#affluent black people

[effeminateebony]

Affluent African-American Achilleans

#gay couple #black gay men #african american #old money #celebration #Achillean #lgbt #mlm #our kind of people #affluence #affluent #old money aesthetic #gay men #black & white #vintage #50s #aestehtic #my collage

[thewingedwolf]

i wanted to bring up how often books are banned in prisons at work but i’m wondering if that’s too spicy for how affluent most of this area is lmaooo

#there’s like a ‘poor side’ of town bc most west suburbs have one but it is Mostly rich people #not even all rich white people lots of affluent black asian and latino people here #and honestly sometimes wealthy poc are weirder about some social stuff akksjdjd when u assimilate u kinda go hardcore #also chicago brain rot comes for us all #work tag

[faexoxoxoxo]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄

PAIRING: dark! coriolanus snow x capitol citizen! reader

SUMMARY: coriolanus has always loved you finally after years of paining and planning he finally has you . . .

TW: 18+, obsessive behaviour, smut, baby trapping . . .

You were an only child, a sole heiress to one of the oldest, and most affluent families in the capitol.

Given the position, it had always been expected you would find a husband of equal, if not higher standing. much to the delight of your parents, you'd found one; more specifically, he, the newly appointed president of Panem, had proposed to you .

It was during new years . . .

Over the years, your family had made a habit of hosting a large banquet to celebrate the holidays. Everyone received invitations, from academy faculty to business tycoons.

Of course, President Snow had been there too, talking to your father, clad in a black suit, his lips curled into the fakest smile you'd ever seen . . .

You could feel his cold, icy eyes following your every move throughout the evening, sending a shiver down your spine, as if at any moment a beast would pounce on you.

Any other time you could have feigned some sort of sickness and retired back to your room, but this was a special night, and as such, keeping public appearances and mingling with guests was a necessity, so you did what you always did: put on a fake smile and braved through.

Then something unexpected happened.

He proposed.

The fucking bastard proposed to you.

Just as the clock struck twelve, Coriolanus Snow got down on his knees in front of you, surrounded by the hundreds of guests, and he uttered the two cursed words.

“Marry me.”

Your cheeks felt hot, no doubt to onlookers; it seemed as if you were perhaps flattered. Who wouldn't be in the face of a man like Coriolanus Snow asking them to marry him?

No, you weren't flattered you were angry . . .

He'd cornered you he knew you couldn't reject him, not in front of all there people, not in front of your parents.

“Yes.”

Few moments passed before the three letter word came out of you, and your new fiance slipped the ring on to your fingers, it was pretty you would've admired it if not for who it was from.

There was no joy in your heart a strange feeling of numbness settling in when people cheered and came to congratulate you.

“Cheers! To the president and his lovely bride-to-be!”

“My my what fabulous pair!”

“Your children will be absolutely adorable!”

Their comments didn't help; no doubt, if not for the smirking Coriolanus holding you close to himself, your legs would've given out, leaving you a crumpling mess on the floor.

In contrast to your gloom, Coriolanus felt zealous; his smile for the first time in forever became genuine, softer even.

It was no secret. He had always fancied you from afar, ever since he saw you dancing at a gathering for the upper-class society of Panem.

You were beautiful—a purebred, a rose in full bloom.

No one deserved you—not the lowlife with his hand around your waist guiding your movements with the music, not the scum suitors your father planned to introduce you to—no one could have you except Coriolanus Snow.

He swore he'd restore his family name, swore he'd become the president, and then make you his wife.

Now, he finally, finally, had you.

It was worth it, every single drop of blood he'd spilled, to get to this point was worth it.

He knew you hated him, saw the fear in your eyes when he sought you out after his rise to power.

You had rejected him then, knowing full well that under all of his charming smiles there was something dark and twisted. It was true. Coriolanus was a monster, a monster with no intention of giving up. You would become Mrs. Snow, even if he had to force it on you.

What better way than a public display of affection . . .

His plan was a success; even if you weren't happy, Coriolanus was convinced that with time, he'd win you over. You couldn't hate him forever, not when he'd be your husband and the father of your children.

Your fiancé was a charismatic man, no doubt; he'd easily charmed your family. So much so that neither of your parents noticed your strained smile and reluctance when faced with your intended.

No one did, not your father, who'd been thrilled; he would be the president's father-in-law, which came with privileges, while your mother boasted endlessly to her friends of how you'd effortlessly captured the heart of President Snow.

Trapped, you were absolutely fucking trapped.

~~~~

The wedding was planned to be a grand affair, not that you'd cared much what flower arrangements the venue had or if they used silver or gold plates; it was all the same to you.

“Nothing but the best for my bride.”

Coriolanus, or Coryo as he insisted you call him, had told the wedding planners you never thought he'd be so invested in the wedding details, but he was, specifically in your dress. He had you try on at least fifty pieces before picking one.

“Can't wait to rip it off you,” he whispered into your ear, right before the staff guided you to the changing room.

After that, you avoided him at all costs.

Until your wedding day.

~~~~

You cried during the ceremony.

Reporters titled it as “tears of joy” and “happy bride.” If only they'd known . . .

“You may now kiss your bride”

You froze when Coriolanus's pulled up your veil, tear-stained eyes, meeting his blue one.

Then his lips met yours. It wasn't soft or sweet; it was hungry and possessive, like he wanted to show everyone how he owned you, and he did your fiance-no, your husband would never let you leave him, never.

~~~~

Coriolanus Snow was a man of his word.

He did, in fact, rip your dress off. The sound of tiny pearl buttons hitting the marble floor made you flinch, gasping softly as the cold air surrounded you.

Not giving you a chance to flee, he kissed you again, his hands wandered around your bare body.

Your husband had been insatiable during that night, not giving you a moment of rest as he made you take his cock over and over again, whispering sweet nothings and praises into your ears.

“You're so fucking tight, my good girl,” his hands gripped at your hips as he pushed himself into you, ignoring whatever tears or silent pleas you'd whimper out. “Who knew you'd be such a whore for my cock...” his face buried in the crook of your neck, leaving bites and marks.

At this rate, you'd have to wear a scarf tomorrow.

“Coryo- slow d-” His brutal pace doesn't stop, not even when your nails dig into his flesh, drawing blood that only seemed to spur him on.

“Gonna fuck you full of me until it takes...”

That makes you cry harder. “Nooo, Cory pull-out...” it was one thing to marry him, but children? you weren't ready... but he doesn't stop, not until he's cum as many times as possible deep inside your weeping pussy.

“It's necessary,” he tells you the morning after, when you're lying in bed, limbs tangled together, as he rubs circles on your naked back.

You stay silent, knowing what he meant. Coryo wanted you to get pregnant, not just out of love and desire to have an heir, someone of his blood, to carry the Snow name; his true purpose was to eliminate any room for escape you might have.

A child, a child, meant you'd forever be bound to him.

~~~

When you found out about your pregnancy, you secretly hoped it'd be a means to dim Coryo's interest in you.

“Husbands tend to cheat when their wives are pregnant ,” one of the ladies told you during a gathering. She'd meant it as a friendly warning to keep an eye on your husband and keep him interested.

But as it turned out, Coryo wasn't like other Capitol husbands. If anything, your pregnancy had made him more feral, constantly finding ways to bend you over any surface in your home, telling you how good you looked swollen with his baby.

“My pretty wife -fuck, so damn adorable with that little bump of yours - all mine—fuck, I did that”

It wouldn't end. Even after your daughter was born, Coryo told you he wanted more.

“She wants a sibling, don't you, Adeline?” he'd smirk, watching your face go pale, holding your daughter in his arms as she blabbered something and giggled, unaware of her father's plans or your unwillingness to indulge him.

Try as you might, your husband will always get his way, a fact that never changed over the years.

After all, everyone knows, “Snow lands on top.”

rewriting and reposting all my old works.

likes, comments and rebloggs are very appreciated ♡

#fae.xoxo #a ballad of songbirds and snakes #abosas #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus smut #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow x female!reader #tbosas #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow fic

[halsteadlover]

𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐋𝐮𝐬𝐭

*Pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Spencer Reid x Stripper!Reader.

• Requested: no.

• Summary: it was supposed to be a case like any other, an undercover operation like a thousand others he had done but when Spencer sets his eyes on that dancer for the first time suddenly everything fades into the background.

• Warnings: brief mention of alcohol, homicide case, nudity, fingering, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, sex, use of condoms (ALWAYS WRAP IT!!!), cursing, dirty talk, basically Spencer being a ✨man✨, tell me if I missed anything <3

• Word count: 7.6K

• A/N: PLEASE READ THIS ONLY IF YOU’RE +18. This was written in 3rd person. I had this idea for a while now but didn’t know how to write it but now here we are you have no idea how much time it took 😭 I promise I’m still working on the requests please don’t hate me I’m just trying the find the motivation to write again. I really hope you like this one please let me know what you think and comment, reblog and like ❤️ Thank you for your kindness and constant support xx

Spencer had never felt as uncomfortable as he did in that moment, surrounded by germs and all kinds of bodily fluids.

He was disgusted and couldn’t wait for this to be over soon so he could get out of there.

Damn you, Derek Morgan.

He cursed his colleague for forcing him to go in that damned place. He was in a strip club, pretending to be a normal customer so he could talk to some of the strippers and the head of the club himself about an investigation. The BAU was in fact following the case of a serial killer who lured his victims and killed them.

Since the victims – who were about four – were all affluent straight males in their thirties and there were no traces of drugs or signs on their bodies that they’d been forced to follow the killer, the team assumed the unsub was a female in her mid-twenties.

After digging into their pasts to study the victimology, the team discovered all four victims committed sexual crimes which however had somehow been attempted to be covered up. So there was no doubt those killings were about some sort of justice.

The unsub would kill them by slicing their throats with a single and precise movement, a cut so deep it was easy to say she was an expert. There was no way the four victims were her first ones, but nothing came up after Garcia searched for other murders with the same modus operandi.

After leaving their bodies on the bed of a hotel room, the unsub would also write a short note on the wall with a deep purple lipstick – a particular color – which wasn’t found on the victims’ bodies, so the team thought she wouldn’t wear it, she was carrying it with her with the sole purpose to write those simple short sentences.

The BAU had interrogated the victims of these aforementioned sexual assaults but all of them had airtight alibis so there was no real suspect. After interrogating the victims’ families and friends, they realized there was a common denominator between those four men: the Sinful Lust.

And that’s how Spencer ended up there.

He didn’t understand why it had to be him who had to be in that place. How could they think it’d be a good idea to have him to deal with strippers and people having sex around him?

Anyone could see from a mile away how uncomfortable he felt sitting there, even people who weren’t profilers. Spencer continued to look around, almost dazed by the club’s strobe lights as he tried to mask his disgust at noticing his surroundings and the intense smell of alcohol.

He never hated Derek so much.

He knew it was just his sadistic way of making him feel uncomfortable, despite the encouragement from the rest of the team though who were sure Spencer would make it.

His palms sweated with every passing second as he rubbed them on his black pants before fixing the collar of his shirt. He wasn’t used to wearing these kinds of clothes, he felt caged, in a body that didn’t belong to him.

Every woman in that place wasted no time winking at him, shooting him languid glances to which he responded with a tight and totally false smile. Some of them approached him and he had to fake interest in them by engaged stupid and languid conversations.

He couldn’t help but think about how Morgan would’ve enjoyed that situation and how he wouldn’t have wasted time making all the women in that damn club fall at his feet.

Spencer really envied him sometimes. He envied how his friend was always so easygoing and extroverted, especially with women, with a joke always ready, how he always knew what to say and when.

Suddenly the club lights dimmed and focused on the stage, stopping his rush of thoughts and indicating the strippers were about to begin the show.

Numerous tables and seats were concentrated near the stage, populated by hungry men who couldn’t wait to feast their eyes and spend their money and Spencer noted with disgust many of them were even married.

Poor wives.

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding only to gasp again as some music started and the strippers began to dance. He didn’t recognize the music and the words, preferring classical music; however, his mind wasn’t focused on the bass vibrating through the room but on analyzing the scene.

But it was so damn hard when women danced sensually in front of him half naked. It’s a physiological reaction, he kept repeating to himself, it’s normal, focus Reid, do not deconcentrate.

The dim lights only added more tension to the evocative atmosphere, interrupted every now and then by men standing up and cheering to hand over their money they had probably earned with so much effort.

Spencer moved into his seat, picking up the glass of some type of liquor he didn’t know and pretending to sip before placing it back on the table, wanting with every fiber of his being for the unsub to reveal herself.

But he knew it couldn’t be that simple. If killers had written on their foreheads they were actually killers, he wouldn’t even have a job anymore.

He wondered if she was there.

Who knew if she had already chosen her next victim.

Spencer’s eyes met with one of the three dancers on the stage and a vice gripped his stomach when he realized she was already looking at him.

Her hips continued to move sensually to the rhythm of the music as her fingers played with the buttons of the skimpy top she was wearing and for an instant Spencer thought if he wasn’t mistaken or having a hallucination.

But he wasn’t wrong.

Her eyes were fixed solely on him.

She bit her lip as she winked at Spencer, and he almost melted into that chair like snow in the sun. He tried to keep his expression as casual and neutral as possible but in reality, every single cell in his body was on fire.

She turned her body and walked sensually towards the pole and Spencer’s eyes went hungrily and impertinently down her body, making him feel no less dirty than the rest of the men present.

But he couldn’t control himself as his eyes seemed to have a life on their own and he couldn’t take them off her.

His gaze traced every exposed inch of her skin, focusing on her ass covered by a skimpy short skirt, the mere sight of her making his pants tighten around his crotch. His mind began to wander with fantasy, unable to help but imagine his head buried between her legs.

Spencer shifted in his chair dejectedly, resting his hands on his lap and covering his erection as if someone was there to notice. Nobody would’ve noticed, all eyes were on her and the dancers.

He didn’t even look at the other two women on the stage, his eyes was fixed only on her, her hips, her beautiful and smooth legs, on her body that spun with disarming ease around the dance pole.

He wondered what it’d be like to feel his fingers squeezing her hips as she rode him into oblivion and this image alone almost made him come in his pants.

He was totally mesmerized.

He didn’t know what was happening to him but every cell in his body seemed to have lit up and inflamed, his fingers were trembling with desire to slide them over her sinuous body.

But it was when her eyes met his again that Spencer felt the air sucked out of his lungs. He couldn’t quite make out the color, he was too far away to be able to do that, but just the way she was looking at him made him shift in his seat again and his aching dick erect even more.

He was paralyzed, he didn’t dare move a single muscle. He didn’t know why but he was afraid if he moved everyone would find out who he really was. That she would find out.

His eyes never left hers, a small grin painting her face as she continued to dance sensually. Spencer felt arrogant enough to assume this dance was just for him.

The show eventually ended and the lights dimmed in the club again, although Spencer managed to track the silhouettes of the dancers coming off the stage. His heart jumped into his throat when he noticed a person approaching him and not just any person but her.

Spencer’s eyes followed her every movement although the light was so low he couldn’t really make out her beautiful features. He shifted in his chair again and tried to keep his concentration up when a cloud of her scent hit him square in the face, short-circuiting every single neuron in his brain.

This was the perfect opportunity to gather information regarding the case, but at that moment Spencer seemed to have completely forgotten the reason why he was there.

“Come with me.”

That was all she said and even her voice was so sweet it mesmerized him even more, as if it was a siren’s song luring the poor sailors into her clutches. He stood up without even being asked twice, his mind trying to convince itself it was just to gather the information he needed.

At that moment, however, the only thing controlling his body was the blood rushing to his penis and not the rationality that always distinguished him.

She walked through the club ignoring everything around her while he followed her like a puppy, unaware of what was coming and what she was up to. A small, tiny part of his brain kept screaming to be careful, that she was a stranger probably looking for the money – or worse to kill him. He knew he needed to focus on the case but Spencer was too attracted to her to even listen to those voices.

Nothing like this had ever happened before. He would’ve never thought of following a stranger to who knew where without an ounce of information.

They entered a room and Spencer quickly scanned it, deducing it was her dressing room. His attention, however, immediately returned to that woman. Under those lights, he could finally look at her in all her splendor and the air was sucked from his lungs as his eyes traveled along her body and analyzed her face.

She was breathtaking, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and there wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t itching to touch her.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice broke the silence. Spencer didn’t respond at first, his eyes focused on her cleavage and the way her chest rose and fell. Only when he brought his eyes back to her face and saw the mischievous smirk on her lips he realized she had said something to him and that he must’ve looked like a complete idiot.

“What?”

She chuckled and that simple sound traveled through his body, causing his blood to rush and his penis to harden even more.

What is she doing to me?

She slightly tilted her head, her eyes vibrant as she watched – no, analyzed – Spencer.

His muscles froze as she took two steps toward him, never taking her eyes off him.

He returned her gaze with a courage he had never had and didn’t even know he possessed. Her eyes were bright but there was something particularly intense about them, something he absolutely wanted to discover and he couldn’t even name.

His breathing quickened and he prayed she wouldn’t realize how intense the effect she had on him was. She looked at him with an intensity that made him weak in the knees, with an intensity that no one had ever looked at him with.

She hadn’t torn her eyes away from his for not even a second, and although that confidence further intrigued Spencer, it scared him at the same time. He knew she was trying to get inside him, into his soul and discover his deepest secrets.

“I asked what you’re doing here.”

“You told me to come.”

She licked her lips and Spencer’s eyes flicked to her mouth, causing him to react in a way that resulted in the further restriction of his pants. He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets to avoid doing something he’d regret, but damn it was so hard.

This was also the moment he understood the true meaning of the phrase ‘blue balls’.

He was so fucking horny it hurt.

“I’m well aware of that,” she replied with a smirk, probably noticing the way he was staring at her lips. “But don’t act stupid, you don’t look like one. What are you doing here?”

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat, using the shred of rationality he had left to think of an answer. But the way she was looking at him, as if she wanted him to take her right then and now, was enough to make him no longer even remember his name.

I’m an FBI agent investigating a murder case and you, like every other dancer here, could be a potential suspect.

He couldn’t say it, but damn it if she kept coming closer to him, he wouldn’t even bother giving her his wallet and bank details.

“What all the men are doing, why don’t you go ask them?”

Well done.

“I’m asking you.” She flicked her hair behind her shoulders with a single but graceful movement of her head, leaving her neck and shoulder exposed. Spencer’s throat bobbed up and down again, his mind filled with images of him sticking his tongue out and licking and tasting her skin, sucking it and leaving marks.

Dammit Reid, get a hold of yourself.

“I’ve been watching you,” she spoke, her tone calm and sensual. “You looked like you were going to vomit when you came in and I know you would’ve never come here of your own free will; so why don’t you tell me the truth pretty boy?”

Fuck yeah keep calling me that.

Why doesn’t it sound so good when Morgan calls me that?

Stop thinking about Morgan.

“There’s a first time for everyone, don’t you think?” Spencer raised an eyebrow.

She bit her lower lip, a gesture that made him feral.

Please somebody help me.

It was only then she took her eyes away from his and let them wander slowly along his body.

She studied and analyzed him and with every inch that passed under her eyes Spencer felt his skin catch fire, especially when her gaze focused on the huge bulge in his pants.

The beautiful stranger brought her eyes back to his and Spencer didn’t miss that lustful glint in them and the way her breathing had quickened, indicating she was as affected by him as he was by her.

“What’s your name?”

“David,” Spencer replied, congratulating himself on the way he had managed to control himself and not give away his real name.

“David,” she repeated, slowly, as if wanting to taste what his name felt like on her tongue. She took another step, closing her distance and her scent hit his nostrils. It was a mixture of vanilla, coconut, innocence and sin and he was going crazy.

“I’ll pretend you don’t think I’m that stupid, David,” she winked and Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat for the third time, trying to keep his breathing to a normal pace even though his heart was pounding wildly inside his rib cage.

They continued to look at each other for an almost infinite time, the air more tense and warmer with each passing second. Spencer tried to think of something to say, anything, but the way she looked at him paralyzed him. His eyes roamed and traced the lines of her lips imagining what it’d be like to feel them pressed against his, what it’d be like to feel them wrapped around his dick and just the thought almost made him come in his pants.

I can’t do this anymore.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, her voice so low he almost didn’t hear her. Spencer had the impression she wanted to say anything else, but she had refrained from doing it, like if she had opened her tightly closed lips she would’ve told a terrible secret.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” he replied, taking his hand out of his pocket and bringing it closer to her face. His fingers played with a lock of her hair before tucking it behind her ear. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing, it was as if his body was acting on its own and had completely disconnected from his brain. Her breathing quickened at that contact and that time he was the one to smirk. “What’s your name?”

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t tell me yours.”

“It matters to me. And I did, it’s up to you to believe me or not.”

She cocked one eyebrow up. “Why does it matter?”

“I want to know whose name I’m going to moan when I’ll think of you with my hand around my dick.”

Spencer almost chocked on his own words.

What the fuck?

Again, what the hell is wrong with me?

What was he doing? What was going through his mind? He completely lost his mind but he didn’t care, not when she looked at him like she wanted to tear him apart and burn him right then and there. And the worst thing was that he probably would’ve let her do it without objecting.

He could see the way she was holding back, the way she tried to appear casual but after all it was his job to know what people really felt, what they thought. He knew it from the way her pupils were so dilated they covered almost all the color of his irises, from the way her skin was flushed and the redness on her cheeks, from the light layer of sweat covering her forehead, from her rapid breathing, the stiffness of her muscles, from the way her hands clenched into two fists as if she was leveraging on herself to not let go.

But why?

Spencer wasn’t an expert in that world, but he really thought she’d try in any way to get some money, to seduce him and then leave him broke, but then why did she hold back? Why was she rejecting him? Why did she ask him to come with her if she wasn’t trying to do anything?

In other moments he would’ve investigated more but in that instant everything had taken a step backwards, Spencer didn’t seem to be focused on anything other than putting his hands on that stranger who was hypnotizing and bewitching like no one else ever did. He had never felt anything like this, being consumed by the desire to kiss her, touch her, run his tongue over every inch of her body, he never felt that raw and primordial desire to have someone.

And he wanted her.

Fuck the consequences.

“You don’t really want this,” she whispered and it didn’t take a profiler to figure out that she wasn’t sure of those words either. It was Spencer who closed the distance between the two that time, feeling the heat of her body envelop him and attracting him like a moth to flame, as every part of her skin was screaming to be touched by his fingers. Her words repelled him but the way she looked at him said something else.

“Why did you ask me to come here then?”

Her eyes looked at him with a look that even him couldn’t decipher. She was hiding something, she was battling herself and he wanted to know why.

“You don’t belong in this place.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know…” she whispered as her gaze kept alternating between his eyes and his mouth. He wet them with his tongue, pleased when he saw the way her breath hitched.

“I just couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Spencer may not be very experienced in the women’s game, but he could see the passionate hunger in her eyes, that glimmer of lust and desire that left him breathless.

“Do you want it?”

“Yes.”

Those two single whispered letters were enough for Spencer to destroy what little shred of control he still possessed. Before he knew it his hands were cupping her face and his lips were pressed to hers in a searing, electrifying kiss.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him, he couldn’t even recognize himself at that moment. As her mouth devoured him and her tongue tasted his, he couldn’t let go of the feeling he was watching everything as if he was an outside observer, like he wasn’t the one commanding his actions.

He couldn’t believe what was happening, that he – the man who was terrified of even shaking hands with strangers for fear of germs – was kissing that beautiful, sexy stranger who had invaded his senses ever since she set her feet on that stage. And to be honest he didn’t even care, Spencer was only focused on the world in which she was devouring him.

Their tongues intertwined in a sensual dance as their deep breaths and sighs blended into each other. There was nothing sweet about that kiss, about the way he fisted his hands around her hair, the way she had her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her, the saliva mixing. It was animalistic, raw, sloppy, messy, a kiss so deep they felt their soul being sucked out of their body.

The tension and electricity in the air was clearly palpable as time seemed to stop around them, leaving them engulfed in the fire of passion and making them both forget who and where they were.

While Spencer’s hands roamed along her body, squeezing and groping every inch of her skin he could reach, sucking in and swallowing every sigh that escaped her throat, he no longer thought he was an FBI agent who was there because he had a job to do.

And even his name was forgotten as her fingers began frantically unbuttoning his shirt, her fingertips leaving fiery marks on his skin as they slid down his chest. They both began taking slow steps, their mouths continuing to devour each other and only breaking away when Spencer’s legs touched the sofa in the dressing room. He sat with his legs apart and a very painful erection in his pants, his gaze on fire while his hungry eyes analyzed and looked with meticulous attention at the stranger.

Never more than in that moment was he grateful to his eidetic memory, because he knew he would never forget that divine image in front of his eyes. Her breasts, legs, hips, her waist, everything seemed to scream to be touched and worshiped and Spencer couldn’t wait to do it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered more to himself than to her, his hands resting on his thighs as he continued to let his gaze wander down her body.

She smiled and Spencer almost fainted. And it wasn’t a mischievous grin but a real smile, one of those that weakened the knees and made everything more beautiful and brighter. One of those he’d never forget.

He took her hands and pulled her towards him making her sit on his lap, her legs tightly straddling his thighs. He groaned as his hard dick collided with her core, relieving that feeling of pressure and pain even if for just a few seconds.

Before he could say or do anything she had pressed her lips on his again, starting to sensually move on him, shamelessly grinding herself and unleashing obscene sighs from both of them that sounded like they were coming from a porn.

Spencer’s hands cupped her ass, pressing his fingers so hard into her skin as he followed her movements while her hands instead continued to roam his chest, her nails pressing into his skin until she leaves red marks on it.

“Fuck I want you so bad,” she breathed into his lips and he let out a particularly loud groan when she bit his bottom lip, sucking it. Her lips parted from his, leaving wet kisses along his jaw, down his neck, sucking, biting, nibbling at his skin.

Any trace of whatever indecision she felt was gone and he couldn’t control himself anymore. His body seemed to move automatically. Lust and desire had clouded his mind, that sublime mind that had done everything to prevent these moments from happening but that had given into the most primitive of instincts. Sex.

His hands went up to the skimpy top she was wearing, ripping it off without even thinking twice before dropping the broken material on the floor, soon joined by her bra as well. His hands cupped her breasts, teasing and pinching her turgid nipples that so recalled his mouth.

Spencer obeyed that wish, wrapping his lips around one of her breasts sucking it while he continued to grope the other. Her hands threaded through his hair, curling into fists and pulling, causing another groan from Spencer. He didn’t even know he was into this. His hips jerked up, continuing to grind against her for some relief.

“Please…” He let go of her breast, throwing his head back and fearing he’d explode right then and there. He wanted to know that stranger’s name, he desperately wanted to moan it and he equally desperately wanted to tell her his, just so he could hear it screamed by her beautiful mouth as he fucked her. “I’ll come in my pants if you keep doing this.”

She giggled and this was a further shock to Spencer, who thought he was going to have a heart attack at any moment. Her hands fumbled with his belt, undoing the button and pulling down the zip of his pants. He let out a sigh of relief when, after slightly lifting his hips, she lowered his pants along with his precum stained boxers, finally releasing his erection.

“Shit…” he hissed a curse through gritted teeth as her hand wrapped around his dick. It started to move up and down with it and he closed his parted lips as he tried to suppress his moans. His eyes were glued on that stranger’s hand who gave him pleasure, a vision he’d never forget. Her hand was so delicate and perfect, in stark contrast to the sinful and dirty action she was doing.

“Don’t hold back, I want to hear you moan for me, okay?”

Spencer met her gaze and nodded, not trusting his own voice. She lifted herself from his lap and knelt between his spread legs and if Spencer hadn’t already been sitting down, the mere image of her on her knees with her hand wrapped around his dick would’ve made him fall to the ground.

“Is this okay?” She asked and Spencer found himself nodding again, this time with so much enthusiasm that she chuckled.

“Yes please…” he breathed as she continued to masturbate him, alternating fast and slow movements and making him lose his mind even more, if that was even possible. Her thumb drew imaginary circles on his red, wet tip, making him gasp against his will.

He placed a hand on her cheek, her skin hot against his palm, his thumb caressing her lips. His breath hitched in anticipation when she wrapped her lips around his thumb, her eyes never leaving Spencer’s as she sucked on his fingertip. “I’m dying to have this pretty mouth around my dick, do you want to show me what it can do?”

Spencer had no clue where this confidence was coming from, but he was too horny to think about shyness and what to say.

She let go of his thumb and stuck her tongue out before tracing the shaft of his penis with a single, excruciatingly slow lick from the base to his tip. He let out a deep, loud groan, throwing his head back as he felt his silky skin against her tongue. It was an aphrodisiac sensation and if Spencer was to believe in heaven and an afterlife, her mouth would definitely be his.

“Shit just like that,” he moaned as her tongue drew imaginary circles on his tip, sucking and taking away every trace of precum. His soul nearly left his body when she encircled his tip with her lips, sliding his length into her mouth until his dick hit the back of her throat.

She placed a hand on his bare, hairy thighs, dragging her nails across his skin as if to draw his attention to her and Spencer granted her wish, lifting his head and looking down at that sin dressed as an angel who was sucking his dick.

Fucking hell I don’t even believe in angels.

It was immoral, the most unethical thing he could’ve done, something for which he could’ve even be kicked out of the team but Spencer couldn’t care less, not when that mouth was sucking him like her life depended on it and making him feel a pleasure he couldn’t even think was possible to feel.

“You’re so good little angel,” he praised her, placing a hand on her head threading his fingers through her hair and a little spark lit up in her eyes. She definitely had a praise kink. “This mouth will be the death of me.”

She hollowed her cheeks, picking up the pace as her head bobbed up and down and her tongue licked circling his dick. Spencer felt like he was already one step away from exploding in her mouth, but he didn’t want to come, not before being buried deep inside her. “Dammit… Stop, stop, I don’t want to come yet.”

He cupped her face pressing his lips to her swollen, wet ones while simultaneously pulling her on his lap again. He kissed her as if he wanted to suck her soul out of her body, resting his hands on her smooth, bare thighs as his fingers pressed into her skin, teasing her but never touching that magical spot where Spencer couldn’t wait to sink.

“For fuck’s sake touch me,” she hissed impatiently pulling on the young man’s hair, earning a small grin from him.

“Tell me how much you want it,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her neck, inhaling deeply that scent he knew would torment him for the rest of his life, that scent that drugged and marked him in the span of very few seconds. His thumbs kept drawing circles on her inner thighs, dangerously close to her pussy as she squirmed under his touch and Spencer was loving every single shred of the desperation she showed.

She wanted him.

She wanted him desperately.

Spencer never had someone who wanted him so badly, sure he had his experiences with women – albeit very limited ones – but he had never felt anything so deep, animalistic and visceral. He had never had any woman looking at him with that fire in her eyes, as if he was the only man who existed for her, as if he was everything she wanted, as if she could die at any moment if he didn’t give it to her.

But that stranger did.

And damn it felt so good.

“Please, I want it… I want you…” she cried out in an impatient and desperation tone and that was music to his ears. If there was some divine entity Spencer thanked it for making her wear a miniskirt.

His fingers slipped into her panties, moaning to himself as he felt the amount of fluids wetting her pussy. “So wet… You’re going to kill me, you know that right?”

She didn’t answer, she threw her head back while Spencer looked at her with hooded eyes and one of his fingers wasted no time in penetrating her. Her hips moved in rhythm and he trembled with anticipation, imagining her walls squeezing his dick.

“Fuck yes…” she moaned loudly, her hands in Spencer’s hair as he inserted a second finger inside her, watching her reaction and how her body writhed in pleasure.

“You’re so tight little angel, I can’t wait to be buried deep inside this wet pussy,” he murmured with pleasure before taking one of her breasts into his mouth, too temptingly as he sucked and licked it. His other arm went around her hips, holding her in place and keeping her from squirming away. “How many of them did you let fuck you mmh? How many have made you feel this way?” He licked her chest, her collarbone, every inch of skin he could reach before he began torturing her other breast.

“No one…” she breathed, unable to finish her sentence due to her heavy panting and moaning. Her thighs were shaking, her hands gripping his hair. “Nobody… Holy shit…” She trailed off again, her body contorting forward if it wasn’t for Spencer’s arm holding her and he knew his fingers had hit her G-spot.

He actually had no idea what he was doing or how to move but he was an attentive observer. His eyes glued to her studied with careful attention every single breath, the intensity of her moans, the way her muscles trembled, the way her pussy clenched, the way she held him, studying her body and quickly adapting to her reaction.

“Oh God yes, yes, you’re so fucking good keep going…” she cried out and then looked down at him. Her thumb traced his lips and – just as she had done earlier – he wrapped them around her finger, sucking on it as his fingers continued to pump in and out of her. Her walls clenched his wet fingers and if the vision of her coming over them didn’t make him lose his sanity, then he didn’t know what else would.

Spencer left her no room to catch her breath or strength after her orgasm.

“Open.” He ordered, bringing his fingers that until a few moments before were inside her, close to her lips. She didn’t hesitate to lick Spencer’s wet fingers clean, making him dizzy as her eyes watched with adulation and lust at the way his tongue sensually moved her fluids. “Yeah little angel, just like that.”

He was going crazy. He seriously thought his vessels were going to explode from how horny he was.

She let go of his fingers and sloppily kissed him, making him taste her juices on her tongue. “Fuck what are doing to me…” She whispered and something told Spencer she didn’t mean to say those words out loud.

“If you think I’m anywhere near done with you, you’re completely wrong,” he murmured against her lips. “Show me how a good girl you are and sit on me, let me see how this pretty pussy soaks my dick.”

Good job Dr Reid.

I’m really proud of myself.

“And here I thought you were a virgin,” she chuckled before getting up and taking a condom from one of the drawers in her closet, but not before taking off her panties. She settled down by straddling his thighs again before slipping the condom onto his painfully hard dick. She lifted her pelvis and wrapped her hand around Spencer’s dick, letting herself be penetrated until she found herself completely sitting on it. “But I know behind this cute pretty face you’re so dirty, filthy enough to fuck a stripper whose name you don’t even know.”

Spencer clung to every ounce of strength in his body to concentrate on anything other than the warm, wet walls of that stranger’s pussy or he would’ve come instantly.

He had even forgotten how good it felt to have sex after so long and remembered why people were so obsessed with it, why his team pestered him to get laid.

Her pussy engulfed him so perfectly it seemed to have been made just for him.

“You feel so good god…” she breathed out a moan interrupting her sentence as she slowly raised her hips and lowered herself again. Spencer couldn’t control a deep groan as she continued to tease and torture him with that slow motion, rolling her hips on his dick.

Spencer’s fingers found themselves on her ass for the second time, groping and spreading her ass cheeks trying to maintain control but it was so damn hard when all he wanted to do was fuck her brains out of her head.

“F-faster… You’re torturing me…” he panted brokenly, his chest quickly rising and falling as if he was running a marathon.

Instead, she kept going with her slow, destabilizing pace, lifting her hips again and slowly lowering herself on his raging dick, torturing him further as the sounds she let out filled the room. Those alone would’ve been enough to make him fall into the void and never be able to get back to the surface.

“Beg me.”

“Please, please… Make me feel good little angel, make me come,” he obeyed, not caring about sounding pathetic. The smirk that formed on her lips was the manifestation of the most pure form of sin, a sin for which there was no absolution or redemption.

Luckily Spencer didn’t even believe in these things.

But if there was a definition of heaven and hell, if they ever existed, it would’ve been her.

Her and those eyes that looked at him like they wanted to capture what was left of his soul, those eyes that would’ve made Spencer thrown himself off a cliff if she had asked.

Her and those hands that held him and touched him, causing him sensations he didn’t even know the meaning of, and this said something for a person who knew the meaning of every single word written in the dictionary.

Her and her deadly mouth that continued to kiss him until there was no air left in his lungs, her teeth biting him, her tongue licking his skin and sucking his tongue.

Her and those moans and gasps she couldn’t hold back and that Spencer was absorbing one by one, imprinting them in his memory so he could repeat them again and again.

“Look at you, aren’t you a desperate little thing? So hungry for me,” she sensually whispered in his ear and biting his earlobe. Fulfilling Spencer’s wishes, she began to increase her pace, placing her hands on the back of the couch for support.

Nothing resounded except their moans, pants, grunts mixing with each other, the sound of their skin rubbing and flapping and their lips smacking with each kiss with the smell of sex, sin and prohibition filling their nostrils.

Spencer’s eyes were glued on her, on her parted lips and her head thrown back, her eyes half closed, her tits bouncing in rhythm with her thrusts which he didn’t waste time taking into his mouth and sucking them, biting the nipples until they were numb.

She fisted Spencer’s hair again, pulling it and forcing him to tilt his head back to look at her. That gesture made him grunt and aroused him even more than he already was, and his hips twitched against her, giving a particularly deep thrust that made her curse.

“I can see how you’re holding back pretty boy,” she sighed, continuing to ride him but slowing her pace this time causing a pathetic cry to escape his lips. She kept brushing her lips against his without kissing him, with the sole aim of torturing him and driving him crazy. As if she hadn’t already done it. “Don’t hold back, I can see how much you want to ruin me, how much you’re dying to destroy me.”

“Fuck.” He cursed and something snapped inside him.

He thrusted his hips so deep into her she choked out a moan and he was sure she felt it in every corner of her pussy. His long fingers continued to press into the red, heated flesh of her ass holding her still while he jerked his hips forcefully, taking command even though she was still on top of him.

His dick kept pushing in and out of her, engulfed by her pussy as it tightened around him. Spencer knew how fundamental the importance of using protection was, especially with strangers, but he wished he didn’t wear that damn condom so much, so he could feel every wet corner of her around his dick.

“Oh fuck yes… Just like that,” she loudly moaned and he was sure that by now everyone had heard what was going on in that dressing room but had chosen to ignore it.

Spencer didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. He needed to come but he didn’t want to, he didn’t want this to end.

That’s why he made her get up off him, earning a confused expression before flipping her onto that couch and laying on top of her. He opened her legs and positioned himself between them. He left her no room to say anything as he aligned his dick with her entrance, penetrating her in one motion.

Her legs encircled his hips, her heels pressed against his skin as he fucked her on that couch like his life depended on it, with hard, deep thrusts that made her eyes water.

He had completely lost control.

His hand went around her throat, a gesture that happened spontaneously and that Spencer didn’t even realize until he saw the smirk and expression of pure ecstasy on her face.

How long has he been into choking?

That damn woman would be his downfall.

“Is this what you wanted?” he groaned, his fingers tightening sideways around her throat, being careful not to press on her windpipe. Some strands of hair fell in front of his eyes but she removed them, almost making him faint at that sweet gesture, in stark contrast to the animalistic way in which they were fucking.

“I knew there was a little devil inside you pretty boy, God you’re so fucking sexy,” she gasped, biting hit lower lips and making him increase his pace. “Yes, yes, yes I’m going to come… Keep going fuck yeah…”

His thrusts were deep, messy and although he tried to keep himself from coming, wanting to prolong that feeling of ecstasy as long as possible, it was impossible as her pussy kept clenching around him, moaning “I’m coming” in his ear so sexily it made him come. Spencer exploded and with one last thrust he let himself go into a mind-blowing orgasm that made his body tremble and his eyes blind for a few moments as he poured all his sperm inside the condom.

There were a few moments of silence, broken only by the panting and deep breathing of the two as they caught their breath.

After the ecstasy of the orgasm, Spencer stood up, noticing out of the corner of his eye that she too was trying to get up but her still shaking legs prevented her from doing so. He tried to hold back a smirk, giving her a hand and helping her to get on her feet before earning a feeble “Thank you.”

What the fuck did I just do?

I just had sex with a stripper who could be a potential witness/suspect while undercover.

I’m so screwed.

He realized the enormous mistake he had just made, not even imagining the consequences. He thanked no one in particular for not having worn the microphone or, holy shit, that would’ve been difficult to explain.

Spencer didn’t say a word and he was grateful that she didn’t either, too dazed and groggy to be able to face a conversation.

They both cleaned up in silence and after throwing the condom in the bin, Spencer tried to tidy himself up, tucking his shirt into his pants after buttoning it.

His profiler nature, however, couldn’t help but notice the way how her demeanor completely changed, going from that sexy vicious woman to a silent shy one. She hadn’t so much as glanced at him, he noticed how her shoulders were tense while she moved frantically as if she was trying to vanish from that dressing room as quickly as possible.

She was nervous.

But why?

“You still haven’t answered my initial question, you know?” Spencer broke the awkward silence, before he could stop his tongue.

Damn it Reid why do you want to complicate things so badly?

She turned her head towards him, looking at him with a confused expression trying to make up her mind.

But then a small smile spread across her features before she closed her backpack and placed it on her shoulder. “No one’s been lucky enough to get in here,” she replied, effectively giving the answer Spencer was looking for and for some strange and absurd reason he believed her. “Or unlucky, depending on your point of view.”

Before he could answer she gave him one last glance and left the dressing room. He was supposed to be relieved, there would be no question he couldn’t answer – especially after she realized David wasn’t his real name – but for some reason he couldn’t let go that sinking feeling in his stomach.

He was good at analyzing other people’s emotions, every facet and change of expression, but he wasn’t as good with himself.

He was tempted to follow her, at least to know her name, to find out who the woman who had fried his brain was, but before going out he noticed a small object near the door, probably fallen from her backpack before she went out.

He knelt to pick it up from the ground, but his blood froze in his veins and his heart stopped beating for a millisecond when he realized what the object was.

It was a purple lipstick.

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[killbenedictcumberbatchagain]

I had a job interview today. I live in a slightly more affluent area right now. I go in after preparing for it and I'm told that the position has already been filled. The manager takes me to the office and reiterates that the store is no longer hiring. She says I should have been notified by email (I wasn't). I'm looking for work but that would have been a perfect position. I'm tempted to call back tomorrow in my most alabaster voice and ask if there are any positions open and record the phone call. But aside from that, starting next week I'm going to be alone at my dad and stepmom's house for 2 and a half weeks while they leave the country with very minimal funds or support from people like friends of family and I'm anxious about it. I need money to get by while I'm there. I'm looking for work and need money for food, transportation, and just relief in general for my situation. They won't be back until mid September. I'm incredibly anxious about the situation. If anyone can donate to me while they are absent it would provide me a sense of security and I'd be able to take care of myself. I'm in a neighborhood where I stick out like a sore thumb and deal with racism quite literally every time I step outside. It's agonizing. I know that help is there, don't scroll past. Please, I implore you, give it if you have it or tell the people you know to help. This is how you do work as an ally. I'm applying for food stamps and I'm without resources until I get benefits from my county.

cash.me/$tomi1

Venmo: tominova

PayPal.me/tominova

[post-leffert]

CHICAGO ABOLITIONISTS SHUT DOWN BANK OF AMERICA BY GLUING ATMS IN RETALIATION FOR THE MURDER OF TORTUGUITA

20th January, Chicago USA.

via: Scenes

“CHICAGO, IL — Friday night, January 20th, Chicago abolitionists in solidarity with the movement to Stop Cop City and Defend the Atlanta Forest glued shut the card reader and keyhole at a Bank of America ATM and “Virtual Banking” facility in Chicago’s affluent Lincoln Park neighborhood (2428 N Lincoln Ave). They also left messages, including STOP COP CITY, DEFEND THE ATLANTA FOREST, and ACAB on the ATM windows and door. The incident was in response to the murder of a forest defender by police in Atlanta on January 18th, 2023.

Bank of America is a top funder of police foundations across the US, in particular the Atlanta Police Foundation, which is funding the destruction of Weelaunee Forest in “Atlanta” to build “Cop City.” The intended facility would be a militarized police training compound, including a mock city for cops to practice urban warfare on Atlanta’s residents, particularly the Black and Brown and poor communities adjacent to the forest. In 2020, BOA gave at least $50,000 to the foundation; tax data from 2021-22 is not yet available.

Bank of America also bankrolls the Chicago Police Foundation, with BoA Senior Vice President Patricia Provenzano sitting on its board.

On January 18th, police in Atlanta murdered a forest defender, Manuel “Tortuguita” Teran, as they attempted to force people out of the forest to allow the destruction to proceed. This violence is further proof that police only serve and protect the interests of the wealthy and powerful – bankers and capitalists who will happily have people murdered and ecosystems destroyed to continue hoarding wealth.

From @defendtheatlantaforest @stopcopcity on Instagram, friends said: “Tortuguita was a kind, passionate, loving person cherished by their community. They spent their time between Atlanta, defending the forests from destruction and coordinating mutual aid, and Florida where they helped build housing in low income communities hit hardest by the hurricane. They were a medic, a loving partner, a dear friend, a brave soul, and so much more.”

Chicago activists echo the calls of Atlanta forest defenders to immediately stop the attacks on the forest and abandon plans to build Cop City.”

#smash the banks #Chicago #anarchy #anarchism #direct action #stop cop city

[mmani-e]

I've finally finished my Danganronpa AU personal project! I personally call it

DANGANRONPA: DEMIX

And yeah, all the swaps as you can see above, and these guys in the middle are the replacements for Monokuma and Usami respectively:

Check out under the cut for some design insights on my take AND closer pictures of each pair:

Finally finished my personal AU project. I hope it's to everyone's liking!

I can go on forever about these designs but I'll limit myself to one-two sentences on some facts about the designs.

Mikan: Mikan's face tattoo was commissioned on her against her will so that she can never hide her nature as a Yakuza, but her leg tattoo was done on purpose, and she and Nagito have matching tattoos on their legs, his is just hidden most the time.

Nagito: He is usually seen with a spear and prefers the weapon over the sword, but he is more famous for his natural skill with the blade. That said, he resents the blade and wishes he could be recognized for the things he actually works hard to do, like throwing spears or protecting Mikan and her family.

Ibuki: I kept her design very similar to her base design because she pretty much just looks like a student, and I don't want to change anyone's personality so there's no reason for her to not get highlights. But I gave her some more symmetry in this design and gave her a cute little semi ahoge I guess with a hair tie, bc she doesn't naturally have one.

Imposter/Gamemaster: Yeah I made the big brain choice to keep him with his colors as "Byakuya" because it made for a more striking visual, and more recognizeable as the impostor. Also I made him too tall because I wanted to give him big legs lol.

Hiyoko: Her four cats are named Heart (scraggly cat), Mr. Pearls (sleepy cat), Big Red (Giant cat), and BB (black cat) bc canonically the four dark devas are named after shonen manga, I named her cats after pokemon games, which she canonically likes playing. Also chickens are her favorite animal, despite her love of cats.

Kazuichi: Kazuichi's not a natural born prince, through shenanigans it turns out he's extremely distantly related to some royal line in a microstate north of germany called "Nordsumpf." Their main exports are cars and Kazuichi is still new to being a prince.

"Kyoko": She'd try her best to act like Kyoko, but she's a little too meek and openy affectionate to pull it off properly. Also her knockers are way bigger than Kyoko's, so there's an immediate discrepancy to the trained eye.

Also in my au of DR1, Kyoko is the ultimate affluent progeny and Makoto is author/serial killer.

Hajime: His hair is actually extremely long back there, he just keeps it tied up. On shows he lets it all out and a wears red contacts, his stage name is "Izuru."

Sonia: Sonia became a team manager because she was escaping an assasination attempt, strolled into a junior laegue soccer game, took over for the coach and started just barking orders and the team won. They were the worst team in the whole league and after that she just sorta stuck around them and won them the championships.

Gundham: Gundham was orginally meant to wear the japanese flag… but there was too much white in his design so I cut it. He has names for all of his gymnast moves and he announces them very loudly when he does any of them.

Peko: I tried to give Peko a unique sort of "zombie survivor" kinda vibe so while she's clearly a mechanic first she can also just fucking kill you by braining you with that monkey wrench. Most of the time she's cool though, she's just like horribly dependent on other people to tell her what to do, so she attaches to Kazuichi because he's the most immediately available authority figure.

Fuyuhiko: He's got that sort of machismo that makes him not like to admit he loves dancing, but the moment he's complimented on it he'll really appreciate it. Also he's still part of a crime family, but it's just not as strong as Mikan's.

Akane: She really looks sporty still, but don't worry she's definitely "lucky," she's just much more focused on the future than her bad luck in the moment… which can be very bad, actually, and can make her come across as kind of aloof.

Nekomaru: Why is nurse Nekomaru not as common a thing. Just think about it, it's perfect. Nekomaru here got inspired by the bravery and hard work of the nurses that treated him and boom he became a nurse, nobody tougher than healthcare professionals after all.

Mahiru: Mahiru as a nurse is honestly a really really really fun concept but I feel like I wasn't very ambitious here, and I can't really show it through the drawing but one of my early drafts had her look more like a european chef a la gordon ramsey bc I headcanon her as a scot.

Teruteru: Decided to give him a raincoat which my sister pointed out to me could also be a trenchcoat, which is just PERFECT for a creep like him. It just writes itself man, though seriously he's mostly a landscape photographer who specializes in pics of the countryside. Still a huge perv tho.

Usowa: Name is a combo of Usagi and Chowa, the word for Harmony. She's less like a chaotic force of nature like Monokuma and more a manipulative and hardline teacher who coaxes the students into doing awful things by playing into their insecuritoies with motives, and which then causes them to kill, allowing her to punish them, "weeding out the weak and undisciplined among their ranks." She replaces Monokuma.

Kyojuma: Name is a combo of Kyoju (professor) and Kuma. He's a pretty silly guy with an easy temper to poke at, but he's good at heart and tries his best to be a more sort of "fun" teacher than the rules lawyer Usami kinda was. He just wants to help his students, too bad Usowa showed up and decidedly does NOT like his approach.

#danganronpa #talentswap au #talentswap #danganronpa 2 #danganronpa talentswap #fanart #hajime hinata #chiaki nanami #nagito komaeda #mikan tsumiki #hiyoko saionji #kazuichi soda #sonia nevermind #gundham tanaka #peko pekoyama #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #akane owari #nekomaru nidai #teruteru hanamura #mahiru koizumi #komamiki #soudaionji #twobuki #akanidai #fuyupeko #sondham #mani e. #danganronpa demix #monokuma #usami

[written-in-flowers]

A Different World: Gwinam x Reader

Pairing: Yoon Gwinam x Plussize!fem!Reader

Genre: Smut. So much Smut. Minors DNI please

Word Count: 12k

Rating: M....very much M, explicit

Summary: Before the outbreak, you never thought you had a chance with Yoon Gwinam, and he thought the same about you. But, once you've both come into a new state of being, a "hambie", suddenly sexual fantasies don't stay fantasies.

Tags: Fat Shaming, Bullying, Toxic Friendships, Dom/sub, Light Sadism, Light Masochism, Spanking, Pulic Masturbation, Masturbation in bathroom, Mutual pining, blood and gore, blood kink, spit kink, rape fantasy, thigh worship, body worship, rough sex, rough oral sex, oral sex (m. and f. receiving/giving), anal sex, rimming, anal fingering, face slapping, facials, cum swallowing, multiple orgasms (m. and f.), multiple positions, no breaks, they're both fucking pervs and so horny for each other, kind of a forbidden romance? well, until all their friends die anyways. ****

You fixed your shirt for the millionth time that morning. You hated how your stomach and chest lightly pushed on the clear buttons of your shirt; it made you look fatter tucked into your skirt. The skirt is a different breed of annoying. Your thick thighs used to chafe from rubbing together throughout the day. You usually pull on gym pants if it becomes too much, but deodorant sticks and your thigh high stockings make it easier to bear. Other girls can wear the pants without a word; you, the chubby one, can't. You hoped the shirt did not pop open from the stretch. The laundry schedule at home meant you'd have at least one day with the smaller school shirt. Fixing it again, you decided to button your blazer over it for now. When you get to class, you can unbutton it to breathe before doing it again.

"Stop doing that. You're going to make it worse," Hyejin said from beside you. "You should've gotten a larger size."

"The store didn't carry any more of it," you admitted quietly. "I need to go there later to see if they have them again."

Choi Hyejin, small and narrow, was one of the two people you're certain you hate. A petite, brown haired girl from an upper class family, she carried the haughty air and snotty opinions of the high society she came from. Had you two not grown up together, you're sure you'd be her favorite punching bag. But since your fathers worked together, and your mothers ran in the same social circles, she resorted to backhanded compliments like this.

"Or you can have it tailored like my brother did," said the girl on your left.

Slender and tall, Kim Soomin was part of the girl's volleyball team and well liked in the athletic scene. Her black hair tied back in a long plait, she wore her volleyball jacket over her uniform, which made her look broader but slimmer at the same time. Another girl from an affluent family, you and her became close on your first day of primary school. That is where your trio-friendship forged, and where it would remain until the end of time. Soomin didn't discourage you like Hyejin did, but you knew why she hung out with you. It's the same reason they both did:

They look hotter when compared to you. Because even with Hyejin's hooked nose and Soomin's height, at least they're not fat.

"I suppose, but my mom might say no," you told her, holding your books to your chest. "She'll just tell me to lose weight."

"Then why don't you? It'd be better for your health, if anything. It can’t be that hard.”

The false concern for your health stabbed another hole in you. Hyejin and Soomin might not be ideal friends, but it was certainly better than having none. With at least these two, you avoided the cruel, harsh bullying you often witnessed happen to others. If Choi Hyejin and Kim Soomin liked you, then you must be cool. However, the trade off is the occasional 'you're fat and that's why your life sucks' discussion. You knew they didn’t actually care if you lost any weight. The longer you remained fat, the better they’d continue to look in comparison. In your mind’s eye, you saw all the boys who flirted with Hyejin at school. They ignored you completely. Not that you cared. Only one boy in Hyoson High School caught your attention, and he’d never notice you. Not in a million years.

"You can always come to the school gym with me!” said Soomin. “I don't mind having a partner and the coach won't say anything about it."

"No thanks. I hate gyms. I always feel people are watching me."

"Nobody watches you, YN," Hyejin scoffed. "They don't care as much as you think they do."

You wanted to tell her that a fat girl in a gym often attracted some kind of torment, but the words caught in your throat. Looking up the path leading into school, you spotted him. Yoon Gwinam. A tall boy with black hair that reached his neck, he wore the school shirt open with a black sweater underneath, likely to fight off the chill. Long limbs made him look longer and broader. You often imagined him completely encapsulating you in a hug, your head on his shoulder and hearing his heart beating. Your heart fluttered seeing him standing in the distance with his friends. He stood, chuckling and smiling when one of them made a joke. You wished it was you making him smile like that. You’d do anything to see it up close. Gwinam is a tough guy; you’ve seen him beat up people with little effort. The sort of guy who’d protect you and care for you above everyone else; the guy whose heart would only melt for you. No guy you’d managed to date treated you the way you wanted.

“-We did it by that old railroad track outside the train stations,” Hyejin’s story broke into your thoughts as you walked. Your eyes kept focusing on Gwinam, leaning against a building near the school. Absent-mindedly, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, thinking it made you more attractive. “I love it when they groan. It’s super hot when a guy is vocal.”

“I can’t believe you did that,” Soomin laughed. “Especially since he’s dating Aro.”

“Aro should take better care of her man then, if you know what I mean.”

You tuned out Hyejin’s recount, and thought of saying something Gwinam as you walked by. ‘Hey Gwinam’. ‘Morning Gwinam’. ‘Gwinam, please rip off my panties, and fuck me hard.’ No, the last one is a bit too much. Besides, if Soomin and Hyejin saw you talking to him, they’d ask why you did. His reputation around school wasn’t very good; he hung around with bullies who picked on people weaker than them. Yet, it was this bad reputation that made you want him more. You didn’t want to “fix” him. You wanted him as he was, meanness and all. You couldn’t really explain it. Something about him attracted you, and they wouldn’t understand.

“Are you still talking to him?” asked Soomin, amused. “Or have you already thrown him away?”

“Nah, we’re still talking,” she said. Of course they were. You knew Hyejin would eventually forget about her newest conquest and move onto someone else. “He said he can’t get enough of me.”

“Oh my god, you’re so bad.”

The thought of Gwinam only wanting sex from you crossed your mind. It was why most guys approached you: they thought heavy girls are desperate and will sleep with them for crumbs of affection. Normally you reject these guys, since high school boys like to brag. Yet, if Gwinam ever showed interest, you’d crumble immediately. If you put out for any guy in school, it’d be him. Deep down, you sensed he enjoyed the kind of sex you did…At least, in your fantasies he did.

“You know, YN, he’s got a pretty cute friend,” she told you. “I mean, he’s not Namjoon hot, but he’s okay looking. He’s definitely your type. I could set you up-YN? Are you listening?”

“Huh? What?”

Hyejin looked between you and where Gwinam stood and let out a soft laugh. “Oh my god, no way,” she teased, “You’re actually checking out Yoon Gwinam?”

“What?! No,” you defended instantly. “I wasn’t looking at him at all.”

“He’s a jerk, YN,” said Soomin. “He’s a bully. How could you like a guy that bullies people?”

“He’s also a total idiot,” added Hyejin.

“I wasn’t looking at him,” you repeated firmly, heat rising in your cheeks. “He’s just…He’s in my eyeline, that’s all.”

“He’s not even a cute bully,” said Soomin. “You know, like the guys in the dramas. He’s ugly. He’s got a weird face shape.”

You wanted to hit her. Gwinam is by no means ugly. You liked his face, his body, his hair, and everything else. In your daydreams, he liked your body too. He’d spend ages telling you how beautiful he thinks you are, and how much you turn him on.

“Not to mention that ugly haircut,” Hyejin scoffed. “Besides, I wouldn��t bother. It’s not like he’d be into you.”

“Hyejin,” Soomin said carefully. “Don’t be so mean.”

“I’m not being mean. I’m being honest,” she retorted. “Guys like him are total assholes. He’d probably laugh at you and walk away if you confessed.”

“I won’t confess because there’s nothing to confess.”

It pained you to admit it, but Hyejin was right. Gwinam would never like a girl like you. You looked at him one more time as you came closer. He didn't even look your way. Why should he? There’s nothing special about you. Guys never looked at you; why should he be any different? You walked past his group, and your eyes met him for a split second. You quickly turned away before he noticed you. It made your cheeks burn more, simply having him acknowledge you for a second even if he thought nothing of you.

“Ugh, so gross,” Soomin huffed.

“The dude’s a walking red flag. You should like someone else,” Hyejin smiled slowly, “Like Lee Suhyeok. Isn’t he gorgeous?”

Yes, Suhyeok was the handsome, friendly guy any sane girl would like. Yet, you didn’t. You found it difficult when you compared him to Gwinam, who checked all your boxes. Your fondness for bad boys will eventually come back to bite you, you know. It was best for everyone if you kept it to yourself.

“Gosh, I’d kill to get a slice of him,” Hyejin sighed.

“But he’s not into you,” you said to her. A little dig into her made you feel good. “He likes someone else, I heard.”

“That’s because he hasn’t gotten with me yet,” she replied with a sly smile.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to get with you because you fuck any guy who gives you attention,” you heard yourself say to her. You instantly gasped and Soomin laughed out loud. “Oh, um, well, I mean maybe-”

“-Maybe ‘what’? At least guys actually look at me, unlike you. Namjoon told me he and his friends have a bet going, you know,” she spat back. “Yeah, to see who could bag The Pig. He told me to introduce you to his friend, since he said if he wins, he’d split the money with us. Want to know what I said? I said ‘no’ because I’m a good friend.”

“What?” Your throat dried up at that confession. It was always your worst fear: a guy showing interest as a dare from his friends. “So, you were going to set me up with someone who means to play a prank on me?”

“Oh, come on, like you’re that dumb. I told him you wouldn’t fall for it. He’d have to try really hard since you always get all weird when you like a guy.”

“But you still knew,” you stopped walking, and gripped your books tightly. “You were still going to go through with it just so some asshole keeps liking you.”

You wanted to hit her. You wanted to call her every name in the book, and smack her until you drew blood. She thought herself so above you and Soomin. You pictured yourself literally knocking her down a size. Your nails dug into the soft cover of your textbooks, so tight your knuckles burned. Images of you sitting in a restaurant, waiting on a guy who might never come, tightened your chest. You hated her.

“I was going to tell you,” she said, “Stop being so dramatic. It’s not like you’ll go through with it. You chicken out every time a guy comes onto you. I told you about it just now, didn’t I? See, I’m a good friend to you and you say mean things to me. I was only looking out for you.”

She turned on her heel and continued walking. Soomin stayed behind for a moment, seeing your eyes glare at Hyejin’s back. “YN?” she came to you cautiously, “YN, we gotta go to class.”

Why were you friends with her? Why were you friends with either of them? You knew why. Because it was better to be friends with them, taking the licks, than not having friends at all.

“YN-”

“-Fuck off,” you hissed at her before leaving her side.

You blinked back the tears building up in her eyes. Going into the school with teary eyes might attract more attention than you’d like. Crying in front of people showed weakness. You couldn’t let people know you’re weak because then you’d become a target too. Walking away from the school pathway, you ended up in the construction site beside the main building. You aren’t sure what the school planned to make the building, but that didn’t matter to you. The half finished, concrete building remained abandoned during the day time. Nobody will hear you crying. You walked until the sounds of the other students faded into nothingness.

You’re a joke to them. You’re the dumb, ugly fat friend who they can look at when they feel bad about themselves. Every rude word, every mean comment from everyone in your life came rushing back to you. Your mother scolded you for eating more than you should. Your father said he was glad because then he didn’t have to worry about boys coming to his door. Hyejin liked pointing out the flaws in your outfits and Soomin constantly offered unsolicited health advice. You doubted this “friend” of Namjoon’s would actually like you. Not even the boys you’d gone out with before liked you. They always shift uncomfortably or tell you to keep it a secret. God forbid their friends should find out they liked the fat girl.

You collapsed against a bare, concrete wall and looked outside a window frame. Fresh air blew past the window, only just brushing the window sill you leaned against. You forced yourself to enjoy the free air to drown out the pain festering inside you. Visions of beating every single person in your life passed like a movie reel. You briefly imagined Hyejin getting into an accident that disfigures her pretty face forever; you pictured your mother finally dying and being free of her hateful words. Why couldn’t people just let you live?

As you stood there thinking, your favorite daydream came back. Gwinam is your boyfriend, and he hears what Hyejin said to you and what Namjoon’s friends planned to do, and beats them all up for you. In this daydream, you have a protector who adores you; who loves you as you are. A Gwinam who’d burn down the world for you; who’d bring ultimate pain to anyone who hurt you. You knew this Gwinam did not exist, but you comforted yourself with the fantasy anyways. Wiping your eyes, hoping the redness won’t be noticeable, sudden footsteps from the next room made you jump. You listened closely and realized it was multiple people.

“I told you to have the money with you.”

The familiar voice of Gwinam sent shivers down your body. You didn’t know who he’d come with, but you guessed it was his gang of bullies. Visions of what they might do if they caught you in the building, weeping and weak, and you pressed yourself against the wall. You could stay there until they left, or maybe you could sneak out through the window. But, the temptation guided you to the nearby hole in the wall meant to be a doorway. You rarely get a chance to watch Gwinam undisturbed this way. Usually, you’re with one of your friends or in a crowded room, and someone might see you. These moments didn’t come very often, so you seized it. Quietly, you walked to the door nearby and peeked one eye into the main room.

There he was, standing a few feet from a short, skinny boy. You immediately recognized the boy as Park Jisung, a boy from your homeroom. Jisung cowered away from Gwinam, who had him cornered in the empty room. Gwinam looked at Jisung the way a cat looked at a mouse. Your eyes scanned over his long frame; you pictured him standing front of you with the same stare. If you wanted anyone to bully you, it’d be Gwinam.

“I’m-I’m sorry, Gwinam,” Jisung gave a bow, shaking and nervous. “I’ll bri-bring it tomorrow.”

“But I need it today,” he said. He sighed, “Guys like you really fucking piss me off.”

‘Yes. Yes, get pissed off. Make him regret it,’ your darkest fantasies screamed. You pushed yourself against the wall, heat starting to flare up in your body despite the cold wall. ‘Hit him. Hurt him. Hit me. Hurt me.’

“I’m sorry, Gwinam! If you give me a little bit of time, I’ll get you the money. I promise. My parents didn’t have any to-”

“-I don’t care,” he said. “Fucking asshole.”

You flinched as Gwinam’s hand slapped Jisung across the face. Jisung stumbled to the side. Psh, weakling. He didn’t even hit that hard. You looked at Gwinam’s face, anger rising in him as he smacked Jisung around more. If only he did that to you. You clenched your thighs together watching him swing his long arms in each slap. Once Jisung hit the ground, Gwinam’s kicks began harsher and deeper. He looked so hot. Being angry or scared brought out a person’s true nature; Gwinam liked hurting people, and you liked watching him hurt people. You liked how Gwinam threw Jisung around like a rag doll, smacking and kicking him. You thought of him doing the same to you. Guys like Gwinam made you feel small and weak, despite your heaviness. You bit your lower lip thinking of those hands pinning you to the ground, leaving bruises around them for later. He’d throw you on the ground, tear open your shirt to bite and slap your tits before fucking you. No foreplay. No gentleness or kindness. You’d be wet from his ferocity alone.

“Piece of shit,” Gwinam growled.

“What a loser,” you heard one of his friends laugh.

Your body slowly began grinding into the side of the doorway. Nobody would see you in the dimness, surely. They’re preoccupied with Jisung, who wept and begged them to stop. Your pussy pulsed watching Gwinam kick and stomp on him. You stuck your hand underneath your skirt, carefully running your fingers over your sex. It’d have to be quick, but watching Gwinam in the flesh this way made you wetter. Tightness built between your thighs, that familiar arousal burning as your fingers trailed over your slit. The chilling wall caused your nipples to harden, and you thought of Gwinam’s mouth on them. He’d bite and suck as his cock grinded into your pussy. You’d grip his shoulders and arms, nails clawing his flesh as he teased you.

You’d let him take you however he wished. You’d be his personal fuck toy; a thing only made to pleasure him.

“Psh, pathetic motherfucker,” Gwinam spat at Jisung. He crouched down and lifted his head by the hair.

You bit down on your lip as you circled your clit. His tongue swirls around it greedily, gripping your thighs hard and growling from the taste. He stood Jisung up to his feet. He’d do the same to you. He’d laugh at you for getting so wet so easily; he’d call you a whore, smack you one more time, before continuing the sexual torture. Maybe he’d do what he did to Min Eunji once. He’d grab a marker and write filthy words on your body, on your clothes, so people knew you belonged to him. Screw what your friends thought. This is your fantasy, not theirs. Your lips grew wetter, and you pushed your panties aside. You started rubbing yourself quicker. A slew of dirty thoughts came as Jisung groaned, and coughed.

Gwinam spanking your ass until it becomes tender and hot.

Gwinam spitting in your mouth, then calling you a filthy bitch for doing it.

Gwinam tying you to his bed at home and leaving you there for whenever he gets horny.

The climax hits you hard with the usual scene: Gwinam chasing you through a forest, feral and high on adrenaline, until he gets his hands on you. You rode it out on your hand as you pictured him fucking you like an animal. His teeth gritted, his muscles tense and tight, and his cock shooting cum over your face and breasts. It’d hurt, but you’d love that. Your juices coated your fingers, and you shivered as you came down into your post-orgasm glow. Gwinam finished beating up Jisung, who tearfully ran away when Gwinam and his friends let him go. Panting, running his hands through his hair, Gwinam stood there a moment while his friends left the building. You continued circling your sensitive nub, wishing you could go for a second time. The bold fantasy of you offering yourself to him right then crossed your mind, but no, you’d never do that. Then, the unthinkable happened.

Gwinam saw you. He’d turned his head casually; you supposed he’d done it to check if anyone had seen him, and spotted you in the other room. You froze in place, quickly withdrawing your hand from your panties. Due to the angle, Gwinam didn’t see your lower half, but him having seen you was enough. Dark eyes swept down the parts of your body he could see. What if he suspected what you’d done? What if he’d heard you and purposefully prolonged the beatdown? You gasped and whipped your body around out of sight. You worried he might confront you. You held back a whimper imagining him coming over to you, sticking his hands in your panties, and telling you how naughty you’ve been.

‘Insatiable slut. You can’t even wait until we’re alone to touch yourself for me. Do it again. Now.’

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. You heard Gwinam’s friend call out to him, and you heard him leave. In reality, he’d never want to touch you. He’ll no doubt go to his friends and tell them what he suspected. They’ll taunt and tease you forever about it. Soomin and Hyejin would be disgusted with you, because even if you disliked them, they’re all you have. On wobbly legs, you picked up your things and left the construction site.

Your fantasies will always be exactly that. Fantasies. Nothing more.

How did you do it? How did you catch his attention when nothing else does? How do you make this entire world slow down when you walk past him? Any time Gwinam saw you, he swore everything around him stopped for you. Most girls at school didn’t have that effect on him. They were too skinny or too annoying. Gwinam liked girls with soft curves that made him drool. You are such a girl. The briefest of glances from you haunt him throughout the rest of the day. That small twinkle of acknowledgement sent him into a stunned silence for several seconds, if not minutes. So, to see you in that half-finished building, breathless and clutching the wall, inspired a fresh series of fantasies. He thought of going up to you in that building, pulling down your panties and shoving himself inside you. You’d stay up against that wall, shirt open and tits bouncing, as he pumped his cum into you. He loved your tits. And your thighs. He liked peeking at them during class. The desk always stopped just underneath them so he had a nice view. Lord knows what he’d do if you sat beside him. He’d leave class with wet fingers every day.

But, sadly, those dirty thoughts would never come to be. A smart, clever girl who always did well would never want an idiot like him. Girls like you wanted handsome, smart guys like Suhyeok. Gwinam is forced to live with thoughts of you in his arms in his dreams. You must be so soft. You always smell nice too. He’s noticed it before; it’s a flowery perfume that drew him to you. He thought of your laugh as he walked towards school with Myunghwa and the others. He wished he could be the one making you laugh. Visions of kissing you, walking hand-in-hand with you, and being with you clouded his mind. He’d be good to you. Gwinam wasn’t kind very often, but he’d treat you so well. He’d give you anything you wanted; do anything you asked of him.

He’d hurt someone for you, if you wished it.

The group entered the school before classes began, and Gwinam caught sight of you rushing past them. A hint of floral perfume hit his nose, causing him to breathe it deeply. He noticed you heading towards the bathrooms. He smirked. You must’ve made such a mess. Too bad he isn’t there to lick you clean. He shook the image of your soaked pussy from his head when Myunghwa smacked the nape of his neck.

“-Are you listening to me?” the short boy asked him irritably.

“Huh? Yeah, I was.”

Myunghwa scoffed disbelievingly. “Fucking idiot,” he said, “You never pay attention.”

“He was checking out Park YN,” Changhoon, another part of their group, smirked. “I can’t believe you like that fattie. She’s not even pretty in the face.”

“I wasn’t checking her out,” Gwinam said defensively. “I wouldn’t touch her even if she was the last girl on earth.” He considered the feeling might be mutual. You’d never truly like him. If you were doing what he thought, it must’ve been for someone else. The idea alone boiled his blood. “She’s ugly.”

No, you’re not. You’re beautiful. So beautiful. He thought of the other day when he saw you in the library. You often go there during lunch to catch up on homework or to read quietly. You liked reading, he noticed. You’d sat beside a window, and he admired how the sun caught in your hair, illuminating your face. He put the image to memory for those tough nights at home. Whenever his dad called him useless or his mom shook her head in disappointment, he pictured you in that chair. You’d lift your head, smile, and tell him he’s not a waste of space. You’d encourage and lift his spirits up…and he’d kiss you. He thought of your lips and the cherry lip balm he spotted in your bag. They must taste so good.

And he’d never have them. He’d never have you. He’s not supposed to like girls like you. He’s supposed to like skinny, pretty girls like your friends. Yet, those girls didn’t excite him like you did.

Myunghwa went on with some story about how someone mentioned his name in Jinsu’s disappearance. The police went to his house to question him. Gwinam wanted to tell him they’d done the same to him and the others. It’s not their fault Jinsu made it so easy for them; he never fought back until that night. Gwinam recalled the way his body hit the sign, hit a balcony, before finally crashing into the alleyway. He’d never seen a dead person before. He’d been sure that the police might arrest him. They could’ve found fingerprints on Jinsu’s skin or caught him on camera somehow. Yet, they’d done the opposite. They believed the story of them having been out in the street and nowhere near Jinsu’s last location.

Gwinam walked into class on his own, and spotted you in your usual seat next to him. You shared a desk space with your friend, Soomin, but his desk was across the aisle. He bit the inside of his lip seeing you crossed your legs under your desk. A small peek of your thigh high stocking stirred more dirty images in his mind. He liked how a bit of pudge went over the stocking bands; if he ever got his hands on those thighs, he’d lose his mind. He took his seat nearby and did his best to not look at you. He thought about the construction site again, picturing you fingering yourself to him and cumming hard on your pretty fingers. He shifted his gaze slightly to see your chest exactly where he knew it’d be. The combined picture of your thighs and your breasts caused him to swallow thickly and look elsewhere. He’d die of embarrassment if he got a hardon in class, but how could he ignore such a sensual sight?

As Mr. Lee, their science teacher, began class when Gwinam noticed you starting to pull off your blazer. Logic and reason said you must be hot, considering you’re sitting near the windows. But his horny, perverted mind said you were taking it off for him. You wore a tight shirt today, so it showed off the curves of your bosom and tummy. His jaw dropped when he spotted a white strap through the fabric. Your bra, he hoped. He quickly thought of you in his lap, wearing nothing but your skirt and stockings. No bra. No panties.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he dared a chance to look at it. A message from Myunghwa.

‘Wow, you got it bad for her, huh? Bet she’d crush you if she got on top.’

He clenched his jaw and put the phone away. Whenever he felt a new fantasy coming on, his friends ruined it for him. He wished he could sit closer. He wished he could talk to you, and only you. You’re so smart. You answer Mr. Lee’s questions without hesitation and so eloquently. Your friends might be pretty, but they’re complete airheads. You’re the intelligent one. The intelligent one with pretty lips and eyes that made him melt.

Gwinam went through absolute torture during class. Not even amusing himself by bullying Eunji distracted him. Seeing the buttons between your tits stretch from the size, he knew he’d have plenty of jerk-off scenarios tonight.

‘Gwinam? Could you help me with my shirt? It’s so tight and uncomfortable. Please, take it off me.’

He squeezed his eyes tightly and bit his tongue as the signal for lunch rang through the school.

‘The cold’s making my nipples hard. Would you warm them with your mouth? They’re so hard and my hands aren’t as warm as your tongue.’

Fucking hell. Gwinam stood up from his desk before you did, and decided a walk to the cafeteria might clear his head.

‘Oh, Gwinam, your cock’s so big-’

Fuck. No.

‘-Put it between my tits, and fuck them. I want to make you cum using my soft, huge tits.’

He pushed into a bathroom stall, locked the door and started unbuckling his pants.

‘God, they just swallow your dick. I can’t wait for you to cum all over them. I love cum. I want you to cum on me. Please, Gwinam, cover me in your yummy cum.’

His dick throbbed in his hand in every stroke. His eyes closed and he thought about you in the construction building. He thought of catching you touching yourself, and taking advantage of your vulnerable position. Gwinam pictured himself tearing off your clothes, exposing your luscious body, and tasting every inch of you. You’d struggle at first, pleading and whimpering for him to stop, but you’d soon give into him. Gwinam focused on the image of you riding him to climax. Your tight walls clenched hard around him as he rubbed his thumb over your clit; your breasts bouncing in his face until he suckled on one of them. The thought made him cum within minutes. That’s what you did to him. He wished you didn’t have such a fierce hold on him. He wished he didn’t desire you so much, but he couldn’t help it. He’d become completely blind to any other woman he met. He only wanted you.

Coming down from his orgasm, he cleaned himself up and decided to head to the cafeteria. He felt refreshed having gotten you out of his system. He wondered if he might see you there or if you’d go to the library again today. He didn’t care which one. He’d have to keep his leering to a minimum now that Myunghwa saw him looking at you. He came up with explanations to why he’d been looking your way, but none of them sounded convincing. When he entered the cafeteria, he did see you there. You stood in line with Soomin. You’d put your blazer back on, which dampened his spirits a bit. But then again, it might be good for him. He’d only just finished rubbing one out to you. He can’t do it twice in such a short amount of time.

He got into the line two people behind you, and looked at his phone instead. Myunghwa and Changsoon taunted him over what they’d seen in class. They made fun of you, talking about how your buttons must be holding on for dear life or telling him to be careful as you might break his bed getting into it. He wanted to kill them. He didn’t care if they talked badly about other girls; he didn’t want them talking badly about you. But, rather than tell them off, he joined in the conversation.

‘Kekeke, she probably jiggles around like jello.’

This amused them. Yet, he looked at you as the line moved. You styled your hair differently. Usually, you wore it tied back from your face, but today it flowed freely around your face. Gwinam did not have a particularly favorite look; he loved anything you wore or did to yourself. He watched you chat with Soomin. By your annoyed gaze and clenched jaw, he assumed you’re arguing quietly. No doubt your “friend” Choi Hyejin said something to upset you, and Soomin defended her. He often overheard you three talking at lunch or in class. He liked the sound of your voice, so sue him. Hyejin in particular liked putting you down, and you let her. Just like how he let Myunghwa talk down to him.

He shoved the person in front of him out of the way, stepping to them when they protested until they backed off.

“-She didn’t mean anything by it. She only meant that you’re not that good with guys, so she was trying to help,” Soomin said to you as you started down the line. “She didn’t know Namjoon planned anything until he said it.”

“Whatever.”

“Oh, YN, you know Hyejin cares about you. I do too.”

“Okay.”

You shut down. Whatever Soomin said to you left you defeated. He thought of pushing Soomin aside and holding you close. Whatever prank or mean thing Hyejin said to you would be smothered away by his kisses. He grabbed a tray, and began going down the line with you. Seeing your cold stare, and how you avoided Soomin’s gaze, you’d gotten locked inside your head. It happened to him a lot too. Whenever Myunghwa insulted or hit him, or whenever his father called him a worthless piece of shit, he’d sink into the dark, lonely place in his mind. If only he could pull you from it, then you would never feel pain again. Soomin must’ve given up trying to reach you, because then she scoffed and walked away to sit down. This left a gap between you and him. He thought about what he’d just done in the bathroom, and wished he’d taken you with him. As you reached the end of the line, the both of you reached for a pair of utensils at the same time.

“Oh, sorry,” you said timidly. “I didn’t…I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s okay,” he said, picking up one of the wrapped pairs to hand to you, “Here.”

“Thank you.”

Oh, your eyes. He never gave them enough appreciation. So much innocence and sweetness shined from them, yet they hid something much darker within. He could tell. He wanted to say more, but what? Rarely did he get this close to you. He was always worried someone might see and make fun of him for it. But, there’s nobody who matters around him. He saw you turn away from him shamefully. No doubt you’re remembering what happened on the construction site. When he did not look away from you, you squeaked out:

“I won’t tell anyone what I saw. I promise.”

Did you think he’d hurt you? “Good,” he said, bending down to your ear, “I won’t tell anyone what I saw either. I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

What in the hell was he doing? Trying to scare you away? He mentally kicked himself when he spotted your widening eyes. He watched you scurry away from him like a mouse, and it left him disheartened. He couldn’t help himself, could he? What did he think you’d say to that? Gwinam bit his tongue again, then went to sit with the gang. He forced himself not to look at you. Looking at you in front of the guys meant more teasing. He only liked one kind of teasing, and it was the teasing he got from you.

You woke up with a gasp. Your heart hammered in your ears, and suddenly you croaked in pain. You felt as if someone dislodged your bones, then put them back into place. Heat burned behind your eyes, and briefly you smelled blood all around you. Hunger. A distinct hunger rumbled in your body, but something inside you fought it back. Your mind went back and forth between this limbo of cravings and denials before you paused all together. You blinked your eyes a few times as your vision cleared.

It took several moments for you to register that you were soaked to the bones on the cafeteria floor. All around you, you hear gargled snarling and sharp hissing sounds. You heard feet shuffling or skidding across the floor; the cracking of bones made you flinch every time it sounded in the room. You kept your eyes closed, hoping if you open them, you’ll be back home in your bed. But, no you weren’t. You knew you weren’t.

Sitting up, you felt a distinct soreness in your neck, shoulder, stomach and arm. You looked down at your shaking hands to see them stained with blood. You found more of it on your uniform and stockings. You took deep breaths as you spotted the deep, crimson stain on your left forearm. Gingerly, you pulled up your sleeve to see a bite mark deep in your flesh. It looks fresh, as if it’d never healed. But, when you touched it, you felt no pain. The same was said for the scratches and bites on your stomach, the injuries having slashed through your shirt. You pressed down on the mark on your neck, only to hear the squishing of severed flesh. Curious, you poked your pinky into a hole in your neck, feeling no pain whatsoever. How could this be?

“Am I dead?”

You stared around the empty cafeteria. The people who’d been there had not escaped. The blood stains on the walls, windows, floors and tables told you as much. The creatures who’d once been classmates must’ve attacked the others, turning them into beasts as well. But, why had that not happened to you? You jumped suddenly when the gnashing, guttural sounds came from behind you. Your eyes widened in shock. Hyejin. At least, what was left of her. Hyejin, once dainty and posh, now cracked her neck this way and that as she snapped her jaws like a turtle. You saw her front covered in blood, more of it smeared around her mouth and on her hands. Blood red eyes instantly locked with yours. You let out a scream as she rushed towards you, hands outstretched and clawing for you. You shielded yourself in a fetal position, ready to be devoured by her, before you realized she wasn’t touching you. Hyejin, reeking of rotting flesh, only hunched a few inches from you. You heard her sniffing the air around her. She moved her head side to side, still biting and growling as drool came from her yellowed teeth. But, she did not touch you.

Soon, Hyejin backed away. She jolted upright, and began moving from you to the center of the room. You realized she was not the only one in the room. Other students who’d sat in the cafeteria now jerked and stumbled around. You stood up, almost slipping on the wet floors, and waited for one of them to notice you. But, none of them did. They should be charging at you; they should be ripping and tearing at your body, but they did not. To them, you’re not there. Touching your wounded neck again, you realized something: You’d become one of them. That is why they did not attack you as you walked out of the cafeteria.

Nor when you reached the pathways outside school. All around you, students walked around, sniffing and searching for more human meat. None of them bothered you unless you bothered them first. Even then, they only snapped their teeth at you before moving away. It felt surreal. An ignorant person might believe they’re in a dream, but you knew better. Whatever happened here has led to hundreds of students being infected with a mind altering disease. You wondered what could’ve caused this as you walked around the school. Biochemical warfare? Chemical lab experiment gone wrong? You couldn’t think of anything else. You could only focus on trying not to attract any of the zombies around you.

It all came back to you as you walked. One minute, you’d been apologizing to Hyejin for what you’d said about her, and the next a rush of students flooded the room. You’d been the first to stand from your seat. You remembered students screaming with terror as they ran through the cafeteria. You remembered seeing the things chasing them: other students, all of them red-eyed and feral. They screeched and growled hysterically, as if possessed by demons. But, that’s childish; this was something worse. You’d grabbed your bag once you saw an infected student tackle a girl by the wall and instantly bite into her throat. Soomin, the athlete, managed to get to a back door before either you or Hyejin. Some friends. It truly became every man for himself. Hyejin had screamed in absolute terror when one zombie, a large boy, blundered after her. You remember being a few steps ahead of her by then. You’d reached for the kitchen doors when a hand yanked your head back.

Hyejin used you as a means of escape. You’d slipped and tripped over the floors as the sprinkles above went off, causing it to rain inside the cafeteria. The large zombie grabbed hold of you, but you’d managed to fight him off. Another zombie, a girl with short hair, launched at you. That’s how your arm was bitten. But, you hadn’t stayed under her for long, since you threw her off you. You’d gotten up a second time where you watched Hyejin running through the kitchen to the back doors. Seeing it up ahead, you knew instinctively she’d close the door on you if she reached it. You recall leaping. You never leapt before, but you leapt towards Hyejin. Your hands found her long dark hair, fisted it tightly, and dragged her from the door. She fell to the ground with a painful groan. By the back door, you saw the two zombies attack her. You sidestepped another zombie when you realized the back door was locked. Running into the main kitchen, you dodged zombies and screamed when one of them lurched for you. Due to the slippery floor and chaos of humans and zombies, you’d fallen face forward. All air knocked out of you, you scrambled up before a zombie caught you.

That’s when more of them came. You squeezed your eyes tightly as you thought of the stink of death and harsh pain of teeth breaking skin. You’d howled from the nails digging into your skin, and the number of zombies all vying for a piece of you. Kicking and screaming, you eventually caved when one of them sunk his teeth into your neck, the one that was most obvious to you. You touched it again, walking back into the school to the library, your sanctuary. You didn’t find anyone there. It appeared whatever zombies were here had left.

Empty. That is what the world became: empty. Yet, it didn’t feel like it to you. You heard the sounds of zombies groaning outside perfectly. You could smell the paper of the books underneath the foul odor of blood and corpses. Tapping a table, the sound was louder to you. Your ears became sensitive to any sound you made after. You guessed the other zombies, mindless and aimless, reacted to noise as well. Grabbing a book, you opened the window to test your theory. You saw several zombies walking around the fields outside. You launched the book out the window, watching it fall and crash onto the ground. The small slap alerted every zombie within a twenty foot radius. They clambered over to the sound, but growled their discontent when they only smelled more dead flesh. So, a unique sense of sound. You wondered what else your new existence brought you.

This heightened sense came in handy an hour or so later. You’d been setting small fires across the library, trying to see how far your sense of smell went, when you heard it. At first, you thought it might be another zombie, but your new nose said otherwise. The newcomer did not smell like rotting flesh or congealed blood. They were something in between. You took a whiff around, and the trail led towards the library entrance. You’d been thinking of testing out your strength and speed. You saw how indestructible your fellow zombies were: you’d been throwing computer parts at them from above and barely making a dent. You might have a similar strength. You knew whatever being sauntered into your hideout will be your guinea pig. You put out your small bonfire with a wet paper towel, and followed the sounds and smells with your new body.

You made to move, but the intruder stepped out from behind the bookcases. It was Gwinam, except he looked drastically different from the boy you saw this morning. Firstly, he wore a new jacket that obviously wasn't his. Secondly, a hideous, nauseating gash went through his left eye, leaving a gory mess behind. He stopped when he saw you. You stared at him. He stared at you. Neither of you said anything. It was like meeting one of the zombies; you did not have to speak to understand one another.

"You too?" He asked, his deep voice breaking the silence.

"Yeah."

"In the cafeteria?"

"Yeah. You?"

"In here."

"When?"

"A few hours ago. Cheongsan pushed me off there," he pointed to one of the high bookcases, "And I got bit." His good eye surveyed you from afar.

"And your eye?"

"He shoved a phone into it."

"A phone?"

The idea of a cell phone never occurred to you. You could've called for help, but that didn't seem to matter anymore. Who could help you? And if help was called, they would have come by now. "Yeah, the corner part," he said, acting out the gesture with a stabbing motion, "But it's whatever. I don't really feel it. I plan on killing him." He spotted the deep wounds on your neck, and said, "Those don't bother you either?"

"Not really. I thought they'd at least itch, but they haven't," you said. "I tried recording the healing process, but it's very slow. I think because we're still partly human, we can't feel the pain but our muscles and skin react to it. Look, see," you showed him your bite marks, the skin barely together but no longer leaking blood. "It stopped bleeding, but the wound hasn't healed."

"Is that what you've been doing here?" He gestured to the trash can at your feet. "Experimenting?"

"Well, yes," you said, sheepishly. "I want to see what my body is capable of now that I've reached this new level of being. My senses are certainly sharper: I can smell things from at least twenty feet; I'm able to hear things from a further distance too, since sound echoes and bounces. I've discovered I don't die. I can't die. Seeing you now, I'm assuming it's the same for you?"

"Yeah."

You caught him looking over your body again. You became self-conscious immediately. Being undead, you doubted you'd lose any weight from your previous life. Add the disgusting bites and scratches on your flabby flesh, and you're absolutely distasteful. You didn't need Gwinam staring at you like that.

"Stop it," you said, not meeting his eyes.

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me. You don't see me staring at your eye, do you? I don't need reminding of how ugly I am."

"You're not ugly."

You scoffed, "Please, don't insult my intelligence. I know how my body looks."

"I know too, and I like it."

"Huh?" You saw it once you met his eyes.

"Nothing about your body has ever bothered me," he said, licking his lips at you. "In fact, everything about it turns me the fuck on."

You walked backwards from him as he approached. Your heart thumped in your chest, the sound spreading to your ears and freezing your bones. A sudden heat flared up in your body, and you gulped thickly as it went all over. The glint in his eye is unmistakable, and it excites you. Never did you think this would happen. Yoon Gwinam was only meant for your dirtiest, smuttiest fantasies reserved for lonely nights at home. Yoon Gwinam was the forbidden fruit that you'd never reach; Hyejin and Soomin being the ones raising the branch with each disgusted word. Yet, as the world turned upside down, those fantasies quickly turned into reality as Gwinam moved towards you.

"You make my cock so fucking hard," he nearly growled, already unbuckling his pants. "It drives me crazy. I have to sit in class…seeing you there in that little skirt…seeing your tits almost bursting out of your shirt…I know why you wear it that way…you like showing off those big tits just for me, don't you?" The way he walked reminded you of Jisung from that morning. A lion coming upon its prey. Something about this brazen, direct Gwinam caused your mind to wander back into those fantasies. "And don't get me started on those thighs of yours,” his eyes scanned your body and stopped to your thighs, “I love looking at them, especially when you wear stockings…the way they hug your thighs so some pudges out…fuck, you know it does things to me…"

"What?" Your voice quivered slightly.

"Don't act innocent with me," he said, getting closer. His dark eyes full of frustration and lust brought back to the last scenario you imagined. Your arousal throbbed between your legs. "You act all clean cut but I know deep down you're just a whore who wants to be fucked senseless every second of the day.” He unzipped his fly, but did not pull anything out, "You made me so horny in class that I jerked off in the bathroom during lunch. I remembered you at the construction site, all breathless and horny, and I couldn't help it."

He came within inches of you. The heavy scent of blood and sweat reached your nose, and you bit your bottom lip. A sharp gasp left you when his body pressed into yours. Gwinam tugged down the front of his pants and boxers to withdraw his dick. The sight made you wet instantly. Not too long, it was certainly thick with heavy balls underneath. You knew you'd definitely feel him stretching you soon. You already imagined it tearing you apart as he ravaged your body.

"Open your shirt and let me see those tits," he demanded, eyes focused on your chest. "You were so eager to show them before. I want to see them now."

With trembling fingers you unbutton your shirt. Underneath, Gwinam saw the white undershirt you wore stretched over your large breasts. You untucked your shirt so he may see more of you, which he liked. You worried about the gashes zombies left on your stomach and chest, but Gwinam hardly noticed them. He sailed up your body past them and to your breasts. He cupped one right away, causing you to whimper from the touch. Gwinam smirked and squeezed it so you whimpered again. You never considered stimulation before this moment. You might not feel any pain, but you certainly felt the small sparks his hand alone brought. His hands warmed up as they fondled you over your bra and shirt, the temperature hardened your nipples so they poked into the fabric. The cotton fabric of your bra did nothing to hide this from Gwinam, who bent down to bite gently down on one. You made a mental note to write down ‘sexual stimulation’ as part of your human side.

He put your hand on his crotch, and instinctively you grabbed it. You liked the feel of him against your fingers. Even with his half undead existence, his body felt human as ever. You sensed the blood pumping through his cock, and could almost smell it through the thin skin. Big hands remained nearly lukewarm on your chest; their gentle squeezes were certainly stronger than your daydreams concocted. Full lips didn’t skip over the bite mark on your neck, kissing upwards and licking the dried blood. The feeling of his tongue against your skin sent chills down your body. You needed more of him. You continued lightly touching his cock, sometimes slipping lower to the ball sack underneath, which caused several deep groans.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned in your ear, still fondling your breasts. “So addicting,” he went back to kissing your neck, “I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

You brought him into a kiss, and you're thankful he didn't pull away. His plush lips caressed yours, carefully opening them with a small flick on your bottom lip. Blood tinged your lips, sliding from one tongue to the other, but you liked it. That undeniable hunger for flesh and blood came over you; you growled and sunk further into his kiss. You didn’t know if a half-zombie could eat another half-zombie, but you found his taste to be particularly intoxicating. You pushed yourself against him, roaming his body with your free hand to unzip his jacket There, you found his bloodied black sweater where zombies bit into his torso. You didn’t mind it. This new discovery only aroused you more. It was as if he'd opened the floodgates repressing your desires. You couldn’t stop yourself.

"Let's get rid of this," he growled between kisses.

He took the collar of your tanktop and tore it open easily. Gwinam groaned at the sight of your tight white bra, which squeezed your breasts more than you liked. He kissed fiercely along them, even giving a bite that pinched you, groping and squeezing them. You kept your hand on him, his shaft growing even harder while you jerked him. The touch made your sex clench within you, and your clit throbbed from the newest sensation. Gwinam roughly tugged down your bra, so your tits spilled over the wire supporting them. He stopped kissing you to admire the soft mounds filling his hands. You whined as he grazed his thumbs over your nipples, the two peaks hard against the rough pads.

"Fuck," he moaned, kissing one of them, "They're exactly how I imagined them to be. So big and soft. I could suck these all day." He took it in his mouth, rolling his tongue around it and sucking hard. He did this to each one since you squirmed at the mixture of pain and pleasure. "You can't imagine," he grunted, nipping at your tits, "How many times I felt like ripping your shirt open to play with them…How many times I thought of taking you…fucking you…raping you…"

"Gwinam…" you whimpered at his words, the filth causing you to stroke him faster. Droplets of precum stuck to your hand and slickened your motions. This only amplified your arousal.

"Like today with Jisung," he flicked his tongue over the very middle, which sent shocks of pleasure down your body. "I saw you standing there watching me hit him. I saw how you panted and bit your lower lip. You were touching yourself, and I wanted more than anything to fuck you. I wanted to chase you down, rip off your panties and have my way with you…whether you wanted it or not. I don’t care anymore.” He sucked particularly hard on one nipple, then came back up to you, “I’m the boss here now. I can have whatever and whoever I want, especially you.” He cupped your chin for a hard kiss, “I should’ve fucked you there. I would’ve given you the fucking little teases like you deserve.”

"What stopped you?" You asked him breathlessly, sliding one hand over his shoulder to feel more of him. You started pumping him faster. "Hm? What stopped big bad Gwinam from fucking the shit out of me right outside our school? You could've tossed me on the floor, fucking me into the dirt or into the bushes with your hand over my mouth-"

He cut you off by grabbing your throat. The slender digits squeezed both sides of your neck, cutting off air but not hurting you. The pain came from the harsh slap that went across your cheek. When you cried out, he did it again to the opposite cheek. He stared at you for a moment, surveying the need written on your face. Your clit throbbed for his attention, hoping your grinding hips might clue him into that. He then slapped you again, then kissed you roughly.

"You filthy slut," he grunted against your lips. "You like that, huh?” he smacked you again, “You like being hit?”

The truth was: yes, you did. The stinging pain mingled with the desire burning inside you. Being in his strong grasp, pinned by his long body, you knew you could easily escape him. This elevated, evolved being you’ve become came with a strength you’d never known before. It made you invincible. Breaking away from him wouldn’t be a problem, yet you don’t push or thrash in his clutches. You instead spread your thighs and begin pumping him once more. From his heavy breathing, you knew you’d gotten the effect you wanted.

“Let me see for myself then.” He stuck his hand under your skirt and roughly pushed your panties aside. You gasped from the sudden invasion of his fingers on your sex. Boys touched you there before, but not like how Gwinam did. Three fingers cupped your dampening center to rub carefully up and down; he didn’t care if you let him or not, your pussy was his now. “Oh, you do enjoy this kind of thing,” he sneered, releasing your throat and grabbing at your hair instead. A quick tug and a forceful pull brought you to your knees in front of him. “I’m going to show you what I would’ve done if I’d caught you. Open.”

He prodded his tip to your lips, which opened right away. The taste of salty precum slid over your tongue and savored the sticky substance. A huge part of your fantasies finally came true. Gwinam kept his hold on your hair while he guided you over his hips. The girth of his filled your mouth completely, and his head hit your throat once or twice. It’s exactly how you imagined. You sucked the hard muscle firmly, a move that made Gwinam groan. You wanted to please him; you wanted his approval and satisfaction. It became harder to breathe once he forced you right up to his base. You gripped your knees tightly as pain started burning your throat and chest. Inhaling through your nose, you tried your best to breathe as Gwinam’s cock nearly suffocated you. You loved it. Something about his dick blocking your airway, causing you to gag and choke on it excited you. Your eyes teared up whenever he held you to him for too long, only moving his tip from your throat in short strokes. Yet, you did not object or force him away. You hummed in your throat as he moved in and out. When he mumbled about enjoying it, you kept on going. Streams of his precum and your saliva started dripping from your mouth, leaking through the corners. You pointedly rocked backward and forward so your tits jiggled for him, and you saw him eye them right away. When he pulled away, streams of it came out and you gasped for air.

“Look at you,” he groaned, tapping his wet cock on your lips and cheeks. “You love choking on dick,” he sneered, pushing his tip into your mouth once more. He kept you still with one hand under your chin and the other on the back of your head. More tears spilled down your cheeks as he fucked your throat. You started playing with your nipples, and moaned around his shaft. “Your mouth is fucking heaven,” he moaned, “Like a silk toy. Because that’s all you are…A mindless, stupid fuck toy for me to use whenever I want.”

Your muffled moans made him laugh. “And, to think, what I’ve become gives me so much more stamina than before,” he continued, shoving himself fully inside. “I can do all the dirty things I’ve wanted to do with you, and never get tired,” he withdrew himself to let you breathe, “And you know what that means, right?” As you tried swallowing the thickness in your mouth, he said, “It means you’re going to learn what happens to sluts who think they can flash their tits and ass at me. You thought you could flaunt those thighs and those tits and that ass and I’d do nothing about it? Hm?” He plunged his cock right back into your mouth, laughing as you cried. “And there’s nobody around to stop me; nobody to laugh at me about it. It’s only you and me, and you make me horny nearly every second of the day.” He thrusted rapidly, drowning out your cries with his moans. “That means you might as well not wear anything at all.”

He pulled out a final time, and watched you sputter and gasp for air. You massaged your throat, which felt hoarse and ached. Gwinam tugged your head back, and rested his balls right on your mouth. You knew exactly what to do. You took one in your mouth for a tender suck, licking your tongue over the curves and skin. Gwinam stroked himself slowly as you tongued his balls; he occasionally grinded into your face so you’d swallow the whole thing. Little moans vibrated over the sensitive skin, and Gwinam gritted his teeth. You grabbed his thighs for some stability, a thing he did not deny you, and buried your face further into his crotch. Gwinam pulled his balls away and had you lick his shaft up and down while you fondled them instead. Your pussy became so wet, you felt your juices sliding between your thighs. You loved how he used you. You loved giving yourself over to him entirely, and being the sex doll he wanted. Gwinam is the only boy you ever considered yourself fucking this way; you knew he had the ferocity, the depravity, the perversion to do it how you’d wanted. Other boys you’d managed to hook up with always showed hesitancy. Not Gwinam. You’ll be his whore and nothing else.

That was what you wanted.

Long, drawn out moans and panting preceded the thick, hot semen suddenly filling your mouth. You eagerly and greedily swallowed the substance going down your throat. It tasted delicious. Whether it was being undead or because it was Gwinam, you swallowed his whole load. Gwinam’s orgasm made him push harder and faster, making your neck and jaw burn from the pain. He didn’t stop until each drop left his tip and into your mouth. You swallowed whatever he left, even opening your mouth to let him squeeze it onto your tongue.

“You’re the perfect cum dump,” he breathed, running his tip over your lips so you’d lick off the droplets remaining. When he spotted worry in your eyes, he laughed, “Don’t worry. There’s more where that came from. Stand up,” he ordered, lifting you with little effort, and turning you around.

Excitement brought out your smile as he forced you to bend over. Your mind whirled from the thoughts going through your head. Spreading your legs, you arched your back slightly for him to see underneath. He lifted up your skirt to show your panties, and the cold air touched over your sex. No doubt he saw the wet spot pooled right in the center, since he then cupped it in his hand. Long fingers rolled up and down each inch of your sex, and stopped right at your clit. Your cotton panties, white and cheap, must be almost see through with how wet you’d made them.

“Your pussy is so fucking wet,” he moaned, one finger finding your clit and teasing it gently. “I thought about it so many times. Even today, when I jerked off during lunch, I thought of your sweet, tight cunt.”

“And I thought of your dick in it,” you admitted, whining when you felt his finger push delicately against your panties. “I want it so bad. I can’t think about anything else when I’m…I’m around you, oh fuck…”

His fingers teasing your clit only caused more wetness to develop. Gwinam then took both sides of your panties and threaded them between your buttocks and folds. A small bit covered your clit yet exposed it to him at the same time. While one hand spanked your ass cheeks, the other used the tip of his finger to pass over the sensitive nub. Streams of mewls, cries, and whimpers left your lips. Every little touch to it tightened the ball building inside your loins. He knew exactly what to do, and how to make you whine like a bitch in heat. Gwinam’s constant torture had you clawing the table and wriggling around in front of him. You thought you might cum from just the teasing alone.

“Fuck,” he hissed, “I could feel that pussy fluttering for me already.” He moved his finger side to side and threw down more sharp spanks to your ass. “I bet you’re dying to have me in there, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, “Yes, yes, please.”

“Please, what, slut?”

“Please fuck me,” you said, tears brimming your eyes.

“Ummm, no.”

Using both hands, Gwinam did not pull off your panties. He did not slowly peel them off and slide them to your ankles. He took the seam keeping front and back together and tore it apart. The sound of shredding fabric reached your ears. He did not remove the waistband. He only ripped it enough to expose your ass and pussy to him, leaving a long tear that went from back to front. Gwinam left your side and crouched down behind you. You felt him dangerously close to your center; you shuddered when something hot and slippery slide over your clit. Gwinam pulled the lips apart and focused his tongue there. You cried out feeling the tip circle it repeatedly; you grabbed at the table whenever he dipped beneath or on top of it slowly. The obscene lapping and slurping from below added to your uncontrollable moans. When he turned you around, your thighs immediately locked around him and with your own strength, you forced his mouth to take your clit. Gwinam gazed up in amusement, eagerly sucking and licking the cunt right in his face. He didn’t stop you from grinding over his mouth and nose; it’s not as if he’d suffocate. That was a perk of being partly dead, you guessed.

“I’ve wanted this for s-s-so long,” you said, gasping when his tongue entered your clenching and unclenching walls. “Oh god, just like that,” you started fucking his face in return, “Your tongue feels so fucking good! Ah!” his sudden grasp of your thighs with a hard smack let out a sudden squeak from you. “I’ve wanted you to fuck me for such a long time. My pussy gets wet just looking at you. I thought…I thought if I teased you, you’d give in and take me. I would’ve let you fuck me however you wanted, as long as I got your cock inside me.” You gripped his hair, soft and silky in your hand, and cried out from the pleasure he brought. “I saw you beat up Jisung, and I couldn’t help…couldn’t help touching myself to it. You being so big and long and strong-”

Gwinam interrupted you by rolling you backwards so your body curled into a c-shape. He pinned your knees to your chest as he wagged his tongue over your pussy. That’s when you came. In a blinding, gut-tensing, muscle-contracting orgasm, you came right on his face. Gwinam only growled his delight at your cum in his mouth. You bucked your hips around, the table underneath you moving slightly, and pushed into his face more. He sucked up all the juices until your clitoris turned sensitive from your climax; it didn’t stop him. Gwinam kissed down to your ass hole where his tongue moved teasingly before coming back up. You're normally concerned with him going from one hole to the other, but not anymore. You’re dead. What infections could you get from it?

“Looks like,” he said, kissing up the backs of your thighs, “We’re both going to get what we want then.”

With total ease, he pulled you to the edge of the table and onto his cock. Keeping your thighs on your stomach, Gwinam charged into you as he liked: hard and rough. The stings of pain did nothing to you. It only made you want to cum again.

“Oh my god,” he growled, squeezing your thighs tightly. “You really must be a whore to take my dick so well. You’re the perfect fuck hole; the perfect cum dump…and you’re all mine.”

“Yes, yes, I am.”

He grabbed your throat, hovering over you and making you face him as you moaned his name. Your lips parted from your constant moans, Gwinam spat into your mouth. He slapped you when you didn’t swallow it immediately. He did it a second time, and you bent to his whims. Then, he gave you another sloppy kiss. You loved the dirtiness of it all; you craved more and more of it. You’d dreamt of this moment for months; you’d desired, lusted, and fantasized about it. When Gwinam grabbed your wrists to keep you on the table, hungrily kissing you, you almost came again. His shirt brushed lightly on your clit which made you weak and shuddering. Biting down on your neck, you winced from the pain, but you knew it wouldn’t last.

“Push back on me,” he said, kissing down to your nipples where he sucked harshly. “Show me how badly you’ve wanted this dick, slut.”

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you kept Gwinam in place as you pushed your hips into his own. His thick cock stretched you pleasantly, bringing you nothing but pleasure as you drove him deep inside. Gwinam stuck out his tongue to let your nipple brush over the flat part, flicking it once or twice or sucking it for you. You purposefully made them bounce in his face which made him growl and grunt. He let go of your wrists and grabbed your tits. His tongue teasing your nipples and his dick hitting that spot inside your pussy brought you closer to another orgasm.

“Gwinam, Gwinam, I’m going to cum,” you wept, the pleasure overwhelming your body. “Oh fuck, you’re going to make me cum again.”

“Good. Do it,” he gripped you by the chin, “Cum on my dick. Do it. Now.”

The second wave made you scream. You worried undead classmates might hear you, but they must’ve been somewhere else. Not that it mattered. They didn’t touch you. Only Gwinam touched you, and he rode out your orgasm in a few thrusts. Still shivering and whimpering, Gwinam ignored your weakened state and tossed you onto the library floor. On your front, air punched out of you for a second before he was on top of you. Without warning, his fingers entered your ass, and his cock shoved into your pussy. You arched your back for him, nearly dizzy from your orgasms and his relentless abuse of your body. And then he fucked you. He fucked you exactly how you’d always wanted. The depravity of the scene made your head swim in the haze of it all. With his free hand, Gwinam gripped your throat so your head lifted from the floor. The slight pressure cut your airway, but not enough that you’d suffocate completely.

“I’m going to cum in all your holes,” he huffed, his fingers knuckle deep in your ass while his dick filled you. “You’re going to be limping out of this library with cum dripping from you. I only wish everyone was alive…then they can see what a fucking…fucking…fucking whore YN is!”

More cum squirted into your pussy, and you couldn’t be bothered to protest. You accepted every drop. “Please cum in me,” you cried, fists underneath you and humping his cock, “Please. I want you to fill each one, please.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be more than filled,” he grunted, going faster and harder like before.

In a few more strokes, he finished his second orgasm. You took a moment to notice that he did not need a small refractory period. A surprise perk to being dead, you supposed. Not even taking a moment to breathe, Gwinam removed his fingers from your ass and laid back on the floor. You knew immediately what he wanted. You turned around to stuff his coated cock in your mouth, slobbering over it to make it wet as possible. Gwinam groaned, hands going through his hair as pleasure came over him again. A part of you wanted to stay there, cleaning his cock of your combined juices until he came again, but you knew what your lover really wanted. When his cock was prepared, you turned your back to him and sunk down on it…with your ass. This new tightness had Gwinam cursing and moaning your name. You leaned forward, broken panties and skirt over your hips so he’d have a perfect view of your ass, and bounced as much as you could.

Being undead left you stronger and faster. Before, you could never properly ride a guy. Your body felt too heavy and you worried you’d hurt them somehow. Not Gwinam. He handled you with ease, and you had no trouble riding him. You wanted him to cum again. You enjoyed his deep, throaty groans and the names he called you. He dominated you and you couldn’t help but submit. He went back to smacking and grabbing your ass while you touched your soaked, hard clit again. If anyone came upon you two, it’d certainly be a feast for the eyes. The feeling of him fully driving into you, stretching and filling you, drove you wild. You did whatever you could to milk more cum from him.

“Stay still,” he ordered, and you stopped at once. Luckily, it was for him to continue the pace on his own. “Your ass is as good as your pussy, fuck,” he panted, grabbing your hair to pull you backwards, “I could fuck this forever.”

“I wish you would,” you replied, meeting his hips nevertheless so loud smacking sounds filled the space. “I want to be a good toy and make you cum.”

“Oh my god,” he grunted, “Say that again. Say it.”

“I want to be a good toy and make you cum.”

“Then make me cum, slut. Come on,” he smacked your ass hard, “Make me cum with that fat, round…oh fuck, yes, yes, like that-”

The sheer motion of him cumming in your ass had you joining him. You kept going, not feeling exhausted at all. In fact, it heightened every sense. Everything became clearer, and the hunger nestled inside you had you slamming down on him. Once you drained him of cum, Gwinam still did not stop. He seemed incapable of it, and you did not complain. Rolling you onto your side, hands on your breasts, he used one leg to spread your thighs and sink back into your pussy. He let you continue your third orgasm on your own, rubbing your clit and pinching your nipples. You screamed once more as the climax truly hit you this time. Gwinam smacked your clit a few times during it, the light stings having you saying his name. He put you into a scissor position, the new angle driving home and leaving you senseless beneath him. Squelching sounds told you that his cum mixed with yours, and leaked out of your sex. You almost felt it pooling underneath him in every thrust. The new pace and position had you screaming his name a fourth time, and his own soon followed.

You did this for a while. It felt as if all those months of repressed feelings and sexual frustration exploded into this unrelenting, insatiable bomb. You couldn’t stop. You both bit, clawed, slapped, spat and growled throughout the day. Yes, the day. It was a thing you didn’t think possible until you’d turned into this half-human, half-zombie lifeform. Gwinam took you on every possible surface: the tables, chairs, against bookshelves and cabinets. It continued even against the glass doors where the bloody, snarling, stumbling and shuffling zombies went right by. The most exciting was when he fucked you right in the hallway, having you on all fours as he grunted about people watching you both. Pure bliss. That’s all it was.

Fantasies do come true.

***

A/N: wow, this one is wild! lol it's one of my longer pieces, but I hope you still enjoyed this. It's my first Gwinam fic, and I'm really proud of it. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed it <3

#yoon gwinam #yoon gwinam x reader #gwinam x reader #all of us are dead #aouad #aouad fanfiction #aouad fanfic #aouad smut #gwinam smut #yoon gwinam smut #yoon gwi nam

[genderkoolaid]

“The experiences of transmen of color further show the hierarchical relationality between embodiments of maleness. Transmen of color can experience a loss of freedom as men. Jack, a Latino, and Trey, a black man, both realized they physically passed as men when women started clutching their purses tightly when they walked by. Trey notes, "On one hand, I was like, 'Oh, I am passing!' and then I was like, 'Oh, but you think I am dangerous.'" Keith, a black man, says, "It is interesting now to see it from both sides. I know why the black man is angry! I do. He doesn't start off that way.... It is just so weird to get that vibe from people. I just manifest... their fears, everything they fear. I am every black man who has been accused of something." He encountered frequent racist treatment, such as being pulled over by white police officers for driving in the "wrong" (that is, wealthy and white) neighborhoods and being followed in stores—all common experiences for black men in the United States (Bolton and Feagin 2004). Trey faced a similar experience in Texas. Walking a friend's dog in a predominantly white, affluent neighborhood at night, he was stopped by neighborhood patrols and police officers three times in a span of twenty minutes. Shocked at this treatment, he asked his older brother how he dealt with it. His brother was surprised that Trey didn't realize "how it was" and told him that soon he would become accustomed to such treatment. Socialized as black girls, Trey and Keith did not have the same embodied strategies as cisgender black men for navigating this treatment. While schools and families socialize black boys into accepting and adjusting to stereotypes of black, masculine criminality (Ferguson 2000; Oliver 2003), black girls' socialization often focuses on regulating their sexuality and maintaining their self-respect (Kaplan 1997; Orenstein 1994). Becoming a black man means finding interactional strategies that address the expectations of black male criminality.”

— Just One Of The Guys? Transgender Men and the Persistence of Gender Inequality by Kristen Schilt, pages 59

#m. #transandrophobia #just one of the guys?

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Hypothetical AI election disinformation risks vs real AI harms

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT (Feb 27) in Portland at Powell's. Then, onto Phoenix (Changing Hands, Feb 29), Tucson (Mar 9-12), and more!

You can barely turn around these days without encountering a think-piece warning of the impending risk of AI disinformation in the coming elections. But a recent episode of This Machine Kills podcast reminds us that these are hypothetical risks, and there is no shortage of real AI harms:

https://soundcloud.com/thismachinekillspod/311-selling-pickaxes-for-the-ai-gold-rush

The algorithmic decision-making systems that increasingly run the back-ends to our lives are really, truly very bad at doing their jobs, and worse, these systems constitute a form of "empiricism-washing": if the computer says it's true, it must be true. There's no such thing as racist math, you SJW snowflake!

https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2019/02/aoc-algorithms-racist-bias.html

Nearly 1,000 British postmasters were wrongly convicted of fraud by Horizon, the faulty AI fraud-hunting system that Fujitsu provided to the Royal Mail. They had their lives ruined by this faulty AI, many went to prison, and at least four of the AI's victims killed themselves:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/British_Post_Office_scandal

Tenants across America have seen their rents skyrocket thanks to Realpage's landlord price-fixing algorithm, which deployed the time-honored defense: "It's not a crime if we commit it with an app":

https://www.propublica.org/article/doj-backs-tenants-price-fixing-case-big-landlords-real-estate-tech

Housing, you'll recall, is pretty foundational in the human hierarchy of needs. Losing your home – or being forced to choose between paying rent or buying groceries or gas for your car or clothes for your kid – is a non-hypothetical, widespread, urgent problem that can be traced straight to AI.

Then there's predictive policing: cities across America and the world have bought systems that purport to tell the cops where to look for crime. Of course, these systems are trained on policing data from forces that are seeking to correct racial bias in their practices by using an algorithm to create "fairness." You feed this algorithm a data-set of where the police had detected crime in previous years, and it predicts where you'll find crime in the years to come.

But you only find crime where you look for it. If the cops only ever stop-and-frisk Black and brown kids, or pull over Black and brown drivers, then every knife, baggie or gun they find in someone's trunk or pockets will be found in a Black or brown person's trunk or pocket. A predictive policing algorithm will naively ingest this data and confidently assert that future crimes can be foiled by looking for more Black and brown people and searching them and pulling them over.

Obviously, this is bad for Black and brown people in low-income neighborhoods, whose baseline risk of an encounter with a cop turning violent or even lethal. But it's also bad for affluent people in affluent neighborhoods – because they are underpoliced as a result of these algorithmic biases. For example, domestic abuse that occurs in full detached single-family homes is systematically underrepresented in crime data, because the majority of domestic abuse calls originate with neighbors who can hear the abuse take place through a shared wall.

But the majority of algorithmic harms are inflicted on poor, racialized and/or working class people. Even if you escape a predictive policing algorithm, a facial recognition algorithm may wrongly accuse you of a crime, and even if you were far away from the site of the crime, the cops will still arrest you, because computers don't lie:

https://www.cbsnews.com/sacramento/news/texas-macys-sunglass-hut-facial-recognition-software-wrongful-arrest-sacramento-alibi/

Trying to get a low-waged service job? Be prepared for endless, nonsensical AI "personality tests" that make Scientology look like NASA:

https://futurism.com/mandatory-ai-hiring-tests

Service workers' schedules are at the mercy of shift-allocation algorithms that assign them hours that ensure that they fall just short of qualifying for health and other benefits. These algorithms push workers into "clopening" – where you close the store after midnight and then open it again the next morning before 5AM. And if you try to unionize, another algorithm – that spies on you and your fellow workers' social media activity – targets you for reprisals and your store for closure.

If you're driving an Amazon delivery van, algorithm watches your eyeballs and tells your boss that you're a bad driver if it doesn't like what it sees. If you're working in an Amazon warehouse, an algorithm decides if you've taken too many pee-breaks and automatically dings you:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

If this disgusts you and you're hoping to use your ballot to elect lawmakers who will take up your cause, an algorithm stands in your way again. "AI" tools for purging voter rolls are especially harmful to racialized people – for example, they assume that two "Juan Gomez"es with a shared birthday in two different states must be the same person and remove one or both from the voter rolls:

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/eligible-voters-swept-up-conservative-activists-purge-voter-rolls/

Hoping to get a solid education, the sort that will keep you out of AI-supervised, precarious, low-waged work? Sorry, kiddo: the ed-tech system is riddled with algorithms. There's the grifty "remote invigilation" industry that watches you take tests via webcam and accuses you of cheating if your facial expressions fail its high-tech phrenology standards:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/16/unauthorized-paper/#cheating-anticheat

All of these are non-hypothetical, real risks from AI. The AI industry has proven itself incredibly adept at deflecting interest from real harms to hypothetical ones, like the "risk" that the spicy autocomplete will become conscious and take over the world in order to convert us all to paperclips:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/27/10-types-of-people/#taking-up-a-lot-of-space

Whenever you hear AI bosses talking about how seriously they're taking a hypothetical risk, that's the moment when you should check in on whether they're doing anything about all these longstanding, real risks. And even as AI bosses promise to fight hypothetical election disinformation, they continue to downplay or ignore the non-hypothetical, here-and-now harms of AI.

There's something unseemly – and even perverse – about worrying so much about AI and election disinformation. It plays into the narrative that kicked off in earnest in 2016, that the reason the electorate votes for manifestly unqualified candidates who run on a platform of bald-faced lies is that they are gullible and easily led astray.

But there's another explanation: the reason people accept conspiratorial accounts of how our institutions are run is because the institutions that are supposed to be defending us are corrupt and captured by actual conspiracies:

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/09/21/republic-of-lies-the-rise-of-conspiratorial-thinking-and-the-actual-conspiracies-that-fuel-it/

The party line on conspiratorial accounts is that these institutions are good, actually. Think of the rebuttal offered to anti-vaxxers who claimed that pharma giants were run by murderous sociopath billionaires who were in league with their regulators to kill us for a buck: "no, I think you'll find pharma companies are great and superbly regulated":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

Institutions are profoundly important to a high-tech society. No one is capable of assessing all the life-or-death choices we make every day, from whether to trust the firmware in your car's anti-lock brakes, the alloys used in the structural members of your home, or the food-safety standards for the meal you're about to eat. We must rely on well-regulated experts to make these calls for us, and when the institutions fail us, we are thrown into a state of epistemological chaos. We must make decisions about whether to trust these technological systems, but we can't make informed choices because the one thing we're sure of is that our institutions aren't trustworthy.

Ironically, the long list of AI harms that we live with every day are the most important contributor to disinformation campaigns. It's these harms that provide the evidence for belief in conspiratorial accounts of the world, because each one is proof that the system can't be trusted. The election disinformation discourse focuses on the lies told – and not why those lies are credible.

That's because the subtext of election disinformation concerns is usually that the electorate is credulous, fools waiting to be suckered in. By refusing to contemplate the institutional failures that sit upstream of conspiracism, we can smugly locate the blame with the peddlers of lies and assume the mantle of paternalistic protectors of the easily gulled electorate.

But the group of people who are demonstrably being tricked by AI is the people who buy the horrifically flawed AI-based algorithmic systems and put them into use despite their manifest failures.

As I've written many times, "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, but we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job"

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

The most visible victims of AI disinformation are the people who are putting AI in charge of the life-chances of millions of the rest of us. Tackle that AI disinformation and its harms, and we'll make conspiratorial claims about our institutions being corrupt far less credible.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/27/ai-conspiracies/#epistemological-collapse

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #ai #disinformation #algorithmic bias #elections #election disinformation #conspiratorialism #paternalism #this machine kills #Horizon #the rents too damned high #weaponized shelter #predictive policing #fr #facial recognition #labor #union busting #union avoidance #standardized testing #hiring #employment #remote invigilation

[socialjusticeinamerica]

They don’t even know of a time when life was better in America. Actually Gen X was the first generation in America not to do better than their parents. The same being true for the last few years of the Boomer generation. Y also is struggling.

The lady Boomers and X’ers remember what it was like before Reagan took over and busted unions in 1980. Wages dropped, factory owners took their shops to the Deep South where unions had long since been busted or never allowed to set up in the first place. Then the oligarchs outsourced their work and shuttered factories nationwide.

Before Reagan one parent working 40 hrs a week at a union job could afford a mortgage, a new car, medical insurance, and college for their 2.5 kids. That also applied to “minorities” or marginalized people who benefitted from union protections and negotiated standard pay scales.

With Reagan a home went from two years salary to 10+ years salary. Tuition did the same. Cars that cost a month’s salary soared to a year’s salary. Wages have remained stagnant for about 40 years. The wealthy paid high taxes and we had everything. Now the remnants of the middle class pay the bulk of taxes while multimillionaires and billionaires pay little or even nothing. Credit card interest soared to over 20% in some cases while Republikkkans passed laws making it easier for those card companies to sue you whilst making it nearly impossible for you to sue them. Mentally disabled people were literally dumped into the streets causing widespread homeless which is criminalized in affluent areas and red states. Guns and drugs flooded the streets. Bigoted white nationalists became radicalized when Reagan granted Australian Rupert Murdoch citizenship so he could open Fox News and then shut down the Fairness Doctrine so propaganda could be spread under the guise of news.

All the societal problems we suffer today began with the birth of the modern RepubliKKKan party led by their racist Dotard Ronald Reagan in 1980. The GOP became an organized crime syndicate and the government became a tool for the rich. The middle class shrunk from a sizeable percentage of the population to a handful of areas in the north and along the west coast. Many foolish people believe themselves to be in the middle class but in fact they are just perpetual debtors.

If you’re young your first reaction might be to blame the Boomers because that’s incorrectly become a marketed belief. The Boomer generation fought against the GOP and its wars, racism, pollution, big oil, corporate welfare, and black hole military industrial complex. They were the hippies and political activists that marched on Washington and other places. They booted the racist Dixiecrats (southern conservative racist Dems) from the Democratic Party while shifting educated liberals left. Sadly the GOP under Nixon and his colleagues welcomed the racists and conservative nut jobs. Don’t fight a generational war when you should be fighting a class/culture/political war.

The younger generation needs to educate itself about the political parties and how life was better just a few decades back and begin to vote. Vote, then organize in the workplace through unions and in the streets to attract more young voters and to counter protest the Republikkkan right-wing oligarch take-over of America. Complaining and taking refuge in the internet won’t turn things around. Become politically active, become stoke, bring back lower tuition, affordable health care, labor unions, workers rights, voters rights, etc.

[hezikas]

You Are The Right One | Chapter 1

Dad!Aegon II Targaryen x Nanny!Reader (modern au)

Summary: Following a devastating event involving his ex-girlfriend, Aegon is now a full-time single father to his daughter. However, with a jam-packed schedule due to his ongoing tour, he's struggling to balance his parenting duties with his high-profile career as a musician. To ease the burden, Aegon heeds his sister Helaena's advice and hires a stay-in nanny. But what he doesn't realize is that this decision will have unexpected consequences that will turn his life on its head.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen/Reader

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of any characters from House of the Dragon, as they are the intellectual property of George R.R. Martin. Furthermore, I must acknowledge that this story is heavily influenced by the book 'The Nanny' written by Lana Ferguson.

Just a heads up I did not proofread this and english is not my first language.

Taglist: @julieeba  @delilah1990 @fan-goddess @shit-posts420​ @watercolorskyy​ 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As you sit staring at your inbox, you hardly expect to hear back from A. Targaryen so soon after sending your email. And yet, her eagerness to meet you catches you off guard. The surprise only grows when she suggests the meeting take place at Red Keep, one of the most extravagant restaurants in all of King's Landing.

"Red Keep, huh," you murmured, a hint of disbelief creeping into your voice. "Is this how rich people hold interviews?"

You are aware that dining at Red Keep would be an extravagant expense, potentially amounting to half of your savings from your two months of hard work at the local pediatric clinic, a job that you held dear in your heart and still harbor resentment towards being fired from.

You push the thought aside and head to your small closet to pick out the most formal clothing you can find which is the black dress that you had worn to your college graduation. You hope that it will suit the occasion and not make you look out of place in such a lavish setting. Furthermore, since you are under the suspicion that the family you will be working for as a nanny is even more affluent than you initially believed. 

You recalled your experience of assisting children at the clinic, thinking that it had prepared you well for this new job. 

"This should be a piece of cake," you told yourself as you made your way to the Red Keep restaurant. 

However, deep down, you couldn't shake off the nervousness that came with starting a new job. You held on to the hope that this job would be as fulfilling as your previous one, and that the kid you would be taking care of would appreciate your efforts, just as the ones at the clinic did.

As you step inside the restaurant, you are greeted by a stunning hostess exuding an air of sophistication. She wears a perfectly tailored skirt and blouse that match the upscale decor of the place. Her sleek, polished appearance is completed by a pair of heels. The way she carries herself speaks volumes about the high standards of the establishment.

"Good evening, ma'am. Do you have a reservation?" she asked, pasting on a fake smile and emphasizing the word ‘reservation’ as if knowing you couldn't afford a single thing in the restaurant, not even their appetizers.

"Yes, under A. Targaryen," you replied confidently, determined to show her that you belonged in such a high-class establishment. The hostess's body suddenly changed after hearing the name you had mentioned. 

"Ah, right this way, Mr. Targaryen will be with you shortly" she said, leading you to a private table at the back of the restaurant. 

Mr. Targaryen? Did I hear her right? Maybe I misheard her. you thought to yourself.

As you marveled at the opulence of the restaurant's decor, a waiter approached you to inquire if you would like to begin with any appetizers. You decided to forego the appetizers and instead ordered a water, realizing that the unfriendly hostess was right about you not being able to afford the extravagant menu items. While waiting for your future boss, you occupied yourself by scrolling through your phone.

“Excuse me,” someone says.

The unexpected sound made you choke on your water, causing some to dribble down your chin. Embarrassed, you quickly wiped it away with a napkin. As you finished cleaning up, a face came into your view.

Motherf–

Your mind struggled to comprehend the sight before you. The man standing in front of you possessed a captivating appearance, with sharp, chiseled facial features and a prominent jawline. His eyes were a pale shade of purple, reminiscent of delicate lilacs in full bloom, and seemed to emit an otherworldly aura. His platinum blond hair was styled back, accentuating the angles of his face, and appeared to shimmer in the light, giving it an almost supernatural quality. He was a breathtakingly beautiful sight, resembling a creature from a dream.

In short, the man before you was none other than Aegon Targaryen, the world-renowned singer whose soulful voice had captivated millions.

"Excuse me, are you Y/N?" he asked, his voice like a melody that could soothe any troubled soul.

As your eyes remained transfixed on the ethereal man, his lips moved, and you suddenly snapped out of your reverie. Realizing that he had posed a question, you struggled to gather your composure before finally managing to respond, "Y-Yes, I am. Nice to meet you, Mr. Targaryen."

Aegon flashed you a charming smile that could easily disarm even the most composed individuals. "Please, call me Aegon. Mr. Targaryen makes me feel old," he remarked, his tone tinged with a touch of playfulness.

As he spoke, you couldn't help but question his age. He certainly appeared older than you, though not excessively so. There was an air of maturity about him, but he retained a youthful essence. Still, you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from him, entranced by his presence.

"Right," you stammered. 

"I'm Y/N. Y/N L/N," you introduced yourself, trying to regain your composure in the midst of his charismatic presence. As you pushed away from the table, he extended his hand at the same moment you were about to do the same. The result? A clumsy collision of palms and fingers, turning the handshake into a tangled mess reminiscent of a chaotic game of Twister.

Both of you were taken aback by the unexpected jumble of hands. Your face flushed a deep shade of crimson, and Aegon let out a nervous chuckle, attempting to diffuse the awkwardness that hung in the air.

"I apologize for asking you to meet me here. With my busy schedule leading up to my tour, I've been trying my best to fit everything in. I thought it would be convenient to have our interview while I have a meeting later at 8:45 pm, so I hope we can wrap up quickly."

"It's not a problem. I initially thought it was customary to conduct such meetings over dinner, especially at a place like this, but I figured..." The realization dawns on you, and you can't help but feel a tinge of embarrassment as you cover your eyes, trying to hide your flushed face.

"Oh my God. This wasn't a dinner interview. You wanted to talk to me before your upcoming meeting."

"I should have... been clearer in my email."

"I can't believe it. I wore this silly dress, and..."

"It's actually a very nice dress," he interjects, a touch of amusement in his voice as he finds your little outburst endearing.

"I must seem completely ridiculous..."

"Really, you don't," he assures you.

"I can be so oblivious sometimes. I apologize."

He continues to look amused, finding your moment of self-doubt and realization rather cute.

"You're welcome to order something," he suggests. "If you feel like it. I don't mind." 

"Thank you, but I think I have to excuse myself now. Perhaps it's best if I just leave, don't you think? This situation is already spiraling into a disaster." 

"Wait, no," he interjects, reaching out his hand as you try to make your escape.

"Please don't do that." You halt in your tracks, uncertain if he still intends to proceed with the interview. Perhaps he's having second thoughts as well. You speculate.

"Are you still interested in interviewing me?"

"To be frank," he sighed, his voice laced with genuine surprise, "no other applicant even comes close to your credentials. CPR training, First Aid certification, and experience working at a prestigious pediatric clinic. The references I checked couldn't stop raving about you. It seemed they were truly saddened to see you go."

"Yes, it was disheartening when circumstances forced me to leave," you admitted, a tinge of nostalgia in your voice. "Funding issues plagued the clinic. I cherished every moment there."

"Well," he chuckled softly, "it appears their loss may be my gain. Your résumé astounded me when it landed in my inbox."

"But now that you've met me, I imagine you're starting to doubt its authenticity," you remarked, a trace of self-deprecation evident in your words.

Aegon's laughter escaped, a restrained mirth accompanied by a gentle downturn of his gaze, as if he didn't want to appear disrespectful. Given the awkwardness of this initial encounter, such caution was understandable.

"No," he reassured, his voice warm. "I have no doubts about its authenticity. Although I must admit, I am curious. With your remarkable background, why seek a nanny position?"

The air held a moment of anticipation as you contemplated his question, the unspoken desires and motivations that brought you to this point.

You released a heavy sigh, leaning in closer over the table, gathering the courage to share your truth. "Can I speak honestly with you?"

Aegon leaned forward, his eyes displaying genuine interest. "I would prefer nothing less," he replied, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

Taking a moment to compose your thoughts, you began, "I'm currently in my final year of a graduate program. As I mentioned in my email, I lost my job due to downsizing. Rent in this city has become exorbitant, and to be completely frank, I'm in need of financial stability. Moreover, the offer of free room and board is an opportunity I can't dismiss. It would alleviate a significant burden on top of everything else."

A furrow formed on his forehead, suggesting that a concern had surfaced, and you braced yourself for the rejection you feared was imminent. "Regarding that," he began, his tone serious, "I feel compelled to inform you that it's a live-in position, but I want to be entirely transparent. It's just me and my daughter. Rest assured, you would have your own room, practically an entire floor to yourself, complete privacy. However, I understand if this arrangement might make you uncomfortable."

In all your years of existence, it seemed rather extraordinary that your first encounter of living with a strikingly attractive man would unfold within the realm of a fully immersive fictional scenario. Though a part of you longed to inquire about the other parent in this situation, if only to quell your inner turmoil, your rational mind vehemently warned against such a misstep.

With practiced precision, you adorned your face with a professional smile, masking the whirlwind of thoughts swirling within. "I don't anticipate any issues on my end. However, in the spirit of complete transparency... I'm currently enrolled in a hybrid program at KL's."

Curiosity flickered in Aegon's eyes as he sought clarification. "What does that mean?"

A faint chuckle escaped your lips as you unraveled the intricacies of your schedule. "Essentially, it means that the majority of my coursework is conducted online, affording me the flexibility to manage it during the evenings after work. However, two weekends every month, I'm required to attend on-campus classes. And most of the jobs I've applied for have struggled to accommodate my schedule, rendering it somewhat of a deal breaker." A wistful smile accompanied your admission.

Aegon pondered your words, a hint of amusement dancing in his gaze. "Well, it appears that I might be the sole individual who recognizes the true value of your impressive credentials."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Note: I apologize for the delay in releasing Chapter 1. Unfortunately, I unexpectedly fell ill with a viral infection shortly after posting the sneak peek. Despite that, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Please understand that some parts may not be as well-written as I had initially intended, as I wrote them while I was still unwell. That’s all. Thank you for reading.

#Aegon Targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic

[3rdeyeblaque]

Today we venerate Ancestor & Hoodoo Saint Nat Turner on his 223rd birthday 🎉

King Nat was a Seer, prophet, preacher, & Freedom Fighter who used his intuitive gifts to spearhead one of the greatest slave rebellions in U.S. History; one that would shift the trajectory of Black lives under Maafa for decades to come.

King Nat was born enslaved on the Benjamin Turner plantation in Southampton Co., VA. He was a highly intuitive and gifted child. He could easily recall events that took place in his life as early as 3 or 4 years old. He also foretold of events that occurred before his time. His grandmother was a deeply spiritual elder and nurtured his spiritual development. His mother and many of those enslaved on the Turner plantation knew that he would become a prophet & was surely destined for a higher purpose.

For his "uncommon intelligence ", Nat learned to read & write at a young age at which time he was also indoctrinated into Christianity. His interpretation of the Christian bible convinced him that the Christian God condemned Slavery. This inspired him to become a preacher.

By age 21, King Nat was a prolific Seer & was known as, "The Prophet". Nat received many visions & Divine messages over the course of his life. Much of which guided him to avenge slavery & free our peoples from bondage. He had a series of 3 visions that would set him on course to fulfilling his highest purpose, thus forever impressing his name upon in U.S. history.

The 1st vision came as he was following in his father's footsteps, fleeing the plantation. To everyone's astonishment he returned of his own volition after spending 30 days in the woods because, “the Spirit appeared to [him] and said [he] had [his] wishes directed to the things of this world, and not to the kingdom of heaven, and that [he] should return to the service of [his] earthly master.” One year later, the devil died.

On May 12, 1828, Nat he received a 2nd vision, as he witnessed a solar eclipse. He “heard a loud noise in the heavens, and the Spirit instantly appeared to me and said the serpent was loosened, and Christ had laid down the yoke he had borne for the sins of men, and that I should take it on and fight against the serpent, for the time was fast approaching when the first should be last and the last should be first.” This, he believed to be the sign he had been promised.

On, August 13th 1831, Spirit delivered a 3rd message; in the form of lights across the night sky. At which time, an atmospheric disturbance across the sky in the aftermath of an eruption at Mount St. Helen's (3,000 mi away) caused the Sun to appear bluish-green in color. Nat prayed to learn their meaning. For Nat, this reaffirmed the work that he'd been called to do; to move forward with his mission to avenge Slavery & free those he could. From then on his plans were set into motion.

At 2am on August 22nd, King Nat led his peers & allies into rebellion. They struck their slaver's household first; slaughtering the entire family. From there they went from house to house, killing every single devil in their path. By noon, they marched toward the neighboring town of Jerusalem where a White militia of 3,000 men lie in wait for them.

Most of the rebels were either captured or killed - except for Nat. He managed to escape & eluded Virginian authorities for 2mo. He hid in the woods just miles from his former slaver's plantation. He was discovered on October 30th by an armed farmer who stumbled across him hiding in a foxhole. Emaciated and weak, he surrendered willingly. After his arrest, Turner was taken back to Jerusalem where he stood trial & was convicted, then sentenced to death by hanging. Nat was killed on November 11th.

To our deepest disdain & no suprise, he was denied a formal burial. Instead, his body was taken to doctors for dissection, to be distributed among affluent White families. He was skinned to make their purses. His flesh was turned into grease. And his bones were divided up into trophies. These became heirloom souvenirs to be passereceive among these affluent White families for generations.

Although King Nat did not end slavery as he had hoped, he & his allies avenged those who wronged them, and they did, ultimately, achieve their freedom from this world. Nat became immortalized as a symbol; of warrior strength (for us) & a catalyst of White fear. King Nat single-handedly shook the institution of Slavert at its core. So much that it stretched the divide between Pro-Slavers & Abolitionists. Pro-slavery advocates began calling for greater restrictions on "Freefolk" & demanded that Abolitionists cease their interference with Slavery. In Virginia, politicians saw Nat's intelligence & education as a major threat, thus outlawing the practice of teaching enslaved Peoples how to read or write. Abolitionists' efforts to end Slavery only intensified. This set the stage in U.S politics for the Civil War.

"I had a vision - and I saw white spirits and black spirits engaged in battle, and the sun was darkened - the thunder rolled in the Heavens, and blood flowed in streams - and I heard a voice saying, 'Such is your luck, such are you called to see, and let it come rough or smooth, you must surely bear it." - Nat Turner; "Confessions of Nat Turner".

Let us remember that it was more than bravery, nerve, & standing ten toes down that drove King Nat's rebellion to success. It was, first and foremost, leading with Spirit & trusting in our intuitive/Ancestral gifts.

We pour libations & give him💐 today as we celebrate him for his gifts, Divine trust, bravery, and sacrifice. May we lift him up in prayer & offering in gratitude & lace toward his elevation.

Offering suggestions: prayers toward his healing/elevation, a Methodist bible, libations of water - especially on the battlegrounds of rebellion in Courtland, VA/Benjamin Turner plantation/, read & share his confessions

‼️Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.‼️

#the hoodoo calendar #hoodoo #hoodoos #atr #atrs #ancestor veneration #nat turner #Nat Turner day #hoodoo heritage month

[sundazesun]

"I’M SICK TO DEATH OF HEARING OF HOW everything fucking hurts trans people’s feelings & how I’m obliged to erase myself & my reality, constantly police my speech & have it policed for me, & walk on eggshells to center their narcissistic fragility.

I’m sick to death hearing that trans people are the most oppressed people in the entire world. Affluent, western white men in their 30s, 40s, 50s wearing dresses are not fucking oppressed AT ALL, let alone more than poor black & brown girls in the developing world.

I’m sick to death hearing that TW being told they can’t get their dicks out in places where women & girls are vulnerable is denying them rights & the worst possible hardship any human has ever faced. If that’s the worst you ever face you are privileged, not oppressed.

I’m sick to death of women being asked to prove that vast numbers of us are in peril of brutal rape & death for our objections to sharing private spaces with males to be considered valid, & anything short of that being seen as an acceptable price to validate.

I’m sick to death of hearing that TWAW even if they take no hormones, have no surgery, see no doctors, get no diagnosis, experience no dysphoria, & keep their beards, but when we ask questions suddenly all the TW will kill themselves from triggered dysphoria.

I’m sick to death hearing that women talking about surviving male violence are “weaponizing their trauma” against trans people when the entire trans movement is founded on the weaponized trauma of their (supposed) dysphoria & emotional blackmail.

I’m sick to death of hearing “no one’s saying sex isn’t real” & “sex & gender are different” while being told there’s no such thing as a biological female, women have dicks, males have periods & get cervical cancer, a clitoris is just a small penis.

I’m sick to death of hearing how hard it is to be trans when every politician, mainstream media outlet, corporation, charity, & celebrity is in the thrall of trans ideology while women who say humans can’t change sex are vilified, doxxed, fired, & otherwise cancelled.

I’m sick to death of hearing that endometriosis, menstruation, miscarriage, abortion, street harassment, sexual objectification, & unpaid domestic labor are examples of “cis privilege.”

I’m sick to death of being told that women & girls who dare to set boundaries are hateful bigots; that men are entitled to decide whether our boundaries are justified & whether they will be granted; & that straight dysphoric men are entitled to sex from lesbians.

I’m sick to death of white people with BLM in their bios saying women who say humans can’t change sex are the same as nazis and white supremacists while also saying that black women are indistinguishable from dysphoric men.

I’m sick to death of being told that “humans can’t change sex” is the epitome of violent hatred but “choke on my fat ladycock, t*rf cunt,” “kill t*rfs,” “t*rfs get raped with my barbed wire-wrapped baseball bat” are considered justifiable, if not downright righteous.

I’m sick to death of hearing that injured male pride is a catastrophic violation of human rights that must be avoided at all costs, up to and including the sacrifice of female bodies—but female rights & trauma are at best irrelevant. Sick. To. Fucking. Death."

@feminist_rachel on twitter

[cogitoergofun]

With the US maternal death rate already the highest among affluent countries and still rising, a new study by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention suggests pregnant people experience high levels of mistreatment and discrimination during maternity care.

The survey of 2,402 mothers from around the country found that 1 in 5 experienced some type of mistreatment by health care providers during their maternity care. The most common forms included having health concerns ignored or dismissed (10 percent), being shouted at or scolded (7 percent), having their physical privacy violated (5 percent), and having a provider threaten to withhold treatment or force them to accept unwanted treatment (5 percent). Additionally, nearly 30 percent of survey takers reported experiencing discrimination during their maternity care, including their race, age, weight, and income.

Black, Hispanic, and multi-racial mothers reported the highest rates of mistreatment and discrimination. These racial disparities mirror disparities seen in pregnancy outcomes; mothers in these groups face the highest maternal mortality rates in the country. Black mothers, for instance, are three times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white mothers.

Overall, 45 percent of the survey respondents said they held back from discussing health concerns during pregnancy and delivery with their care provider. They often did this because they thought what they felt was normal; they didn't want to make a big deal about a problem; they didn't want to seem "difficult;" and they felt their health care provider was rushed.

The survey study has many limitations—including that it's not nationally representative, it was taken years after some respondents' pregnancies, and responses are subject to recall bias. But, it offers a glimpse into the lived experiences of pregnant people in the US, who continue to die and suffer severe health problems at remarkably high rates. Between 2018 and 2021, the US maternal mortality rate rose from 17.4 deaths per 100,000 live births to 32.9 deaths. Those numbers easily surpass the rates of other high-income countries, which have generally seen maternal mortality decline in recent years. In 2020, when the US rate was 23.8, the country with the next highest rate was New Zealand, with a rate of 13.6 deaths per 100,000 live births, according to a report by the Commonwealth Fund. Across the northern border in Canada, the rate was 8.4, and in the UK, it was 6.5.

[bluekittyworld]

There is Karma.

Hello sweet people, this is my first time writing something, I hope you guys like it and all feedback will be appreciated.

Please don't post my work on other sites/platforms or copy it, or translate it, thank you.

Approx. 11,000 words in total and 5 chapters

Warnings: Lot's of angst, mention of suicide, smut, 18+

Main Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Happy Ending

Sad Ending

There is karma. It comes back, don’t use your heart in a bad way.

You were part of the popular girls at school, a rich spoiled brat as one may put it. Grade As and Bs were natural to you, you wondered sometimes if you had put in the effort, you could have scored better than all the nerds in your class, but who needed that, you were busy being the popular and pretty rich ‘it’ girl, belittling the quiet and less popular ones. There was one boy in particular, his name was Yunki or Yoonji, something like that. He wore thick framed glasses; his skin was ghostly pale, and he had contrasting pitch black hair in bowl cut. You found him an easy target as he never spoke back, no matter how many times you tripped him over, shoved him around, broke his ugly glasses, he never said anything back.

Why did you hate him so much? He didn���t care about anyone, and you hated it so much, why didn’t he try to fit in? He dressed so poorly, everyone just assumed that he was in this school on a scholarship, there was no way he could afford the fees by the way he dressed. On the other hand, you had to become mean to fit in, every day you woke up hours earlier to complete your work, prepare your hair and makeup, you had to stay relevant, have everyone’s attention, keep the ‘it girl’ title, life was so hard. So, every time you saw the careless Yoongi living his simple easy life, it boiled your blood and what ticked you off even more is that he never retaliated, come to think of it you had never heard his voice, was he mute?

This carried on for 5 years until the day of your graduation, just before graduation, you and your friends mocked this boy wearing his skinny ripped jeans, a t-shirt, and a plaid shirt. At the time your high-school boyfriend joined in too, you decided to give him a matching ripped shirt, pulling out your scissors you made a few cuts in his shirt and his bag, your friends laughed and recorded the scene. Your best friend took a few of his books, and teared them up, nobody noticed how Yoongi was having a panic attack and was on the verge of tears. Your boyfriend took the scissors and started cutting the poor boy’s hair, you did think it was pushing it too far, but nobody else seemed to care, why should you care right? Your boyfriend’s mates started kicking and punching Yoongi, he was now covered in blood and bruises, his eyes piecing into your soul, while he was being beaten up, his eyes were still fixated on you. You noticed this and felt a little bit of guilt, you pulled your boyfriend and asked to go to your favourite Korean BBQ. All your friends and his friends discarded Yoongi, leaving him in the middle of the school grounds, you didn’t even bother to look back if he was still breathing or not, nobody did.

On graduation day, Yoongi didn’t turn up, not like you really cared, you just wondered if he was okay, maybe you did go a little too far the other day. Also, it would have been a great opportunity to see his parents and assess his wealth today. Soon your friends and boyfriend came over to you, and that was the last time you thought of Yoongi.

Years had passed since graduation. You were well set into your father’s business, ready to take senior management positions, being born into an affluent family had its perks, your whole life was served on a silver platter, not a single day of difficulty. Life was monotonic and predictable you began to feel a growing sense of emptiness. Despite the success you achieved in your career and social life, there was an underlying dissatisfaction, a void you couldn't fill. A friend of yours suggested maybe participating in charity events may give you a sense of fulfilment, so you decided to join the next available event.

At this event, everyone was put into groups of 4, and the tasks varied, you were in a team with two boys and another girl. The aim was to visit the elderly and help them out with their chores for today. The drive to the house was quite quick, you didn’t really get to talk to your teammates, the only thing you knew were their names, Sora, Yeonjun and Yoongi. Yoongi rang a bell, but you couldn’t really remember if you ever knew a person with that name, maybe it was just a name of one of the many people you see every day at work, you brushed it off. 

Upon arriving at the house, you saw it was occupied by an old lady, the roofing had some issues and the wallpaper had been peeling off in various places. Yoongi took lead of the team, he suggested “Yeonjun and I will take the duty of fixing the ceiling, while you girls can start by removing the wallpaper.”

His voice was like a gentle breeze on a calm summer day, carrying warmth and serenity, you hadn’t heard such a caring voice in a very long time, even your own mother didn’t sound so affectionate.

You just nodded, while Sora nudged you, maybe you were looking at Yoongi for too long, he was looking back at you with his piercing dark eyes.

“The wallpaper removing machine is in the back of the car, let’s go get it” Sora mentioned.

You nodded and followed her along. Removing the wallpaper wasn’t hard at all, you and Sora had bonded quite well, it was interesting to find out about her, you learnt she ran a café nearby and had a fiancé, her parents currently live in Japan, and she has a poodle dog named Bobbi. You loved this kind of interaction; it was like a breath of fresh air being away from your routine life and interacting with people who didn’t have money on their minds 24/7. You glanced over to Yoongi’s direction now and then… there was a certain attraction you developed towards him, but you turned away each time in disappointment, him and Yeonjun were really focused on getting the ceiling fixed and didn’t really have time for other things. You really wanted to talk to Yoongi more and find out about him, maybe you wouldn’t get another chance and that really bothered you.

You and Sora were done removing the wallpaper, and the ceiling was still being plastered. You suggested to Sora “We should paint this room before the old lady comes back, it shouldn’t take too long, what do you think?”

“Perfect” Sora chimed “Let’s go to the nearby DIY store and pick out a colour.”

Sora got up and walked over to Yeonjun, by the looks of it you assumed they knew each other well, maybe they volunteered together previously, she asked “Yeonjun, my dear cousin, can you drive us in your car to the DIY store?”

Oh, now it makes sense, they were cousins, you smiled at learning the fact, you somewhat wished you were close to your family members.

At the DIY store you and Sora decided on a dusty pink colour, it would contrast well with the plants the lady had in her house. Yeonjun waited in the car and you guys were soon back, he suggested to grab some food, and as if on cue your stomach rumbled.

“Yup, ____ is hungry, we should definitely get food” Sora giggled.

You just smiled in embarrassment. The three of you had decided to buy four portions of Jjajangmyeon, not forgetting Yoongi of course.

Meanwhile Yoongi had finished up the plastering, he looked at the clock, it was 3pm, the old lady did mention she would return at 6pm, there were 3 more hours to go, more than enough time for the plaster to dry and paint over. He smiled at the fact he was ahead of schedule and thought the lady will be so happy to see the finished results. Soon you, Sora and Yeonjun came back, you distributed the noodle bowls to each person.

“Thank you” Yoongi smiled, you swear he had winked too, you felt excited like a teenage girl. You blushed and proceeded to sit down to eat, it was a nice meal, mostly Yeonjun sharing his personal life and how he has crush on his neighbour.

Chapter 2

#yoongi #agust d #bts #suga #suga x reader #bts fanfic #bts reader #suga smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #agustd #suga fluff #yoongi fluff #suga fanfic #yoongi fanfic