This was inspired by an idea from my Over 30 sisters & my impulsive purchase of a J2 Sandwich photo opp for Seacon in April. Ahhh! I’m freakin out! :) Enjoy!
Our boots crunched on the wet leaves as we moved quickly through the forest. The overcast sky and misting rain didn’t help since we were already cold in thin, gray jumpsuits. I shivered as I followed close behind Dean, Sam behind us with the stolen gun.
Suddenly we reached a clearing and I could see the outline of a small building. As we approached Sam and I kept lookout, and Dean went up to jimmy the door of the cabin. After looking inside a window, he stepped back and kicked the door in. Sam and I followed him inside, looking quickly behind us before barricading the cabin with a heavy dresser.
The cabin was dark inside with half of the windows boarded up, and the hodgepodge of furniture collected like dusty landmines. The earthy scent of rain and old firewood smoke filled the air. We spread out around the one room, searching boxes and crates. Sam banged open a rusty metal filing cabinet on the far wall, and laughed shortly as he saw what was inside.
LEElaAAAA!!! Wake up!!!! NAIL POLISH bsdjawbdhwvdh GLITTER NAIL POLISH !!! DAN!!!
remember on july 4, 2012 at approximately 9:15 BST dan howell was asked in a younow “can you paint your nails” and didn’t miss a beat before pulling a face of unmasked discomfort and saying, “no i’m not gonna do that. i’m not - i’m not - i’m just not comfortable enough with my sexuality to paint my fingernails .. i’m joking, i just don’t wanna do that.” ya that’s the shit that gets my heart buzzing. you can argue with the black nail polish last year that he maybe caved to the pressure of everyone asking him to wear it or he wore it because it suits his aesthetic but now he’s just happily rocking glitter and calling himself soft and sharing it with us on his own terms on his instagram as opposed to sharing through a fan’s m&g pics and that’s so overwhelming to me. he chose to show us this!!!! no one asked him to wear glittery nail polish!!!! he wanted to!!!! where did he even get it!!!!!!!!! i’m so emotional!!!!!!
I swear that being under that thing’s cold gaze was like staring down an oncoming truck. It promised nothing but death and pain, and I was terrified.
It was bright, and shone gold in the sun; but its mouth was like two swords, and its wings were razor-edged. Its great compound eyes, which should have been faceted like a geodesic dome, were entirely too human. This was one of the creatures I had been warned about, the reason you shut and locked your windows until the cold came and drove them away.
My phone buzzed in my hand and I risked looking away from the creature to see who’d texted me.
are you seriously telling me that you’re trapped in your room with a wasp
“This is not just a wasp,” I muttered, looking back up at the monster on my window ledge. A wasp would be bad, but this was worse. Wasps are what, an inch long? This thing was as big as my hand. If it was a wasp, it was a mutant wasp. And given where I was, it was probably worse than that.
It looked away from me, antennae waving, and crept along the windowsill. It was then that I noticed–one of its legs was broken, and it was really creeping. More like dragging. Had it been hurt? How?
just swat it with a shoe, my friend texted.
The rules–the ones the RAs told us at the beginning of the year in hushed whispers, and then never spoke of again–said not to hurt insects. You don’t drown spiders, you don’t burn ants, you don’t swat at moths. And, just like all the other sometimes-nonsensical rules, I’d kept to them.
But there was another rule, one that got passed by word of mouth and rumor-has-it, that spoke of helping those who needed it. Of an injured football player who’d helped an old woman cross the street, and found his injury miraculously healed. Of the girl who fed a stray dog, and found herself in possession of a cereal box that was never empty. Of the kid who’d ignored the pleas of a man with a misspelled cardboard sign on the corner, and had never been seen again.
I took a deep breath. This wasp thing–whatever it was–was a strange thing, like all the other strange things at this university. And when you’re dealing with strange things, the rule goes, you follow all the rules. Which meant no swatting or shoes. It also meant–
Tiger House looks like it can’t decide if it’s an English pub, a used book store, or a bakery. The only sign that it actually sells coffee is the smell of freshly-roasted beans that hits Otabek when he pushes open the door, a little bell jangling above him. There’s nobody here but a bored-looking barista leaning on the counter by the register. “Can I help you?” the barista says, in a tone that heavily implies he would rather do no such thing.
Every day for the first 100 days of the New Year, I will be posting a drabble for each writing prompt that tumblr p0ck3tf0x created on their list “'100 Ways to Say I Love You’.” It will be mostly Victuuri with some Yurio (and possibly Otabek). It’s going to be a challenge, but I’m going to try my best to update daily. OR They’re a bunch of dorks, really.
Rooming with Otabek is fine. It really is—they’re best friends, Otabek is the perfect roommate, and there’s nothing about each other that they don’t already know to make it weird. (Except Yuri hadn’t known that Otabek walks around only in his pajama bottoms in the morning, or what he smells like right out of the shower, or that he likes his coffee with two sugars and nothing else, or that he has a knack for losing the television remote regardless of where he puts it, or that he keeps his keys on his nightstand and nowhere else, or that he opens the blinds half-way first thing in the morning to let the sunrise in…) So it’s fine. It really is. Yuri likes this arrangement, and no matter how many looks Mila gives him, that’s the truth. He just wishes it sounded like all of the truth.
Yuuri katsuki, a young mathematics major starting his 2nd year of college, finds himself rooming with an illegally hot Russian linguistics major. While across the hall things heat up between Yuri plisetsky, and his interesting roommate who has a deep passion for writing.
Katsuki Yuuri comes to study in America with the hope that a change of environment will give his mental health the break he needs to finally write that book he’s always wanted. Viktor Nikiforov ended up in America a long time ago and stays there because he can’t think of anywhere better to be, sitting on a novel draft with zero inspiration to finish it. This is the story of how they struggle with themselves and their stories, and how they maybe find love in the process.
Yuuri wasn’t sure if he could call it a date, but Phichit had set them up, and they were alone. In a bar. And, if Yuuri should consider this a date, there was worse company to be had than Viktor Nikiforov, with his shining silver hair and a baby blue stare that somehow held all the warmth of the sun.
AU where the russian characters are international students studying in NYC, and otabek the kazakh guy is the hot waiter at that one russian restaurant they go to every weekend, and anyway don’t look at me
“The city lights always called to Yuuri. Even as a boy, he dreamed of the neon glow on his face and riding fast, fast, fast down the busy roads. Maybe in a sports car. Or a motorcycle. Perhaps he would just run. He hadn’t worked out the details on that yet. Yuuri dreamed of a whirlwind love, the kind of person with cold eyes and a dark smile, a troubled person with a kind heart. ” In which Phichit’s Instagram leads to Yuuri and Viktor meeting.
Otayuri Week 2017 Day 7: Soulmates | Too bad Otabek is a people watcher, not a people meeter, and on top of that he’s convinced he would probably live a happier life without meeting a soulmate whose first words to him are rude ones.
Yuri moved thousands of miles away from home in Russia to attend a prestigious performing arts university in the States, gambling that his stupid former rink mate Victor (who also attends) wouldn’t be anywhere near him. Otabek also took a chance by coming to this university so far away from the security of life back home, hoping his future and career will go somewhere. They were both slightly worried about who their roommate would be, but it seems like the guy they were put with just seems to…fit.
*Title and Story are subject to change as this is an ongoing story* AU where Yuuri Katsuki is a Japanese college student going to school in America. He studies to become a vet while working at Ice Pets Adoption, which is owned by his friends the Nishigori family. He keeps his life fairly simple, but one day a mysteriously beautiful Russian waltzes into Yuuri’s life and suddenly he experiences something he never has before: attraction.
Yuuri is not outgoing. That’s why when Phichit supplies Viktor as his fake boyfriend he’s bringing home for Christmas he nearly dies on the spot. And in all Honesty, he’s not quite sure how he managed to convince Viktor Nikiforov to play the role of his pretend boyfriend. And he’s even more at a loss for words when he remembers he has to go along with this for two weeks. Or- The pretend relationship AU where Yuuri is a shy Dance Major and Viktor is the attractive, outgoing Art/Photography Major and Phichit is the worst wingman ever.
Leave it to Yuri Plisetsky to humiliate himself and then have the only person on campus that he wanted to avoid also end up being the only person who he sees all the time. And also who never does anything but stare at him. Like, seriously, why is this dude always staring at him? College AU based on a prompt by theappleppielifestyle on tumblr!
(College AU) In high school Yuri Plisetsky was the end of many pranks by his fellow classmates, being a slight in stature ballet dancer. One in particular resulted in Yuri being forably outed as a homosexual in a most humiliating way, causing a rift in who he felt he could trust. Now in college, Yuri is trying to move past all of the things that bothered him in the past, however, they keep on cropping up. At a college party that he was coaxed into attending, Yuri meets the most unlikely of friend; a former ballet classmate whom he had not seen in many years named Otabek Altin. As the two grow closer, Yuri discovers something troubling about his new friend. Could the two possibly help each other through their past and present troubles, or will the blockades in the road cause them to fall apart before they even begin to come together? (TWs will preface each chapter in the beginning notes as they come.)
“Otabek felt pure panic course through him. What did he do now? He was accidentally intruding on an extremely private moment for this beautiful man he didn’t even know. How did one even address this. Maybe the best thing would be to just leave as quietly as he could. Otabek watched as the man leaned forward and onto his knees and crumpled in on himself. He knew he couldn’t just leave now.” Or the story in which Otabek accidentally witnesses Yuri dealing with a tragic loss and kinda fucks up.
“If you look for perfection, you’ll never be content.” Or: Mila and Sara end up as roommates their sophomore year of college, but there’s a problematic division among the international dance students that puts them on opposite sides of a war. Despite that Sara can’t deny her crush on Mila, and Mila has a growing appreciation for the quiet but free-spirited Italian. When a scandal ensues, things become more complicated for everyone involved. Alternates between Mila’s and Sara’s perspectives each written by one of us, but you’ll catch on. Also, the ages have been adjusted so Mila and Sara are the same year in college; everything else is pretty much based on canon.
poly-A tail: a long string of RNA containing only adenine bases, added to the 3’ end of a pre-mRNA transcript to protect it from degradation as it travels through the cytoplasm. when depicted in textbooks, the structure is written as simply a long string of A’s. (or: in which yulia plisetskaya forms a study group, makes a friend, and learns that finals week is about more than taking tests.)
With another successful house party under their belt, Yuri wanted to keep the party going with his roommates/boyfriends which wouldn’t be too hard to do. “We were wondering how much we made tonight.” Otabek said. He wrapped an arm around Yuri’s waist, pulling him closer to his chest. “Oh. Right, the money.” Yuri got up, turning so that both Otabek and JJ had a good look at his ass. Yuri reached back in to his back pocket, making sure to stick his ass out. He smirked when he noticed how JJ’s pupils dilated when he ran his hand down the curve of his ass. He slowly pulled out money from one of his back pockets before running his hand along his ass to the other back pocket.
Yavok Feltsman, a retired NHL coach, is forced into teaching a team of useless, enthusiastic college students. As the hockey team grows closer together, problems develop, and relationships evolve. Will the group be able to hold everything together, or will it all fall apart?
au in which yuuri and viktor both attend columbia college in chicago. viktor is a music major and in a band and yuuri is a ballerina studying at the joffrey ballet academy as well as majoring in dance at columbia. they get paired up together for a project in class and viktor wants to be yuuri’s friend, dammit but yuuri has crippling anxiety basically yuuri gets bullied into supporting vitya’s band, there’s some ballet, phichit is the ultimate wingman as usual, and there’s fluff and college student hijinks
A stupidly fluffy SnowBaz fic for the Carry On Valentine’s Celebration
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Meet me in Room 172.
I refold the note, noticing how the
paper has already settled into well-known creases since this morning. It’s not the first anonymous note I’ve gotten
over the past week, but it’s the first time the writer has made a move beyond
The Watford halls are sickening
today, even to me. I understand the
appeal of decorating for Christmas, but Valentine’s Day? It just seems a little patronizing to adorn
the walls in that many paper hearts,
whether the hearts can magically float around people’s heads or not. And it’s not that I’m a cynic, but Valentine’s
Day this year was set to be a difficult one for me, since I no longer have
Agatha to dote upon.
But as I slip the little creased note
back into my pocket and make for Room 172, the paper hearts seem less mocking
and my own beating heart feels just a bit lighter.
When I reach the door I falter,
doubts rushing to my head. What if there’s no one there? And what if there is? Then what?
But I turn the knob and shove open
And immediately I see who’s waiting and
I hate the thrill that bolts through me, and I wish that I had turned back.
Baz’s face goes red when he sees me
and I wonder briefly if I’ve seen him this angry before, so enraged that he
“What,” he seethes, “are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” I spit back, my heart sinking and racing at
once. “What are you doing here?”
“None of your business,” he growls,
sitting on one of the desks and pointedly looking anywhere but at me.
Everything in me is boiling. I’m angry and I’m disappointed at once, but I
puff up my pride and stalk over to another desk and sit down to wait. Maybe the fates will be on my side for once
and the mystery writer will reveal themselves yet.
Although, would that be the fates
with me or against me? Because
everything right now is looking like Baz wrote the note, and sitting here in
the empty classroom full of paper hearts with him just a few desks away, it’s
getting harder to ignore the buzzing under my skin and harder to ignore the
fact that he is the common
The clock ticks away like a drumbeat
and I stare at the door, hoping, praying
for something to happen.
“Why are you here?”
I throw a glance over at Baz, who
has turned his head so that he can see me without looking at me. “If you must
know,” I reply sharply, “I’m waiting for someone.”
“You think I’m lying?”
“I think you’re pathetic.”
I have to squeeze my eyes shut and
count to ten like Penny told me before I can breathe evenly again. “What’s your excuse, Basil?” I grit through my teeth.
“Why do you have to be here? Has
no one invited you across the threshold?”
It’s a lame dig, but I know it will be effective, whether he shows it or
not. If there’s anything I’ve learned
from being his enemy it’s that vampire jokes are a no-no.
“I told you, it’s none of your
“Can’t you take your business elsewhere,
When I turn to throw another insult
at him, the sun through the window catches the side of his face and turns his
eyes to silver… and the insult dies in my throat.
I try to stomp on the thought. No.
But it’s too late.
It’s there. It’s taken root.
And the longer I look at him the
more it flowers.
Another thought bubbles up to the
surface almost tentatively. Are you sure it wasn’t him?
As much as I know I should try to
extinguish that notion along with the previous, I let it linger. If I think back on it, I don’t think I ever have seen him angry enough to turn red.
So maybe he’s not angry.
Maybe it’s something else.
When he meets my eye, I’m still
staring at him, and his gaze darts away again, but his cheeks.
They go pink, and there’s no anger
in his eyes. Only uncertainty.
His silver eyes.
And all at once, I decide to change
comes Simon’s soft voice, “you can drop the act.”
I turn to look at him again, and it’s
like looking at the sun because I can feel his image scorching onto my
retinas. Meeting Simon Snow’s gaze is
something that can only be done in doses, for me at least, I don’t know why.
Well, I know why, but I can’t logically explain it.
“Act?” I repeat dumbly.
He slides off the desk and takes a
slow step in my direction, and even that is enough to set my heart hammering. “Yes,” he says, “act.”
“I don’t know what -”
“I think you do,” he interrupts me, “I
think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
He pauses for a breath, like he’s second-guessing himself, but then he
meets my eyes again. “I think you wrote
My brain screeches to a halt and
nothing makes sense. “Notes,” I reply,
and I hate myself because the boy I’m head-over-heels for is actually not at my throat and I sound like a
He seems to get a burst of
confidence. “It’s okay, Baz,” he goes
on, still slowly advancing, “I don’t mind, but you could have just said
I have nowhere to go. I want to leap up from my spot and run, but I
can’t. Even in all this, my pride
wins. I’m on a desk in the middle of an
empty classroom, and I’m cornered. “Said
something,” I stammer, “about what?”
He shrugs, right in front of me
now. “Anything from any of the notes,
which were unbelievably mushy, by the way.
I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Hang on,” I stop him, unable to
keep from shrinking back. “You’ve been
“All week,” he grins, “though I didn’t
realize it was you until I got here. I
have to say, that last one was weak poetry.
I mean, ‘roses are red, violets are blue’?”
Something in my brain clicks and I
swear I hear a ding. “‘Meet me in Room 172’,” I finish with a
His face lights up like all the
stars in the sky are in his eyes. “I
knew it was you,” he murmurs, and – Crowley
– his gaze flickers to my mouth, no more than a foot away.
And I want it. I want to keep quiet and let him close the
distance. Hell, I want to do it myself.
But I reach into my pocket and pull
out the scrap of paper from inside. “Then
I hate to tell you this, Snow,” I say quietly, my heart breaking, “but I didn’t
He looks away from my eyes for the
first time and his brow scrunches up when he sees the note in my hand. He takes it from me and unfolds it, his eyes
scanning over the words again and again, the same little three-line poem. I watch as he checks his pockets, finding an
identical note in his jeans, and the penny drops.
“It wasn’t you,” he says, almost to
himself, and his face falls.
“I’ve been getting anonymous notes
all week, too,” I confess. “It’s a trick
on both of us.”
His hands are shaking. “Why would anyone do this?” he asks quietly,
his face reddening, and I can’t tell whether it’s with embarrassment or anger
or sadness, or all of the above.
“I don’t know,” I stand at last and
saunter over to lean against the wall, grateful for some air that isn’t charged
with proximity. “People are dicks, I
“And you swear that you had nothing
to do with it?” He won’t look at me at
He squeezes his eyes shut and I half
expect tears to appear on his cheeks, but he just nods once and turns to march
towards the door.
An image flashes through my brain,
of his eyes boring into mine, of how they flickered down to my flustered mouth.
And suddenly I decide that I’ve had
enough of this.
He stops dead in his tracks. “What?” he says without looking at me.
“What for? You said you didn’t do anything.” His voice sounds sore, like he is fighting
tears after all.
“I’m sorry that you thought it was
me,” I tell him, “because…” I trail off, unsure how to finish.
I wish he would look at me. “I hate to ask, but did you mean any of that?”
“About not minding if it was you?” He sighs like he’s given up. “Yes.
I meant all of it.”
He meant all of it. From the words to the glance at my lips. All of it.
He shoots me a red-faced glare at my
I stare back, and I can feel a big
stupid grin bubbling up. “Yes, actually.”
That catches him off-guard. “Why?”
“Because I wouldn’t mind if it was
you, either,” I blurt out before I can lose my nerve.
His eyebrows finally un-furrow and
he meets my eyes properly. I know that I’m
turning pink again, but as he starts to step towards me, I hold his gaze.
When he’s right in front of me
again, close enough that I have to look down to see him, he whispers “You mean…”
One of the paper hearts littering
the room suddenly jumps up off a desk, and I don’t know if they’ve been charmed
to target fools in love or not, but it starts to dance around my head.
Simon chuckles at the heart. “Is that a yes?”
I allow myself a tempered version of
the big stupid grin. “You could say
The heart swoops in front of my
eyes, and I lazily wave it away.
Simon stands on tiptoe and plucks
the heart from the air by my eyes, and we’re no further than a breath apart.
And then he leans in the rest of the
my hand hard when they finally fall together, and I squeeze back. Stealthily she snaps a silent photo on her
phone, and I make a mental note to get her to send it to me later. The fruits of our labours.
We step back from the open door of
Room 172 as quietly as we can, but I doubt we need to worry. Simon and Baz are both far too occupied to
Penny keeps hold of my hand as we
make a break for it, waiting until we’re around several corners before
“Damn,” she grins at me, “we are
All I can do is grin back, still
holding her hand as we stroll down the hallway, kicking up clouds of red paper
Kurt pulled his boyfriend closer, keeping his sleep-heavy body tight against his chest. Blaine stirred in his arms, turning over and burying himself in his chest, close never feeling close enough when it came to Kurt. Even in his sleep, Blaine seemed to latch onto Kurt.
And Kurt can’t get enough of Blaine. He loves him, has loved him for so many months, and to be loved just so deeply in return makes him feel invincible. Kurt loves the way Blaine is so small and compact that he can lay next to him without trouble; he loves the way Blaine chases his lips when Kurt pulls away from a kiss, luring him for one more kiss that turns into two and eventually becomes ten. He especially loves how Blaine is so cold when he sleeps that he finds warmth in more ways than one when it comes to Kurt. The list could go on about things that Kurt loves about Blaine, from his secret obsession with superheroes, to how Kurt has to lean down to kiss him properly, to the way the sweetest nicknames reserved only for Kurt fall from Blaine’s lips.
Blaine’s warm breath came in puffs on Kurt’s neck, goosebumps rising on his skin as Blaine woke up. Blaine mumbles but it’s jumbled as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes, placing a kiss on Kurt’s neck in the process.
“My dad’s going to be home soon, if you didn’t wake up soon I was going to have to wake you up,” Kurt chuckles and Blaine doesn’t answer, just burrows deeper into Kurt’s arms.
“How much longer until he’s home?” Blaine’s voice is hoarse and sleep-ridden, and Kurt’s heart jumps in his chest when he hears the drowsy rasp. Kurt opens his mouth to answer, but the front door slams open and closed just as he does and Blaine groans, untangling himself from Kurt.
❝ i could taste the wine on her lips as she kissed me like the dirty secret i was. ❞
“I’m really feeling the steak.” My date mutters to me, his eyes trained on the laminated menu settled in his hands. I simply nodded in answer, a hum softly rumbling through my body as I attempted to make my own decision for my meal of the night, a glass of aged red wine pressed against my lips.
“Well, if you play your cards well enough, I might be getting some meat tonight as well.” I tease playfully, brazen in my flirtatious devices. I could see the smirk that slowly dawned across his sculpted features like a crown, finally looking up to meet my gaze. That was our game. We often found ourselves in couple like scenarios, classy and confident, knowing damn well whatever expensive dress I wore that night would be found on his apartment floor the morning after. It was the best of both worlds, really. I got the free dinner and the good cock without the emotional attachment, and he got the ride of his life every single week.
“I think you’ll be starved of it until the very last minute.” He answers nonchalantly, his menu closing as the waiter approaches. Our orders are placed, and out of the corner of my eye, I see a face all too familiar to me. She and her own friends settle in the table beside mine, a covert smile sent my way. I momentarily frown, but nonetheless move on with my night.
“I don’t think you’d deprive me even if you had to. You’re too kind on me.” The girl on my right quirks a brow while her friends obliviously order a bottle of their finest champagne, and I feel my phone vibrate in my lap.
“Oh, sorry baby, work text.” I quirk up, pulling my phone from the table to glance at the text I was sent.
KENDALL: nice boy toy
I have to hold in a satisfied smirk at the text, quickly writing up a reply. It seemed that she wasn’t too fond of him from the look on her face, yet she said nothing aloud. And like a true jack of all trades, boys weren’t the only ones I could play games with. With Kendall, we liked to pretend we didn’t know one another outside the confines of my bed sheets, handcuffs and lace lingerie forgotten.
ME: nice fishnets.
My teeth sank into my bottom lip as I scanned her endless legs, not wanting to give her body the attention I always did but not being able to help it either. All I could imagine was what was between them, glistening and hot against me.
KENDALL: what do you say you ditch him for a fat minute? your lipstick might need some reapplication.
ME: please, you’d be the one getting it all smudged. i’m not ditching my dick appointment to do you a favor.
KENDALL: then let me give you a solid. i haven’t tasted that pussy in weeks, baby.
I set my phone down. Engage in conversation with my date, pretend like Kendall isn’t blowing it up, growing more jealous by the minute. The food comes, we eat, we laugh, we flirt. Kendall keeps texting, her phone never leaving her hands. She blames it on her mom, a gig being booked that’s gone awry. Her friends continue to drink their champagne and laugh through the night.
My body buzzes. The possibility of getting to have two of the best fucks of my life both in one night without either knowing about the other despite their close quarters seemed almost too thrilling to be real. That he’d find out if I snuck off and storm away. That she’d be too upset by the fact I’m still going home with him at the end of the night.
But I pick up my phone again none the less, because just the thought made my pussy pool with heat.
ME: bathroom. now.
I excuse myself from the table, coy smiles and murmurs about powdering my nose made as I quickly rush up and go into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind me. Unlike the typical, there were no stalls; simply one room, large enough for the both of us.
I settle in the corner, my legs spread and my knees bent, eagerly pushing my panties aside. Just the first contact, the feeling of my cool fingers pressing up against the slick heat of my hot cunt was enough to let a whimper escape. I knew Kendall wouldn’t be in for another five minutes or so, but there was no use in waiting.
Besides, her seeing me in such a compromising position would only benefit me.
My fingers tease my cunt, sliding up and down, circling my clit but never actually giving it the true amount of attention it desired, constantly threatening to slide into my aching hole and stretch myself out.
When she walks in, our gaze meets. She locks the door, not a word said as she makes her way to me. Down on her knees in an instant, eye level.
“Well, look what we have here…” She mutters curiously, a soft purr. Before I could answer, our lips connected, sloppy and hungry for fire. I could taste the wine on her lips, a soft moan escaping as my free hand tangled into her hair greedily, tugging at it.
Our tongues collided, fought for dominance, but Kendall won. She always did. I was far too eager to get my pussy fucked to care much for it.
“I bet I can fuck you better than that boy toy of yours can.” Kendall speaks against my mouth, her hand finding my cunt. She easily slips two fingers in, gently pumping in and out with no intention to truly fuck me just yet. It’s her appetizer, her tease. She knows nice and slow does very little to actually get me off.
“Yet you’re not doing a single thing to prove it, are you?” I reply defiantly, egging her own as her lips leave mine to trail kisses down my neck, her berry lipstick staining my flesh. Her dull teeth sink into it, and I gasp, the pain and pleasure hypnotizing.
“I don’t have to prove a single thing, sweetheart. You already know I’m right. Look how wet this pussy is for me.” She answer, high and cocky. Her speed finally increasing the slightest as she curls her fingers up, hits that sweet spot as I writhe in anticipation.
“… Please, Kenny.” I whimper, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip while her petite figure slides further down against the floor. Her head is between my legs now, and I can feel her breath against me.
“As you wish, darling.” Her lips connect with my cunt, circled right around my clit as she sucks on it forcefully. And this is when she goes into full drive. My leg wraps around her head, keeping her trapped as she pleasures me.
Her fingers go to work, a third slipped in as she began to relentlessly pound into my cunt, stretching me thin while my head tilted back, encouraging moans escaping.
“Yes, Kenny, just like that.” I whine, my hips bucking sloppily against hers while she sucked and fucked my slutty cunt. The date waiting outside sure knew how to use his cock on me and work his numbers, but Kendall, oh Kendall. She was a natural pussy pleaser, her tongue never failing to surprise me each and every time she went down.
“You like it, baby?” She asked, knowing just what the answer was. That was one thing about her. She loved the praise she got.
“So much, I’m so close, baby.” Her fingers curled, pressing up right against my sweet spot. I could feel it bubbling up deep within me, and I wanted nothing more than to feel that mind-blowing sensation; and just as her thumb pressed up against my clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, I felt it.
My back arched off the wall and my hips moved sloppily against her hand, a loud moan escaping as I cried out in pleasure.
She fucks me right up until I’m coming down, a satisfied smirk painted on her lips. My chest heaves as I try to steady my breath, looking at her through drooped eyelids.
When she pulls out of me, she brings her fingers to her lips, sucking up every last drop of my cum from it; far too excited to do so.
I push myself off the floor, adjust my hair in the mirror, and slowly walk out; back to my date with a smile.
“I hate you,” I huffed, pulling away from his hand on my arm. Did he even think of me? Of what I wanted, or needed? I turned away from him, arms crossed over my chest in frustration. The thought of selling myself to him like this made me want to hurl. Hyungsik didn’t even know that I needed the money at this point. It was so cheap, but I was out of a choice. I jabbed the top most button and stood there silently.
Hyungsik laughed, entirely too amused at my current state. “Are you sure that’s not just the alcohol talking?” He chuckled, snaking his hands around my waist. I attempted to break out of his hold, but he only pulled me closer, letting his tall frame wrap around me. The light, rhythmic beeps of the elevator rang out as we climbed swiftly up the floors of the building. The overwhelming silence made me want to scream and cry and let myself fall apart, but now, more than ever, I couldn’t. His thumb brushed idly across my side as he always did when his hands were on me so innocently. The gentle hum of alcohol stirred my body, making my stomach drop as his warm, soft lips brushed over the nape of my neck. We remained still like that for some time, watching the reddish digits push past floor after floor while settling in each other’s hold. It was eerily too affectionate and impossibly too comfortable.
*That sad feeling when marijuana is still illegal in your country* Do you know any substance that can help with opening to other dimensions but is not so controversial? Can alcohol do the job?
Alcohol deffo isn’t the same as weed. It’ll get you fucked up, sure, but it is definitely not the same kind of high. Alcohol in fact cuts off my spirit working abilities to a huge degree and I drink alcohol when I want to “close down” and just feel very mundane for a while.
I have no knowledge of other drugs that work like marijuana but are also legal in most areas :(
Except possibly tobacco. Now DON’T start smoking tobacco!!! If you have never smoked tobacco please don’t start, please don’t. It is a habit that will follow you for the rest of your life and corrode your lungs and like dude, you need your lungs to live.
However if you already do I might as well tell you how you can adapt tobacco smoking to spiritual use.
Now I am not familiar with Native American traditions so I am not trying to copy anyone or reconstruct anything. This is just what I personally do :)
If you take a big enough hit of tobacco you’ll get riggity riggity wrecked, son. This state of being out of your mind on nicotine is the *perfect* point in time to have some serious Connection go down. This basically requires you smoking the equivalent of half a cigarette in one puff. You will need a pipe or water pipe. Pack in a small amount of tobacco, whatever you imagine you puff in a normal drag of a cigarette. A very small amount. Smoke this and see what happens to you. if you feel nothing really, pack in twice the amount. Then increase slowly until you start to feel it.
The sensation is one of being very “buzzed.” You go deep within your mind and just *exist* for a while. With training this can become a portal to Connection. The high however is short-lived and will only last 1-5 minutes depending on how much you smoke.
Some notes for ya:
Mix this with marijuana for a “moke bowl” or “spliff bowl”. If you have access to both and you already smoke both, give it a try for spiritual use. I find it gets me intensely connected, more than tobacco on its own (well, for obvious reasons I suppose!)
Too much tobacco in one rip WILL make you sick, just like a novice smoker smoking a pack in an hour. Get your puke bucket handy until you learn your limits.
Even though the intense buzz phase only lasts a few minutes for most people (from my observations), doing a lot of nicotine WILL get you moderately buzzed for several hours. DO NOT do this right before work or adult responsibilities. Try experimenting on a day when you have nothing to do and see how long it takes you to reach sobriety again.
DO NOT RELY ON DRUGS TO GET YOU THERE. Fuck. Trust me on this, guys. If you are ONLY able to use drugs to connect I think that is a serious concern. Because one day the same drug may have a different effect and not get you there any more… then where will you be?
IF YOU ARE CLEAN AND SOBER, PLEASE DO NOT START DOING DRUGS OR SMOKING TOBACCO. PLEASE. THERE ARE OTHER SPIRITUAL TECHNIQUES THAT WILL GET YOU THERE. DRUG USE IS NOT A SHORT CUT, JUST A DIFFERENT PATH. TRUST ME <3