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jae-bummer · 8 months

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A Little Air

Request: Hi! I just discovered your account and I wanted to tell you that I LOVE the way you write,I´m kinda embarrassed to ask for this tho- I wanted to ask you if you could do prompt 8 with Bangchan,like someone introduces him to YN and uses thoses lines and then she falls in love or something like that? idk if I explained well,but I would really appreciate if you did this! ♡

Prompt:

8) "He has tired dad energy." "He doesn't have kids." "Still a DILF."

Pairing: Stray Kids Bang Chan x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Parties weren't really your thing.

And that's okay! Parties didn't need to be your thing. You much preferred things that were your thing. Coffee dates, reading books, going out to check the mail to say you saw sunlight that day. All of these were excellent things, and they were yours.

Your best friend, Bee, on the other hand, had very different things, such as parties.

And that's why you had been dragged to this one.

She tried to frame it as an "intimate get together," but upon arriving, you hadn't realized that nearly 40-50 people sharing a space was considered "intimate."

Glaring up at her, you tried to imagine small daggers flying from your pupils and into the side of her cheek. You didn't want to actually harm her, as they were very tiny, inconsequential daggers, but you wanted to have them annoy her, just like you were annoyed.

"You okay?" she hummed, her eyes constantly scanning the room around her. "You look like you have something in your eye."

You did. It was called revenge. "Why am I heeeere?"

"Because you're my best friend and I enjoy your company," she nodded, finally deigning to look your way.

Your expression remained deadpan as she burst into laughter. "What?"

"This is cruel and unusual punishment," you pouted, attempting to cross your arms with your drink still in your hand.

"Oh, come oooon!" she gasped. "It's not so bad! We're in the corner of the room, away from everyone, people watching. You love people watching!"

The bitch had you there.

"Hey, you two!" a familiar voice tugged at your attention. Looking over, a mutual friend was shuffling over.

"Hey, Eunji," you and Bee responded, one of you obviously much more enthusiastic than the other.

"What are you guys doing tucked away over here?" she asked, settling in at your opposite side.

"Reading the room," Bee grinned. "You know a lot of these people better than we do, so I have to ask...who is that?"

"Wasting no time on pleasantries," Eunji laughed. "Getting right into the important stuff, I see."

Motioning with her eyes, you followed Bee's line of sight until you too were looking at her subject of interest. It was not surprising in the least that this guy had snagged her attention. He was occupying one end of a velvet couch, sleepily following the conversation of the two men standing in front of him. Man-spread in an oddly desirable way, he held a drink by the edge of the rim in between his knees, his pose completely relaxed. Dressed from head to toe in black, you were surprised to admit that he made eye bags work. You had never seen someone look so tired and simultaneously hot at the same time.

"His name is Bang Chan," Eunji continued.

"He has tired dad energy," you murmured to no one in particular.

"He doesn't have kids," Eunji snorted, joining you in your ogling.

"Don't care," Bee said, shaking her head. "Still a DILF."

"Oh god," you gasped, immediately turning your attention elsewhere. You had been spotted. He was now looking at the three of you looking at him.

Bee continued to stare, a small smile on her lips. "I think you should talk to him, Y/N."

"I'm sorry, I should what?" you gasped, turning sharply to face your friend.

"Why not?" she asked, tilting her head. "He is very much your type."

"He is very much everyone's type!" you snapped. "Have you seen him?"

"I'm about to see him even better," she grinned. "He's coming this way."

Fuck.

Sure as shit, as soon as you turned your head back in his direction, you saw that he had stood and said his goodbyes to the men he had previously been talking to.

It may have been your imagination, but time seemed to slow as he strolled toward you. The sound of birds chirping and a few "sha la la's" could be heard playing in the distance.

"Excuse me," he said, much more cheerfully than you had anticipated. "I thought I'd come over and introduce myself. My name is Chris."

"Hi, Chris," the three of you chimed, clearly all taken aback.

This caused him to breath in a laugh, exposing you to his devastating smile. A spark danced in his eyes as he looked to each of your friends before settling his attention on you.

"We were just going to grab another drink," Bee interrupted, grabbing hold of Eunji's wrist. "You two want anything?"

"You haven't finished your first drink," you said in an attempt to get your friends to stay. You knew what they were doing, and you didn't appreciate it one bit.

"I want something different," Bee snapped back before shooting an awkward smile at Chan.

Before you could even blink, your friends disappeared into the throng of partygoers. Slowly turning back toward your newest acquaintance, you tried to come up with something thoughtful to say.

"How'd you end up here?" you blurted out instead.

Chan smiled easily again, watching you as if you were entertaining him. "This is my friend's apartment. What about you?"

"I was dragged here by the one who suddenly felt parched," you grumbled.

"Dragged?" he asked, lifting his brows.

"I'm not great at parties," you admitted, looking away from him in embarrassment. "I'm not great at...conversing or the whole...people thing."

"I think you're doing just fine," he cooed, his tone somehow comforting AND seductive. "But I totally understand. It can get to be really overwhelming."

You'd been talking for about twelve seconds, and he got it. Why didn't your friends get it?

"Do you want to get some air?" he asked, seeming to notice how stiff you were. "I have special balcony privileges."

"I'm talking with a VIP then?" you smirked.

"The V-est of the IPs," he grinned. Remaining silent, you realized he was waiting for your answer, not just assuming you wanted to go with him.

Well, that was refreshing. "I wouldn't mind stepping outside for a bit."

"Great," he nodded. Turning away from you, he began walking toward the opposite side of the apartment, parting the sea of people effortlessly. Almost forgetting to follow behind, you were shocked back into reality when he looked over his shoulder and intertwined your fingers in his.

Trying to remind yourself to remain calm, your heart skipped a beat, nonetheless.

You wouldn't normally go anywhere with a strange man you had met at a party, but there was just something about Chan that put you at ease. It was hard to explain, but his whole vibe was soft and comfortable. Like a human version of a hug.

Plus, there were more than enough people here to act as witnesses if he happened to push you off of the balcony.

Guiding you down a hallway and through a bedroom, Chan opened up a set of clear glass doors before stepping outside. As soon as the cold night air hit your face, you felt your body begin to relax.

"It's so quiet out here," you murmured, dropping Chan's hand and moving to stand at his side. You instantly regretted breaking the contact but were much too awkward to act normally if you maintained it.

"It's nice, isn't it?" he hummed, resting his forearms against the railing. "Hyunjin has a lot of these parties. This balcony has become an excellent hide out for when things get to be too much."

"Sounds like you're quite the party animal," you joked, pushing playfully at his shoulder with yours.

"Hardly!" he grinned. "I have a lot of friends, so I know I have some social skills, but I prefer to not be in a party setting. Don't get me wrong, it's fine sometimes, but I'd much rather hang out with people I'm already close with than be forced to meet new people."

Ouch, so much for being a human hug.

Instantly realizing his mistake, Chan jerked his head up and spun toward you. "No, no, no, no," he repeated quickly. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean, you're lovely. I mean...I should probably just stop talking, shouldn't I?"

Letting out a huffed laugh, it was your turn to lean on the balcony and stare into the city below. "It wasn't personal."

"It really wasn't," he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Man, really mucked up that one, didn't I?"

"It did not win you any gold stars."

Throwing himself beside you again, he tilted his face to gaze at you. "Forgive me?"

"Already forgiven," you hummed. Chancing a look his way, you offered a small smile. "It's easy when I hardly know you."

"Very valid point," he nodded. Letting the air settle into silence, it was a few minutes before he finally spoke again. "Would you let me know you?"

"Sorry?" you asked, not sure if you heard him clearly. "Weren't you just saying you didn't like meeting new people?"

"That may be a slight twist on what I said," he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "But that was before."

"And now?"

"And now I'm on the balcony with someone who is clearly out of my league and I'm floundering for any type of brownie points," he smiled shyly.

"Out of," you stammered. "Out of your league?"

He started chuckling again. "You're doing a great job at repeating things I've said."

Shaking your head, you tried to work out his meaning. "Like you're doing charity work?"

"Whoa," he breathed, furrowing his brows. "No, like you're likely too good for me."

"I think..." you paused, the information slowly seeping into your understanding. Did he really think that? "Someone hit you on the head very hard and you aren't thinking straight."

This caused Chan to choke out a surprised laugh. "Come oooon. You know who is the attractive one on this balcony."

"Pfft," you snorted. "Sure, Chris."

A shiver rippled across your shoulders, causing you to wrap your arms around yourself. What had once been an energizing chill had turned much cooler as the night stretched on.

Noticing this, Chan cocked a brow before he began biting his lip. Your eyes immediately zeroed in on the motion, trying to remember to breathe through something so simply sexy.

"Do you mind if I-" he began, motioning with his arms.

You weren't exactly sure what he was getting at, but at this point, he could likely do whatever he wanted with you, and you'd still thank him for the opportunity. Giving a weak nod, you were surprised when he pivoted you to face the city again and wrapped his arms around you. Bracing his hands on the balcony railing, he sandwiched you in between the metal and the front of his torso.

Sure, you were immediately warmed by his close proximity, but you were also that much closer to passing out. Being in this range, he was even more intoxicating than he had been before.

"Better?" he cooed; his breath heavy in your ear.

"Much," you squeaked, trying to remain calm.

Resting his chin on your shoulder, he let out a light sigh. "You never answered me."

Suddenly every question he had asked tonight flew from your brain. "What did you ask?"

"Would you let me know you?"

You thought you were going to swallow your tongue. "I'd like you to."

"Good," he cooed. "I look forward to it then."

Man, you'd have to send Bee an edible arrangement after this. Who knew you'd like parties after all?

#stray kids #skz #bang chan #bahng chahn #christopher bang #stray kids chan #stray kids bang chan #skz chan #skz bang chan #chris bang #bang chan x reader #bang chan fluff #bang chan fanfic #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic

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youremyheaven · 8 months

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The 12th House in Astrology 🧜‍♀️🧚‍♀️ 🦋

(this can apply to both tropical and vedic placement of 12th house because regardless of the system employed, the energy felt and experienced is the same :-)

Most people have a lot of prejudice about the 12h and its energies. There is a largely negative portrayal of it in the mainstream astro community and very little nuanced discussion of the same. So, I thought I'd make a post exploring the 12th and final house in astrology and add more to the existing narrative regarding it.

The 12h is commonly described as the house of loss, liberation, isolation and decline

This house is said to governs misery, waste, expenses as well as divine knowledge, sympathy, Moksha (final emancipation) and life after death. It is also the house of detachment.

Now those are a lot of very contradictory terms. How could a house govern both loss and divine knowledge?

The 12th house and water houses (4h, 8h & 12h) in general are very complex and easily misunderstood. The thing about water is that it has no shape or form of its own, it takes the form of whatever vessel its poured into. another thing about water is that its the most easily polluted element. Water energy is one that must be precariously balanced because these natives easily absorb the influence of others (good or bad), this is one reason why the 12h is the house of "loss" because it truly is the death of the individual. you know those quotes about "i am an amalgamation of every person ive met, every book ive read, every song i loved...." 12housers are actually built like that.

being a 12h native can be rewarding because you absorb absolutely everything like a cosmic sponge but on the other hand, its very easy to lose all sense of self.

especially natives with 12h stelliums may often find it difficult to not take everything so personally. this is not because they think the world revolves around them but because its hard for them to separate themselves from others and their actions. they're personally of the type where everything they say or do is tailored specifically to the person they're interacting with. they may not even be aware that they're doing this, they pick up on energies almost by osmosis and guide their conduct that way. however they must realize that this is peculiar to them and is not something others are naturally accustomed to doing.

there is a reason why Venus exalts in the 12h. you lose all sense of self and give yourself completely to your lover with utmost devotion. love is sacred and profound to them, they will do absolutely anything for their love. which is why they have to be so careful with picking their partners. they have limitless capacity for giving but if you give to the wrong person, you'll be drained. when you merge with the right person, your cup never goes empty with your giving because your union satiates you completely.

if we were to think of houses 1 to 11 as a path of linear development, starting with the 1st house of self & identity and ending with the 11th house of friendship, community & legacy, then we will understand that after an individual goes through all these stages, the only thing left for them to do is seek liberation from this cycle; this is why 12h is the house of Moksha. once you've fulfilled your material desires, you will feel a lack in your life and the only thing left to do is pursue the path of spirituality. Moksha is however not given to one; one must strive for it.

this journey is a deeply personal one and liberation from one's ego and earthly pursuits is far from easy. no matter what these natives do, ultimately, they wont feel satisfied unless they've nourished themselves spiritually.

sometimes these natives may indulge in drugs or other substances to fill the void but as they evolve they will understand what theyre truly yearning for is the spiritual truth.

more often than not, these natives experience "spiritual awakenings" completely unprompted. god decides its time and it happens. much of their early life can be very dark and this "awakening" marks the beginning of a shift in their life. this happens in stages depending on the level of their spiritual evolution.

the 12th house is the house of isolation because what these natives experience is not something that others can understand easily. they are the most likely to develop psychosomatic conditions, simply because their energetic body is so susceptible to influence.

think of the vast endless ocean. can one individual possibly drink up all of that water? its absurd to even consider it. thats kind of what its like to be a 12h native. there's a limitless reservoir to tap into, the energy is so vast that its confusing and disorienting and you have no idea what to do with it. its very easy to be misguided as well. this is why its the house of decline. you have to constantly be on the look out in order to avoid the pitfalls, otherwise its easy to stagnate and easy to harm yourself.

There is a Latin quote that goes as follows:

"What nourishes me, destroys me"

This sums up 12th house energy pretty much. Its the energy of opposites and paradoxes. You need this endless reservoir to function, its the thing that feeds you but if you're not careful, it can also lead you to your own ruin.

Fun fact: Angelina Jolie has this quote tattooed on her. She is a Revati Moon. Pisces occupies the 12th house.

remember that Pisces' symbol is of two fishes swimming in opposite directions. this shows that the innate nature of these natives is to be torn between polarising energies and opposing forces. it is a balancing act to say the least.

these natives are easily misunderstood, simply because there is SO much to them. whatever you think they are, thats what they're not.

going back to the cosmic ocean metaphor, its easy to see how such abundance can feel like an excess and lead to misery and wastefulness. its simply a LOT to handle, not just for others but even for these natives themselves. this is one reason why so many of these natives tend to keep to themselves.

even the more sociable 12h natives often have an interior life that no one will know about, they have a whole another side to them that they keep separate, just because they want to assert complete ownership of this private side as something that belongs only to them and the other, more "public" side that they give to others.

these natives are the most empathetic and if you look at the charts of most "legendary" actors, they'll either have pisces/12h luminaries. empathy does not quite cut it, they can not only feel what others are feeling but embody it fully and experience it as their own. this is what makes them incredible actors. even non-actor 12h natives process things this way and often find that others around them are insensitive or lacking the same capacity. they do not understand why others don't feel as deeply as they do or understand situations the way they do. they find society at large to be very callous and apathetic.

a 12th house native is also capable of feeling apathy and absolute indifference but this is very selective; the 12h is the house of detachment because as it is, they're tethered to the world by a thin cord and are only very mildly connected to things. they're in this world but seldom inhabit it. another side to this is that they're wildly imaginative. although mercury debilitates in the 12h, it does not affect the native too badly, as they simply channel their thoughts into other forms. they are gifted at communicating abstract ideas and make excellent artists due to the same reason. robbed of any sense of what is "practical" or "realistic", they roam free in the realm of the mind. many abstract, surrealist and expressionist artists have either Pisces or other water sign placements in their big 3.

these natives live a life of non-being, as they're already so detached from everything, including themselves; this is not negative on its own and will manifest differently for different individuals; this can mean that they're extremely empathetic or detached to the point of inaction and passivity in extreme cases; they dont find a lot of things to be meaningful and its hard for them to apply themselves because of it. this gives us a glimpse of what life is like after death.

the 12th house also represents spirituality, introspection, foreign travels, hidden enemies, & the subconscious mind and it is the house of endings and undoing.

12th house natives are always intrigued by all things foreign, they feel like they do not belong to the place they're from and feel connected to cultures and people that are foreign to them. since they themselves feel like an alien or are made to feel that way, they feel naturally at ease in foreign places and cultures where everything is alien. they often settle overseas.

these natives court attention wherever they go, because the 12h energy is a very distinct and potent one. a lot of celebrities have it and its a very common fame indicator. due to this reason, they also attract enemies who remain unknown to them. these natives are seldom if ever, engaged in actual feuds with people and if they are, its usually for righteous reasons or because the other person started it. theyre wayyyy too peace loving and lowkey to pick fights with others. this is why they dont know who is speaking ill of them behind their back. they're always minding their own business and it surprises them that others are not doing the same.

everybody is guided by their subconscious and one major part of spirituality is to try and make ourselves more conscious. 12h representing spirituality (the cosmic ocean) makes even more sense considering its opposite (2 fishes swimming in opposite directions) which is the unknown, the subconscious. to be spiritual means to seek truth and to seek answers and swim towards the subconscious to shed light to it and understand it better.

lastly, it is the house of endings and undoing. 12h being the final concluding house represents the end of the cycle. when a cycle ends, the energy is of a complete transformation. only when something has reached completion can it come to an end. the butterfly does not emerge unformed but as a completely fully formed butterfly. the end marks the beginning. the 12h gives way to the 1h.

the creature in the cocoon was not a butterfly. it only became a butterfly when it emerged from the cocoon and to do so means loss of an old identity, loss of self, loss of all that you've ever known. this is your undoing. in order to become somebody else, in order to ascend, we have to be willing to undo ourselves. this is essential to any spiritual practice. we have to rid ourselves and our flimsy shell of identity in order to grow further.

for the same reason, 12housers are constantly transforming. they're the type of people who seem to have lived 10 different lives in one. be it their style, lifestyles, jobs, you name it, they're constantly undoing and transforming themselves. it seems to be the only way they know how to live. once theyve gathered all they can at one place, they outgrow it and change themselves almost entirely afterwards as they venture into something new.

thats it for now. i hope this shed some light on the 12h condition hehe<333

#astrology notes #vedic astro notes #astrology observations #sidereal astrology #astrology #astro observations #astro notes #astroblr #12th house #twelfth house #pisces #astro community

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houserautha · 1 month

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Only Pleasure Remains

Summary: Feyd-Rautha has other uses for the mouth of the Fremen prisoner refusing to talk.

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x GNFremen!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: he fucks your face, it’s nonconsensual, you kind of like it anyway, smut without plot, you get a facial, WITH his black cum because that’s too iconic of a HC not to include, he gets his happy ending but you don’t get yours. Literally.

A/N: I don’t think a Fremen would ever allow this to actually happen but I’m a whore and a slave to my simpler urges. Not gonna lie I wanted this to happen in the movie. Does this even make sense? I don’t know but it’s hot

The inner walls of the ruined sietch is a brief relief from the oppressive heat beating down on the desert planet. Feyd-Rautha discovers a group of his men restraining a prisoner, sunlight pouring in from the hole over their heads. As they notice him they break apart, revealing you to him for the first time since he received news of a survivor.

You’re covered in sandy grime and blood, the nose piece of your stillsuit dangling free, hair dirtied and loose from its previous style.

And you look fucking beautiful on your knees, even with your face wrenched in disgust and utter defiance. Feyd-Rautha didn’t expect to feel such an intense attraction to a Fremen. In fact, he reserves a moment to study you, to confront his desire like an untamed beast — pry open its mouth and examine its teeth.

“They refuse to talk,” one of the Harkonnen soldiers says. He nudges you with the nose of the lasgun and you snarl — you actually snarl — upper lip pulled back, blue-on-blue eyes glinting with hatred.

A trapped animal, desperate for freedom. Feyd-Rautha feels his cock stir.

“For now,�� he says. He raises a hand. “Leave us.”

The soldiers exchange indecipherable glances before leaving, ducking back out into the blazing sun. Feyd-Rautha steps as close to you as he dares. Even with your limbs bound, he’s certain that you would do anything in your power to maim him.

“Your silence rings empty among the cries of those you loved,” he tells you. He towers over you, a sentinel of dangerous, crackling energy, wreathed in black armor. “The others are gone. Dead. What service is your silence to them?”

You stare up at him with your seething gaze.

Feyd-Rautha crouches beside you. Your hostility is nearly enough to bowl him over, a tangible, living creature between you.

“If you deny me this now, I will have no choice but to make you.”

He lifts a gloved hand to your cheek, lovingly whispering his fingers over the curve of your face before grabbing your chin. His grasp is enough to spring tears to your eyes, causing you to bite your tongue and draw blood, its coppery taste filling your mouth.

You should hate him. He stands for everything you’ve rallied against. Hell, he had just ordered his men to obliterate your home, your people. Yet you find yourself incomprehensibly drawn to this man who exudes power as effortlessly as others can breathe. It infuriates you. Revolts you.

Your aching, traitorous body pools with heat as Feyd-Rautha parts your lips and forces his thumb into your mouth. Sand grits over your teeth. His gloves taste of dry leather. Of blood; though it could very well just be your own. He presses his thumb down with enough force to shatter your jaw.

Feyd-Rautha rasps, “Then, since you refuse to speak, I will give your mouth a different purpose.”

He wrests his hand from your chin and pain explodes through your skull.

Feyd-Rautha rises once more to his formidable height and works to liberate his cock from his armor. You watch, horrified, transfixed, as he pulls his pants down just enough to show his powerful thighs and reveal a stomach taunt with muscles. His cock springs free and he wastes no time wrapping his hand at the base and stroking it fervently, all the while gazing down at you with naked, unfettered devotion.

And for some reason the sight of him like that transcends you, strips you completely bare. Your entire body trembles.

The na-Baron fists the hair at the back of your head and, without preamble, guides you to his cock, groaning as the warmth and wetness of your mouth envelops him. Anger flaring, you bite down as hard as you’re able — but instead of revoking himself, Feyd-Rautha snaps his hips, driving him deeper into your mouth instead.

He pants his appreciation, clearly undeterred by your teeth.

You gag on his size. He refuses to ease up, however, pushing his cock deeper into the back of your throat. With each thrust, saliva builds, leaking from the sides of your mouth and wetting his shaft. You have no way to retaliate, to pull away, forced to endure him.

He withdraws long enough to show you the glint of pre-cum on his cock, how he spreads it across the head before burrowing it inside you again. The taste of his pre-cum is salty, mixing with your blood, and you can no longer deny your own arousal — you clamp your lips on his cock and suck, using your tongue to circle the salty mixture over it.

Feyd-Rautha releases a rumbling, guttural moan, hips bucking violently. “That’s right,” he rasps. “Take it.” He ignores your strangled pleas as he pushes himself deeper and deeper within you, tears now streaming down your face and cutting tracks through the sandy grime. He pulls out only to insert himself again, in and out, fucking your throat.

You’re unable to touch yourself, or him, and it makes the entire act that much more torturous. You apply this frustration with your mouth, sucking his considerable length every time he jams it past your lips, your mouth and jaw aching with the furious nature of the fucking.

Feyd-Rautha closes his eyes and loses himself in your slick mouth. He has just laid waste to your people and now you were taking him like the good little rat you were, a renegade whore, letting him force his cock down your throat and you were actually enjoying it.

Without warning, Feyd-Rautha withdraws from you, stroking his shaft and positioning himself before you. “Open,” he demands.

You obey and as soon as you do, warm sprays of his ink-colored cum soak your face. He jerks himself through his orgasm, breathy and primal, smooth brows furrowed in concentration. You breathe heavily, shoulders heaving, greedily drawing the air back into your lungs. It’s then that Feyd-Rautha drags his gloved fingers across your face, smearing his cum then pushing his fingers back into your mouth. You lick and slurp down his seed, languishing in the taste of him, unlike anything you’ve had before.

To offer your expense to a Fremen is to offer your life’s water. You don’t know if he realizes this, or even cares, he just watches you as you suck his gloved fingers clean.

Feyd-Rautha does know this sacrifice, this offering, and thinks it a just trade for what he’s prepared to do. He rights himself, fixing his armor. “Strange, what you wish to comply with,” he says. He leaves you like that — bound and covered with his cum, vulnerable — and as he vanishes around the corner you hear him call out, “Dispose of the rat.”

Tags:

@moonsoulk

@heartarianagran

@torchbearerkyle

@unicoreads

@taleah

@mamawiggers1980

@jovialeggsbailiffsoul

@harkonnin

@avidreader73

#dune #feyd rautha #Feyd x GNFremen!Reader #feyd rautha x gn!reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #writers on tumblr #writing #fanfic #feyd smut #sorry not even remotely sorry #easter weekend #time for some smut

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intoanotherworld23 · 10 months

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Stairs Are Better Anyway

Pairing: Reader x Chris Evans

Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY DNI, this whole thing is pure smut and sex, there’s filthy language, unprotected sex, sex on stairs

Summary: Chris was always a fan of taking the stairs especially with you on it

Hearts, reblogs, and comments are greatly encouraged and appreciated! I love to hear back from everyone on my works!! If you wish to be added to my Chris Evans tag list please do not hesitate to ask I would be more than happy to add more people! Thank you guys so much and enjoy! XOXO

"You just don't know when to stop do you?" Chris grumbled as you laid across the stairs knees bent with your legs spread enticing him even more.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Acting completely innocent in this current situation.

"Oh sweetheart you never learn do you?" Watching as Chris crawled up the stairs until he was hovering above you lips pressed against yours. "Teasing me like that at the party."

His hands were all over you as you wrapped yours around his neck. Gripping onto him when you felt him push his body tightly against you. Feeling how hard he was for you and wiggling your hips just to push him a little bit further.

Chris growling into your mouth as you grinned knowing you got him. Not wasting any time in lifting up the bottom of your dress revealing your laced panties that already had a wet spot forming. Helping Chris unbuckle his pants and push them down his legs to the edge of his ankles.

"This what you wanted?" Mumbling against your lips. "To be fucked like the good little whore that you are."

"Yes." Your panties being pulled to the side a cold breeze hitting your core a shiver running up your spine.

"Tell me how badly you need it Y/N?" He teased as he rubbed the tip of his cock up and down your now soaked folds. "I want to hear those pretty lips beg for me."

"Chris I need you badly it hurts." Biting your bottom lip as he watched you with hungry eyes. "I want you inside me so badly."

"I don't know sweetheart I'm not believing you." Sighing loudly in frustration as he played his own game with you.

"God Chris please fuck me so hard on these stairs that I can't walk for a week." Pleading up at him as you tried moving your hips hoping you could slip him inside of you.

"That's my good girl."Leaning forward pressing his entire cock inside of you a gasp slipping past your lips. "Holy fuck you are so wet baby."

Lifting his hips back up only to slam down into you. Whimpers and grunts filling the air as he quickly picked up his pace and found a steady rhythm. His head remained pressed into your neck as he nibbled on your skin. His arms enclosed around your head to feel even more close to you.

Moaning loudly into his ear every time he sharply thrusted into your body. Your back pressing into the edge of the stairs, but you pushed through the discomfort, and focused on Chris. Moving your arms so they wrapped around his back. Putting some slight pressure on his lower back to feel more of his movements.

"That's it baby your doing so good for me." Words of praise echoed in your ear when you whined and whimpered for him. "Look at you stuffed full of my cock."

Chris leaned himself up only to watch as his cock would disappear inside of you. Drenched in your arousal making this squishing sound that had him really to start howling like some wild animal. He loved to watch as you would take him so deeply, and was always amazed you took him well every time.

"You want harder baby?" He teased his thrusts becoming slow and sensual. "Does my girl want me to fuck her harder?"

"Please Chris fuck me harder." Gritting through your teeth the frustration you felt never receding.

Rocking himself into your whole body to the point you were afraid you two would break the stairs. Feeling as he unleashed all his energy and power into you both of you in a state of euphoria. Seems like you weren't the only one who needed this either.

"God you look so good getting fucked on the stairs like this." Your left hand gripping the railing of the stairs.

Cheeks felt like they were on fire like someone was sticking a hot poker in front of your face. A drop of sweat descending down Chris's face and onto your chest. Rolling down your chest and in between your breasts. It felt cool for a brief second but then soon evaporated from the heat.

"Just like that." Crying out as your legs wrapped around him like a vine.

"This is all you needed didn't you baby?" His tone mocking as he looked at the pleasure on your face.

The new angle had your toes curling so hard you were afraid they would sprain. You were getting so close you could feel it in the pit of your stomach. Chris didn't once slow down as he pounding into you so deeply he could see a bulge in your stomach.

"That's my good girl so good for me." Pressing his forehead against yours feeling you squeeze around him.

"Oh god Chris I'm gonna cum." Your legs were starting to tremble as your release was vastly approaching.

"Cum hard for me sweetheart." That was the final click in your brain covering him in your arousal.

"Oh fuck baby I'm right there." Groaning with a strained voice as he panted heavily above you his cock twitching violently inside you pumping you full of his warm seed.

Leaning his head back down on your heaving chest as both of you tried to catch your breath. Your legs shaking from your intense orgasm as Chris laid slump on top of your body. Leaving tender kisses on your chest as he helped you come down from your high.

"That's why I love taking the stairs." He joked making you both burst into a fit of laughter.

——————————————

Tag list for Chris Evans: @denisemarieangelina @kimberlydyan @patzammit @tinawritesstuff @princess-evans-addict @cevanstan29 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @inmoix @evansgirl7 @nina-sj @chris-butt @a-moment-captured @suchababie @colinbridgertonisbebe @d3vil-is-my-sugg4rd4ddy @sesamepancakes @justjulie1105 @r2gers @sweetllamaparadise @coldmuffinpartycloud @foxchild-v @evansphnx12 @breezykpop @sunwardsss @nathalienightmare @franfineashell @snowy992 @chrisgirl4 @rainbowkisses31 @mrspeacem1nusone @mayisdelanoche @fantastickoya @seaweedthewhale @eliluv1626 @ccmarvelxx @chelricki96 @justile @maceymae2704 @ysmmsy @cheerup-loki @nostxlgia18 @nicolarobertson89 @evansxchalamet @freerose11 @ace-of-spaids2 @gitasor @december16-1991 @allthingschrisevans @melissad1974 @starry-night-20 @maryann8913 @gh0stgurl @vaseoftulips @danireal17 @seattlexgirl @noplacelikehome77 @evansgal @sherlockzss @deandreamernp @chrisevans-4ever @rookiemartin @lowkeysebby @compulsiveshit @janaev4ns @justreadingficsdontmindme @elrw24 @ccrobbs @fangirl125reader @iminluvwthme @alexxavicry @ttomholland1996 @loumaaria-blog @ilybbg @rogersbarber

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21

#Chris Evans #Chris Evans smut #Chris Evans imagines #Chris Evans oneshot #Chris evans x reader #Chris Evans fanfiction #Chris Evans fic #Chris Evans imagine #chris evans x female reader

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whosaidsealscantfly · 1 year

Text

My two cents on the whole situation

I think a lot of people in the Welcome Home fandom are misunderstanding the bigger picture here. It's resulting in a lot of people expressing disappointment and pointing fingers at people who aren't even the problem, and while the intentions mean well, it's causing the toxic environment Clown doesn't want.

In his post, which has now been privated, he talks about how overwhelming everything is. He even directly states that it's not just about boundaries, and while he has trouble putting it into words (and I will not put words in his mouth in the process either), Clown indicates that the sudden spotlight and attention is overwhelming him. And that's completely understandable - he's just one guy! Plus, he's been making stuff for Welcome Home for years, so it only makes sense to fluster over the sudden rush of attention in only a week. A week!!!

The reasons why boundaries come into play with all of this isn't just because his THREE rules were violated by garbage people. It's the fact that he had no time to establish boundaries beforehand, and it's stressful to suddenly have to think of EVERY facet of fandom culture and establish the dos and don'ts. But as Clown said, what's happened has happened, and all we can do is move on. Which leads me to my next point:

Clown explicitly said to not reprimand people on his behalf. He doesn't want the fandom to waste time and energy on people who have already crossed the line. What has happened, has happened. With that said, it's important to educate and point out when someone has crossed a boundary, but you shouldn't go through so much effort and anger over someone who clearly doesn't give a shit.

I've seen a lot of people who are making posts with a lot of "shame on you!"s and "You are all trash." I've also seen comments on harmless fanfics or art saying things like "You're the reason this fandom sucks." What awful things to say!

This fandom is probably one of the best fandoms I've been a part of. Why? Because a large majority, and I mean a LARGE majority, are respectful of Clown and want to do right by him. I've never seen a community band together so quickly to change their ways, apologize, spread the word, and evaluate the decisions they've made: not just in this fandom, but every fandom they've ever been a part of. That's HUGE. I've been on the internet for a very long time, and I don't think I've ever seen anything like that.

Yes, there are BAD eggs in this fandom, but there always is. What's important is that I haven't been seeing those bad eggs. Like, at all. I haven't seen a single explicit NSFW post, and I haven't seen a single piece of mass-produced merch. I've only heard about them through word-of-mouth, but I've never actually seen anything with my own eyes. Not that I doubt anyone, but I'm saying this to illustrate just how little bad eggs there are in the community. And this is a HUGE community.

In fact, I think we're so good, that we're starting to punish ourselves for making fandom content, and that is also awful. I want to reiterate what Clown's three major rules are:

Refrain from publicly posting NSFW content or content that wouldn't be safe for children to see/read.

Do not mass produce merch. Commissions and personal projects are fine, but they cannot be mass produced to be sold.

Do not impersonate and claim his art as yours. Give credit!! Don't trick people, and don't profit off of someone else's work!

And that's it! I've seen a lot of people taking down their fanfictions and art and AUs just because they're worried about Clown. That's super sweet and it warms my heart to hear that the community is so considerate, but remember, the three rules above are the only don'ts. Lots of people are scared of continuing to overwhelm him, and they're also scared that he might stop the project all together.

I assure you, he's not. Firstly, his fan works guideline is still pinned on his Tumblr blog!! If he wasn't sure of fanworks all together, he would have simply privated the post and write a new one with new rules. The rules have not changed. He loves to see fan interpretations, your AUs, your OCs, and your art! This is all explicitly stated! You can read it here incase you forgot -> https://www.tumblr.com/partycoffin/712519493403934720/apologies-if-this-has-already-been-asked-but-how?source=share

Secondly, he actually posted an update on his ko-fi that indicates that he's doing much better and that he's "elbow deep" into working on Welcome Home! I'm a member that gets to see all of his posts on ko-fi, and while I'm not going to show you the whole post (obviously), I will quote an important part you guys should see: "You have all been so delightful to me (Setbacks happen with an abrupt shift in attention, I realize, so roll I will with this newfound experience!) and I was like 'Oh, let's post a tasty preview!'"

Clown acknowledges all of the goodwill and kindness the community has shown. He even states that he's learned from the experience and he's working hard on Welcome Home to see it through!

This was a very long two cents, so I'll end it here.

tl;dr, You guys are being too harsh on each other/yourselves, and that's the last thing Clown wants. He's doing better, Welcome Home is still being worked on, and you shouldn't have to shame yourself or others for posting perfectly kosher fandom content. There's only three major rules, three, so you shouldn't have to feel bad about what makes you happy.

#welcome home #wally darling #welcomeh #frank frankly #julie joyful #eddie dear #poppy partridge #howdy pillar #barnaby b beagle #sally starlet #i think those are all the tags lmao #erica speaks #anyway stop being mean!! y'all are fine just be your silly little selves #I should also note that this isn't to change your mind if you want to delete your stuff #This is just a reminder that your stuff is okay! As long as it doesn't break the three rules ofc

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bloomingdayswithyou · 7 months

Note

Kei bonding with a male reader. Figure he invites them to watch a practice and both bond over making sarcastic comments. Figure he's nicer or more polite than Kei by default but just as sarcastic.

Unlikely Bond

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x male reader

Words: 556

Warnings: none

Author's note: I'm SO sorry for being so late :(( a lot of things have happened and I just stopped logging in here😔 hopefully I'm back posting again regularly !!

The gymnasium was buzzing with energy as the Karasuno volleyball team went through their rigorous practice routines. Among the spectators, a boy named m/n found himself in the midst of the action, thanks to an invitation from Tsukishima Kei. The tall, blond player had surprised everyone when he'd asked m/n to come watch their practice.

Tsukishima, known for his sarcasm and sharp wit, had a reputation for keeping people at arm's length. Yet, for some reason, he had extended an invitation to m/n, and the latter couldn't help but feel curious about this unexpected turn of events.

As they watched the practice unfold, Tsukishima leaned over and muttered in a deadpan tone, "You're lucky, you know. Not everyone gets an invitation to watch us practice."

m/n smirked and replied, equally deadpan, "I must be special then. Or maybe you just needed someone to appreciate your block at a whole new level."

Tsukishima's lips twitched in what could pass for a smirk, and he focused on the court. "You catch on quickly. Maybe you won't be a complete waste of my time."

The banter continued throughout the practice. Tsukishima would point out the team's mistakes, and m/n would fire back with witty comments. Despite the sarcasm, there was an underlying camaraderie forming between them, an unspoken understanding that they both enjoyed this back-and-forth.

As the practice neared its end, Tsukishima elbowed m/n lightly. "Hey, you've got a decent eye for the game. Not bad for a spectator."

m/n raised an eyebrow. "I could say the same for you. You're not as insufferable as I thought."

Tsukishima snorted, a faint smile crossing his lips. "High praise, coming from you."

After practice, Tsukishima and m/n walked out of the gymnasium together. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows on the school grounds.

"So, what made you invite me here today?" m/n finally asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Tsukishima glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "I noticed you watching our games sometimes. You seemed genuinely interested, and you weren't one of those annoying fans who scream 'spike it' every time the ball's in the air."

m/n chuckled. "Well, I do appreciate the finer points of the game, and I've seen enough volleyball to know that screaming doesn't help."

Tsukishima nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Plus, I figured it would be nice to have someone to talk to who can hold a conversation without resorting to fangirling."

They continued walking in comfortable silence for a while before Tsukishima spoke again. "You know, I'm not usually the inviting type."

m/n raised an eyebrow. "I gathered as much."

Tsukishima sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But I've been trying to be more open lately. The team captain suggested it might be good for morale. So, here you are."

m/n couldn't help but smile at the admission. "Well, I appreciate the opportunity. It's been...surprisingly enjoyable."

They reached a nearby vending machine, and Tsukishima bought two drinks before handing one to m/n. As they sipped their drinks, Tsukishima cleared his throat. "Look, don't get the wrong idea. I didn't invite you here to become best friends or anything."

m/n laughed. "I didn't have any such expectations. But I won't object to more sarcastic volleyball commentary in the future."

Tsukishima smirked. "In that case, I'll consider inviting you again."

#haikyuu #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x male reader #Tsukishima kei #tsukishima x male reader #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu imagine #anime #anime x reader #anime x male reader

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msallurea · 9 months

Text

Things I'm manifesting

-Everything from my notes/Dream life (this just basically everything😭)

-Dream face

-Dream body

-Lighter prettier eyes

-Caramel brown skin (think goldenbih)

-Being 5'1 in a half + weighing 110lbs

-Smaller prettier feet, hands, toes, nails

-3b curls/perfect hair

-Lighter hair with caramel highlights

-Freckles + Beauty marks

-Natural makeup appearance

-Dream wardrobe/Fashion/Aesthetic

-Dream mansion + living in luxury city

-Being famous/celebrity/superstar/popstar

-Desired talents/talented at everything

-Being an it girl + sex symbol + muse + vixen (yall get it 😭)

-Being master manifestor + perfect pretty self concept (even tho technically I already am this its just like why not? Ya know😭)

-Dream parents/family + Being an only child (I'm sick of this sibling shit 😒) + radiate and embody hot older sister energy (just cuz I don't wanna be a older sister no more doesn't mean i dont still want the energy😭)

-Prettier handwriting +top notch writing skills/communication skills/over the top intelligence/stupidly high IQ(basically just the brainsy gyal)

-perfect 50/50 HD eye sight + looking hot asf in any pair of glasses (I wanna not be blind but still be fine)

-Prettier whiter teeth and pinker tongue and gums and just dental/mouth in general + OP top notch hygiene skills (I feel people who have bipolar depression understand this part)

-better mental health + no mental health issues + no anxiety/fearful etc

- balanced hormones + increased estrogen(as a girl I have wayy too much testosterone n I've been insecure about it for years)

-perfect coochani + OP coochanini skills (ummm so this is just self explanatory but honestly if yk yk 😭)

-Naturally smell like my desired scent (which is basically like a bakery n just so deliciously annoyingly sweet and seductive; but remember how I said I have too much testosterone gor my body to handle yea..ifykyk😭)

-No more sweating (I don't sweat excessive I just hate it period)

-top notch crystal clean health + no more constipation + no longer pooping n its healthy (ik somebody gon question me but those who suffer from severe constipation especially for me its been my whole life u understand where I'm coming from)

- desired voice + accent + unique lingo n slang etc

-Desired personality + persona + aura + vibe etc etc

-super flexibility skills

-unbearably photogenic videogenic audiogenic + always looking perfect naturally

-Desired school, friends, lover, etc + school it girl

-Speak/know already desired languages

-drivets license, car, motorcycle, etc etc

-Be intimidatingly wealthy (when I say wealthy I mean WEALTHYYYYY) + come from a family of aristocrats + wealthy generational family in general (yall know what I'm tryna say) + luxury etc etc

-Revised life and childhood

-Dream singing + rapping skills + song writing etc

-Good in all sports like frfr just good at everything (basically the perfect it girl)

-Be a Gazillion times better then Kokomi teruhashi (not tryna be self centered i promise🥲)

-Perfect life + graduation + live teenage fever dream

-Bald, completely hairless body and face (but keeping my brows, lashes and scalp hair)

It's more I just can't think of it rn but this is all I will be manifesting

How will I manifest all this?

So for me I'm not really tryna overcomplicate any more I'm just gonna go straight back to the basics n apply what I know which is choose what I desire, affirm/assume its done and persist. I already overconsumed so much and at this point it's a waste of time. I'm not really tryna do no challenges I'm just gonna focus strictly on trusting and having faith not just in myself but my imagination and subconscious thats its done n taken care of, I'll give yall updates on anything that happens soon! I love you guyssss💗💗💗

Affirmations I'll be using

-I have all of my desires from my notes

-I am living my dream life

-it is done

-I choose to live my new story, my old story no longer exist

#law of assumption #manifestation #manifesting #neville goddard #affirm and persist #affirmations #MsAllurea

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embossross · 6 months

Text

From His Mind to Hers

chapter 13 >> Chapter 14>> masterlist

✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content

✣ Chapter CW: Processing trauma from abuse and sexual violence (rape aftermath), unhealthy coping mechanisms, revenge porn, slut shaming/misogyny, suicidal ideation (sort of – threats)

✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; smut (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, stalking, torture (not of y/n), murder, dubcon & abuse in c13, discussions of trauma and abuse, drug use, and more

✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.

✣ Word Count: 5.5k+

The janitor deserves a raise.

The floors gleam, pearlescent and buffed to a shine that threatens to serve your reflection back to you. Where you sit, elbows to knees, staring at the floor, you notice every shoe scuff and dropped luggage tag. Fleeting messes that the janitor is quick to erase from existence. A few sweeps of the mop and everything returns to its former state, beautiful and shining.

“Flight NH451 to Okinawa is now boarding,” a crystalline voice announces first in Japanese, then English, then Mandarin.

No one else has time to study the floors. Compared to the bustle of Tokyo-Narita, Haneda Airport is calmer, but all airports in your experience share an atmosphere of restrained anxiety. For many people, it’s the one time they must completely surrender any pretenses of control over their lives and accept that they are subject to the whims of weather, technical failure, fate.

You know a thing or two about that.

Fussy babies burp and cry while their older siblings fare little better. The line for the Hong Kong Express baggage check stretches around the corner, creeping forward at a pace that promises a missed flight for whichever fool arrives with only two hours to make it to their terminal. A group of college-aged girls kneel on the floor, bags spread out as they shuffle the contents around, trying to find the magic formula that will sneak them below the weight limit. Hunched like they’re already exhausted from standing for so long, an elderly couple waits in mute silence, in a place beyond words. Nearly everyone else stares at their phones, willing the minutes to pass. It’s a fair difference from the energy you’d find over in arrivals, where half the passengers are haggard from a long day of international travel and the other half sprint, energized, into the arms of waiting loved ones. It churns your stomach to think about all those people, crying through tears of joy.

It may appear like the line isn’t moving, but it’s like the Argonaut. From where you’ve sat to the side watching for the last four hours, you know an assemblage of new faces will gradually replace these, the line somehow never shorter but its components entirely new.

In all this time, not one person has taken note of the woman rooted to one spot, the perpetual observer of the thousands of people who all have better places to be.

The promise of invisibility is what drew you to the airport this morning. Amid the minutiae and petty concerns of the mob, you may as well be furniture. Surrendering to that invisibility evokes a blissful relief.

It is your natural habitat.

As a child, you mastered the art of being there and not there at the same time. You remember miserable days spent locked in your room whenever you caught so much as a sniffle. Your mother would banish you to the narrow three tatami mat room, terrified that your germs might spread and infect her.

At first, every minute would tick by with the weight of eternity. Staring at the ceiling, phlegm draining back through your sinuses and stomach in a pounding knot, you would count each tile one by one. The trick was to stretch the count as long as possible, to sit and savor each number in your mind’s eye, because you knew when you finished it would be back to one again. No windows opened to the views outside, no toys to distract you. The most the little room offered was its thin walls through which you could hear your mother move about the house, her loud laugh down the receiver of the phone, the hum of the TV. All while you shook from fever, unattended.

Time would pass so slowly in that room. Gradually, impossibly, it would slow even further as your stomach grumbled, your throat spasmed from thirst. Your mother never thought to leave you any food or water to survive those long days in that room.

The thirstier you grew, the less you could ward off the realities of the body, thoughts fixating on each ache and pain, until finally, you learned to stop your thoughts altogether. To be there and not there at once.

Then, time would resume in a sprint, a long blink and night would fall. Once the sounds of your mother’s untroubled life ceased, you would make your move. On sock-covered feet, you would slip from your prison and edge your way to the kitchen, praying for invisibility, for no one to spot your midnight heist. You never dared fetch a glass, mimicking a thief’s caution as you leaned into the sink, mouth closing around the tap, where you would turn it onto a trickle and let the life-giving water permeate your cracked lips. In those moments, you would be there, brilliantly, blindingly there in spirit, but your body remained locked away in that room.

The tricks you learned in those days in that house have served you well over the years. Invisibility sometimes feels like a curse, resigning you forever to the periphery of life, but it also greets you like an old friend when you are most in need of protection.

How traumatizing then to search for it last night and find that old friend missing. When you needed it most, the old detachment abandoned you.

Hyper-present, you suffered every moment of Hanma’s pain and perversion. Countless times, you reached for your invisibility, hoping to slip out of yourself like a specter and leave your body to Hanma’s cruel hands, but you were only left twice as terrified to find yourself trapped inside yourself. Your mind, body, and soul were devastatingly one as you experienced the certainty that Hanma would shoot you dead as he brutalized you, as he held you with the gentleness of a lover, as he…

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You know it’s him. It must be. His smell still lingers on the fine hairs of your nostrils, singeing them with the stench of bourbon that bled from his pores. In the blue-black dark, you could barely make out his features as he threatened you – a masked intruder hovering above you – but fuck if you couldn’t smell him, stinking up your once safe, sterilized bedroom.

Just thinking about it makes you want to…

With trembling fingers, you hunt through your purse until you find a wad of tissues to wipe the sweat that beads across your brow. It is swelteringly hot in Departures, a mix of the unseasonably warm weather and the heat of hundreds of bodies thronging together, their every exhale warming the room.

Searching through the mass of bodies, you find the janitor still at work, fix on the friendly lines of his face. He gives no indication that he notices the heat, the throngs of people, or anything else but his work. The janitor mops the floors, contented. Like you, he has no designs to go anywhere else.

The line moves several meters forward while you watch the janitor. Eventually, he lifts his head and notices you for the first time. The muscles in your face ache as you summon a smile. The result must be obscene or hostile because he hurriedly returns to mopping, a few half-hearted brushes just for show before he scurries away entirely.

Now, you are alone again.

You put your head between your legs and try to breathe like they suggest people having panic attacks do in the movies. The position does help chase back your rising gorge and settles your rolling stomach. It does nothing for your thoughts.

You remember when Hanma’s long fingers found your clit, how he exploited his knowledge of your body to rub you to a forced little orgasm, like he wouldn’t be content until you were made an active participant in your indignity, his forever accomplice, the Stavrogin to his Fedka.

A thundering accompanies a plane taking off from the tarmac, loud enough to chase away the memories. You watch the massive passenger plane soar north until it becomes a speck on the horizon. It will never cease to amaze you how for the hundreds of people aboard that plane, each knows exactly where they are going and why. Their destination is well and truly decided. Too late to change their minds or second-guess.

Whenever you try to think of where you will go next – because surely you can’t live in the airport departures lounge, surely someone, anyone, will eventually realize the ghost of a woman has made a home there, will recognize that you’ve overstayed your welcome, will chase you out, right? – your brain throws up nothing but roadblocks. You imagine returning to your cold, hostile apartment, and the contents of your stomach dance in protest. Your apartment is no longer a safe space.

Your phone vibrates again, and this time, you don’t have the strength to ignore it. Fished from your pocket, you stare at the characters in Shuji’s name, tracing them one by one. Your finger hovers over the button to answer.

What he did last night – did to you – is unforgivable. You may not know what happened to Haitani, but it doesn’t matter. You did not deserve that.

And that should be that. A definitive break with Hanma is the only logical next step. Everything you built together is decimated, just so much sawdust stamped beneath his paranoid feet.

But where does that leave you? You know there will be no returning to your old life? The apartment will never be safe again now that Hanma’s been inside, not since you invited him inside. It will never be clean after what happened.

And maybe you won’t be either. Something inside you is fundamentally changed. Because even now, some part of you wants to go to him. Perhaps want is the wrong word. Without the old survival tools that carried you through the years, you feel cast adrift, weaker than when Hanma found you.

Eventually, Hanma will escalate from ignored phone calls and, vulnerable as you are, will you be able to say no to his face? Worse, will you lean into him, longing for his protection from the demons he himself unleashed on your life?

You don’t take his call, but you don’t leave the airport either. Nothing can change so long as you stay here, but then again, nothing can hurt you either.

Stuck, your return to staring at the floors.

You choose to take the elevator up to your apartment, spending the better part of the ride convincing yourself that no demons will await you, so all five senses revolt when you find the hallway outside your door laden with cardboard boxes. They’re not taped up like a delivery would be, and besides, you pick your mail up from the mailroom downstairs. Peeking into one box, you see it’s filled with your old textbooks from university, the ones that should be neatly shelved and collecting dust in your bedroom.

Inside, pornographic moaning greets you. Stopped in your tracks, you almost miss the changes: the photographs in the entry hall have been removed, your shoes are missing from the alcove. There is no mess, just gaps where your life should be.

While taking an itemized inventory of what’s missing appeals to you, the lewd sounds coming from the living room force you forward. On the TV, a naked woman rides a man. She carries on like it’s the best damn dick of her life, touching her own body like something sacred as she cries out.

The woman is you, of course you can see that much, but your brain struggles to play catch up and process this baffling, foreign view of yourself. It’s almost harder to comprehend how wanton you appear in the video rather than that such a video exists in the first place.

“I think we can agree there’s no need for a scene.”

Emerging from the bedroom, Takashi’s doesn’t spare the screen a second glance. It would only take one to confirm that the woman in the video is you, and that the man is decidedly not him.

Between self-indulgent rounds of sex with Hanma, you often wondered how you would feel if Takashi discovered your affair. Secretly, you longed for guilt. A great tsunami of devotion to Takashi and the concept of monogamy would rise within you, the tears would fall, and seconds later, apologies would follow. You hoped for a scene out of the soap operas, something normal.

The reality is less fraught as you are too stunned to summon up any response at all. If only Takashi would turn the video off. Then, maybe your brain would work again. There is no room for coherent thought around the wet, slapping sounds intermixed with moans coming from the TV.

“I knew you were sleeping with patients for months now. It never bothered me too much. So, when I saw the videos, I didn’t understand at first why I was so repulsed by it. But then, I put it together. I had figured some fat, rich fuck at work offered you enough money, and I could hardly blame you for that. If a client offered me money to fuck, I’d do it, too. But watching the videos, I realized, you weren’t just fucking this yakuza creep for money, were you? You liked it.”

There is a forcefield around Takashi that repels your gaze. You can test its parameters by starting at the juts of his knees and slowly climbing upward. It’s around his neck, the first bit of exposed skin, that the forcefield kicks into effect, and you find you cannot bring your gaze higher than the hollow of his throat, and even that takes a supreme effort. You turn back to the video playing out on screen.

“So you’re leaving me, then?” you say because it must be said if things are to continue from here.

“Things are busy at work. I don’t see why my life should be disrupted when I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m sure you’ll take responsibility as the offending party and move out without a fuss.”

“That would be sensible,” you agree.

Heady with the realization that this is actually happening – you are truly breaking up with your boyfriend – you force yourself to look at him, one last look to imprint forever in your mind. Immediately, you wish you hadn’t.

Takashi looks past you to the video on screen, where the you of only a few weeks back is loudly and visibly announcing how much she likes every stroke of dick before erupting into a shaking orgasm. Lips curled as if tasting something foul, Takashi regards the woman in the video like something subhuman. You try to watch the video through his eyes, but you can’t break free from the chains of your own perspective, a fuzzy migraine cresting in your temples at the sight of Hanma’s body, memories of this pleasurable tryst weeks ago mixing with last night’s events until you feel like the edges of your brain are collapsing inward.

There is no point to torturing yourself with the video or further conversation. Ignoring the shame in your gut, you follow numbly a step behind Takashi as he finishes packing your things. Most of your meager belongings are already stacked in the hall, but still, there is something stunning about how quickly your life is packed up out of sight. After living together for eight years, you would have left such an indelible mark that only industrial strength tools could strip your essence from the walls of this place. There are a couple overlooked items: the vase of artificial flowers Shuji gifted you, a box of tissues if you care to be petty, the spoons with scalloped edges, but, functionally, your life is stripped, relegated to boxes, and pushed aside within a measly half hour.

All the while, the video plays on. When it finishes, autoplay kicks in and offers up a second to continue your humiliation. The second is slightly preferrable as you make less of a spectacle of your delirious pleasure in it, yet worse because it shows Shuji more clearly, the dragon tattoo on his back flexing as he pounds into your prone body, face crinkling in animal pleasure. You can’t stand to look at him.

These videos…the only explanation for their existence is Shuji. They’re an abomination, something that shouldn’t exist and can’t be allowed to continue to exist. The gall of their existence builds in you until you discover enough anger to break the silence that’s drawn tight between you and Takashi.

“Takashi, if I go quietly, will you please delete these videos?”

“Sure,” he agrees simply, but at their mention, Takashi then looks back to the sex tape on screen, and that same revulsion morphs the contours of his face into something unfamiliar. “I suspected it for months, and then after reading your diary, I knew it for certain, and still…seeing it? When I watched the first one, I debated if it was even real. It had to be some kind of tasteless hoax. Because that’s not you in these. You’re like a stranger. I mean, look at it,” he says, gesturing to the screen. “That’s not you. And that guy…How does touching that criminal freak not disgust you? It’s like watching a pig take a mud bath. Disgusting.”

The shelf where you once stored your medical magazines is barren. Naked. There isn’t much dust though. You had spent a few hours cleaning last Sunday. That’s good, you think, one good thing. Everything Takashi says about you is true. Your lack of fear or righteous hatred of Hanma signals a great moral failing on your part. You are a failure, Monstrous.

Spinning out in self-loathing, you stand mutely for a solid minute before your brain hooks onto a single detail and everything clicks firmly into place.

“Wait, you read my therapy diary?”

“Don’t go crying about privacy now. I could tell you were running around on me and wanted to know,” Takashi snaps.

The finer details of what you recorded in that diary escape you, but you know you frequently wrote about your conversations, encoding but not entirely skipping over references to his business. It was stupid, of course, but the diary was intended for your eyes only, an exercise in self-reflection. The same Takashi who told you he was coming into an unexpected windfall of money at work. The same Takashi who had ripped your bedroom apart, supposedly looking for signs of your infidelity. The same Takashi who had demanded details about your patients. If that same Takashi had read your diary months ago he would have known about the HKJ deal, about Haitani soliciting you, about far too much.

“You weren’t reading my diary because you were jealous. You were paid to spy on me, weren’t you?”

And you know just who paid him as well. Based of your three interactions, you should have predicted that Haitani is not a man who accepts defeat easily. He is like a river. When he can’t force his way through an obstacle, he finds a way around.

“I did what you should have done in the first place,” Takashi sneers.

It is not defensiveness, at least not as far as you can tell, that spurs Takashi to confess. In his mind, you’ve already been reduced to something subhuman, a creature undeserving of consideration let alone sympathy, someone he could justify the worst abuses against, so convinced of his own righteousness. But whatever grievance Takashi may imagine against you, nothing can compare to what Takashi cost you. If he hadn’t betrayed you to Ran, then last night…Hanma…

You think you could gouge Takashi’s eyes out and he still wouldn’t understand the hurt he caused you. Minutes prior, you felt completely extinguished, like your flames had been put out forever, but now a pilot light flickers and it’s enough to bring forth an inferno, a heat you didn’t dare hope you would ever feel again.

“How dare you! You want to lecture me about getting into bed with the yakuza when you’re climbing into the bank with one! What if you had gotten someone hurt or killed? Did you even think about what would happen to me? You’re a slimy, despicable, cowardly –”

Shouting over you as you continue to levy every imaginable invective against him, Takashi spits, “Like you’re some paragon of virtue. Were you thinking about your patients when you started screwing them? Or did you not give a fuck who you hurt? Last time I checked, they don’t let yakuza whores keep their licenses. Speaking of which, you should know I’ve already sent these videos to the Japanese Psychological Association. You can look forward to a call from the ethics board.”

The bomb drop has the desired effect. It collapses the floor beneath your feet, gobbles up the words in your mouth, and implodes the tiny sliver of security that you still clung to. A life gone in a moment.

You are going to lose your license.

No job.

No home.

No friends.

No boyfriend.

No security.

Nothing.

The last box of your things and the vase of flowers are shoved into your hands. They feel weightless in your arms. On autopilot, you accept them and Takashi’s pushing hands on your back as he shepherds you towards the door.

This is the last time you will see this apartment that you called home for so long: the warped wood that’s risen under the heat of the window, the lightbulb in the kitchen that flicks if your run the dishwasher at the same time, the dent no bigger than a thumbprint, or more accurately, a door handle in the wall from where the front door slammed into it with too much force.

You want to press pause, to slow down the moment. You would take a final photo if you could, breathe in the smell of this place and bottle it for a future date. Anything to linger for one second longer before you are cast out into the unforgiving cold.

Takashi does not take mercy on you.

“You should be thankful you don’t have a family to shame,” he hisses.

And then the door slams shut. With you on one side and your life on the other.

Everything you once were is gone forever.

On second look, there are fewer than a dozen boxes stacked in the hall. Such a small life. You thoughtlessly heft a small, light-seeming box onto the bundle already in your arms. Dazedly, you stumble past the rest, leaving them behind with no plan for when or who will come to collect them, and even less of an idea of where you’ll send them.

There is no hurry. Nowhere to go. Yet, you too quickly find yourself pressing through the revolving doors that lead out onto the street and the blinding midday sun, which fittingly leeches the color from the world, so that everything’s cast in long shadows. On instinct, you raise a hand to shield your eyes, dropping the little you own to shatter on the sidewalk. A pitiful relief wells in you as you drop to your knees to retrieve your belongings; it is something to do.

Since Takashi cratered the foundations on which your entire existence rested, the normally persistent voice in your head – the one that would caution you against calling a taxi when a subway ticket cost less than 200 yen or would push you to stay that extra hour in university, the one that essentially kept you alive – has been traitorously silent, and so you know that you ought to figure out a place to stay for the night, to calculate how long your savings will last, and brainstorm a strategy to fight the ethics board, but you can’t keep any one thought in your head long enough to develop something concrete. Each stirring of a thought drips through the cracks between your fingers, like trying to collect water in the cup of your palm. You can’t make a plan. What you can do is kneel on the dirty sidewalk and clean up your mess.

First, you right the little box you scooped up from the hallway. Peeking inside, you see it’s mostly filled with socks and underwear. The second box that Takashi forced into your hands is less useful. Inside are shattered picture frames, the photos inside detailing the lives you shared or, at least, lived in parallel. You can’t tell if they cracked in the fall or if Takashi ritualistically broke each as a parting gift. Even less useful somehow is the vase of fake flowers Hanma gave you, now lying scattered, a collection of jagged ceramic shards.

You herd the broken pieces into a little pile, careful as you do to avoid slicing your fingertips against the sharp edges. As you delicately lift one piece, you feel out something small and round affixed to the inside. With an emotion milder than curiosity, you peel the coin-like anomaly off. Holding it to the light, you puzzle at what looks like a microchip.

And then, all you can do is laugh, as your memory offers up an old spy movie where you saw a device just like this, hidden in a flower vase. It’s a bug.

Of course, he bugged your apartment. Even a gesture as simple as gifting you flowers in apology is warped, twisted into something malicious with Hanma. He’s been laying the foundation for your downfall for months now. Just waiting to crumble you to dust in his hands.

A familiar car pulls up to the curb where you sit, laughing maniacally to yourself. You laugh harder when you spot it. Perfect fucking timing.

The window rolls down, and for one terrible second, you lock eyes with Shuji. Terrible, venomous eyes, the gaze of a viper, hidden away behind glass lenses as if without that layer of protection, he might penetrate you to your core. No, not a viper, a basilisk.

The way he’s dressed, hair perfectly coiffed and in the tailored suit that is his work uniform, offends your sensibilities. From his height advantage, he peers down at you like a scientist watching a bug through a microscope. You feel as small as a mite.

“You can spend the night at my place,” Hanma says, without so much as a greeting because he need not dignify you with niceties. A person needn’t spare a termite a hello before stepping on it.

A plane flies overhead, so low it tricks the eye for a moment, makes you think it’ll crash into the skyscrapers dotting the cityscape. You follow it with your eyes until it’s long out of sight, retracing the chemtrail it leaves in its wake. You almost forget Hanma is here, watching.

Pressed through a sigh, Hanma says your name. His voice, toneless and impossibly deep strikes you like a whip, a thousand times worse than seeing him. It is the charge you need to act.

Bursting to your feet, you leave all but your box of underwear and march determinedly in the other direction. Adrenaline courses through your veins, a jittery but appreciated focuser, and for the first time, you are able to think outside your fugue state. You will find a hotel for the night, something cheap that pays by the hour. If you walk for five minutes, you’re sure to find something.

Anything is better than Hanma’s offer.

“Get in the car.”

You ignore Hanma’s first call and his second, pretending his voice doesn’t make your hands shake so hard you fear you’ll drop the box. The Bentley keeps pace with you to the right. At the first intersection, a redlight stops the Bentley dead.

“For fuck’s sake!”

The curse is a warning before Hanma charges out of the car, arms extended as if to grab you and drag you into the cavern of his Bentley. The dark interior beckons ominously, hinting at a cacophony of horrors. To go into that car is to die.

His fingers don’t so much as graze yours before you start to scream.

Hoarse, guttural screams that turn the necks of every passerby in the area emerge from your bruised throat, a scream that must be tearing your throat apart, but you can’t feel the pain through the adrenaline rush. Heads pop out of nearby shops to see who is making such a ruckus and why. Amid the animal shrieks, the occasional curse takes place, a well-timed “motherfucker” or “waste of space.” To anyone watching, you appear unhinged. A lifetime of pain and rage unleash in one concentrated exhale of agony. If you could bottle the force behind your bellows, they would blow a hole through Hanma’s brain and vaporize what’s left. You scream in his face like you hope to erase him from existence like he did you.

Time holds no meaning now, and you think you might black out or suffer a psychotic break that blacks over just what you say or do in those precious moments of freedom. Whether Hanma is appalled by your behavior, if it makes him want to hurt, fuck, or kill you is irrelevant. Blissfully blank, you become the beast Takashi thinks you are and growl and rage and bare your teeth.

Stunned into stillness by the spectacle, Hanma’s gaze darts between you and the spectators who could intervene, but as no one steps forward to help the crazy woman having a breakdown, Hanma loses his patience.

He slaps a hand over your mouth, muffling your hysterical shrieking. His body is so much larger than yours, something you once craved, but now it crowds and bullies you toward the parked door, where the wide-open passenger door signals your doom. You go silent. You transfer every bit of energy from your throat to your body. Biting and bucking, you fight him with every ounce of strength you possess.

No amount of thrashing could overpower Hanma at full-strength, but he treats you gently with none of last night’s brutality. Kid gloves try to handle you with care as if he would never think to harm you, no not you, his precious, beloved pet. How could you even think such a thing? Unwilling to hurt you, Hanma grapples against your flailing arms for a full minute before backing off, hands tugging at his hair in frustration. He is panting though not half so hard as you are.

“Would you fucking stop!” Hanma snaps. “You should be grateful for what I did. You should –”

Whatever lovely suggestion would have topped off that sentence, you don’t wait to hear, lashing out with a closed fist before he can finish.

You aim for his cheek, but Hanma sees the blow coming, so your fist glances off his neck.

The next punch is somehow more pitiful. Powered by your righteous indignation, you throw your full-body weight behind it, but Hanma bats you aside, so that your shoulder collides into his chest and the punch dies out against the air. Hanma folds the leftover arm behind your body and pins you to his chest, so that all the bucking in the world won’t be enough to break free. He is a titanium wall of muscle and violence, and he has you in his grasp. You think you might vomit.

All the energy in your body evaporates, and you slump into his embrace.

“Finally,” Hanma mutters but without frustration. There is a hint of satisfaction there. A hint of humor at your suffering.

“Let me go,” you whisper.

“Will you behave like a good girl if I do?”

“Let me go.”

Hanma sighs, “Oh, Doc, come on. All this carrying on over limp-dick Takashi? He’s not worth it.”

“Didn’t you hear? While you were eavesdropping, didn’t you hear?” you chuckle a little, a sound strange enough that Hanma eases up on his grip, enough so that he can peer down at your face. You are both equally surprised to discover that you are crying, little matte tears slipping down your cheeks. “I didn’t just lose my boyfriend and my apartment. Oh no! I’m also going to lose my fucking license!”

“What? Why would you lose your license?” Hanma visibly startles, and on any other day, you might have enjoyed one-upping him, but not today. And never again.

“Is this what you wanted from the beginning? To lay me completely low? Did you think that when I was broke and starving, I’d have no choice but to rely on your limited generosity? To let you play with me until you get bored? Because I have nothing left to give, Hanma. I’m not even a human being anymore. I’m nothing.”

“Listen, Doc, relax. This is a panic attack. I’ll take care of Takashi and whatever he did. I’ll make it go away. You just come home with me, and I’ll take care of you and –”

“I may be nothing, but I’d rather be nothing than be with you,” you spit in his face.

His hands slacken for a moment, and you use that moment of weakness to break free.

Once more, Hanma’s hand reaches out as if to grab you, but you turn to him and with every bit of solemnity in your soul, so that the words read with all the gravity of a blood oath, you swear, “If you force me to go anywhere with you, I swear I will find a way to kill myself.”

The fingers on Hanma’s hand flex. The veins pop and strain like his body is rebelling against him, urging him to clutch, grab, cage. But then that hand falls to his side, stills.

This time, when you walk away, he doesn’t follow.

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