Names Not Numbers

c'hello

For Max (sup man):

I have a few questions but you don't have to answer them all if you don't wanna (for mod, if you wanna answer them all you don't have to draw them all obv)

Thoughts on hedgehogs?

How are you today?

Sun or rain?

If you could dye your hair, would you? And what color?

Not a question, just a statement if you need to hear it, but you're pretty rad and I can understand you, to an extent of course, but uhh you're really neat

That's all, ty! (Also mod, I love your art, you're doing great, keep up the gorgeous work!)

lowkey might end it

fym my state that's mostly black people is red?

somebody save him

BOOOM SSHAKALAKAAAAA

hear me out on Inho fucking us in a stall during night time🌚

IS IT CASUAL, NOW? — HWANG IN-HO

Pairings: In-ho x wife!reader Warnings: Smut, quickies, AFAB!reader, bathroom sex, light angst

It wasn’t easy keeping up a facade. Even more so, when your husband was the frontman and hiding amongst the players. Yet, you did your best to pretend you didn’t even know the man during the games—but it was just too hard.

Tonight, you couldn’t handle being near such a large group of people and had decided to hide in the bathroom, staring at your tear stained cheeks through the now cracked mirror, as you hear distant footsteps. Maybe it was your beloved husband, you thought—but it was probably just wishful thinking.

You lean down to the sink, throwing cold water onto your face. You didn’t have the luxury skin-care products like you did back before you joined the players. And how you hated it. Yet, when you looked back up from the mirror, you saw a very familiar face. His hair is now messy (unlike his usual slicked back style) but you would always recognize your husband, your In-ho.

In-ho slowly approaches you, his eyes locked onto yours in the mirror. He reaches out and gently wipes the tears from your face with his thumb, his touch sending shivers down your spine. He says nothing, just stands there, studying your reflection in the mirror.

“I want to go home.” You cry into his embrace. “I hate pretending like I don’t know who you are.” You sob, nearly choking on your own tears. His arms wrap tightly around you, one hand cupping your face tenderly, while the other strokes your hair gently. For a brief moment, all the ruthlessness of the frontman disappears, leaving only the man who loves you. His lips press against your damp hair "I know."

“Please.” You beg, as you feel his hand gently slide up and down your waist. For the first time since becoming the frontman, he feels his composure crumble. Seeing you so broken makes his hearts ache - the cold heart he's cultivated for this game, and the loving heart that beats only for you. His hand moves to hold your chin, tilting your face upwards. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

You immediately feel In-ho pull down the green track sweats you were required to wear, feeling the heat rise. He slowly removes his own mask, revealing his handsome face, before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His hands roam over your body possessively, as if trying to memorize every curve. He breaks the kiss only to whisper huskily "Mine."

Just then, your husband pushes you into one of the bathroom stalls and locks the door, before pulling down his pants and boxers and ramming his length into you. He pounds into you relentlessly, his hips moving with a desperate urgency. Each thrust is a silent apology, a silent ‘I'm sorry’ for making you suffer. His hand reaches up to cover your mouth, muffling your cries and moans as he takes you hard and fast in the cramped stall.

You feel your eyes roll back in ecstasy. “It’s to much f’me.” You babble. In-ho growls softly as his thrusts become deeper, hitting that sweet spot inside you. He's not being gentle—he's releasing all his pent-up stress and aggression from running the games into this quick, dirty bathroom sex with his beloved wife. "Spread wider."

You can feel yourself quickly hitting your climax as you moan out your husbands name. “In-ho!” You scream. His pace quickens, driving into you one last time as he follows your climax with his own release, his body trembling against yours in the pastel colored stall.

He leans his forehead against yours, panting heavily "Yeobo…" The intimacy of this moment contrasting sharply with the harsh reality of your situation. “One more day, and I promise we can leave.” He whispers into your ear as he puts his forehead to yours. One more day, huh? You could live with that.

we can all collectively agree that we’d bounce on it

wrong person!…

(ft. levi, eren, armin, jean, & porco)

note: you send them a nude, you say wrong person, they get upset, but it’s a prank🫡 this one’s for anon

warnings: sexual, suggestive, cursing, dramatic men, f!reader

— levi

— eren

— armin

— jean

— porco

Stupid fucking bitch, you'll be next on my rape list😂 you and all those other faggots that are upset with the truth

The fact you all even find it so offensive is hilarious

Interesting..🧍

listen.. here me out

/hj