#“and may you live in VERY interesting times!”
Text
fuck me, i’m famous
｡ﾟ*. 18+, minors DNI . * ｡ﾟ･
paring: rockstar!natasha romanoff x reader
summary: when your boyfriend drags you along to a rock concert of a band you barely know, and then ceremoniously dumps you to go out with his friends after, it feels like your night can’t get any worse. thankfully, the guitarist of the band seems to take a particular interest in you and offers you an alternative offer on how to spend your night that seems just too good to refuse.
warning(s): cheating (r has a bf), but he’s a shitty bf, oc male character, band jargon that may or may not be correct, alcohol consumption, copious amounts of flirting, slight mention of crystals, swearing, many pet names, first time with a woman, smut, fingering, thigh riding, masturbation, scissoring, multiple orgasms, hickeys, natasha talking you through things, lots of praise, slight degradation (?), minors dni.
authors note: okay i feel like this is kinda bad and messy but i also spent too much time on it not to post. i’m still getting used to writing smut and haven’t wrote anything like this before so i hope it’s okay 😭😭 the end is also rushed so plz just ignore that :))
wc: 12.2K words
You've seen enough books and movies to know how things are supposed to go. How that perfect moment comes, when the pieces fall into place and you suddenly realize this is what you're meant to do, what you've always meant to do. But you've also lived a life long enough to know it never actually happens. In truth, it's all a bunch of bullshit.
There's never such thing as love at first sight, no moment where the world freezes on everyone except you and music plays in slow motion in the background, your eyes falling on that one person through the crowd that you just know your heart only beats for. In real life, the cards just don't fall like that. There's too many shitty people and grievous circumstances for the true movie dream to ever be lived, forever just a piece of fiction one can only fantasize of.
You know all this, understand it to be true. And yet, one hot Summer night, it feels like it all melts away and that fairy tale veil falls down right in front of your very own eyes.
It's not slow when it happens, not like in the movies. It's fast and loud and hot and sweaty. The music around you blares into your ears, bodies beside you screaming out lyrics you barely know. In the crowded space, you at least try to have a good time, try to mimic your boyfriend's energy as he dances and sings beside you, but you know its all futile. You want to leave. Truly, never wanted to come in the first place, but had done for him, for all his pleas and begs. You'll love it, I promise. Please come, baby, please.
The lights are hurting your eyes, the fog burning at your irises. Everyone is far too close to you, strangers pressing up against your sides from the front row section your boyfriend, Tyler, had demanded you needed. You don't feel it right all the back there. You need to be close to feel it in your bones. You feel a little sick.
And then that's when it happens. Body jostling against the side of the raised stage, ears ringing from being far too close to the speakers, that's when your own movie moment finally crashes into you. It's quick, so quick you don't even take notice till a few seconds after it happens. As your eyes raise to the band playing in front of you, they graze over each of the members. The brunette hugging the microphone center stage; the other behind hammering into a black drum set; the tall blonde whose fingers dance over the fretboard of a blue bass; and then finally, the woman playing an electric guitar stage right the same color as her fiery red hair. When you meet her eye it's like one of those moments back in high school, when you're accidentally caught making eye contact with someone across the class. But this time, unlike any time with your classmates, the redhead doesn't screw her face up, passing you a dirty look. What the fuck are you looking at? Instead, she winks.
Seconds later her gaze is gone, returned to the vibrating audience, and it takes you just about as much time to even acknowledge what had just happened. It seems fake, like a miscommunication in the space of a blink. Surely you must be imagining things, the heat in the room finally getting to you. But no, you're so sure of it. So set on what you've seen. A few moments later, it's like it's confirmed. The redhead's sights turn back on you, looking down into the pit of bodies where you stand. This time she holds, her eyes trained to yours as she continues to pluck the strings of her guitar. A small smirk stretches across painted lips, teeth plunging down into plump flesh. The music doesn't slow like it does in the movies. In fact, it seems almost louder than ever as you hold contact with the redhead's playful gaze. And when she winks again, chin jutting in your direction, you know it's you she's looking at.
You feel a little too seen, and not so much in a good way. You don't feel that special moment you read about in books, the time you are the chosen one across the sea of other bodies, a spark lighting in your heart at the romanticism of it all. It actually only drives one question in to your head; why the fuck is she looking at me?
You duck your eyes away, looking to the floor and the scuffed boots on your feet. There's a half-full cup of water a few inches in front of you. You watch as dancing feet almost collide with it, surely only seconds a way from being spilled. It holds your attention for a long time, so long your boyfriend is grasping at your cheek to check you're alright. You smile the way you always seem to do. Lips painting a picture of 'yes, I'm fine', while your brain screams out in contradicting protest. How much longer till this thing is done? My fucking head hurts.
When the final song does eventually roll around, you're too lost in your own thoughts to even care. The redhead guitarist has made eye contact with you three more times since you'd first noticed. If there was any doubt you had she wasn't seeking you out, it was surely dissipated now. Each time your eyeline had actually raised to the stage in front of you, it was like the woman's eyes were already waiting for you.
Trying to hold back the dizziness from gazing down at the floor, you had tried to remember the redhead's name. In no offence to the band, or their adoring fans lined up behind you, you actually didn't know of them much at all. Sure, you've heard their songs blasted through your boyfriend's speakers, saw their faces on cassettes and cd's dumped around your apartment, but you've never truly been a follower of the band Crimson Coven. You try to rack your brain of the knowledge you have, of every rant your boyfriend has been on that you so casually zone out from. The lead singer's name is Wanda, you know that much. She seems to be his favourite from the amount of things you've heard him rattle on. She's never even taken singing lessons. She's actually European, isn't that sick? Did you know she has a twin brother? You should do your makeup like her, babe.
The redhead has you thrown for a loop though. There are two names swimming in your head, though you're pretty sure the drummer is the one named Maria and Carol doesn't seem to fit the guitarist stood on the right. For the life of you it seems you can't draw the name from your head. It stays that way until the concert is finishing, stood watching the four women walking off stage, screaming out "thank you's" and collecting thrown objects on to the small stage, all the while you notice a certain member's eyes still trained on you. You simply turn away and grab on to Tyler’s hand, letting him guide you out of the dissipating crowd. God, you can't wait to get home.
The line to the bathroom is a slight roadblock in your plan. It's not torturously long by any means, but it still has you stood outside pressing your thighs together as you try desperately to hold in the three cans of beer you'd drank before the gig had began. You're regretting that decision now as the line filters slowly into the venue's singular women's bathroom. Seriously, what the fuck is up with that? If it weren't for the half hour journey you had back to your place, you would have considered just holding it, but if the pain in your stomach were any indication, you weren't going to make it that far.
When it's finally your turn, you all but run into the cubicle. It's quieter in there, a barricade between the groups of people who’ve chosen to stay to socialize in the venue's lounge and bar area. The stall is not only a relief for your full bladder, but also your pounding head. You stay in there longer than what's needed, most likely angering the girls waiting outside, but you just can't help it. It's cool and quiet and a desperate contrast to the overstimulating room you'd just spent the last two hours in. After washing your hands, you take the time to check up on your makeup, licking the tip of your finger to fix the slightly smudged liner of your eyes. All in all, you're pretty intact considering the circumstances. A pleasing picture that will soon be washed away as you head home for a night of constant reiterations of the concert you'd just experienced.
You're almost rolling your eyes already at the thought, so easily predicting your boyfriend's behavior for the next several hours. It's this state of disapproval that blinds you as you open the door to the bathroom, not noticing the taller woman standing there before she's backing you up into the stall.
You stumble slightly as the presence walks towards you, your eyes adjusting to the other person who has suddenly joined you in the room. For a moment their back is turned, locking the door to the stall before their face is revealed to you. You curse a little under your breath when you recognise the features.
"There you are. God, do you know hard it was to track you down? Slipped right in here before I could get to ya."
The redhead in front of you breathes out her words, smiling down at you in a way that flips your stomach. It's in that moments everything truly comes crashing down. Every doubt you had, every belief that things like this don't happen in real life is swept away as the famous guitarist stands in front of you. It really was you she was looking at from the stage and now she'd tracked you down. Pinned you into a bathroom stall as she looks down on your figure with her eyes wide, almost drunk. "Uhm, hi?" Is all you manage to say, the entirety of the situation still comprehending itself in your mind.
The redhead in front of you smirks widely as she responds. "Hi." It's then that it hits you, the name you couldn't pinpoint earlier. Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. Lead guitarist of Crimson Coven. You're trying to remember anything Tyler might have said about her when she takes another step in your direction.
"Wow," she breathes, almost to herself. "You're even prettier up close." Her eyes seem to trace over your whole figure, her tongue playing with the inside of her cheek. "Fuck, you're gorgeous."
"Uhm...thank you?" you stutter back, not entirely sure of how you're supposed to act in this situation. You're still trying to get over the shock of her pushing you back into the bathroom before you'd tried to leave. Not sure what else to do, your own eyes trail over the star stood ahead of you. She's still wearing her outfit from her performance; an old looking graphic tee tucked into a pair of black denim shorts. The boots on her feet have silver embellishments that match perfectly with the necklaces around her neck and many rings adorning her fingers. Her lips are painted a shade of faded red that both contrasts and yet somehow works perfectly with her hair, curled and messy around her shoulders. As you look over her, the thought of why your boyfriend may just like her band so much crosses your mind. She really was hot as shit.
But despite her looks, there's still an anxiety bubbling in your chest at this situation. It’s probably not often people could get this close to the star, let alone be held up in a room alone with her. Yet your ears are still ringing and the only true wish crossing your mind's eye is your bed. So, disappointing every girl who'd rather be in your place, you simply clear your throat as you gesture mindlessly to the door behind her. "I think there's people waiting outside to use this cubicle."
The rockstar cocks her head, smirking back. "Oh yeah?" She shrugs, only briefly glancing over her shoulder at the closed bathroom door. "I'm sure they'd be fine waiting. Didn't mind letting me cut through the line." When she smiles back at you, you assume the look in her eye is a mirror of how a predator looks at its prey. You find your lip between your teeth as you look back, very aware of just how much time you'd already spent in this bathroom and how there was a lot of people stood outside who would be becoming increasingly more annoyed at the occupied status, rockstar be damned. Though her attitude remains relaxed, the redhead in front of you seems to pick up on your hesitation because she lets out a low sigh. "Look, if you're really that bothered why don't don't we leave and your pretty ass can join me backstage?"
She takes another step towards you, eyes darkening a they take in your figure. You swallow the saliva in your mouth in an attempt to cool the burn in your stomach. "Sorry-I um-I have a boyfriend," you manage to stutter out, taken aback by her advances. She definitely was hitting on you, that much was clear now, but you knew that Tyler would be waiting for you somewhere, most likely wondering why the fuck you were taking so long to pee.
When your words ring out, its like the redhead's brain short circuits. She almost freezes, only her brows moving to pull into a deep frown. "Shit," she murmurs. "Really?"
You nod in response, fingers playing with the back of your shirt. "Yeah." The redhead looks awfully confused, her gaze trailing over you as if there's something she's missed. When her eyes meet yours once more, its like your answer is a complete mystery to her, like there's something she saw you must have missed in your own reflection. You try to brush it off, not delving into whatever thoughts must be running through the star's head. Instead you just clear your throat again, pointing to the door. "He's um- probably waiting for me."
A tight smile passes across your lips as you slowly move towards the door. The redhead lets you go, ever so slightly brushing past her arm without another word said. You reach for the handle of the door, turning it open before leaving the rockstar behind to wallow in whatever confusion or disappointment runs through her head. You just want to find Tyler and get the hell out of there.
When you finally emerge from the bathroom stall, it feels even warmer than it had before. Though now you're not entirely sure if it's just the air, or also the blood you can feel coursing through your cheeks. You try your best to brush it off, looking around the space to try and locate wherever your boyfriend might have wondered off to. Walking past the line of remaining girls, you have to try ignore their passing stares. Most are likely from your extended use of the bathroom, holding them up even further, but you can't help but feel at least a few are thinking about whatever happened between you and Natasha in that stall and why on earth you had the nerve to leave such an opportunity unfulfilled.
Trying to leave the entire interaction behind, you move to the main area of the venue lounge to try find your boyfriend so you can finally head home. It takes you a good few minutes of searching through the crowds before you spy him across the way, stood talking with all of his friends that he'd brought along to the concert.
"Tyler," you call, passing through bodies to get to him. When he doesn't seem to hear you, you shout again. "Tyler!"
Finally, he turns around, a look of recognition passing over his face as you appear by his side. "Oh there you are, babe," he says. "Where the hell did you go?"
"I was just-I was peeing," you reply, looking around sheepishly at the group of men all staring down at you. It wasn't that you didn't like Tyler's friends per se, it was more so they just weren't your type of people. Most times they’re around, you manage to skilfully skirt around them until a time when they've all gone back home.
Tyler scoffs a little at your comment. "You were gone for like half an hour." He laughs, gesturing to the group as they all join in.
"Yeah. Um-the line was long," you say, trying to avoid the annoyance creeping up your spine as well as skirt around the encounter you'd had just moments ago. Partially because you were still trying to wrap your head around it but also because you didn't want to hear whatever he had to say about what happened. Instead, you just let out a small sigh. "Can we just go home now?"
"Oh actually," Tyler starts. "We were thinking of hitting up a few bars before we went home."
The words hit you like a blast of hot air, unable to deny the feeling of annoyance brewing under your skin. Still, you try to remain sweet in hopes he'll seek pity on you. "Tyler, please," you reply. "I'm tired, can't we just-"
"You don't have to come."
He cuts you off quickly, halting the words in your throat. The attitude you can hear in his voice almost immediately breaks the facade of kindness you were putting on. "Excuse me?"
Tyler shrugs, having the nerve to look annoyed, like you're the one being unreasonable here. "Just call a cab home. You'll be fine." And with that it seems he's had enough of the conversation, turning his shoulders away as he beckons his group to follow.
"No, Tyler wait," you try, but he continues to move away. The only thing you receive is him quickly turning over his shoulder, calling out a goodbye as he promises to see you later.
"Tyler!" You yell but it's futile, the image of your boyfriend already swallowed up by the crowd. "Fuck."
For the second time tonight it feels like you have no idea how to react. You swivel around on the spot, like a lost kid in a grocery store. Some part of you can't believe he would just leave you like that, but then the other part understands it's him all over. Stupid selfish prick.
Far past being annoyed at the night's events, you reach for the phone buried in your jacket pocket, determined to just do as you were told and order a cab home. When the screen returns to you black, the only image your own reflection staring back at you even as you press the power button repeatedly, a long string of curses escape your lips. Stupid fucking phones and their stupid ass batteries. And of course tonight had to be the night you had forgone your charger, leaving you with just a useless weight of metal that you slip back into your pocket. Just my fucking luck.
For a moment, you're stuck on what to do, how to find a way home, but then your eyes fall on the bar across the room. You make your way through the crowd, squeezing past people and mumbling half-assed 'sorry's' and 'excuse me's' until you eventually reach the bar. When you do, the bartender walks over to you, a small smile appearing on his face. "Hi, what can I get for you?"
"Actually, I was just wondering if you could call me a cab?" you reply, raising your voice to be heard over the venue's loud music.
The bartender furrows his brow. "What?"
"A cab," you repeat, leaning in further to his ear. "Can you call me a cab, please? My phone is dead."
"Oh, I can't sorry," he responds, shrugging his shoulders. "Phone is broken."
"What? Can't you use your mobile or-"
"Not while I'm on shift."
He shrugs again. You scoff.
"Please. I really need to get home."
"Sorry," the bartender responds finally, turning away to move towards another customer down the bar.
You watch him go, scowling. When he starts to talk to someone else, asking for their order, another waterfall of curses fall from your tongue. How the fuck were you supposed to get home now?
"Hey gorgeous."
The voice all but pulls you from your thoughts and to the right, dragging you away from the harsh stare you were given the unhelpful bartender. When your eyes fall to the person who had sidled up beside you, a small sigh slips out, your eyes rolling in their sockets.
"Wow," the redhead responds, easily picking up on your bad attitude. She holds her hands up. "Sorry to offend."
You look back at the rockstar, at Natasha. It seems she's found you again in a moment where you want nothing more than to find a way out of there. Though despite your frustration, you know it's not her fault, that she isn't the one controlling the universe so adamant on your downfall tonight. So, you force yourself to soften your expression as you turn back to her. "No. No, I'm sorry," you say, shaking your head slightly. "It's just- I'm trying to get a cab home but apparently their phone is broken." You gesture towards the bar, displaying the utter uselessness of its bartender with the look on your face.
Natasha seems to take a little amusement in your frustration, the faintest of a smile appearing on her face. "You ain't got your own phone to call a cab?" The mobile is received from your pocket, quickly held up by your hand as you flash the dead device to the redhead opposite. She sighs, tilting her head back. "Ah, I see. What about that boyfriend of yours? Couldn't he call you a cab?"
You're a little surprised to hear her mention that piece of information, even if you'd only shared it with her minutes before in the bathroom stall. The mention of his presence is enough to drag the long sigh from your chest as you stare down at the bar. "Not when he's the reason I need one."
"Alright, I'm gonna need you to elaborate on that one."
Her words draw your eyes back to her, briefly grazing over her face before you respond. "He left with his friends. Gone off to some other bar. Told me to phone a cab home."
Natasha lets out a breath of air. "Dickhead." You watch her as she takes a sip from the beer in her hand, trying not to notice the way her lips look pressed against the top of the bottle. "You know, a pretty girl like you shouldn't have to wait around on assholes like that."
And then there's that same heat you felt in the bathroom, creeping up your cheeks unwelcome. You turn away again as you shrug in an attempt to hide it. "He's not that bad-"
"Sure," Natasha cuts you off before you can even finish your explanation. In truth, you weren't even sure what else you were going to say, what redeeming qualities you could draw about the boy who'd left you stranded in the city to go get drunk with his friends. Instead you just turn to the woman sat beside you, only shallowly realising how she is in fact a minor celebrity and that a lot of the people around were probably looking over at the pair of you. But when Natasha smiles and leans in, it's like it all disappears. "Alright, lemme tell you this. You let me buy you one drink and I'll phone you a taxi home."
You look back at the rockstar sat across from you, letting her words settle into your mind. This close you can once again tell just how beautiful she is, how any girl in this room would pay good money to be where you are right now. But you don't want to be that kind of girl, the kind that chases after someone just because they have a little bit of fame. Nevertheless, there is something about the redhead that draws you in. Maybe it's the layers of piercings you can see stacking her ears, or the patchwork of tatoos lining her exposed arms. Whatever it is, something about her is making you want to follow whatever she says. Furthermore, her offer is one that is rather too good to refuse. After a moment, you sigh as you nod your head. "Fine. One drink."
Natasha Romanoff smirks, calling the bartender over almost immediately with two fingers. It's the same tilted smile you had seen her passing you from across the stage, though now you can take notice of the small dimple that appears on her cheek when those lips pull taught. Everything about this encounter was setting something alight inside you but you couldn't quite put your finger on it.
When your drink finally arrives - curtesy of a different bartender - you decidedly join the rockstar on the stools lined up against the bar. The leather is sticky and uncomfortable against the exposed skin under your skirt. Still, you ignore it as you look over at the redhead to your right, slowly taking a sip of the cocktail you'd ordered as you get the opportunity to voice the question that's been on your mind for the last couple hours. "Why were you looking at me on stage?"
"Why'd you think?" Natasha smirks the widest you've seen all night, licking her bottom lip as she turns to you. "I thought maybe you and I could have some fun but…you had to be little miss taken." You try not to react to her words, or moreover the way her eyes drag themselves over your body, particularly your exposed thighs against the red leather of the barstool. "Maybe we could still have some fun yet tho, hm?" Natasha finishes, her eyes returning to yours. Even in the dim light of the bar you can tell they're blown out, pupils wide as they drink you in.
You let out a sigh. "Listen, in the nicest way possible, I don't actually really know who you are and I don't know about this whole thing you're doing, if it's normal but-"
"Wait," Natasha cuts you off. "You were in the front row and don't know who I am?"
You feel a little bashful as you shrug your shoulders. "I mean- I kinda do, I guess. I mean- I've listened to a few of your band's songs but I'm not like- a fan or anything."
"Not a fan?" Natasha breathes, reaching to take another sip of her drink with an amused expression. "So tell me, how does a girl who's not a fan end up hugging the stage all night?"
You take a sip of your own cocktail before you reply. "My boyfriend bought the tickets."
"Ah there it is," Natasha nods. "The boyfriend yet again." She turns in her chair, legs moving to dangle off the side. "You know, he's not really our target demographic."
You know exactly what she's talking about, almost too quickly. It was rather obvious to you that Crimson Coven was not a band trying to attract straight men, even if they did flock to them over their members' good looks. "Yeah, I tried to tell him that," you reply, sipping on your drink.
One of the redhead's brows raises, eyes tracing over your face. "What's that one saying?" she ask, swirling the bottle in her hands. "Takes one to know one?" You feel the saliva pool in your throat as she looks back at you, smirk wider than ever. Swallowing harshly, you take a rather big swig of your drink, trying your best to ignore the way you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. Natasha simply breathes out a laugh. "I think you're maybe not as you first seem, little lady." Right then there's a look that passes between you, your eyes wide and questioning, Natasha's dark and hooded. Then her hand is landing on your thigh, just above your knee where the skin is exposed. Her thumb strokes back and forth delicately as she licks her lips. "Why don't you tell me your name?"
There's a strange bubbling inside your stomach, a flutter to your heart. You want to turn and walk right out of there, ditch the rockstar in front of you and try your luck hailing a cab on the street. But part of you notices the shiver her touch sends up your thigh, how her skin is warm against yours in just the right kind of way, how despite your circumstances, just how amazing this moment feels. "Y/N," you reply eventually, swallowing your first instincts to the warm pit of your stomach.
"Y/N," the redhead repeats, rolling the name over her tongue. "I'm-"
"Natasha. I know."
She seems taken aback by your quick answer, cutting off her sentence before she can finish. She frowns slightly back at you. "I thought you said you didn't."
Now it's your turn to raise your brow. "I said I wasn't a fan. Not that I didn't know your name."
"I see," Natasha replies, her voice laced with amusement. She smiles to herself as she sips her beer, turning back with a wide grin. "You know, I've never slept with a Y/N before."
"You sleep with a lot of girls then?"
"I've done the rounds," Natasha shrugs. The nonchalant nature of her reply is enough to have you passing her a displeased look across the bar. She raises her brow, looking back at you. "What? You want me to lie to you? Tell you I'm the virgin mary?"
You want to laugh in response but hold yourself back, entirely aware of the game Natasha is trying to play. "So...what?" you draw out, playing with the rim of your glass. "You want me to be one of your new collectibles?"
"Well maybe if I get lucky."
You turn back to the smirking redhead. "I wouldn't buy a lottery ticket."
And she laughs, like really laughs right into her drink before she takes a sip. When she places it back on the bar, she shakes her head as she turns to look at you with a smirk. "You know most girls flock to my side," she says, raising a brow. "Asking for autographs or pictures."
"I already told you. I don't know that much about your band."
"You're here though, aren't you?" Natasha replies. "You must know some things."
She isn't entirely wrong. Sure, you knew of the things your boyfriend has endlessly droned on about. About Wanda being the one who named the band. Or about Carol and her cat, or Maria and her brief military background. You even knew about Natasha, little sparks in your memory of her coming from Russia or her hair being blonde at some point. It's all stored in the backlog of your brain, hours of knowledge you'd spent years sorting into the dusty compartments of your mind you never cared to look at. Still, there's something now about speaking to Natasha in real time, not hearing about your boyfriend's idealised version of her that feels a little different. Things here feel a little more real.
You don't acknowledge Natasha's question as you take a sip from your drink. "You want me to ask for your autograph?" you ask as you place the glass back down. "Is that it?"
The answer that follows is in such a low register you can barely hear it over the music. "I think we both know what I want."
You look back at Natasha, at her dazzling smirk and messy red hair. "Well I'm sorry to disappoint but I'm not your girl." A tight smile appears on your lips as you gaze out into the sea of bodies across the room. "Why don't you go find someone else?"
"Why would I when you're the prettiest thing in here?" Natasha's response is quick, almost as quick as the way her eyes divert to to rest if your body. "Hell, I'd go as far as to say you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen."
"Listen," you sigh. "I appreciate the flattery but-"
"I ain't fucking around if that's what you think," Natasha says quickly, cutting you off. The look in her eye as she scans your face shows how genuine her words feel. "You caught my eye the second I stepped on stage. You're fucking gorgeous, angel. Forgive me if it's a crime to want to see more."
Despite your better instincts, you let out a laugh into your glass. No one has ever been this forward with you before, never complimented you so much to the point you can feel the heat of their words on your skin. Hell, not even Tyler was ever this keen to get you into bed. And you know you shouldn't like it, shouldn't fall for the rockstar's methods, but you can't help but enjoy the praise just a little bit.
That feeling is soon quashed however when your temple gives a sudden jolt of pain. You wince slightly, reminded of the too-loud atmosphere you'd spent the last few hours in. The alcohol probably wasn't helping much either.
"What's wrong?"
You're a little surprised when Natasha speaks, unaware of her having noticed your small flinch at the pain. You simply shake your head in response, smiling back at her. "Nothing. I'm fine. It's just a headache."
"You know," the rockstar replies quickly. "It's cooler backstage. Quieter too." You must give her a look laced with poison because she holds her hands up in defence once again, though this time smirking back at you. "Hey, Im just saying."
Despite your glare, you're still interested in the redhead sat opposite you. It's like even with her forward approach, you can't help but be drawn to some part of her. You try to avoid the smile that creeps back on to your face as you look back into her eyes. "Does this routine usually work for you?"
Natasha chuckles to herself before leaning in to speak. "Honey, by now I usually have a girl screaming my name as she rides my face."
It's now you're entirely glad of the dimness in the room, hiding the flushed state that rises in your throat and heats up your cheeks. You can feel yourself getting worked up by Natasha's bold statement, unsure of what to do with yourself or how to respond. In doubt of yourself, you simply reach for the cocktail glass in front of you and down the rest of the liquid. It burns a little going down but you find you don't mind it. Anything to take away from the feeling you can recognise brewing in your stomach.
You can just about feel Natasha's smirk as much as you can see it, pressing into the side of your head as she watches you become flustered, clearly enjoying the effect she is having on you. "Here," she says, adjusting herself in the chair. "Let me buy you another one."
You turn to meet her eye, holding it harshly. "I said one drink."
That smirk remains for a long while as Natasha just looks back at you, not answering for a few passing moments. It even stays as she lifts one of her arms, arching it so it comes to rest on the back of your barstool, officially caging in your conversation. "Alright," she drawls, her body leaning in towards yours. "Look at it like this. I can buy you another drink and we can talk some more. Maybe think about heading backstage, get you somewhere quieter. Or..." The redhead licks her licks, pausing as she angles her head. "I can phone you that cab now and you can mope in the backseat till you get home. Then, stumble into your cold apartment alone and just wait for your drunk boyfriend to get home and sidle up next to you in bed."
The blatant look on Natasha's face is a good representation of how you feel about the whole situation she's proposed. The thought of dealing with Tyler later is enough to have you rolling your eyes, already imagining his drunken state reaching out for you and wiping wet kisses along your neck, stinking of booze and the remaining perfume of whatever girl he's been chatting up at the bar. It's almost like a routine you've both fallen into, simply ignoring it every time until without fail, it'll happen again.
And maybe tonight you're done with it. Maybe tonight is the night you don't want to have to deal with him anymore, to hear him talk about himself for hours on end like you don't even exist. It's partially the thought of finally letting that go that pulls you in the direction you choose, but it's also largely down to the way you can feel Natasha pressing in closer, her face moving just inches from yours as her lips press up against your ear. Somehow, it's like you can even feel her smirking as her lips barely graze the skin beside your face. "If you come with me, I promise you won't regret it."
Maybe it is that that finally does it for you, the shiver of goosebumps running down your spine as you still feel the redhead's hand grazing your thigh. Maybe it's that or maybe it's the heat finally getting to you, or the alcohol hitting your head. It could be any of those, or maybe combination of them all. Whatever your brain decides to settle on as a reason, it doesn't really matter because within seconds, you're calling over the bartender for another drink, allowing yourself to fall into whatever rabbit hole Natasha Romanoff is offering you.
"I knew I'd like you, Y/N," the redhead whispers close, grinning widely at your acceptance. You don't say anything in response until the bartender is placing your vodka coke on the bar. And even then, just as you reach for the glass, Natasha is diverging any words you may have spoken as she grabs hold of your hand. "Come on," she calls and it's a challenge not to spill any of the drink as the redhead quickly begins to pull you from the bar.
"Natasha, wait-" you try to respond, not entirely sure of where this might be going, but the star is quickly cutting you off as she presses her lips together.
"Shh," she drags, looking back at you over her shoulder. "It's okay, angel. It's better back here, I promise."
Something in you gives in because you let her drag you through the crowds of the room, trying desperately not to spill the beverage in your hands. You notice on the way a few recognising faces that glance at Natasha, then almost turn a little sour as they fall onto you. You only get the chance to wonder about their jealousy for a few moments before Natasha has pulled you away from everyone entirely, slipping you through a door into a quiet corridor. And then, after turning a few corners and dodging a few stacks of equipment crates, she pulls you through another door into an entirely empty room.
It's only then does the redhead finally release your hand, letting you roam free as she crosses to sit on one of the sofas positioned within the room. Beside them, there's stacks of band equipment, most of which you don't quite recognise. The red guitar on the stand is easy, and the set of drumsticks lying on a table, but the speakers and wires sit in a valley of other items you probably couldn't name if you tried.
There are scatterings of personality throughout the space; a leather jacket thrown over a couch, an ashtray of old cigarettes on a coffee table, some cards laying close beside it. And for a moment you wonder if this is what Natasha Romanoff's life is like. Backrooms full of band equipment, roaring crowds that call out her name. An endless supply of money and booze and cigarettes and girls. It's so so far away from the reality that you live that it can't help but be a little fascinating, this room just a little window into the life of a true rockstar.
The one thing you do very quickly notice however, is the main luxury that the exclusive backstage room seems to have; air conditioning. Beautifully cool air floods your body as soon as the door closes behind you, your headache already cowering back in the quiet atmosphere. You just can't help but let out a long, appreciative sigh at the respite from the hot, humid air outside.
"Told ya." Natasha's voice calls as you see her throw herself down on one of the sofas, so easily slipping into her own space backstage.
You simply roll your eyes as you take a sip of the drink in your hand, surprisingly intact after lugging it across the venue. "So, where are your other friends?" you ask, looking more so at the room full of band things than the member sat on the couch across from you.
Natasha sighs, sitting back as her eyes drag over you. "Probably in rooms close by hoping to get somewhere like me."
"And where exactly is that?" you ask, feet wandering across the opposite side of the room from the redhead. She smirks back at you, watching your every movement.
"Why don't you tell me, gorgeous?"
You can feel yourself smile, finally allowing Natasha's flirting get to you. But instead of replying to her question, you simply run your fingers over the red instrument propped up on the stand beside you. "How long have you played guitar?"
"Fifteen years," Natasha replies quickly, unwavering at your change of topic.
You nod to yourself, looking down at the instrument. "Wow." There isn't anything you've probably committed to for that long, besides maybe school. You take a sip of your drink as you turn to lean on a table against the wall, now facing the still sitting redhead across the way. "How'd you meet the other girls?"
"It's a long story."
You hum in response, waiting just a moment for her to elaborate before you realise she's leaving it up to your own imagination. The two of you hold eye contact as you bring your drink up to your mouth, letting the bubbles pop on your lips as you drink before smoothing it over with your tongue. Theres a specific look in Natasha's eye you can't seem to recognise, almost as if she wants to eat you right where you stand. That smirk widens as you take another sip, your tongue yet again swiping over your lips and the sweet residual soda lingering there. It's then Natasha finally speaks, nodding her head in your direction. "Come here."
And you do. Placing your drink down on the table before pressing yourself up from it, you slowly make your way across the room to where Natasha sits. As you come to stand between her open legs, the rockstar sits up, her body straightening and her hands coming to rest on the sides of your hips. You let them explore a little as Natasha moves, forgoing the layer of your leather jacket and pressing directly beneath the hem on your shirt. Her fingertips feel calloused as they brush the skin beneath it, years of playing guitar coming to create the most amazing sensation as she brushes against your body.
"God, your skin is so soft," Natasha says lowly, almost to herself. It sounds like she's truly mesmerised, her entire being taken over by the feeling of you against her skin. And perhaps some part of you feels it too because without knowing what truly compels you, you find yourself lowering your body down into her lap. Natasha smirks as you come to rest upon her thighs, knees caging either side of her body. She glances down at the way your skirt rides up, only leaving little to the imagination of what lies beneath. Her hands come to rest there, stroking the soft skin of your upper thighs as you lift your arms above her shoulders, letting them fall behind her head as you stare into her eyes. From here, in the new lighting of the backstage room, you can see the sea of green that shrouds her pupils.
For a while you two just drink each other in, your bodies comfortably close as your eyes trace one another. Then, eventually Natasha is talking once more as her fingers reach out towards you. "What's this?"
You follow her eyeline down to your chest, watching the way her fingers have found the crystal hanging around your neck. "Aventurine," your reply.
Natasha smiles as she looks back at your face. "Wanda's the crystal lover so you'll have to enlighten me. What does this one do?"
You shrug a little. "It's brings a few things...Hope, optimism, prosperity. Mostly luck."
The redhead raises a brow as her voice finds that playful tone. "Luck?"
"Mhm," you hum, finding yourself leaning in just slightly closer. "Stone of opportunity."
"So you're telling me it's because of this little rock that I wound up with a pretty girl sat on my lap?"
You hold back a laugh as you search Natasha's smirking face. "Don't call it a rock."
"No?"
You shake your head, humming. "I think it offends them."
The two of you are pressed even closer now, your arms coming crossed behind Natasha's head as she pulls you in. Her voice is almost a whisper when she speaks. "I know some things I could do to offend a lot of people."
The breath you release is shaky as you feel Natasha's hand reach up to cusp your face. She holds your chin, finger so delicate across your skin before she reaches to trace your bottom lip, just momentarily pulling it down with her thumb.
And it's then, with her face pressed so close to yours, green eyes almost black with lust, that you finally let everything go and you lean in. The first kiss is electrifying. Like that first strum of a chord when the guitar kicks in in a song, the bass just rattling your bones and setting your nerves on fire.
Natasha's lips are beautifully soft against yours, a contrast to the harshness of her fingertips you can feel pressing into the side of your face. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and cigarette smoke, sweet but hazy to your senses. The redhead quickly takes a grip of your jaw, angling your head just right so she can drive the kiss deeper. You don't complain as she begins to domineer your mouth, tongue sliding across yours with the skills of a professional.
When you both finally pull back for air, you can only wonder why you forced yourself to wait for this so long. Her touch is like nothing you've ever felt before, your entire body simply set alight with a hunger for her. You look down at the redhead for a moment and Natasha smirks devilishly up at you, eyes blown wide before she's pulling you back in. Your hands hold the back of her neck as your lips collide once more, pulling her in as close to you as you can in a desperate need for more.
Natasha's fingers dance up your arms before you can feel her begin to press the leather jacket away from your shoulders. You move your hands to let her remove it, only hearing it crash to the floor as you try desperately to hold your lips against the rockstar's. A low whine erupts in your throat as you feel her pull away seconds later, your bruised mouth chasing hers.
But Natasha just lets herself grin as her hands caress your body, deft fingers running up and down your sides. Only moments later, she's reaching beneath the material of your shirt to pull it over your head. Her breaths are heavy as her eyes trace your exposed body, almost fixated on the swell of your breasts in the lacy balconette bra cladding your chest.
"Fuck," the redhead says under her breath. Her hands come up to caress your tits, squeezing them tenderly through the material as your own pants flow from your chest. Her lips connect soon after, kissing and nipping at the skin of your cleavage with delicate precision. You let your head fall back as the redhead pays attention to your chest, simultaneously sucking and playing with your tits with her mouth and hands, sending rolls of pleasure flooding down your spine.
When one of her hands slips up the bare skin of your back, her lips disconnect as she meets your eye. Her fingers play with the clasp of your bra as you look down at her. "Can I?" she whispers, face so close to your own.
"Uh huh," you reply, nodding your head quickly. It's only seconds later you can feel the release against your chest, Natasha's skilled hands making quick work of the clasp and tossing your brassiere to the side. Her attention is straight back on you as she reveals your bare chest, kissing the previously hidden skin as she murmurs soft praises into the flesh. "God, you're so beautiful."
Your fingers find a place running through her hair as she continues to play with your tits, red fibres intertwined with your painted nails. A string of softer sounds elicits from your throat as Natasha's fingers find your nipples, pinching and pulling at the hardened buds with just the perfect amount of pressure.
"Natasha," you breath out heavily, holding back a moan as her teeth replace her hands playing with your chest.
"Yeah baby?" the redhead responds, looking up at you but not removing her face from where it rests.
The look on her face only adds to the pool you can feel forming between your legs, all down to her touch and copious amounts of flirting. You want to see more of her, want to run your hands across her body. Not entirely confident enough to word it, you settle for a whine as you tug at her shirt. Thankfully, it seems Natasha is apt at picking up your signals because she smirks widely before reaching to untuck her shirt and pull it over her head.
As the rockstar tosses it somewhere across the room, you can't help but stare at the sight she's unveiled. Her tits sit beautifully in a red bralette, perked perfectly with pink nipples visible through the mesh material. Every part of you feels totally enamoured by her look, eyes unable to peel themselves away from her heavenly cleavage on display.
It's in your admiration, you find yourself distracted, not noticing the way the rockstar's hand has slipped up your skirt until you suddenly feel her touch against your underwear. A gasp escapes you as her fingers graze over your clothed core, most definitely feeling the way her tactics have saturated the material. The redhead makes eye contact with you, pupils dark. "This okay?" she whispers, voice as thick as honey.
It takes all your efforts to breathe out a response, entirely worked up by her touch. "Yeah," you reply, nodding quickly. By this point you would let her do whatever she wanted if it would soothe ache between your legs.
Natasha smiles widely as she hears your response. "Lift your hips for me," she says, playing a chaste kiss to your collar bone. You do ask she asks, rising up to your knees on the sides of the couch. It gives Natasha the room to hook her fingers underneath the sides of your underwear, pulling them down painfully slowly as she looks into your eyes. When she finally manages to slide them over your legs, she tosses them somewhere off to the side before pulling you back down to sit on her lap.
Just then, a sudden thought crosses your mind. "I've-I've never done this before," you stutter out. "With a woman, I mean."
You wonder for a moment if Natasha will be put off by your inexperience, but that thought is quickly extinguished when the redhead only smirks wider. "That's alright," she replies. "Cause I happen to be somewhat of an expert."
You let out the barest of a laugh at her words, letting the anxiety flood out of your mind. Natasha's smirk holds as you feel her hand creep up your skirt again, dancing over the delicate skin of your inner thigh. "Relax, sweetheart," she husks. "I got you now."
Her fingers move to again run over your centre, this time touching your bare skin as you feel her fingers trace your soaked folds. She collects the wetness pooling from your centre before dragging it up to your clit, spreading it as she slowly begins to circle the bud. A moan slips as she presses a little harder, her fingers perfectly pooling pleasure between your legs.
"That's it, baby," Natasha purrs, face close to your ear. "Let me hear all those pretty noises."
You feel your teeth plunge into your bottom lip as another moan slips from your throat. Natasha's touch is so teasingly slow you can't help but buck your hips a little into her hand. "Please-" you whine, desperate for her to do more.
Thankfully, Natasha obliges and another moan drawls from your chest as you feel her middle finger plunge into your core. Your muscles tense around her, pulling her finger in further as your face comes to burrow into the redhead's shoulder.
"Uh uh," Natasha sounds from above you. "Let me see your face, pretty girl." Her finger find your chin, directing your gaze back up until your eyes meet with hers."There you go."
She smiles widely as she leans in for a kiss, once again enveloping your lips in her sweet, sultry taste. The two of you press deeply into another, noses brushing together. You can feel Natasha's finger slowly begin to move inside you, teasing your walls as you whine against her mouth. Your lips only disconnect when you feel Natasha add another finger to the one pumping inside you, your face falling as a gasp sounds from your chest.
She works almost painfully slow, her fingers pulling virtually all the way out before steadily bottoming inside you once again. Each time, her fingertips press against that spot inside you, just softly enough for you to barely feel it. Chasing more of a high, your hips begin to rut against her hand. "Natasha," you whine, voice long and drawn out at her teasing attitude. Some part of you wonders if it's some form of payback for letting it take so long to get you in this position.
The rockstar places a soft kiss to the side of your neck before she's whispering in your ear, hot breath fanning out across the skin. "Shh, just ride my fingers," she says, smiling against you. You feel her free hand come to rest upon your hip, slowly guiding you to rut harder against her hand. Each time you do, you feel her fingers curl into that spot inside you, sending soft sighs of pleasure cascading from your lips.
"'Atta girl," Natasha husks, continuing to guide your movements with her palm. Your hands come to rest upon her shoulders, holding yourself up as you rock back and forth. The redhead's fingers slide in and out of you with each motion, the sounds of the wetness between your legs joined by the moans slipping from your tongue.
Natasha watches with wide eyes as you grind against her hand, fingers gripping into her shoulders as your pleasure grows. She lets her digits curl inside you, releasing sweet, sudden sounds from your lips. Her thumb moves to brush against your clit, the hardened surface sending shocks of pleasure through you each time you rock your hips.
"Fuck baby," Natasha says lowly, watching you practically fuck yourself on her lap. "Are you gonna make a mess?" she drawls. "You gonna make a mess all over my fingers for me?"
"Uh huh," you respond, barely managing to nod your head as you can feel that coil building tighter and tighter in your stomach. Natasha's touch is like electric to your skin, each thrust building to a crescendo at your core.
"Come on, angel," the redhead whispers. "Show me just how pretty you are when you cum."
Her words, alongside one last thrust of your hips is enough to send you toppling over that edge. Your moan is drawn out loudly as you feel yourself come undone, eyes slamming shut as you grip hold of Natasha's shoulders. Your body arches in to her, letting Nat take advantage of your chest with her mouth once more as her fingers ride you through your orgasm.
"Fuck," you breathe, finally starting to come down from your high. You open your eyes once more to see Nat smirking up at you, letting go of your nipple between her teeth as both of her hands now rest on your waist. As your mind clears, you let yourself begin to fall back down on to her lap, but when you accidentally land directly on her thigh, you feel a shock sent through your core. You wince, immediately lifting yourself back up at the sensitivity.
But Natasha seems to have other plans. "Shh, angel. It's okay," she murmurs as her hands grip harsher on to the skin of your waist. She begins to push you back down, eliciting a gasp as your sensitive core connects again with her leg. You squirm a little in the position, fighting ever so slightly against Natasha as she tries to drop your full weight on to her. "Just sit on my thigh," she drawls, hands guiding you down. "Just like that, there you go."
The position hikes your tight skirt all the up to your waist, completely exposing your cunt as it comes to rest against the bare skin of Natasha's thigh. You're pathetically wet against her, cum still dripping out your core from your previous orgasm. But if anything, Natasha only seems to enjoy the way you soak her skin, smirking up at you as her hands begin to direct you once again. Her movements force you to rock back and forth slowly, your slick coating the skin of her leg beneath you. The wave of pleasure that comes from the movement sends a moan tipping out your mouth, your head falling back as your clit throbs with each brush against Natasha's thigh.
"Does that feel good, baby?" the redhead beneath you husks, still guiding your movements. It takes all your focus to nod your head. "Mhm?" Natasha questions, her voice purely laced with amusement. "You're such a good girl. Just keep grinding on me, just like that."
You feel the rockstar's hands disengage from your waist but your movement continues, encouraged by her words and praise. You watch between fluttering eyelashes as Natasha reaches to take off her bra, tossing it aside and revealing her perfect tits to you. Then, you see as her hands moves to undo her shorts, opening each button before her fingers disappear beneath the waistband of the black denim.
You hold back a whine as you see her face contort, only imagining what her fingers may be doing under the material of those shorts. "God, you're making me so wet," the redhead breathes, reaching up to place a kiss on to your pouting lips. You release a whine into her, muffled by her tongue lapping over your own. "Such a pretty girl," Natasha mewls when she pulls away, one hand reaching up to caress your jaw. "So pretty just for me. Wanna see how wet I am for you?"
You feel yourself nodding as you look into her green eyes, turned even more on by the concept of Natasha getting off just by looking at you. The redhead removes her fingers from beneath her shorts before bringing them up to your face, letting you view the soaked digits momentarily before pressing them up to your lips. You take in her fingers welcomely, humming around them as you let the taste of her coat your tongue.
"Fuck, you're so hot," Natasha husks, sounding about as love-drunk as you felt sucking on her fingers. She lets you lap them up a moment longer before pulling them from your lips with a pop. Then, you watch as she dips them back below her shorts, moaning softly at the contact it makes on her hidden centre.
Your eyes feel almost transfixed on the hand concealed beneath the material of Natasha's black shorts. The only true indication of whatever her fingers are doing comes from the delicate hums and sighs that escape the redhead's lips. The sight alone is enough to make you grind your cunt harder against her thigh, desperately trying to ease the heat growing there.
The rockstar notices your attempts becoming more determined, fingers clutching at her shoulders as your own needy mewls drip from your tongue. "Are you gonna cum on my thigh baby?" she asks, smirking widely.
You grind faster against her, trying desperately to chase your high but it feels like it's never coming. "I can't," you whine, hopelessly rutting atop of her.
"You can," Natasha nods.
"Mm-hm," you hum, shaking your head. Your fingers grip harder into her skin, the feeling between your legs never quite reaching that peak you're seeking out.
"You can, baby," Natasha replies quickly, voice assertive. "Look, just like this." You feel her hands come to rest upon your ass, fingers gripping into the soft flesh before she begins to rock you once more. With her guidance, you follow a more structured pattern, your clit brushing perfectly against her thigh with each rock of your hips. "There you go," the redhead hums, watching your face screw up in pleasure at the newfound rhythm. Moans begin to cascade from your lips in desperate tones as each new thrust sends you closer to that edge. The way Natasha guides you sends perfect waves of pleasure through your entire body, your hands pressing into her shoulders to try ground yourself in the high. When you feel her fingers join in on the equation, your cries turn ever more lewd, her hand placed so that your clit brushes directly over her calloused tips each time you rut your hips.
"Come on baby girl," you hear Natasha husk, her face close to yours. "Cum for me. You can do it. Cum all over my thigh."
One more thrust sends you hurtling over the edge, screaming out as you feel a gush of warmth flooding onto Natasha's leg. Your arms wrap around her head, anchoring yourself in as you ride out your high, mewling choked moans into the redhead's ear. Natasha guides you through the orgasm once more, still slowly guiding your hips to an eventual stop. When you finally emerge from the crook of her neck, you're panting.
The rockstar admires the way your chest rises and falls, the green crystal still hanging around your neck, nestled in the valley of your breasts. "God, you're so fucking perfect," she husks, drinking in your figure. "I could get addicted to the way you look falling apart for me."
You don't say anything in response as you still try to calm yourself from the high, head feeling fuzzy as you look back at the redhead. She smirks widely as she watches you, utterly obsessed with the way you look sat on top of her, eyes glazed over in residual pleasure.
A single one of her fingers comes to swipe up some of the cum you've left slathered on her thigh, purposely brushing slightly over the top of your bruised clit just to watch you squirm a little before bringing her hand up to her own mouth. She practically laps up the stickiness coating her finger, humming lowly as your cum trickles down her throat. "God," she breathes, letting her finger fall. "I wish I had my strap so I could fuck that sweet little pussy of yours." You whine on top of her, still too inebriated to form a real response. Natasha only chuckles at your intoxication. "Would you like that, pretty girl? Like me to fuck you till you can't even think anymore?"
"Uh huh," you nod, already fantasying the image inside your head.
Natasha laughs again, tilting her head as she watches your face. "You're so cum-drunk right now I think you're already half way there. Isn't that right?" A low sound in the back of your throat is the only response, heightened when you feel Natasha's lips connect with your neck. She sucks as the soft flesh, glazing over the burn with her tongue. She stays there a moment, clearly leaving a mark on your skin that you have no idea how you'll cover up tomorrow. But quite frankly, you don't even care.
When Natasha pulls away, she notices how that glaze has left your eyes, your consciousness returning finally after your last climax. She smirks, eyeing you with that mischievous look as her face comes to rest near your cleavage, placing a chaste kiss to your sternum before looking back up. "You want me to empty that pretty head of yours some more?"
You're barely able to focus on her words as she lets her tongue circle around your nipple. In the end, you don't answer her question, simply whine as her teeth tease at the hardened bud. "Tasha-"
The nickname slips from your tongue almost too easily, your brain not even recognising it. Natasha, however, does, and she can't believe how amazing it sounds coming from your mouth. "Fuck," she whispers, coming face to face with you again. She looks into your eyes for a long moment before she begins to shift her body, turning yours with it. "Lie down for me, baby," she murmurs, twisting your body to lay down on the couch beneath you. "Just like that."
You let her manoeuvre you to the perfect position, arching slightly as the cold leather of the couch hits your back. Lying back, you watch as Natasha leans over you, placing a few quick kisses to your neck before travelling lower. When she reaches your waistline, her fingers work to unzip the skirt still clinging to your waist. She makes light work of undoing it before beginning to pull it down your legs, placing kisses on your warm flesh as she goes. When the article is tossed aside, the rockstar begins to unfasten the boots still tied to your feet. She removes them quickly, laying them aside and soon letting her own join them.
Then, you watch in awe as the redhead slowly slips her fingers into the waistband of her own shorts, almost making a show out of it as she slips the garment down. Shorts and underwear go at the same time as Natasha strips herself in front of you, smirking as she notices the way you stare. Your eyes never leave her as her body moves back towards the couch, coming to a rest above you as her knees straddle your waist. "You're so hot," you all but mumble, mesmerised by the sight in front of you.
Natasha simply chuckles lowly at your response. "Give me your hand," she says, reaching out towards your wrist. You let her take hold, watching intently as she guides you between her legs. She runs your fingers methodically through her folds, gasping quietly as the touch. She's soaked, slick coating your digits, probably residual from where she had been touching herself earlier. "You feel that? It's all for you, baby." Natasha hums as she guides your hand through her core. You can't help but let your own little noises slip, feeling just how wet she is beneath your touch. Your fingers curl at the ends, dipping into Natasha's centre before you pull them up to rub at her swollen clit. "Ah, fuck," the star moans, pinching her eyes closed. She lets you play with her a bit longer before she eventually pulls your hand away, letting it drop to your side. Instead, she reaches the hand she was using to guide you under your right thigh, squeezing into the flesh gently. "Lift your leg for me," she says, pulling upwards on your thigh.
You let her manoeuvre your leg, holding it up to the side while she adjusts her own body. You watch as one of her legs hooks over your waist, angling herself so that her core is directly above your own. When she sinks down to meet you, a lewd gasp sounds from your mouth, the new sensation electric against your skin. Natasha's cunt is wet against your own, accentuated by the cum that sill coats your sensitive folds.
"Oh my god," you breathe out, entirely in awe at the new feeling of the redhead against you. The star smirks down at you, letting your legs fall back into a relaxed position as she anchors herself to your hips with her hands. When she begins to move against you, the loud moans that escape you coat the entire room.
Her clit brushes beautifully against your own as Natasha rocks her hips back and forth, the noises of your combined wetness thick in the air. "Fuck, you feel so good," the redhead moans out, her own breath becoming shallow as she rolls against you. It doesn't mean that she lets her guard down entirely though, quickly noticing when your head lolls to the side and your eyes squeeze shut. "Eyes on me, beautiful," she directs, reaching out to grasp your face.
You let her turn your chin as you open your eyes back up, drinking in the sight in front of you. Natasha rocks back and forwards against you with a perfect rhythm, her tits bouncing with each new thrust. Natasha sees you watching and reaches for your hands, guiding them up to plump flesh of her chest. You squeeze roughly, savouring the delicate moans that spill from the rockstar's lips.
"God, you're so hot," the redhead murmurs between heavy breaths. "I just can't get enough of you. Maybe I'll just have to bring you along on tour with me, let you be my little groupie."
You moan loudly, not only from the way Natasha's cunt grinds over your swollen clit, but also at the teasing voice and notion of her words. Natasha smirks down at you. "You like that idea, huh?" she husks. "You wanna be my little groupie who I fuck like this after all my shows?"
You don't have the ability to form a response to her, merely putting all of your energy into chasing your combined high. Your back arches off the cold leather of the couch as you try your best to rock your hips against the rockstar's, listening to the sound of your wet cunts grinding desperately against one another. When a particular thrust bumps across your clit, a whine sounds low in the back of your throat. "Tasha-"
The nickname does wonders once again in Natasha's mind, sounding so sweet lacing your tongue. "Fuck," she murmurs, trying to keep up her pace. "I want you to say my name like that when you cum baby, okay?"
You nod weakly, chest heaving. "Good girl." Natasha bucks slightly as your clits brush over one another, her legs twitching by your sides. "Fuck."
The two of you continue to rock against one another, your moans harmonising together as you both climb closer to your climax. Your hands rest upon Natasha's full thighs, gripping for support as the pleasure rolls over you in waves. She clasps at your waist, feeling the thin layer of perspiration coating your skin.
"Fuck," you breathe out. "I think I'm gonna-"
"Cum for me," Natasha finishes, thrusting into you. You do as she says and let that coil loose in your stomach, letting your orgasm shred through you as you all but scream out in pleasure.
"Oh fuck, Tasha."
Her name dripping from your lips sends the redhead over the edge too, rutting against you as she cums hard. "Shit," she mumbles, riding her wave as the combination of your juices blends together and soaks both of your legs.
Both of your bodies tense, movements becoming sloppy as your highs hit. When nearly a minute later, you've both come down from the peak, Natasha slowly untwines your legs from one another. She flops down on the couch beside you, barely enough room for the two of you to lie next to another. For a while you two sit with the combined sounds of your own heavy breaths, both of your bare chests heaving in the warmth of the room.
"Oh my god," you manage to slip out, finally aware of how you've just had the best sex of your life. Nothing could ever compare to what Natasha had just done to you, no other partner ever even coming close to making you cum that hard.
Natasha seeks amusement in your blown out state, clearly enjoying the revelation painted on your face. She rolls her head towards you, her signature smirk making one final appearance. "I told you, you wouldn't regret coming back stage with me."
Your head turns towards her, meeting her widened eyes still dark with lust. You almost want to tell her she's wrong, that all your avoiding earlier had been the right path you go down, but you know it's all bullshit. She was right, there wasn't a single ounce of regret in your bones.
Natasha smiles at your clear agreeance, almost smug in the way she licks her lips. She props herself up on to one arm, leaning over you with those dark emerald eyes. Her fingers come to find the crystal hanging around your neck, rolling the stone between her fingertips as she smiles deeply. Then, she turns back to you, looking as sly as she first had back in that bathroom stall. "Now," she drawls. "About that groupie thing..."
#natasha romanoff#rockstar natasha romanoff#rockstar nat#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff fic#band au#✧yana writes
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Wet Beast Wednesday: cave fish
Prepare for a deep dive today. Not because I'm going to be more in-depth than usual, but because we're talking about caves. Which are deep. In the ground.... Yeah, you get it. Today is going to be a bit different from my normal WBW posts. Instead of going in depth on a particular species or group of related species I'm going to discuss common adaptations fish evolve to live permanently in caves and then go over a few species I find interesting. Let's get spelunking.
(Image: Typhleotris madagascariensis, a typical cave fish. It is a small fish with an entirely white body and smooth skin where the eyes would be on a normal fish. It is resting on rocky sediment. End ID)
Caves are not an easy place to live. There's no light, limited food, often low oxygen levels, and the threat of collapse or rockfall. Cave-swelling animals (collectively called troglofauna) need a number of special adaptations to survive and there is little room for error. Troglofauna that are strictly aquatic are called stygofauna. Troglofauna and stygofauna can be divided into three groups based on their life history. Troglophiles and stygophiles complete part of their life cycle in caves and part outside of them. A classic example of this is the many species of bat who seasonally inhabit caves to give birth and mate. Trogloxenes and stygoxenes are animals who will visit caves, but do not require time in caves to complete their life cycle. An example trogloxene would be a bear who takes shelter in a cave during winter. Finally, troglobites and stygobites live their entire lives in caves and never leave. The fish I discuss today are stygobites. Because troglobites and stygobites generally will die outside of their caves, they have very little opportunity to disperse. As such, many cave fish species are found only in a single cave or cave system and are entirely dependent on the health of their homes to survive.
(Image: two cave catfish sitting next to each other on a rock. They are white with elongated anal and rear dorsal fins, and no eyes. End ID)
Many cave-dwelling animals develop a set of common adaptations called troglomorphism. Cave water is often high in minerals but low in oxygen and food content. To survive, the fauna develop very slow metabolisms, allowing them to last a long time on limited resources while slowing down movement and other active systems and increasing age. These species are also typically smaller than their epigean (above-ground) relatives, further reducing their energy requirements. Slowed metabolism results in comparatively slow development. Cave species take much longer to mature and reproduce then related epigean species. Many species further decrease their energy consumption by moving as little as possible. Many species of cave fish are able to last long periods of time between meals without negative impacts to their health. They will binge eat whatever they can find and then subsist on fat stores while food is scarce. One test in captivity showed that a Phreatobius cisternarum (cave catfish) could go a while year between meals and stay healthy. Cave species are usually opportunistic generalists as they can't afford to pass up resources. Much of their food will originate outside of the cave, either directly or indirectly. Water flow into caves brings in algae, bacteria, plankton, and other food sources. Other more indirect methods of introducing include bat feces. While the fish may not eat the feces directly, other species may do so and potentially become prey to the cave fish. The feces also introduces nutrients from outside the cave that encourages the growth of other food sources like bacteria, fungi, and planktonic animals.
(Image: Amblyopsis hoosieri, the hoosier cave fish. It is a very simplistic fish with no eyes or scales. End ID)
Life in a cave comes with a different sensory requirement. The complete lack of light makes vision useless. You don't know dark until you've seen cave dark. Fun fact: caves are so dark that sighted people can start hallucinating in them because our brains aren't evolved to handle zero visual stimulus and will start making stuff up to fill that gap. As a result of the utter darkness, many species of cave fish are blind. They either evolve to completely lose their eyes or have the eyes considerably reduced in size and function. Eyes take up a lot of energy to maintain and in caves, there is a lot of selective pressure to get rid of organs that aren't useful there. Despite the blindness, many species retain some form of photosensitivity and will flee from light. Cave species also often lack skin pigmentation. Skin pigment has two primary uses. It protects the skin from ultraviolet light in sunlight, and provides skin coloration that can be used for camouflage, displays, warnings, and so on. In an environment where there is no ultraviolet light and everyone is blind, skin pigment serves no real purpose and is lost. As a result, most cave species are white or translucent. The lack of pigment may be a reason so many species remain photosensitive. Without pigment, they would be highly susceptible to sunburn or skin cancer from ultraviolet light. Caves also have a sound dampening effect that makes hearing less valuable. Reduced eyes and pigmentation is also seen in deep sea fish that live too deep for light to reach. Even those species still use visual curs more than cave fish due to the abundance of bioluminescence in the deep ocean.
(Image: Sinocyclocheilus longicornus, a recently discovered species. It is a fish with translucent skin, revealing the skeleton. It has a long shout with two pairs of barbels. Emerging from the upper back is a horn-like protrusion. End ID)
With vision off the table, cave fish rely on other senses. chemoreception through taste and smell are strongly selected for as traits that can direct cave animals toward food or away from threats. Another sensory system fish have is the lateral line. The Lateral line is an organ system found on each side of a fish where modified skin cells called hair cells detect motion in the water. The lateral line allows fish to sense movement in the water around them, informing them of water flow and the movement of food and threats. Cave fish typically have a well-developed lateral line system that compensates for the lack of vision. Many fish perform displays for various reasons, such as attracting mates. These displays are typically visual, but in cave fish, that isn't an option. Instead, their displays are more focused on moving the water in ways that can be detected by lateral lines. Some species of cave fish maintain additional sensory abilities from their epigean ancestors. An example of this are cave catfish, who retain the barbels and electroreception common to their kind.
(Image: six Phreatichthys andruzzii. They are long, eyeless, white fish. The blood-filled gills are visible through its translucent skin, seen as a large red patch on the head. End ID)
Before moving on to specific species, it should be noted that cave fish is not a taxonomic category. Cave fish come from many different lines of descent and independently evolved similar adaptations to cave conditions. These similar adaptations are seen in most cave fauna, not just fish, and are collectively called troglomorphism. There are about 300 species of cavefish known to science.
Ophisternon candidum, or the blind cave eel, lives in north Australian caves that are connected to the ocean. Because these caves intake salt water, the pools and streams within them can become very salty, resulting in the eels developing a tolerance to a high range of salinity. They are rare, having been spotted under 40 times since 1959, and thus little is known of their lifestyle. We do know they burrow into sediment and secrete mucus to keep those burrows stable. Males seem to build burrows to woo females. They have been bred in captivity for use un laboratories. At up to 40 cm long, they are huge for cave fish and used to hold the record for the largest species known until another species was found that's even bigger.
(Image: an eel with translucent, pink skin, no eyes, and ribs visible through the skin. It looks somewhat like an earthworm. End ID)
The actual largest known cave fish is Neolissochilus pnar, which gets up to 40 cm while being more massive than the eel. They are found in a single cave system 100 meters underground in India. The primary food source in the cave appears to be debris from the nearby forest that is washed into the cave during seasonal flooding. The fish may have been known to locals well before it was scientifically described, as there are stories of white cave fish going back over a century in the region.
(Image: a small fish with no eyes, white skin, and a long snout with barbels on it)
The Alabama cave fish (Speoplatyrhinus poulsoni) may be the rarest species of freshwater fish in the world. They live exclusively in key cave, Alabama, USA and no more than 10 have ever been seen at a time. The population is estimated to be under 100, below the generally accepted minimum viable population for a species of 200. Fittingly enough, this means a species only found in Alabama may be severely inbred. They are believed to be triggered to mate by seasonal flooding and may be mouth brooders. Climate change-caused changes to flooding and toxins leaking into the groundwater from sewers are currently threatening them with extinction.
(Image: a long, white, eyeless fish with an elongated snout. Its skeleton is visible through its skin. End ID)
Typhliasina pearsei, the Mexican blind brotula or dama blanca ciega (blind white lady), lives in the cenotes of the Yucatán peninsula. Cenotes are sinkholes filled with groundwater and the ones in the Yucatán are often connected by underground caves, rivers, and aquifers. The fish are apex predators who eat shrimp and mysids and are known to coexist with other cave fish in part of their range. As with other brotulas, they are a rare example of a bony fish that gives live birth. Because of how interconnected and numerous the cenotes are, this species has one of the largest distributions of all cave fish.
(Image: an eyeless white fish with a long tail and elongated rear dorsal and anal fins. It is next to an orange rock. End ID)
Cryptotora thamicola, the cave angel fish or waterfall climbing cave fish, is the adrenaline junkie of the cave fish world. Most cave fish live in slow-moving or still water, but this daredevil lives in rapids. But just living in rapids isn't extreme enough, these guys climb waterfalls. Their large fins with hooked fin rays let them cling onto the rocks while facing into the current. They then allow food to flow right into their mouths. Unlike other walking fish, the waterfall climbers have a well-developed pelvic girdle and walk in a style very similar to tetrapods, with front and back fins alternating strides. This has made them very interesting to evolutionary biologists studying the transition from fish to tetrapods.
(Image: a typical cave fish with very large pectoral and pelvic fins. End ID)
The Mexican tetra (Astyanax mexicanus) is an example of a handful of fish species that have a cave form and a non-cave form. Most Mexican tetras are perfectly ordinary tetras, but one population has adapted to cave living and has developed trogomorphic traits. The cave from lack pigment, has tastebuds on its head, lacks eyes, and can store more body fat. While you would expect such radical physiological differences to mean the two populations are different species, they aren't. The two populations are fully capable of producing fertile offspring and do so in the wild. If you've ever seen a cave fish in person, there's a good chance it was one of these as the cave form has entered the pet trade and they do very well in captivity, making them the most studied cave fish.
(Image: the non-cave and cave forms of the Mexican tetra seen next to each other for comparison. The non-cave form is a fairly typical silvery-green fish. The cave form is slightly more robust, white, and eyeless. End ID)
Because most cave fish are found only in a singe cave or cave system, they are fully dependent on the health of that cave. Caves tend to be very stable environments, which results in the inhabitants being pretty bad at adapting to change. Changes in water flow, introduction of new species, and pollutants can seriously harm or wipe out whole species. Many species of cave fish are rated as endangered or critically endangered based on their low populations and vulnerability to change.
#wet beast wednesday#I went into this thinking it would be quick and easy to write.#and now it's 6 hours later#cave fish#cave animals#troglofauna#cave#caves#fish#fishblr#fishposting#aquatic life#aquatic biology#biology#zoology#ecology#animal facts#evolution#informative#image described#educational#speleobiology
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PLUTO !
CHARACTERS ! vampire!lee minho, human!reader [ft. human!kim seungmin, servant!han jisung]
GENRE ! horror/thriller—vampire!au. “romance”. smut. minors dni.
SYNOPSIS ! when your fiancé, seungmin, fails to return home after notifying you of his departure from count minho's estate, you decide to search for answers yourself.
WORDS ! 12.2k more or less
THIS FIC CONTAINS ! writing inspired by the various varieties of dracula. horror [vampirism. gore—body horror: details of blood and bloodsucking. spiders. strange creatures. nightmares and overall very lucid dreams. allusions to character death.] hypnosis. hallucinations. manipulation and gaslighting. kidnapping? and references to religion [christianity/catholicism], prayers and comparisons to a Higher Power™. mentions of food. infidelity and smut [one wet dream. pussy eating—a lil bush appreciation. hair pulling. big dick minho. grinding. fingering. worship. term master used once. degradation—whore shaming. choking. nipple play/breast fondling. lots of spit. squirt n cum.]
💌 extremely self indulgent. all the thanks and love in the world to the homie, @cosmicbyeol for beta-ing for me n overall being an incredible help !!! 🥺 also, as always, accepting feedback and constructive criticism!!
The last three weeks have been weary, to say the least. You had been elated as your fiancé, Seungmin, was scheduled to arrive back in the city after a nearly two-month-long business trip. With the day of his return steadily approaching, you found yourself excitedly performing various small tasks in preparation for the moment you finally see him again. Then the big day arrives and Seungmin is nowhere to be found. No big deal; perhaps his arrival is a bit late, or he may need time to himself to unwind after long travels. If anything, he’ll show up at your door the next day with flowers and a gift, ready to tell you all about his journey and the people he’d made connections with.
Then the fourth day comes, and by that point, you’re knocking on his front door but to no answer. You stroll past his home on your evening walks and the lights aren’t on. You’ve revisited the post office, checked in with relatives; and still, nothing. Seungmin is seemingly lost to space and time. By the sixth day, you’ve written a letter to Count Minho, the friend and business partner that Seungmin had been staying with; explaining the situation and the fact that you’ll be visiting while in search of Seungmin.
Count Minho is a mystery to you. Seungmin never spoke with you about his relations with the Count, and you never pried into the specifics of his work business. From what you do know, Seungmin’s work involves him being in contact with several different people from real estate to archaeologists and historians, to priesthoods and other religious leaders. You simply assumed Count Minho had been one of the aforementioned, or possibly an artifact seller or buyer; as Seungmin is interested in the hobby himself, and has countless other buyers and sellers he knows. While the Count is a mystery, you feel that there is a possibility that he can lead you back into the arms of your lover.
After a few days of planning and packing, you finally decide to get started on your journey. By the Sunday of the third week, you’re lodging with some very nice people in the town nearest to Count Minho’s estate—which is only about a two-hour distance away—you choose to stay in the village to get the word out about Seungmin.
The townsfolk are a welcoming and lively bunch. You were fed, rested, and told stories of both local legends and the juiciest gossip around town. On the eve of your final night in town before you join the Count, you mentioned him, and the room fell silent. A feeling of unease weaved its way into the small kitchen you’d been standing in. The two women beside you failed to meet your gaze. You had already been told of the creatures said to be lurking through the forests between town and the area of the Count’s estate. A classic story of a wolfman who is out to kidnap unsuspecting young men and women; only brought up because of very recent alleged sightings.
A third woman finally spoke up. Urging you to forego your plan of visiting what she called such a vile and off-putting man. There’s a legend about the man who lives in the castle at the edge of the forest—whom you presume to be Count Minho—who comes into town during the night of the first full moon of the spring season, with the sole purpose of terrorizing people in their homes; feasting on their organs and drinking their blood. The last occurrence happened nine springs ago: a family of five, two completely drained of blood and tossed to the side, with another two torn piece-by-piece; left mixed in a pool of wasted blood. There had been one remaining survivor, eyes removed from their sockets, who only could say one thing: “He called himself God.”
Though the story terrified you—you refused to let that stop you. If Count Minho is some extraordinary beast, then let you be the one to stop him if it means you get to become one with Seungmin again.
Alas, the day to meet Count Minho has come, and the women you shared dinner with last night are appalled to hear that you were insistent on making your way to Count Minho’s estate. Knowing that they cannot stop you, they wish you luck and pray for you, gifting you a crucifix for safety on your journey.
By the time you approach Count Minho’s estate, it is about an hour after sundown. The sky begins to dim rapidly, as the former golden-pink hue of the sky begins to turn into a deep purple and later fading into black. The temperature drops by the hour but thankfully the winter season is coming to an end. The snow is already clearing up, and in a couple days it will have been long gone and forgotten for generous showers of rain.
Your arrival, predestined and arranged to be brought by carriage, led you here. And as you pull into the gates of the estate, an unsettling feeling hits you. Deep in the pit of your stomach as if something had crawled inside of you and is now scratching to be freed. Despite that, the feeling of discomfort quickly begins to wash over you, seemingly dispersing into fascination—like a group of butterflies or a bouquet of flowers flourished within your body and spirit. You feel a lot lighter, elevated as if a veil was pulled over you.
You can hardly see the castle in the darkness, but if you strain your eyes hard enough, you may be able to see the silhouette of the grand estate. Though that’s no use, the surrounding forest, and deep black sky work as a void, shielding away any ounce of natural light, encompassing the castle within its secrets. The moon, nearly full, and friendly to those who respect it, is useless as the structure of the castle casts away the inquisitive nature of the celestial body—nothing will be brought to light or justice tonight.
The carriage, drawn by three black horses, halts in front of the main entrance. Several long, white, cylinder candles light up the main door of the Count’s castle. The entrance is similar to that of a cathedral’s—two heavy-looking doors adorned with indescribable red patterns; swirling into shapes that seemingly recreate human-like faces. It’s vague. At a simple glance, the patterns reflected by the candlelight look like faces, but the longer you look at them you realize otherwise. The patterns seemingly have no rhyme or reason, endless red swirls that are simply just decorations.
Atop the door is a large arch, and in the dead center is a sculpture of a man—perhaps it’s of the Count. In the brief flicker of the flame, you can see the face of the sculpture. Its face is horrid, angry even; a permanent scowl displayed. But in that short second, you notice its eyes, big and red, fixated directly on you. There’s a chill that runs down your spine in that brief moment of eye contact. And while every nerve in your body warns you, there are matters that the Count needs to assist you with that are bigger than just a feeling.
In your deep thought, one of the doors opens with a loud screech, almost like the scream of someone. It garners a gasp from you, shaking you out of your head and back into reality. Before you know it, your feet are moving faster than your brain and you step out of the carriage. Collecting your bags and holding them tightly, thanking the coachman for bringing you safely. As you turn back to the door, it’s open wider than before, but still, the Count is nowhere in sight.
You walk closer, hand reaching up to touch the door and you enter, eyes unable to find a resting place. There are candles everywhere, several of them as if there are no electrical lights within the place, despite the huge chandelier hanging from above. The smell of the place does not come from the candles—it’s something else that draws you in, a familiar scent perhaps from your past, but you’re unable to put your finger on it. You step further into the home and when you do, the door behind you slams shut, making you jump and turn back.
The slam is followed by an unsettling silence, practically deafening. You call out.
“Hello?” You look around. Just ahead of you is a long hallway, lit up with candles. You’re not sure how long the hallway is, as at a certain point, the light from the flames is no longer visible, fading into a pitch-black blanket. The walls are decorated with cobwebs and a boring gold and red damask; the colors are fading, or at the very least very dusty and in need of upkeep. The floorboards are wooden and when you shift, they make an awful creaking noise. This castle has been around for a long time—centuries even, likely and believably kept within the Count’s family. Modernity has not caught up to it.
“Hello?” You begin again. “I’m Y/N. I wrote to you a few weeks ago as I had some inquiries for you about Seungmin.”
Your voice trails off. There’s a cloud of unease that reigns above you, and still, as you stand in the foyer of this already strange place, there’s a familiar warmth that surrounds you. When you breathe in, your chest expands, hair brushing against your neck as you sigh in both contentment and exhaustion.
“Good evening,” You heard his voice, but you hadn’t heard him come over. “I have been expecting you.”
You open your mouth to speak, but any aforethought words get caught in your throat at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. You catch his eyes immediately, locked into his stare, lost in the deep sands of his chocolate brown eyes. There’s a soft yet teasing nature behind them and it draws you in, latching onto you. He looks to be a lot younger than the age you heard him to be. His lips curve into a smile as he sticks his hand out for you to shake. Though, quite frankly, you’re not sure if you’re supposed to bow to him or not.
“Yes, um,” You shake his hand, giving a small, shy smile. You’re unable to take your eyes off of him.
“Come on. You must be cold and tired, let us go sit.” He speaks before you get the chance, letting you collect your thoughts. “Feel free to leave your things there. They will be collected.”
You nod, setting your belongings down and following Count Minho deeper into the castle. You’re unsure if it is because you’re a bit tired, or some very serious architectural error, but the interior of the castle is like a labyrinth of sorts. The Count opens a door you initially assumed to be a room—but instead turned into another hall of rooms. He turns left on his heels and into a side room, you follow along.
The room you enter is small but comfortable enough for three or four people to have their space. Ahead of you are big windows, covered with thick black curtains that scrape against the floor. To your right is a fireplace, a huge flame already burning and keeping the room nice and toasty. On the right are three large bookcases that reach the ceiling, the multicolored spines of the books add little pops of color. In front of you are two velvet chairs facing the fireplace, divided by a porcelain side table and atop of it are two books and a tea set.
The room is very neat overall. A couple of misplaced books here and there, sat on the floor. Otherwise, it’s eerily neat. As if the Count rarely uses the room but chronically dusts because everything is just for decoration. The Count takes a seat and as he beckons you over, eyes diverted from your face, as he pours you a cup of tea. You move hastily, sitting at the chair across from him.
“Hibiscus,” He says, a small smile on his face. “It also seems that I’m forgetting my manners. Those in the town call me the Count, however, you are welcome to call me Minho.”
“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet with and host me,” You begin, ready to get to the point. The Count—Minho—nods. “As I mentioned in the letter sent, I’ve arrived here to look for my fiancé, Seungmin. I’ve only received letters from his arrival and departure, and not many in between those times; which is unlike him on his usual work trips. It’s been weeks now, three to be exact. And since you are a friend of his, I was hoping you knew of his whereabouts.”
“I fear I will be of little to no help to you, my dear.” His choice of words, while peculiar, are selected carefully. “Seungmin is a near and dear friend to my heart and I truly hope that he is safe, wherever he may be. The thing I can say is, he had been acting a bit—” He pauses, seemingly pondering on the right word to say before continuing. “A bit…abnormal.”
“He had been here at your home for nearly two months, what exactly do you mean by abnormal?” You inquire, pressing Minho to say more, not caring of how your tone might sound.
“He began to have these dreams, and some active hallucinations. Completely plagued by them. Night terrors, I’d say. He feared whatever he had seen, and while he initially confided in me about it, he soon concluded that I was untrustworthy. Somehow, Seungmin lost touch with reality.”
Plagued by nightmares is something that you take note of. A month into Seungmin’s stay at the Count’s castle, you began to have these vivid dreams. Some good, some horrendously terrifying and, well, a large percentage of particularly electrifying dreams. The most recent—waves crashing together on a violent stormy night on the sea. You’re aboard a ship, standing in the center of the forecastle, and all around you are piled up bodies; and there’s blood on your hands and arms, staining your skin. Blood soaking into the fabric of your clothing. It felt immensely real. You felt the unease of the rocking boat, you heard the crashing of the waves and the squawks of the birds circling overhead. Weirdest of all, you could smell the blood; almost craving it. The dream ends with the sounds of a heart beating and the rushing of blood flooding to your brain. And then there’s nothingness.
The Count takes a sip of his tea, and you choose to follow suit. Though, the tea is bitter, even with the added sugar, and not slightly tart as Hibiscus tends to be. Quite frankly, the taste is gross, but you drink out of respect. You do your best to keep a straight face at the taste, quickly setting down the cup. A small smile appears on Minho’s face, exhaling with a short laugh.
There’s a knock at the entrance of the door. In the frame of the door stands a slender figured man who seems to be a tad shorter than the Count. He’s rather cute with his medium length hair and round cheeks, though he wears a blank expression on his face. He turns to you, doing a brief bow and opening his mouth to speak.
Minho interjects first, walking towards the other man. “This is Han. Very simply, Mr. Han is my servant. Forgive me, Han here, was supposed to see to your arrival, but he had other obligations to take care of.”
The two look at each other, but only the Count smiles. Han keeps the same stoic facial expression, looking more exhausted than anything. The Count begins speaking once again. “Y/N, here, is the fiancé of Mr. Kim. You remember Mr. Kim, don’t you, Han? Y/N informs me that Mr. Kim didn’t arrive safely back home, now is that right?”
The Count looks to you, and you stand from your seat, nodding. “I’ve gotten a letter of his departure but he hasn’t been home yet,” You let out a deep sigh. “I just miss him so much. I hope that he’s safe wherever he is.”
The air in the room is thick with tension. For the three of you, this has to be an outstanding situation right? For you, as young as you are, to have the love of your life—the man you plan to marry and give yourself to—to go missing without much word. And for the Count, who has been a longtime friend of Seungmin, having to deal with the weight of potentially being the last one to see Seungmin.
“A friend of Count Minho is a friend of mine,” Jisung smiles. “I’ll do my best to help you find Mr. Kim.”
Han and the Count step off to the side to exchange words briefly. Han turns to leave and the Count turns back to you. “Hungry by chance?”
The dining room is rather spacious, and includes a fireplace, which seems to be a running theme within the Castle. The wooden floor panels are mostly covered by a large, deep red rug. Red is the main color of the decor of the room; the velvet dining chairs and all the flowers,—from the pansies to the roses—even the dinner plates; are red. Despite this, it’s clear that Count Minho has quite a bit of money to have afforded all of this: from paintings to small artifacts that decorate end tables and small statues of gargoyles. Perhaps he is indeed a collector of sorts.
Minho pulls out your chair, pushing it back in once you’re seated. He then takes his seat at the other end of the table. There’s a spread of food on the table and various bottles of wine, to which the Count motions for you to help yourself to. After making yourself a plate, you pour yourself a glass of wine—a red, twirling the liquid within the glass, foregoing the tradition of smelling the aroma and instead shooting it straight back. The wine is rather sweet and washes down smoothly; more like juice than a wine.
Count Minho watches you eat with inquisitive eyes, studying you. He drinks from his wine glass as he stares at you. “What exactly do you know about your fiancé’s career?”
You meet his gaze, eyes fixated on you with a squint; it all makes you a bit uncomfortable. It’s like Minho can read every bit of you with just a simple look.
“Not very much.” You admit.
“Oh?” The Count is especially interested now. “Had he told you anything about me then?”
“No. Only that you were a long-time friend.” You pour another glass of wine. “Although..”
You trail off, unsure of if you should mention the story you heard from the town. You look at the Count, and he raises an eyebrow to you.
“I had been staying in the town nearby for a few days before coming here. And well, I’m not too sure how to explain it. The only things I know of you come from word of mouth, and well, they aren’t very good.”
“Go On.”
You recite to him the story you had been told about the man in the castle who would come into the town and terrorize its citizens. At the end of the story, Minho erupts in laughter. He’s holding his stomach and chuckling, wiping faux tears from his eyes.
“Let us just say, I have more valuable things to do than whatever that is,” Minho rolls his eyes. “I only ask because you intrigue me. That, and I never thought of Seungmin as someone who would lie to their lover, really.”
The word lie is interesting. You’d always perceived Seungmin to be an honest man, really. The two of you forged your relationship on the basis of being fully honest with each other. You never thought you would ever come close to doubting Seungmin nor his truthfulness, his faithfulness even; but Count Minho’s tone of voice—the seriousness coating every bit of breath he takes—along with the fact that you don’t truly know of Seungmin’s work, has you second guessing yourself. Now it’s your turn to press him.
“Continue.”
“I’m saying, you don’t know what the man does for a living but you choose to throw away all inhibitions and potentially roll yourself into danger for a man you almost transparently know next to nothing about.” The Count pauses to sip more of his wine. “Seungmin was into things of the rather unusual variety, I’ll have you know. If you want, I can show you the things that he and I were discussing.”
You take Minho up on his offer, and he gives you a small smile in return.
“While I’d love to get to work on such matters tonight, I’m afraid I must go to sleep. I have some important matters to tend to in the morning. Shall I show you where you’ll be staying?”
—
You follow Minho, out of the dining room and down the endless hallway. The wallpaper is practically peeling, and the higher ceiling riddled with cobwebs notably hasn’t been cleaned up in quite a longtime. The obvious decades old paintings that were placed against the walls had been covered in dust and grime, dimming the vibrancy intended by their various artists. He then stops at a white door, turning the knob to open it. The room is dark and cavernous, but with the help of a lit candle sharing its warmth with the candles previously naked and cold, you see that it’s actually quite spacious and bright. White and light brown decor gives the room a light and more alive look in comparison to the thick dreariness of the parts of the castle you’ve seen so far. It’s almost like venturing into another world, or peeking back into an oddly shaped past.
“Breakfast will be served early in the morning. Sleep well.” And with a smile, Minho exits, closing the door behind him.
In the silence, thoughts begin to fester, nipping away at your well-being. You’ve gotten next to nothing so far from this meeting with the Count, but tomorrow is a new day and you hope he can give you insight into this world of Seungmin that seems to be unraveling. It’s confusing—for a brief moment you find yourself questioning your decisions. Have all of your life choices led you to this exact moment? The Count is vague in his ways of doing things—it’s like he’s not even trying to hide the potential of his true nature. He appears like any other person, but there’s something more to him than what meets the eye. You’ve been caught in a web of mystery, slowly sinking deeper and deeper.
You find that your bags are sitting next to the bed and you reach in to find your night clothes. Once you lift your shirt over your head, you cannot help but feel like eyes are watching you. Covering yourself, you scan the room in an attempt to soothe your psyche, and as expected, you remain completely alone. Shaking the feeling, chalking it up to being nervous about being in yet another new place, you continue to change your clothing. Sitting at the edge of the bed, you reach into your bag to pull out a letter you received from Seungmin.
“My dearest heart,
There is not a moment that goes by where I am not thinking of you. On my lonely and rather daunting work evenings, I look to the sky and am reminded that we share the same view together. You are the one thing keeping me balanced and sane. I know that you are waiting for me to return, and I want nothing more than to return to the safety of your warmth. Until then, look to the sky and be reminded of me.
K.S”
Once finished reading, you press the letter against your chest. The second to last letter you received. Initially, it was rather hard to sleep at night after you received it. You had longed for your lover—missed his existence to no end, and you still do. There is nothing in the world that you would rather have than the gift of your lover returning to safety. You long for Seungmin, aching for the chance to finally touch him again. To hug, to kiss, to feel every inch of him once again. Today marks the third week since you had last heard from Seungmin, and from tonight onward, you demand to get the answers you deserve.
You gently place the letter onto the nightstand. You kneel onto the floor, elbows pressed against the bed with your hands together in prayer. You had never been religious, nor, in a situation in which you felt you needed to pray before—but it has become a habit of the last few weeks. Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply.
“Dear God,” You begin. “Please align me with my lover. Please return him to me safely.”
Pulling back the covers, you snuggle into the bed, drifting off into an idyllic night's sleep.
You’re stuck. Seemingly, your body is paralyzed; hands resting at your sides, legs pressed together. You try to move, starting with a pinky and then your foot, but the longer time goes on, the more your ability to move lessens. Unable to even move your head left or right. You’re completely stuck. Not to mention, stuck in some complete void of a room, unable to see anything.
There’s a vibration around you. It’s a subtle vibration, though you can feel your body swaying back and forth as if suspended in the air somehow. Just then, there’s a spotlight. It shines in your face before spirling in circles, lighting up various parts of the area you are in; but still, there’s nothing but darkness, even in the brightness of the light. Just until you view a quick flash of something briefly catching the light. The light runs from the figure before spinning back to shine itself on the mystery.
Despite its distance away, you can see the thickness of the short hairs that decorate the body of the arachnid. The many eyes of the spider sparkle in the light, its eight moving legs speeding their way over to you. You watch as it clicks its mouth, salivating as it makes its way to its fresh catch.
Here you are: a mere fly in the realm of the spider.
At a blink of an eye, the spider is circling you, inching closer and closer until you can no longer see it from your horizontal position. Suddenly! It lurches, jumping atop of you. The spider sinks its fangs into you, piercing your skin harshly, burning. The attack against your skin causes blood to splash everywhere, spraying onto your face and body. You shriek in horror—attempting to send signals for your body to wake up from its terror. Your entire body burns; throat dry and brittle from yelling so much. The area around where the spider’s fangs are latched inside of you, both itches and stings. Feels like you’re getting pumped for your blood yet also injected with its venom.
If possible, your body gets stiffer. Cold. Vision fading.. And fading until there’s nothingness. All you can feel is the body of the eight-legged creature draped over you; taking and taking freely.
Despite the nightmare, you feel rather refreshed waking up. A minimal amount of light shines through the curtains. Stepping out of bed to the faint smell of food, you yawn and stretch briefly before heading to the closed door. Stepping into the hall from the confines of the room you spent the night in, you take a few steps across the hall to look out into the window. It looks bright and comfortable outside, a stark difference between the drab, dreariness of the castle’s interior.
When you arrive at the dining room, there’s a full spread of food. Toast, tea, and a plethora of fruits and berries. In the daylight, the interior of the dining room looks a lot dustier, as if it's barely used. And to be fair, it seems as though only the Count and his dedicated servant occupy the estate. Which you wonder about—does Count Minho have no family? And what about Mr. Han? Any lovers? Who exactly is the Count and what was Seungmin’s business with him?
“Will Count Minho be eating with us?” You ask as you take a seat.
“Sir is taking care of some business this morning. This breakfast is all yours.”
“You won’t be eating?”
“Ah,” Jisung sighs with a smile. ��I had a big breakfast earlier.”
With that, Jisung lets you begin eating. He simply just stands there, and while his eyes aren't on you, you can feel him observing your presence, similar to Minho.
“So, Mr. Han,” Playing with your food as you speak. “How long have you worked for Count Minho?”
“Only a few years. Feels like a lifetime, though,” He turns to you, a small smile on his face.
“Are you also a friend of Seungmin?”
“I’d only spoken to Mr. Kim a few times before his most recent visit. I typically stay out of all of Count Minho’s business affairs. I prefer to deal with the home side of things,” Jisung nods. “Speaking of, you’re free to explore the castle if you’d like. The Count won’t return until later.”
“Really? Are you sure he’ll be okay with it?” The opportunity to explore this grand castle piques your interest. You raise your eyebrow towards Han and he nods in response.
“It’s no problem, really. To warn you, some rooms aren’t used as much anymore so they might be a bit untidy. Almost time for some spring cleaning.” Han gives you a short, dorky laugh. He’s adorable, if that’s the word. He seems to be on the more timid side, probably doesn’t speak to many people other than Count Minho on any given day. “Jisung, by the way, you can call me that.”
“It’s nice to officially meet you.” You smile. “Can I ask you one more thing?”
Jisung nods.
“What room did Seungmin stay in?”
“The room that you are staying in.”
The castle looks rather different during the daylight. The hallways feel hollow, completely blank despite the moderate amount of clutter in the form of various books and paintings littering the sidelines. While the idea of a large estate is stunning, it is clearly a bit too much for only the Count and Mr. Han. You wonder if Count Minho has been previously married—or even married at all; to be fair he looks a little young, but it’s possible he’s had a lover in the past. Perhaps that’s why he’s so understanding of your pursuit to find Seungmin.
You return to your room. Beginning at the bedside table, you tour around the room, looking for clues that might help you. Searching the dressers in the room, you make your way over towards the small desk in the far corner. Opening the drawers of the desk, there remains nothing but untouched letter paper. Scanning the area for any unchecked marks, your eyes fall towards the bed. Dropping to your knees, you crawl the short distance to the edge of the bed. Pulling the bed skirt up in anticipation only to be left with nothing but dust bunnies. This initial search leaves you empty handed but you go off to make your way through the rest of the Castle.
The castle is indeed like a labyrinth. Some doors open to an empty, decrepit room of various doors. Admittedly, you’re a bit too afraid to open one of the random doors. You’re not familiar with the layout of the estate, and you refuse to get too deep into this trap of a home. One door opens to a windowless room, and the singular wooden chair in the middle causes you to back out of said room slowly.
Continuing on your pursuit through the endless halls of Count Minho’s estate, you approach a doorless room. Without needing to walk in, you can tell by the bookcases that it’s a library of sorts. Making your way through the entryway of the library, you find that the temperature of the room is noticeably colder than the hall. The library has dark wooden shelves filled with books from the ceiling to the floor, and you know that if Seungmin was here, he’d be able to tell when and where the shelves were constructed. He would always pick up little pieces of knowledge like that—claiming that he didn’t know why yet, but knowing such would help further him in life; and importantly, in his studies.
You run your fingers over the spines of the books as you stroll your ways through the library. There are books spanning across language and subject—the majority of it, completely unidentifiable to you.
You come across a leather-bound book displayed on one of the bookshelves, cover forward. It’s dark, dusty, and might even be a little dirty. The cover of the book itself is twisted, the skin of the book twists and dives into different layers, somehow folding the cover of the book inside of itself. It’s complex and strange, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. Just to hold it, the weight of the book is heavy, somehow warming up in temperature. To feel the book, to hold it in your hands, it intrigues you just as much as it disgusts you.
The language of text presented on the pages is unknown to you. The drawings that accompany the writings, however, are disturbing. Dark and detailed illustrations of creatures that you would never have thought of. Upon the first page is a visualization of a winged creature with the distant silhouette of a man. Only there’s a huge eye where the head would be, and its legs are tangled and twisted together. Turning a page, you’re presented with another drawing. An illustration in charcoal of a dark figure. The drawing looks as though it’s been drawn in haste; a rushed, frantic effort. Alongside is another illustration of a mouth—though without ink, the artist did their best to emphasize the splotches of blood that stain the mouth. What stands out the most are the set of razor sharp canines that protrude from the teeth—two sets, specifically. Beholds, the only romanization on the page: Vampyre.
A chill runs down your spine, but you’re unable to remove yourself from the grasp that the book has. Turning page after page, overstimulating yourself with various images of creatures that are likely to lurk in the shadows. The longer you examine, the more your head pounds. Nausea interrupting all plans you may have had. Head spinning and spinning, visions bending and thrawn within itself. Figments of the images you’ve viewed imprinting themselves on your vision in dark splotches like a memory. The new and the strange tangling itself within your memories, hiding within them for safe keeping.
“Y/N?” There’s a light voice that breaks you out of your spell.
When you come to, Count Minho is standing over you, his cold hand pressed against your forehead. You look around the room, sitting in an opposite corner of the library than you originally remembered.
“Are you alright?” He asks.
“I’m not too sure,” You sit up straight in your seat. You look towards the open window and the sky outside is completely dark. Somehow, it appears that hours have passed. What a freaky and strange thing.
When you look up at Minho from your position on the chair, you’re immediately pulled into the pools of his eyes, locked in. “You must be hungry, yeah? It’s dinner time.”
Just like last night, Minho leads you to the dining room. Just like last night, he slides your chair out and pushes it in for you. The spread of food tonight is different from last night, and you notice that some of the decor around the room looks different as well. Your vision hasn’t quite recovered from its hectically blurred state, and in your moment of disillusion, none of this interests you.
“Is there something wrong?” Minho asks as he sits. What isn’t wrong? You feel a rather painful shift in your own mood.
“I think I might be a bit tired.” You exhale. Despite aching for the continuous pursuit of knowledge, sickness continues to trail behind you. Uncertainty creeping its way up to the forefront of your thoughts. You’re unable to escape the feeling that there might be something seriously wrong. Anxiety rests in the pit of your stomach, slowly eating away at you. Refusing to look at Minho, you pick at the food on your plate. Honestly, you feel rather sick. Your vision, while still painfully blurry, continues to spin ever so slightly. Placing your hand flat against your forehead to find that you’re burning up on flu type levels. You look across the table toward Minho and your vision doubles, triples, then suddenly you're seeing eight versions of him.
It’s a bit of a hassle to move the heaviness of your hand, fingers slowly creeping up to grasp onto the wine glass. You close your eyes to soothe your vision, taking the glass into your hand fully.
Minho coos. “I was really looking forward to dinner with you; but if you’re tired we can postpone our conversation.”
Taking a sip and allowing it to savor on your tongue. The slight, unsuspecting note of pomegranate makes you smile—something comforting in the mixture of mess you’re currently feeling.
Grace be to God. When you open your eyes, your vision returns to normal. It’s something of a miracle.
“No. It’s fine. That strange book in the library,” You look at Minho and struggle to find the words. All that remains in your head is visuals of every creature you saw depictions of.
“What book?” He doesn’t follow.
“It has drawings of these strange creatures in it. Some kind of horror book, I think it made me a bit sick.”
“I’ll tell Han to search for it so that I can have a look,”
Dinner continues with only a few moments of silence. The topics range from a variety—the original focus of conversation on Seungmin before venturing off elsewhere. Count Minho gives you insight on what he does; referring to himself as someone who studies human nature, communication and our state of existence. He loves the study of humans and thus dedicates his life to it, choosing to be of help in any way he could be. Of which, is how he met Seungmin, and from there, they became partners due to their similar interests. Somewhere, is a layer of information that Count Minho refuses to give up so soon.
“May I walk you to your room?” Minho asks, rather politely, but your room is not too far from your current position. Still, you say yes to him.
Unlike dinner, the very short walk is in total silence, but Minho’s presence is comforting. You reach the door to your room in no time and Minho steps in front of you before you can say anything. The silence continues as Minho and you stare at each other. Though, the silence turns to static when Minho leans in to kiss you. His lips on yours and you don’t even bother to pull away. Instead, you kiss back, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He pulls away in haste, muttering a goodbye before walking off into the darkness of the hall.
You step into your room and therefore, instantly step into a pool of guilt and confusion. Seungmin is so far from the forefront of your mind—for you to indulge in a kiss with another man and to not think once about your lover. What kind of monster have you become?
Once changed into your night clothes, you peel under the covers and you pray. You don’t feel like yourself, and the feeling creeped upon you. The thoughts in your brain are mixed together, both elaborate and unintelligible, a mixture of things you know and things you never knew. Images of those same creatures stain the darkness when you close your eyes, peeling back layers of the person you once knew to be you. Before sleep finally engulfs you, you pray for the guidance of whoever is listening.
Minho guides you towards the bed. Red and black satin sheets fitted across the bed and the pillows. Minho pushes you against the bed and huffs out a short laugh, smirking at you. You bite your lip out of nervousness, peering up at him.
“You’re so beautiful, my rose.” Minho’s hand is soft against the skin of your knee. Lightly, he drags his nails against your thigh, inching closer and closer to the material of your nightgown.
Before he does anything, he leans down to kiss you; eyes closing as your lips work in sync, souls melting together. The kiss deepens for just a moment until Minho pulls back, brown eyes staring into your own. He plants one more quick kiss against your lips before his hands begin working beneath your gown. He slides your dress up to your waist, admiring the softness of your belly and the smoothness of your skin. One kiss above your navel and another kiss below, is all he lets himself have before he gets too deep into it.
You make it easy for him, foregoing underwear to allow your lover easy access. Minho can only scoff, but he shuts himself up with another kiss to your mound. “Just for me, my dear?”
“Only you, love.” You smile at him, motioning for him to come closer. Minho, of course, follows suit. He would give you a billion and one kisses if he could.
When the kiss breaks, Minho drags you towards the edge of the bed. Spreading your legs apart, he drops to his knees beginning his worship of your cunt. Tongue flailing out, slurping up every drop of your wetness, soft lips drenched in your flavor—and there’s no other way Minho would rather have you than at his complete surrender. His hands grip your ass, trying to push you into his face. Lips covered in slick and spit, puckering around your clit, sucking it in; Minho’s head bobbing up and down slightly, moaning into your cunt.
“So fucking delicious,” Minho mumbles, continuing with his feast. Your hands fly to his hair, pulling with every lick and suck he gives you. Moaning freely, not caring if the entire world can hear you. In fact, maybe the entire world should hear you.
Minho eats you sloppily, savoring not only your taste, but the feeling of your cunt against his skin. The feeling of the softness of your pubic hair against his skin is like heaven to him. Sometimes, he’ll spend time rubbing this face against the hair before he dives into your cunt. Not to mention the feeling of your juices soaking into his skin, which he’d use as a natural moisturizer if he could. Minho’s obsessed with every inch of you; from your cunt to your skin, to the very blood that courses through your veins.
His fingers push into you as his tongue swirls against your cunt. His lips suck your clit into his mouth, tongue lightly beating against the tip of the bud. Minho pushes his saliva to the front of his mouth, soaking your clit in a mixture of his spit and your juices.
Your fingers pull against Minho’s hair, tugging harshly against his scalp but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He might even ask you to pull harder. You push Minho against your cunt, slowly grinding your hips against his face. Moans bouncing off the walls as you drip onto Minho’s tongue. Minho takes this opportunity to suck on your clit just a tad harder, triggering your pending orgasm. Eyes rolling to the back of your head allowing you to see colors as warmth rocks through your body. Limbs daring to curl together, Minho doesn’t allow you to move from the hold of his hands nor the warmth of his mouth.
Minho slowly kisses up your body. You can feel the remnants of his kisses even after he’s long gone from a spot because of the wetness on his lips. He kisses at your neck, then your cheek, and finally your lips. Deepening the kiss as he taps his cock against your cunt, you invite him in.
Three long orgasms later, you and Minho are snuggled in bed, snoring softly beside each other. Suddenly, you’re woken up by a loud bang. Looking to your side, you find Minho unbothered, still asleep, chest rising gently with each breath. There’s another bang, louder and possibly closer than last. You slide out of bed, looking back at Minho’s sleeping figure before making your way towards the door, hand reaching for the glass door knob.
There’s another loud crash as you twist the handle of the door. You step into the hall of darkness, wooden floor cold against the bottom of your feet. Closing the door behind you, you venture out into the darkness. The halls of the castle are quiet, unmoving; day in and day out they remain the same, even in the dead of night. It’s rather sorrowsome, actually. So full, yet so empty—the castle feels like it's dying.
Another loud bang. Followed by another and another. One after the other, four beats apart. The knocking appears to get louder with each step you take towards the staircase. You raise your foot to take that first step, there’s another bang once you firmly plant your foot against the stair. Quickly but carefully, you make your way up the staircase. In the near distance, towards the end of the hall presents a glimpse of golden light.
Letting your legs guide you, you make way towards the door at the end of the hall, almost floating. The knocking doesn’t stop, getting louder and louder the closer you get to the door; but when you try to halt, you’re guided to your destination by a sudden force; body stiffening, neck making a sharp turn as you peek into the room. The crackling warmth and light emitted from the fireplace sets a gorgeous, homey scene.
“Help.. Me..”
Your eyes shoot towards the ground until you find the fingertips of a man laying in a puddle of blood. But before your brain can process who the person is, you’re snatched away. Falling fast into a pit of darkness.
You awake in the dead of the night to a knocking at your door. It’s soft and subtle, but has been consistent enough to pull you from your sleep. One knock after the other, four beats between each knock.
Tossing the covers away, you step out of bed. Muscles tough and sore, there’s an unease as you rub the sleep from your eye, feeling as though you’re encumbered in your own head. You take another heavy step, the knocking still not ceasing. One step after another until you reach the handle of the door, and only then does the knocking stop, floorboards creaking as the sound of footsteps shuffles away.
A minute goes by until you decide to open the door. The hallway is dark, the only light is coming from the window across the hall. You look towards the moon—there she is, full in all of her glory, bringing the spring equinox along with her. You walk towards the window, looking down towards the ground and noting that the snow has completely melted. There’s a dark, shadowy figure in your peripheral that breaks your appreciation for nature. Turning in the direction, there’s nothing in the distance. You follow, passing by the kitchen and making your way to the stairs. The shadow dissolves into the darkness at the top of the stairs, beckoning you to chase after it.
Once you reach the top of the stairs, there’s a sliver of light peering from the far end of the hallway. The trek over isn’t that long, and once you’re within a few feet you slowly approach the door, tiptoeing your way over. Creeping up to the doorframe, you hold your breath as you peek into the crack of the room. There’s not much to see, just a steady fire and its continuous cracking. Until you hear a moan and your eyes dart to the location of the sound.
There, you spot Jisung sprawled out on the chaise, half of his limbs hanging off as Minho straddles over him. Attached to his neck, Minho wastes most of his meal, letting blood slip from his mouth and drip down Jisung’s neck. You gasp, fully taken aback by the action you are witnessing. The townspeople were right to warn you—the Count is a monster. Or maybe something worse.
After the accidental announcement of your arrival, Jisung locks eyes with you. Your gaze, however, is stolen by Minho once he turns around, peering up from his feeding position. He’s wide-eyed with blackness covering the entirety of his eyes, lips and chin stained red with blood. Once Minho realizes it’s you who interrupted his feed, he gives you a wide, bloody smile—showing off the two sets of fangs at the top row of his teeth, the outer fangs just slightly bigger than the inner fangs. For a moment, time seems to slow down; you watch as a small droplet of blood drips from one of Minho’s fangs, and before it fully releases, Minho swipes it with his tongue, licking over his fangs for extra blood.
Before you can turn back and run, Minho is already behind you in the blink of an eye.
“Unfortunately, my dear, running is useless,” The Count grabs you by the collar of your pajamas and forcefully drags you into the room. You fight him off but your hits do nothing to him. Letting go of you, Minho pushes you onto the ground. “Stay.”
Jisung stands up from his position laying across the chaise, dipping a rag into a bowl of water sitting on the side table. You watch Jisung with inquisitive eyes as he wrings out the rag, carefully cleaning up the marks and the blood stained to his neck. Minho, meanwhile, is facing the fireplace with his arms crossed and one finger pressed to his lips. Jisung finishes cleaning himself up, and begins moving around to avoid eye contact with you. In horror, you watch as Jisung takes a tarantula out of its cage and places it into his mouth, chewing as he turns to walk out of the room—leaving you alone and helpless in the clutches of Count Minho.
Minho tsks once, then once more. A hand on his hip as he shakes his head. He extends his arm, quickly swiping away all of the candles and books the rest atop the fireplace as a loud, angry cry escapes from his chest.
“I thought that maybe,” Minho begins. “Just maybe. I’d have an extra night or two before having to do this to you. You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”
Minho turns to you. An insincere smile on his face, fangs hidden away but some of Jisung’s blood still covers his face. You spring to your feet, not wanting to stay on the ground when it’s clear that Minho has the advantage. Backing away from him slowly, eyes searching for anything to use as a weapon, though Minho can tell your every move.
“Did you..did you do that to Seungmin?” You’re near tears. They don’t fall, only brimming along your tear ducts.
Minho’s jaw clenches at the mention of Seungmin. “You really do care about him, huh? Seungmin this and Seungmin that. I fear your admiration for your lover has made you blind. You have played right into the palm of my hand, little lamb.”
“You want to know where Seungmin is? He’s dead.” Minho laughs. A deep belly laugh. “Though, it wasn’t me who did it.”
“Years ago, I showed Sir Kim something that I thought he could handle, only to find out otherwise. I promised him knowledge, the freedom to view the extensive, valuable, book collection within my library, at any time he chooses; and most importantly, the opportunity to discover something otherworldly—new to him, although very old to me. Something that could provide him everything he’s ever wanted. At least, that’s what this power did for me. Seungmin wanted to become a new man, and I was the only one who could offer that opportunity.”
“Then, two months ago, Seungmin showed up at the door. Exclaiming that while he wasn’t ready in the past, this time he’s ready to surrender his soul. Turns out, it was a ploy to kill me. I should’ve known better, truthfully. Seungmin is smart, almost as cunning as I, and well, he very nearly gave me a run for my money. But let’s just say, how should I put this, I have someone who is willing to do anything I say. Including kill.”
You shake your head in disgust, backing up from Minho; but he pursues.“What are you?”
“I once referred to myself as a God. However, over the years, I realized that I am God. I have seen men with beast-like abilities and looks, men with the ability to rise from the dead, but the simple power of those imbeciles doesn’t even come close to mine. It’s something entirely different.”
“I mean, you read that book didn’t you? A dull-looking half-dead creature with fangs? You’re quite different from Seungmin, but you’re still special. You might not have understood the text, but perhaps, you used context clues?” Minho continues, “You might not have known it, but your fiancé was a part of a very dark world, angel. You see, he was actually the one that wrote the book. And he left you blind to it all, not knowing of his inevitable future. And now, yours.”
Minho winks and moves closer to you with each word, though you take steps back, not wanting to be too close to him. Eventually your back hits the wall and Minho almost pressed against you. His sharp nails come up to your neck, tracing over until he finds exactly what he was looking for, inhaling deeply.
“Are you going to kill me, too?”
“There,” He taps the tip of his finger against your neck, just above your collarbone. The sharpness of the nail presses into your skin, breaking the initial layer, not deep enough to cause bleeding. “If I put my mouth right here, I could drain all of you in less than six seconds. Kill you? Heavens no, I actually believe that you’re pretty valuable to me.”
Minho looks into your eyes, passing along discomfort in the form of a stare. Then he pouts at you, mockingly.
“No need to be scared. I mean, it’s not like you can ever leave me, at this point, so it’s best you put your fear aside.” Minho smirks once more. “From the night you’ve arrived, you’ve been drinking my blood. I’m already inside of you. I know every little thought in that pretty little mind of yours, I’m in all of your dreams. And guess what? You will never, ever be able to get rid of me.”
“Now tell me, has Seungmin ever touched you like this?” Minho asks, the tips of his fingers tracing against your neck, palm cupping around your throat, he stands firm behind you. There’s dense heat against Minho’s fingertips and a slight burning sensation from the sharpness of his nails; it’s such an intense feeling, unlike any you’ve experienced before. As electrifying as the feeling of his touch is, it’s also revolting, horrendous. There was a spark whenever Seungmin touched you, but Minho’s touch is different; it burns in all of the right ways.
“I could give you things Seungmin would have never even dreamt about,” Minho’s voice is soft, silky. The heat of his breath against your skin tickles, but ignites a particular burning of desire. Minho is something similar to the devil and still, despite it all, there’s a familiar heat that creeps up within you. “I could open doors for you that were previously closed. Anything you want, could be yours. All you have to do is accept all of me.”
The hand that had previously been resting against the softness of your belly, is held out for you to accept. You stare down at his hand, biting your lip at the temptation. Minho plants his lips against your neck to give you one small kiss after another.
For the sake of Seungmin, you want to turn away. If this had been just a few days ago, you would have likely fought in honor of Seungmin. The entire reason you’re even here, in the Count’s castle, is because of Seungmin. And still, in spite of all of that, as much as it makes you feel physically ill, stomach turning at the thought, every single fiber of your being craves Minho. You can feel the heat of your bodies meshed together every time you imagine what it’s like to have him between your legs. When he looks into your eyes, it’s familiar—like home.
Every alarm is firing off and still, you put your hand in Minho’s—accepting his offer. Minho’s hand interlocks with yours, and you can feel him smile in between his tiny butterfly kisses. His hand holds yours tightly, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. Plump lips dragging against your skin, until he stops momentarily—taking a deep breath. Minho lets out a sharp, rich groan; knees throbbing as he bucks into you. And it’s at that moment you can feel Minho’s cock pressed heavily against your ass. Minho holds you against him, hips moving against your ass slightly, as he breathes in your scent.
The moment is broken once you feel four razor sharp punctures in your neck. Minho’s low, guttural moans vibrate against your skin as his teeth penetrate layers of skin. The feeling is strange—it stings and burns, but also has a light cooling sensation.
With the more blood Minho takes, the more his eyes fade into black until the whites are no longer exposed. Minho is absolutely captivated by the taste of your blood. It’s absolutely bewitching. He can taste every memory, every inch of trauma and pain, all of your love and most importantly, Minho can taste a bit of your soul—completely unguarded and vulnerable; ready for him to take and do as he pleases with.
Minho continues draining you of your blood. It’s around this time that your vision becomes blurry, the room grows disorienting, tipping from side to side with each blink. You’re clutching Minho’s hand as tight as you possibly can be, jaw slacking and freely giving away soft moans. Even though he’s drinking from you, Minho never stops the movement of his hips. Hand clutching your own, pressing your arm against your stomach firmly. His other hand is tight on your hip, holding you in place. Somehow, your body feels both light and heavy, like you’re nailed to your spot but also elevated, floating in space. Your eyelids are getting heavier, a milky white film covering your eyes as Minho continues to take and take from you.
By the time you feel like your legs are going to give out, Minho gives up on drinking from you. “I can’t believe you’ve been hidden from me all this time, my little lamb.”
Minho whispers into your ear, voice equal parts soft and sweet. The way he can easily slip between calm and composed and dominant and overbearing is scary.
“Let’s make this official, what do you say, love?” It’s less of a statement and more of a demand. Minho bites into his wrist, pushing it towards your mouth. But you refuse, attempting to turn away, though Minho does not allow it. Forcing your mouth open with his other hand, fingers dipping into your mouth, watching with a smirk on his face as droplets of his blood drip into your mouth one by one.
There’s not really any significant taste to Minho’s blood. Indeed, his blood is thicker than water—but also very smooth going down. Minho spins you around, lips fast against yours. This kiss is full of iron and spit, completely messy, tongues fighting against each other. You, surprisingly to Minho, are the one who deepens the kiss further, pressing your body against his. Hands running all over his body, tugging against his clothes.
You can feel yourself changing rapidly. Inside of you is a particular burning passion that you haven’t felt in years. It’s amplified when Minho’s fingers trickle up and down your sides. When the kiss parts, you and Minho lock eyes. Your chest rises, breathing in deeply because the room has gotten a hell of a lot hotter—or is the oxygen leaving your lungs?
Minho takes the lead this time, pushing you atop of the sofa. He stands over you almost menacingly, clouds of lust like darkness clouding his eyes. He takes the chest of his shirt and tears it in half with two hands, as easily as it takes one to blink. He lets the shirt fall from his body, pulling his arms from the sleeves. Unbuttoning his pants just slightly before he kneels on the couch beside you. His lips on yours once again, though briefly. Minho takes the fabric of your clothing and tears it in two, just as he did his own shirt. You’re completely exposed to him, completely naked beneath his stare. You put your arms up to shield your indecency, but Minho doesn’t allow it. Taking your wrists in his hands and pinning you to the comfort of the sofa.
Holding your wrists with one hand, Minho holds your jaw in his other hand. “Wish you could see how heavenly you look right now.”
At this moment, Minho decides that you’re the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. So does he worship this embodiment of a higher place? Or does he further defile it? Should he ravish you? Perhaps he should take his claim over a body and soul that is now his forever. The worship may come a little later. He looks down at you, a frenzied little fledgling overtaken by uncontainable lust. A near mirroring reflection of sin itself. You pupils are completely blown and the whites of your eyes grow into a red color. He stands tall above you, like a God. Eyes of lust looking back at you, so deeply into the crevices of what’s left in your soul.
You claw up at Minho, wanting to feel him. Wanting to be comforted by the glory that is Minho. The Ultimate Being—your master.
“Imagine if Seungmin were to see you like this, intoxicated with such lust—and none of it towards him,” Minho kissed over the spot where he bit you, planting more kisses against your neck. “Would he be pathetic? A coward who cums in his pants at the sight of another man touching you?”
Minho’s lips move from your collarbone to your chest, displaying a range of kisses against your skin. “Or would he demean you for disgracing him in such a way? Would he call you a whore at the sight of you, turning his face in disgust?”
Minho continues talking in between kisses against your skin. Lips kissing down the valley of your breast as his left hand creeps up to fondle your left breast. You moan at his touch, the coolness of his skin against the heat of yours. Minho looks up at you. “My precious little lamb isn’t a whore, are you?”
You shake your head vigorously at Minho’s statement. He can only laugh at you. He doesn’t believe it and deep inside, you don’t believe yourself either.
“Your whole purpose of being here was to find your fiancé, and instead, you’re beneath me and dripping onto the chaise. That doesn’t sound like something someone who’s not a whore would do, does it, little lamb?”
You shake your head in denial. Reaching up to him, dragging the tips of your fingers down his chest. With each exhale, with each minute that goes by, it becomes harder and harder to fight your cravings. Thrusting your hips up, gyrating in the air, trying to entice Minho into touching you. Unable to sort the words in your head to form a coherent sentence.
“But you’re fine with being a whore aren’t you?” Minho nods, pouting just slightly. When you’re not nodding along with him, he grabs you by your hair, forcing you to nod along with him. “What a good little lamb. From here on out, you’ll only be a whore for me, ok?”
Minho releases your hair from his clutches. Licking his palm, he drags it down from your navel to your cunt, pausing a moment to bury his fingers within the hair on your mound, slightly tugging at it. He teases you for the moment; fingertips feathering lighting against the skin of your inner thighs. He brings his fingers back to your cunt, dragging down your slit, teasing into your wetness. Minho circles over your clit with two fingers, watching your face as you bite your lip. Two of his fingers slowly slip inside of you soon after, thick, already knuckle deep inside of you.
Minho’s free hand finds a new position, tightening around your neck. The roughness of his hands is missed when he slides his hand down your chest, cupping your breast. He leans down, sucking your nipple into his mouth, coating it with saliva, teeth slightly grazing against it. He continues scissoring his fingers into you, thumb pressing down flat against your clit. Minho moves his thumb in tender circles, still applying pressure. Swollen lips leave a mess of spit on your breast, dripping onto his hand.
He lifts his head from his original position, eyes covering every inch of you. Once his eyes land on your cunt, Minho kneels—a quick kiss planted at your clit before he attaches his mouth to it, sucking you in. Warm, wet mouth slurping and licking, voice vibrating against your cunt. You moan into your hand, but Minho snatches it away; a quick, stern look up at you. The more he hears your moans, the sluttier and messier that Minho gets; moving away slightly to spit against your cunt, watching as it drips down to his fingers. All before he’s back at it, slurping and moaning against your cunt.
“Fucking cum,” Minho talks into your cunt. He speaks his demand into you. The climax hits you hard, cum spraying all over Minho’s face, even drenching a bit of his hair. It takes Minho and yourself by surprise, and you’re almost ready to cover your face in your hands, but Minho flashes the most gorgeous smile to you. Face soaked, licking his lips to taste more of you.
If he wasn’t firm about his desire to devour and conquer you, he was now. Minho fully undresses himself, cock hard and heavy, leaking and aching to be buried inside of you. It’s like your minds come together. Just with a touch you know the things that Minho wants to do to you. Your desires are equal and because of it, you’re a step ahead of him. Your eyes land on him, completely sucking into the visual of his cock. Large but not too veiny, a shade or two darker than the rest of his skin and it’s absolutely glorious. He’s thick, the tip of his cock heavy and shining with precum. It’s hard to keep your appetite for lust contained, and for a moment, you wonder why you’re even holding back—you’ve seen just a glimpse of freedom, is it too much to indulge and savor the taste of what you’re becoming?
Your movements are faster than what the logical part of your brain can comprehend. One moment you’re spread open and the next, you’re straddling Minho, hand caressing his face. Minho looks at you with such an insatiable gaze. He hadn’t read it in the cards that you could possibly take control of the situation, and it enthralls him—what a wonder you are. You grind against his cock, sliding your slick cunt across his shaft. Pressing your hands to his chest for balance, adjusting the speed of your grinding until you’ve finally found the spot that sets off the fireworks within your brain. Unfortunately, it’s not enough for Minho, grabbing your hips and pressing you onto his cock, controlling your movements. Other than the added pressure, Minho guides your hips just a tad bit faster.
Sliding up, you reach behind to hold Minho’s cock into your hand. It has a bit of weight to it and is slick with your juices. You tap the head of his cock against your cunt a time or two, then slowly sink down, engulfing him into your cunt. The thickness of his cock gives you a fervent sensation, cunt fluttering to take more of him, inch by inch.
You throw your head back as you continue riding Minho. There's a brief, but slight sting of pain when you open your mouth to moan. When you look towards Minho, mouth agape, he looks back at you with such adoration and awe—the first time you felt his genuineness for something other than rage. Minho helps you continue to ride him, his hands on your hips to guide you up and down his cock. You bring your tongue up to lick your lips when you finally notice the feeling of the fangs protruding from your gums.
The feeling of exhilaration encompasses your whole being. You can’t help but let out a laugh at the current situation. You feel elated. You feel powerful. Pure and utter bliss slowly peeking out beneath the many layers of lust.
“Bite me, my dear, go ahead.” Minho reassures you, a hand soothingly rubbing against your thigh.
You indulge in the opportunity. Sinking completely down on Minho’s cock, crying out at the sensation of being filled by him. You press your nose against his neck, breathing in Minho’s scent before you sink your fangs into his skin. You can feel the shift in your eyes when you drink from him. His blood tastes immaculate like this. What divine nectar he carries within. It’s insanely sweet—not exactly in a tart or sugary way; he tastes similar to fresh fruit.
You continue to drink from him, tongue licking haphazardly, unwilling to let any of Minho’s blood go to waste.
From his blood to his cock, Minho is all around you. You feel so full of him, and you are in every sense of the word. His arms wrap around you, caging you in as you take your time feeding from him. He moves a hand between the two of your bodies, thumb pressed against your clit to rub in circles. You gentle rock against him, slowly increasing the speed of your hips once you realize you’re fairly latched onto him. Unwilling to free him from your hold, you would die like this if needed.
Your climax hits you and transforms you into such a state of pure ecstasy. Every nerve in your body is electrified, and the blood of Minho amplifies that. Minho has you under a spell: blood coursing through your veins, cock pinned deep, spilling his cum inside of you. He’s so cold to touch, but you’re both on fire. It’s way too much yet you’re still captivated by him. Sent into overdrive, your body gets heavier—it's hard to control and you continue to take and take from Minho. It’s no problem to him, though; hand on your back to soothe as your body becomes stiff atop of him.
You awake in Minho’s arms, not completely sure of where you exactly are. The second you open your eyes, you’re not nearly ready for how extraordinarily bright the lights in the room are. You groan in response, but Minho is alert to soothe you.
“Be still, my little flower.” Minho is whispering, purposefully; he knows first-hand how troubling it can be to be reawakened like this. But still, his voice rings around your head.
How strange. You can hear every little sound a lot clearer, a lot louder. The initially faint crackling of the fireplace now louder than before despite the distance. The heat of the fire reaches you as well, blazing, although it does not stick. The ticking of the clock is a doomful reminder of the passage of time. Then you look at Minho, and you can hear how hollow he is. There’s an absence within him, a huge, dark, cavernous hole. He is nothing more than a host for whatever this disease is that he has given you. A man without a soul.
And still. He holds the entire world in his hands.
“There’s so much I have to teach you,” Minho expresses this with great excitement. He presses a chalice of blood to your lips and just a whiff of the smell puts you in a daze; salivating and feigning to taste. “Now here, drink up.”
© PLANETDREAM 2024
#🌑 — vivid dreams#🌑 — vividdream.skz#lee minho x reader#lee minho smut#minho smut#stray kids smut#lee know smut#skz smut
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And in today's second installment of "How about that guy Tom King's brain??"... did you know the man basically developed an entire stabbing-as-sex metaphor between Batman and Joker over the course of multiple comics and that it's just absolutely bonkers? :)
So. Remember this spectacular page from Batman/Catwoman (2021) #9, in which Joker describes a particular fantasy of his regarding Batman?
"And that's when I put the knife into him. [...] And I put the knife in him again." Joker could not have made this more about sex if he tried. Hell, he tells Selina that he thinks he could fuck Batman better than her. But alright, keeping this in mind-- the metaphor of the knife and penetration, what does it imply about the other two times Tom King has written interactions between Batman and Joker where there's a knife present?
Alright, I'm putting the rest under the cut, since there's a lot of comic panels, my own ranting... and attempted stabbing.
Batman: The Brave and the Bold #9 ("The Winning Card")
In The Winning Card, a reimagining of Batman and Joker's first ever meeting, we get two fights between them that are so heavy with symbolism; but it's the second confrontation we're interested in, and that's pictured above. We see that it was Joker who drew blood the first time... it's him who sunk the knife penetrated Bruce at the very beginning. And really, was there a need for the unending focus on Bruce pulling out the blade? But then there's what he does next, and the way it's framed... He starts beating Joker, but then realizes that beating him does absolutely nothing.
So he switches to trying to communicate with him, to trying to tell (the worst) possible joke, all while holding up the knife:
First of all: genuinely terrifying, if I may so myself. Secondly, we're shown Bruce bringing down the knife doing the penetrating, but the next page is not about him having killed Joker. It's Bruce and Alfred having gone fishing, talking about what happened... and why Bruce left Joker alive.
And this is how Tom King chooses to have Bruce say it:
"He put the knife in me." Tom King I am inside your walls. This is exactly how Joker phrased it in his fantasy. And then, we're shown that Bruce couldn't kill Joker; he stuck the knife in him, but didn't kill him.
But what's the other time Tom King wrote Batman, Joker and a knife? Well, that's during the infamous The War of Jokes and Riddles. We're told TWOJAR happened in the second year of Batman's career, so (at least in King's little Universe) pretty soon after The Winning Card-- which takes place in Year 1. And in TWOJAR, after finding out Riddler's motivation for causing so many lives to be lost, Bruce tries to stab him:
[squinting my eyes suspiciously] Thrust the knife out, huh. But then, Bruce never manages to commit murder, because Joker steps in:
Batman (2016) #32
So. If we follow King's own metaphor... Batman tried to have sex with the Riddler and Joker stopped him. Joker couldn't allow it. Bruce ended up stabbing penetrating him instead.
Pictured above: me
Is King the first to do this sort of thing? No, obviously not. Miller equated the violence between Batman and Joker to sex in The Dark Knight Returns, Snyder and Capullo did that too in both Death of the Family and Endgame. Still, it's... deliciously fucked up, and I thought it needed some showcasing.
#I don't wanna say 'writer's poorly disguised kink' but. well#once is happenstance. twice is coincidence. three times is a pattern :))#batjokes#batjokes meta#king's writing#batman#bruce wayne#joker#tw blood#my meta#why YES I am procrastinating something important with all these posts
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What Are People's First Impression of You?
this post is aimed at giving you a insight at what other people's first impression of you are. To choose your pile, allow yourself to be drawn to the perfume that feels most prominent to you.
I am selling personal readings at the moment, I offer customized questions, aura readings and a few other interesting topics! to book a reading, look here
PERFUME ONE
other peoples impression of you: nine of pentacles, three of wands, three of cups
First of all, the nine of pentacles corresponds to venus in Taurus. This is the card of self sufficiency, pampering and rewarding yourself for hardwork. this card also signifies a person who has a keen sense of fashion. This tells me that people's first impression of you is that youre very well dressed, attractive and polished. you give poeple the impression that you care about how you look but not because you want to impress others, but because you enjoy pampering yourself and feeling beautiful. People get the sense that you are very self sufficent, that you work hard for your own success and that you're willing to treat yourself to a new bag, some new wardrobe or some new makeup when you have achieved something. The three of wands expands on this by saying that you give the impression that you are someone who has a vision for their future, you give people the sense that you are on a mission and that you are out to achieve something. the three of wands is someone who has a clear path ahead of them, they're taking action and setting their own goals into action. I feel like people get the impression that you're very "self made" that you havent had to rely on anyones help or support to set your own goals into action. you're someone who is very motivated and willing to take the lead even if there is no one there to validate your actions. The three of cups tells me that people get the impression that you are very social and lively, perhaps you give people the sense that you have lots of friends and that you like to go out alot. The three of cups is a lovely card, and honestly im hearing "a girls girl" which tells me that you give people the impression of sisterhood and safety.
PERFUME TWO
cards: three of swords reversed, two of swords, and ace of cups
the three of swords reversed tells me that peoples first impression of you is that you have healed and recovered from something truamtic and emotionally overwhelming. the three of swords reversed is a card of healing and rebuilding yourself, I feel like people get the sense that you are trying to repair yourself at the moment and that you are recovering from a loss or extreme diaspointment. The two of swords tells me that people may receive this impression that you're at a cross roads, that you're trying to make a decision from a place of trusting yourself and not relying on other people's input, people get the sense that you're trying to internally find clairty about your situation in life at the moment. Additionally, the ace of cups is a beautiful card to get about other people's first impressions of you. This is of a blessing or a miracle, I feel like some people get the impression that you have come into their lifes at the right time and at the perfect moment, that you bring people a renewed sense of hope. I feel like people get the sense that you're someone who brings a fresh, loving and bright energy into peoples lifes.
PERFUME THREE
cards: three of pentacles, five of cups, and page of cups
Ok, the three of pentacles is a card of skills, teamwork and communication. I feel like you're the type of peroson eveyrone wants to have on their team, a person other people look forward to wokring with because you bring alot of knowledge to the table, additionally, you bring a dynamic and flexible attitude which makes it very easy to talk to and ask questions to. however the five of cups makes me think that people get the impression that you're very self depreciating, I think other people see how valuable and helpful you are but you only see what makes you imperfect. I dont know why but I just strongly get the impression that people feel that you are way to hard on yourself. The page of cups here tells me that people perhaps get the impression that you're younger than you are, or that you are extremely open minded. Your bring a "childlike" perspectives to certain things, and I feel like you make people laugh with how you react or interact with others.
#pick a card#pac#pac reading#pac tarot#pick a card tarot#pick a card reading#tarot#tarot reading#free tarot reading#tarot readings#pick a pile#pick a pile reading#pick a pile readings#nexi tarot#astro notes#pick a photo#pick a picture#tarot pac#tarot pick a card#tarot pick a card reading#tarot pac reading#tarot meanings#tarot cards#law of abundance#affirmations#manifestion
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Friend Marzi, why do we have an inclination to believe that all historical clothing was very heavy? Fabrics varied in lightness and for the very heat of summer for example an all-silk or all-muslin ensemble could be made very light and breathable if necessary, even foregoing implements like boning, etc. Like, there are ways to not be dragging your skirts around.
Working people and people with active hobbies were already wearing fewer layers anyway, so we shouldn't expect them to be encumbered. Why do we anyway?
Friend Tumblr User Chasingtheskyline! Hello!
(This answer will focus primarily on conventionally feminine clothing, since that's my area of expertise. Just to disclaim.)
I think it's because of the layering, really. And the idea that, as you touched on, Only Rich People Wore All That (not so much- the basic makeup of chemise/combinations, maybe drawers post-1820s, corset/stays, at least one petticoat, skirt, bodice for women was pretty consistent across most of the social ladder during the 18th and 19th centuries at least) so of COURSE it's heavy and impractical. And as we all know, rich people didn't have lives or do things! They just lounged around being rich and not moving! </s>
We're used to one layer of our mostly-polyester clothing being extremely warming in summer because. It's polyester. Breathability is not something people think about much nowadays, since we're so used to just exposing as much skin as possible to cool down. Ergo, the idea that it's layers of lightweight fabric doesn't really occur to people, I think.
Another element, I think, may be that some of these people have carried reproduction historical garments but never worn them. Or weighed them in a heap on a scale- yes, really -and never taken into account the weight distribution when they're on a body. I've owned garments that were a bear to carry, but perfectly comfortable to wear.
Also, you know. We've long had a vested interest in making our own garments seem like The Best Most Advanced Garments. You can find articles from as early as the 1920s decrying Victorian "trailing skirts and trailing hair" as unhygienic and uncomfortable Never mind that the ADULTS saying this would have known full well that shorter skirts were commonplace for situations where Excessive Dirt would be present and grown women wore their hair up. (Also, you know. Unless you're licking your hem, your skirts cannot get you sick.)
Either you're getting only the experiences of women who hated what they wore before- which would somehow be the same fashion writers who once declared that the gowns of 1915 were the best, or 1910, or 1905 -or they had a vested interest in selling something to the public: in this case, the hottest, newest clothes (and hairstyles that required more regular trips to the hairdresser than long hair pinned up). Of course you get those writers calling earlier clothing heavy- they're trying to get people to buy rayon flapper dresses!
Now, does that mean that nobody in history found their clothing heavy? Of course not. One of Amelia Bloomer's key complaints about the fashions of the 1840s and early 50s was the many layers of petticoats women often wore to create the fashionable skirt shape- and while I'm often loath to take dress reformers as sole arbiters of women's opinion, the invention of the cage crinoline/hoop skirt was widely hailed as a marvel for enabling big skirts with much less weight.
But you're so right that this perception is extremely exaggerated nowadays. I do my best to fight it- had this conversation with a colleague today, as I was wearing a long-sleeved blouse of cotton voile and a long cotton skirt to work in 80-degree (F) weather -but. Well. It DOES get frustrating at times.
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Another RadioStatic AU Because I Can't Be Stopped
(I need to hurry the fuck up and actually turn one of these into a fucking fic...)
So this may have been inspired by the song "Alastor's Game" by the Living Tombstone and a horror movie called "Late Night with the Devil." Definitely recommend giving it a watch. It's a fun ride. Spoilers for the movie will be under the cut.
TW for murder, violence, and other canon-typical triggers.
Very brief rundown of the movie: a late night TV host in 1977 makes a deal with the devil to gain success and fame. Shit goes sideways when it's time to pay up.
RadioStatic Time!
Imagine Vox, still human and still Vincent, is a struggling late night TV host. He's got the cards stacked against him in every way possible. He doesn't come from a wealthy or celebrity background, he's given the worst program slot, he's got the bare minimum crew, and zero budget for guests or any other extras. And when he tries to argue for more, he keeps getting reminded that he's "fucking lucky" that he even has this chance at all. And still somehow he is managing mediocre results with next to nothing. Imagine what he could do with a proper budget and team, he tells them. No one listens. And then, one day, he's told that if he can't double his ratings by the end of the month, his show will be canceled.
Deep in depression, Vincent (either accidentally or on purpose) summons the Radio Demon (Alastor does not give him his actual name right away), who promises the young TV host 10 years of success in exchange for Vincent doing any favor that Alastor requests of him for the span of those 10 years (with the caveat that the favors are limited to once per day and must not interfere with Vincent's success). Alastor, in all his ulterior-motive glory, is using this deal to get himself access to the Living World and...finish some business (the use of his powers in the Living World are exclusively limited to fulfilling his end of the deal). Vincent, blinded by his own desperation, agrees, never once imagining those favors of Alastor's would involve murder. But if he refuses even a single favor, Alastor gets his soul. So he does what he's told.
At first the favors start small, with Alastor easing Vincent into taking commands from him, getting him used to fulfilling Alastor's requests. An authentic 1930s Philco Cathedral Radio here, an Ella Fitzgerald record there, nothing too big, nothing too fancy. Yet. Then, with Vincent's fame on the rise, he is asked to be a guest host for a show in New Orleans (which is certainly interesting because the show in question has never had a guest host before so Vincent suspects this is Alastor's doing somehow). And suddenly Alastor ups the ante. He needs Vincent to find someone, you see. A local hunter. Kind of a strange request, but okay. He's not all that hard to find either. Under the guise of doing some research on the local area to better understand his audience, Vincent finds an old article from 1933 about a hunter who shot a popular radio host in the bayou after mistaking him for a deer. The death was ruled an accident and the hunter was never charged with a crime. Some further digging reveals that he still lives in the bayou outside the city. Now comes Alastor's next favor: kill him.
Vincent is horrified. He tries to argue that this breaks their deal of interfering with his success, but Alastor insists that as long as Vincent follows his instructions to the letter, he will be just fine...unless he feels like handing over his soul? So Vincent does as he's told. One late night, with Alastor whispering in his ear, he stalks the man, knocks him out, and brings him to the basement of this old rotting house in the bayou (it looks as though it's been abandoned for at least a decade). And, after some nudging from the Radio Demon, Alastor takes it from there. After all, what's a little possession between friends?
Over the next 10 years, Vincent's fame grows and so does his relationship with Alastor. He begins enjoying the demon's presence and quirks and even their back and forth as to the superior form of media. He is beyond stunned when he discovers that Alastor is the very same radio host that he idolized growing up (and the very same radio host who was killed by the hunter). He's even more stunned when he finds he doesn't mind the torture and murder as much as he thought he would, even eventually asking to be a conscious participant. He's watched the Radio Demon so many times before plus he's always been a fast learner and Alastor guides him effortlessly and his powers make cleaning up the mess easy (though he still finds the void in which they dispose of the bodies eerie and unsettling; he swears there's something in there watching him whenever they travel through and Alastor has made it abundantly clear that under no circumstances is Vincent to let go of him while they do so).
When their 10 years comes to a close, there's an unspoken disappointment that hangs in the air. He doesn't understand the rules of Hell, but apparently Alastor's frequent trips to the Living World are gaining some suspicion and he can't risk extending their deal, so this is goodbye. Vincent realizes with reluctance that he's going to miss the Radio Demon. He wonders if Alastor will miss him too. He doesn't ask. And on the nights when he misses Alastor the most...well, the Radio Demon is nothing if not an exceptional teacher (even without the assistance of the creepy void magic).
It's hardly a year later when Vincent dies, shot in the head on live television by a crazed fan of the actress Vincent has recently begun dating (for the fucking publicity, no less).
---
Alastor knows the second Vincent arrives in Hell. Sooner than he expected, but he is delighted to be reunited with his friend/pet/protege nonetheless. He finds it rather hilarious that his head has taken on the form of that ridiculous picture box he was so enamored with. What a delicious form of irony! Hell truly never fails to amuse hi-
"If you're gonna fucking make fun of me, at least introduce yourself, asshole!"
Pardon?
Well...he was certainly right about Hell having a particular brand of irony.
But no, his noisy picture box does not remember him. He remembers all their deeds and the favors (and he continued killing after they parted, how splendid!), but Alastor's presence in them has been scrubbed clean, replaced and painted over by others. It doesn't make him sad of course! Perish the thought! Why would something so trivial make him feel something as mundane as sadness?! No, no, it's simply...an inconvenience. But not one he can't handle. He'll just have to start from scratch. After all, his memories are just fine, so he already has the advantage and it takes little convincing to get the newly fallen Sinner to accompany him as he continues about his day (he has some hunting that just can't wait).
New beginnings and all that jazz.
---
(My personal fav look for human!Vox if anyone cares)
#late night with the radio demon au#this got out of control real fast#hazbin hotel#hazbin vox#hazbin alastor#radiostatic#hazbin hotel vox#vox hazbin hotel#human vox#alastor the radio demon#vox the tv demon
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pls make that nanami excel comments prompt longer 😭🙏🏻
that'd be my pleasure dear nonnie ! This ended up being how Kento basically "soft" launches his workplace romance with the reader and it's a bit suggestive lmao
Let's set the scene first because I'm not sure if I've explained my reasoning before on here, but based on the info we have on Nanami's salaryman days (long work hours, little actual value added but emphasis on share-holder value creation) I HC him as either being a banker or working in private equity. So I imagine he needs to maintain a very professional façade, at the risk of even seeming inapproachable sometimes.
cw : crack taken seriously, suggestive, fluff ?
Despite Kento's best efforts and his resolve of keeping you at arm's length - because what would people say if Nanami, revered Director, ends up dating a subordinate - he finds himself caring less and less about the rumours surrounding you both. After he wears out the last of his restraint trying to delay the inevitable, he just relents and lets it happen. He lets you drag him in and finds falling in your orbit pleasant. Natural, even. Kento goes from being the cut-throat, distant and laconic shadow of a man that disappears in his office all day to a softer version of himself even you have a hard time recognising.
He can't get enough of you but work eats up any free time either of you have and you end up seeing each other in the office more often than in the comfort of your own home. So Kento comes up with other ways of sating his wants, even if it means tormenting you a little along the way.
It starts fairly innocently when you receive an email from him, pithily worded and unassuming, in which Kento requests you to help Yuuji - poor, struggling intern who clings to you like a lost puppy in the office jungle - check an unstable model. It's nothing. It's routine and, while you anticipate a few comments here and there, you reckon it'll only take a few minutes.
What you don't expect is for Kento to be adamant about you doing it live on a call, with Yuuji and other interns as an audience, so it can serve as a lesson he'll oversee. His offer is unusual, too generous to not be questionable but who are you to refuse ? He's your boss, and when Kento tells you to jump, the only acceptable answer is 'Yes sir, how high ?'.
The call is filled with a suspiciously large number of interns who hang on to your every word, and a very satisfied Kento who sports an undecipherable smile. As expected, you find a few comments, curtesy of Kento to guide your little "lesson" - where is the beta from, double check the amortisation of this, please fix formatting - but nothing that requires such a large audience.
Then his comments take a strange turn, they're not action items anymore, merely musings that Kento glosses over during the call. You see the way his lopsided smile goes from amused to predatory as he talks about the numbers you corrected and the inflated terminal value you manage to get or the hefty interest payments you're dealing with.
'Excellent work on the projections, you really know how to get it up' - this makes you choke on your coffee. You stare at your screen in alarm, hoping that no one caught the mirth in Kento's voice.
'The annuities here must be painful to take, but nothing we can't deal with, right ?', now you're positively flushing, thighs pressed together and ears ringing with shame and unbridled lust. With shaky hands, you fly through the rest of the file, shutting down any questions the snotty interns may raise, and vaguely excusing yourself, hiding behind a "conflicting" commitment.
You think you've seen the last of this, but before you can hang up, Kento pipes up while the kids are still on the line.
Kento lets out an almost pained sigh, then quips, "Can you come by my office after this ? I'd love your help to adjust some - hum -" he's cut off by something suspiciously close to a groan - "Need your help adjusting my EBITDA".
The line goes silent. As if on cue, everyone else leaves, mumbled thanks and hushed whispers the only thing you hear before it's just you and Kento.
"What the fuck, Ken ?", you hiss over the static of your mic, voice low and alarmed.
"Is this an appropriate way to address your MD ?", he retorts, now back to his seemingly professional front. You roll your eyes but he doesn't relent. "There are still some comments we haven't gone through, I reckon it'd be good to double check those adjustments", he mumbles without much conviction.
You reason that your secret's already out by now and, well, you can't refuse Kento - even if it means doing some over time.
ANYWAY thanks again for stopping by nonnie dearest, it ended up being a weird crack post but I hope you found it funny at least ! Feel free to drop by my inbox whenever you want :)
edit : Nanami is a certified EBITDAddy 🤭
#nanami kento#jujutsu kaisen#nanami x reader#nanami x you#nanami fluff#kento nanami#jujutsu nanami#jjk nanami#crack post#crack treated seriously#jjk x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen nanami#jujutsu kaisen x reader#kento#nanami smut
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You're one of my favorite fallout blogs right now. Are there any more Cooper headcanons you have rattling around?
Firstly, you deeply flatter me. 🩷 I really enjoy writing stuff for you guys. To answer your question: yes, I have about a million more Cooper headcanons, and I'm more than happy to share, so here's a little random grab-bag. Since you didn't specify NSFW headcanons, I'll put some SFW ones here and do the NSFWs in a follow-up.
I'm currently traveling to visit family and have a hard time writing or editing in the car, but I'm hoping to have at least one longer smut submission done some time tonight or tomorrow. Thank you all for reading!
General SFW Cooper Howard Headcanons
Prewar! Cooper Howard
- I feel like he and Barb met and married a little older than would've been traditional at the time, maybe late 30's? Their relationship has a maturity to it that I think really only comes from meeting when you're both more established and confident in yourselves. I feel like it may have taken them a while to have Janey, as well. I imagine they probably wanted more kids but ultimately struggled to have them (that man absolutely ADORES being a dad, so in my mind he'd want like four or five kids). People seem to generally see Coop as late 40's-50ish, and Janey is like 7, right? 43(ish), with Barb maybe around 40, is pretty old for a first child.
- This man also 100% had pretty boy tendencies (and I bet they're still in there somewhere, just buried real deep). I don't see him as necessarily fussy about it, but after so many years of appearance being a big part of how he makes his living, I imagine you'd catch him in the mirror about any time one appeared, "just to check real quick". Very particular about his clothes fitting right. Meticulous dental hygiene. Always smells amazing.
- He's a big "acts of service" person; his favorite way to show love, whether it be to his family and friends, Janey, or you, is to learn what your interests and hobbies are and to engage with them, to remember things about you and what you like. And, like most people who are big on acts of service, he prefers to be loved that way, in turn. As such, he's a big sucker for inside jokes.
The Ghoul
- His sassy little duster is 110% used to make him look big and scary. Walton Goggins is only 5'10, and it's not like he's beefy in build. He's obviously not unmuscular, by any means, but he's lean. I'd call him "trailer park wiry". You'd definitely be surprised at how much smaller he looks the first time you see him without the coat; he still cuts an imposing figure after cultivating it for so long, but he looks so much more svelte without it. The boots and hat also probably make him seem bigger.
- The man still remembers how to dance, like, really well. Line dancing, ballroom, even a little swing...he's quite eclectic. You will 100% have to nag about this a little if you want to actually see it in action, because he thinks you just wanna make fun of him for it, but if you can convince him you really do just wanna share this with him, he'll teach you. Finds he still really enjoys it if you can convince him to try.
- Doesn't have much by way of a sense of taste anymore, like most old men, and, like most old men, he has a penchant for sweets of any kind (that also isn't totally partially a remnant of how much junk he used to eat with Janey). Sweet and spicy he can still taste.
#cooper howard#the ghoul#fallout tv show#fallout prime#cooper howard headcanons#submission#prewar!cooper howard
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Hi! Lately, I have been very interested in Maiko/ Geiko and Yujō/Oiran/Tayū culture, their differences, but the most popular known books, documentaries have so many lies and discrepancies. I hope you might know some answers.
I don’t know if you read “Autobiography of a geisha” by Masuda Sayo, but she described her life as a hot-springs geisha during W2. While she learned “gei” (art), what happened to her was truly not different from prostitution. She was given different points after sleeping with men depending whether he was her danna, someone else’s danna or just a random guy.
There is this whole thing about American soldiers thinking “geisha” meant “prostitute”, bc some of the prostitutes decided to dress as geisha to attract more customers, I suppose?
Then, what Americans thought wasn’t exactly wrong (if we are not looking at Kyoto or Osaka)? Or was Masuda Sayo just a prostitute and she herself didn’t even know about it?
Are geisha outside of major districts (idk how to call them, Ponchoto, Gion Kobu etc) not considered geisha? Were times just so difficult that geisha had to resolve to prostitution under a banner of love instead of money, so it doesn’t make it illegal? Did Masuda just lie?
Masuda Sayo wrote the book herself in freaking Kanji, I believe her more than what “foreigners”, who only lived in geisha district for a couple of months, managed to understand. And Mineko Iwasaki was a queen among the geisha of completely different time period. I am more curious about how life was for “third rate” geisha.
I guess I am just somewhat confused about the statement that “Geisha are not prostitutes”, while there is an account that poor country girls sold in shitty okiyas were in fact as good as prostitutes.
In specific areas of Japan there used to be "double registered" geisha; that is, they were registered by the government to work as both geisha and as prostitutes. However, there were areas that worked under these double registration rules but didn't have official registration, so pretty much anything went. Sayo Masuda worked in one of those areas. These areas were often in small seaside towns or resort villages, which lead to onsen geisha having a tainted name that endures to this day. What they considered a geisha may as well have been night and day from what was going on in the large cities that had proper geisha associations that actually looked out for their members. This isn't to say that districts like Gion Kobu or Pontocho were perfect as at the time that Masuda was active young girls were still being sold into the karyukai across the country. So, where geisha populations were large and in larger cities they were primarily just geisha who, by government law, could not engage in prostitution. However, in small towns and villages, those who were identifying themselves as geisha also often took part in prostitution on the side as it was sadly a way for them to "serve" their customers. Sayo Masuda also wrote her autobiography in hiragana, not kanji, as she couldn't read or write kanji since she never had a formal education.
American GIs brought back stories of "geesha girls" due to women who were not geisha but used one of the only Japanese words that they knew to have sex with for money in order to survive after the war. The Americans had no idea what a real geisha looked like and the karyukai didn't reopen (if they weren't bombed to shreds) until 1947. So, there were two years of regular women calling themselves geisha having sex with GIs that really didn't help with the Western perspective of geisha.
By the time that Mineko Iwasaki came along, which was decades after Masuda was active and the Americans had mostly pulled out of Japan, prostitution had been made illegal across the country, so no double registered geisha existed anymore and no geisha anywhere were supposed to be having sex on the side for money (sex on the side is fine as long as it's consensual between two adults and no money is being exchanged though). Since geisha are incredibly exclusive for the most part, it's far cheaper and easier to hire a call girl or a hostess if someone wants to have illegal sex in Japan (it would be naïve to say that it doesn't happen even though it's illegal).
So, were there different "levels" of geisha when Sayo Masuda was active? Of course. Was she lying? I don't believe so. Her story is extremely compelling and detailed to the point where it would be hard to be made up. Were the lines blurred on what was a "geisha" prior to World War II? Depending on where you were, yes. Has the karyukai changed drastically since that time? Very much so. Is there still work to be done when it comes to how geisha are perceived both inside and outside of Japan? Indeed, there's quite a great deal. But, we all have to start somewhere and I hope that this has helped to answer your questions ^^
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Headcannons
💚Стрейд/Strade💚
🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞
[Сугубо видение авторки, чье мнение может не совпадать с вашим/Purely the vision of the author, whose opinion may not coincide with yours]
[Строго 18+/Strictly 18+]
~English version~
• Without a doubt, Strade is very rude and does not spend much time on preliminary preparation, especially if he is very excited.
• He likes both resistance and submission. Any of your reactions turn him on. Breaking out is even more interesting, just giving in to him – well, it's so cute. The only difference here is that in the first version he will only be tougher, and in the second he will at least try to be a little softer with you in order to reward you a little.
• Likes to strangle and this is not the case when the partner slightly squeezes the neck, the Strade presses directly, blocking the breath, forcing you to twitch in panic and grab his hands, trying to uncouple them. He gets turned on by your scared face at this moment and how you ask to let go. He doesn't want to kill you, so he periodically loosens his grip, allowing you to take breaths and always releases your neck in time, if necessary.
• Needless to say, if you start menstruating (and this cannot be avoided), then this will not only not repel him, but also excite him even more. And he doesn't care that you can both get blood on your hands, on the contrary, he likes it.
• As such, he has no preferences in poses, the main thing here is to be comfortable. Strade never understood what the point was to bend somehow, taking on some unnatural positions, if there was a missionary, a doggy style, and a horsewoman at the extreme, if he wanted you to do everything yourself.
• The tempo prefers a hard one, but not too fast, although it rarely slips to a slow one, usually staying somewhere in the middle.
• Does not use condoms from the word at all. Anyway, his victims are unlikely to live three days, but when he kept you for himself, there was a risk of pregnancy. Pregnancy could cause problems, so I started interrupting sexual intercourse on time and bought emergency contraception pills.
~Russian version~
• Без сомнений, Стрейд очень грубый и не особо много времени уделяет предварительной подготовке, особенно если он очень возбужден.
• Ему нравится как сопротивление так и покорность. Любые твои реакции его заводят. Вырываешься – так даже интереснее, просто поддаешься ему – ну, это так мило. Тут разница лишь в том, сто в первом варианте он будет лишь жестче, а во втором хотя бы постарается быть капельку мягче с тобой, чтобы таким образом немного вознаградить.
• Любит душить и это не так, когда партнер слегка сжимает шею, Стрейд прям давит, перекрывая дыхание, вынуждая дергаться в панике и хвататься за его руки, пытаясь расцепить их. Его заводит твое напуганное лицо в этот момент и как ты просишь отпустить. Он не хочет убивать тебя, поэтому периодически ослабляет хватку, давая делать вдохи и всегда вовремя отпускает твою шею, если это необходимо.
• Стоит ли говорить, что если у тебя начнутся месячные(а этого не избежать), то это его мало того, что не оттолкнет, так и еще больше возбудит. И ему плевать на то, что вы оба можете перепачкать��я кровью, ему наоборот это нравится.
• Как таковых предпочтений в позах у него нет, тут главное чтоб удобно было. Стрейд никогла не понимал, в чем смысл как-то изгибаться, принимая какие-то неестественные положения, если есть мессионерская, догги-стайл, ну и наездница на крайняк, если он хочет, чтобы ты сама все делала.
• Темп предпочитает жесткий, но не слишком быстрый, хотя и до медленного редка скатывается, обычно оставаясь где-то посередине.
• Презервативами не пользуется от слова совсем. Все равно его жертвы вряд ли и трех дней проживут, но когда он оставил тебя себе, то возник риск беременности. Стрейду это вообще не сдалось, поэтому все же начал вытаскивать в последнюю секунду и даже запасся таблетками экстренной контрацепции.
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Wholeheartedly Part 2 - Roronoa Zoro x Reader
Wholeheartedly - Roronoa Zoro x Reader
Status: Ongoing
Summary: Reader reflects on her "relationship" with Zoro - but does he reciprocate?
Warning: 18+, Language, angst, implied smut
The girls’ room was far too hot – stifling even. You had been tossing and turning trying to get comfortable for what seemed like hours. Every now and then glancing enviously over at Nami who had, annoyingly, managed to fall asleep within minutes of her head hitting the pillow. You knew you were tired – eyes barely able to stay open for a few seconds, even aching slightly and yet your limbs refused to be comfortable, and your mind refused to relax. As always, your increasing frustrations at not being able to sleep was usually the very thing keeping you awake.
With a huff, you shoved the bed covers aside and climbed out of bed. Maybe some fresh air was needed – something to clear your head and cool you down. Careful not to wake up your companion, you tiptoed towards the door, hands feeling the walls as you went and followed the corridors out onto the deck. A slight breeze welcomed you, but even that was warm. The Merry had been docked for a day now, so you wandered over to the harbour side, curious to see how many of the inns and taverns were still lit up, letting your mind wander as you imagined all the lives and stories playing out in the town below.
Maybe someone was falling in love at that very moment. Maybe someone else was trying to mend a broken heart with song and drink. It made you envious – the Merry had felt increasingly claustrophobic since your last rendezvous with Zoro. Unsurprisingly, the places to hide onboard were few and far between, especially when as far as everyone else was concerned there was nothing going on between you and the swordsman. Even Zoro was painfully unaware of the effect he was having on you. Although you had to admit that was probably for the best. It was crystal clear that your feelings were never going to be reciprocated. The best you could hope for was that they remained unspoken until eventually, hopefully, they would fade away.
With a sigh, you leant your elbow against the railings and rested your chin in your palm. Every now and then you allowed yourself the self-indulgence to wallow in unrequited love. It was a cliché, of course it was, but it was your cliché – and if you couldn’t hold onto Zoro you were at least going to hold onto that. Your fingers traced along the grain of the wood as you allowed yourself to slip further into the fantasy, conjuring up all the ways in which you would hold onto Zoro. Submerging further without any care to resurface. Eventually, you would come up for air – but for the time being sinking and drowning were one and the same.
Your tranquillity did not last long.
“Can’t sleep?”
“Hmm?” You replied lazily, still half daydreaming and without turning around.
“Struggling myself. Thought I might take a walk, take in some of the local atmosphere – interested in keeping me company?”
You should have probably said no – headed back to your room and spent the rest of the night glaring at Nami sleeping soundly. But if you made sensible decisions you wouldn’t be in your current predicament. “Sure, I’m not paying for anything though.”
*
Zoro was in a decidedly Not Good mood. Some may even say he was pissed off. Ever since the last time you and him had been … alone, things had been awkward. What’s worse, ever since then all he wanted was to be alone with you more often. He wasn’t able to describe it – which only served to piss him off further – but something about the last time had been different. Weird. You had been short with him, fuck knows why, and you had been avoiding him.
He had woken up that morning just like any other – confused as to why you were still putting up with him – but thankful nonetheless. And then … it happened. What it was still remained a mystery; he wasn’t good at looking for anything, least of all the intricacies which dominated your “relationship” so he had done the reasonable thing and brushed it off, wholeheartedly coming to the conclusion that it was simply a setback and nothing more. You would be digging your nails into his shoulder blades before the week was out. And everything would right itself.
Only it hadn’t.
You were managing to occupy far more of his thoughts than he would care to admit. He found himself actively seeking you out instead of passively assuming the night would end up with the two of you in whichever part of the Merry seemed most convenient at the time. It was like he had been coasting, treading water and all of a sudden he’d forgotten how to swim but the only thing to keep himself from drowning was your nonchalant attitude – hardly something he could stake his heart on, let alone his life. And even with that he was still coughing up water, razors still shredded at his lungs.
By the time he was finally conscious of the fact that he wanted, no needed, to see you he was already halfway towards yours and Nami’s room. If he was Sanji, he would have a perfectly rehearsed speech. He would win you over with some pretty words and a well timed wink. But he wasn’t Sanji and his brain had only caught up with his brain and this was a fucking awful idea. He was about to turn back and forget about the whole endeavour – some sake would surely help – when he noticed your door was slightly ajar. His eyebrows furrowed – you and Nami always kept the door locked after the first time Luffy had bounded in with his latest bounty poster whilst the two of you were getting dressed. Luffy had been oblivious, of course, but from them on it was unspoken rule that an unlocked door was not a good sign. He let out a frustrated sigh at leaving his swords in his own quarters whilst nudging the door open slightly – he couldn’t hear anything but that didn’t mean nothing was amiss. Tentatively he stepped further but all he could hear was someone’s soft breathing. Confused, he stepped in a little further – allowing the door to stay open to see a little light spill into the room. Nami was there but your bed was empty.
Thankfully, there was no sign of a struggle. And surely anyone with ill intent wouldn’t just leave Nami so he made his way to the kitchen to see if you’d woken up hungry or thirsty. But that proved to be a dead end as well. This was strange. He could feel his heartbeat becoming more rapid as every corner and room proved to be more and more devoid of you. Eventually his search led him to the deck – although why you would be up there alone in the middle of the night was a mystery all in itself.
Except.
“Can’t sleep?”
He stood in the hatchway, arms crossed tightly against his chest as he watched Sanji fucking sauntering up to you. The repugnant smell of his cigarettes went straight to Zoro’s nose – he couldn’t understand how you could bear it. The cook was getting far too close for his liking, too close to you that Zoro could no longer hear what the two of you were saying. All he could see was you smiling at him, and him smiling back and then you followed him down the gangplank and Zoro wanted to be sick only he couldn’t. He was drowning.
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here's a question that has probably been asked before: how did you come up with you rewrites for the characters? all of the backstories you gave them are really interesting and, while I haven't read the originals in a long time, I think I like what you did more. I found your work only in the past couple days, but I like it a lot; your versions of the creeps feel the most like real people that I've found since my interest in them reignited. but yeah, love your work.
(also, I may show back up in your ask box, so may I be "embroidery anon"?)
Firstly, thank you very much!! I tried really hard to make them much more realistic/three dimensional instead of just “oohhh I like to kill people!!” Ya know? I’m glad that people like you over time have liked that aspect of them :)) Prepare for some rambling though-
As for coming up for their specific backstories, that’s a little hard to answer I think just because of how long it’s been since I started doing that. I’ve been into the creeps since I was 11 and I’m turning 23 in a couple weeks so, it’s been a long ride. The creeps grew up alongside me and I think for some of them their stories just sort of evolved in my mind over the years. I mean I’ve literally been in the fandom for longer than several creeps like Toby, Pup, Helen, etc.
The basics are just I’d look at the original story for most of them, decide what I think I could keep, and what I’d like to change. For a creep like Toby, I wanted him to still have a good relationship with his mom and sister, and I still wanted his sister to die, but for Natalie I made her brother an ally to her and someone she loves and trusts instead of one of the bad guys. But I mostly wanted to make the writing darker and more in depth, I wanted them to be darker and more realistic as people.
I also wanted different backgrounds for them, like Toby/Helen/Natalie coming from very rich and influential families, EJ in my canon growing up in a cult, Jason and LJ both being toys instead of just LJ, things like that.
The thing about rewriting them I think is that most of the OG stories are not… The best written stories ever? Most of them were written by preteens/teens and not the most realistic pieces of media. Like in Jeff’s, being burned by fire made his hair turn black and his skin turn white, which is not really how fire and burns work?? And then he went on to burn off his eyelids which also not a great idea? I’ve actually had people get upset that my Jeff has eyelids but like if he didn’t he would be completely blind and in literal agony because his eyes would be completely dried out. That’s not a great design imo, but it was also written by a child so like, that’s why.
Most of my designs just sort of pop into my head randomly though. I get an idea like for BEN I wanted him to be close to his mom, but I didn’t want her to still be living so I went okay, how do I expand on that? And that’s how I came up with my version of his story, with his mom dying young from illness and his father being abusive and resentful.
I wish I had a better way of explaining it but that’s just sort of my general thought process. I started to look at them more as individual characters/OCs instead of just the original lore, which I mean most blogs for the creeps these days have their own lore too. I don’t think my creeps are the best ones ever (except in my heart), but I also had a lot of fun writing them and coming up with their backgrounds. I got influenced a lot by songs and media and they just gradually came into fruition :) I’m glad they were good enough to reignite your interest.
(And also yes, you may take that anon name ^^)
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Jam Day
Mushy May in Lucifer's Hollow: Day 15 - Jam Session
Mountain x Rain (using a bonus prompt today but interpreting it a bit differently hehe)
This fic is set in an alternate universe in a town called Lucifer's Hollow. It's sort of like a Satanic version of a Hallmark town. For Mushy May I'll be using the prompts to post little snippets of life for the humans and ghouls that live there 💙 Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together!
~ In Lucifer's Hollow Mountain has a little farm and sells flowers at the local farmer's market. Rain meets him there while selling his art. ~
Warnings: a bit smutty at the end, nsfw 18+ only, 800 words (thank you @ghuleh-recs for the dividers!)
Rain had fallen in love with Mountain’s farm immediately.
As an artist, the sheer amount of inspiration everywhere was overwhelming. Beyond the flowers, fruit and vegetables Mountain grew and the handful of animals he kept the area around the farm was beautiful. The thick woods, pond and rolling hills were a painter’s dream. Rain’s fingers were constantly twitching, wanting to grab a pencil or a brush to start recreating the natural world around him.
Of course Mountain was inspirational in his own right.
After he had moved in, Rain had insisted on helping out around the farm. He had learned that Mountain did more than throw some feed out for his hens every morning. Each morning they would check over the fencing around the coup and the coup itself. Apparently there had been an incident with a hellhound a few years ago and Mountain still felt guilty. So when it came to his “Golden Girls” as he called them he was extremely protective.
The two goats that Mountain had adopted, Penny and Pepper, were a bit of a sore spot for Rain. For one, if they were roaming around when he was out sketching or painting the little bastards were known to grab onto his paper or his brushes. Basically anything they could get their little mouths around they would take off with. Mountain and Rain had a standing date each week to visit Mary Goore at GraveYarns and replace whatever the two goats had taken.
The rest of the farm involved the greenhouses that Mountain kept his flowers in, the main way he made money. He spent many long days and nights getting his bouquets ready each week during market season. When the market wasn’t going on he still sold them, mainly relying on anyone that lived in Lucifer’s Hollow that needed flowers for whatever reason. But he also gave them as gifts, something Rain was very familiar with.
Mountain also grew a large selection of fruits and vegetables. He sporadically sold them at the market with his flowers but he mostly used them in his own cooking, as gifts or gave them away to some of the local food banks in the area. Rain’s boyfriend was amazing in the kitchen and that led to the water ghoul’s current dilemma: Jam Day.
Jam Day, as Rain had dubbed it, happened once a month in the summer. As long as there were ripe fruits Mountain would take a day to make homemade jam, filling dozens of small glass jars with the treat. The house always smelled amazing during and after, the sweet scent of the fruit permeating the air for days. Even better, Mountain would smell like the jam as well. Rain had soon found it impossible to resist him when this happened.
“Did you just lick me?”
“No.” Rain flicked his tongue against Mountain’s neck again while he clung to the earth ghoul. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”
“If you’re hungry I could make you something.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Another lick, this time he dragged his tongue across Mountain’s pulse. “I can wait. Focus on the jam.”
“It’s kind of hard when my boyfriend is licking me.”
“Mmm, speaking of hard,” Rain pulled away enough so he could sneak a hand in between them and cup Mountain’s cock through his pants. “What’s going on here?”
“It’s very interested in the licking.”
Rain grinned and began to massage his cock, pleased to feel it hardening more under his touch. His mouth was watering just thinking about it and he was torn between dropping to his knees right there or attempting to drag Mountain to their bedroom. His boyfriend seemed to decide for him, sliding his strong arms around Rain’s waist and hauling him out of the kitchen and down the hallway to their room.
“Wait, what about the jam?”
“The jam is fine, duckweed.” Rain giggled when he got dumped onto the bed, rolling over just in time to catch an armful of earth ghoul. “You are so distracting.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”
“Liar.”
Rain’s retort disappeared into Mountain’s mouth. Their tongues tangled with each other as one of Rain’s hands grabbed onto a horn, the other tangling in Mountain’s hair. The earth ghoul’s hands were busy elsewhere, tugging at the drawstring of Rain’s pants and shoving them down far enough so his cock sprang free. Rain broke away from the kiss with a gasp when a strong hand wrapped around him.
“M-Mountain, fuck yes.”
“It should be a crime to interrupt Jam Day.” A disbelieving laugh bubbled up in Rain’s throat and he tugged at Mountain’s horns so he could kiss him again. His boyfriend allowed it, grinning as he got closer. “I’ll have to think of a suitable punishment.”
“Plea—ah, yes—please.”
He pouted when Mountain pulled away, another ‘please’ on the tip of his tongue but when Mountain scooted down the bed and took Rain’s cock in his mouth the rest of it died in his throat.
Fuck, he loved Jam Day.
If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙
My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar
More snippets from this verse are on my masterlist under "Ongoing Series"!
Other Mushy May days: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14
#mountain x rain#the band ghost fanfiction#ghost band fanfic#mushy may 2024#tales from lucifer's hollow#oakie's writing#nameless ghouls
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X-men finale reaction...
OMG, hell yes. This was epic, this was a triumph and looking at all of the ten episodes together, THE best X-men adaptation ever. It did honor to the source material and was the best decision to keep it in the 90s and not modernize it And it took it beyond and super deep. The music was epic- I want the soundtrack or would attend a live concert of the music. Then the plot and fan service done to the viewers was chef's kiss perfection. There may be detractors out there and I may come down from this cloud and be able to nitpick but not now. I'm too excited and thrilled.
Firstly, I love that Disney is promoting X-men on the main page and was the first thing I saw when I opened the app. Yes, Disney! Disney/Marvel, congrats. You helped create a masterpiece of modern storytelling that revived an old almost forgotten piece of comic cartoon history and pulled it into the modern age. It was perfect timing and us old fans who grew up on TAS was thirsting after, but you also brought in new viewers and viewers like my husband who could care less about cartoon superheroes. But the storylines were compelling and the writing was deep, X-men 97 deserves its flowers. (Spoilers ahead).
Secondly, the writing and character development in this episode was fan service, it was perfection, and it was very well written. Starting with Cherik which I had some objections to last week due to feeling that Xavier was being holier than thou and not understanding Erik. But in this episode seeing the lengths that Xavier would go for Erik melted my heart. I still have some thoughts about Erik "making his X-men turn on each other" as I feel that they are grownups with their own minds, but the rest of the episode with Xavier cradling Erik and willing to go down with the ship with him is gold. Then they busted out the Badass X-women and I loved it! I am a huge Rogue fan and they did right by her- she was accepted back into the team no questions asked and she was so fierce. I teared up when she attacked Bastion with the "Remember it" line and I loved the whole team stepping up, working together to battle Bastion. I also loved the Cable/Scott/Jean storyline and we even got some Morpherine!
Thirdly, some of my predictions came true! I predicted in a previous post that the Avengers and other Marvel characters would make cameos in the finale and I was right! It was a veritable who's who of Marvel characters and I cackled in delight when they popped up! Predictably, Iron Man and Captain America were in the White House with the President. I knew that they weren't sitting out on this one! Then we saw Daredevil, Silver Samurai, Black Panther and Dora Milaje, Psylocke and many more!
Last but certainly not least, Apocalypse and more importantly DEATHBIT! As a ROMY shipper, I squeed so much at this! The fans have been dreaming about this since ep 5 as it gives us even a sliver of having some part of Gambit back and now it's confirmed with that Queen of Hearts cliffhanger. Oooh yes! Even if it's not the Real Remy back, just having Deathbit and a glimmer of Remy back in the storyline is juicy and desired indeed. There are a LOT of Romy and Gambit fans out there and this satisfies us and has us wanting more. Even if it's crazy and complicated, fans are going to eat up a Deathbit storyline, so yes please! And beyond Gambit, Apocalypse is a badass villain- kudos for the writers going here. Comic and Cartoon fans alike can agree that time travel is interesting and will come up with many cool, fascinating new storylines.
I can't wait until Season 2, but until then I will be rewatching the finale a million times. I am so glad that the writers understood the assignment and gave us this masterpiece. It calmed my Romy heart, gave us amazing battle sequences, had fun Marvel cameos, and perfectly set up next season.
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Omg tell us everything about sunwoo……………..*heart eyes*
ok ok so there’s some information that i will keep to myself just for now as ;) you’ll see why but i’ll give you some very interesting sunwoo facts !!!
he’s not afraid to get violent or confrontational for the people he loves, he’s beat up several guys for y/n and some of them she doesn’t even know about
his favourite sex position with y/n was when she was riding him lmfao mostly cus he finds her tits hot (still does, i mean so does eric) alsoo he really liked hitting it from the back
he’s a fuckboy, lives, eat, sleeps, breathes pussy (and even cock, i’m sure he’s fucked guys too) he loves sex. very sex positive. he’s the type of fuckboy who doesn’t get attached and doesn’t expect the person who he’s fucked to be attached but they always get attached, and it always makes him end up in deep shit. he knows he shouldn’t get involved with people who want deeper relationships but he just loves sex so bad, he was a careless fuckboy unlike jeno
he’s very deadpan all the time. very unhinged and blunt. you know sunwoo irl? that kind of sarcastic and dark humor and mindset? that’s him. sunwoo intimidates a lot of people
he may not act like but he really does care about the band and everyone in it, he’s very proud of it and will do anything to make sure it’s successful
him and yeji!!!! :(( let’s talk about them <3 they’re very happy and happy in love. she’s the first girl who’s made him think “fuck, i’m in love.” and he fell hard. it was very serious for him. yeji actually lost her virginity to him and it was so 🥹
he has to create loads of boundaries with yn now that they’re both in different relationships. before he’d be so unfiltered around her. if he came over uninvited, so what? walked into her room and she was fully naked, so what? he didn’t need to knock. walked into her masturbating? he knows it’s cus she’s stressed so he’d silently go over and just eat her out… it’s the way they used to be fr, very much FWB. pure sexual, no strings or feelings attached but now they can’t move around as comfortably as they used to lmao. even eye contact feels awkward between them now
he taught y/n a lot she knows about sex, she got a lot of practice knowing how to suck and ride cock, using his as an example 🤩
#nct dream#nct#nct jeno#jeno smut#jeno x reader#nct 127#nct dream jeno#jeno#jeno fluff#jeno imagines#lee jeno#jeno moodboard#jeno icons#nct smut#nct scenarios#nct imagines#jeno angst#nct x reader#nct u#fic in your eyes
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