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stevenbasic · 11 months

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GITJ Post 323: A Date with Her Chest, p3

“So that’s my mom’s room…she keeps it closed when she’s not here,” Melissa explained to him, as she carried him in her arms down the upstairs balcony, off of which the sleeping quarters were found. She’d been giving him an ersatz tour, after suggesting they take the rest of the dinner upstairs, so he could ‘really rest’. After climaxing in his pants, Dr. J had become groggy, but with a little encouragement and some - mostly unconscious on her part - modulations in pheromones 0001.55.6677.xc (up) and 0001.55.6022.cd (down), Melissa was able to keep him awake. After popping the top back onto the egg-drop soup she’d next asked him to hold it, and a spoon, and…’oh yeah, in case I have to wipe you’...a single napkin. Then she’d picked him up. She noticed that he took to it - no complaints, and he relaxed more quickly across her arms - much better this time than before. He didn’t mind that she wouldn’t let him walk under his own power and insisted he be carried. Nope, not a peep this time. That made her smile, as she walked him up the sweeping staircase to the open second floor...

They passed by an upstairs bathroom. “I don’t know why that one’s here,” she said, letting him have a glimpse inside the tasteful, modern lav, “every bedroom has its own bathroom, too.” Melissa herself seemed partially amused at the poshness of her mother’s home. From what she’d told him, she’d been raised - she and her sister, who she also never really talked too much about - by a single mom in various states, never with much money to their name. So this place, in its modern, obviously costly grandeur, seemed funny and peculiar to her. She seemed pretty casual about it, though, and he’d already decided not to ask too many questions.

She turned and let him look over the balcony, though, for a moment, down across the great room in which they’d just spent the past half hour or so, and knew he couldn’t help but appreciate the splendor which her mother was now able to afford. As weird and incongruous it was to her upbringing, it did spark a little pride in Melissa knowing that a woman, her mom, could come from so little and accomplish so much. She’d never been an outwardly materialistic girl, Melissa, but sometimes it was nice to have fancy shit.

“The room I moved into up here is pretty nice,” she continued, as they turned into the final bedroom on the upper floor, one of four, total, “It’s just a guest room but it’s got these nice big windows, big closets, an awesome bath…”

The fact that they had just stepped into Melissa’s bedroom, the two of them alone, was not lost on him. Nor was the fact that her windows - yes, big floor-to-ceiling ones - had automatic shades that immediately started closing as soon as they entered. The door, he also noticed, was kicked gently closed behind them, and he immediately realized he was being sealed off from the outside world, by both Melissa and this house.

Lights also slowly came on, automatically illuminating the large bedroom gently. There was a scent in the air, as if Melissa had prepared the room with extra perfume or incense or something, and as she sat him down, with great care, on the side of her big, oversized bed he noticed there was a glass of milk on the side table.

“Is that for me?” he asked, knowing it was rhetorical and nodding over at it. At first he was confused that she had milk, here, waiting for him in the bedroom….but this was Melissa. She had plans.

“Yes!” she giggled, beaming with pride, “I said we’d do our Friday coffee date tonight. So I got this all ready for you, let it warm up here.” Standing over him, aside the bed, she picked up the glass, offered it to him...

“I have a straw. So all you have to do is suck.”

urk.

“C-can I have that later?” he asked, eyeing the (very full) tumbler of warm milk. His recent climax had settled his mind a bit, allowed him to have a few more wits about himself. But still…the idea of sucking at a glass of warm milk while looking up into the eyes of perhaps the most beautiful, naturally bosomy woman alive did have its own appeal. He was partially disappointed, in fact, that she didn’t insist, and rather set it back on the nightstand.

“Sure!” she chirped, now turning back towards him, putting her hands on her womanly hips, “But don’t think you’re escaping our date night tonight. I’m sorry you messed yourself so early but that’s not going to get you out of it.”

“Haha wow…” he commented, nodding, looking up at her and trying trying trying his best not to be too agoggle at the frankly stupendous curves of this woman. Why would he want to ‘escape’ this? There was so much gorgeousness he didn’t know, exactly, where to look. He could barely see her face over the grand shelf of her bosom, he felt rude just staring at her tits, and it would be too obsequious and weird if he just lowered his gaze and stared at the magnificent set of tan, muscular gams stood before him. Looking away, at anywhere else but her, was of course not even a possibility. “...you obviously have some plans for tonight.”

“Oh my gosh, yes!” she giggled, amused by her own enthusiasm, taking the soup and the spoon and the napkin from him, laying it all on the nightstand, “Tonight I am going to pamper your brains out. I am going to feed you in bed, I am going to cuddle you. We can talk, we can kiss. I am going to shower you with overall love and tenderness allll weekend, twenty-four-seven.”

“A-a-all weekend?” he asked, sounding surprised, “I didn’t-”

“You didn’t bring your toothbrush?” she giggled, and then suddenly - with a single hand to his chest, pushed him back onto the bed, “That’s okay…you can use mine!” At that, leaning over, she swiftly arranged his body on the bed, propping him up on pillows, tucking several of them behind him. She noticed how thin he was, and wondered if he’d be cold. She thought about throwing a blanket over him but nah I’ll warm him up myself.

‘Pampering’? ‘All weekend’? he questioned silently, watching her arrange the bed around herself as she now came to sit, aside where he lay, turned to face him. He hadn’t thought on being here all weekend, and yet seeing her like this, so overwhelmingly beautiful and caring, the prospect of it had its strong appeal. She had one long leg curled up under herself, bulging with smooth female muscle, the other foot still on the floor. She was looking down at him with warm, sparkling eyes full of affection. He hadn’t even planned on spending the night, let alone the whole weekend, but maybe he could be convinced. Or maybe she was just playing. He’d heard, briefly, that she had some plans for Saturday morning.

She, for her part, pressed her point. “You spend your days taking care of others. But you need taking care of too, don’t you?” she asked with matter-of-fact frankness, laying her hands in her bare, prodigious lap, “Maybe when we’re together, when we’re alone, I can take care of you. With my size I feel like I should do that, like I should be the one taking care of you.”

Oh my god. Despite his recent climax, he could feel his enormous cock start to waken again to the promise of being tended to by this Amazon. As it slid down his thigh it brought his attention to the fact that his pants were stained, semen darkening the left leg of his tan khakis. He tried to ignore it and figured he should be as polite as the moment allowed. “You really don’t need to do that, M-”

“Oh shooosh,” she laughed, now coming to lay her hand on his leg, right on the wet spot of goo, pressing his seed into his own thigh. She loved the reaction that brought, how he got so nervous and tried to sit up. She pushed him back down, gently, with her free hand. “Shhh shh shhh…you seem to be enjoying the pampering so far,” she giggled, rubbing his jism into his leg, wetly, squishing it slowly with her palm and fingers, “It’s true! Don’t even try to deny it. You were practically melting in my arms when I carried you up here.”

He had leaned back, again, into the pillows, and moaned as she massaged his leg through his wet pants along with the spent but now slowly thickening member beneath. “Haha seeee..? You like this..!” she cooed, “Yep I am going to pamper you ‘til you can’t see straight…”

Though his lids had fluttered closed, momentarily, he looked back up at her again and went deep into the sparkling green-gold gems that were her eyes. She smiled at him and he watched as she took her hand off his leg, brought it to her face to smell it. She seemed to luxuriate in the musk of his semen, breathing it in, her own eyes now fluttering. After a moment of rapture, she kissed her open palm. His mind, in the meantime, was doing cartwheels.

“Let’s get you some soup,” she chirped.

Remembering himself, watching her begin to tend to his dinner, he sat up a bit straighter and offered to pay for the food.

“Oh, don´t be silly, it´s fine,” she waved, as she removed the top once again from the egg-drop soup, “It´s on me.”

“I… I have no problem, you know, just…” he attempted. He was not very good in these situations, awkward. Beyond that, his bank account was meager, and he realized it actually would put a dent in his finances.

“Jay, listen to me, it´s fine,” she assured him, “I´ll pay, no worries. Besides, I’ll probably eat much more than you.”

“B-but-”

“It´s fine, ok?” she stopped him, still patient.

“Okay,” he capitulated, finally, casting his eyes aside as she used the spoon to stir up the soup.

On the outside, she wore a bland, gentle smile. Internally, she was screaming. She did it. He obeyed her. She’d made him accept the fact that she was paying for dinner. She’d done it before, on their first date, but to her it felt like another huge victory. She felt like they were, in an unspoken way, setting a habit, a norm for the future. She’d talked to Abby about this sort of thing, and it was all going according to plan. He’d start to depend on her for paying for his meals, his food…and then other things. She could make him slowly dependent on her for, haha, so much. And that idea was thrilling to her.

Steam rose from the soup; it always amazed her, how these things stayed so warm. She dipped the spoon, blew on it. He was still murmuring something about thanking her for the food.

“Well, there is one thing you can do, to pay me back for dinner…” she posited, as she pivoted at the waist to him with his first spoonful of soup. Funny, he hadn’t begun to protest this, either, though he obviously knew her intent to spoon-feed him his dinner.

“Payback, huh?” he asked, “What’s that?”

“Let me pretend you’re my little baby son when I feed this to you.”

“Wh-wh-what??” he blurted, perhaps a bit too emphatically.

She laughed, still holding the spoonful of egg-drop soup, waiting to feed it to him. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!” she maintained, knowing she’d struck a nerve, “Here we go…open up! Here comes the choo-choo train!”

Before he knew it the spoonful was upon him, his mouth was open, and he was taking the first swallow. Oh my god! he lamented, inwardly, aghast at himself already.

“There you go!” Melissa laughed, having slid the spoon from his mouth and readying it another time, “what a good boy! Now, open up, here it comes again! Choo-choo!”

She continued to laugh, she continued to beam, she continued to feed him soup, talking to him like a child throughout. He, once again, just took it, without protest, without complaining at all - though blushing (in the most adorable way!) to beat the band. But he was learning, he was! They could play like this, and it could be fun. And, she thought: all this mummying? This could be something good for their relationship. Melissa had heard Shanette tell her of some of the things she’d been doing with Scottie Hempsted, who was now her boyfriend. Stuff that made spoon-feeding soup seem like…excuse the pun…child’s play. Some of it sounded crazy but haha hearing Shanette describe what she and Scottie did together made her want to do some of the same with Jay. Some of it, she knew, might be too much for him, right now. He was still sort of fragile, and just learning. But, haha…what if, soon? What if she and Jay could be like Shanette and Scottie? Like, Shanette had gone over to Scottie's place tonight with a box of children’s books. Or, the story Shanette told her when Melissa saw the box of diapers in her car. Omigod! She’d nearly snorted her Diet Pepsi. Yeah, haha that’d be too much! At least for now.

Eventually, after a lot of soup, Jay looked to be a bit uncomfortable. She had made him eat nearly a whole quart of soup. Well, half of it, at least. “Is someone getting full?” she asked him, still unrelenting with the mommy-mom voice that she was starting to think he actually liked. She smiled at him as he nodded, and then she looked down at the wet spot on his pants, as if seeing it for the first time. Maybe he does need diapers hahaha, she thought to herself.

“Okay then big boy, you did such a good job. Let’s put away your soup,” she said, pivoting once again at her narrow waist to place the soup container back on the rustic-wood nightstand, true to her word, “and get you out of those messy pants.” Once more true to her word she then - in her own dutiful, practiced way - undid, unzipped, and slid him out of his soiled khakis and boxers. Clucking still in her motherly ministrations, she set to cleaning him up with wet wipes, a package of which she also had prepared on the side table.

“Let’s get that clean, and that,” she cooed, “and all that under there….” Moving the wipe to my belly, a bit, she insisted I remove my collared shirt, which I did.

She was certainly ready for this evening - wipes, milk, dinner - he thought with mortified bewilderment. He was also incredulous that his cock was already once-more half-hardening as she ran the moist towelette up its length, polishing away the half-dried residue from before. Soon she had it clean, and his hip, and his thigh. She washed him, with the cool wet-wipe, all the way down both legs until she got to his feet. Cool air washed over him. She stood now down at the foot of the bed, leaned over towards him and tickled his toes with the wet-wipe. She giggled herself, and finally tossed the disposable cloth aside.

“How’s that?” she asked, from the end of the bed. She had one foot of his in each of her hands, and jostled them playfully. “All clean? All better?”

“y-y-yes, thanks…” he answered, voice dying in his throat as he watched her, now, spread his legs wider apart and gently pull him towards her, down the bed. He slid across the soft fabric of her down comforter, head dropping off the pillows and felt, at this point, 100% exposed. He was still in his shirt but totally pantsless. Her smile had became crooked and he saw the hunger in it as she bent over further, glancing for a moment down at his nine-inches of flaccid cock laying heavily up onto his belly. She then looked back up at him and opened her mouth wide.

“Put it in soft. I want to feel it get hard in my mouth,” she said, and before he knew it she was on him. She watched him groan as she - hands still keeping his legs spread - scooped him from tip to base with her lips, inhaling him into her until he filled her mouth with spongy but already-firming cock. She purred, eyes locked on his face, as she felt her wish come true. He was hardening, right there in her jaws, swelling up. Her hands had moved to his knees and with them there she kept his lower body pinned there, gently immobilized. Good thing, because he’d just begun to try to buck. His cock was hard now, fully, and when she moaned around it she knew it wouldn’t be long.

Melissa bobbed her head up and down, in a slowly rocking motion, down into his hips. He was approaching climax quickly, she could tell, and she fully intended to ease him through this one gently. She cupped his sac from below, which brought more moans, but then brought it all, to the root, into her mouth. That’s it, that’s my good boy, she thought, unable to speak her encomium because of all the manhood that was - ooo! Haha! That was quick! - now emptying itself down her throat.

He was groaning, he was moaning, but she knew she’d just made him feel so nice. Was it all the mommy-talk that had turned him on, brought him back so quick from his last climax downstairs? Maybe! Whatever it was, she knew he must be tender so she sucked him off gently, not letting him move a muscle and tire himself out too needlessly. The taste of him was just something so nnnnngh perfect and powerful and even though this was his second offering of the night it still filled her well. She swallowed, and after the last of his pulses she released him.

<thwap> would have been the wet sound of him hitting his own thigh, but instead Melissa brought both hands to bear around his shaft, so she could cradle him gently, balls and all, as she let him slide gently from her mouth. “There you go,” she purred, voice husky with the coating of his seed, “all better.”

“oh god Melissa thank you…” he breathed. He’d been venerating her with thanks the whole time, in fact, muttering little gratitudes while she pleasured him with her mouth.

“No need to thank me, little boy,” she replied, still a bit guttural from his load, as she gently plopped him back onto his belly, giving him one last little pet. Her hands went to her shorts, unbuttoning, and then wiggling them down her hips and thighs to drop them onto the ground. She loved how he watched every jiggle of her womanly body, how entranced he was by her hourglass even after having just spent himself down her throat. She knew this bodysuit - which was built like a one-piece swimsuit, snapped below her bottom to keep it taught and tight over her curvy figure - really accentuated her bustiness. She placed one knee on the bed and spoke to him again, replying to his thanks. “Mommy’s happy to do it,” she said...

He shivered, he really did, and she saw it, when she called herself ‘Mommy’. He also seemed to like it that her voice sounded deeper. This was more than just teasing, it was plain to see, more than just a little game from her. She put her other leg up on the bed, straddling his smaller body now with her huge, woman-muscle legs. Her hands she placed down beside him, and as she started to crawl up into the bed, starting down at base of it near his feet she began to speak to him again, keeping her voice low and thick. “I’m going to smother you with all the love I have tonight, baby,” she said, as she slowly, so slowly began to crawl up towards him, “I’ll cradle you, I’ll make you feel comfortable. You’ve been such a good boy for me and I want to reward you with allll my affection.” He was shivering, again, under her, and she did her best to keep her biggest, jungle-cat smile at bay. He needed coddling, he needed tenderness and love. “I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you baby?” she purred, and as she came closer, her face nearly over his, she saw his eyes fluttering. As much as she was turning him on again, she was in danger of losing him to sleep. She knew, with her perfumes, she could do something.

“Do you want me to put you to sleep, after a long, hard day, baby?” she purred, looking down at him where he lay flat, on the mattress, “After a long, harrrrrd week?” She was on all fours above him, and to any observer she’d appear three-times his size. He was gazing up, into her face longingly but with the exhaustion of a man who’d just climaxed two times and, over the past few months, had had his world pulled out from under him. “Or do you want to snuggle some with me?”

With his eyes all rheumy, half-lidded, she had a little trouble reading his thoughts. But, haha, she wanted to snuggle, and she really thought he would too, so she consciously adjusted pheromones 0001.55.6677.xc (alert), 0001.55.6009.xx (arouse) and 0001.55.6012.xx (erect). He’d be more fun that way.

She watched the change in his eyes - maybe feeling a little bad manipulating him like this, but she did it out of love, right? - and let her smile grow a bit. Her big breasts were swelling out from her top and - though bound tightly - pendulated over him as she spoke. “Therrrrrrre we go, that’s better, right?” she cooed, wondering for just a second if he ever felt confused when she played with his states of arousal like this. It was just for a moment, though, as whatever concerns she had flitted away when his smile came back, like a pleasantly soused sailor, or milk-drunken toddler. She giggled, and then dropped herself aside him, on his right, to relax in bed with him.

With her weight, he bounced up off the bed an actual inch or two before coming back again. That made her giggle, his cute little ‘whoah!’ Boys and men had always been silly to her, she’d always treated them, in lots of ways, like things to be played with. She was taught, taught to think and be this way by her mother and those around her as she grew and developed. Her sister had had an easy time with it, and up until just recently, Melissa had also. ‘Boys were toys’, was something told to her from an early age. But, now, she could feel something changing. She was actually falling in love with this man, more every day, and felt a strange depth to her emotions that she never knew was there, like a deep wonderful cave full of gems and hidden treasure that had been hidden underground, right under her feet this whole time. There were people telling her that this was a weakness, feeling this strongly for another person. They told her that it was confusing her, and it was distracting her from her goals and bigger purpose. But right now she didn’t give a poop. Love was awesome!

She propped herself up on some pillows and pulled him up, turning him towards her off the mattress, to lay his head on her chest.

“How’s that?” she asked, and looked down with pride as her little boyfriend’s face squished into her big left breast. He seemed a little surprised, eyes goggling down at it. “Shhhh it’s okay. I’m your lady. You can rest your head on my chest anytime you want,” she cooed to him, shifting her arms around him to hug him more firmly to herself, “You don’t even have to ask. Mmmm <giggle!> There we go. There…aren’t my pillows the perfect size and softness for you? I’m perfectly made for you. Isn’t this just perfect? Don’t you want this every single night? Wouldn’t it be awesome if I could put you to sleep like this every night?”

Melissa was obviously giddy, having fallen quickly into serious full-on snuggle mode, aggressively cuddly. It had caught him a little off-guard, but the aroma of her perfumes was intoxicating. ‘I d-d-don’t know if I really need…”

“Shh shh shh…You don’t even know what you really need,” she giggled, “but you’re irresistible and I can’t help it - you’re too cute! You make every girl want to just squish you!”

He lay there, quiet, unanswering, his sallow cheek against her healthy left breast, partially skin-to-skin, partially his skin to the stretchy fabric of her top. He had become pensive, she could feel, thoughtful. After a long moment of letting him rest and think, she asked him what was wrong.

“I…” he began trying to find the right words to relate what he was feeling. Girls did want to squish him. He was getting irresistible. But…why?? Why?? He thought he knew why, and he needed to express himself. “I don’t want to get any smaller, Melissa…”

From her, that brought a deep, solicitous sound, a thick purr of a moan that started in her chest but then blossomed to cover him like a blanket. “Honeyyyyy…” she began, “I´m so, so sorry about what’s happening, that you have some illness, baby.” She was telling him this, knowing he needed to hear it, knowing it was the right thing to say even if her deepest passions made her feel the opposite. She wanted to help him see the positives, to embrace the changes in both of them, but she knew it must be hard. Baby steps, she thought, we’ll get there. “But I hope it makes you feel better to hear that you´re still really, really handsome…”

He understood this, he did. Women, these days, liked their men needy, incompetent, dependent. They found it cute, adorable. It was in fashion for them to be the breadwinners, the strong ones. After so many centuries of just the opposite, of women playing second fiddle, they deserved it. So part of him was okay with feeling as if she now thought he was weak and inferior, emotionally addicted to her, or that he couldn´t look after himself.

“It’s hard, huh? Letting go of everything you’ve been taught, as a guy?” she said, gently, “But hey, I don’t mind taking care of you. When you need it, when you’re exhausted, and tired, I’ll be here.” She pet his head, stroking him. “I’ll look over you, I’ll let you rest. I’ll hold you, cuddle you in my arms. Just know that…if I squeeze you too tight? It’s your fault <giggle!> for being so cute!”

He realized that this - all of this - would have normally made him mad, months ago. But - in meeting Melissa, in being surrounded by all these girls, in what’s happened to his marriage and his business and his life - things have changed. He was slowly becoming ready to accept a diminished new role in life, in society, especially if he had Melissa around. I mean…god, look at those tits! He just took a deep breath, and settled his head more comfortably onto the big, soft pillow of her breast. He thought to himself that he could be overthinking the whole matter…

Melissa, though she felt him relaxing into the comfort of her body, understood he had feelings that they should work through. And here, in her bed, just the two of them all alone, nice and warm with all the time in the world…this was the time to do it.

“I love you so much, Jay, and I worry about you,” she began, talking gently to him, “Like, seeing that news clip, that interview earlier. What if you saw it and you weren’t here, with me? What if you were alone and got scared?”

He didn’t reply, laying against her chest, but felt himself wrap his left arm a little more tightly around her lower torso.

“See? See honey? I know that would scare you, and I can’t have that,” she said, sounding earnest and concerned, “I…I need to have you with me more. I need to protect you, be around you.”

“What, like…carry me all day?” he asked, hoping he sounded like he was joking.

She lay there, still petting his head tenderly, and smiled, gave him a giggle. “Sure! Maybe I need to fit you into my purse haha, carry you around with me like that?” she joked now herself. She didn’t want to make him anxious, or worried. She just wanted him to realize how much he needed her. So joking was okay. “If I could put you in my purse I could keep my good boy around me all the time. Would you like that? To live in with my lipsticks and tissues?” She giggled, and jostled him a little on her bosom.

He shivered, and goddammit felt himself hardening again. Oh my god did she know what she was doing to him??

“I want to make sure you’re safe, make sure you’re happy. I want to see your smile every day,” she said, feeling his response to her against her left thigh, “I want to keep you in my purse, or put you in a little locket around my neck. My good, good boy, with me all the time…”

He moaned a little. Into her tit, but she felt it deeper inside. He wanted this too.

“I like saying ‘good boy’ because I can feel the shiver you get every time I do,” she said, plainly but patiently, “right, good boy? Do you get a little trembley, when I call you that? Hm? Yes?”

“Y-y-yes…” he admitted, into her boob.

“So you like it, hm?” she chuckled, sweetly, the jiggles of her breast feeling nice against his face. She knew he probably liked watching them too, up close. “Good boy…such a good boy. My good boy…”

Though she could feel his heartbeat starting to quicken, his dick hardening again against her leg, she knew he was still anxious, balking a little about needing to be so coddled and protected, She needed him to slowly change his mind about that, show him how right a thing to do it was for her. She didn’t want to scare him, but she wanted him to understand the reality of his situation.

She asked him to talk about Sheryl a little, which he was reticent to do. It was embarrassing, of course, emasculating, and she listened as he skirted around some of the real issues. But she knew it needed to be discussed. “So, she was really the head of the household, hm?” she asked. after a little prodding had gotten him to admit how Sheryl, his now ex-wife, used to support him, “I know, that’s hard. No man really wants to accept that they can’t provide as much as a woman, or take care of themselves.” She felt him squirming, his skin crawling. He was humiliated by how dependent he’d gotten on Sheryl, and that was when he lived with her, was married to her. Now she supplied his monthly allowance, his living quarters, even his job. That was even more emasculating.

She began to talk to him about Vida, about Karen, about Morgan and the other providers that they were soon to be bringing into the practice. For good reason she didn’t even want to mention Olivia. “Does that frighten you?” she asked, tilting her head and looking down at him with curiosity, “To imagine them as the new heads of the household in, like, the office? That they could take over your daddy status, billing more, making more money, bringing home the bacon? Does it make you scared seeing them filling your shoes, even outgrowing them?”

“I..I…” he stammered, though he didn’t know what to say. It was happening, he knew it. He was more and more useless at that place every day. When the new wing opened up, and all the new clinics came on line, would they really need him at all, seeing his little old men while they all provided services for this new world of women? Because that’s what they were going to be doing, right? Eclipsing him and the old ways while wearing their high heels and big, brilliant smiles?

“I know it’s a lot to take, and you feel scared. But you have me, and I’ll take care of you,” Melissa reassured him. She was keeping her voice low, in check, soothing him as much as she could. But she was not incognizant of how much he’d curled into her, unconsciously, as they laid her and talked. He was clinging to her, for warmth and safety, and it made her heart soar and haha want to scream. She realized how quiet he’d become. “Can you tell me what you’re thinking?” she asked.

He took a moment to reflect, to try to put into words what he’d been feeling, and seeing, these past couple months. “Women are, just, like, getting…a little overwhelming,” he finally admitted, eyes still fixed where they’d been, on the breast he realized had far outgrown his head.

“Overwhelming hm?” Melissa asked, looking down at him and yes, also comparing the size of his head to her left breast. She dwarfed him already, she thought proudly.

“To, uh..men,” he answered, “It’s all this media, maybe…just making us feel confused?”

“Maybe,” she offered, listening to him as he tried to make sense of it all to himself, “But we need to talk about what’s really wrong. Not just about being dependent on Sheryl, or Vida or Karen. How do you feel about how the girls are having their way with you, hm? Or what that young girl from Minnesota did to you in clinic? Or even how sometimes what I do to you? You came in your pants downstairs and I barely showed you my nipple.”

He was shivering, again.

“Do you see how fragile you are? How easy you are to manipulate, or control? What women can do to you if they want?” she said, plainly. She knew she was being frank, maybe even harsh, but this talk was necessary. She felt him responding, gathering his thoughts, and knew she was having an impact.

Finally he spoke.

“I know,” he said, a new clarity to his voice, like he had just found something inside himself, “I’ve been this way all my life with women, really. I accept it, and I’m glad you see it.” He was resolved, now, and felt himself opening. “I’ve been overwhelmed by women since I can remember, controlled by them, really,” he continued, “but there’s been no other woman like you, though, Melissa. Most women aren’t like you. You’re warm and loving and understanding and patient. I realize other women soon are not going to be as tolerant or forgiving or gentle, and they’re everywhere. I see them at work, I see them on the news, I see them in the government. They are everywhere now. But you’re here, and I…I want to be with you, Melissa. I need you with me. I…I think I love you.”

Fireworks. Stars. Supernovas and new, glorious light. The synapses that sparked to life in her brain brought an overwhelming storm of emotion and new mutations, a sensation so gripping that she audibly gasped, and felt her vision explode and then go dark as night.

“OH MY GOD JAY!” she sang, as the world became suddenly something different, as it became something even more beautiful. A flower opening up. It was a world where they’d be together, she knew now for certain, forever. She wanted, no she needed, to show him how happy he’d just made her. In an instant she had him, she’d rolled him over onto his back and mounted him, astride his hips. “I love you too!!” she cried, as she grabbed his face between her hands and leaned down to kiss him so hard he felt his head would explode. She was half-lifting him right off the mattress.

“nnNNNnngghhh…!” he moaned into their kiss, eyes wide and suddenly fearful she’d rip his head clear from his shoulders if she moved too fast in her passion. But the kiss was heavenly, so huge and all-consuming that he couldn’t help but dissolve into it, and let her have her way. He trusted her, now, he’d given his heart to her and knew she’d keep him safe.

Needing air, she finally broke the kiss, but still held his face in her hands. She’d never felt this way in her life, never. She looked deep into his eyes and wanted to make sure he heard her every word. “I am yours, baby,” she said, breathless, “Every big, crazy, busty inch of me. Every hair on my head and bone in my body loves you like no one has ever loved anything else. I am going to love you until the day I die, until the stars fall down. Our love is just going to get bigger and bigger and bigger. So big honey that it’ll be bigger than anything else, ever…”

He looked up, into her eyes, and for a brief moment saw the changes happening. Her life, her body, her very mind and soul were repurposing themselves for him. He’d admitted his love for her, and she was becoming a new woman, again. It scared him a little, and of course he had no real understanding of what was really going on in her eldritch-enhanced genome, in her manipulated chromosomes, her suger-phosphate backbones and nitrogenous bases. But the excitement that was just about to burst from her magnificent body made him smile and start to laugh. Seeing her happy was a miraculous thing.

“Melissa, I love you,” he repeated, and watched her start to glow anew, “I really, really do.”

“We are going to be the two most in-love people in the world..!” she gushed, recognizing familiar feelings threaten to overtake her, her heart racing, her temples throbbing and face flushing. But she was stronger, now that he’d said this. He’d just made her stronger. She was not going to freak out. “We are going to bond, honey, and get so close,..”

Unable to contain herself completely though, she started kissing his forehead, over and over, knowing she was giving him nice view down her top, into her cleavage. She gently began to lower his head and shoulders back down, onto a pillow, continuing to anoint him with her flurry of affection. Her own weight followed, squishing her breasts down into his chest a little. She could feel his eyes on them, and swelled them proudly for him with a deep breath.

“I’m going to make love to you tonight, Jay,” she said, slowly sliding upwards, dragging her bustiness up towards him so he could breathe the perfume from her skin, “I’m going to show you how much I love you.” She felt his face settling in between her big breasts, felt his little whines. He’d come for her two times already tonight and she needed to do nothing with her pheromones to make him ready again; he was there already, hard as a rock against her hip. She reached down, hand sliding between them and between her legs and undid the snaps of her bodysuit. She pulled it away from her already gushing wetness. OH MY GOD she wanted him RIGHT NOW.

Breathe, Missy Monroe, breathe. She remembered Abby’s words, what he needed from her tonight.

“You want it gentle?” she purred to him, slowly rising up off of him, bringing her big breasts up above him, “I’m going to show you how gentle I can be. How soft and gentle and nice I can make everything.”

For his part, he was agog. This was a monumentous moment, more emotion and happiness than he was used to. He was drunk on her and wanted, now, to be fucked so bad.

“You’re going to get it exactly the way you want it, baby,” she continued, watching him stare up into the breasts she’d poised right over his face, “Tell me what you like and I’ll give it to you. Anything. I’ll do anything for you.”

“I…I want to see them,” he answered, voice tremulous but sure. He’d never been so bold, certainly not with her, but this moment was not one for caution. “Can I see your breasts?”

She smiled. She sat up, above him, hand already moving to lower the strap of her bodysuit, sliding her arm up through it on the left. “Oh, honey, oh Jay,” she beamed, basking in the enraptured, ultra-focused gaze with which he was now staring up at her, “I’ve been waiting so long to give you these tits, show you how soft I can make your life.” Left arm free, she now slid her right arm up through its strap. It was now just the majestic swell of her mighty chest that held her top to her. Already she had started to rock her hips over him, sliding her wetness all over him, and even just that motion sent jiggles and waves through her abundance. She allowed him a moment, to look at her this way, and prepare himself.

Slowly began to peel down her top.

His eyes went wide, wider than they had ever been before, like he needed them to be bigger to truly take in how massive she was. It felt like something magnetic was holding his vision to Melissa’s breasts. She took her time, rolling the neckline of her bodysuit down, down over her upper swell, down over areolae. She saw him gasp, and she giggled a little when her big brown nipples popped free. This time he did not come, immediately. “Good boy,” she lauded, smiling beatifically down at her captivated boyfriend as she slid her top further down her breasts. Without thought he tried to pull upwards and forward as her massive tit was exposed, but she tsk tsk’d him in a little scold. “No no no,” she directed, one hand gently on his chest to press him back to the pillow, the other pulling her bodysuit now fully down below her bosom, “you stay there.” It had taken him a moment to notice how engorged her nipples were already, and he was staring like a man possessed. Or a hungry little boy, she smiled.

Bosom now on full display, she reached down and cupped his cheek gently with one hand. She let him look, let him stare, let him take in the enormous spectacle of her huge fucking breasts. She’d let boys see her before, and had expected his reaction. But she’d never been nearly this huge, and she now saw just how hypnotized and overcome she’d made him. She recognized the look on his face, the gaping mouth, the glazed-over eyes, but there was something else in the tremors that twitched around his eyes, and shivered his jaw. He looked worshipful, like he was staring up into the face of God...

“I love how you want me,” she finally said, her voice deep and warm with the love she felt for this man below her, “It’s in your eyes, it’s making you shake.” She felt her nipples hardening, even more, the cooler air of the room and his fixed stare exciting then. “I can see how much love you have,” she continued, and reached down to grasp him. He was hard, nine-plus inches of solid cock, and she lifted her hips for a moment to put him at her lips. Slowly, gradually, she lowered herself tightly back down into him. She heard him gasp - though maybe that was her, too - but he did not come. Good. Good boy. The feeling of him inside her, filling her, was incredible. She did not move, or begin to undulate, as she knew he could not last. Instead, she just talked to him.

“Is that soft? Do you like it soft?” she asked, “I want to please you, baby, I just really want to please you. I want to make you so happy. I want to give you good things. I like you, I really like you a lot. I like you so much and I want to make you happy. So we’re gonna take it real slow, okay?”

“o-o-okay…”

She smiled, loving how he listened. “I see you staring at me, baby, you’re looking at my breasts,” she purred, “What are you thinking?”

Melissa, at work, mostly dressed semi-modestly. But even from her first day on the job, even in her most professional attire, she would still tease. At other times, maybe out of the office when she dressed to accentuate and show off, she didn’t just tempt the stolen glances of others but expected them. She figured they would look, sometimes stare; she’d be surprised if they didn’t. This, here tonight with him, gloriously bare-breasted, was a whole different thing entirely. She knew the power of her chest, how the world just came to revolve around her when she revealed them, drawing all attention in with their gravity. Naked, her tits made men tremble, and they all seemed to shrink when in the room with them. He now looked absolutely tiny below her, and it made her want to scream.

“Tell me baby…” she breathed.

He took a deep breath, and goggled again up at her mighty tits as she drew back her shoulders, inhaled to swell her lungs. It was hard to think with Melissa’s breasts seeming to occupy all the space in the room, consume all light, take all the air from his chest. It was also hard not to come, right there, unbidden up into her. She fit him like a glove, perfectly tight, and her breasts were perfect in their astounding size, perfect in their melon-like shape, perfect under their smoothly taut, velvety skin. She was still on top of him, cowgirl, with her bunched-up bodysuit dropped around her waist and onto her hips. He was staring gape jawed, barely noticing how much she was gushing onto him from between her legs and waiting patiently for him to be able to speak, have the control so she could start to fuck. He marveled at her mass and the strength of the suspensory ligaments that supported, shaped and contoured her breasts. It was amazing, how little she sagged, even at her great size.

“You’re wondering why I even have to wear a bra, hm?” she eventually spoke, as if reading his mind. She gripped him down below, held him tight with the muscles of her inner walls.

“Yeah it’s incredible,” he finally managed, “Your build is…incredible.”

She giggled, and put her hands down onto his chest, bringing her arms to swell her tits up between them. “They do stay up and firm really well,” she admitted, with some admiration herself as she looked down at them, “But I do need a bra still. For one thing, everyone would know how excited they get when I’m around you, if I don’t have a bra on.“ With another giggle she willed her nipples even harder, even bigger, and watched his face as he pictured them poking through even the thickest of sweaters. Her nipples were big, “But especially, like, if I’m out running,” she continued, “or on the treadmill or something. If I move too much they still do this…”

At that, she jostled her breasts back and forth with her shoulders and holy crap. Burgeoning up between her elbows, the motion was an ocean.

Nnngh. She giggled as he moaned, and struggled to control himself. He was fighting back climax, that much she could tell.

“Oh, you like to see me jiggle, hm?” she asked, allowing herself a grin of mischief. She jiggled herself some more, making him moan for her. Boy! she thought, He really likes tits!

“Imagine if I had you in there,” she asked, now feeling she could make him come inside without even moving on him, by just speaking to him and showing off her tits. She should be careful but this was so fun! “Imagine if I put your face your head your whole body in my cleavage, and I jiggled like this?”

At that, she really put some effort into shaking her shoulders, creating wave after wave after wave of undulations and rolls, a roiling sea of she. “Imagine what that’d be like in there, your whole world in the waves I make, like a big warm ocean of…<giggle!> me!”

Unh unh unh he was groaning. Omigod he’s going to come! She clamped down on his cock with her pelvic floor, wanting of course for him to have his pleasure but not just yet!

“Now what are you thinking?” she asked, as she watched him gain some control of himself. She loved having this man, this man she loved, where she had him, totally at the mercy of her body. It gave her such pleasure that she could bring him such pleasure. She wanted it to be the best that it could be. She could still feel little ripples through her breasts, and knew he was having a hard time not staring at them. She hugged them together a bit tighter, maybe that’d help things settle.

“I’m…I’m not sure…” he said, when he could. He was being honest, he was confused. What did he want, out of a new life with Melissa, in this new world? What she was describing? He wanted to live, to love, to still be strong in his own way but he knew he wanted to be closer to it, to embrace it, to make real what she was suggesting, even if it was just in the most abstract way. The thought of her getting what she wanted? To surround him with love, protect him from the outside world? It made him tingle all over, and he knew the thought of it was what she wanted more than anything. “…but I’ll do anything to make you happy,” he finally said.

Suddenly she tossed her head back in ecstasy, her hair flying like a huge mane above her, thrown behind her shoulders and now exposing her bosom absolutely in full. “Oh my GOD Jay!” she all but screamed, huge breasts bouncing up and down in an earthquake. The way Melissa squirmed, tensed and thrust her huge, powerful hips into him caught him by surprise, as did how her trapezius muscles flared and her thighs gushed over him. “Holy fuck I can’t wait to be a whole world,” she cried, “I can’t wait to be your protector…” She started to bounce on him, fucking him with her hips. “Your superhero. your lover…” She ground her teeth, fully steaming towards climax herself, grunting. “I’ll be your mommy, I’ll be anything you want, baby,” she gushed, “Everything you need.”

‘Holy shit’, his mind reeled, flabbergasted and not realizing he was actually speaking aloud, ‘holy shit holy shit holy shit’

She knew tonight was supposed to be gentle, she knew she needed to make him feel safe. But holy god in heaven she couldn’t hold herself back any longer. SHE LOVED HIM and now she knew HE LOVED HER and she was going to SHOW HIM how fucking MUCH. He liked it when she called him ‘good boy’? He shivered and swore when she called herself ‘Mommy’? OH GOD this was TOO MUCH!

With her now tossing her head, above him, throwing her huge raven mane back and forth, he did all he could to hold on a little longer. He watched as she suddenly stopped, looked over to the side table and reached her hand out to dip an index finger in the glass of warm milk. She brought it, then, still dripping, to his mouth.

“Suck, baby,” she said, and at first he hesitated to open his mouth.

“C’mon,” she implored, pushing the finger to his lips and rolling her hips into him once more, using her inner muscles to massage him, squeeze him, completely control and heighten his pleasure, “Take the milk from mommy’s fingers. Take my milk. Take mommy’s milk.”

He had no recourse, he had no choice. Every fiber in his being and every ounce of her will forced him to open his mouth, and when she slid it inside he began to suckle from her finger. The taste of milk was on it, and he when he looked up at her he was so struck by her utter, transcendent beauty that his climax came, striking him like a cannonball to the belly. “Good boy, good boy, good baby,” she moaned, as her own climax began to crest, as she pulled her finger from his mouth and shoved a nipple into it. Her breast squashed into his face. “Come for me! Come for me now, come for Melissa, come for Mommy!”

GOD!!

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

thank you to RedFireDog for letting me use his render in the last image. He does great GTS work; check his Patreon at http://www.patreon.com/redfiredog

My Patreon has lots more GITJ - imagery, newer posts, tangent stories

#growing into the job

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omniblades-and-stars · 6 months

Text

Daisy's gonna get real with y'all for a minute.

I've been playing Mass Effect for a long fucking time. Since the second one came out in 2010. At the time, I was broke as fuck, living in my grandparent's basement, struggling with undiagnosed bipolar disorder.

I felt utterly powerless.

And I'm working at Gamestop part time, we got to check out games for free. I keep seeing this game, it's the second one in a series I've never heard of before. Everybody was all up Halo's ass still (no shade to Halo). But it's a sci-fi adventure with cool aliens in it.

I boot it up on my Xbox and create my character. She looks kind of like me, but I can't get the nose quite right, but that's okay.

And as I play, making all kinds of mistakes, I'm sure, I realize, people know her. They missed her. There's this pilot, he's kind of an asshole, but in the same way some of my friends are loveable assholes.

There's the doctor, and her laughter is so kind, it felt healing. Also, she's kind of hot. And funny.

I immediately go to get Archangel because that guy sounds rad as fuck from the dossier. And when he greets me, I just know, THIS, this is your ride or die friend. It's apparent in the banter. Like "Haha you jackass I love you." Kind of friends.

And it just keeps going. I feel less alone.

But as I'm playing as this incredible, powerful woman, I realize something else.

I feel powerful too. Or at least, I don't feel powerless. And that counts.

And I keep pushing through, even though life is awful. And it gets worse.

Surprise! Daisy, you're pregnant! Oh and look at that, it's twins!

I'm still broke as fuck, living in my grandparent's basement. My husband and I have been trying for years to find better jobs, but there's nothing but shitty part time, minimum wage work. The recession is technically over, but those of thrust into adulthood during those years know the truth.

In some way, it never ended.

It's 2012, after the Extended Cut for 3 is released, and I'm doing bad. It turns out undiagnosed and untreated bipolar disorder mix with post-partum depression about as well as bleach and ammonia.

My babies never sleep, so I don't either. I gave up on going to work. My husband has to work all the time when I'm awake so we can afford to live in our shitty apartment where someone was shot in the parking lot right outside my window. So I almost never see him.

Suicide is on my mind.

I feel alone.

I feel powerless.

My husband spent the money to buy me Mass Effect 3 for my birthday. And I boot it up.

There are all my friends! Hey guys, the world's kind of gone to shit, huh? I feel you, my world's gone to shit too.

I devour it.

I get to the end, and there's an option I didn't expect.

Synthesis.

And as EDI's dialogue cuts in for the epilogue, I'm already weeping because oh shit Shepard just died. But then EDI says, "I am alive, and I am not alone."

And all of the air leaves my lungs. I'm ugly crying at this point, alone in my living room, hunched over with snot all over my face and hands.

Because she's right.

I am alive. And I'm not alone.

My sweet, beautiful children are sleeping (for once) just in the other room. My husband is working himself literally to the bone because he loves us so much, he's not going to let us become homeless if he can help it. My aunt came by to surprise me and take me out to lunch for my birthday.

She didn't even know I had been contemplating taking my own life that morning.

I'm not alone. Sure, shit sucks. I've been destitute my entire adult life, I'm a college drop out, I haven't slept in months, we can barely make rent, my body is different now and I don't like it, but I'm still here.

Now, it's 2023.

And I'm still here.

#mass effect #n7 day #super personal #but i wanted to share #tw: suicidal ideation

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angstyaches · 2 years

Text

IRL holiday sickfic / aka Flick Teaches You A Lesson About Not Forgetting To Buy Sunscreen

CW: REAL LIFE mentions of sunburn, possible heatstroke and dehydration, feeling faint, panic attack, nausea, vomiting. Also, airports, airplanes, food, the sea, over-the-counter meds.

TLDR: my partner and I get horribly sunburned and are still very much dealing with it a week later. I throw up at the airport.

Note: I don’t usually post IRL stuff, and I’d appreciate it if there were no reblogs, please.

___

Monday

I spent all of Sunday night shivering as a reaction to some sunburn on my upper thighs, which had started out during a short morning sunbathe, and worsened in the afternoon as we’d been walking around the shopping district. I was possibly feeling unwell due to slight dehydration too. I suck at remembering to drink water, even in the heat.

Despite my legs being on fire, I couldn't get warm, and around 6am when I heard my partner stirring, I begged him to spoon me so I could steal some of his heat. When we got up and started to get ready for the day, I had horrible cramps in my mid and lower stomach. My partner - from here, let’s just call him L - reckoned I might have had mild food poisoning from something we ate on Sunday. I sucked it up because it was our last full day before going home, and we had a trip planned.

We had to get to our ferry.

On the way, we stopped at a convenience store and picked up some water and snacks to take with us, and even though we’d discussed it the night before, we forgot to buy sunscreen.

It was a two-hour ride on a large ferry, which I’d originally worried would make me motion sick. Ironically, the trip didn't add to the sickness I was already feeling. I was actually in decent spirits by the time we got off the boat and took a rickety little bus to the beach we’d chosen to visit.

There was a shack by the beach that sold a few drinks and food items, and much to my despair, they didn’t sell sunscreen. I was more than a little concerned how little was left in our current sunscreen bottle, and at this point, I was afraid that I was doing nothing but coming across as negative and whiny. My stomach was still hurting a bit too, and honestly, I was relieved that there were toilets relatively close to the beach.

L saw that I was really worried about the sunscreen situation, so we decided to rent out a big beach umbrella, so we’d at least have some shade to retreat into while we were on the beach. The guy who was renting them out was super friendly, and up-sold us into also renting snorkelling gear. He set up our umbrella for us and we used the little sunscreen we had to cover our faces, and I put some on the parts of my legs that were already burnt.

It turned out that the snorkelling gear was the right choice, because the water was so clear and there were so many fish. The island had a bunch of little coral reefs that you could swim over, and it was both of our first times snorkelling, so it’s safe to say we did that for the majority of the three hours we spent at that beach.

Which meant that our backs were in direct sunlight for a long time.

L isn’t a strong swimmer, and he gets nervous in open water, so he went back to the rental guys and grabbed a life vest, so a lot of his back was shielded, apart from his shoulders and around his waist.

We had the most amazing time, but there was only one ferry back to the main island, so we had to rush to get the bus back to the port. We weren’t in too much pain just yet; we were just hot, and our skin could tell we’d been out in the sun for too long. At the time, I’d thought it’d been just a little too long.

It was about 7:30pm (and, mercifully, dark out) by the time we were back at our hotel and had showered. All we'd eaten all day was a light breakfast, and a snack around 2pm. Neither of us were particularly hungry, but we knew we needed to eat, so we set out walking towards the main food/shopping street. Looking back, I think we - or I, at least - were running on adrenaline from all of the swimming.

We found a pharmacy along the way, so we could pick up some aloe vera gel. L suggested getting some ibuprofen for the pain/inflammation that was starting to set in for both of us. At the time, it was still mostly my thighs - where I’d been burned the day before - that were bothering me.

We got in the queue to pay.

And whew.

I don't know if my medical anxiety was triggered from being around so many meds, or if it was the harsh lighting inside the pharmacy, or the pain was setting in, or if hunger and low blood sugar were hitting me, but I started feeling really, really horrible. And dizzy. Spacy. Almost like my soul was about to drift up out of my body.

I told L I didn't feel well, and he said it'd be okay, and that the ibuprofen would help. But my head was swimming and my vision was starting to blur, and my thoughts kept shifting between "I'm going to throw up" and "I'm going to pass out". All I wanted to do was sit down. I wanted to get the hell out of there. I didn't want to vomit on the floor of the pharmacy.

I could hear him telling me, “Flick*, if you’re going to pass out, don’t go outside”, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I didn’t want to collapse on the floor of the pharmacy, where people would then come and fuss over me and ask me questions in Japanese and possibly end up bringing me to a hospital. I was so frustrated and panicked because all I wanted to do was lie down, I knew lying down would help with this feeling so much, but I couldn’t just lie down on the sidewalk.

I sat down on the curb, ducking my head as low to my knees as I could. I glanced towards the pharmacy and I could see two junior high school boys staring at me from the aisles (Japan has these weird open-front pharmacies, especially near busy shopping areas, I’ve found), but I felt so horrible that I didn’t care. My vision was swimming, my hands were tingling, my breath didn’t feel like it was making it to my lungs.

L finished paying and came outside. The first thing he did was help me up. He told me I was having a panic attack, which I (now) think was spot-on, because the shortness of breath and the tingling in my limbs lined up with my usual attacks. He's good at spotting the signs at this point. He wasn’t even trying to tell me nothing else was wrong, just that the thing making me feel like I was dying was the panic attack.

The tingling got worse than it ever has, though, to the point where my hands went into claw-shapes that I couldn't break them out of. All of the gasping was drying my mouth and throat out, so I managed to tell him I needed water - of which I'd had shockingly little all day. Probably less than 200ml, despite spending most of the day in direct sunlight and swimming/walking around a lot.

We walked for a little while, and L popped two ibuprofen on the way (he’s crazy good at taking pills without water; I could never). He left me sitting against a bike rail and went into a convenience store to buy some water. He only left me for about a minute, but I was so scared that I was going to faint while he wasn’t there. When he came back out, I was dry-sobbing.

L let me drink some water, held both my hands, and told me it was going to be okay, even though it didn't feel okay right then. One of the best things he tells me is that while it feels like something is really wrong, nothing bad is going to happen to me. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. In that moment, I hurt so much and felt so floaty and sick that I could only nod along complacently. I pitifully told him I didn’t think I could eat; the idea of heading to any of the restaurants we’d been talking about made me want to throw up. We decided to head back towards the hotel. He held my hand the whole way, and we went slowly so the movement wouldn't aggregate my burns.

I calmed down a bit, and we eventually came across a kebab shop that was only about five minutes away from our hotel. I knew he was hungry despite me being not, and the thought of sitting down in air conditioning was appealing, so we went in. I almost fell over my own feet taking off my shoes, and stepping up from the genkan was the first time I felt the creases in my lower back scream from being scorched.

Agreeing that he’d eat my food if it came out and I couldn’t eat it, L ordered chicken kebab wraps for both of us, plus a plate of plain rice, and two cokes.

I just laid my head on the table the entire time we were waiting for our order, self-conscious of the fact that I looked and seemed drunk, but I was still at the point where I didn't really care. It hurt so much to curl forward, but having somewhere to rest my head felt so right. I managed to drink my coke when it came, but two bites of the veggies from the kebab made me want to die, so I gave that to L and just picked away at some of the rice. L ate everything else, and declared that he was feeling so much better, pain-wise, after taking the ibuprofen about twenty minutes before, so he gave me two to take with my coke.

We both slept in a decent amount of pain that night, but the ibuprofen seemed to keep away the shivers that had hit me the night before, so that was something.

Tuesday

We had to get up and pack and get to the airport to come home.

We were both in so much pain as we got up and checked out. Luckily, getting a taxi to the airport was easy, and we took some more ibuprofen too. We decided we should eat before flying, since we would head straight for my car once we landed and would then have a two hour drive home. We ended up at A&W, where L ordered a burger, fries, and a muffin, and I got chilli cheese fries and a muffin. Besides the pain, I was feeling alright this morning, plus I was concerned about how little I'd eaten the day before. We finished our food and went to check in and drop off our suitcase.

And oh, boy, was the worst about to come.

There was a long queue for the check-in desk, and about halfway in, I started getting a stinging/tingling pain in my cheeks and jaws. I told L that I was getting “stingy cheeks”. This happens to me a lot when I'm dehydrated, so L didn’t worry too much beyond sounding sympathetic. He said we'd go buy some water once we'd checked in.

But then my head was swimming again, and my mouth was watering. I started leaning on the queue partitions whenever I could. Again, I started worrying that I seemed drunk, and although it occurred to me that they might not let me on the plane at all if they suspected I was inebriated, I couldn't compose myself fully. I think one of the main factors was how fucking raw my shoulders and back were, aggravated by the fact that I was carrying a very full backpack.

We finally got to the front, and we had to hand over our boarding passes and let the agent know our basic info. She weighed our suitcase, asked if we'd packed it ourselves etc., and asked both of us to confirm our names.

During the whole interaction, I was sweating and swallowing. I felt like a wooden doll come to life, with the sole purpose of convincing this woman that I was a real person. My eyes wandered aimlessly as I fought to keep myself upright. We still had one more queue to enter after this, to drop off our suitcase. It seemed impossible. My knees didn’t have it in them. My body was failing me.

I suddenly realised that I'd answered everything the agent specifically needed from me, so I tapped L's arm and told him, "I need to go". He nodded in understanding and I headed out of the check-in area.

My head was swimming so badly that I barely made out the location of the closest bathrooms. For some reason, I actually kept it together long enough to get there, find a suitable cubicle (the first one I entered had a very dirty toilet bowl, so I immediately went "nope"), hang my backpack on the door, and pull my phone out of my pocket so it wouldn’t end up in the bottom of the bowl.

I retched up a small mouthful at first, taking myself by surprise. I experience nausea on a semi-regular basis, but more often than not, it ends in light dry-heaving and maybe a little bile. I immediately saw a glimpse of my breakfast/lunch this time.

I was wearing my sunglasses on my head, and I could feel them shifting forward through my hair as my body heaved. I pulled them off and left them resting on top of the toilet paper holder, which I'd usually never dream of doing to something I put on my face. But again, better there than in the toilet. I retched again and again, bringing up pitiful scraps. I was leaning over with my hands on my thighs, my germ phobia at a level just high enough to keep me from kneeling down by the bowl (stupid idea, looking back. I should have just done it).

I realised that while I was gagging, I was holding a weird amount of tension in the pit of my stomach. And as soon as my brain acknowledged it, my abdominal muscles relaxed, like some kind of switch had been hit.

And then, everything I'd eaten that morning just came pouring out of me over the course of two or three gags, barely digested at all. I don't think I've thrown up that much, or that violently, in my whole adult life. It was Exorcist-level. It unfortunately splashed up and hit my favourite shirt (I would choose to wear a white shirt that day, wouldn't I? But it washed out, so all’s good now).

There was no definite “okay, I’m done now” moment, but L and the check-in counter popped into my head. I miserably felt for my phone to see if he needed me to hurry back for anything. All he'd messaged me was that he was outside the bathrooms he assumed I was in, and that we had a little bit of time before we needed to head for security.

My brain has a hard time reading tone, and I couldn’t tell if the “little bit of time” portion was a hint that I needed to hurry, so I started to tidy myself up. There was one person washing their hands when I came out, backpack slung over my tensed shoulder (as though keeping my shoulder tensed was somehow going to stop the backpack weighing so hard on my enflamed skin). They probably had no idea I’d just been sick, but I felt so disgusting and conspicuous as I went to wash my hands and my face.

So we headed through security, and the rest of the journey was okay. We both slept on the flight, with our heads pressed against the seats in front so our backs and shoulders weren't aggravated. The drive home was nasty, since I couldn't exactly crouch over the steering wheel the entire way.

But yeah, I guess I’ll never know exactly what made me throw up, but the factors are: pain, possible sunstroke/sun poisoning, eating too much in one go after not eating much the day before, heat, dehydration, or taking too many ibuprofen with not enough food. Those stomach cramps from the day before hadn’t bothered me since the previous afternoon, so I’m fairly sure those two weren’t related. My stomach didn’t even really hurt during the both vomiting situation, or after, now that I think about it.

Back Home

Anyway, jumping forward. I had no appetite for the first two days at L’s house, barely slept the first and second night in L's bed. Night three, I slept. Nights four and five, I was up again, itchy and burning and uncomfortable. We couldn't cuddle. I couldn't even sit properly on the couch until Saturday. Showering hurt so bad that I straight-up didn’t do it for two days, and couldn’t reach up to wash my hair until day four.

For the first few nights, L and I rubbed a mixture of aloe vera and calamine lotion onto each other’s backs. For him, he would hiss and groan, but for me, the cold and touch hurt so much that I had to curl up around a pillow and bury my face. It made me scream. It felt like my body was ripping apart. I cried. I usually composed myself and got up so I could do L’s back for him, but one of the nights was so bad that he said he’d manage by himself (his burn wasn’t as deep, or as wide), and just sat with me, playing with my hair since he couldn’t really touch me anywhere else.

Today is Sunday, and I still look like an actual demon from the pits of hell. Something from an actual horror film. Seriously, friends. Always stock check on sunscreen.

Always.

___

*I don’t go by Flick in real life.

#Flickposting #irl sickness #irl whump #irl emeto #emeto #sunburn #heatstroke #idk that else to tag this with

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emilypemily · 1 month

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i have a semi-commitment to not posting about discourse unless it's deeply unserious or only something i care about (gauntlet is the worst gladiators event and i'm sick of it's staying power) but i've been meaning to write about something minorly annoying to me for a while now, like i made a note on my phone in january about it and everything

which is basically about some reddit comment i read (always a bad start) about how this user thinks that people shouldn't read colleen hoover books because they are deeply problematic and could encourage bad behaviour or set bad expectations or cause harm to the reader due to it's bad messaging

and to be transparent, i haven't read any of her books because i find the covers uninspiring and whenever i've read the blurb of one (we get them in at work semi-often) they just don't sound that interesting to me, but i do feel the need to defend the 'right' (in quotes because who genuinely cares) to read like, bad or offensive books. like i just don't think that anyone has become uniquely maladjusted because they read a rubbish book.

like you're not morally wrong for reading or enjoying a book with problematic messaging and i think when we worry about that kind of thing you kind of mb down the reader's ability to recognise that a story is just a story. like most, dare i say all, people reading a book know it's just a book. which isn't to say that you can't criticise a book for being bad or offensive because art and literary criticism are important, and thinking about the things you consume is important and honestly just interesting, but to say 'i don't think anybody should read these books because it might affect the way they think' is just really silly to me.

i feel the same way about films. going 'you should never ever ever watch this film because it is offensive to xyz' just feels kind of too mary whitehouse to me. maybe a caveat might be 'don't pay to see it, just stream it illegally' but even then it's rarely that serious. your brain isn't going to rot just because you watched offensive films or read offensive books. i'm not saying that your particular media diet doesn't at all affect your thinking, like if you are purely watching gb news you certainly might come out stupider, but a reading a twilight or 50 shades or colleen hoover book isn't going to seriously damage the way your experience relationships.

maybe i'm differentiating here between fictional content and like, right wing commentary media diet, and i should just focus on fiction. my point is that again, pretty much everyone knows fiction is fiction, and saying 'don't watch this it's bad!!!!!!!' is honestly just kind of disrespectful to people's intelligence. and sometimes films and books are fun to consume because they are offensive and ridiculous, and watching and even enjoying something does not equal endorsing the behaviours of the characters within that thing, or even the filmmakers. or writers, in the case of a book. also you can check out at any time if you're not enjoying something. again, who cares. and i think there's a lot of worry about the way teenagers consume and internalise things and i think people always sort of forgot what it's like to be a teenager. i also think people sort of forget that you might in all honesty forget half the shit you read or watched or listened to as a teenager and that a lot of if does not make any sort of lasting impact.

i don't think i'm saying anything coherent or interesting and this probably all sucks but i just think there should be less worrying about what other people are consuming, and less calls for people to stop consuming it.

i suppose an objection is when money is repeatedly spent. like, if you enjoyed the harry potter books, i do not think it is Morally Wrong to rearead them, because if you enjoyed them in the first place you probably still already own copies of the books, so who cares if you reread them or not. but if you continue to give jk rowling your money i do think maybe you should stop doing that. but like, idk man buy the dvds or books in a charity shop or ebay and rewatch/read at your leisure, who is that hurting. but you probably don't need to keep funding jk rowling's bank account. same thing applies to boycotts. i am not saying 'who cares what you spend your money on', because money is power, and money speaks. but 'reading a bad book will not rot your brain' is the general point. 'people that read fiction books know that it is fiction' is the other point'. and perhaps the last point is 'sometimes things are enjoyable because they are offensive and bad'.

#this is extremely boring and i talk in circles about something that doesn't matter

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toakley · 1 year

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The Brighton Half Marathon 2023

Today I ran the Brighton Half Marathon. For some people that is a big achievement, for others it’s no big deal. For me it’s probably somewhere halfway between.

Training

I’ve run two proper half marathons before, and I did something new with this one. I actually had a training plan. I set off on the 1st January and ran 15km but in addition to this I did tempo runs, interval runs, recovery runs. It was going great and I was happy I was in great shape to run.

I just want to take a moment to shout out the Nike Run Club app. It actually made me enjoy the whole process. Sure, it tracks your runs and gives you a plan but the bit that I looked forward to was the coaching, especially from Chris Bennett who managed to be motivating without being too over the top. Best of all the app is free, no subscription.

I learned so many things, not all of which were about running.

Measuring goals in as many ways as possible to give you as many chances to recognise success

Knowing that the bad days, and the runs that suck actually help you in the long run

Being patient: we’re often in a hurry to get to places quickly but running slowing down isn’t being slow, it’s being smart.

When it doesn’t go to plan…

So far things have been peachy, but that doesn’t make for a good story does it? About 3 weeks to go and I started to feel a niggle. That’s okay right? It’s just a niggle. A bit of discomfort in my right calf. I ran through it over the next 2-3 days but it wasn’t getting better.

I went to get a sports massage thinking that would fix me and the person I saw was also trained as a physio. Uh oh. He confirmed what I was most worried about and that it was a strain. A strain is where the fibres of your muscle have torn. They can be of different severity; if the fibres are completely torn that’s the worst, thankfully mine was apparently mild. I’d convinced myself it wasn’t a sprain as I hadn’t lost power but it was just uncomfortable.

Long story short the physio suggested no running for 3-5 days and then slowly build up. But what about the plan? It’s okay, I rationalised: I would be tapering off anyways as I get closer to the run, right? So I was good and didn’t run for a week, then managed to get a cold and went for a first run again to test the water.

It was bad. I couldn’t breathe but worse, after just a kilometre things felt worse then they had before my break. I wasn’t sure if I was even going to be able to run the distance anymore. I did a few more runs in the week leading up and the most I managed was 5km. If I can do a quarter of the distance I can just do that three and a bit more times and run 21.1km. Right?

Race Day

It got to the day before and I actually felt alright. I made the decision to go for it. After all, I’d done the training, and even spent the past week drinking beetroot juice chasing marginal theoretical gains. The thing about beetroot juice is it tastes awful and has to come out the other end making everything a delightful shade of reddy-pink. It’s just not worth it, but I digress.

All I wanted to do was finish the race. I’d previously wanted to do sub-2 hours but that was out the window now. I made my way to my starting pen, feeling like I’d made a mistake saying I could do the distance in 1:45-1:59 but I was stuck here now, feeling like a fraud. I popped my earbuds in and hit play on the guided run, the first thing Chris does is tell me that even making it to the starting line is a brave decision and I’m that moment I realised that I was proud for even making it here today. Even if I didn’t finish, that work wasn’t wasted as I learned so much along the way. I’d even ‘run’ with Eliud Kipchoge, remembering how the world record holder for the marathon had told me that ‘No human is limited’ and just to enjoy running .

The Race

So you want to know, right? How did it go? I started by running fast, too fast I thought. I need to slow down, I can’t keep this up. Every time I checked my watch though the pace was the same; 5 minute kilometres. Maybe my watch was broken? It doesn’t matter, don’t look at the watch. I felt good, sure I didn’t feel perfect but being with the crowd, the other runners, it’s an indescribable feeling and before I knew it half the race had gone! I finished the race with a new personal best. I then had to walk what felt like almost another half marathon just to find my family who had got delayed and didn’t see me finish as it was quicker than we all thought I would be.

So what’s the lesson?

My family now no longer believe I was injured in the first place, but the thing I want to remember from this is not that I finished the run but how worthwhile the process was to get there. Training is not always about the destination but about the journey you have to get to your destination.

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makeste · 3 years

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BnHA Chapter 305: Worst Intervention Ever

Previously on BnHA: Shinomori, whose name took me an entire week to memorize, was all, “nice to meet you Deku, I’m ten feet tall, do you want to know how I died?” and without waiting for an answer explained that he kicked it from old age at forty thanks to good ol’ OFA. Deku was all “wait a minute, then how come All Might, who’s fifty-five and is definitely dyeing his gray hair, is still alive?” First and Shino were all, “we really have no fucking clue but we think it’s cuz he’s quirkless, JUST LIKE YOU!” So basically, since quirkless people don’t exactly grow on trees these days, Deku is probably going to be the last user of OFA. The chapter ended with Nana being all, “psst, Deku, about my grandson. Uh, can you kill him?” which is sure to lead to a very interesting conversation this week.

Today on BnHA: Nana And The Gang are all “so, Deku, how can we put this delicately. The thing is, we’re pretty sure that AFO really fucked my grandson up, so on the off chance you can’t save him, how would you feel about, you know... [throat slitting gesture].” Deku is all “idk you guys, I kinda feel like he’s really just a traumatized child at heart and he’s in a lot of pain and stuff and so I should try to help him.” The Vestiges are all “BUT WHAT IF YOU CAN’T” and Deku is all “BUT I WANT TO TRY, DAMMIT” and the Vestiges are all “well when you put it that way, we, uh, were just testing you, so congrats, you passed!” The chapter ends with First being all, “ANYWAY SO WHY DON’T YOU TWO SHY BOYS STANDING OVER THERE IN THE SHADOWS COME SAY HELLO” before we CUT AWAY FOR ANOTHER WEEK, goddammit.

seriously, Nana

just... have you met Deku?? look, if you really want Tomura dead, just sic him on the U.A. first years and tell Shouto and Honenuki that it’s a training exercise

oh my god lmao

we’re too far away to see Nana’s face here so I will just assume that she turned and is staring DIRECTLY INTO THE CAMERA for this one line lmao. “I just wanted to clarify in case anyone felt inclined to take my dialogue out of context and spend an entire week complaining about it”

oh my god?! are you all purposely trying to make me sad??

someone stop me before I launch into an impromptu rant about all my Tomura feels. WHY IS NOBODY STOPPING ME. oh my god but yes, exactly. he’s just in pain all the time. this is exactly why I think Tomura has such high redemption potential even though so far he seems to lack so many of the redemption arc essentials such as feeling remorse, wanting to change, and taking responsibility for his actions. the reason why I’m willing to overlook all that in his case is because Tomura has essentially had zero agency his entire life. AFO molded him into a killer by making sure he was in constant mental agony, and making it so that the only thing that even slightly relieved that agony was killing peeps. like, please don’t think I’m making excuses for him or anything, but if you take a child and manipulate their existence to make it virtually impossible for that child to grow up as anything other than a killer, and basically never give him the chance to be anything else, then no shit he’s gonna be a killer?? he’s basically never had the choice not to be. it’s never been an option for him. anyways I feel like I am EXPLAINING MYSELF SO BADLY but nonetheless I am prepared to die on this hill

anyway so now Nana is all “that’s a rhetorical question btw because Our Hearts And Minds Are One so we can feel everything you feel bro.” so yeah, that’s interesting

now Banjou is getting started on the “let’s try and talk Deku out of wanting to save Tomura because it’s insane” part of their OFA Mystical Space Void Reunion agenda

look, Banjou, I feel you, I really do. you guys don’t think it’s realistic that Deku can defeat Tomura without killing him. so if it’s a choice between killing Tomura vs letting Deku and everyone else in the entire world die, then duh, you think Deku should kill him. I get it! and if this were a real life mass murderer I’d totally agree with you. but the problem is that this isn’t real life, this is a sympathetic shounen villain with a tragic past who might as well have FUTURE REDEMPTION ARC RECEIPIENT stamped on his forehead at this point

so First is all “look, there’s absolutely no doubt my brother has fucked this kid up good and proper by now”, which, again, fair

though, that’s kind of exactly my point though. everything that Tomura is, everything he’s done, he’s done because of AFO. AFO has so effectively shaped his personality and his worldview by this point that it’s all but impossible to penetrate that. he’s AFO’s puppet. but the problem is that rather than treating him like a victim, you all are treating him like a casualty. like he’s already a lost cause. but good luck trying to convince Deku of that

WHOA WHAT, RANDOM SUPER-IMPORTANT AND BIZARRELY UNRELATED EXPOSITION DROPPED IN JUST LIKE THAT??

way to still not reveal Sixth’s name, btw. THE PEOPLE WANT TO KNOW, DAMMIT. but also so this confirms something we basically already knew already, which is that not even AFO can steal OFA. it literally can’t be taken away by anyone unless the owner wills it. SO SUCK ON THAT AFO YOU EGG

(ETA: so I have no idea why this was omitted from this translation, but apparently the Sixth’s name was revealed as “En”, which is obviously not his full name but at least it’s something. also he most likely has a fire or smoke-related quirk based on the kanji used, 煙.)

so Banjou is saying that Deku’s “lack of an iron will” could be a disadvantage against AFO. hahaha what?? Midoriya “I’ll break all of my bones without blinking an eye just to protect someone” Izuku lacks an iron will? do tell

he says this is going to be a test of Deku’s determination. well yeah, no shit. but just not in the way you guys think

OH HELLO AGAIN

darker hair again here! but I don’t trust the contrast in these scans at all after last week. his coveralls are way darker than they looked before too, and you can clearly see he’s standing in the shadows now

(ETA: yep, once again the raw shows that his hair is considerably lighter than what’s shown in these scans here. although there’s no mistaking now that his hair is consistently being colored in this slightly darker shade, and it’s not just the lighting.)

anyways lol First was saying something about how AFO can’t steal OFA, and they’ve spent all this time cultivating it as the ultimate weapon against AFO, and blah blah blah. go on then, keep lecturing

NANA GODDAMMIT NONE OF THIS IS YOUR FAULT

girl what?? you did everything in your power to protect your family, and AFO, fucked up man that he is, targeted them anyway. there is one person and one person only to blame for what’s happened to Tomura, and that potato-faced asshole needs a good kick in the balls

NANA GODDAMMIT DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE

SO HELP ME GOD!! I WILL GIVE YOU THE BIGGEST HUG YOU’VE EVER HAD!! THAT IS A THREAT

so now Nana is all “I’m just going to call my grandson a Thing to ensure that fandom has only the freshest, grass-fed no-hormones-added discourse this week”

I don’t even need to drop into the tags to know exactly which specific people are going to respond to this, and what kind of posts they are going to write lmao. everyone’s all caught up in the “that thing”, and meanwhile I’m over here completely hung up on this “nay” that’s appeared out of NOWHERE you guys. look at that. she really said “NAY”

Nana, my love, my dearest, I feel you girl I really do. but he’s not an unforgivable manifestation of pure evil, Deku is exactly right actually, he’s a boy in pain. you guys need to stop questioning Deku’s shounen protagonist instincts here and just let him work his sparkly magic. “let’s try and convince Midoriya Fucking Izuku that he can’t save someone” is a plan that is NEVER going to turn out well you guys

“DEKU GODDAMMIT WHAT IF WE CAN’T SAVE HIM” lmao it’s like an intervention

“DAMMIT DEKU JUST ADMIT YOU HAVE A SAVING PEOPLE PROBLEM!”

RED ALERT IT’S ANOTHER CLOSE-UP OF THE BACK OF MISTER TWO BON CLAY’S HEAD OMG

(ETA: I was too distracted with freaking out about Two and Three to really appreciate how ridiculously handsome First looks in this panel. but on my second readthrough it stood out so much that I had to go back and add an extra bullet point just to talk about how hot he is. look at him. wtf.)

THAT IS DEFINITELY AN UNDERCUT. THE PLOT THICKENSSSS. also those are fucking exhaust vents on Mister Three’s neck. MISTER THREE COULD YOU POSSIBLY BE RELATED TO THE IIDAS, PLEASE TELL ME YOUR SECRETS I’M DYING OVER HERE

so now Deku is launching into what will undoubtedly be a “saving people problems require SAVING PEOPLE SOLUTIONS” heroic counter-speech!

I mean, they can already feel the “lol nah I’m gonna try and save him” feelings running through him lol. ~OuR hEaRtS aNd MiNdS aRe CoNnEcTeD~ and all that. this is just a formality, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love a good shounen protag speech

oh wait hold up, do you mean to tell me that the whole “hearts and minds are connected” thing I was just mocking just a paragraph ago actually allowed Deku to feel what Tomura was feeling?? like literally feel it??

YET AGAIN these Tomura feels are pounding on my front door you guys?? they just will not quit?? people my house is already full of feels, does it look like I need you to sell me any more of them?? -- what do you mean, they’re free??

AW YISS THAT’S IT DEKU. THAT’S SOME GOOD SPEECH RIGHT THERE

I appreciate the contrast here between the Douchebag Triumvirate of Overhaul, Muscular, and Stain versus the Misguided Twosome of Gentle and La Brava. never let it be said that Deku doesn’t know the difference between a redeemable villain and an unredeemable one

OH NO -- OH MY GOD

someone please help me I need directions to the OFA Spooky Galactic Nebula Realm in this fictional Japanese manga land. it’s not on google maps. I need to give these two babies a big hug and wrap them up in a blanket and treat them to some McDonalds Happy Meals please help

other things: (1) ENDEAVOR CHILLING OUT IN DEKU’S “PEOPLE I HOLD DEAR” PANEL LMAO NEON DISCOURSE EXTRAVAGANZA, (2) “ONE FOR ALL IS A POWER TO SAVE, NOT TO KILL” I’M ABOUT TO CRY DEKU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH HOW IS IT EVEN POSSIBLE TO FEEL ALL THIS LOVE, (3) [SLAMS HANDS ON TABLE] THERE’S YOUR MOTHERFUCKING IRON WILL!!!!!!!! -- I’m sorry, please don’t call security, I’ll be good

I just randomly remembered that Deku is still saying all of this in his muffled “FMMPHHMMPHMM” voice and I’m somehow cracking up lol. so actually it’s a very good thing Their Hearts And Minds Are Connected, otherwise they’d no doubt be all, “...what?”

(ETA: so I completely missed this on account of it literally not being visible in the scan at all, but in the raw you can clearly see Baby Kacchan and Baby Shouto fanboying over All Might in two of these panels, and excuse me, ma’am??

thank you very much Deku for including them in your montage, particularly since you’ve never seen Baby Shouto before lol. amazingly accurate image you managed to conjure up, all things considered.)

SDKFJLSKHG -- AS IF ON CUE???

HE’S SO ADORABLE HELP?? Trippy Space All Might looks like he’s about to cry, and First is all “don’t crack a smile... you have to be Firm and Serious here... dammit, don’t smile” omg

anyways! YOU GO DEKU. “MY QUIRK MY RULES, BITCHES” damn, son

KLJLKKHLG TRIPPY SPACE ALL MIGHT LITERALLY ACTUALLY IS CRYING ALL MIGHT HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

“I JUST... [CLENCHES FIST] REALLY LOVE SAVING PEOPLE” FUCKING HELL LMAO THIS IS THE WORST INTERVENTION OF ALL TIME

Deku is literally all “sure, maybe I’ll have to kill him, but have you guys also considered, MAYBE NOT??” it’s no use Nana he’s too powerful

LMAO FIRST

“like I’ve been saying this whole time, you should definitely try saving Shigaraki Tomura.” “but, uh... First, didn’t you just -- ” “shut up”

(ETA: clearly it’s not just his brother who inherited those smooth-talking genes.)

so now Deku has turned back into a sixteen year old and his clothes have gone missing again. just OFA things

dskljdlsklgk

yes... sure... “testing” you...

HEY

FIRST OF ALL, DAMN YOU HORIKOSHI YOU MADE NANA CRY. even if I’m pretty sure they’re actually tears of happiness/relief. and SECOND OF ALL, “TELL MY BOYFRIEND I SAID HI” DJSKDLKJJL ANYWAY MAYBE GRAN, NANA, AND MR. SHIMURA WERE IN A THROUPLE

[SCREAMS]

WHY WOULD YOU END IT THERE?? WHY WOULD YOU END IT THERE!!!!!

(ETA: and two-to-one odds that we cut away to some other scene once they finally start to turn around next week. I’M CALLING IT NOW. giving myself a week to brace myself for the rage.)

fucking hell. well if anyone needs me I will be adding Horikoshi fucking Kouhei to the list of irredeemable villains, peace

#bnha 305 #midoriya izuku #shigaraki tomura #shimura tenko #shimura nana #ofa the first #banjou daigorou #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #'deku. sweetheart. your other vestiges and I just want what's best for you'#'have you tried... *not* saving people?'#only to backpedal SPECTACULARLY when he was all 'WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOT SAVING THEM'#yeah okay guys #you're not fooling anyone #but it's okay I still love you

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fangirleaconmigo · 3 years

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Eskel is wounded in a hunt, and no one in the three towns he passes on his way back to Kaer Morhen will give him aid.

Geralt has a bit of a breakdown about it.

This is Eskel x Geralt hurt/comfort fic. You can also read it as x Lambert, but that isn't explicitly defined, as this focuses on Geralt mostly. But they obviously all love each other.

About 2500 words. Rated Teen I guess? Not explicit. Now beta’ed and posted on AO3.

------

Rage pressed out from Geralt’s chest cavity, like bony fingers clawing an escape. Freezing wind whipped his hair into his eyes. He growled in frustration and shook his head to clear his vision. He brought the sledgehammer down on the last remnants of the shed. It cracked and threw splinters into the furious wind.

A throat made a scraping sound behind Geralt. He jerked in surprise, and whipped around, eyes still wild.

“Hate to interrupt, but he’s asking for you.”

Lambert looked comfortable, as though he had been leaning against the tree for an age. Geralt dropped the hammer.

“Oh.” He looked around the wreckage of the perfectly good structure that he had spent a week building. The scrapes on his knuckles and the rips in his trousers told the story of his outburst, if the ruined shed hadn’t done so. “Fuck. How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.”

Geralt pushed his hair out of his face with fingers that were unsteady and still unsure of why they no longer gripped the handle of a hammer. Then he rubbed his eyes.

“Take a breath, big guy,” said Lambert.

Geralt’s body instinctively obeyed, and his chest expanded as he pulled in a deep breath. What he had done was setting in. “Why didn’t you stop me, then?”

Geralt knew it wasn’t Lambert’s job to stop him from having mental breakdowns, but he felt defensive. He had given himself one brief moment of self indulgence, and all of this rage had just roared into being. The thought that he didn’t actually know what was inside the yawning chasm of his own heart was terrifying.

It was also embarrassing.

“We all need to let it out sometimes.” Lambert shrugged.

Geralt began to realize how cold he was, and therefore how freezing cold Lambert must be.

“Sorry. I’m an idiot.”

“Ah,” Lambert said easily, dismissing him out of hand. “It’s a relief to see someone else in this family admit to how fucked up it all is.”

Lambert did look relieved. There was recognition in his face. Kinship. Geralt felt a twinge of guilt. How lonely he must feel sometimes.

“How do you handle this? How do you get rid of it? It feels like shit.”

Lambert pressed the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he considered the question. “Being an asshole helps sometimes. Revenge is good. But don’t take my word for it, I’m not the model of fitting witcher behavior.” The last three words were said in a mimicry of Vesemir’s voice. He held both hands up in a sarcastic surrender.

Geralt thought for a moment. Lambert allowed the silence to stretch out between them.

“I know the new cleric down in Ard Carraigh has been working people up, turning them against us. It’s made everything worse,” said Geralt. The gut wrenching image of Eskel bleeding, gasping, and cradling his split open wound as town after town turned him away, blazed to life again in his mind’s eye. He clenched both fists. “It didn’t have to be that way. If only one of those motherfuckers, if only one of them had helped him...he almost...he almost died.” Geralt spat the final word and when he did, he could feel hot tears prickling his eyes.

“I know,” said Lambert. “Believe me I know. But he wants to see you, and you can’t go in there like this. Breathe.”

Geralt nodded and breathed again.

“How’s this?” offered Lambert, “If you don’t come to your senses by the time the snow melts, I promise I’ll help you come up with a really good way to fuck with that self righteous piece of shit in Ard Carraigh.”

Geralt laughed airily. “Yeah, alright.” He put his hands on his hips and waited for his thudding heart to settle.

Lambert’s eyes lit up with glee. “Really?”

Geralt nodded. “Really.”

“Alright. Now come on.” Lambert began walking towards the keep, and beckoned for him to keep pace.

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

Geralt washed his hands and cleaned his cuts. Then he changed into fresh clothes and let himself into Eskel’s room with the soft creak of a door.

Eskel lay in bed with his eyes closed. It was a large bed, piled with just about every spare quilt they had been able to find. A neat bandage was wrapped around Eskel’s stomach. Vesemir had done it as Geralt cursed himself for his shaking hands. Eskel was a shade more pale than his usual warm brown. He looked drained, of blood and of energy. The lines of his face were slack, and his hands rested with fingers laced across his chest.

The sight of him provoked a tangle of emotions in Geralt. The usual feeling gripped him of course...the one he felt whenever he saw Eskel’s familiar face...the full lips that melted him to a large helpless puddle whenever they smiled or kissed him....the round, solid shoulders that were the best place on the continent to lay your head. That bit wasn’t a mystery. It was just love. That was the most natural thing in the world for Geralt to feel for Eskel.

But the soft pink suggestion of blood beneath the white cloth kindled a very different feeling. That was the rage. Still there. There were probably not enough structures on the continent for him to destroy to sate it. Also, the slight puffiness in Eskel’s skin surrounding the bandage implied a nascent infection they would have to continue to fight off. That provoked a feeling of powerlessness that threatened to shatter him from the inside out. It intertwined with the desperation to kiss his soft stomach...to make it better somehow.

But he couldn’t make it better. He couldn’t heal him. He couldn’t protect him. He couldn’t do anything at all but be angry and fucking useless. Impotent, helpless, and fucking useless.

What good was it? He thought. What good was love, if no matter the degree of its ferocity, it would never be enough to protect the ones you loved?

For a moment he truly glimpsed the reality of his powerlessness, paired with the vulnerability of Eskel’s flesh. His body. His heart. It could just stop beating, and there would be nothing Geralt could do to help it. The breath sucked from his body, and he swayed, dizzy on his feet.

Eskel opened his eyes, and as he focused on Geralt, he blinked at the look of anguish on his face.

“Hey, wolf. Hey. I’m good. I’m here. C’mere.” He tried to lift an arm to beckon him to bed, but he winced.

His voice was soft and gentle, as though Geralt were the wounded one. That broke the spell of despair gripping him, and he rushed to Eskel’s side. He sat down gingerly next to him on the bed. Eskel leaned his head into Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt situated himself so he could wrap his arms around Eskel’s shoulders, and he dropped a kiss onto the top of his head.

Eskel made a noise of contentment. They sat there for a short moment, breathing together in the quiet room.

“Hey,” said Eskel. He looked up, concerned.

“What?” Geralt asked.

“Hey!” Eskel sat up and unwound Geralt’s arms from his shoulders. He squeezed Geralt’s hands in his. “You’re trembling. What’s going on? What are these scrapes from? Are you hurt?”

Geralt snorted and gently pulled his hands back, tucking them at his side. He was too much of a mess to hide his little breakdown. He would have to explain just a bit. “No. You’re the one that’s hurt. I’m fine. Just. You know. I hate...I hate seeing you hurt.”

Eskel tilted his head. “I said I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt.”

Eskel looked at him quizzically, and dug Geralt's hands back from his sides and clasped them again. He swept his thumb gently below his injured knuckles.

“This is our job, Geralt. Our life. We’ve been doing it for almost eighty years.”

Geralt swallowed. It was true. He felt ridiculous, of course. And defensive. Like he needed to explain himself.

“I know. I know.” He thought of why this was different. But it really wasn’t. Factually, this was just another hunt. Another instance of humans treating them like garbage. He shouldn’t care anymore. And yet? “And most of the time,” he pressed ahead, “I don’t notice. Wounds. Dressings. Combat. The sun rises, the sun sets. It is what it is. I tell myself that all the time. Why worry about something you can’t change?”

Eskel touched a stray bit of Geralt’s hair and tucked it behind his ear. “Then what? What was different about this one?”

He sounded so gentle. He was always so gentle. Geralt couldn’t bear it sometimes.

“Nothing,” he choked out. “There was nothing different about it. It’s just that sometimes...” he leaned back against the bedframe and looked at the ceiling. He just couldn’t look at Eskel right now. “Sometimes I look at you,” he continued haltingly, “and I see the bruises. I see the wounds.”

“You don’t usually see them?” Eskel was teasing him lightly, trying to make him smile.

“Not really. They’re just things to fix. Things to bandage. Things to watch disappear and then on to the next hunt.” He was silent for a good long stretch. Eskel didn’t fill it. He just brushed the palms of his hand and waited. “But then. Every once in a while, I see them for what they are. They are things and people who hurt you. Who stood there, and fucking hurt you. Who saw you as a thing to hurt. And I want to burn down the whole world.”

He pretended that he didn't notice the tear the slid down his cheek.

He finally looked at Eskel, who was sitting up now and watching him intently, with a complicated look on his face.

“Geralt. I’m fine.”

Geralt looked away again, dragging his arm across his face to dry it. “But you almost weren’t.” His voice insisted on breaking, against his will. He cleared his throat. “You could have died. And why? Because no one in three towns would help you? People who you’ve helped countless times??” He felt the thudding rage threaten to swell again like the first ripples of a tsunami.

“Geralt,” Eskel touched his chin. Geralt turned, and was rewarded with a soft look and a kiss. “I don’t have your pretty face, wolf. Even if I weren’t a witcher, they would react the way they do.”

Geralt knew it was true. Eskel’s looming size. His voice. The way his eyes seemed to glow. The scars. All things he loved. But not everyone else did. He clenched his fists. “Idiots.”

Eskel loosened his fingers and clasped them again. “It’s been ages since I got the scars. I’m used to it.”

“Yeah well. You shouldn’t have to be,” hissed Geralt. “Sometimes,” he remembered Lambert’s voice telling him to breathe, so he did. Eskel watched him with concern and something else. Affection. That was it. “Sometimes," Geralt tried again. “I just want you to have the gentle life that you deserve.”

And there it was. As sensible, as strong as Geralt tried to be...as he was, sometimes he was like a little child stamping about how unfair the world was. How he wished it were different. Ridiculous. Fucking stupid.

He waited for Eskel to tell him again that he was fine. To be practical, like he always was. To tell him that it was better than what a lot of people got. That most of the time, he liked being a witcher. That he was good at it. Eskel was like that. Even. Solid. Where Lambert wanted to punch destiny in its smug face, and Geralt hid from the spiteful bitch, Eskel just rode it. Like a ship on a wave. Sometimes he and Lambert resented his ability to do that.

But Eskel didn’t do any of that. He looked at Geralt, and his expression was so raw that Geralt was taken aback. And he was taken back. That was a look he hadn’t seen in many years. It wiped about seventy years away from Eskel’s face. Geralt was transported to this same room. But instead of a large bed, there were two bunkbeds. And instead of two grizzled witchers, there were two small, hopeful, frightened boys, who loved without wariness. Without skepticism. Without doubts.

Eskel pulled his hands to his lips and kissed each knuckle softly, in turn.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice husky.

Geralt shook his head. “Ah, for what? Me being angry doesn’t do anything. It doesn’t help you heal faster.”

“You don’t know that. It might.”

Eskel patted the blanket covering him. “Crawl in with me wolf. We’ll huddle together until it passes.”

The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched into the hint of a smile despite himself. It was what Eskel used to say when Geralt had nightmares and he would stand stupidly around Eskel’s bed, hoping to be invited in. Geralt had always made up some excuse to accept his kindness. Something that wouldn’t be interpreted as weakness.

“Alright, but only because I want to keep you safe.”

Eskel grinned his lopsided, perfect grin. “I feel safer already.” That was what he used to say. Even as a child he knew how to respond to Geralt. How to handle his pride and his need to be the hero.

Geralt slid under the covers, still fully clothed. He laid his head on Eskel’s shoulder and gingerly draped his arm across his chest, avoiding his injury. With his free hand, Eskel turned his chin to face him.

They kissed, slow and unhurried. Geralt barely pressed against his lips, his fingers ghosting Eskel’s cheek. They could have kissed for a minute, or an hour, or a day. Geralt lost track of time, love settling in his chest and chasing away the rage and the fear. He could also hear Eskel’s pulse growing more steady. He could see that some color had already returned to his cheeks.

Maybe he wasn’t so useless after all.

Then, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Eskel called.

Lambert swung open the door and stood there with a shit eating grin. “Did Geralt tell you we’re gonna go down to Ard Carraigh and really stick it to some piece of shit priest? We’re gonna work out how to make him really suffer.”

Eskel raised his eyebrows and turned to Geralt.

Geralt shrugged. “I’m not saying I won’t.”

Lambert laughed and took stock of the two of them. “Look at you. Two bugs snug in a rug.”

“Come on,” said Eskel. “You too.” He patted the bed on the other side of him. Lambert’s grin stretched wider and he clambered in, pressing up against Eskel, warming himself with relish. He reminded Geralt of a blissed out lizard sunning himself on a rock. Eskel managed to turn enough to plant a kiss on Lambert’s cheek.

Lambert made that noise he always made when he loved something but didn’t want to admit it. It was like a combination of a snort and a laugh.

And when Vesemir came into the room in the morning to check Eskel’s dressing, he found them all asleep side by side.

He chuckled and watched them for a moment as they drooled and snored against one other.

The remaining Kaer Morhen wolves, together.

It was as it should be, how it always was, and how it would ever be.

They needed each other, after all.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #eskel #geralt x eskel #gereskel #geskel #Eskralt #seriously we need to come to a consensus on this ship name #lambert #vesemir #this is not what i was supposed to be writing #but it is what wanted to be written

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Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 20 of 27: Love

Summary: Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

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A/N: I posted this a little later because on Sunday I had the idea to do this. If you want to participate, feel free to do so! I received some amazing ideas and messages already! Thank you so much for them! Now, enjoy this little chapter <3

Words: 3070 Pairings: Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader, post war Warnings: none

Three weeks after the Winter Dance …

On a Tuesday evening in March, clouds gathered over Hogwarts and darkened the sky. The few students who had been outside despite the cold wind had mere seconds to sprint to the castle before the gates to the heavens opened. Rain began to pour down, drenching everyone. You were one of those students.

You cursed once you got inside and whipped out your wand to cast a drying spell while hoping your Potions book wasn’t completely ruined. Even though Snape was no longer around to retract at least fifty housepoints for it, you still didn’t want to deal with Slughorns disappointed look that he’d give you. “Oh thank Merlin,” you mumbled when you saw that it was fine.

“Here, you lost this.”

You almost dropped your book when you heard the familiar voice. “Hermione!”, you said surprised.

The brown-haired girl stood in front of you, holding out a quill that had slipped out of your bag when you reached for the wand. She smiled awkwardly.

“Thank you.” You took the quill from her. She nodded but stayed silent, burying her hand in the pocket of her jacket. It had been three weeks since you last talked to her. The morning after the Winter Dance, you had tried to get her to talk to you. She refused and sent Ginny to let you know that she needed space. You tried one more time a few days later but still – Hermione didn’t want to see you.

Your own emotions shifted from guilt that you didn’t tell her, to anger that she didn’t want to speak to you for three freaking weeks, and then back to guilt because you knew you screwed up with your lies. Now that she was here, you understood that you just missed her. You missed not being able to talk and laugh with your friend.

“Where are you going?”, Hermione asked.

“To the common room.”

She hesitated and looked back and forth between you and the stairs behind you. “Can I come?”

Relief washed over you. That could only mean that she wanted to talk. “Sure,” you replied and smiled at her.

You walked together in silence for the first pair of stairs. Only when you turned a corner and entered the hall that lead to the next stair, did she speak up. Her words surprised you.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked at her, stunned. “What for?”

Her gaze was fixated on her shoes. “For not coming to you earlier. I was embarrassed.”

You frowned. “I’m the one who lied to you, Hermione.”

“I know,” she sighed, still not looking at you. “But I overreacted.”

You snorted. Not because you found this situation particularly amusing – to be honest, it was ridiculous. You stopped walking, Hermione did the same.

“You didn’t.” You shook your head. “Seriously. I should have told you the day it first happened. You’re my friend and what I did was wrong.” You paused. “I hurt you. And I’m deeply sorry for that.”

For the first time since you started walking, Hermione looked at you. She pursed her lips but there was no anger written on her face. When she spoke, there was certainty in her voice: “I know. What you did wasn’t okay.”

You couldn’t agree more. “You’re right.”

“I’m not mad that you slept with him, you know.”

“You’re not?”

“No. Although … it’s a little weird.” She wrinkled her nose and you chuckled softly.

“No, but I’m not mad about it”, you friend repeated herself. “He didn’t cheat on me. We weren’t dating then and …”, she hesitated, “I had my fun as well.”

You raised an eyebrow at her confession. “Oh?”

You could have sworn that a soft shade of red colored her cheeks but then again, it was rather dark in the hallway. Hermione gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’ll tell you about that later.”

Before you had the chance to say anything else, she continued: “Both of you obviously didn’t handle … the end of your whatever it was that you two had very well. I had my suspicions to be honest. You were both acting strange and not talking to each other for months.”

“Why didn’t you ask me?”

Hermione shrugged. “I thought that if my suspicions were correct … you would have come to me.”

You looked down when you heard that. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”

“Also, it sucked hearing it from Malfoy. Of all the people who could’ve told me.” She shook her head. “See, that’s the next thing. Malfoy knew, Ron knew, Ginny and you knew … It hurt being the only who didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry.” You didn’t know what else to say.

“It’s fine,” Hermione replied, her voice a little softer now.

You looked up at her. “It’s not.”

“It is,” she smiled at you. “Honestly, I’m not mad anymore. It just took me some time to realize it.”

You stared at her, somehow expecting this to be a test or a joke. You couldn’t believe she would forgive you for lying so long so easily. However, Hermione simply stood in front of, waiting for you to react.

“I missed you so much.” The words came from deep down within you, along with the relief and happiness that flooded your mind right this second. You pulled her into a tight hug.

Hermione laughed before returning the hug. “Missed you too,” she then mumbled.

“What about Ron though?”, you asked after a while and took a step back.

“What about him?”

You tilted your head. “Did you talk about it?”

“No,” she said calmly but couldn’t hide the way the corners of her lips twitched. “No, he deserves to suffer a little longer.”

Only one more lie left.

***

Four weeks after the Winter Dance …

“We already had a lesson on Amortentia in our sixth year, Professor,” Pansy whined and the sound instantly caused you to roll your eyes.

“Your exams are here sooner than you think,” Professor Slughorn replied, facing the blackboard. “I believe a little repetition will do you good.”

Exams. The word caused you to crinkle your nose. They were so close and yet you felt so far behind. It seemed as all you did was study but between the fight with Hermione and the drama with Astoria, your attention was certainly split.

Astoria … You looked over to her table where she stood next to Millicent Bulstrode, nose buried in the Potions book. Draco had told you some of what went down between him and her in the Room of Requirements. He said that he knew the reason why she wanted to marry him but he had also no right to let you know. It didn’t help your restless mind. You spent hours speculating and brooding over it. Was she sick? Would her parents disown her if she didn’t marry Draco? You wouldn’t be surprised by something like that. Was she pregnant?

None of your theories made any sense to you and Draco was steadfast. He didn’t comment on them or give you any more clues. You had to respect his ability to keep a secret.

“I think I did it wrong, can you smell anything?”, Theos voice pulled you from your thoughts.

The Slytherin came up to your table. Since the Winter Dance, you had spent increasingly more time with Draco and he had sneaked you in their common room on more than one occasion. It had resulted in you becoming friendly with Nott.

“Where’s Blaise?”, you asked as you stirred the liquid in the cauldron. “Isn’t he supposed to help you with it?”

Theo shrugged. “Probably off and begging Astoria to go to Hogsmeade with him.”

You chuckled and when you looked over to her table, sure enough, Blaise leaned against it, talking to her. “That’s still going on?”

Theo followed your gaze. “Very unsuccessfully, but yes.” He looked back at you. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“The part of where he’s unsuccessful,” he explained. “She’s set on marrying Draco.”

You shrugged and reached too add the missing ingredient. “I’m set on having pudding for dessert tonight but it probably won’t be served, so let’s see what happens.”

The potion was supposed to be finished now and you leaned over it, carefully.

“You smell something?”, Theo asked again.

You closed your eyes and sniffed. Irritated, you opened them again and looked to your side, expecting Draco to be there. The scent of his cologne, mixed with mint and the smell of summer rain, was overwhelming. He wasn’t there. No, he stood a few feet away, talking to Professor Slughorn. Huh.

“And?”, Theo began to sound a little impatient.

“Yes,” you nodded, still slightly confused. “I smell something.”

He groaned. “It’s my mistake then and not the book’s.” Before he went back to his table, he asked curiously: “What do you smell?”

“Your shampoo, Nott, what else?”, you joked. Just in this moment, Draco came back, catching the last bit of your conversation.

Theo chuckled. “Not in front of Draco, darling.” Then he winked at you and turned around.

The smile still on your face, you looked at Draco. “And? Did Slughorn know?”

Judging by the sour look on his face, the Professor hadn’t been able to answer his question.

“Seriously?”, Draco asked.

You tilted your head. “What?”

“Did you smell his shampoo?”

You stared at him. He avoided your eyes and instead flicked through the pages of the book, pretending as if he was reading something about Amortentia. You saw right through him.

“Are you jealous, Malfoy?”

His hand stopped in mid-air of the page for a second before he cleared his throat. “Of course not,” he replied quickly.

Your smile returned, turning into a full-size grin. “You’re jealous!”

“What would I be jealous about?!”, he sneered. “We’re not dating so …”

The grin stayed plastered on your face. “Right, we’re not but still you’re –”

“Don’t we have work to do?”, he interrupted you and sat down abruptly. “We still need to write down what we did.”

You giggled softly before you sat down next to him and grabbed your quill.

“It was just a joke,” you whispered while writing.

Draco didn’t reply and you were wondering if he had heard you. “What does it smell like for you then?”, he said after a while.

You hesitated. The smell of mint still wafting over to you. “I can’t smell anything today,” you lied. “Still fighting that cold from last week, I suppose.”

“Hmm,” Draco made.

“What do you smell?”

“You, Y/L/N.”

“Right,” you chuckled at his joke. “No, seriously, what do you smell?”

No more words came from him, only a wink. You rolled your eyes and chuckled again, pushing down the strange feeling emerging inside of you. When the class was over, you walked to the Great Hall together. Dinner was served and you had pudding for dessert.

***

Five weeks after the Winter Dance …

“Do you love him?” Hermione sat down across from you and dropped her books on the table.

You didn’t look up from your own studies. “Draco?”

“No.”

You looked up. Oops.

“Ron, of course,” Hermione explained.

“Of course.” Why on earth would you think of Draco first at that question? But more importantly right now – why on earth would Hermione think that you loved Ronald Weasley?! You shook your head. “No, why?”

“I’m trying to understand … your thing.”

You closed your book. “Can I be honest?”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Are you serious right now, Y/N?”

Right, honesty was probably the only thing she expected from you these days. “I had a crush on him. I admit that,” you shrugged. You tapped on the cover of the book in front of you with your fingertips, before you continued. “And it hurt when he just dropped me like a hot potato.” The memory, even though it began to fade and become more and more irrelevant, still stung a little. “I don’t love him.” You looked into her eyes. “Never have.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “What about him then?”

“He loves you.” You smiled. “Everyone knows that.”

“But when he’s around you …”, she began.

“He doesn’t love me,” you interrupted her. “He’s just pissed that I’m with Draco.”

Hermione slumped against the back of the chair. “You really think that’s all?”

“Yes.” It was the truth. “His ego is hurt and he got confused. He loves you though. Did he apologize to you?”

Finally, Hermione smiled. A soft, shy smile. “A thousand times. He sent me love letters. God, they were so ridiculous.” She raised a hand to her mouth to hide the smile.

You grinned and reached for her hand. “I think you should give him a chance.”

“I love him so much,” your friend admitted with a soft sigh. Then the smile on her face vanished. “But what if … what if it happens again? With a different girl?”

“Then I will personally kick his butt.” You squeezed her hand tightly and Hermione chuckled. She looked down at the table as if she was thinking about something.

“Do you love him then?” She raised her head again.

“Who?”, you asked, knowing damn well who she meant. However, you were certain your friend knew the answer to her question already.

***

Six weeks after the Winter Dance …

It was cold in the dorm that Draco shared with Blaise and Theo. The fact that you were wrapped in nothing but a black towel, didn’t help much with it. You shivered when you closed the bathroom door behind you and quickly ran over to the warm bed where your pretend-boyfriend still waited under the covers.

“Can you believe it’s almost April?”, Draco asked while he reached for the sweets on his nightstand. “School is nearly over.”

“Exams are almost here,” you replied, climbed over him and slipped under the blanket.

The Slytherin rolled his eyes as his chewed on another piece of candy. You wondered if they were still yours from the first weekend in Hogsmeade last year. Then Draco turned to face you and propped himself up on his elbows. “Stop playing scared,” it was almost a demand, “you’ll do great and you know it. I barely got to see you these last few weeks.”

“We saw each other every day, Draco,” you countered with a grin.

“It felt less.” He let himself fall on his back and put one arm behind his head.

“Did you make a decision yet?” The question left your mouth before you had time to think about it. This was a sensitive topic for him. Too many uncertainties in his life.

“I always have the option to marry rich,” he joked, looking at the ceiling.

You snorted. “Ha ha.”

***

Seven weeks after the Winter Dance …

“You’re staring. Again.”

Draco and you had found yourselves in his dorm once again. Theo and Blaise spent an awful amount of time at the library lately, giving you the freedom not to rely on the Room of Requirements so often.

It was a Saturday morning. You wished you could tell whether it was a beautiful spring day with birds chirping and beams of sunlight falling through the window – but from here, you were only able to see the green water of the lake.

“I’m not staring,” Draco mumbled. “I’m admiring.”

You smiled and when your eyes met his, a warm feeling spread in your chest. A feeling, you had experienced a lot more often in the past weeks. Sneaking up on you, always in the back of your mind as it tried to tell you something. Something, you already knew but were too scared to put a name on it. So instead, you pushed it back and tried to ignore it. “What are you admiring then?”

“You.” He whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

You pressed yourself closer to his body.

“I love you.”

At first you thought that you had accidentally fallen asleep again and this was some sort of weird dream your brain produced. But your eyes were open and you felt how Draco stopped breathing next to you; surely, this wasn’t a dream. The words had actually left his mouth. He had said them. They were out.

Oh Merlin.

You sat up abruptly. “I’m sorry, what?”

His eyes were wide as he got up as well, turning his back towards you. He walked over to the closet with stiff movements and frantically searched through his drawers. “I don’t know where this came from,” he said in a hardened voice. “Forget it.”

I love you.

The words rung in your ears like the sound of a pot crashing to the ground. You stared at his back. And then, when his eyes flickered over to you, the ringing stopped

I love you.

You were suddenly very calm. “Draco –”

“Forget it,” he interrupted you and slipped over a black shirt. “Just do me the favor and pretend I never said anything.”

“Draco –”

“Draco!” The door flew open and crashed against the wall. You flinched.

Theo stood in the doorway, breathing heavily as if he had just sprinted up the stairs. “Oh, shit, sorry guys,” he exclaimed when he saw you and quickly looked away.

You needed a second to realize that you were sitting in Dracos bed – completely naked. Letting out a surprised gasp, you pulled up the covers.

Draco quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his view. “What do you want, Theo?”, he sneered, making it clear that this was not the right time.

Theo cleared his throat. “Okay, uhm,” he began, “Don’t panic but …”

Draco crossed his arms in front of his chest. “But what?”

You would later on call it intuition – but a part of you knew that the moment Theo stepped in, something would change. The tranquility and happiness between Draco and you had been going on for way too long already. You had pushed away the fears and uncertainty and allowed yourself to simply be. You should have known that it would come back to bite you in the ass.

“Spit it out,” Draco demanded.

Over his shoulders, Theo looked at you the same way he had a few weeks back during that Potions lesson. Fear gripped your heart. Sorry, his eyes seemed to say.

“Your mother is in the common room, Draco. She’s talking to Astoria.”

So this was the way it ends.

***

A/N: I hope you liked it! <3 Thank you so much for reading! Quick reminder, if you want to participate in the little thing I’m doing rn, I’d love it. It gives you the chance to add your own personal touch to this story <3

CHAPTER 21

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#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/N #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy imagines #harry potter imagines #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco x you #draco #malfoy #draco malfoy x gryffindor!reader #draco malfoy x gryffindor #slytherin #slytherin imagines #slytherin fanfiction #astrids fics #harry potter

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kaistarus · 3 years

Text

College Drop-Out

Pairing: NishinoyaXReader

Words: 1.6K

Summary: When Noya shows up in the middle of the night unprompted you’re more than surprised at the news he brings with him.

A/N: angsty >:D but it’s me so is it really? lol

Masterlist

A strange vibration pulled you out of your deep slumber. You whined as you smoothed your hand across your mattress aimlessly searching for what caused the annoyance. When your fingers glided across the soft cotton sheet to land on your cell phone your frustration hit its peak.

You pulled it down, squinting at the blinding screen that shone Nishinoya’s contact against your room’s pitch-black darkness. You swept the red circle to end your suffering and snuggled back into your cocoon of warmth. Whatever Nishinoya wanted at nearly three in the morning he could deal with himself.

The cellphone began vibrating a second time and with clenched teeth you sent him to voicemail again without opening your eyes.

But when your phone vibrated a third time you violently slid the green circle across the screen before shouting into the receiver, “Noya, it is two in the morning what the hell do you-”

“I can’t believe you sent me to voicemail,” Nishinoya sounded offended and you let out a pathetic muffled whine against your pillow.

“I’m trying to sleep.” You glared blankly at the apartment window across yours-their lights all off stave a few. You envied the ones lucky enough to be sleeping. “What do you want.”

“You’re already sleeping on a Saturday?” Nishinoya questioned.

“Already? It’s nearly two a.m, Noya.” You scoffed while straining to hear the gusts of wind on his side of the line. “Where are you?”

“Outside.”

“Obviously, I mean where outside?”

“Outside-outside,” he unhelpfully clarified. “I’m outside your apartment.”

You blinked several times before shooting up in bed, “what?”

“It’s really cold out. Could you let me in?”

You hopped out of bed and moved toward your closet, sliding into your simplest pair of shoes and rushing to the hall. “This better not be a prank, Noya.”

“It’s not,” he said as you impatiently jabbed the elevator button. “I wanted snacks from the gas station, but I must have taken a wrong turn back because I ended up here.”

“Wrong turn?” You furrowed in confusion when the elevator finally arrived. “Noya, I’m a thirty minute walk from your place.”

“Oh, right.”

You felt your cheeks warm when you stepped out of the elevator to find him standing in the vestibule. His hair had been whipped around by the wind and was a chaotic mess; you could tell he looked exhausted, but still managed a bright smile when he lifted a plastic bag filled with various snacks.

You rolled your eyes and let him in without hesitation, taking the bag from his grasp the moment he stepped through the glass doors.

“Thanks,” he mumbled while shuffling toward the elevator. You eyed him uncertainly, but followed him closely as he pressed the buttons that would take you both to your apartment.

“Are you okay?” You asked when the normally nonexistent awkward silence became too intense to ignore. He followed you hesitantly into your apartment, completely oblivious that you’d even asked a question until you’d turned to face him in your kitchen when the door swung shut. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He said, avoiding your eyes.

You rolled yours and took the snack bag to your couch with a yawn, “you’re acting weird.”

“I’m always weird.”

“True, but this is a different weird.” You sat cross-legged, digging through the bag and pulling out a soda-you figured you’d need the caffeine to deal with whatever was happening. “Something’s clearly wrong.”

“No.” He sat down across from you on the floor and hugged his knees to his chest. “Well, maybe. I don’t know actually.”

Your eyes softened at his nervous expression that didn’t fit his confident persona, “you can tell me anything. Promise.”

He took a deep breath, making determined eye-contact before announcing, “I’m dropping out.”

You blinked once. Twice. “What the fuck?”

“I hate everything about college. I’m not good at it and it stresses me out and makes me depressed and I…” His eyes fell toward the floor. “I can’t do it anymore.”

You knew Nishinoya hated it here. Every time you studied for exams you could see the light draining from his eyes, and he spent more time finding ways to procrastinate than actually doing his homework. You didn’t know it was to the point that he wanted to drop out though.

“What are you goin-”

“Travel.” His lips quipped into a half-smile. “It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, so I’m just gonna fucking do it. Fuck college. This place sucks.”

You allowed a soft smile. How very Nishinoya to decide ‘fuck college’ because ‘this place sucked’ and start traveling the world. You scanned his determined expression and nodded.

“Okay.”

“I know, it sounds ridiculous but maybe if you sleep on it you’ll understand why-” He raised his brow. “Wait, huh?”

“I said, okay.” Your smile widened the more the idea settled in your head. “Dropping out should be easy enough, but I think the bigger problem will be getting money.”

He stared at you wondrously while you spoke which made you a little uncomfortable.

“My grandpa knows someone in Italy. They said they can get me set up there with a job and everything, so that’s where I’m gonna start.” He said while avoiding your eyes.

“Oh, you have a plan.” Your stomach knotted at the news, but you smiled through it. “Do you know when you want to go because subleasing can be-”

“I’m in love with you and I want you to come with me.”

Your mouth hung open and you stared at him with wide eyes. His face was bright red as he watched your reaction with baited breath. As you continued staring at him in stunned silence he cleared his throat and put his hands between you both as if calming a startled animal.

“Okay, um, you look like you’re panicking.”

You nodded, giving him a once-over and scooting further into the couch away from him.

“Let me try again,” Nishinoya took a deep breath before nodding. “I would very much like to suggest that you also dropped out of college, so that we may travel together.”

“Nishinoya, I don’t think that’s-”

“Also I’m in love with you.”

“I heard that part.”

He sent you fingers guns and quickly averted his eyes. You stared down at your hands and urged your sleep deprived brain to work faster on a solution, but this was a massive info dump. You locked onto his nervous amber eyes, now curiously watching you, and sighed before patting the spot beside you on the couch.

Nishinoya looked at it confused but crawled forward and climbed up beside you. This had never been how you expected everything to go, but with Nishinoya you shouldn’t have planned things to be normal.

“We’re just going to speed this up,” you took a deep breath and grabbed the sides of his face, forcing him to face you. You ignored the way your heart raced against your chest when his cheeks turned a deep shade of red. “I like you,” and before his smile could get too wide you continued. “But I’m not dropping out.”

His shoulders dropped and you could see the heartbreak in his eyes, “but why?”

You rattled your brain for the exact reason because you knew it existed, but it was really hard to find when the boy you liked was rubbing small circles gently against your knee while begging you to travel the world with him.

“I only have a year left,” you settled on while he placed a steady hand atop yours, “and I don’t think I’m ready for something like that.”

His eyes searched intensely for something in yours before he quietly asked, “what about after you graduate?”

You half-smiled and gently pressed your forehead against his. “You know I can’t promise you something that far away. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“You’re the only good thing about this place,” he groaned frustrated. “I don’t want to leave you behind.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you teased, but there was no bite in your words. Your chest was already aching at the realization that you’d be losing him--all-nighters at the library, college parties and being carried home, drunken fast food trips, random late night visits, surprise post-final celebrations--all of him.

As if mirroring your sinking dread, Nishinoya wrapped his arms around your midsection and pulled you closer, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck.

“You need to go though,” you said, pressing your cheek against the top of his head. “You’re right. This place isn’t good for you.”

He nodded in silent agreement.

“Things will work out.” You smiled slightly as he tightened his hold on you. “We’ll be okay.”

He nodded with a shaky breath in response. You closed your eyes and relaxed in his hold for the time you had. You knew your words were the truth-Nishinoya did too. Even if it wasn’t in the way you wanted right then you would both be okay.

Nishinoya would leave and with enough time you would become a distant memory for him. For you it would become the same. He would be successful and happy in his own way because that’s what he did, he was good at what he set his mind to. And you would move on to what you needed.

But you could live in this right now. Pretend you would have had something if your futures aligned differently. Maybe only these few minutes. Maybe for the night. For however long you’d allow yourself these feelings with him. But for now it could be enough.

It was enough.

#nishinoya yuu #nishinoya #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya yu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #nishinoya yu

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markberries · 3 years

Text

what we do in the dark┊draco malfoy

• anon requested: Hey! If you do story requests can I get draco and yn in a secret relationship (yn is also slytherin but muggleborn) and then draco gets tired of hiding, kisses her in public and smut ensues? Thank you in advance love your writing!

• info: having a secret relationship with hogwarts’ troublemaker was difficult, especially when all he wanted was for everyone to know that you were his.

• warnings: cursing, fingering

• genre: fluff, angst if you squint, smut, fem reader

• word count: 2346

• a/n: HOLY CRAP i actually finished a wip!! anyways sorry that i haven’t posted much hp in awhile </333 i hope u guys enjoy!

being a model student was difficult; having the endless stress of keeping your grades above everyone else, the constant studying and time you spent in the library, and most importantly, keeping your relationship with draco malfoy hidden.

it had been 6 months since the day he asked you out, the classic “bad boy” and “nerdy girl” couple, you were surprised by his confession, and he was surprised by your agreement. the secrecy part was a mutual decision, being brought up by you, when someone had told you that hanging around draco was a bad idea.

draco, of course, didn’t mind, for he had a reputation to keep up with his friends, and that is what settled it. you liked it, the sneaking around, the excitement of nearly being caught hiding in the prefect’s bathroom together, it was fun.

in public, you two were rarely seen together. you acted like you didn’t know each other. people never got suspicious; the only thing that could get you two caught was draco’s inability to keep his hands to himself. when guys would hit on you, unbeknownst of the steady relationship you and draco had, it made malfoy’s blood boil.

he would watch them walk up to you confidently, where you would sit in the dining hall, intently writing notes and eating the nicely placed food that lay in front of you. he would watch your eyes look up to the boy, who would politely ask you on a date. you would decline, saying that you were too busy to date.

he would lock eyes with you, you would shrug your shoulders and smile at him, but being cautious of the people surrounding you. the only thing that irritated him was the fact that these boys thought they had a chance with you. they thought that the only reason you wouldn’t date them was because you were merely busy, when the truth was that you were taken. by him.

the reason you liked draco was because he made you feel different, like you were taking risks. people used to call you boring, but draco changed that. he thought of you as unique, he liked you for you, and he had never tried to change you. he was just a sweetheart hidden behind his bad boy facade.

“you looked so pretty today,” he whispered to you, arms engulfed around you as you two curled up in his dorm. usually, you would be worried about someone catching a glimpse of you two, but today, you had decided to skip potions class. it was the second time you had ever skipped a class (the first time was also with draco), and people may perceive that it was his influence on you, but you thought differently.

“we didn’t see each other today,” you laugh, pinching his cheek. he winces slightly, before giving you a soft smile.

“yeah, but i know you looked pretty.”

you raise a brow, “oh? what a flirt you are.”

he buried his head in your shoulder, breathing in deeply to get a whiff of your sweet fruity scent, “only for you,” he says, voice muffled by your grey pajama tee.

“mm,” he pauses, entertwining your hands. “the yule ball is coming up.”

you hum, ruffling his hair and offering him a kind smile. “i know.”

“we could attend it.. together.”

“i know,” you kiss his cheek, his cheeks turning a soft shade of pink, “but everyone is gonna be there..”

there’s an evident frown that forms on draco’s face, his thought process remained unknown to you, and there’s a slight pang of guilt that washes over you, after all, you didn’t expect draco to want to sneak around with you forever.

“right,” he clears his throat, turning away to lay on his back, eyes glued to the ceiling. you bite your lip, sitting up and running a hand through his blonde hair. his eyes then stare back at yours, and you offer a pity smile.

“i’m sorry, let me just get through my finals and then we can tell the others, okay?”

there’s a pause of silence, before draco speaks up again.

“are you ashamed of me?”

your expression softens, lying back down and caressing his face, making him turn to you. there was nothing that could make you ashamed of draco, you just didn’t know if you were ready to face lectures from your parents, knowing well enough about them, for dating someone who constantly torments people of the muggleborn status. you wanted to tell them that he was different, that he was capable of accepting people for who they are.

“no, i could never be ashamed of you, you know that,” you reassure, placing a kiss to the tip of his nose. he smiles, brushing a piece of hair out of your face lovingly.

“i know love,” he admires your face for a brief moment, studying your features, “sometimes i just can’t help myself when i’m around you.”

a giggle escapes your lips, followed by a raise of your brow. a grin creeps it’s way upon your face, as malfoy rolls his eyes at your own silliness.

“you’re so weird,” he comments, enveloping you into his arms.

“draco, people are gonna be wondering where we are in the great hall,” you remind him, as the time for dinner approaches. skipping classes together was already risky, not showing up to dinner would be the frosting on the cake.

“alright alright,” he sighs, getting up and picking up his robe that hung from your desk chair. your heart clenches — in a good way, thinking about how it would be like to tell everyone about your relationship.

there were always pros and cons, as you knew there were a few female students who found draco undeniably attractive, and if they were to find out, you knew that you would always be a topic of conversation, but on the contrary, they wouldn’t try to spark up conversations with him. you knew your parents wouldn’t be happy, but you would be able to openly spend time with him, you’d get to kiss him whenever you wanted, and your parents would eventually get used to your situation.

you were torn between two sides, even if you were to tell everyone, what would be the right occasion to share your story? and when was the right time?

you shake your head, snapping out of your own trance.

“you ready, love?” draco asks.

you smile, looking at him and nodding, “yeah.”

—

“hey y/n,” a voice says to you, causing you to stop drinking your water mid sip as you stare up at the culprit.

“cedric,” you say, placing your glass down with a smile. he looks uneasy, nervous even, as he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. cedric had been the first hufflepuff to make contact with you, as no one really engaged with slytherins unless it was to start a harmless argument.

it was a year ago, and he had approached you in hogsmeade, your green scarf in hand, that you had lost an hour before. you had accepted it with a simple smile and a “thank you”, wrapping it around your neck again. he made sure to point out how different you were compared to the other slytherins, even saying that you belonged in ravenclaw or hufflepuff. you laughed it off, being proud of your house and who you were.

“is something wrong?” you ask with a tilted head, his cheeks turn a soft pink while they heat up. he clears his throat, finally looking at you in the eyes.

“do you want to maybe.. be my date to the yule ball? of course, you don’t have to say yes, it’s completely up to you.”

you nearly choke on your own saliva, your eyes widening in surprise. you’re at a loss for words, what should you say to let him down softly? that you’re busy?

“she can’t,” a familiar voice calls out to him, and draco takes a seat next to you confidently. you snap your head towards him, and his jaw is clenched, not a single hint of playfulness in his voice.

“oh? do you already have a date y/n?”

you say in a hushed voice, “draco what do you think you’re doing?”

he doesn’t reply, he merely wraps an arm around your shoulders confidently, eyes locked with cedric’s.

“yeah, me,” he says nonchalantly, and this time, it’s your turn to blush, staring down at the ground intensely. everyone at the slytherin table is paying attention to the conversation, quietly talking amongst each other as they stare at the two boys who are glaring at each other.

cedric scoffs at him, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue and looking away from you two for a moment.

“alright then, see you around, y/n.”

without a word, draco harshly tugs you throughout the hallways, towards the prefect’s bathroom. his expression is unreadable as he lets go of your hand when you two finally arrive at the destination.

“what was that about?” you finally exclaim, more shocked/surprised than angry, but draco takes a step towards you with a huff of frustration.

“i did what i had to do,” he replies, staring down at you with hooded eyes. “unless, you wanted to attend the ball with diggory.”

“you know that i would never do that, i love you,” you say softly, and draco takes another step, your bodies almost touching.

“we’ll just have to show diggory that, then,” malfoy then begins attacking your neck with his lips, pressing you up against the wall with a small thud. he sucks harshly, leaving obvious marks on your hot skin. he trails kisses along your jawline, and your hands find his way to his blonde locks, tangling in them as you let out small whines.

he uses one of his hands to snake its way under your shirt, massaging your left breast. his free hand presses against your clothed core, harshly rubbing to get a reaction out of you, and of course, it worked. you were moaning, all whilst draco hummed against your neck.

you grip at the fabric of his robe, panting heavily as you wrapped your legs around his waist. he places both hands on your ass, carrying you to the nearest surface and setting you on it, the marble feeling cold against your body.

“your moans are like music to my ears,” he says, lust dripping off of his tongue. at this point, you didn’t care if anyone walked in. you wanted draco now, and it didn’t seem like draco wanted to stop either as he eagerly lifted your grey sweater vest above your head, pressing his soft lips against your own.

he removes his robe, carelessly tossing it to the ground and loosening his tie. he slips his tongue into your mouth, harshly sucking on your own, and you knew better than to fight for dominance with him. the heat between your thighs continued to grow, a wet patch forming, and you knew your underwear was done for.

you wrap your arms around draco’s neck, deepening the kiss as he unbuttoned your shirt, leaving you in your black bra, skirt, and pantyhose. he broke the kiss, ogling at your breasts.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you tease him, which was definitely the wrong thing to do.

“what a brat,” he grunts, unhooking your bra and exposing your boobs. he then began pinching your right nipple, making you yelp out in surprise and grab his shoulders for balance.

“got anything else to say?” he asks confidently, and you shake your head.

“fuck you’re hot,” malfoy groans, tugging your skirt and tights down. you kick the articles of clothing off, while draco dips a hand into your panties, collecting the gathered wetness and pulling his hand out to admire it.

“all for me?” he smirks, rubbing his fingers together. you quickly nod your head.

“use your words,” he says.

“y-yes, it’s all for you,” you reply in a small, innocent voice, causing malfoy to shove the fingers that were coated in your wetness into your mouth. you suck on them, making him satisfied. he then takes his other hand pushes your underwear to the side, shoving his slender finger into your entrance without warning.

“oh, ah!” you cry out. he takes the hand that was in your mouth out, using it to grip your face.

“look at me while i finger fuck you.”

unlike usual, he doesn’t start slow. he’s already curling his finger inside you, pumping it in and out at a fast pace. he stares at you with the same dark eyes he had earlier, and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from being too loud.

draco adds another finger, the room being filled with the joyous sound of your pleasure. your breath hitches, and you begin to uncontrollably moan.

“god, i could do this all day,” draco groans, the imprint of his boner beginning to look painful. “who makes you feel like this?”

he adds a third finger, making you arch your back in euphoria from the sensation. “it’s you! fuck draco, only you.”

“you’re such a good slut,” he praises, picking up the pace as you clench around his digits. the lewd sounds were so loud that you were surprised that no one had busted you two, but even if someone were to walk in, you don’t think you would’ve stopped.

“cum for me,” he whispers into your ear, pressing his thumb against your clit. you screw your eyes shut, moaning draco’s name as he kisses your neck. you swear you can see stars behind your eyes, exploding in a sense of ecstasy from malfoy’s fingers.

your eyes flutter open, a seemingly never ending chorus of pants leaving your mouth. you smile through it, resting your head on draco’s shoulder.

“that was so hot,” you say.

draco chuckles, bringing his mouth close to your ear, “you thought we were finished?”

you shiver.

maybe some things aren’t meant to be kept as secrets.

#draco #draco imagine #draco fluff #draco smut #draco oneshot #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy oneshot #harry potter

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crastledivorce · 2 years

Text

@petrichormeraki

I made some characters for bbau awhile back (with some input from @rose-icosahedron and I just realized I never made an actual post about them so here it is :)

First up is Sunset. She’s the child of Lizzie and Cleo, made through cloning some time during Last Life. Her moms had a messy breakup (I feel like in LL burning down someone’s base is kinda the equivalent of keying someone’s car) so she spent her childhood bouncing between Empires and Hermitcraft. Since e!Lizzie is her mom, that makes her the crown princess of the Ocean Empire (I did specifically imagine her as Lizzie’s oldest child, sorry if this conflicts w anyone else), so she spent more time there. Sunset is cheerful, curious, and loves nature. She spends a lot of time hiking. She’s self-confident and independent, which is great, but can also be overly stubborn and unwilling to compromise. Sunset can enjoy socializing but values her alone time. If she does not get enough hours of alone a day she will bite.

Family relationships-wise, she doesn’t always get along with Lizzie. She feels uninterested in the responsibilities of ruling the Ocean Empire, feels pressure to do so, and feels like Lizzie doesn’t make enough effort to connect with her over her own interests. At the end of the day they do still have a loving mother-daughter relationship though, I think they’d mostly resolve their issues around when Sunset is 18. Since Joel and Lizzie are married, he also raised her so she considers him a father. Gee, Sunset, why do you get three parents? And also Jeremy too but. Not much to say there. They banter a lot. Sunset is always really excited to get to see Cleo, since she doesn’t get to see her other mom as much due to the different servers. Sometimes she feels a bit jealous of Cleo’s other kids. When Sunset was 11 Cleo got her a hat shaped like a spider and she wore it nonstop for months.

Her name comes from her hair, it’s literally red, with some shades of orange and pink. She has some of Lizzie’s axolotl features. Small arm fins, gills, and a tail. She was more axolotl-y when she was younger, she also had leg fins and webbed feet, but those disappeared by the time she was a teenager. Sorry Sunset. Puberty sucks, and you are only half-axolotl hybrid. Sunset is 5′6, average height, but considering that Lizzie is 10 feet and I hc Cleo as like, 6′something, she feels extremely cheated. Understandable lol. She likes practical, comfortable clothing, bright colors, and has a large collection of silly barrettes to keep her hair out of her eyes.

She has trouble connecting to people, because she doesn’t quite understand socializing, but can get very excited and loyal around people she likes. And it isn’t too hard to get her to like you. Just ask about her interests and respect her alone time when she needs it. I have some thoughts on what she’d be like older/younger but mostly I imagine her in her preteen/early teens ish.

I have some ideas for how she’d get along with her friends/siblings but this is already long enough. If anyone wants to talk to me about making our ocs be friends, please do! (this feels like I’m setting up a playdate /pos).

My other fanchild is Jeremy. I will admit I do not know as much about him. He was also created during Last Life, and is the child of Joel and Scar. They weren’t dating or anything, the magic of Magical Mountain just kind of manifested their child one day. This kind of thing just happens sometimes. (Rose and I agree that Jeremy and Madrone should in fact be friends). Joel picked the name. Joel and Scar weren’t expecting this, they just looked at the baby with vague confusion, so Scar wasn’t going to argue when Joel suggested Jeremy. It’s a good name! Scar did not, in fact, know at the time that Joel had previously created a religion around the name, but he thought it was funny when he found out. Joel was pleased about this. Lizzie wouldn’t let him name a child Jeremy.

Jeremy is a cryptid. He likes being unsettling on purpose. It’s his main hobby. He doesn’t need to blink and he just stands there staring at people. He has a large scar on his leg from when he was reading in a tree and fell out of the tree. His favorite genres of book are murder mystery and romance novels. Jeremy likes to test people at first. If you do find him weird? Weak. He does not want to be around you anyway. No pity (he gets it from his dads).

He has unnaturally-bright-looking green eyes that glow in the dark (he can’t actually see in the dark but he refuses to admit this), perpetually-messy hair that he dyes it a new color every month (naturally light brown), and a lanky 6′4 frame. Sometimes people think Jeremy is older than his actual age (early teens ish) because of how tall he is. He will not admit his actual age when people guess. He just makes them guess and then responds by shrugging.

Jeremy’s somewhat secretive, but not because he has any dark secrets to hide, he just thinks it’s funny. He’s right. Often he lies, for the same reason. He is more open with friends though.

Some Images:

Sunset (age 12ish)

Jeremy (also around 12. I think. unless he tricked me somehow)

Sunset, throughout the years

Sunset, age 18-20ish

#bbau #mcyt #kept thinking 'sunset my autistic queen' while writing this lol #bbau sunset #bbau jeremy #ldshadowlady #zombiecleo #goodtimeswithscar #smallishbeans #hermitshipping #trafficshipping #<-just in case

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silima · 2 years

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Hey man I wanted to ask, i am beginner artist and I feel kinda discouraged because i have a smaller acc than I lot of artists, how do you feel like encouraged to draw more stuff about your fandom?(i really love your art and is so inspiring!)

thank u!! first of all, it's awesome that you've decided to start putting yourself out there!! i think motivation can be one of the hardest things to deal with when it comes to making art, & sometimes it feels like u either have it or u don't. but i think it's definitely possible to improve in some ways!

i think the most important rule of trying to motivate urself is, when motivation/inspiration hits you, DON’T WASTE IT. if you think to yourself, “hmm, it would be fun to draw right now… but it would be easier to keep scrolling on my phone” do your best to actually go draw!! i’m not gonna tell u to skip, like, ur homework for art (although i totally do that) bcz u should do ur homework. but when the urge hits u, don’t let it go!! u gotta ride that wave as far as it’ll take you.

obviously sometimes motivation will hit you at times when you’re in a situation where you totally can’t sit down and draw. like it’s 3am and you really should’ve been sleeping 5 hours ago, but u just got a super cool idea for a drawing or a comic or something. if that happens, i’m not saying to actually sit down & draw right then, but you absolutely should write your idea down while the idea is still fresh!! it’s easy to forget small things or even the whole idea if you wait for later. plus, when you revisit what you've written down, you might find yourself having ideas of how you could make it even better.

one thing that’s kind of unfortunate about making art is that, yeah, external motivation is a big part of motivating yourself to make art (at least it is for me). BUT you definitely don’t need to have thousands of followers to get nice feedback on your art. i mean, you could just show it to an irl friend who likes the show/book/etc that you’re drawing for too. hell, you could show it to ur mom

but to put yourself out there online, uhh my advice is to

make art that’s interesting in some way. (character interactions are often more interesting to ppl than solo character art, for one; uhh, comics are super super super fun although i personally felt intimidated by them at first; in general, trying to give ur audience some kind of emotional response to ur art--whether it's "aw so cute" or funny or angsty--is good.)

participate in fandom events (like ship weeks, big bangs, etc). at the very least, ur art gets reblogged to a bigger blog that can get you some exposure. and you might make some friends!

try to connect w/ other content creators—go compliment cool art! send nice asks! make gift art for fanfics u really like!

look for some fandom discords with nice ppl

post ur stuff on multiple social medias

i personally spent like 3 years on tumblr just kinda tossing my art into the void before i actually started gaining a significant amount of followers lol so i’m not exactly a social media guru but i think those are some good places to start.

also, NEVER BE DISCOURAGED BY UR OWN ART!!!!! sometimes it happens when you'll look at ur art and be like "holy bejeezus i suck at art" and like, it's inevitable that it happens occasionally, but u gotta avoid that as much as u possibly can. practice positive self-talk--be like "aw fuck yeah i love how i drew that hair" or smth to yourself. bad self-esteem will kill your motivation & your fun.

(it's worth keeping in mind that oftentimes, if u feel like ur art is "getting worse," that's literally just your eye for art developing and learning to recognize flaws that you're about to fix--a good sign, not a bad one. your hands will catch up to your eyes in time.)

oh and DONT be afraid of posting little sketches or unfinished doodles that arent that fancy...... thats something i struggle with lol i always feel like "if my art isnt perfectly cleaned up and shaded then whats the point :(" but whenever i see someone else's cute little sketch on my dash im always like omg thats so cool. doing this is also good because if you don't feel obligated to put tons and tons of effort into each piece, you'll have an easier time creating lots of art which ultimately helps u improve way faster

lastly i uhhh really strongly recommend against doing that thing that some beginner artists do where you're feeling insecure about your art and, in anticipation that people will hate it, you say something like "haha yeah i know it sucks" in the caption/tags to sort of insulate yourself from criticism. cuz like, most ppl are not little loser bitches who go around insulting random ppl's art, and besides if you do encounter people like that, u can just block em. more importantly, a lot of people do find such captions kind of off-putting/guilt-trippy, so it's bad for growing ur audience, and it's also harmful to you as well, because you're verbalizing your insecurities (& thus intensifying them). just own it. you don't need to apologize for "imperfect" art. it happens, & it's totally okay.

#art advice #hope that helps!#ask #anon

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thekitschdiet · 3 years

Text

my take on the literary masterpiece, the chic diet

Firstly, I am no one. It’s part of my charm. My fifteen minutes of fame was years ago, when I had an instagram niche meme page. I didn’t even take any brand deals! And my posts averaged six thousand likes! Anyhow. I am hardly literate and well hydrated and carry a small sephora-CVS-hybrid worth in my mini tote bag. Here is my guide on how to live like me, the intermediate kitsch-rat, aspiring influencer. But like, in an apathetic, somewhat dissonant, ironic way. I like saying I live by dogmatic principles. But a lot of it, um, is just eating disorder rituals. But that’s not really important. You’re as hot as you say you are, and as much an authority on what you write so long as you say it with, you know, conviction. It’s kind of venerable how fucking delusional I am, actually. Giving any sort of advice like I’m anywhere close to the ritzy ideal of the amphetamine-areyouami label-american. New York, ideally. West Village, preferably. But I guess the kind of guide I can write is better suited to someone living in a suburb, in a house with the twelve-paned windows. I always thought those were so chic. SO quaint, in a somewhat luxe way. Like, Connecticut vibes. My parents used to drive me up there as a child to buy books and ice cream. Nowadays I’d opt for a matcha latte with novelty ice cubes, but I guess at the time it was pretty sweet.

Because I popped a Vyvanse at like, 10pm, this next little bit could go one of two ways. I will write the most articulate, brilliant piece of literature of my life. Magnum opus, if there was a skinnier word for it. Or, I will get wrapped up doing something like folding all my last-season knits (which is part of my look, okay! I don’t have a job!) and fixating on a paragraph on how a girl’s collarbones are almost as identifying as a fingerprint, or a signature. I’m not a graphologist, but if you write your A’s with the little tail on top (like on a computer), you’re probably a snake. Nothing personal, just an observation. Also, I do have a biology final to study for. Not that I’m super anal, or even particularly committed to academia, but even in my precariously manicured (read that as separate terms; I did a good job on my nail polish, okay? But I happen to also be teetering on the brink of an epiphany or a collapse. Hence the use of the word precarious.) state, I know it’s important enough I can let one of my countless side-quests sit idle for a couple more days.

The first section seems only natural to be about hydration. And the whole idea of drinking things, really. There was a section in The Chic Diet about Adderall dry-mouth, which deeply resonated with me. Once I bit off a chunk of a Nivea Strawberry Shine (my favorite lip balm, more on that later) and swished it around my mouth. Didn’t help. Really, really didn’t. Anyway, I suppose that even if it served no purpose for combatting my prevacatingly ingenious cottonmouth solution, I was able to milk a sentence or two out of the experience. “Do it for the Vine”, all grown up! And wearing bananapapaya resin hoops too. Side note, that Etsy shop is a parasocial enemy of mine. It stems from jealousy, which sucks, but hating from inside a club I’m adjacent to is much healthier than being a hateful individual towards people I would, you know, interact with. Daily. Or something. I stopped going to therapy because I felt stupid about going and I don’t live in the right kind of town to warrant vacuous $300 hours. Bitching about my well-adjusted parents and how desperately I wished my anxiety would just “go away” was plainly gross, and a waste. Like, pretty sure almost every problem I have could be solved by a couple painful conversations taking place during a hurricane. Such a shame it doesn’t rain much here. Anyhow, I digress.

Staying hydrated. It is essential to my character, my persona, if you will; to never be without either an elegant metal bottle (I’m loyal to the smooth enamelled S’well ones, printed to look like marble or a semi holographic solid) or a little 16oz tumbler with a metal straw. Hydroflasks were some of the worst things to happen to society. I want to preface this claim with the fact that I wanted one in the same way a teenage girl wants a new iPhone so she can keep up appearances with her dermatologist-dad friends who still have the XR, by the way. But I ended up spending the money on like, a minidress at Brandy Melville before it fled my city. Or maybe a Fresh Sugar tinted lipbalm. For the better, even though the dress has a busted zipper now and the lipbalm tube has inevitably gotten dinged and dented by the other contents of my mini-totebag. Unlike a car, though, a couple scuffs on your laptop or your luxury lipbalm tube looks kind of cool. Like, you’re not someone who values the pristine, unused quality of an item that was ambiguously intended to be used versus displayed on Instagram. Now, I’m wondering why this paragraph about hydration is so fucking impossible to stay on track for. I literally drink several litres of water a day, and more tea on top of that. And sometimes an almond milk latte if I can budget it in. Not that I’m so anorexic I can’t afford a 45cal latte. They’re just not that important to me. Anyhow. Drinking lukewarm (on the cool side) water is better than ice-cold. Partially because I just get it out of the tap of my ensuite and I can’t be bothered to wait for it to run cold enough every time, and it just seems wasteful. Plus, there is something so.. skinny about drinking water at an “obscure” temperature. Trust me, I want to know why my thought process is like this too. My favorite tea is blueberry tea foraged in a side aisle at my local supermarket. I love a good commercial, high-end steep or fruit infusion as much as the next girl. Maybe more. My pantry is filled with tins labelled with things like “emerald jade organic” and “magic potion”, which is really just currants and butterfly pea flowers. But there is a necessary glamor about drinking dirt-cheap tea on the daily. Seriously, a box of 25 sachets is like, $3. At a higher point with my, um, Adderall problem, I spent like several times that on pills. I didn’t really need to include that, and could have linked the price point to the cost of a drugstore lipbalm, but I wrote it in. And I’m married to it, stubbornly, as all amateur writers should be when they wittle in a somewhat indecorous little joke. This tea is sooo good because it has a strong fruit-reminiscent taste (not as sweet as a fresh blueberry, but who wants that anyway?), it’s zero-calorie, it’s the most GORGEOUS color ever. The latte, the third drink in my little trifecta, is nothing special. But necessary. The trick is to use a milk frother to whip up sugar free syrup with instant coffee and a little bit of hot water in a glass. It’ll make the most luscious foam.. Top it off with almond milk. My dad is a coffee purist, owning both an upstairs keurig AND a downstairs one (among other more analogue methods, but I can’t name-drop, so what’s the point?), so he hates this drink. Now, calling oneself a plebian is so unglamorous and teetering on self-deprecating territory, dangerously close to insecurity. But I can use it here because I am at least posh enough to have a different pair of earrings for every outfit I could possibly come up with, and I only wear Patagonia if I am in a situation where I just have to wear fleece. Like I was saying. It’s such a simple drink, certainly not a delicacy, and… I had a joke about the word plebian but I keep getting up to refill my water and I fear I have forgotten about it.

Next section; the importance of a good tinted balm

In the intro I alluded to how a girl’s collarbones function essentially as an identifier, the way a signature or fingerprint does. This is a lie, or at least an exaggeration. But one’s ultimate tinted lipbalm is actually extremely indicative about who you are, as a person, as a member of society, even…

If you are loyal to Dior Lipglow, I have a couple questions. One; did you shoplift one tube, once, and refill it with cheaper stuff afterwards? I did that. I consider it one of my better-kept secrets, but now you know. Might as well explain the catalyst for my parent’s first separation now, and the horrifying experience that was meeting my dad’s Manhattan sugar baby (?) at the age of thirteen, wearing an overalls dress from, like, Topshop or something else equally embarrassing. .. Kidding. I digress. It’s such a fancy lipbalm, and good too! It smells like thin mints! But I could just never justify cell phone monthly installation payment money on something I will inevitably talk off. I do own three, but two I stole (before I lost the nerve, somewhat unfortunately) and one, a boy(not)friend bought for me. This is not something I feel any remorse about, because his house was easily four thousand square feet and his sisters had a dedicated all-glass room for their shared peloton. Oil money. Ugh!

My personal favorite lip balm, and I have tried a frightening amount, has got to be the Nivea Fruit Shine collection. The frosted one is shit-ugly. Hideous. But the strawberry one is the love of my life. It’s such a pleasant red, looking healthy and rejuvenated and really completes any look. Only downside is it will always, hopefully not always, remind me of Charles. Kissing Charles, specifically. And him asking me what lipbalm it was, because he knew I was somewhat frivolous and definitive and would have a very long answer. But for whatever reason, I simply stated it was from “out of town”. Not really sure why I said that, but it plagues me (minorly) to this day. Of all the things to make up.. .. The peach one is a perfectly demure spring classic shade. Cherry exists too, but the only tube I have ever had the fortune of owning was purchased in Costa Rica and lost somewhere on the way home. Honestly tragic, it was the juiciest shade. Blackberry is perfect too, but I have to layer it with either peach or untinted lipbalm to avoid what I imagine TooPoor would choose if she believed in tinted lipbalm. I don’t mean this hatefully, I think she’s a queen, but super dark, smudgy makeup suits the eyes better in my opinion. Or something. Or something.

Afraid to bore the reader, I have to move on now. Maybe at a later date I will release an addendum on my ultimate lipbalm buying guide. But also, that is so deeply personal (and everyone needs the excuse of “hunting for the perfect staple shade!!”), so it is really not my place to have any authority on something so intimate and subjective. Etcetera.

Moving on; Decorating your room

Here is a section I lifted out of my memoir document. It fits, because as enigmatic as I hope I am, I am also quite unchanging.

I just pushed three hangers and two tiny strappy tops with the tags still on, off my bed. Most nights, all, these days, actually; I spend in my large but cluttered bedroom. I have a little ensuite with a jetted tub I’ve never used because I just never get around to it. There’s a plush grey rug, spanning the expanse of the room (covering an ugly cherry wood that doesn’t match the rest of the house; no clue why. I never asked, and the previous owners were eager to sell so they could finally ditch this town and retire in Montreal for the bagels, or Hawaii for the monk seals. Point is, I’ll never know) with loose beads and loose pills and little shards of glass from plier-crushed beads. I vacuum every day. The whole room tells you exactly the kind of person I am; the clutter I possess, the encapsulation of the projects I start, start, start and the hours I don’t sleep for and the clothes I tried on (these to sell, these to cut up with kitchen scissors; thrifted lululemon and aritzia and heaps of knits and plaid fabric..) I would not say the room is a mess. Lived in, maybe. Chopsticks and mugs and gum wrappers. Single dangle earrings. I just finished the last of my Creme Brulee eos lipbalm; disguised as a relic of 2015, I was gifted it Christmas of ‘20. I think my next waxy conquest will be a tinted Burt’s one I palmed a while back, before I lost the nerve. Peering around the room you will see shopping bags strewn about the mouth of my walk-in closet. Every surface has something shiny or colorful stacked up on it. Cluttered, busy, but intentional. Except for the walls, which are bare. Bare and gray and miles-tall when I lie flat on my back, high out of my mind, willing things to change but knowing I’m responsible for a first step I will always be too scared for. Bare, pristine, no gumtack. Empty, Like they’re waiting. I wait around a lot. It makes sense. That was an awful lot of words about my stupid blank walls when truly it does not bother me that much; I really just don’t get around to it. I have other things on the ground to tend to, like post-email nausea, addressing envelopes, marrying wire and bead. Writing a document I care about because I am determined and I am alive, alive, alive, goddammit.

Excerpt over. The memoir is coming out when I get famous, or something earth shattering happens. Like I become the world’s least remarkable entrepreneur, and I get retweeted by Colorpop. I don’t want to be the next Elizabeth Wurtzel. I read two of her memoirs one restless night, absorbing it to make up for the nutrients I didn’t that day (you can laugh. I think that is pretty clever), heart breaking a little bit. She writes about her struggles so intrinsically, you either get it, or you don’t. Anyway. She had the books and the fame from it, and she wrote more memoirs than I think a single person should. That is admirable. Aspirational, even. But I do not want to be like her. Where was I? Oh. Yes. Decorating/adorning/filling your room. Your room should serve as the kind of place to watch a movie (if you believe in film. I don’t) and put on ridiculous glittery eye makeup, or smoke an ~artistic cigarette~ or stay up all night on the phone, which is different from staying up all night simply on your phone. Chatting with someone you are tepidly in love with is much more exciting. Not chic as the whole affair is so juvenile, but fun regardless. It’s somewhere to keep your worldly possessions, too. I know I have a lot! Also, it is kind of thrilling to hide things in your room in little crevices only you know about. Now, unfortunately, everyone reading this will know too. But, like, I trust you not to really.. do anything about it. I keep my extra juul pods in the sliding box my apple pencil came in. That box is almost more useful than the pencil itself. I’m somewhat morally opposed to the iPad. Whole culture is so embarrassing! I have a tea tin with an ounce of golden teacher shrums in it. This is tossed in my closet among tins filled with other things, like lace trim and buttons. Which makes it actually a pretty terrible hiding spot, I see now… Anyhow. Keeping benign little secrets like that is so fun. You can tell I don’t have siblings. I sort of wish I did, but it is easier to believe there is something aristocratic about being an only child. Not sure if older-sister me would be egalitarian enough to share things. But that’s prophesying, which is kind of a waste of time. I live in the now, in a room positively cluttered with meaningless things that mean the world to me, chewing on my lip because my mouth is just so dry and 5gum is just not an after-8 indulgence. To live truly kitschly, you have to have somewhat hideous decor. Now, do not confuse dissonant, or incoherent, with what I mean by “hideous decor”. The kitsch room has as many surfaces to look at as possible, while also shying away from too many shelving units. Then you risk your room looking like a storage unit or something. When my mom renovated (re: paid someone to do it) our New York house so we could sell it, all our stuff was stacked up in a Cubesmart self storage. It was sort of horrifying, seeing my childhood home reduced to plastic storage tubs piled what felt like thirty feet high. Anyway. It’s just not an inviting way to store things; I imagine it makes your room look like your stuff is all trapped in gelatin. The more fussy, tiny things you have out in the open, the better. Nail polish. Earring trees. Bowls full of rings and lighters and water color pans perched on your windowsill. A rack with the tackiest assortment of knits and bucket hats and baguette bags. And so forth.. Quickly surveying someone’s room is so telling. Bonus points if all your books are spine-in, except for your favorite ones, because you don’t want people to get the wrong idea. (that you read).

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buckyownsmylife · 4 years

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Catch me - Tom Hardy smut

The one where you’re Tom’s neighbor and he comes to your place after he’s locked out of his house on a rainy night. Requested by anon. + Dry Humping also requested by different anon ask

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, cursing

A/N: okay, so here it is! My Tom Hardy requested smut! I’d also like to announce that I’ll be attempting to partake in this years’ Kinktober, and this is my first fic, fulfilling the prompts dry humping + face sitting. I’ll post the list of prompts I created for myself, along with the characters they are paired up with, a bit later. I also say “attempting” because I actually had a pretty bad accident last night and I’m still unable to do regular things like sitting or walking, so it’s been a struggle to get this done. If in anyday I am unable to write, I won’t force myself to do it. But that’s all, please enjoy this fic and let me know what you think of it! My requests are now empty, so feel free to send me any ideas you might have - I can either integrate them in one of my fics for the kinktober challenge or work on them in November.

Tom’s P.O.V.

I had watched with only partly concealed interest as the new neighbor slowly grew more comfortable at her place right next door to me. At first, it truly was just a slight curiosity founded in my observation of just how beautiful she was. But then, one day, right after she moved in, she caught me staring, and opened up the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. Just like that, I was stuck with a teenage-boy crush that left me blushing and stuttering every single time she so much as looked my way.

If there was one thing people knew about me, was that I was not the blushing, stuttering type.

But things only got worse as time went on. She turned out to be just the perfect neighbor, usually coming around to offer me cookies or other baked goods precisely when I needed it the most.

“How do you always know when I’m feeling down or hungry, sweetheart?” I even ended up asking as I accepted yet another tray of brownies from her tiny hands. Her sweet little giggle went straight to my pants, instantly hardening my severely ignored member.

“It’s not that hard to figure out, Tom. Anytime you get back home this late, I can pretty much assume you barely had anything to eat all day, and it’s very clear you won’t have the energy to whip up anything right now.” My eyebrows raised up at her comment, but before I could satiate my curiosity, she quickly added, “And before you ask, no, I don’t spend my life looking out of the eyehole, you just have pretty loud steps when you’re tired, I can easily hear from my living room when you walk the hallway during the evening.”

Chuckling, I nodded, granting her that. I knew that she meant no harm, but I couldn’t help but to feel embarrassed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll try to be more mindful next time.” Her eyes widened at my apology, and she immediately waved my words away, clearly mortified by the fact that I had interpreted it as a complaint.

“Gosh, Tom, no, that’s not what I… Please, don’t worry about it. I’m just a terrible insomniac, and I have good ears. It’s not like you’re waking me up every time you come home or anything. That would be a bummer, but also highly improbable, since I’m a very heavy sleeper…” I had come to understand that she was very capable of maintaining a conversation completely by herself, but everytime she took notice of it, she scrambled to get out of my sight. I figured someone in her life must have told her she talked too much, but personally, I’d do anything to witness her little monologues at least a bit more. She just seemed so interesting, and selfless despite the constant stream of consciousness that poured out of her lips whenever she was nervous.

I liked knowing I made her nervous. It made me feel less terrible about wanting to know more about her. Did that make me a creep? Hell, probably. But I couldn’t pretend like I gave a damn. I felt this inexplicable attraction to her, her personality and body, and that was it. I wanted to uncover what it was about her that had me so engrossed.

And one night, the opportunity presented itself to me. I had gone out of my car in a hurry because of the rain that had decided to pour all over the city and didn’t look like it was stopping any time soon, so I only noticed that I had locked my keys on the trunk of the car when I was already in front of my own apartment’s door, dripping all over the hallway.

Fuck, that was just so typical of me. Why did I even bother to get my backpack out of the car, when I was already arriving home close to midnight and would be back at work early in the morning? It wasn’t like I would have the time to use my computer or anything.

Sighing, I ran a wet hand over my face in an effort to figure out my next move. Obviously I would need to get someone to open my car for me, but in the middle of the night, it’d be hard to know who would come. It would definitely be easier to find someone in the morning, and I could very well get an Uber to some cheap motel and spend the night there.

I was about to do just that when suddenly the door behind me opened, and a delicious smell of lasagna filled my nostrils, making me aware of just how hungry I was. “Tom?” Her sweet, sweet voice instantly calmed my tense muscles, making me open a smile at the sight of her despite the series of events I had just lived through. “Is something wrong?”

A low chuckle escaped my lips at the awareness of just how pathetic my situation was, but there was no real humour in my tone. I looked down at my wet shoes before gathering the courage to look her in the eye again, giving her a small smile. “I locked myself out,” was all I said, and before I could even further explain my situation, her eyes had widened and she was reaching out to me, holding me by my wrist and pulling me inside of her place.

“You poor thing. And right on the worst night for it to happen? Here, sit down while I go look for something you can change into. Wouldn’t want you catching a cold, would we?” I briefly considered offering some kind of protest, explaining how I intended to go spend the night in a motel, but the truth was, I didn’t want to. It was late, I was tired and I was really fucking cold and just by being in the close proximity of this beautiful creature, I already felt a little bit better, so I’d just shut up and wait to see how this would play out for me.

She came back with some sweatpants and a large cotton shirt, a bashful look on her face. “I bought these sweatpants from the male’s department because they’re usually comfier than the ones I find in the female department, they should fit you well.” I accepted the small bundle of fabric she offered, one eyebrow raised as I stared down at her in curiosity.

“What about the shirt?” I asked, and she blushed five different shades of pinks and reds, making her just that much cuter. It made me want to eat her whole, and the fact that she stood a few good feet under me didn’t help that at all. I knew I could break her so easily.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I felt like I could slap myself over how silly I was behaving over something so ordinary. Why would Tom care about me having an ex? It was only natural, it’s not like I was a blushing virgin nun who never did anything slightly out of the ordinary. Sex was ordinary. I’ve done it before. I’m sure Tom wouldn’t assume I hadn’t.

Oh, what am I saying? There’s no way he has even considered this subject when it comes to me. Why on Earth would he be thinking about my sexual past? What is going on with me? I feel like I’m going insane.

I could feel just how warm my face had gotten, but I still had some amount of pride in me to salvage the situation, so I managed to roll my eyes as I pushed Tom further inside my house, in the direction of my bathroom.

“You’re a smart man, you can figure out where the shirt came from.” His chuckle shouldn’t be so sexy, but what about this man wasn’t?

“That’s not the answer I hoped for.” And with that mysterious sentence, he locked himself in my bathroom and left me alone with my thoughts. Granted, most of them revolved around him, so I couldn’t really say I was that alone, but the lack of someone to talk to only meant that my mind was swirling and a lot of different things I shouldn’t be thinking about managed to dominate my head.

Just what did he mean by what he said? Could it be that he… No, of course not. There was no reason for him to be jealous of me. It’s not like he could possibly want me. Right?

I spent the entire time he was taking a shower stuck in the same pattern of thoughts, so much so that I didn’t even notice he had come back to the kitchen and was watching me from the doorway until he cleared his throat, making me jump out of my skin while carrying a plate full of very hot lasagna.

“Oh,” was all I said as I felt some of the sauce spill on my hand and my chest, some even managing to get on my face. But Tom’s rough ‘Shit’ brought a giggle to my lips, despite the discomfort of the slight burning sensation on my skin.

“‘M sorry, sweetheart. I thought you’d noticed me standing here.” While he assured me of his lack of intention to hurt me - as if I didn’t already know- he had grabbed the plate I was still holding onto and placed it on the counter, quickly procuring an already dirty rag and eagerly starting to clean me up, first my hand, and then…

Before he pressed the fabric to my chest, he looked up at me, his beautiful eyes catching mine and making me suck in a breath. “T-that’s alright,” I managed to get out, trying to look away from his hypnotizing gaze. “It doesn’t really hurt that bad. I think with a bit of cold water it might calm down.”

He nodded, agreeing with my words, but his gaze still searched mine for something I didn’t understand. “I sure hope so,” was all he said initially, his eyes finally dropping from mine to focus on the task at hand. “But I must say, I’m very disappointed.”

The comment puzzled me, rendering me useless for the time being. I could only tilt my head as I looked down at him, still crouching in front of me to clean my chest before he finally stood up on his full height and grabbed my face, gently engulfing it in one of those huge palms of his.

“I was really hoping that you were single, but I guess that would be expecting too much from the universe, considering how beautiful you are.” My eyes grew twice their normal size as I immediately tried to push him away and hide my face from his view, suddenly incredibly shy. But of course, he didn’t let me, instead pressing me against the counter and his very hard body, while he very carefully wiped away the few drops of sauce on my cheek.

For a few seconds, I let him work in silence, still trying to gather my nerves so I could say something. I should say something, shouldn’t I? I mean, here lies an opportunity that I never thought I’d experience, and here I was, being all silly about it. Finally, when he had at last finished slowly rubbing the rag against my skin, and seemed to be about to separate himself from me, I sprung into action, pulling him to me again by his forearms.

“I-I am,” that’s all I managed to say, immediately cringing at my own lack of social skills. “Single, I mean.” Very smooth. Well done, Y/N. But despite my stupidity, it seemed that I was able to achieve my intention, since my sentence made Tom finally get rid of the rag and hold my face between both of his hands now, his thumbs softly running over my cheekbones.

“Oh, is that so?” He breathed out against my skin, our lips inches away from one another, and I shivered against my best wishes. That reaction caused a predatory smirk to appear on his face, and I knew then and there that I was in way over my head. “Good to know,” he whispered, and then his lips were on mine, forcing me to accept his tongue, eating me whole.

He tasted like peppermint and coffee and I was already addicted to his taste, hoping to God I tasted as great to him as he did to me. At least, he didn’t complain. In fact, by the way he sucked on my tongue, forcing his deep inside my mouth, I’d go as far as to say that he did like what he tasted.

Before long, he had pulled me up on the counter, his hands holding me by my waist as his lips ventured from my mouth to my jaw, until they found a spot on my neck that made me gasp and hold his shirt tightly, and then he was sucking, rolling his tongue on the spot where I could already feel a bruise forming, before his teeth carved their own impressions on my skin, imprinting himself on me.

My head swirled with the force of the emotions bursting through me. My legs wrapped themselves around his strong body, and I was happy that my hands knew what to do when my mind hadn’t still managed to catch up to this turn of events. When his tongue came out to lick right over my collarbones, the response gasp he elicited from me came out sounding much more like a sob than anything else.

“You’re so sensitive, princess,” He teased me, still otherwise occupied with marking my skin as his. “I’ve barely even started and here you are…” His hands ran through the expanse of my body, like he was showing his proof to an audience. “... a mess already.”

He wasn’t wrong. I was somehow dripping already. I could feel it, dripping from inside of me, slowly ruining the panties I was wearing. They were so not appropriate for the activities I was currently partaking in, but how the hell would I have known this was going to happen?

All I knew was that Tom had lit the fire inside of me, and now the flames were threatening to swallow us both.

Tom’s P.O.V.

She was just too cute, so out of breath and trembling with desire with the little I’d done to tease her. It just made me want to ruin her even more. My little neighbor, so perfect and sweet, so needy for me.

She didn’t even realize she had started to grind herself against me, in search of some sort of release. Well, I wasn’t about to cut her off. Unstead, I took advantage of my grip on her, pulling her body until I was the one keeping her up, trapped between my body and the counter.

“Rub your tiny wet cut against my jeans, love,” I ordered in a demanding whisper right on her ear, making her shiver. She obeyed without any sort of hesitation, looking up at me underneath her eyelashes with her eyes glazed over with lust. “That’s it…” Fuck if the pressure wasn’t exactly what I needed to help ease up some of the tension from the need I was feeling in my veins. “Rub yourself against my hard cock, don’t be shy.”

My words seemed to be gasoline for her, giving her the push she needed to grind herself even harder against my bulge. I decided to help her, pushing her more firmly against the counter and following the movements, rejoicing in the pleasure gasp that escaped her lips as the added pressure provided more friction to her clit.

“Fuck…” She whispered, and I think that in the entirety of the four months of conversations I’d entertained with her, that was the first time I’d heard her cuss. The four letter word I was so familiarized with had a new, unexpected effect on me, making the situation inside my pants so difficult I had to stop my movements and slow hers down by her hips, so I wouldn’t just jizz on my pants like a fucking teenager.

But Y/N didn’t stop, despite accepting my silent request to decrease the fervor of our activities. When I finally managed to get control over myself again, I realized why. She had gripped the counter behind her and was using it to better control her movements, and it was clear by the way her head hung back and her mouth fell open that she was about to cum just like that.

“Shit,” I cussed just as the realization hit, and it felt like all of the control I’d managed to build in the last few seconds I closed my eyes had suddenly escaped through the window. My cock was painfully hard again, and all I could think of was that I needed to get out of these fucking jeans.

Who could blame me, though? When she looked like that, creaming her panties with her clothes still on? Shit, I couldn’t wait to get her naked and underneath me. I needed to feel her from the inside, explore her wetness with my hard cock.

But first, I was desperate to get a taste of her. So as soon as her breathing came back to a somewhat regular pattern, I was careful to put her on the ground again, making sure she was able to stand on her own legs, before dropping to my knees in front of her.

“What are you… Oh.” I couldn’t help but to chuckle at the innocence of her mind that stopped her from immediately understanding what I intended to do, but then I was pushing her skirt up and away from my view and her panties were in front of me and they were drenched, absolutely ruined by the sticky liquid that made my mouth water.

“Fuck, princess…” I moaned as I carefully peeled the cotton fabric down her legs, keeping it pooled around her ankles as I pushed her legs open as far as they could go. She was dripping, a single line of her wetness connecting both of her thighs, making me groan at the sight. “You might just kill me…” I commented before reaching up to pull her to me, effectively burying my face on her.

“T-Tom!” The sound of my name escaping her lips with that reverent tone left me even hungrier for her, as did her exquisite taste. It painted my tongue with its sweetness, embedding itself in my cells, making sure I’d never be able to forget it. I already knew I’d be hungry for her again the second I pulled away from her cunt.

Nonetheless, I forced myself to stop for a moment to gather my senses, as her taste made it harder and harder to control my need to relieve my aching member. I needed to be inside of her, and quickly.

Abruptly rising up to my full height, I picked her up by the back of her thighs so she’d wrap her legs around me and took us to where I’d assumed her bedroom would be, considering I was familiarized with the general layout of the apartments. The second I laid her on the bed, my hands were struggling with my own belt, as I watched her pull her dress over her head, now completely bare before me.

“You’re so fucking hot.” When my pants dropped to the floor and my cock slapped my lower stomach, I pounced on her immediately, crawling on the space between her legs and pulled her by the back of her neck to connect our lips once more. “Do you want to be railed tonight, pretty neighbor?”

She fucking whimpered in response, repetitions of “yes” and “please” escaping her lips as she tried to pull me closer to her by the legs she embraced me with. Not having it in me to stop this moment any longer, I gripped my member with one of my hands while I held her hips down with the other, briefly rubbing the blunt head of my cock over her sensitive clit before pushing myself completely inside of her.

“Oh, fuck,” I groaned, blindsided by the tightness, wetness and warmness that now surrounded me. “I knew your cunt would be fucking delicious.” I watched her as I pulled out until just my tip was inside of her, only to push it back in as forcefully as I could.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, her hands flew up to hold my shoulders, almost as if she wanted to push me away or tell me to take it easy, but as her legs continued to pull me even deeper inside, I knew what she really needed was to be properly fucked.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Tom was not exaggerating; he really did pound me against my mattress, immediately setting up the most brutal of paces. It hurt, especially with how much he was stretching me, but it felt too fucking good to complain about it.

The only thing I could do was to relax and accept this invasion, this possession of my body by my next-door neighbor. I knew I must have been quite a vision, my arms thrown up in search of something to hold on to, spit escaping the corner of my lips by the intensity of the thrusts, my breasts shaking as he pulled me back to meet his thrusts by my hips. I hoped I’d have some bruises on the shape of his fingertips to remember this night.

Not like I would ever be able to forget, anyway. Only a lunatic would expel the visions of Tom looking like this while fucking them, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, the sweat gathering over his eyebrows. I wanted to kiss it away. I wanted to taste its saltiness.

Just as my head began to twirl in time with the growth of arousal in my lower belly, Tom’s eyes travelled upwards from the point where his cock was buried inside of me to find my breasts, one of his hands immediately following suit. When his pull on my nipple was accompanied by the feeling of his warm mouth engulfing the other one, I screamed as I came all around him, my head thrown back and eyes closed as I relished in the feeling of being so perfectly filled, so perfectly touched.

“Fuckin’ tight.” Tom fucked me through my orgasm, but at the sight of my eyes blinking back open, he pulled out, easily manhandling me into turning around and rising on all fours. “This fucking ass… Do you have any idea how long I dreamt about fucking you like this?”

I didn’t know how, but his words and the way his huge hands sprawled over the cheeks of my butt reignited the flames that had just been fed, and I found myself pushing back against him, offering myself up to him. Anything to get his cock inside of me again.

“Please…” I all but begged, and I heard his breath hitching behind me. “Just… please keep fucking me.” Perhaps that was all that he needed, because in a second his cock was tearing me open again, so fucking deep that I could feel it in my stomach.

“Fuck… If I had known how it would look to have my little perfect neighbor begging for my cock, I would have fucked you ages ago.” Every single thing that came out of that man’s mouth was like sin. He wrapped my hair around his fist, suddenly using it to pull me back to him as he raised one of his legs to the mattress, the new angle making each of his thrusts hit that spot inside of me that made everything just a little more satisfying.

I could feel tears running down my cheeks, falling on my spread out hands as I struggled to keep breathing through his assault on my senses. “Are you gonna cum again, love?” I could hear him asking, and I wanted to answer, I really did, but every time I opened my mouth, only sobs came out. “Are you? Here, let me help you out.”

The feeling of his rough fingers softly caressing my clit was such a stark contrast to the way he was still brutally pounding into me that instead of trying to push him away from my much too sensitive lower region, I opened my eyes in surprise as another orgasm took over me, somehow even stronger than the previous ones.

“Yeah, that’s it… Fuck. Come for me, sweetheart. Wanna feel your cunt milking my fucking cock.” His words did nothing to help ease my arousal, and just when my arms started to give out, I felt him spilling inside of me. “FUCK!” He shouted, following my body’s motions until he was covering me with his own torso, still very much inside of me.

His thrusts finally coming to a stop after he had slowly fucked his cum inside of me, I felt his thumbs caressing my hips as I remained face planted on my mattress. “Well, this isn’t how I expected this night to go, but I can’t say I’m not satisfied.”

A snort was all I could give him as he finally pulled out and allowed his body to fall by my side, giving me a quick kiss on the shoulder that was closer to him. “You ok?” He asked, and I snorted again.

“More than okay. You still haven’t eaten though.” It was the truth. After all of this… incredible distraction from my cooking plans, he still hadn’t gotten around to eat dinner. I heard him take a deep breath next to me as he pondered his answer.

“Really? ‘Cause I remember eating some very delicious pussy a few minutes ago.” It took me a few minutes to process what he had said, but when I did, I turned around to playfully hit his chest while feeling my face warm up from the reality of what we had just done.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re hot.” And when he put it in such simple terms, as he pulled me in his arms so that I could cuddle his chest, how could I feel embarrassed?

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