#the pink? the satin? hell yes

[cosmicdreamgrl]

yoongi x 161020 blood sweat & tears

[ponderingmoonlight]

JJK men doing the bicep trend. Their s/o will tie a pink string on their bicep and once they flex it’ll break off!!!

Doing the ribbon around biceps trend with JJK men

Pairings: Gojo x fem!reader; Nanami x wife!reader; Toji x fem!reader; Sukuna x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,8k

Synopsis: Tying a ribbon around your boo's biceps and watching how they flex it off? Hell yeah.

Notes: not proofread, Sukuna's part is a little short because I wanted to get this out today, I'll have my knee surgery tomorrow so sorry for ignoring your comments and messages, I'll get back to you when life gets a little easier lol, totally love and appreciate your interactions, I hope you have fun with this!

Gojo Satoru

„Come here babe, I need to show ya something real quick.”

You can’t help but yawn, annoyance dripping from every pore. Oh, your boyfriend is definitely too fit for the fact that it’s still dark outside. What time is it? If he woke you over a strange video he saw on TikTok again…

“Can’t this wait like…4 hours longer?”, you try to resist his urgent wish, shielding your tired eyes from the harsh light of the lamp above.

“I might forget until then. Hey, do you have like a band or something lying around in the bathroom?”

A…band? Your eyes dart towards him, nothing but sheer excitement written on his face. What on earth is Satoru up to now?

“My pink dress has a satin band around the waist I guess”, you mutter.

Maybe this is all he wants. Yes, he just grabs the satin band and goes straight back to sleep-

“Thank you babe!”, he shouts over his shoulder while opening your wardrobe with so much enthusiasm that the door almost falls out of it.

You flinch, rubbing your temple in a desperate attempt to keep yourself together. You love your boyfriend with all your heart, appreciate this childish side of him more than anyone else. But not when you have an important mission tomorrow and had maybe 2 hours of sleep…

“This better be something important, Satoru”, you mumble through your fingers, a sigh escaping your lips.

“Okay babe, ready to see something really big?”

“I swear if you slap your d-“

“Look at me!”

His insisting tone forces you to remove your hand from your face. There he stands, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers paired with a tight black shirt.

And a pink ribbon wrapped around his biceps tightly.

“Now watch.”

With one flex of his veiny biceps, the ribbon opens itself, your pink satin band falling to the floor while he looks at you expectant.

“I have one question”, you begin, eyes still resting on his delicious arm.

“Go ahead babe.”

“How on earth did you tie that ribbon yourself?”

He opens his mouth, nothing but pure outrage written on his face.

“Is this really everything you’re thinking about!? I just gifted you my strong arm!”, he barks overdramatically at you.

“You’re the best present ever”, you purr at your fuming boyfriend, gently stroking his arm when he finally gets back into bed.

“But if you wake me over something like that ever again, I’ll murder you.”

Nanami Kento

“Why are you looking at me with those eyes, darling?”

You blush immediately, the day dream of that trend you saw earlier on your beloved husband not leaving your mind. Kento with a bow around his strong arm. Kento flexing his arm in front of you, causing the ribbon to open up.

…Just like your legs.

“You’re daydreaming again.”

You force yourself to look up at him only to find out that he’s already looking at you, soft eyes lightened by a spark of curiosity.

“It’s just…I saw that trend online and it kinda…reminded me of you…”, you mutter, embarrassment crawling up your veins.

You’re acting like a horny teenager over a man you call your husband for several years by now. Kento is the epitome of a gentleman, the most elegant male being walking on this earth. How stupid to even consider wrapping a ribbon around his biceps…

“Don’t be embarrassed, (y/n). Tell me what’s on your mind. What exactly is this trend about?”

He puts the paper he was reading aside and wraps his fingers gently around your chin, slowly but surely making you lose your mind. It should be forbidden for a single man to be this captivating. Should you…Just tell him? Your imagination runs wild, breath getting stuck in your throat by the simple thought of him actually doing this…

“Tying a ribbon around your biceps and opening it by tensing your arm”, you blurt out.

His eyes widen just the slightest. Oh no, does he think you’re weird, desperate, pathetic? You should really stop roaming around social media late at night-

“Why not trying it, then? Even though I don’t think I’m strong enough to untie a ribbon with my muscles.”

Wait…Did he really say yes? You blink over and over to make sure he’s not messing with you until he gets up and grabs a roll of ribbon from your cabinet before cutting off more than enough of the black band. Before you fully realize what just happened he takes off his dark blue shirt, naked skin getting exposed to the dim light of the room.

And your merciless gaze.

“Would you mind helping me out? I can’t tie a bow on my own with just one hand, darling.”

You force your mouth to stay closed, keep your palms from getting sweaty. This is your husband, goddamn.

Your husband, wearing nothing but his work pants. Your husband, holding up a black band, waiting for you to wrap it around his strong arm only because you couldn’t stop imagine him doing a stupid internet trend. Out of instinct, you follow the invitation of his stretched-out hand, fingertips pulsating against his firm muscles while you tie a perfect little bow.

Until he flexes his muscles, forcing the band to untie itself in slow motion. His beefy arm, veins threaten to pop open any given minute. How is it possible for a man to be in this shape when relaxed? Your gaze is fixated on his delicious sight in front of you – so focused that you don’t notice his other hand grabbing your chin before it’s too late.

“It seems like you’re enjoying the view”, he comments softly.

“Just because you are the view, Kento”, you clarify with a small smile, allowing him to drag you into his strong arms.

Toji Fushiguro

“You want me to do what?”

You grab his arm tightly, doe eyes making it hard for none other than Toji Fushiguro to focus. What did you see on the internet again? “Ribbon around bicep”…What the hell?

“I want you to tie a pink ribbon around your bicep and pop it open with your beefy muscles”, you explain briefly.

“Come on babe. Why can’t I just wrap my hand around ya neck instead?”

“Tempting”, you purr, finger gliding over his firm chest delicately slow.

“But you’re the perfect match for that trend. Now sit your ass down and gimme your arm.”

Just before Toji is even able to press his longing lips against yours, you shove him onto the couch and position yourself on top of him, pink ribbon dangling from your fingertips.

“C’mon (y/n)”, he groans, pouting like a little child when you slap the hand that tried to dig into your butt away.

“Hold still. I need to concentrate”, you instruct him.

“Promise we’ll fu-“

“DONE!”, you scream out, the sheer excitement radiating from your voice making him stop mid-sentence.

His eyes follow your gaze, revealing a wonky-looking bow tied around his biceps so firmly that it might burst any minute.

“And now you want me to do what?”, he questions.

It’s hard to keep himself from smiling when you sit in front of him grinning like an idiot. Is that really all it takes? A fucking ribbon wrapped around his biceps? What a strange thing you are.

But still…

You look so breathtakingly gorgeous that he can’t keep up his annoyed façade.

“Flex your muscles babe!”, you instruct him, index finger poking into his biceps.

Fine, he’ll do you the favour. Slowly, he lifts up his arm before popping open the bow with ease, watching the shocked expression on your face.

“That trend was totally made for you, Toji!”, you shriek, your eyes still fixated on his arm.

“Let’s do that again.”

“I know something better.”

All it takes is a swift motion for you to lay underneath him, your hot breath escaping your lips in shock.

“I’m next, babe”, he breathes out.

Bonus: Sukuna

“Why did I even agree to do this…”, the king of curses mumbles while you’re busy tying another ribbon around his arm.

“Hold still, I’m not done yet.”

“You already tied this one three times, (y/n). I’m getting impatient.”

“Oh, I know you don’t. Deep down you enjoy me caressing your arm”, you reply with a cheeky grin, carefully forming another bow around his fourth arm.

Tying a bow around a single arm already sounding inviting, but the stinging fact that your lover has not only two but four arms to offer for this delicious trend…There was no way in hell for you to resist this opportunity.

“Really deep down”, he grumbles.

“I’m done. Now stand still and don’t move until I say so”, you bark at him while taking a few steps back.

“Watch how you talk to me or I’ll-“

“Shut up Sukuna, your threats don’t work for me. Okay, flex your muscles in three, two, one…”

Out of instinct, he lifts up his four arms and pops open every ribbon you tied so laborious these pasts minutes. Damn, he really feels like an idiot, standing in front of you shirtless with pink ribbons falling from his arms. But that look on your face, the way you clap your hands in sheer excitement, that phone…Wait.

“Did you film this, brat?”

You blink a few times, the smile on your face disappearing as fast as it came.

“Maybe I did”, you reply, quickly turning on your heels and sprinting away.

“Delete that right now!”

“I will watch this every time I go to bed!”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo @luwumii @tachiharazsstuff @kentocalls @cheesemachine44 @ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299@busyreader17 @4pgletter @okay-it-is-ivy @iluvtoru @starlightanyaaa

[milkteabinniechan]

♡pink satin - minho

Bf! Minho solo x afab reader ☕|m.list

warnings: masturbation, pillow fucking, slight angst, slight degradation

Minho was bored. And not just the basic boredom that comes with a dull day. No, Minho was excruciatingly, unapologetically, desperately bored. He stared at the ceiling and contemplated calling you. The fight between the two of you was still fresh and new. New enough that he knew better than to try to contact you. The argument was over something petty. Minho knew he should have already apologized by now, but he was stubborn. Almost as stubborn as you were. 

He drug his hands down over his face and let out an exacerbated sigh. His head fell to the side and he saw your pillow laying next to him. Pink satin pillowcase. Such a princess, he thought. 

Minho took one hand to the pillow and gripped it softly, just how you liked it. He missed you. He missed your smell, he missed your taste. God, he even missed the way you yelled at him. Something about your voice hitched up to a higher tone made the blood rush to his dick every time. 

“You’re turned on by this?! We’re fighting!” you’d say. And Minho would respond with a smug can’t help it, babe.

Which was the truth, he really couldn’t help it. The was you’d look when you’re flustered, your face turning red, biting your lip in frustration. You just looked so goddamn cute, he was powerless against you

Minho turned on his side and continued to stroke the soft satin. The gentle fabric against his fingertips caused a sudden pulse in his boxer shorts. He glanced down at his groin, the back at the pillow next to him. He shrugged and let out a firm what the hell? before propping himself up on his knees, already pulling down his boxer shorts just enough that his semi-hard shaft starting to push its way out. He strongly tugged at the silk lined pillow and positioned it in between his open thighs. He lifted himself up just enough to tuck the pillow halfway beneath him. 

Minho smirked at the sight of your soft, pink pillow underneath his cock and balls. This certainly wasn't his first time grinding onto something smooth and plush like this. This was, however, the first time he had ever used something of yours. What would you think of him? What if you came home right now and saw him in such a predicament? The thought drove him wild. He threw his head back and began to move his hips back and forth at a slow and even pace. Lazily he let his ever-growing cock slide across the supple fabric of the pillow. His tip began to tingle and leak but Minho continued his pace, unhurried.

But soon the listless pace became too much and he could feel the heat from inside urging him to push harder, to go deeper. Minho bucked his hips and sprang into a rutting motion. His body launched into a rhythm that he no longer had control over. His mind was taking a backseat to what his cock wanted to do. His body jerked forward and both his hands gripped the pillow for more leverage. Grunts and groans were bouncing off the walls of the bedroom you shared as Minho began to reach his climax.

Take it. Take it. Yes, like that. Come on, princess, I know you can do it. Take. it. All.

Minho moaned under his breath. The words like a mantra as he persisted, his hips fully rutting and crushing into the mattress now. 

His orgasm poured out of him mercilessly. The pink satin now drenched in the mess he had made. Minho fell back onto the mattress and let out a sigh of relief. He chuckled to himself at how out of control he had gotten over a simple pillow. Then he saw the stained mess he had left.

“I’ll buy them a new one.”

taglist: @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121

[starryylies]

Tying a bow on Sisi’s cock :3

Sii lemme tie it on pleaseeee you look up at him with pleading eyes

“No means no love”

“But siiii you can’t do that”:((

“Who said I can’t” he says smirking down at you

“Siii I’ll do anything pleaseee just lemme tie it” :((

He finds it amusing how hell bent you are on tying a stupid lil bow on his cock,

But when you tell him you’d do anything for him to tie that bow,

He feels his cock twitch with the ways he can take advantage of this situation

“Anything huh princess?”

“Yess siii anything I promise :)”

you look up at him happily thinking you’ve finally got through him

But what you don’t know is that,

Simon has other plans

he quickly gets up on his knees unbuckling his belt to reveal a tent in his boxers.

“Lick princess, you’ll only get your reward then”

he says smiling down at you, getting aroused by your dumbfounded look

Before you can say anything his cock is freed from the painful tent in his boxers.

His shaft is right infront of your face now,

Thick veiny and hot.

God it looks beautiful you think to yourself.

How could you even resist it.

So You start off by licking his swollen head giving it a good lil suck

Twirling around his head as you go deeper

A gravelly “ugh fuck” comes out as a whisper from simon

You find yourself getting damp down there by listening to his cute lil grunts and moans :(

As you bob your head around his shaft you feel his cock twitch in your mouth,

You’ve barely had him in your mouth but you can feel him cumming

So you take your left hand to fondle with his heavy balls as you keep sucking on his thick veiny shaft.

“God princess yea, fuckin hell yes play with em love. Fuckkk” he moans out

His moans are like music to your ears

as you continue you feel his body melt into you, your touch specifically.

He thrusts into your mouth erratically trying to release all the pressure and tension accumulated in his body,

All because of you and your dirty lil ideas :((

His hot sperm is released as he shoots his hot sticky load inside your mouth,

And Some falling out which you didn’t notice

Simon falls back on the bed as he takes deep breaths trying to recover from his high

But before he can even open his eyes properly he feels a soft ticklish material on his semi-hard cock

It’s you,

And that stupid fucking ribbon.

But god you’re lookin so beautiful, the edge of your lips covered with his cum as you try to carefully tie the satin pink ribbon on his cock

God you turn him on so quick,

He lets out a small laugh as he sees you take a picture of yourself posing with his now erect cock with a dainty pink ribbon on it.

God you’re gonna get pounded hard after this :))

[preettyangels]

Green dress ☆

Thor x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, alcohol, age gap [thor is obv. pretty old], oral [fem receiving], making out, breast play, pinning

Word count: 1,7k

Summary: y/n craves the feeling of the god of thunder to be with her, to make her feel good, it so happens that he finally catches up and do what she‘s been dreaming of.

A/N: this is my first one-shot to be posted on here, I’m not that good in writing smut as yet, I’m trying to get better <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His hands. His veiny, strong hands. His long, thick fingers which are worthy of wielding Mjølnir, they don't leave your mind. Your legs press together at the dirty thoughts popping up in your head, you were needy for the god of thunder to make you scream his name. Watching him flipping his hammer around in the air, catching the handle on his palm before doing the same move again. Your hands fidget with each other inpatient, you needed him here and now, pleasing you and your sensitive parts.

Your heart skipped a beat when you looked directly into the deep blue eyes, feeling how intimidating they were and how they looked deeply into your soul. A smirk appeared on the god's lips when he noticed your pressed legs and your hands covering your midsection, rubbing your palms together in nervousness.

A storm of butterflies mixed with lightning impulses flew around in your lower tummy- this man has a lot of impact on you, and he damn well knew this. His eyes never returned their gaze to somewhere else, they stayed at you, scanning your petite curves up and down and licking his lips at this specific view. Your breast was on display from where on the satin green dress fell down your body, only hanging from your shoulders by golden straps. Your hair was tied up in a beautiful, slick ponytail, some glitter sparkling in the strands from the special hairspray you used. All of this was caught in the god's eyes, not one thing went unnoticed and his stares burnt deeply in your skin.

Slowly, you started shuffling on the brown leather couch you sat on, receiving a rather confused look by the person sitting next to you- Bucky. You awkwardly smiled up to him, containing all your emotions and thoughts and breathed a soft „I'm good" over your lips before returning your attention back to the blonde man who.. disappeared?

Your eyes swift around in a fast move, stopping at blonde locks leaving the room to go upstairs. Your eyes widened, how can he tease you like that, make your body needy like that and then leave?

"I'll use the bathroom quickly" you say, resting your hand on the soldiers shoulder and gifting him a sweet smile of yours before jumping up and following Thor.

Your feet brought you to the direction where he walked past by just seconds ago, but he was nowhere to see-

"M'lady." The sudden voice of the person you've been searching for a few minutes appeared out of a room. Has he been waiting there for you?

Your eyes met his when a vicious smirk appeared on his pink, thin lips.

"As much as i love the gown you're wearing, I'd rather ask you..." he steps closer to you, the storm of butterflies heading back into your stomach, "may I take it off?" Your skin reddened with blush, a shiver ran down your spine and your eyes grew wide just a little bit. You felt your breath hitching through your lungs- for the first time actively.

Your eyes fell down on his lips- god, you wanted to kiss him so bad right here and now, but answering his question before you can, was the better choice to take.

"Y-Yes." You quickly breathed over your lips when you met the blue eyes of his once again, they sparked with a tiny bit of lust. His smirk grew wider.

What the hell is so fucking attractive that he has such an impact on you?

He grabbed your arm and swiftly pulled you inside the bathroom, you let out a surprised groan at his movement. His hand pressed you against the still opened door, closing it with your body weight which made you let out a scoff. Finally, the warmth of his hand touching your skin let a shiver run down your spine and you felt a pulse at your core. A pulse you haven't felt in a long time. His hand now moved next to your waist, grabbing the key of the door as he swiftly turned it to the right, locking the door and making sure by pulling at the knob. Now it's just the two of you, alone in a bathroom which is close by the living room where several fellow team members have a relaxing night.

He doesn't have to say anything, the eyes he gave you, the stares, the grin... his mimics and looks told you how much he wanted you, how inpatient he has been. The warm, gold chains from your dress fell down your shoulders and hang down your arms, leaving your upper chest part more exposed than it already had been. The god licked his lips and eagerly pressed his lips on your skin next to your collarbone. You moaned. It was on accident, or not, but the sudden touch caught you by surprise.

His hands squeezed the flesh around your waist, pulling you closer to his muscular body, closer to his lips. All of this could be a dream, but it's not, you feel the breath of him hitting your skin, how he sucked at your sensitive skin and how he kissed over every single part of your neck era. It felt like a dream.

You didn't know where to put your hands, you had them every where on him. His shoulders, his back, his abs and his sides.. Everywhere you could reach, until you couldn't. He pulled away from your body and grabbed your small hands into his large ones, only the look of the size comparison had you getting weak. With ease, he pulled them up above your head and kept them there.

An erotic grin drew his lips and he moved forward your chest, biting the satin fabric of your dress and pulling it down slowly. Your breath hitched. He doesn't know what he's doing with you, what this does with you. Once the cold air hit your nipples, they grew hard, hard for him. He gave you one last look before his hot tongue made contact with your left breast, licking over the intimate part. Your knees fell weak, but he held you in place, he had the upper hand and you loved it.

Usually it has been you who's dominant around the team, who's always in charge, leading them into war and out of it, but if it's about having fun at night? Having Sex with someone? You prefer to be led by them.

His tongue played with your nipples, switching from one to another over and over, every now and then sucking at them, making you blur out a soft moan.

"Thor.." it caught his attention. The mix of whispering and moaning got him excited, more than he's been already.

"What's the matter, dove?" He gently asked, worrying any negation now. Did he take it too far? Have you gotten uncomfortable? something he didn't notice as yet was your underwear. By now it was soaked wet, he teased you too much, let you wait too long - not that you didn't love it, you did, but you can't wait any longer.

"Please.." was everything you could say, closing your eyes and softly and moaning at the imagination of him between your legs, eating every inch of your pussy like it was his last desert. You don't blame him for not catching up on what you've been up to, what you wanted him to do, it feels like both of you haven't had sex in a long time, he probably for longer than you.

"Just take this dress off.." something he didn't let him be told twice. His hands let go of yours and pulled your gown completely off your curves, leaving you standing there in hot black lingerie. Only one layer of fabric covering the part that has been dripping the whole time for him. His eyes fell down at them, he couldn't see the wetness coming through, but he felt it in some way. He kneeled down and grabbed your right leg, gently putting it over his shoulder to have a better look at what he's about to make his dinner.

His lips traveled down your inner thigh, getting closer to the heat he's in guilt for. Once his lips made contact with the fabric over your pussy, you whined. You've been craving this feeling for as long as you can remember and it felt magical. Only a bit of touch made you shiver and weak for him.

The sound he made when he realised how wet you were, is like a mix of moans and groans. He probably wants to get into it straight away, but he tortures both, you and him, with keeping the teasing going.

But he couldn't.

He made your foot touch the floor again, as well as your panties the moment they landed next to his legs. As quick as your leg was straight, as quick it was bend over his shoulder again, with his head between your legs, his tongue sliding through your wet dripping folds. The moan that escaped your mouth was immense, exploding almost. It felt amazing, you knew already that you don't want him to stop anytime soon, you want to be unable to walk the next morning.

His tongue explored every inch of your pussy, stopping at your clit that was swollen red already. He teased the bundle of nerves with his flicking movements, making you moan more and more. You tried your best to keep them quiet, but oh heaven you couldn't. Those were music to Thor's ears to be exact, he doesn't want you to stop.

"Fuck- Thor.." the air in your lungs was caught in tightness, you felt how a knot in your abdomen grew and grew the rougher he went on you. He moaned along with you, he was turned on by your noises and hip thrusts that only intensified.

This felt like an eternity but it was only 3 minutes until the knot in your stomach explode. Your one hand flew on your mouth to suppress the moans escaping, whilst the other clawed into his long blonde hair. You gasped for air, breathing heavily through your nostrils as you slowly calmed down from your high.

"That's how I like it, dove.."

[eyesxxyou]

Strawberries & Cigarettes

★🍓 {} .. hobie brown x ballerina!reader

rating. mature

word count. 3.4k

synopsis. no one believes that someone like you and someone like Hobie belong together. Your love is messy, chaotic, and painful, but it's caring, honest, and beautiful as well.

🚬・．❕ warning. y/n is a mess, self-harm, eating disorder, but of a toxic relationship, y/n has some problems up there 🧠, fighting, a LOT of angst

Anyone looking at you and Hobie would tell you that the two of you don’t belong together, that your puzzle pieces don’t slot in together just perfectly like they’re supposed to. You’re two pieces from entirely different puzzles. You world is filled with grace, with pink satin and pearl earrings, pink lip tints, and delicate tutus. You dance to the classics, from a tour en l’air to a royale and everything between and beyond.

Hobie rocks out. He’s covered spikes and he isn’t just the bark, he’s the bite as well. He’s the tear in the satin you adored so much, he kissed the tint off your lips, and was the one to get you those pearl earrings through nefarious means you’d rather not ask about. He stomped his feet to Black Flag and would force you to listen to the Sex Pistons for the rest of time if you didn’t make so much of a fuss about it.

Yes, you two were pieces from different puzzles who had no reason to be anywhere near each other. But your pieces somehow managed to snuggle in nicely with each other and create a whole new picture despite your differences because you aren’t all soft and full of innocent delicacies. You’re feet are often bruised and bloody, your hands tremble from all the cigarettes you burn to keep your appetite down, there are deep bags under your eyes that you cover with concealer before you leave the house, and there’s a deep melancholy about the way you go through the world. You dance until you physically can’t anymore, until your body screams at you to stop, until your feet leave streaks of blood across the waxed floor of the studio. You need to be slim, small— shoulders down, chin up, chest out, perfect.

And Hobie— though rough around his edges— can be soft in his own way.

Those at the studio know him vaguely. They know he’s your boyfriend, knows he comes to the studio about 2 hours after your class ends because you always stay later than everyone else and work on the choreography over and over until you physically can’t anymore. They know he’s the only reason you’re still alive. They know that he loves you to hell and back and simply can’t understand why.

So when they seem him, 6’5” with wildly beautiful hair, littered in spikes and piercings, and a unapproachable look to him (the only thing about the two of you that match), they don’t pay him any mind as he makes his way to the studio you’re usually in.

The music’s so loud you don’t hear the door open and you’re so focused on your own reflection in the mirror, making sure you hit every move with the precision and sharpness of a knife without losing any of the grace of the performance, that you don’t see Hobie standing there, watching you in all your beauty. 

At least you’re not trembling this time. The last time, Hobie was caught up with something and couldn’t come check on you until much later. He found you here, in a ball on the floor, shaking and half-passed out. It could have been a number of things but did didn’t matter much which on of them it was. He had to pick you up, take you home because you refused to go to the hospital, and nurse you back to health.

Once the music came to an end and you closed your dance in a pose filled with poise and beauty, Hobie began to clap for you, startling you off the boxes of your slippers. You had the reflexes of a cat, swift and agile. You got startled just like one too. “You asshole,” you murmur as he comes over, his boots making a horrible squealing sound against the floor as he does so.

Hobie wrapped his arms around your waist and made eye contact with you through the reflection in the wall-length mirror. His lips pepper soft kisses against your exposed collarbones. “Didn’ mean t’ scare ya, doll.” He loves the way you lean into him but hates the way he isn’t sure if it’s because you want to be closer to him or if your body simply doesn’t have the energy to hold itself up. “Checkin’ in a lil’ early today. You weren’ answerin’ ya phone so I had to come ‘n make sure you weren’ dead.” He plays it off as a joke but you both know he’s more than serious. Your habits will kill you one day and you both know it.

You turn around in his arms, your fingers locked together behind his neck before they stroke the skin under his collar. “Sorry– forgot to take it off of silent after class.” You stand on your toes, feet arching because your scuffed slippers force you to as you stand on the box again. Hobie leans in to kiss you as you pull him in and press your lips against his. You taste like strawberries and cigarettes as always, a mixture of your lipgloss and what you had for breakfast today. Your body arches into his as he holds you tight and kisses you deeply.

“What ‘ave you eat’n t’day?” Hobie asks you, hoping the kiss will lighten the sour mood that question always puts you in. “Coffee ‘n a cigarette don’ count by the way. I mean somethin’ you put in ya mouth, chewed, and swallowed.” He adds on quickly before you get the chance to say what he knows you will and with him eliminating 80% of your entire diet, you remain silent and pull away from him.

Hobie grabs your hand before you can fully retract from him. “Come on, le’s go eat, luv.” And you pull your hand from his. You know better than to fight him on this because it will lead to an argument about your diet in which he’ll say what he always says, “A diet still requires that you eat somethin!” His accent becoming all the thicker.

“Just lemme go one more time first.” You request him to grant you just one more go at the choreography. You feel that you were so close, so so close to perfection though anyone in the building will tell you that you have nothing more to improve on. That’s the thing about you. You nitpick the smallest things and when there’s absolutely nothing wrong about your performance, you’ll make something up. And with a recital just days away, all your worst habits were double as bad. Hobie knew your cycle well. Dance yourself to the edge of death before a recital, usually fall into a depressive episode immediately after the recital because you feel like you somehow fucked up in front of hundreds of people when you were perfect by all standard, and then once he finally convinced you that there was nothing wrong with your performance, the was the grace period in which Hobie could convine you to eat at least a meal a day and to give your brutalized feet a rest. Until it was time for another recital. Then it starts all over again.

He knew your process like he knew his own face and he knew exactly how to disrupt it.

“No– No more t’day, luv. Get ya tings so we can go.” He isn’t particularly gentle in his tone. As said before, a bit rough around the edges. “Don’ fight me on this one. No’ t’day.” His eyes are firm as he looks at you, tells you he’s not going to give this up, even if it starts some shit between the two of you which it undoubtedly always does. He knows you, maybe better than you know yourself. It’s always “one more” until you’re on the floor with bruised, blistered, and bleeding feet, blackened knees from falling, and scraped palms from your delicate hands hitting the ground. And he’s always there to clean you up because that’s just what love is.

You scoff and roll your eyes at him. “Whatever.” But you comply, you brush past him as you make your way to your bag. You sit on the floor and Hobie follows suit with you, grabbing your ankle delicately and pulling it towards him as his long, slender fingers pull the ribbons you had tied so tightly around your ankles. He sees the bandages he's wrapped around your feet began to let a few dapples of blood through. He could see your grimace, the way you tried to hide it like you weren't in pain. He made a mental note to get some more bandages for you.

You pulled on your leg warmers, then your flats to give your poor feet a break. The whole time, you made it clear you weren't happy with Hobie, but you knew he couldn't care in the least if you pretended to hate him because he knew that it wouldn't last. It never lasts, these little fits of yours. As long as you were healthy.

You wrapped your chiffon skirt around your hips and pulled on your shrug sweater, pulling your feet away as Hobie tries to get the full extent of the damage. "I'm fine. You wanted to go so let's go." You grab your shoes, and slip them up before standing uneasily and grabbing your duffle bag.

“We’re goin’ home. I’ll make you sometin’ when we get there.” He didn’t want you on your feet more than you needed to be. Hobie tried to appeal to you, an offer to make you something he knew you’d like. When you don’t respond, he tries again. “I’ll order sushi from tha’ place ya like.” He follows you outside, watching the way you tense a little as the cold air seized your muscles. You were nowhere near dressed enough for the weather. That’s exactly why Hobie brought an extra jacket.

You had a cigarette in the car, your legging-clad legs crossed and your body physically turned away. The window was down to air out the smoke and the wind tossed the tight curls of your hair as you gazed out at nothing in particular. Neither of you spoke. Hobie had nothing to say and you wouldn’t respond to him even if he did say anything.

He did end up getting you sushi. Your favorite. Something small and non-threatening food-wise, something you could eat if you weren’t so goddamn stubborn.

Getting home was a quiet affair as well. Your shared apartment was cluttered with things belonging to both of you. New pointe slippers were sitting on top of the breakfast bar of your studio flat, waiting to be destroyed an broken in the same way your body was. You tossed down your bag with an exhausted sigh. “I’m going to bed.” You hope Hobie will just let it go tonight. You’re in no mood to eat, thought you were fucking starving, much less to fight. But he’s not willing to let it go. “No– come eat. You need to eat before you go to sleep.” You were already removing your shoes as you fell into bed, simply too exhausted to remove any of your other clothing.

You can hear Hobie sigh in frustration. He doesn’t want to be rough with you in any capacity of the word. He just wants you to eat something— anything at all. “Get up, Y/N.” You can hear the way his voice warns you but you don’t want to move so you don’t. “I’m not hungry.” You lie right through your teeth. You’re so hungry you could eat the whole world in one bite and still want more. You were so hungry it felt like your stomach was beginning to cave in and digest itself out of desperation for something with some sort of substance.

“I don’ care if ya not hungry. You’ve gotta eat.” There’s a beat of silence, a chance for you to get up and end this here before it gets out of hand. But you’re both too stubborn for you’re own good. You don’t move, your fingers curling into the sheets as Hobie barks at you. “Y/N, get the fuck up! You’re makin’ this so much harder than it needs to be.”

Today has been log, your temper is short, and for a second, you feel like you’re losing it. You’re so hungry, so so hungry you feel your might not wake up from your sleep. But the recital is so close and you can’t afford to gain anymore weight. In a sudden burst of energy, despite your crippling hunger and the stinging, aching pain in your feet, you stand abruptly and march over to Hobie.

“I said–” you snatch the sushi from his hands and throw it to the ground, “I’m not fuckin’ hungry! Get off my fuckin’ back. I don’t need you up my ass right now!” You grab a dingy pack of cigarettes you had lying around and stormed off into the bathroom, with Hobie right in tow. You close and lock the door before he can follow you inside, his hand slamming on the thin wood that separated you from him. “Well, ‘m fuckin’ sorry that I give a single fuck ‘bout you when you seem so damn helbent on destoyin’ yaself. I’ll jus’ go piss off since ‘m such a fuckin’ nusance to you!” He hit the the door once more before going out to have a cig for himself. He’s not usually one to smoke, but in moments like this, he can’t help but take after your bad habits.

You both needed a moment to cool off. Pent up frustrations coming out in ways they shouldn’t meant that the two of you needed a break before begin near each other again. Hobie snatched his jacket and a stray cigarette with a nighter before heading out the front door to leave the building. He made sure to slam the door, let you know he was leaving, let you fear that he might not come back because you knew you weren’t acting like a reasonable person.

It’s the things the two of you do that destroy each other. But that’s love, isn’t it? It’s the good and the bad? You trying to teach Hobie how to dance like a ballerina like your tiny apartment had any real room for a body like his to move like that, the smokey giggles as you discard the dangers of smoking in bed and simply lie with him under the dim, LED lights and talk about nothing and everything all at the same time. It’s him cleaning your wounds after dancing for so long, you cleaning the cuts on his knuckles after a bar fight. It’s waking up early and watching the sunrise from your bed as he peppered kisses across your neck and worshiped you in the early morning light.

But it was also yelling at each other into the late nights, you throwing his clothes out the front door, him calling you an ungrateful bitch, both saying words you don’t mean. Love is aching. It can be painful, scarring, brutalizing on the soul. But the thing about true love is that it always mends itself despite it all.

A 20 minute smoke break and a few muttering curses later, Hobie felt he was finally calm enough to go back in and talk to you. He’s been sitting out on the cold on the front steps of your complex with nothing but his thoughts and the burning cig to keep himself warm. You were going through shit, he got that, but someone had to make sure you were okay. Someone had to be your self-preservation because you didn’t have any.

You hadn’t come out of the bathroom by the time he returned. Hobie tossed his jacket onto the bed as he made his way back to the bathroom door. He picked up the container of sushi on the way and tossed it into the garbage. He’d just make you something later.

“Y/N…baby.” He spoke as softly as he could through the door. “Can I please come in, luv?” He didn’t want to come in and get a bottle of lotion thrown at his head. You tended to be dramatic when angry. The silent but deadly type.

You were silent for a moment, a small sloshing of water told him you were in the bath. “The door’s unlocked,” he could just hardly hear you mutter beyond the door. Wasn’t exactly the invitation he was looking for, the bottle of lotion could still very well be a risk but it was one he was decidedly willing to take.

He opened the door slowly and peaked his head into the bathroom. You were in the tub with bubbles up to those pretty collarbones of yours. You had a cigarette perched between your dainty, trembling fingers, undoubtedly to suppress your hunger. Your eyes were red and puffy, mascara running down your cheeks in half-dried streaks, your legs pulled up to your chest just barely peeking up over the bubbles. Your favorite glass, heart-shaped ashtray was sitting on the ledge of the tub, already dusty with fresh ashes. Hobie got it for you, saw it and immediately knew you'd adore it. You did.

Hobie came and sat down on the ledge of the tub. You didn't look at him, just took another shaky drag and let the smoke pass by your lips. You looked like a mess and you were but you were his mess. His beautiful mess.

"You know I love you, righ?" He didn't expect you to reply and that was okay. You were tired, stressed, hungry, and probably in an incredible amount of pain. "You're my fuckin' everythin', doll. I'd do absolutely anythin' for you. Anythin'." You still didn't respond but he could see that you were listening, that you wanted to fall into him, kiss him. You turned away further but tapped the end of your cigarette against the edge of your ashtray.

Hobie slid off the tub and got down on his knees beside it to be at your level. "Do you wan' me to die? Is that it. You wan' me to drop fuckin' dead? 'Cause that's what'll happen if I gotta keep seein' you kill yaself like this." Killing yourself if such a proper term for how to treat yourself. You keep going on like this and you won't last much longer. You're so thin, unhealthily so, and you're always praised for it. But you won't eat for days, let yourself get so hungry you need to be hospitalized.

Tears prick your eyes as Hobie continues, resting his head against the tub ledge. "I can'' live in a world where you're not here, baby. I jus' can't. And it kills me to see you die a lil' more every single day." He sees the tears roll down your cheeks in fresh, salty streaks. 

 "But would you still love me?"

It catches him off guard. His pierced lips twist in dismay. "What?" You take a drag. "You fell in love with this version of me. As bad as I am. How do I know you won't stop loving me?" You knew you didn't sound rational in any way, shape, or form but you feared being left. You feared that for some reason— any reason— he'd leave you. He'd leave you if you weren't perfect, if you weren't thin enough, if you weren't pretty enough. Everyone told you how lucky he was to have you, such a nice, pretty girl on his arm to show off. A ballerina, the epitome of everything graceful, delicate, elegant, and beautiful.

Hobie reaches out, grabs your chin between the tips of his fingers to make you look at him. You can't bring yourself to meet his gaze. "Look a' me." When you don't, he leans in a way that puts him in line of your gaze. "If I stopped lovin' you because you got healthy, I don't deserve you. I could never stop loving' you. When we fight, I love you. When you scream and curse and throw things a' me, I still love you. When you cry all ugly 'n have ya makeup runnin' down ya face like you do right now, I think I fall in love with ya a lil' more."

You cry a little harder, sobbing as your cigarette falls into the water and sinks to the bottom of the tub. You lean into him as he holds you, not caring for the way you got him wet with the bath water and your tears.

"Don't cry, my pretty girl. It's okay." And he kisses you, your lips still tasking like strawberries and cigarettes.

[loversofthegrave]

teenage sammy grappling with his intolerable attachment to his big brother one shot<3

1998, South Carolina

Summer hits full on like a hammer, shrivelling the last spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. John has them situated this time in South Carolina in the middle of a buttfuck nowhere trailer park. Sam huffs out a whoosh wafting a strand of his shaggy, greasy hair and scuffs his knock-off beat up converse into the dry dirt, the path leading up into their new home for the next week or two.

John recites his customary speech, Dean nods, ‘Yes sir’ as Dean always does. He’s John more often than dad these days. John gave Sam a name when he was born then left, like a background actor in a movie, cut from the film roll. The rumble of the impala and he’s gone.

Spider plants hang from pots on the wide trailer porch. Chipped ceramic ornaments of butterflies and lizards were placed outside. Inside, the shabby floral wallpaper and checkered armchair. The tattered cotton curtains blowing gently, and the cross hung on the wall, wonky. It was like a polaroid from the 70s, all orange hues and clashing patterns.

“What a dump,” he said gritting his teeth.

“It’s not so bad,” Dean shrugs “Kinda cozy,”

Dean’s eyes like hawks observing their new home, finding quick exits, salting the windows and doors. Safety first, look out for Sammy, like the good toy solider that he is.

Sam knows Dean can’t help it, the urgency, the attentiveness, to keep safe, guard his little brother. Sam would be lying if he said he wouldn’t want it any other way, he hopes it’s a two-way street.

Truth is, being in each other's pocket is all they’ve ever known. Dean is Sam’s brother as much as he is his only friend, his father, his mother, all rolled into one. Dean's hands being a caress and a fumbling worry of a mother’s. Dean who changed Sam’s diapers, who soothed teething pains with nimble fingers, tender rocking's and forgiving scoldings. It was all him, not a woman with satin blonde hair and porcelain skin nor the man with the grief-stricken furrowed brows and whiskey sighs. No, it was the kid with the goofy grin and the shoulders weighed down heavy with more liability than a kid should ever know, now turned leather jackets and calloused hands, felon fingers, summers caress dotted upon the bridge of a nose. Summer has always been extra generous to him, he thought, kind of face that weighs heavy on a teenage boys heart.

Looking at Dean is like hallucinating like looking through the lenses of kaleidoscope, soft orange and pink hues from the sun dipping into the horizon of the late summer dusk framing his head like an angel but an angel in the flames. An angel that could be Gabriel but an angel that could be Lucifer too, like he would readily delve into the deep, dark hell as he would fly up to the lofty, illuminated places. And Dean would for Sam.

Dean was Sam’s first everything, and it’s no surprise Sam would want that forevermore.

Sam can’t help it, this craving, it’s insatiable, like an itch irritating him under new stretched teenage skin. If he itches and itches, scratches with blunt anxious bitten nails until he draws blood. But the blood he revels in, the curving, cutting and slaughtering himself to fit into the groove of Dean’s heart, he would do anything, and he knows Dean would do the same but not in the ways Sam yearns for. Sam knows, he knows it’s twisted, he knew as soon as he was enrolled in school and how not everyone else feels that way about brothers. But he doesn’t care, not when Dean is the only grace he was given in his world of destruction and ruin, his pure drop in an ocean of chaos. Damn it if the lord doesn’t forgive him, heaven and hell are just words to a hopeless boy like Sam. When his brother looks at him, he decides to wage holy war.

But Dean doesn’t know, not really, he knows Sam loves him but no more, no less, too frightful Sam would scare him fiercely, that he would leave Sam here, loose his grace, and what is Sam without his grace? Just an empty vessel, an angel damned from heaven, forever. Think he’s sick, corrupt, disgusting. Only Sam can be the one to know this about himself, swallow the key if he must. He tries his best to shelter away these parts from Dean, distancing ever so slightly, it just makes the craving worst, he thinks, withdrawal.

So, he lives with Dean, in his shadow. Watches him, envies him, wants to be him, wants to be with him, under him. Watches him waltzing around the kitchen with sultry hips after this week's easy fuck. Probably some white trash bimbo Sam thinks harshly, doesn’t know what it truly means to have him, a boy, a man, like Dean. He goes for anything with legs and a mouth in a 1-mile radius, puts it out to anything, anyone but Sam.

“You stink Dean,” Sam mumbles under his breath

“That’s the smell of champions Sammy” Dean grins, easy and careless, throwing a wink over his shoulder. Sam shoots daggers into his back.

This is their dance, Dad goes on a hunt for a couple of weeks, Dean and Sam are holed up in a shack and they pretend that this is their normal, habit, but it’s not, they we’re and forever born in motion. Dean enrols Sam into the local (another) high school, Dean gets a short-term job working with his hands to hold them over until Dad gets back, this time at the garage. They make small talk with strangers when necessarily and act according to their roles, relocates the suspicious eyes on Sam’s stitched up hand me down t-shirts and Deans violet blooming bruises from training and hunts, keeps social services off their back. But they fit in OK around this truckers town so Sam holds it rigid, this vexation, lewdness, this jealousy brimming. Puberty is fucked, Sam likes to blame it on that.

~

It’s Friday, the shutters of the trailer are open and wide. Sam’s in makeshift shorts that were once jeans that he cut at the knees one town ago. The radio is static, and The Mama’s & The Papa’s is being carried through the thick-cut air, ‘you've got everything I need, and nobody can please like you, you baby and who believes that my wildest dreams and my craziest schemes will come true?’

Sam’s growth spurt mixed with food stamp fed spindly legs are propped up on the coffee table barefoot, toes wiggling, as he shovels spoonfuls of store brand cornflake knock offs in his mouth. Dean comes in wafting of oil and summer sweat after being outside tinkering with the ford pick-up truck Dad sorted out with a local hunter before he briskly left. He slaps the bottom of Sam’s foot with his greasy rag. Sam grunts.

"Up and at 'em or you're gonna be late" Dean lectures, parenting.

Sam rucks on an old 1975 Black Sabbath tour shirt that used to be Dean's that used to be Dads, now faded grey and bobbling. Pokes his feet into socks with his right toe sticking out of the hole, laces up his shoes and climbs into the passenger seat of the pick-up. Dean drops Sam off at the Pine Springs High and told him he'd pick him up, told him to ‘give ‘em hell’.

Pine Springs High was full of scraggy kids, Beavis and Butt-head boys, girls busty and leggy. Sam befriends one friend, a skinny freckled boy with thick rimmed glasses. His name is Davey. They were sat next to each other in science, dissecting a frog. Sam figures cutting open this frog is harder than the ghouls they slaughter. What did this frog ever do to anyone? Davey was informing Sam on the anatomy, pointed out the chambers of the heart, the ventricle. He seemed interested in trying to impress Sam with how smart he was. "You know a lot," stated Sam.

He smiled. He was a boy who wanted to be seen. Sam suspects with certainty he’s not in these careless halls of teenagers reeking of hormones and wariness of social status.

High school is not as gentle with kids like Sam and Davey. But Sam can tackle it, give as good as he gets. That’s what he’s been trained to do, what their dad trained him to do, those sparring sessions with Dean every other day doesn’t go to waste, as much as Sam likes to grumble and whine. The decomposition ghost of a girl in a tatty white dress with fine needlepoint lace trimmings from the 1820’s has more oomph in her thump than any of these teenagers.

Even in a Gas-mart town like this one full of greasy kids with dirty fingernails Sam still is stared at by clusters of kids. Maybe it’s the adequate collection of bruising on his body from said sparring and Victorian decomposition, or maybe it’s the fact he’s an outsider (he’s always the outsider) but Sam doesn’t mind. Cleanliness and godliness are deceptive, he’d rather wear his wounds, his ugliness. No fooling, he was torn and stitched.

~

Dean picks Sam up, sees the mop of brown hair and downcast face amongst the sea of chattering high-spirited kids. It reminds Dean of when he encouraged him to go to a classmate's birthday party in kindergarten, timid little Sammy protested but Dean encouraged his little brother to go, nervy on all he was missing out growing up. When Dean went to pick him up at McDonald's he spotted him, dejected, eyes glazed over. Other children around him screaming and sliding into pits filled with coloured balls. It splintered Dean to his core.

When Sam is in arm reach Dean tousles Sam's hair, and he gets a whack of the hand and a gruff in response.

“How’d it go Sammy?” Dean asks, hefting himself up into the driver's seat.

“Fine.” Sam replies, quick, sharp. “And it’s Sam,” he stresses.

Dean doesn’t know what it is these days but there’s a slight ache, a gnawing. Sam used to look at Dean like he hung the stars just for him. That Dean was God’s own reflection but now there’s a distance, an interspace and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. At first, he thought maybe it’s teenage hormones or pheromones or whatever the fuck, but Dean never remembers being that sulky as a teenager. Maybe he never got the chance. When he tries to touch Sam, he flinches, scurries away like he just spooked a rodent. Used to revel in it, they practically grew up in each other's arms. Was still sharing a bed in the motels until two years ago.

Dean would never admit it out loud to him, but he misses Sam. Misses that constant comfort of touch and affection.

They stop off at a local diner on their way back to the trailer park, Sam questions if they have enough money for the month to eat out, Dean tells him not to worry. All wooden panels, red and white checkered table clothes, a sign that reads, ‘lumber jack pancake special for $5.95!’ Dean eyes it up, breakfast at dinnertime, their lives never have rhythm or reason anyways. They slide into a booth of worn leather, Sam on one side, Dean on the other.

Sam orders a panini with ham and cheese and fries, Dean the lumber jack pancakes. When they arrive by a shy petite waitress with inky dark eyes and blushing blotted cheeks, Dean swipes a fry off Sam’s plate just to receive another swat. Any touch is better than no touch, bad attention better than none.

Sam doesn’t miss the way the waitresses' eyes linger on Dean’s profile. If he shoots a frosty glare her way Dean doesn’t have to know.

~

The sun with no forgiveness, a parched sky, the hillsides with purple wilting drifts of milkweed, dotting the cracks of the gas-station and garage. It was Saturday, Sam was at the garage while Dean worked. Tucked in a corner sheltered from the suns ruthless beat with his library copy of Catcher In The Rye he couldn’t return when John dragged them out of the motel inn at dawn a town back. Sam said he felt guilty, Dean told him to stop being such a law-abiding citizen.

He gazed at Dean, could smell his sweat, sharp and strong, a man, Sam’s brain applied helpfully. He was wearing overalls, wiping workman sweat from his forehead. Sam wanted to lick him, taste the salt and summer kissed skin. He knows he’s disgusting. At this rate Sam thinks he should stab his eyes out, so he can’t look. Burn his skin off, so he can’t touch.

~

The next Sunday, Sam sleeps in late. He finds Dean slouched on the floral couch, stretched out like a housecat watching TV. It’s always a rarity to see him in a relaxed stance, undisturbed, a recess to the constant chaos of their lives. It settles something steady and peaceful within Sam with just a hint of sadness. He mumbles a drowsy good morning and trudges to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He pisses in the toilet, sluggish, holds himself up steady with a hand against the tiles. The splash of his piss hitting the water too loud in the quiet murmur of their trailer.

Washing his hands, he moseys around in the medicine cabinet above the sink. Inside, aimless trinkets left behind by previous owners. Tweezers with a single gemstone on them, antibiotic ointment, outdated eyedrops.

Sam finds a small capsule behind an empty bottle of aspirin. He reaches for it, revealing a lipstick, the cheap kind you pick-up at Walmart for $5.

He holds it in his hand, stares. Turns it in his palm, opens the lid with a subtle click and rotates the base.

The lipstick itself is a cherry red, obscene kind of red. The type he sees on hookers lingering around the corners at motels when he slips out at dusk to buy Dr Peppers from the vending machine with the quarters Dean made him pocket.

The garish fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, whirring like insects as he watches them showcasing their chests and unveiled legs. They always look cold, Sam thinks.

Sam looks up and scans his face in the mirror, holds the lipstick close to his nose, sniffs it. It smells like wax and chemicals, half suspected it to smell like strawberries and an angel's kiss or something, screws his nose up.

Without much reflection he smears the cherry red lipstick onto his lips, it's messy and askew not as neat as he sees on the girls in Dean's skin mags. He sets down the lipstick onto the sink and looks at himself, really looks.

The glaring red on such a boyish face like Sam's feels lewd and indecent. He feels slightly silly, embarrassed, his cheeks stain a weak scarlet. He wonders what others would think of him like this, Dean, his dad.

God, dad would probably be appalled, call him a sissy, punish him by making him do triple the training. Make him run for miles under the blazing sun.

But Dean, what would Dean think of his little brother like this? If Sam just waltzed right out of the bathroom now and stood dead in the line of Dean's vision. Would he stammer? Get all flustered and struck-dumb? Would he look at Sam and think of him as those girls he promenades to the impala, the motel room when he thinks Sam's asleep and not hanging onto every grunt and sigh coming from Dean's throat. Stores them in the hollow of his heart, imprinted on it just as sacred as the Holy Bible is to a priest.

Would he want to tenderly caress the shape of his mouth, smear the lipstick, make Sam looked wrecked? He inspects the long plains of his body, like scorched landscape, bronzed from June’s boldness.

Sam’s been trying to get used to it, his recasting body. Finally losing his baby fat, almost catching up to Dean in height much to Dean’s dismay. Just he doesn’t carry the newly stretched limbs well, feels like a puppet and someone else is yanking the strings. He hasn’t thought about it much, how others perceive him, how Dean perceives him.

Sure, Sam’s had his first kiss and fumbled under a girl's shirt in Indiana last year, let him touch her boobs. She wore lots of eyeliner, wore black bulky boots and liked Alice In Chains. Sam creamed his pants as soon as he got a soft plump handful, she didn’t seem to mind so he tried not to feel too embarrassed. He couldn’t wait to tell Dean (lied to a reasonable measure) for him to be proud of him. Dean let Sam have his first beer after he told him, “Since you’re a man now,” Dean announced, “Don’t tell Dad,” He winked. Sam never tells John their secrets.

But other than that, he’s a bit clueless, still bashful when girls look his way. Isn’t fabricated like Dean, heavied bottom lip into effortless grin that make’s girls drop and fractures their porcelain hearts, little unconsciously brutal but never intentional to be so. Sam would let Dean smash him into smithereens, shards of broken ceramic all over the tiles, if he’d wanted.

He thinks about the woman who supposedly left the lipstick here, he decides it’s an older woman, barefoot in a simple dress in the tail end of summer, her feet and the palms of her hands showed pale pink against her sunburnt skin, looked ornamental. He decided she had many lovers, wore it for them, wonders if Dean would be one. Wonders what she would think finding out a gawky teenage boy was trying on her bygone lipstick.

Wonders what it would be like to wear this for Dean, his lover.

Dean compulsive, gluttonous with the want of Sam, gushing his hands over the sides of his body, the pull of his rutting teenage hips. The neediness he sometimes gets in that platonic brotherly way bordering on hysteria whenever Sam’s hurt. All his senses submerged entirely by Dean Dean Dean, his touch, his smell, his hot breath.

Sam shoves a frantic hand down his pyjama pants and briefs, wrenches his dick with crazed tugs. Comes that exact same time there’s rough banging on the door, Dean shouting, “Come on Sam, you’ve been in there forever!” rattling the door with his presence.

Sam leaps, grimacing at the mess he made in his pants, swiping a towel and cleaning himself up in rapid motions. Rubs off the lipstick with the back of his hand, scouring his mouth.

“You jerking off in their little brother?” Dean calls out, muffled slightly through the thick wood of the bathroom door, amusement laced in his tone.

When Sam is sure he’s cleansed himself of any misdemeanours and removed all crucial evidence he swings the door open and shoulders past Dean muttering, “No Dean, I wasn’t jerking off.” How much of that Dean believes is out of his control. He pockets the lipstick.

[venuslcver]

RELENTLESS PT. 4 ⋆

pairing: pushyex!rafe x kook!reader

synopsis: you find that the day after your encounter with rafe, your ex-boyfriend, both of you seemed to have different expectations for how your relationship stands.

tw: feminine described character, ex-lovers, pining, profanity, toxic love (no use of y/n)

any type of interaction including likes, comments, and reblogs is appreciated! but ultimately not necessary. let me know if im missing any warnings!

hearing the ring of the doorbell, you threw on your pink satin victoria secret robe, flying down the newly done, wooden stairs in your house. you must have finally got the package that you had been waiting at least five days for, it contained multiple new outfits that you would consider dying for. i mean it was the bare minimum considering how beautiful they were.

forcing the door open abrasively, you let a sign when you didn't find a large package on your porch, but flowers...

picking up the rather generously large bouquet, you searched for any type of identification for the giver of the breathtaking, hand-picked flowers.

it can't be from rafe

there is no possible way in hell it's from rafe. seeing the hand-written note, "a gift for making you sore last night- rafe"

letting out an obnoxiously loud scoff, it seemed to concern your mother enough to walk onto the main foyer, "oh wow! who are those from?"

quickly plucking the inappropriate note from the eye line of her, you began to walk up the stairs, "I have no idea"

"huhh, that's weird. anyways you need to meet your father at the golf course at arou-", taking a moment to look at her vintage watch, "around 12:30"

continuing your pace up the stairs through the entirety of the conversation, "sounds good, you meeting us after for dinner, right?"

"yes, dear"

laying the flower vase onto your dresser, sliding your robe off, you continue getting dressed for a round of golf with your dad and a couple of his friends. surprisingly they were actually were quiet entertaining, especially when they got a little drunk on the course. which naturally guaranteed that you would whoop their asses in golf.

pulling up in your own separate golf cart, you were greeted by the old men; your dad, aaron, mark, and ward. you met officially rafe through ward, he would occasionally join a game with his dad instead of just his buddies. and soon enough he was fucking you in a secluded part of the golf course.

"god i'm rusty" you thought.

you started to get into the rhythm by the second hole, just as you began to laugh at a joke that aaron, mia's dad, said, you see a distant golf cart edge closer and closer to the game that you guys were currently playing.

there is no fucking way in hell it's really him

sure enough, coming speeding up on one wheel, was rafe with a large smile on his face, and alcoholic beverage in hand. coming to a halting stop, rafe stalked closer, not before resting an arm around your shoulder, subconsciously fiddling with the straps of your shirt. there you stood, not able to move away from his touch. your dad looked utterly confused at the current situation unfolding in front of him.

"sorry guys, accidentally let time get away from me"

a synchronized "no problem" quickly left the older guy's mouths. hearing a deeper voice, you snapped out of your current thought process, "I didn't even get a thank you for the flowers"

purposefully speaking with a low tone while seemingly smiling, "i thought the fact that i left in a hurry, let you know that i regret what happened"

a little harsh

you saw rafe's face dropped quick to turn pale in color, though, only for a split second before putting up his usual cold exterior.

"baby, you want'a drink?", rafe asked loud enough for everyone to hear without question. simply because he knew that it would piss you just as much as you did to him. though his comment would never hurt you— unlike yours.

the five older men all glanced at each other for a brief moment before attempting to focus back on the game.

he has truly reached another level of douchebag

and that is exactly what you told him, propping your bodyweight on top of your toes, whispering into his ear, "your truly such'a dick, you know that"

before he could come up with a counterargument, he began to get heckled, "it's your turn rafe" "come on, it's your turn, man"

by the time that the game had concluded, rafe had somehow wormed his way into also having dinner with your family at the country club. and considering that rafe would be joining for dinner, your dad decided that he would drive home and get your mom, while you began getting settled at the reserved table.

which lead to the current moment— you and rafe sitting at the dinner table alone. looking into your eye line, the beach sunset through the wall of windows, which made you wish that you could slam your head into the window hard enough to get out of the awkward situation. clearing his throat, "soo, you got any idea of what your gonna order?"

looking over at rafe, you could tell that he had something else on his mind, something that caused him to soften his eyes when you made eye contact with him for the first time in hours, "no one is around, what's a 'matter?"

scanning the surrounding area, seeing that not a single soul was close enough to hear anything that rafe would say— when he potentially expelling his feelings. real human feeling. those of which he lacked for most of his life.

"w-why'd you b-break up... with me?" he leaned forward, eyes barely able to hold eye contact.

[givemea-dam-break]

hi!! i absolutely adore your writing, and i have a request for reader x lockwood :) what if reader is smart and likes to read and stuff but is super oblivious and can’t make a first move for the life of her? and maybe it’s her first kiss or something idk :D

a/n: ooooh yes this is a cute idea!!! i hope you enjoy <3 this is in spite of netflix cancelling the show. fuck netflix.

warnings: none female reader

Correct Me If I'm Wrong - Anthony Lockwood

You're not sure when the last time you felt truly pretty was.

Most days are spent either in tatty pyjamas that are due a wash, or clothes with a myriad of ectoplasm burns and a permanent smell of lavender that clogs up your nose and makes you need to sneeze, no matter what kind of fabric conditioner you shove into the washing machine. Your hair? Well, it's certainly seen better days.

But today. Today.

Lucy stands behind you, zipping up the back of your dress as you smooth the front of it until some of the wrinkles have flattened out a little. The satin gleams in the hazy light of your shared attic bedroom, and you find yourself smiling at your reflection in the mirror. When was the last time you dolled yourself up for something?

That's not to say you're overly concerned with how you look on a day-to-day basis, it's just that the ghost-fighting business doesn't really allow for nice outfits. Except for tonight, you suppose.

The Fittes at Fifty Ball is tonight, and you've been dreading it. In all honesty, you would much rather stay at home and get as much research done about the Bone Glass before the members of Lockwood and Co take on a heist to retrieve it, but you've not got much of a choice. You all need to look as inconspicuous as possible seeing as the very thing you need, a book by Mary Dulac, is stored in the Black Library at the Fittes headquarters.

"All done," Lucy says. "Ready to steal from the biggest, most well-protected agency in the UK?"

No, not really, but still you say, "Always."

"I'm going to get our stuff ready." She fiddles with the billowing sleeves of her blue dress. "Want me to pack those biscuits you like?"

"Absolutely, Luce," you say. "Thank you."

When she leaves, you find yourself staring at your reflection for a moment longer and liking the person you see. With a satiny green dress and hair that looks like more than a few minutes of effort have been put in, you look starkly different from usual. It makes you almost yearn for more party heists.

As you're tugging on your boots, there's a knock on the door. The pattern rapped out on the wood is familiar and it makes you smile, and you say, "Come in."

Lockwood steps through the open door and makes his way up the steps into the bedroom. His dark suit makes him look even more professional than usual, and his hair has been combed back neatly, showcasing those mischief-filled dark eyes you love so much. He's carrying something behind his back, making sure to keep it hidden. But the thing you take the most notice of is his tie. It's green.

It likely means nothing. Lockwood wears whatever he wants whenever he wants with little regard for colour - come on, he wears salmon pink socks! - but something about it feels purposeful. You've never seen him wear a green tie. Hell, you didn't even know he owned one. And this is the exact same shade as your dress.

He stops a few feet short of your bed, watching with glittering eyes as you stand and smooth out your dress once more. There's a smile playing on his lips, softer than his usual grin, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"How do I look?" you ask, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

Having him see you in a dress, with your hair styled and your makeup done, feels like standing on a stage in front of thousands of people. You're way more nervous than you should be.

For a moment, he says nothing, and you worry that he thinks it looks terrible. Maybe you should've picked the chiffon dress rather than satin, or maybe the red instead of green. You thought you had made your hair look quite nice, but maybe it looks quite stupid...

And then he says, "You look - you look beautiful, (name)."

There's a fluttery feeling in your chest, but you shove it down. You can't let yourself hope for anything that likely won't happen. Friends tell each other they look beautiful. You and Lucy do it all the time! This is no different just because it's Lockwood. Well, maybe it's a little different.

"You, too," you say. Your cheeks flush. "Well, not beautiful. Actually, I mean, if you want to be then sure. I just meant -"

He laughs, and your voice fades off. It's quite possibly your favourite sound, his laugh, because of how light it sounds. After working with him for a few months now, it's easy enough to tell that Lockwood isn't doing great a lot of the time. With his recklessness, the little jokes he makes that aren't really jokes, it's more than evident. So, now, hearing his laugh sound so genuine makes you smile and you feel a little less embarrassed.

"Thank you," he says, his smile becoming brighter. "I, uh, I have something for you. That is if you want it, of course."

"You know I hate surprises."

"Trust me. You'll like this one."

The hand that was behind his back appears, holding what looks to be an old book. The cover is faded, and the pages have browned, but he holds it delicately on the flat palm of his hand. Curiously, you step closer to him and gingerly take it from his hands.

Upon reading the title and flipping through the first few pages, your heart swells with gratitude. "This is a first edition."

"I'd certainly hope so with the trouble I went to finding it."

Your fingers carefully slip through each page, and you smile so widely you're afraid your cheeks might tear. "Lockwood, this had to have cost a fortune! You didn't have to get me this."

His posture is casual, but there's a glimmer of happiness in his eyes that is unmistakable. "I heard you talking to George about it a few weeks ago. It's your favourite book, and your birthday was recently. In all reality, I'd hoped to give it to you then, but today was the day I managed to get my hands on it."

"You -" The words get stuck in your throat, and you can almost feel yourself tearing up. "I've wanted this since I was a kid. I - Thank you, Lockwood. Seriously. This is..."

"You work so hard here," Lockwood says softly, "and I want you to know it doesn't go unnoticed. Besides, you've always been here for me. I wanted to give you something in return."

"I don't need anything in return for being a decent human being."

"Oh, all right. I'll take it back then."

Clutching the book tightly to your chest, you listen happily as he laughs again, throwing his head back a little. It's a wonderful sight, one that has your heart racing, one that makes you itch to throw your arms around him in the tightest embrace you can muster to simply show how grateful you are for the book, for his laugh and his smile and his presence.

But you refrain. Who's to say he won't just push you away?

"Thank you," you say again. "You're the best."

"I hope you're not just saying that because I pay your wages."

It's almost unnoticeable, but he shuffles forward ever so slightly. Already, you can feel the warmth radiating off of him and smell the faint scent of bitter tea and cheap shampoo underneath whatever aftershave he's put on. Your breath catches in your throat. There's less than a foot between you, but it has you fumbling for something to say or do.

"We should probably head downstairs," he murmurs, gaze fixed on yours. "The taxi will be here soon."

You nod. Neither of you moves.

He looks at you with those coppery eyes of his with a smile that feels distinctly private, and your heart thuds so loudly in your chest that you're convinced he can hear it, too. Words echo in your mind, words you want to say to him more than anything else, but your lips stay firmly shut.

How are you meant to tell him how you feel? That every time he merely looks at you, your heart starts beating as if you've just run a marathon? That you long to be the only person he shares his private smiles with, the only one that ever hears his true, unburdened laughs when you make a joke or make a fool of yourself? How are you supposed to explain that the times you spend with him are your favourites or that you search a dozen different shops simply to find his favourite biscuits to make him smile?

It's easy enough to list it to yourself, to find the words, but to say them to him? It's a different thing entirely, and it makes your mouth feel dry and your hands tremble a little.

"I need to tell you something," Lockwood says, and his voice has become breathier, quieter. "Just in case things go wrong tonight.”

"Nothing's going to go wrong."

He makes to take your book from your hands, and you hesitate. He only laughs, promising that it isn't going far, and slips it onto your crowded bookcase with gentle hands.

Gentle hands that soon reach for yours.

The touch takes you by surprise, but it's welcome. His hands are soft and warm, and they envelop yours. Now he has to be able to feel your racing pulse, surely. There's no way he can't.

"(name)..." He pauses, looking away from you for a moment. When his gaze returns, it's soft, nervous, even, and you find yourself transfixed, unable to look away. "I've been trying to tell you this for a few weeks now, but I couldn't - I couldn't figure out the words, so I resorted to other things. Making your tea in the mornings, asking you to come along with me on errands."

Bright, beautiful hope flickers in your chest, and this time you don't push it down. This time, you nurture it, letting it bring a small smile to your lips. Lockwood sees it, and he straightens a little with confidence. Not much, nowhere near as confident as he usually seems, but it keeps him speaking.

"Ever since you walked through the front door for your interview, I've never stopped thinking of you. Day and night, you're on my mind. The way you scrunch your nose when you're listening for Visitors, or how you become entirely unreachable when you read. How I can ask you anything, and you know the answer to it almost immediately."

His hands are shaking a little bit. You squeeze them softly.

"I like the way you smile, and how happy you are when I remember your order for Arif's. Most of all, I like -"

He's struggling with the words.

"Are you trying to say you like me?"

Part of you doesn't believe it. How could he? He's Anthony Lockwood, a boy from the city who owns his own company that breaks how the system of ghost-hunting works by simply having him be in charge. And you? You're a girl from some tiny town, a nobody whose only virtues are being relatively smart and being able to hear ghosts, though not on a grand scale. In reality, your paths would never have crossed if not for you finding a little clipping in the newspaper advertising for an agent.

So how could he like you? With his admirable Sight, the confidence that you always lack, the charm that could be used to entrance any girl he could ever so wish?

But here he stands, so close to you with shaky hands and faltering words, looking at you as if you've been placed here by some otherworldly forces solely for the purpose of enchanting him. He looks at you as if you're more than you really are, like someone a person could love and cherish.

"No," he says.

And your heart sinks all the way down to the floor, followed by your eyes. Your hands slacken in his, and your skin feels hot with embarrassment. You dread to think of how red you've become, and you turn your face away from him, instead looking at the book he gifted you. Were you stupid for hoping it meant more? Probably.

"I love you."

Three words. Three simple words that have your gaze snapping back to his, your heart rushing to your throat, and your hands tensing all at the same time. Three simple words that spark a blazing fire inside your chest. But, still, there's an ache in your throat.

"Don't kid with me, Lockwood."

His eyes are completely sincere, crinkled slightly with humour. "I'm not."

"You're about to laugh."

"Only because you're funny."

"I -" Your hands slip from his, and you brush your hair out of your face, faltering back a step. "You're being serious?"

With slightly pink cheeks and an almost shy smile, he says, "I am. I wouldn't joke about this, (name)."

"You - You love me? Why?"

"Didn't you listen to that long spiel I just had?" Once more, he takes a step closer. Then another until he's standing even closer than before, close enough that you can feel his breaths ruffling your hair slightly. "Because you're you. Because I admire and adore every single part of and about you."

You have to tilt your head to look at him with him being so close. "Have you hit your head recently?"

"If I have, and this is a dream, then I'm glad you're the girl of my dreams."

"Girl in your dreams," you correct quietly, halfheartedly.

Lockwood smiles. "I love that about you, too. That incessant need to correct me on anything I say."

"Someone's got to."

"Okay, well, correct me if I'm wrong, but would I be right in assuming that you feel the same?"

The words catch in your throat, but you nod regardless, smiling when his smile melts into his wide grin. This grin, it isn't the newspaper one. The infamous Lockwood Grin. This is only for you, something for you both to share solely between yourselves, and it's something you feel eternally grateful for being able to see, never mind be the cause of.

"Fantastic," he says, "because there's something I've been wanting to do for what feels like a lifetime now."

Your voice comes out shaky. "Would it perhaps involve kissing me?"

It does, apparently, because he leans closer until your faces are almost touching. His hands cup your face so gently it's as if they've been created from the air itself, but he waits, searching your eyes for any hesitation or rejection.

He never finds it. When your face tilts in accordance with his, he takes his cue and presses his lips onto yours.

You've never kissed anyone before, so the feeling is surreal. It's as if the very world around you melts away into nothingness until all you're aware of is him and his hands on your face, yours on his chest, his lips on yours. By no means is the kiss long, but it feels like eternity in a single second. Everything feels right and perfect.

When he pulls away, you're a little lost for breath, but you smile at him nonetheless, egged on by his dazzling grin. His hands still cup your face, and you're still clutching the blazer at his chest, but neither of you makes to move. Not when this feels so right.

"I'd do that again," he says softly, "but we have a taxi to get in."

"Who cares? One more?"

And he obliges before taking your hand in his and leading you out of the room. All the while, you yourself grin. Maybe you should be hopeful more often.

[ghoulsister1]

❤️The Devil's Favourite❤️

Lucifer x Reader. GN Reader. (Lucifer from The Sandman) Fluff. Reader visits Lucifer. Lucifer loves their darling human. Just some sweetness and kisses. Cuddling. My first time writing for the beautiful Lucifer🥺❤️

You stepped into the large room hesitantly. No matter how many times you visited your lover, you still worried about some of Hell's demons. Some of them knew you were Lucifer's and should they lay a finger on you, it would mean instant death at the hands of the Morningstar or Mazikeen. But still you worried some demons wouldn't care for such rules, there were some who dared to defy Lucifer and of course were dealt with accordingly.

Upon entering you saw the tall figure of your lover, Lucifer standing over the balcony, looking down at the hellfire and chaos below. You stood for a few mins before you cleared your throat to greet.

"Good evening my love" You Greeted them softly. Lucifer turned around upon hearing your voice. They smiled upon seeing you and made their way towards to you.

"Good evening my darling Y/N. How are you? Have you been well?" Asked Lucifer as they came to stand in front of you, smiling softly.

"I have. Tired at most, been a hectic week. But never mind about my week, how have you been?" You Asked sweetly. Lucifer tutted and walked closer to you.

"Come now my dear, you know I love to hear about your day or week. Mine has been relatively the same, except for a few disruptions but nothing me or Mazikeen can't handle. Come into the bedroom, the walk must have been tiring" Lucifer Suggested, taking you by the hand.

You followed without protest and soon you were in the large master bedroom of Lucifer's domain. A large Queen sized bed of red velvet sheets and pillows with dark satin drapes was there, a large round table and a balcony with a view to the hellish fire and brimstone outside.

You sat down on one the dark plush armchairs and sank into it comfortably. Lucifer sat on the one across from you.

"There, now you may unwind for tonight. I'll ask one of the demons to bring us up a few morsels and something to drink" Suggested Lucifer as they gazed at you.

You blushed under their gaze and they smiled upon seeing the pink tinge in your cheeks.

"You are too kind, my love really" You Blushed.

"I like having you around my dear. I'm always happy to see you and I look forward to our little meetings and dates. I hope you feel the same way, my dear or does my company tire you?" Teased Lucifer.

"Oh no never! I love our dates!" You Cried, flustered but Lucifer just laughed softly.

"Oh hush now my sweet, you know I love to tease you. I know you feel the same, rest assured" Assured Lucifer. You smiled at them and they returned the smile.

A demon eventually arrived with food and drink. You and Lucifer wined and dined, indulging in conversation and sharing a few laughs.

It was eventually time to leave but tonight, you didn't want to go back to the mortal realm, alone.

"Lucifer?" You Asked softly.

"Yes my beloved?" Answered Lucifer.

"If it's not a inconvenience to you, may I stay the night with you here? It's just, I don't feel like going back to my realm alone tonight" You Explained, blushing and looking away shyly.

"Why dear, of course you may stay. Stay as long as you like my love! You are always welcome in my domain my love" Replied Lucifer, smiling softly. You smiled.

"Come, let's go to bed" Offered Lucifer and the two of you were in bed, you snuggled up close to Lucifer as they held you in their arms, pressing a kiss lovingly to your lips as you returned the kiss.

"Goodnight my love" You Whispered.

"Goodnight my beloved" Whispered Lucifer tenderly.

[gojos-fr-bae]

𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝕯𝖔 𝕻𝖙. 2- 𝕸𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖎𝖙 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖕

Pairing: CEO!Gojo x Fem!Lawyer!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, drinking, smoking, drug use, thoughts of su1c1de, panic attack, depressed Gojo

Word Count: 1.1k

H/C- home country

Minors DNI

Gojo stirred from his sleep...again.

He's waking up...again.

Why couldn't he just be at peace for once.

Suddenly he felt so nauseous. And then cam the pain. The strong, unbearable, disgusting, white hot pain.

He ran to the toilet and gagged so hard, trying so hard to throw up the food he hadn't even eaten. When was the last time he ate? He couldn't even remember that at a good time let alone when he was throwing up so hard his vision was blurring. But then again, maybe those were his tears as sobs racked his body.

Make it stop make it stop MAKE IT STOOP!

Why wouldn't it all just stop. Maybe it was the two bottles of gin he took before bed...or the five sleeping pills...or the kilo of cocaine. All he knew was that he was sitting on his bathroom floor wishing he took all the pills, maybe then they would've stopped his heart.

*Knocks*

"Satoru you're going to be late" Said Nanami, annoyed on the other side of the door.

Gojo slapped his hand over his mouth to muffle his cries.

"Satoru?" Nanami tried again, voice sounding slightly more worried this time.

The lack of a response caused him to open the door, his stoic expression softening ever so slightly as he looked down at his best friend.

"Again?"

Satoru looked up at him before letting his shoulders shake, tears cascading down his face as he nodded his head.

"*sigh* Alright, let's get you cleaned up"

~

"She's here" Nanami said to Gojo, now in his office.

"Really?" the latter perked up, rising from his seat.

"Yes but if I may ask, why are you so interested in her?"

"You know she shut down my flirting?"

"And this shocked you because?"

"When last do you remember me being reject by someone with a pussy?"

"You want to go there?" Nanami asked, smirking at Gojo who rolled his eyes.

"Just tell me where she is"

"Staff room, pretty sure she's getting breakfast, you should try it some time,"

"The staff room?"

"Breakfast,"

"Oh you're soo funny"

Satoru groaned before walking out of the office to go find you. Who knows, maybe he'll get lucky today.

~

"Hey~" a deep voice whispered in your ear making you jump in shock and turn around ready to kill whoever was behind you. Unfortunately, that happened to be your new boss.

"Oh, Mr. Gojo, how may I help you?"

"Not much just um... getting coffee."

"Ah, let me make you some then, how many sugars?"

"Five,"

"FIVE? What the hell, it's like you don't even want teeth."

"I guess not."

You looked at him like he had three heads before making him the coffee but putting 4 sugars instead of 5.

"So, there's a company dinner tonight for all the new staff, would love to see you there."

"Of course sir, now if you'll excuse me I have to get working."

"Please, go ahead"

"Yes sir," You said before bowing and walking away from him as fast as possible, who knows, maybe you will trip on your heels, twist an ankle and have to miss the dinner.

~

"Woah, and where are you going dressed like such a slut?" Toji asked, leaning on the frame of the bathroom door, looking you up and down while smirking.

For the dinner you chose to wear a light pink, knee length satin dress with a sweetheart neckline. You even straightened your hair and were finishing up on your makeup.

"Well if you MUST know, I'm going for a company dinner."

"Dresses like that? Might ass well just go naked and take birth control. I call dibs on Godfather."

"Yeah yeah, you're just cause ur going to be alone tonight."

"Says who? I'm going to be so busy I had to fill up on condoms."

"As if you'll use them." you snorted, walking past him to pick up your bag and leave.

"You look gorgeous by the way" He whispered, making you turn around and smile at him softly.

"Thank you"

"Uh huh, yeah now fuck off the strippers get here in ten, I don't need them seeing your weird ass, might think I'm cheating on them," He snorted, making you role your eyes and walk out of your shared apartment, wondering why you still put up with him.

~

You walked into the reserved room with a few of your colleagues, making the meeting complete. And you did your best to ignore the fact that your boss saved you the seat right beside him.

"Great! Now that we're all here and situated, I would like to raise a toast to all of you and welcome you to Gojo industries, I look forward to working with all of you. Cheers"

And while everyone was toasting, you couldn't help but notice how Gojo's hand was shaking. You also looked at his face and noticed his pupils were dilated.

"Uhm, excuse me sir, are you okay?" you whispered once everyone had settled down and were immersed in their own conversations.

"Of course, why would you ask?

"Well, it's just that you're shaking, so I was slightly concerned."

"Ah, I didn't even notice, maybe I just need some fresh air, excuse me."

He rose from his seat and made his way out of the room, but you couldn't help but notice how his breathing had sped up slightly and his shoulders tensed. Kinda of weird but then again he seemed like a pretty odd guy so you chose not to question it.

~

You were walking through the restaurant when you passed the back door and heard some heavy breathing. You slowly walked towards it and cracked the door open and shock cannot even begin to express the emotion you were experiencing at that moment.

There was your boss, squatting while leaning against the building wall. But what caused your surprise was his heavy breathing. He was shaking so violently that even though you technically hated his guts you couldn't help but worry.

"Sir? A-are you ok?"

Instead of a response, his breathing quickened. He was...having a panic attack? What the...huh?

"Uhm sir, please calm down." you said in the softest tone you could muster, putting your bag down and trying to pat his back.

"Make it stop, please" you hear him croak, his voice sounded so soft, so weak, so...broken. You'd had your fair share of panic attacks but through the lower half of them, you had Toji to be a shoulder to cry on so you know that being alone while suffering like this was hell. And because of this, you kneeled down and pulled him against you, wrapping your arms tightly around him and placing his head against your neck.

Once you did he began to sob so hard you were pretty sure it was tipping his throat raw. He grabbed your dress so hard he feared he would never be able to let go.

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Tags: @porridgesblog

© gojos-fr-bae

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

imminent danger ii, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Don't get Jeon Jungkook started on the technical side of making porn videos. What? It's important to him to bring high quality content! Okay... maybe he just likes acting desperate and slutty. Look, we all win, don't complain! It's the Halloween special, so put those bunny ears on and get to work!

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; sex workers!couple: JK and his internet porn writer!gf OnlyFans livestream, costume(?) edition; yes the costumes are the lowest of effort, welcome to porn logic; low-key crack, oop; smut (fem reader, filming of sex, exhibitionist kink, mirror kink, noona kink, praise kink, teeny humiliation kink, pet name (bunbun), spit and lube everywhere, m-receiving anal with glass dildo, handjob, cum-eating, f-receiving oral); non-idol!BTS - sub!JK x noona, dom!reader; Jungkook’s POV

magician wiyllt about to magic a dildo into bunny JK's ass, lmao

--

People didn’t realize making a porn video was a lot more than turning on the camera and acting desperate and slutty. Well, it was for Jeon Jungkook anyway (although he was very good at acting desperate and slutty, thank you very much). The hidden sex tape vibe did jumpstart the whole idea though. Originally, it was suggested as – okay, fine, fine, he suggested it because he was a horny degenerate and wanted to try it. When you have the hottest, sexiest girlfriend in the world, hell yeah, you wanna film the sex and jack off to it later.

What?

He had needs!

And said needs included masturbating to himself and his girl fucking. Yes, it sounded vain, and it was, but Jungkook was not going to apologize for it. Besides, apparently a lot of other people wanted to watch him acting desperate and slutty while wearing bunny ears.

As in right now.

He was wearing soft, white long ears lined with pink satin on top of his long black hair (high contrast and light reflecting fabrics were important for looking good on camera) as a needy whine built in his chest when cold glass touched his hot tongue (again, light reflective), staring hazily at his smirking girlfriend who leaned down and angled her head so that the camera could catch two glistening pink tongues simultaneously licking the clear glass dildo, drenching it with saliva.

You know.

Because reflecting light was important for creating a dynamic scene.

Just kidding, Jungkook had planned for it to be a horny-inducing shot and he was right because he was getting hard, but also he was getting hard seeing his girlfriend looking sexy as fuck in that tiny black satin vest and skirt combo with thigh high sheer black stockings, matching ruffled garters, and black velvet high heels. Your classic bunny and magician theme for this Halloween season, right? No top hat though. That would be too tacky.

A dildo as a magic wand, eh?

Look, this was porn. Everyone was here to watch him get throat fucked by a glass dildo more than complain about his low-effort bunny costume.

So, anyway, back to the discussion of how Jungkook approached making his own porn videos. It was a collaborative effort. His girl was a (online smut) writer and she had all the good (cough, lewd and obscene) ideas for what to do. He was a video editor (a real day job, not sexy), so he knew he wanted to frame the shots so it would look the best on camera. They had fun experimenting on their own, and she was very supportive as he got more and more into it. He was the kind of person who always wanted to get better at his interests (sex with his girl was his primary interest in life, sorry not sorry). At first, they were only going to keep them for themselves, but, well, it seemed like they already had an audience (read: horde of dirty-minded followers from her sex blog who were very interested in her face, his face, and in paying good money to watch their faces make out and get naked, an activity he was already trying to do on the daily).

So… that escalated quickly.

The video content was mostly focused on him, because, as she said, she had the writing down and he would ace the visual side. Each of them would have their own thing, avoiding any competitiveness between them.

Yup.

Okay, fine, he liked being told what to do, he liked being fucked and filmed, and he liked other people telling him that he was a good slut for his woman, so what, so what if he lived like that?

Was he not allowed to be a-dick-ted to erotica?!

What was wrong with giving into all his pleasures and doing all sins? He was the main character of his life and what was more main character energy than being fucked with bunny ears on cam? (Probably a lot of things.) Well, anyway, he wasn’t going to let anyone tell him he couldn’t do what he wanted.

Well.

Except her.

But she would eventually give in to his big peepers. Jungkook was confident about that.

She was standing behind him, holding his chin and tipping it up. Slowly sliding the glass dildo in and out between his moaning lips, pressing the white ears against her stomach and letting everyone watch him graze his fingertips over his hard cock, spreading his thighs more. He was kneeling in front of the camera, naked chest flexed with tension of trying not to actually masturbate yet.

Little bit of body oil, of course, so the camera could catch the light reflecting off his toned muscles.

“What a good bunbun.”

The way she purred his pet name, fuck, with so much love and care while thrusting into his mouth. He wanted to roll his eyes up into his head but then he wouldn’t be able to look at her face and her face was so fucking pretty, cheeks framed with a gentle swoop of her hair, mischievous eyes sparkling, plush mauve lips forming his name.

“Don’t be shy. Show them how big and hard you are.”

They always planned together, basically storyboarding the major scenes to make sure they were both on the same page. He liked some little surprises (he was a little bit of a masochist), like now, him whimpering as he held up his stiff erection with two fingers on the dark red, swollen head, even reaching over to the bottle of lube and pouring some on his hand to coat his balls, rubbing them all over, remembering everyone was watching, shuddering she leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“Suck.”

Never mind, he was a lot of a masochist as he sucked a glass dick and held up his hard, throbbing cock for everyone to see, covering it with lube so the veins stood out, seeing himself in the mirror behind the camera.

She was the one who checked the monitor to make sure he was in frame, so Jungkook never worried about that. It was better to look at the lens so the audience could feel cozy and included. She pulled the dildo out of his gasping mouth with a slick pop, intentionally smearing his spit against his cheek, gliding her other hand down his shoulder, pointed black cherry nails pricking at his skin, tracing his nipple.

“You know our bunny is missing, chat?”

She poked his cheek with the wet tip and Jungkook shivered, knowing exactly what he was missing but pretending he didn’t, widening his eyes and biting his lower lip, the silver ring on the right side gleaming in the bright studio lights.

“W-What, noona…?”

She scratched up his chest and made him yelp, gripping his shaking chin and pressing her lips to his temple. Loving kiss and dirty words.

“His tail, of course. Ass up to receive your tail, bunbun.”

Jungkook appreciated his girlfriend for many reasons, but one of them was foresight, repositioning the bottle of lube so he had a clear path to turn around, stepping back so he could thoroughly show his embarrassment and awkwardness at positioning himself in such a way, taking the moment to grab the white bunny tail butt plug and a pillow, expertly sliding it under his chest as he bent over, spreading his ass for the camera and looking over his shoulder to check himself out in the mirror. Obviously, he thoroughly cleaned before this so he would have a cute asshole to show.

You gotta do what you gotta do for the sake of art.

Porn.

Same thing.

Fuck, his reflection looked so perfectly obedient and deliciously fuckable if Jungkook was allowed to say so himself.

“Aw, look at him, chat. Handsome and a good listener. Doesn’t he deserve a reward?”

Mirror kink, praise kink, exhibitionist kink, anticipation of anal play, damn, Jungkook knew he was spoiled and he was getting hornier and hornier with that knowledge with every passing second. He wanted to tell her, you’re so good to me, noona, let me be good to you, but then she smacked his ass cheek and he gasped, trembling and seeing his stiff cock swing between his tense legs.

“See this, everyone?” she said conversationally, as if she was talking about the weather and not his bunny tail butt plug. “It’s pretty big, isn’t it? You can’t just put something like this in without some prep.” Actually, he was willing to take the challenge but he kept his mouth shut, letting her build the tension as she knelt down next to his ass, sliding the beige towel behind her with her heel, off-screen, lube bottle in front of her knees. “Thankfully, Jungkookie is a good bunbun and thinks about these things.”

In two seconds, Jungkookie was about to be a bratty bunbun if she didn’t shove something in him soon.

She tossed the butt plug behind her and it fell onto the towel. He quickly smacked it with his hand so it didn’t roll away as he heard the bottle of lube open, seeing her spread it onto the glass dildo in his peripheral vision.

“Isn’t that right, Jungkook?” she cheerfully prompted.

“Wha-ah! O… o-oh, f-fuuuuck…”

Surprise!

His hands immediately gripped the pillow under him as his back arched and his eyelids fluttered, sudden cool hardness massaging the tight ring of muscle, easing in carefully. His body’s initial reaction was to constrict around the smooth glass, warming it, lube adding the slip, centimeter by centimeter sliding in easily, but slowly, fuck, so fucking slow as she calmly pushed the dildo in like this was a common household chore and not his quivering asshole getting invaded for thousands of viewers to witness his whimpering cries and pleas for more, burying his red face into the pillow.

“F-Fuck me, please… please, I’m a good bunbun, aren’t I, noona, please…”

“You’re a very good bunbun. Let me show them how cute your ass looks right now.”

She held onto his ass and spread it more so everyone could see his tight little hole getting properly fucked. Her foot nudged his shoulder and Jungkook realized his face was out of frame so he twisted his body slightly and scooted back into it, now properly seeing his raised ass in the mirror and his head looking back to watch as she began to fuck his ass with the glass dildo they had previously licked all over together.

Oh.

Fuck.

Me.

How many viewers were getting off to him getting fucked and how many were watching in fascination as his head tipped back and the wanton moans tumbled from his throat? Visible pleasure rippling through his body, bucking his hips back so each steady thrust was deeper, more fulfilling, more intense, sensual in the slow speed but carnal in sound, his deep groan, the lewd squelching, his knuckles hitting the floor, fist clenched to hold his body up as the arousal electrified him, skin hot and core throbbing, clenching around the dildo and whining at the unquestionable solidness.

He gasped her name, begging.

“Yes, my love?”

She was fucking his ass on camera and gazing at him through the mirror with a pleased smirk, lightly kissing his trembling hip when their eyes connected. Yes, my love? Holy fuck, he was going to go insane, trying to get his request out, but then she upped the pace, harder, faster, smirk growing as he sputtered, sparks in his blood and pre-cum leaking all over his tense thigh, not as hard anymore but still so desperate, ready to put on his best slutty bunny self so he could show all his fans what a good bunbun he was.

“I w-wanna cum, p-please…”

“Yeah?” She smiled at him, holding out, letting him helplessly whimper at the hesitation. “Hm, alright. Don’t forget to cum in your hand so I can eat it up for you after.”

Yeah, Jungkook had needs.

Need to grip his dripping cock and furiously jack himself off, almost too fast so he would last a little bit longer, the edge of discomfort amplifying the pleasure of the dildo repeatedly hitting him in that just right spot, his chest to the pillow and throwing his head back, crashing sparks of overbearing ecstasy clawing up his torso and down his legs, over and over and so fucking close, moaning, crying out, nerves wrung tight and every muscle hard, his sweaty black hair falling onto his face so only his open mouth was seen, so dirty, so wrong, watch me, thinking, I love it when you watch me, turning his head slightly, silver lip ring visible, biting his lower lip to expose the mole underneath, looking up at her under the mess of his hair.

Her eyes on him.

Pleased, enamored, obsessed, reaching over and correcting his bunny ears so they were nice and perky like his ass. Basking in the gaze of his lover, his lifeline, his one and only, him sliding his left hand under him as she shifted his hair so one of his eyes was visible, her sweet murmur, so sexy, look at you, racing heart, orgasm building, fast strokes, couldn’t hold back anymore, it was too much and it felt too good and everyone was watching, moaning loud, cock jerking and spilling hot strings onto his left palm, tilting his hips so the camera could catch the pool of white cum in his own hand.

Jungkook would lying if he didn’t say he didn’t like sex. But sex wasn’t sex unless he was staring into her eyes, his body shaking from exhaustion, lifting his hand and watching her lean in, pink tongue extending, and then wet heat touching his skin, noisily sucking up his cum, the softness of her lips and the intensity of her gaze getting him hard again. No, sex wasn’t sex unless it was her, describing it, creating it, in it, her stories love letters to him and his videos mere punctuation to the world of words she had created for him.

And everyone else, but Jungkook liked to think it was for him. He was her muse now, after all.

The aftershocks of orgasms shimmering in his veins. Her hand on his chin. Her tongue slid out, and so did his. Touching. Flat to flat, wet to wet, hot breath to hot breath, sensual and tainted, their saliva sliding down, collecting at the tips.

He slid his half-lidded gaze to the camera lens and her eyes followed. Both staring at the audience, spit dripping down their touching tongues.

Jungkook cocked an eyebrow and grinned.

You jelly?

Then he panicked as the glass dildo started sliding out of his ass.

She backed up and shoved the bunny tail butt plug into his mouth.

“Mmphf!”

“Oh, sorry, you’re right. Wrong hole.”

Wrong hole?!

After some indignant whining (him) and some soft pats on the grumpy head (her pats, his head), the butt plug was shoved right where it was meant to be (his ass) after mild cleanup with the towel that was now set aside (plus dildo, to be washed later, of course). She even delicately patted his sweaty forehead with another hand towel, fixed his bunny ears and hair before he was told to kneel again, looking confused and expectant as she adjusted the camera, his hands on his thighs.

“You look hilarious with the tattoos and bunny ears,” she chuckled off-screen.

“Hey!” He puffed his cheeks. “I won’t be nice if you keep being mean.”

She removed her vest.

His eyes went wide.

She removed her panties.

Jungkook’s eyeballs went full big peepers mode on the monitor.

“Stop it with that reaction,” she laughed behind the camera.

“What? This is my genuine reaction seeing your nakey bits!”

She strode into frame, garter, stockings, and heels still on, elegant posture giving her that prefect hip to ass curve with her walk and straightened back. Fuck, he loved the way she held herself.

“Chat, I swear we fuck a lot off cam. I don’t know why Jungkookie is acting like he’s seeing my naked pussy for the first time.”

“This is the first time today.”

She raised her eyebrows.

Damn, what a nice ass in the mirror.

“Wait… second! Second time but, still, that’s not all the time, and you could be naked around me all the time, but you’re not, and that’s mean of you!”

What?!

He had needs!

(Also, it was quite obvious that he was being a brat for the camera because he was grinning like a fool while saying it.)

She smirked, open-mouthed and dangerous.

Oh, shit.

Sometimes there were moments when Jungkook forgot people were watching, forgot he was supposed to be a little bit of a character. Normally he didn’t talk that much during sex – there wasn’t time to fill when the angle was being adjusted or the need to voice how he felt. A lot could be communicated nonverbally, but obviously someone watching would need visual and audio cues to be aware of these shifts in headspace that he could get just by looking into her eyes or feeling the energy in the air. While Jungkook didn’t really know how to act fake or the complete opposite who he actually was, he learned to be more mindful about these particular things during the livestream, slightly more exaggerated sound, action, playfulness, immersing them in the pleasure.

And then there were times when he completely forgot and was simply entranced by the shape of her plush mauve lips and the deviousness in those eyes, hearing her say words but all of it going over his head because those perfect tits were getting closer, juicy hips swinging followed by those powerful legs in stockings and heels, that beautiful pussy getting closer his face. Time slowed down, letting him memorize every curve, every line, the way the light glowed off her skin, wow.

Just.

Wow.

“I’m mean, huh? I don’t think I’m that mean. I’m so merciful that I’m even going to let you cum again while you eat me out.”

Jungkook didn’t really need to know exactly what she was saying. He had already suggested eating her out for the ending scene, and now her thighs where right beside him, so soft-looking and delicious, the scent of sex so intoxicating he simply leaned forward and started kissing her inner thighs, feeling her fingers combing through his hair, toying with the fuzzy ears, a needy moan leaking out of his chest as the tip of her pointed toe nudged his thighs and made him open his legs, forcing him to sit up a little more to get closer, closer to the heat, the sweetness, the slick lips so close he could taste it, her pretty pussy right in front of his face, and he was instantly hard just looking at it, anticipation rattling in his inhale, nothing else mattering, but.

Wanna make you feel good, noona. Wanna taste you.

She gripped a fistful of his long hair and pushed his face into her crotch.

Oh, fuck, yes.

He couldn’t really breathe but breathing was overrated anyway (also suffocation by pussy sounded and smelled amazing). Tongue out, the taste, yes, sweet and heady and dragging him into borderline insanity, who needed good judgement, not him, too busy wrapping his arms around her thighs and sinking his fingers into her soft, malleable ass, kneading it with his tongue buried into her folds, licking all over and pushing her thighs together when she readjusted and angled slightly to the side, no, his tongue finding that sensitive hard nub of electrified nerves, lapping, sucking, I won’t let you get away, ugh, the best taste he’d ever had, ramming her hips into his face, losing air, heat creeping from his head all the way down, down.

He was so hard.

“Jungkook.”

He heard his name but it didn’t really register until she poured the lube down his abdomen and splashed it over his throbbing cock and balls, suddenly soaking the hardwood floor and his inner thighs. He yelped and jerked his head, feeling a rush of heat and then coolness, and then tingling everywhere the lube touched his skin.

“Wha–Mmphf!”

Her wrist planted against the crown of his head, nails digging into his scalp and his head was shoved back into her pussy, her hips now tipped upward, thick viscous sweetness coating his tongue, his eyes rolling back in his head as she stepped onto his left thigh, not hard, just the sole of one shoe pressed into his hard muscle, enough to mean business, and that business was sex, tangling her fingers in his hair and fucking his face, his right hand instantly flying to his neglected cock and closing his fingers around his thick, twitching length, choking on his own cries as he struggled to lick and suck like a very good, very desperate, very slutty bunbun.

She kept the bunny headband very firmly on his head and pushed his forehead back so he could get a better angle, focusing his tongue on her clit as he once again stroked his stiff cock all over, fingertips and length tingling, gasping as he teased the head, rubbing the sensitive skin into his rough palm, looking down to see it. Purple-red and bulbous, the shaft shiny and so fucking hard it almost hurt, closing his fingers around it, o-oh, fuuuck, that felt so fucking good, achingly hot and shivering all over from the intense sensation, his ass clenching around the butt plug, causing it to hit that spot, right there, sparks flaring all over his lower belly, listening to her sigh of gratified satisfaction mix with his needy hum shimmering in his throat.

Everything.

Everything, making him high and lust-drunk.

The lights, the full-body feeling, the mirror displaying his naked body, on his knees and dark tattoos rippling as he jacked himself off, strands of black hair stuck to his sweaty cheeks and forehead in wet curls, his eyes half-lidded and intoxicated by the body fitted around him, long legs and fuck-me stilettos and rolling shoulders graced with luscious hair, her looking back, his devious and naughty noona, the lens capturing every hot, obscene second.

Everyone committing sins together.

Jungkook was going to rewatch this over and over, remembering the taste of pussy on his lips.

He closed his lips around her clit and sucked harder as her legs opened more, revealing more of his face, pushing his hair out of the way, exposing whine seeping from his exhale, his cheeks heating as he looked up at her, and those alluring eyes caught him, purring his name softly, hazy and surreal, breathing heavier, his eyes closing, losing himself in it, her hand in his hair, her pussy grinding into his face, tongue and lips getting sore but pushing through sheer determination, building his own orgasm and tipping closer and closer to the edge, wet, tight, hot, wanton whines snuffed in his chest, shivers racing up and down his spine, her juices dripping down his chin, her moans wispy, climbing, spiraling, look at me, show me those beautiful eyes, his eyes opening, vision glassy, want so bad that he was doing nothing but chasing the high, hard and fast and forceful.

She bit the side of her lower lip and grinned, devilish and divine.

Then she tilted her head back and moaned, breathless and graceful, her body rippling, tits bouncing, and then her hips flinched, spilling into his mouth and onto his chin, liquid sweetness smearing everywhere, sealing away all available air, and Jungkook moaned too, right into her quivering walls and felt his hips jerk and his cock twitch, cum sliding down his hand, hot and thick and spurting, clearly visible over his hand tattoos, drenching his inked knuckles with milky white.

Cum on ink.

Contrast.

That was why he got the hand tattoos.

What? He was dedicated to the visual.

She let go of his head and he drew back, sticking his tongue out. Chin, lips, and silver ring reflecting light from her sticky release. He caught his reflection in the mirror. Sexy, if he could say so himself. Jungkook teasingly winked at the camera lens, cocking an eyebrow.

“Thanks for watching. Stay jealous.”

She tweaked his bunny ears, laughing.

“Dirty bunbun.”

-

part i jk telling the story of how they met (sort of)

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masterpost

[vendetta-if]

Okay the recent asks about Skylar embodying Ken energy are hilarious.

I know in Rin and Ash poly they form a united front to love and appreciate MC as well as scaring off other potential romantic rivals. Imagine the chaos if Skylar and MC become BFFs!

Hell, I could easily see my MC Katerina eventually viewing Skylar as an adopted sibling, especially if they both wind up closely together as vigilantes. It's probably an initial blow to Skylar's ego, considering he was flirting with her at first, but it's still nice to have a close genuine friendship with someone who isn't just interested in him because of being famous or because the mayor is his father.

Imagine the two of them being so excited to see the Barbie film and trying to convince the others to go with them. Skylar and Santana seem to get along well enough, so it shouldn't be too difficult to convince them to take a much needed break to watch the movie. Ash and Rin would probably take more convincing, so Kitty asks them both in person while wearing the new outfit she bought specifically for the Barbie movie premiere. Sure, the pink Satin dress she's wearing is shorter than what she normally owns in her wardrobe, but it's cute, and Kitty is cunning enough to know to best stack the chances in her favor. She was able to convince both Ash and Rin to play elaborate games with her Barbie's when they were still kids, she should have no problem convincing them both to spend some time with her in a dark theater while she's dressed like a life sized Barbie.

Awww 🥰 this is so sweet and adorable 🥺 Ash and Rin actually won’t mind that much if MC befriends Skylar once the three of them are in relationship. Actually, Ash and Rin might actually befriend Skylar too overtime, hesitantly at first but once Skylar has proven their trustworthiness and they don’t interfere with any of the Aikawa’s or Morozov’s business, they can be friends.

And you’re right, Skylar would be happy to have genuine friends who are not there only because of their dad or their fame and wealth.

As for Barbie movie, of course Skylar is excited to go watch it with MC and would wear pink outfit with MC together. Santana enjoys watching movies in general and would love to go watch with MC and Skylar if they have the time.

As for Ash, MC won’t even need to convince them; they’ll watch any movie as long as it’s with MC. Now, convincing them to wear pink would be hard though, unless if you can make it a friendly rivalry with Skylar 😂

Rin would be more picky about movies that they’ll spend time watching. Barbie is not really their type of movie, but they don’t really dislike it, so MC should be able to convince them without much effort. If not for enjoying the movie, they’d say yes just to spend more time with MC.

Also, this just makes me think about which RO would watch Barbie and which would watch Oppenheimer 🤔

Ash is not really that enthusiastic about either movie, but they’ll probably choose Barbie over Oppenheimer because they’re not really fond of biopic.

Rin and Santana would choose to watch Oppenheimer.

Skylar would definitely choose Barbie.

[faghubby]

mother in law

I had met Teresa, Terry in our junior year of collage. I was a loner had no real friends. I worked alot paying my own way thru school. Terry was the opposite. She was popular,on a free ride. Terry approached me one day. She just walked up introducedherself and asked me on a date. I couldn't believe it. Actually she didn't ask just kind of told me. She picked me up, I had no car. She picked a nice restaurant I knew I could not afford but she told me not to worry about it. She dropped me off and walked me to my door. And kissed me goodnight. Our whole relationship seemed to be backwards. Terry was definitely in control. But I was om with that. Fast forward a year.

Terry was down on one knee she presented me with a ring.

"Paulie, will you marry me" she asked. Stunned but not surprised she asked me.i said yes. She slid the ring on my finger.

"I am suppose to give you a ring" I said shuffing my feet.

"Don't be silly, we have never been traditional" she kissed me. We then had sex, well kinda. We never had actually sex. Lots of oral, petting, anything other then penatration. She wanted to wait till we were married. I had only had sex once. In high school. With a girl that like me wanted to just have sex at least once before we graduated. It wasn't memorable. But Terry would keep me on edge for hours sometimes days.

After that I took her home to meet my mom. Mom loved Terry and was happy I had found someone especially someone so pretty and smart. It was different when I met her Mom. She was a striking stern woman. She didn't think I was good enough for her daughter. I tried very hard to please her, but nothing worked.

"Mom likes you, don't be silly" Terry told me. "Spend the day with her tomarrow. I have to go to my cousins Bachelorette thing anyway" Terry suggested. We slept in separate room while we stayed at hermom's. I had not even seen Terry before she set out for the day. I canr downstairs to find my future mother in law sitting at the kitchen table.

"Just the two of us today, Gina" I commented

"Yes, I was thinking we should talk" she said

"Great" I said grabbing a cup of coffee.

"My daughter deserves a disaplined man" she started "someone who will treat her correctly"

"I would never hurt her" I tried to assure her. She smirked

"That I am very sure of. I feel you know your place just need to understand what that means" she explained I was confused

She took both my hands. "Terry is the dominant one" she stated. I nodded slightly unable to look in her eyes

"You have to learn what it means to be her's" she told me. "She says you have a little penis as well" I was shocked and blushed.

"I dont" I started

"Shh, it's ok" she assured me. "But you speak out of turn, you don't serve her as well as you should. I can help you learn how to behave" she told me.

"You would like that wouldn't you?" She asked. I looked up and nodding wanting to please her.

"In this marriage for lack of a better term you will have to learn to be the wife" she told me. Terry will be the breadwinner." She stated I didn't deny this.

"So the house work, along with other duties will fall to you" she continued. I understood and again shook my head.

"You need to remember her needs will come first" she told me.

"So I have a way for you to remember your place" she smiled and handed me a small pink bag.

"I want you to wear these everyday " I opened the bag there were half a dozen pair of panties in the bag.

"I couldn't, what would Terry think" I stated.

"Why would she know what your undies looked like?" And the small soft material wil, be a constant reminder of your place.

"Go on go get changed" she told me. I got up and went into the bathroom. I didn't know why but if it made her like me then what the hell. I slid on a satin pink bikini cut panties. They felt amazing I thought. Then put my pants back on.

Gina put me to work. First she asked me to help her wash the windows since she didn't like the ladder. Although I could clean them all without one. Then dust the high places. But since your doing it just do everything. This took all morning. She made lunch.

"How do you like your new undies?" She asked me. I blushed

"They are really soft and comfortable" I told her embarrassed to say so.

"Glad you like them. I am going to teach you to do laundry after lunch" she informed me. First it was simple separate colors and fabrics. I knew most of this anyway. How to get out different stains. Then she started on hand washing. And had me wash all of her lingerie.

"Terry, will not have time to do this. You will have to do this for her" she told me. I was so embarrassed as I washed my mother in laws panties.

"OH that's dried cum" she told me as I picked up one red pair.

"It will come out easy with soap and water" she informed me. I was kinda freaked out having to wash another man's cum out of her panties.

"Terry may take a lover someday, would you be okay with that?" Gina asked.

"I don't think I" I stuttered

"Do you deni that you have a small penis, could it satisfy her?" She asked. Her hand lightly smacked my ass. Washing her underwear, thinking about and talking about sex made me hard. Which made me even more embarrassed.

"You need to know her needs come first" Gina reminded me. Her hand stayed on my ass rubbing it softly. The more uncomfortable I became the more she loved it..

"You have never even tried to have sex with her. She tells me everything. Wonder if she is having sex with a stripper right now" Gina whispered. Tears started to roll down my face.

"It's OK sweety I am sure she is just out having fun with the girls" she told me."come find me when you finish" and Gina left me alone to finish. I couldn't get the thoughts out of my head. Was Terry cheating on me. Had she done so before. She never wanted sex. Was she having sex with someone else. I finished and went to find Gina

"All done" she smiled. "You like helping around the house don't you?" She asked. I has to admit I didn't mind. I found it relaxing.

"Why don't you go clean up the bedrooms, make the bed aamd such" Gina told me. I started the master. As I went to make the bed I found Gina's vibrator under her pillow. I just left it there.

"You need to clean that and put it in my nightstand" Gina said from the doorway. I had not even noticed her. I picked it up by the base.

"Simple soap and water, use your hand like you where giving it a handjob" Gina told me. I could not believe this bit did as she asked. Then dried it and put it away. I found a larger one in the room Terry had been sleeping in. I washed her big black realistic vibrator as well. Is this what she wanted? Needed? I could not stop picturing Terry getting fucked by some big black man. In the guest room I found the little pink bag of panties. I hid them in the back of a drawer. I found myself vacuuming the whole second floor before I went to find Gina again. I helped her make dinner. As we where cooking Terry came home.

"Did you two have a good day" she asked kissing me.

"Yes" I sang.

"Very informative, surprising even" Gina smiled. Terry seemed pleased. We ate and talked about the wedding. Afterwards we settled in the living room where Terry sat in the overstuffed chair.

"I bet her feet hurt. All day in those shoes." Gina whispered handing me a bowl of popcorn. I gave it to Terry and sat at her feet and started to massage them.

"OH yes" she smiled. She had me work up and do her calves as well. Gina handed me a tray with a nail file and polish.

"Your going to give me a pedicure too" Terry almost jumped up. She pistioned herself so I could see up her dress. She did it on purpose teasing me. As I tried and buffeed her toes. Then painted them. We spent the rest of the evening with her cuddling me. She then said good night. I laid in bed wanting to jerk off the panties where driving me crazy. When my door opened and Terry snuck in. She slid under the covers. I wasn't thinking and rolled to kiss her. her hand grabbed my hard penis.

"What are you wearing?" She whispered and turned on the bedside lamp.

"OH, my God, where did you get those?" She laughed

"Your mom, she thinks I need to remember to serve you first" I said barely above a whisper to embarrassed to even move. She rubbed me thru the satin material

"So you wore them for me?" She smiled.

"She got me more" I stated seeing how happy and excited it made her.

"Really?" She laughed out loud.

"I am suppose to wear them until we leave" I told her. "Terry? Would you ever cheat on me?" I asked

"I don't know, would you like me too?" She gripped my penis hard thru the thin material. "You fit so well in these tiny panties" she added

"I would want you to be satisfied" I responded. And we left it at that.

"Would you like to cum in your pretty pink panties?" Terry asked me. I knodded. "Then you have to promise to thank mommy by giving her a pedicure tomarrow just like you did me.

"I promise I told her and she jerked me twice before I came in my panties.

"Haha faster then ever, you must really like panties" she smiled. After that she had me go down on her till she came twice. Then snuck back to her room. I got cleaned up and changed. I thought about it but slid on another pair of panties. These had more frilly lace. But still very soft. The next day we all went shopping. I understood my place as I held both there pocketbooks and bags. Gina would whisper things I should do. Like help Terry try on shoes kneeling to do it for her. Terry took great pleasure in teasing me rubbing her foot in my crotch as I helped her. After lunch they decided to get mani pedi.

"You did lovely last night Terry told me. But you need practice pointing out the uneven polish and the cuticles not cut back. They also decided I should get one as well.

I paid attention on how the woman did mine so I could do better In the future. Just as I was about done . Gina handed the woman doing my toes a bottle of pink polish. I didn't say a word as the woman painted my toes pink. When I saw Terry nod and rub her breast to tease me.

"Pink panties and now your toes match" Gina laughed as we left. I walked behind them still even carring thier pocketbooks.

Just before we left Terry pulled me into Victoria secrets.

"Pick out two pair" she said rubbing my ass. She led me over to a table.

"You like when I wear thongs" she stated. Picking up a pink and a purple thong. I just nodded that I did. Not realizing she had bought them to fit me. When we got home Gina commented how her feet hurt.

"Paulie will help you" she told her. I just looked and sank down and started to rub her feet. Gina spread her legs like Terry had last night showing me her panties. We ordered takeout I served them both since they had a hard day shopping. After we ate.

"Paulie, I forgot to make the beds and tidy up this morning" Gina told me with a glance from Terry I got up and went to take care of it. Again I found Gina's toy out and washed it and put it away. When I got to my room I found the new thongs on the bed. Terry came up behind me.

"I want you to think about wearing panties from now on, not just till we leave forever" her hand slid down the back of my pants and rubbed my ass thru the silky panties.

"I want you to be my good gurl" she said kissing my neck. Her finger pushed against my hole.

"Terry, please" I whined.

"Would you be willing to be my wife, mom gave you taste" she reminded me." She told me her finger probing my hole.

"We have never had sex. Because I want you to be the one getting penatrated." She continued.

"I am willing to try" I moaned.

"Fantastic baby, we have lots to do" she kissed me.

To be continued

[lya-dustin]

Shock and Delight

Chapter 7

Aemond knows exactly at what Helaena is hinting.

Subtlety has never been a skill she knows.

“She beat a man for burning down her school last I went to Dragonstone.” His sister said as she combed his hair like he was one of her children.

“I know why Rhaenyra wants me to wed her daughter, but why are you shoving her my way, sister.” He sat still for her but did make his displeasure known with a huff.

Had to be obvious with Helaena or she wouldn’t capture the meaning of it.

Oftentimes insults would be lost on her until someone explained it plainly and it was always Aemond who had the misfortune of explaining it to her.

“You are lonely, and you see her as Aemma and not the future queen of the realm.” His sister answered as if it had been obvious.

“I am not lonely, I like being alone, which is utterly different.” He says in his defense and ignoring the second part all together.

Helaena and Aemma had always been friends. Inseparable when they all lived in the Red Keep and always butting heads with mother and the septas in charge of their lessons.

Aemma and Aemond had bonded over their lack of dragons until the Pink Dread happened and she was taken to her grandmother for asking why Criston was still a Kingsguard after killing Ser Joffrey Lonmouth. She had been Aemee to him, Aemee who liked books just as much as he did, Aemee who claimed Silverwing the same day she turned eleven.

“Just give it a chance, for me.” Helaena looked at him with her dreamy and slightly misty eyes knowing he’d agree to anything because no one could ever say no to her.

Despite her naivety, Helaena could manipulate you to do her bidding. Often people forgot she was an adult and not a child stuck in her own world.

“Fine, but if it goes to hell, I need your word you won’t try again.” Aemond agrees and throws in his condition knowing his sister will keep her word.

Shouldn’t be that difficult, Aemond is the king of being rude and off-putting.

Sweet Aemma will end the night as disappointed as all the ladies before her.

It's almost mocking.

No, its actual mocking and Rhaena hates that she’s getting the best seat in the house for this wheelhouse wreck and having to water it down to prevent getting caught.

“When in Dorne do as the Dornish do.” Aemma said with an impish grin and twirled in her green satin dress.

Baela had chosen a teal too close to green and Rhaena had been bribed into wearing the matching one.

“I think Ser Criston might take offense at that.” Rhaena comments as she found the emerald earrings that matched her brooch.

“Oh, it’s just harmless fun, Rhae. Besides Rhaenyra said as part of these celebrations we may be forced to wear their colors and they ours. If we start now, we get the advantage.” Baela approached this as a battle strategy, a hobby of hers now that Jace is grandfather’s first mate aboard the Sea Snake. “As the Yi-Tish general Sun Tzu said, to know your enemy you must become them.”

The Stepstones were also Baela and Rhaena’s dowry, so it was in their best interest that they be completely under Velaryon control. A paltry excuse Jace gave as he joined grandfather’s latest campaign that did not work as intended.

For now, everyone believes he is doing it to gain an advantage over the Queen’s sons by being a warrior in the true sense of the word and not because he intends to wed Baela on their next name day.

“Aemma called the queen tacky for it.” She points out as if she hadn’t transcribed Aemma word for word that night.

“Yes, I did say that because it’s the truth. I merely want to fuck up her evening for sending Lyonel my way.” Aemma clarified as they left her rooms. “Who knows we might gain some ground by showing green is merely a color.”

“You’re playing with fire, Aem.” Rhaena cautioned.

“Oh, sweet sister, fire doesn’t burn a dragon.” The heiress dismissed her worries with a wave of a hand.

Green had become her armor since that night.

A safe and meaningful color that said she wasn’t the weak little girl wearing a crown too big for her. A color that said she wasn’t just Alicent, she was Queen Alicent.

A color that told you she would fight tooth and nail for her son’s rightful crown.

“That color suits you so well, niece.” She hears Helaena say sweetly with no malice whatsoever.

Queen Alicent chokes on her water when she sees her enemies’ children wearing her color.

“Lady Grandmother, are you well?” The doe eyed little snake has the audacity to ask as comes in as green as a honeydew.

A rotten honeydew.

“I am, thank you for asking, your highness.”  Alicent hides her irritation well enough. This evening can’t end soon enough. “I don’t think I recall you ever wearing green.”

“Well, it’s such a nice color, I don’t see any reason for me to pass up the opportunity to wear it.” The princess had already ended the fashion of ostrich feathers for girls coming out into society, now she came to end the fashion of wearing your factions’ colors to show your loyalty with a polite smile and gossip sheets.

Rhaenyra and Rhaenys did well. Had she been a boy or become a warrior like Princess Alyssa, she would have been unstoppable.

But the crown was Aegon’s right because of his birth, even if Aemma was Alysanne reborn as her mother’s faction has claimed, she couldn’t steal her son’s rightful inheritance.

Or your place in the order, a voice whispers in her ear.

Alicent resolves to put that out of her mind until she sees Helaena’s placements at the table.

On the outside they looked perfect together, the rider of the largest dragon, the prodigy who mastered all he could be taught by maesters and masters-at-arms alike, the worthier son sat beside the heiress, the girl who rides Queen Alysanne's dragon, the young woman who is more than capable enough to rule and knows it.

But they cannot. Not when they lose everything because what mother can choose which son dies?

No, Helaena must’ve not thought this through. Yes, it must have been a coincidence, there was no way her sweet daughter would encourage anything between Aemond and Aemma.

Aemma was meant to become their hostage by marrying Lyonel, Aemma couldn’t marry anyone else, least of all, her second eldest son.

Despite the tension and their attempts to lighten things up dinner is rather boring.

Aemma is made to sit next to Aemond, and he is not in the mood to humor her in the least. Speaks when spoken to and save for, could you pass me the bread rolls, he has not supplied conversation.

A very dull evening.

“Is the evening not to your liking, Aemee?” he asks mocking her with the childhood nickname she’d almost forgotten. If the question hadn’t been intended to aggravate her, she would’ve been touched by him remembering it.

And because Aemma has lived with Daemon for nearly eight years, she knows the best way to make him shut up is by ignoring him.

They thrive on provoking people and if she denies him his sport, he will look elsewhere for it.

“My sister has thrown this dinner for the sole purpose of sitting me beside you, I would think you’d be pleased about it.” He begins again, assuming she’d been part of this scheme.

“Well, you thought wrong.” Aemma said simply and helping herself to the simple but fine fare Helaena had put out.

He was the perfect suitor, a dragon rider, high enough in rank and in his mother’s faction to give them a good advantage, but unfortunately, he is Aemond.

Aemond who lost his eye to her younger brother, Aemond who calls her mother a whore and Aemond who loves his mother beyond anyone else save Helaena.

He was as unsuitable as Lyonel Hightower.

What the fuck was Helaena thinking?

“I’m surprised to know you aren’t part of my sister’s scheme.” He admits wanting to keep the conversation going despite her not wanting to. The tables have turned and Aemma is not liking this one bit.

When she wanted to talk to him, he barely gave her two worded answers. She should repay him with the same coin, but she is annoyed. It’s not like there is anything else to speak about other than the gossip sheet Daeron is so interested in or Daemon’s new campaign on the Stepstones.

“Are you so full of yourself you think every lady in court desires you?” Aemma asks, looking to hurt him and feeling some triumph when his eye shows she hit her mark. “Believe it or not, I still think you are the second to last man I’d ever consider for a husband.”

“Glad to know Cousin Lyonel is still dead last.” He remarks dryly.

[technodromes]

ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE?   You see a talking bubblegum, but if you expect a sweet smell from sniffing on him, you'll get severely disappointed. Krang's slimy skin adopted a very distinct metallic scent. He's spending a lot of time in machine rooms around engines (which sometimes tend to blow up), plus the fact he always sits inside android bodies or walkers of sorts. His skin quickly adopts any strong scents he's surrounded with though, so if someone locks him inside a perfume store, they'll have a migraine ball. WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE?   "You fool! I don't even have any hands!" His tentacles just feel the same as the rest of his body. Like grabbing a wet jelly or an earthworm on a rainy day, while his slime is like that of a big snail. He does work with his tentacles sometimes, but not remotely as much as Subprime for example. He relies a lot on his mandroid, so his tentacles are as soft as the rest of his body. WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY?    Whatever he gets his tentacles at in between work. And yes, that includes bugs. But usually, he asks Shredder to bring Takeaway home for all of them ("Since you're using my Alien Express Card all the time ANYWAY!") He doesn't really have any favorite foods he indulges into all the time, but there are rare occasions when he actually does feel little cravings. Most of them are really random and sometimes weird. DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE?    Hell no. Don't ever ask Krang to sing. He WILL sing if someone asks him because he thinks he's actually skilled at it. Everyone involved will run out of the room with their ears bleeding. That's why Shredder will shut everyone up before they can even finish suggesting it. ("Are you trying to kill us all?!") DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICKS?   He mumbles and has these burbling 'hiccups'. The more he's in thought or nervous about something, the more indistinct it gets. If he's greatly nervous, his burbling mumbles become nigh impossible to understand if someone isn't used to the way he talks. WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE / WEAR?   Let's see. He wears a giant baby-faced android with red speedos. I don't think anyone ever wants any fashion advice from this blob. IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE? HOW SO?  More than he wants to admit? The Technodrome is full of walking cacti (one of them is literally a cactus on two legs), who all say they don't care, but they often do care. Very aggressively so. But on a more serious note here, Krang is very dependent in the first place, and sometimes he embraces that more than on other days. He likes being cared for and getting pampered with attention and affection to a degree, tho he hates getting belittled and looked down upon. Never mind, he's not a cactus, he's a weird naked cat. WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN?    You know catloafs. Now I present you the Utromloaf. He naps curled up in a pink soft slimy ball inside his walker or on satin pillows because he likes being extra. He's also drifted off into his little meditative naps on laps before. Preferably Shredder, but he likes Clarissa's lap too. @dynamoprotocol. Or Rick, if they two are not too busy arguing. @countlessrealities COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM?  You bet you hear him if he's inside his walker or mandroid. He does try his hardest to be sneaky but it's kinda difficult inside these huge chunks of steel. Actually, you'll hear him when he's without a vehicle too because he'll yell around loudly and angrily for someone to pick him up. Menacing energy? 10. Stealth? 0.

Tagged: repost from last year Tagging: whoever wants to fill this out as well=)