honey. I love you. I will always be here, whatever you need.”

Sugawara Koushi, Tetsurou Kuroo, Hajime Iwaxumi ,Keiji Akashi, Osamu Miya, Daichi sawamura, Eijiro kirishima, Shoto todoroki, Albedo, Diluc, Al Haithem, Kazuha

author’s note: as someone who struggles with these issues I hope this made you feel seen. I haven’t been on this blog in awhile but I am back to give it a little TLC, !Friendly reminder that my asks are open! Dont be shy to send something my way, I want to hear every detail..

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dickaspointed · 23 hours

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𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑩𝑬𝑫𝑺 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑬𝑵- !

𝘚𝘔𝘜𝘛 !! 𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴.

HEESEUNG felt all too giddy with you in the same bed as him. he couldn’t help but sneak glances and looks here and there, especially when the moon cascaded over your little body compared to his. you barely took up half the bed in comparison to him, and don’t get him started on those short shorts and tank top that did horrible jobs at hiding your modesty. by one am, your legs are thrown over the creases of his elbows, his name rolling off your tongue like a mantra as your shorts dangled just over his shoulder. he couldn’t keep his desires at bay.

SUNGHOON acted tough like sharing a bed with you was no big deal, but on the inside it was an internal battle for him not to pop a boner. that stupid moomoo you wore that accentuated your breasts and ass definitely didn’t help keep one from forming in his sweats. he promised to keep it PG tonight but when you slid into bed besides him, smelling like a fresh sweet cake he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. he pulled orgasm after orgasm from you until your moomoo was somewhere over the clouds, your chest and throat covered in hickies he’d have to explain tomorrow.

JAY was decently good at keeping his composure. he had shared a bed with you numerous times, but this time it was different because this time you were his. with your ass pressed to his pelvis, his hand underneath your top, gently fondling your right breast he tried to lull off to sleep. but your whiny moans and twitching ultimately ruined all the composure he had. flipping you onto your stomach, he mounted from behind, tearing your shorts and panties off in a slick motion for better access. the others wouldn’t let you two share a room anymore because they got no sleep with how loud you were.

JAKE purposefully made sure every trip that you two ended up together, if that meant bribing everyone with lots of money so they’d willingly book a hotel with one less room for everyone. Jake would sadly break the news to you, pouting to really add to the bit. in the end, it worked in his favor because you’d be straddling him that night, his hair between your fingers as you rode him like your life depended on it. Jungwon would end up banging on the door, asking you two to kindly “shut the fuck up.”

SUNOO was nervous every time you had to bunk with him. he’d go the extra mile to make sure you were comfortable, he wouldn’t even sleep without socks. one night, all of that flew right out of the open window when you cuddled up to him, tucking your face into his collarbone. your soft whimpers of enjoyment fueled something inside of him, he tapped your back gently. it was nothing but fireworks from that night on, blissful orgasms that made both of you see stars and shake violently against one another.

JUNGWON being the leader it was only right that he let you bunk with him. he had a set of rules that seemed to go right through the floor when you came back from a steamy shower with dewy skin and a nighty that hugged your body in all the right places. you asked him if this was alright for his “rules”, whilst smoothing your hands down your body. he sucked in a deep breath, looking towards the door before ultimately deciding whether or not he wanted to be ridiculed in the morning. needless to say, after an eventful, blissful night with Jungwon, that nighty was ripped to shreds and he had to explain what all those weird sounds were last night.

NI-KI put his cold feet up the back of your shirt and kicked you off the bed with both very large feet.

K BYE!!

actually, before i leave i wanted to say thanks for all the reblogs and likes!!! i really appreciate whomever likes and blogs, thanks a ton! and please if you feel comfortable (AND 18+ because i’m not playing) leave some requests of what you wanna see and what member !! besides ni-ki <3

#enhypen #jay #heeseung #jungwon #smut #kpop #sunghoon #sunoo #writing #ni ki #jake sim #sharingbedtrope #enhypen smut

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1800titz · 23 hours

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SPANKO!HARRY x NEIGHBOR PART 1 — NOW UP ON PATREON

The one where Y/N and Harry are neighbors in an apartment complex, he's got a bunny called Snuggles, he makes softcore porn spanking people (it's a REALLY LOUD HOBBY), and Y/N has definitely called the police for a domestic disturbance next door.

preview

“Frankly, I think it’s wrong to put your hands on a woman.”

Harry’s face doesn’t immediately crease. It’s a slow progression (he blinks, then again, and a thunderbolt of white-hot shock clouds his features and shapes them bewildered). He ducks his chin. Sounds almost furtive—

(Which is worse).

“Sorry?”

“Sorry,” Y/N snips, “It’s absolutely disgusting to put your hands on a woman.”

The flinty prehnite in his sockets wanders, left to right (a discomfited side sweep, probably at her volume— he should feel ashamed!). He steps in. There’s seedlings of a storm in his gaze.

(The pacific eye of a hurricane before it migrates and the tempest swallows her whole).

Harry tells her, even, and low, and careful, ”I don’t put my hands on anybody that doesn’t consent to it first.”

Her face crinkles.

“I think— maybe there’s been a misunderstanding—“

“I’m not misunderstanding,” Y/N maintains— the piece of her mind he’d beckoned for with open palms outstretched floods in vitriolic disdain, “I’ve heard a woman yelling no, and stop, and please from your apartment— I have ears, you know, and— and it’s gross that men like you think that it’s okay—“

He blinks, stunned, swallows, and then says, in a tone that’s soft-spoken and (impressively) imperturbable, “You’re the one that called in for a domestic disturbance?”

“Any sane woman would call the police when she heard another woman being abused.”

“Abused—“

She blusters, scorn in the molten lavascape of her gaze, “Yes! Abused! And— and— honestly—“

He rearranges, shifting the fleecy animal onto the bolster of one forearm, and culls his phone, brows pinched—

“—I don’t know what form of assault would be worse, but when someone says no, it means no!”

There’s epinephrine spuming, and the byproduct of venting the pent discontent— floodgates shattered—

“Excuse me,” she snaps, stifling when his thumb scrolls, “I’m talking to you. And also, while we’re at it, you’re unbearably loud, and an unmannerly neighbor—“

Harry turns the phone. She’s nearly tempted to tell him to piss off with… whatever this is, but her eyes roam, vexation worn in the kink of her eyebrows, and then—

An almost archaic website, like a kitsch relic— repository archives of a porn blog from the early 2000s. Spankinggram. A profile; Rings&Paddles. The squared avatar bifurcates the garishly burnt amber logo of the site’s logo. Her eyes sweep over the vista; a man, sitting, thighs splayed, palm curled over a …hairbrush.

The image sunders at the neck. It’s a faceless silhouette, but the miscellany of sketches cascading across a forearm and the distinctly chunky medley of rings are… enough—

“I do, like, a… softcore porn-type thing,” Harry admits, and the chiaroscuro of his sudden embarrassment to her venom makes her chest tight. She feels sort of sick.

He tacks on, like he needs to, “Consensually. No one is being abused.”

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #dom harry styles #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #dom!harry x sub!reader #dom harry #dom!harry

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salemlunaa · 22 hours

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❦ TAPPING INTO THE VOID BUT YOU ALWAYS FALL ASLEEP?

It’s okay sleepyhead, we’ve all been there…

so a lot of people talk to me about the fact that they are trying to tap into the void/“I AM” but they will get super uncomfortable or just fall asleep trying. Then it cuts to them waking up pissed off and upset that they are still in their shitty realities. I feel like so many people have this issue but no one really speaks about it, and to get most blogs to give advice about this specific topic, a lot of the time you have to ask them directly by dming or asking. i’ve also had this problem and let me tell you it’s one: frustrating as hell to deal with and two: no one really speaks about this problem. Here, we talk a lot about giving up, getting too scared at the last second but we never talk about dozing off.

but never fear, sai is here!!

If you are struggling with this i want you to know that as frustrating as it is, it’s so easy to get out of this rut. I would highly recommend starting earlier, i personally love SATS as do many people in the community, but be honest with yourself love, if you see yourself sleeping off i recommend starting earlier than the state right before you sleep as you will have more control of your body.

I also want you guys to try sleeping to waves, whether it be alpha, epsilon, delta and whatever, fall asleep to waves, repeating “I AM” until you doze off. And i know it may be hard for your mind to stick to it but you can, i KNOW you can

you can even try entering during the day, and no it doesn’t always have to be at night because you’re a god and don’t need to be a slave to “time”. you can enter perfectly during the day and it’s just as easy as doing it in the night, don’t let limiting beliefs be the death of you. You can even use the day to affirm that when you sleep you immediately tap into the void/“I AM”, because you are a god, it will become fact when you decide.

I also need you guys to flip your thoughts, and you’ve probably heard this a thousand and one times so i will allow an eye roll just this once, BUT it’s actually something you need to do, don’t tell me “i get it, sai!!” and then come back after another day gone, don’t go around a cycle. I need you to live in the reality in which you are a master of the void and you have never slept off before. I’m gonna say this until i die but the law of assumption is a LAW not belief or superstition A LAW, meaning it can never, ever, ever fail. like ever. If you stand firm in the fact that you don’t have this problem and you are so powerful that there isn’t any time for sleeping, your reality will reflect that 110%

“i fell asleep again even though i told myself i was entering today”

“i hate myself omg i slept off AGAIN”

“i’m such a failure”

SHUT UP, SERIOUSLY? like do i seriously need to remind you who YOU ARE?

“i am a master at the void, failure simply doesn’t exist to me”

“i tap into the void/“I AM” so fast that i don’t even have time to sleep”

“i’m a god and i’ve decided the void always goes well for me”

You can do it, i dont think so, i KNOW it, for a fact, because you’re a god and i’ll be damned if you give up on everything because your body keeps dozing off.

YOU DONT FALL ASLEEP. YOU GET IN INSTANTLY. FLIP YOUR THOUGHTS, SLEEPYHEAD, AND YOULL FIND THAT YOUR DREAM LIFE ISNT FAR… 💋💞

#law of assumption #permashifting #shiftblr #shifting #loa #reality shifting #success story #the void #void concept #void state #the void state #voidstate #void #void state tips #shifting community #i am state #desired reality

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elodieunderglass · 2 days

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did i follow a Popular Blog without being aware of it? the amount of people sending you horrible legs astounds me

I think I’m incredibly lucky in the circle I have, and I’m very grateful for the horrible legs you all send me.

It is probably useful for the community of horribleness enjoyers to have someone reliable to hold the reins, so not all of that is about me!

I don’t know if my blog is popular. I don’t believe it is.

I have done/contributed to a number of posts that went on/off platform viral (100k notes/getting offsite coverage) over several years.

On tumblr I have influenced the external world in some microscopic tiny ways (coining the term plantcraft, starting the elder teletubbies lore, writing a post about cricket that apparently really amuses old folks off-platform, being mentioned in books and academic articles, etc.) So people will vaguely recognise my name, probably just as That Bitch Under Glass, but I think because of that it’s easy to have a disproportionate idea of how I’m influential. Tl;dr, I’m occasionally good at making catchy posts and I’m lucky in my circle.

I have about 30k followers (checked today!) but I don’t curate them. Many of these will be deactivated or bots. This is not a high number for social media and definitely doesn’t make you an “influencer” although it may be high for tumblr. I am not here for followers and feel like I have great engagement, though, which I measure largely by the numbers of horrible things with legs I receive.

Of the people who send me horrible things with legs, there are some consistent standout reporters and investigators who are never-tiring in their ongoing efforts to diligently record, and send to me for curation and tagging, the best of the most horrible things with legs. They are the real heroes here.

In conclusion, I don’t believe I have a popular blog, but I agree it has popular effects. I think that horrible things with legs are a natural phenomenon that we all have a duty to categorise and I’m very grateful for my position here.

#horrible things with legs

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donnieisaprettyboy · 3 days

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2014 - realized I liked girls but began desperately trying to “pray the gay away”

2016 - stopped believing in Christianity as I began to better accept my sexuality

2020 - publicly came out as bisexual, and shortly after my gender crisis began

2021 - nonbinary ? we’ll run with it, I’m experimenting! I’m playing with it! I’ve been in college for a year so now I have the room to try some things out!

2023 - my first pride parade! and the gender crisis continues on…. I would really love more masculine features… a deeper voice is my dream… I see men with flat chests and I get so envious. maybe I’m trans?

2024 - FINALLY allowing myself to use multiple labels that feel right! nonbinary, transmasc, genderfluid, genderqueer, they all feel like ME! planning on starting HRT after I get married and get onto my fiancé’s health insurance. plan on getting married in a wedding dress because THAT’S WHAT I WANT! because gender is not a strict binary and I am allowed to play with it however I want! my gender is not for the pleasure or comfort of anyone else! I got to experience my SECOND pride finally feeling content with myself and my identity! I’m happy! I’m so happy :)

#the journey of finding yourself is a long process and honestly it never ends #I’ve been in the journey of self discovery for a decade now and I’m still learning something new about myself every day #but I finally feel like I know myself #I have a good community of understanding people #and you know what? tumblr really helped!#make fun of this hellsite all you want but the people on here are so helpful #getting reminders from a wide community of people that you don’t need to fit into strict labels #or you can use multiple labels!#or none at all!#just do whatever feels right to YOU #there is no wrong way to be queer!#I love you tumblr queers #even when I had my first blog in 2014 when I was 12 it felt nice to have a space that made me feel like I was gonna be okay #thank you tumblr queers #trans #lgbtq #ftm #trans man #transgender #transgender man #transmasc #trans pride #donnieisaprettyboy #ftm problems #genderfluid #genderqueer #nonbinary

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bonus-links · 3 hours

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Hello! I saw the other post about picking a profile pic from some screenshots they took of your comic, and wanted to ask the best way to give credit to you for that? And is it okay to use your art for that? I don't want to assume open permission based on one ask.

(I've never used someone else's art like that before so I wanna get it right)

I've seen some people put a note in their profile referencing back to the original blog. Is that sufficient or is there something else you'd rather I do?

just credit in your bio about where the pfp is from is enough! general rules of thumb I have for ppl using my work are:

using my art for pfps with credit in bio is a-okay! all I ask is that u don’t use any of the art I’m currently using as my pfp here or on ezdotjpg

please don’t repost my work, here or on other sites. comic screenshots are okay if u want to make analysis or commentary posts, but please don’t repost full pages

fanart, fanfics, cosplays and that kind of thing are always okay!! there are already a small number of fics on ao3 I treasure 💕 please tag me so I can see!!

#ask #bonus content #FAQ

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allthingswhumpyandangsty · 1 day

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why does it comfort some people or bring them joy/excitement to imagine their favorite characters in terrible situations and being hurt physically or mentally? wouldn’t you want your favorite characters to be happy and safe?

I’m sure I’ve seen this exact ask being sent to another writing blog before, so seeing one in my own inbox was a little surprising. but anyway, I’ve said this before, but I don’t mind saying it again because lots of people seem to still be confused about this; the enjoyment of imagining or seeing fictional characters in terrible situations in which they are hurt and/or scared is called whump. people who enjoy whump tend to express their interest through art, such as drawings, writings, etc. whump has a community on several online platforms, as well as here on Tumblr. we are simply known as “whump community”.

moving on to your question, “why does it comfort us to imagine our favorite characters in agony?” — there is no definitive answer to the question, because different people enjoy whump for various, different reasons, and all of these reasons are valid. however, what I can give you is some examples of the reasons why people enjoy whump

reasons why people like whump:

some people use whump as a reflection of what they’ve been through, and they let their trauma out by channeling the trauma through fictional characters. to make it as simple as I can, some people use whump as a coping mechanism to help them heal from any traumatic events in their lives.

while whump is indeed about pain, it can also be about the comfort (the healing process) that comes after the pain. I personally known several people who heal by writing whump stories in which their favorite characters went through and survived terrible things that happened to them. the comfort part of the whump was used as a symbol of hope for these people, in the sense that they hold on to the idea that if these fictional characters can survive horrible things that happened to them, they (the writers) can survive and heal too.

some people use whump as a way to let out their frustration, trauma or pain. an abuse victim may fantasize about hurting their abuser back by creating a fantasy world in which their favorite character was hurt, but later healed and/or get their revenge.

it’s also worth mentioning that one doesn’t have go through their own trauma in order to be able to enjoy whump.

some people like whump where their favorite character is hurt because they just Want to Hurt These Little Guys.

some people like whump where their favorite character is hurt because they like the part where their favorite character gets comforted and is nursed back to health after they are rescued.

whump that’s followed by comfort (whump with a happy ending) is valid.

whump that has no comfort (whump without a happy ending) is also valid.

because whump is a genre, just like how lots of people like horror movies just for the sake of liking them.

the term whumperflies is used to describe the euphoric feeling a person experiences while watching, drawing, writing or reading a whump scenario that hits right in the feels. for lack of better comparison, some people experience whumperflies that come close to an orgasm, whether or not whump is a sexual thing to them (some may enjoy whump as a form of kink, while some may enjoy whump for reasons that aren’t sexual at all). for some, whumperflies are these tingling sensation in the chest and/or the stomach, for someone else, whumperflies is like when you ride a rollercoaster and the ride is going down from its highest stop. there's no wrong way to experience whumperflies, as different people describe and experience them differently.

so, yes, some people may enjoy whump just for the euphoria whumperflies bring. and some people — myself included — can’t get whumperflies unless the character that’s going through pain is their most favorite character; it’s like… because you love this character so much, you’re so connected to them, you're so emotionally invested in them that you can only get whumperflies if it’s them going through the torture, meanwhile other characters just don’t make you feel half as strongly.

and that’s explain why people in the whump community prefer their favorite characters to be the ones going through hell.

and again, just like how movies have different genres, whump is a genre — people who like whump aren’t “freaks” or “red flags” in real life, even if they like whump for reasons that aren’t about coping mechanism. whump is a genre and a form of art, and most importantly, whump is fiction. it’s not real.

I do understand why people who aren’t into whump tend to be confused by the concept of whump, and I do understand why these people think being a fan of a fictional character only means wanting said fictional character to be safe and happy, which is why whump is not for everybody, and that’s okay too.

the thing is there is no wrong way to be a fan of something that’s fictional, you can like this fictional character so much you want to see them cry and covered in blood for whatever reasons, and that’s okay. as long as you’re not hurting anybody in real life.

there’s nothing wrong or abnormal about people who enjoy whump, just like how there’s nothing wrong or abnormal about people who like horror movies. it’s fiction and it’s a form of art. and I believe everybody is allowed to express and enjoy their interests through art in whichever way they want, as long as they’re not harming anybody in real life.

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dark-and-kawaii · 1 day

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begging and pleading for more mean raphael 😭🙏🏻 the way you write is so ajahdhejdjsj i literally check your blog DAILY

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ The Devils Entertainment ˖⟡˚౨ৎ⋆

Summary: Raphael uses you like the eager pup you are, using you as a precious little cum dump. That’s all you’re good for anyway, to entertain him until he grows bored.

♡ Content: NSFW - Degrading - Used - Creampie - Mean Raphael

♡ Notes: Whaa!!! Thank you darling (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )!!!! I can’t believe you check my blog daily, like wow!!! I really hope this satisfies your mean Raphael needs!!!

Raphael fucks you raw until you’re begging, crying for him to cum inside you. Until your mind has completely blanked out. The man- the devil, always makes your body his own, his hands bruising your hips, your throat, your wrists as he manhandles you into the perfect position to pound your abused cunt, “You bend so easily, little pup. It’s almost dull.” He laughs low, his grip on your hip tightens as you sob his name, your arms barely keeping your chest off the ground.

Your body is sore and used, your mind exhausted, unable to do much more than feel the pleasure of his thick cock, his cum leaking from your swollen, aching cunt… “I barely exert any effort, and there you go, crumbling at the seams. It's like you were made to be broken. Pitty. I like when they can at least put up a decent fight.”

You whine when the devil pulls out, leaving your core empty so he can watch his seed spill from you. His voice is cruel as he chuckles, watching you intently, “So eager to fall apart. I wonder-“ he places his hand on his chin, “do you enjoy it? The descent, the collapse? It seems to come so naturally to you.”

You're not sure how to respond. You don't have the strength or mind to argue, not that he'd ever listen to anything you say anyway. Not that you mind being treated in such a manner…

He leans in close, his nose pressed to the shell of your ear, his breath hot, sending chills through your tired body, “Each time I think you've hit the bottom, you find a new way to disappoint me. It's an art form, really, your knack for disappointing me."

You don't have the strength to move. He grabs your chin and forces your head to the side, making you look at him, his lips against your skin, his words a dark, twisted promise, “You’re not worth my time I’m afraid, only good for one thing and that’s a hole for me to fill. But don’t worry, if you wish to get off little mouse, Haarlep will happily keep you company.”

You wanted to tell him no, that you’d do better, that you’d get him the crown and all would be well, that you worshiped him like some kind of god- like an archdevil, but the words wouldn’t come. And even if they did, would it matter? You know this is what your devil likes, tormenting you. Using you, breaking you... Watching as Haarlep his precious incubus fucks the almost ever living life out of you. Stroking his cock as you call out to him while impaled on Haarlep’s grossly thick cock.

This was your life now, a plaything for the devil and all you could do was nod with a lazy fucked out smile. Your body limp as Raphael lifts you up, tossing you on his bed near Haarlep’s lap, “do try to make this an entertaining performance, Haarlep.”

The incubus nods, lifting you into their lap, “Oh, little pet~” Haarlep moans, their hands roaming over your tired body.

Raphael chuckles, sitting on a plush chair across from the bed, a bottle of wine in hand as he watches the show.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #raphael bg3 #haarlep #baldurs gate #bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #raphael x tav #bg3 smut

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cupidskissx · 2 days

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do you blocked lando? 🤭

I really try to keep my blog specific to my ship but it’s gone too far so I’m answering this. Yes, I do, and I thank the filtering system every day!

@valyrfia summed up yesterday’s podium and why it’s struck such a nerve so impeccably!

Fans and the media let Lando get away with his immature behaviour and conniving attitude for a lot of reasons, but one that is glaringly apparent is because it’s often Max who bears the brunt of it.

Max, who has always been surrounded by people who have tried to belittle his success (the same people/media who never acknowledge, or excuse, Lando’s actions).

Max, who is too often the bigger person and will laugh it off.

Max, who was raised by a father who revelled in making him feel small, so he grew such a thick skin that when a “friend” disrespects him and makes snide comments he thinks it’s banter and how people show you they love you…

If you’re still defending Lando and his behaviour, or say things like “it’s not that serious” or “Max doesn’t mind” or “he’s different away from the cameras” I really hope you don’t treat people in your life the way Lando publicly treats Max.

#it doesn’t matter what he’s like away from the cameras #because he feels brazen and calculated enough to say how he really feels when they’re running #Feel free to screenshot and repost so the little LN army can spill hate and personal threats into my inbox again xx #ask L

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writing-mlm · 2 days

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Hiii, can we please have more college!damian x male reader? Like a scenario where damian loves to draw reader but reader doesn't know this? Maybe friends to lovers? Idk your pick. The artist and his muse type of thing. Also, i LIVE for soft damian on this blog ong.

Forever my Muse

Summary: Damian has his finals coming up and he wants you to join-- at least that's his excuse to get you into the art venue. An artist needs their muse and for some reason, most of Damian's drawings include you in, naturally, he could fill museums with drawings of you. Pairing: Damian Wayne x Male reader WC: 5.8k

Dust-covered fingers were always something you had associated with Damian. Graphite, charcoal, pastels— anything he used to draw or even paint would inevitably stain his hands. It wasn’t intentional, and neither were the fingerprints he left on your stuff, or the paint you could never remove from your favorite sweater, but that didn’t stop him from apologizing. From buying you cleaning products and a new sweater; never mind it has never been worn in the year you’ve had it, Damian felt terribly sorry whenever he felt he’d stained something of yours.

But never sorry enough to show you his drawings.

You’d ask, you’d beg, but he would never give in. He’d show you when he was done, sure. You’d see the finished still-life drawings of whatever object had been in the line of sight, the paintings he’d done of his pets whenever he missed them, and the random sketches he did to loosen his wrist. But, damn, sometimes you wanted to see an unfinished drawing that wasn’t a warm-up.

Even now, as the two of you are on the campus bus heading towards the music hall, he’s drawing. Sitting across from you on the bus, Damian easily adjusts himself to the movements of the bus as it jerks to a stop. He’s nice like that, you’ve never caught him off guard, he’s never fallen or stumbled in the time you’ve known him.

Studying him, you wonder if he’s naturally so agile. You’ve seen him in your dorm's gym, during all-nighters you can sometimes see him running around campus, and once you had caught him doing one of those athletic challenges for some guy's video. He won. Of course.

The bus comes to a complete stop and you look away, double-checking that it wasn’t your stop. It wasn’t. You knew that. But still. The need to check was far too great and you slipped back into a conversation with Damian. Only this time, you’re looking down at your phone to double-check the event and his eyes switch him his sketch to staring at you.

His eyes flicker between you and his drawing, erasing and adding lines where needed. He catches your eyes traveling up and he looks back down, working from memory as you start up a new conversation.

Eventually, the bus reaches your stop and he carefully closes his book; he always worries he’d smudge his art, while he follows you out of the bus.

It’s the end of the semester, ergo, it’s finals week. And for one of your music finals, everyone was to prepare a song and perform it. Truthfully, Damian doesn’t understand why you’d picked him to accompany you. He knows he’s not the best comfort, his demeanor often being the reason people don’t stick around too long.

But, you reassured him. Telling him that his presence was more than enough for you. Knowing that he was somewhere in the crowd calms you down more than you ever cared to admit.

The walk to the music hall isn’t short, but you can see the large building in the distance. The size is daunting on you as you see the crowd forming at the entrance. People aren’t allowed inside yet, but performers and their guests can head inside before anyone else.

“I’m nervous,” You admit, wiping your hands on your shirt. “What if I fail?” You mutter, your eyes desperately searching to find solace in his green eyes.

“You’ll do as you’ve always done,” He nods, looking ahead as you approach the building. “Exceptionally.” His sketchbook bumps

your folder of sheet music and you sigh through your nose, trying to calm down.

“I’m so gonna choke,” Seeing your reflection in the glass, you feel as if you’d forgotten everything you learned. Every lesson, every mistake you fixed and learned from, the late-night practice performances with your friends. The song you’d composed nearly slips from your mind as you see yourself, walking in that suit and tie you’d worn several years ago. All of it left your mind and you felt like a beginner again. What even was a solfège?

“I'm trained in CPR.” He opens the door for you and gently encourages you inside, his fingers grazing your back. “You weren’t nearly as nervous for your accounting finals.” He notes, falling back into step with you.

That’s another thing. Maybe that’s why you were so stressed. Double majoring was hellish. Twice the finals, quadruple the headaches.

“Those were tests,” You scowl, showing the security your campus ID. “I’m going to be performing a live concert in front of nearly a thousand people. I cannot fuck this up, Damian. This is going to be posted for everyone to watch, too,” You ramble on.

“Which you’ve done before, no?” He presses the elevator button and your heart hammers. You swear you’re going to pass out. He notices, of course, he does, and digs in his bag to find the fidget cube he keeps in there.

“I have, thank you,” Taking the cube, he nods. “It’s just… I don’t know. Tests suck.” Rolling your thumb along the metal ball on one side of the cube, you stare at the numbers as they slowly tick up to the third floor.

“That’s true,” He steps inside the elevator and you follow suit. “But you’ve made it thus far, you can go further.” He squeezes your shoulder and you see your teacher waiting at the door to the room, talking to a pair of students.

“I can,” You affirm, dipping your head down as you smile.

“You will.”

—

You’re fifth in line to perform, watching a singer, dancer, another other pianist, and an opera singer go on before you go on did absolutely jack shit to help you. As you’re announced, you step onto the stage and try your best not to accept that there were thousands of eyes on you. Instead, you smile and wave as you walk across that large stage. Desperately looking for Damian in the sea of people.

He’s in the front, right in front of where you could see when you glance up from the piano, you find out as you’re standing next to the piano seat.

Damian’s eyes don’t leave yours, making eye contact with you as you fiddle with the buttons of your coat. He motions for you to stop and then does a breathe in breathe out motion with the same hand. Nodding, you blink away from him and hold your hands behind your back. Focusing on your breathing, you listen to the teacher as you’re done being introduced.

The applause settles as you bow in, take a seat, and flip the page where your music sheet is. Slowly, you start. As a general music major, you weren’t restricted to just playing the piano. As emphasized by the microphone taped to your cheek.

You aren’t the strongest singer by any means, you’re good for singing in the shower or on drives but you doubt you’d actually make a career off of your voice. What you hope will carry you is the piano, as you press each key your eyes flicker to Damian. He’s attentive, a smile on his face as you perform.

Testing the waters, you glance at the people around him and they seem… pleased. Happy. Moved, even. You grin and return to staring at the sheet music. All of the notes flood back to you as you reach the last bit of the song, your eyes closing as your voice reaches a peak, holding a note. Then it’s just the piano, your voice echoing in everyone’s mind as the notes get slower and slower until you end it.

Applause fills the hall and you stand up, taking a bow. Standing there, even if only for a moment, you can’t imagine why you’d been so nervous.

Collecting your sheet music, you exit the stage and hand the mic to the stage tech before leaving.

When you’re nearing the exit, you spot Damian. Holding a bouquet of flowers.

“When did you have the time to get these?” You laugh as he hands them to you. His eyes merely twinkle, refusing to give up one of his many secrets. “Thank you, they’re dope.”

“You did it,” Damian reminds you as the two of you exit the building.

“I did! Ugh!” Grabbing his shoulder with your free hand, you give him a little shake. “Thank you so much, you’re honestly the best. Was it good?” Falling into step with him, Damian doesn’t bother to fix his shirt. It’s hardly even moved, but you know he was detail-oriented in stuff like that. Hell, he hates it when he messes with his clothes.

“It was mesmerizing.” He promises. “I do believe the woman behind me was crying.” Grinning, you stand at the bus stop, suddenly buzzing with excitement. Wanting to do it again, you start to imagine creating your own side business. Wedding musician, you can see it now.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” He avoids looking at you as he’s speaking. A rare occurrence on his part. But he does his best to look at you after building the courage. “I have an art showing next week. I understand the notice is short and you’re—“

“Send me the details.” You grin. His shoulders drop and he nods, clearly more relaxed. “I hope the attire is fancy. I got this fancy turtleneck I’ve been wanting to wear and slacks from my high school graduation just waiting to be worn!”

—

With all of your finals out of the way, you finally had time to start removing the items from your dorm. One by one you removed posters and trinkets scattered across your end of the room. Pack your clothes into boxes, and save for enough outfits to get you through your two weeks left on campus.

Damian was held up from finishing his art showing, unable to see you in person but he was more than happy with a Facetime call. With both your laptops placed in a space away from disturbing you, the two of you worked on your tasks.

“I do need to be at the showing two hours early,” He tells you as you’re dragging the anti-suicide chairs to the closet, trying to see the top shelf. “But I’ll have arrangements to bring you to the venue.”

“And my outfit is okay?” You ask, the chair wobbling as you stand on it. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. But hey, you’re not the one who installed a closet tall enough that only Shaq could see the top. “Because I can always swap out the turtle neck for a green button down— the silk one that Maddison made,” Always gave a fashion designer friend. She had used you as a model for me of her projects a couple of months ago and with your measurements being unique to you, let you have it after she’d gotten her grade.

“The button-down would be better suited,” He nods, leaning close to his painting before adding a tiny stroke. “The turtleneck is a little… on the nose.” Leaning back, he checks his reference picture before frowning. It goes away quickly as he picks up a bit of white and dabs it onto a dry brush.

“I was afraid it was,” You laugh, grabbing a first aid kit from the shelf. Listening to him lightly brush the paint over the canvas, you toss the kit onto the bed and grab what little items are scattered up there. “Holy shit! Do you remember when that frat dude lost his frat ring?”

“Unfortunately,” Damian glances at his screen, watching as you haphazardly get down from the chair. Nearly tripping, he wonders how you've made it this far in life without breaking a bone.

“I think I did take it! Look!” Showing the screen, Damian looks almost impressed as you hold up a fraternity ring. It’s a shiny gold, likely fake but engraved with the initials of the Frat house. The two of you remember the guy had been going around to every single campus building with a missing ring poster.

“What a thief,” He chides, setting his brush down and taking a physical step back from the painting. Harsh glares scan over brush strokes, ripping apart his painting bit by bit before he nods to himself. His glare morphs into a soft sort of gaze and he signs the back of it.

“Is that your final painting for the semester?” You ask, the ring forgotten about as it’s tossed in a box of trinkets and you’ve moved on to ordering food. Probably Panda Express. Or maybe Chipotle…. really it’s whatever is closer and cheaper.

“Hopefully,” He sighs through his nose, his paint box clicking shut. “I’ve been drawing and painting these past couple of days. My canvases take up an entire section of the art studio. I’m sure my professor cannot wait for them to dry and get glossed. Which I should probably start doing.”

“How does that taste?” Setting your phone down, Damian’s face goes sour as he looks at you. “Personally, I think the gloss would taste tarty.” You add. “Or maybe like the frosting for Toaster Strudel.” Picking your phone back up, you continue your order.

“Neither is correct.” He blinks. “It’s a toxin and filled with chemicals, it most likely tastes as good as acetone does, Hab—“ He pauses, and you look at him wondering what the issue is. “Habits of tasting chemicals shouldn’t be one you pick up.” He finishes his sentence with a bit of force.

“I just love chemicals. Violin resin is my favorite.” Making a comping noise Damian huffs. As you’re finishing up your order, you look at him. He’s halfway across campus and judging by the rack of canvases he wheeled over, he won’t be back until well into the night. Eh, it doesn’t hurt to ask. “I’m ordering some food, do you want something?”

“No, thank you, though.” He shakes his head. “I have food from the court in case I get hungry.” He quickly adds. Humming, you place the order and scan over your room. The only things that need to get packed are things you’re still using. Now it’s just a matter of organizing the boxes and bins so you can still move around your room.

“After the glossing, what’re you doing?”

“I have to write short summaries for each painting. No less than one hundred words,” He explains as he’s putting on a pair of latex gloves.

“So, a breeze?” He laughs and nods.

“I’m afraid I’ll go over the word limit,” He admits, sparing you a glance as you’re lugging a box to a corner of your room. “My paintings harbor a lot of my emotions and they’re far from short.”

“Real as fuck.”

—

On the day of his art exhibition, you spend extra time in the bathroom. Making sure your hair is neat, and presentable, fixing your outfit, making sure you don’t sink. Anything and everything you could check over, you did.

This nervous feeling was different from your pre-show nerves. Especially since you don’t even know why you’re nervous. Probably because you’d never actually gotten to see his paintings, at least the ones he was showing. He’d been ultra allusive about those, citing the exhibition would be the best place to view them. But even he was nervous and that’s a lot considering he’s Damian fucking Wayne.

He texted you two minutes ago saying that the car was going to arrive within the next ten minutes and you rushed out to the front of the dorms. No need to lock the door behind you, since your roommate was busy sleeping and would stay in there until you came back. Plucking at your shirt, you watch a sleek black car pull up in front of you, and Damian texts you that the car is there.

The ride is long, far too long for your liking anyway. But considering it’s in the middle of the city, it’s not unwarranted.

The art… museum? What should you call it? The space where the exhibition was being held was a well-known art gallery— that’s the word! The gallery was well respected, talked about within art circles, and incredibly high-brow. Thank fuck you didn’t go with that turtleneck.

There’s a woman in front of the gallery, greeting everyone who enters. She sees you and there’s a flash of recognition across her face.

“It’s great to finally meet Damian’s muse,” She smiles as she shakes your hand.

“His what?” You ask but Damian pulls you inside.

“How was the ride?” He asks, his eyes darting between his professor and you.

“Good but what did she mean?” You ask, looking around to see the other people around. Like your performance, it was open to the public and with Bruce Wayne’s son being in attendance, many people had showed up. Including his family. “Bruce Wayne is here?” Your head whips to Damian as you spot him in the crowd.

“He is my father…” He trails. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Fuck no!” You gasp. “The knowledge of his wealth is burying me as we speak— but this is about you,” Turning to him, you smile. “Where’s your paintings? Those don’t look like your style,” Eyes flicker across the paintings and you can’t see Damian’s strokes, his colors or his lighting in any of them. A sort of pride swells within him, knowing that you’ve looked— studied his art enough to know that the ones around you weren’t his.

“It has its own section,” He tells you, guiding you through groups of people and halls. “It’s going to be revealed in around half an hour. My professor insisted,” He stops at a section of the gallery covered by a curtain and two security guards. You never knew it was that serious, but damn.

“Mr Fancy. Why don’t you catch up with your family? I’ll look around?” In truth, you were going to the nearest bathroom and making sure you didn't look stupid.

“I’m more than certain they’d be more pleased if you accompanied me.” He shakes his head as you raise your eyebrows. “If that’s something you’d be comfortable with, of course.”

“Sure,” Once more, he guides you past people until he spots his father and brother talking in a corner.

“Father, Richard.” He calls as the two of you approach. “This is (Y/n).” Richard’s lips twitch as he fights back a smile, the smile only furthered curbed by his brother's glare.

“Hello,” Waving at the two men, they reach to shake your hand instead. Bruce has a firm grip, probably tighter than it really needed to be but Richard is more than welcoming. He’s more than excited to meet you, although you can’t imagine why.

“My other siblings are still in Gotham,” Damian explains, physically taking Dick’s hand from yours with a pointed look. “Although I’m surprised you didn’t bring Cassandra, father.”

“She’s here,” He shakes his head, glancing around for the mop of black hair. “In the bathroom, probably.”

“Is that her?” You ask, looking at the woman in the corner. She’s standing there, downing a glass of champagne before returning to a conversation with a man. She looks like how Damian had described her, although he downplayed how intimidating she seemed.

“Oh boy,” Dick huffs. “Let me go help her,” Excusing himself, you’re left with Damian and his father. The two of them talking with their eyes.

“So, Damian’s told me you’re a double major,” Bruce breaks the silence and their weird eye conversation. He talks about you? Glancing at Damian, he’s making a point to look anywhere but you. That’s sorta cute— totally not in a romantic way, totally.

“I am,” You nod, wishing a man with drinks would walk past you. “Accounting and a performing arts major.” He hums and there’s another beat of awkward silence.

“From what he tells me, you’re excelling at both. That’s incredibly hard. Do you have any job prospects lined up for when you graduate?” He asks and you shake your head.

“Not yet,” You admit, picking at your hands. “Since I'm not sure where I’d like to settle after I graduate it’s difficult finding places.” Bruce nods, quickly making sure Dick and Cassandra are okay.

“Well, if your grades continue to stay or improve, Wayne Enterprises is always looking for accountants, especially one so esteemed.” He smiles at you, that sort of small smile that makes you feel more relaxed in his presence. A fatherly smile.

“Yeah, praise from Damian is a lot.” Dick grins, leaning his weight on his younger brother. Cassandra agrees, leaning against the wall Bruce was standing in front of. “And he talks about you a ton!”

“That’s enough.” Damian huffs, pushing himself away from Dick who frowns. “Let’s look at some of the artwork,”

“You talk to your family about me?” You grin as he’s hauling you away from his family. He looks at you, clearly licking the inside of

his mouth before he blinks and gives one strong nod.

“Of course I do, it would be a shame to hide someone so talented.” He explains and then looks forward, his eyes swimming across the faces around him. “I do believe in your talents and my father is someone who can help them flourish; it would seem awfully cruel if I didn’t at least try.” You go to speak; to thank him but his attention is pulled away by the director of the show.

“It’s time!” She gleams, ushering the two of you after her.

There are already people gathered in front of his top secret exhibit, cameras and people wearing PRESS lanyards like the front and sides. Much like a moth drawn to a flame, they find Damian walking and try to hound him, only to be stopped by his family. They’re far more intimidating now but Damian pulls your attention from them and towards him.

The two of you are in front of the whole crowd, the two guards holding one piece of the curtain and waiting for a cue to open them.

“We welcome everyone to Damian Wayne’s very first art show,” The director says, her hand ghosting over his shoulder. He takes that as a sign to step forward, barely leaving your side as he explains his art.

“Through My Eyes is a collection of various pieces I’ve created over the course of two years,” He explains. “The music that accompanies the art are pieces composed by my muse.” His eyes find yours as the curtains are pulled aside and for the first time, you notice the way he looks at you. The way his eyes never seem to want to leave yours, how he takes you in the same way he takes in the art around him.

Then you hear it. More specifically you hear yourself.

You hear the piece you’d played during your final, hearing your voice fill the spaces where people aren’t talking. Each key, and each note floods your ears as you turn to see his art.

It’s you.

All of it. Each painting, each frame has something of you in it.

“Holy shit.” You breathe, moving to the closest one. It’s a painting of you, wearing clothes you’d only seen in shows like Merlin, holding onto a statue of an angel. It’s almost impossible to not know where the inspiration had come from. After convincing Damian to go exploring with you and some friends, you’d come across a newly abandoned church with a large angel statue. On a dare, you pretended to dance with it.

Sure, you’d seen the picture before but it was nothing compared to the painting. It looked amazing, you had never looked better. Your features were captured in the best way possible, you’d been posed in a way that made it seem as if you were guiding the angel in a dance.

The description catches your eye next.

One Last Dance wasn’t the first drawing of Muse, but it was the first drawing of him that I truly loved. He’d resparked a passion for painting for me. The painting had been on my mind for two weeks before I finally started to work on it, having it become my only focus for the two days that I worked on it became the norm for the next two years of my life.

Muse doesn’t personally care for the Renaissance era, but it seemed fitting for such a painting. The feeling of dressing Muse in modern clothes didn’t ruin the drawing but it didn’t make sense, in my head their dance is accompanied by the sounds of the wings and their feet gliding across the floor. Just outside is probably a mob, unbelievable of a true angel. Muse would probably say that he was dancing to the sounds of Sleep Token and outside was a bunch of ‘angel fuckers’, but who knows.

D.W

The next painting was smaller than the first, but it’s a close-up of your face. Your eyes are wide and you’re desperately pulling at your eyelids as a light twinkles inside of it.

Blinding Gaze came about when Muse had gone to the eye doctor, fearing he was going blind. Turns out he was just extremely stressed to the point of temporary blindness. When we spoke about it, he joked that he was developing powers from that time he drank a sports drink mixed with a crushed-up Tylenol and he could shoot lasers from his eyes. While Blinding Gaze doesn’t follow his original plan of lasers, I imagine developing eye lights could be frightening.

Blinding Gaze isn’t body horror, although I had intended it to be but I couldn’t bring myself to put Muse into that position. Even if it was completely fake. I did eventually remake the painting how I truly envisioned it, but I still prefer my Muse to the remake.

Drifting to the next painting, you see yourself, dressed in your favorite smudged hoodie, dancing amongst the crowd. The people are drowned out in the colors of the background, nearly blending in meanwhile you’re ever so present. The light shone down on you in a way that made you seem like the main character in some movie, all eyes meant to be on you.

A Night To Remember was undoubtedly one of the best moments of college thus far. Muse had been invited to a friend's party and insisted I come instead of remaining in the art room, drowning myself in oils and pastels. Although I’ve put his words in a more friendly manner. I hadn’t wanted to go, the noises and being pressed against unfamiliar faces was hardly something I ever enjoyed. But for Muse, I’d do anything he’d asked of me.

Glued to him for the night, I found myself unreasonably drawn to him. I do not remember the song, in truth, I don’t remember much from that night aside from him. The way he danced, how he looked at me. How he looked in the room. I resented not bringing my sketchbook, but I would’ve been more out of place than I originally had been.

Smoothening your shirt, you take a nervous glance around you. You’re unsure about how you feel, it’s a lot. You’ve never truly thought about Damian in such a light before, at least not to your knowledge. Sure, you’ve written compositions about him and sure, if you read between the lines in some songs they’re definitely about him. You and Him.

Perhaps, without realizing it, you had made him your muse just as he had made you his.

“I want you to see this one,” Damian says as he walks up behind you, finally free of people asking him questions. The music loops as he does and you count that there’s five songs on the set playlist. Each and every song was one you had created. Your song from the previous week plays again as you stare at him, smiling.

“I’m your muse?” You softly ask, unable to remove yourself from the spot until you have gotten your words out. Damian dips his head down for a moment and wipes his nose. “You’re nervous,” The small tease makes his eyes roll and he clears his throat, the red settling from his tanned ears.

“I want you to see this one,” He repeats and grabs your hand, gently guiding you past the people surrounding the room. They look at the two of you, watching as you walk up to a large painting in the center of the room. Clearly a last-minute addition but it seemed to be the focus.

“Woah,” Is all you can say when you see the painting of you during your final. It’s painted in the same style as your favorite art era. The romantic era where colors were soft, even if they were dark. The painting itself had you in the center, a sea of people at the bottom and the. There was a ghostly figure of yourself, dancing across the stage leaving streaks of yourself at the top. The floor of the stage was covered in candles.

“How long did this take you?” You ask, eyes darting between details and finding new ones each time you look.

“Two days,” He shrugs. Slowly, you look at him and he looks back at you, confused. “I couldn’t sleep until I finished the painting. The way you looked during your final.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “It’s truly beautiful— you’re truly beautiful,” He adds, looking at you.

“When you paint me like that I definitely am,” You laugh, looking back at the painting.

“I only painted you through my lens. Perhaps your eyes aren’t as good as you think they are because the paintings truly do not live up to their references. You’re captivating and the way you’ve consumed my thoughts is honestly intoxicating.” His eyes twinkle as you look at each other. You don’t know what to say, honestly. You can stroke your ego a little, you could crack a joke, or you could bear yourself completely to him. But definitely not in a room filled with people.

“Ah,” Dick breaks the silence. “You know he used to be a junior poet?” Grumbling, Damian looks over at Richard as he’s staring at the painting, sipping sparkling champagne from a flute glass while holding a cracker with cheese and jelly. Gross. Probably, you’ve never had it before.

“I do believe I asked for a moment alone,” Damian gives a half-snarky grin and Dick shrugs.

“A whole lotta people here, doubt you’d be alone.” With a sweeping motion, he gestures to the crowd around you. It’s not elbow-to-elbow crowded but you can hear at least seven conversations happening around you.

“I suppose you’re correct,” He nods, following his brother's line of thinking. “Fresh air?” He asks you and you nod.

There’s a park in front of the exhibit and it’s mostly empty, save for two kids and their parents but they’re clearly about to leave. Damian heads towards the benches but you pull him to the swings. There are three but one of them is tossed over the bar and you don’t feel like fixing it.

Sitting with your back to the exhibit, you look over the trees and the playground. The sandpit with someone’s lost doll sitting down, a bucket behind it.

“What did you think?” He spoke up after a minute had passed. The entire time he watched as you gently rocked back and forth on the swings, tempting yourself to actually swing.

“You’re amazingly talented,” You hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “Although, I already knew that. You’re like Michelangelo with everything you pick up.” Glancing at him, you smile when you see his hands. “You still haven’t cleaned the charcoal from your nails.”

“No,” He blinks, his eyes staying closed for a beat longer than a blink. “Not of my skill level, (Y/n). Of the drawings. That you’re Muse.” He looks down at his fingertips and starts to pick at the bits of charcoal. “That you’re my muse.”

Softly you sigh before looking back to the trees.

“What is there to think about? You’re my muse, I'm yours.”

“You’ve written songs about me?” He asks and you sheepishly nod, refusing to look at him. “Which? If you don’t mind me asking,”

“Birds of a feather, I wanna be yours, and Golden hour. There’s more but they’re too embarrassing to admit,” Hearing him take a deep breath, you pick at your fingernails and slowly stop swinging.

“What now?” You ask, finally looking at him. He shrugs and starts to slowly swing. He thinks for a moment before he checks his phone.

“When are you free? I can make reservations to—“

“Applebees or Red Lobster,” You cut him off and he looks at you, confused. “Applebees is once every so often, birthdays or celebrations. But Red Lobster? That’s graduation or date.”

“You could’ve gone for a five-star restaurant, you know that, right?” He laughs and you shrug.

“I heard they’re pretty shit. And I want to fuck up a seafood boil. Oh wait,” Blinking, you try to remember the Red Lobster menu. “Never mind, I don’t think they have vegetarian options. We could do Olive Garden or whatever vegetarian places you like. I’m not picky,”

“And I am?” He teases and you roll your eyes. “Friday, at five. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to Olive Garden. And then to the movies to watch that new horror movie you’ve been wanting to watch.”

“That sounds perfect,” You nod and nudge your swing into his.

“Can I admit something?” He slowly asks. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward but…” Watching as he licks his lip, you stop swinging. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes.” You nod. Trying not to seem too eager, the both of you stand up and you watch as he raises his hands to cup your face. His fingers are warm, gliding across your skin as you hook one arm around his waist while the other holds his shoulder. “Do you want to lead?” You whisper as he looks at you, unmoving. His eyes dart down to your lips and he nods before closing the distance.

His hands drag a little down your face, his pinks curving under your jaw before moving up into your hair. Slowly the kiss breaks and he dips back down for one quick kiss.

“He’s been waiting months to do that,” Dick announces and Damian groans. You snicker and look behind Damian. Dick isn’t even looking, looking off into the distance before he’s sure that you’re done kissing before looking at the two of you.

“Must he ruin everything?” He whispers to you before facing his brother. “I understand you have no concept of privacy, but this warrants that.” Dick frowns at the rudeness before he shrugs and points his thumb towards the venue.

“They’re asking for you, thought I should come and get you before they spot you.” He explains through a sigh. “Would hate for our little demon’s kiss to end up on the front page. But, yeah,” He sighs and looks over at you. He stares at your face for a moment before he chuckles.

“Take him to the bathroom, you got dust on his face.”

“It’s charcoal.”

#x male reader #x reader #damian wayne x male reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you

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mabelstone · 1 day

Text

Common Tongue

hozier x f!reader

part five of lullabies <3 | part four | masterlist

cw: 18+, oral sex, a lot of this is sex ok u should know me by now, the word 'balls', not much plot tbh

word count: 4.1k

taglist: @princezty @somethinglikero @jimihendrixpopfigure @the-imperfectgirl-blog @l1nd3n @yunonaneko xo

I woke in the delicious warmth of Andrew’s arms, his soft breaths against my neck sending a chill down my spine. I gently nuzzled into his touch, his arms autonomously holding me tighter. For the next week and a half, this was my morning routine. Also part of the morning routine was the part where I would slip out of his grip as gently as possible when I was on the verge of weeing myself.

I’d slip back into bed, entranced by the way sleep drenched breaths swam through the small parting of his lips. The way his muddy greens danced under his eyelids as he dreamt, and the way his thick lashes swept along his high cheekbones made it near impossible for me to look away.

We danced around the fine line of being lovers, friends, and fuck buddies, not even entertaining the thought of defining what we were. I knew it was all probably moving too fast considering I’d just gotten out of a relationship. Not that I really cared - Andy had a way of numbing me. Numbing the heartbreak in a way that I didn’t even have to acknowledge it. He made me feel happy and sexy and loved, if that’s what you’d call it.

Like he could feel it, he’d wake to me watching him, causing me to blush profusely and apologise. He’d either pull me in and kiss my neck and forehead, or remind me with a grin, “staring is rude, y’know,” in his deep, groggy morning voice. It was rare to catch him watching me sleep as I was the early riser of the two of us. But during the day, I’d swear I was his favourite sight. Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

This past week also consisted of numerous phone calls to Andy, all from producers begging to sign him to their labels. I was so ecstatic for him, but of course, he was overtly humble as always. After doing his research and attending a few meetings, he decided to go with Rubyworks.

“Andy!” I threw myself into his arms excitedly, squeezing him so hard, I thought he might implode. “I’m so proud of you… we have to celebrate!”

“I’dunno, baby…” he sighed, raking his hands through the back of my hair while I melted into his touch. “This all might blow up in my face yet.”

“Don’t talk rubbish!” I scolded him, peeling my face away with my arms still around him so he could see me frown. “And you deserve to be celebrated. And we have no plans for dinner. Please?”

“Because you’ve twisted my arm,” he gave in, bending down slightly to capture my lips in his. As if I had any control at this point, I autonomously kissed him back, a squeak leaving me when he effortlessly picked me up and sat me on his kitchen island.

He deepened the kiss, one of his hands squeezing my thigh, the other tangled in my hair. I sighed against him, my hands skating across his abdomen. His tongue slipped into my mouth, forcing me to swallow a grunt of his. Both of his hands now slipped up my thighs, stopping just at the crease of my hip with a firm squeeze.

“You’d better stop,” he warned, pupils blown.

“Or what?” I teased, hands now gripping his biceps. Fuck dinner. I’ll give him something better to eat.

“You’ll see later,” he promised with a kiss to my temple, sliding his hands off me. “Let’s get ready now, or it’ll be impossible to drag me out of this house.”

“Fine,” I sighed in faux disappointment, hopping off the table and dragging him behind me by his hand.

I put on my favourite dress; a flowy black number with a corset like top that did me lots of favours in the breast department. I wore some simple three inch heels, sheer black stockings, and a faux leather coat. My hair was slicked back into a wavy ponytail, complimented by some chunky gold jewellery to break up all the darks I had on. I wore Andrew's favourite perfume of mine, Jimmy Choo's Eau De Parfum. I'd always had an illustrious love for fashion, but oftentimes Joe had an issue with my style. Not Andy, though. His jaw just about hit the floor and he looked as if he were close to calling off our plans and just taking me to bed instead. Not that I would have protested... but no, tonight was about him.

He looked edible in a black button up and brown jacket, with those white converse's that were basically fused to his feet at this point. He trimmed his beard down and has doused himself in Tam Dao by Diptique, and when I say he smelt divine, I mean, I considered calling off our plans as well.

At first, we found ourselves in a cheesy karaoke bar that was walking distance from his house. We threw back a couple shots, laughing and cheering on both the good and… not so good performances. Andy always said that despite the voice he was gifted with, he hated singing karaoke. I eventually convinced him to duet Islands in the Stream with me. It was the most fun I’d ever had. He then gave his own rendition of Sex Bomb, and I hate to admit it, but it did something to me. We snacked on shitty street food as we passed through the weekend markets, enjoying our tipsy people watching.

After that, we found a dim lit bar in the west end with live music and cheap drinks for happy hour. We caught a taxi and walked hand in hand from the car to our booth. For once, I loved having everyone's eyes on us. I wanted everyone to see us together, though we weren't really together.

The combination of the sultry jazz band in the background mingling with the effects of too much alcohol too fast had me sliding my foot up his leg, getting a high from watching his eyes darken as he squirmed. He gave me a warning look, to which I innocently sipped at my drink and averted my head to the band, gently applying pressure to his crotch. I felt his hand grip my ankle, and when I thought he'd move me away, he ran his hands up my leg instead, stopping only when he reached my knee. I turned my head back to him quickly, my core growing hot at the feeling. He looked gorgeous, curls framing his face, his eyes fixed on me as if I were the most interesting thing in the room.

His stare challenged mine, almost daring me to keep going. The look in his eyes screamed, "see what will happen," and I have never been one to turn down a dare.

Drunkenly, I slid my finger around the rim of my glass, bringing the salt to my lips as I sucked my finger clean, making effort to show my tongue at first. I pushed it in far deeper than necessary, almost able to hear the way his breath hitched in his throat. His grip on my ankle tightened, and I applied a bit more pressure with my heel.

"I swear to God, I will throw you into a cab right now," his eyes were hooded and narrowed in on me. It felt like a stand off between a predator and prey, despite feeling nothing but safety in his presence.

"You wanna take me home, big boy?" I teased, relishing in the way his cheeks flushed when I used the ridiculous pet name. He loved a good double entendre. Well, triple entendre, really.

I reached across the table to grab his hands, running my thumb over his knuckles. Despite the often heated nature of our exchanges recently, I'd never felt more loved. Maybe that was the wrong word, it was too soon. I'd never felt more secure.

He abruptly got up from the booth, dragging me to the dance floor with him. I laughed wildly, the alcohol buzzing through both of our veins like a freight train. “You hate dancing!”

“I know!” He shouted back over the music, pulling me in close to him by my waist. “But you’re beautiful and you’ve been force feeding me whiskey.”

“Hardly force feeding,” I scoffed, slapping his arm playfully. We swayed to a cover of I’d Rather Go Blind by Etta James, giggling uncontrollably at how uncoordinated we both were. It didn’t matter, it felt good.

Then there was the feeling of someone bumping into me hard, followed by the cold of a drink soaking the back of my legs. I gasped, pushing myself further into Andy to get away from the feeling.

“Sorry,” the woman spoke with no sign of remorse in her tone or expression. Andy was quick to grab a handful of napkins from the table beside us, wiping me down as I blushed embarrassedly. I was sure I was hallucinating when I looked up and saw Joe smirking. Fucking loser.

“Andy,” I pulled him up by his coat from where he was wiping me down. “Let’s go.”

“It’s okay, darlin’, you can’t even tell-“

“No, Joe is here. Let’s leave, please.” I felt hot and nauseous immediately, the glint in his eye from across the room all too familiar. He was going to make me pay for leaving him.

Andrew’s expression turned unreadable, yet he still nodded and stayed close behind me as I quickly fled the bar. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I nodded, acutely aware of how dry my throat felt. “He’s just unpredictable, I’d rather not deal with him tonight. Or, ever for that matter.”

He just hummed in response, lacing his fingers with mine. He pulled out his phone to order us an Uber. I tried to protest, insisting that we hadn’t celebrated him enough. He shushed me with a kiss, reassuring me that tonight was wonderful and he was grateful. I leaned into his body while we waited in the cold, his arm around my shoulder as we watched the traffic pass us by.

“So you are with him?” Joe scoffed, seeming to appear out of thin air. I startled at his voice, scolding myself internally for peeling away from Andy so quickly. “And you couldn't fuckin' wait for the chance to steal her, could you?"

“We aren’t together,” I quickly interjected, ignoring the way Andy’s face faltered at my clarification. “And even if I was, we are over. It’s over. Don’t you understand?”

“I understand that you can’t keep your legs shut.”

I was taken aback by his comment, unable to think of a snarky reply as my cheeks warmed and my jaw slackened.

"That's no way to speak to a woman, show some fuckin' respect," Andrew growled, stepping closer to my ex, absolutely towering over him. Joe tried to get in his face, both of them puffing their chests out like two pigeons. It was kind of sexy. Is that horrible to say?

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" Joe bit back, grabbing a fistful of Andrew's shirt.

"Stop!" I shrieked, grabbing Andrews' wrist, trying my hardest to get him away from Joe. "I want to go home."

"Home?" Joe seethed through gritted teeth, his face red as a traffic light.

Andrew shoved Joe back, sending him stumbling, barely finding his footing.

"Andy, I want to go home," my voice was fragile as I tugged on his wrist once more, his expression immediately softening when he saw tears in my eyes. He took my hand in his, leading me away as he checked to see if Joe was hanging around. Looks like the security guard saw him, thankfully.

The Uber rolled up two minutes later and I couldn't have climbed in any quicker. I was beyond grateful to be in a warm car rather than out in the cold with Joe.

"That was fuckin' scary," I huffed, throwing my head back against the headrest.

"I'm sorry," he cooed with a gentle hand threading through my hair. "I shouldn't have said anything to him."

"That was not your fault," I assured him, turning to look at those big, doe eyes that were starting to make me weak.

He gave me a half hearted smile and sat in silence for the rest of the drive. I wondered what he was thinking, but felt it was probably best to just let him feel how he needed to. When we got home, we thanked the driver and walked into Andrews house in silence.

"Are you okay?" I asked gently, standing by as he shucked his coat.

"Yeah," he sighed with a shake of his head, though it wasn't convincing in the slightest.

"Did I do something? Or, say something?" I prodded further, softly taking his hand so he'd look at me.

"Really, it's no big deal," he gave me a half hearted smile, squeezing my hand once before heading for the stairs. "I'm gonna go shower."

I watched as he walked away, wracking my brain for anything that could have happened. Surely seeing Joe didn't upset him.

Then I remembered how fast I was to reassure my ex that Andy and I weren't exclusive. Fuck. I planned out my approach in my head for a while so I didn't dig the knife in deeper.

When I made it to his room, he was in his closet with dampened curls and a towel around his waist, looking for clothes, I presume. I knocked softly to let him know I was at the door.

"Andy?"

He hummed in response, turning only his head to me.

"Is it because I said we aren't together?"

He huffed some half witted laugh, almost as if he were embarrassed.

I walked closer to him, taking his hand into mine. "Well we aren't officially together, Andy." I sighed. "But I guess we kind of are together, aren't we?"

That caught his eye.

"And," I continued, "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather be with right now." I took his face into my hands, pulling him close as I softly kissed him. His mouth was much warmer than mine and he smelt so fresh and delicious.

Each time we kissed, something deep inside of me sparked like a flint and steel. The near palpable electricity of that spark conducted its way through my lips straight to his. We found a steady rhythm that was soon forgotten, replaced by tongue and teeth, desperate for more. Without breaking contact, we staggered back onto the bed, only the cotton of his towel and the nylon of my stockings keeping our bodies separated. My hands tugged at his soft auburn curls, eliciting encouraging hymns of appraisal that I wished I could devour. His hands dug into my hips harder than he ever had. Not hard enough to hurt me, but hard enough to let me know he wanted me just as bad as I did him.

I moved my mouth to his neck, sucking at his delicate skin, feeling his pulse against my lips. He shuddered and gasped, desperately trying to grind my body against his. The sinful noises he made only made me crave him more, only made me yearn for his beautiful rhapsodies. To hear them alone, without the deafening ring of my own pleasure in my ears, to hear them without my own pants and sighs overwhelming his. Just him, all of him.

"Andy, I really want to suck your cock," I blurted, pulling away to look at him through drooped eyelids. "May I please?"

"Good manners," he joked, his eyes even more lidded than my own. "Of course, baby." He pulled me in for another kiss, his tongue gliding against mine as I let a hand trail down his stomach and underneath his towel. I felt him twitch in my hand as I started to stroke him, his groans reverberating in my mouth.

I had never wanted to knob somebody off so bad. I always hated it with whoever else I was sleeping with. There was something about Andy. He was such a giver that it felt wrong not to give him something back. Like I'd be missing out on a sacred experience if I didn't do it right now. There was no part of me that didn't get pleasure out of pleasuring him.

I pulled my lips from his, sliding down between his legs. I kissed from his jaw to his collarbones, to his chest and then his stomach, watching goosebumps form along his creamy skin, his calloused hands skating along my forearms.

I finally freed him from the towel, watching his cock jump against his happy trail. I took him into my hand, pumping his length a few times to see his facial expression change. My God, was it the most divine sight. Unable to hold off any longer, I licked a flat stripe over his tip, his precum dancing on my tongue.

"Fuck," he practically gasped, gently grabbing the back of my head.

I slowly wrapped my lips around his tip using one of my hands to guide him into my mouth. Without taking his eyes off me, he reached behind his head for a pillow, staring at me like he might die if he looked away. I didn't dare take my eyes off his.

I slowly took more of him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around him as I did so. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, borrowing a whimper from my mouth working around him. I pulled off briefly to blink up at him, "tell me how you like it, please."

He whimpered some response, nodding desperately. I put my mouth on him again, looking up for further instruction.

"Stick your tongue out a little," he breathed, the faintest of smiles on his face. "Good, now start movin', baby."

I nodded best I could with my mouth full, bobbing my head at a steady rhythm. I looked up at him through my lashes, my stomach flipping at the sight before me.

"Gooood girl," he praised me, freeing one of his hands from my hair to brush his thumb over my cheek. "Can you go a little faster, angel?"

I hummed in agreement, moving my head along his length faster, keeping my tongue out along the base the way he liked, making sure to hollow my cheeks the best I could. Not that there was much room for that. I moved one hand to steady myself against his thigh, the other slipping down to massage his balls.

"Jesus Christ," he moaned, throwing his head back. "Yeah, that's it. Just like that." My stomach flipped, my core on the verge of boiling over. I swear I could get off on the sight and sounds of him alone.

I took him as deep as I could, fighting off the urge to gag as he repeatedly hit the back of my throat. My jaw was aching and tears were threatening to fall from my eyes, but I was determined. I could tell he was close by the unsteady rhythm of his breathing.

He gave my hair a firm tug, a warning, almost as if to give me the option to pull off. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum if you keep going."

I hummed in acknowledgement, no shred of intention to stop in my body.

"Where, baby?" He breathed, the muscles in his stomach beginning to tense. I traced a few shapes with my tongue as a form of communication, my way of showing him where, looking up at him. "Christ, Y/N," he groaned, spilling hot ribbons onto my tongue, his hips stuttering beneath me. I kept my mouth on him as he rode out his high, his face contorted in ecstasy, brows furrowed, mouth agape as his euphonious appraisals slipped from it.

I pulled off, my lips swollen and red, mascara no doubt running down my cheeks, and now uncomfortably horny.

Like he could read my mind, he sat up pulled me into his lap, now kissing my neck. His beard scratched across my collarbones in the most tantalising way, his hands working quickly to unzip my dress. He did so with ease, slipping the material off my shoulders where it pooled in our laps.

"You are perfect," he sighed against my skin, kissing me hard as he palmed one of my breasts. I whimpered against him, my hands in his hair as he buried his face in my chest. One of his hands cradled the bottom of my skull, the other guiding my breast to his mouth as he flicked his tongue across my nipple.

"Andy," I whined, pure need unmistakable in my tone. "Mmh, need you, baby."

He flipped me onto my back without warning, sliding down the bed between my thighs. His eyes were hungry, almost primal. Despite his release only moments prior, he had determination written all over his face as he buried his face between my thighs, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses through my stockings. "Please, I need you now. Please, please," my voice was whinier than I'd ever heard it, so much so I almost didn't recognise it.

My dress was still bunched around my waist, but he didn't seem too inconvenienced. My stockings, however, had no chance of surviving this one. In one fluid movement, he ripped through the crotch of my stockings, tearing them thigh to thigh. I gasped, my stomach flipping at the gesture. He pulled my knickers to the side, sliding his tongue over my clit without warning. Instantly, my back was arching autonomously, my head already thrown back against the mattress.

His tongue flitted against me with expert precision, switching between sucking and licking. "Tell me how you like it," he spoke against me, the vibrations from his voice combined with his soft lips against the most sensitive part of my body making my head go fuzzy. I couldn't even respond, only able to fumble around for his hand.

He slipped two fingers in with ease and I nearly screamed in pleasure. Lewd, wet noises filled the room, my whines and moans somehow even louder than the physical proof of my arousal. His deft fingers worked me to the fastest orgasm known to man, hitting my g-spot with each thrust, his tongue signing love letters onto my clit.

I chanted his name like a mantra, desperately clinging to the bedsheets beneath me as I completely lost myself under his touch. The most incredible feeling ever ripped through my every nerve ending, every fibre, every atom of my being. I shook uncontrollably beneath him, toes curled, eyes screwed shut as I made noises nobody else had ever torn from me. This must be what heaven feels like.

I finally came back down to Earth, panting like I'd ran a marathon. Andy wiped his mouth on the towel, the most satisfied grin I'd ever seen plastered to his face.

"Andy, I-" I stammered, genuinely lost for words as I laid my head on his chest. "I owe you the world. What do you want? Whatever it is, it's yours."

"Are you kiddin' me?" He laughed exasperatedly, kissing my forehead. "I should be givin' you the world. That was the closest to a religious experience I've ever had."

"You'd better write a song about this," I half joked, shimmying my dress off finally.

"Way ahead of ya', darlin'," he sighed in content. "I need to do that more."

"You ruined my stockings, Andy," I sighed in faux disappointment, "but that might have been the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

Then he was back to his shy self, a bashful grin on his face that he covered with his arm, leaving my heart to soar within my chest.

Fuck. I was catching proper feelings. Like... proper. Like, L-Word feelings. The realisation hit me like a tonne of bricks. Andy was to go and record some songs next week. What if he didn't feel the same? What if he got really famous and left me behind? Was I just sex? Was he just a rebound? It all has really moved fast, I shouldn't be getting attached...

"I'm gonna shower," I smiled politely, excusing myself before he had a chance to say anything.

A million thoughts raced through my mind at once. Was I trying to sabotage this for myself? It felt nice to be clean, a nice reset. The water defrosted me, made me feel centred again. I dried off and slipped into one of his hoodies.

"I need to tell you something," I blurted, unable to stop the words from coming out as I walked back into his room.

i did some googling and there might be some confusion (or maybe not, but just in case) when i say stockings i mean toe to hip tights/hosiery. i'm australian lol i apologise if some things don't make sense... i don't like the word hosiery ok

#andrew hozier byrne #hozier #hozier x reader #andrew hozier #hozier smut

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