#just a short lil thing

[unicyclehippo]

one word prompt: falling

‘hey, bea?’

ava talks at night. you learned this fact while sharing a bed with her, night after night, tucked up in a bed that had been exaggeratedly labelled a double. wrist to wrist, shoulder to shoulder (ashes to ashes). on some nights, when ava was feeling lonely or mean, she would hook her ankle around yours too. or wriggle, making frustrated breathy noises, onto her side like a fish on the sand, and throw an arm across your waist and her face right into the curve of your neck. and then she would talk.

(you can feel her lips against your neck when you concentrate. you have been filling your mind with other, better, safer things instead. like how many hours it’s been since you left switzerland. like miguel being michael being doctor salvius’s son. like how many hours it has been since you prayed, since you emptied out the vessel of your heart and mind, entrusting it’s contents to God. it has been twenty-three days, four hours since my last confession, you think, and stop precisely there.)

‘bea?’

‘i’m here.’

‘how’s your leg?’

you hum. flex the muscles carefully working up from ankle—twinge—calf, knee, thigh. your thigh hurts in a dull way you recognise. it was the strike that staggered you, numbed your leg to the point where it couldn’t bear weight. it would be bruised for a long time but shouldn’t cause you any trouble.

‘much better. and yours?’

in the dark, you can’t see the way she kicks out with both legs but you feel it, the way the bed shakes and the sheets pull and give way, messily. she kicks again and the cool air from the air-conditioning floods beneath the sheets, now fully untucked. her heels thud back down to the mattress. the sheets settle more slowly, falling around your limbs.

‘ava!’

‘gotta test them. all good again.’

‘you’re worried,’ you say, because that was another thing you learned in switzerland. anything you say to each other in the dark can be forgiven. anything you say in the dark is only as real as you want it to be come morning. ‘about the halo. about being paralyzed again.’

‘yeah. and a lot more than that.’

it’s not a perfect darkness. when you turn your head, her profile is outlined by the glow of the balcony lights. anything you say in the dark is forgotten, forgiven. what about what you might do? you reach out. touch two fingers to her forehead. she gasps. doesn’t move as you follow the light, the path laid out in front of you. you chart her forehead, dip at the bridge of her nose. such a light touch. she doesn’t move. when you reach the tip of her nose, she scrunches it just to make you smile. you’re still smiling as your fingers drop to her lips.

ava breathes out. hot air against your fingers. you trip over her top lip, lightly graze the bottom, and when you make it to her chin you’re breathing like you ran a marathon.

‘bea,’

‘i would stay,’ you tell her. ‘if it went out. if you wanted me to. maybe,’ you say, because you can be mean too, ‘even if you didn’t want me to.’

[omniscientwreck]

hiiiiiiiiiii, maybe number 8 with shadowgast 👀

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii okie! 8 is something about gently kissing another's hand so here you gooooooooo hope you like it!

It is sunset on the beaches of Nicodranas. Caleb can still hear the echoes of Jester and Fjord rallying their children, making a game out of marching them to bed. A warm embrace pulls him in and he cracks a smile. He knows his skin folds differently than it used to, lines of concentration carved into his brow alongside smile and laugh lines he'd long given up on accumulating.

Essek wraps his arms around one of Caleb's and rests his head gently on his shoulder. "The sky is beautiful tonight." He says quietly, and it is. The colours of them, a fierce firey orange giving way to gentle purple painted across the sky.

Essek nods, pulling in closer, "It is, it's silly but I will never grow tired of finding us in nature. Those flowers Caduceus has, the sky, bugs and birds." Caleb's smile widens and he gently takes a perfectly manicured, soft slender hand in his own rough mitt.

"It's not silly Schatz, it's us." He says quietly, shivering lightly as the sun dips below the horizon.

Caleb gets colder more easily now and Essek, acutely aware of that squeezes his hand, "Would you like to head home mein liebe?"

Even though he's had years of practice, the beautiful Xhorhassian lilt never leaves Essek's Zemnian much to his dismay and Caleb's delight. Caleb brings their hands up, his liver spots contrasting starkly against an unmarred canvas. He opens Essek's palm, pressing a kiss into the lines that a fortune teller once told them meant they had a happy life ahead. The skin warms his lips and he smiles into his husband's palm. "Not just yet, it's not quite time."

[chongoblog]

i took a break from making mashups to rejuvenate and the fact this is the first thing i did speaks volumes

[clouvu]

I love them your honor

[heartbreak-sandwich]

Because I can't stop thinking about Billy eating you out on the hood of his Camaro at Lover's Lake in the middle of the night when no one else is around (thanks Billy anon 🫠) NSFW incoming ~

Billy was shocked that you didn't have to sneak out your window or side door with how late it was. He picked you up at your front door with the porch light still on, and the look on his face when he laid eyes on you said it all. The two of you sped straight toward Lover's Lake...

The sound of your heavy panting drowned out the crickets and the frogs and harmonized perfectly with the soft humming of the radio inside Billy's Camaro.

The car's hood was only slightly chilly against your exposed skin, just barely resting on it now as Billy's warm, veined hands pressed your thighs back further, your knees bent against your chest, hips spread open wide for his ease of access.

You were overcome with every sensation as Billy pushed you closer and closer to the edge of cumming all over his velvet tongue. He licked, and sucked, and growled softly at the taste of you, only taking a break once to smirk up at you, your slick shining in the moonlight as it dripped down his chin.

"You're making a real mess, you know that? One more drip on the hood of this car, and we just might have a problem."

You whimpered softly at his husky words which hung in the air and sprinkled down around you like golden confetti as he dove back in, quickening the pace of his tongue against your swollen clit.

We just might have a problem.

You didn't know what that meant, but you were sure it would be be succulent torture for you, and you wanted it more than anything in that moment. Feeling your stomach tighten, you tangled your fingers into Billy's curls, pushing him further into your desperate pussy, grinding your hips into his tongue over and over again until you couldn't stay quiet anymore.

"I -- I'm gonna cum," you almost whispered as it hit you. Your vision went white, and you felt a familiar explosion hit your core. To your surprise, Billy thrust two fingers into you as he sucked harder on your clit, and you let out a high pitched moan as your back arched and your head dropped back against the hood of the car.

If there was pain, you didn't notice. Every color blended into the next as you rode out your orgasm, barely able to make out the sweet sounds emanating from Billy as he cleaned up every last drop from between your legs.

Still breathing heavy, staring up at the sparkling night sky, you felt a hand smooth your hair away from your eyes.

"You okay?" Billy's cerulean eyes examined your face as he let his thumb glide down your cheek.

"Never been better," you replied, still trying to steady your breathing.

Billy smirked down at you with a scoff. "Good. Now, about that mess..."

[honeyhotteok]

hii may i ask for a gun x reader fic, where we just utterly despite our delinquent gun as a normal student, yet he loves us? like, he never makes it obvious but we just hate him, his attitude, his behavior etc, since he always interfere in bloody stuff which we r scared of.. love ya<3

hi anon! thank u for sending in this ask!! tbh writing for gun is a struggle for me but i tried lol also hope u don't mind i went in a slightly different direction with your idea🥹🫶

strawberry milk & cigarettes (gun park x reader)

summary: gun meets gian high school's #1 student.

--

"Yamazaki Yuzuru, to the principal's office. Now."

The class erupts into hushed whispers about the summoned new kid - a delinquent rumored to be making his way throughout Japan in order to study different martial arts, a fighting prodigy of sorts.

Gun stands up and makes his way to the classroom door. A turn of his head paired with a cold glare shuts everyone up, leaving a few of your classmates shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

Meanwhile, you're sat there tuning all of this out, head buried in your notebook. Devoting 100% of your concentration to rewriting your notes from the previous class.

Gun is on his way to walking past your desk, but stops in front of it when something catches his attention.

He looks down at your notebook, the pages inscribed with perfectly straight lines of neat handwriting coupled with color-coordinated evenly highlighted blocks. The layers of organization, the penmanship - it's impressive, really.

You feel a pair of eyes on you and notice an inked forearm in front of you peeking through the rolled up black sleeve of his gakuran jacket. Ugh. Great. Another disruptive thug attending this institution, another potential obstacle to your simple goal of pursuing an education.

You finally slowly raise your head to look up at him, unsure why this weirdo is staring at you.

"Can I help y-"

Gun smirks and turns around before your eyes even meet his, walking off before you can finish your sentence.

Leaving you appalled at his complete lack of manners, but with nothing to do but return to your meticulous notes task.

-

"Okay, everyone, pass your homework up to the front."

You turn to the seat behind you to take Gun's paper and you catch a glimpse of the bottom of his sleeve, still bloodied from the fight he just had before class. Your face scrunches up in disgust.

You glance down at his paper and the absolutely illegible chicken scratch scrawled onto it. You can't help but grimace. "What's wrong with your handwriting?"

"Why is it any of your business?"

You scoff at his reply. "Rude bastard," you mutter under your breath.

He leans forward in his seat, a strand of his slicked back black hair falling in front of his face. "What did you just say?"

You're not sure what it is - maybe it's the irritability from lack of sleep, or the academic stress you've been experiencing tenfold this week, or the fact that this new punk's mere existence in your space is starting to get on your nerves. Maybe it's all of the above.

You whip your head back around to face him. "I called you a rude bastard."

He gives you an unreadable stare. The class suddenly falls silent. Shit, maybe you said that a little bit louder than you had intended.

You turn back around in your seat and pass the stack of papers up, both annoyance and embarrassment coursing through you.

Gun's lips curl into an amused smile at the first words anyone at this school has dared utter to his face while looking him in the eye.

-

You walk over to the vending machine down the hall during break time, already fishing for your wallet in anticipation.

Your friend catches up to you and nudges you with her elbow.

"What was that?! You just insulted an actual member of the Yamazaki family!" She says in a hushed voice.

You stare blankly at your friend. "The who?"

"Yamazaki family, of the Yakuza."

You pause. "Wait, he's an actual kid of a Yakuza family? I thought he was just a random pathetic teenage thug nobody..." you mumble. Huh. Maybe it would've served you to not have insulted someone with the ties to actually kill you and get away with it.

You glance at your watch with a wave of your hand. "You know what, I don't have time for this. I'm gonna get my strawberry milk and go study."

You frown as your eyes settle on the empty spiral behind the vending machine window before you. "Aw, they're all out."

Your friend suggests you just buy one of the other drinks instead, but you sigh and tell her to forget it.

Gun, who totally hasn't been trailing a few steps behind you or anything, turns on his heel and beckons one of his new lackeys over.

He opens his mouth, then pauses. "Nevermind, I'll do it myself."

...

Gun's eyes flit between the similar looking white and pink cans of Sangaria Strawberry Milk and Suntory Strawberry Milk sitting on the convenience store refrigerator shelf.

"Dammit, why are there so many strawberry milk brands," he mutters to himself.

He quickly snatches both of them and walks over to the register to pay.

He jogs across the street back to school. He tries to discreetly leave both cans on your desk before the rest of the class trickles back in as break time comes to an end.

You cautiously pick up one of the cans of strawberry milk sitting on your desk, glancing around the room. Uh, what the... Did someone leave these for you?

You lift and inspect the can. "Do you think this could be poisoned?"

Your friend rolls her eyes. "It's a sealed can. Maybe you just have a secret admirer," she says with a grin and nudge.

It's your turn to roll your eyes at her. You shrug and pop open the can. Your spirits instantly lift after your first sip of the creamy fruity beverage.

Gun watches from his desk with his cheek resting in his palm. A faint, extremely weird unfamiliar feeling beginning to stir in his chest.

-

Gun rests his arms on the railing of the upper section of the roof. He takes a long drag of his cigarette.

The door to the lower level of the roof swings open, and to his surprise, it's you walking in. You don't notice him since he remains out of your line of sight unless you look up.

It's been a long, long school day. After pulling another all-nighter studying last night, you're stressed out and sleep-deprived.

You know you should kick this bad habit, maybe after this exam season ends. Which is also what you told yourself last exam season, but whatever. You fumble your cardigan pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes and begin to light one.

Gun raises his eyebrows then chuckles at the sight of Gian High School's perfect and pristine #1 student of all people smoking, and smoking on school grounds to top it off.

You whip your head around at the noise.

Gun immediately ducks his head under the wall thanks to his lightning-quick reflexes.

Nothing but a blank wall behind you. Huh. Maybe the sleep deprivation has you hearing shit now, too.

After enough moments pass, he slowly lifts his head and peeks over the ledge at the back of your silhouette.

He smiles and puts out his own cig, beginning to make his way back in through the stairway door. Your little secret safe with him.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

smth smth about 'the thing that the character did that you thought was rly rly funny in the moment is actually linked to a terrible trauma that lies within said character.' or wahtever.

[raineandsky]

#86

Being a hero is stressful. That much is common knowledge. How a hero goes about unwinding from said stress is a mystery no one has yet figured out.

The hero settles in one of the little chairs in the circle. The man next to her gives her a light nudge. “Let’s see what you made this week, then.”

The hero reaches into her bag to show off her latest stress relief—a giant blanket, knitted in the downtime between jobs, sporting a rainbow of colours in bright streaks across its face. Everyone oohs and ahhs appropriately before the rest of the circle gets to showing off their own creations.

It’s been nice to have a place that isn’t entirely consumed by work, the hero thinks as she nods approvingly at someone’s mug cosy. No worrying about tomorrow, no wondering where the villains might be.

Her gaze flits to the next person in line to show something off, and her heart momentarily stops as she meets her eye. At least she doesn’t have to worry about the latter of her thoughts right now.

What the hell is the villain doing at the hero’s weekly knitting club?

“Go on,” the woman next to the villain prompts. The villain huffs and makes a show of it, but she pulls out a cardigan with a ghost of a pleased smirk.

The hero only realised why she’s so self-satisfied when she catches herself gaping in awe. The villain’s little cardigan is elaborate in pattern, swooping waves lining its shoulders. The yarns meld together in a perfect cacophony of colour. It’s amazing, more amazing than anything the hero could do.

The villain soaks in the praise with a humble nod before setting her gaze on the hero. It probably looks hopeful to anyone else, but the hero can see the glitter of arrogance in her eye. Go on, the villain’s practically saying, tell me how great I am.

“It’s nice,” the hero says through gritted teeth, and the villain’s smile turns humoured.

The hero can’t leave fast enough. Everyone else is packing their projects away. The hero’s blanket gets folded thankfully easily and she’s out the door before anyone can stop her.

Fine. A new project. Something to advance her skills and show the villain that she’s not the hot shit she thinks she is.

It takes all week. The hero holds her jumper up to show the group. The villain raises her eyebrows from across the circle.

“Inspired by another knitter here,” the hero says with what could almost be sarcasm, and the villain snorts a poorly contained laugh.

The villain shows off her creation. A pair of mittens, the patterns lacy and the colours bright. The hero scowls. Pissed doesn’t describe the feeling.

Next week. A layered scarf from the hero. The villain wins everyone’s affections with a tiny knitted elephant. “For my niece’s birthday,” the villain says innocently. “She loves them.”

Leaving is becoming more of a race with each passing week. “Keep trying,” the villain comments brightly before the hero can escape. “You’ve plenty of room to improve.”

The hero considers strangling the villain with her scarf.

The hero settles at her computer that evening with a scowl and a cup of hot chocolate, mentally prepared to prowl the internet for several hours for ideas on how to one-up the villain. It’s madness. She’s meant to be out there kicking the villain’s ass, and here she is trying to out-knit her.

It’s been three weeks, and she’s only just realising that her stress-relieving hobby is suddenly a lot more stress-inducing.

“Fuck,” she hisses outloud, and she momentarily considers the idea of knitting the word into a coaster for the villain too.

[captaincanonly]

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

When he stepped out back for a break, Tango looked up the definition of 'muscle memory' on his phone.

The ability to reproduce a particular movement without conscious thought, acquired as a result of frequent repetition of that movement.

Frequent repetition. Yeah, that was what he thought. Tango sighed, leaning his head against the brick wall and staring up at the sky. Jimmy had mentioned a brief stint in restaurants previously, and it didn't take long for his muscle memory of kitchen tasks to kick in, but there were other habits that came just a little too easily for Tango's liking.

The way he grinned expectantly after teasing or goading them, and looked confused when they didn't insult him back. How easily 'sorry' fell from his lips over and over for the smallest mistake, even for mistakes that weren't his. The way he laughed after getting flustered and fumbling something was adorable, but the oh my gosh, I'm so stupid! that followed was less so. The way he said I'm an idiot with such levity, said it like it was an immutable fact, didn't sit well with Tango.

All habits that came to him easily, like muscle memory. Like the result of something that had happened over and over and over.

It wasn't the first time he had noticed these little habits, but they stood out more now that there wasn't anyone around who was actively teasing him. Before, it had seemed like an act, a call-and-response game Jimmy played with his oldest friends. Now, seeing the response without the call, it just seemed...

When Skizz said you were great, Jimmy! You absolutely crushed it! after a particularly hectic shift, Jimmy's eyes widened with genuine surprise before a grin spread across his face.

"Really?" he asked, a little hesitance in his voice, like he fully expected Skizz to take it back and tell him no, he was awful.

"Really!" said Skizz, but exchanged a glance with Tango. The compliments came thick and fast after that, from both of them, and Tango loved the way Jimmy absolutely thrived under them. He would do anything to protect that smile, and he knew Skizz would do the same.

"Hey. Jimmy."

Jimmy turned to look at Tango while Skizz locked up the building. "Yeah?"

Tango smiled. "You're amazing."

He could see Jimmy's ears flush even under the dim streetlight. "I am, aren't I?" he said happily.

To anyone else the comment might have come across a little cocky, a little overconfident. But Tango heard the hesitance behind it, the uncertain hope of someone finally beginning to realize their worth.

Skizz laughed. "Look at this guy and his well-deserved confidence!" he teased, ruffling Jimmy's hair. He and Tango exhanged another look, this time one of victory rather than concern. "But yeah, you are, and don't you forget it!"

Jimmy beamed. It didn't matter how their shifts in the restaurant went anymore, thought Tango. Angry customers, burned food, broken dishes; he'd get over all of it, as long as Jimmy was smiling like that at the end of the day.

}{ Part Two }{

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

excuse me i need to Muse on something for a moment

so in Wally's secret 'vinyl' audios, specifically the last few (if we're listening to em in chronological order), obviously he starts to sound more strained/distressed. his breathing is more labored, like it's taking all of his energy to make contact.

but the audio that really caught my attention was the "But i still can't see" one. cause he just said he has more eyes than he did before. he knows We draw them a lot, and it's thanks to that that he can see. but he still can't see?

so my question is: where is Wally physically? cause although he can (assumedly) see the WHRP goings on, he can see through the eyes We draw, that could all be on a, uh... more Intangible level of sight. like the spiral pit is forming an eye, and then there's the eye on the ceiling in the secret Staff Only section - could Wally be in the pit, that space between his reality and Ours, "watching" through the eyes? but unable to actually see with due to the pit being pitch black nothingness? is he somewhere else? is he stuck? he can see, but he can't... see.

(or is he trying to explain an abstract concept - he's not actually viewing anything, but he can sense it. like how he knows We're there, even if he can't see or hear Us. but he just doesn't have the words to describe it other than using physical senses - see, hear, look.)

and him saying "...that I can see. But it is still... I can't..." but it's still what, Wally? dark? something else that he doesn't have the words to describe, so he just says that he can't see?

i know that in the Livestream Trivia Document (compiled by @/the neighborhoodwatch) there was something said about Wally being in a box. my first thought reading that was "oh, so he's in storage? the physical puppet, i mean?" which would make sense - show's over, there's no more use for him. pack 'em up and put him away. but that paired with the "can't see" audio makes both seem a lil... connected.

Wally can't see > he's likely somewhere dark > the inside of closed boxes are dark > Wally's in a box. (or maybe the Neighborhood is the box? it's a stretch, i know, but the map is a box. television sets are often set up in "boxes". maybe it's less of a physical storage box and more of a 'boxed in' sort of thing...)

one question i've had since the Start of my interest in this incredible project is: how is Wally communicating? how has he connected to the site? how does he connect to our reality? the pit almost definitely has something to do with it - most likely acting as a bridge, or the deteriorating of the barrier between our two 'worlds' - but if Wally is in a box and Not the pit or even just in the puppet's reality... how is he reaching us beyond just seeing through the eyes he's given?

or is he in their reality, and he can contact through the pit or something, but he can't actually see the other side? Our side? he knows it's there - that We're there - but none of it is visible to him. maybe his apparent disassociation in the 14 bug audios is a demonstration of him contacting Us. we can see through him, but it's a one way street.

and speaking of the pit - i just had a thought. his whole thing with Us letting him in, opening... the pit on the neighborhood map is getting bigger and clearer. but the presumed Other Side, the one on the Staff Only ceiling, is small. it's the size of a ceiling panel. it seems to me that Wally is chipping away at his side of the pit or 'portal', trying to reach Our reality, but he needs Us to do the same thing on the other side. the QA can hear him calling, but there's no phone on their (Our) side of the pit. how do We call back???

there's a fundamental barrier & lack of understanding between Wally and the QA/Us. he's trying. he wants to be let in, but what does that mean, really? let him in where? open what? he's desperate. he wants us to understand. he's trying so so hard Without the right tools to clearly communicate what he wants. he can't see Us, We can see him, both know the other is there, but there's no way to connect. and the attempts are hurting all parties involved, however unintentionally

[starry-bi-sky]

How i envisioned Danny's ghost form/Phantom in my Danyal Al Ghul au (images at bottom of post). His ghost form has some pr heavy influence from the League, because I thought it'd be neat + to kinda show how even after four years, the League still had some kind of impact on who is he as a person. Plus some milder Robin influence in his boots and the cape (which i meant to be split down the middle to have some kind of 'bird wing' silhouette) as a way to indicate his lingering desire to meet his dad.

The pauldron lookin-thing on his upper chest is based off certain Danny Phantom designs I see that give him that white,,, marking,,, thing. I've been calling it the Jedi Chestplate because it reminds me of the clone wars Jedi armor. So like, slight homage to his hazmat suit.

(not pictured: his thermos and his sword)

behold! the judgmental lil shit (affectionate) himself

[martyrbat]

wasnt going to put it in the tags of that person's post but i fully believe clark kent will have the angriest hatefuck of his life with santa claus btw

[whump-queen]

“You did so well”

It’s the way whumper says it—the way they speak to whumpee. It’s their voice—half the time angry, biting, and degrading, only to mutate into something sickeningly sweet in the aftermath of the pain, when whumper leans in close with sticky murmurs of affection—of mocking praise.

A toxic, slimy liquid that drips from whumper’s lips and oozes thick and heavy down whumpee’s ears and neck and shoulders.

It makes whumpee’s skin crawl. 

Or at least, it did.

At first. 

But there comes a point, during the more creative of whumper’s tortures, where the pain becomes too much, where the excruciating burn of the knife or the sear of the brand is blacking out whumpee’s brain and shoving their head deep underwater, shrinking their existence down through a tiny pinhole, only to be materialized again on the other side, dazed beyond belief, panting and shaking and still bound in whumper’s arms. 

It’s those precious few moments of reprieve in the aftermath, where the warmth of whumper’s shoulder against their cheek is enough for whumpee to sink into it— For their teeth to unclench, for their shoulders to slump against whumper’s torso, for their shaking knees to crumple into whumper’s lap.

For each part of them to give up—to give in— until they’re spilling hot tears into the fabric between shaking, heaving breaths, staining whumper’s shirt with the small beads of blood that still weep from their bitten lip.

Whumper only holds whumpee’s head tightly against their shoulder and let’s them ride out the sobs. 

tags—>

taglist: @whumpshaped  @whumpsday  @emmettnet  @a-whump-sideblog  @whump-it-like-its-hot  @wolfeyedwitch  @whumper-soot @unorganisedalienrubbish  @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @hidden-dreamland @whumpedydump @lonesome--hunter @ashh-ed @whump-in-the-closet @oriantthegiant @banditosong @anonymustyou @feralwhump @jieunie-23 @whumpasaurus101 @morning-star-whump @whmp @captain-bo-bob-bobby @the-beasts-have-arrived just ask to be added or removed <33

[theloveinc]

tw: prostitution probs

OMG I know your shinsou drabble about him faking being your pimp for an undercover mission was like a little long ago, but it changed my atoms molecular structure

Like maybe you both are discussing what you've discovered that night on the couch you're sharing with the criminal and you hear somebody coming and than you gotta act like you're having... YKNOW??? 😫

Like maybe you noticed it first so then you like throw yourself on top of shinsou, fake moaning that sounds real, bouncing a little on top of him so the couch creeks a little to really sell it and it takes a little for shinsou to catch on but he's a mess because you sound real 😣😣😣

And from the criminal's POV, it's dark so he can't see your clothes that are on and is like well don't like me interrupt you before he heads back to whatever he came from 🤭

(link to ref. post here!)

SFAJKSDHJKAFDSHK it only takes him about five seconds to get the gist of the scene but... those five seconds change his entire perspective on the both of you, don't you think??

Because I think for the first few moments when he thinks it's real... he forms an entire confession in his head that's ready to spill from his lips just as fast, going hot where your hands splay on his chest, his cock jumping in his jeans when he tries to say your name. Even the hands he immediately puts on your hips to help guide you are genuine, not just to make the whole thing look... less pretend.

But then your eyes are shooting back down to his face and they're not filled with love or lust, they're filled with panic in waiting for him to play along....... and the whole moment he was able to build up comes crashing down, forcing him to realize exactly how he feels about you and....... how doomed your situation is, if you're gonna have to physically, now, keep up the charade rather than just label it.

(Especially because he's supposed to be the one in charge, the pimp, and it kinda makes him want to vomit thinking about treating you like something he owns, and yet he still has to pull himself together enough so that the criminal doesn't get suspicious if he actually acts like he loves you..............)

Then they're gone and you're all relieved (still sitting on his crotch) and now he has an entirely NEW problem that has to be faced (gasp, his feelings!!), and that's aside from the chub he's praying to god you can't feel.

Good. Grief.

[luminnara]

You Get Me Closer To God || Paul x Reader NSFW (18+ ONLY)

You let me violate you

You let me desecrate you

You let me penetrate you

You let me complicate you

His hands are rough as they run up the backs of your thighs, callouses rubbing against your flesh as he squeezes handfuls. You whimper at the harshness of his grip, squirming beneath him, but all he does is shush you.

“Shh, baby,” his breath fans over your ear before he gives it a sharp bite. “Don’t you worry. Gonna make you feel so fuckin good…”

And you whine again, because you know he means it.

“P-Paul,” your voice is a breathy whisper as you clutch the sheets beneath you. “Paul please…”

You hear him hum, still grabbing handfuls of thigh, lips ghosting over your cheek and along your jaw towards your throat. He can hear the way your pulse quickens as he reaches it, because you know, you know he can tear you apart right then and there without so much as lifting a finger. 

“‘M not gonna hurt you, baby,” he chuckles as his fingers slip between your thighs. “But I might hafta taste you…”

You gasp when he pushes into you, playing with you, stroking your walls. He’s good with his hands, he always has been, and as you whimper and whine and grind your hips, he’s grinning against your throat. He loves making you unravel. He loves making you cum.

By the time he pulls his hand back, it’s covered, and you’re soaked. You can feel how slick your thighs are as you shiver and rub them together, but Paul immediately places his other hand between them and pushes them back open.

“Don’t be shy, baby.” He says as he sucks the taste of you off his fingers. “God, you taste so good…”