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#hes tragic and i want to give him a good life

iam93percentstardust · 2 days

Note

Are you still taking kiss-prompts? What about thigh kisses? 👀

More kiss prompts! Sorry it took me a while to get to this one; I've been busy these past few weeks <3

Tony’s building, the overpriced monstrosity that it is, has a rooftop pool where he had lured Steve by hinting that sometimes, he sunbathes there naked because, according to him, he doesn’t like tan lines.

“And your neighbors don’t mind you sunbathing naked?” Steve had asked.

“Please.” Tony had rolled his eyes. “Everyone there is just as rich and eccentric as I am. They have their own idiosyncrasies, and if I don’t want to be bothered I just pay them off.”

“Oh,” Steve had said. He thought paying off the neighbors to get some privacy was a little out there, but given that Tony was a billionaire’s son, trying very hard to get rid of his fortune, he wasn’t that surprised. He frowned. “You’re not eccentric.”

“Steve,” Tony had said, giving him a Look. “I sunbathe nude.”

Long story short, Steve had been unable to stop thinking about Tony stretched out on a lounge chair, miles of golden skin on glorious display, so when Tony had asked him if he wanted to spend the day at the pool with him, he’d jumped at the chance.

Tragically, when Steve got there, Tony was not stretched out nude in one of the lounges.

He is, however, wearing the tiniest pair of red swim trunks known to man. So small, in fact, that Steve isn’t sure they’re not secretly bikini bottoms from the women’s department. Not that Steve would complain even if they are from the women’s department. Dating Tony has opened his eyes to the benefits of his partners wearing what would traditionally be classified as women’s lingerie—albeit made for men—namely, that it’s very sexy and Steve would worship at the altar of Tony’s ass in black lace for the rest of his life if he could.

“Good morning, beloved,” Tony drawls from his floatie in the middle of the shallow end. “Imagine seeing you here.” He raises his eyebrow above his sunglasses and crooks his finger in Steve’s direction.

Steve makes some kind of noise, strips out of his shirt, heedlessly dropping it… somewhere, and dives in, traveling half the length of the pool before he surfaces right in front of Tony.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says, wrapping his hand around Tony’s ankle and tugging him closer so his gorgeous thighs bracket Steve’s head—exactly where he wants him to be. “I thought you were going to be naked.”

“It’s just such a beautiful day,” Tony says carelessly, but his stomach tenses under Steve’s gaze, betraying how affected he is by his nearness. “I couldn’t possibly be expected not to get in the pool.”

Steve hums and kisses Tony’s right thigh, sloppy and open-mouthed. Tony tastes like chlorine and sunscreen, and Steve ignores both of those in favor of leaving a livid red mark on his skin. Tony sighs sweetly, muscles bunching under Steve’s teeth.

“You’re a tease,” Steve murmurs, tilting his head in the other direction to leave a matching mark on Tony’s other thigh.

“Mmhmm,” Tony agrees breathily. “An absolute menace. That’s why Natasha thought we’d be good together.”

Steve chuckles. “Sweetheart, please don’t talk about Natasha when I’m kissing you.”

“You’re not kissing me,” he points out. “My mouth is up here, and until such a time as it’s occupied, I can talk about whatever I—mmph!”

Steve kisses him again and pulls him fully off the floatie, kicking backwards to pull them back out into deeper water. Tony wraps his arms and legs around him, clinging to him as they kiss again and again.

#stevetony #alle writes

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hellavile · 18 hours

Text

━━━ 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑚𝑒. a.h

warnings 𑄽𑄺 6.4k. fem reader, lowercase intended, she/her pronouns, murder mystery, aki is a chef, oral [ f + m.], sneaking away, marijuana use, praise, fingering + finger sucking, aki's tongue is pierced, sexual acts happen quick, mentions of depression, brief mention of emotional/physical abuse, reader is desperate for help/attention, parental neglect, grooming, minors aren’t allowed.

━━━ ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 .ᐟ ꒱ ; another old piece of mine i never fully finished and now posting yrs later!

“okay, i'm out!" aki is shouting as he tosses his white chef coat over his shoulder, book bag on the other, the cool breeze of spring blowing through his raven hair the minute he opened the tall glass door that led to the front of the restaurant. his friend, also a coworker, is busy, in the mix of gathering dirty dishes and clearing trash bins but still sends him a farewell, a quick, 'see ya tomorrow. good job today!' till he's off to his bus stop. he was thankful he got out early, just before five in the afternoon meaning the sun hadn't set yet.

he sighs, extremely worn out, in dire need of a steamy hot shower and a greasy pizza while laying in the comfort of, finally, his own apartment he worked entirely too hard to gain. the commute to his place in brooklyn, new york became rather annoying due to rush hour traffic at this time. having to take the bus then switch to the 'n' train, hopping off and walking fifteen minutes until he finally reaches his destination. his second goal was to afford a vehicle to save him money instead of wasting it on expensive monthly metro cards.

aki's lived here his entire life, growing up in the bronx, not much different. he loved new york, but not their uppity expenses. the fact that he's paying nearly two grand for a 600 square-foot apartment with no in-unit laundry nor a gym at that, was nonsensical. did he want to reside here forever? yes. he'd feel homesick if he ever were to leave. having the opportunity to travel seemed like a much better alternative, that way he'd still have his home but be anywhere in the world doing what he loved, and that was cooking. aki hayakawa was twenty-six years old, earning his master's in culinary arts at the culinary institute of america, also known as the C.I.A.

his ultimate dream was to open his restaurant, which he would name after his tragically deceased mother. a terrible accident in which he dreads the memory of. falling endlessly into a black hole, hearing nothing but the sound of his own fear, the breaking of his bones when it interacted with brick interior, the feeling of his heart thumping excessively against his chest as he continued to drop deeper like a rock that was chucked down an empty well. this emotion he knew all too well; failure. when he lost his mother, it felt as if the world crumbled beneath him, malicious dark vines slithering up to grab him by his ankles and pull him down a bottomless pit of nothingness.

he tasted the agony, the anger, the sadness, and even the hate from the fact that she was gone and never coming back. countless tantrums, anxiety attacks, and depression summed up the apathy of it all. it took him six years to realize that drowning in pain would never help him gain the strength that he knew she wanted him to have. by letting her witness the pain he was going through from above, he was hurting not only her . . but himself. so to overcome the tragedy, he kept himself busy with cooking. going to school, earning his degree, and the current job he had with his best friend since middle school.

school was probably the greatest thing he'd ever done to reinvent who he was as a person. cooking is a delicate yet challenging obstacle to undertake, yet, it's so therapeutic to him. the nature of it all, being able to witness what he can do for many people, bring laughter and happiness—it's a beautiful thing. when aki was small, he and his mother would give back to people all the time. whether they were donating clothes to the homeless, or feeding small pigeons pieces of bread on a sunny day as they flew to the gray pavement, awaiting a feast. they always cared about others. they would experiment a lot, going to food markets just to come home and whip up a good meal which they would then donate to the less fortunate. that's when he learned how humble he felt to give back to those in need.

he wanted to show his mother his achievements, to push himself and become a world-renowned chef, just like gordon ramsey—without the aggression. he wanted his name plastered on articles for his extraordinary talent, talked about on tv, in fact, given his own cooking show on foodnetwork. aki grew up watching that channel, an obsessive enticement his mother could never break the young boy from. he was making recipes at the age of twelve, and learned how to cook at eight. eggs were the first thing, usually everyone's first, then as time progressed, he grew from simple pasta dishes to revitalizing gourmet meats, and anything french. just recently he schooled himself on how to create wine. every day he learned something new, and that was the beauty of culinary.

"hayakawa! come here!" star yells as soon as she sees the tall man emerge through the front door, ready to start his morning shift, raspy voice laced with slight panic, instantly making the man run to her out of worry.

"what's wrong?" he furrows his brows.

"look who just fucking walked in," she grabs his bicep, pulling him closer to the front counter. aki curiously follows where her finger points, seeing a slim man with black curly hair dressed properly in a white and black suit. silver and sapphire rolex on his wrist, his pale green eyes scanning through the lens of his glasses at the menu while he sips his water. expensive.

"i have no idea who that is," aki blinks, making star gasp.

"he's alexander bodari, one of my favorite authors of all time. remember the novel i told you i was reading, about this girl who was kept in this lunatics basement and almost murdered?"

aki's eyebrows raise. "the book dylan bought you for your birthday, right?"

"yeah! that's him. oh my fucking god, i'm so nervous, whew," star begins to fan herself, nearly having a breakdown. aki grabs her shoulder and chuckles.

"chill out, star. you don't have to serve him if you don't want to."

"of course i do! i just. . . can't," she frowns.

"you can, you've done it many times before. this isn't the first celebrity we've come across."

star sighs, nodding. "you're right, i can do it."

"good girl," aki smiles, patting the top of her head. star catches his wrist and scowls.

"fuck off."

"aki," another voice calls to him, this time it's the head chef, also known as his boss. aki greets him with a small, 'good morning, chef' before waiting for his response.

"i'm guessing you know that alexander bodari is here," lane says, arms crossed over his broad chest. aki nods. "i want you to cook for him."

aki and star share a glance of shock.

"uh, why me. where's dylan?"

"he's not feeling well so i gave him the day off. you're the only one here that's near his level, and he's a higher-up man, so i want you to cook for him. star will cater to his needs. we're kinda short-staffed today, and i trust you two will handle it properly."

"yes, chef," they say in unison.

star was only a waiter, working here for four years while aki earned his position two years into her time. the last thing the woman could do was cook, ironic since she worked in a restaurant with very talented people. lane would've asked her in a heartbeat if she was as skilled as aki. aki was known for making dishes at the top of his head, so if anyone asked for a special, he was the one to ask. before they began to serve anyone inside, aki gave star a small prep talk before sending her out. eventually, she got through with taking his order without stuttering or sweating. when she walked back into the kitchen, actually shoved the doors open with a joker smile on her face, aki cocks his head at her.

"you—"

"he wants your special!" she screams, doing a goofy dance, and skipping in her spot.

aki's face drops. "are you deadass?"

"yes! when he was looking at the menu, he saw your four courses on the back and chose your mom's stew! fucking a, man!"

aki is still frozen, weakly giving star their signature handshake, smile slowly easing onto his face. "my mom's stew? seriously?"

"yeah. chop chop, get to it."

aki was persistent. no one's ever ordered his mother's stew, which made this day very special for him. even if the dish was only on the menu for a month, it still meant a lot to him. he made sure there were no distractions, taking a tender chuck roast and cutting them into cubes, seasoning them well while throwing in worcester sauce, balsamic vinegar, garlic cloves, bay leaves, and beef broth. making a slurry with flour and water to thicken the stew. adding onions and potatoes. it was a simple yet fulfilling dish he looked forward to every sunday.

"deep breaths," star whispered as she carried the steaming tray of stew plated professionally on a porcelain oval-shaped bowl. in a way, it felt like she was telling not only herself but him. it's a rarity that people order his courses, and serving this to an author, a bestseller, a man worth millions, made him giddy. he was cheesing like an idiot, pushing star out the double doors to the dining area.

although as soon as she walked out, that's when doubt clouded his gut. did he put too many seasonings? is the meat tender enough? what if he doesn't like it? will he write about it on his author blog? god, he hoped the potatoes weren't hard. he had only tasted the broth, it tasted just like his mother's. what if. . .

"aki," star walks back in, an even wider grin on her a-symmetrical face this time. he blinks, realizing that he's been standing here for three minutes now. "he wants to see the chef."

he's dumbfounded. "me?"

"no, lane. yes, you!" she's squealing like a girl, and sometimes he forgets she is one, even underneath her blunt features and boyish sense of style.

he's clearing his throat now, strolling mindlessly towards alexander bodari's table, greeting himself and waiting for his constructive criticism.

"you're aki hayakawa?" the man questioned, lifting his glasses back onto his face.

"yes, sir."

"i just have to say," alexander chuckles, softly clapping his hands. "this may be one of the best stews i've ever had."

the tenseness in aki's shoulders relaxes, and he's sighing with relief, alexander noticing and laughing. "i'm really glad to hear that, sir."

"did you create this on your own?"

"it's actually my mother's recipe. it's my favorite. every time i make it, it reminds me of her."

"that's really ironic because this reminds me of the stew my mother used to make," he grins. "yours is the first that i haven't seen carrots in."

aki laughs. "my mom hated cooked carrots."

"mine did too," he fixes his collar. "is this your restaurant?"

"no, no. i'm just a cook here. i plan on opening my own soon. i already have my master's."

his brows raise. "wow, that's amazing. wow old are you?"

"twenty-six, sir."

"well, you're definitely going places," he compliments and aki feels even more satisfied. "say what, i'm having this pre-book release, about a hundred guests. i was wondering if you would like to cater the party. i'll pay you however much you want."

it's like the whole world collapsed on his chest. he'd never gotten an opportunity like this, especially this big. to cook for so many famous people at once was a blessing. he could really show off his skills if he took this offer . . . and did. after thanking him, exchanging contacts, and then handshakes, aki lets the man finish his meal before jogging back into the kitchen to scream about it to aki, lane, and the rest of the crew. alexander offered star to come along to serve, but unfortunately she couldn't, seeming as she'd be out of town for family matters that day.

alexander, of course, knowing she was a big fan signed a copy of his book she already had in her bag and letting her know she could help the next time he had an event. that made her happy enough. the two of them couldn't wait to finish their shifts today, taking the train to star's place and planning dishes all night, even cooking them to get them just right. alexander was hosting the party at his penthouse down soho. and aki had a week to prepare himself.

୨♡୧

cashmere sweaters, silk gowns, and jewelry that most likely cost more than his savings account roamed the lovely terrace of alexander bodari's home. every inch of it screamed filthy rich. rows of tables were set outside, the dark night sky making the moon shun brightly amongst the glass centerpieces filled with calla lilies and moss. white cloths, sterling silverware, and porcelain dinnerware. the terrace itself was elegant; freshly cut bushes trimmed as squares, a marble three-tiered italian water fountain placed in the middle. roses, dandelions, tall plants ranging from bamboo, snake plants, and pothos. alexander was very in touch with nature and his spirit. it's crazy he writes about the things he does.

speaking of, the book he was presenting that would be released in august was titled, 'to riven a magnolia.' he wouldn't quite reveal what it was about yet, wanting it to be a surprise, but did read an excerpt from the novel. aki only paid half attention, big words throwing him off plus he wanted to set the food table properly so guests could take what they wanted after his reading. aki didn't go all out since only seventy-two people were available to make it, and he didn't want any meals that would make anyone too full to converse, so he kept it simple yet exquisite. each guest received a slice of japanese fluffy cheesecake with a side of strawberry and mandarin orange tanghulu. beef wellington, and a six-sided cream garlic bread.

he received praise all night long. people gasping and thanking him for the food, giving him all sorts of compliments making the man blush like a child. at one point he held both sides of his face in his palms when a woman and her husband approached him to talk, way too shy, and the woman flirting with him didn't make it go away. eventually, her husband dragged her out of his sight. the night went on, classical music played as people sipped their champagne and talked about their wealth, their yoga classes, their thousand dollar dogs, golf, marketing . . . aki hopes he never becomes this way.

as he's pouring an elderly lady a glass as she rambles about baking, he notices a woman he's barely seen all night. he's disoriented, eyeing this girl leaning up against a vintage roman painting reaching the ceiling once the lady departs. brown eyes; the first captivating part of her body he captured. they appeared lonely, bored perhaps as they scanned through the crowd of people, soon landing on another pair, his own. the godly woman stared at him longingly. aki had no business nearly losing his shit under her gaze. wow. she was truly stunning.

one feature that stood out the most were the freckles scattered from the bridge of her nose to the swell of her cheekbones. pretty. her black hair styled protectively in butterfly locs that grazed her collarbones, seeing the industrial piercing hiding behind a piece. her lashes were long, naturally extended. heart-shaped lips were full and pouty, the upper lip brown while the lower, salmon pigmented. an emerald satin mini dress loosely clung to her alluring brown skin. cowl neckline, ruched waist, and an open back partially revealing the red dragon tattoo painted on the side of her hip. black suede gucci heels strapped prettily around her ankles, showcasing her white painted toenails. a three layered gold necklace on her chest. this woman, you, were the rationale of celestial.

it was the moment you smiled at him, tilting your head slightly to the side while tapping your ombré acrylic nail amongst the glass of your champagne, calling to him while he thoughtlessly followed, that aki would realize he had made one of the worst mistakes in his life.

"you're pretty."

it's the first thing you say when he walks towards you, offering a piece of cheesecake with a cheeky smile. aki is taken aback, chuckling nervously, palms already clammy the minute he approached you.

"pretty?" he's perplexed.

"that's what i said," you say, taking the gold fork from his palm and cutting a slice to taste, widening your mouth while maintaining eye contact. the man swallows.

"uh, i've never gotten that before. thank you."

you're too busy eyeing him to say a thing. even if he dressed in simple black skinny jeans and same color tee, a silver necklace tucked beneath his shirt, sable combat boots, and a white apron around his waist . . he looked damn good. his eyes were blue, somewhat smoke gray, dark hair long and straight, the top half tucked into a small messy bun on the back of his head. a few loose strands swaying around his cheekbones. he was tall, shoulders broad, forearms and hands slightly veiny. you gazed at his hands holding the plate for you, wide and rough, fingers long.

"you don't seem to be enjoying the party," he says, knocking you out of your daydream.

you hum with displeasure. "he's a fake."

aki furrows his brows. "sorry?"

"alex, he's unoriginal. most of his novels are stolen by people he pays to keep quiet," you side-eye him while downing the last drop of your champagne, slowly licking your lips. his eyes flicker there for a split moment.

"how do you know?"

the question makes you quiet, tapping your glass. "think of it like this; everyone starts off as a cocoon. eventually as time goes by, we evolve into butterflies. the cocoon represents our innocence; the purity and unawareness of what's to come in life. once we sprout into butterflies, we become tarnished, facing the real world and learning to adapt to its cruelty. life can be beautiful, but it's always painful no matter how happy or dismal we are. it's our choice to fly in the direction we want for ourselves even when the harshness of life beats us down. butterflies only live for so long. we disintegrate after inhumane amounts of stress, loneliness, or tragic events that take a toll on us, removing the power of staying beautiful. we show beauty to the public but don't feel it when everything around us is falling apart. but we can't make life harder on ourselves by dwelling on what we can't have rather than pushing for what we can have."

aki is speechless, half-understanding what you meant. "are you saying alexander is a butterfly that can't fly?"

"he's more like a mosquito, latching onto those who want to sprout into a butterfly but sucks the nutrients from them for his pleasure. he's a fraud. he'll never be a butterfly because he simply can't."

"did he steal from you? is that why you resent him?"

"no," you bluntly state, although aki doesn't believe you.

he takes the fork from you, cutting you another slice before holding it towards your lips, waiting for you to bite. you looked like you needed it. the drowsiness in your eyes may have indicated that you were tipsy. you giggle, shaking your head before he feeds you, your big eyes captivating him more. "is there something you want?"

"you."

aki nearly chokes and he's not even the one eating, your bluntness throwing him in a spiral of emotions.

"am i beautiful to you?" you lean closer, aki swallowing, scanning his surroundings. most of everyone remained in the living area, the two of you far behind a wall near the glass door of the terrace. he could smell your scent better, a sweet smell of caramel. soft skin shimmering with glitter.

"very."

"so what's stopping you? you got a girlfriend or somethin'?"

"n-no, it's just. i barely know you."

"that's part of the thrill," he watches as your small wrist turns and your palm is flat outward. "come upstairs with me."

like any man would, his feet walked on their own, stupidly following behind you up the black marble staircase, hand in yours as his eyes watched your hips switch.

"what's your name?" that should've been the first thing you asked, idiot.

"[♡]."

"i'm aki."

"i know who you are."

that's right, alexander introduced him to everyone after his reading right before supper. things felt like they went too quickly. aki didn't know who he was at this moment, completely floating out of his body and letting you take over like a spell. he was entranced. one thing leads to another, you're locking the door to one of the four bedrooms here. aki's sitting on the bed while you walk around, talking to him more about anything. his age, his aspirations in life. nonsense, basically. until he notices something.

a room with an open bay window revealing the late-night city of new york, stars in the sky, skyscrapers high. the breeze is warm, the air making the fabric of your dress rise just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the pink thong you wore. he's gulping, your legs shifting and a grin coming on your face as you see the tint of red blush across his cheeks. you're leaned against the window, toes pressing into your other foot, a gold anklet with the first letter of your name clasped on your skin. your shoes were off, and in between your two fingers sat a blunt, maybe about three inches now since you were too busy talking, letting it burn away.

once you flick it out the window, you fully turn to face him, sharp nails skidding up your thighs teasingly slow until the hem of your dress rises fully, and he's staring at the belly button piercing you have. your thick thighs, your curves, and your nipple when you moan and lift your arms to stretch and one of the straps falls down your shoulders.

"oops," you're pouting, and aki's had enough. he got it now. he understood why you wanted him to come up here. the liquor buzzing in your veins, and going straight to your clit like a drug. you wanted him the moment you saw him. you needed him, for more reasons than one.

aki was always one to put a woman's pleasure before his own. so when he saw you drop to your knees to crawl towards him, dainty hands trailing up his clothed thighs until you're undoing his belt and he's biting his lip. . . he was drawn in further. pulling him out of the confinement of his jeans, holding his pulsating dick in your hand, darting your tongue out, and pressing it flat to the aching head. he's squeezing his eyes shut when he's deep in your throat after a while, moaning around him and twisting your hand along as your mouth glides. his hand is in your hair, gathering some of it in his large fist while leaning back a bit to see those gorgeous eyes of yours stare into his, slightly watery. he liked that. he liked you.

"nnn, baby. like that," he's throwing his head back, jaw slacked as he tried to keep his voice down, not daring to let too much slip out regarding the guests below them. eyes back on you, he's watching as your hips gyrate in the air, desperately needing to be touched.

it's so foreign, this level of intimacy. it's been so long since he's had his dick buried deep in anything. sure, he masturbates like any other human being, but it's a rarity. he's so consumed in work that by the time he goes home he's knocked out in slumber, not even thinking about grabbing his fleshlight to fulfill his pleasure. the last time he had sex was at the beginning of his freshman year of college. it was some girl in his cutlery class who invited him over for late-night drinks, leading to more than just that. it was frequent until he realized he was failing courses because of the distraction and had to get back on track, so, he called it quits.

now he's pulling you up, feverishly pressing his lips to yours in a messy kiss, lips smacking, tongues bumping. you're keening when his thick fingers clasp around your throat as you straddle his waist, clinging to his shirt you eventually pull over his head. it's as if the both of you forgot that people were here and might hear you, but neither of you cared. aki's not even scolding you when you're moaning too loud the second he has you beneath him, your clothing still on, barely, and his jeans and briefs clinging to his ankles, your knees to your chest as his hot mouth latches around your puffy clit, back arching off the plush mattress.

the metal from his pierced tongue rushing against you as he holds the back of one of your thighs to keep them up, grunting and swallowing your arousal. you're whining so much it has his dick twitching, pulling on his hair not helping either. you're rocking your hips with urgency, legs twitching after he lifts his head to spit, collecting his saliva with two fingers before curling them into you, holding your stomach down while he shakes his fingers. that alone has you convulsing around him, tears in your eyes as you whimper his name and squirm helplessly, his lips kissing your inner thighs.

coming down from your high, aki's already propping himself behind you, turning you on your side while he laid on his, leveraging your head with his forearm underneath your neck, fingers in your mouth you suck while glaring at him. he curses, monotoned voice rasping, "don't do that."

"do what?" you hum, wrapping your lips around them again and moaning.

aki clenches his jaw, lifting your right leg to open you up before slipping inside, hearing you gasp as you adjust to the stretch. both of you groan in unison, turning your face to the side to kiss him while your nails clawed at his hip, then his ass as he rolls into you, too horny to be gentle and snapping his hips hard against your ass, grunting, "i heard you, girl," and drilling faster. your eyes scroll to the back of your head, aki swallowing the breath out of you as he sucks on your bottom lip and chokes you, the two of you whining in each other's mouth, muffling the noise although the skin interaction didn't cease.

he's brutal, a different person when in this form of bond. dropping your leg and reaching between to rub at your clit, heavy breaths on your neck as he hides his face there. you can easily smell the citrus scent of his shampoo, his scent overall a main attraction when he stepped toward you. . . like lavender. when he's nearing his climax, he gropes your chest, slurring, "be a good girl and cum all over me, baby. can i feel it this time?" and you nod, doing just as he says, his taunts and praises making your gut swim with butterflies.

you try not to scream as he licks and bites your neck sloppily, dazed. instead, you grab a pillow nearby and stuff part of it in your mouth, aki's face hovering over you as tears leak from your eyes and you cum hard, harder than you ever had. aki holds you close by your waist, taking a few more pumps before he furrows his brows and slowly pulls out, cumming on your flush skin with a hiss. by this time, his hair had fallen down his face completely, and even in your fucked out state, you reach up to rake through it with a lazy smile. aki chuckles, kissing your forehead before building the strength to find a cloth to clean you up. luckily, there's an en-suite bathroom, giving him access to warm water and toiletries.

fixing his posture in the mirror, he's rubbing his face and adjusting his clothes to appear as he did when he arrived; neat and professional. although what he just did wasn't so classy of him. he fucked some woman he barely knew at a millionaires home. work, he was working. not here for personal pleasure. he wanted to slap himself for being so easily enraptured. no one had to know about it. he only hoped not a soul downstairs heard what went on.

he's good to go, done scolding himself and turning off the bathroom light before stepping out. he finds you perched up, sipping a miniature bottle of crown royal you found in the bedside mini-fridge, sniffling your nose and blankly staring out the window. aki comes forward, gently grasping your thigh and gliding the wet cloth over your skin, the silence awkward.

"dandelions.”

aki's eyes slowly drift to your face, staring in confusion. "what?"

he notices how eerily slow tears built up in your eyes, gripping the bottle harder before exhaling. "dandelions," now you're finally looking at him, the coldness on your face making him anxious. "that's where his body is."

your voice is like vanilla. it's one thing about you that he grew infatuated with. it's one of the many reasons he was captured by you, brought to where he was now. standing at the bedside as he watched tears pool down your broken face. body? what body? he grew cold, nervously eyeing you as you sniffled, standing to fix your hair, dress, and walking around the bed to slip back into your heels.

“wait," he goes to grab your arm when you try to walk out the door. "what the fuck are you talking about?"

the deadness in your eyes scares him even more, and he's panicking when you say, "alex."

“alexander?!" he shouts, dragging you away from the exit, hands on either side of your shoulders as he eyes you, his own wide. heart pumping drastically. "what did you do? where is he?"

"by the dandelions on the terrace," blunt, again. as if you aren't phased at all by his reaction. "follow me."

he's stunned, unable to fully process what you were telling him. he already assumed the worst when the term 'body' came to light. though his heart raced heavily in his chest, his feet blindly dragged in your direction. cautiously watching your every move in case he had to protect himself. fuck, he didn't have any weapon. then again, he's sure he could easily handle you, knock you out if he needed to. lock you in a closet and alert the hundreds of guest just below their feet. that's right, there are still people here. and if you mentioned alexander, how the fuck and when the fuck did you have the time to . . . kill him?

"[♡]," he began to speak your name, but your head was in the clouds, ignoring anything that came out of his mouth as you cut into a passageway that led to a grand master bedroom, then facing the terrace you spoke of. he was nervous, your neck turning to eye him as you step onto the gravel, blankly staring down at something. he couldn't see from where he stood, matter of fact, he didn't want to see.

"he's here," you say. "he's here."

aki has no choice but to advance forward, wanting to squeeze his eyes shut from the upcoming scare of a human’s body. and not just any human, the alexander bodari. a flaccid arm sticks out from beside a bush, palm facing the sky, details of a struggle bruised into his hand as the skin in the area seemed peeled. aki’s heart drops the closer he gets, hand covering his mouth as he stares down at the lifeless body laying in a pool of blood. the aluminum wire draped around his neck stained with blood gave aki the answer he needed when it came to the cause. you strangled him to death. the question remains; who are you and how were you affiliated with alexander? most importantly, why’d you kill him?

“i don’t understand,” is all he can get out.

“the proof is in his first novel,” you utter, and he’s still confused. “the story about the woman who’s trapped in the psychopaths basement? it was about me.”

aki couldn’t grasp the thought of you being the woman from the novel star always talked about. that you had been the victim of his story. that it was a real life phenomena. that he met you, slept with you, and now you want him to, what . . . cover up a murder in a house filled with two hundred guests?

“he painted this image as if he was the most prestigious man on the planet. he made money off of real events. events that played out by torturing me, and using me to get his ‘creative juices flowing.’ he needed a test subject. he was a sick man who deserved to die,” tears pour down your face, the anger in your tone thick and pent up from years of pain and sorrow. “he was my father’s partner. my father despised me simply because of my resemblance of my mother and my rebellion against him. when he died from heart failure, in his will, he married me to alex.”

“that’s fucking. . . sick. i didn’t think that was possible in this day and age.”

you scoff with agreement. “yeah. he watched me grow from a preteen to making me his wife. sick bastard for sure.”

aki wants to vomit from this information. still unable to wrap his head around any of it. his hands sit on his hips as he stares up at the sky and blows a raspberry, try to keep his nerves together. you watch him with sadness, and maybe regret. you weren’t intentionally planning for this to happen. though part of you wanted someone to save you. to see the real you and rescue you from this torment.

“i know this is probably the last thing you expected to happen. i apologize for dragging you into this. i just didn’t know what else to do. i felt hopeless. and i refused to let his popularity run by making another fortune of a sick novel.”

“did he attack you?” he asks.

“he didn’t,” you clarify. “i think i just finally snapped. granted, tonight of all nights wasn’t the correct setting.”

aki makes a face that reads ‘fucking clearly’ as he rubs both palms down his face. he doesn’t know whether to run and call you insane or feel sympathy for a victim. but, murder is murder. and now, standing here with you, that’d make him an accomplice. as scary as that was, he couldn’t risk his future career. but he was stuck in a pickle. he wanted to help you.

“there are clear signs of struggle, so we have to make it look like an accident,” aki suggests, but immediately, you shake your head in disagreement.

“they won’t believe that. he’s one of the wealthiest men in new york. it’ll be a huge investigation.”

“then the only answer would be to tell the truth,” he finalized.

“the . . truth?”

aki nods, pulling you toward him and stepping away from the body, chills still going up his spin and goosebumps on his arms. “listen to me, you can tell the world exactly who you are and what he’s done to you. you have proof. transactions, marriage certificate, i’m sure there’s documents for days in his computer that can prove what he’s put you through. there’s evidence somewhere.”

“and if i tell the world, who’s to say they’ll believe me?”

“i believe you,” aki says. your eyes fill with hope, and thankfulness. “people will have their opinions, but we know the truth. do you have anyone else that can be your alibi?”

you think long and hard, until it hits you. “the maid. she’s been working for him ever since i moved in after my father died. she’s fed me, helped me heal wounds . . even get rid of his unborn child i lost after too much stress.”

“jesus christ,” he bows his head in disbelief. “where is she now?”

“luckily, the kitchen. the woman with the braided red hair. she promised me she’d always protect me. after his book succeeded he became nicer to me, gave me a ‘real’ marriage. she was like his mother, always scolding him when he raised his voice at me or wouldn’t let me live my life. it’s all so depressing.”

“okay. it’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” aki comforts you as you begin to sob once again, cradling your head in his chest.

the night ends in the blink of an eye. aki takes you into another room and wraps a blanket around you as you sit on the edge of the bed and wait for the police. he finds the woman you spoke of, pulls her to the side and informs her of the tragedy above. she herself looks relieved. not at all shocked by what played out, as if she knew you’d go through with it. aki guesses he truly was a horrible man. and to think he would’ve worked for him in the future. the police arrive shortly after the woman goes to check on you, insuring that everything would be okay, and that she’d stick to the full story. the police instructs everyone the leave the premises, aki being questioned for a full hour, this home becoming a crime scene, and all of their faces full of black ink on the daily news the next morning.

aki will never forget the chilling smirk on your face as they removed alexander’s body from the terrace. it was . . haunting.

#𑄽𑄺 ━━ ꒰ 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎'𝑠 𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑦 .ᐟ ꒱#aki hayakawa smut #aki smut #aki x reader #aki hayakawa #aki x you #aki x y/n #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa x you #aki hayakawa x y/n #csm smut #csm #chainsaw man #aki csm

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lizablee · 2 days

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Done Enough (Critical Role Fanfic) Chapter 2

For the first time in a long time, Ashton wished his weapon had a blade.

The fleeting satisfaction of reducing branches to splinters had worn thin, leaving behind only the sturdiest trunks and the most resilient saplings that bounced off his hammer as if mocking his fury. His rage boiled beneath the surface.

With a shout filled with desperation and anger, he leveraged his full strength against a nearby tree. The tree shuddered under the impact but stood firm, immovable and indifferent. Ashton’s shoulders heaved, sweat trickling down his stony exterior,

“That’s an ironwood. Your hammer’s as good as useless.”

Chetney's voice cut through the tension, oddly calm amid the destruction. He stood a few feet away, idly whittling away at one of the half-pulped branches Ashton had discarded.

Ashton panted, his breaths coming in heavy, labored gasps. “Can’t sleep?” he managed to say between breaths.

“Not when there’s so much good wood being wasted. It was calling to me,” Chetney said wistfully. The branch in his hand was starting to vaguely humanoid. “And you’re loud as hell. I’m surprised half the camp isn’t awake.”

Ashton didn’t have it in him to feel regret. Chetney continued.

“I wonder what FCG would say if they were here,” he remarked.

“They chose to kill themself. They don’t get a say in how we grieve.” Ashton replied sharply.

“That’s not fair, Ashton.” Chetney said coldly. “They saved our lives.” Ashton tasted a pinch of shame, and tried to wash it down with anger.

Chetney sighed deeply and took a seat among the roots of the ironwood, his whittling becoming almost unnaturally quick. “You get to be angry, that’s fine. But don’t poison their memory. The rest of us have to grieve too.”

Ashton’s knees felt weak. He sat down, resting his hammer over his lap, and breathed deeply.

“If FCG were here,” he said tiredly, “they’d say something about us all coming together and supporting each other as a team. And they’d probably say they were happy. I bet they were happy, at the end. They got to do what they’ve always wanted to do.”

Chetney tutted. “Very edgy, Ashton. You act like they did this to you and not for you. Listen, I’m made of stronger stuff than the others, and even I’m feeling a bit fucked up by this. So I get it. But keep that bitterness between us, okay? Or between you and the hardwood.” he added, patting the scarred trunk of the tree. “The others aren’t doing very well. We need to keep an eye on Orym. He’s getting pretty dark.”

Ashton leveled a long look at Chetney. The gnome looked weary but resolute. “How are you doing?” Ashton asked gruffly.

Chetney smiled wryly. “I feel old. And I don’t normally feel old. It’s just... it’s tough when someone so young loses their life. Imagine how long FCG could have gone on for. They might have been practically immortal with that body, we don’t know. They could have outlived all of us.”

“They were hundreds of years old.”

“Maybe in body. But they’d been alive, what, like three years?”

“Give or take.”

“Three years old... That’s truly tragic. They never even got to have a childhood.” For a moment, Chetney had a hollow look that made him seem every bit as old as he claimed to be.

“They made me this horrible toolbox when they tried to—” Chetney made a sawblade motion, “—carve me up that first time. The craftsmanship was just appalling. You know what that looked like to me?”

“A waste of wood?”

“No. Potential . Nowhere to go but up.” Chetney looked up to the stars, his voice filled with a mix of wonder and sorrow. “They had only just figured out they could live, hadn’t even worked out what that meant yet. It just sucks.”

Ashton let the words wash over him and sank a little deeper into himself.

“Try not to think about it.” A soft voice sounded from the treeline. Orym dropped down, quiet as a shadow, wandering into the newly made clearing. “Their potential… what they could have been. It’ll drive you crazy.”

Chetney sighed deeply and returned to his whittling. Ashton turned to see Orym, who looked smaller than usual, haunted. His eyes were red, his cheeks puffy, and it was almost too raw for Ashton to bear; he suddenly felt like he was intruding just by being there. If FCG were here, he’d offer a hug.

“Are you okay?” he said, as gently as he could. Orym scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Right now, no. Eventually, yes…” Orym’s voice trembled. “But it doesn’t feel like it yet.” He took a shaky breath. “I know how this goes. So I just need to remember that it won’t feel like this forever. It’s hard to imagine... It’s just hard to... It’s hard.”

Ashton felt tears welling for the second time that evening. He scrambled mentally for that anger, that blessed distracting rage that could hold them at bay. Something else came to mind, unbidden, and he latched onto it. He moved towards Orym and pulled the halfling into a gentle hug.

Pain rippled through his form as Orym hugged back, sobbing. The hug was nice; the pain was grounding. Everything else dimmed a little for a moment. He could see FCG behind his closed eyelids, and for the first time that evening, he felt that the little Aeormaton would be proud of him in this moment.

Orym released Ashton earlier than he expected, probably not wanting to cause more pain. The absence of that sensation felt almost lonely. Orym sniffed and rubbed his eyes.

“You need to sleep.” Chetney remarked gently. “You both need to sleep. I’ll take watch.”

Orym stilled, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Back to back?” he stammered suddenly. Ashton stared at him blankly. “Sorry, it’s just something I saw—something Dorian—listen, do you want to sleep back to back? I think I’ll just sleep better if I’m not alone. It might help you, too?”

“Back to back,” Ashton echoed tentatively. “Yeah, I can do that. Just not too close.”

“Got it,” Orym said gratefully. He moved to pack up his bedroll.

“Enjoy your sleepover,” Chetney remarked offhandedly, returning to his whittling. He was gently carving a pair of mismatched lenses onto a tiny smooth face. Ashton let his eyes linger on the carving a moment longer before following Orym to camp.

It turned out going back to back did make it easier to sleep. And to Ashton’s great relief, he didn’t dream.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #cr spoilers #cr3 #cr fcg #fcg #cr ashton #ashton greymoore #orym of the air ashari #orym #cr orym #chetney pock o'pea #cr chetney

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cheeriecherrymain · 1 year

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Hc of viktor with babies 👀💕🥺

Viktor x fem!Reader Warning: Pregnancy, brief mentions of the horizontal tango

-Neither you nor Viktor had ever expected something like this to happen. You’d been so careful during your nights together, always taking extra steps to be safe.

-It wasn’t that either of you disliked children, or were opposed to having them, but you and Viktor had been clear about it from the start - not right now. His work was just beginning to take off, and you were in the middle of school; neither of you could afford to be parents at the moment.

-Which was why you didn’t immediately come to the conclusion that you were pregnant.

-You’d woken up one morning with a touch of nausea, but you chalked it up to eating something strange the day prior. Then the fatigue, and the ache in your back - clearly you were sitting too much, and your schedule was too busy.

-It wasn’t until you took your lunch hour to go visit Viktor at the lab, that you finally had the realization.

-Viktor hadn’t been in the lab that day, much to your surprise, so instead you’d sat with Jayce for a couple moments to ask about how things were going. He seemed grateful for the company, telling you about their experiments and which parts worked and which parts had ‘maybe exploded, just a little bit’.

-And then you’d caught a whiff off the coffee he’d been brewing, in the little machine that he and Viktor had sneaked into the lab. A scent that would usually delight and comfort you, that instead twisted your stomach and worsened the ever-present nausea tenfold.

-Jayce must have noticed something was off, because seconds later, a bucket was hastily stuck in front of you and you were emptying the contents of your stomach.

-You apologize profusely once the wave passes, and promise that you’ll empty the bucket out yourself, and clean it properly.

-Jayce doesn’t seem to mind, though, laughing and telling you that you ‘can’t help being pregnant’.

-You don’t say anything after that, opting to pop a lid on the bucket so you can drag it back to your apartment, but your mind dwells heavily on his words.

-Surely he was joking, you think. There was no way you could be pregnant - you’d been so careful.

-But you can’t stop thinking about it, putting together your symptoms and counting the days since your last period - two weeks late. And that’s when it really hits you.

-You spend the next hour crying and despairing over what you were meant to do - tell Viktor? Don’t tell him? Keep it? Don’t keep it? You’d both been very clear that you weren’t ready to be parents yet, but…

-You wrap your arms around your midsection and sob again. A little piece of you doesn’t want to give this up, and you know that it’s not a person yet, but…but it could be, if you wanted it to.

—

-Another week passes before you’re ready to tell Viktor, but even that isn’t an accurate description. You have to tell Viktor, before he finds out on his own, and before his opinion won’t matter on whether or not you keep the pregnancy.

-You make sure to get all your files in order - blood test results, symptom tracking, and the exact timeline of when everything had happened, and you tuck it all into your bag.

-Viktor is at the lab this time, where you expect him to be. He and Jayce both greet you when you walk in and make a beeline for your partner, giving him a light kiss on the cheek.

-You ask him quietly if he’s busy and if he could spare a moment - to which he replies that he’ll always have a moment for you.

-And then you set the folder in front of him.

-And you wait.

-And wait.

-In silence, as he looks through the handful of papers you’ve given him.

-Waiting, watching as his eyes grow wider with every word he reads. As every emotion known to man passes across his face - disbelief, shock, fear, confusion, anger-

-You look away when a quiet fury shines in his eyes, opting to bury your face in your hands. You know if you look at him any longer, you’ll start crying, and with Jayce oblivious across the room, you don’t want to draw attention.

- “Are you…certain?” he asks, his voice tight with something you can’t quite place, and you nod, tears beginning to sting your eyes.

-You expect him to be upset, stressed, maybe even resentful. You expect an outrage, or perhaps for him to walk out.

-What you don’t expect is for him to gently pry your hands from your face, and then tenderly hold your jaw. His thumbs swipe across your cheeks where your tears have fallen, and he stares at you with an amazed sort of awe you’ve never witnessed.

- “Truly?” he asks again, and when you -again- nod in your confirmation, he pulls you into a kiss. Deep and warm and desperate, an arm snaking around your midsection to guide you impossibly closer.

-Until you part, breathless, and he rests his forehead on yours.

- “I know we said we weren’t ready for this,” he says quietly, “but…would you be willing to- could we- keep it?”

-You fully burst into tears after that, finally drawing the attention of Jayce, who happily congratulates you both when you tell him the news.

—

-Seven and a half months later, after many sleepless nights and exhausted days, the two of you welcome your daughter into the world. Viktor stays by your side the entire time, bringing and offering you whatever you could possibly want, regardless of its absurdity.

-He brushes your hair from your damp forehead and presses a kiss to your crown, staring with unparalleled adoration at the tiny baby on your chest. Cooing to her when she whines, whispering his love when she sleeps. Sheds his first tears when she wraps her little hand around his finger and refuses to let go.

-After that, there’s not a moment when he’s not at her beck and call. The moment she makes a noise in the night, he’s at the side of her crib to silently check on her. His excuse is that he wants you to rest as much as possible so you can heal and recover from the delivery, but you know as well as he does that he just wants to be near her. Watch over her, keep her safe, make her smile and laugh.

-Even when she brings up her breakfast on his work clothes, he’s able to laugh it off and help clean her up, making sure she’s comfy and cozy afterwards.

-And your daughter always seems to know when he’s around, squirming and giggling around the time he gets home from the lab, especially as she gets older; refusing to eat on time because she knows Viktor will arrive soon, and she wants him to feed her.

-And he does, every single time.

-He dotes on her unrelentingly, possibly even more than he dotes on you.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #i just want him to be loved and happy #hes tragic and i want to give him a good life #viktor headcanons

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13eyond13 · 1 year

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I watched the first episode of breaking bad and I was like. yeah terminal lung cancer is a catastrophic thing to be diagnosed with but surely there are worst things that have happened to someone than vegetarian bacon and shitty handjobs

Hahaha exactly anon... and he loses that terminal cancer justification fast too... and he's like 40 or 50something and Light's still in high school and actually thinks he's making the world a better place

#light might have been misguided but tbh it makes sense when you read the manga and see his life and the way he first picked up the notebook #im not saying hes a good guy either but idk i just think hes more complex and nuanced and tragic than people give him credit for #his idealism about the world is more interesting to me than walt wanting to be a badass and being bored of living the suburbs life #arguably light also had that plus a strong sense of naive sincere altruism which is complicated to unpack #i think walt is an interesting well written character too btw but this isnt about that #light yagami #ask #anon #p

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stars-in-a-jam-jar · 12 days

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I don't think Buddy asks Helio any questions.

Kristen asked 'Why do bad things happen to good people?' because she believed in all the good things she was taught, but noticed the strange disconnect between the world as it was and the world as it was taught to her. So she thought, surely, if I can't come up with the answer, Helio will have it. And she hates him for dodging her question.

Buddy is far more deluded than Kristen ever was. And he is far, far angrier inside as a result, even if he deliberately conceals this fact from himself to protect himself from the inevitable mental breakdown this would cause. Buddy is not as altruistic and giving and caring as Kristen is. He wouldn't question why he was betrayed or dig into a question like 'Why do bad things happen to good people?' Those aren't the answers he needs, because of course he'd be betrayed by someone outside the church, that makes perfect sense. Of course bad things happen to good people, we simply live in a fallen world.

Or, well. He used to live in a fallen world. Now he's dead here. In Helio's divine domain.

I think Buddy, as he wanders through fields of corn to the big farmhouse where Helio is chilling out, privately thinks about the fact that Kristen Applebees' horrified expression was the last thing he ever saw before a sharp pain in his throat. I think Buddy assumes Helio knows he's thinking this and apologizes for bringing thoughts like that into paradise. I think he thanks Helio for recognizing his devotion and bringing him here once he died and dutifully deceives himself about his own rising emotions at contending with the fact that he's dead now.

After all, he was raised to die. He was raised to want to die.

To want to be here with his god whenever it was he called Buddy to him. So he doesn't feel upset, no, of course not. He's just a little surprised at how sudden it was. (How completely random. How unceremonious and unfair.) He's a little bit worried how his grandparents would react to the news is all. (He cracks a joke that maybe he'll see them here shortly after they do get the news. He doesn't laugh at it.) He had his own plans for how he'd spread the good word in life, but of course, Helio had other plans. (Nothing Buddy ever wanted really mattered. He knew that, he knew the will of Helio was the real thing that mattered, and everything else was just a small list of preapproved extracurriculars in the syllabus of his life.)

He can't be upset about this.

He shouldn't be upset about this.

This is his reward.

This place and these people and this god are his reward for a life of service and devotion and walking in the light.

It's not his place to be upset about his own reward. Kristen got upset when she went to heaven, when she met Helio, and look where that got her.

Look... look where that got her.

He thinks he hates her. For looking at him like that. All the ways she looked at him. Like he was something pitiful and contemptible. Someone she needed to threaten away from her little brother. Someone she has to double and triple check if he's going to revive her when he's under magical oath to do just that or lose his connection to a divinity she threw away after being chosen.

And then. In that last moment, she looked at him and he saw grief and horror and caring. Like his death was awful and unfair and tragic.

And he thinks maybe he hates her for that. For challenging him every conversation they had and looking at him like she knew something he didn't. Like she was above him. Like killing your own god twice in life is a preferable fate to living for the promise of eternal sunlight and cornbread in death. A promise which was kept to him.

Kristen was promised to Helio, too.

And he can't unsee her face. He can't move along and focus on what truly matters (Helio, the church, spreading the word, doling out divine punishment when needed) because he's reached the end. There is nothing left. Only this bright sunny cornfield and a god who... is nice. And who cares about him, personally. He got Buddy's name wrong the first and only time they held audience.

He thinks he hates Kristen, and he hates that that hatred isn't immediately squashed out of his soul just by being here. In paradise. Where he belongs. Where every follower of Helio belongs. Where he never has to have anyone look at him the way Kristen did ever again.

I don't think Buddy Dawn asks Helio any questions. Because how do you ask the god you devoted every waking minute of your life to, 'Why do I hate it here? Why does this feel like hell?'

(There's a part 2 now that the next ep is out >:3)

#fantasy high junior year spoilers #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #d20 fhjy #dimension 20 #buddy dawn #kristen applebees #kristin applebees #cw death #religious trauma #wow I really said 'he was raised to want to die' without even flinching didn't I?

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transzilla · 2 months

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How To Suck Roid Clit and Tdick Like A 6Gal Bauer ShopVac

So I'm a trans man and I fucking love trans men and they love fucking me. I minored in t4t gay sex in college and giving head has always came very naturally to me as a specialty, administering orgasms has never been an issue but a lot of people have difficulty figuring tdick out after going on testosterone or figuring themselves out and don't know how to get dudes to pop off which is tragic to me. Plus we don't really have like... sex ed about how to do that so it's not like you can pick up a book. But that's what you have me for. If you suck at giving head I'm gonna teach you how to suck the rest of someone's life away.

So everyone is different, growth might look different on different people and sometimes you'll have somebody who has difficulty popping off just cause of weird nerve endings, obviously listen to what your partner tells you and what works for them because they're going to know better. I've been around with a lot of different men and this is just what's worked for me, if you try it and its TERRIBLE then don't think you're broken or whatever, our willies are just as diverse as we are :)

Generally though tdick kind of resembles a tiny penis especially when you've been on T for a long time. Personally I've been on T for five years and have a 2 inch monster and you can kind of see where the head would be vs the foreskin or whatever. Like my favorite analogy is that it looks like a .45 caliber bullet because that's what my dick looks like when I'm looking down, lol.

Like the cap on the bullet would be the "head" and the cartridge casing is the length of the thing. Like on a guy's dick idk if anybody is getting tdick circumcized so when he's soft the skin will come up and guard the head/clit part because it's sensitive, you're going to want to find the head and kind of gently push past the skin with your tongue or your finger. Like get it on the head because largely that's the most sensitive part of his dick. when it gets bigger it kind of gets less sensitive, and you can't just rub the whole thing like on a clit off testosterone, uniform pressure might not always work. So keep your finger on the pulse, lol.

The simplest motion tht you can do, like a good part to lick on is right where the head meets the rest of his dick. There's almost a seam, kind of like on that bullet. Just rub in little circles with your tongue. Start gentle, gauge his reaction, and then go a little harder or a little faster. Also stay in one place once you get into a groove, the more you rub on one spot the more sensitive and the better it will feel.

On the very APEX tip of his dick is where most of the nerves are bundled it's going to be the most sensitive, so if you want to make him jump or if he's not very sensitive rub there, lol.

Also, once you get that down, you can suck too! You want to make a seal with your lips around his dick, almost like you're pulling on a cigarette, or like you're sucking your lips on a peach to keep the juices from falling out. This intensifies it if his dick is not sensitive and keeps it in one place if he has a big dick.

If he likes penetration fingering him at the same time is not a bad idea either.

Also, mind the teeth, lol.

#ftm t4t #ftm nsft #forced masculinization #forcemasc

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keefechambers · 2 months

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I wanna be blunt about this ongoing James somerton suicide threat issue but I don't want to connect it to my IRL Twitter to comment on the dogshit takes I'm seeing there or the good and well meaning but maybe too kind takes I'm seeing here.

Obviously, I hope that this is a false alarm cry for help fake threat. Yes, it would reinforce that Somerton is a self-centered egomaniac who can't handle consequences but that's preferable to dead.

But I work in local news and let me tell you something. I've covered half a dozen family annihilating murder suicides and heard hundreds of men making suicide threats over police scanners and a huge swath of these don't happen because they're depressed or because people are mean to them on the Internet. They're punishment. A person with an enormous amount of entitlement towards people around them gets backed into a corner and they punish the people closest to them by killing themselves or threatening to kill themselves.

No one wants to talk about this feature of suicide because...you want to help people who are struggling and guide them away from this path and being blunt about the fact that sometimes people die of suicide as a consequence of their own shittiness towards the world does not really help actively suicidal people. But suicide rates are higher in men not just because they have higher rates of untreated mental illness (a societal issue we must address for the sake of all) but because some people, often men, use suicide (but more often the threat of suicide) as a tool of abuse and control.

I'm not saying somerton is like, an icky abuser bad guy, he's just a run of the mill grifter scumbag, but his actions in the past show a clear pattern of escalating behavior that aligns with this.

Somerton gets called out -> somerton alleges physical threats of violence against himself and his fans rally around him supportively -> Harry calls somerton out in a bigger way -> Somerton says he's hospitalized but there are inconsistencies with the story but no one wants to talk about that because you wanna be nice-ish about a guy who just tried to kill himself and now he's trying to be framed as tragic but it doesn't really stick -> somerton apologizes again but his apology is rightly called out for lies and manipulative framing as well as his continuing attempts to profit off the community he betrayed -> James posts a suicide note publicly putting the onus of his own suicide on the loss of his friend Nick who he repeatedly threw under the bus and now everyone is rallying to say nice-ish shit and wring their hands in concern over poor james -> indefinitely repeat this vicious cycle forever until he actually does die or finally gives up and gets real, intensive therapy and a day job.

Thats not to say anyone's concern is misplaced, it's 100% better for him to be a living scumbag than a dead one. He deserves the chance to grow and learn and have a life outside of youtube.

But you don't have to portray this as the action of a sad depressed man who got bullied off the Internet. It's manipulation, whether he intended to go through with it or not and whether someone intervened or not. Not denying that internet bullying is a thing, I'm sure there were some people who were shitty directly to James but he made the choice to not unplug from this and to try and keep being a public figure rather than taking care of himself. He could have deleted Twitter, blocked anyone who was an asshole, gone to therapy and tried to move on with his life but if he'd deleted his channel he'd have lost monetization... Can't have that, right? So he posts some apology videos so his channel stays active and then complains about how ruinous this is while never trying to take real accountability.

But the reality is that people would have forgotten about him so quickly and maybe his job prospects would've been impacted but...that's on him, and that's for him to figure out but it's not actually life ruining. He chose to continue to engage knowing he'd get backlash and hate and he'd feel worse and worse and things would never get better without the time and space for people to forget.

He made the choice to make a public spectacle of his own alleged suicide. That is the action of someone who wants to put the weight of their suicide on someone else's shoulders and is morally wrong. He can be held to account for that, alive or dead.

#James somerton #hbomberguy #suicide mention //

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sttoru · 7 months

Text

𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍 .

⟣ sypnosis. a nightmare of your lover’s disappearance wakes you from your sleep.

⟣ tags. gojo satoru x female reader. angst, comfort, fluff. takes place after gojo’s unsealed but before dec 24th, bits of spoilers jjk leaks 236 at the end. mentions of death, blood.

⟣ note. based on it’s happening again by agnes obel. coping rn dhmu . . . not proofread bcs i cant read through my tears anyways hope u enjoy im gonna cry myself to sleep now

everyone has to die at one point — not even the strongest of all could avoid that tragical fate. not even the strongest sorcerer you call your lover.

no, not even him. the universe couldn’t spare him. you thought that maybe, it would. maybe fate wouldn’t apply to him. oh, how wrong you were.

blood splatter—a stream of red liquid. right at your feet. right in front of your eyes. a man in half. and not just any regular man;

“satoru !”

your dark surroundings become blurry with tears, your body jolts out of its current dreaming state. you could feel your heart in your chest—in your throat. your brain shut itself off for a few seconds as your eyes try to make out shapes and figures in the room you’re in. your bedroom.

you only then realises that it was all just a gruesome nightmare. a hyperrealistic one at that; one that will haunt you for years.

“hmmh.. ‘m right here, baby.” a groggy voice next to you replies to your yell in agony. the yell that was the shape of your lover’s name leaving your lips—

you instantly turn your head to the right and there he was; the man whom just met death in your dreams. gojo satoru, all alive and well. in your bed, in your presence, in your life.

satoru’s hand aimlessly pats the space next to him in search of your body whilst he rubbed his eyes with the other, trying to adjust his sight to the dark so he could find you. you seemed to be in complete distress. which he does not like.

“it’s okay, shh, shh,” your lover hums, hand finally finding your arm. he doesn’t hesitate to pull you on top of him—your head laying on his chest.

his body was warm. his heartbeat was there. loud and clear in your right ear.

“satoru. . .” a river of tears flows down your cheeks like a dam that has been broken into. your body trembles, lungs feeling like they couldn’t get any air in them from how hard you were sobbing. the pain of losing your loved one; it all came flowing back to you.

satoru frowns, “hey, hey. look at me — sweetheart, c’mon.”

he instantly sits up and pulls you along with him. his hands find your cheeks, tilting your head up. this time it was his turn to feel his heart break in pieces. you looked absolutely distraught. as if you just went through a traumatic experience of some kind. he hated it.

“shit,” satoru mutters under his breath before pulling you into his embrace again, arms circling your waist with his head buried in the crook of your neck, “it’s okay, i’m here now. you’re safe.”

it wasn’t the first time you had nightmares when he was with you. you had them regularly after satoru had gotten sealed in the prison realm for nineteen days—nineteen days of dread for you. of an empty bed, an empty house and an empty life.

when satoru had finally been released from the prison realm it was like a dream come true. a happy dream, that is. not those repetitive, bad ones you have every now and then. you still get those nightmares of your lover being either taken away from you by force or by death itself. your brain couldn’t give you a break — even after his return.

“take a deep breath in,” satoru instructs and sets an example by doing the breathing exercise with you, “hold it for three seconds . . . breathe out for six. mhmm, good—jus’ like that.”

you repeat it a couple more times, sobbing and shaking throughout the entirety of the exercise, but eventually manage to calm down a little. satoru sighs in relief at this;

“you okay, baby?”

you nod weakly and sniff, wanting nothing more than to be held by the man you thought had vanished from your life forever. you had that scare once, when he was sealed, and you never want to go back to those dark times. ever.

“it’s— i, just—“ you hiccup once, unable to complete entire sentences, “i thought you w-were gone. i thought you had died.”

it was silent after that (except for the sound your silent sobs and sniffles). satoru had guessed by now that you saw him die in your dream — that much was pretty obvious. but, the thought that you were this distressed because of it makes him. . . happy in a way.

happy that someone would mourn over him at least.

“well,” satoru pensively replies, hands rubbing your back up and down soothingly, “everyone has to meet their end one day, you know?”

that sentence was one that was meant to lighten up the grim mood somehow. one of his many lighthearted remarks that were supposed distract you from your tears. it would work during other moments like these — were you’d be too baffled by the things satoru says to care about what you were crying for — yet today it only worsens your misery.

“shut up.” you weakly punch his chest to which the white haired male chuckles softly, his slender fingers instantly interlocking with yours. satoru’s thumb brushes against your wrist before pulling it up to his lips, placing ticklish kisses among your skin.

another silence hangs in the air.

“seriously though. . . if i were to somehow die, i’d want you to live and move on, yeah?” your lover whispers in such a quiet tone that it was almost inaudible. satoru had looked death right in the eye before — he didn’t care back then if it were actually his end.

he does now. he has the world to lose — his world — his everything. you.

satoru wants to live a happy life with you. he doesn’t want to die now that he has you. the love of his life which he wants to grow old with. maybe have kids with. start an own family away from the busy streets, away from the swarming curses in the city and away from all that sorcerer stuff. it was a nice dream.

“shut it!” you huff and satoru takes another weak punch to the chest. his gaze lands upon your tear struck face and he instantly drops the serious ‘act’.

the sorcerer laughs, his usual boyish laugh that makes you feel better, and he flips you both over so that he has you pinned underneath him. satoru grins before kissing your tummy all over, making you giggle from the ticklish feeling;

“i’m playin’, baby! i’m not going anywhereeee!” he promises through wet pecks against your skin, the smile on his evident even if you couldn’t see it — you could hear it in his voice.

satoru leaves your tummy and moves on to your neck and face. he was smothering you in affection in hopes you’d cheer up some way. he just wants you to forget about anything bad happening to him. you didn’t deserve to think about all that stuff — you deserve to be happy and full of joy.

even without him one day.

“i’d never leave my princess all alone.” satoru shakes his head and pouts dramatically, “who else is gonna spoil you? or kiss and cuddle you to bed, huh?”

you finally show an ounce of joy. a tiny smile. that was all satoru had needed to see. he wasn’t going to stop there, however. his goal was to turn that small smile into a full blown fit of laughter.

“i’m one of a kind, baby. you’re never gonna meet a man like me.” he continues with a proud grin, putting all of his body weight on top of you which causes you to groan and grumble a lighthearted complain.

satoru knows you like it whenever he clings to you and thus he uses that piece of knowledge to help you feel better. his head was buried into your shoulder, limbs enveloping your body like a koala.

“whatever.” you roll your eyes and snuggle up to your lover, closing your eyes as the tiredness hits your body after all that crying.

“whatever !” satoru mocks you in a high-pitched tone, followed by a pair of giggles from the two of you. a third and final punch to the chest finally shuts him up for the rest of the night.

the sorcerer made sure you had fallen asleep first before he whispered the next words in your ear, hoping they’d calm your mind and body so that no nightmares would ever bother you again;

“don’t you worry, sweets. i’m not leaving you. ever.”

. . .

those were the same exact words satoru wished he could utter to you one last time before the current date — 24th of december.